Page 55 of The Hermit

We eat in silence, and when I set my fork down on the empty plate, Grace asks, “Why did you attack me in my bedroom?”

The regret returns fast and hot, and I clear my throat before answering, “I wanted to test how much fight you have in you. I never would’ve done it had I known about your past.”

“That was an asshole thing to do,” she mutters.

“I’m sorry, Grace.”

She nods before staring at the view around us.

My phone starts to ring, disturbing the silence, and I pull the device out of my pocket.

Not recognizing the number, a frown forms on my forehead as I accept the call.

“Varga speaking.”

“Where are you?” a man with a thick Russian accent snaps angrily.

Climbing to my feet, every muscle in my body tenses as I growl, “Who is this?”

Grace’s eyes widen, and her relaxed demeanor vanishes.

“Pavlov,” he grits his name out.

I let out a dark chuckle, and murder coats my words, “You have guts calling me.”

“Want to know what else I have?” he growls.

“Sure,” I mutter, sounding bored. “Let’s play this game.”

“Devlin’s dead body lying by my feet. I killed your business partner, Varga. He begged me to give him a chance to find you.” Pavlov lets out a burst of laughter. “He was willing to betray you.”

“I want to see proof,” I demand as my eyes flick to Grace, who’s watching me like a hawk.

I hear another burst of laughter, and a second later, my phone vibrates. I check the incoming message, and it shows a photo of Ian lying in a pool of blood, his throat cut open.

Jebat! If I hadn’t insisted on marrying Grace and leaving this morning, she would’ve been at the mansion during the attack.

Bringing the device back to my ear, I make sure there’s zero emotion in my voice as I say, “You did me a favor. Now I own one hundred percent of the market.”

“Only until I slit your throat open,” he threatens me.

“Not if I kill you first,” I chuckle darkly.

“I’ll find you, Varga,” he says, and I hear him moving around. “Devlin said you married his daughter.”

I fist my hand, the need to rip the fucker through the phone so I can beat him to death flooding my chest.

“The blond or the redhead?” he asks. “They both look fuckable.”

“How about you wait at Devlin’s place, and I’ll come to tell you in person,” I growl.

His annoying as fuck chuckle comes over the line again. “Nah, the place is a mess, and the cops will be here soon. Don’t worry. I’ll be in touch.”

The call ends, and I take a moment to breathe through the anger burning in my chest before I look at Grace.

“Are you okay?” she asks, her eyes filled with caution.

Knowing I must look fucking dangerous right now, I crouch beside her chair so I’ll seem less threatening to her.

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