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“You’ve already been hurt once,” he said quietly, his lips brushing my ear. “Don’t make me hurt you even more.”
“What do you want from me?”
“It’s not whatIwant. It’s what Sergei wants.”
“Sergei Sidorov?”
Misha forcibly moved me a couple of steps and pushed me down into a chair, patting my shoulder. He walked away again, leaning against the padded wall, exchanging a look with the driver, who stood guard at the door.
Glancing around the small space, I tried not to panic. Sure, there was a very odd drain in the floor. And yeah, there was just this chair and one other, situated right across from me, interrogation style. But Misha had always been nice. He helped me find Sasha. He was polite while we waited, offering me tea and cake, and chatting amicably.
But he knew what happened. I mean, the bruises were still there on my face, and the burst blood vessels in my left eye were nowhere near gone. But the way he said it, that I had been “hurt,” led me to believe heknew. And if heknew, did that mean he had a hand in it? Was it going to happen again? He all but said he would if I didn’t start going along with the program.
I watched Misha carefully while we waited. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in me. He spent the majority of the time texting, except for whenever he and the driver mumbled at each other in Russian.
When the door swung open again, I got to my feet, taking an instinctive step back.
The man who walked through had to have been Sergei Sidorov. Everything about him screamed power, from the slicked back salt-and-pepper hair to the high-end suit he wore. His eyes settled on me for a moment before he turned his attention to Misha, saying something in Russian that sounded like a question.
Misha consulted his phone and replied.
Sergei nodded and walked forward, his eyes flicking back to me. “Roan Sinclair. You have something that belongs to me.”
Swallowing thickly, I glanced at Misha again. Standing behind his boss, he was stone faced, no longer an ally — if he ever was.
“I can explain,” I said quickly.
“Please do.” Sergei gestured to the chair I’d vacated. On cue, the driver darted forward, holding the second chair steady while Sergei eased his large frame onto it.
I stayed where I was, standing, poised to run if my traitorous body would actually listen this time. “Where’s Sasha? I’m not saying anything until someone tells me what’s going on with him.”
Sergei cocked his head and looked up at Misha, asking another question with a gesture toward me.
Misha chuckled and nodded, murmuring his reply.
“He’s coming,” Sergei replied, squinting at me. “Now, sit down. Start at the beginning and tell meeverything.”
50
Sasha
Viktor should have really upgradedhis security when he decided to go after Roan. The alarm system was all too easy to bypass and the pair of guard dogs in the yard each ended up with a broken neck. The smartest move he’d made was bouncing between his various properties over the past couple of days. It was like a shell game, by the time I got to one, he was gone, off to the next, until I finally tracked him to his house in the suburbs.
I didn’t even try to be subtle or stealthy as I approached the house.
Booting open the lovely French doors off of the kitchen, I stormed inside, scanning each room quickly for any of his bodyguards.
The ground floor was clear. It was also eerily quiet. This time of night, there should have still been people awake, people moving around. Despite the fact the lights were on, there was no activity in the house.
Apprehension settled in my stomach as I crept up the stairs.
The door to the master suite was cracked. Ignoring the gut instinct to leave, I headed toward it. I came here to kill that soulless fuck and that’s what I was going to do.
Nudging the door open, I stepped inside, my gun lifted and ready to fire.
The light flipped on and the door slammed shut behind me. In my temporary blindness, something hard and heavy crashed against my back. I pitched forward and landed face-first on the plush carpet. The gun fell out of reach. With the weight still on my back, I couldn’t retrieve it.
Blinking away the black and white fuzzies, Viktor came into view, standing next to Dimitri. My blood ran cold, freezing me in place. Whoever was sitting on my back secured a pair of handcuffs to my wrists, while someone else attached leg irons to my ankles. Once I effectively couldn’t move, they stripped me of all of my weapons.
