Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
I get there and toss the duffel bag on the bed and walk in a circle with my hands on my head. I don’t want to be here. The hotel room reminds me of Kat. Everything reminds me of Kat.
I should’ve stayed at the airport. I deserve the discomfort of sleeping upright in an airport lounger.
I pace around the small room, making laps until I run into a wall and bang my forehead on it.
Fuck!
I did the right thing. I know I did. I should feel better than I do.
I don’t even care about my revenge. I don’t feel like I let Nadia down although I have. Except I know now that it wasn’t for her. She didn’t need me to do this. I may have told myself that story, but it wasn’t true. I came on this fucked-up journey for myself. I felt violated by Poval on behalf of my sister, and I was the one who wanted revenge.
It was a stupid, glorified alpha male endeavor that doesn’t fix or right anything for Nadia.
All I did was hurt Kat.
But she got the last laugh.
Because right now, it feels like a grenade went off in the center of my chest, leaving the whole cavity gaping open. Torn. Bleeding. And most of all, empty.
I let myself indulge a little fantasy about seeing Kat again. Maybe I’d go to Liverpool. I wouldn’t let her see me–I’d do a better job tailing her this time. But I’d just get to see her. To be near her. To know she’s okay. Maybe to step in if anyone fucked with her again.
Gospodi, that’s stupid.
Of course, I’m not going to Liverpool.
I can’t ever see Kat again, and that’s the part that fucking kills me.
Ravil calls, and I pick up.
“You actually answered my call.” He’s going to keep busting my balls for a while on this one. “Interpol wants Poval’s location,” he tells me. “I just texted you the phone number of who you should contact. He’s wanted in Ukraine, Italy, and Romania. Also, the U.S. would file extradition papers to bring him over here for charges of sex trafficking.”
“I’m letting him go.”
Ravil’s silent for a moment. I wait for him to rip me a new one about the danger I put our cell in over the way I handled this, but all he says is, “Your decision.”
“Thank you. I made it.”
“If you change your mind, Interpol knows he’s in Antwerp and are awaiting your call.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“All right. What do you need from us, Adrian?”
“I let Kateryna go. I’m coming home on the first flight out in the morning.”
“We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah. Da skorava.” I end the call.
The heaviness in the pit of my stomach hasn’t lessened one bit.
The thought of returning home–or to what has become home–should be a relief. Nadia needs me. I will be with my bratva brothers. But I can’t even picture myself there.
I’ve changed so much in the past four days. Kat changed me. And I don’t even know how I’ll make it through one day without her.
Kat
In the Uber on the way to the hotel, I take off Adrian’s leather jacket and lift it to my face to breathe in his scent. At least I have this one thing of his to remember him by.
I stuff it in the shopping bag and put on the new one before I get out.
In the hotel, I find the door to our hotel room ajar and the room filled with men. Six pistols swing and point at me.
I drop the shopping bag and lift my hands in the air. “Easy, boys,” I say in my mother tongue.
My father sits in the shadows in the chair by the window.
“Papa.”
He signals to his men, and two of them push past me into the hallway to inspect it.
“Where is he?”
“Oh, see that’s the thing.” I toss my hair and stride in like I’m the queen of the castle. “There is no he.”
My father’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”
“I needed to know for myself if it was true.”
“What are these riddles?” he snaps.
“You sex traffic women. I found out all about it.” None of this is a lie, and I let my disgust and bitterness show as fury, even though I’m trembling with fear. This isn’t my usual demeanor with my father. I can be petulant and bratty, but that still came from a lack of power.
This is the first time I’ve met my dad as an equal. A woman, not a child. For the first time, I’m not afraid of losing his love–a love I probably never had in the first place.
“I wanted you to see how it felt to believe your own daughter was being abused the way those women are.”
My father surges to his feet, and it takes everything in me not to flinch. The truth is, as much as I desperately wanted this man to love me, as much as I sulked and bratted and played the opposite role of good little girl, underneath it all, I’m terrified of him.