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Ekaterina hadn’t stolen the game. She fucking started it.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Ekaterina was supposed to be terrified of me—so much so that the fear would gradually turn into an obsessive love. And I was going to worship every fucking step she took.
On some level, the game was just that. However, she was far from afraid. She was cocky and arrogant and had no terror when it came to me. Ekaterina held power so high it almost made me die.
And that infuriated me the most. My knuckles turned white on the steering wheel, my jaw locked, my eyes narrowed. Nothing about my current state was pleasant, and she was about to fucking learn that I wasn’t a man she should’ve messed with.
I let out a loud laugh. Filled with venom, it ignited a deep flame within—a flame so powerful, nothing would ever be able to put it out.
It was Ekaterina’s flame against mine, and I was going to make sure hers dimmed first. It was the only way to reshape her and reform her into the person I wanted her to be—needed her to be.
Another wave of laughter slipped out as a realization dawned upon me—she wanted to end the game because she’d found out about everything. However, I wasn’t going to let her drag my mother down to hell with us. Because if someone was going to die, it would be the two of us. It was kind of poetic, dying for the same blood we wanted to live for.
I shook my head—the shock was still there, lingering. How the fuck had I not noticed it sooner? She’d spent years learning everything about my life, then acted innocent.
Ekaterina had fucking stalked me into stalking her.
T W E N T Y – F I V E
ADRIK Ivanov.
I knew everything about the man, from his birthplace to his latest victim. I knew the day he became Davorin, and I knew how his first kill had gone. Those records were sealed, but I’d accessed them years ago.
So how the hell had I not seen this coming?
It was probably because it was my father’s doing. I never paid close attention to him or his shenanigans. If my father wanted something buried, it would remain buried until he decided it was time for it to be brought into the world.
Perhaps that was how Brianne fit into the story. I doubted she’d sent me that message about Davorin’s work relating to my family just to get her revenge. That wasn’t going to do much for her—she was already dead and buried somewhere no one was ever going to find her.
It crossed my mind that she too was a part of my father’s schemes and that her role had lain elsewhere. But I didn’t bother to keep thinking about it, and after a last glance at my phone, I threw it away.
I’d bought myself a burner phone with Adrik’s number in it. He no longer deserved to be called Davorin. It was the name he’d chosen—God of Death—as someone who’d never failed to kill one of his targets. Now he had, and it was me.
And he was never going to be able to kill me.
I had to admit, at first I was uncertain what I’d be getting with the woman in the back seat. I glanced at her through the rearview, and she looked pretty much out of it. Her eyes were locked on the window, and she rarely blinked.
When five o’clock in the afternoon hit, I grinned widely. I waited for another ten minutes, with some low music playing in the car. I hummed to the song whilst trying to contain my anger. Soon, it would be time for me to unleash all the wrath I had within, but not yet.
I dialed his number, contentment filling me when he picked up after the first ring.
“What the hell are you doing, little lion?”
His voice was way too calm for someone whose mother had just been taken. I remained silent for a little while, before a low chuckle slipped out. I glanced at his mother again, but she was unresponsive.
“Oh, I’m not doing anything.” I laughed. “You should be asking me what Iamgoing to do.”
He paused. “Let her go.”
“The only way she’ll leave is in a body bag. And you, Adrik, have less than an hour to find us. Tick-tock.”
I hung up on him. The window opened with the press of a button, and I threw the phone out. I didn’t need it anymore, and although it couldn’t be traced, I didn’t want to receive numerous phone calls from him. A wicked smirk crossed my face—the real game was about to begin.
“Hey, Galina,” I called to the woman in the backseat. Slowly, with a blink, she turned her head to look at me. “How would you feel about taking a walk in the park?”
Her eyes brightened, and a smile appeared. From her medical file, I knew she enjoyed walks in the park, in springtime especially. The weather was good today—no rain, no mud. It was a perfect opportunity to get her to talk to me.
Galina Ivanova suffered from dementia—Alzheimer’s to be precise. She was heavily medicated, and I was positive she didn’t know what day it was, or where the hell she was. Most of the time, she was lost in her own thoughts, kept to herself, and rarely talked, even to the nurses.
