Page 12 of The Games of Madmen

Sighing, Rodion closes his eyes. “Because you’re oursss. I know it, he knows ittt.” He flings a hand Zahkar’s way before bringing his hooded gaze to mine. “And you know ittt. No more games. No mur pretending. No murrr questions. Now, relax luff. I have more plans for your body, as soon as I rest a minute.” He yawns and his eyes drift close again.

“You’re drunk. I didn’t know you were capable of getting wasted like this.”

“Mush be the good vokka,” he murmurs thickly. “Dammit, now I need to pisssss.” Slinging the duvet back, he attempts to stand, but sways.

“Rodion?”

“I’m fucking wasted, Lonya.” He falls back onto the bed, eyes closing again and limbs going loose. “Rodion?” I move Z’s arm and tap Rodion’s face. “Rodion?”

What the hell? I turn and shake Z. “Wake up.” He doesn’t move. His mouth is parted with heavy breaths, and some drool stains the pillow.

My stomach dips. This isn’t right.

A clicking sound coming from outside the room jolts my head in the direction of the door, making my nerves seize.

Hurriedly slipping from the bed, I grab Rodion’s discarded shirt and quickly button it as I move through the apartment.

A sliver of light comes from the door leading to their garage. Would they have left that on?

My pulse races in my veins, a cold sweat breaking over my brow.Grab a weapon, Alyona.

Reaching for one of the kitchen knives, I almost drop it when another sound can be heard coming from the garage.

Bracing myself in a defensive stance and raising the blade, I grip the doorknob and take a couple of breaths, psyching myself up. “Arghhh,” I yell, marching into the room with the weapon ready to wound.

What the fuck?

A cat.

It’s just a fucking cat.

A breeze ripples over my bare feet as my eyes dart to the slightly open garage door, just high enough for a cat to slip inside.

I think I just lost five years of my life.

“Hello kitty cat,” I coo, moving toward it. Its back end is the only part I can see as it’s distracted, licking something behind the car’s back wheel. “What have you got?”

If it’s a mouse or a rat, I’m out.

I round the car, and a buzzing sound explodes in my head. Not a mouse. Blood. The cat is licking blood that’s seeping from the housemaid’s neck. She’s laid out on a plastic tarp like a scene from a fucking serial killer’s handbook.

“It’s a stray,” a man's voice says from behind me.

I jerk from the sound and almost trip over the damn cat, my ass hitting a counter that’s covered with bottles of car oil, wash, and everything else a car could possibly need.

A figure lurks in the doorway, studying me. “You didn’t drink the Kool-Aid then?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The vodka…

Rodion wasn’t drunk, he was suffering the effects of his liquor being spiked with something.

My eyes spring wide, and panic sprouts goosebumps over my skin. “Are they going to die?” I demand shakily, my hand tightening around the knife handle.

“That depends on you. The drug is just a sedative.” He cracks his neck and points at the cat. “It followed me in here. Such strange creatures. You know, feral cats will eatanymeat available.” He moves toward the cat, and I sidestep until there’s enough space between us for me to fight if he attacks. Picking up the furball, he strokes a hand down the cat’s spine, and it’s then I notice he’s wearing black leather gloves. Not a good sign. Serial killer attire for sure. “But even well cared for, domesticated cats will scavenge on a body, even if it’s their owners.”

“That’s fucking gross,” I blurt out. “Thanks for sharing.”