Page 61 of Claim Me
Perhaps I’d leave a cursory voicemail for my friend, the detective. He should be forced to earn his keep after all.
“Detective Torres. Broad and First Street. Someone’s left a mess you’ll need to clean up.”
When I ended the call, I smirked. That someone would soon become Popov’s worst nightmare.
CHAPTER 18
Marissa
Power.
Strength.
Sadness.
Anger.
I relished the music, leaning into the piano as I allowed the revelation of my darkest place of passion to explode. The song had all but written itself. I’d never had notes and harmonies pour out of me as I did in writing this piece. All the rage and hatred, the sorrow and bitterness were revealed in the chords and notes I’d written, frantically finishing the piece within an hour after returning to the piano.
My chest and shoulders heaved as I sank my entire body into the music I’d created. It was magical, the most beautiful yet haunting piece I’d ever written. I was proud of the work even if the inspiration came from the worst possible scenario.
The intense, masochistic cravings for a man I should continue hating.
He’d used me. The feeling lingered even after several hours. Yet I’d seen the stark haunted look in his eyes. He was hurting the same way I was.
There was no way of hating him. Instead, I was angry with myself for behaving like a child. Grief or no grief, I had to trust my instincts. Charlie had wanted Kazimir here for a reason. I’d need to respect that. I couldn’t decide how to handle the resort. Not yet.
Pain tore through me, the grief as powerful as anything I’d felt in my life.
Except for the passion I’d felt with the handsome Russian.
My fingers flew down the keyboard, my arms pumping from the latest rush of adrenaline until I was pounding the keys. A single tear slipped from my eye, dropping ever so slowly. I didn’t bother wiping it away. My hands were already sweaty from exertion and bitterness.
What was another drop of liquid?
When two more slipped, I blinked furiously since my eyes were already hazy. I’d looked at the goddamn flash drive reading every email several times, coming to fully understand and accept that my parents had also been murdered. The goddamn casino was to blame. My entire family had been destroyed because of a dream my father had.
But to think I was to be used in a vicious game made me sick. Had my father initially agreed? What about Charlie? I knew he’d done everything to protect me, but things changed. He’d been sofearful of my safety, almost happy that I’d been touring with one hundred and fifty other people who surrounded me all hours of the day and night.
Now I understood why he hadn’t tried to stop me from going on tour.
It was crazy.
And to think I’d almost met my stalker. Wait. One of two stalkers. At least Kazimir had more class. I mean, he had purchased dozens of expensive roses and the jewelry. My God. How many hundreds of thousands of dollars had he spent? The rage continued even as my arms grew tired, the exhaustion heightened by my emotional state.
I jerked my arms up, fisting both hands. Then I pounded them on the keys in a way I’d never done before. This wasn’t music. It was a declaration of hate, loud enough I didn’t just feel the music deep inside. The ugly, useless notes echoed in my ears.
A very loud knock interrupted my tantrum.
Breathless, I plastered a smile on my face and jerked up, taking long strides to the door. I knew I looked like some crazy person since I’d ripped at my hair, wiped half the makeup from my face, and was flushed all over, but I didn’t give a shit.
Take it or leave it.
I threw open the door and the poor guy standing only a few inches away jumped back by an entire foot. He had his hand against his cargo pants and the outline of the weapon he carried was laughable. If he thought he was hiding anything, he was nuts.
“Ms. Valentine.” For a big, tough guy who stood at least six and a half feet tall, his voice was that of a terrified eight-year-old.
“What?”
