Page 43 of Love to Defy You (The Dark Love #2)

And just like that, I find myself alone with my thoughts. The image of Henri haunts me, but I can’t let myself be shaken by that right now. All I want is to hold Willow in my arms, to inhale her scent and replace the stench of death that lingers with me.

But if my hunch is correct, the spring holiday is well underway, which means Willow will be in Andarusia. I’m sure I have a slew of missed calls and worried texts from her. There’s a bench close by, and I drop my bag onto it before sitting down.

After putting on a new shirt, I spend five minutes opening each pocket and pulling out every article of clothing and toiletry item from the bag. But my phone is nowhere to be found. The last time I had it was...

When I handed it over to Enzo fucking Messina. Bastard owes me a new phone.

A shadow flickers in the corner of my eye, startling me. I jump up from the bench and whirl around, but the courtyard is empty.

My muscles spasm from the sudden movement, followed by a wave of dizziness, and I slump back down onto the bench.

It takes a minute for the spell to pass, but as soon as I’m able, I shove everything back into the bag and set off toward my apartment.

It takes longer than usual to get home thanks to my deconditioned leg muscles, and I even have to stop a few times to rest against a wall.

When I enter the lobby of my building, my eyes burn from the bright LED chandelier, and I stumble back. Using my arm, I block the light and make my way across the empty lobby.

After I drag myself up the elevator and through the front door, I drop my bag in the foyer and shuffle inside.

“ Malishka? “ My voice is weak, and I try again a little louder. “ Malishka? Are you home?”

Silence.

All the lights are off in the apartment, and when I check the closet in our bedroom, her suitcase is missing, which means she’s in Andarusia.

Two days. I was only supposed to be in there for two days, but it was longer. How much longer, I’m not sure, and I can’t check my phone calendar.

I pad into my office and open my laptop, but the light from the screen is too bright, and even after my eyes adjust, the tiny numbers in the lower right corner are blurry.

I need to get in touch with Willow, but I can’t even write a simple email right now.

A shadowy silhouette flickers in the doorway in my peripheral, but when I glance up, it’s gone.

Surely my eyes are playing tricks on me.

With a sigh, I slump back in my chair and dig the heels of my palms into my sockets.

What I wouldn’t give to rip out my eyeballs and let them soak in warm water until they’re ready to work properly again.

Fuck, I need to get a grip.

Mikhail. He mentioned something about Ibiza, but it was only supposed to be for a few days. If he’s home, I can use his phone.

I snatch my wallet out of my bag and hurry downstairs. His apartment is only a block away, so I don’t bother with a taxi. A security guard is patrolling the door, and as I walk past him, he grabs my arm.

“No trespassers,” he says in Swiss German. He sniffs the air and gags.

“My friend lives here. Now, get your filthy hand off me.” I yank my arm from his grasp.

“ My filthy hand?“ The security guard recoils and covers his mouth. “That’s rich, coming from a vagrant.”

When I laugh, it comes out stilted and hoarse. “Oh, please. This T-shirt costs more than what you make in a month.”

He narrows his gaze at me. “Is that so? Did you steal it?” He spits on the ground at my feet and glances at my arms with his lip curled in disgust. “Keep walking.”

I glance down, and even with my poor eyesight, I see what he means. Blood and black dirt are smudged across my skin, and my infected tattoo is haloed in scarlet. On top of that, the stench of death has seeped into the fibers of my clothes.

“Call Mikhail Aslanov. He lives upstairs. Let him know Aleksandr Kurochkin is here to see him.” I lean against the brick wall and fold my arms. “I’ll wait.”

The security guard mutters a string of curses as he walks inside toward the reception desk. He picks up the phone, but he keeps a close eye on me through the front window.

Again, the shadowy silhouette returns, but this time, when I turn around to confront it, I come face to face with none other than—

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” I grip my chest as my heart thunders from the jump scare.

Grigor Kurochkin, my deceased father, stands tall in front of me, just as clear and real as the security guard I just spoke to. His military uniform is tailored perfectly to his broad frame without a wrinkle in sight, and the metals on his chest glint in the light of the nearby streetlamp.

He holds a cigar between his fingers and takes a long drag. When he exhales, the smoke billows around his face, and the strong tobacco scent battles against the putrid stench of rotting death that follows me.

I stare at the glowing end of his cigar and run my fingers over the burn scars on my arm. “What do you want, Otets ?”

He studies me with his cold, calculating gaze for a long stretch of silence, sizing me up. “I never thought you’d make it this far, Aleksandr. In fact, I’m surprised you made it past the first trial, given how weak you are.”

His familiar, cruel voice sends a shudder down my spine. “Then I relish the fact that I’ve proved you wrong.”

“The trials aren’t over yet.” He smirks. “Let’s see what you’re made of, my boy.”

I clench my hand into a fist against the wall. “Why didn’t you ever warn me about the Order? I was completely blindsided. You should have prepared me.”

He snorts. “Do you think my father warned me? That violates the vow of secrecy. You should know by now what happens to those who speak about the Order to outsiders.” Grigor tsks.

“I swear, you never learn.” As he turns the cigar over in his hand, he inspects it with interest. “Perhaps you need another lesson.”

I step back and clutch my arm to protect it from him, but I forget about the infected tattoo there.

When I wince, Grigor lets out a sinister chuckle. “See what I mean? You’re too soft.” He takes a menacing step forward. “It’s my job to make you strong.”

You’re too soft.

You’ve never had to take power because it was handed to you. You’ve never had to work for it. That is the difference between you and I.

Even his cruel words follow me from his grave. Grigor is a wretched, vengeful ghost I cannot shake, no matter how hard I try.

I cradle my inflamed arm against my chest. “Stay away from me.”

He takes another step closer.

“I said, stay away!”

The door to the apartment building opens, and Mikhail follows the security guard out to greet me. Mick pauses, staring at me with a weary expression. “Hey, buddy. Uh, who are you talking to?”

I turn around to face Grigor, but he’s gone. Evaporated into thin air. All that remains is a haze of cigar smoke that is so thick, I start to cough.

The guard tips his chin at me. “So, you know this guy?”

Mikhail takes in my appearance and switches to Russian. “Jesus. What happened to you?”

I clear my throat. “I was hoping you’d tell me.” I push off the wall and walk right past the fuming security guard. “Let’s talk about this upstairs.”

Mikhail calms him down before meeting me at the elevator. We file inside, where he presses the button for the top floor, but he sniffs the air and retreats to the opposite wall. “Dude, you reek.”

I scoff. “I haven’t showered since you and the rest of your Illuminati friends gave me an ice bath and branded me. It’s infected, by the way.” I hold up my arm to show him.

Mikhail frowns. “Well, no wonder it’s infected. Gross, dude.” The elevator doors ping open, and Mikhail steps out onto the private landing to his penthouse. “Let’s get you a shower, yeah?”

I limp after him into his ultra-modern bachelor pad. “Mikhail, what day is it?”

He leads me down the hall and stops at a linen closet to pull out a towel. “Sunday.”

Cold dread settles in my chest. “Which Sunday?”

Mikhail pauses and looks at me with his brows furrowed. “April twentieth.”

I slump against the wall to keep from falling over. A week. I’ve been gone for more than a whole fucking week. That would explain Henri’s advanced decomposition.

“Did you go on a bender or something?” Mikhail sighs and leads me into the guest bathroom. He flicks on the light, and he gives me a strange look when I immediately turn it off. “Let me guess. You and Willow had a fight about Enzo. Is that why you weren’t texting her back?”

I grab his shoulders and spin him around to face me. “Mikhail, I just got released from my cell less than an hour ago.”

“No, we let the candidates out on the thirteenth.”

“Oh, really?” I step back and slump against the bathroom counter. “You didn’t notice I was missing, asshole? And what about Henri? Didn’t you notice him hanging from a belt, dead in his cell?”

The color drains from his face as his eyes grow wide. “Fuck. I left a few minutes early to catch my late flight to Ibiza. Paul and a few of the others were in charge of wrapping it up.”

“Oh, yes, Paul and I have become very good friends,” I seethe.

“Dammit, I should have fucking stayed to make sure you got out okay. I didn’t realize…” Mikhail runs his hands down his face. “Henri hung himself?”

“Yeah.”

He shakes his head somberly. “Shit. There’s always one.” His voice is quiet and introspective until he glances at me. “So, you’re telling me you’ve been in sensory deprivation for over a week?”

“It would seem so.”

He shakes his head. “Then why did you text me on Tuesday saying you were fine?”

“Mick, my phone is missing. I haven’t seen it since I turned it over to— Oh, fuck. Fuck!” I slam my fist on the counter. “Enzo texted you back on my phone, pretending to be me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Unless he passed my phone off to someone else to do his dirty work, then yes. I’m sure.” My stomach churns as unease settles over me. “I need to talk to Willow right fucking now. Give me your phone.” I hold out my hand.