Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
What was my father trying to protect? Or forget? Is there more to my family’s story? Is their past finally catching up to me?
Most importantly, do their crimes—and my part in them—have anything to do with Frankie’s disappearance?
I can’t see how. But the questions swirl in my mind, each one opening doors to answers I’m not ready to uncover.
As I stand amidst the debris of the wall I shattered, a shadow creeps along the edges of my mind.
These items, hidden away so carefully, speak of deception.
My father didn’t want me to find this.
If such a place existed without my knowledge, what other hidden compartments does this house conceal?
I send a text to the leader of my investigative team.
Within minutes, the click of Sirena’s heels reverberate through the hallway, announcing her approach.
As she steps into the room, her scent hits me instantly—a natural, honeyed, distinctly feminine fragrance. Not the artificial kind, but something deeply womanly and organic, stirring the baser parts of me I’ve neglected for months.
She heads toward me with a sway in her hips, commanding yet softened with a grace that seduces.
Her black hair, long legs, and golden complexion sharply contrast my feisty, little sunburn-prone redhead. Sirena is a beautiful woman, but she’s not Frankie.
Her gaze tracks me with longing.
That is a problem.
While her desire centers on me, mine is complicated. I miss affection. I ache to be touched. I love the attention of women almost as much as I love to spoil them, worship them, fuck them…
Goddammit, I’m lonely. Sex is my outlet for stress. Frankie used to say it was my love language. I fucking need it.
I need my goddamn wife.
Pushing aside my turmoil, I update Sirena on what I found.
She listens intently. She’s good at that, hanging on my every word without interrupting. Frankie would’ve questioned me a dozen times before I finished the briefing.
Christ, she was frustrating. But if I got her back, I wouldn’t trade her irritating quirks. Not for Sirena’s respectful silence. Not for anything in the world.
Sirena reaches up and brushes drywall dust from my suit jacket, her touch lingering on the open collar of my button-up shirt.
Until she notices my hands, the blood drying on my knuckles.
Without a word, she strides into the attached bathroom and returns with a damp towel.
“Allow me.” She clasps my wrist.
I let her, holding still, barely breathing, as she cleans the cuts with efficiency.
Like a nurse.
Another reminder. Another stab in the gut.
“Don’t touch me again.” I pull away, putting several steps between us. “This stops now. I’m not interested. I will not fuck you. Are we clear?”
“Yes.” She straightens her shoulders, her eyes glinting.
“Tell your team to dismantle the estate. Seek out every false wall, floorboard, and crawl space.”
“Monty…” Her voice, a euphony of professionalism with an undercurrent of something fragile, caresses along the line of concern. “The perimeter’s been thoroughly searched. No stone left unturned.”
“Yet you didn’t find this.” I pull my hand from hers, motioning at the hole in the wall.
Her eyes linger on mine a moment too long before she nods. “I’ll have the team double down.”
“Thank you.” I lean against the desk, crossing my legs at the ankles. “I don’t know what we’re looking for, but any clue, any secret passage might lead us to my wife.”
Her smile flickers, a brief spark of something. Jealousy? “We’ll comb the estate, every inch. For you…I would scour the ends of the earth.” She steps closer. “I’m here for you.”
“Not for me.” I stop her with a look. “For her.”
“Of course.” Her gaze holds mine.
“You’re dismissed.”
Her smile slips. Then quickly returns.
As she turns to leave, I collect the photographs and the book of Pushkin’s poems. “Sirena.”
“Yes?”
“I want these analyzed. They may hold a clue or a secret code. Could be a waste of time.”
“Consider it done.”
As she takes the items, I say, “If you discover anything—”
“Discretion is my job, sir. I’ll bring all information to you directly.”
“Good.”
Rurik and Asya Strakh fled to this secluded island to escape the threats on their lives. They built this estate as a fortress, raised my brother and me here, and kept their criminal identities a secret until they died.
What else might they have hidden from the world? From me?
As the days bleed into each other, my childhood home transforms into a maze of gutted passageways and broken floors, every hollow wall a potential clue, every loose board a possible lead. We tear the place apart so completely that it becomes unrecognizable.
Each night, I lie in a bed that’s not my own and watch videos of Frankie on my phone. With a hand around my throbbing dick, I beat it ruthlessly. After I come, I start again. Another video, another torment, another unsatisfying release.
This isn’t pleasure.
It’s punishment.
Punishment for not finding her.
Punishment for cheating on her.
Punishment for losing her in the first place.