Heart of My Monster (Monster Trilogy, #3)(37)

Now, I have to rip their hearts out and watch as life leaves their miserable eyes.

The nerve of making me believe she’d died.

The fucking audacity.

By the time we arrive at the house, I’m boiling with a flood of rage.

At Sasha for daring to leave.

At the fucker who must’ve been watching from the shadows as I slowly decimated into the abyss of nothingness.

They must’ve been laughing as their plan came to fruition.

I hope they’re also watching now as I bring Sasha back. I won’t look for them. Sooner or later, they’ll let their true colors shine through.

Sasha opens the door with more force than needed and jumps out as if she can’t stand being with me in the same space for another second.

Fuck that.

I refuse to believe that she forgot us in the span of two months.

Unless she never really loved you, and she really did have a lover that she went back to.

I shut down that sadistic voice and step out of the car. The moment I stand, dizziness takes hold of me, and I slam against the side of the vehicle.

Did I overestimate my ability to not bleed out? Probably.

Sasha rushes in my direction, then stops at the last second and clenches her fists as if recalling that she shouldn’t be caring about my well-being anymore.

“Can’t keep it together?” She inserts as much venom as possible in her words, but it sounds strained, fake.

“I might die,” I say with a fake groan.

“Good. Less evil in the world.”

“Will you cry for me if I do?”

“No.” She lifts her chin. “In fact, I might celebrate.”

“You look adorable when you say things you don’t mean.” I touch her cheek with the backs of two of my fingers, and she freezes. I freeze, too, as a rush of chaotic emotions stabs me in the chest.

It’s a mere touch, but it’s enough to kill all the dark thoughts I had after I saw her fake corpse.

For the first time in months, I breathe fresh air.

For the first time in months, I feel everything.

She’s here.

She’s mine again—even if she’d argue otherwise.

Her wide eyes fill with fire, and she slaps my hand away. The gesture stings more than the hit itself.

If it were any other time, I’d grab her by the throat, tie her up, and fuck her for the insolence.

But considering the circumstances, I let it go.

For now.

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice drips with tension.

“You’re awfully terrified of my touching you. Have you noticed that?”

She shoots me another glare, which seems to be her modus operandi today, then storms to the house.

I’m about to follow when my phone vibrates. It’s Viktor.

It takes me more effort than needed to answer. “Status.”

“All cleaned out. We’re keeping Anton—aka the fake Yuri—under surveillance. Should we torture him for answers?”

“No. He probably won’t talk.” And I don’t want to lose points with Sasha if she finds out I’ve been beating her brother up.

“Maksim wants to guard him personally.”

Hmm.

There’s been something different about him ever since he came back from Russia. It’s like his soul was crushed, and he struggled to put himself back together again.

He hasn’t joked around with the others and has spent more time alone or with me and Viktor—which is out of character for him. And most importantly, he’s thrown himself into his work again as if nothing had happened. In the beginning, I thought it was because of the torture, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it could be more.

Like being betrayed by who he thought was his best friend.

And who am I if I don’t deliver poetic justice? This way, I’m not torturing Anton or giving the order for him to be tortured.

Maksim will have complete responsibility for it.

“Let Maksim have full custody of him,” I tell Viktor.

After I hang up, I walk to the mansion’s entrance, my steps heavy as fuck.

By the time I catch up to Sasha, a loud gasp echoes in the air, and then Karina is running down the stairs. The little shit trips on her nightgown and falls a few steps, but she catches herself and continues to run the rest of the way.

“Sasha! Oh my God, Sasha!” She throws herself in my wife’s arms. “Please tell me it’s you and that I didn’t actually summon you with the voodoo I performed to call your spirit.”

She did what?

“It’s me.” Sasha pats her head with her clean hand.

My sister doesn’t seem to notice me or my near-unconscious state as she pulls back. Tears cling to her eyes as she smiles wide even as her voice shakes. “It’s really you.”

“How have you been, Kara?”

“Don’t give me that!” She hits her shoulder. “How could you make us believe you’d died? Don’t you know how much you mean to me?”

Little by little, emotions slip into Sasha’s gaze. An acute sense of guilt turns her eyes a deep shade of yellow that wars with the brown.

This isn’t me. This is Karina.

She did nothing to her, but Sasha hurt her and others by faking her death. My wife is slowly but surely realizing her mistake.