Page 37 of Sold to My Ex's Brother
“Go,” I order him, and the other guard glances in past him, checking to see what is going on. I gesture for him to enter, not looking back at Sergei sitting behind me. I can hear the chair creaking, as he no doubt tries to loose himself from the binds that are keeping him trapped in place.
“Get rid of him,” I tell my guard, shooting one last look down at Sergei. His face pales, the blood on his face standing out even brighter against the bloodless visage below it.
“No,” he pleads with me. “No, you have to understand, there’s more I can give you. I can—I can take you to his warehouse, I can?—”
“You should have done it when you had the chance,” I spit back.
I turn my back on him and head for the door, but I can hear his desperate cries behind me, echoing around the concrete ofthe basement we’re holding him in. I don’t look back, don’t need to. The choice has been made, and I’m not going to let anyone change my mind on this.
What’s done is done, it’s as simple as that.
And soon enough, I know that my brother will be the one done for. And that I’m going to be the one to deliver the killing blow, no matter what it takes.
Because he has been left to roam this city far,farlonger than he ever should have been able to. And it’s my duty, as the only person who can stop him, to do just what.
Not just for me—but for her. For Maya. And for the child that I feel so fiercely protective without so much as knowing their name.
If this is what it means to be a father, then so be it. The man’s voice suddenly fades to nothing, a sure sign that he is finished.
I wait for the flicker of regret or guilt, but it doesn’t come. And it won’t. Not until all of this is over with.
For good.
17
MAYA
As soon asI hear the door to the apartment open, I spring to my feet, hurrying over to the door. I ignore the guards stationed around the large living area, having almost forgotten that they’re there at all.
Anton is striding back through the door, and for once, I don’t have to struggle to catch his attention. He looks freshly showered, whatever he was called away to deal with scrubbed off his skin, and I find my feet faltering as I draw closer to him.
It’s the strangest sensation, the depth of intimacy between us now that I have seen the child growing inside of me, the child that is as much his as they are mine—but to still know so little about him, about what he is capable of, about when, if ever, he will let me go.
“I need to talk to you,” he tells me, and I brighten up at once.
Thank God, something I can do to actually feel useful.
He gestures to his guards, waving a hand at them to indicate that they should leave, and they all move for the door in unison, none wanting to draw more attention to themselves than they needto. I watch as they go, and then, all of a sudden, I find myself standing alone in this room with him—with the man who has me more confused than I ever have been in my life before.
“What do you need to talk to me about?” I ask him, wrapping my arms around myself protectively.
He goes to pour himself a drink from the cabinet that sits over by the fireplace.
He brings the glass to his lips, looking out over the dimming sun in the sky, the way the streets are already starting to fill with life as people go about their evening routines.
I feel a pang, wondering what I would be doing if I wasn’t trapped in here. I mean, probably just dragging my ass to work to try and make rent this month, that sounds about right, but still—suddenly, that seems like the most tempting thing in the world.
“Did you work with a woman called Ruby at my brother’s bar?” He speaks, his voice careful and calculated. What small glimpse I saw of his softness when we laid eyes on the picture of our baby seems to have faded just as quickly as it arrived.
I pause for a moment, furrowing my brow, casting my mind back as I attempt to recall. “Uh, I don’t know,” I reply, shaking my head. “There were a lot of girls coming and going at work, not many people stuck around for long, what with the clientele being so... tough.”
He nods, taking another sip of his scotch.
My gaze lingers, briefly, on the way his mouth looks as it grazes against the glass, but I swiftly push that aside, swallowing hard,trying not to let myself get distracted. I need to focus on the matter at hand here.
“Ruby,” I repeat, tapping my finger against my lip as I try to cast my mind back. I don’t think that I worked with someone with that name, but something about it does ring a bell—and all at once, it clicks.
“Yeah, I think Dylan, one of the other bartenders, she mentioned working with a girl called Ruby just before I got there,” I confirm with a nod. “Why? Is she involved in all of this...?”
