Page 85 of Ruinous Need
The priest is a kind-looking man with a round belly and a bald head. He wears an elaborate golden robe.
I tried to signal to him with my eyes that I don’t want to be here, but he turns away with a tight smile. I know little about the Russian Orthodox Church, but I assume they require marriages to be consensual.
Most churches wouldn’t approve of killing my family members on sacred ground, anyway. He just pets my head and ignores the handcuffs that keep me secured to the makeup table while he explains what will happen at the ceremony.
I look at my reflection. They’ve put on so much makeup that I look like a painted doll. They’ve even stuck on false eyelashes, which keep falling off when I cry.
There’s only an hour left, and I’m still hoping that Viktor has some kind of plan to stop this.
Daria sees me looking out the window.
“Thinking that Viktor’s going to be here to save you? Haven’t you heard? He’s dead.”
Her voice is cruel and mocking, and it takes a second for the words to sink in.
Dead. I don’t know why I would’ve assumed he was still alive. This is the first mention of his name since I was captured. Despite my constant questions about him, to anyone who might have the potential to know something, they’ve kept quiet.
The news doesn’t sink in, not really. I just feel dumb for clinging to hope.
Daria studies my face closely, as though she was hoping for a dramatic reaction.
Viktor’s death doesn’t feel like pain, it feels like nothingness. I withdraw into myself, my face drying of tears.
It’s how I felt before, when I thought there was no chance for me outside of this marriage. I sink back into that feeling. There’s something comforting about accepting my fate, letting this poisonous riptide sweep me out to sea until I’m nothing at all.
The fight fades away from me. I let them fuss over me, making me up, and pulling me into a scratchy white frilly dress that makes me look like a wedding cake.
The Chosen One, ready to be sacrificed.
CHAPTER 37
VIKTOR
SEVEN HOURS AGO…
Semyon followed through on his promise to make my torture worse.
The digging is around the clock now. With one break for dinner. The three-hour break for sleep is held at different times every day.
No routine. Only back-breaking, infuriatingly pointless labor and guards who refuse to say a single word to me. Even if I swear at them, spit at them, or try to start a fight.
Like they’ve been told not to interact with me at all.
Of course, my body shuts down from exhaustion every three days. Sometimes I wake up in a daze, still holding the snow shovel. If I fall asleep at the wrong time and they find me, I wake up within a few hours to the guards firing bullets in the air to wake me up. I’m permanently exhausted, permanently sore, and permanently frozen.
This morning, though, I wake up feeling well-rested.
Another break in my routine. I think they’ve actually let me sleep through the night. My muscles feel stronger, my brainclicks into action, and the fog lifts from my thoughts.
The last break in routine was a bad sign, signaling the visit from Semyon. I think this might be an omen of something even worse.
Sure enough, they wait until the sun comes up and drag me out of my cell into the snow just outside the cabin.
The lazy bastards can’t even be bothered to take me far away before they execute me. Too much effort to walk through the snow.
They’re probably already dreaming of heading back inside to play a game of bura and drink more vodka. They’ve been doing that a lot lately, their hollering and laughing loud enough to pull me out of my allotted three-hour sleeping time, when I should be dead to the world.
I kneel on the cold ground. They undo my cuffs and point a gun at the back of my head.
