Chapter Thirty-Nine
In which Russo, Bald Guy, and Kholodov should all be thrown into a volcano.
Scarlett…
“Why aren’t you dressed?”
It’s been an hour since Russo left me. I didn’t cry. I circled the suite again like a desperate rodent, looking for a way out. Over and over until Murder Mittens sat on my foot.
Now Russo’s standing here in this all-white hell in her brown shirt and brown pants and her brown ponytail and I want to grab that ponytail and send her head right through the door.
“You’re delusional if you think I’m dressing up like a virginal princess for your boss.”
Bald Guy is back with her, standing in the open door, watching me hopefully.
“If you don’t take a shower and put that dress on, Gavril here will do it for you.” She nods toward Bald Guy, and now I realize why he looks so hopeful.
“Russo, just stop for a minute-”
“Gavril, come in,” she calls.
He’s halfway into the room before I shout, “Stop! I’ll do it. I’ll… Just get him out of here.”
She nearly has to shove the visibly disappointed scumbag back out the door. “I’ll have to stand in the bathroom and watch you,” she says. “But better me than that freaky bald fuck, trust me.”
One quick glance to make sure Murder Mittens is hiding under the bed, and I walk into the gleaming white bathroom.
In the true crime shows, when the victim does what the kidnapper says, I always wondered why they didn’t fight.
Why didn’t they risk everything to get away?
Showering with the vanilla-scented bodywash and drying myself with the white fluffy towels, I understand.
You’ll do anything to draw out your inevitable conclusion, anything that gives you one minute more of life. Wallace will come. He’ll find me. And if he doesn’t come in time? I’m gonna find a way to kill Xavier, even if I die, too.
I understand scars. I appreciate them.
“You look better,” Russo says, eyeing me critically. “Put the dress on.”
“Wallace will give you-”
“Put. The. Fucking. Dress. On.” She shoves the fabric at me. “Or Gavril will do it for you.”
I keep my towel on as I slide the thing over my head.
It drops in a slimy puddle to my ankles, a white silk dress so thin that I could rip it like paper.
The slit’s cut high, I can feel the room’s cool air on my center.
The spaghetti straps barely hold the dress up and I have to gather up the flimsy neckline to make sure it covers my nipples.
When I walk back in the bedroom, Bald Guy is staring greedily.
“Drink it all in, you pig.” I manage to sound calm. “My husband’s going to gut you like one.”
He puts one heavy, booted foot in the room before Russo charges at him.
“You’re not messing her up, fuckhead! The Pakhan wants her all pretty and pure. Back up.” She’s half his size, but Bald Guy ducks his head and retreats.
“Ah, there she is, there she is.”
Xavier Kholodov is standing in the door, clapping like I’m a well-bred show pony who just got my tail braided.
“Did you like my wedding gift?” Kholodov puts his hands in his suit pockets and strolls into the room, circling me. He’s wearing a blue suit with a red tie; he’s the only color in the room.
Bald Guy follows him, setting up a large, matte black camera on a stand.
It looks expensive and complicated, like something you'd use for a major production.
The sight of the camera and the realization of what he's planning to film.
.. it hits me like a punch. I lock my knees, trying to stand upright.
Trying not to look as terrified as I am.
“The book?" I clear my throat. "That was from you?”
Why do I keep looking at Russo like she’s going to help me? She’s standing by the door, arms folded and expressionless, Bald Guy lurking behind her.
“It was.” He’s behind me, breath hot on my neck. “I thought the fairytales were so fitting.” His Russian accent is much more pronounced than it was in Kyle’s office.
I spin around and take a step back, and he grins like he’s won the first round. “You, the sweet Cinderella of Beacon Hill, scrubbing and cooking for those otbrosy, those scum. Not worthy to be in the same room with you, much less treat you like a servant, yes?”
“My handsome prince has already come, Kholodov.”
“Call me Sir!”
His voice whiplashes around the room.
“Do not think that because I’m fond of you, that you may speak to me like an equal.” He clenches his jaw, regrouping. “Russo, you may leave. We are not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”
Like a hopeless fool, I still look at her pleadingly, one last time. She ignores me and leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.
We’re alone and the full force of his attention is on me.
Kholodov doesn’t look like a psychopath, but psychopaths rarely do.
His suit is beautifully cut and expensive, his dark hair styled neatly.
His eyes are such a dark brown that they’re almost black.
Black like the tunnels under Edinburgh where the light never really chases away the darkness.
“Put your hair up.”
“No.” I’m calm. He’s not going to terrify me into submission.
Chuckling lightly, he pulls out some hairpins from his pocket. “If I must put your hair up, I will tie you face down to the bed first. I will whip you until your back bleeds. Which would you prefer?”
Like the crime shows… I think numbly. You obey to gain even one more minute.
I hold out my hand for the pins, meeting his gaze.
“Put it in a braid first,” he instructs. “Then wind it on top of your head. Your hair is lovely, so long and thick. I might hang you from it at some point.”
These are snub-nosed bobby pins, useless as a weapon. I begin braiding.
Wallace…
An hour earlier…
“Are ye there? With Scarlett?” I fight to keep the hope out of my voice.
“We’re in Kholodov’s estate,” she says, “I already know you’re aware of that. But with all his enhancements, you’re in a bit of a pickle, huh? Trying to figure your way through the guards and the alarms without setting them off and getting her killed?”
“Fecking skip to it,” I grit out. “What do you want in exchange for your help?”
“Scarlett’s inheritance,” she says, her tone light and amused. “Well, the amount, anyway. It’s not like she’s going to need it. You’re loaded.”
“How do you know about the trust?”
“Because Kholodov knows about the trust. Because Kyle Banner was such a fucking idiot that you’d have to hit him in the face with a shovel to shut him up.
” Russo sighs irritably. “When Scarlett turns twenty-three, she gets fifty million dollars. Marlena, bless her soul, didn’t know about the trust when she ordered the hit. ”
“It’s yours,” I cut her off.
“I’ll want it now, of course. I’m not going through all that estate paperwork.”
“It’s yours. How the feck do I get to my wife?”
“Even I don’t know the full layout of the mansion,” she sounds regretful.
“I’ll send you as many pictures of the interior as I can, and a diagram of the sensors and alarms outside.
Let me be clear. If anything is triggered, Kholodov will kill her.
He’s not the evil villain type who will wait so you can see him do it. He’ll cut her throat and disappear.”
There’s a quiet furor of activity around me, Alec gathering soldiers, Kai and Logan talking about dispersing the weapons. Cormac’s ordering transportation, everyone’s already in action.
“Send me the photos.”
“As soon as I see the down payment in my account,” Russo says. “Fifty percent, I’m sending you the deposit link.”
“God fecking damnit ye know you’ll get the money!” I roar.
“Fifty percent,” she says implacably. “I’m not the one in a hurry. Kholodov is on his way here.”
Uncle Dougal takes the phone from my nerveless fingers and pulls over my laptop. “You have twenty-five million in liquid assets in the MacTavish accounts,” he murmurs.
Russo hears him, of course. “I knew you would.”
“Transferring now,” he says coldly.
Five agonizing minutes go by until she says, “Excellent! There you are, all you pretty zeros!”
Half the room has emptied out, everyone racing for their designated task. Alec and Cormac stand on either side of me, watching the screen.
“You should be seeing the diagram and the first images now,” Russo says.