Chapter 66 Petyr
PETYR
The drive back to the penthouse is a blur. My grip on the wheel is tight. Blood pulses hot through my hand.
I should be thinking about what comes after Anatoli, but she’s all I can focus on.
I slam the car door behind me and take the elevator up. My jaw is locked, my pulse pounding. Whether with residue of anger, adrenalin, or something else, I don’t know. I don’t care.
Right now, all that matters is that I talk to her.
But when I finally get out on my floor, something feels off. I glance at the door. That’s when I see it: It’s unlocked. No Luka outside, either.
Reflexively, I draw my gun.
As I step inside, a dull noise makes me snap my head towards the bedroom. Someone is pounding on the walk-in closet door from the inside.
I get closer and see the belt looped into the handles. The leather is frayed now, but I recognize it. Know exactly who it belongs to.
“Sima?” I call.
As if on cue, the closet door bursts open. But it’s not Sima who comes careening out of it.
It’s Luka, red-faced and out of breath. “Boss.”
The apologetic note in his tone is what sets the alarm bells off in my head.
I fix him with a glare. “Tell me where my wife is.”
He glances around, panicked. When Sima doesn’t magically appear out of thin air, he turns his eyes to the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “She tricked me. Asked me for help with something, then locked me in.”
Anger flares into my chest. “Say that again.”
“She—”
“She’s a wisp of a woman,” I growl. “Not even five feet tall. Unarmed. Pregnant. And somehow, she locked you in a goddamn closet?”
“She… She asked me to get her shoes. From the top shelf. Said she couldn’t reach them. When I went to look, she—she shut the door and tied it off, and I—”
“You’re twice her size,” I cut him off. “Trained. Armed. And she outsmarts you with a belt? Are you for fucking real?”
“I swear, I thought—”
“Thought what?” I snap. “That she’d sit there quietly while you gave her every opening she needed?”
“I didn’t think she’d escape,” he blurts. “She seemed… happy. With you.”
I see red.
Before I know it, my fist flies straight into Luka’s nose.
He falls backwards. His hands clutch his face. Blood spurts all over the carpet.
While Luka writhes on the floor, I search the penthouse. All of it, every room.
But Sima’s nowhere.
The penthouse still smells like her, though. Her perfume is everywhere. She can’t have gone far.
But she is gone.
My fists clench at my sides. I can barely see straight.
At the same time, dread spreads through me the second I let myself think about her out there, unprotected.
The city isn’t kind to anyone, let alone a young woman all by herself, and a pregnant young woman at that.
Every scenario that flashes through my head is worse than the last.
My jaw grinds until my teeth ache. I can’t shake the image of her, small and vulnerable, trying to vanish in a city that can easily swallow her whole.
She ran from you. It’s that voice again, low and accusing at the back of my head. She ran because of you.
“Boss…”
I whirl around on Luka. After everything that happened tonight, I don’t have room in me for another betrayal. Not even for failure.
My hands twitch at my sides. I’m itching to reach again for my gun. I swear I could kill him where he stands.
I picture putting him down right here, on the carpet that’s already bloody, and taking out my anger that way. One more debt paid.
But killing him won’t bring Sima back, and I’ve lost enough tonight. After Lev, loyalty means more right now than it ever did. Even when it comes wrapped in a thick layer of incompetence.
So I leave my gun where it is and punch Luka again.
My fist slams across his face once, twice. Three times.
The penthouse fills with the echo of bone crunching underneath my fists. The sound is ugly, wet, and sharp, and it does nothing to help with the chaos inside me.
Luka’s head snaps sideways time and time again. He stumbles back, hits the floor hard, dazed and bleeding. But he doesn’t fight back. Just blinks up at me and silently pleads for mercy.
I stand over him, pulse strong in my ears.
“You wanna make this right?” I snarl. “Then get the fuck up. Find her. And bring her back to me.”
Luka nods fast. More blood gushes out, but he doesn’t seem to particularly care at the moment. He must be glad I’m sparing his life—not many in my position would do that. Not after something like this.
“Yes, pakhan,” he whispers, hoarse.
I don’t say anything else. He scrambles to his feet and leaves.
My stare fixes on the closet door. The snapped belt still dangles from the handles. Sima’s perfume clings to the air.
She ran. From me.
Finally, the rage I’ve been holding back explodes.
I grab the edge of the coffee table and flip it. The wood crashes against the floor with a crack. Glass shards fly. My fists are still raw, knuckles split, but I don’t fucking care.
I storm through the living room, kick down chairs, smash every lamp against the wall. Just shove everything within reach to the ground. The sound of breaking things fills the penthouse, but it doesn’t bring me any relief.
“Fuck,” I roar. “FUCK!”
She left me. Actually left me. After everything we’ve been through, she just walked out. Like she can just toss me away. Like she can be free of me.
But she can’t. I won’t let her be free.
She’s my wife. Mine. Carrying my child.
I slam my fist into the wall. The plaster cracks around the impact. Pain shoots up my arm, but I welcome it. Better to feel that than the hollow space gnawing inside me.
She thinks she can run like she did before. That she can just start over and live a life that I’m not part of.
She’s fucking wrong.
I’ll burn this city to the ground if I have to. I’ll rip apart every street, every hiding place. Whatever it takes.
Because she belongs here, with me.
If she doesn’t know I’ll hunt her to the ends of the Earth by now, then she doesn’t know the first thing about the man she married. But she’s about to find out exactly who he is. I’ll find her. Drag her back whether she likes it or not.
And then she will never be free of me again.
TO BE CONTINUED
The story continues in Book 2, CRUEL JULIET.
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