Page 52 of Pageant

The chair in the middle of the room faces Konstantin. I stalk over to it and sit down, glaring at the man who’s responsible for all of us being here. “These women’s families will be going out of their minds worrying about them. Did you ever think of that?”

Elyah jabs the barrel of the gun against the side of my head and keeps it there. “No one asked you, Number Eleven.”

My heart turns cold hearing Elyah call me by that hateful number. “What are you testing today? Willpower? Our ability not to piss ourselves?”

Konstantin watches me in silence for several minutes. “I’m testing your courage, Number Eleven.”

Kirill strides toward me, and my stomach floods with sensation as I watch his powerful body moving. I shrink away from him, but his T-shirt reveals the dark ink of the tattoos on his strong biceps, and I remember the flex and bunch of his abdominal muscles as he thrust into me in my dream last night.

“A gun to her head? This is too easy for her,” Kirill says, stopping directly in front of me. “Number Eleven is used to guns. A few threats aren’t going to frighten her.”

“You are right, Kirill. We will have to think of something better for Lilia Aranova.” The press of the barrel vanishes, and Elyah moves around in front of me. He flicks open the cylinder of the gun and, one by one, removes the bullets. All but one, which he shows me. “Let’s play a game of Russian roulette.”

Shit.

He closes the cylinder, spins it, and points the gun at my head. With his narrowed gaze on me, he asks the room, “Who would like to place a bet?”

Sweat breaks out over my flesh as I stare down the barrel of the gun. A one in six chance to survive. I don’t like those odds. “Elyah. Don’t. This isn’t you.”

“How do you know what is me, Lilia? Were you my best friend? My lover? If I remember right, you are the bitch who betrayed me.”

“I already told you that I didn’t.”

“I do not believe a word out of your lying mouth. We will let fate decide. Trial by chance.”

Kirill saunters over to me. “I think we can make this even more interesting. Let’s give Number Eleven a sporting chance, and turn this snack…” He cups my chin and draws the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. “Into a meal.”

There’s a hungry, animalistic expression in his eyes that I don’t like.

“What did you have in mind?” Konstantin asks.

“A little game. I’ve been dying to get my hands on Number Eleven.”

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” I snarl.

He raises one brow, his dark curls falling into his eyes. “Do you forfeit? Would you like Elyah to take you down to the lake and put a bullet in your head right now? Say the word, Number Eleven, and this will all be over.” When I don’t move, he smirks. “I didn’t think so. Take off your panties.”

My mouth falls open in shock and there’s a guilty, twisting feeling in my guts. Does he know what I imagined in my sleep last night and now he’s tormenting me with it? I stare straight ahead, desperately searching for a way to take back control of what’s happening in this room. Konstantin’s eyes are bright as he witnesses my internal struggle.

“Don’t make me ask twice,” Kirill warns.

“What are you going to do?” Elyah asks, spinning the revolver once around his forefinger and catching it again.

“I’m going to lick yoursolnyshko, and if she comes, you’re going to pull the trigger.”

Yesterday, he seemed angry at the thought of Kirill touching me. Today, Elyah laughs, and my heart shrivels at his cruelty. He leans down close to me, his voice dropping into a murmur, a mockery of all those times he whispered sweet, hot things in my ear. “Lilia loves being licked, do you not? So, what is it going to be? Are you going to do as you are told, or do I load all these bullets back into the gun and eliminate you from the competition here and now?”

I tear my gaze away from his. Fuming silently, I reach beneath my dress, angle my hips up, and slide my thong down my legs. Elyah holds out his hand to take my underwear, but I shove them down the front of my dress. If I give them away, I’ll never get the damn things back.

Kirill sinks down between my thighs, cups the backs of my knees, and tugs me sharply toward him.

I grab the seat of my chair. “If I don’t come, I can go?” It should be easy. Not coming was the defining feature of my sex life with my husband.

Kirill laughs in a way that tells me he doubts that’s even an option. “Sure. Why not.”

“You seem very sure of yourself for a creep who can’t talk to women.”

“I’ve never been surer of anything,neordinarnaya,” he says, lovingly drawing one of my legs up until it’s resting over his shoulder. “Besides, my tongue can do better things than talking.”

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