Page 5

Damir angled his head to the side, giving way to the smooth sailing of the crystal tumbler through the air until it crashed against the wall. Even the sight of the crystal shards of glass and droplets of strong whiskey scattering onto the carpet spiked my irritation.

He glanced over his shoulder, and when he turned back to me with an indecipherable expression, I narrowed my eyes at him. All it would have taken was five seconds. If he hadn’t moved fast enough, if he was five seconds late, his face might have been that wall instead. Yet, he didn’t flinch.

“That’s the fifth one. How many more are going to suffer the same fate before you finally accept it?”

I picked up another glass, filled it, and inclined back in my chair. “Get out of my office, Damir. I don’t need you to be my voice of reason, and I certainly don’t need you here.”

We both knew he wasn’t going to leave. The man was as headstrong as a bull. Damir’s eyes hardened, and the corners of his lips tightened with a frown. Cinching his denim jacket tighter, he inched forward with a determination to talk some sense into me.

“Miron, respectfully—”

He ducked, cutting the rest of his words off as I swung my arm high above his head and slammed my hands on the desk at the same time the glass crashed against the wall behind him.

Quietly, he murmured, “And that’s the sixth one,” under his breath.

“Goddamn it, Damir. Get the fuck out of my office already! Every bloody time ‘respectfully’ comes out of your mouth, you already fucking know you’re about to bloody disrespect me by saying shit. I told you already; I don’t want you to be my voice of reason. Christ! This is my shit to figure out, and I will do it by my goddamn self. I don’t need your lectures.”

“I am not here to lecture you, but we both know you’re not trying to figure anything out. The best you can do is to stop avoiding it and face the music.”

Damir didn’t shout back. The volume of his voice remained steady, and his tone was eerily calm. But I heard the silent waves of rage he held back. I saw the subtle flex of his jaw, the slow trembling of his tight fists, and the underlying secret desire to lay a solid one on me. If it were anyone else seated across from me, in that position, right now, he would have been folded up on the floor, choking in his own blood, fifteen seconds earlier.

Stretching forward again, I took my eyes off him and filled another tumbler. “Fucking leave.”

“You will go to prison, Miron.”

“Damir….” It was a warning. One that he so blatantly ignored.

“You might not care because of your ego, but it doesn’t matter how many tumblers go crashing into that goddamn wall. In case you haven’t noticed, we need you here. Scratch that. The Pakhan trusts you to take care of business here. He can’t find out you’ve gotten yourself thrown behind bars and that you’re absent from work because you failed to avoid trouble.”

“He won’t find out.” I glared. “Unless you’re about to go—”

“You know I don’t play dirty like that.”

“Then leave me the hell alone! Imagine me, therapy . Going to talk to some quack about my feelings. Fuck that. I would rather do time. What I don’t know is why you’re suddenly advocating for this nonsense. Unless you also think I have a problem that needs to be fixed.”

The sudden look in his eyes had gotten a man to piss himself once before. Damir gnashed on his teeth and tightened his fists. His control was slipping as fast as a ship losing anchor in a storm, but we knew he had a firmer grip on his emotions than I did. He wasn’t going to lash out, but he was making it clear that he wasn’t leaving my office until things went the court’s way.

“It’s not about what I think, and you know it. I know you already know this, but I’ll say it again to remind you: The stakes are high. Miron, if you don’t attend those therapy sessions, you will go to prison. No amount you offer or number of contacts you call will get you out of this one. I told you already, Jeffery does know how to pull strings, and we cannot do shit about it because he’s in the exact position to do whatever the hell he wants with the justice system. Right now, he is a victim, and that puts you in the position of bending just a little for the wrath of the law to pass over your head. Just do it this once.”

A heavy silence dropped between us, and I stared at the liquid in my glass, brooding.

If I was being honest, I knew there was no point arguing with the man, and I was sensible enough to know when I’d lost an argument. He was right; if I didn’t cooperate willingly, that judge and Jeffery would be more than happy to drag me away. As if I would ever give them the satisfaction.

I pointed at him. “I’ll give it to you: You are one goddamn persistent son of a bitch.”

Silently agreeing, he moved a shoulder. “I’ll take that as a triumphant yes.”

“No one likes a gloater.”

“Call it whatever you like.” He raised his hands. “I’m just glad you’ve made up your mind because you’re due to be there in another hour.”

I knew the sessions were fixed to commence today, and the court gave Viktor—and me—the liberty of deciding what clinic I would attend. But not once since that session have I discussed the subject with Viktor or Damir, for that matter.

I felt my eyes narrow to slits. “To be where in another hour?”

“I knew you weren’t going to bother with picking any place, so I called Amelia,” came his unmoved response.

Rage boiled over, and before I could stop myself, the tumbler went hurling over Damir’s head. The room echoed when the glass shattered against the wall, but Damir focused instead on wiping off the drops of whiskey that spilled on his jacket.

“You fucking did what?” Out of a thousand people he could contact, he chose the one person who wouldn’t fail to rub this shit on my face. “Why the hell would you do that?”

He didn’t even flinch. “Because Prima Care Medical Center is one of the best places you can receive treatment—”

“I don’t need any treat—”

“And you deserve nothing but the best. Plus, it’s a private clinic. You will get quality services there. Two, your cousin happens to be the CEO of the place, and we know she’s a badass at her job. Who better else to handle this than family? On the days you don’t show up, I’ll maybe even threaten her to tweak the reports.”

When he raised his head, there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that I wanted to rip out with my bare hands. “You, of all people, know better than anyone else that Amelia will seize this opportunity to boss me around in the name of therapy. She’s going to drink this up worse than a beer pong champion.”

“That might have happened if she was handling the sessions herself.”

“She’s not?”

He shook his head. “Her hands are full, she said. Or maybe she knows better than to cross paths with you and rub shit on your face. But she’s handing your file over to someone else.”

“And that someone else is?” I couldn’t not press.

“Still under her supervision. Come on, Miron. You have to be there soon.” He kicked back his chair, threw a glance at the mess of broken tumblers by the wall, and left my office without another word.

Ay, Goddammit.

***

Damir went over to Amelia’s office to sort out whatever it was that needed sorting out while someone else ushered me to the office of the other person who was handling my file.

The young man with a low cut and nervous smile opened the door and led me in, and the first thing that hit me was the warmth and serenity of the room. There wasn’t much to it, but the ambiance was peaceful. The walls were painted a soothing light gray, which conveniently provided a backdrop for the rich, earthy tones that filled the space. Bright photographs of nature hung on the wall, there were two blooming flower pots stationed beside her desk, and as for the desk, it was neatly arranged, with no over-the-top pictures, awards, or shit like that.

“Miss Sinclair says you can wait here. She won’t take long,” I heard from behind me. The man must have been waiting for some kind of acknowledgment or expression of gratitude, and when he realized he wasn’t getting any, he shut the door quietly on his way out.

I walked over to the plush green velvet chair and lowered myself with controlled disdain. Every part of me itched to leave immediately. It felt like being forced back into a nursery, except this one was coated with more mature paint. Here, I was the student, waiting for the teacher. And I couldn’t remember the last time anyone kept me waiting.

Settling back into the chair, I threw an arm over the rim, ready to dig out my phone, when the door quietly clicked open, and someone else walked in. My head snapped toward the door, and our eyes locked. More like jammed.

This time around, it was a young woman with the brightest pair of hazel eyes I had ever spotted from a distance, a sharp contrast to her porcelain skin. The impact that stirred from acknowledging her presence in the room made me look way longer than I was supposed to. Smiling warmly, she adjusted her plain white shirt and smoothened a crinkle on her black pants, and instead of letting my gaze drift to the fullness of her thighs shaped by those pants, I kept my eyes on her face.

She couldn’t be older than twenty and definitely had to be an intern at the clinic or a recent college graduate. Either way, she looked too young to be of significance.

I frowned. “If you’re also here to tell me Miss Sinclair won’t take long, you can shove that information—”

“I’m her,” she rushed to say before I completed my sentence, cheeks slowly glowing cherry-red as her black court heels clicked closer to the couch. She stretched forth a hand. “I mean, it’s me. I am Hazel Sinclair, the therapist assigned to handle your file. And my sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting, Mr. Yezhov. It is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The last time anything surprised me was more than a decade ago. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be startled and astonished at the same time, but this….

I ignored her small outstretched hand and looked past her soft, appealing— deceitful— features, past the luscious bundle of chestnut brown hair falling in a long ponytail down her back, the shiny red paint coating her full lips that called immediate attention, the smooth curve of her jawline, the perfectly portioned structure of her nostrils at the center of her face, and especially those eyes that could reel anyone in like a baited fish on a hook.

“ You’re the therapist?” Disbelieving, I shook my head, making sure to scoff aloud. “Is this a fucking joke?”