His Father

“Clear out,” his other guard demands.

“Except you,” Yaroslava says to Stone who is eyeing me warily.

Stone nods politely and his men filter out.

“Who the fuck is this asshole?” Yaroslava laughs, pointing at Sargent’s head of security.

Stone tells him as much and Yaroslava sighs and raises his silenced weapon. I hear a small noise and watch Tucker drop to the ground lifeless. A bullet between his eyes.

I scream, a reaction I can’t suppress but the man behind me clamps a hand around my mouth.

“Shut up,” he barks at me as my tears fall onto the side of his hand. He pinches my nose until I start clawing at his wrist. My chest tightens with pain.

“Was that necessary?” Stone asks Yaroslava who just grins, his wrinkled face stretching to his eyes.

The hand leaves my mouth and I choke for air as, finally, a door upstairs opens and a disheveled-looking Sargent and a red-haired woman both descend the stairs less than a minute later.

I pray another man joins them and Sargent just went up to get them but I can see the lipstick around his mouth. I can see the evidence of his erection through his jeans, I can see a dark hickey on his neck. My heart, already shattered, evaporates and all emotions leave me. I think I’m in shock.

“Daddy!” the woman cries, racing to Yaroslava and throwing her arms around him.

They speak in Russian and I’m surprised by how fond of his daughter he is. I keep looking at them because I can’t handle looking at Sargent. The images of him and her are in my head. The images of a man dying moments before are too.

So much is happening, I can’t process any of it.

“Wait.” The woman looks at me. “This is her?”

I stiffen when she stalks my way in heels so high I wonder how she’s not broken an ankle yet.

“I just fucked your boyfriend,” she states, grinning and watching for my reaction with soulless brown eyes.

“He’s not my boyfriend, I hardly know him,” I reply, my throat scratchy and sore.

She frowns at my defiance as I hold her gaze. “Shame, I always did like a cat fight.”

I stay quiet and glance over at the lifeless legs just visible from the side of the couch. My body tries to heave but I force it back.

“Leave Tempest alone, Nastya,” Yaroslava demands. “Somebody bring the girl a whiskey, she’s trembling.”

“No, thank you,” I reply, thinking that if I am pregnant, I don’t want to hurt it anymore than the stress of this situation already is.

“Drink,” Yaroslava snaps and Nastya returns to me with the bottle. She pushes it hard against my lips, holding my head in place by my hair. When it filters into my mouth I start choking again and push her hand away so hard the bottle drops to the ground and smashes.

I feel her palm against my cheek, a sting, followed by the ringing of my ear. She just slapped me.

I glare at her as a handprint bubbles on the surface of my skin. I don’t touch it, I don’t give her the satisfaction.

“Nastya,” Yaroslava says but sounds more amused than annoyed as he pulls his daughter to his side and then pushes her behind him. “Now, to business.”

I look at Sargent who is being restrained by Stone and the other guard that escorted me here. He’s red-faced, I’ve never seen him so angry. Is that because of what she did? Why does he care? He was just fucking her.

“I’m going to ask you personally as you haven’t been forthright with Mr. Stone,” Yaroslava states, pulling his gun back out and twisting it in his hands. “Give me the name of the person who told our tales and if we investigate your innocence, we might let you go. Nearly twenty years of loyal service between us means I’m willing to be reasonable. To a point.”

“The person has been dealt with,” Sargent replies and I hear the desperation in his tone.

“I doubt that.” Yaroslava raises the gun to Sargent’s head and laughs loudly. “This is why I brought her. I had thought she meant more to you but finding you in bed with my only daughter has me questioning her usefulness. Still…” I watch as the long cylinder barrel of the gun slowly moves my way until it’s pointing directly at my eyes.

“No… she’s innocent,” Sargent yells. “Truly she has nothing to do with this.”

“Neither did he.” He nods to the body by the couch and the guard behind me chuckles as though this is a TV show and not real life. We’re nothing but cattle to these people. “Tick tock, Mr. Wolf. A name, please.”

“He made a mistake,” Sargent yells, pulling forwards but he’s being held too tightly. “He did what anybody would have done.”

“Who?” Yaroslava asks calmly, his mask still one of happiness. He’s so fucked up. “Not why, Mr. Wolf, but who?”