✓ WICKED VOWS| JAKE (Book II )

57-The Road To Hell

Jake's pov

Days soon became interminable toil, one heavier than the other. Anastasia's search was unstoppable; each lead was no bigger than a shadow that would vanish at a very moment when it already appeared real. I sat late into the night in my office, the only light coming from the dim glow of the computer screen. The mansion was silent, but the silence was one of those kinds that feels thick, oppressed like it's just dying to swallow you whole. A loop of CCTV footage played, frame after uneventful frame, mocking me with their emptiness. Anastasia had been too good; she had erased herself from the house as if she had never existed.

A knock at the door cut through the heavy silence. David entered; his face was grim.

"Luca's on the line, sir," he said, holding out the phone.

I took it-my grip too tight-"What do you have?"

"Nothing concrete," Luca said, frustration edging his tone. "But Eastern Europe had some residual movement. It's a long shot, but it could be her. We are tracking it."

"Eastern Europe," I said, my brain racing. "Why there?"

"Could be a safe house, a contact. We are still digging."

I rubbed a hand over my face. I could feel the weight of exhaustion settle into my bones. "Keep me updated."

I sat in the dark after the call, the silence closing in once more. I was losing her, slipping further and further away with each passing day. The only thing that kept me anchored to this grim reality was the need to understand and piece together what had happened that night.

Immediately, my mind flashed to my grandmother. Of course, there were whispers, whispers of Anastasia's involvement, engineering the accident as a screen for her disappearance. That was just the problem-whispers were all I had. Nothing concrete, nothing that could give me closure. Just this lingering sense of foreboding, like an eclipse over something inside.

Unable to bear the quiet a moment longer, I left my office and haunted the halls, my footsteps reverberating off the wide open spaces. My feet carried me, of their own accord it seemed, to the door of her old bedroom-the one from which she'd vanished. I hesitated for a heartbeat before pushing it open.

The room was clean; the maids had done a good job, taking out even a speck of the mess that once ruled here. Still, I could feel her presence, a shadow lurking somewhere just out of sight.

I paced the room, trying to fill in the gaps of my shattered memory. There was something that had to elude something hidden in the fog of those final moments before all went black.

Suddenly, a vision flashed before my eyes: Anastasia above me, desperation etched on her face, pressing a gun against her. The sharp crack of the shot, the burning pain in the chest, and then. It was gone. It had come and gone in that fraction of a second, leaving me with more questions than answers.

My hands tightened into fists as the frustration boiled over into anger. She was out there and predator-she had the answers I needed. Whether she was running from something or someone, or if she had betrayed me-it didn't matter. I would find her.

She's alive. She's alive.

The next morning, I phoned Luca, demanding more resources, and more men. This was no longer just a search; it was a hunt. And I wouldn't stop until she was back. Hours later, as the sun plunged below the horizon and threw the mansion deep into shadowy gloom, I received a call from David.

"Sir, a possible lead has popped up in Moscow. It's thin, but it's all we have." Moscow. The name ran a shiver down my spine. It was a place we'd been to once a lifetime ago, it seemed. Memories were dark, tainted by the blood that had been spilled there.