Page 3 of Then We Shatter

“I hate to spoil your fantasy, but I’ll die a very old man asleep in my bed. The worst of us don’t meet a just end. It’s the way of the world, I’m afraid.” Vasili pauses to consider what he’s just said and chuckles to himself. “Maybe Killian McConkey was a good one after all. Such a loss.”

There’s no emotion behind his words, which makes them sharp enough to pierce my armor. Killian was better than good. Devastatingly handsome with a wicked tongue and sharper wit. He was darkness and light. He was everything. And he was mine. “Are we done?” I ask, standing up from the table.

“Consider my orders very carefully,” Vasili warns. “I should have beaten you within an inch of your life for opening your legs for the Irish mafia, but I chose not to because you’re my last living relative.”

“You kept me whole because I’m just another whore to you,” I correct him. “And you can’t sell damaged goods.”

His expression hardens. “I buy and sell plenty of whores who give me far less trouble than you, but if that’s how you want to be treated, go ahead and fight me on this. You’ll see exactly what I’m capable of.”

I already know. I might not have suffered directly at my uncle’s hands, but I know what kind of monster he is.

“Tell me you’ll obey me, Katarina,” Vasili persists. “Or I’ll cancel our flight and make my money from you another way.”

I leave a loaded pause, long enough for his face to redden with fury. Reclaiming control of my life is going to be a long and bitter battle, and remaining in Siberia achieves nothing. I force my features to soften and smile the sweetest smile. It goes all the way to my eyes as I imagine slicing Vasili Barkov from clavicle to belly button with his steak knife.

“I won’t let you down, Uncle.”

Chapter 2

Katarina

The corridor leading back to my windowless room is draped in shadow and littered with ghosts. If I strain my ears, I can hear the squeals and giggles of teenage girls.

The summer I spent training here wasn’t dissimilar to a ladies’ finishing school, but with little extras such as choosing the right weapon for an assassination, and the relative strengths and weaknesses of various poisons. Yana, Kira, Tanya and I had bonded in and out of the classroom, and our education became secondary to making mischief. Causing trouble has always been second nature to me.

“I won’t forget what you did, bitch,” Vlad hisses in my ear.

As annoying as the interruption is, I’m relieved to be pulled from my reverie before my mind follows it to its bitter conclusion. “What are you whining about now?”

Vlad leans over my shoulder, close enough for me to smell the pickled onions he’s always eating. “You think Vasili’s going to forget your suggestion that we fucked? I’m not getting demoted a second time because of you.”

Poor Vlad was my original bodyguard when I’d been posted to the United States in the summer to snag myself a rich husband. Back then, Vasili had been under the misapprehension that I was a good little soldier with no agency of my own. I was allowed certain freedoms, which led to me sneaking away for an unforgettable night spent in the company of some of my uncle’s deadliest enemies. Life wasn’t the same after that little trek to the Blue Ridge Mountains. It never will be.

“Your one job in Chicago was to watch me at all times. It’s not my fault you fucked up.”

“Danyl and Andrey didn’t do much better at keeping you in check,” Vlad says, grumbling about his replacements.

“They didn’t do better at all. It’s why they’re dead,” I correct him, but my throat constricts at the mention of those bastards. They got what they deserved and when their bodies were returned to Russia riddled with bullets, I would have gladly added more.

Vlad drops back a step, anticipating that his next comment will give him the excuse he’s looking for to lash out if I react. “At least they got to kill the sewer rat.”

Pain flares at the bridge of my nose as I hold back tears. I never used to cry. I still don’t if I can help it. Not often at least, but fighting the constant urge to sob is a battle I never expected to face. That’s what I get for caring.

I concentrate on emotions that are more useful to me. Anger and hatred. These are feelings I know how to control because they’re far more familiar to me. I’m seemingly relaxed as I stop at my bedroom door and turn to Vlad. His pock-marked skin looks ghoulish in the deepening shadows that herald the end of another miserable day.

When Vlad holsters his taser, I hunch my shoulders and wiggle my hips. “I am sorry. Genuinely, I am,” I tell him softly. “If you like, I’ll speak to my uncle and clarify the situation.”

He trails a rough hand over his closely-cropped scalp. “Too little, too fucking late,” he snarls. “And to think I could have made your stay here far more enjoyable. Fuck, I could have given Vasili a reason to kill me. But no, you think you’re too good for the likes of me, don’t you?” His mouth quirks into a smirk. “In case you’ve forgotten, I was there that night in Chicago too. My only regret is I wasn’t the one to put a bullet through that bastard’s head.”

I drop my head and close my eyes briefly so I can repeat a mantra that’s got me through worse. I’m in control of my emotions. They’re not in control of me.

“You deserve all you get,” Vlad continues. “I’ve heard stories about Eric Peterson. None of them good.”

My lower lip is snagged between my teeth when I look back up, drawing his gaze to my mouth. “Maybe I did miss my chance with you,” I reply in almost a whisper. My eyes narrow as I reach behind to open my bedroom door. “Or maybe you were never up to the task.”

Vlad’s grey eyes turn stormy as ego and duty battle for control of his temper. “Don’t play games with me, kotenok.” Kitten. “You won’t win.”

My hackles rise, but I try not to let it show how much I hate the pet name my guards christened me with. It was never a term of endearment and was usually paired with some form of physical abuse or torment.