Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Several shocked huffs sound when he mutters, “After taking it away.”
I stare at him in bewilderment. I’ve never taken a single thing from him. I’ve given him everything he has, so why would I then take it away? His claim of thievery is unfounded. Not solely because it isn’t theft when you’re the rightful owner, but also because I would never steal from him.
He is my blood. My brother. He comes before anyone—except her.
My inner monologue trails off when my final two words ring through my head on repeat.
Except. Her.
Dozens of eyes snap to me when my low tone replicates the deathly warning of an imminent hurricane. “Get out.”
“Boss—”
“Now!”
Female staff members race for the door first. They’re overtaken before they break through the conference room doors by cowards who’ll never have the balls to run a company like mine, let alone puppeteer it.
The knowledge sees me flicking my eyes to Konstantine a second before he follows the stragglers out. I don’t need to voice my command. He can smell the wish for carnage wafting from my pores, and the rancid scent doubles when I lock eyes with my brother pacing the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Chelabini business district.
“Speak. Now.” I walk around the conference table before butting my ass against the antique trim I wring with my hands. I need to do something to stop them from colliding with Mikhail’s face. “And before you give me any shit about projecting, remember who the fuck you are speaking with. I will not be disrespected on my turf by anyone. Particularly when that man has no claim to the person he’s crowding the plate for.”
The tightening of Mikhail’s fists during my last sentence tells me everything I need to know. He isn’t pissed at me for himself. He’s fighting the battle for a woman who hasn’t left my mind for a single second over the past two weeks.
I just can’t tell him that because it wasn’t solely the identity of the man with the ruby ring that tossed my game into an entirely different code. It was what he said while I was proving to him that I’m no longer a kid he can push around anymore that flipped my ruse on its head.
When Mikhail remains quiet, protecting Zoya from me as readily as I’m endeavoring to protect her from my enemies, I get to the point. “Zoya—”
“Got jumped this morning.”
I grip the conference room table so firmly that my fingerprints will never be removed from its curved edges.
“She was catching the bus home and got robbed by a punk-ass fucking weasel with an ugly face tat.”
I try to speak.
I try to reply.
Nothing comes out but angry bubbles of air.
I discover the reason for Mikhail’s anger being directed at me when he sneers. “I tried to call you five times this morning. Five. Fucking. Times.” He steps closer, his chest raging with anger. “Where the fuck were you when I needed you? Where were you when my life was turned upside down?”
“I was—”
“Playing house with your pretty little bride in your big ass mansion?” His gall when he steps up to me impresses me. That’s no easy feat. “I was there for you, year after year, Kazimir”—he spits out my given name with disgust—“but the one time I needed you, you were nowhere to be found.”
“Because I have responsibilities you don’t have! Obligations I can’t get out of. But you wouldn’t know about any of that, Mikhail, because I shelter you from that.”
I want to pummel some sense into him. Or better yet, force him to walk the halls I must walk for his freedom, but since I can’t shift my focus from his confession, I veer the conversation away from my frustrations and devote it to my fury.
“Was she hurt?” My voice is nothing like I’ve heard before.
I’m shocked I can talk. I’ve never felt the range of emotions that are walloping me now.
Hate. Fear. Vengeance. They all smack into me. But since this is about the first person since my mother to remind me that I have a heart in my chest, words make it through the rumble crashing down on me and burying me whole.
“Was she fucking hurt, Mikhail?” I scream my question so loud being on the top level of the hotel won’t save our guests from hearing my roar.
He waits until my nerves are kneeling on tacks before shaking his head. “No. But—”
“There are no buts… because I leave nothing to chance.”
When I spin on my heel and race for the door, my little brother is hot on my tail. He jabs his thumb into the elevator call button when we reach the corridor, assuming I’m heading for the foyer. He’s dead fucking wrong. There’s only one way I am going. Up.
My chopper pilot is already buckled in the cockpit, ready for immediate transfer as requested, but with Mikhail shadowing me, I signal for him to move before I veer for the pilot side of the helicopter instead of the co-pilot’s seat.