Page 125 of Destined for the Devil
He let out a long sigh, one hand dragging down his face. "Because I know you. I knew that if you were aware of all the details, you wouldn’t have acted on it. We needed Anders out of our business.” Something akin to guilt showed up on his bruised face. “It brought billions into our bank accounts, but if you knew the risks, you would've hesitated. And I thought John wouldn't do anything because he was long removed from that world—and he didn't!Until now. Fuck..."
Idropped into a nearby armchair, all the wind knocked out of me like I had been sucker punched. The pulse in my temples thrashed without respite and I couldn’t take a full breath in.
I thought about Isla. How was she? Was she actually safe? Did he actually not touch h—
The text! I’d forgotten all about it!
I ripped the phone out of my pocket and pulled up the message. It was another video. Again, she was sitting in a chair in a well-lit room, this time wearing a black, knee-length dress, with her hands neatly folded on her lap.
But this time she looked distraught. Her eyes were puffy and red, like she had been crying for hours. She trembled in the little chair, and I broke down into tears just from the sight.
R-Roman. Her voice cracked.
He says that you…you have to come here so he can let me go. He wants to trade me for you, but Roman don't com—
A softtsk-tsk-tsksomewhere off camera interrupted her, and she broke down into silent sobs, burying her face in her hands for a brief second. She gulped and continued.
They will send you instructions. On where to find me. They said…they said that you need to figure out your mistake. Think back and figure out what mistake you made when…when you destroyed my life.
A sharp unseen sound made her flinch violently, and the video cut off just as she squeezed her eyes shut and scrunched into herself.
I sawred.Hewashurting her. He was destroying her. He was breaking her down, pulling the strings as if she was a puppet, andI was the one who brought her to John Clemens.
I shot to my feet, startling Sergei, who listened to the video with me. “Iled her to John Clemens.” I neared the couch where he lounged, all other surroundings blurring in my peripheral vision. “If she never metup with him, he would’ve never found out we were together. Allthis…all becauseyou lied.”
I could have done it—this was the moment. I could have pulled out my gun and blown his fucking brains out, watched the blood rush down his body. End his pathetic and pitiful existence.
“I’m sorry,” Sergei said earnestly, and I wasn’t sure if he’d ever apologized for anything in his life. “It had to be done. And it seemed like the perfect plan at that moment.”
That moment.Hewas the one who researched Dave’s background atthatmoment in time. Was he hiding more?
“Did you know that Dave had kids?” I asked, looking down at him still on the couch, the last of my energy and will to leave draining out of me.
“Yes.” Of course he did. “But I didn't really look into it. I thought they were younger, to be honest.”
Another stab in the heart.
There was nothing more I could say to him. There was nothing left inside me. Sergei was the mastermind behind unspeakable pain, crafted just for me.
"Get rest and get better.” I turned away, deciding it was best to abandon him now before I acted on my impulses. “As soon as I get information on where to meet him, you're coming with me and flying Isla back to New York. If you fucking touch a hair on her body, Kirill will skin you alive. I’ll leave instructions.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” He trotted behind me and grabbed my arm. “You’re not actually fucking thinking of going through with this, are you?! Trading yourself for her? Let’s call Kirill; let’s just get her out, and that's it."
Like a rat on a sinking ship, Sergei held onto life.
"You’re still fucking breathing, aren’t you?” I narrowed my eyes at him, and he pulled back. “That’s how you get to keep your life—takeIsla back, and I won’t be around to shoot a bullet through your rotten heart. Don’t fucking question me.”
I yanked my arm out of his grasp and walked out.
The door closed behind me, the silence of my apartment deafening. Even when Isla was in New York, the atmosphere in my apartment buzzed with her energy.
Memories of my short time with her accosted every one of my senses. The smell of her sweet skin on my sheets. The echo of her laugh in the hallway. Milk in the fridge for her morning coffee. Hot sauce and chili oil in the pantry—because Isla loved it.
Because I loved her. Because everything she did, everything she was, everything she liked and hated…became my little treasure. She was my purpose.
My love.
Would I get a chance to say goodbye? Would I get a chance to look into her eyes one last time? There was nothing I desired more than to be in her presence.
