Page 125 of Hunt Me
“Let me know what you find.”
After ending the call, I found her number, which I’d programmed before, texting her my address. This chapter would end tonight one way or another.
I headed toward her bedroom, taking another look at the beauty I’d claimed as belonging to me. Maybe I would please my father and settle down. The thought brought a filthy image to my mind. “There’s been a change of plans. I’ve texted you my address. You will go there where my brother will meet you. As soon as you pack, head there.”
“What’s going on?”
“A needed interrogation. Don’t worry. I did hear what you said.” Although tonight I wouldn’t be the hero in anyone’s life.
I was the Pakhan.
“Be careful, Mikhail. I don’t want to lose you.”
Her statement, her admittance was as surprising as the woman. “Don’t worry,moy ideal’nyy angel. Tonight there will be no deaths.”
But I wouldn’t lie and tell her there wasn’t a possibility of that happening tomorrow and beyond.
Bristol
There was no reason for me to shake uncontrollably yet I was. Maybe from anxiety. Perhaps from excitement. Or perhaps because my mind was working overtime. I glanced at the television in my bedroom as I continued packing. I had no clue how long I’d be staying with Mikhail or what I should bring.
A part of me was giddy inside. How ridiculous since less than a week before he’d kidnapped me. How things had changed. The ten o’clock news was on, the reporter droning on about the upcoming weather. A bad feeling had pooled in my stomach that my father thought he was controlling whatever he was in the middle of.
I worried for his safety and for Mikhail. What if he was arrested? I couldn’t allow that to happen. I tossed a few more items into my suitcase, every few seconds stopping to think about Mikhail.
And my father.
Had I done the right thing? Should I have listened to him or placed my trust in him? I wasn’t certain, but I knew whatever my father was doing was dangerous and not only for his career.
A different story appeared on the television screen and caught my eye. I flitted a quick look toward it. Seeing the small headline underneath, I was intrigued and moved closer, increasing the volume.
“The funeral of Sergio Pavel, longtime friend and employee of the Dmitriyev family was held today.”
As the reporter droned on about a private, sad affair, I concentrated on Mikhail. He was somber as were the other family members, waiting patiently as the minister officiated the sermon. I couldn’t believe reporters had been allowed to cover the tragic event as if it were a glitzy party instead of a funeral. I couldn’t even hear what the man was saying.
My God. What had we come to in this country? It was a man’s funeral, for God’s sake.
If only I’d been able to be with Mikhail. Maybe I could have offered comfort.
A groan left my throat. Who was I kidding? The entire situation was a whirlwind of insanity leaving disaster in its wake.
Being a celebrity meant always being in the limelight. As the minister stepped away, the entire family stood, Mikhail taking the lead and walking closer to the casket. The quiet was eerie, only birds chirping in the background. When Mikhail spoke, he did so in Russian. His voice was haunting, the sadness represented allowing me to see yet another side of the man.
He wasn’t so different than anyone else.
He laughed.
He enjoyed time spent with friends and family.
He went to work every day.
He paid bills.
Just watching him, seeing his strength as he said his last goodbyes kept me tingling all over. I was about to turn off the television when something he said before turning away caught my full attention. I repeated the Russian words.
“Mladshiy brat.”
Then I repeated it again. And again. They were the exact words Sergio had whispered. I was certain of it. Where the hell had I left my phone? Shit. Where was it? As Mikhail turned around, I noticed he’d been standing beside someone else. A blond guy. As the man lifted his head directly toward the camera, I gasped, immediately bending over and quickly studying every inch of his face.
