Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Semyon nods. “Thanks. On my way.”
He shuts the door and turns to me. “I want you to stay here while I talk to your brother.”
Right. I toss off the covers and give him a withering look. “Just because you made me come last night, and I was a blathering mess and all, doesn’t mean you get to keep me in the dark, Semyon. I haven’t done anything to deserve this.”
I feel a little guilty because the truth is I have. Still, I haven’t betrayed him the way he thinks I have. Not even close. I’m going to find a way around the Irish, no matter what it takes.
My phone buzzes with a text.
I ignore it. I could still be asleep. There’s no way they have cameras here, right? I have the distinct feeling it’s secure as hell here.
What the hell am I going to do?
Semyon walks to get his glasses. “Fair,” he finally admits. “Alright, you can come, but I’m the one who leads this, Anya.”
I roll my eyes but don’t let him see. Whatever. If it makes him feel better.
Semyon’s already moving, grabbing his pants, his expression hard. The room’s a disaster—our clothes tangled on the floor, the sheets rumpled from our bodies, the air still thick with the scent of sweat and sex. But none of it matters now.
I yank on crumpled yoga pants and a tee—his, I think, tripping over my own feet in my haste to get out the door. He grabs my elbow to steady me.
I raise an eyebrow when he pulls out a gun, loads it, and slides it into his pocket.
“You need your gun? To talk to my brother?”
“We’re at war, Anya.” The atmosphere in the room feels heavy, oppressive.
War.
We’re at war, and where does that put me?
I’ve never seen so many armed guards in my life. They’re stationed in every doorway, cluttering the halls. Upstairs, he said we were at war. Now I feel like we’re in a war zone.
“Where is he?” Semyon snaps into the phone before he curses and hangs it up. He takes me by the hand, dragging me down a hallway, around a bend, up a flight of stairs, then down another hall. This house is a huge, veritable maze, and I’m not sure if I had to navigate it on my own that I’d ever get out.
Finally, we come to the end of a hall where six armed men stand, their expressions grim. On the other side of the door, Eli screams, his voice ragged and hoarse, desperate. I stiffen. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.
“Move.” The men scatter like ants at Semyon’s word.
I draw in a deep breath. His hand is on the doorknob before he turns to look at me.
“He’s going to be pissed. I have to interrogate him, Anya. I’ll let you see him, but if it isn’t safe, I’m pulling you out. And you will not be in the room when I question him. Agreed?”
I nod, my mouth dry.
He shakes his head. “You’d never let me touch you again,” he mutters before he opens the door. We step in, and Semyon slams the door shut behind him.
I expect to see my brother tied to a bed, but someone’s taken mercy on him. He’s not bound but pacing the room. His face is gaunt, his eyes burning. His clothes hang loose, too loose, his wrists marked from where he was bound. From where I am, I can see angry red peeking out under his collar.
What did they do to him?
The second he sees Semyon, Eli lunges.
“You fucking took my sister?” His voice is raw, a growl breaking past his lips as he slams into Semyon, driving him back. “You hurt her? They took me, and the first fucking thing you did was move in and steal her?”
His fists fly, unhinged, like an animal backed into a corner on the attack. He swings wild, fueled by fury, and for a second, Semyon lets him. Semyon, the cold strategist, the man who never relinquishes control to anyone, is letting himself be beaten… for me. To give Eli the closure he needs. As if he deserves this for taking his best friend’s sister.
“Eli!” I scream. “No! It isn’t like that!”
A punch lands hard against Semyon’s jaw. His head snaps to the side, but he doesn’t move.
“Eli! Stop!” My voice cracks. I grab for his arm, but he’s already swinging again.
Semyon moves, grabbing Eli’s wrist effortlessly. His expression is calm, but I know that cold look in his eyes. I want to pull them apart, to make them stop, but I can’t. Semyon shoves Eli back, sending him crashing into a dresser.
Eli comes up swinging, launching himself at Semyon, his fists flying. A roar tears through the room. I scream as they slam into the wall, grappling, their bodies colliding. A framed print crashes to the floor from the wall, glass shattering. On the other side of the door, fists pound, yelling. Now I know why Semyon shut that door.