“What about her?” he asks, a look of bewilderment crossing his features as he glances back and forth between us, clearly trying to piece together the implications of Rodion’s inquiry.
"So, youdidknow she existed,” I say, my expression darkening, revealing more than it should.
“I did, but I didn’t realize there was something between you and her when Alyona arrived here,” he says, his tone neutral but eyes narrowing with intrigue.
“We trained her and fucked her, that’s all,” I reply bluntly, sliding the drinks across the bar toward them, the glasses clinking against each other.I fucking wish that was all.
“If you say so,” Viktor replies, a sly grin spreading across his face, his amusement evident as he leans back, clearly enjoying the unexpected turn of the conversation.
“We do,” Rodion adds, crossing his arms and nodding in my direction.
As if we had just summoned her by mentioning her name, Viktor raises an eyebrow at the sound of his phone ringing. “Speak of the she-devil,” he taunts mockingly. “Ally, sweetness, what do you need from me? I can provide you with a wide array of services.”
Rodion and I exchange uneasy glances, tension coursing through us at the casual way he addresses her, fully aware that he’s only trying to provoke a reaction. His dark, playful smile fades in an instant as he gets to his feet and begins pacing back and forth.
“Hold on. I'm coming over.” His tone is no longer flirtatious but concerned. Ending the call, a cloud comes over his eyes as he says, "There’s something wrong with her."
All the anger, the hate and confusion over what I feel about her evaporates at his words. Flashes of her wounds flicker in my brain, and then of the assassinated woman in her house, and then of a little girl I can’t even put a face to, and all that’s left inside me is an overwhelming need to get to them.
Chapter Twenty
Rodion
We rush out of the bar and almost collide with the doorman, Roman, who is more than an hour late for the staff meeting. His tall, broad frame stands in contrast to his youthful, rounded cheeks complete with dimples. His hair is a tangled mess of unkempt waves, and he is wearing a gray tracksuit and worn-out trainers. Who shows up to meet their new boss dressed like an out-of-work slob?
He disgusts me.
“What’s happening?” he asks, pulling earphones from his ears, sensing the urgency of our departure.
“You’re fucking fired, that’s what. Now fuck off,” I grind out, shoving at his chest to move past him toward Viktor’s car.
“What the fuck? Why?” he protests, disbelief etching lines across his brow.
“Because he fucking says so,” Z bellows over his shoulder while slipping into the back seat of Viktor’s car. “If you wanted more of an explanation, you should have shown up on time.”
We hate lazy employees. It’s disrespect straight out the gate and needs to be squashed. Usually under Z’s actual boot, but we have more important things going on right now.
Viktor peels out of the club parking lot, leaving Roman throwing his hands in the air in the rearview mirror. We don’t stop at stop signs or traffic lights, the world flickers past in flashes of blurred color. The engine roars as we careen around corners. Every second that passes, my heart rate becomes more frantic.
“What did she actually say?” Z asks for the tenth time, his knee bouncing against the back of my seat.
“I told you,” Viktor replies tersely, gripping the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he takes a tight corner. “She couldn’t string a coherent sentence together.”
If he’s not careful we could end up like Jeremiah, in a ball of flames over the cliff.
“Do you think someone else attacked her?” I question a million different scenarios playing out in my head. What if the nun woman’s accomplice found her?
“No, she was delirious, as if she had a fever or something.”
“It’s the fucking wound,” Z growls from the backseat, his voice rising. “We should have taken her to the hospital."
“Hospitals ask questions that she can’t afford to answer,” I remind him, my thoughts racing as I think of the consequences of not taking her for help.
“What wound?” Viktor flits his eyes to the rearview to look back at Z.
“A slice from a blade across her abdomen,” I inform him. “We glued it shut.”
And now it’s likely infected. Fuck.
