Empire of Sin (Empire #2) by Rina Kent

Or maybe a forest on fire.

There’s something about being so far beyond my comfort zone that it feels both foreign and exciting.

Delirious.

Maybe even addicting.

And like any addict, I can’t help sniffing in more, breathing in more.

Just taking in more.

“You,” he repeats slowly in that deep voice of his, with that eternal calm that still manages to steal shivers from my soul.

“Yeah, me.” It’s less confident now, betraying all the chipped things inside me.

His index and middle finger sneak beneath my chin and lift. The act is so minimal, but he might as well have doused me with gasoline and set me on fire. A touch. It’s a mere touch, so why the hell does it feel like a whole experience?

“What makes you think I want you?”

The sting of his words burns and jostles one of the broken pieces in my chest, but I grab on to my confidence with bloodstained fingers. “You did two weeks ago.”

“That was before I knew you were a liar.”

“What does that matter when I’m offering myself?”

“You were a good fuck, Anastasia, but not good enough to go against my principles for. I don’t do liars. So you’ll have to give me something first.”

“Forget it then. My offer is off the table.”

His lips curve in a cruel smirk. “I’ll be the one to decide that, and believe me, when I figure out who you are and what you’re after, you’ll be well and truly fucked. Hold on to these little lies while you can.”

He releases me with a slight shove and I stumble backward, my thigh hitting the chair.

“Oh.” He stops at the entrance and turns to face me. “Don’t even think about leaving or I’ll make this personal.”

Then he’s out the door.

I slide onto the chair, my nails digging into my palms and my heart nearly hitting the floor.

He’ll make this personal? Personal? Then what has he been doing ever since he saw me in the elevator? Making it impersonal?

Just what type of man did I get involved with?

Even my desperate attempt of offering myself has failed. How the hell am I supposed to keep myself and Babushka alive now?





“How are you, my little bunny?”

I clench the phone in my hands and resist the urge to bawl my eyes out, to tell her everything is not fine, that it won’t be anymore.

That I could be in danger and so will she.

Instead, I force a smile, straighten my spine, and stare out the window at the gigantic buildings of NYC. Then I speak in Russian since her English is rusty, “I’m fine, Babushka. How are you? Are they treating you well in the clinic?”

“Of course. The nurses are so nice and the food is exquisite. Not as good as your momma’s, but it’s close enough. How is she? Did she leave that lowlife yet?”

This time, I can’t help the tears that gather in my lids. Babushka isn’t my blood-related grandmother, but she practically raised me when I was young. She hid me in her house whenever Mom told me to run. The reason I traveled through the forest was to reach her place.

She protected me when she didn’t have to and made me my favorite orange cake and gave me treats.

Then she sang to me in Russian so I would fall asleep and not think about what Mom was going through.

In the morning, she’d braid my hair, heat me some milk, and give me cookies. She kept me safe until Mom could come to fetch me.

Even though she was old, she never once complained about taking care of me and always laughed when I told her stories about my fairy adventures.

She’s much older now, though, in her late seventies, and suffers from dementia that requires intensive care. It’s one of the main reasons I left, to get her the medical help she needs.

All the money I stole from my family is slowly being paid to the Swiss clinic where she’s staying right now. As soon as I disappeared, that’s where I went—moving her to Switzerland from a small town in West Russia. The small town she was expelled to soon after my mother died.

I cried and begged and even asked for help, but no one heard me. In fact, I was reprimanded for it because we can’t show weakness and we certainly don’t beg for those beneath us.

That’s when I decided to take things into my own hands.

It took me years to find her, and I’m still not officially reunited with her. Actually, she barely remembers me now, but that’s okay.

She protected me when I was young and I’ll do the same now that she’s old.

“Yeah,” I say in a cheerful tone. “She left.”

“Good. Good. I was always telling her he was no good for her or you, but Sofia was too scared and always flinched the moment he walked in. She should’ve asked your father for help, but she was so stubborn, saying that your papa could be even worse.”

“He’s not.” I’m breathing heavily into the phone, forming a sheen of perspiration on the screen.

“Right? Just because he leads that type of life doesn’t mean he won’t take care of you both. I’ll talk some sense into her again when I see her.”

“She’s…gone, Babushka.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah. She’s no longer with us. She died fifteen years ago.”

“No…that’s not true… I was talking to her just yesterday when I did your hair…”