Heart of the Devil Read online

  “He doesn’t want me anymore,” I say as I twist open the cap of the water.

  “Why would you say that?”

  I take a sip and decide I have nothing to lose by telling Belevich what happened. When I finish, he leans on the two back legs of the chair and motions at me with his now empty bottle.

  “That is interesting, but it does not mean what you think. If de Vere cannot have you, maybe he does not want anyone to have you. Then again, if he got rid of Forge, he would change his tune quickly. After all, you are the daughter of one of the world’s richest men. Even de Vere couldn’t walk away from a temptation like that. Especially now that he’s been cut off by his family.”

  I swallow a lump that rose in my throat as he spoke. “Are you sure . . . totally sure . . . that my father wouldn’t . . .” I try to figure out how to phrase the question I want to ask, but Belevich doesn’t need to hear it.

  “Federov would not kidnap Forge. From what I know, the two men have much respect for each other.” Belevich leans forward, and the legs of the chair hit the floor. “Which is why you are right—we should call your father for help.”

  5

  Forge

  I jerk awake as someone grips my hands and another person grabs my feet.

  Through my duct-tape gag, I yell, but I’m trussed up like a fucking swine that’s about to be spit roasted as they haul me out of the van. Hinges squeak and footsteps echo on concrete as I breathe in the scent of blood.

  Another door groans as it opens, sending cold air over my face, and goose bumps rise on my skin. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees, but we’re not outside anymore.

  My hands are lifted above my head and hooked over something. Fuck. It’s a walk-in cooler. As soon as my feet are released, my entire body weight jerks at my shoulders as gravity kicks in. I dangle, unable to touch my bound feet to the floor.

  “Boss?” a man asks.

  “Coming,” another man with a Russian accent replies.

  Someone steps close enough for me to feel his body heat, but I can’t see anything with my eyes covered until someone shoves the fabric up. I blink in the dim light, trying to focus on the pale blue eyes staring back at me. The rest of his face is obscured by a balaclava. He reaches out and tears away the duct tape covering my mouth with one quick yank, taking skin off with it.

  I swipe my tongue out to taste blood once more and grit my teeth together. Focusing on how badly I want to rip his head from his body, I push everything else aside.

  “I don’t know who the fuck you are or who’s paying you, but—”

  His mouth opens and he huffs out a laugh. “Let me guess. You can pay me more to double-cross them? Original.” His accent is solidly eastern European, and my gut clenches.

  He can’t be working for Federov. Federov wouldn’t fucking do this. Would he? That’s the billion-dollar question. I pissed him off, and I’ve heard plenty of stories about his ruthless reprisals before, but I never thought he’d dare with me.

  “Take the fucking mask off, you piece of shit. Let me see your face. Tell me who you work for.” I bark out the orders, knowing that they won’t be followed, but I still have to try.

  “Who I work for will not matter, because you will die, Forge . . . and then what will happen to that pretty little wife of yours?”

  As soon as he mentions Indy, rage turns to ice in my veins. They can torture me. Peel the fucking skin from my body. But if they fucking dare touch one hair on her head . . . I’ll burn the entire world down.

  “You motherfuck—” I swing backward, using the momentum to lift my legs and kick out at him, but a blow from behind cracks against the back of my skull, and my entire body goes limp as blackness invades once more.

  6

  India

  I stare at Belevich like he’s sprouted a second head. “You really think my father would help?”

  Having never had a father, I’ve never had one to ask for help, so it’s a completely foreign concept to me. Why would a man I don’t know help me?

  “Yes. Of course he would. And even though we are not in Russia, his power extends beyond borders.”

  Under normal circumstances, I might be intimidated by the knowledge that this stranger’s power is so great that it can’t be contained in one country, but right now, I’m glad. That is, if he’s not the one behind the kidnapping. How the hell can I know for sure?

  Belevich can say that my father and Jericho respect each other, but what if he’s wrong? Am I willing to bet Jericho’s life on Belevich’s word when I can’t figure out why he knows so much about what’s going on?

  And what if this is all some kind of trap? What if Belevich is setting me up . . . and Jericho? He says his angle is to curry favor with my father, but I’m not sure what to believe anymore.

  “What could he do to help?” I ask. The only thing I can do right now is gather as much information quickly, so that I can make this life-or-death decision as intelligently as possible. Play the man, not the game. My poker maxim applies here too.

  “Last I knew, Federov had many Interpol agents on his payroll. They can access the security system at the hotel and find out who took him. And that is just the start of it.”

  The walls of the tiny break room feel like they’re closing in on me as Belevich speaks. My father has Interpol agents on his payroll?

  “How would we even get in touch with him?” I ask. “It’s not like I have his phone number.”

  Belevich smiles and slides his phone from his pocket before holding it up. “But I do.”

  With eyes that feel like they’re bugging out of my head, my gaze darts between Belevich’s face and the phone. “You have my father’s number. On your phone. As in, you could call him anytime?”

  Belevich nods slowly.

  He knows way more than he’s telling me.

  I bolt out of my chair and back away from him, reaching out behind me for the door frame. “Who the fuck are you? Are you one of his henchmen? You told me not to attract attention from the Bratva guys in the hotel, but how the fuck do I know you’re not even worse?”

  Belevich turns in his chair and throws an arm over the back, watching me with a raised eyebrow like he’s amused that I’m two seconds from running.

  “You can trust me or not, Indy. But you need to decide fast. Every moment we delay, there may be less of your husband for you to collect.”

  My stomach revolts at the image his words conjure—Jericho broken and bleeding somewhere—but I force it down because I can’t handle even picturing it. Since the moment I first saw Jericho Forge, he’s been the very definition of larger than life. Untouchable. Practically immortal. I can’t stand, even for a second, to picture him hurt or in danger.

  If he dies, it will break me.

  The absolute truth rises up from the deepest part of my soul. I’m in love with Jericho Forge, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let him die before I get a chance to tell him that. Whatever I have to pay, barter, or bargain to get him back, I will do it.

  “Call my father. Call him right now.”

  “As you wish.” Belevich taps the screen on his phone and lifts it to his ear.

  He speaks in Russian for a few moments while I hold my breath, wondering if I’ve made the wrong choice. But what other choice did I really have? None.

  I wait for Belevich to offer the phone to me, so I can speak to this stranger who is my father, but instead, he finishes the short conversation and hangs up.

  My eyes lock on his face. “What? What’s going on? Doesn’t he want to talk to me? Who the fuck did you really call?” Distrust batters at my insides, and I wish I had Goliath’s gun in my hand at that very moment to threaten Belevich to get the truth.

  “Calm down. He will speak to you soon.”

  I wrap my hand around the doorjamb and my entire body tenses, poised to bolt at the first possible sign that he has somehow screwed me over. “What the hell does that mean? He’s calling you back?”

  Belevic
h shakes his head as my mind races. “No. He’s already here. In Prague. For you.”

  My heartbeat thunders in my ears, and static makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end as I try to make sense of what he said.

  My father is in Prague. For me.

  “What? Why? Why the fuck would he be here?”

  I take a step back, jerking my gaze off Belevich for a second to scan the silent hallway, as if I’m afraid the boogeyman is going to reach out from behind me and drag me away.

  Belevich rises from the chair. “Federov says he came to watch you play in the grand prix. I did not see him, otherwise I would have told you before. But like you, my attention was on the game, not the crowd.”

  He could be lying to me. All of this could be bullshit. He could have just called in a Russian hit squad to take out me and Goliath to finish the job they started in the hotel.

  My jaw sets as I shake my head. “I don’t trust you.”

  Belevich studies my face. “At this point, it does not matter whether you trust me or not. I have no ill will toward you or Forge.”

  “Do you work for my father?” I bite out the question.

  It’s the only explanation that could possibly make sense. Why else would Belevich help me? Why else would he have his number? How else could he have known about Summer? He must have some inside connection he hasn’t disclosed.

  Before Belevich can reply, shoes squeak against the linoleum, and I whip around to see Dr. Novotny in the hallway. I jump back from the doorway into the hall, not wanting to get trapped inside the break room.

  She doesn’t say anything about my abrupt movements, just sweeps a curious look over my tense form before speaking. “Your friend is going to be fine. He will need to be careful with his shoulder for a while, and while the pain will not be pleasant, he will heal.”

  I study her face for signs that she’s lying—eye movement, shifting of her head position, heavier breathing, unusual stillness—but I don’t see any of them.

  “You’re sure?” I ask, still not certain if I want to believe her completely, because I haven’t seen Goliath emerge from the treatment room yet.

  “Yes. He was very lucky.” She glances at Belevich. “Now you need to go. All of you.”

  “We cannot go yet,” Belevich replies, stepping toward us.

  “Why not?” Dr. Novotny snaps.

  “Because Grigory Federov is on his way to meet his long-lost daughter.”

  Dr. Novotny stills for a few beats before whipping her head to the side to look at me, wide-eyed. “This is Illyana Federov?” Her jaw hangs slack as she scans me from head to toe.

  The name sounds completely foreign as I repeat it in my head. Illyana.

  “Yes, and I’m sure you will have his gratitude for assisting her,” Belevich adds.

  She seems to gather herself, wiping away the traces of shock. “Fine. I will clean up, but you must leave as soon as possible. I do not want to attract more attention than we already have. This neighborhood has eyes everywhere. There is no telling how many people have already seen your fancy car outside, and who they have told.”

  “Thank you, Marina. I’m in your debt.”

  “Indeed you are. I hope you live long enough to repay it, Mitri.”

  With her ominous statement, Dr. Novotny retreats from the room, leaving Belevich and me alone . . . waiting for Grigory Federov to arrive.

  7

  India

  The next ten minutes seem to last an eternity, but eventually someone raps on the locked back door of the clinic.

  In the treatment room, I take a step toward Goliath, who checks the screen of his phone and shoves it into his pocket. I keep praying he’ll say he got a message from Jericho, but there hasn’t been one yet. He looks a little unsteady as he rises to his feet with a makeshift sling cradling his left arm, but even in his banged-up state, his right hand shifts to the gun tucked into his pants. He’s my only friend here, and the one thing I regret is not being able to get him alone so we could discuss what our plan B is if my decision blows up in our faces.

  I keep asking myself—what would Jericho do? The only answer I can come up with is stick to Goliath like he’s my last hope for survival, which he very well might be.

  Belevich’s voice comes from the hallway, and a much deeper, gruffer voice replies in what I assume is Russian. Why didn’t I learn Russian? Oh, wait, that’s right, because I didn’t know that I was Russian.

  The deeper voice has to be my father’s. Or at least, the man who claims to be my father.

  I’ve never been so unsure of what to do in my life since the day I realized Summer and I were on our own for good because our mother wasn’t coming back for us.

  The soles of shoes slap against the linoleum floor, and I straighten my shoulders as if preparing for battle. The only choice I have is to meet whatever fate my decisions have brought head-on.

  If it brings Jericho home to me, that’s all that matters.

  I remind myself for the hundredth time in the last ten minutes that Jericho liked my father enough to do business with him, and I’m hoping it wasn’t a huge mistake to contact the man. Jericho would want me to stay safe. And I want to have an army at my back to save him. If this is what it takes to get that army, then so be it.

  As Goliath and I wait in the treatment room, I find myself wishing we’d chosen somewhere with a second door, so we could escape if we needed to run. Why didn’t I plan an escape route? Why didn’t he?

  Before I can answer that question, a man appears in the doorway.

  As soon as his gaze lands on me, his craggy features soften enough to change his entire countenance from stony and forbidding to mortal man.

  “Illyana.” He whispers the Russian name that I never knew was mine as he crosses himself like he’s in church. “You are the image of your mother.” He presses a giant fist to his mouth as he stares at me with tears gathering in his eyes.

  But his statement is completely wrong. “You’re mistaken. I look nothing like my mother,” I tell him, slipping behind Goliath’s shoulder.

  Federov’s features harden beneath his steel-gray hair, and the tears are blinked away like they never existed.

  “That bitch, Nina, wasn’t your mother. Nina took you from me. She wanted to hurt me in the most painful way, and she did. I have waited years for this moment. She stole your life from you. She stole a lifetime from us. May she rot in hell where I sent her.” His harsh tone punctuates every word with a growl.

  Disbelief settles over me like a cold shroud, and my mouth drops open into an o. The beats of my heart come slower, pounding in my ears. My tongue sticks to my teeth as my mouth goes dry.

  Nina was the name we were never supposed to call my mother, for a reason she never explained.

  “What do you mean . . . Nina wasn’t my mother?”

  Federov bares his teeth and looks skyward, hauling in a deep breath that expands his barrel-like chest. He holds it for a moment before releasing it and focusing on me once more.

  “Your mother, Irina, passed away a week before that bitch took you. Nina wanted to leave me with nothing after I cast her out.”

  I press my dry lips together and try to make sense of what the hell he’s saying. It’s not the thick accent making him difficult to comprehend, but an entire life’s worth of lies.

  “Who . . . who was Nina then?” Nina wasn’t my mother. My breathing turns shallow as I grapple with the truth.

  His nostrils flare like a bull sighting a red cape. “My mistress, to my lifelong regret.”

  Oh. My. God.

  The heartbeat thudding in my ears grows louder. The woman I’ve always thought was my mother . . . was my father’s mistress. Which means . . .

  Summer isn’t my sister.

  I stare at him, stricken with the realization. “She . . .” I try to form a sentence, but I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to say. What to think. What to feel.

  How is this possible? This can’t be possible.

&nb
sp; But there’s no sign that Federov is deceiving me. He watches me as I open my mouth again and again, probably gaping like a fish. Finally, he takes pity on me and explains.

  “Nina was a vengeful woman, and I will never be able to beg your forgiveness for what I let happen. You were vulnerable because of me, Illyana. It was my fault she took you. But I have never stopped searching for you, even after they told me you were dead.”

  The room spins around me as I grapple with his confession. Goliath claps a hand on my shoulder to stop me from tipping over.

  “Illyana, please. Sit down. You are . . . pale.” Federov’s rugged features shift to concerned.

  I’ve been wrestling with this changing reality since finding out that I have a father, but this . . . this is more than I can handle.

  My breathing continues to quicken, and I force it to slow. Focus, Indy. Focus on what matters—Jericho. Everything else can wait.

  The only thing I care about right now is getting my husband back safely. I take all the information—about my father, his mistress, and my sister—and I shove it into a little box deep inside me and slam the lid shut. Straightening my shoulders, I meet my father’s blue gaze, which looks uncannily like mine. No. Don’t think about that.

  I lift my chin higher. “I need your help. Jericho was taken. I need you to help me get him back.” I’m proud my statements come out sounding authoritative rather than trembling like my hands as I clench them into fists.

  Federov’s lips press together in a hard line, and for a moment, I fear he won’t agree. He’s not allowed to say no.

  “Before you say anything, you should know this—if you want any hope of a relationship with me, you will help me right now. If you don’t, then this moment is all you’ll ever have to remember me by, because I’ll disappear and you’ll never see me again.”