Page 18 of Sinful Scars

I quickly search the pockets for a lone subway ticket or a receipt for a restaurant. Anything that might give me an insight into who my mystery stalker is.

When I come up empty, I fall back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling, wondering if I’ve finally lost my mind because I can’t help but trust that this stranger really does want to keep me safe.

6

LEV

I can’t rememberwhen I last slept. It must have been almost forty-eight hours ago, but my mind is racing like I’ve just had a triple espresso. Having Elle so close is putting me on edge, and not just because I’m worried for her safety.

I can’t stop picturing her in my bed. What I wouldn’t give to join her, to pull her body against mine and bury my nose in her hair…

I have no right thinking such thoughts.

Elle isn’t mine, and she never will be, no matter how badly I wish it could be otherwise.

After locking her back in the bedroom, I remain by the door and press my ear against it. From the way she’s stomping around, she sounds frustrated.

I know she was hoping to find something in one of the drawers that would give my identity away, but I’ve been keeping myself hidden for years. I learned a long time ago not to have anything of sentimental value, because it only brings back memories that I would rather forget, so I have no photos from my childhood. No family heirlooms orantique trinkets that my great grandmother inherited on her wedding day.

I had a family, once. But that was a long time ago, and I’d rather pretend like they never existed. It hurts less that way.

As much as I want to stay outside the bedroom door listening to Elle, I can’t afford to waste any more time. If I have any chance of finding out who the hell was driving that car that took her, I need to move fast.

Slipping out of the cabin as quietly as I can, I walk around the porch until I’m on the opposite side to the bedroom.

I don’t want to risk Elle overhearing the conversation and panicking. She already was woken by a nightmare, no doubt brought on by the kidnapping, and I don’t want to cause her any more distress.

There’s only one person I can trust to look into this, so I pull my burner phone out of my pocket and dial Pyotr’s number from memory.

“Lev,” he grumbles after he answers the call.

“You sound like you’ve been asleep.”

“Been out on a job for the past two days. I’m fucking exhausted, so whatever it is you’re about to ask of me, can it wait?”

“No.”

“Thought so…”

Pyotr is one of the few people I’m still in contact with from when I was a teenager. He was friends with my brother Maxim, but somehow over the years they drifted apart, and we grew closer. Perhaps it was because of forced proximity, but Pyotr never treated me like an outsider, which is how I felt for most of my life.

I always wondered if it was because he felt the same, but I’ve never pried.

He knows he can talk to me, and sometimes that’s enough to build the kind of trust that we have.

“You might want to put a pot of coffee on, this might take a while.”

My friend is quiet as I give him a brief rundown of what happened to Elle as well as reciting the car registration of the fake uber. He’s good enough at what he does that he could have likely tracked down the perpetrator from the color of the car and nothing else. It’s why he’s one of the most sought-after private investigators in the state.

“I need to know who is responsible, Pyotr.”

“I gathered as much.”

“Call me back on this number once you have something.”

Taking my own advice, I head back inside the cabin and put some water on to boil for some coffee as I wait impatiently for the phone to ring.

Elle is quiet, and I have no doubt she’s gone back to sleep.

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