Page 71 of Refrain

He doesn’t let go of my hair. If anything, his grip tightens, forcing my head to tilt in his direction. Burning pain creeps across my scalp like an old, forgotten friend.

He inhales me again, and I know what he’ll find—cigarette smoke, spray paint, and Espisido. “You remember how much I loved this color on you.”

This color. “It came out of a box,” I tell him, but the words fall flat. My hair has been blonde for years.

With every salon appointment, maybe I forgot the original shade of it a little more. I see my reflection in the glass window—a girl I last saw ten years ago, her dirty, brown hair limply framing her face while she cowered beneath Piotr Petrov’s scrutiny.

I raise the gun again, aiming the barrel somewhere over his chest. “I didn’t do it for you.”

Yes, you did.I don’t know if he murmurs those words to me or if I just imagine them. Like roaming fingers, they trickle over unseen parts of me. Only he can do this—violate my body without even trying. I hate it. I crave it…

“You don’t know how beautiful you are like this.” He lets my hair fall and steps back. Just an inch, but it’s like the differencebetween touching the sun and being near it. I’m still broiling beneath the heat. It’s still lethal.

“Get away from me—”

“You came tome.” He almost sounds surprised. As if I magically arrived on his doorstep unannounced. Surprised, but not alarmed. “Just like I knew—hoped—you would.”

“So that I can kill you?”

It’s a laughable concept. Piotr’s been waiting patiently for me to put a bullet in his head. So why the hell can’t I pull the trigger?

He chuckles darkly. The tone of his voice alone used to control me like a puppet on a string. I studied every cadence. How soft he could sound when I pleased him. How utterly brutal when he was angry.

Now? I can’t tell. His voice wavers when it should be steady. He’s soft when he should be terse. My heart picks up speed, sending my pulse surging through my skin. The flavor of fear is a lot more familiar. My body knows how to react to it.

I raise the gun.

Piotr smiles. “You love me,” he says, his voice a gruff rasp against my skin. “Thatis what this means. Of your own volition. You came back to me, Ksei. And, when you are ready, I will reward you.”

“Bullshit.” I have to choke out another laugh. This time, the sound gets stuck in my throat. Now, it strikes me—Piotr isn’t worried because the bastard’s gone insane.

“Oh?” He releases his own chuckle and strokes his chin with his thumb. “You could have run. You know it. I know it.”

“And you would have had me arrested for murder—”

“And you could have had Ivan erase that video, had you told him about it. But you didn’t. Oh. You thought I didn’t know about your little friend.”

This is the point when I really should kill him. Concern for Ivan is like a living thing wrapped around my throat. One wrong move and I’ll suffocate.

“H-how?”

“He never was good at hiding his loyalty for your father. Even when he signed off on the order to have him killed. Good old Ivan could never shake that guilt. I always knew that he would do anything for Milo’s daughter—just as long as he could still slither within the shadows like the snake he is.”

“You knew,” I say thickly. “So why—”

“Who did you think alerted Ivan’s men that night, Ksei?” He poses the question in that commanding tone that warns me he wants a direct answer.

I’m punished by him advancing another step. When I don’t respond, his voice deepens.

“Who do you think lessened the guard patrol to allow them into my territory?”

It’s a dangerous picture he paints. It’s a maddening one. I still remember the pounding rush of clinging to life as Ivan’s men hustled me through the streets. Was he really watching them, laughing as my blood painted the earth behind me?

“You’re lying.”

“It was a gamble,” he admits coldly. “Had the bastard been even a second later, you would have died. I was too…thorough.”

I cringe when he reaches out for me. I dodge his first touch, but he comes again, trailing his thumb along the top of my forehead.

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