Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

“This is that bitch’s fault,” he gritted. “I intend to see her in hell.”

“All in good time.”

“I want you to keep a close eye upon her. She will not be allowed to escape me again.”

Josef angled his way to a side door, ignoring the trash piled beside the stone building.

“She believes herself to be protected now that she has been returned to her home. She will be there waiting when you are prepared to punish her.”

The image of Leonida Karkoff pleading for mercy as he sliced his dagger through her throat sent a rush of anticipation through his body.

“A punishment I intend to savor.”

“We will both be savoring a firing squad if we are caught by the guards.” Josef reached out to tug open the heavy wooden door. “That’s always assuming we are not captured by Tipova’s men first.”

Stepping into the large empty room that was shrouded in dusty shadows, Charles grimaced in disgust.

“What is this place, beyond a haven for rats?”

Josef urged him into the center of the rotting floor, his expression unreadable.

“I frequently stay here when I have need of disappearing from the streets.”

“It is filthy.”

“It is not so bad as that.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Charles sneered. “I am not a nasty peasant who is content to wallow in the muck.”

“I am, of course, devastated you are displeased with my home, Sir Charles, but as they say, beggars cannot be choosers,” a low voice drawled.

Stiffening in alarm, Charles glared as a slender man, with raven hair pulled into a tail at his neck and startling golden eyes in a narrow face, appeared from the shadows.

A mere serf, he told himself, although there was no mistaking the expensive cut of his claret coat and the aristocratic lines of his features. Even his boots were glossy enough to please the most meticulous nobleman.

No doubt he stole the clothes in the hopes of fooling the natives.

He was not so easily deceived.

Still, he could not deny the chill of unease that trickled down his spine.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled.

The stranger strolled forward, a mocking smile on his lips. “I have had many names and many guises over the years.”

“I am in no humor for games.”

“Now that is a pity since the game has just begun. One I have been looking forward to for a very long time.”

Charles struggled against the instinctive urge to back away from the approaching man. By God, he did not cower before peasants.

“Do you impress the local serfs with your pretense of a true gentleman?” he scoffed.

“The local serfs are wise enough to hate true gentlemen.” Coming to a halt, the man crossed his arms over his chest. “I impress them with my willingness to kill anyone who dares stir my temper.”

“If you are hoping to frighten me then you are wide of the mark.”

“Now who is pretending, Sir Charles?”