Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64993 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Screw him.
Seriously: Fuck. Dima.
I swipe a few bitter tears from my eyes and reach for my phone.
I found it with Dima’s keys. They were in a dresser drawer in his and Nikolai’s room, along with the pistol. Nikolai had just watched me wordlessly as I pulled them out and shut the drawer. “You leaving?” He obviously wasn’t going to try to stop me.
“Yes,” I clipped.
I search for Alex’s name on my phone, and it doesn’t come up. “Right,” I mutter, remembering Dima had changed it. “It’s under Douchebag.” I find his new moniker and dial. He doesn’t pick up.
“Hey… Alex.” I sigh into the phone. I can’t make my voice sound bright and sunny to save my life. I’m sure every bit of heaviness I’m feeling comes through in the message, which I think is fine. “I guess I would like to get together and hear your side of things. I’m sort of… confused about everything. Maybe we could grab a cup of coffee tomorrow? Give me a call.”
I end the call. Was Dima listening to that? Did he tap my phone? Can you even tap a cell phone? I have no idea how these things work. After seeing how much Dima is capable of, though, I have no doubt he’d have some method of listening in to my calls.
And I’m going to stop thinking of him right now.
I don’t care if I ever see the guy again. In fact, that would be my preference.
By the time I park in the underground garage of the Kremlin, I’ve put up a pretty solid shield of indignation and anger, which I intend to hang onto to keep Dima from ever getting a shot at hurting me again.
I’m done. I’m done. I’m done.
I use my keycard to go all the way up to the penthouse suite without an invitation and knock on the door.
Valentina, an older woman who lives in our building and works as Ravil’s housekeeper answers the door. “These are for Ravil,” I say, holding out the keys.
Valentina won’t take them, though. Instead, she holds up a finger and disappears, presumably to get Ravil.
My gaze goes straight to the place Dima usually is when he’s here—sitting at a makeshift work station in the middle of the living room. Of course, it’s empty, but the living room is not. Oleg and Story are on the sofa, Story curled onto her huge boyfriend’s lap. Sasha’s standing near one of the bedroom doors.
“Natasha!” Sasha greets me first. “You guys are back.” She tries to peer around me. “Where are Dima and Nikolai?”
I shake my head, trying to fight the blurring of my vision, the choke of emotion.
“She left them there.” Maxim appears behind Sasha, exiting the bedroom. “Adrian went to pick them up.” He ushers Sasha forward until they both are standing in front of me.
“Wait—did something happen?” Sasha peers at me, touching my arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say firmly, trying to will it into reality.
Of course, Ravil also arrives at that moment, and it’s way more human interaction than I can handle at the moment. I hold the keys out to Ravil. “I left a message with Alex asking to have coffee tomorrow. I haven’t heard back yet.”
He takes the keys, his gaze cool and assessing. “Thank you for arranging it. You will let me know when and where it’s scheduled?”
I nod, mutely. It’s stupid, but I feel the loss of Dima’s protection. Interfacing with Ravil without him feels scary. I see Ravil differently than I did before the night Nikolai got shot. He’s no longer our powerful and wealthy landlord benefactor. That night revealed a slice of the criminal underbelly of his organization. They’re accustomed to violence. Deadly violence. It obviously wasn’t their first time treating a wound at a veterinarian hospital instead of a human one.
Still, he’s never been anything but courteous, even that night when he wasn’t sure if I’d screwed them over.
“Thank you,” Ravil says and walks away.
Sasha isn’t willing to dismiss me so easily, though. “Why did you leave Dima? Did things go south?”
“I’m done with Dima,” I say firmly, making my relationship status public. I know Story and Oleg are listening from the couch, and Sasha isn’t going to let me leave without something.
It feels good to declare it. Like if I say it with enough conviction, then I won’t be stupid enough to want to be friends with him again or to let that stupid flame of hope ever flare back to life.
Sasha winces. “Dang. I thought there was something between you.”
“Well, I thought so, too, but it turns out Dima would rather hang onto a ghost than be with the living, breathing woman in front of him, so I’m out.”
Sasha’s eyes widen, and Story gasps from the couch. “Oh no, was that his hang-up? Gospodi, I never knew,” Sasha exclaims.