Page 92 of Ruthless Serenade

When the car finally pulls up, the driver frowns as he takes a look at my face. "Where to, ma'am?"

I give him the address, my voice cracking from the stress. "Please, it's an emergency," I plead. "I have to get there as soon as possible."

Something in my tear-streaked face must convey the desperation, because his expression softens with understanding. "Buckle up, ma'am."

The tires screech against asphalt as we peel out of the hospital parking lot. As the city blurs past my window, bitterirony twists in my chest – I’m racing back to the very place I was thrown out of just days ago.

Maron’s mansion.

Chapter Forty-Three

Maron

"Blyad!"

The word tears from my throat as my fist crushes into the boxing bag. Blood pounds in my ears as I unleash another savage right hook. "Mother… fucker!" Each strike echoes through the empty gym like a gunshot in the dark. My uppercut sends the heavy bag reeling, chains groaning in protest."Ublyudok!"

Alone in my basement gym, there’s only me and my rage that just won’t fucking die. My knuckles split and burn, but the pain is nothing compared to the anger I’m trying to beat into submission. Sweat runs in rivulets down my chest, soaking through my shirt, but I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Punching the damn bag is the only way to keep the darkness in me at bay and maintain control over my crumbling world.

Pavel visited me at my office last night. His revelation is still burning through my veins like poison. We ended up drowning ourselves in vodka after he delivered the background check on Mindy – I was fucking ten shots deep before I lost count.

The results...blyad, the results of Pavel’s investigation left me reeling like a rookie who just took his first bullet. Every fucking assumption I’d made about her, every fucking story I’d told myself over the years - all of it turned out to be a lie. My own fucking lies. Lies I told myself. I lied to myself for sevengoddamn years and never once doubted myself. Never even thought to question my own fucking ego and investigate. I nearly demolished my office before Pavel managed to restrain me, my rage looking for anything to destroy.

And then, there’s Rachel Anderson. Her threats hang over my head like a cloud. The bitch thinks I’m responsible for her sister’s death. Maybe she’s right - but I’ll be damned if I let her cause more damage than she already has. Halting Tramoxine’s production lines is one thing. But I can’t allow her to threaten those close to me. Especially Sharon. I must put an end to this shitshow before Rachel turns her threats into something worse than words.

The internal phone’s shrill ring cuts through my thoughts. That line’s only for the mansion staff – people who know better than to interrupt me here.

"Yebat,"I mutter, landing another punishing blow. They can wait until I’m done exorcising my demons.

But the ringing persists, until I’m irritated. I stalk to the desk, snatching up the receiver. "What?" The word comes out like a blade.

"There’s a young woman to see you, sir," the security guard reports.

Mindy?

Her name hits me like a bullet to the chest. My body responds before my brain can shut it down, craving her like a shot of pure heroin. But why would she come here after I threw her out?

My muscles coil at the mere thought of her standing downstairs. If I see her... Fuck, if I see her, I won’t be able to stopmyself from pinning her against the nearest wall, claiming her mouth and reminding her exactly who she belongs to.

But it can’t be her. Why would she come back here after what I’d done?

"What does she want?" My voice carries the winter chill of Moscow.

"I don’t know sir, but she seems quite... distressed."

"Distressed? Why?"

"She didn’t say, sir. Only that she must speak with you."

"Her name." It’s not a question.

"She says it’s Mindy, sir. Claims you’d know her."

My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to break free. First instinct never lies in this business.

Shit.

Mindy’s here?

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