Page 50 of The Pakhan's Secret Baby

RASHID

My phone pulls me out of a dead sleep at ten minutes past five. I grab it off the nightstand and see Dr. Volkov's name on the screen, and sit up before I answer.

I wasn't expecting the results so soon, especially not this time of the morning, but he knows how eager I am to have this confirmed.

Nothing is more important to me right now than knowing if that boy is mine.

"Tell me," I grumble, fighting back a yawn. My alarm was set to go off in twenty minutes, and I'm pulling myself out of the middle of a sleep cycle. But I need to hear this.

"I rushed the preliminary panel for you. The markers are strong across the board and I'm seeing better than ninety-six percent probability of paternity. I'd stake my reputation on it, Rashid. That boy is yours." Volkov's tone is sharp. He's probably been awake all night working on this for me. I need to pay him more.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I knew it the moment I saw his face, but hearing it confirmed is still shocking.

It doesn't bring relief—it brings anger that Emory kept this from me. How did she think she was going to get away with this?

"When will you have the full results?" I sit straighter, blinking my heavy eyes to force myself more awake, but my body is heavy, urging me to lie back down and sleep as if this is all a dream.

"Two to three days for the comprehensive panel, but I wouldn't expect the numbers to change. The preliminary markers are definitive enough that I'd be comfortable calling it now." He sounds so confident, and being the expert I have to trust him.

"Then call it. Send me the documentation when it's ready." I hang up and rub a hand over my face, tossing my phone to the night stand.

After news like that I know I won't get back to sleep even if I try, so I dress and walk toward my office. I'm still half-asleep, stumbling as I walk past one of my favorite paintings on the wall in the hallway.

It's a copy of a Surikov, not the one in the club, but another one I'm fond of.

And pausing, I think of that night with Emory and how much it moved me that she knew the painting, well enough to be amazed by it.

If she wasn’t already intoxicating to me at that point, it would have been enough for me to crave her for the rest of my life, which is what I’ve been doing.

And now that I’ve discovered her little secret I feel my chest being torn down the middle.

I hoped that with time perhaps I'd find her again, our paths would cross, and it would be different this time.

But the fact that she could keep this from me is so infuriating, and humiliating.

I can't just kill her like I would someone who wronged me.

She's the mother of my child, and honestly, I still fucking want her.

Does that make me sick?

I pour my coffee and walk to my office, sitting down at my desk.

This anger isn't going anywhere, so I put it to work and call Devid.

He answers with a sleepy voice, but I know in five seconds he's going to knowt that I want information and he'll snap out of it.

I just can't sit here stewing or I'll be too angry to move past it all day.

"I need an update on Rostov," I grumble, reaching for my cup of hot coffee. It'll help me wake up faster.

"Yeah, well we found him. I was just letting you sleep until your alarm," he mumbles, yawning. Found him and letting me sleep, my ass…. He just didn’t want the wrath of waking me in a grumpy mood.

"Where?"

"He's holed up in a hostel on Vasilyevsky Island. Place called the Neva Rooms. He checked in under a different name and paid cash. Hasn't left the room except to buy vodka from the shopon the corner." Devid yawns again and says, "We think he did it because the girl didn't come home."

"That's all the way across town from his apartment. Why would he leave?" If my child didn't come home, I definitely would not be vanishing.