Page 96 of Essence of Fear

Pav didn’t quite make it to the door—trying yet again to dial the correct fucking number on the stupid cell phone—when Grisha got ahold of him. The man grabbed the back of Pav’s jacket … a mistake, if there ever was one, and yanked hard.

It was enough to stop Pav.

He turned fast, his lips already pulled back to showcase bloody teeth as a sound left his mouth that was entirely inhuman. And yet, Grisha didn’t even blink at the sight. As tall and as wide as a brick shithouse, he wasn’t easily intimidated.

He should be scared of Pav.

Terrified.

And he just stood there.

“Are they coming back?” Grisha asked.

Pav blinked. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

“They got what they wanted. I … have to go.”

He turned, but Grisha was still there, blocking his path as he scooted past him in the hallway. A part of Pav was warring with himself on the inside. He didn’t want to hurt this man—he didn’t want to ruin a part of his past. The one connection to his father that he had left. But he was going to do it if Grisha didn’t get the fuck out of his way, and fast.

“Get out of the way,” Pav said, his voice pained.

“Let me help.”

“Help?”

“That’s what I said. Give me the phone—I will call. You’re not in any kind of state right now, Pavel. Give me the phone, dammit.”

Grisha didn’t give him the opportunity to argue when the man simply yanked the phone out of Pav’s hand. To his credit, Pav was starting to think he was three seconds away from vomiting all over the floor from the intense pounding in his head.

Concussion?

Probably.

“What is the number you want to call?” Grisha asked.

Why wouldn’t his heart calm?

Why did his hands hurt?

Maybe because he’d balled them into tight fists at his sides to keep them still and hide their shaking. Now, his fingernails were cutting into his skin, causing him more pain, but he didn’t even care.

She was gone.

“Pavel!”

Pav rattled off the number he needed to call, and when Grisha had the call ringing through, he handed the phone back. Phone at his ear, Pav turned his back to his father’s old friend, listening to the call ring and fucking ring.

Pick up. Fucking pick up.

On the fifth ring, just before the voice mail, Konstantin finally picked up the goddamn phone call. Pav wasn’t sure what he expected the man to say. A hello, maybe, because there would be no possible way Konstantin could know what happened here tonight.

Pav fucked up.

They weren’t supposed to leave the hotel.

This was his fault.