But right now, I don’t give a f**k about anybody else. Grisha can deal.
Every second in the elevator is a nightmare. As soon as the doors open, I rush out and stride into the penthouse.
I’m greeted by a bloody sight.
The place is trashed. There’s no other word for it: carpets stained, couches gutted, furnishings overturned. It looks like someone put a hit on the apartment specifically.
They put a hit on April.
I find her in the kitchen. She’s serving coffee, of all things. Her hair’s a mess, dress stained red around her neckline. The left side of her face is sprayed with blood, too.
I charge to her side. “Are you hurt?”
April shakes her head. Without thinking, I move to brush the bloodstain off her cheek, but the mess only seems to get worse. I want to cart her out to the bathtub an
