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It could have been minutes at most since I left the car. I hate to think what he could’ve done in that time.
If he touched her…
I start to reach for her, but then I hear the click of a gun hammer behind me. The next second, my arms are caught behind my back, twisted painfully high.
Mischa grins. “You should’ve stayed with the Ivanov business. Your parents too. They might still be here. Loyalty is repaid. Those who work with us are compensated generously. It’s everything we learned in business school, Harrison.”
He’s fucking nuts.
“I tried things your way,” I say evenly, as if my heart isn’t thudding against my ribs. “It wouldn’t have worked out.”
“You were too good for what I offered. Now, I have your attention.”
Mischa crosses to me, flicking open a knife from his pocket.
He rips open my shirt, satisfaction glinting in his eyes as he sees the scar still there.
“I’ve been thinking about this for the past twenty years. This artwork is not nearly completed.”
He doesn’t want to kill me. He wants to fuck me up.
I tell myself that as the knife comes up, the blade hovering over my scar.
As it presses into my flesh, the searing pain making me bite down hard.
I don’t have to look down to see blood trickle across my skin. I can feel it.
I can smell it.
“Stop!” Rae shouts.
Miraculously, Mischa does, turning to take her in.
Rae folds her arms. “Men are fickle. Five minutes ago, you wanted me.”
What the fuck is she playing at?
I want to tell her to stop talking. Almost as much as I want to drag her behind me.
“It’s true,” Mischa purrs. “You have other redeeming qualities. Ones we’ll get to once we’ve finished catching up.”
She gestures to the other men. “This is some fucked-up boys’ game, isn’t it? Harrison rejected you twenty years ago, and you’re still hurt over it. There’re no drugs—you’re just rich assholes fighting over your egos.”
His face tics in irritation. “You’re no queen. You’re a child. And the deal going down in this building tonight is bigger than you can imagine.”
He’s supremely confident, and that’s what she wants—to push him.
I inch toward her.
“Where are you going?” The guard twists my arm harder, stopping my progress and sending fiery pain from my shoulder socket down my spine.
I look down at my pocket. The phone is still there, mic tilted up. I pray to God the connection hasn’t been severed.
Rae’s lips curve. “What I imagine is that you’re a scared boy who’s ashamed he couldn’t do what his parents wanted by recruiting one single employee.” Dark brows draw together as she shifts onto the arm of the couch and crosses her legs. “And who had a weirdly personal thing for my boyfriend in high school—“
Mischa backhands her.
I wrench against the man holding me, the pain in my shoulder nothing compared to the panic in my chest. No.
