Page 35 of Stolen Empire

The words settle over me and I know he means every one of them.

I look down at the plate, at the food I can't finish, and I feel the trap closing around me.

There's no way right now, but if I play along, if I get on his good side and earn that leash, then maybe I can find a way to escape.

Maybe.

"What do you need me to do?" I ask, and my tone is colored with resignation.

I don't like it, but I've been through worse.

And he's right.

I’m good at what I do or I wouldn't have been successful as long as I have been.

I can lean into my strengths and use them to free myself, and then I can get the hell out of Moscow and back home where I belong.

He smiles, and it's the first time I've seen him smile.

It's not warm or kind. It's predatory, like he's satisfied with me, and it makes my skin crawl.

"Good girl," he says.

"We'll start tomorrow."

8

DIMITRI

Katya is sitting at my kitchen table, her legs tucked under her, wearing my T-shirt and my boxers, and every time I glance at her, I'm reminded of how good she looks in my clothes.

The shirt is too big, hanging off one shoulder, and the boxers ride low on her hips.

Her hair is damp from her shower, falling in dark blonde waves around her face, and she's eating slowly, as if she's savoring every bite of it like it's her last meal.

I've wanted women before.

I've taken them when I needed to, walked away when I was done, and never thought about them again.

But Katya is different. She's gotten under my skin in a way I don't understand, and the more time I spend with her, the worse it gets.

I think about her when I'm supposed to be working.

I think about the way she looked when I had her pinned against the wall, the way her breath caught, the way her body went still under my hand.

I think about what it would feel like to have her beneath me, her legs wrapped around my waist, her nails digging into my back.

I want her.

I want her in a way that's dangerous and consuming, and I need to get control of myself before I do something stupid like let my emotions get tangled up in an asset and start making mistakes.

Wouldn't my family love that?

They're already hounding me about this Radich problem, which seems to draw our enemies out like moths to a flame, all over something that happened more than a decade ago.

I pour myself a drink and lean against the counter, watching her.

She's focused on her food, but I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers grip the fork too tightly.