Stolen Heir - Sophie Lark Page 0,18

see a syringe embedded in my flesh, the plunger pushed all the way down. Then I look up into the man’s eyes, so dark they appear almost black, no separation between pupil and iris. He’s staring at me with anticipation.

“Why did you do that?” I hear myself say.

The sound of the cars rushing by becomes dull and slow. The man’s eyes are dark smears in a peach blur. I feel like all the bones dissolve in my body. I get floppy as a fish, tumbling sideways. If the man wasn’t closing his arms tightly around me, I’d fall right into the road.

7

Miko

Six months ago, anonymously and through a discreet broker, I bought one of the biggest Gilded Age mansions in Chicago. It’s located on the north end of the city in a densely wooded lot. You’d hardly know you were in Chicago at all. The trees are so thick and the stone walls around the property are so high, that barely any sunlight filters in through the windows. Even the walled garden is full of shade-loving plants that can stand the dim light and the silence.

It’s called the Baron’s House, because it was built for beer baron Karl Schulte, in the German Baroque style. It’s all weathered gray stone, black iron railings, and ornate sculptural reliefs in the shape of scrolls, medallions, and two hulking male figures that hold up the portico on their shoulders.

I bought it thinking it would be a refuge. A place to go when I want solitude.

Now I realize it makes the perfect prison.

Once you pass through the iron gates, you might as well have disappeared.

I’m going to make Nessa Griffin disappear. From the moment Jonas brings her to me, not another soul will see her face. No spies, no witnesses. Her family can tear the city down brick by brick, and they won’t find a trace of her.

Picturing their panic makes me smile for the first time in a long time. The Griffins and the Gallos have so many enemies, they won’t know who snatched her. The Braterstwo are their worst and most recent foes, but in their arrogance, they think they destroyed us by killing Tymon. They’re so fucking myopic, I doubt they even know my name.

That’s exactly how I like it. I’m the virus that will invade their system unseen and unnoticed. They won’t even realize what’s happened until they’re coughing up blood.

I hear the sound of a car pulling into the yard, and I feel a spike of anticipation. I’m actually looking forward to this.

My footsteps ring on the bare stone of the lobby as I hurry to the door. I’m down the steps and outside the Land Rover before Jonas has even climbed out of the car.

He hauls his bulk out of the front seat, looking pleased with himself.

“It went perfectly,” he says. “I had Andrei take the Jeep to the chop shop. He shorted out the GPS first, so they won’t be able to track it past where it broke down. Then he had the whole thing dismantled and crushed. They won’t find so much as a headlight.”

“You have her purse?” I ask him.

“Right here.”

He reaches into the front seat and pulls out the purse, a simple leather satchel, the same one she had at the club. It’s the only purse she uses, luckily, since that’s how I’ve been tracking her all week. If she’d been a typical spoiled socialite with a dozen designer bags, that would have been very inconvenient for me. But it wouldn’t have stopped me.

“I threw her phone in a dumpster on Norwood,” Jonas says.

“Good.” I nod. “Let’s get her upstairs.”

Jonas opens the rear door. Nessa Griffin is passed out on the backseat. Her arm dangles limply, and her eyes twitch behind closed lids. She’s dreaming about something.

Jonas takes her feet and I take her head, carrying her inside the house. Her body hangs awkwardly between us. After a moment I say, “I’ll do it,” and I scoop her up in my arms instead.

Even though she’s dead weight, it’s not a heavy load. I can carry her up the stairs easily enough. Actually, it’s alarming how fragile she is. Too skinny, her collarbones showing through her skin, hollow and bird-like. She’s pale from the drugs, her skin almost translucent.

She’ll have the whole east wing to herself. Jonas has his rooms on the ground floor, as do Andrei and Marcel. I live in the west wing.

The only other person who comes into this house is Klara Hetman,