Page 18 of Lord of Vengeance
My hand flew up to my neck. There was a thin ring of metal around it, and it felt like the two ends were fused together.
“I picked it myself,” he continued. “When I saw your picture at the auction? Fuck, you were so pretty. Even wearing those shitty doctor scrubs, I could tell you were a beauty. Everyone was bidding for you.”
This couldn't be right. This couldn't be happening. My medical training surged back into my battered brain and I used my calm doctor's voice that I use on people strung out on coke or terrified children who come in with a broken arm after falling off the swing set at school.
“Help me understand. You bought me an auction?"
“Yeah,” he said, sitting on the bed and chuckling as I pulled the chain taut to get away from him. “Well, you and the apartment, you're a package deal.” He put his hand on my thigh, squeezing me and I slapped it away.
“You're not going to touch me,” I said coldly.
He sighed theatrically. “I see you’re going to need a little demonstration. He pulled a remote out of his jacket pocket and clicked it.
I remember plugging a lamp into a crappy outlet at my old apartment and didn’t see the exposed wires until a jolt shot up my arm, muscles twitching spasmodically, through my neck and rattling my teeth. It knocked me backward and I’d laid there on the floor until I could catch my breath.
This was nothing like that.
Fire erupted under my skin and my body stiffened in agony, muscles locked and jaw rigid. It went on forever. Twenty yearsat least and when the bastard’s thumb came off the button, he laughed.
“Relax. That was only a fifteen second charge.” He leaned closer until I could smell the nasty whiskey on his breath and his body odor, buried under a generous helping of cologne.
He clicked on the lamp next to the bed. “Technically, I’m not supposed to move in until you’ve been trained.” My hands are still shaking, my breath coming out in little gasps. His gaze roamed over me appreciatively. “In fact, I’ve got a business trip, my flight leaves in a couple of hours. But I had to get a look at my new baby.” He flicked the metal ring around my neck. “You gonna be a good girl?”
I wanted to tell him exactly what I intended to do to him, but my jaw is still clenched. The best I could manage is a stuttered breath of “F- f- fuh. Y…”
“Anyway,” he said, rising. “I work hard. So, when I come home, I want you to be… fun. I’ll have friends over. I expect you to be nice to them.” Getting up with a grunt, he heads for the bedroom door, pausing to look back at me. “You’ll learn.”
I thought that was as bad as life could get until the next day.
Chapter Nine
In which some stories are as hard to hear as they are to tell.
Dmitri…
I killed my first man when I was sixteen years old.
I've shot, stabbed, tortured, and ended lives in a dozen creative and unimaginable ways. I don't think I've ever felt the nausea churning in my gut that I do when listening to Ava's hoarse little voice recite the litany of horrors she endured. By the time her throat is too tortured to go on, I am grateful for the respite.
Both for her and for me.
My mother sat in the corner, a silent sentinel witnessing Ava’s suffering.
“You need to rest,” I say roughly to Ava. “Try to sleep for a while and we'll make a plan, I promise you are safe, and whoever did this will pay."
“There’s others like me, aren't there?” Her question is a painful little rasp at the end of her strength as her midnight blue eyes search mine. I can't find it in me to lie.
“Most likely," I say gently. Taking her chilly hand, I hold it between mine. “Sleep now.”
Her eyes close and her breath evens out on the next exhale. My mother steps over to the bed, checking her vitals. "You have to call your father,” she says calmly.
"I know,” I say. “I wanted to get an idea of the scope of what we're dealing with before I brought him in. He's been busy in St. Petersburg with that mess the Popov’s created.”
"I know you try to take a lot off his shoulders,” she says. “You must remember that asSovietnik,your Uncle Yuri is here to help, as are your brothers. Not everything has to be handled by you.”
“If you tried this line of reasoning with your husband, what do you think he'd say?”
She narrows her eyes at me but doesn't say anything, because she knows perfectly well what he would say.
