Page 98 of Sapphire Tears

I open the door and turn on the spot. “One day, Geneva, I will forgive you for this. But for now, it’s probably best if you don’t contact me again.”

Then I direct my gaze towards Adrian.

“You’re right about one thing, Adrian,” I say. “Love is messy and painful and hard. But the one thing it shouldn’t be is lonely. And I was always so lonely with you.”

Then I shut the door on both of them and walk down the hallway towards the elevators. The scent of vanilla is even stronger out here.

That has to be my imagination.

Right?

42

KOLYA

I walked away.

I fucking walked away.

What I should have done is bust into that pathetic apartment and shoot Adrian in the face like I did to my father. But even when my hand clasped the handle of my gun, I couldn’t bring myself to follow through.

I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it.

Because despite the burning betrayal that’s still funneling its way through my consciousness, I want more information from Adrian.

Shit like:What did she look like towards the end? Did she still love the piano? Was she looking forward to death or was she scared to go?

I don’t even know where he buried her. If he buried her at all. Maybe she wanted to be cremated. Maybe she wanted to be thrown into the sea.

I don’t fucking know.

And it’s killing me.

Of course, the second reason I hadn’t busted into that apartment was because of her. Because even though Adrian was more than likely capable of twisting June’s loyalties away from me, I still couldn’t bring myself to do anything that would hurt her.

And watching the father of her child take a bullet through the eyes would definitely hurt her.

I glance up and notice the bartender watching me warily. He’s a big guy, but the anxiety on his face belongs to someone half his size. I frighten him.

Good.

I raise the empty glass in my hand. “I’ll take another.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s four in pretty quick succession, my friend.”

“You think I can’t count?”

“You just seem like you might be in a dark place,” he says hesitantly. “Alcohol doesn’t usually mix with a bad mood.”

I pull out two hundred-dollar bills and slam it on the countertop in front of him. “Why the fuck do you care?”

He eyes the dollar bills hungrily. “You’re right,” he says with a nod. “I don’t.” Then he scoops up the money and proceeds to pour me my fifth glass.

“And keep them coming,” I order him.

“Got it, boss.”

He serves me the drink and moves to the far corner of the bar, where a dark-haired beauty is sitting. She’s been there for the last forty minutes, and I’m fairly certain the reason she hasn’t moved is because of me.

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