Page 69 of Refrain

My feet twitch against the pavement. I could go after her. But the key question is, does she want to be found? A woman like that, with so many damn secrets. She could have a lover out there. Someone who doesn’t hesitate to touch her—or more.

Someone she wouldn’t leave in the middle of the night.

I try not to let the fact sting. I’m a big boy. She’s a big girl. I’ll get over it.

But finishing the pack doesn’t make me feel any better. Despite the acrid taste of ash in my throat, her flavor remains, stubborn as hell.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHLOE

Piotr leftme a single white envelope with my name written on the front. It looks so clean, so harmless. No one would ever guess that it has my soul inside it.

I put off opening it until after I’ve left Grey, when no one is else around to witness my reaction. When no one is around to see me break. He kept the message simple this time, Piotr, scribbling only the name of a hotel, the room number, and a time.

It’s an amusing game to convince myself that he couldn’t possibly have been there, watching through the windows of the bar. With each attempt, I lose. How soon could I forget his favorite pastime when he wasn’t lording over his club—haunting me. He’s not here now. I take the gun from my pocket and scan the alley I’m in just to be sure, searching for him behind an old dumpster or a car parked on the side of the road.

But no. Stealth was never his style—and, apparently, he has a more upscale setting in mind for our reunion—a hotel on the north side of the city. But it’s not just any destination. My heart tightens at the sight of the gleaming, silver façade towering against the skyline like a castle formed entirely of steel. Once again, nostalgia forms a noose around my soul. He chose well.Outside of the club, it was our special place, a venue that caters almost exclusively to Piotr’s branch of the Russian Mob.

I clear my mind of everything before I step through the glass doors lined in gold. I’m a blank slate when I cut across the lobby and ride the elevator to the top floor, guided by memory alone.

It’s suicide; I know that. I’m oddly resigned to my fate as I travel down a hallway lined in ebony carpet and ruby-red walls. The memories… They’re harder to bite back here. I can feel him, that harsh, bitter sting of him inside me. In my soul. My head. My body.

That old impulse to escape rears its head once I approach the last door at the end of the hallway. I can practically feel the word hammering against my skull.Escape.I can taste it, poised at the back of my throat like a scream.Run, Ksei. You don’t have to face him now. You need to be stronger. Faster. Quicker. Braver.

At the moment, I’m just tired, and exhaustion makes me bolder than any bravery.

I don’t bother knocking. I try the handle and find it unlocked. It opens easily, and I step inside while drawing the gun. My eyes instantly hone in on a shadow flung against the wall—someone approaching the entryway from down a dimly lit hall.

My finger finds the trigger. I don’t even bother closing the door behind me. There’s no point in wondering why he’s without some protective thug or bodyguard. Maybe the bastard is ready to die.

The shadow grows larger, gradually taking on the shape of a human figure. But they’re smaller than they should be. Thinner. When they finally appear at the mouth of the hall, it still takes nearly a minute for me to process that the stern-faced blonde in a modest, gray dress isn’t Piotr.

“Welcome,” she says, her accent thick. “He is expecting you. You dress first.” She starts back down the hallway, leaving me to follow. The rest of her words reach me from over her shoulder. “He said you can keep the gun.”

I don’t move, still aiming the gun at the wall. The woman never calls me or beckons me in farther. It’s like she knows without a doubt that I’ll follow.

And Ido, closing the door behind me.

He picked his favorite suite, and I know it well. This scent. These dark, innocuous colors. It’s barely changed in all these years. The walls are still gray. The furniture sleek and modern with a slightly old-fashioned twist, just how he likes it.

The woman is waiting for me in a modest guest room, where a black dress lies in wait on the bed. It’s satin, tailored in his favorite style—a tight shape and a low neckline.

I gesture toward it with a flick of the pistol. “I’m not wearing that—”

“You change first,” the woman insists. She steps back expectantly, refusing to bat so much as an eyelash when the gun is aimed over her chest. The stern set to her jaw reveals all—She’s used to it. “He’s waiting.”

“You can take me to him like this.” I thumb the trigger once, twice. The unsteady sound undercuts the threat. With every second that passes, I might wind up shooting her by accident.

Despite the danger, she just stares back. God, I know the cold, empty look on her face. I recognize the role she’s been forced to play. The slight twitch of her eyes to the doorway gives her away—I stall, she dies.

Maybe I’ve grown since my old days, but Piotr is the only one whose blood I want on my hands.

As if sensing the moment I break, the woman lifts the gown from the bed and approaches me. I stand there woodenly as she strips Espisido’s jacket from my shoulders and tosses it aside like it’s trash. She slips the dress over my head without being hindered at all by the gun I’m still pointing at her. Sighing, she steps back and observes me with a sweep of her gaze.

“Your hair.” She says it almost mournfully, as if merely pointing its state out. Then she retreats back the way we camewithout another word and turns down another hallway that opens onto an expansive dining room. There, a lone man is sitting at a table set for two.

Unlike the ageless revenant of him haunting my nightmares, he’s grown older in real life. Gray streaks his hair, catching the light while he scans my body from head to toe. Every nerve prickles with recognition. It’s that slow, perusing look I used to live for. The one I almost died for.

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