“ADRIAN,” I whisper, pressing the note to my chest as tears stream down my cheeks. “You left me.”
I now know Delaney was right–I have abandonment issues.
Because I really shouldn’t feel like my limbs have just been torn from my body. Nothing–nothing–has ever hurt so badly as this.
I know the note was full of love. It was an apology and an honoring. But I want none of it.
I just want Adrian back.
Damn him! How could he do this to me? Could he really think him leaving me was a gift?
I suppose the gift is my father living. And Adrian couldn’t very well stick around with my father still living.
My stomach churns wondering what I’m going to do about my dad.
Do what you need to do.
As if. There’s no way I’m going to give up Adrian’s identity to my homicidal father.
My homicidal, sex-trafficking father.
Ugh. I don’t even want to return to the hotel. I don’t know how I’ll look my dad in the eye again without wanting to puke. I find a bench to sit on, so I can gather myself and think. I need to get a taxi or Uber. I need to get my story straight.
I unlock my phone to order a car, and I see the text messages are open. A whole thread between Adrian and my dad. The photos of me. His demands. My father’s replies.
I read through them.
The money went into my account? I open my bank app to check the balance and suck in my breath.
Almost four million pounds.
It’s still there. Adrian didn’t take it. He should have–it will be harder for me to make up a story about my captor when…
Wait.
I re-read the texts. A giddy-sick feeling comes over me as I consider my latest idea.
Yes…it could work. My dad will blow a gasket, but it’s better than him chasing down Adrian.
I open the Uber app and order a car.
I can do this. I suck in a shaky breath, hold it and let it out slowly to the count of ten, the way Delaney taught me.
I can totally do this.
Adrian
“I need the first flight to Chicago.”
I’m at the airport. After leaving Kat in the restaurant, I swung back to pick up my duffel from the hotel then headed straight here. There’s a hole in my heart the size of a tree trunk, and distance seems the best solution.
Besides, Leon Poval is probably already scouring the city for me. Funny how a week ago that would’ve been the best possible news. But now that I’ve resolved to leaving him untouched, it’s a big problem.
A worse problem will be if he shows up in Chicago. But I’ll deal with that when it happens.
Correction–we’ll deal with that. The bratva will have my back. And I wouldn’t cry too hard if one of them had to take Poval out since I couldn’t in good conscience do it.
“The first flight we have is tomorrow at 8 a. m.”
Damn. I was hoping for some kind of red eye leaving tonight. “I’ll take it.” I hand over a different passport and credit card than I used at the hotel and take the tickets. I consider staying the night at the airport, but it seems like it might attract attention, so I leave, taking a taxi to the closest hotel.
I get there and toss the duffel bag on the bed and walk in a circle with my hands on my head. I don’t want to be here. The hotel room reminds me of Kat. Everything reminds me of Kat.
I should’ve stayed at the airport. I deserve the discomfort of sleeping upright in an airport lounger.
I pace around the small room, making laps until I run into a wall and bang my forehead on it.
Fuck!
I did the right thing. I know I did. I should feel better than I do.
I don’t even care about my revenge. I don’t feel like I let Nadia down although I have. Except I know now that it wasn’t for her. She didn’t need me to do this. I may have told myself that story, but it wasn’t true. I came on this fucked-up journey for myself. I felt violated by Poval on behalf of my sister, and I was the one who wanted revenge.
It was a stupid, glorified alpha male endeavor that doesn’t fix or right anything for Nadia.
All I did was hurt Kat.
But she got the last laugh.
Because right now, it feels like a grenade went off in the center of my chest, leaving the whole cavity gaping open. Torn. Bleeding. And most of all, empty.
I let myself indulge a little fantasy about seeing Kat again. Maybe I’d go to Liverpool. I wouldn’t let her see me–I’d do a better job tailing her this time. But I’d just get to see her. To be near her. To know she’s okay. Maybe to step in if anyone fucked with her again.
Gospodi, that’s stupid.
Of course, I’m not going to Liverpool.
I can’t ever see Kat again, and that’s the part that fucking kills me.
Ravil calls, and I pick up.
“You actually answered my call.” He’s going to keep busting my balls for a while on this one. “Interpol wants Poval’s location,” he tells me. “I just texted you the phone number of who you should contact. He’s wanted in Ukraine, Italy, and Romania. Also, the U. S. would file extradition papers to bring him over here for charges of sex trafficking.”
“I’m letting him go.”
Ravil’s silent for a moment. I wait for him to rip me a new one about the danger I put our cell in over the way I handled this, but all he says is, “Your decision.”
“Thank you. I made it.”