Page 2 of The Pakhan's Kidnapped Bride
“I understand, Emmanuil. Everything will be perfect, I assure you. I’m leading the operation myself.”
“Good. Go.” I wave my hand in the air, dismissing Logan, and he turns to leave my office.
Alone again, I lean back in the chair and close my eyes.
It’s been a long time since anything satisfied me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt any kind of joy in my life.
I spend time with friends and family. I visit my cousin, Ardalion, in Los Angeles. I drink, eat, laugh, joke, talk—but it all feels like a hollow show. Like I’m acting out my own life, pretending to be myself.
Ever since I lost what meant the most to me in this world, nothing has been the same.
Pushing away from the desk, I stand up and flex my hands, rolling my shoulders to try and push away the building tension that will soon creep up my neck and turn into a headache if I don’t calm down.
I should be excited. It’s finally happening.
But revenge doesn’t bring back the thing you lost; it only provides a small sense of atonement or justice for it being taken away.
But still, I can’t wait to watch Kristopher suffer.And her. She is to blame as well, for what she did to me, for walking away from me. It would be a lot easier to hate her if I didn’t still…. no… There is only hate. I have no room for weakness. No room to reminisce on the past.
I can’t wait to watch Kristopher’s empire crumble around him when he can no longer hold himself together. He deserves every moment of that pain. And Georgie is Anya’s best friend. It will hurt them both if I take her away from them. It’s the perfect revenge. Two birds with one stone.
Glancing at my watch, I note the time. Almost four. There are a few things I need to confirm before my men bring the girl back here.
In fact, I’ll have them take her directly to my lawyer’s office. The sooner we sign that marriage certificate, the better. I imagine Kristopher keeps a close eye on Georgie, and he’ll know of her kidnapping relatively quickly after we’ve taken her. I need everything in place before he can stop it from happening.
It’s only luck that she’s attending university in San Diego. UC San Diego, the university not far from here. I’m not sure why she isn’t in California, somewhere like Stanford, but I don’t particularly care. It makes my life easier that she’s here.
Leaving my office, I head downstairs to the kitchen in search of the housekeeper.
“Mila?” I shout, tilting my head to the side to listen for her response.
“Sir,” she calls out, hurrying towards me.
“Coffee. In the library. You can bring me some food, too.”
“Yes, sir.” She nods and hurries away.
I haven’t eaten yet, and even though my stomach is knotted and I’m not hungry at all, I need strength and focus.
After she left me, the library became a memorial of sorts. I wasn’t ever interested in books, not until I met Anya. She had a penchant for rare and vintage books, old sci-fi writers, and dark horror stories, like HG Wells and HP Lovecraft. I guess it explains why she fell in love with me, if it was ever real. She was always fascinated by the darkness….
I never had the heart to get rid of the books we bought together. I both love and hate this room. For that reason, I hardly ever come in here. But today is different. There’s significance in what’s happening tonight, and I hope to get closure from it all. Perhaps after this is over, I can finally have this room torn apart and rebuilt into something that isn’t shadowed by her memory.
I sit on the long blue velvet sofa, splashed with sunlight from the lazy afternoon rays of early May. It’s spring.Anya’s favorite time of year.
There are some days when I wish I’d never met her. I wonder if it was worth the torment I will suffer for the rest of my life. The brief time I had to love her for an eternity of pain.
And then there are other days when I would give my life to spend one more day with her, as it was back then.
Anger spikes in my heart, and I shove the thought of her aside. I don’t like to allow myself to think of her. It’s a dangerous rabbit hole to fall down.
Mila walks in carrying a tray, and I sit up, grateful for the distraction.
“Thank you, Mila,” I say gently, knowing that in my own torment I can sometimes be harsh to those around me. I don’t mean to be. It’s not who I want to be.
I’ve been difficult to be around. I’m aware of it. My temper flares at the slightest thing, and my moods are dark and brooding. I don’t want to be this way, but there’s a lot on my mind, especially lately, and the closer I got tothismoment, the worse my anger became.
