Chapter 123 123

Chapter 123 123
KOLYA

I walked away.

I fucking walked away.

What I should have done is bust into that pathetic apartment and shoot Adrian in the face like I did to my father. But even when my hand clasped the handle of my gun, I couldn’t bring myself to follow through.

I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it.

Because despite the burning betrayal that’s still funneling its way through my consciousness, I want more information from Adrian.

Shit like: What did she look like towards the end? Did she still love the piano? Was she looking forward to death or was she scared to go?

I don’t even know where he buried her. If he buried her at all. Maybe she wanted to be cremated. Maybe she wanted to be thrown into the sea.

I don’t fucking know.

And it’s killing me.

Of course, the second reason I hadn’t busted into that apartment was because of her. Because even though Adrian was more than likely capable of twisting June’s loyalties away from me, I still couldn’t bring myself to do anything that would hurt her.

And watching the father of her child take a bullet through the eyes would definitely hurt her.

I glance up and notice the bartender watching me warily. He’s a big guy, but the anxiety on his face belongs to someone half his size. I frighten him.

Good.

I raise the empty glass in my hand. “I’ll take another.”

He raises his eyebrows. “That’s four in pretty quick succession, my friend.”

“You think I can’t count?”

“You just seem like you might be in a dark place,” he says hesitantly. “Alcohol doesn’t usually mix with a bad mood.”

I pull out two hundred-dollar bills and slam it on the countertop in front of him. “Why the fuck do you care?”

He eyes the dollar bills hungrily. “You’re right,” he says with a nod. “I don’t.” Then he scoops up the money and proceeds to pour me my fifth glass.

“And keep them coming,” I order him.

“Got it, boss.”

He serves me the drink and moves to the far corner of the bar, where a dark-haired beauty is sitting. She’s been there for the last forty minutes, and I’m fairly certain the reason she hasn’t moved is because of me.

Her hair is jet black, freshly ironed, like it’s carved out of obsidian. Her features, though, are dainty. Sweet. Unblemished. Like June, before the scars and the car crash and all the things that have been ripped away from her time and time again.

She gives me a small, nervous smile. I don’t bother returning it before I turn my gaze back to my glass.

Jesus, I thought he just refilled it? I’m seeing the bottom already.

I drain the rest and push it away from me. I rap my knuckles against the bar counter twice, and seconds later, he’s pouring again.

“Good man,” I growl without looking up.

He gives me a satisfied nod and moves to take another customer’s order. I can still feel the June imitation staring at me. Her desire pulsates between us like the air itself is throbbing.

But I couldn’t be less interested. My mind is still up in that cramped, overheated apartment. I hadn’t stuck around to hear how their little confrontation ended. June had asked the right questions and my brother’s answers were rehearsed and hollow, so obviously self-serving that I wanted to puke right on the threshold.

So why can’t she see that?

Why is it so easy for him to convince her that I’m the one feeding her a story?

Of course he was confident. Liars always are. And he had every reason to be. After all, if our mother could swallow his lies about me, why not June?

My mother believed me, so why the fuck can’t you?

She believed him.

Then she died.

The moment those words had left Adrian’s mouth, all I could hear was the siren of my own rage rushing through my ears. I knew if I stayed there another second longer, that people would die.

And even if she didn’t believe me, even if she chose Adrian over me—June still didn’t deserve that.

So I left.

I’d landed right here, on this miserable stool in this miserable bar, with my sixth vodka in my hand and little motivation to think about anything past the next hour.

“Hi.”

I glance to my side to discover that the black-haired June doppelganger is standing in front of the empty stool next to me. Her expression is nervous but hopeful.

“Are you waiting for someone?” she asks timidly.

“No.”

It wasn’t an invitation by any stretch, but she sits down regardless. Up close, I can see the cracks in her foundation. She’s wearing far too much of it.

“I’m Cara.”

I grunt wordlessly in response.

“So—bad night?” she presses.

What is wrong with women? I ponder idly. They hone in on the most dysfunctional, broken men they can find and then they’re shocked when he leaves them the same way the rest of them did. When his infection spreads. When he reels them down to his level.

“Same here,” she says when I don’t answer. “My friends dragged me out so I’d forget about my ex.” When I still say nothing, she twists in her stool to face me. “Are you heartbroken about something, too?”

I laugh bitterly. “First, I’d need the heart.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be drinking so much.” She chews at her lower lip in a way that makes my chest throb painfully. She does it like June does, I realize. “Listen, I don’t need to know your story. I just… think we can make each other feel better for a little while.” As she talks, she places her hand on the crook of my elbow. Her touch is soft and light, feathery—and not even one percent tempting.

“You need to get the fuck away from me,” I snarl. “Now.”

A smarter woman would have listened. A smarter woman would have jumped off the damn bar stool and high-tailed it out of here.

But the lesser June just fixes me with hopeful, desperate eyes.

“You don’t have to—”

Before she can finish her sentence, I follow my instincts and rip my hand away from her. She gasps and pulls her hands up to her chest.