Page 103 of Stolen Empire
I wasn't prepared for this at all.
I thought I'd walk in here and get the job and walk out, maybe ask a few questions about Dimitri's debt to them, get a few answers.
Not this.
"Liar."
He tosses the wire to the floor and crushes it under his boot.
"Take her to the back."
"Wait—" I protest, but they're already dragging me.
I try to pull free, but their grip is too tight.
They haul me through the warehouse, past stacks of crates, into a smaller room at the rear.
The door slams shut behind us.
"You dumb fuckers, let me go!" I grunt, trying to kick them.
The men jeer and mock me in Russian, and I'm powerless against them.
Even one on one, they're too strong, but three to one is suicide by thug. I can't keep fighting.
Inside, the space is bare except for a single chair in the center and a metal table against the wall.
A flashlight sits on the table, its beam pointing at the ceiling.
They shove me into the chair.
I try to stand, but one of them forces me back down, his hand on my shoulder.
"Stay," he growls.
"You can't fucking keep me here! Let me go!" I shout, and the first man walks out.
But before I can stand back up, the older man enters, carrying a folder.
He sets it on the table, then turns to face me.
"Ekaterina Morozova?" he says, and the way he lifts an eyebrow confuses me.
"That's not my name," I tell him plainly, but he can only chuckle.
"Isn't it?" He opens the folder, pulling out a document.
"I have this birth certificate issued in Perm. Mother's name: Anzhela Volsky. Father's name: Lyovik Morozov."
I stare at the paper, my mind reeling.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
That's my mother's name, but she told me my father was dead.
She said he died before I was born, a tragic accident.
"You don't?"
