But arriving at her door, I grew cold with doubt. This could end up working in my favour or put Kenzo in danger. What if she decided to report to her brother indeed? What if instead of punishing me, the psycho chose to hurt Kenzo? He had been looking for reasons to kill him after all.
This doubt rid me of all the courage I managed to muster, and I slowly turned around to leave. But I could swear I was hearing a strange sound from behind the door. I should have ignored it and left. But I stayed…knocked. When no answer came, I should leave, right? I entered the room instead.
The scent of lavender and cigarettes welcomed me first. Then the muffled sound came from her ensuite bathroom.
I should have left, but no. Not when a familiar name slipped from her lips. Not once, not twice.
Why was Ophelia Raskov moaning her brother’s name while pleasuring herself?
Nausea pressed into my chest. I was green with disgust and red with furry. How twisted was her head?
No, the right question was, what exactly was wrong with this family? Two brothers were sharing one body. One enjoyed killing people and inciting fear. In fact, he fed off blood andhorror. And the sister, who should have been a bit normal wanted to fuck her brother.
I threw up in my mouth. And when I went back to the room, I threw up again. And right here, at the dining table with these delicious dishes, I wanted to throw up again.
“Is everything okay?” Zaghan’s voice wiggled its way into my thoughts, shutting down the image of me slithering over the table and shoving his sister’s head into the bowl of soup.
“Knocked up already?” Ophelia asked in a tone layered with malicious mockery. I didn’t realise I had physically gagged.
“Far from that,” I replied, keeping my gaze on her. “Just remembering the disgusting movie I watched this morning.”
“What’s it about?” Captain Razzo asked, but didn’t wait for a reply as he shoved a bite of his meal into his mouth.
“Trust me, captain,” I scoffed bitterly. “You don’t wanna know.”
Then the corner of his lips lifted in a smirk before he raised his shoulder in an indifferent shrug. Only if he knew. He wouldn’t be so indifferent.
Silence stretched between us as silverware clinked against fine China, everyone busy with their meal. Zaghan seemed to be really hungry. He hadn’t lifted his gaze once in the last ten minutes. I did enjoy watching him eat. As barbarian as he could be, he ate with a princely charm. There was a dainty way he held his cutlery, you wouldn’t believe it was the same hands capable of carnage, that were moving with this quiet, unsettling grace.
“Marshal.”
I, including everyone else at the table, paused at a sudden intrusion, heads lifted. A soldier hurried in, armed and alert.
He halted a few feet away from the table, veering his body in the direction Zaghan sat. He raised his hand above his head, back straightening and locking in place as he saluted his superior.
Zaghan nodded, and the soldier’s heavy boot padded against the floor as he crossed over to the table, leaning down and whispering something in Russian to Zaghan.
Zaghan’s eyes darkened at the information, and his jaw locked immediately. He dropped his fork and knife gently, then waved the soldier off.
Slowly, with a rather haunting precision, he raised a napkin to his lips, dabbing it, then placed it aside to grab a glass of water. He took a gentle sip before pushing his chair backward and rising to his feet.
No one asked if everything was okay. The room was left in silence as he followed after his soldier into the hall.
The longer he stayed without returning to the table, the tighter my hand around my spoon. An inexplicable chill wrapped around my spine. Whatever was happening wasn’t my business, but I was curious. Maybe it was a drop in stock? But that was probably not a soldier’s story to tell. They were mainly for security, right?
Maybe a soldier was injured? That still wasn’t my problem. They had been breathing down my neck for weeks now, treating me like a prisoner. Whoever got injured deserved it.
About five minutes passed–I counted–and Zaghan still hadn’t returned. I was about to reach 12 when I heard noises. It sounded like a muffled exchange of threatening words. Then the door burst open.
A group of men entered first. My eyes widened. Something about their sharp and crispy suits told me more about their identity.
Detectives?
I glanced behind them, and a wave of golden hair came into view.
No.
Air was completely sucked from my lungs at the sight of Kenzo. My hips jerked against the table as I abruptly rose from the chair. I stumbled on my feet, my heart a wild drumbeat in my chest.
