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“I wasn’t…”
I bite my lip.
I wasn’t sleeping “in”, I was justsleeping, as per my normal schedule. But just as I’m about to say that, it occurs to me that telling this monster any of my habits is probably not a smart idea.
Because he’ll use them against me. And I’m already at a serious disadvantage in whatever battle this is.
“I’m sorry I missed your call,” I mutter quietly.
“I’m going to text you an address. Be at it in half an hour,” Mal growls, his voice dark and smooth with an unmistakable commanding edge. Even over the phone, I can hear the demand beneath the surface, the implication that this isn’t a request.
I close my eyes, irritation bubbling up from underneath the sleep still clouding my brain.
“No.”
There’s a brief pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. More dangerous. “Excuse me?”
“I said no. I can’t.” I push myself up in bed. “I can’t come to you right now.”
Like, literally. Actually. Physically.
“You can and you will,” Mal growls, the sharpness in his voice cutting through any leftover fog in my mind.
“No,” I repeat, this time more firmly. Yes, I could just tell him about my condition and how dangerous it is for me to be outside during the day. But I don’t want to give him that power over me, don’t want him to have another way to control me. Instead, I just say it again: “No.”
There’s a tense silence on the other end of the line, but then his voice returns, low and icy.
“You’re testing my patience.”
I tighten my grip on the phone, feeling my pulse quicken. Then, with a sharp exhale, I stab the end call button before he can say anything else.
The silence in the room is deafening, the echo of my defiance hanging in the air. My heart is still racing in my chest, adrenaline coursing through me in a strange, heady rush. Every survival instinct I have screams that hanging up on Mal won’t end well.
I don’t care.
Right now, all I want to do is crawl back into bed and sleep.
And after turning off my phone, that’s exactly what I do.
The sun has finally sunkbehind the horizon by the time I crawl out of bed again.
The shadows are long and comforting, wrapping me in their dark embrace as I move through the penthouse.
Annika and I might be set free from this place soon. It’s looking more and more like the assassination attempt may have been just run-of-the-mill mafia-related violence. Kir has a ton of enemies. So do Sota and Kenzo.
It feels weird to shrug offbeing shot at. Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve been involved with the Bratva world for so long.
I smile fondly as I hear the low, rumbling tone of man speaking Russian in the other room.
Speak of the devil…
I find Kir sitting in the library of the two-story penthouse. He’s in the chair behind the big desk, his back to me and his feet up on the credenza by the window as he looks out over the glittering Manhattan lights.
Kir has always been—well, not quite a father to me, but something close—more like a cool uncle, a protector who understands me better than most. I distinctly remember meeting him for the first time, when Damian finally introduced Annika and me to his uncle.
Some people demand power. Others constantly try to cling to it. Kir simplyispower. It exudes from his pores and he exhales it with his every breath. He’s the sort of guy who utterly commands a room just by walking into it and can silence a crowd with the slightest clear of his throat.
His eyes meet mine in the reflection of the glass in front of him. He swivels the chair, still holding the phone to his ear, a glass of whiskey in his other hand. He nods, giving me that small smile that never fails to make me feel safe.
