Page 125 of His Hell Girl

Already tired, I ask him to take a break until I catch my breath, the sun already coming up in the sky which means that cars should start circulating in the area.

"Why do you think Meester keeps on trying to kill us?" I ask.

He's looking in the distance, scanning the horizon for any movement, and for a second I don't think he heard me.

"I have one hunch," he finally says, plopping himself in the grass next to me.

I simply raise my eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

"He's protecting his interests."

"What do you mean?"

"I've gone over all possibilities in my head, hell girl. I haven't had contact with Petro in years, a decade even. For him to suddenly send people out to kill me? Going as far as to blackmail Maxim into betraying me?"

He purses his lips, tearing the top of the grass straw and placing it in his mouth. "There's only one explanation. And it might be jumping the gun, since I havenoother evidence for it. But…" He shakes his head.

"Damn it, I hate making baseless conjectures," he curses.

"You think he was the third man involved with Misha and Miles, don't you?" I ask and he nods, his expression grim.

"There's no other reason why he'd be so adamant about wiping me off the face of this Earth. First the house in New Orleans, and now the plane? And something tells me he was behind the warehouse incident too. It's urgent. He's scared about something and he's trying to get rid of me as soon as possible."

"So you think he's just protecting his business interests?"

"Most probably. But that also means that there's something to protect. We need to find out how Sacre Coeur is involved with Miles and after that maybe we can get a clue into the bigger picture."

"This seems awfully complicated," I remark. There are so many connections, and it boggles my mind to try to think how each thread connects to the other.

"If it weren't, it wouldn't have stayed hidden for so long. I have a bad feeling about this, hell girl."

"I'm just surprised that you've never been able to stumble upon it until now."

"Me too. But except for my quest to find Katya and Vanya's killer, I was never in the human trafficking scene. I was never supposed to be in the loop, and it seems that they were watching me carefully to make sure Ineverfound out too much."

He shrugs, and I realize he's trying to digest all the information, a small part of him undoubtedly disappointed in himself for failing to see what was right under his nose.

"I told you before, love. Evenyouare not omniscient. Stop beating yourself up over it." I lay my hand over his, trying to give him some semblance of comfort.

"I just don't understand how I could have missed so many signs. Retrospectively, things are starting to make sense…"

"But that's just the thing. Miles knows you. He knows how your mind works. And by all accounts, his own mind works in a similar fashion. It wouldn't be too farfetched to think that he planned everything to lead youawayfrom them. Not toward."

"You're right," he grunts. "No wonder I spent almost ten years looking in all the wrong places. Why, the fact that I found Mr. Petrovic and I got some information out of him was a miracle."

"I think Mr. Petrovic was the glitch in Miles' plan. Remember the goons at the restaurant," I point out and he nods.

"Yes, I don't think he wanted me to find out about him just yet. But that's the thing, Sisi. The more I remember about those years I spent with him, the more I wonder if I truly want to find my sister alive," he says, his voice dripping with vulnerability.

"Vlad," I whisper his name, caressing his hand with my own. "We'll figure it out. We'll find your sister and you'll be able to avenge Vanya too," I tell him, leaning my head on his shoulder. "We'll do everything together. One step at a time."

"Sisi," he takes a deep breath, his head touching mine as he scoots me closer, "I'm so happy you're with me. In all this hell, you're the only thing that's ever brought me joy. True joy." He raises my hand, linking our fingers together. "Even when my judgement gets cloudy, you're there to scare the storm away," he continues, and my heart does a somersault in my chest.

"You know, you can still abandon your life of crime and become a poet," a smile pulls at my lips, "you'd become an instant bestseller," I tell him, trying to lighten the mood.

"Of course," he instantly replies. "You'd be my muse and I'd channel all your loveliness into my words." He turns toward me, and I finally see his lips quirking up in amusement. "But then I'd also have to kill more," he continues, a wicked expression on his face, "since I can't ever share you with the world."

Brushing the hair off my face, his knuckles caress my skin, slowly moving lower until his thumb skims my lips.

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