Long moments passed, but finally Dresden released Segorski, who coughed and wheezed as the air rushed back into his body. Other than gasping and trying to right the damage done to his hair, he didn’t move, not even mopping up the blood dripping down his neck.
Dresden straightened his suit coat. “Now where were we?” he asked, looking down the table at Ella.
She smiled at him. He smiled back. And so the game continued.
“We were celebrating another successful sale, Ella. I’m so glad you could join us for a time.” He turned then and addressed both Nadege and Segorski before his gaze slid to her. “I believe Ella and I have some business to discuss. Shall you finish your dinners in your rooms?” Dresden inquired. Read that as ordered. Again, Ella wondered why Segorski was here with Dresden instead of in his own hole counting containers of ricin.
She would have shuddered but giving Dresden that much of a response would have been a win for him. And that she would not do. It was tough calling back the response because nothing about being alone with Dresden was good.
Instead, she smiled. “It’s been a pleasure as always, Segorski. Don’t choke on your food, and fellas”—she addressed them both—“watch those butter knives, okay?” They both stood and left the room.
Dresden took his seat again at the table, picked up his silverware, and began slowly eating the rare filet mignon that sat in a bloody pool on his pristine white china. Silence reigned for several minutes while he finished his food. He was at his most obnoxious during these times, when he had someone hanging on the hook waiting for him.
He finished, drained his wine, and wiped his mouth. Though his gestures screamed of refinement, there was a desperation to each movement that belied any belief that the man had been raised wealthy. He seemed more of a rabid predator wearing a thin veneer of civility. Some of that animalistic nature had no doubt been drummed into him by the military.
He steepled his hands and rested his chin on them, staring at her down the length of the table, quiet with a bored look on his handsome face.
“So, Ella, you have once again met my expectations. Tell me, how does it feel to work for the dark side?”
She had to tread carefully here. In the tones of his voice was a warning: Answer me wrong, and I’ll have you gutted. Answer me the right way, and I’ll let you live. Maybe. The game continued.
She shrugged, took a pull on her wine—for real this time—and let it go down slowly. The warmth of the earlier whiskey had faded. She longed for it now. “I do what I’m told, Dresden, and I live.”
He chuckled and pushed back his chair, strolling to take the seat beside her. He leaned close, the smell of his aftershave a noxious scent of sandalwood that turned Ella’s stomach. He brushed a single strand of hair from her face and cupped her chin. His grip tightened, and he pulled her face to meet his. “Look at me when I talk to you.”
She lifted her gaze and met his. The blue of his eyes would have been appealing, were it not the gaze of a sadistic monster. “I’m looking.”
His grip on her chin hurt but she didn’t let that show, willing herself to keep calm in the center of this new storm.
“Yes, you are. Now.” He released her and sat back. “I have something else I need taken care of.”
Ella tightened her grip on the stem of her glass. She could break it easily and embed it in his throat before he could blink. But there was still something she had to have from him, and until it was in her hands… “What do you need?”
“There’s a meeting in Moscow in two days. I need someone there representing my interests. Someone to report back to me, should Segorski and Yevgeny Markov betray me. It wouldn’t do to have the prime minister of Russia benefitting from my hard work before he’s paid for it.”
She inclined her head. “The oil is yours.”
“It is, and I’ll make billions off it after the Russians complete the takeover of the Crimean region. Say it again,” he demanded, his voice still full of warning.
“Say what?” Push a little, and this would go well for Ella. Push too much, and he’d crush her.
He grabbed her face between his big hands and squeezed. The pressure was also a warning. “Say it.”
She stared at him, hoping the loathing she felt for him didn’t show in her gaze. “The oil is yours.”
He released her so suddenly that her head snapped back.
“And so are you,” he informed her. “Say it.”
“So am I,” she parroted.
He sat back negligently, crossing one leg over the other and watching her. “My sources tell me Jude Dagan is actively searching for you.”
Ella said nothing. Perhaps his sources had noticed Jude when they’d torn into the flat in Serbia yesterday.
“I have yet to take him out, but I can rectify this with a single call. Someone always follows him, and it would only take a split second to put a hole in his skull with a bullet. Do you know why I haven’t?”
Here was the line she couldn’t cross. “I don’t, Dresden. But you’re going to tell me?”
“Because he keeps you in line. Don’t they call him that? Keeper?” He didn’t laugh as she expected him to, which put her even more on the razor’s edge.
“They did. I don’t know what they call him now,” she answered, making sure her voice remained even and distant.
“You loved him once. Don’t tell me you no longer feel that same emotion for the brute,” Dresden mocked, tracing the scar along her temple.
Hide the truth behind a lie. She’d become a master. “I feel nothing for anyone, Dresden. You and Savidge made sure of that. What Jude Dagan is called or not
