Page 52 of Wretched Lies

“Do you have them anywhere else?”

My smile is more genuine this time. His latest attempt to unnerve me misses. “You have no idea how many times men, and some women, ask me that,” I say. I poke out my tongue to show it’s not pierced. “My piercings are all for my pleasure, no one else’s.”

Ilya isn’t fazed. He swallows another slice of steak and slides his hand over the edge of the table again. “But you do like to please your boyfriend, don’t you, Quinn?”

My blood pressure soars and for a moment, the whoosh of blood is all I can hear. He knows about Reid. He fucking knows.

“Take a sip of wine,” Ilya says gently. “It might help.”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Ilya’s only half listening as he makes a hand signal to the chef. It’s a dismissal, and I hear the back door open and close. We’re alone.

“Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Quinn?”

I push my plate away. At least I don’t have to pretend to be enjoying my food anymore. “Nothing that’s any of your business.”

“No?” he asks. “You should know that my men are highly trained, and highly observant. You didn’t sneak your boyfriend through the gates undetected. We let you bring him in. Sometimes, it’s better to observe individual players in action before making a move.”

My mind whirs. He knows there was someone hidden in the back of my car, but that doesn’t mean he knows it’s Reid. And even if he does know, it doesn’t mean he has any idea who I am. I press a hand to my leg to stop it jiggling.

“What exactly do you want me to say?” I ask.

Ilya stabs at his steak. He takes his time with his food before answering. “You set out to impress me yesterday, and I am impressed. You bite back. I like that,” he admits. “I think we can work together for our mutual benefit. But there’s a painful discussion ahead of us before we can get to the good bit.”

He balances his steak knife delicately on a finger. The sight brings me out in a cold sweat. I’ve spent a year training for this, but I was never going to be a match for Ilya Barkov.

“So,” Ilya announces when he’s done with his food and I’ve had enough time to turn into a trembling wreck. “First things first. Tell me how long you’ve been involved with Reid Griffin.” He leans in. “It is just the one brother you’re fucking, yes?”

“You’redisgusting!”

“And you think the Griffins are any better?” He sweeps away invisible crumbs from the table. “Tell me. Were you there the night they gunned down two of my men?”

I blink one too many times. “I’m not answering any more of your questions.”

“Because you’re guilty?”

“No,” I say evenly. “Because I don’t have to.”

“No, you don’t,” Ilya agrees. His voice softens when he adds, “And don’t worry, I’m not going to force a confession from you either. If you can’t obey me willingly, you’re of no use to me.”

I want to feel relief. As excruciating as this is, I could get up from the table, grab my keys and leave. I don’t have my burner phone on me, but I have my official one, and I’ve memorized the only two telephone numbers I need. Reid’s and Strider’s.

Ilya must read my mind. “It’s your choice. But if you walk away now, I can’t help you either.”

“And how exactly can you help me?”

The Russian’s chest rises steeply, then falls. “Do I have to lead you every step of the way, Jade?”

No. Please, god. No!

I try desperately to hold myself together, but as I purse my lips, my tremors shake the sob from my throat. Ilya reaches across and slides my wine glass towards me. “Drink.”

The last thing I want to do is obey this bastard, but I need something to stop my heart hammering out of my chest. I take the glass and force myself to take small sips. My hand shakes so much that wine dribbles down the side of my mouth. I swipe at it with the back of my hand.

“What– What else do you know?”

Ilya waggles a finger at me. “Your turn.”