Jaded (34 page)

But, clearly, Ivan had not. Something about her still fascinated him. It was almost as if Ivan considered her his property and, as his property, she’d done something to displease him and was awaiting her punishment.
Again
. Dressing her up like a pretty doll and making her wait for her punishment without knowing when it was going to happen, that was Ivan’s special brand of torture.

The swallow of tea in her throat went down hard. She’d come back from such punishment once, but she wasn’t sure she could do it twice.

At least she had a knife tucked into her bodice that screamed she would never have to. It was a comforting pressure against her skin.

They hadn’t found it because even the thugs were being very circumspect with her. She was allowed to bathe and change her clothes in private, so they’d never located the thin stiletto she kept tucked down the front of her dress at all times. It was her way out of here, but she needed to use it carefully. If she drew it in the presence of too many of the thugs, she might wound or kill one or more of them, but then they would just take it away from her and she would be weaponless.

The careful way she was being handled unnerved her. If Ivan had immediately started treating her like trash, at least she wouldn’t be so confused. As it was, she had no idea what was coming; she only knew it was going to be bad.

A storm was brewing on the horizon.

This morning he sat across from her, calmly reading a book while his minions passed through the room now and again, perhaps doing his evil bidding. This was one of the very few times she’d even seen him since she’d been abducted two days ago.

She took a sip of her tea and sat back, studying him. “So, Ivan, what is it you intend? Do you just want me to be a decoration for your parlor for the next twenty years? You want me to sit here and drink tea while you completely ignore me and force your goons to fetch and carry for me?”

Ivan said nothing to her for a moment, then he put his book aside and looked up at her. “I intend to do whatever I wish with you.”

She knew her eyes were flashing. Her blood heated with anger. “You cannot treat me as though I’m property.”

“Really? I can’t? I have lots of money and muscle that says I can.”

“Why do you even care about me, Ivan?”

Now his eyes flashed. “I care because I loved you once.”

“Much to my misfortune. There are few women who can survive your brand of
love
, Ivan.”

Red spots of color appeared on his cheeks and anger made his eyes bright. She was aware she was pushing him and that might turn out badly for her, but she couldn’t stop herself. “I don’t understand why you can’t just leave me alone and let me live the life I’m lucky to have after what you did to me.”

If there hadn’t been five thugs in the house, she would have drawn her knife and stabbed him right then. She stared at him, her chest heaving and the blood rushing through her ears in her rage.

Ivan stood, threw the book down to the chair, and walked slowly across the room to her. Murder lit his eyes. She recognized it because she’d seen it before. She stared at him as he came toward her with not even a trace of fear in her body. At this point, she was beyond fear. She’d had more than enough of this man’s presence in this world. Now all she wanted was him out of it.

She hoped he understood that she was going to kill him the first chance she got.

She almost thought he was going to get close enough to touch her, but he stopped short. Still . . . he was close enough to stab. The weight of the knife tucked into her bodice became acute, begging her to grab it and plunge it into this man. Just then one of his thugs caught sight of her proximity to his master and entered the room, watching them like a bulldog.

He leaned down and put his face near hers. “You owe me, Lilya. You owe me for wrapping me around your treacherous finger, making me love you, and then betraying me.”

Her hands fisted. It was no use explaining that she’d been the one wronged in the hallway. Ivan saw what he wanted to see. It didn’t matter anyway. Even if she had done what Ivan believed she had, there was no excuse for his reprisal. But, of course, he wouldn’t understand that either.

She spit in his face.

He jerked in surprise and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he went very, very still. For the first time, a quiver of fear went through her. She’d pushed him too far and now he might hurt her so badly she wouldn’t be able to escape. Her anger had gotten the better of her.

Ivan moved slowly, smoothly, picking up what was probably a priceless antique chair and heaving it into the air. He threw it around and held it aloft, above her, intending to smash it down on her. Lilya flinched, covering her head with her arms and closing her eyes—waiting for the pain.

Oh, she remembered this.

But Ivan threw the chair above her head instead, smashing it against the wall behind her. It splintered into a thousand pieces, raining down on her head. When the chair lay broken on the floor around her, she opened her eyes and brought her hands down into her lap.

Ivan paced in front of her, his face red. He stopped, drew a careful breath, and drew a hand through his hair. Without looking at her, he pointed. “You will dress in a manner that pleases me and join me for dinner tonight.” Then he turned and pushed past the thug at the door, who stood watching her with a curl in his lip and a knowing, cruel glint in his eye.

She wondered for a moment if the thug knew what Ivan had done to her six years ago and hoped he might do it again.

Heart pounding, she tore her gaze away from the man and back down to her teacup, now with shards of splintered chair soaking in it.

She’d almost found happiness.

It had been right there in front of her, hers for the taking. She’d nearly had everything in life she’d wanted.

Ivan wasn’t going to let her have it.

S
he’s in there. She has to be.” Byron’s voice came out a dangerous growl.

Alek followed the direction of Byron’s pointing finger and saw a stately country home in a whole row of stately country homes. They’d gone just outside the city to check this house after they’d checked every single one of Ivan’s residences in Milzyr. It had taken them all day to get to this one; it figured the last one they checked would be the only one occupied.

They’d parked the carriage a little ways down the road and sat watching the place. Once in a while a servant or a thug disguised as a servant would go around the back and, presumably, enter the residence.

“It does look like it’s pretty active,” Alek answered.

“We can’t waste any more time. We need to go in there and get her out now.” Byron had been fidgety, restless, and short-tempered. Alek understood. He felt the same way; he just hid it better.

“I agree.” His voice came out in a tense snap. “But we need a plan. We’re only two men. Have you seen the amount of muscle going in and out of the house, Byron? Even if our will is strong, I don’t think we can do this on our own.”

Byron sat watching the house, his mind clearly mulling the problem over. “We need to go in
now
.” His voice came out a snarl. “Anything could be happening to her in there.”

“We don’t even know she’s in the house for certain.”

“She is,” Byron ground out. “I feel it.”

Alek shifted impatiently. “So you just want to break down the front door and fight at least ten hulking guards without any weapons? You really think that’s going to help Lilya? I think we’ll be killed doing that and Lilya will have no hope at all.”

“And if we wait, Lilya is dead.” He paused, his voice lowering. “She could already be dead.”

Alek closed his eyes, refusing to believe that was even a possibility. “We’re only a few hours away from Ulstrat. Let’s go get the team.”

“What?”

“The boys on the crossball team. All we have to do is say the word and they’ll come out here and help us. You know they will. We can go gather as many as we can, arm them, be back in seven hours.”

Byron stared at the house. “Seven hours.”

“It’s Lilya’s best shot. You know we can’t bring the government down on him, the—”

“Gregorio!”

“What? Gregorio Vikhin?”

“He’s a part of the government that I
know
Ivan hasn’t paid off. Vikhin’s been looking to catch Ivan for a crime ever since he was elected to lead the council.” Byron climbed out of the carriage. “I’m taking one of the horses, you take the other. I’ll have the driver rerig the carriage, hide it, and wait for us. You go to Ulstrat. I’m headed back to Milzyr to find Gregorio. He can find men to bring out here and we can take care of Ivan once and for all.”

Alek nodded. It would probably take about the same amount of time for Byron to return to Milzyr and come back with Gregorio as it would for him to go to Ulstrat and back. “Let’s go.” He climbed out after him and they unhooked two of the horses, sheltered from the view of Ivan’s house by a clump of evergreen bushes.

And they were off in two different directions, pushing their mounts as hard as they could go and hoping they wouldn’t be too late.

 

 

All was silent but for the sound of clanking silverware. Mostly it was Ivan’s silverware that was clanking, since Lilya wasn’t eating. Lilya had done what Ivan had asked her to do, since defying him at this point didn’t make sense. She’d dressed for dinner and arrived to the meal on time, escorted by not only one, but five burly guards.

One might almost think that Ivan was afraid of her.

She knew he wasn’t. After all, she was one slight woman in a house of hulking men. What could she possibly do to him? He didn’t know about the comforting pressure of the knife down her bodice or the vicious will she possessed. Ivan
should
be afraid of her. She was only biding her time before she killed him.

Although she was quite happy to remain underestimated. Being underestimated would only help her in the end. They’d even given her a knife to cut her chicken with. Imbeciles.

She stared down at her untouched plate of food. At least he couldn’t make her eat. Across the table, he blissfully consumed the roasted chicken and vegetables as though they were merely a married couple with little to say to each other. Nothing at all wrong.

The gown he’d chosen for her to wear to dinner was flawless and exquisite, as was all the clothing he’d been forcing her to don. Gold-and-cream tulle, it possessed a fitted, strapless bodice and a dropped waist, with a full skirt gathering below her hips to fall in perfect flounces to the floor. She’d left her hair long and loose, since he wasn’t forcing her to fix it and she wasn’t going to do anything for him beyond wearing the clothing.

She’d even left the sapphire jewelry in her room, but all she’d received from Ivan was a flare of ire in his eyes as he’d assessed her as she entered the dining room. She would have gone barefoot too, if it wasn’t for the fact she thought perhaps the heels of her shoes could be used as weapons.

“I have been watching you for the last two days.” Ivan took a sip of his wine and looked up at her, his other hand on his fork. “Assessing how you’ve changed since I last stood in a room with you.”

Remembering every detail about
the last time he stood in a room with her
, she raised her gaze to his, knowing full well how her eyes glittered with pure hatred.

“You are different than I imagined you would be. Very proud. Very strong. Much too proud, in fact. Defiant. Full of hope. Able to love.” He shook his head. “This is unacceptable, Lilya. You are not supposed to be this way.”

She smiled a cold little smile and raised an eyebrow. “Just how do you think I should be?”

“Broken.” The answer came swiftly. He took another sip of wine and Lilya imagined all the things she could do with the shattered edge of his goblet. “Beaten. Unsure of yourself. Lacking self-confidence. Unhappy.” He paused, looking at her over the rim of his glass. “After what you did to me, the way you continue to tie me in knots.... Me! Ivan Lazarson! You don’t deserve happiness.”

Ivan was a lunatic. Insane. She’d known it before, but this conversation was really driving it home. There was no way to reason with this man. He wouldn’t understand anything she had to say. She
couldn’t
reason with him—he
had
no reason.

“So you intend to kill me, then?” She wasn’t going down without a fight, but if he chose to do it now, with so many of his men around, she didn’t have much of a prayer.

Her mind flashed to Byron and Alek and her throat tightened at her loss. She should have known better—love was not for her. She’d known that from the start.

The problem had always been expectations. Hers were too high.

“Kill you? No, that’s far too easy.” He stared at her, his eyes going colder. “I want to destroy you, make it so you go back to your life at the Temple of Dreams and give up on happiness and love.” He blinked slowly. “I know exactly how to do that.”