Chapter Forty-Three
Maron
"Blyad!"
The word tears from my throat as my fist crushes into the boxing bag. Blood pounds in my ears as I unleash another savage right hook. "Mother… fucker!" Each strike echoes through the empty gym like a gunshot in the dark. My uppercut sends the heavy bag reeling, chains groaning in protest. "Ublyudok!"
Alone in my basement gym, there’s only me and my rage that just won’t fucking die. My knuckles split and burn, but the pain is nothing compared to the anger I’m trying to beat into submission. Sweat runs in rivulets down my chest, soaking through my shirt, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Punching the damn bag is the only way to keep the darkness in me at bay and maintain control over my crumbling world.
Pavel visited me at my office last night. His revelation is still burning through my veins like poison. We ended up drowning ourselves in vodka after he delivered the background check on Mindy – I was fucking ten shots deep before I lost count.
The results... blyad , the results of Pavel’s investigation left me reeling like a rookie who just took his first bullet. Every fucking assumption I’d made about her, every fucking story I’d told myself over the years - all of it turned out to be a lie. My own fucking lies. Lies I told myself. I lied to myself for seven goddamn years and never once doubted myself. Never even thought to question my own fucking ego and investigate. I nearly demolished my office before Pavel managed to restrain me, my rage looking for anything to destroy.
And then, there’s Rachel Anderson. Her threats hang over my head like a cloud. The bitch thinks I’m responsible for her sister’s death. Maybe she’s right - but I’ll be damned if I let her cause more damage than she already has. Halting Tramoxine’s production lines is one thing. But I can’t allow her to threaten those close to me. Especially Sharon. I must put an end to this shitshow before Rachel turns her threats into something worse than words.
The internal phone’s shrill ring cuts through my thoughts. That line’s only for the mansion staff – people who know better than to interrupt me here.
"Yebat," I mutter, landing another punishing blow. They can wait until I’m done exorcising my demons.
But the ringing persists, until I’m irritated. I stalk to the desk, snatching up the receiver. "What?" The word comes out like a blade.
"There’s a young woman to see you, sir," the security guard reports.
Mindy?
Her name hits me like a bullet to the chest. My body responds before my brain can shut it down, craving her like a shot of pure heroin. But why would she come here after I threw her out?
My muscles coil at the mere thought of her standing downstairs. If I see her... Fuck, if I see her, I won’t be able to stop myself from pinning her against the nearest wall, claiming her mouth and reminding her exactly who she belongs to.
But it can’t be her. Why would she come back here after what I’d done?
"What does she want?" My voice carries the winter chill of Moscow.
"I don’t know sir, but she seems quite... distressed."
"Distressed? Why?"
"She didn’t say, sir. Only that she must speak with you."
"Her name." It’s not a question.
"She says it’s Mindy, sir. Claims you’d know her."
My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. First instinct never lies in this business.
Shit.
Mindy’s here?
"Sir," the guard continues, "she says it’s an emergency. About Sharon."
My carefully constructed walls crumble in an instant. Rachel Anderson’s threats echo in my head. Does this have something to do with her? If so, then I’m a bigger idiot than I had imagined.
"Why didn’t you lead with that, mudak ?" I snap.
"I apologize, sir."
"Send her to my office," I order, sternly.
I roughly towel off and stalk toward my office, trying to fortify myself against what’s coming. But it’s a fool’s errand – I’m always fucked when it comes to Mindy, weak as a newborn wolf pup despite all my power. And after what Pavel told me last night… fuck , I just hope I can keep my shit together.
But when she stumbles through the door, the sight of her almost stops my heart dead. She’s a wreck - hair wild like she’s been clawing at it, mascara bleeding down her cheeks in black rivers. Her eyes are raw and haunted, aged a decade since I last saw her. Her hands tremble violently around her phone like she’s fighting hypothermia.
"Maron." My name scrapes from her throat. "It’s Sharon."
The air vanishes from my lungs. "What about her?"
She sways like a tree in a storm, and my body moves before I can stop it, ready to catch her. But she stays standing, her eyes finally locking onto mine with such naked terror that my gut turns to ice.
"Mindy. What about Sharon?" Each word feels like shards of glass in my throat.
"She... I..." Her voice fractures. "Sharon was taken from the hospital. Someone... someone pretending to be me picked her up."
"What?" The word explodes from me as Rachel Anderson’s threat slithers through my mind once again. The bitch! Rage begins to build as the pieces click into place. I grab Mindy’s shoulders, fingers digging in. "What are you saying?"
"They took her, Maron." Her words come out between strangled breaths. "Then a woman called. The one who has Sharon. She left a message for you."
My fingers tighten involuntarily. "What message?"
"She said..." Mindy’s voice cracks like thin ice. "If you don’t comply with her demands... she’ll make Sharon suffer."
Yebat’!
Ublyudok!
My blood runs cold quicker than a bullet leaving the chamber. As if on cue, my phone rings. It’s the secure line, the one only family and my closest allies know. I feel the color drain from my face as I stare at the phone. Only one person would be calling now.
"Speak." The word comes out like a death sentence as I grip the phone to my ear.
"Got my message, Mr. Korolev?" Rachel Anderson’s voice slithers through the speaker.
"Where. Is. My. Daughter?" Each word burns like acid in my throat. My free hand clenches into a fist. When I find this suka , I’ll make her pray for a quick death.
"Money first."
"Fuck you!" The roar rips from my chest before I can stop it.
"I’d watch that language if I were you, Mr. Korolev." Her voice is icy. "Unless you’d like your daughter’s fingers delivered to your doorstep."
"What the fuck is your deal, Anderson?" My voice explodes through the office like a thunderclap, making Mindy flinch back. The sight of her fear as she stares at me with teary eyes only feeds the inferno of rage in my chest.
"I told you. I want my money. Now."
"I want to see Sharon first." I force the words through gritted teeth, tasting blood where I’ve bitten my cheek.
"Fine." her voice is as hard as steel. "I’ll send you a picture with the account details."
The next moment, the line goes dead. It doesn’t take five seconds for my phone to buzz again.
The image in the message slams into my chest like a fucking sledgehammer. It’s Sharon. She’s bound to a chair like some cartel hostage. Her eyes are wide with pure terror, tears cutting paths down her cheeks. She’s physically untouched, but the fear etched across her face makes my blood boil.
These fucking animals!
But that doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Sharon is alive, and she’s unharmed. That is everything.
Below the photo, numbers flash across my screen like neon signs - the bank account details sear themselves into my brain. The message beneath reads: "Send the money and you’ll get her coordinates."
“Maron, what’s happening?” Mindy’s voice shatters like broken glass.
I don’t say anything. My fingers are already flying across the screen, punching in the transfer details. Ten million means nothing to me. Hell, I wouldn’t care if it was a hundred. I’d empty every account I own, burn every fucking asset to the ground if it meant getting my daughter back. As for Mindy, I’ll deal with her later.
"Maron, please! What’s going on?" Mindy’s voice fractures further.
"She’s okay." I hammer the transfer button like a maniac. Five seconds stretch into a fucking eternity before the confirmation flashes: Transfer Successful.
Rachel Anderson’s response is almost instant. “Smart move, Mr. Korolev. Your coordinates are 41°15'52.1"N 74°36'14.5"W. Small wooden hut. Door’s open. You have two hours.”
I’m moving before the message fades, snatching my jacket and car keys in one fluid motion.
"Maron, please!" Mindy blocks my path, desperation rolling off her in waves. "Where is Sharon? What is happening?" Pure panic bleeds from every word.
I grip her shoulders, forcing her tear-filled eyes to meet mine. "I need you to wait here, Mindy. Sharon’s safe. I promise."
"Where are you going?" Fresh tears carve paths down her cheeks.
"To get Sharon," I tell her, my voice pure gravel.
"I’m coming with you."
"No." The word cracks like a gunshot.
"Maron, please! You can’t make me stay-"
"I said, no!" I cut through her protest like a blade. "I need you to trust me, Mindy. I will bring her back. I promise."
I’m already turning for the door when her hand catches my shoulder. "Maron, I... I’m so sorry. For everything. For keeping Sharon away from you. Just... please bring our daughter back."
Our daughter .
The raw vulnerability in her voice almost cracks my armor. Every one of my instincts scream to pull her close, to swear everything will be alright. But I don’t. I can’t. At least not until this is finished.
"I will," I growl, each word an oath sealed in blood. "Whatever it takes."