Page 31 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

Chapter 10

It takes me hours to capture and count every last bill, but I do so carefully before tucking the final amount away in my mind. The series of numbers sits heavy and out of place there, like some foreign trinket I never sought to add to my collection. One my husband certainly wouldn’t approve of. Picturing Robert’s scorn, I’d almost prefer physical penetration—at least my new tormentor would have to leave my body eventually.

But this, I will never forget: He carries five hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars on his person. Or at least hedid. Now, it’s all nothing more than pretty paper, considering that few respectable institutions would accept bills quite literally stained with my blood…

Will he punish me? Retaliation would be the least of my worries, however. I’ve caused so much more than a stranger’s death by blowing the whistle on Xavier’s deceit. I’ve lost Mischa hisaccountant, which I assume is not an easy position to fill in his line of business.

And for good reason.

“No motherfucker worth his salt keeps shit written down anymore,” Robert used to tell me, his words rushed with paranoia. “No. A smart man hides his secrets where no one would think to look. That’s the key, Elle. Somewhere safe.”

Like locked inside a woman’s head…

Rotting wood creaks nearby, betraying footsteps. Rushed. I stiffen at the realization that someone’s standing above me before I can even turn my head in their direction.

“God have mercy…”

The hunched shadow seems familiar. Vanya? Either he teleported to my side or delirium is stealing my consciousness bits at a time. I can’t see his face, just a blur lacking any definition, but his voice rings out clearly.

“Sleep,” he insists, prying the last bloodied stack of money from my grip. “You’re safe… Just sleep.”

His voice trembles with the grim truth that he has no way of honoring that promise. Not really, yet he chooses to lie anyway. Out of pity or denial?

I’m not sure.

I’m too tired to really give a damn either way.

* * *

Pain keeps me tethered to my body, pulling me in and out of wakefulness—too strong to ignore for long, but too intense to suffer at the same time. Like a toy ball, I’m bounced between consciousness and delirium, but terror is the tiebreaker.

It scuttles at the edge of my awareness, growing more potent the more I become aware of the scent flooding my lungs—and the voice in my head. Deep. Guttural. Merciless.

“Look at me.”

I can’t.My eyelids are too heavy to lift. Whenever I try, I only see indistinguishable smears of light and shadow. So I just feel instead.Pain, pain, pain.But, beneath it all…relief?

My fingers perform an agonizing journey to my jaw, brushing something stiff and dry secured there. Gauze? Someone must have bandaged the wound on my face again, as well as draped me beneath what feels like cotton. The bedsheets? They’re warm against my throbbing skin—which is the only part of my body in any semblance of comfort. My skull is a fragile shell that barely contains my thoughts. They threaten to spill out at any moment, like so much blood already has.

Breathe, Ellen. Breathe…

“Look at me.”

All I can do is tilt my head in the general direction of his voice. As if to betray me, my vision slowly returns, and his features come into stark focus before I’m ready. Cold gaze. Harsh expression. He’s cleaned the blood from his hands and changed his clothes, at least. His hair hangs freely down his shoulders, contrasting with his hooded, empty eyes.

“You have five hundred and fifteen thousand dollars in real bills,” I croak out before he can issue another command. “One hundred bills were fake—ten thousand dollars altogether.”

He scowls at the deceit, but his anger lacks the fire it should. He already knew. Maybe he counted the money after I did, using my own tricks for his benefit? Whatever the reason, testing my skills isn’t his reason for waking me.

“Get up,” he says, proving my instinct correct. “You’re coming with me.”

My heart hammers a pathetic resistance.No. No. No.I’m too tired. I can’t do this again. I can’t be sold, but I can’t fight him, either. My eyelids fall, trapping tears stinging beneath them. “Just kill me.”

“When I’m good and ready.” Again, his voice lacks any real emotion. Something’s tempered his anger, allowing him to hone it, at least for now. “You will come with me. Get up.”

My head pulses in torment as I haul myself upright. The room is devoid of anyone else. Judging from the stiffness in my muscles, I’ve slept for a few hours, maybe longer. An entire day? The blackness beyond the window offers no clues. I have to decipher what I can from the man staring down at me. His knuckles have bruised and my cheek smarts in sympathy. So ithasbeen hours, at least. Was Vanya the reason for my long reprieve?

I don’t find him lurking in the doorway, and disappointment joins the flood of emotions racking my body. So much for his promise.

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