There’s blood all over her, but it doesn’t add up. Vlad’s no idiot.
“I couldn’t let him hurt me again, Vlad. I wouldn’t have survived it,” she says, swiping a tear with a bloody hand and holding her brother’s gaze. Firm determination there. I wish she’d come earlier and actually helped with the kill. “Couldn’t let him hurt the baby.” She rubs a hand over her stomach and mine bottoms out. She’s pregnant?
Pulling his phone from his pocket, Vlad hits a number and places the phone to his ear.
“My father has had a heart attack. Send our discreet clean up team to his office.”
Ending the call, he yanks off his jacket and puts it around her, covering up most of the blood. Then, he leads Darya from the room with an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then I’ll take you home. I have a funeral to plan.”
Thud.
That was close. Too close.
When the room is empty, I quickly gather my wig, fixing it in place before slipping on Yuri’s jacket, which he left draped overthe back of his chair. It carries his scent, and I feel bile rise in my throat having it anywhere near me. After checking the corridor, I hurry back to the bathroom where I left my bag and wash the blood from my face and hands. I get dressed and make my way through the house using the servants' routes. My plan is to leave through the side door, past the rose garden, and into the thicket of trees. However, I can’t shake my curiosity about whether Yuri was telling the truth regarding Zakhar’s brother.
Leave, Alyona.
Go home to your family.
But what if it’s true and Z has family here?
I head down into the basement maze where Yuri keeps his prison-like quarters, keeping my head bowed. There are whispers among the workers about Yuri having had a heart attack, already, which means no one pays me any attention.
I've always been aware of the nature of business our fathers were involved in but growing up in an environment where this sort of thing is normal, it doesn't fully register just how disturbing it is until you step away from it and then find yourself back here.
I pass both women and men, some locked in prison-like cells, in different states of health and some not locked in, like they choose to be here. I eventually find a dark cell separated from the others and inside is a man shackled to a table, face down. He’s naked, and spread-eagled. He’s clean with medical equipment set up beside him, a drip with what looks like fluids and a feeding tube that I can reach out and touch. What the actual horror fucking show is this?
“It’s not supposed to be today. It’s not the first of the month. Did Andru change the date?” someone asks from behind me in our native tongue, switching on a light within the cell.
Andru.The twin’s father.
“No.” I shake my head and keep my voice steady.
“Are you the new girl? You shouldn’t be down this far,” he says, his voice low and cautious as he reaches out to gently grasp my shoulder, turning me to face him.
“I know, but I was just curious about what lies in these shadows,” I reply, giving him a playful smile while batting my lashes, hoping to ease the tension.
He takes me in, his eyes sweeping over my outfit and demeanor, and a small smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “Most women would run screaming from this place,” he remarks, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I’m not like most women,” I say defiantly, my tone confident. My boldness seems to intrigue him, and his grin widens, lighting up his features. He then gestures toward the man behind the bars of the cell, drawing my attention to the grim show. I grip the bars as if to get a better look.
“He refused to eat over a decade ago, so this is how they keep him alive,” he explains in a low, gravelly voice, his eyes narrowing as he glances at the dimly lit cell. “Didn’t help that they removed his tongue,” he adds and then leans into me to chuckle, “and his cock.”
Over a decade?
“Who is he?” I ask, knowing full well that asking questions is risky. I tighten my grip on the cold metal bars, trying to sound more eager than disgusted.
He steps closer, pressing his weight into mine from behind and breathing against my ear. “Someone who crossed powerful people.”
“What happens on the first of the month?” I breathe, pushing my ass back against his thickening cock. I don’t mind playing the game to get answers.
Groaning, he slips his hand around my waist, grinding into me before cool air replaces the heat of his body. He takes a couple of steps to a small table beside the cell that has needlesand bags for the feeding tubes and also a box sitting on top of it. He flips it open and I lower my gaze to the contents and grind my teeth. It’s a wooden shaped dildo with little stud spikes just like my Louboutin’s boots back home. I love those shoes, and now I will never be able to look at them the same. Dragging my gaze back to the man in the cell, I notice the damaged skin around his ass, years and years of scar tissue built up there.
“What did he do?” It must have been horrific to warrant this kind of torture. The hate someone must have toward him to keep him alive all this time, if you can call this living.
“Enough questions. I have to finish up a few things, but I’ll be free in a couple of hours. Come find me then, and we can finish getting to know each other. Most women hate working here but if you stick with me, I’ll make sure you enjoy it.” He slaps my ass and waltzes away.
“Who are you?” I ask the prisoner as soon as the horn dog is far enough away.
