Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
I step back again when the name I would give anything not to hear seeps from Andrik’s mouth for the second time. Then I toss my hand over my mouth to ensure the dinner I scarfed down under Anoushka’s concerning watch remains in my stomach.
Confident I am seconds from losing the fight not to vomit, I snatch up my towel and sprint into the corridor.
I only just make it into the downstairs washroom before I lose more than dinner.
My sanity exits right along with it.
70
ANDRIK
“You fucking idiot,” I chastise myself as the fist circling my cock seconds ago slams into the tiled wall my cum is clinging to. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
I should be relishing the painful sob Zoya released seconds before she sprinted out of my room. It was the exact response I was seeking when I switched her name for her sister’s.
I wanted her to experience the torment I’ve been enduring over the past several weeks.
I wanted her to feel the pain I felt when my brain refused to function until it took care of the distraction in my pants from going through her personal things for hours before walking in on her in the shower.
Dina’s suburban mansion looked like no one had been there for months, but her daughters’ essences are very much imbedded in its bones. Zoya’s was more hidden than Arabella’s, but it was still undeniable. It was in the framed photos stuffed in the attic, and in the polaroid pictures Arabella had in a photo box under her bed. It was even in the clothes in the walk-in closet of a room I’m convinced was Zakhar’s.
The room I walked past a dozen times when I made my arrangement with Arabella was concealed by a bookcase. I wouldn’t have known it was there if the faintest chime of a snow globe hadn’t sounded with precise timing.
I had to kick down the door that was padlocked from the outside. The room had two beds. One was made up like a hospital bed. The other one had a familiar knitted blanket spread across it. It was the same design and color as the one Mikhail’s mother had draped around her shoulders in the photograph my father had showed me weeks ago.
I’ve initiated bloodbaths on less, but the final nail in the coffin was hammered when I found a box of Polaroid photos in the back of the closet full of teenage things someone had left untouched for years. They exposed that my intuition isn’t as faulty as believed.
Mikhail’s mother is Zoya’s mother as my father stated.
DNA can’t lie, and neither can genes.
Zoya looks identical to Stasy when she was in her twenties, and her childhood photographs are shockingly similar to how Zakhar looks now. He is just the male version of the Chesterton genes.
I guess that means I inherited more than a big cock from my father. We also have the same taste in women.
After shaking my head to rid it of the disturbing image my inner thoughts paint, I shut down the shower and step out. I don’t bother toweling off. The fury that I didn’t stop Zoya from joining me in hell will soon take care of the droplets of water coating my skin.
I’m hot all over, as burning now as I was when I couldn’t stop my steps after hearing trickling water coming from Zoya’s bathroom. I was there to find out how much she knew about Stasy’s past, not perve.
I shouldn’t have looked when I found her in the shower, but the visual was ten times better than my fucked head could have ever imagined. It took everything I had to walk away, and it was only achievable because of the face that flashed up on Zoya’s phone when it rang.
Konstantine has yet to find out any information about the man who sat next to Zoya before she objected, but Zoya knows him well enough to store an image of his cocky smirk under an anonymous listing in her phone.
I shouldn’t have taken her things like a jealous, neurotic jerk, but it was either leave her room with her belongings or accept Anonymous’s facetime request.
The latter would have resulted in more of a display of ownership than stroking my cock in what I believed would be the privacy of my shower to the image of her wet and enticing body.
It would have handed proof to my competitors that I’ve completely lost the fucking plot.
Since I can’t trust myself with the evidence I brought home with me, I gather up the photos of Zoya, Zakhar, and Stasy and shove them into the desk drawer in my room where I hid Zoya’s electronic devices.
I slam the drawer shut before shooting my hand up to my hair to tug it at the roots, hopeful a snippet of pain will stop me from reacting to the brutal heaves seeping through the floorboards.