Page 36 of XV (Fifteen) (War of Roses 1)

Twenty minutes.

Nineteen.

I stop counting.

Past the laundry room, we take a service elevator that brings us to the main lobby of the hotel, but rather than head out in the open, Mischa shoves me into a stairwell. We climb two flights in seconds. Then five more. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

I’m panting, dripping sweat, by the time he finally stops at a floor. My stomach hurts.Don’t think about it,I try to tell myself. But running aids digestion, doesn’t it?

How many minutes? I can’t remember…

“In here.”

We reach a hallway of closed doors, but he passes them all, heading right to one at the end. A potted plant rests beside the door. Crouching, Mischa rakes his fingers through the dirt and withdraws a keycard from the base of the plant before I can question. On the first swipe, the reader flashes red. No good. On the second attempt…

Green!

The door opens to a spacious suite. It’s impressive, decorated in black leather and white accents, but I only have eyes for the bathroom. I race to the sink. Bent over it, I open my mouth and try to gag. Nothing. I cram a finger down my throat, but it’s not enough.

“Move!” He shoves my hands aside, and three thick fingers trigger my gag reflex, causing my stomach to erupt in protest.

One bag comes up, still intact. Another. Another…

“That’s ten,” Mischa grunts after what feels like an eternity. “Five more.”

His fingers continue to assault my esophagus, but minutes tick by without another packet. Too long.

“Shit.”

He shoves me toward the tub. Before I can get my bearings, his hands form fists over my stomach, and with a grunt, he thrusts them both. Hard. One packet comes up. Another.

“Keep going! One more.”

“I can’t…” Horror steals the words from my throat. It’s too late. The last packet’s already dissolved. I know it has. Any second, I’ll go into shock. Die.Stupid, Ellen. Stupid—

“Don’t think about anything else,” Mischa snarls, gripping me tight. “Just fuckingbreathe.Do it!”

Harsh fingers ram into my stomach. Again. Again.

“Ugh!” I double over and bring up the last packet, shaking with exertion.

He drops me there, slumped over the tub. I’m only conscious enough to hear him run some water, cleaning the acid from the packets before tucking them away. I can’t move. I can’t think.

I just breathe, fighting for air as the bathroom fades. I’m a child again, back in Winthorp Manor.

Something was wrong.

From the hallway, I heard footsteps. My mother’s? But no. These were too heavy, and the figure appearing in my doorway was far too large. His blond hair peeked from the edge of a black woolen cap. The color that made my heart stop. He was wearing it from head to toe: black slacks and a dark sweatshirt meant to disguise him in the shadows.

The second he met my gaze, I knew. He was dangerous, just like the men my mother warned me to avoid. Something silver glinted in his hand. A blade.

He pointed it at me, his jaw clenched. But his hand wavered. His eyes were too wide. Fearful?

Suddenly, he pointed to the bed.

“Get under it,” he warned. “Don’t think. Don’t move. You just fucking breathe.”

Trembling and terrified, I had no choice but to obey, crawling on my stomach beneath Briar’s silk sheets. I’d only just tucked my legs beneath the frame when I heard the soft thud of another stranger’s approach—someone who sounded way too big to be a regular maid.

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