Page 129 of His Prince

“I know you don’t,” he says. “Katarina kept her personal life very quiet, didn’t she? She didn’t trust you.”

“And she trusted you?” I ask, my words slightly slurred from whatever they drugged me with.

“She did. She loved me. And you took her away.”

“She murdered my family.”

“And they deserved it. You knew it and you turned a blind eye.” He stands up and straightens his tie. “But don’t worry. Now I’ll take away the one you love.”

That has me straining against my bonds, my nostrils flaring. Angel. He’s going to hurt my Angel.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” I growl.

“I will. I’m going to hunt him down and I’m going to do things to him. And I’ll make you watch.” He grins, a truly sinister look, and then he pats my face, a condescending gesture. “He’s going to scream as I take him apart. I’ll enjoy it far too much.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a syringe.

“Just to keep you from fucking everything up.” He jabs it into my arm, and I feel my muscles go slack, my vision growing hazy once more.

“Fuck. Wait. Daniil! Who the fuck is Mila?” I slur as he turns and walks away. But he doesn’t answer, and I’m left alone once more in the darkness with far too many questions and not enough answers.

And a fear that they’ll hurt my Angel, that the man I love will be snatched from me.

I’m left in the blackness for so long, my mind reeling. Katarina—the way she smiled in such a cunning, believable way, her gasp of alarm as I slit her throat, her blood coating my fingers. And then my mother, my father. When I found them, they were lifeless, just shells of who they were, staring blankly up at me. And then my grandmother, my babushka. I couldn’t save her. I was too late.

And I’m going to be too late now.

That thought pulls me to the present. Whatever he gave me seems to be slowly wearing off. My heavy eyelids pry open, and I letout a long exhale. Fuck, I need to get out of here. I need to protect Angel. I can’t let him get hurt.

I should have listened.

Why the fuck didn’t I listen?

My hatred for this business, the apathy for the position I’ve been thrust into—all it culminated into was my blind stupidity. It made me a complete pushover, blind to it all. I didn’t want to see it. Refused to acknowledge the connections between Daniil and my dead wife.

I was stubborn and now I’m paying the consequences.

Angel will too.

The thought of my sweet husband being hurt in any way makes my arms strain up against the restraints, my skin breaking, blood oozing onto the wooden arms they’re tied to.

Don’t fucking touch him. You won’t fucking lay a finger on him.

I struggle again, my eyes bulging from my head, my skin almost too tight as I pull, but I don’t get anywhere. The rope holding me down is far too strong, the knots impenetrable.

I lean back and let out a frustrated groan.

I need to get free. I need to protect him. He’s counting on me. I should have acted sooner. I shouldn’t have gone to that dinner. I should have taken Angel back to the hotel and fucked him. That’s what I should have done.

My mind flits to the name Mila, and I feel my heart thump angrily in my chest. Who the fuck is that? Obviously someone affiliated with Katarina, but who? Someone from Russia I didn’t know about?

I search for the answer and come up empty once more. I won’t know until someone tells me, until they lay it all out.

I hope they explain it all before they kill me.

That’s what I want.

As long as Angel is alive and well. Happy, in a garden, alive. He needs to stay alive. He has to.

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