“Hey, Doc,” the younger one said.
Sensing that the other one, who more resembled Mikhail, was the serious guy, I lifted my chin to show him I wasn’t afraid. “Did your friend make it?”
“My cousin, actually,” he replied, unperturbed, as he took a seat to join us. “Sergei’s recovery is going well and he is home since the surgery was completed.”
“My brother’s too tough to kill that easily,” the other guy said as he sat as well. “But at any rate, thank you for your help in keeping him alive to fight another day.”
I rolled my eyes. “Like I had a choice,” I muttered.
“This is Andre,” Mikhail introduced, gesturing at the serious one. “My son. And this is Roman, my nephew. Sergei, the man you were threatened to expose, is his brother.”
I winced and pressed my hand to my forehead. “Isn’t this one of those situations where the less I know, the better?”
Andre grunted a laugh. “If that were the case, you sure as fuck shouldn’t be here as our guest.”
I lifted my face to glare at Mikahil.
Like. I. Had. A. Choice.
The asshole only smiled, not making eye contact, and resumed eating. Once we were finished with the awkward—albeit delicious—gourmet meal, Mikhail arranged for me to contact the hospital that I was leaving on my tentatively pre-arranged sabbatical.
It felt like a crime, too gregarious of a lie to commit to, but I wouldn’t argue with the need to stay alive and safe.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mikhail said afterward, “I have a meeting to attend.”
He backed up, leaving me standing there in the hallway. I gaped at him, annoyed and frustrated. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”
He shrugged, not looking back. “Martin can show you around.”
I ground my molars together and despised this distance.
A guest, my ass.
“I’m a prisoner,” I muttered as I crossed my arms.
“Oh. You too?” a woman said.
I turned, surprised to hear another woman, and with that much snark behind her words. A teenager stood behind me, near the closed doors to another room.
“Who are you?”
“Another prisoner,” she shot back wryly.
Now that she was speaking louder and with more sass, I could identify her. She was the one I’d heard shouting at Mikhail when I came to check on his wounds. Not his much-too-young lover. His daughter.
“I can only imagine what beinghisdaughter could be like,” I quipped.
She gave up on opening the door and faced me fully. Blonde, slender, and with similar blue eyes, she was a beauty. But so young.
“It’s worse than anything you can imagine,” she replied, full of scorn. She licked her lips, approaching me warily and sizing me up. “Why areyouhere?”
That was a loaded question, and I wasn’t in the mood to tell her. Staring her down did the trick. She cracked under the silence stretching between us, but I had to remind myself she wasn’t an adult I could view as a threat, but a child. She couldn’t be any more than fifteen.
“I was wondering how long it would take for him to bring a parade of whores through here.”
That’s too far.Stepping into her space but with enough distance that I couldn’t touch her, I funneled all my anger and irritation into the sharpest glare I could find the energy for.
“Don’t assume you know me.” It was the only warning I could string together, shared in a low and firm tone. I didn’t wait for her to react or reply. Turning quickly, I strode off in the direction of my guest room.
