He deliberately turns his back. The man’s big, muscled, armed, and nasty-looking. He’d have no qualms in hurting me.
He grabs something outside the door. I try to see past him, see where we are, a passage, a way out, anything, but all I can see is a wall.
He turns and throws something at me.
It hits me in the head before I can move, and I stumble as plastic clatters to the ground. A dirty yellow bucket.
“You need to piss, then piss.” He crosses his arms.
“I’m not using this. And I’m not doing anything with you watching.”
He shrugs. “Then you don’t need to piss. There are corners to use.”
Without waiting, he steps forward and sweeps up the bucket. He’s about to leave when someone else arrives.
Another man.
Everything goes cold within me.
I know him.
His gaze doesn’t even flick to me.
When they mentioned Melor, I figured it was a way, like mentioning Max’s real killer, to get me into their clutches.
I didn’t expect Melor to be involved.
But he is.
Nausea rolls through me.
Maybe I could fool myself into thinking he’s part of the rescue party, and he’s not looking at me so he can get the job done.
But there’s no way Ilya would send someone else.
I can try to get answers from him. So I play the game of stupid.
“Melor, thank goodness you’re here to rescue me?—”
“Quiet, bitch,” says the ugly man.
Melor glances at me.
I shut up.
Not because Mr. Ugly told me to, but because of how Melor looked at me. Like I’m nothing, a commodity, with malice and hate and greed.
And that shakes me down to my marrow.
The Melor I’m acquainted with is helpful, nice, the only friendly face among the Belov men. Ilya thought it was Santo behind everything. I disagreed. But never in a million years would I have thought the betrayal might come from within his own ranks. Even if Melor dislikes Ilya, why would he try to take down the Belov Bratva?
The man’s love and respect for Ilya’s grandfather’s been clear since I first met him. So if the old man made a choice, he’d respect that. Wouldn’t he? Demyan’s men do. When Demyan took over, not even the old second said a word. He’s retired now, and he worked with Ilya on the transition of power.
So I don’t get it.
Besides, the whole will and stipulations aren’t straightforward. Hence our marriage.
The two men ignore me, speaking in urgent, hushed, rapid-fire Russian.
