Page 31 of Pageant

A door closes. When I look up, Alejandra is gone.

6

Konstantin

Awoman enters the room, and behind her a scream of protest ends with a moan of pain.

The room is dim with a spotlight overhead, illuminating an empty space with a woven rug. Elyah, Kirill, and I sit behind a long table that’s cast in shadows. There are no windows, but there are three doors. One for the guards, one to let the women in, and one to let the women out. If they behave, they’ll pass through this room unscathed. If they don’t…

I glance to my left where Kirill is sitting, hungry for these women’s defiance.

After being pushed through the door, Number One stands with her back against it, her chest lifting and falling with panicked breaths. The guard departs and the four of us are left alone.

I lean forward into the light and beckon the woman toward us. “Come forward, Number One.”

She doesn’t seem to hear me. Her ankles tremble and both fists clench at her sides. I stare at her for a full minute, waiting for her to do something. Anything.

Kirill makes an impatient noise and folds his arms. I glance at Elyah and see that he’s not even looking at Number One. He’s staring at the door that Lilia Aranova will soon step through.

I stand up from behind the table and approach the shivering woman. She sucks in a frightened breath and huddles against the door as if it’s going to protect her. What a beautiful body she has. Long legs and shapely hips and thighs. Warm, tanned skin. Dark hair tumbling over her breasts.

I crook a finger under her chin and tilt her face up to mine, but she refuses to look at me.

“Are you going to kill me?” she whimpers.

“It’s understandable, your terror. I have to be frightening out there,” I murmur, nodding to the door behind her, “but in here, I want you to relax. I want to get to know you.”

Number One raises her sparkling, jewel-like eyes to mine. They drift to my temple, and the ugly scar left by the bullet that tore across my skull.

“Are you staring at my scar?”

She looks away quickly. “No.”

Liar.

Women always stare at my scar, as if it’s the most important thing about me. How I received this injury is a bitter memory, though my scar has its uses. It unsettles my enemies and distracts my business associates, and I wear it with pride. Between my scar and my presence, people understand what I am the moment they lay eyes on me. Strong. Rich.

Powerful.

These women need to learn that my scar is the least terrifying thing about me.

“Tell me about yourself, Number One.”

“What?” Her bewildered gaze darts from me to the men behind me.

I step back and perch on the edge of the table. “It’s a simple question. Tell me about yourself. What you do. What you like. What you don’t like.”

“I want to go home.”

I rub my brow and sigh. This is Number One’s chance to shine, but she refuses to sparkle.

“Would you like me to help you, Kostya?” enquires a deep, dark voice behind me.

I gaze at Number One. “What do you think? Should I ask Kirill for his help?”

“No, please,” she begs, backing away, clearly more afraid of Kirill than she is of me. That’s a lesson she’ll learn soon enough. If she dies or is cut, it will be on my orders.

“Did you listen to a word I said downstairs? This is a competition. The only way out of this is to win, and I decide the winner.” I lean forward, speaking slowly and clearly. “I want to be entertained, Number One. If I’m bored, that’s hazardous to your health.”

---