Page 78 of Twisted Prince

I only know one person who might call me from Boston—aside from Sascha, who’s sitting right next to me. And when I glance up at him, he’s watching me with a sharp gaze.

“Something tells me you better take it,” he encourages with a jerk of his chin.

Rising from the couch, I pace toward the large picture window of my modern yet sparsely decorated two-bedroom Harlem condo. Why in the hell would Mel be calling me? I thought she was done with me. And to be perfectly honest, I’m a little surprised she still knows my number. My burning curiosity makes it impossible to resist answering.

Swiping my finger across the screen, I bring my phone to my ear. “Da.”

“G-Gleb?” she sobs, stuttering as her ragged breaths seem to choke her.

Shock radiates from my core at the sound of her tears, making my body numb as my mind buzzes. “Mel, what’s wrong?” I demand, grasping the window frame for stability.

“P-Please, you h-have to forgive me,” she begs, her words ripping open the gaping wound in my chest once more.

But she sounds so upset, I’m finding it hard to think straight. What the hell is going on?

“I di—I didn’t m-mean anything I said l-last night,” she rushes.

No shit, Sherlock. I figured that out pretty quick when she booted me out the door as soon as a better offer came along. But why is she calling to apologize? And why the fuck is she crying? It affects me in such a resounding, instinctual way that my muscles vibrate with tension, ready to leap into action as soon as I can identify whatever unknown threat plagues her.

But the ugly truth of it is, I’m likely the threat that’s got her in tears.

Sighing, I fight to get my emotions back under control. “Look, Mel, I get it. I’m gone,” I say flatly, the words like poison on my tongue. “And you don’t need to apologize. I got the message loud and clear this time. I won’t bother you again, so why are you crying?”

“N-No, that’s n-not w-what I…” Mel takes a deep, shuddering breath, calming herself before she hyperventilates. And when she speaks again, she seems to have regained a semblance of control. “Please, Gleb, I need your help,” she whispers, the panic and desperation in her tone flooding through the phone.

My heart stops dead in my chest as the hairs rise on the back of my neck.

Fuck. She’s in trouble.

“Where are you?” I demand. Any consideration for the pain of my loss and rejection vanishes at the thought of her being in danger.

“In the girl’s bathroom at Pearl’s,” she says, drawing in another ragged breath.

“Are you hurt? Are you alone? Did someone touch you?” Fuck, why does it feel like pulling teeth to know what kind of help she needs? The wood protests beneath my fingers, and I release the window frame before I rip it clear off the wall.

“No, I’m fine. I’m fine,” she rushes. “I’m alone. I came in here to c-call you because I d-didn’t know what else to do.”

She sounds like she’s on the brink of falling apart again, and if she does, I might just lose my mind.

“Breathe, Mel. And tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“V-Vinny came to see me at work tonight…”

I swallow hard, my eyes closing as I try my best to ignore the meaning behind those words, to suppress the thought of them together, of what he might have done to her to launch her into such a panic. And suddenly, I’m blatantly aware of the fact that she didn’t answer my question about whether someone touched her.

Fucking animal.

I’m going to tear him apart.

“H-He said he would p-put Gabby up for adoption as soon as we got married,” she breathes, and the tears come hard and fast once more.

Christ, I can’t recall ever hearing Mel cry before, and having her fall apart over her daughter—when she’s hundreds of miles away, and I can’t do anything to comfort her—is beyond agonizing.

“I c-can’t marry him, Gleb. I can’t. I could never g-give up Gabby, but h-he won’t let me b-bring her w-with me.” Another sob rips up her throat, but she presses on, determined to get it all out. “I’m terrified to tell him. He’s Mr. Kelly’s c-cousin and… and I think he might be crazy. I don’t know what he might do if I don’t marry him…”

Heart slamming against my ribs, I turn and make a beeline for the door. Sascha simply watches me go, his golden gaze knowing. And as I snatch my keys from the bowl beside my front door, I almost miss Mel’s next words.

“P-Please forgive me, Gleb. I’m so sorry, and I r-really need your help.”

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