He puts one heavy, booted foot in the room before Russo charges at him.
“You’re not messing her up, fuckhead! The Pakhan wants her all pretty and pure. Back up.” She’s half his size, but Bald Guy ducks his head and retreats.
“Ah, there she is, there sheis.”
Xavier Kholodov is standing in the door, clapping like I’m a well-bred show pony who just got my tail braided.
“Did you like my wedding gift?” Kholodov puts his hands in his suit pockets and strolls into the room, circling me. He’s wearing a blue suit with ared tie; he’s the only color in the room.
Bald Guy follows him, setting up a large, matte black camera on a stand. It looks expensive and complicated, like something you'd use for a major production. The sight of the camera and the realization of what he's planning to film... it hits me like a punch. I lock my knees, trying to stand upright. Trying not to look as terrified as I am.
“The book?" I clear my throat. "That was from you?”
Why do I keep looking at Russo like she’s going to help me? She’s standing by the door, arms folded and expressionless, Bald Guy lurking behind her.
“It was.” He’s behind me, breath hot on my neck. “I thought the fairytales were so fitting.” His Russian accent is much more pronounced than it was in Kyle’s office.
I spin around and take a step back, and he grins like he’s won the first round. “You, the sweet Cinderella of Beacon Hill, scrubbing and cooking for thoseotbrosy,those scum. Not worthy to be in the same room with you, much less treat you like a servant, yes?”
“My handsome prince has already come, Kholodov.”
“Call me Sir!”
His voice whiplashes around the room.
“Do not think that because I’m fond of you, that you may speak to me like an equal.” He clenches his jaw, regrouping. “Russo, you may leave. We are not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”
Like a hopeless fool, Istilllook at her pleadingly, one last time. She ignores me and leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.
We’re alone and the full force of his attention is on me. Kholodov doesn’t look like a psychopath, but psychopaths rarely do. His suit is beautifully cut and expensive, his dark hair styled neatly. His eyes are such a dark brown that they’re almost black. Black like the tunnels under Edinburgh where the light never really chases away the darkness.
“Put your hair up.”
“No.” I’m calm. He’s not going to terrify me into submission.
Chuckling lightly, he pulls out some hairpins from his pocket. “If I must put your hair up, I will tie you face down to the bed first. I will whip you until your back bleeds. Which would you prefer?”
Like the crime shows…I think numbly.You obey to gain even one more minute.
I hold out my hand for the pins, meeting his gaze.
“Put it in a braid first,” he instructs. “Then wind it on top of your head. Your hair is lovely, so long and thick. I might hang you from it at some point.”
These are snub-nosed bobby pins, useless as a weapon. I begin braiding.
Wallace…
An hour earlier…
“Are ye there? With Scarlett?” I fight to keep the hope out of my voice.
“We’re in Kholodov’s estate,” she says, “I already know you’re aware of that. But with all his enhancements, you’re in a bit of a pickle, huh? Trying to figure your way through the guards and the alarms without setting them off and getting her killed?”
“Fecking skip to it,” I grit out. “What do you want in exchange for your help?”
“Scarlett’s inheritance,” she says, her tone light and amused. “Well, the amount, anyway. It’s not like she’s going to need it. You’re loaded.”
“How do you know about the trust?”
