“No,” he replies, when he opens his eyes again. “I don’t think I will. You may as well just except the inevitable. Make my life easier.”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about making your life easier,” I snap. Then my curiosity gets the better of me. “What’s inevitable?”
I expected him to kill me back in the garden. I was all ready to end my life right next to Cesar’s grave.
It’d be kind of poetic, really.
But when I said that, Artem had actually laughed. His final words before I passed out are still seared in my brain, even when the rest of my memories of last night are fuzzy and indistinct.
Kill you? No, darling. We’ve got something very different in mind.
He turns to me. Something about the expression behind his eyes scares me. I can’t pinpoint what it is exactly. But I’ve met enough bad friends of my father to know true danger when I see it.
His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
His eyes dip slightly, tracing down my lips, my throat, my chest. My skin tingles. It’s almost as though he’s touching me.
I tug his coat over myself like a blanket and the moment is broken. He turns away from me again.
“I’m not going to just take this lying down, you know,” I announce. “I’m not just going to meekly accept whatever you decide to do to me.”
He doesn’t answer. Just looks resolutely out of the tinted windows.
I probably should concentrate on where we’re going, but I’m too worked up and too scared to focus on details.
“My father has friends,” I say, my voice pitching up with hysteria. “They’re not just going to accept this. Someone will help me and—”
“Enough!” He raises his voice only a fraction higher, but it feels like he’s screaming at me. “That’s enough. I want silence now.”
“Who do you think I am?” I snarl at him. “I’m not about to follow your commands like some kicked dog!”
Artem sighs and nods once more to the man sitting opposite me.
I whip my head back and forth between Artem and Goon #1.
“What was that?” I demand. “What’d you… what—no…!”
Before I can even finish my sentence, the goon reaches for me with something clutched in his hands.
I scream, but none of the men in the car seem bothered in the least.
Not even when the goon tightens a gag around my mouth.
My scream devolves into a wordless whimper as I’m bound and gagged.
The bindings on my wrists are tight. I strain against them uncomfortably, but it takes just a few seconds of mindless thrashing to realize that they’re not going anywhere.
I have to fight back tears as I sink back against the leather seats.
I’ve lost this fight.
Only now does Artem finally look at me.
Figures—of course I’d have to be bound and gagged before he deigns to spare a real glance in my direction.
I stare straight ahead, ignoring him.
I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing my tears.
The car bumps along the road, headed for what I can only assume is a place worse than the one I just left.
I always assumed that my father’s death would one day set me free.
Turns out that was just wishful thinking from a girl who was too naïve for her own good.
Papa’s dead now—Artem said so himself.
But I’m not free, nor will I ever be if I remain in this toxic world of violence and power. The only way I can be happy, the only way I can protect the child in my womb… is to leave it.
I want out.
I don’t know how or when that’ll happen. I know it won’t be easy.
But I know I have to try.
17
Esme
After a silent half hour of driving, we pull up in front of a mammoth building. I assume that my bindings will be removed, but none of the men in the car with me move to do so.
They just shepherd me out of the car and march me into the building like a prisoner of war.
No one in the lobby dares to look at me. Not the doorman or the concierge or a single living soul.
It’s like I don’t exist.
Like a bound and gagged girl isn’t being dragged through the building in the middle of the morning with a platoon of armed goons around me.
I assume we’re going to the massive elevator just next to the concierge desk, but a firm hand on my elbow steers me to the left until we arrive at a smaller, private elevator.
I’m pushed through. Artem steps in beside me. Turning around, I catch the blank gazes of Goons #1 and #2 and their buddies.
I do my best to scowl at them from around the ball gag in my mouth.
Wouldn’t want them to part ways thinking we were at the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
The elevator doors close on their stony faces. Good fucking riddance.
I resist the urge to glance at Artem as we rise higher and higher. Can’t wait to say good riddance to him, either.
When the doors slide open again, I find myself staring into a lushly carpeted foyer with a gorgeous chandelier hanging over the entryway.
“Go on.” He prods me gently in the small of the back
I stumble out of the elevator, hands still cuffed in front of me. Behind me, I hear as a ping as the elevator closes and retreats, trapping me inside yet another luxurious prison.
Smart money says those doors open only for Artem. Sure enough, when I glance over my shoulder, I see him tap in a couple of numbers on a security pad next to the doors.
Two-five-three-two-seven.
Was that it? Did I have the code? A brief moment of hope swells up in my chest.
Until I watch him press his thumb against the pad and the hopes curdles into disappointment.
Artem turns to me and reads me at once.
“Did you really think it would be that easy?” he asks in a mocking tone.
The ball gag prevents me
