Page 133 of Tarnished Tyrant (Zhukova Bratva 1)

She turns her glare on me. “I’m not working for some stranger! He can call the police for all I care. I’m not even legal. What are they going to do to me?”

“Take you away?” I suggest, leaning forward until I’m only inches away from her face. “You’ll be ID’d as a runaway. They’ll take you back to Omaha. Back to Mom. Is that what you want?”

Elise doesn’t avert her gaze, but I can see the flicker of uncertainty behind her eyes. The fear that lives there even if she refuses to let it out.

I hate that I’m doing this to her. But I need her to see—to trulyseeand understand—exactly what’s at stake here.

“You must want to be there because you don’t want to be with me,” I continue with a shrug. “I’m doing my best, but you make it so damn hard sometimes, Elise. Maybe working will be good for you. Maybe it will make you realize that life isn’t a fucking fairytale. It’s not easy. You have to work for it.”

“Oh yeah, because my life has been a real fairytale before this! Fuck you, Belle!”

Nikolai snorts softly behind me. “Birds of a feather,” he mutters.

I resist the urge to turn around and give him the finger. Maybe I’m more like Elise than I’m willing to admit sometimes.

Instead, I look over my shoulder at him. “When does she start?”

“In the morning,” he says. “Sunrise.”

“Great. Then we’ll go to the hotel now, but be back tomorrow—”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Elise argues. “I’d rather stay here and work.”

I fling my arm towards the farmhouse. “Then get going! No one is stopping you!”

Her nostrils flare. Then, in a huff, Elise spins on her heel and starts marching up the driveway towards the house.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, I turn to Nikolai. “Did this guy seem okay? Do you know him? What if he’s some kind of murderer or—”

“We’ll stick close by,” he says.

I nod, momentarily relieved. Then the guilt starts to set in. “But you’re here to work, not babysit. You probably have stuff to do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Stop fucking apologizing.”

I blink, my mouth still hanging open with more words sitting unsaid on my tongue.

“You didn’t do this,” he continues. “Elise did. And if I needed to be somewhere else, I would be. I’m not here because you’re forcing me. I’m here because I want to be. Got it?”

The tone of voice is harsh and jagged, but the words are so soothing I don’t know what to do with them.

In the end, I just nod. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says. “Now, do you want to ride a horse or not?”

30

BELLE

Three hours into our horse ride, I’m finally starting to relax. Nikolai has been trotting along next to me like he’s been doing this his whole damn life. The man looks effortless doing anything at all—behind the wheel of a sports car, on a private plane, on top of a horse. It’s not fair.

“I think you’re finally ready to gallop,” he says.

I smooth my hand down the mare’s neck. “Yeah, I don’t think so. My legs are already going to be so sore.”

“From what?”

“From what? From riding a horse for three hours! Not all of us are muscled demigods. Some of us are working with feeble human parts, okay?”

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