Chapter 23 - Mira
There was an unexpected foil in Mira’s plans to kill Mikhail and avenge her mother.
Sarah, who was to have been helping her, had developed a chronic case of hero worship where Mikhail was concerned. She wouldn’t even let Mira so much as criticize the man to her hearing, and since Sarah had taken it upon herself to watch everything he ate or drank from the kitchen to his table, Mira couldn’t very well poison him.
Anyway, poison had never really been her style. Her approach had always been more direct. Not that she’d ever killed anyone, but she just knew if she had to kill someone, she wanted them to know she had done it and why.
Mikhail also seemed to have noticed her change in disposition toward him, because he was more withdrawn and quiet around her and he’d made no moves to touch her at all since the last time they’d made love in her bedroom.
Thinking of that time now, it almost seemed like a lifetime away. Mira had been so happy and carefree and had enjoyed his caresses and lovemaking. But now, the thought of letting Mikhail touch her with her mother’s blood on his hands…
She had to kill him.
The more she thought of the likely ways she could kill him, the more she realized he was too heavily protected and much too astute to be killed without some serious strategizing and help.
“Sarah? Where’s Mikhail?” Mira demanded as Sarah helped her brush her hair and style it into a long French braid that dangled all the way down her back.
“I saw him take a horse riding this morning. He seemed to have a lot on his mind,” Sarah said.
“I’ll bet he did,” Mira muttered.
Sarah’s frowning gaze met hers in the mirror. “This started out as a fake marriage—”
“It’s still a fake marriage,” Mira retorted.
“You seem a lot angrier at him than any fake wife has a right to be,” Sarah disagreed.
Mira rolled her eyes. Sara always had a way with words. She always seemed to have something to say in response to everything else.
“Can you just focus on my hair, Sarah? Thank you,” Mira said firmly. As soon as her hair was done, she shooed Sarah away and changed into a pair of white shorts, a metallic tank top, and white flat sandals.
As she went down the stairs to his library, she sternly lectured herself to be open to killing him by whatever means possible, including poisoning. The most important thing was his death and not the means.
When she reached the library, he was sitting there, staring off into the distance.
She crossed the room to his wine cabinet and poured herself a glass of soda water. She poured him a shot of one of his favorite whiskeys and tossed in a poisoned tablet that dissolved quickly as soon as it touched liquid. Then she sauntered over to where he was sitting, a small smile dancing about his lips, and held the glass out to him.
He stared at her for a heartbeat and she was almost afraid he had seen what she’d done. But he didn’t look suspicious, just pleasantly surprised.
He didn’t say anything, just took the proffered glass from her hand and lifted it to his lips. She couldn’t be sure whether he had drunk it or not, but since he had carried it to his lips, she supposed it was safe to think he had.
Mira stared at him in strained silence, waiting for him to hit the floor. Why did she feel this dread like a gaping hole deep inside of herself? Had she really done it? Had she really killed him? Why did she feel a yawning emptiness in the pit of her stomach at the thought of his beautiful eyes shutting forever in the sleep of death?
She shut her eyes briefly in dismay and when she opened it, he was holding out the empty glass to her. He smiled his thanks, and returned to working on his laptop.
Shakily, Mira disposed of the glasses and returned to her seat. She was beginning to perspire despite the cool air coming from the vents. She had never killed a person in her entire life and to poison someone now and then calmly sit around and wait for him to die…
She grabbed a book she had placed face down on the coffee table and lifted it to hide her face as she pretended to be reading.
Scenes from her first meeting with Mikhail started to flash before her eyes, and regret warred with the need for revenge inside of her. Maybe she should have done things differently. Maybe she shouldn’t have poisoned him just yet? Maybe—
Oh god, what if he died? She had seen people die so grotesquely and horribly from poison in the past.
“What are you reading?” Mikhail enquired in a suffocated voice, as though he were struggling not to laugh.
Mira glared at him, wondering why he was amused. The poison didn’t seem to be having any effect yet. “Why?”
“I’ve never seen anyone read upside down. Just wondering the kind of literature that required that sort of reading,” he laughed.
Her gaze shifted to her book. She did have it upside down. She blushed in mortification and righted the book.
Mikhail crossed the room to her, his gaze locked on hers as he gently pried the book from her fingers and laid it aside. “Can you tell me why you’re so bothered? Did something happen while I was away to get Sarah? Did anyone say anything to you?”
Her chin lifted even as she fought back tears. “Anything like what?”
He thrust his hands into his pockets, his gaze dark and brooding. “You should know I don’t like games, Mira. I know all the games and I’ve played them all. They bore me. If there’s something wrong, come right out and say it.”
She stared at him, feeling it on the very tip of her tongue to tell him about her mother and ask why he had killed her. But just then, Vlad popped open the door and peeked in.
“We’re under attack. It’s the Dostoevsky gang,” Vlad announced.
Immediately, Mikhail underwent a transformation right before her eyes. He went from laughing and teasing to cold and serious. He looked exactly how he’d looked the first night she saw him at the club, when she’d looked into his eyes and felt fear clutch at her heart. He was suddenly standing straighter, and he seemed more alert too.
His gaze cut to her. “Vlad, take Mira and Sarah, and the other women to the panic room.”
Vlad nodded and motioned one of his men to carry out the instructions. As they were hustled upstairs, Mira caught a glimpse of Mikhail. He had changed into what could only be termed war gear—some slinky leather contraption she’d only ever seen assassins wear in movies. But his seemed to have holsters everywhere with various types of weapons in them.
As she watched, he was speaking rapid-fire Russian and throwing instructions at his men as he pressed some buttons on a tablet in his hands and strode toward the rear of the house.
Even now, in the face of danger, he seemed unhurried and unafraid.
How was he still alive, though? The poison she had given him packed enough punch that it should have killed him in three seconds. She frowned. Or had the drugs expired and maybe lost their potency?
She had often wondered about that—did expired poison become more poisonous or less poisonous? She wondered, with something approaching hysteria.
The men noticed her lagging behind and one of them came and picked her up with unceremonious haste, lugging her into a steel-fortified room that was reinforced to survive probably anything short of an earthquake.
“Let me go,” she ordered with indignation.
But it was too late. She was already in the room and he released her at once with a respectful bow.
“I want to watch what’s happening with Mikhail and the men,” she insisted.
The man who had carried her pointed to a large screen which showed practically all the action on the grounds of the villa. “You can watch it all right there, Comare, ” he said with another respectful bow, using the Russian term for mistress.
“How long do we have to be cooped up here?” Mira wanted to know.
“You won’t notice the passage of time, Comare , if you get comfortable,” another of the men said.
“Come sit here, Mira,” Sarah beckoned urgently, drawing Mira to sit beside her. The room was filled with close to twenty women. In all her time here, Mira had seen neither hide nor hair of many of these women.
“They’re the wives of some of Mikhail’s men,” Sarah confided.
Mira nodded at the women, accepting their greetings and feeling lower than dirt. She had been here for over a month and in all that time, she’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts and feelings that she hadn’t even noticed the existence of other women in the Villa. Sarah had been here less than a week and she was already on first-name basis with the entire crowd.
As though she’d read her thoughts, Sarah squeezed her hand. “It’s not your fault, you know? You’ve had to learn to stop caring for people because every time you let people in, they either turned out to be your father’s spies or your father’s enemies.”
Mira’s ears perked up. This part at least, was true. “Plus, your father has dictated your friends and family all your life. He even tried to dictate your marriage until you put your foot down.”
Mira gave Sarah a watery smile. “I never would have had the gumption if it weren’t for you.”
Sarah snorted in disagreement. “You would have had plenty of gumption. You had a one-night stand with a hot dude who you picked out all by yourself. That takes loads of gumption.”
Mira blushed at the mention of losing her virginity because, invariably, her thoughts turned to Mikhail’s hands and lips all over her, his huge penis stroking in and out of her while she wound her legs around—
Mira drew herself up short, cutting off those traitorous thoughts. She truly couldn’t afford to harbor thoughts of Mikhail. He’d killed her mother with his own hands and she had to make him pay, and that’s all there was to it.
“It’s a good thing Father’s attacking the villa,” she muttered to herself under her breath. “If he doesn’t get Mikhail, I will.”
She saw one of the women sitting across from her lift her head and stare at her in consternation, but she didn’t attach any importance to that look.