“You shot my daughter?” The deadly calm in his voice is chilling.
“It was meant for the guy,” Nico protests, almost whining.
And because I’m mad at the entire situation and I feel like being a bitch, I pipe up, “And that Donovan guy pointed an assault rifle at me.”
Ivan scowls in my direction, then his murderous sneer is aimed at Nico. “Where the fuck is Donovan?”
“Said he had to go see a doctor friend. Ethan broke his nose.”
Pouring fuel on the fire, I add, “I haven’t eaten all day either. They kept me bound and gagged for the entire trip.”
I can’t see Nico, but he makes a choking sound. “I offered you food. You threw up on my shoes instead.”
“She got sick, too?” Ivan’s rage is palpable.
Scary, scary man.
I can actually sense his anger vibrating through the air.
Cracking his knuckles, he strides over to the other side of the desk. He pulls the top drawer out and slips something onto his right hand. It looks like four thick rings all attached to each other.
Brass knuckles.
Ivan charges Nico, and I hear a thump, a squish, and a crack as he hits him a few times.
Nico grunts with pain.
Part of me is like, yeah, kick that guy’s ass. The other part doesn’t like the thought of anyone getting beaten on my behalf.
Is this the fate that awaits Preston? Or has Ivan already dealt with him?
The thought is enough to make me nauseous again.
“Okay, okay,” I say, exasperated, and the punching stops. Without looking back at the damage Ivan has done to Nico, I wave my hands dramatically, clinking the chain loudly. “I get it. You’re this big bad man and no one should cross you. Could someone just get me a sandwich or something?”
“I’ll do it for you, miss,” Nico immediately offers, probably glad as hell to have a reason to get away from Ivan.
“Fine.” Coming over to the desk, Ivan drops his brass knuckles. They clank loudly when they hit the metal, and I flinch. There’s blood on them, but he doesn’t seem phased as he takes a black handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes off his hands. “Go to the deli down the street. Get her one of everything. While you’re out, give Donovan a call. I want him here.”
“Where’s Preston?” I ask, earning an annoyed look from my father.
“In deep shit.”
“If you hurt him…” I try to stand up, but the handcuffs prevent it.
Glowering at the cuffs, Ivan comes around the desk while getting a key from his suit pocket. He unlocks them, and I rub my wrists after the metal falls away. Without any respect for my personal space, he picks up my hand and inspects the raw skin.
“I apologize for this. They weren’t supposed to restrain you.”
“Guess I didn’t give them much of a choice.”
His lips tick up with a ghost of a smile. “My daughter, finally with me.”
“I want to be with Preston.” I snatch my hand away. “I need to see that he’s okay. I can forgive a lot of shit, but I’ll hate you forever if something bad has happened to him.”
Ivan must see how much I mean it, because he waits a few beats, then gives me a nod. Typing out a quick message on his cell phone, he sits behind his desk.
I expect him to pepper me with questions or try to get to know me. Instead, he sits quietly with his hands coolly folded over his stomach.
Maybe this is how he interrogates people. He just stares at them until they crack and start blabbing like I do.
“I didn’t want to come here,” I blurt, needing to segue into begging him not to punish Preston the way he did Nico.
“That much is obvious.”
“It’s not Preston’s fault that he didn’t bring me to you. I asked him to take me somewhere else. Somewhere far away.”
“That wasn’t your order to give. You’re not the one who hired him, darling.”
I bristle at the darling comment. “But I did marry him. As his wife, I think I’m a little more important to him than you.”
Ivan’s face gets dark. “You did what?”
Just then, the door behind me opens. Somehow, I know it’s Preston. I can feel him near me.
Now that I’m not chained to the chair, I jump up and turn around. Igor, with his sunglasses back in place, is assisting a groggy Preston. Before he’s even three feet inside the room, I’m running to him.
He engulfs me with one arm.
“Baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers into my hair. “So sorry.”
“Don’t,” I whisper back. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re alive, and that’s all I want right now.”
Just being close to him makes all my pains seep away, but my worry for him increases. His skin is ice cold. Shaking off the flannel I’m still wearing over the leather jacket, I drape it over his shoulders. I manage to get one of his arms into it, but his other hand still has a handcuff on it, and Igor isn’t letting go.
Suddenly, Preston and I are being separated. There must’ve been another thug behind Igor, because someone’s firmly guiding me back to my chair while Igor chains Preston to his.
No one breaks out the handcuffs for me again, but by the way Igor places himself between our chairs, it’s clear Preston and I are supposed to stay apart.
A wave of sadness causes a strong physical ache in my chest, and I fold in on myself with a whimper.
Splaying his hands on the desk, Ivan leans forward and studies me before straightening up. Slowly, he walks around the metal furniture between us and casually leans against it while using a softer tone with me. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you feeling unwell because of the trip?”
“She’s detoxing, asshole. You pumped her full of tranquilizer when her system is stressed.” Preston spits at Ivan’s feet. “Mother fucker.”
Instead of reacting with rage, Ivan’s eyes go wide and his face pinches with something close to regret. “She’s on drugs?” he asks him, then focuses on me. “You’re on drugs?”
“I’m not talking to you until you let me be with Preston.”
“Don’t you know his name is Ethan?” Ivan says almost mockingly. “He’s got you fooled.”
“I know who he is. I know him. And to me, he’s Preston.”
Ivan and I stare at each other, our two-toned eyes locked.
Steepling his hands against his chin, he looks from Preston to me. From me to Preston. Then he nods his permission.
I’m out of my chair so fast, I practically fall onto Preston’s lap. I touch his leg where he was shot with the darts. “Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?”
He puts his free arm around me. “I’m all right. Sore, but I’ll live.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” I kiss his cheek, his temple, his lips.
A throat clears.
Right.
Ivan.
“What have you been using?” he asks me. “I might deal drugs, but I don’t want you hooked on that shit.”
I laugh humorlessly. “Well, my mother doesn’t agree with you on that. Co-parenting would’ve been a disaster. No wonder you stayed away.”
“I don’t understand. What are you saying?”