Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I expect the front door to be locked, but when I turn the handle, it opens.
I push it inward.
I can at least leave them a warning. A message.
“Motherfucking son of a bitch,” I grumble under my breath as my brothers fill the space behind me.
“They fucking played you, brother,” Viktor mutters.
You’ll see soon enough, she told me.
My parents have no money, she said.
The home is swept clean, not a single piece of evidence that anyone’s living here. The fridge is empty. There’s not even so much as a roll of toilet paper in the bathroom.
I go upstairs to where Harper’s room was and know what to expect. I’m not surprised to find it also completely cleaned out. But when I open the closet, something catches my eye.
I tuck the little box into my pocket then walk back downstairs to where Lev’s pointing to a sign. “Aleks? You see this?”
Right on the kitchen island is a little cardboard foldout with the words AIR BNB. Thank you for visiting!
I shake my head and pull out my phone.
Google the address.
The first hit pulls up a rental place.
How did Aria and I miss this? Harper’s brother gave Mikhail an address and I got it directly from him. We never looked beyond that.
Harper knew this was a rental home. She knew her family had nothing.
You’ve been played.
A text comes in from Mikhail. I scowl at the phone and shake my head.
What else has she lied to me about?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Harper
I wake up in the middle of the night, Ivy's little body curled up to mine. Her lips are gently parted, and her hair is all wild around her. She reminds me of an angel. I still can't believe she's here. A part of me feels like I will never be able to thank Aleksandr enough for what he's done, for bringing her here. It's against everything in him to not take care of the people who belong to him. It’s who he is, it's what he does. But still, after everything I've been through…
As I gently stroke my fingers through her soft hair, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, allowing myself to be vulnerable with someone else. I still battle fears that may never go away. I still wonder if I am the kind of woman that's worthy of being loved by anyone, much less someone who's loyal and devoted.
My heart leaps in my throat when I realize that I'm not alone with her. Aleks stands near the window, still dressed all in black, his arms crossed on his chest.
"Aleks?" I whisper in a little voice. "Is everything alright?"
He responds in a whisper. “Come with me. I have our guards watching over Ivy. She doesn't wake at night, and they'll have the monitors. Now, Harper.”
His voice is distant, detached. I feel a cold sweat breaking out across my brow. I don't know what's wrong, but this isn't good.
What did he do tonight?
I don't like leaving Ivy, but I know that he and I need to talk. In the next minute, he takes my hand and leads me down the hallway toward the doorway that takes us to the roof. I’m wearing a threadbare tee and a small pair of sleep shorts. Wordlessly, he slides out of his sweatshirt and drapes it over my shoulders, though the tight line of his jaw tells me he does it out of a sense of duty, not tenderness.
How strange.
A sudden realization hits me. Dread begins to claw at me, vicious and viral. If he wanted to get rid of me, taking me to the rooftop would make it easy.
Who am I kidding? If he wanted to get rid of me, it wouldn't matter where we were. He's practically untouchable.
I frantically wonder what I can use as a weapon.
Do I need one?
When we get to the rooftop, the wind bites through my clothing, though I’m not sure that’s why I shiver. He flicks the remote, and the heaters come to life.
"Aleks. What happened?"
Without a word, he walks over to the small bar and pours two drinks. He hands one to me and takes his over to the lounge chairs. Moonlight escapes a cloud and illuminates his face. I draw in a sharp breath at the haunted look in his eyes. The utter sense of detachment. He's in a place I can't reach, and I don't understand why.
"I was sixteen years old when I fell in love,” he begins, “for the first time.”
I didn’t think I wanted a drink at this hour, but I find myself taking a tentative sip.
“Who was she?” My voice sounds hoarse. I clear my throat.
“She was a girl on the street just like me. Orphaned, but unlike me, no one took her in. We started out as friends. I wanted to help her, but who was I kidding? My situation was barely stable.”