Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Adrian, you need to go back and fight for her,” Nadia says with total clarity. In fact, she sounds stronger and more sure of herself than I've heard her in years. Like this is the one thing she knows about. I’m inclined to believe her. I sure as hell know that trusting my own plan hasn’t turned out well.
“Yeah. I should…I should just make sure.”
“Make it right, Adrian.”
“I thought I was,” I lament as I shove my feet back in my boots. “But it feels all wrong.”
“You’ll figure it out. Don’t come home until you’re sure, okay? I’m doing fine here. I have a routine and …friends.”
My chest tightens. It’s the first time she’s called the people in our building friends, and I’m so grateful she feels that way.
“Okay, I’ll call you later.”
“Tell her you love her,” Nadia calls out as I’m hanging up.
I don’t know if she wants that. But I do need to know she’s okay. I put a location tracking app on her phone before I gave it back. I pull it up now. She’s back at the Radisson. Maybe I’ll head over there–just to see that everything's fine. I'm sure it is. Poval's her father, after all. He wouldn't hurt her. Why would he?
Yet, something has me running down the stairs instead of using the elevator. I'm already calling up a ride share app on my phone, but when I get outside, I find a taxi dropping someone off from the airport, and I jump in.
“Take me to the Radisson Blu Astrid,” I tell him.
The taxi driver grunts in acknowledgement and moves swiftly through the quiet, dark streets. I jump out at the hotel. The doorman recognizes me and holds open the door.
Inside, I take the elevator up, knowing how stupid this is. If I’m seen here by Poval or any of his men, they will kill me. I don’t even have a weapon–I dropped the gun in a garbage can on my way to the airport because I knew I couldn’t get it through security.
And yet I can’t turn back.
Every time I think of Kat, panic rises up in my throat.
I step off the elevator, all my senses alert. No one is in the hallway. I creep toward the room. There’s probably no one here. Maybe they’ve left the country already. Poval probably has a private plane.
And then I hear a cry of pain from our room, and I rush forward.
Kat!
I still have the keycard to the room since I never checked out, and I yank it out of my back pocket now and hold it to the keylock.
The pad flashes a green light, and I throw the door open wide. Kat’s on her knees, her face bruised and bloody. Her father has her by her hair.
His focus jerks to mine.
I have surprise on my side, and I use it, rushing at and tackling Poval to the ground. He shouts something in his native tongue. I bludgeon his face with my fist, breaking his nose, knocking in teeth.
I hear Kat’s voice, and it fuels my fury. I can’t make out what she’s saying, only know that he fucking hurt her. He deserves to die.
He fights me, but he’s short, older and has a big paunchy gut. He’s clearly out of shape.
“You like to hurt women?” I hiss.
“He has a gun!” Kat cries out. I battle him for it, slamming his wrist back against the floor until it shakes free.
She picks it up and points it at his head.
Poval barks something at Kat in Ukrainian, and her lip lifts in a sneer.
“Where’s. My. Mother?” I don’t even recognize her voice–it carries so much venom. Gone is the wild, rambunctious girl I met a few short days ago. The one who couldn’t be dented by me or anyone else in her path.
This one is owning her pain. Embracing it. And using it to fuel a firestorm.
I dig in my pocket for a stray zip tie while she delivers a kick to Poval’s ribs.
“I asked you a question, old man. Where is she?”
He spits out blood and gives her a nasty grin. “In her grave.”
Kat tries to shoot but the safety is on. Poval flinches, seemingly shocked that she actually wanted him dead.
“Don’t. Don’t, malyshka.” I flip Poval to his belly and yank his wrists behind him to zip tie them together. “You don’t have to. Interpol wants him. He won’t walk free.”
I zip tie his ankles, then drag him toward the bed and attach his wrists to the frame of the bed.
Kat doesn’t lower the pistol. She keeps it aimed at Poval in trembling hands, her eyes bright with unshed tears, her mouth set in a grim line.
“Give me the gun, sweetheart. Please.” I stand and hold my hand out.
She doesn’t look away from her father.
“We’ll go. You and I. Together, if you’ll have me. Give me the gun, and we can walk away. You shoot him and things get complicated. Please, malyshka. Let me have it.”