Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
He knows it’s a ridiculous question. “I’d never hurt a woman or a child.”
“Me neither.” He sighs, clapping me on the arm. “Which is why you need to stay here.”
We have a brief argument, but the truth is, I want to stay. I halfheartedly tell him that none of our guards are on the lists Mila and I have compiled, but I don’t argue hard. Maybe I should. Perhaps I’ll regret this. What would I regret more, though, losing Mila or my brother?
“Dammit, Dimitri.” I pull Dimitri into a fierce hug. I can’t even think about that question or let myself imagine what it would be like to lose my big brother. “Just be careful, all right?”
He ends the hug. “I will. Keep the women safe. Keep our sister safe.”
“I’ll always do that,” I tell him.
“Had a change of heart?”
I grit my teeth, thinking about our talk in the kitchen and the vulnerability in my sister’s eyes. Dimitri leaves, and I take a moment to stand at the front door, looking over the grounds and the desert beyond it. Guards patrol, all of them long-serving men. If our father and Nikolai planted somebody on this property, they planned it long in advance.
Going back into the house, I find Mila sitting at her computer terminal, her headphones in, typing quickly. I walk over to her, about to put my hand on her shoulder, but then I see she’s stuck a note to the top of her computer terminal.
Do Not Disturb. Music blares from her headphones, her fingers moving with rapid speed.
Pride floods into me as I watch her, but it’s tinged with something else. Do Not Disturb, but she’s already disturbed everything about me, down to my sense of self. Not too long ago, I was content to program, travel, read, exist, and not think about the future. I never thought about a family, kids, weddings, or anything else regular men obsess over.
Walking across the room—after all, this is why our setups are on opposite sides—I sit down and get to work, too.
CHAPTER 11
MILA
Ilet the music flood my head as I hyper-fixate on the computer screen. I’ve always found that the only way to lose myself in work is to ignore everything else completely. Even when I feel the urge to pee, I hold it for as long as possible, not letting myself think about the implications of what we’re doing.
When I finally give in to the need to use the bathroom, Mikhail is at his computer, back turned to me, his headphones on. It’s almost midnight, and the sun has set. At some point, he turned on the lamps without me even noticing. My eyes feel strained from all the staring.
After returning from the bathroom, I look at him again, wondering if I should go over to Mikhail and gently place my hand on his shoulder. I could give him a soft squeeze of support and … and what? And love? Those kinds of thoughts don’t belong in my head. Maybe all the lust is mixing me up, making me think of things that aren’t true. Love. Love?
I go back to my computer and get to work. I’m not sure how much time passes. I’m hammering every avenue I can think of, manually going through phone records, cross-referencing, double-checking, and finally finding what I’m looking for—the location. It’s right there! Artyom Dragomirov, the Sokolov soldier who not only lived in Serbia but served in the Serbian military before coming to the US at a young age, has several phone calls with the dead Serbian attacker.
“Mikhail,” I almost yell, wrenching off my headphones and spinning in my computer chair.
But he’s not there. I didn’t even hear him leave, but that’s not exactly surprising when I’ve been letting music pump so loudly in my ears. I quickly scribble down all the details—the calls, the times, and, most importantly, the address linked to him. It’s three a.m.! I had no idea it had been so long. I feel wired in that all-nighter way, which makes me wonder if I’ll be able to get any sleep tonight or today, more accurately.
Tucking the paper into my pocket, I creep through the house. I don’t want to wake the butler, servants, or anybody else. I walk up and down the hallway, whispering his name. When I reach the ground floor, I find Mikhail walking toward me with a body in his arms.
Panic grips me. It’s a woman. Has Mikhail killed a woman? My throat tightens as my tired, stressed mind whirs into motion. I don’t want to think about anything ugly like that, but this is a savage, cruel reminder of what being Bratva really means. It’s violence. It’s pain. It’s sin, hate, and sadism, but I never thought Mikhail would …
“It’s Ania,” Mikhail whispers, giving me a strange look. “She sleepwalks. She was outside. I’m just taking her to bed.”