Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
So many regrets. I let my mom down. I screwed over my dad. Vadim’s going to have to get a job, but that’s probably for the best. Mostly my parents are going to suffer because I won’t be around to make money and help out the family anymore, and that’s on me.
I got selfish. I screwed a serial killer and now I’m paying the price.
No more exploring, no crawling into drain pipes, no sneaking through open doors, no going anywhere.
Just dead.
He turns, his jaw flexing.
“Stay here,” he says.
“Sorry? What?”
“Don’t leave my apartment. Don’t open the door for anyone but me. Do you understand?”
“Who else would come here?” I ask, stomach bubbling with worry. “Arsen, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean—”
He holds up a hand. “This isn’t your fault.”
That’s not what I expected him to say. His face suggests he hates my fucking guts right now, but he’s not blaming me.
“I should’ve figured it out sooner.”
“You’ve got other things on your mind. I knew it the second you got out of bed earlier. The tests were for you.”
“This is crazy. What are we going to do?”
“You’re going to stay in my apartment until I get back.”
“Then what? I can’t have your baby. I can’t—” I’m breathing fast. Gasping for air. The reality of my situation hammers down on me.
If I thought things were bad an hour ago when I was afraid of being his fuck doll plaything, now this is even worse.
He comes to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. His grip is tender like he’s doing his best to comfort me. I stare up at him and bite my lip hard to keep myself from freaking out. He holds on and watches, and I struggle to get myself under control.
“I’m going to take care of this,” he says quietly. “Stay here and don’t answer the door for anyone, no matter what. Do you understand?”
“Take care of it… how?”
“You’ll see.” His expression is terrifying. Like he hates himself and hates me too.
Then he lets me go and turns away. He flips open the lock and steps into the hall. I want to go after him, but I feel trapped and stuck, and he doesn’t give me a chance to say anything.
The door slams shut. I’m alone in his place again.
Alone and carrying a killer’s child.
Chapter 11
Arsen
So much of my life has been defined by pain.
I remember the first time my father ordered his bodyguard to hurt me. I must’ve been eight years old. I was playing soccer in the basement and accidentally broke an old TV. Dad called me up to his study and told the guard to break my nose.
I used to think of Dad’s men as my friends. I was little and they were nice to me. They’d laugh and make jokes. Occasionally, they brought me little gifts, like Lego figures and packs of cards. Some of them would even play little games with me. There was one man named Levon who taught me how to throw a baseball. I looked up to Levon like he was my older brother.
The betrayal I felt hurt worse than the bloody X my father ordered him to cut into my back.
Agony’s been with me since I was a kid. I learned to never trust the people around me. They would abuse and brutalize me without hesitation if that’s what my father wanted, and it usually was. That feeling has stayed with me over the years and hasn’t faded.
My path’s been defined by suffering and uncertainty, but I’ve always done my best to figure out what’s right for the Brotherhood.
But for the first time in a very, very long time, I feel clear.
The old wounds don’t hurt.
I have no doubts plaguing me.
Even if I know I’m about to ruin everything.
Tigran doesn’t answer his phone. It’s a little past one in the morning and I’m sure he’s with a woman. My younger brother’s a man of big appetites, though I think he uses them to mask what he really wants. I knock on his door and ring the bell over and over until he finally appears wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, holding a shotgun, and looking pissed.
“What are you doing here?” he says.
“Send the whore home. We need to talk.”
“Who says I’ve got a hooker in there?”
“You always do. Send her home.”
He glares at me but curses and storms inside. I head into his kitchen and make myself a whiskey as a pretty little redhead waltzes her way through the living room. She winks when she catches me looking at her and I raise my glass in a salute.
“I liked her,” Tigran grumbles. He takes my glass from me and throws it back once the girl’s gone.
“We have bigger problems than your dick.”
“Speak for yourself. My dick’s plenty big.”