Page 21 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

Chapter 7

Whether by accident or intent, Vanya doesn’t cover my eyes, and I’m allowed to witness the entire trip through winding fields and hills. It’s desolate here, somewhere in the countryside, far from the airport. The thought makes my stomach clench in a way that has nothing to do with fear. Just pain. Just guilt.

As Mischa claimed, I was just a decoy. Though, assuming she was aware of the switch, would Briar fare any better in my situation? Sweet, playful Briar who couldn’t even go five minutes without a friend to chat with or sycophants to entertain. I’ve seen her charm Robert Sr. in his foulest of moods, always getting her way. Could she enthrall this murderer with hell in his eyes and a million scars written upon his skin?

I have no shame in admitting that, yes, she probably could. Men always fell for Briar. Fought for her. Foughtoverher.

But there is one man who will fight for you,a part of me hisses.Whether you want him to or not.

Robert.

I cringe from the thought and turn to the window, desperate for a distraction. I find one. Hell stares back at me. Dark eyes meet mine coldly through the glass as the door is unceremoniously opened. He doesn’t reach for my hand, but myhair, wrenching me out by my scalp. Through watering eyes, I can only assume we’ve arrived at the “safe house” by the gravel at my feet and the shadow of a building ahead.

The air here reeks of copper. There’s little light to see by, and inside the structure, cold floors betray a sense of abandonment. I’m not sure how far we’ve traveled before he releases me so suddenly that I fall to my knees. A ratty, threadbare carpet beneath me coughs up dust with every movement made upon it. Only one other person occupies this room, pacing the length of the floor.

“Who are you?” His voice is low, but it somehow still manages to echo to the far reaches of the room.

A single light fixture illuminates the narrow space: another decaying cage of wood coated with brown wallpaper this time. The windows here aren’t boarded up. Blurred glass displays my reflection: wide-eyed and trembling.

Who am I?I’m not sure the woman staring back at me even knows.

“Those wereWinthorp’smen,” the man in front of me continues. “You are not Briar.” He tosses me a calculating glance as if to make sure of that fact. “So who are you? Robert only has two children.”

I can see him trying to put the pieces together on his own. When he looks at me again, his eyebrow is raised, but he shakes his head as if to cut off his own thought. Not a Winthorp by blood. So who?

“What is your name?”

“Ellen.” The voice isn’t mine, and I turn to find Vanya standing in the doorway. There’s blood on his chin. His? Or someone else’s, smeared there during the attack? “Her name is Ellen,” he says again, the words rushed. “She—”

“Leave us,” Mischa says sharply. He jerks his chin in dismissal but Vanya remains.

“Mischa.” There’s a plea tucked into the name this time. Something emphatic, more than just concern for me.Don’t do this.“She’s just a woman—”

“A woman who nearly got us all killed.” Mischa reaches into his pocket and withdraws his knife, letting the blade catch the light. “I told you to leave us once, Ivan. Do not make me tell you twice.”

Seconds crawl by until reluctant footsteps finally retreat down the hall. My heart aches in Vanya’s absence, hammering against the wall of my rib cage. But I can’t take my gaze off the knife.

As if aware of that fact, Mischa crouches on one knee and brings the blade near my jawline. Sharpened metal tickles my cheek, stinging. Slicing. All the while, his eyes stare into mine, hunting down the confessions I haven’t voiced.

“Who. Are. You? Not an innocent after all? One of their spies?”

An answer is on the tip of my tongue.No one.My lips twitch to voice it. Too late.

Those amber irises darken with violent intent, but I only see his arm twitch before…pain!I instinctively clutch the side of my face with one hand as my brain struggles to process the sensations battling for attention. Burning. Searing. Wide-eyed, I watch scarlet drops dribble onto my chest. My thighs. The floor.

“I just lost three men because of you,” Mischa warns, sounding miles away. His tone has changed in a heartbeat. There’s no anger. Just grim acceptance that conveys the inevitable. He’ll do it now. Kill me. “Answer me.”

The knife grazes my throat next, biting deeper when I flinch.

“P-please.” I don’t recognize the plaintive voice that comes out of me. I don’t know why I resist him at all. Dying would be easier than suffering him. Dying would be preferable to returning to Robert.

Though maybe not. Barely a day from Winthorp manor and something I thought I’d never feel again floods my veins. It’s weak, hardly strong enough to outlast the fear, but still there.Survival.

“My name is Ellen—”

“I don’t give a damn about your name,” Mischa growls, and the knife cuts deeper. More burning. Stinging.

A whimper escapes my throat, but nothing registers over his features. No pity. No humanity. Nothing.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Ellen Winthorp,” I stammer through the pain. “EllenWinthorp.”

The blade stills. Withdraws. “How?”

Shaking, I force myself to meet his gaze directly. More tears sting my eyes and I let them fall, forsaking any attempts to hide the truth. “I…I am Robert’s wife.”

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