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same way and starts undoing the zip on my jeans. He’s so absorbed with his task that he doesn’t see me reach for the candlestand.

He doesn’t see me cock it back.

He doesn’t see me grit my teeth, summon all the strength in my body, and bring it crashing down over his head.

Or at least, that’s what I planned.

But he looks up at the very last second, sees what’s happening, and pivots enough.

Just enough.

Instead of cracking open his skull like I did in that little diner in Mexico, this time, all I do is catch him on the shoulder.

He grunts in pain.

His face turns dark.

And he wrenches the candlestand out of my hands and flings it across the room.

In the same motion, he pins my wrist against the tabletop and leans all his weight on it so hard I cry out.

“You fucking bitch!” he roars in my face, his skin tuning an ugly hue of red. “You fucking whore! I was gonna be gentle with you, but now I’m going to rip you in half.”

He slaps me across the face.

But I keep struggling. I keep fighting.

Because I understand something about myself in this moment.

I am not the type of person who will just lie down and take it.

I am not the type of person who will accept their fate and concede to it.

I will fight so long as there is breath left in my body.

I fend off his hold just enough to release my left hand from his grip. Then I claw at his face, and my nails dig into his flesh.

He growls in pain. When he looks at me again, I can see that I’ve let my mark.

It looks like a feral animal has clawed him, leaving fresh red streaks of blood along his face.

Then my eyes find his and I know that I’ve crossed the line and pushed him over the edge.

I can see murder in his eyes.

Oh, God… he’s going to kill me in front of my son.

The scream is tunneling its way out of my throat when I see something move just behind the massive man. He seems to notice we’re not alone at the same time.

But he’s too slow. Too preoccupied.

So I see the shiny dagger’s blade, but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t even see the knife before it slashes across his throat. It cuts through his flesh like butter, drenching me in a spray of blood.

And then he slumps to the ground, gurgling his way to death.

I blink away the droplets of blood and push myself off the table.

The person holding the knife killed the man who came to hurt me.

But what does she want?

44

Esme

The woman standing in front of me looks like an apparition for a moment. She’s tall, brunette, and beautiful.

“Are you okay?” the woman asks, glancing back at Phoenix, who coos softly on the sofa.

I stumble forward to make sure he’s okay, but I don’t make a move to touch him yet. I don’t want that beast’s blood anywhere near my son.

“Esme?”

I turn when she says my name. “I… are you real?” I ask stupidly.

Her expression flushes with concern and she moves closer to me, pulling off the soft overcoat she’s wearing. Underneath, she has on a figure-hugging black dress that emphasizes her hourglass shape.

She moves forward and puts the coat over my shoulders.

“You’re shivering,” she tells me. “My name is Svetlana.”

Svetlana…

Why does that name sound so familiar?

Then it hits me all at once.

“You’re with Artem,” I say. “You… you’re helping to bring down Budimir?”

“Yes,” she says, looking relieved that she doesn’t have to explain it to me. “I am.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I was at the hotel when the fighting started,” she tells me. “Artem attacked Budimir’s council meeting.”

I shake my head. “What… I thought that wasn’t until later?”

“Budimir moved it up and Artem decided to act fast,” she tells me. “I was brought here from the Regency and I heard the guards talking about you…”

“Where are they now?” I ask, terrified that someone would walk in and kill us both.

“Artem has just stormed the compound with his men,” Svetlana tells me. “It’s chaos out there. Budimir has barricaded himself in one of the rooms downstairs.”

Relief floods through me immediately, but Svetlana notices my expression and shakes her head. “Esme, we don’t know who will win this fight.”

“But—”

“Artem is still outnumbered,” she tells me. “And Budimir fights dirty. Not to mention the fact that he has you.”

“But… we can leave now,” I say desperately. “We can get out—”

“We can’t just walk out of here, Esme,” Svetlana tells me, grabbing my hand. “Budimir’s men are still all over the place.”

I close my eyes for a moment and try to breathe. “What do we do?”

“I was only able to get in here because the soldiers guarding this room were called away to protect the entrance,” she tells me. “But now we have a dead man in here with you and me. It won’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what’s happened.”

“Who saw you come in here?” I ask urgently.

“No one,” she replies. “I’m not watched like you are.”

“Okay,” I say. “Well—”

Before I can finish my sentence, I hear the sound of gunfire and I freeze. It doesn’t sound like it’s right around the corner, but it doesn’t sound very far either.

Svetlana turns her gaze to the door as well and I can sense her nerves as well. Still, her expression remains calm, almost impassive, as she turns to me.

“Wait here,” she instructs.

“W… where are you going?” I ask, grabbing her without meaning to.

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she puts her hand on mine and squeezes it with reassurance. “Don’t worry. I just want to see what the situation is like out there.”

“What if someone sees you?”

“This isn’t my first day on the job,” she says with a wink.

Then she walks towards the door and slips out of it. I stand there in the room, feeling my heart thud against my chest so hard that my ribcage actually hurts.

It’s all in my head.

It’s all

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