“Move, Blondie.”

I slip off the backseat of the SUV, lowering one high heel then the other to the ground. Teetering, I grab the door. A stiff breeze lifts the front of my dress, but if I let go of the car, I’ll fall. Gritting my teeth, I wait for dizziness to pass.

Cinder spits out a toothpick and sneers.

“Someone’s going to be happy tonight. If I didn’t think your pussy was poison, I’d have a taste.”

His words don’t affect me.

When I woke up from the dream, my heart aching like a ghost limb, I felt some measure of peace. Odd, given the circumstances, but nevertheless real. Maybe this was what Cousin Edith really meant. At a certain point, it’s impossible to break any further. And finally, you learn what you’re made of.

I don’t care what happens to me, only that my family stays safe. That’s not to say I’m naïve about what my future holds. I’ve heard firsthand the horrors visited upon victims of sex trafficking. A blond, American woman? I’ll be lucky if I last the next forty-eight hours.

But I don’t care about that, either. My will to live died with Paul. With his brain matter in my hair. Maybe recognizing your own powerlessness is the greatest power of all—it’s certainly given me the deepest relief. If I go quietly, no more deaths will be laid at my feet. Maybe I’ll meet Dominic on the other side. Maybe not.

It’s a nice thought, anyway.

As Cinder walks down the dim alley to a door at the end, two guards take my arms and urge me forward. Their hold is gentle this time, probably due to fear of damaging the merchandise. The thought nearly makes me giggle.

I look up, finding the narrow strip of sky above. Darkness. No moon or stars. Only the barest hint of lights from civilization. They blindfolded me again for the drive here and kept raucous music on so I couldn’t hear anything outside. It worked. I still have no idea where we are. The buildings to either side of us are old, industrial, with no distinguishing features. My only other clue is the air—cool and dry. Not cold, as most of the country is by this time of year. We might be somewhere in the Southwest. Arizona?

It doesn’t matter.

Fingers snap in front of my face. “Wake up, shlyukha.” Cinder chuckles, glancing at one of the guards holding me. “They gave her the good shit, yeh?”

Ah. I remember the small water bottle I was ordered to drink. Should I be grateful to be drugged? Probably.

I’m herded inside. Down a hallway. Cement floors, white walls, exposed lightbulbs. The lights swing wildly, oblong shadows kaleidoscoping across the ceiling—or maybe I’m the one swinging. My knees buckle, but I’m quickly snatched up.

“When did she eat last?” growls Cinder, pausing a few steps ahead.

“The fuck should I know?” snaps the man to my left.

“Yesterday?” offers the one on my right.

Cinder mutters in Russian. Bad words. I giggle, swaying. A nursery rhyme pops into my head. “Little baby Cinder, jumping on the bed. He fell off and bumped his head. Or no—wait, he’s bumped his face. No one called the doctor ’cause the doctor was… Huh. What rhymes with face?”

One of my guards chokes on a laugh.

Cinder glowers at him. “Get her in the room. I’ll tell boss we need some time.”

“He’s not gonna like that.”

“Yeah, no shit. Just do it, or I tell him you forgot to feed her before giving her the drugs.”

There are no more complaints. Cinder disappears around a corner. We follow more slowly, most of my weight supported by the men. What feels like an eternity later, I’m pushed through a door. It slams closed behind me.

“This looks familiar,” I tell no one.

Same cement cell with its rusted drain. Same blue desk. I stumble forward and drop into the chair. The only reason my dress doesn’t rip is that it’s essentially a long strip of ivory silk with a hole for my head. With no underwear or bra, and a thin, gold belt around my waist, I might as well be naked.

The door creaks open. A throat clears. “You look lovely, London.”

I don’t turn. “Weren’t you told I need a few minutes?”

“We don’t have a few minutes. Very rich, powerful men are waiting for you.”

I spin in the chair, overcompensating and nearly landing on my ass on the ground. Rudy, dressed impeccably in a tuxedo, frowns in distaste.

I wave it off. “Whatever. You’re the one who drugged me. Not to mention you killed my husband—twice—killed my lover, blackmailed my friend, have murdered God knows how many people, sell innocent women into slavery—”

“Enough.”

“Why’d you wait so long, Rudy? Huh? If I was living such a depraved life in L.A., what took you so long to rescue me?” The words drip with blades, and I’m glad to see him flinch at the reminder of Dominic.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to come home,” he snarls, “to show the backbone I taught you to have!”

I glare. “The only thing you taught me was that evil wears loafers.”

His lips thin. “Get up, London.”

I stand on weak knees, gripping the table for support. Rudy watches me, expression pinched. Sober, I might translate the look on his face as something like twisted affection. But now, without the barrier of sobriety or civility, I see it. The flush on his neck. His throat bobbing as he swallows. The blue eyes flickering over my chest, between my legs.

Revulsion shivers up my spine, lodging in my throat. Bile rises, but I choke it down. Dominic was wrong—or his first guess was right. Rudy wasn’t interested in me being his heir, after all.

I snarl at him. “Are you going to bid on me, you sick fuck?”

All pretense disappears as he steps toward me, curled fingers vibrating with fury. “Wouldn’t you rather it was me? I’d take care of you, London. Give you whatever you want.” His gaze lowers, then lifts with new heat. “Children. A family.”

I’ve heard of the term struck sober before, but now I know it’s real. Everything is prismatically clear, tens of smaller facts crystallizing into a larger picture. An abhorrent one.

“You killed your wife because she was infertile,” I gasp out. “You freaked out when I told you Paul and I were going to start a family. That’s when everything changed. When you blackmailed Paul. Started destroying our lives. Why? Because in your deranged mind, you thought I might want you? You were like a father to me! Not to mention you’re twenty years older than me!”

“Age is nothing, London. Our minds are perfect complements. You were—can still be—the ideal woman for me. I only wish I’d found you before that spineless meathead did. I should have cleared the way for us a long time ago. Tell me you’ve never wondered…”

He reaches for me; I recoil against the wall. Sighing, he straightens his bowtie, then his shoulders. Composed, undaunted, unquestionably evil, he smiles warmly.

“Sentimentality has always been my largest defect. As such, I’m willing to offer one last time.” He extends his hand. “I’ll give you a life beyond your wildest dreams, London.”

I pretend to consider it, watching his expression shift to hesitant relief.

“I’ll take door number two, asshole.”