Page 33 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

“I’m of more use to Robert alive than dead,” I say.

But that’s not it. Once again, he’s peered beneath my skin without permission, seeking what lurks below the surface. Secrets I can’t name. Horrors I won’t face—not again.

“You shouldn’t worry about being useful tohim…” He brings his mouth near my ear. “Most wives are willing tobarterfor their husbands.”

Barter?I lick my lips tentatively. “W-what do you want?”

He lets me go and pretends to mull it over. But there’s a reason why he brought me along to wherever he’s going. One I’m not sure I want to discover in full.

“What I want is simple.” He snatches my wrist and presses something against my palm: a stack of bills. “Count.”

He doesn’t mean by amount. Slowly, I flip through each bill, feeling the paper for imperfections. “They’re all real,” I deduce once finished.

For whatever reason, he doesn’t take the money back just yet. Instead, the trip comes to a sudden stop in darkness. Near darkness, anyway. Faint light betrays the shapes of other vehicles parked nearby. A garage? Distracted by him, I missed any sign of civilization.

Or any hope of escape.

“Come on.” Mischa shoulders the door on his end open, while his men wait in the vehicle. Jerking his chin, he indicates for me to follow, but not them.

I shiver as my bare feet hit the icy pavement. We’re underground, definitely in some kind of garage. Up ahead, an elevator waits, opening its doors as if on cue the moment we approach. Mischa enters first, pulling me in after him. I sense that unnerving calm once again. He’s determined.

To sell me?

I find myself staring down at my fist, desperate for a distraction. I’m still holding his money. At least a grand, maybe more. Is this my going price? My stomach clenches at the thought. Robert always claimed that I was worth diamonds, but what would he give to have me back now? Morbid imagery pops into my head: diamonds drenched in blood.

“Stay close.” It’s the only warning my captor bothers to issue before the elevator doors part, revealing a long hallway decorated with burgundy wallpaper and rich ebony carpet.

Faint music drifts from a pair of closed doors up ahead, where a man in black is waiting, his expression stoic. When we approach him, the man steps aside.

“Pakhan,” he greets.

As the doors open, I’m suddenly self-conscious of how I must look: like a prisoner of war being paraded after her captor. I run my free hand halfheartedly through my hair, but it’s no use. Blood and bruises can only be obscured by so much.

The room beyond contains at least five people, spread throughout a grand layout that resembles a casino. A luxury bar dominates one wall, while a poker table seats three of the five men. They are wearing suits and sharing a cigar between them. The atmosphere is light and friendly, while the remaining men linger on the periphery, their arms crossed, their eyes straight ahead.

One of the figures at the poker table spots us and rises to his feet. “Mischa! Welcome! Welcome!” He’s tall. Maybe forty, with a thinning goatee and piercing, green eyes. Unlike Xavier’s imitation, his suit is real and tailored to perfection. As we approach, he reaches out to Mischa and then firmly clasps his hand. “How kind of you to enter my humble abode. It’s just a spare room, for me and the boys.” He gestures to the two men beside him, and they aren’t mirroring his charming grin. They’re on edge.

“Nicolai,” Mischa says, drawing his hand away. He’s wary as well. Tension hardens his posture, disrupting the otherwise calm surface he projects.

“Well…” Nicolai smiles in a chilling display of ivory teeth. “I know you’re a busy man, so best to get business out of the way,” he says. “Now, tell me again how you cheated me out ofmymoney?”

The words have the effect of striking a match near a pool of gasoline.

Whoosh!

“It wasn’t intentional.” Mischa stiffens and jerks his chin toward me. “My previous accountant made an error. But I have the full amount.”

He snatches the wad of bills from me and places them down on the poker table.

Nicolai snaps his fingers and one of the seated men quickly counts the money. “It’s all here,” the man declares once finished.

“Excellent.” As Nicolai claps his hands, his smile returns, but it never reaches his eyes. Chilling and endless, they hone in on me. “And who is this?”

“A new toy of Ivan’s,” Mischa explains. A lie. But why?

“I see…” Nicolai nods, rubbing his chin. “He always did have a soft spot for his women.”

“Her old owner was an accountant,” Mischa says, continuing his distortion of the truth. “He taught her to count. She’s the one who noticed Xavier’smistakes.”

---