Page 13 of Sinister Promise

All those times I'd rolled my eyes at victims and smugly thought,I'd survive.

I'd grab a weapon, find the perfect hiding spot, maybe even pull some Jackie Chan shit.

And now? When death was literally staring me in the face?

I had nothing.

Not a single coherent thought. Just white-hot panic flooding every synapse until even breathing felt impossible.

"Look at me," he commanded, pressing the barrelharder against my skin. "Your pretty eyes tell me everything I need to know."

"Please…" I gasped, trying to flatten myself against the wall. "You gain nothing by killing me."

He moved closer, invading my space with his imposing frame. "Who said anything about killing you? Not yet, anyway."

The pistol caressed my skin, still warm from being fired. My stomach recoiled at the thought of that man's blood being smeared across my cheek.

"This shouldn't be happening," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

His eyebrow arched. "And what exactly should be happening to a girl lurking where she doesn't belong?"

"I was just doing my job," I managed, struggling to keep my breathing steady.

"Your job?" He laughed, cold and sharp. "Your job was to clean. Not witness executions." His fingers traced where his gun had been. "Tell me why you're really working here. A girl with your education, mopping floors in a building full of criminals?"

I blinked in surprise. "How did you?—"

"I know everything about you, Alina. Everything." He circled me slowly. "Georgetown scholarship. Bright future. Then suddenly, you're working a dangerous job for shit pay. Why?"

Shit pay.Maybe to him. My monthly salary was probably pocket change he’d find between the cushions of his sofa.FML.

My mind raced. How could he possibly know these things?

"Answer me," he demanded, suddenly behind me, his breath hot against my neck.

"My father," I admitted, the words bitter on my tongue. "His gambling debts."

Pavel chuckled. "Ah, the sins of the father. Always so entertaining."

I turned to face him, finding a fraction of courage. "Not to those paying for them."

"Tell me more," he demanded, backing me against the wall again. "Tell me why a smart, beautiful girl sacrifices everything."

Beautiful? The word caught me off guard, sending an unwelcome warmth through my chest even as danger surrounded me. I pushed the feeling away, disgusted with myself for noticing anything beyond the threat he posed.

"My grandmother raised me after my mother died." The words tumbled out as his gun slid along my collarbone. "When they came collecting, my father gave them my name and disappeared. I had to protect her."

"So noble," he mocked, but something flickered in his eyes. "And now you clean blood from floors to pay debts that aren't yours."

I swallowed hard. "What choice did I have?"

"Choice?" He laughed again. "There's always a choice,moy kotyonochek. Sometimes just between bad and worse."

The foreign words rolled off his tongue, somehow both threatening and intimate.

"What does that mean? Moy ka-tyoh-nuh-chek?" I dared to ask, sounding out the foreign phrase.

"My little kitten," he translated, tracing my jaw withone finger. "Small, skittish, trying so hard to hide in the shadows."

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