Page 11 of Stolen Empire
Dimitri steps forward and crouches beside me, and before I can react, he's reaching into the bag and pulling things out one by one.
My set of lockpicks wrapped in cloth.
He tosses them aside.
A fake ID with a name that isn't mine and a photo that barely resembles me.
He holds it up to the light, studying it, and then he reads the name aloud.
"Oksana Belov." He glances at me with cold eyes. "That you?"
"No."
"Then what's your real name?"
I hesitate, and his jaw tightens.
He drops the fake ID and digs deeper into the bag, pulling out a crumpled stack of metro tickets, a half-empty pack of cigarettes, and a small leather pouch that I know contains the last of my cash.
He opens the pouch and counts the bills quickly, then pockets them without comment.
I want to protest, but the words die in my throat.
I find myself kneeling, knees pressing into the hard ground as he continues.
His hand closes around something and pulls it out, and when he opens his palm to show it, I almost snatch it away.
It's small, tarnished silver on a thin chain, and it's been with me for as long as I can remember.
It's one of the few things my mother didn't pawn or lose during our years of moving from place to place.
I don't even know if it means anything, but it's mine, and seeing it in his hand makes my chest knot.
"Give that back," I snap, swiping at his hand, but he keeps it out of my reach.
He doesn't look at me.
He turns the pendant over in his palm, examining it, and then he slips it into his pocket. "No."
"That's mine."
"Everything in this bag is mine now."
He stands and kicks the bag toward one of the men, who picks it up and slings it over his shoulder.
"You don't own anything here. Not your tools, not your money, and not whatever sentimental trash you've been carrying around. You're going to earn it back if you want it."
I rise to my feet, fury burning through my chest, but before I can say anything, he moves closer and lowers his voice so only I can hear.
"Don't push me. You won't like what happens if you do."
The men are watching us, their expressions ranging from curious to hostile, and I know he's right.
Challenging him here, in front of his crew, will only make things worse.
So I swallow the anger and nod once, tightly, and he steps back.
"What's your real name?" he asks again, louder this time, and while I know I could give him a false name, there's no point.
