Page 88 of Anton

“Then maybe you should go back and ask for a medal.”

“It’s not funny. Konstantin isn’t going to like it.”

“Like what?”

I press my ear to the door, the floorboards giving a creak.

Shit.

My eyes widen. I hope they didn’t hear that.

“You can be the one to explain it to him, then,” his brother adds, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Tell him, and I’ll kill you.”

A chill cuts through me at the menace behind those words. I remain perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as silence gathers on the other side of the door.

“If you want the truth…” Anton continues. “I fucked her, and I liked it. Maybe I’ll do it again.” He sounds detached, almost bored. “But she means nothing to me. She’s a distraction. A useful one. That’s all.”

Each word tears through me. I clamp a palm over my mouth to trap the cry rising in my throat, but the tears come anyway, burning down my cheeks as his confession repeats in my head.

“If that’s all it is, then I guess I don’t need to say anything to him,” his brother says.

“Exactly.”

More voices come from down the hall, his other brothers telling them to hurry up, but I don’t move.

I just press my back against the wall and keep my hand over my mouth, wishing I could take it all back. Every look. Every touch. Every moment I let myself believe he was anything more than exactly who he warned me he is.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

ANTON

Konstantin calls me to his office three days after the meeting with the Whitlocks. He doesn’t say why, but I already knew from the moment I walked in.

I close the door behind me and stand across from him, arms loose at my sides, waiting for the order.

This is what I’ve always done: get an order and carry it out. I never ask questions unless the answer changes the way someone dies. But Thora is not another job anymore.

Konstantin peers down at the papers before he shoves them to the corner of his desk. “Thank you for coming, brother. Have a seat.”

“I’ll stand.”

He slices a hand in the air. “Of course.” His gaze remains on me for a beat longer before he says the words I’ve been waiting for since he gave me her photo. “The girl. It’s time.”

The room goes quiet, but the thoughts in my head scream louder.

“When?” My fingers flex once at my side, her photo that I always carry burning a hole in my pants pocket.

“A week. Two, tops. But no more. Understand?”

“Da.” I stare at him a little too long.

Konstantin leans back in his chair, watching me with a narrowed stare, which only makes me grow more uncomfortable.

What is he thinking? Does he think I’m weak? Because I’m not.

Then what are you?