Thorne Princess(104)

No need to tie me down. I was in no danger of escaping. A big, bald man stood by the door of the small back office. Kozlov was right in front of me, holding a gun, and his assistant was sitting behind a desk, awaiting instructions.

The phone tucked in my waistband burned my skin, demanding to be used. I could ask to go to the bathroom and see if I had service. Whatever I chose to do, it needed to be done before my battery died.

Kozlov strode toward me, tugging at his dress pants before crouching slightly to bring himself to my eye level. “Miss Thorne, here is what’s going to happen. I’m going to ask you questions about your employee, and you are going to answer them truthfully. If you don’t, you will be thrashed. If you refuse to cooperate, you will be thrashed. If you lie, you will be thrashed. Am I understood?”

I nodded. Though, shockingly, I had no desire to share anything about Ransom with him.

It made no sense at all. The man had brought this disastrous situation upon me singlehandedly. I should be singing about him, volunteering any piece of information I had.

Kozlov grabbed a chair and positioned it in front of me. He sank into it.

“One—where does Lockwood keep his weapon?”

That was an easy one. I didn’t even need to lie. I had no idea. I shook my head. “Don’t know.”

“Miss Thorne.” Kozlov smiled regretfully, as if he was on my side. The good cop. “I really wouldn’t like to hurt you more than absolutely necessary. Answer my question.”

“I would love to,” I said, my eyes leveled with his. “But I don’t know the answer to your question. Not sure if you noticed, but he’s a pretty secretive guy.”

The whip came from behind. At some point, his assistant must’ve stood up and taken off his belt. My back was protected by the chair, mostly, but it licked the nape of my neck, burning like a thousand fires.

I let out a soft moan, but didn’t cry. I couldn’t let them win. These people, who trafficked women in and out of the country. Who murdered, and raped, and put weapons into the hands of criminals.

“Question number two,” Kozlov announced, standing up and waltzing the room nonchalantly. “Are you fucking him?”

“How is that your business?” I thundered.

“Everything he does is my business,” he said quietly. “He killed my son.”

“It was an accident!” I blurted out. I knew it was the wrong thing to say before I even finished the sentence. Knew it, because even as I heard it, I realized how miserable it sounded to the ears of the father of that baby.

All Kozlov did was look past me, give a little nod, and turn around, his back to me. I sucked in a breath, bracing myself for what I knew was about to come.

The belt hit my shoulder first.

Then the back of my head.

Then the back of my knees.

I choked on my screams, swallowed down my tears, and refused to break down. My head hung limply on my chest. I was sweating buckets. I couldn’t take it anymore. But I couldn’t tell them anything about Ransom, either.

I found out I was a loyal, trustworthy person…only to waste those traits on a screwed-up man who had no feelings and twice as many issues as me. Typical.

“Now let’s try again, Miss Thorne. And this time, with a little more cooperation…”

In the corner of my eye, I saw Kozlov advancing toward me. My whole body flinched. He raised his hand, no doubt with intentions to hit me. I sucked in a breath.

“Stop.”

The voice was deadly calm. My heart stumbled all over the place, ping-ponging inside me. I looked to the door at the same time Kozlov did. Ransom stood inside it with his arm wrapped around the bodyguard’s throat, his gun to his temple.

I wanted to cry out in relief, but my throat was choked with sobs.

Kozlov turned fully toward him, looking amused more than scared.

“How did you find us?” he inquired, almost politely.

“My client carries a mini iPhone, and I track her whereabouts constantly.”

Kozlov’s gaze flew to his assistant, who recoiled beside me, knowing he would pay dearly for the mistake.

The Bratva soldier was completely still in Ransom’s headlock, aware that my bodyguard had no qualms about putting a bullet in his head if the situation demanded.

“What’s the plan?” Kozlov smiled. “Finish the job you started with Yefim and kill all of us?”

Yefim. The boy’s name was Yefim. I saw Ransom’s jaw harden, his nostrils flaring. He knew that. Of course he knew that. I bet he relived that moment every hour of his life.

Kozlov’s assistant pulled a gun from his waistband, pointing it at Ransom.

Fuck. Could my life get any messier with this man around? And to think this all started with a nip slip.

“Because,” Kozlov smiled indulgently, “if you kill me, it looks like you’ll be killed, too.”

“Nice deductive abilities.” Ransom shoved the bodyguard forward, treading deeper into the room. “I have no immediate plans to kill any of you, as tempting as it is.”

“Right,” Kozlov said. “So how do you see this playing out?”

“Simply.” Ransom let loose one of his signature, devil-may-care smiles. “This restaurant is crowned with an entire SWAT team, twenty LAPD cops for backup, a helicopter, the DA, and an unholy amount of security vehicles. You killed an FBI agent, dipshit. You can surrender yourself quietly—my least favorite option—or you could go out in a blaze of glory and let me kill you. This, I like better, since I’d get to make it slow and painful, for how you treated Miss Thorne.”