Dr Meera Saravana has been on the run for the last ten years due to a fatal misunderstanding. She ends up in New York, hoping that maybe this time everything will work out. But that's turning out to be impossible the more she gets involved with the...
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The Crystal Millennium was a yacht that had no businesses being as fancy as it was. The room smelled of fresh varnish and fresh linen. The walls were painted scarlet, making the space seem smaller and more confining.
I sat on the edge of the ridiculously large bed, staring out the long island sound as we drifted on by. The sounds of the waves hitting the hull of the ship kept me sane. I counted them like heartbeats.
Ivan wouldn't actually come here, right?
He's smart. He knows what a terrible idea it would be to agree to Zoya's terms—whatever they are.
"Please tell me he's not that stupid," I groaned, putting my head in my hands.
The last thing I wanted was for him to get hurt because I wasn't careful. Besides, why would he even come for me? Because he smiles at me? Because I kissed his cheek a few times? Because I asked him stupid questions?
Anyone could do that. But I'm not anyone am I? Eddie had told me I was important to him. Yeah, I suppose he had become important to me too. I've learned several things since I've come to New York. One of those lessons is that keeping someone close to you is like stabbing yourself in the heart.
I winced as I stood up. My abdomen had been wrapped up in bandages making me feel like a mummy. The cut on my cheek had a band aid over it. I lifted my hand to touch it, hissing as I pulled it away.
It wasn't a deep cut but the edges were raw, red, and crusted with blood. I turned on the faucet, splashing a handful water on my face.
My face stung as I tried my best to clean the cut on my face. There was no iodine or antiseptics here, I doubted they would give me any if I asked. I was on my own with a store bought bandaid and my wits.
I needed to keep it together. I've been in worse situations. I could make it through.
"Don't panic," I told myself, my voice sounding unconvincing. "Don't panic. If you panic, you die."
My reflection looked rabid.
Looking at myself was like looking into the past. I couldn't stand to see the defeat in my own eyes. My long black hair was messy with strands sticking out and my skin was covered in brushes. I picked at the collar of mu shirt, making a face at the stain if blood on it. I glanced away, looking down at the white marbled basin instead.
My head was swimming and my thoughts were drowning in a storm of anxiety and fear.
I could hear the door open and the sound of heavy footsteps. I didn't look up from the blood tinged water draining away. It felt like a dreadful omen.
"Mr. Zoya will see you now," someone said in a thick accent. "He doesn't like it when his guests are tardy."
"Oh yeah," I said, running my fingers through my hair. I glared at Gorik through the mirror. "What about his prisoners? Does he prefer to killed them and then interrogate them?"
