The Handler : A Dark Russian Mafia Romance (The Cells of Kalashov Book 2)

is a whispered lie.
I empty the glass of vodka. “Why don’t you get some rest.”
Her blue eyes widen, and she’s nodding in agreement like it’s the best idea ever. She rises, and I step closer to her. “The rest might clear your head and stop all the lies from pouring from your lips.”
She’s shaking her head, color pouring into her creamy skin.
I take another step closer, and instead of her fear growing, her eyes harden, and she juts out her chin and holds her head higher.
“Do you know what they do to pretty liars?”
Some of her defiance shrivels away. She’s smart enough not to deny she’s lying, but I still don’t like how defiantly she is staring at me.
I take another step. I don’t touch her, but I’m close enough that if I wanted to, I could. “Girls like you can make a lot of money from one buyer. But it’s not the only option. Have you heard of the mill?”
She holds up a shaking hand with the small blue diamond tattoo.
I laugh, and she flinches.
“Oh, Printsessa.” She flinches again at the endearment that Igor had used for her. It means Russian Princess. “That little diamond won’t save you.”
I step away from her terrified stare. “Get some rest and clear your head,” I say over my shoulder. Lenny holds out my jacket, and I take it.
“You want me to go with you, boss?” It’s Michail who asks.
He’s always the one I take, but not today. I can’t seem to forget how Lenny had stared at Evie in the limo. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.
“You stay here. I’ll take Lenny.”
Lenny covers up his surprise quickly and follows me into the elevator. I tug on my suit jacket, and as I look up, Evie is still staring at me with horror shining in her big blue eyes. I don’t blink until the doors close, cutting me off from the beauty.
I was going to the boat.  I needed to see what happened for myself and try to understand why Evie is lying.

CHAPTER TWO
EVIE
I don’t move long after Lucca leaves.
The space around me sways and dissolves until I’m back in the loading bay.
I’m curled up as small as possible, my heart beating faster than the wings of a trapped butterfly. Leah, one of the girls, always caught them in a glass and enjoyed watching them trying to escape when it wasn’t possible. She said that was us—a beautiful butterfly in a glass cage.
I never showed my irritation towards her; instead, I would wait until she got bored watching the butterfly panic and flap and leave the room. Once she was gone, I would lift the glass, setting the butterfly free. It soared to the ceiling, looking for a way out. The windows had bars on them, but I could open it enough to allow the butterfly its freedom.
I knew I would be free one day, too. Releasing them gave me hope. Releasing them made me feel I had power over something in my life.
My stomach tightens as I think about how that turned out. Hiding behind all the crates, fearing the security could hear my heartbeat thrash in my chest.
“Evie.” My name had been repeated, barked, and I knew if they found me, my disobedience wouldn’t go unpunished. It wouldn’t be a slap on my wrist. My shoulder aches again, a wound long healed, but it’s a different kind of pain. I think they call it phantom pain. Like when someone loses a leg, initially they still think it’s there, they still want to scratch an itch, they still want to stretch out a muscle or just wiggle their toes.
My wound still burns and throbs with its own deeply rooted phantom pain.
I slowly come back to Lucca’s living space, and I’m ready to reach back and touch the old wound on my shoulder, but I don’t.
I glance to the left, where one of his security watches me. I raise my chin higher, trying to hide the pure fear that wants my frame to crumble and bend in two.
“I’d like to be shown my sleeping quarters,” I speak as clearly as possible.
He doesn’t smile or give any indication that he heard me, that is, until he moves. His footsteps are extremely quiet on the marble flooring. The solid black shoes I expect to make a tapping noise are soundless, like my bare feet. I gather the dress higher, not wanting to trip, and all my training about walking with grace comes flowing back into my mind without my permission. It’s in me, like a path laid in my brain. I fear I’ll never dismantle it. Maybe I could build a fresh path alongside it one day, but I can never remove it. I just know it. Like I know, it’s air that fills my lungs.
The security man pushes a door open but doesn’t enter. He pushes a small black device in his ear.
“Pavel. I’m taking her to the third guest room. Do you want to cover the door?” He stands and waits for a reply, nods at the large white wooden door before standing aside.
I enter, not surprised that someone will watch the door. I don’t close it. It wasn’t something we were ever allowed.
Pavel’s footsteps are heavy, and I listen to the rhythm as he makes his way down the hallway. He arrives at the door and gives me a once-over with disinterest in his brown eyes before facing forward.
The door remains open as I turn to the guest room. It’s large. But I’m used to large. I’m used to luxury, and this is luxury.
My heart stutters and stalls in my chest, and I cover it with my hand, not wanting it