Heart of My Monster (Monster Trilogy #3) by Rina Kent

“I received a text showing the bombing of the cottage and then the remains being set on fire.”

Every single win I had today comes tumbling to the ground at those words.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Only one thought fills my head—I need to find Sasha.





3





KIRILL





There must be some sort of a mix-up.

I refuse to believe that the cottage where Sasha is has been blown to shreds.

I just fucking refuse.

And yet, when we arrive at the scene, chaos unfolds.

It took us four hours more than I had to spare to arrive at the cottage, and we only got here in that time because Viktor drove at supersonic speed, narrowly avoiding a few accidents.

It was still not fast enough.

I spent the way here calling Sasha and getting her voicemail. I couldn’t track her either since her phone is turned off.

I really should’ve inserted a fucking tracker in her flesh. I was fooled by the false sense of security of having her by my side for years, so I overlooked this angle.

If—when—I find her, I’ll put that tracker in her skin. Personally, if I have to.

Bleak reality snaps my shoulder blades together as Viktor and I step out of the car. The view that greets us is that of emergency and police vehicles overcrowding the front of the cottage.

Or what remains of it.

The place has been destroyed to the point of unrecognition. Remnants of wood flooring, doors, and furniture are scattered in the aftermath—black, grimy, and barely recognizable. Some of the surrounding trees have also broken and fallen to their demise in the midst of the catastrophe.

I freeze, my legs barely holding me upright. The shouts and orders from the police and firefighters slowly fade away to a muffled noise, as if they’re speaking from underwater.

A shrill ringing sound fills my ears, and I’m flung out of my physical body. We’re separate entities now. While my outside remains calm, collected, and looking completely unfazed, my insides erupt in dangerous flames that threaten to eat me alive.

I catch a glimpse of the car I gave Sasha the day she left. Only the bones of the vehicle are visible and even those are barely discernible. The scene is straight out of some Middle Eastern war.

My feet move of their own accord to the ambulance. I expect to find Sasha standing in front of the destruction with a fucking rifle slung across her chest after she’s managed to kill those who dared to attack her.

But maybe that’s too optimistic. She’s still one woman, and while she has balls bigger than most men, no one can predict a bombing.

She must’ve been injured in her attempts to escape—that’s the only option I’ll allow.

One of the medics has the audacity to try to stop me from opening the back of the ambulance.

He grabs my arm. “You can’t do that, sir.”

I twist it around and push him away so hard, he ends up on his ass on the ground.

When he tries to stand up again, Viktor is in his face.

I reach a hand toward the handle and stop when I feel a slight tremor in my limbs. A phenomenon that I’ve wholly purged out of my system. A phenomenon that only occurred after I was tortured for days on end by my father’s band of sadists.

Calm the fuck down.

If I got through that dark period of my life, I can survive this.

Sasha is just clutching her injured arm or leg inside. There’s no way in fuck—

My hand drops to my side the moment I open the door.

A body lies on the stretcher, covered by a white sheet. The smell of sickeningly burned flesh clogs my nostrils, but that’s not the reason I find it hard to breathe.

It’s the black skeleton-like hand peeking from beneath the sheet. I approach it slowly, my movements stiff and unnatural.

I take the roasted hand in my shaky one. Ash and burned flesh smudge my skin, but the only thing I’m focused on is the ring burned into the second to last finger.

I rub the top of it, and my heart fucking falls to my knees when the green is exposed.

No.

I remove it with some of the flesh, and Kirill’s stares me right in the face.

Fucking no.

I frantically check her other wrist, and my hand shakes uncontrollably when I find the bracelet I gave her for her last birthday. I struggle to separate it from the burnt skin, but when I see Sasha, a scream builds at the back of my throat.

Fuck no.

I don’t know how I remain standing as I remove the cover to reveal her face.

Or what used to be a face.

There’s a black skeleton instead. Some flesh has melted off the bone, leaving a gory mess where her eyes, nose, and lips are supposed to be. Her hair is gone, and so are any other features I could identify her with.

I stand there for a long moment, studying every burn, every cut, every disfigured feature.

Maybe if I stare hard enough, this scene will disappear.

“Boss…”

My head slowly tilts in Viktor’s direction. He looks at the burned body with a furrowed brow and pursed lips. It’s the most seriously affected I’ve seen him since we lost Rulan and his brigade in that last Spetsnaz mission.

“Wipe that fucking look off your face, Viktor. This isn’t Sasha.” I don’t know how the fuck I sound calm when I’m on the verge of losing my fucking mind.

The ring and bracelet burn in my fingers as if they’re still on fire.