Page 24 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

I look down, recoiling from that word.Husband. The action irritates my captor.

He seizes my chin. “Look at me.” He jerks my face toward his, tightening his grip so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. Emptiness stares back.

I always thought Robert had no soul, but even he could feign humanity when he wanted to.What do you think I’d do without you, Ellen?he’d growl every now and then.You keep me sane. Don’t you fucking see?

“Answer me, Little One.” My new tormentor has had to repeat himself. Irritation sparks from those fathomless irises, prickling my skin. “Your husband. How did you meet him? I know Robert has a fondness for whores.”

I stifle my reaction to the insinuation. Whore. If only. At least, then, I would have earned something from my endeavor. I could have justified it.

“I grew up in Winthorp manor,” I say. Speaking hurts. Even the slightest movement of my jaw triggers more wet warmth to drip onto my collar.

“As a maid?” Mischa questions.

Still restrained by his grip on my chin, I nod.

“Really?” He lets me go and rises to his feet, circling toward my side with effortless speed. He has the knife again and lowers the blade so that I can see it, cleaned from the night before and ready to inflict more damage. “Lie to me again, Ellen, and your pretty face will be nothing more than a painful memory. Understand?”

“Y-yes—”

“Then tell me who you are. Really.”

“I-I wasn’t lying,” I insist. “Ididgrow up in the manor.”

“But as amaid?”

“N-not officially—”

“Don’t mince words with me.” His fingers flex against the knife’s handle in a warning. “If not a maid, then as what?”

I run through those memories, trying to put my role into words that don’t sting. Something that doesn’t require further questioning.

“My mother was…close to the Winthorps. When she died, they kept me around as Briar’s companion.” I hold my breath as he digests that explanation.

Relief renders me boneless when his hand finally withdraws.

“And?” he presses.

“When I grew older, Robert…noticed me.” My throat tightens and I leave it at that. Not even the threat from the blade can draw out more.

Thankfully, Mischa doesn’t seem to give a damn either way. Robert. That name acts as a trigger to whatever evil lurks within him. His face becomes that fearsome mask once again, reducing him to more monster than human.

“And you married him?” He stands back, watching me with an expression I can’t decipher. Disgust?

Or something more terrifying:suspicion.

“Stepanov,” he says quietly. “Do you know that name?”

I shake my head.

“Really?” The man lifts an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’ve never heard your husband say it?”

“He doesn’t talk about business around me.”

“Oh?” Two heavy footsteps bring him closer. Slowly, he sinks to his knees, down to my level. “What about theMafiya? ThePakhan?Do those ring a bell?”

The corner of his mouth quirks when I shake my head, but it’s not a smile.

“What about…” He leans in close, allowing his breath to nuzzle my bleeding wounds. When I shiver, he trails his thumb along my cheek and withdraws it, painted red. “What about Anna-Natalia Vasilieva? Doesthatname ring a bell?”

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