Page 65 of Pageant

Kirill has his head on one side as he contemplates her, his expression disappointed. Even Elyah frowns in confusion at seeing his precious Lilia Aranova slumped on her knees. Did they think Number Eleven had supernatural powers? If you behave around a woman like she’s a flawless, bewitching goddess, then she’s going to start thinking she is one.

Now they know: Lilia Aranova is nothing, and tomorrow she’ll be dead.

My cold voice cracks across her flesh. “Get your fucking clothes and get out.”

Lilia pulls herself shakily to her feet, scoops up her dress and underwear, and bundles them tightly against her chest.

Kirill punches the intercom. “Let Number Eleven out. Bring in the next woman.”

A guard enters, raises his eyebrows at the naked woman with her head bowed, and unlocks the door to the room where the women wait at the end of their task. Lilia disappears inside, as meek and broken as I could hope to see her.

When the guard approaches the other door to drag the next woman in, I call out, “Wait. I’ve had enough for today. Gather all the women in the cellar so I can talk to them.”

“Da,ser.”

I stride out of the room with Elyah and Kirill at my back. In the cool, marble entrance hall, I turn to both of them. “You see? She’s not special, or bewitching, or clever. She’s a needy bitch who had to be put in her place.”

“I never thought she was special,” Kirill counters.

“You applauded her after that first task,durak,” I mutter with a smirk.Idiot.

Kirill grins at me and shrugs. “Well, that was impressive. But you’re right. She’s nothing special.”

“And you?” I ask, turning to Elyah.

His face is closed and stony, and he shrugs. “Me what?”

But he’s not getting out of this so easily. I’m going to hear him say it.

Elyah sighs and passes a hand across his brow. “You are right. Lilia is not special. She is a betraying whore, and I have known that for two years.” But he speaks flatly as if he’s repeating something he’s learned by rote. Some part of him still desperately clings to a version of Lilia that never existed.

No woman should ever break you. The sooner he learns this, the sooner he’ll be free.

I clap him on the shoulder. “I don’t care how you finish this. Fuck her before you kill her if you have to, but just get it done. Now come downstairs with me. I need to talk to the rest of them.”

My men follow me to the cellar where ten women are standing in front of their cages and six women are cowering inside them. Two more women were eliminated today, Numbers Three and Nine. The sugar baby and the amateur foot porn artist.

I survey my eight remaining beauties. Several seem unsettled by the display that Number Eleven and I put on in the judging room, but the rest seem to be eyeing me with interest now that they’ve witnessed the kind of man I am in the bedroom.

I gaze around at them with a slow, heated smile. “I was cruel there at the end, but I think you all understand why I had to put Number Eleven in her place. Any of you are welcome to ask for the same, humiliation and nipple clamps optional. Show me proper respect afterward and you can have a kiss instead of being shoved to the floor.”

Number Six gives me a look that tells me she’s thinking about it.

Number Seven opens her mouth and closes it again, wanting to speak but uncertain whether she’s going to draw my wrath.

“Do you have a question?” I ask her.

“Ser, if you like models so much, why didn’t you come to the bars in Milan where we all hang out? It’s not like you couldn’t have met most of us that way.”

A bar, where these women are lavished with attention, drinks, and gifts. Wearing an expensive dress and heels with a glass of champagne in her hand, a beautiful woman is confident to the point of disdain. She likes to play. She loves to act like she’s someone she’s not. I have had a gutful of that kind of fakery for a lifetime.

“Because I want to know who you really are, not who you pretend to be. This pageant is designed to show your true colors. Who is loyal. Who is strong.” My attention turns to Number Eleven. “Who is weak.”

Number Eleven has put her dress on and has her eyes fixed on the floor like she wishes she were invisible. This is exactly what I wanted. To see her broken.

Conquered.

And yet, I feel a stab of disappointment. It’s not just that she’s beautiful and whip-smart. I’ve never known a woman with such strength of character that she could bewitch three killers at the same time. None of us could tear our eyes away from her. Watching her writhe against Kirill’s tongue while he fucked her with a gun and then demanded he pull the trigger… That’s going to live rent-free in my head long after Number Eleven is dead.

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