Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106159 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“They told us to wait.”
“They told us a lot of things, but since I’m doubting any of it is true, I don’t think it’s wise to wait for them.” When she looks at me as if I have lost my marbles, I say, “It is a long story I don’t have time to share right now, but if you don’t want to come with us, I won’t force you. It will be your decision.” Unlike every aspect of my life.
I don’t know what gives me away, my mumble or my expression, but Nikita unearths secrets like they’re written in big bold text, easy for her to see. “You’re the girl Maksim keeps talking about. The one he said could ruin his family.”
Unable to deny her claim, I murmur, “He has too much faith in my abilities.” I breathe out the pain threatening to swallow me whole. “Do you want to come with us?”
I’m expecting her to nod, so you can picture my shock when she shakes her head. “I trust him.”
“He isn’t who you think he is!”
I’m reflecting, and Nikita knows that. “He’s never lied to me.”
“Says you.” That hurts since Matvei murmuring the same thing multiple times the past few weeks rings in my ears.
My eyes lift to the ceiling when the sound of a helicopter rattles through the damp material.
“Stay,” Nikita begs when I race for the stairwell. “Give him a chance to tell his side.”
“He’s had a chance, multiple times. He chose to lie.”
When I burst through the entryway doors, the scene outside represents a high-budget action flick. Helicopters rotate above my head, dark SUVs and vans line the driveway, and thousands of armored men with ski masks and black jumpsuits shrink the once-impressive size of the grounds.
“Matvei…” I scream in panic when he’s pulled out of the third SUV in the line of many and forced to his knees. His brow is cut open, blood is pouring from his right ear, and his body is as nicked and bruised as Saka’s.
Even mad as hell, seeing him on his knees with a gun pressed to his head hurts me so much I struggle to stay on my feet.
“What do you want from me?” I ask the men who are circling Matvei like it takes over two dozen of them to keep him down. “If it’s the money, take it! I don’t want it!” I lock my wet eyes with Matvei. “I’ve never wanted it.”
My head rockets to the side so fast the muscles in my neck scream in protest when a familiar voice says, “She’s lying to protect him.” The man has a similar accent to Matvei, but he’s several years younger, and he has a haughty arrogance about him. “They planned this so I’d lose the inheritance I am rightfully entitled to.”
Since Matvei’s mouth is taped, his response only comes out in murmurs.
“Remove the tape.” This order doesn’t come from the teen I’m guessing is three or four years younger than me. It came from a man who parts the goons like Jesus did the Red Sea when they spot his approach. He’s fit, mid-to-late fifties, and his hair is as inky as the veins Matvei’s deceit scarred my heart with. “Then we can clear this mess up once and for all.”
A second after the tape is ripped from his mouth, Matvei says, “She is my wife. Father or not, I had every right to protect my wife from the man trying to rape her.”
“Now!” shouts the man I am assuming is a relative of Matvei’s. “She wasn’t your wife back then.”
“Now and then,” Matvei denies, his voice a roar. He looks like he wants to kill every man surrounding him, but he is holding back since that would place me in danger. “She has always been my wife.” He stares straight at me while saying, “And she will always be my wife.” Ignoring the faint shake of my head, he murmurs, “Check the paperwork I sent you. It is all there.”
The man with inky black hair clicks his fingers together two times, and like magic, a briefcase is held out in front of him and opened.
A familiar female voice booms from the speaker of the tablet he removes. “Whatcha need, boss?” It is the emergency dispatch operator.
Saka flattens the bulge in his jacket when the leader replies, “Marriage documentation.”
“I forwarded you the certificate this morning.” The techie sounds miffed when she says with a sigh, “It is dated as the accused stated.”
I realize this man is the judge, juror, and executioner when he replies, “Not the certificate he could’ve gotten her to sign with any date on it because she can’t read small font on a white document. I want the marriage license application.” Matvei’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down when he says, “If their marriage is legitimate, he would have applied for one before signing a document that can be falsified to match any date.” The stranger locks his eyes with mine. “Where did you get married?”