Page 53 of Beautifully Deranged

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" I ask.

"Nothing to worry that pretty head of yours about."

I scoff. "That bad, huh?"

A rough huff escapes him, something that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so bitter. "I can handle it."

"Is it the forgery ring?" I ask, watching for the slightest reaction.

"Drop it," he hisses.

Not a denial. My fingers still in his hair. "So itisabout that."

"Lola—"

I tug his head back to force his gaze to mine. “Is that why you’re bleeding all over your apartment?”

The sudden shift is jarring, the air between us charged.

“I said drop it.”

“You’re shutting me out.”

“I’m keeping you out.” He refuses to drag me into this.

Too bad. I know what to do. I’ll contact Roman. I don’t care what it means or what line I’m crossing by doing it. Mikhail hurt me, shattered something in me I can’t piece back together, but the thought of him coming back bloodied again makes my stomach turn. I don’t think I can survive it.

?Chapter twenty five?

Lola

I’m not a particularly dumb woman. On the contrary, I’d say I’m smart. But this? This is definitely not a smart decision. I waited until Mikhail fell asleep before I made the call. Now I’m standing outside the apartment building, waiting for the car that’s going to take me to God knows where. Somewhere shady, no doubt. Hell, somewhere I could end up with my organs on the black market. But the second a sleek black Range Rover pulls up, I don’t turn back. No, I open the door and slide in.

And Sergei fucking Kozlov is in the driver’s seat. His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, and my stomach twists. Shit. We have history. And not the good kind. "So, we meet again, Lola," Sergei drawls, his fingers drumming lazily against the steering wheel.

I slip into the persona that’s kept me breathing all these years. Cold. Detached. Even if, deep down, I can feel the faint tremor of fear. "Guess congratulations are in order," I say flatly. "Seems like you got a promotion. The Bratva recruited you?"

"Took them long enough, huh? You always did have a good eye for talent." He’s throwing a dig at me. At the fact that I once hired him for a job. I keep my expression bored.

"Well, I hope your rates haven’t skyrocketed too much. Otherwise, I might regret making you their problem instead of mine."

Sergei smirks. "Oh, they’ve gone up, sweetheart. Way up."

"No discount for saving your asses?"

"Nope. If anything, you should be paying extra. You made yourself invaluable, Lola. The moment they realized they needed you, you should’ve known the price would only get steeper."

He’s right. And I fucking hate that.

The car rolls to a stop in front of an abandoned building. Its windows are blacked out, its structure barely holding onto whatever dignity it once had. My pulse kicks up, but I shove down the unease and step out when Sergei opens the door.

He leads me inside. The hallway is dimly lit, the air thick with dust and something faintly metallic. But when he pushes open a heavy wooden door, the scene shifts. He guides me to a side room that is almost civilized. A round wooden table sits at the center, a single overhead light casting long shadows. A bottle of wine, already open. Two glasses.

Sergei gestures for me to sit before taking the seat across from me. He pours two glasses, the rich, deep red liquid stark against the dull surroundings. "Relax," he says, leaning back with the glass in hand. "If we wanted you dead, we wouldn't waste good wine on you."

I snort, taking the glass anyway and lifting it to my lips. I cut straight to the chase. "What do you need me to forge?"

“A painting.”

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