Page 26 of Silent Ties

He doesn’t. He notices my half-empty drink. “Do you want a refill?”

I shake my head and he shrugs. “Maxie doesn’t like thesethings either so don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll get you out first chance.”

He leaves me in the hall, sipping on his drink, unbothered by the entire exchange.

Lev really had it right, hiding himself with the food.

I find the bathroom at the end of the hall, but a second after entering the door clicks open again.

“Sorry.” I turn, coming face to face with Yelena. “Oh.”

This isn’t accidental at all.

The fire in her eyes is different from her son’s. It’s cold, cruel—almost inhuman.

“My son decided to keep you.”

I placed my drink on the counter but now regret not having anything to do with my hands. They remain limp at my sides, the space growing smaller and smaller. I found Dmitri’s conversation unnerving. This is ten times worse.

There’s no maneuvering around her. I stand and listen.

“Did my son fuck you well?”

“What?”

There’s a natural pout to her lips, giving a haughty expression at all times. “You must be good or else why keep you.”

There’s marked emphasis on the last word. I’m trash among their finer things.

My lips part, not knowing what to say.

She gets too close, letting me see her mask of anger. A claw points at me, touching the fabric of my dress. “Marissa thinks she sent her best whore, but you are nothing.”

I could have told her that, but she likes hearing herself talk.

“You harm my son,” she hisses, my heart thudding, “I bury you deeper than any of these kings think they know how.”

“I. . .” know this and despite the threats, I understand the motherly instincts. My empathy means nothing when a slap rips through the air, my face swinging from the force.

I can’t move it back to look at her. It’s frozen as I ponderwhether someone’s head can fall off from a slap that hard. The skin tingles and I’m certain there’s a red mark. Honestly, I’m lucky her long fingernails didn’t claw my face out. I suppose that would leave it too obvious.

An incoherent noise—a whimper I realize a moment later—catches in the back of my throat when she painfully twists a nipple.

“Know your place whore.”

Her feet stomp to the exit.

I’m not a perfect person. It’s why I’m here. Why Marissa got a hold of me. But I’ve never been so violated until this moment.

My neck creaks as I stiffly move. A dim want makes me wish to crumple on the floor.

I swipe under my eyes when I hear noise outside the door. Fuck this door I keep forgetting to lock. If it’s not the cheek that’s red, it’s certainly my nose.

I don’t care how childish it is, I wrench back the shower curtain. And nearly shit my pants when I realize someone is already there.

“What the actual fuck?”

A woman, possibly my age, appears just as panic-stricken. The door handle turns and I duck in, careful of my heels on the porcelain tub.