Page 18 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

Chapter 6

“Give me your name, Little One. Say it, or I will make you scream—”

“Misha! We need to move. Now.” That voice…

Hope, the fragile thing, rises in my chest as I make out the figure who appears in the doorway, his face half in shadow. Vanya.

“Mischa,” he prods in a cautious tone directed at the man on top of me. “We need to go. Now.”

“Is that so?” Eyes narrowed, Mischa shoves me aside and backs off the bed. Something terrible unfolds across his face, but I sense that it isn’t all directed at Vanya—or even me. He stares down at his hands, flexing the fingers. Then he shakes his head and his expression is cold again. “And what could have happened so suddenly that we need to move base now?”

Vanya doesn’t shy away from meeting his gaze. If anything, his chin juts slightly into the air, almost as if echoing their previous standoff but in reverse. Are you challenging me?

“You told me you trust my judgment. My judgment is telling me not to trust that snake Xavier with our location for too long. Besides, it’s dark. The men are ready. This shithouse could crumble beneath us at any moment. I say we move now, to another safe house. Before it’s too late.”

“And her?” Mischa cocks his head toward me, his mouth tilted in a dangerous smirk that’s more snarl than grin.

Vanya shrugs. “We bring her with us. You can continue your questioning later. It doesn’t make sense to kill her now—”

“Oh?” Mischa reaches into his pocket and withdraws what Iactuallyfelt against my hip during his torture: a knife, thick at the base with a tapered tip. Light plays off the honed edges of the metal, stinging my eyes to the point where I have to blink. At that moment, he turns toward me, raising the blade. He’s nearly to the bed when Vanya takes just a step in his wake.

“We don’t have the time to hide her body—”

“Really?” Mischa wonders, chuckling when he doesn’t receive an answer. “Relax. I will let you keep your toy, Vanya,” he taunts, growling another hollow laugh. “You only need ask.”

“I…” Vanya shakes his head dismissively. “You can deal with her later. We need to move now.”

“Fine.” Mischa heads for the door, sheathing his blade. As he passes Vanya, he deliberately nudges the man’s shoulder with his, knocking him off balance. “Do what you wish, Ivan. But she isnotAnna-Natalia—”

That name. It tugs on another memory. A name so beautiful that I strived to remember it, even though I only heard it uttered once, by a woman with a gentle, quivering voice years ago.

“Iwillquestion her later,” Mischa says, snapping my attention back to him. His eyes narrow. He noticed my reaction. “Until then, she’s your responsibility,” he adds, still speaking to Vanya. “Whatever she does, you do, Vanya.” He slips through the doorway and marches down the hall, but his voice reaches back to us, assaulting my fragile skin one last time. “I suggest you keep her in the cage.”

“Here.” Vanya approaches the bed and stoops to pick something up off the floor nearby. My robe. He hands it to me and averts his gaze while I hurry into it. “Stay close to me,” he warns as my cheeks flush. “We need to go—”

“Wait.” I reach for his arm without understanding why. He doesn’t shove me off, which gives me enough time to regain control of my throat. “Ellen… My name is Ellen.”

Confusion flickers across his face. Then he just nods. “Right. Let’s go.”

I stand and follow him into the hallway. The floor feels strangely slick beneath one foot. On top of that, I’m limping, subconsciously avoiding any pressure on my right heel. A quick glance down reveals blood coating the side of it. I must have stepped on the glass in the kitchen.

“We’ll get that fixed later,” Vanya says, noticing the blood as well. “Come.”

We return to the main room, where roughly five men are in the process of taking what little items remain and carrying them down the hall. It’s organized chaos with an air of routine underneath. These men are used to being on the move.

Vanya takes my wrist, pulling me along after him before I can wonder why. “Come.” He reaches the kitchen through a different hallway. There, a man exits through a rickety screen door and we follow him, leaving the house altogether.

It’s dark out. A blanket of stars coats an ebony night sky while a cold wind nips at the naked skin beneath my robe. Before us, an empty yard stretches for what seems like miles, closed in on either side by a wall of trees. It’s quiet here. Too quiet. Craning my neck, I realize there are no other houses nearby. Just wilderness and silence.

“Have you lost your mind?”

A firm body brushes mine from behind. Before I can turn, my eyes are covered by something warm. Flesh. A hand?

“Go,” my captor snarls—presumably at Vanya. I recognize his voice.Mischa.“I will keep her before you let her escape with enough intel to draw a fucking map for Winthorp.”

He drags me in a different direction, heedless of how I stumble as my sore heel is aggravated. I’m forced against him, a slave to the motions of his body, my vision obscured. We don’t go far, just paces from the house, over rugged terrain that crunches underfoot. Other footsteps catch my attention close by. Someone mutters something, but I can’t make the words out. The language isn’t English.

Suddenly, heat tickles my ear and the stench of vodka floods my nostrils.

---