more men to send your way. I’m offering you a mercy deal. It’d be best if you didn’t turn it down.”
I swallow and nod again. Part of me is scared, but the other part is annoyed. He speaks to me like I’m a child, like I don’t understand the severity of the situation.
I’m well aware of the kind of man he is. I know that to him, our lives mean nothing, and it won’t take much to have both mine and my father’s cut short. The fact that he thinks I need it to be reiterated grates on my nerves.
But I bite my tongue and say only, “I understand.” It’s the most diplomatic response I can give without calling him every name under the sun.
We continue through the mansion as he explains where every room is. It seems awfully large for a man that lives alone, but then again, this must be a way for him to assert his dominance. He doesn’t need this much space—a freaking circus doesn’t need this much space—but the fact that he can and does have it makes him better than everyone else. In his own eyes, at least.
As we walk, he rattles off dates and times, appointments and schedules, places to be and things to do. Even for a schedule freak like me, it’s impossible to get it all squared away. Not to mention that there seems to be no rhythm or rhyme to anything at all.
“I don’t understand,” I admit, nearly out of breath from walking as fast as I can to keep pace. “Why tell me all of these dates and times if the very next week, they’re probably going to change?”
He stops outside of another guest room and turns around to face me. Despite every horrible crime that I know he’s committed, when his gaze falls on me, I feel my thighs squeeze tight. My libido is clearly not grasping the concept of “dangerous criminal.”
“I need you to understand that my schedule isn’t set in stone. I don’t work a nine to five. The only reliable information I can give you is to suggest you anticipate not seeing very much of me. If I can help it, I won’t be around you very often.”
“Ah,” I say, faster than I can think, “So you’re not really looking for a caretaker, just someone to pawn this kid off on while you commit crimes.”
I expect an immediately negative response. An outburst of anger, maybe even a slap across the face. Men like him have tempers, I know.
Instead, he gives me a smile that surprisingly seems to reach his eyes. “I’m looking for whatever you are, Victoria Elwood,” he says in a near-whisper.
I open my mouth to retort, but fall silent. What is there even to say, really? I’m at his mercy. The job is the job, whether I like it or not.
“Now, if you’re done insulting me …” he murmurs as he pivots and keeps walking. We continue the tour, and noticeably, he passes a steel door without even glancing in its direction.
“What’s this?” I ask, a little more emboldened from being able to speak my mind moments ago.
Matvei pauses and turns to the door. “It’s a safe room. We won’t be going in there.” He presses on, and I once again have to speed up to reach him. We make it back to where we started, and eventually he stops outside of the last door.
“This is Nikolas’s room,” he says finally. “He hasn’t been sleeping well, so he’ll usually take a nap or two during the day.”
Nikolas. So that is the boy’s name. There was something in his voice when he said it, something that an unreasonable person like myself might even consider affection, or at least in the general vicinity of affection.
Surely that can’t be it, but if it isn’t, I’m not quite sure what it was.
I know what it wasn’t: any hint about the nature of the relationship between the two of them.
“Hello?” a soft little whimper comes from the other side of the door. It must be Nikolas.
Matvei immediately pivots and starts to twist the doorknob open. He stops just before he pushes through and fixes me with a cold glare.
“Stay here,” he commands. He doesn’t wait for my reply.
Instead, he slips into the child’s bedroom and pulls the door gently closed behind him.
He may have told me to stay put, but I’m no idiot. This is a chance to learn more about just what the hell I’ve gotten myself