Page 6 of Lethal Torture

Oleg laughs, nudging the man next to him. “This one can dance already, huh?”

“Sophie can dance too.” I pull my cousin forward, but she doesn’t move, her head hanging down. It took Tetya Ana’s lawyer three days to track down my father. We’ve just learned that Sophie’s is dead, killed in some pointless fight.

She’s been crying ever since we found out.

I nudge my cousin. “Show them how you can dance, Sophie.”

I’m nervous, some sixth sense warning me that our lives now depend on what happens in this room.

“Nobody wants to watch a fat girl dance.” Oleg and his friend laugh.

Sophie’s sniffs turn into audible sobs. Oleg’s laughter disappears. “No man wants to hear little girls cry.” His eyes are narrow and mean, his mouth curled in contempt. He strikes Sophie without warning, hard enough to knock her to the floor. She clutches her face, staring up at him with wide, shocked brown eyes.

Neither of us have ever been hit before.

Oleg bends down and stares into her eyes. “Men want little girls to be pretty and do as they’re told.”

Sophie, swallowing her tears, shrinks away from him.

Oleg sneers. “You’re pathetic.” He grabs a chunk of her limp brown hair, eyeing it in disgust. “And you’ll never be pretty enough for the cage.”

A cage?

I don’t like the sound of a cage.

Oleg lets go of Sophie’s hair and pushes her away. “But that doesn’t mean men won’t pay for you.”

I feel a stab of fear.What if they take Sophie and leave me behind?

“What about me?” I take her hand, forcing myself to smile at Oleg. “Men will pay for me, too.”

He and his friend laugh at that. “Oh, yes, lyubimaya.” He touches my blonde plait. “They certainly will.”

He nods at Sophie and addresses the man with him. “Add this one to the special delivery to New York.”

The man nods. “Boss.”

New York? All I know about New York is that it’s in America, which is somewhere a long way away from London.

Sophie clutches my hand, looking up at me with wide, terrified eyes.

“We’re sisters,” I tell Oleg. “We have to stay together.”

He lights a cigarette and smiles coldly at me through the rising smoke. “You’re cousins. And she’s not my daughter. You are.” He runs his eyes over me critically. “The daughter of Oleg the Whip. You belong to me. And I will make you famous, lyubimaya. I will make you so famous that when I do finally sell you, men will pay a fortune to be the first to make you bleed.”

He stands up. “Get her out of here,” he says, nodding at Sophie.

“You want me to take them both?” The man eyes me greedily.

Oleg laughs unpleasantly. “No, muy droog. Nobody touches this one but me. Not for many years to come.”

“Zinny!” Sophie makes a sudden lunge for me, screaming my name. Oleg hits her again, this time so hard that her eyes close, her body falling limp to the floor. The other man picks her up, throwing Sophie’s unconscious body over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Oleg bends down and stares into my eyes. “I said I will make you famous, daughter,” he says softly. “But take a look at your fat friend and know this: if you cry, if you complain, if you everdo anything to make me angry, I will sell you like I’ve just sold her. Do you understand me?”

I nod.

“Good girl,” he says, straightening up. He sees me staring at Sophie’s body disappearing down the stairs. “Forget her,” he says curtly. “You won’t ever see her again.”