Page 12 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
It takes me a moment to realize he’s stopped and now grips the stilled bag between his hands. He touches his watch, and the music cuts off, leaving only the sound of his laboured breaths. “Can I help you?”
I blink, lifting my gaze to find him staring. My cheeks heat at having been caught staring. I expect some kind of amusement or cockiness, but he gives me nothing. Nada. He simply stares at me with icy disinterest, nothing more than an irritant.
“Can I use a phone?”
His brows pull together. “Why?”
“I want to speak to my father.”
“Your family haven’t contacted us. If he does, you’ll be informed.” Sasha’s only relaying information, but it hurts. The matter-of-fact way he delivers the message leaves me no choice other than to accept it for what it is.
Daddy has made no contact, and neither has Gabi. They don’t want to talk to me.
“Right,” I whisper, nodding once. “I’d still like to talk to him.”
His brows pinch together in confusion as he considers me. “Why?”
“Why? What kind of question is that? He’s my father.”
Sasha stares at me blankly, robotically. Before I can stop it, all my frustration from the last few days not only spills over in a flood. “I love him. But I’m guessing you don’t understand emotions. You’re just hired muscle.”
He simply stares at me without responding.
“Thought not.” I turn and walk out, storming back through the apartment. I refuse to go back into that jail cell they call a room. I need out. Out of this penthouse. But I know the Russian will never allow me to leave; so instead, I go to the balcony where I allow myself to feel the roaring wind and to taste the polluted city air. I don’t care. I just want freedom for a moment. I want to pretend I could jump off this balcony and fly somewhere far away.
At the point I start to shiver, and the cold has burrowed deep into my bones, I step back inside. The penthouse is empty, and my footsteps echo from the high ceilings as I move across the living room. Climbing the stairs, I retreat to my isolation chamber, freezing when I find Sasha there. He stands with his back to the door and his arms clasped behind him as he stares out the window. He looks…lost or maybe just alone in his existence.
For a moment, I linger in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Obviously, Sasha wants something, or he wouldn’t be here. He turns, crosses the room, and slips his hand in his pocket. When he removes it, I stare down at the little black flip phone clasped between his long fingers. Tentatively I reach out to take it, but he doesn’t let go. I lift my eyes to his icy gaze. The second I do, my heart gallops in my chest and every muscle in my body coils tightly. Being this close to him is like being in the proximity of a predator, waiting for it to tear out my throat. My instincts scream for me to get away, but I force myself to stay, even as fear skates the length of my spine.
“You only call your sister. Do not stay on the phone long. Do not mention where you are. When you’re done, bring the phone to me. Do you understand?” He lifts a brow, impatience tinging his expression.
I nod. “Yes.”
With that, he releases the phone. Sasha’s posture remains rigid as he walks out.
Maybe he’s not so cold after all.
The phone rings, and I listen, anxiously awaiting my sister’s voice.
“Hello?”
“Gabi.”
“Adelina.” There’s a brief pause. “What’s wrong?” Panic takes over the line, and I can almost feel her concern.
“Nothing. I just…wanted to talk to you and Daddy. I miss you both,” I confess.
There’s a long beat of silence. “I miss you, too.”
There are a thousand unspoken words between us, a gaping void created by more than just the physical distance that separates us, but I don’t know what.
“Is Daddy there?”
Another pause and she clears her throat. “No. He’s not.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s had to lay low, Lina. It’s not safe right now.” Her words are broken as she chokes back emotion.
I suddenly feel sorry for her. She carries the weight of the family on her shoulders, holding down the fort alone. We would be stronger together. Daddy has always said that. I can’t picture him running. Or maybe he’s running because of me. Eduardo Ricci is a strong man, but he would do anything for his daughters.
“Are you okay?” she asks after long moments.
I have to wonder if that’s a rhetorical question. “You left me halfway across the world with strangers without so much as a goodbye. What do you think, Gabi?”
“Nero isn’t a stranger. He’s practically family.”
“No, he’s not; not to me. I want to come home.”
