It’s been two days since Tatiana’s visit, and I’d hoped she’d drop by to see me again, but she hasn’t.
Leonid hasn’t come to see me since the day we kissed. I can’t tell if he’s avoiding me because he feels the same pull as me and thinks it’s wrong for us to get involved with each other, or if he’s simply disgusted by me.
I’m not sure which it is, and as much as I hate to admit it, I kind of miss him.
A sigh leaves me as I rise from the bed.
My bare feet hit the cold floor and I drag a hand through my tangled hair. The basement is silent except or the faint hum of pipes somewhere in the walls.
Usually at night, one of the guards paces outside the door. I’ve learned to recognize the sound of heavy boots against the floor, but tonight, there’s nothing.
Frowning, I glance at the metal door and hold my breath when I notice it’s slightly open.
It’s never open unless Petrov’s bringing me a meal or Leonid’s coming to torture me with his deep voice and insanely handsome face.
For a moment, I just stare at it, convinced I’m imagining things. Leonid’s men don’t strike me as the types to slack off andmake mistakes, simply because I’m certain he’d chop their heads off if they did.
But the narrow strip of darkness between the door and the frame is real. My pulse begins to hammer.
This could be a trap.
It probably is.
Still, my feet move before my brain catches up. I push the door open, wincing when the hinges creak. The hallway beyond is dimly lit, with silver light spilling from the sconces along the walls.
It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once.
My heart pounds harder as I step out of the basement for the very first time since I was kidnapped. I move slowly down the hallway, every sound making me wince.
Leonid’s threat of what would happen if I dared try to escape rings through my mind. I should turn around and head back to the basement, but my legs keep moving forward. My desperation for freedom makes it hard to act rationally.
Voices drift through the silence. Male voices.
I freeze.
One of the voices is deep and gruff enough to make recognition crawl down my spine.
Leonid.
His voice draws me forward before I can think better of it. I stop outside a door that’s only halfway closed and peep inside.
The room looks like a study. Leonid is sitting on a black leather chair behind a mahogany desk. Three other men sit on the other side of the desk.
They’re all speaking in Russian. I don’t understand any of it, except for one name that cuts through multiple times.
“Vasili.”
I don’t know anyone with that name, yet dread rolls through me at the sound of it.
Leonid responds quickly, still in Russian, but the name he says makes my stomach drop.
“Henry Miller.”
The rest of the conversation burs into meaningless Russian, but hearing Henry’s name in Leonid’s mouth is enough to make cold dread spread through me.
So this isn’t just about me. They somehow think Henry is involved. I think back to what Tatiana said about Leonid not torturing women, and think about how that doesn’t apply to Henry. My chest twists painfully.
What if Leonid kidnapped him, too? What if he’s had him killed already?
