Page 31 of Stolen Empire

They're everywhere now, from the hard floor, from working too hard, from the way my muscles cramp when I can't move.

I want that pendant back, but I can't stay here and keep being that man's slave anymore.

I want to go home, back to the routine of my grifter life.

I think I've convinced myself that I'm ready to make a trip back to Perm when I have enough cash, and seeing my mother will be better than a pendant anyway.

I just have to get out of here, and I'm waiting for my chance.

So when the door opens, I squint against the light and ready myself.

Gavriil walks in, carrying a fresh bucket of water, and I see my chance.

I don't think. I just move.

I lunge past him, shoving him hard, and I make it three steps before his arm wraps around my waist.

He lifts me off the ground, tucking me under his arm as if I weigh nothing, and I scream.

I kick and thrash, my fists pounding against his back, but he doesn't even flinch.

He carries me out of the room and down the hallway, and I'm too exhausted to keep fighting.

By the time we reach Dimitri's office, my voice is hoarse and my body is limp.

Gavriil sets me down in front of the door and knocks once before pushing it open.

Dimitri is sitting at his desk, and he looks up when we enter.

His eyes are wide with curiosity, brow raised so high, creases appear on his forehead.

"She tried to run," Gavriil says.

Dimitri nods once, and Gavriil leaves, closing the door behind him.

I'm standing in the middle of the room, swaying slightly, and the anger surges back through me as I jerk my shirt down over my waistband and glare at him.

"Let me go home," I say, and my voice cracks. "Please. Just let me go."

He doesn't respond.

He leans back in his chair, his arms crossed, and he watches me with those dark, flat eyes that give nothing away.

"I'll leave Moscow," I say, and the words tumble out faster now.

"I'll go back to Perm. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. Just let me go."

"Are you finished?" His voice is calm, almost bored, and it makes the rage flare hotter.

"No, I'm not finished!" I shout, and I take a step toward him.

"You can't keep me here! I'm not your property! I'm not?—"

"You are."

He cuts me off, his tone still calm, and the certainty in his voice stops me cold.

"You belong to me. I've explained this to you already."