Page 154 of Black Castle

“Not yet, ladybird.” A low hum rumbles in his chest as he gently yanks her hand away, pressing it against her side. He turns her around, his hands still clasped around her shoulders until she’s facing him. She shivers gently when his cold fingers brush against her chin, stroking it with a ghostly pressure.

“Ladybird,” his breath tickles her face.

“Yes?” Her voice is so low she barely hears it herself.

“We’re gonna have a little fun, alright?”

She nods, but what she actually wants to do is shake her head, open her mouth, and protest against this silly, unnecessary game.

He is dragging her out of this country in the next few hours. All she desperately wants to do is see her best friend and tell him goodbye—until she figures out a brilliant escape plan from Russia—then stop by to check on Carla and hopefully find Isadora perched on the barstool in the kitchen, sipping black coffee, or booze—anyone actually, as far as she isn’t dead somewhere.

And if she can’t get any of this, she wants to sleep the rest of the night away and not be tortured with the reality where she hops on the jet and flies far away from Kenji. She has no strength for games, not in the middle of the night, and definitely not when the night is this cold. But it’s Zev Raskovic. And Zev Raskovic always gets what he wants.

“You are gonna count to ten, okay?” The pad of his thumb brushes over her lower lip, and her lips quiver at his electric touch. “On ten, you can take off the blindfolds.”

“Okay,” she whispers, shivering when a cold wind sweeps across her body, little bumps appearing on her arm. He should have at least warned her to wear a sweater if he was taking her this far and to a place this cold.

“Remember, take off the blindfold at ten.” His voice intermingles with the cold wind. Her throat dries up. Her heart begins to pound, a weight resting on her chest. She doesn’t want to play, but his fingers skim over her wrist, a featherlight touch anchoring her in place.

He is not going to hurt her. At least not today, not now. He wants something from her, and that, she has begun to realize. He’s going to keep her around a little longer until he gets that—whatever it is. So even when his steps recede and fear curls tight in her ribs like a wicked twine, she knows that he isn’t going to hurt her.

So she counts…

“One.”

Something shifts in the air, a flash of brightness like lightning augmenting the moody cloud. Her hands lift, the instinct to protect herself causing her to wrap them tightly around her body.

“Two.”

A breath of wind combs fingers through her air, and the scent of damp earth and decay causes her nose to crinkle.

“Three.”

She hears a crunch of gravel and distant retreating footsteps.

“Four.”

No, no, something isn’t right. Something is happening. There’s a strange presence.

“Five.”

Her breath quickens, her body trembling.

“Six.”

There’s silence. The type that feels alive, pressing against her chest.

“Seven.”

Graveyard?

I can’t believe this bloody wanker took me to a fucking graveyard! The thought echoes in her ears.

“Eight.”

Cold fingers of dread skim her spine, whisking hair from her face and brushing against her cheekbone.

“Nine.”

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