Page 6 of Lash

"My name is Lash, Tatiana Juric."

"You know me?"

"I knew you when you were a gangly, beautiful, coltish teenage girl. I worked for your father."

"I don't recognize you."

He shrugs. "You wouldn't. You never knew I existed."

"But you know me."

"Yes, I do. Only from afar, but I know you."

"What's happening, Lash?"

"A very complicated bit of business, Lovely One." Somehow, he makes the endearment sound like a nickname. "A double cross, among other things."

"My father is going to think you kidnapped me." I keep hold of his wrist—which is thick and dense with muscle.

"I know. I will keep you safe and return you to him. You have my solemn vow." He twists his hand so now he has my hand in his and kisses the back of my palm. "You will be safe as long as you are with me."

"My father will be very angry. And so will this Mercado person." My heart pounds—not from fear, now, but something else. Something to do with this man, his touch, his kiss on my hand. "They'll kill you."

He kisses my hand again, making my skin tingle and tighten; his grin is a flash of white in the darkness. "They will try, and they will fail." He lets go of my hand, creeping backward into the shadows, melting out of sight. "Remain here, and remain silent."

"Okay."

"Tatiana?"

I frown. "Yes?"

Something soft and warm lands on my face and shoulder, smelling of male sweat and cologne. "To cover yourself. Filip will die first for his sins against you, and he will die screaming."

I shrug out of my blazer and then the ruined blouse, and shrug into the shirt. It's huge on me, hanging past my hips, thesleeves around my forearms, even though I get the impression that this Lash isn't much taller than me.

“Thank you," I whisper.

There's no answer.

I peer into the gloom; Filip and Ivan are now smoking cigarettes and passing a flask back and forth.

A patch of shadows shifts.

I can't make out what happens, but Filip's body contorts backward, and he screams as he's hauled into the shadows, kicking. Ivan pulls his gun and fires, the noise deafening and the muzzle flash blinding, but he curses floridly in Croatian.

A second later, there is another long, gurgling scream from Filip, one that trails off slowly.

"Filip?" Ivan calls, his voice shaky.

Silence.

I can just make out Ivan, turning in circles, gun extended, shifting this way and that.

A shadow passes between Ivan and the light from beyond the hangar.

I hear the crack of a bone snapping, and Ivan screams.

"Delete the video," Lash growls.