Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I blinked in surprise. "How did you—"
"I know everything about you, Alina. Everything." He circled me slowly. "Georgetown scholarship. Bright future. Then suddenly, you're working a dangerous job for shit pay. Why?"
Shit pay. Maybe to him. My monthly salary was probably pocket change he’d find between the cushions of his sofa. FML.
My mind raced. How could he possibly know these things?
"Answer me," he demanded, suddenly behind me, his breath hot against my neck.
"My father," I admitted, the words bitter on my tongue. "His gambling debts."
Pavel chuckled. "Ah, the sins of the father. Always so entertaining."
I turned to face him, finding a fraction of courage. "Not to those paying for them."
"Tell me more," he demanded, backing me against the wall again. "Tell me why a smart, beautiful girl sacrifices everything."
Beautiful? The word caught me off guard, sending an unwelcome warmth through my chest even as danger surrounded me. I pushed the feeling away, disgusted with myself for noticing anything beyond the threat he posed.
"My grandmother raised me after my mother died." The words tumbled out as his gun slid along my collarbone. "When they came collecting, my father gave them my name and disappeared. I had to protect her."
"So noble," he mocked, but something flickered in his eyes. "And now you clean blood from floors to pay debts that aren't yours."
I swallowed hard. "What choice did I have?"
"Choice?" He laughed again. "There's always a choice, moy kotyonochek. Sometimes just between bad and worse."
The foreign words rolled off his tongue, somehow both threatening and intimate.
"What does that mean? Moy ka-tyoh-nuh-chek?" I dared to ask, sounding out the foreign phrase.
"My little kitten," he translated, tracing my jaw with one finger. "Small, skittish, trying so hard to hide in the shadows."
I flinched away, but there was nowhere to go.
"Your father," Pavel said, his tone shifting. "Do you know where he is now?"
The question surprised me.
Why would he care about my pathetic excuse for a father? Unless...
A chill ran through me as I realized what Pavel might be asking.
Was he planning to hunt my father down?
To make him pay for his debts—or for transferring them to me?
I should be horrified at the thought.
I should warn my father, protect him despite everything.
But the hot flash of vindictive satisfaction that surged through me was immediate and overwhelming. Would I mourn if this man put a bullet in my father's head? The honest answer disturbed me more than Pavel's gun against my skin.
"No," I finally answered, my voice steadier than expected. "He disappeared three years ago. Haven't heard a word from him since he threw me to the wolves."
"Tell me about these men who hold your father's debt," he demanded, suddenly intense. "Names. Amounts. Everything."
"Why would you care?" I challenged, instantly regretting my boldness.
His eyes narrowed. "Because I don't share what's mine."
Mine.
The word hit me like ice water.
I wasn't his.
I wasn't anyone's.
Yet something about the raw possession in his tone made my breath catch.
No one had ever wanted to claim me before—they'd only wanted to use me.
The difference shouldn't matter.
It shouldn't send that forbidden rush through my veins. But it did.
The gun pressed between my breasts. “Did you know, when someone lies, their heart races. Unless something else is making your heart pound."
I gasped, panic clawing at me. I squeezed my eyes shut, begging whoever might be listening to make this stop. To let me wake in my bed, for this all to be just another nightmare.
"Open your eyes. Look at me," he demanded.
I obeyed.
Because that was what good girls did.
That was what I'd always done—followed the rules, kept my head down, worked hard.
It was supposed to keep me safe, not standing here facing death.
"If I let you go," he murmured, "how do I know you won't run to the police?"
"I—" Terror choked me. "Please, I won't—I promise. I know they can't protect me from men like you."
"Men like me," he repeated, his mouth twisting into a cruel smile. "And what do you know about men like me?"
"Enough to be afraid," I whispered.
He leaned in with deliberate slowness, his breath warming my skin. His lips barely brushed my neck before trailing along my jaw.
"Your father's debt," he murmured against my skin. "How much remains?"
"Seventy thousand," I answered, my voice breaking. "Three years of payments and I've barely touched the principal."
He pulled back, studying me. "Three years of sacrifice." His eyes darkened. "All for an old woman who would rather die than see you enslaved this way."
A chill ran down my spine.
How could he know what my grandmother repeatedly said to me?
"I had a grandmother too," he said, as if reading my thoughts. Shocking me with this unexpected personal detail. "She would have cut off her own hands before letting me suffer for her."
"Please—just let me go," I pleaded, my eyes welling up.
"No," he replied, the single word crushing my last hope.