He leaves without saying another word. The way he takes the air from the room with him alarms me, a reminder that he’s in charge. He’s the boss, the one with all the power.
And I’m just an apple he plucked from the field.
I’m nothing but a ripe fruit he wants to slice open. Peel me, juice me, demolish me. My existence is entirely dependent on him and his whims.
Get pregnant; spit out a kid. I roll my eyes.Like it’s that fucking easy.
Pain pinches my body. I rub the back of my neck, whimpering at the soreness in my shoulder blade and the tender ache between my legs. Indignation swirls in the midst of my exhaustion, tearing me up just like Pavel did minutes ago.
I’m being treated like a piece of meat. I glare at the empty doorway, silently cursing whatever energy Pavel left behind. Which isn’t much.It’s just for a little while. That’s what Viktoria said, right?
Right—a little while.
He thinks he can use me whenever he wants, I think while sliding off the bed. I wander into the en suite bathroom, inhaling the decadent aroma rising from the soap basket. I pluck one of the thicker bars from the bunch and turn on the shower.But he can’t. I won’t let him.
Water sprays from the showerhead and splatters the tile. When I step into the stream, my body screams with relief from the hot water. Everything I’m feeling is fleeting. Things can change from one moment to the next.
And I can make that happen.
In some ways a slave…In others, a queen.
The words drift through my mind like a summer breeze. Suddenly, the world doesn’t seem as dim as it did when Pavel spread me like a centerfold on the bed. I lost control then. But I won’t make the same mistake twice.
Because Iwillbe his queen.
Whether he likes it or not.
Chapter Sixteen
Pavel
A simple nod sends silence through the room. My brigadiers settle into their chairs, their attention mine. As always. As it should be with everyone under my command.
I clench my fist at my side.
Except for one person, it seems.
Liya. She thinks she has a right to meddle in my affairs.I fix my tie absentmindedly.But she doesn’t. She has no right to suggest anything to me. She’s just my wife. She’s a means to an end.
A crown might be tattooed on her shoulder, but that crown belongs to me.
“One of you is missing,” I say when enough time has passed and no one else shows up.
A chair squeaks on the left side of the room, but my brigadiers remain quiet.
“Where is Vorobyov?” Eyes shift. Heads bow. More chairs squeal. Vyacheslav Valeryevich Vorobyov is missing, and he’s never been one to be late.
I relax my fist, exuding calm to my brigadiers so that one might talk. “When was the last time anyone saw him?”
Silence.
“Let’s try this again.” I sigh. “Where is Vorobyov?”
Kostya coughs to my left. To my right, Stepan stands as stiff and alert as ever. Murmurs float across the room. One of the brigadiers clears his throat while another tentatively stands.
“Gennadiy Vassilyevich,” I say to the man standing. “Govori!” Speak.
Hesitation has never been a concept for this man until now. His eyebrows twitch while his lips part soundlessly, searching for the right words. Fingers fold together repeatedly, and he cracks his knuckles in the process.