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He has the haggard look of a grieving man, but I don’t trust it.
“I’m going to ask you some questions, and if I don’t like your answers, you’re dead.”
“What the hell is the matter with you? Our uncle is dead, and you nearly died.”
“Your mother is behind everything.”
“What?” He raises his voice and gives me and incredulous glare. “My mother?”
“She is the Mark. She drugged me and blew up the fucking house. But she had help.” I press the button and replay the video for him to see.
He looks as astonished as me, and the blood drains from his face, leaving him sickly pale.
Despite me pointing the gun at him, he moves to the laptop, shakes his head, and does the same thing I did by replaying the clip again and again.
“This can’t be. Zakh wouldn’t do this.”
“But he did. So, start talking, Malik. Are you in with them? Are you fucking playing me as well?”
“No, Jesus Christ, Desmier. I rescued you. Why the fuck would I rescue you if I were with them?”
“Zakh looked like he was helping me, too.”
“Think. You’re not fucking thinking straight. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead already. There’d be a bullet in your fucking head. What the hell have I got to gain from bringing you back here?” He slams a fist into the side of his leg and bares his teeth.
As I stare back at him, logic kicks in. He’s right.
Mira wanted me dead. She immobilized me to make sure I died, and she thinks I’m dead now. Why would he keep me alive if he was doing her bidding?
I lower the gun and shake off the shock. Time is ticking by, and I’m wasting it acting crazy.
“She has Anastasia. I have to get her back, Malik. Do you have any ideas about where she could have taken her?”
He thinks for a moment. “There are a couple of places we could check.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
Grief and pain are pushed into the ether as we move.
I thought I had nothing left to lose, but Anastasia is everything. I have to get her back.
ChapterFifty
Anastasia
My heart has been smashed into so many pieces it’s impossible to count them all. It’s no different to all the grains of sand in this world.
My mind and body are disconnected, and my soul weeps for losing the love of my life. All that is left of me is an empty shell with nothing but a void inside.
The only thing I can feel is the spark of life created with love in my belly, calling to me to stay alive. But I’ve already failed as a mother because there’s nothing I can do.
In my terror and grief, I’m here sitting on the floor of the bedroom I was taken to after Mira killed Dad, feeling sorry for myself.
I don’t know what this place is. It seems like Mira conducts something medical here. Apart from the armed guards, on my way up I saw offices and labs with clinical staff. I also saw other storage rooms and bedrooms like this.
We’re on the third floor, so quite high up with no possible way of escape. If I were to even try, I’m sure this shitty tunic Mira forced me to wear would get me the wrong kind of attention. I look like I escaped from a hospital, and I’m sure the rest of me looks that way as well.
Dad’s blood was all over me from head to toe. I’ve been cleaned off, but as far as I’m concerned, I could still be covered in it. My skin remembers the feeling, and that copper scent still assaults my nose. The image of so much red and the man who assumed the role as my father dead will never leave me.
