Chapter 6
Despite what feels like hours on the road, the only semblance of civilization we come across is a small gas station consisting of two pumps and a tiny storefront. Faded advertisements obscure the windows, and there are no other patrons—or anyone, in fact—for what seems like miles.
Just empty, barren land.
Surprisingly, Mischa pulls into the lot and circles around to the building’s rear end. There, my suspicion is proven false: A lone man is waiting, guarding a battered door. Dangling from his hip, in plain sight, is a gun. Alarmed, I look over at Mischa, but a faint smile shapes his lips and I bite back my warning.
“Stay here.” He climbs out of the van, taking the keys with him. Together, he and the man enter the building and exit it moments later with something slung between them—a wooden crate.
In their wake follows a third man, hefting another intimidating weapon. They pack the crate into the van, and then Mischa forces me into theback seat. His two men occupy the front, and the driver takes off without a word of direction.
Ignored, I endure the silence as the daylight progressively fades. Eventually, the sound of a door opening jostles me back to awareness.
“We’re here.”
I blink my eyes open and find Mischa waiting for me outside the van. Behind him looms that impenetrablemanor bathed in shadow.
I follow him silently, keeping as much distance as I dare. Inside, Vanya is standing near the foot of the stairs, his arms crossed.
“What did I say?” Mischa says to him. “There isalwaysanother method.”
He must be alluding to a past argument, because Vanya sighs in exasperation and nods. “Yes, yes. But sometimes it’s better to use caution—”
“Caution? Such as letting your brother continue to pull my strings?” When Vanya says nothing in response, Mischa chuckles. “It was a joke, Ivan. Did you handle things on your end?”
“Of course.” Vanya shifts to reveal something I didn’t notice in his hand: the handle of a gray duffel. He lets it fall to the floor and kicks it open to reveal the contents.
I can’t stop my eyes from widening at the sight.
Money. Stacks of it.
“Good.” Mischa crouches to rifle through the bills. He grabs a rubber-banded stack at random and then shoves the amount toward me. “Your cut,” he explains as I gape at the offering. “Welcome to your new family, Ellen Winthorp.”
When I don’t reach for the money, he grabs my wrist and presses the bills against my palm until I have no choice but to accept them.
“We don’t give a shit about blood here. This”—he nods to my hand—“is the only life we value.”
With that, he snatches up the handle of the duffel and carries it across the hall. This time, I know better than to follow him.
“Be careful.” Vanya’s watching me, his expression thoughtful. After a tense second, he nods to the stairs behind him. “Go get some sleep.”
“Goodnight.”
I slip past him, entering the room beside Mischa’s a few minutes later. It’s still bare, devoid of anything but a mattress. Ignoring the sight, I switch on the light and rip the rubber band off the stack of dollars.
Sinking to my knees, I count them, peeling the bills apart with my good hand. Slowly. Precisely.
My price for joining Mischa’s “family” is a hefty one, in the end. More money than I could ever dream of owning. More than Robert ever let me handle at one time. More than any man should ever give a “worthless whore.”
Unless, of course…
He placed an even bigger bet on her life.
I’m still running my fingers through the loose bills when the door opens and Vanya enters. Facing me, he braces his back against the wall and nods to the money.
“Keep it safe,” he warns. “The men won’t dare steal from Mischa, but you…are not him.”
“Thank you,” I croak, my voice thick.