Jaded

by Anya Bast

  She hoped he understood that she was going to kill him the first chance she got.

  She almost thought he was going to get close enough to touch her, but he stopped short. Still . . . he was close enough to stab. The weight of the knife tucked into her bodice became acute, begging her to grab it and plunge it into this man. Just then one of his thugs caught sight of her proximity to his master and entered the room, watching them like a bulldog.

  He leaned down and put his face near hers. “You owe me, Lilya. You owe me for wrapping me around your treacherous finger, making me love you, and then betraying me.”

  Her hands fisted. It was no use explaining that she’d been the one wronged in the hallway. Ivan saw what he wanted to see. It didn’t matter anyway. Even if she had done what Ivan believed she had, there was no excuse for his reprisal. But, of course, he wouldn’t understand that either.

  She spit in his face.

  He jerked in surprise and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he went very, very still. For the first time, a quiver of fear went through her. She’d pushed him too far and now he might hurt her so badly she wouldn’t be able to escape. Her anger had gotten the better of her.

  Ivan moved slowly, smoothly, picking up what was probably a priceless antique chair and heaving it into the air. He threw it around and held it aloft, above her, intending to smash it down on her. Lilya flinched, covering her head with her arms and closing her eyes—waiting for the pain.

  Oh, she remembered this.

  But Ivan threw the chair above her head instead, smashing it against the wall behind her. It splintered into a thousand pieces, raining down on her head. When the chair lay broken on the floor around her, she opened her eyes and brought her hands down into her lap.

  Ivan paced in front of her, his face red. He stopped, drew a careful breath, and drew a hand through his hair. Without looking at her, he pointed. “You will dress in a manner that pleases me and join me for dinner tonight.” Then he turned and pushed past the thug at the door, who stood watching her with a curl in his lip and a knowing, cruel glint in his eye.

  She wondered for a moment if the thug knew what Ivan had done to her six years ago and hoped he might do it again.

  Heart pounding, she tore her gaze away from the man and back down to her teacup, now with shards of splintered chair soaking in it.

  She’d almost found happiness.

  It had been right there in front of her, hers for the taking. She’d nearly had everything in life she’d wanted.

  Ivan wasn’t going to let her have it.

  Twenty-eight

  She’s in there. She has to be.” Byron’s voice came out a dangerous growl.

  Alek followed the direction of Byron’s pointing finger and saw a stately country home in a whole row of stately country homes. They’d gone just outside the city to check this house after they’d checked every single one of Ivan’s residences in Milzyr. It had taken them all day to get to this one; it figured the last one they checked would be the only one occupied.

  They’d parked the carriage a little ways down the road and sat watching the place. Once in a while a servant or a thug disguised as a servant would go around the back and, presumably, enter the residence.

  “It does look like it’s pretty active,” Alek answered.

  “We can’t waste any more time. We need to go in there and get her out now.” Byron had been fidgety, restless, and short-tempered. Alek understood. He felt the same way; he just hid it better.

  “I agree.” His voice came out in a tense snap. “But we need a plan. We’re only two men. Have you seen the amount of muscle going in and out of the house, Byron? Even if our will is strong, I don’t think we can do this on our own.”

  Byron sat watching the house, his mind clearly mulling the problem over. “We need to go in now.” His voice came out a snarl. “Anything could be happening to her in there.”

  “We don’t even know she’s in the house for certain.”

  “She is,” Byron ground out. “I feel it.”

  Alek shifted impatiently. “So you just want to break down the front door and fight at least ten hulking guards without any weapons? You really think that’s going to help Lilya? I think we’ll be killed doing that and Lilya will have no hope at all.”

  “And if we wait, Lilya is dead.” He paused, his voice lowering. “She could already be dead.”

  Alek closed his eyes, refusing to believe that was even a possibility. “We’re only a few hours away from Ulstrat. Let’s go get the team.”

  “What?”

  “The boys on the crossball team. All we have to do is say the word and they’ll come out here and help us. You know they will. We can go gather as many as we can, arm them, be back in seven hours.”

  Byron stared at the house. “Seven hours.”

  “It’s Lilya’s best shot. You know we can’t bring the government down on him, the—”

  “Gregorio!”

  “What? Gregorio Vikhin?”

  “He’s a part of the government that I know Ivan hasn’t paid off. Vikhin’s been looking to catch Ivan for a crime ever since he was elected to lead the council.” Byron climbed out of the carriage. “I’m taking one of the horses, you take the other. I’ll have the driver rerig the carriage, hide it, and wait for us. You go to Ulstrat. I’m headed back to Milzyr to find Gregorio. He can find men to bring out here and we can take care of Ivan once and for all.”

  Alek nodded. It would probably take about the same amount of time for Byron to return to Milzyr and come back with Gregorio as it would for him to go to Ulstrat and back. “Let’s go.” He climbed out after him and they unhooked two of the horses, sheltered from the view of Ivan’s house by a clump of evergreen bushes.

  And they were off in two different directions, pushing their mounts as hard as they could go and hoping they wouldn’t be too late.

  All was silent but for the sound of clanking silverware. Mostly it was Ivan’s silverware that was clanking, since Lilya wasn’t eating. Lilya had done what Ivan had asked her to do, since defying him at this point didn’t make sense. She’d dressed for dinner and arrived to the meal on time, escorted by not only one, but five burly guards.

  One might almost think that Ivan was afraid of her.

  She knew he wasn’t. After all, she was one slight woman in a house of hulking men. What could she possibly do to him? He didn’t know about the comforting pressure of the knife down her bodice or the vicious will she possessed. Ivan should be afraid of her. She was only biding her time before she killed him.

  Although she was quite happy to remain underestimated. Being underestimated would only help her in the end. They’d even given her a knife to cut her chicken with. Imbeciles.

  She stared down at her untouched plate of food. At least he couldn’t make her eat. Across the table, he blissfully consumed the roasted chicken and vegetables as though they were merely a married couple with little to say to each other. Nothing at all wrong.

  The gown he’d chosen for her to wear to dinner was flawless and exquisite, as was all the clothing he’d been forcing her to don. Gold-and-cream tulle, it possessed a fitted, strapless bodice and a dropped waist, with a full skirt gathering below her hips to fall in perfect flounces to the floor. She’d left her hair long and loose, since he wasn’t forcing her to fix it and she wasn’t going to do anything for him beyond wearing the clothing.

  She’d even left the sapphire jewelry in her room, but all she’d received from Ivan was a flare of ire in his eyes as he’d assessed her as she entered the dining room. She would have gone barefoot too, if it wasn’t for the fact she thought perhaps the heels of her shoes could be used as weapons.

  “I have been watching you for the last two days.” Ivan took a sip of his wine and looked up at her, his other hand on his fork. “Assessing how you’ve changed since I last stood in a room with you.”

  Remembering every detail about the last time he stood in a room with her, she raised her gaze to his, knowing f
ull well how her eyes glittered with pure hatred.

  “You are different than I imagined you would be. Very proud. Very strong. Much too proud, in fact. Defiant. Full of hope. Able to love.” He shook his head. “This is unacceptable, Lilya. You are not supposed to be this way.”

  She smiled a cold little smile and raised an eyebrow. “Just how do you think I should be?”

  “Broken.” The answer came swiftly. He took another sip of wine and Lilya imagined all the things she could do with the shattered edge of his goblet. “Beaten. Unsure of yourself. Lacking self-confidence. Unhappy.” He paused, looking at her over the rim of his glass. “After what you did to me, the way you continue to tie me in knots.... Me! Ivan Lazarson! You don’t deserve happiness.”

  Ivan was a lunatic. Insane. She’d known it before, but this conversation was really driving it home. There was no way to reason with this man. He wouldn’t understand anything she had to say. She couldn’t reason with him—he had no reason.

  “So you intend to kill me, then?” She wasn’t going down without a fight, but if he chose to do it now, with so many of his men around, she didn’t have much of a prayer.

  Her mind flashed to Byron and Alek and her throat tightened at her loss. She should have known better—love was not for her. She’d known that from the start.

  The problem had always been expectations. Hers were too high.

  “Kill you? No, that’s far too easy.” He stared at her, his eyes going colder. “I want to destroy you, make it so you go back to your life at the Temple of Dreams and give up on happiness and love.” He blinked slowly. “I know exactly how to do that.”

  One more attack like the one she’d had before would obliterate her. Her entire body went frigid as fear sucked all the warmth from her blood. “I will never, ever do what you want me to do, Ivan. No matter what you subject me to. I refuse.”

  He smiled. “But you already have been doing what I want you to do, my dear. At least, up until a few weeks ago.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been watching you since you were lying in that alley six years ago. You haven’t known it, but I’ve been managing you from afar. I was delighted when you took up with the Temple of Dreams and I’ve been monitoring your clientele. If a man seemed too likely to bring you love or happiness, I . . . persuaded . . . him to go quietly away.”

  Lilya pushed her chair away with a loud scrape against the floor and bolted to her feet. “You incredible bastard!”

  All this time she’d been priding herself on being in control, choosing her clients and then carefully managing her relationships with them, but Ivan had been behind the scenes, directing and guiding her life from afar.

  “I only want things back the way they were, Lilya.” He spread his hands.

  All of a sudden her life at the Temple of Dreams seemed like a cage. Dear Joshui, she’d been in prison since the day she’d met him but she hadn’t known it.

  The blood drained from her face and her body went cold and shaky. The room tilted and her vision went black. No. No, she couldn’t pass out. Not now. Not ever in front of Ivan. It left her too vulnerable.

  She swallowed hard and leaned down, gripping the table so she wouldn’t fall over, and snarled into his face. “I will never, never give you anything you want, Ivan. I will die before I ever do anything you want me to do again.”

  He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “There’s that pride. It’s amazing that you should still have it.” He paused. “I can make you do anything I want you to do, Lilya. Two words, Byron and Alek.”

  She straightened, her face going blank, and took a step backward. “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’m threatening them, actually. If you go back to your life at the Temple of Dreams, tell them you care nothing for them, and force them to go away, I’ll leave them alone.”

  “I don’t think they’ll be that easy to kill.” Her voice shook with uncertainty.

  Ivan laughed. “I could have done it in Ulstrat on any night of my choosing. Breaking into Byron Andropov’s house was easy. I stood over all your beds, dagger in my pocket. Slitting their throats would have been a child’s game.”

  Of course. He’d been the one to break into Byron’s. She really had smelled Ivan’s cologne that night. He’d probably been watching her at the crossball match that afternoon and at the market too. She just hadn’t thought about it before. She shuddered.

  “I’ve got men out looking for them even as we speak. Eventually they’ll be located. If you refuse my terms, I’ll order them brought here and I’ll slit their throats right in front of you.”

  She swallowed hard. “You’d actually get your hands bloody, Ivan?”

  His lips split in a mirthless smile. “Anything for you, love. Now what was that you were saying about not doing anything for my pleasure?”

  Her mind whirled. If she killed him, they would all be free. Desperation made the back of her throat taste coppery. Her gaze flicked to the entrance of the dining room and the two monsters standing on either side of it. She knew there were more scattered around the house, stationed outside every entrance.

  She looked at the knife lying alongside her plate and then at the one discarded beside Ivan’s wineglass. Along with her dagger that was three weapons total. If she acted fast, maybe she had an opportunity.

  Even in the three seconds it took her to calculate a plan and her odds, three of Ivan’s men entered the room. That made six men total in her vicinity.

  She wilted. Yet, now might be her last chance at trying to kill Ivan.

  She hadn’t given up yet, not by a long shot, but she had to appear as if she had. Bowing her head, she murmured, “I agree.” She didn’t have to fake the tears that plopped onto the floor. It was a lie—she was going to try and figure a way out of this—but the lie felt true. It confirmed everything she’d secretly believed about herself before Byron and Alek. Love and happiness really weren’t for her. She wasn’t allowed to have it.

  Here was the proof.

  “Good.” Ivan nodded, a genuine smile splitting his face. “That’s very good, Lilya. The men can live. I’ll be watching you though. One little slip up and I’ll slip them up. Got it?”

  Miserable, she nodded.

  “All right, boys, she’s yours.”

  Her head snapped up and she backed away from them. “What? I thought we’d struck a bargain!”

  “The bargain was for the lives of your lovers, not for your punishment. That is nonnegotiable.”

  “You bastard. You rotten, stinking bastard!” She grabbed up the table knife and held it out between her and the six men who were now in the room. “I will die before I let them have me.”

  Ivan shrugged. “As you wish.”

  “I have a better idea, Ivan.” She backed up a few more paces, away from the confident, smirking thugs who were clearly quite happy with their boss at the moment. “How about you die instead?”

  She leapt onto the table, sliding across it using the table cloth. The cloth slipped over the edge, sending plates, food, and cutlery to the floor with a thunderous, clattering crash. Single-minded in her purpose, she ignored it all, driving the point of her knife straight for Ivan’s throat.

  Ivan’s eyes grew wide and he threw up his hands to ward her off. No matter, she readjusted the blade’s trajectory toward his chest.

  A moment before her knife made contact, one of the guards slammed into her. She tumbled over the edge of the table, going down hard onto the floor amid the shattered plates and the remnants of roasted chicken. Her knife flew from her hand and skidded under the table.

  “Nice try, Lilya,” came Ivan’s smug voice. “You can give up all hope now.”

  Her eyes closing, pain screaming through her, she rested for a moment against the floor. Give up? Never. She would fight until her dying breath. Coughing, she rolled onto her side, masking the movement of her hand going to the bodice of her dress. Pulling the weapon out, she hid it up her sleeve.
/>   Shouting and crashing sounds came from another part of the house. “What? What’s going on?” asked Ivan, glancing around him.

  Chaos erupted. Men she didn’t recognize rushed into the room and began fighting with the thugs. Shouting came from all over the house. Dazed from the fall she’d taken and her body hurting all over from the broken glass she’d landed on, she forced herself up, watching the battle explode in the room.

  Suddenly Ivan was on her, snarling into her face, and raising the other table knife above his head. She threw up an arm instinctively to protect herself. Ivan brought his hand down for a killing blow. Using every ounce of her strength, she knocked his arm away and plunged her own blade upward, taking him in the throat. Ivan went motionless for a moment above her, his eyes going wide with surprise and shock. Hot blood pumped over her hand and dripped onto the floor.

  Ivan slumped to the side, the knife limp in his lifeless hand.

  Lilya fell back and closed her eyes, panting hard. Every part of her body screamed with pain. Around her the battle raged on. Men shouted. Things broke. For a moment she thought she heard Gregorio Vikhin’s voice . . . but that was impossible.

  Her heart ached for Byron and Alek.

  Everything began to go black.

  “Lilya!”

  Her eyes opened to find Byron scooping her into his arms. “Lilya, what did they do to you?”

  She smiled up into his face, wondering if it really could be Byron she was seeing now. If it was a dream, it was a good one. “This? I did this to myself.”

  “There’s so much blood.”

  “Most of it is Ivan’s.” She paused, thinking about the broken plates and glasses she’d landed on. “Or maybe not,” she amended.

  Then everything really did go black.

  Twenty-nine