She gave a humorless laugh. “Everyone reports to someone, Dmitri. You should know that better than anyone.”
That earned her a small smile from me. “True. But some of us choose our masters.”
She frowned, the line appearing between her brows. “And you think I didn’t have a choice?”
“I think you like pretending you didn’t.”
Her jaw clenched. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know enough,” I said softly. “You’re too careful to be reckless, too clever to be loyal. That means someone’s holding something over your head. From what I’ve been able to gather, ARCHEON has a talent for that.”
Guilt flickered in her expression, or maybe fear—small, but there.
I shifted toward her without taking a step, until I could smell the faint trace of her perfume. She didn’t move. She was breathing audibly now, her lips parting just slightly as if to speak, then closing again.
“You’re wasting your time,” she said, her voice low but not steady. “Even if I wanted to talk, I can’t. They’d kill me.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe they already tried.”
That got her attention. Her eyes snapped up to mine, searching. “What are you talking about?”
“The drone attack,” I said evenly. “The one that nearly vaporized you and my brother in that car. You’ve made some enemies, sweetheart.”
The color drained from her face, but she didn’t look away. “You don’t know that. Whoever it was could have been targeting Lev.”
“I do know.”
I let the words settle over her. She was hanging onto them now, her fear warring with the need to understand what I already knew. Her mind was racing; I could almost see the gears turning in her head.
“I can protect you,” I said.
That made her laugh again, though there was nothing amused about it. “Protect me? You broke into my safehouse yacht and told me you were deciding what to do with me, which sounds an awful lot like a death threat. Forgive me if that doesn’t sound like protection.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
Her eyes narrowed, defiant, but I could see the smallest tremor in her hands, the slight shift in her weight as she processed what that meant.
“Why?” she asked. “Why would you help me?”
“Because you’re useful,” I said. Then, after a beat: “And because you interest me.”
That last part came out lower, more dangerous sounding than I intended. Her breath caught again. She was staring at me now—really staring.
I’d spent years in situations like this, facing people far more perilous than her, but none of them had ever looked at me the way she did now—like she couldn’t decide whether to run or to lean in closer.
“You think you can use me.”
“I don’t think,” I said. “I know.”
“And what if I refuse?”
I leaned in, close enough that the edge of her hair brushed my jaw. “Then I find other uses for you.”
Her breath caught—just slightly—but she didn’t move away. That was what fascinated me about her. Even cornered, even terrified, she wouldn’t surrender the illusion of control. She’d rather burn than bow.
“I want names. Faces. The people who made you do this,” I explained, my voice edged with warning.
“I can’t?—”
