Page 103 of Essence of Fear

He was a monster.

That didn’t mean much to her anymore. She was frightened of the things he might do to her, but she was not scared of him. Those were different things.

She knew what he could do to her. He’d already done it. She knew how he could hurt her. She’d lived through it once. Was he going to do it again? Would it be worse?

“Fuck you,” Viktoria spat.

Boris smiled and leaned in close so that his mouth grazed her ear as he spoke. She shuddered as his warm words drifted over her skin like the way his teeth had left their marks on her throat once. “Soon, Viktoria. Very fucking soon.”

“Boris, we need to go over the plan!”

The call from the other room was the only thing that pulled the monster away from her. His cold gaze never left hers as he straightened. It was the first time she took the chance to glance around and see where she was.

In a room.

Obviously.

A house, maybe?

She couldn’t be sure.

Boris winked when she looked back at him. “Don’t go anywhere or make plans, yes? I’ll be back soon.”

Yeah, she bet.

The prick.

18.

“STOP.”

The dark, irritated order drew Pav’s gaze away from the tip of his knife that he’d been spinning against the pad of his fingertip. He’d been so focused on his task that the rest of the passengers on the private jet—compliments of Konstantin, apparently, because who didn’t want to be rich enough to own a fucking jet?—simply drifted away from his immediate thoughts. He had other things to handle, now.

Across the aisle from him, Kolya sat like a brickhouse in another seat. The man’s cold gaze continued surveying him like he was trying to understand what Pav was thinking about. He had news for him—don’t bother, you’ll never know. He’d never tell them, anyway.

It was better for everyone if Pav just stayed tucked away in his mind while they handled this business. They didn’t know the dangerous, horrible things he was considering doing to everyone in his path right now, and they didn’t want to know.

Kolya included.

That, he could promise.

“You’re dripping blood on the seat,” Kolya said. “Konstantin will have a pissy fit. None of us want to listen to him bitch, yeah?”

It was only then that a panging pain began in the tip of Pav’s finger that he’d been using to spin the knife. Looking at the digit, he found several thin cuts crisscrossing along the skin, and the blood that oozed from the cuts quickly turned into a droplet that fell to his pants. Sticking the tip of his finger between his lips, he sucked the rest of the blood off. The tangy, metallic taste of the blood barely registered, but at least it was gone.

It really didn’t hurt.

Had he been pressing that hard?

“Poor Konstantin,” Pav murmured dryly.

Kolya arched a brow, but Pav only shrugged in reply. He did not want to be here, and he was not going to pretend like he did. This jet, the flight, and what would happen when they finally landed in Russia was all on Konstantin. The man made orders, and the rest of them were just expected to follow them, whether they wanted to or not.

Apparently, that was how the Bratva worked.

Pav had the stars now, as he had been so nicely informed when he pointed out that there was no way in hell they were removing him from Chicago when they had absolutely no proof that Viktoria was gone, too. It didn’t matter, he was told, because he had the stars. His job was to listen to his boss—the man who allowed him the privilege of the stars.

Right.