She stands and grabs her purse from beside the table then returns to Sofia. My nostrils flare when she pulls out the cuffs for the second time this week, and Sofia’s little body stiffens. Katerina wastes no time looping the things around one of the bars and then her daughter’s wrists.
My growl comes out quiet. Katerina’s head jerks to me.
“What?” I snarl quietly from my spot on the ground, my eyes locked on hers. “Having your own kid in a cage isn’t abusive enough for you?”
Katerina’s eyes spark with something—interest?—and she turns back to her daughter. She gives her a peck on the cheek. “You’ll thank me for this later, baby girl, once you’ve come into your own.”
After a second, she pushes off the ground, locks the cage, and strolls toward me. She stops a foot away and pulls her notepad from the front pocket of her black dress, then flicks glances from me to the pad as she jots something down.
I narrow my eyes. From Mom of the Year to Certified Psychologist.
“This is a real breakthrough, you know,” she murmurs. The scratching of a pen against paper nags at my ears. “I’ve been watching you with her, and I think we’re really getting somewhere.” Finally, the scrawling stops. She sets her blue eyes on me, and when they soften, it creeps me the hell out. “My pretty pet. I knew I was right about you. There’s something genuine here. Vulnerability. Passion.”
Gritting my teeth, I break my gaze to stare at the blank wall to my left. She’s poison, and so are her words. She doesn’t know shit about me. She never will.
The door to the studio creaks open, and I keep my gaze on the wall but follow her movements out of the corner of my eye. A thump hits the ground as a new crate’s lowered off the forklift, then Baldy unlocks it.
Same routine every time.
“Hello, there,” Katerina says sweetly. “Where’s your name card?”
“There isn’t one,” Baldy grunts. “Been on the streets since he was practically in diapers. No one knows his name. Not even him.”
“Is that so?” She’s quiet for a moment. “Approximate age?”
“Eh, this one? Fifteen, maybe.”
“This oneis sixteen.”
My gaze snaps to the new guy. He’s skinny, dirty, like the rest of us. His blond hair looks almost brown, his cheekbones are sunken, his nose pointy. He’s still sitting in the crate, peering through the wiry bars, which is weird, because most of them jump out the second it’s opened. Weirder still, he looks as casual as I do—leaning back, almost relaxed.
Who the hell is this guy?
“Watch your goddamn—”
“Hush, Mikey.” Katerina lowers a hand to the guy, and he takes it, letting her pull him to his feet. She cocks her head. “Not a shy one, are you?”
His eyebrow quirks, and he glances around the room. His gaze lands on the work table. The restraints. The silver tray holding a single needle. “Not so shy yourself.”
My lips twitch, but when Katerina chuckles, the unnerving sound wipes my expression clean. “Strap him in,” she instructs.
I watch with rapt attention as the guy voluntarily walks to the table, hops on, then lays back and folds his palms behind his head.
This is a first.
When Baldy and Katerina stare at him blankly, he looks up. “Well?”
Katerina’s mouth curves, and she snatches up her notepad again. With her gaze and her pen locked on the paper, she mutters, “You heard the boy.”
After buckling the restraints without facing a hint of a struggle, Baldy scratches his scalp and turns to leave.
“Hey,” Katerina calls, “bring me a chair, won’t you?” Her gaze drifts back to the table. “I have a feeling this one might put me through some hoops.”
The new guy, staring straight up at the ceiling, grins—fuckinggrins.
I get the feeling a few hoop tricks is the least of what Katerina has to look forward to.
