Page 29 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

I reach for bills at random, searching for any clue as to their value. Something subtle…. Or maybe I missed it? No,there. I lift a bill with a slight discoloration from the rest. Even through blurred, unfocused vision, I notice the abnormality. The green is a shadetoobright, and the bill feels different from how it should. Brittle.

“Th-this one.” I give the bill to Mischa, who hesitates only a second before snatching it.

“Weigh it,” he tells Xavier, but the other man just laughs.

“Pakhan? Are you seriously humoring this—”

“Now.” Mischa slams the bill onto the table so hard that the legs buckle, toppling over what precarious stacks of money remain. “Weigh. It.”

Slowly, Xavier places it onto one side of an old-fashioned metal scale. He reaches for another bill, but I shake my head and fumble through the crumpled, blood-soaked paper myself.

Finally, my fingers find what I’m searching for. “This one.”

Without a word, Mischa jerks his chin toward the scale, and I place the bill on the other end. Droplets of blood speckle both sides, but there is no mistaking the fact that one bill is obviously heavier than the other. The scale tilts a fraction of an inch.

And, suddenly, the air in the room loses all sense of stiff professionalism. Nothing riles men like money.

“Th-the bitch got them wet,” Xavier says, his voice wavering only slightly. “Of course that will skew the—”

“Do it again.” At his normal volume, Mischa sounds gruff. Dangerous. Now? Thunder resonates in every word, echoing down my spine. His fingers tighten around a chunk of my hair to convey a warning.If you are wrong, I will kill you.“Do it,” he commands when Xavier hesitates. “Butshechooses.”

I blink my good eye and put all of my energy into focusing on the sea of green beneath my fingertips. Am I right? Have I just gambled my life away? The questions crowd my thoughts, nearly drowning out the senses that catch the irregularities in one bill. Another. Desperately, I point a shaking finger at them both and Xavier races to clear the scale before placing them on either side. Slowly. Reluctantly.

There’s a heart-stopping second as the scale wavers. Up. Down. Balances…dips to one end.Bingo, as Robert would say. Both bills are fresh and clear of blood. There’s no denying it this time.

As the revelation registers between the three men, the tension boils over. Spills.

“You thought you could steal from me?” Mischa shoves me aside and circles the table as Xavier backs himself into a corner.

“I-I don’t know,” Xavier stammers, desperate to find a narrative to save his life.

But it’s too late. Mischa draws his knife…

And I turn away, stumbling in the dark until I hit the wall. Guilt. Fear. I feel all of it, inescapable even when I slam my hands over my ears and hum to drown out what happens next. La, la, la—it’s no use. A high-pitched scream pierces my palms, followed by a sickening thud. A violent, choking gurgle.

Death smells like salt. It reeks in a way that extends beyond just stench. You feel it in your bones. You taste it: the bitter flavor of someone else’s soul escaping on the air. They steal a piece of you along with it.

Though I doubt this murderer has anything left of his to lose.

“I didn’t know,” Boris says, still eerily calm despite the violence. In fact…I get the sense he enjoyed the gruesome show. “You should pick your accountants more carefully,Pakhan,” he adds. “But, if the offer still stands, I’ll take the girl. Of course, we’ll need to send for a new accountant—”

“Get out.” Mischa looms in the shadows like a specter. His chest heaves erratically as he callously swipes his knife along his pants to clean it while his gaze roves in my direction. “Leave!” he snarls at Boris. “We’ll continue this later. You—” He never takes his eyes off me. The hue of them clashes violently with the red liquid splattered across his chest. Blood reflected in more blood. “Upstairs.”

Moving blindly, I make it up the basement stairs in seconds and find my way to the main staircase by feel alone. The darkness distorts my already limited vision. Every shadow morphs into the shape of a man chasing me up the steps and into that narrow bedroom.

Once inside it, I don’t close the door. I creep toward the bed instead, intending to sit on the mattress. I miss and wind up on my knees, pressing my bleeding cheek against the cold floor. My stomach roils, but nothing escapes my abused, sore throat. I don’t know what’s more alarming. The terror I feel? Or how quickly my body is able to process it.

Breathe, Ellen...

I inhale noisily, aware of the blood flooding my mouth for the first time. My nose feels tender to the touch. My right eye aches, impossible to open. I can’t tell if the thumping in my ears is my heartbeat or approaching footsteps. Then the light switches on with a hiss, illuminating the puddle of blood growing beneath me.

“How?” Every step Mischa takes echoes, alarmingly unsteady. He’s lost that smooth, predatory prowl. All that’s left are harsh motion and tension.

Through a tangled net of my hair, I watch him advance. In one hand, he’s holding Xavier’s briefcase, but the money’s been hastily shoved back in, peeking through gaps in the seal.

“How the fuck did you know?”

I don’t have the energy to stand. “Robert,” I admit to the floor, watching my saliva mingle with scarlet. “He…taught me.”

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