Page 111 of Cruel Demands

Pavel’s shoulders stiffen. Mikhail’s expression doesn’t change, but something flickers behind it. “If I intended to kill you, you would not have left the warehouse.”

“Second locations aren’t usually promising.”

“How do you have the energy for this? You are not in the position to be sarcastic right now.”

“I’m not being fucking sarcastic, Mikhail. You’re reading it that way because you’re a fucking monster, I guess.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” He reaches for me.

I kick wildly, my heels spears. “Don’t touch me.”

He steps backward, his hands up and annoyance across his face. “Then get out.”

Humiliation burns through the fear. I hate that he has done this. I hate that Pavel knows. I hate the image of myself fighting in the snow, screaming for help from men who would never choose me over him. I shift awkwardly across the seat and step out myself, my skirt riding up against the leather.

My heel slips on the icy pavement. He catches my arm. I jerk away so hard I nearly fall again. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you’re helping me.”

His face goes still. “I am helping you, Taylor.”

I scoff, but when he places one hand against my back and one on my elbow, I let him. I need him for the ice patches.

The entrance hall looks exactly as I remember it. Polished stone. Dark wood. High ceilings. I said it looked like a mausoleum. How right I was.

No staff is visible tonight. That feels intentional.

Mikhail leads me into the same sitting room where I once drank his vodka and mocked his furniture. He closes the door. The sound of the latch makes my breath catch.

He unties me and pours himself a drink, his eyes glued to me. “So tell me, what were you thinking when you followed me tonight? Rather, let us start with this—how did you follow me?” He gestures with a little nod to sit down.

I decline, aware suddenly that I could make a run for the door, unlock it, and be out of here. No tie around my wrists. His eyes flick to the latch, and he wags his finger like I’m a schoolgirl.

I sigh. “Taxi.”

“Taxi,” he repeats, swirling his drink and pouting his lips, considering. His eyes narrow and he taps the top of his desk with the fingertips of his other hand. “And you did not think for a moment that maybe following a politician into a remote part of town at night was a mistake?”

His voice is rising slightly as he riles himself up, and my heart rate spikes as the image of that man on his hands and knees flashes through my mind. Blood. And then his body slinking to the ground. His eyes milky. And Mikhail looking at me with so much concern like he hadn’t killed someone a moment ago.

I clench my fingers together to ground myself. “I didn’t know you were…” I trail off, then look him in the eyes, take a deep breath, and say, “Dirty.”

“Yes, you did,” he says simply.

“I—” My brain goes completely empty, shocked at the accusation.

“You see more than most, Taylor Hayes. You know what politicians make, Taylor. No politician has this.”

“Many politicians are wealthy.”

“Not like this.”

“I know very little about wealth. Maybe you invest well. I’ve been trying to understand.”

“You should not have been trying. But you were. You got lucky when you walked in on me and Arkady talking. You saw the photographs, and then you started doing research. You did not let it go, I know that. I have been paying attention. You have been looking into Orlov.”

My blood runs cold. I’ve been inconvenient all this time. All this time, I thought he was acting strangely around me because I saw his mask slip. He was acting that way because he knew what I was doing.