Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“I’m s-sorry,” I say, something keeping me rooted to the floor, as though if I stay here what happens next doesn’t have to happen.
“Oh, she’s sorry,” Dobry roars, turning to laugh at the room in general.
Everybody joins in with his laughter, even the other servants, those who are just glad that it isn’t them in their crosshairs.
“I guess that makes it all better then, does it?” he snaps, turning back to me. He waves his hand. “Take her to my room. If she wants a good time, then I will show her a good time. I prefer my women a little more nubile – that is the word, yes? – but she will do.”
A sickening shiver moves through me as four guards approach, their hands on their hips, ready to shoot me, end me if I don’t agree to follow them.
I have no choice but to stand and meekly trail after them, walking down the corridor with the four of them ringing me on all sides, casually talking in Russian.
One of them laughs throatily. I have no idea what they’re saying, but I know it’s not good.
Nothing that happens here is good.
They take me up the rear staircase, unlocking doors as we go, and then lead me to a bedroom with a double door the size of a horse, the most extravagant door I’ve ever seen. The frame is carved and inlaid with small jewels, and the guard lets out a throaty sigh as he shoves it open.
He gestures into the bedroom with his gun. “In. Now.”
I scurry into the room, the only thing I can do, and then flinch as they slam the door shut behind me.
The room is huge, the ceiling tall, patterned with battle scenes. Tapestries hang from the walls and the bed is the size of a tank, a giant overgrown thing with silk sheets, a four poster monstrosity. I can’t look at it for long, vomit trying to surge up my throat.
I pace around, checking the only other door—the ensuite, as lavish as the rest of this place, the faucets, and shower heads made of freaking gold. The windows here are locked. The windows in the bedroom – that overlook the night-dark estate – are locked.
The door to the hallway, of course, is locked.
I press my ear against the door, listening for the sound of the guards.
Nothing, nobody.
Can I kick the door down?
I raise my leg and try to aim a kick, but the champagne has made my heels slick and suddenly I’m falling again.
I catch myself, just in time.
“Crap.”
I go to the counter at the other end of the room, covered in a giant gilded globe and a dozen other seemingly random things … a compass made of gold, gold-framed glasses, gold, gold, gold. Everything in this hell is made of gold.
My hand settles on a letter opener, gold, the grip cool in my hand.
Dobry must be so drunk that he didn’t think to send someone in here with me to make sure I wouldn’t get my hands on a weapon. Or perhaps he’s confident in his ability to overpower me, weapon or not.
I turn toward the door, taking a couple of practice swipes with the letter opener, the blade making a soft hissing noise in the air.
I pray that I have the courage to use it when the time comes.
Even as a small scared voice inside tells me that I won’t.
Chapter Three
Damian
I stalk through the secret tunnel of the Dobry estate, my flashlight turned off, sticking to the shadows as I move closer and closer to the light at the end of the tunnel. I almost laugh grimly at the thought. This isn’t what people have in mind when they use that phrase.
I can see the silhouettes of two men standing in front of the spotlights, but they’re turned toward each other, idly speaking in Russian. I pick up snatches of their conversation as I approach, my footsteps dead quiet, my breathing dead quiet.
Everything about me is primed for the job at hand, their chuckling providing a convenient dampener to the small noises of my hunt.
“Fucking sluts,” one of the men growls. “Give them everything and what do they do? They can’t even say a simple thank you, brother.”
“They’re not worth the hassle,” the other laughs darkly. “Fuck them and leave them, that’s what I say.”
Rage tries to grip my chest at their words, my savage instinct rising like a torrent inside of me, a wave of fire trying to turn my body into a tool of destruction.
Just because I’ve never found my woman, it doesn’t mean I like this immature shit men sometimes indulge in, this use-them-and-leave-them garbage.
But it’s their lucky day.
I’m not here for them.
I get as close as I dare without stepping into the light, and then take the device from my pocket and press the button. The speakers I set up on my way in immediately pick up, Russian words drifting from the other end of the tunnel, the way I just walked up.