Heart of My Monster (Monster Trilogy, #3)(11)

Me? I want to celebrate with my wife.

None of these people matter and their faces aren’t the ones I want to look at while I’m sipping champagne.

I told Sasha she had to wait six months until I was more comfortable in my position and then I could bring her back without anyone intervening, but maybe that’s too long.

In the beginning, I had only a fifty percent chance of making this work, mainly because there were too many variables in the equation.

Now that the situation has changed, three months should be enough. At this point, I don’t give a fuck if they find out Aleksandra is the Aleksander they’ve known for years. I’m just not sure she does.

Which is why I sent Maksim to Russia to take care of the last thread that’s holding her back.

The fact that I still have no news of him is the only hitch in the plan.

After everyone leaves the office, Viktor barges inside, his face tight and his eyes dark.

“Anything from Maksim?” I ask.

“No, but I received unsettling news about one of our properties.”

“I don’t give a fuck about our properties. Get in touch with Maksim. And where the fuck is Yuri?”

“Kirill.” He steps forward.

I pause.

Viktor rarely calls me by my name and only when shit is hitting the fan.

“What is it?”

“It’s about the property you asked me for the keys to about a week ago.”

My spine jerks upright and a buzzing rings in my ears.

I’ve always been the type who relies on his intuition to not only determine the next course of action, but to actually survive. Today was going perfectly well until Maksim’s text, and I’ve had a horrible feeling since then.

I just didn’t know how bad it was until now.

“What about it?” I don’t recognize how calm my voice sounds despite the buzzing in my ears.

“I received a text showing the bombing of the cottage and then the remains being set on fire.”

Every single win I had today comes tumbling to the ground at those words.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Only one thought fills my head—I need to find Sasha.





3





KIRILL





There must be some sort of a mix-up.

I refuse to believe that the cottage where Sasha is has been blown to shreds.

I just fucking refuse.

And yet, when we arrive at the scene, chaos unfolds.

It took us four hours more than I had to spare to arrive at the cottage, and we only got here in that time because Viktor drove at supersonic speed, narrowly avoiding a few accidents.

It was still not fast enough.

I spent the way here calling Sasha and getting her voicemail. I couldn’t track her either since her phone is turned off.

I really should’ve inserted a fucking tracker in her flesh. I was fooled by the false sense of security of having her by my side for years, so I overlooked this angle.

If—when—I find her, I’ll put that tracker in her skin. Personally, if I have to.

Bleak reality snaps my shoulder blades together as Viktor and I step out of the car. The view that greets us is that of emergency and police vehicles overcrowding the front of the cottage.

Or what remains of it.

The place has been destroyed to the point of unrecognition. Remnants of wood flooring, doors, and furniture are scattered in the aftermath—black, grimy, and barely recognizable. Some of the surrounding trees have also broken and fallen to their demise in the midst of the catastrophe.

I freeze, my legs barely holding me upright. The shouts and orders from the police and firefighters slowly fade away to a muffled noise, as if they’re speaking from underwater.

A shrill ringing sound fills my ears, and I’m flung out of my physical body. We’re separate entities now. While my outside remains calm, collected, and looking completely unfazed, my insides erupt in dangerous flames that threaten to eat me alive.

I catch a glimpse of the car I gave Sasha the day she left. Only the bones of the vehicle are visible and even those are barely discernible. The scene is straight out of some Middle Eastern war.

My feet move of their own accord to the ambulance. I expect to find Sasha standing in front of the destruction with a fucking rifle slung across her chest after she’s managed to kill those who dared to attack her.

But maybe that’s too optimistic. She’s still one woman, and while she has balls bigger than most men, no one can predict a bombing.

She must’ve been injured in her attempts to escape—that’s the only option I’ll allow.

One of the medics has the audacity to try to stop me from opening the back of the ambulance.

He grabs my arm. “You can’t do that, sir.”

I twist it around and push him away so hard, he ends up on his ass on the ground.

When he tries to stand up again, Viktor is in his face.

I reach a hand toward the handle and stop when I feel a slight tremor in my limbs. A phenomenon that I’ve wholly purged out of my system. A phenomenon that only occurred after I was tortured for days on end by my father’s band of sadists.

Calm the fuck down.

If I got through that dark period of my life, I can survive this.

Sasha is just clutching her injured arm or leg inside. There’s no way in fuck—