Vow of Deception (Deception Trilogy #1) - Rina Kent Page 0,50

Jeremy stops dancing and I realize it’s because I’ve come to a halt.

I rip my gaze from the snow globe and smile at him. “Yes?”

“Don’t worry. You’re more beautiful than her.”

The innocence of this angel.

“I am?”

“You’re the prettiest ever.”

“Thank you, my angel.” I brush his hair. “Are you hungry?”

“Yup!”

“Let’s go then.”

I turn off the music and hold his hand in mine as we go downstairs.

As soon as we’re in the dining room, the mood shifts. Ogla is waiting for us with scowls and obvious disregard for our clothes. But the one I’ve dreaded seeing the most and have kept pushing to the back of my head since I woke up isn’t here.

“Where’s Adrian?” I ask before I can stop myself.

“Working in his office.” She pauses for good measure. “He’s not to be disturbed.”

I sure as hell wouldn’t disturb him. If anything, I’m relieved I don’t have to face him this morning and can have a peaceful breakfast with Jeremy.

Or mostly peaceful since Ogla keeps watching us on his behalf like a hawk.

I ignore her as I sit beside Jeremy. My ass burns and I close my eyes so that the ache passes. It doesn’t, though. Every shift provokes the welts, and to my horror, it starts a tingle in my core.

Damn it.

I ignore the state between my thighs and focus on feeding Jeremy and myself.

It feels almost surreal that I’ve had breakfast two days in a row and that I haven’t skipped a meal since that sandwich I ate in Adrian’s car. It seems like so long ago, even though it’s been less than forty-eight hours.

But I guess so much has happened in such a short space of time that I’ve mechanically fallen into the routine. The main thing that I’m not used to is the lack of alcohol. No matter how much I fill my stomach, my temples throb, demanding liquor.

There’s one more thing I’m not used to. The sting in my ass. It’s like needles, uncomfortable as hell, but my mind keeps playing last night like it’s the latest, most thrilling movie I’ve ever seen. All the details are engraved in my memories like a sacred script. Including the part where I actually told Adrian to not go to her. That must’ve been another nightmare.

This place has been made by Satan himself—aka Adrian. Ever since I stepped inside, I’ve had one terrifying nightmare after another.

After breakfast, I take Jeremy to play in the garden. Something for which Ogla twists her lips, and I remind her ever so casually that Adrian said I have access to any part of the house.

I’m already cooped up here as it is. I want to at least smell some fresh air.

It’s cold today, even though the sky isn’t completely gray, so I make sure Jeremy and I are suited up in our coats before we step outside.

A few guards dressed in black army fatigues and jackets are scattered all over the property every few yards. Some of them have gigantic rifles hung over their shoulders or chests, and their faces are solemn, closed off and without any emotion. Just like their dictator boss.

I tighten my hold on Jeremy’s hand, afraid they’ll somehow hurt him, but he seems oblivious to them. He must’ve gotten used to their presence over the years. How sad is it for a small kid to grow up in the midst of dangerous people and weapons like this?

He leads me into a built-in wooden gazebo beneath a large tree. There’s a table in the middle and two long benches on either side. Endless soldiers and toys are already waiting for him there.

I drop the iPad Ogla shoved into my hand this morning to learn about the Bratva and blah blah onto the table. I’ll throw a look at it later, because I sure as hell don’t want to give Adrian one more reason to punish me.

As soon as we settle in, a guard gets into position close behind us. Please tell me he won’t be watching over us with a rifle dangling from his shoulder.

I lift my head and instantly feel a sense of familiarity. Crooked Nose—Yan—stands at the entrance of the gazebo, and although he’s dressed in black fatigues like the rest of them, he’s not showcasing his rifle. I’m sure he has a weapon somewhere, but I’m thankful he’s not shoving it in my face.

“Morning, Yan,” Jeremy says absentmindedly, as he gathers some of his toy soldiers. He’s sitting so close to me that his thigh touches mine