“He’ll be at the gala tomorrow night,” I said. “Should we make it interesting and ask?” “I don’t think he’ll talk without some encouragement,” said Zahariev. “I could make him,” I said. The suggestion hung heavily between us. I couldn’t lie; it made me sick to think about. It meant that I would have to harness the desire this man—this monster—had for me, the same desire he’d had for me when I was a child. But now I could use it against him. I could ruin him. “No,” Zahariev said, his voice firm and final. “Why not?” I asked. I felt a little defensive about how quickly he shot me down. “It’s the
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