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Maksim stepped toward the chair. “So you do remember us.”

“You wore masks!” She slammed her hands down, rattling the chains. “How the fuck was I supposed to recognize you? Is this some elaborate joke because I left? We agreed it was one night. I own a bakery for fuck’s sake. You could have stopped by instead of going through all the bullshit if you wanted to talk to me.”

Kirill pushed away from the wall and approached slowly. She tracked every move, pulling once against the restraints. “Five years ago, you were considerably more cooperative.”

Her head snapped toward him. “You don’t get to use that against me.”

“Why not?” He almost purred the words as he bent toward her and grasped her head between his hands. “You used everything against us. All you have to do now is tell us how you took the money.”

“You paid thirty million dollars to ask me how I took thirty million dollars? Your way of thinking is absolutely asinine. You’re out sixty million, and yet you couldn’t even kidnap the right woman.” Her eyes flashed with a mix of defiance and fear. “Fuck you.”

“No, darling. I think it’s the other way around. Give us what we want, or we take it from you.” He took his time looking her over, letting his gaze heat as he licked his lips.

I hated this part. Yes, we were assholes of the highest caliber, but we did not, under any circumstances, rape women or abuse children. Kirill, surprisingly, was the best at psychological torture. Probably because he came off as innocent at first.

Maksim picked up the small plastic evidence bag that had been handed to him as we left. The contents of her pockets and purse spilled into his hands. She possessed a cheap phone, wallet with forty dollars in it, a recipe card, and one tube of lip balm. Either she’d become remarkably disciplined or this entire performance had been prepared down to the smallest detail.

Despite my typical proclivity toward stillness, I threw the lip balm across the room. It hit the wall and shattered, sending shards flying around the room. “Stop lying.” The calmness in my voice created a juxtaposition against the angry action, and it usually served us well.

She flinched, shoulders drawing up to her ears, and twisted around to look at me. “Stop asking impossible questions. I didn’t take your money. If I did, I’d tell you because I’d rather not die. Then again, based on how my night’s going, you’d probably kill me even if I did confess and tell you where I put the money. Which I can’t do because I didn’t take it!” She slammed her body forward, rocking the chair and sending her dangerously close to tipping over.

I caught the back of the chair with one hand and slammed it to the ground. She turned, trying to track me, and I moved out of sight. Five years ago, she’d trusted us enough to close her eyes. Had she not known then who we were? Tonight, she refused to blink, and that stole the air from my lungs in a completely distracting way.

Why the fuck did I want her to trust me? She was a lying cheat. “Where did you go after you left the estate?”

“Home.” Her head moved side to side, trying to keep all of us within sight.

We shared a look, then deliberately kept one of us out of sight at all times. I clanked some change on the table as I walked behind her, and she flinched. “Where’s home?”

Kirill wandered over to the other table and pulled out her wallet, flipping through it. “Driver’s license. Debit card. Coffee punch card.” He waved it. “Four punches away from a free drink. You’ve been busy.”

“I like coffee.” She tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice quivered.

My stomach dropped in response, and I gave Maksim a look I knew he’d understand. I was willing to do a lot of things, but if she kept this up, we were not taking it to the next level. I dragged a chair over, letting the legs scrape and bounce on the concrete floor. When I was close enough, I slammed the chair down and sat, spreading my legs wide and stretching them out toward her while crossing my arms. “We can sit here all night, if that’s what you want. But you’re not leaving here until you tell us exactly what you did with our money.”

“I never had your thirty million.” Her chin quivered but she held my gaze. “I’m not a thief.”

4

KIRILL

I believed her. Not enough to open the restraints and apologize, because she’d probably knee me in the nuts for my efforts, which I respected. Instinct had saved my life too many times for me to dismiss it, and Roman would cheerfully point out that instinct was not evidence, especially when the woman in question had once distracted all three of us while thirty million dollars disappeared. Still, I’d spent the last hour watching her rather than listening to the words coming out of her mouth, and something was wrong.

Anika–if I could believe the driver’s license–was terrified of us in a way that rang true. She cursed and fought like a wild animal, tracked our every move, and flinched at sudden noises. All of those were markers of someone on the run, but they were also inherent fight responses I’d seen before. Especially in women who thought death was not the worst thing that could happen to them.

Roman remained planted in front of her. “You expect us to believe you disappeared the same morning our money vanished by coincidence?”

“I expect you to listen when I tell you I went home. You obviously have too much money, so what does it matter?” Her chest hitched with a quick breath. “I just want to go home.”

“Where is home?” Maksim asked.

She lifted her chin. “None of your fucking business.”

That almost made me smile. Naked, tied to a chair, surrounded by three men she thought would kill her, or worse, and she still had enough fight left to curse at Maksim.

“Darling, we have your license.” I tossed the small wallet from hand to hand. It was a tiny thing, barely bigger than my palm, and annoyingly sparse.

Maksim stepped into her line of sight. “You left because you knew what was coming.”