Page 9 of His Hold

"Definitely."

I swallow hard, fumbling for my phone. “Hang on a sec.” Pulling up the surveillance photo of Nikolai, I hold it up. “This him?”

Emily squints at the screen before her eyes widen dramatically. “Yes. That’s definitely him. Who is he?”

“No one good.” I shove the phone into my pocket, barely controlling the tremble in my fingers.

“Where did you get that? Katya, what’s going on?”

"Just... research." I drink my coffee quickly. "I have to go."

“Katya, wait. What’s happening?”

“Nothing. Just—take care, okay?” We exchange numbers and promises to meet again, but my mind is already spinning toward impossible answers.

The entire way home, my thoughts spin violently. Nikolai Ramensky. Irina. The art gallery. It all fits painfully together. I was right. The bastard definitely knows exactly what happened to my sister.

I went after him initially because I saw his name in her journal. Now I know that I have to go after him because he is most likely the last person to have seen her before she disappeared.

Irina and I had barely spoken the last year I was away. After our fight, we only communicated through texts. When it became public news that she was missing, the messages stopped, confirming what I suspected. Someone else had been texting me, keeping me in the dark, playing me like a fool.

God, I hate myself for this. For letting a stupid fight keep me away. For letting pride fester into silence. I stayed by Mom’s side until the end, but maybe I could have done both. Called Irina more. Visited her. If I’d been paying attention, I would’ve known. I would’ve realized that it wasn’t her texting me all those times. I could have stopped this.

Instead, I chose to play the part of someone who didn’t give a damn about anyone but herself. The person who is keeping a grudge against her sister over something so stupid. And now, I’m stuck in this rabbit hole, chasing answers and guilt like it’s some kind of penance.

Inside my apartment, I strip quickly, stepping into a hot shower, hoping the scalding water can drown out the thoughts swirling inside my head. It doesn’t. The sting on my skin fades quickly, leaving behind the uncomfortable mess of what Emily revealed.

I need a plan—a way to make him talk without getting myself killed.

I shut off the water and step out, before grabbing a towel. My fingers shake slightly as I tuck the fabric around me, dripping water onto the tile. With my new discovery now, my two-bedroom apartment feels colder and emptier.

I sit on the bed and start drying my hair when a soft creak from behind me makes me freeze. My heart drops as I slowly look over my shoulder.

Nikolai stands there, with a gun aimed directly at my head. His eyes burn into mine, narrowed and furious.

“Hello,” he says calmly, like he didn’t just break into my house. "I see you've been busy. Still poking your nose in my business after I explicitly warned you, eh?”

My mouth dries instantly. "How did you—"

"Quiet,” he orders sharply, stepping closer. The barrel of the gun doesn’t waver. “Who sent you?”

I ignore his question. "How did you get in here?"

"You should upgrade your locks." The corner of his lips curves up as he circles me slowly. "Now, who hired you to follow me?"

“No one,” I manage, struggling to keep the fear out of my voice. “I’m not working for anyone.”

The gun traces my jawline. "Wrong answer. Try again."

"I'm telling the truth." I meet his eyes. "This is personal."

"Personal?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "What could you possibly want from me?"

"My sister. Irina Yasenev. Ring any bells?"

His expression doesn't change, but something sparks in his eyes. Recognition.

"Never heard of her."

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