Series: Series by Ker Dukey
Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“Where is she? Her phone is off, and you didn’t give me your address.”
“And you’re never getting it,” Rodion barks at her.
She flashes him an icy smile. “I need her to try on her dress. You know how women’s hips get after having children. Normal sizes need altering.”
“Alyona’s hips are fucking perfect,” I growl.
Holding up her hands she raises a brow. “I didn’t say they weren’t.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and smirks.
Bitch.
Looking at her nails, she muses, “She also missed Jeremiah’s funeral.”
That gets my attention.
“They buried him?” Rodion mutters more to himself than to her.
“Of course they didn’t bury him.” Her tone drips with amusement. “There wasn’t much left to bury, so they opted for a wake instead.” She grimaces at the memory, rolling her eyes. “Ally didn’t miss anything. It was incredibly dull, but I felt obligated to go for Maddox’s sake.”
I can feel my brother’s glare on Vika without even turning to look. He’s seething. Hadn’t she bitched out Alyona for claiming that the drama surrounding Jeremiah and Adam’s controversy was overshadowing her wedding? And here she is, casually attending his wake as if it’s just another social gathering.
“Are you on drugs?” I ask, my nostrils flaring. I’m over this shit.
She swipes a hand across her nose, her eyes widening in surprise. Checking her hand for any powder, she replies, “What? No! Why would you ask that?”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
Pushing to my feet, I ask curtly, “Can you fuck off now?” Grabbing her wrist firmly, I shove her toward the exit.
“Wait,” she protests, pinning her hands against the door frame to prevent me from pushing her further. Like a fucking child. “I need to tell Ally that Adam is out.”
This time, my eyes fly to Rodion’s. “What the hell? You couldn’t have led with that?”
As if on cue, my phone starts ringing.
Releasing Vika, I answer her brother's call, “Viktor?”
“Can you come to my apartment?”
Viktor’s place is much like the man himself. Expensive furnishings, muted tones and clean, too clean. A female wearing nothing but faint scars over her pale flesh greets us at the door and is casually twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger.
“He’s in his office,” she informs us, pointing at a room at the end of a corridor while sashaying down the opposite direction toward a naked man, who grabs her up and disappears.
“I hope this isn’t what he wanted us to come over for,” I say, nudging Rodion’s shoulder playfully.
His soft chuckle offers little reprieve from the gloom and doom we've been living in for the past three days. He leads me down the hallway toward Viktor’s office, the soft humming of voices coming from inside. Rodion raps his knuckles against the door, and Viktor’s voice commands, “Come in.”
As we step inside, the atmosphere shifts back to solemn. Viktor sits behind his large desk, and he's not alone. Across from him, a man in ill-fitting slacks and a cheap, wrinkled shirt occupies a chair. Sweat stains spread from under his armpits and make my nose wrinkle. He gives us a hesitant nod, his eyebrows are wild and bushy, almost as if they are trying to escape his face.
“Rodion and Zahkar Vetrov, meet Police Chief Stanton,” Viktor introduces us.
“Fucking hell. How many more of you are there?” Stanton scoffs, his scrutinizing gaze traveling from the tips of our boots to our hairlines. “Good-looking bunch, aren’t ya?” He stands up and offers me his hand. His grip is clammy, and there’s a darkness in his eyes that I recognize all too well. I don’t like this man.
“Stanton has news about Adam Cunningham,” Viktor announces, a serious look crossing his face as he gestures toward a black leather sofa in the corner of the room.
Rodion settles onto the sofa, while I opt to lean against the armrest.
“Like I was telling your…” Stanton trails off, waving his hand toward Viktor, “brother? Cousin?”
“Friend,” Viktor corrects him, a hint of irritation in his voice as he leans back in his leather chair, placing his arms on the rests.
“Right, your friend. Well, as I was telling Tanner earlier, we’ve released Adam Cunningham from custody. We simply didn’t have enough evidence to justify holding him any longer.”
“How can that be possible? You pulled a body from the trunk of his car.” I cross my arms, dissecting this prick with narrowed eyes.
Shifting on his feet, he turns away from my glare. “He had an alibi for the alleged time of death and confirmed his brother confessed to the murder before then going on to kill himself.” He points a small, fat finger at me. If I didn’t think it would taste like salt and his ass crack, I may have bitten it off. “Dead men can’t argue their innocence.”
“It’s a clever angle. Makes sense,” Viktor says.
Stanton nods. “It’s the angle we’re happy with if we get to close the case. We have enough on our plates with the Doll Killer at large.”