Page 33 of Claim Me
“Oops. I lied.”
As the blade was sliced through muscles, tendons, and organs, I realized I was Bratva through and through.
And proud to be my father’s son.
“Take care of the body,” I told Ryker as I approached the house. The security lights automatically turned on, providing a detailed view of my evening’s accomplishments. I quickly glanced atthe picture I’d taken from Charlie’s house. His boyish grin was similar to mine. In certain light, we could appear as true brothers.
Ryker stood taller than before, whistling as he peered down at me. “You found him.”
I chuckled and immediately removed my jacket. As soon as I did, I heard music coming from inside the house. “What is she doing?”
Ryker shrugged. “She woke up and opened the front door. After I told her you were at a meeting, she disappeared inside. She started playing music almost immediately. She’s been at it since then. She’s talented.”
The music was coming from something deep and ugly inside of her, the powerful notes creating a dark fantasy of pain and violence.
Filthy thoughts drifted into my mind. “Yes, she is. Have the men bag the body.”
“What do you want me to do with it?”
“Find a local landfill or river and dump his fucking remains.” I’d debated sending Popov a care package, but given a picture was worth a thousand words, I opted for that choice instead.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“One other thing,” I interjected while thinking of the vivid photographs nestled on my phone. “Find the personal email and physical address for Detective Ryan Torres with the Seattle police department. Not his business email. You may need to call in a few favors, but it can be done.”
“Yes, sir.” I sensed Ryker was skeptical. If the detective was so intent on being Popov’s puppet, I was happy to pull his strings myself.
Nodding, I moved onto the front porch, taking the time to roll up my sleeves. I’d lost the tie earlier, but the suit suddenly felt confining.
As soon as I opened the front door, the music enveloped my system. The chords were hauntingly melodic, sadness wrapped in extreme anger. She was working through the tragedy in the only way she knew how.
Her back was to me and it was apparent she was lost in the music, her entire body swaying. Her fingers flew across the bass, the deep rumble of the notes igniting passion even within my bones.
I softly closed the door, remaining where I was for a full two minutes.
Hissing, she stopped briefly, scribbling something on paper on the surface of the piano just above the keys. A single step closer and I knew what she was doing. She was writing a song.
I had no idea she was also a composer.
The revelation touched me in ways nothing else had done before.
I tossed my jacket over the back of the chair and inched around her. She tensed the moment her eye captured my approach. Her hesitation was brief and as she continued to play, I remained where I was, noticing she’d placed several items on the surface of the piano.
Jesus.
Dead roses caught my eye, the bouquet still with the red ribbon attached. A tightness developed in my chest. I looked away into the kitchen, suddenly not wanting to disturb her. I placed the frame next to the other items so perhaps she could understand that I hadn’t come to hurt her.
Suddenly I wondered why she’d brought them as well as a jewelry box into the living room. There was also a notebook positioned perfectly next to a pad when I noticed music notes. She was methodical in her actions, making perfect circles when she created a single note, even erasing one before making another.
She was mesmerizing to watch, especially the way her long fingers wrapped around the pencil before returning to the keys. As she started playing in earnest, I could sense she’d blocked out my presence.
In my mind I had to wonder what it would be like to be lost in a creation so beautiful.
I moved into the beautifully decorated room. The kitchen was warm where mine was cold and stark. Her kitchen towels depicted Golden Retrievers, her kitchen table still with the stack of mail one of my men had brought in from her mailbox. The granite counters and stainless-steel appliances were offset by the wooden table and chairs, a wooden bowl ready to be filled with fresh fruits in the center.
While everything was neat and tidy, the room appeared lived in and loved.
Unlike my kitchen, which was rarely used.
