Page 209 of Hate to Love You

Slowly, I shimmy out of my skirt and panties, before sitting down on the floor.

Reaching onto the recliner I grab my phone, before letting my legs fall open. Unlocking the screen, I quickly snap a picture before I open the text message thread.

Me

4:49 a.m.: Take a good hard look, Mr. Antonov. This is the last time you’ll see it.

Hitting send I throw my phone to the side again, before quickly putting my clothes back on.

My phone immediately vibrates but I ignore it.

Fuck no. I’m so done with this crazy piece of shit.

Chapter Thirty-One

ROMAN

Jaxon had just finished telling me about his ongoing battle with his ex-girlfriend’s brother Michael, and the devastating loss of his unborn son, when he got a phone call from his wife. That’s when the two of us realized that it was after four in the morning.

“My apologies, we lost track of time,” he says with a smile. “I’ll be back soon, Αγαπημ?νη.”

After a brief argument over the check, which I win, I settle our tab and the two of us go our separate ways.

“Take me to her,” I say to Cal, closing the door to the back seat of the Cadillac.

I know it’s late, and I know from the texts I’ve exchanged with Abby that I’m likely to catch far more hell than Jaxon, by showing up at her house at this ridiculous hour, but I don’t give a shit.

Ridiculous is on par for Abby and I.

And I need to see her. Now.

As Cal navigates the relatively deserted New York City streets I replay the conversation I had with Jaxon.

“Do you think she’s tried to kill you?”

Something about his question hasn’t exactly sat right with me since he asked.

I watched Abby slip something in Igor’s drink on camera. I don’t know what she used, I only know that my brother-in-law was dead a few hours later.

So was Boris. And Jacques. And Noah.

And as I think back through my interactions with Abby, I keep thinking back to that day in my office where she slapped the coffee out of my hand.

Had that been poisoned? Had she tried to kill me?

But then, at the same time she’s gotten me coffee dozens of times since then.

If she really wanted to kill me, she’s had plenty of opportunities to do so, and she would’ve had no reason to save my life when that man tried to gun me down outside the gala.

Jaxon had a fair point when he said that it is the nature of a serial killer to kill. But something doesn’t add up.

I need to know.

I need to ask her.

I need her to help me to understand why she does this.

A message comes through on my phone, lighting up the backseat of the darkened car, and I chuckle to myself.