Page 6

CHAPTER 6

Sabrina

Present Day

I’m so fucking tired I could cry.

Elena was restless last night—again. Probably the teething, or the full moon, or just the fact that babies are tiny little demons in disguise who wait until you desperately need sleep before wailing like banshees for twelve straight hours.

Whatever the reason, I’m running on fumes, clutching onto consciousness with nothing but sheer will and cheap mascara. All I want is a hot shower, a long-ass nap, and to sleep through until noon. Maybe longer. God bless Carla. Never in my life did I think I’d be this grateful for my mother.

The dressing room mirror is harsh, unforgiving. The fluorescent lights catch every crease, every smudge, every line of exhaustion. I yank off one false eyelash, then the other, groaning as I rub at my eyes and start wiping off the layers of glitter and stage makeup. My face feels raw and tight, like even my skin is over it tonight.

Then my phone rings and it’s on the other dresser near the door. Groaning I pull my aching body from the stool and walk over to it freezing when I see it’s an out of state unknown number.

My pulse skips. A weird, sinking sensation settles low in my belly.

I stare at the screen like it might answer for me.

Another second. Then two.

Screw it. I don’t usually answer unknown calls but for some reason I feel almost compelled to answer this one.

I swipe to answer.

“Hello?”

“Sabrina!”

My knees nearly buckle.

“T—” I choke on the name, cutting it off before it escapes. “Where are you?”

“I can’t talk for long.” Her voice is rushed, breathless, frantic. “I’m okay. But I won’t be for long if you don’t get Mom to call off that fucking PI. He’s not who you think he is. He’s working for some very bad people.”

“What?” My throat tightens. “What are you talking about? I— I had a feeling, but—”

“I mean it, Rina. Please. Promise me. Get her to stop.”

“I will. I’ll try. Just—Tara, where the hell are you?”

Gunfire crackles on the other end. My heart lurches.

“Run, Tara! Get the fuck out of here!” a voice shouts—gruff, familiar, and fucking terrifying—as the ramifications of who he is settle over me.

“You’ve been shot!” Tara cries, frantically and then the line goes dead.

The room falls into an ominous silence—a cold, gut-wrenching silence.

I stand frozen, the phone still pressed to my ear like if I just wait long enough, she’ll come back on the line. She doesn’t.

I wait for another few beats of my heart thumping against my rib cage before I move into action.

With fumbling fingers I pull up my phone contacts. I hit Sam’s name and thank God he answers after the first few rings.

“Sabrina? Is everything alright?” Sam asks.

“I know where she is,” I whisper. “And I know who she’s with.”

“Don’t say another word,” Sam snaps. “Go home and I’ll meet you at your apartment in forty minutes.”

There’s no hesitation. No time to change out of the glittery, thigh-high-slit dress I just danced in. I yank my coat over my shoulders, shove my feet into boots, and grab my purse. I move fast, slipping out the back of the Golden Lights before anyone can stop me, driven by what I can picture my sister Tara’s terrified face to look like before that fucking phone line had gone dead.

Twenty minutes later, I’m in my apartment, fresh out of the shower with a towel knotted around my head, and the kettle boiling on the stove. I’ve changed into sweats and a hoodie—my armor against the chaos that is my life. Elena’s not here tonight. She’s safe at Mom’s. I should feel relieved. But I feel a hollow ache in my chest instead and this gut wrenching fear for my sister.

A knock at the door makes me jump, my nerves are so on end. I glance at the time.

That was fast, even for Sam.

I swing the door open and start my lecture about speeding, “Jesus, Sam you shouldn't drive so fast this isn’t urgent enough to kill…” My voice trails off as the expensive cologne assaults my senses and I have to tilt my head back to see the blue eye giant staring down at me with an amused look on his ruggedly handsome face.

“What are you doing here?” My voice sharpens instinctively. “Did you knock on the wrong door? The whores are on the next floor up.”

Oleksi Mirochin isn’t fazed. A slow smile spreads across his gorgeous mouth as he stands in my doorway like he owns it. “Hello to you too, Sabrina.”

“Are you looking for my mother?” My eyes narrow. “Because she lives right across town.”

“No. I’m not in the wrong apartment and I’m here to talk to you,” Oleksi tells me.

“At this time of night?” My brows shoot up in disbelief. “You couldn’t wait until morning and just call me like a normal person?

“Would you take my call?”

“I guess now we’ll never know, will we?” I taunt him.

He is so close that I can feel the heat of his body and his tantalizing cologne is starting to wreak havoc on my desires. Desires that haven’t been fulfilled in over a year now. I shake my thoughts away. Jesus, even if he were the last man on earth, I’d rather pleasure myself than fuck him.

“I was at the Golden Lights waiting for you to finish dancing but then you took off like a bat out of hell so here I am,” he explains.

“So you followed me?”

“No.” Oleksi shakes his head. “I do know where you live, Sabrina. You’re listed as your mother’s next of kin in her employee records.”

“Right!” I nod, not convinced. “What do you want?”

“To help you.” His eyes flick over me, slow and lazy, like he’s memorizing the slope of my hips beneath my hoodie. “Because I think we’re both looking for the same person.”

My heart stutters.

I school my face into something blank. “I’m not looking for anyone.”

He steps in just slightly. Not enough to touch me. But enough to make the air feel thicker.

“Your mother works for me now. You think I don’t know you hired a PI to look for your sister?” he says. “I want to offer my help.”

“Why?” My voice is flat. Skeptical.

“I need to know where to send Tara’s final paycheck.”

My brows lift. “Give it to my mother.”

I start to close the door.

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” he says.

“I do. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting—”

“Sabrina?” Sam’s voice cuts in behind Oleksi, and I can see the exact second his shoulders stiffen. Sam steps around him and into view. “Is everything okay?”

“Hi, Sam.” I give him a tight smile. “Come on in. Mr. Mirochin was just leaving.”

Sam eyes him for a beat. Long enough to make it clear he doesn’t trust him. Then he nods and walks past us into the living room.

“He’s a bit old for you, isn’t he?” Oleksi mutters.

I shrug not taking the bait. “I have daddy issues.”

Oleksi gives a soft snort before saying, “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.” He puts on the charm. “Let me explain how I can help you find your sister.” His eyes hold mine. “That PI you’ve hired is nothing more than a con man who will turn on you for the highest bidder or drain you of every penny!”

My brow furrows. He is the second person tonight to warn me about the sleazy Tom Williams. I can’t deny what Oleksi is saying. I had that feeling about the prick within the first few minutes of meeting him. But my mother was so excited to find someone who we thought was a reasonable price and could help us find Tara.

“I have some top people I’ll put at your disposal and will bring results instead of bleeding you dry,” Oleksi persists. “Please—just have dinner with me tomorrow night, and we can discuss it.”

My eyes narrow as I stare at him for a moment and an idea formulates in my head. Oleksi might just be the person that can get my mother to fire Tom Williams. Especially if we can get someone else to look for her for free… but… I swallow. He is a Mirochin and my sister was hiding from this family.

But then again they don’t know the truth about Tara and Elena, and Gavriil and Irina are dead so it couldn’t hurt, although I have to wonder why he wants to help as he did say he was also looking for her. “Fine. I will have dinner with you to discuss this tomorrow. I finish work at eleven tomorrow night.”

“I’ll send someone to get you.”

“No,” I snap. “I can get there on my own.”

He nods once. “Till tomorrow night then.”

He turns and walks away—calm, collected—leaving me with a fluttering stomach, a completely inappropriate tingle between my legs, and a strange excitement about tomorrow night thrumming through my veins.

I brutally squash it. Nope. Absolutely not. That’s never happening.

I shut the door and lean against it for a moment, exhaling hard only to be brought back to reality with a thump as Sam's voice echoes back to me from the sofa.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “Maybe something. I don’t know. I think he might be the person who finally convinces my mother to fire that fucking crook of a PI.”

“I thought she stopped all that shit.” Sam sounds pissed.

“She told you she did. But she didn’t. And I’ve nearly depleted my savings helping her pay the idiot.”

“I can get rid of him for you.”

“No.” I pause. “I think Oleksi Mirochin might be our better option.”

Sam frowns but doesn’t push. “Tell me about Tara.”

“She called me. From an out-of-state number. She was frantic. Said the PI isn’t who he says he is and that Mom has to stop looking for her and call him off. Said Tom is working for dangerous people. Then I heard gunshots. A man shouted for her to run but Tara called back that he’s been shot.”

Sam’s face turns pale. “You said you recognized his voice?”

“Yes, it was one of Nikolas’s men, Clyde Smythe.” I hand him my phone, showing him the number. “Tara called me from this number.”

Sam takes the phone and, without hesitation, dials it, putting the phone on speaker.

It rings for quite a while before someone picks it up.

“What are you calling my phone box for?” a voice demands. “I’m trying to get changed, you know. This is very rude—interrupting me like this.”

Oh great. A whack-a-doo and it’s a phone booth.

“Who is this?” Sam asks.

“Superman. Who the fuck is this?”

“Is that… is this a phone box?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

Sam hangs up and stares at me. “She called you from a fucking phone booth.”

I nod.

“You said you heard gunshots.”

“Yes, right before the line went dead and she confirmed that Clyde had been shot.”

“Fuck.” Sam’s voice is tight. Controlled. The way it gets when he’s about to do something reckless. “I’m going to New York. I’ll leave right away.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You’ll slow me down. And you’ve got a daughter to take care of.”

I sigh, deflating. “Fine. But you’ll keep me posted. Every step.”

“I will.” Sam grabs his coat. “Stay out of trouble. And for the love of God, stay away from the Mirochins.”

I nod, watching him go.

But when I close the door behind him, all I can see are Oleksi’s blue eyes tracking every inch of me earlier like he was marking me for possession.

Nope.

That’s never happening.

I stomp off to bed only to spend the whole damn night dreaming about the Giant Bratva Prince driving me crazy with desire.