Page 110 of Cruel Demands

She takes two steps before I catch her around the waist. She screams. I clamp one hand over her mouth and pull her back against me. Her elbow drives into my ribs. Pain flashes through my side. She tries again.

“Stop.”

She bites my glove. I almost admire her for it.

“Taylor.”

She kicks backward, catching my shin. The car door opens, and Pavel gets out. For one second, Taylor’s eyes shine. I feel her body loosen against mine, some part of her apparently believing that Pavel has come to help her. Pavel looks at me, then at her. Without a word, he reaches to his collar, loosens his tie and pulls it free. He walks toward us and places it in my hand.

I watch all of that shine dull from Taylor’s eyes. It is not fear. It is betrayal. She believed he was coming to help her. She thought there was something left of the world. She is seeing that the world is made for people like me.

Pavel gets back into the car, and Taylor’s face drains of color when I attempt to turn her around. She twists in my arms. I catch her wrist, and she strikes me with the other hand. Her palm connects with my cheek. The sound is dull in the snowy night.

We both go still. Her breathing stops. Mine does not change. I could pretend it does not affect me. Instead, I look at her and say, “Eshchyo raz.” Again. “If it helps.”

Her eyes fill. That’s worse than the slap.

I take both wrists carefully and bind them in front of her with Pavel’s tie. She fights until she realizes I’m not hurting her. Then she becomes completely still. I check the knot twice. Loose enough not to cut circulation. Tight enough that she cannot free herself.

Taylor looks down at her hands. “You’re a criminal,” she says. There is no accusation in her voice now. Only understanding.

“Yes.”

The word sits between us. She lifts her eyes to mine. “Did you order them to beat that man?” I say nothing. “Did you kill him?”

I pull her to her feet and drag her to the rear door and open it. She braces her bound hands against the roof, but her heart is not in it. I push the small of her back, and she folds into the back seat. She scrambles across the leather and reaches for the opposite door. It’s locked. Of course it’s locked. She strikes the window with her palms. “Let me out.”

I climb in after her and close the door. The interior light fades. For one second, we sit facing each other in the dark. She looks at me as though I am a stranger. Perhaps I am. Perhaps the man she imagined was only ever a role I performed badly.

Her mouth trembles once. She turns toward the window.

I want to tell her the man photographed my mother. I want to tell her he gave those photographs to Orlov. I want to tell her the drugs are leverage, not merchandise. I want to offer distinctions that would matter only to me.

None of it changes what she saw.

“Where to?” Pavel asks.

I look at Taylor. Her bound hands rest in her lap. She’s trying not to cry.

“My house,” I say.

The car pulls away from the warehouse. Taylor doesn’t look at me again.

26

TAYLOR

Tears blur the city outside the window as I imagine my death over and over. There’s no saving me. My mother and father will never know what happened to me. Petyr will gloat at my funeral, as he should, and no one will know that I wouldn’t even want him there. I think of the man’s rotten teeth and the excitement jumping in his throat at the prospect that Mikhail would have his way with me before killing me.

I drop my forehead to the window and write a pointless ‘help’ into the fog of my breath. He’s seen my face. He knows I know who he is. He’s taking me to a second location. A second location I know. He’s fucked, which means I’m fucked.

The car stops beneath the covered entrance. Mikhail opens his door. I don’t move. He steps out and looks back at me. “Taylor.”

“No.”

“You are coming inside.”

“So you can kill me somewhere comfortable?”