Series: Series by Ker Dukey
Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Yuri wasn’t going to let you lifff.” His words slur at the end of the sentence.
“We kinda knew that going in,” I remind him. “He couldn’t do anything about it if I survived and came out the victor.” I don’t want to sound like a whiney bitch, but my pride is hurt a little that they didn’t really think I could win, and sent me in anyway. Not that they had a choice.
“We weren’t willing to leth you dieee.”
Why is he slurring? How much vodka did he drink?
“Well, maybe I wouldn’t have,” I grumble stubbornly.
“They would neffer let what happened wiff Dianuhh happen againnn.” He grunts and rubs at his temple. “We found out Yuriii was sending in someone jush to kill..lll you. You wouldn’t haff survived himmm.”
I think someone needs to lay off the Rainbow juice because he’s wasted. Folding my arms, I take a deep breath, not sure I want to argue with a drunk person.
“So did Vas know?” Okay, so apparently I do want to continue this discussion, wasted or not.
“No one knewwww.”
“Why did you come for me?” My voice is barely above a whisper. I don’t sound like myself. The vulnerability makes my cheeks heat. It couldn’t be just so they could fuck me. No fuck is worth the risk, surely?
Sighing, Rodion closes his eyes. “Because you’re oursss. I know it, he knows ittt.” He flings a hand Zahkar’s way before bringing his hooded gaze to mine. “And you know ittt. No more games. No mur pretending. No murrr questions. Now, relax luff. I have more plans for your body, as soon as I rest a minute.” He yawns and his eyes drift close again.
“You’re drunk. I didn’t know you were capable of getting wasted like this.”
“Mush be the good vokka,” he murmurs thickly. “Dammit, now I need to pisssss.” Slinging the duvet back, he attempts to stand, but sways.
“Rodion?”
“I’m fucking wasted, Lonya.” He falls back onto the bed, eyes closing again and limbs going loose. “Rodion?” I move Z’s arm and tap Rodion’s face. “Rodion?”
What the hell? I turn and shake Z. “Wake up.” He doesn’t move. His mouth is parted with heavy breaths, and some drool stains the pillow.
My stomach dips. This isn’t right.
A clicking sound coming from outside the room jolts my head in the direction of the door, making my nerves seize.
Hurriedly slipping from the bed, I grab Rodion’s discarded shirt and quickly button it as I move through the apartment.
A sliver of light comes from the door leading to their garage. Would they have left that on?
My pulse races in my veins, a cold sweat breaking over my brow. Grab a weapon, Alyona.
Reaching for one of the kitchen knives, I almost drop it when another sound can be heard coming from the garage.
Bracing myself in a defensive stance and raising the blade, I grip the doorknob and take a couple of breaths, psyching myself up. “Arghhh,” I yell, marching into the room with the weapon ready to wound.
What the fuck?
A cat.
It’s just a fucking cat.
A breeze ripples over my bare feet as my eyes dart to the slightly open garage door, just high enough for a cat to slip inside.
I think I just lost five years of my life.
“Hello kitty cat,” I coo, moving toward it. Its back end is the only part I can see as it’s distracted, licking something behind the car’s back wheel. “What have you got?”
If it’s a mouse or a rat, I’m out.
I round the car, and a buzzing sound explodes in my head. Not a mouse. Blood. The cat is licking blood that’s seeping from the housemaid’s neck. She’s laid out on a plastic tarp like a scene from a fucking serial killer’s handbook.
“It’s a stray,” a man's voice says from behind me.
I jerk from the sound and almost trip over the damn cat, my ass hitting a counter that’s covered with bottles of car oil, wash, and everything else a car could possibly need.
A figure lurks in the doorway, studying me. “You didn’t drink the Kool-Aid then?”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
The vodka…
Rodion wasn’t drunk, he was suffering the effects of his liquor being spiked with something.
My eyes spring wide, and panic sprouts goosebumps over my skin. “Are they going to die?” I demand shakily, my hand tightening around the knife handle.
“That depends on you. The drug is just a sedative.” He cracks his neck and points at the cat. “It followed me in here. Such strange creatures. You know, feral cats will eat any meat available.” He moves toward the cat, and I sidestep until there’s enough space between us for me to fight if he attacks. Picking up the furball, he strokes a hand down the cat’s spine, and it’s then I notice he’s wearing black leather gloves. Not a good sign. Serial killer attire for sure. “But even well cared for, domesticated cats will scavenge on a body, even if it’s their owners.”