Page 20 of Vicious Doll

His jaw tightens fractionally—a tell so slight anyone else would miss it. "Is that what Volkov told you?"

"He showed me the files. The communications. My name circled in red with 'acceptable collateral' written beside it." I keep my voice steady, even as rage bubbles beneath the surface like magma under thin crust. "Pretty compelling evidence you were planning to feed me to the wolves."

"Doctored," he says, the word precise as a scalpel. "Every communication altered just enough to be believable. It's what Volkov does—psychological warfare, turning assets, creating doubt where there was certainty." His eyes never leave mine,searching for weaknesses, for cracks in my armor. "He's using you, Nova."

The sound of my name on his lips sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "And you weren't?"

"I was training you. There's a difference."

"Is there? Because from where I'm sitting, everyone wants to use the pretty girl with the talent for deception. Volkov, Harlow, you—just different flavors of the same poison."

His hand moves across the table, not touching mine but close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his skin. "If I wanted you dead, you would be. Think about it. The extraction team at the apartment—why did they fire warning shots first? Why announce their presence when they could have just put a bullet in your head when your back was turned?"

The question lands like a grenade in my lap, uncomfortable because it makes a certain twisted sense. The team at the safehouse had been loud, clumsy almost—nothing like the silent precision I'd expect from Killion's operatives.

“They weren’t even my team. I hired mercenaries for the job,” he said with a faint sense of urgency. “Casualties were never the plan. I just needed Harlow.”

"Maybe you're just getting sloppy in your old age," I counter, but doubt has wormed its way in, a parasite feeding on certainty.

"Bullshit." The curse sounds strange from him, like a priest breaking vows. "You're smarter than that. You know me better."

And I do, is the thing. Three months of brutal training, of being broken and remade under his watchful eye—I know Killion's methods. Know his ruthless precision. Know he doesn't waste resources, doesn't make unnecessary noise, doesn't play games he can't win.

"Why are you here?" I ask, unwilling to concede but needing to understand.

"To stop you from making a catastrophic mistake." He leans forward, voice dropping even lower. "Harlow isn't coming. He was tipped off—probably by Volkov himself. This whole thing is a setup."

"That makes no sense. Why would Volkov tip off the very person he’s sworn to take out?"

"I can’t tell you everything —you’re not ready but trust me when I say there are things in play that will absolutely change the board. You’re playing a game without the instructions and you’re going to get taken out. Volkov is using you for his own purposes. Trust me, I know Volkov in ways you don’t.”

“Sounds kinky,” I retort, not falling for his bullshit but also, not completely discrediting it either. Hell, who can tell which end is up in this crazy game?

His eyes search mine, looking for the operative he trained, the weapon he honed. "What has he told you about Vahnya?"

The name hits like a slap. "That she was his wife. That you left her to die in Budapest. That Harlow's been experimenting on her as part of some mind-control program."

Killion's expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes—pain, maybe, or resignation. "Half-truths wrapped around a core of lies. Vahnya Orlova was one of ours—a deep-cover operative assigned to infiltrate Russia's Foreign Intelligence Service. She and Volkov were lovers, but not married.”

My head spins with competing narratives, with versions of truth so tangled I can't see where one ends and another begins.

"Budapest was supposed to be an extraction. Things didn’t go to plan," Killion continues. "Vahnya had uncovered evidence of Volkov selling secrets to private contractors—the same network Harlow eventually connected with. We were bringing her in when Volkov intervened. Three of my team died that day.Vahnya was wounded but survived. She's been in protective custody ever since."

"And I'm supposed to just believe you? Take your word over the evidence I've seen with my own eyes?"

"I don't expect you to believe anything without proof." He slides a phone across the table—slim, black, encrypted. "Verify it yourself. Call this number. Ask for Vahyna.”

I stare at the phone like it might bite. "Why should I trust this isn't just another trap?"

"Because despite everything, you know me, Nova. You know what I am. What I'm not." His eyes hold mine, unflinching. "And what I'm not is a man who betrays his own."

The moment stretches between us, taut as a trip wire. In my pocket, the tranquilizer pen feels suddenly heavy, a decision waiting to be made. I could end this now—two clicks and Killion drops, can be delivered to Volkov gift-wrapped with a bow. One problem solved.

Or I could be walking straight into another layer of deception, another level of the game where I'm still just a pawn being moved across the board.

The hotel lobby beyond the bar suddenly feels too quiet, too still. The hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention, that animal instinct for danger cutting through confusion.

"Something's wrong," I murmur, scanning the room. "Where is everyone?"

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