Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VANYA
My hands shook as I waited for the plane to taxi, watching the terminal get closer and closer through the window.
I had half a dozen messages waiting for me on my phone that I was too anxious to answer, and the idea that I still had to make my way through the airport, get my car, and make it home in afternoon traffic was overwhelming.
My sister was waiting for me at some posh hotel near Beacon Hill, which was fine. She was taken care of, at least, and luckily for everyone, the only thing she’d come into contact with was disaster. God help the man who’d done this if he’d still been there when she got in.
My brothers were dangerous.
Katya, well…
I was lucky she loved me and always would.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe. I didn’t actually have evidence that this whole thing was Hunter. Micah’s stalker was evil, and this was kind of his thing, but it would have taken a lot of work and contacts to know where I lived.
Unless, of course, he’d been stalking Micah when he was with me. But I had been careful, damn it. I’d been paying attention every time I put Micah in my car and taken him to my house.
I wanted it to be a safe space. So maybe this was just a coincidence. Maybe this was something else.
Maybe…shit. I couldn’t come up with another maybe. It was just too weird.
My brother was in the middle of trying to figure out the best way to handle this situation with Hunter, and he still had no answers, but when Katya told me what she’d found at my place, in my state of shock, I’d texted Tyoma.
I needed to get information, and then—in spite of the fact that he wasn’t speaking to me—I needed to call Micah. I was doing my best to respect the silent boundary he’d created between us, but this was important.
I didn’t care if I’d done something to make him hate me. Or if he was too busy hating himself and feeling undeserving of me—or any other ridiculous thought that had popped in his head.
I would protect him with my life.
Or at the cost of Hunter’s.
I breathed a little easier once we were able to stand up and queue to exit the plane. The flight wasn’t crowded, and there were only three other people in first class with me.
Noah was pissed off that I’d left early, but he was keeping his mouth shut, considering he was leaving the team soon, and, as he’d put it when I told him I had to head home, pretty soon I was going to become someone else’s problem.
But Noah was the least of my worries. It took me half an age to get through the crowd, get my bags, and finally make it to the little spot where my car was parked.
Traffic was even worse getting out of Logan, but eventually, I was on the road, making the familiar drive back to my place because I needed to see the carnage with my own two eyes. I felt violated, and I had another fresh wave of sympathy rush over me for what Micah had just gone through.
It was different, of course. I could walk right in and see the damage. I didn’t need to rely on others, to put my trust and faith in strangers, for the truth.
But the feeling was heavy in my chest as I parked at the curb and started my way toward my door, where I immediately found a puddle of water coming from beneath the seal.
Katya had taken care of the running faucets. She’d sent me photos of smashed pipes and clogged drains and the sofa, which had been torn into shreds, and the weird bouquet sitting in the center of a shattered vase that littered my living room floor.
All the doors in the house were busted off the hinges, most of my dishes were smashed, and the only thing that had been left untouched was the bed I slept in.
The bed I had taken Micah in.
Something about that felt even more sinister, but I didn’t know why.
The first thing that hit me when I opened the door was the smell of damp. That ugly, musky stench that told me it would take an age to clean and repair. My shoes sloshed through water that had leaked from the kitchen, and I turned to see the living room, but I only lasted a second.
My eyes snagged on the broken vase and the flowers, which looked a little too neat to be an accident. Not to mention, I didn’t have flowers or a vase in the house before I left.
I peered up the stairs and saw they were still slick with water, and it took forcing myself one foot after the other to make it up the landing. The second set of stairs was a little drier, but not by much.
My bedroom was at the very end of the hall, and my stomach twisted as I made my way toward the door. I felt like I was in a horror movie, waiting for some knife-wielding monster to jump out of the shadows and gut me.
The door creaked loudly as I pushed it open, half on the bottom hinge with the top one ripped away from the wall. The edge scraped the floor with an ugly sound, and my nerves began to fire. I wanted to scream, and laugh, and cry.
I wanted to punch someone.
I wanted some asshole to piss me off in the next game so I could wail on him and be thrown out. It would be cathartic.
This anger needed somewhere to go.
My breath caught in my chest as I stepped into the room, and it was exactly as Katya had said.
He’d left the bed entirely alone. The space around it was a complete disaster—my dresser drawers and closet had been emptied, my clothes strewn all over the floor, and as I took another step inside, I felt something crunch beneath me.
Kicking a shirt aside, I noticed there was more glass.
I didn’t understand the point.
At least, not at first. And then I realized this was an attempt to hurt Micah, not me. Bits of glass everywhere that he wouldn’t be able to see. Things slick or broken he could trip over and fall onto shards that would slice him open.
And all for what?
A failed date? A bruised ego?
My head was spinning. I’d known cruel people in my lifetime. I’d seen some of the worst of humanity growing up. But this…
I didn’t understand it.
I couldn’t understand it.
Swallowing heavily, I turned to leave when something caught my eye. It was a bit of paper sticking out from under my pillow. Hopping over a large pile of clothes, I hesitated before moving the fabric aside, afraid something might jump out at me.
But it didn’t.
It was a crumpled note in the same handwriting that had been left in Micah’s living room.
Enough is enough.
I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but my fear was starting to overwhelm me.
I had no idea what to do next. Calling the police was logical, but if I involved the police, I would have to call off my brother, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that yet.
Tyoma, if he used his resources, would be able to take care of this a lot quicker and neater than law enforcement.
It also didn’t help that there was a good chance Hunter was this bold because he knew people in power. People were rarely this reckless if they didn’t know they could get out of anything.
His arrogance was telling.
Turning on my heel, I shoved the note into my pocket and kept walking until I was on the street. I didn’t bother locking up. What was the fucking point? Katya had already grabbed everything important to her, and everything I had that meant something was likely ruined.
Besides, nothing was irreplaceable except my family, and I knew they were all safe.
I was still shaky as I got into the car, but after checking to see that no one else was blowing up my phone, I pulled out onto the street, driving without thinking.
But I was unsurprised when an hour in shit traffic passed, and suddenly, I was standing a few feet away from Micah’s place. It looked ominous there against the late-afternoon sun, the door shut, the blinds down.
I knew Micah hadn’t touched it since the night we walked in and found all of his things moved, but I was terrified about what I was going to find. I also didn’t have a key, but I’d watched him type in his code, and the bastard I was, I remembered it.
I was out of breath from my anxiety and panic as I reached for the keypad, only to realize the door was open. Again. Cracked just slightly—enough that it might fool anyone who wasn’t trying to get inside.
Fuck.
Taking a breath, I rolled my shoulders back, prepared to fight to the death if I had to, and I pushed inside. The smell of wet mold was immediate. My feet sloshed through a few inches of water, and I didn’t need to walk in far to see that everything was ruined.
This time, it wasn’t just furniture delicately and strategically rearranged. The kitchen cabinets were emptied, the contents all over the floor. His dishes were broken, his clothes strewn through the hallway, and I took one step inside before hearing the telltale crunch of broken glass.
There was no note waiting for him this time.
At least, none that I could see, but my heart was pounding in my chest as I saw Fish on the counter.
He seemed untouched, so I very carefully unplugged his bubbler, gathered the small but heavy tank in my arms, stuffing my pockets with his food and treats, and prepared to take him out to my car.
Backing out of the apartment, I shut the door tightly, then headed back to my car, where I managed to tuck several old blankets around Fish’s tank to keep him from moving, then buckled him into the back and locked the strap.
I tested the tightness, and only when I was satisfied that Micah’s scaly baby was safe did I shut the door and climb in.
The moment I was in the seat, I snatched my phone from the holder and dialed my brother.
“Vanya?”
“We need to do something. I’m done waiting. He didn’t just destroy my house—he went after Micah again too. No more being polite.”
“Give me forty-eight hours,” Tyoma said. “I’ll call you when I have something.”
I let out a trembling breath, then cleared my throat. “Alright. But it must be quick.”
“I’m only human,” he reminded me, then hung up. It was just as well. I was in no mood for small talk or long goodbyes.