Page 3 of Twisted Proposal

She wasn't cowering. She was calculating. Waiting. Biding her time.

My interest deepened.

Then I saw it, the shadow of a bruise forming on her cheek.

The pounding in my ears grew deafening.

He hit her. Hard.

This man, who dared stand across from me and prattle on about alliances, had raised a hand to his own daughter. Had tied her in a chair in a freezing cabin wearing barely anything but a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.

He thought our families were alike.

He thought we were the same.

He thought wrong.

"Of course," he said, still unaware he'd already sealed his fate, "she is merely a gesture of goodwill. The real deal is in the contracts. My men will run girls from Russia straight through to California. No one will touch them if they belong to the Ivanovs. And you? You'll get a cut."

My lip curled.

Ivanovs did not get involved in the sex trade, in any form. Period.

He leaned against the cabin wall, smug. His son slouched beside him, picking at his teeth, unconcerned.

I inhaled deeply, letting the rage simmer just below the surface.

Control. Always control.

I turned my attention back to her.

"What's her name?" I asked.

Zaitsev blinked, as if surprised I cared enough to ask. "Viktoria."

Viktoria.

I let the name settle. Let the weight of it press against my ribs.

"Do we have a deal?" Zaitsev asked.

I looked at my right-hand man and gave a single nod.

The gun was out before Zaitsev even registered the movement.

His son lunged for a weapon.

My men were faster.

Zaitsev senior was pinned to the rough-hewn table, a gun pressed to the back of his skull. His son restrained on the wood floor, zip ties cutting into his wrists, a boot pressing into his spine.

Their pathetic cries and pleas were white noise as I focused on the soft rasp of Viktoria's breathing.

I crossed to her, pulling a knife from my pocket. Her eyes widened as I approached, but she didn't flinch when I bent to cut her bonds. The ropes fell away.

I took her wrists in my hands. So pale and fragile, as if I were holding the bones of a bird. My thumb swept across the angry red welts.

She shivered and tried to pull back.