Where the Snow Falls (Seasons of Betrayal #2)(68)

And maybe that was a lesson Kaz should have thought of as well.

“You know who he is,” Kaz went on, not wanting to get trapped in his own head with his regrets. “You know what he’s capable of. Do you think he won’t hurt her to teach me a lesson?”

That was the fear he had meant when talking to Rus hours ago. Her death would be too easy for him, but torturing her would prolong the pain.

Alberto scoffed, looking away. “We have an arrangement.”

“I don’t think you understand. But maybe I should help you with that.” Kaz ashed his cigarette. “When my brother was eighteen, Vasily had his lover kidnapped, flayed alive, and left the rest of him for his mother to find. You think you really know what Vasily is capable of?”

That was enough to make Alberto jerk back, surprise lighting up his eyes, but he didn’t respond, and Kaz didn’t want him to.

“It was a lesson, you see. Vasily wanted to make sure he understood that it was his way or no way at all. Then Rus had been his favorite—I never was. So if he was willing to do that to him, imagine what he would do to Violet to get back at me.”

And there it was.

That moment of impending realization.

Alberto didn’t have to have proof of the deed because what reason did Kaz have to lie? This wasn’t about him.

“This isn’t over, Markovic. You—”

“Where is she?” Kaz didn’t care about wars that would happen later on. The only reason he wasn’t putting a bullet in Alberto right then was because that would only interfere with him getting to Violet. He just needed an answer.

“The Black Hall.”

What the hell was that?





The van door slid shut with a damning click a second before Violet was slammed down to the floor of the vehicle. Her fingernails broke against metal as she fought for purchase, coming up with nothing.

“Let me—”

Her words cut off when her face was slammed into the van’s floor.

Apparently, her attacker wasn’t all that interested in tying her hands and legs up, considering the man grabbed her by the hair and picked her up off the floor of the van before flinging her to the other side. Violet’s back hit the door with a crack, and tears spilled as the pain began to spread.

She stared the man down as he grinned at her from up above.

“Go on,” he told her, calm and smooth. “I like the ones that fight, girl, just not the ones that scream.”

Oh, Jesus.

Violet dug her clenched fists against her sides, keeping her knees tucked up high to her chest, and the rest of her body as far away from the man as she possibly could.

Still, he took a step forward. “Don’t touch me.”

He just laughed. “Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

“Enough.”

That f*cking voice.

Violet’s gaze swung from the man who was her current—and probably her biggest—threat, to the one driving.

Vasily Markovic.

He barely gave her a look, but for a brief second, he did meet her stare over his shoulder before his attention was back on the road.

“Make sure she’s clean,” Vasily murmured. “Especially if you’re going to leave her untied.”

Violet flinched back against the van wall when the man came closer. She didn’t want him touching her at all. As it was, the * might as well have ripped hair out of her head, and he likely left a few bruises behind, too.

Fuck. Him.

“Don’t touch me,” Violet repeated through clenched teeth.

“Ivan,” Vasily said, “stop wasting time.”

Violet didn’t get a blink in before the man was on her, hands pushing into her clothes and searching for what, she didn’t know. He’d said he liked the ones who fought, so she certainly didn’t mind giving him that.

And she hoped to f*ck he liked the row of claw marks she put across his face.

It was only when he ripped her silk blouse did a cold spike of fear settle into Violet’s heart.

Those disgusting f*cking hands didn’t stop violating until he was satisfied she had nothing hidden in her clothing.

By the time he was done, Violet had pushed herself into the very far corner, tucked her knees up high again, and glared at the man. “Stay the f*ck away from me.”

Vasily chuckled dryly from the driver’s seat, and seconds later, the van pulled over. Without explaining his motives, he exited the seat, slipping into the back as Ivan took the wheel and they began moving again.

She tried not to let the unsteady movements of the vehicle taking corners bother her too much as Vasily stared her down. He knelt down a foot away from her, pulling a white cloth napkin from his pocket and holding it out to her.

Violet didn’t give the item a bit of her attention.

She knew how men like Vasily Markovic worked.

What seemed like a nice gesture was nothing more than a lie. He was a f*cking snake—what comfort he might offer her was only a ruse, something to distract her into compliance so that he could suffocate her when she trusted him enough to turn her back to him.

“Fuck you,” Violet spat.

Vasily cracked the tiniest of smiles. “You surprise me, girl.”

Good for him.

Violet turned her face away but kept one eye on Vasily all the while resting back against the seat, one leg outstretched and his other bent at the knee.