Page 101 of Royal Deception
Silence.
I knock again, harder this time.
After a few moments, the door cracks open just a sliver, the chain still in place. A pair of sharp, ice-blue eyes meet mine through the gap, shadowed and wary.
The man behind the door is in his forties, maybe fifties, with thinning red hair and a face that looks like it’s seen its fair share of fights. His gaze flicks over me quickly, suspicion written in every line of his expression.
“You shouldn't be here,” he mutters in a thick Russian accent.
I don’t hesitate. “I know what you've been doing,” I say, voice steadier than I feel. “I know you’re the one who’s been stalking Callie Fitzgerald.”
The chain rattles as he flinches back. His grip tightens on the edge of the door, his knuckles going white.
His reaction is all the confirmation I need.
"Don’t know what you’re talking about," he snaps. “Go away.”
I plant my feet. “I have proof. We know you’ve been using different usernames, different accounts, but they all trace backto you. You’ve been harassing Miss Fitzgerald for months now, maybe even years!”
His nostrils flare. “I said, go away.”
“I will,” I say, tilting my head. “Right after I call the cops.” My heart is pounding in my chest, but I know what has to be done. I’m not going to rest until I bring Callie’s stalker to justice.
That gets his attention.
Dmitry’s jaw clenches. His eyes dart up and down the hallway, like he’s checking to see if anyone’s watching. Then, without another word, the door slams shut.
I take a shaky breath, my heart hammering.
I should leave.
But something tells me I’m not done here yet.
I pound on the door, demanding that he let me in. “I know you’re hiding in there, you coward!” I yell.
The sound of the lock sliding open barely gives me time to react before the door swings inward.
Dmitry moves fast—faster than I expect.
Before I can even step back, his hand is on me, yanking me forward with a sudden, jerking force.
Pain blooms in my chest as something sharp jabs just below my collarbone, right above my heart. A split second later, I feel a cold rush spreading through my veins.
I look down in shock.
A syringe.
The barrel is half-full with some kind of clear liquid, the label on the side flashing in my blurred vision—a long medical name I don’t recognize.
“What…” I try to say, but my tongue feels thick. My limbs go sluggish almost instantly.
Dmitry mutters something in Russian under his breath, a curse maybe, as he shoves me inside.
The world tilts violently, my knees buckling as the drug takes hold. The last thing I see before everything fades to black is the door slamming shut.
I wake up to the feeling of something rough digging into my wrists.
My head pounds, my throat dry, my body heavy.
