Ultimate Vengeance (Wanted Men Book 4)(27)

He tipped his head, giving her a patronizing look that she didn’t see because her wet eyes rolled back in her head as she lost consciousness.

“Your pointless dramatics have become more than a nuisance.” He jerked away from her, still taking deep, slow breaths, hoping to get a grip on himself before he did something stupid like kill this one because she was in front of him.

He paced in a circle and felt his pulse begin to slow as his and Alek’s conversation played over in his head.

When Alek had first ended his relationship with Sacha, Sergei had been tasked with babysitting the girl, and he had, but only for a short time. Once she changed locations to an address he hadn’t shared, he’d considered his job done and had pretended to lose her. But by then, he’d been busy. His resolve had cemented. Within weeks of being left alone in his misery, and with nothing but his thoughts for company—aside from the ghosts of his loved ones, of course—he’d gotten serious in his attempts to destroy the organization that had done such irreparable damage to his life.

It wasn’t until last spring that he’d returned to visit Alek’s ex. And he’d only done so because he’d heard Alek had a P.I. searching for her. He’d stationed himself across the street from her building to make sure she was still in residence and had been stunned to see she was about to have a baby. He’d questioned an old, chatty resident and learned what a nice young girl “Sarah” was. Again, satisfied she and the child she would soon have were safely hidden, he’d let them be. Not once had he suspected she might become involved with another man. While she was pregnant? How could she?

He pushed the thought away. Who cared? His mistake had been in not scaring her away. He should have made her leave the New York area altogether. He would do that now. There must be something he could come up with that would hurt enough to make her once more walk away from the man she loved. The man she really loved. How could she be with someone else? How could she be so disloyal? That was infuriating.

He shook his head to dislodge the thought again and got back to what mattered. If she wouldn’t go voluntarily, he would resort to desperate measures. He’d done it before and was willing to do it again.

“Her reappearance is going to fuck with my timeline,” he muttered aloud as he recapped the empty syringe before tossing it into the trash. He ran his hand over his guest’s unwashed hair. She’d need to bathe soon. He hated that day of the week but could do nothing to change it. He couldn’t leave her in her own filth. Well, anymore more than he already was.

After leaving the small room, he stood outside the door that couldn’t be opened from the inside and cocked his head. Silence. They’d never used the basement much, but it wasn’t the absence of noise he heard, it was the absence of life.

As would be found in other homes, there was no music playing, no TV blaring, no dishes being done or snack being prepared. No one was arguing, or playing, or laughing.

Because this wasn’t a home anymore. It was a house. A silent house.

But that was preferable to his guest’s nonsense, he thought as he got moving. It wasn’t the banging and shouting that bothered him. It was the crying. He hated hearing it because it reminded him of tears he’d ignored by slamming out of the house, impatient to get away from them when at one time he would have done anything to stem them. That was what made him sedate his guest.

It was always worse when she screamed for her child, as she’d be doing a few minutes ago. That sometimes caused him to lose his temper. He’d never done her permanent damage, but he’d hurt her. But not even that stopped her from shouting that name over and over, and continuously attempting to gain her freedom. But as he told her time and again, her tenacity was admirable but futile. She was going nowhere. She would remain in that room no larger than a bathroom until the day she died. Whether that be of natural causes or he killed her, he still hadn’t decided.

Rubbing at his forehead, he could almost hear her begging.

“Please, just let me go. I won’t tell a soul what you look like or that you kept me here. I just want to go home. Please! Let me out of here!”

Sometimes she changed it up and asked why he’d done this, claiming she wasn’t a part of their world. And she wasn’t. Not directly. But indirectly, the tie was there. Love was love, and family was family. Pain was pain.

Dead was dead.

In his case, anyway.

As he walked through the beautifully decorated living room toward the stairs, he felt nothing. Not guilty. Not even bad. He was a yawning pit of emptiness. And he would remain in that state when someone’s mother once more cried, begged, and made her promises. And, in the coming days, when someone’s brother did the same; if he allowed himself the satisfaction of getting close enough to hear those pleas, they would be ignored. He would not relent. Until they all felt his pain, he would continue on this path. That was his vow, and it was one he intended to keep.