Page 32 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

“Hurry up,” Mischa snaps, already near the door.

I bite back the agony moving inspires in order to stand. The room spins around me, distorted by the fact that I only have the use of one eye. When Mischa heads into the hall, I do my best to follow him, but my body sways unsteadily. Before I can regain my balance, both legs twist beneath my weight, and the floor rushes to meet me.

Only a grip on my shoulder keeps me from crumbling into an unceremonious heap.Mischa.Without a word, he pulls me after him, navigating the cramped floorplan.

It’s either my imagination or fact, but he moves at a pace I can manage. When I falter, he uses his grip on me to keep me on balance. There’s no cruelty in his touch for once. Just strength and a foreboding feeling I can’t escape. We don’t run into Vanya on our way to a wooden door that opens onto a decrepit porch. Near the steps leading to the ground level, a van is parked. Mischa steers me to it without explanation and climbs into the back seat after me.

This time, our driver is joined by another man who’s quietly sporting a gun on his lap. The moment the door closes after us, the van lurches into motion, heading down a gravel road.

I’m not dumb enough to look back at the house we left behind, so I stare at my hands instead, noticing more signs of simple kindness. Someone cleaned the blood from my fingers. They bandaged my foot as well and treated the other open wounds on my neck. It’s a show of mercy I’m not used to. Poor Vanya holds enough humanity for two households, and the thought is sadder than anything I’ve experienced up until this point.

If only he could share part of his soul with the man beside me.

As if sensing the direction my thoughts have taken, Mischa places one of his hands over his right hip, near his blade. A lethal reminder.

“You disobey me here, Little One,” he begins harshly, “And—”

“You’ll kill me,” I finish for him. I don’t know where the defiance comes from.

“So, your husband taught you to count his money,” Mischa says carefully. When I gather the nerve to look, his expression is unreadable. “Why?”

I consider lying, but the answer spills over my tongue before I can craft a good one. “He said I was the only calculator he could trust.” Parroting those words out loud sends a chill down my spine. It feels wrong. Like I’ve betrayed some secret hidden in Robert’s madness. It feels…strange.

“Calculator? Did he have you do this for him often?”

I should lie. “No. Yes.” Once again, the truth spills out against my will. My tongue burns, as if every word is poison being expelled from my system. Will I survive without an antidote? Who knows. “He kept an accountant, but—”Enough.I bring my hand to my mouth, pressing my lips closed.

Beside me, Mischa stays eerily patient. He waits long enough for me to hope that he’ll let it go. “But?”

I don’t recognize the sound that trickles from my throat. A groan? A laugh? Whatever it is sounds too distorted to recognize. “Butyou cannot fuck your accountants into submission, can you?”

In my right mind, I’d never say something so vulgar. So cold. In my right mind…

“How many ‘numbers’ did you keep for him?” Mischa asks. “Do you remember them?”

“N-no.” The lie sticks this time, though not for Robert’s benefit. “He only ever had me double-check his real accountant.”

Does he believe that? I can’t tell. Even in the close confines of the back seat, he takes care to avoid any contact between us. If I couldn’t see him from my peripheral vision, he could have been light-years away. A distant shadow clawing its way through my past in search of something to feed on.

This time, he lets me huddle in silence for a few minutes longer, and I use the reprieve to gather my scattered senses and lock them up tight. It’s the pain that makes me so reckless. My thoughts are harder to string together. My fear of Robert takes more energy to grasp. I need to stay silent. Silent…

But silence here sounds different than it did at Winthorp Manor. There’s no fragile peace to be found. Just my racing heartbeat to count the seconds, and the sound of Mischa’s knuckles cracking in a menacing fashion.

Then…

“Why do you hate him so much? R-Robert?”

At the sound of my voice, remnants of anger flare, igniting whatever calm he’s maintained until now.Poof!There’s no more eerie patience. “I suggest you focus on yourself, Ellen Winthorp.”

I obey, facing straight ahead once again. I’m painfully aware of the fact that he hasn’t covered my eyes yet, though I can’t make out much of our surroundings beyond the van. Just flickering shadows, broken every now and again by an impenetrable sky.

I’m more than willing to play by his rules:Shut up.My teeth clench tight against disobedience.

But he ruins his own game. “You haven’t asked to go back to him.”

No. I don’t like this line of questioning. It’s far too dangerous. I turn to the window, but his palm finds my chin, reinforcing the fact that, at any second, he can make me look at him.

“You haven’t pleaded,” he adds softly. “When that man saw you in the woods, you didn’t run. You didn’t cry out. Iknowyou saw him—”

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