27
952 Words
The soldier has defected, but the general doesn’t yet know. It’s in every taut line of his body, every telling tic on his face. But there’s something else beneath his tension, a darker, more painful emotion that has him grinding his jaw and white-knuckling his weapon as he stands there staring into the distance.
Goose bumps erupt all over my arms. I say, “Vlad.”
Without looking at me, he nods.
“He was . . . your friend? Brother?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. A quick shake of his head, and I know.
His lover.
I breathe, “Oh, Stefan. I’m so sorry.”
He speaks through a clenched jaw. “I was the one who got him the job. It was a mistake. He wasn’t cut out for this kind of work. He was too . . .” He pauses to swallow. “He didn’t know about my feelings. No one knows. I don’t even know why I’m telling you.”
Our eyes meet. That little jolt of recognition.
“Yes, you do.”
It hangs there between us, unspoken: because you want to kill Dimitri, too.
Nothing more is said. I make a show of walking the grounds, giving Stefan his coat back before we come in sight of the house. He trails behind me at a respectable distance as I meander through manicured gardens, everything glimmering with mist. When my slippers are soaked and I can no longer bear the cold, I ask Stefan to take me back inside.
We go through the front door this time, arriving as a large white van is pulling into the driveway. A pair of the armed guards I saw lurking around earlier approach the van, and one of them taps on the driver’s window with his rifle. Stefan and I go into the house before I can hear what’s happening.
“Enjoy your walk?”
I jump at the sound of Dimitri’s voice and whirl around. He’s sitting in a wingback chair in the drawing room, dressed in black silk, shoes polished, cuff links gleaming, not a hair out of place. The gold-and-onyx signet ring on his pinkie winks in the light.
He slides a look at Stefan, his lips lifting, then glances back at me.
Careful now, Eva. Don’t blink.
I answer coolly, “If your dog wasn’t sniffing so closely at my heels, I would have.”
“Hmm.”
He tilts his head back and examines me for a moment from under half-lowered lids. Stefan stands silent and still, his face blank, his demeanor untroubled.
He’s much better at this than Vlad was.
His gaze on me unflinching, Dimitri lifts his hand and makes a “come” motion with his index finger.
I obey without hesitation but don’t hurry. He watches the dress move around my hips as I walk. When I’m a foot away, he reaches out and grabs my wrist, then yanks me down into his lap.
He bites me on the shoulder, sliding his hand up my thigh.
I stiffen and suck in a breath.
What a stupid mistake this dress was. A slip of a thing, so easy to get into but so utterly easy to rip off. I should’ve wound myself up in corsets and packing tape.
“Steady, my love,” murmurs Dimitri, nuzzling my neck as I instinctively recoil. “Or I’ll think you don’t like me touching you.”
His soft chuckle makes my flesh crawl. He brutally pinches the tender flesh of my inner thigh, chuckling again when I gasp in pain, squeezing my legs together.
Stefan gazes at us impassively, his expression almost bored. But there’s a spark of something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A flash of anger, there then quickly smothered.
“Excuse me, sir.”
Dimitri looks up at the guard standing in the corridor. He’s tall and broad shouldered, with close-cropped dark hair and a nose that’s been broken more than once. “The dressmaker is here.”
“Ah!” Dimitri brightens. “Bring him in.”
Dressmaker? That sinking feeling is my stomach.
The guard shows in an old man with gnarled hands and a shock of white hair. Though bent and limping, he has a proud bearing. His suit is fine-quality navy pinstripe. His bow tie and silk pocket square are both red.
He’s accompanied by another man, much younger, wearing a rumpled beige cardigan and black bifocal glasses on the bridge of his large nose. A tape measure dangles from around his neck. An assistant.
They bow. The old man murmurs a deferential greeting.
“Come in, Alek. Welcome.”
The old man gestures to his companion. “My son, Tolya.”
The son bows again. He’s nervous, perspiring, pushing his glasses up his nose but staring at the floor. Obviously his father has warned him about their patron.
The two of them have my eternal gratitude, because Dimitri is distracted.
“You’ve brought samples?”
Alek nods.
“Good. Let’s begin. Evalina, get undressed.”
Alek, Tolya, Stefan, and the guard all look at me.
Heat floods my face.
I understand that my humiliation is part of it, that Dimitri arranged this not only as another test of obedience but also as one of the little degradations he so enjoys. If I’m to be successful in my drive to earn his trust, I must do as he commands.
But it would be easier to swallow a flaming sword than to force my frozen limbs to move.
Dimitri waits, smiling blandly, staring into my eyes.
My choice is clear. Obey, or pay.
Either way, he wins.
This battle, I remind myself, but not the war.
- Writer
