Page 25 of His Hold

But I’m not giving up yet. Every lead I chase, almost always circles back to him. Nikolai. The man who broke into my apartment and left me more obsessed than ever.

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I’ve spent the last few nights combing through the darkest corners of the city, scraping together fragments of information about the murder. From what I’ve gathered, Nikolai’s been on a spree, eliminating threats with brutal efficiency.

The name Lev Antonov, a man who has been rumored to be one of his most recent kills, comes up more than once. From what I've heard, Lev hasn't been seen in weeks, and the truth behind his disappearance remains a mystery. Rumors circulate that Nikolai and his men were seen at Lev's house before news of his disappearance spread. However, this information is only known if you're hearing it from reliable sources. The sources that not everyone knows about.

People like Nikolai have learnt to manipulate information so that they're immune to the law. Even when the truth of his actions is heard enough by a sizable number of people, most of them still keep their heads down and forget they ever heard his name. But I’m not most people.

I can’t stop thinking about him. About the way he looked at me. The way he touched me. The anger knots inside me when I think of how much I am letting his presence affect me. How could I let myself feel anything but hatred for him? He’s a murderer. A walking nightmare wrapped in the kind of beauty that makes you forget your own damn name.

And yet, I can’t help myself.

Maybe I’m just sick. Maybe I’ve been chasing this vengeance so long that the lines have blurred, and now I can’t tell what I want more: revenge or another encounter with him. Both terrify me. Both keep me awake at night.

Tonight, I’m walking aimlessly through the city’s seedier districts, passing through alleyways thick with piss and rot. The stench makes me want to turn around, but I push on. The desperation driving me doesn’t care about comfort.

I haven’t been able to see him for days now, it is almost like he has been avoiding me. But I’ve seen him around this area a few times conducting business. So, I know that something will bring him around soon enough.

I turn a corner and hear it. Hear him.

Nikolai.

He’s in an alley up ahead, pacing with his phone pressed to his ear. I shrink into the shadows and press my back against the filthy brick wall. He hasn’t seen me, because he is too caught up in whatever he’s snarling into the receiver.

“You think I don’t know? You think I’m blind?” Nikolai snaps with fury. “The last thing I need is another idiot screwing things up. Tell Rurik to meet me at the west cabin of the Ridgecrest outpost by midnight. Alone. Or I’ll consider him part of the problem.”

He goes quiet, listening. I inch closer, desperate to catch every word.

“No excuses. If he’s not there, I’ll drag him up the damn mountain myself. West cabin, do you hear me? And make sure he understands I don’t give second chances.”

He cuts the call, his fingers clenching the phone before shoving it into his pocket. He looks around with eyes alert. I hold my breath, praying he doesn’t spot me. After a moment, he storms off.

West Cabin, Ridgecrest outpost. Midnight.

I wait until he’s gone before stepping out into the light, my pulse thundering. This is it. A place. A time. And a meeting that sounds like it’ll be important. I can’t let it slip by.

But I need more. More than just a name. So I ask around.

I find myself at a grimy pub just off Fifth Avenue, a few miles from where we were. It’s a dump where locals gather to drown their sorrows and trade gossip like currency. The bartender eyes me with suspicion when I approach, but I shove a few bills across the counter.

“You ever heard of Ridgecrest Outpost?” I ask, forcing my voice to sound like I’m not at all terrified of what I’m about to do.

He narrows his eyes. “Why’s a girl like you asking about a place like that?”

“Just curious.”

“Curiosity will get you killed.” He snorts, wiping down a glass. “Ridgecrest Outpost’s up in the mountains. Used to be called Ridgecrest Hunting Lodge. Four cabins spaced out along the ridge—North, South, East, and West. Equidistant but too far apart to feel safe.”

“What happened to it?”

“Depends who you ask.” His observation sharpens like he’s expecting me to flinch. “Some say the cold up there drove people mad. Others say it was Viktor Morozov’s obsession that did it. Man built the place decades ago and tried turning it into an elite retreat. But his madness poisoned the place. They found him dead in the North Cabin. He carved something crazy into the wood before he went. A few years later, a hunting party went missing from the South Cabin. Only two made it out, and they were half-mad, talking about something stalking them from the trees.”

He leans in, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “East Cabin rotted through a long time ago, crushed by ice and rock. Now, only the North and West Cabins still stand. But no one stays there.”

“Why?” I laugh. “Are there ghosts up there or something?”

“Ain’t ghosts you need to worry about,” he mutters. “It’s the people who use that place for business nowadays. Dangerous folk. If you’re smart, you’ll stay away.”

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