I'm coming back for her.
And when I do, I'll make sure Gayle never touches her, or our child, ever again.
27
NIKOLAI
The rain is coming down like God decided to crack the sky open and drown whoever was stupid enough to be driving in it. Past midnight, the storm turning the windshield into a blur. Wipers on full and still doing nothing. My knuckles are white on the steering wheel. Soaked in sweat, but cold.
Not from the rain.
From what I'm about to do.
I'm about to kill the only father figure I've ever known.
Lightning splits the sky like a warning. Stop. Think.
But I've thought and thought and thought, and with every passing minute, Gayle is tightening her grip on Elle.
No backup. No plan. Just one goal.
I'm going to kill my uncle.
The thought plays on loop like a broken track. I have to. There's no other way. Gayle made it clear. Viktor's head.That's the price. And now I know what Elle was trying to tell me, why she laid out candles and put on that dress and looked at me like she was holding something precious and terrifying. She's pregnant. I didn't see it. Too busy running around putting out fires I thought mattered.
I can't picture her without my chest twisting. The way she looked when they threw her to the floor. How she couldn't meet my eyes. Like she thought I'd never come for her.
But I'm here.
The gates to Viktor's estate swing open before I slow down. Still trusting me. Still happy to see me.
The guards nod, recognizing my car. They don't see the madness through the rain-streaked glass.
I park. Take the gun from under the seat. Heavy. Loaded. Safety off.
My hand shakes. I've killed people. Burned bridges. Lied through my teeth. But this is different.
Elle's face flashes in my head. The baby I haven't met. I'd die for them. I'd kill for them.
Even if it breaks me.
Viktor opens the door himself. Casual. Like we're about to share a pizza.
"You're dripping on my floor," he says mildly.
"Sorry about that." My voice sounds foreign. Hollow. Distant.
He looks down. Sees my trembling hands. The gun. He's known me since I was a kid with scraped knees and too much anger. He can read me like a primer.
"What's happened?" he asks, stepping aside.
That's when I raise the gun to his head.
He freezes. Not scared. Confused. That calmness pisses me off. Makes me want to scream.
“Nikolai.”
"Don't." My voice comes out wrong. Scraped down to the bone. "Don't talk me down. Don't be reasonable."
