Wicked Savage: Part 2 – Chapter 30

Two years. Two fucking years, she’s been gone.

At first, I spent them trying to forget her—trying to bury her name in the back of my mind—but it was like trying to drown a fire with gasoline. Every time I thought I was done, that I could forget her, it burned brighter, hotter. The obsession, the pain…it never left. It only grew stronger.

I tried everything. Every method, every distraction, every damn trick in the book. But nothing worked, and soon I gave up on the idea of ever forgetting her. Instead, I embraced the fire and let it burn me whole.

I searched for her relentlessly, but nothing ever led me to wherever she was. And here I am: still stuck, still lost, with nothing to show for it but the ashes.

Her phone’s GPS is wiped clean. I’ve traced every number, every connection. Her friends, her family, even her damn bodyguards. But it’s all dead ends. It’s as if she’s completely vanished, erased from the world.

I know she’s out there, though. I can feel it in my gut. But the woman who used to be my everything is now nothing more than a shadow, fading from me no matter how tightly I hold on.

I sit in the dark, the low hum of New York City outside my penthouse window doing nothing to soothe the fire raging inside me. If anything, it only intensifies it, reminding me of the days we spent here, when everything felt possible. When we were still alive in a world that was ours.

My hands are clenched tight around my phone, wondering where the hell she is and when I’ll finally see her again.

Konstantin? He’s been a dead end too. Not that I would ever ask him about her. But I’ve tried following him, and he hasn’t led me to her either.

Where are you, leannan? Where the hell have you disappeared to?

I don’t need to know where she’s hiding; I just need to know that she’s alive. That’s all.

Fuck, who am I kidding? I just want to see her again. To touch her and hold her. But she’s slipped through my damn fingers.

And here I am, staring at her picture on my phone, cursing the day I let her walk out of my life, even while knowing I couldn’t have her. It’s a sick game my mind plays with me: toying with me until I break.

I should be relieved. I should be happy. But there’s nothing but emptiness.

I feel like a fucking liar. A coward too. I was the one who pushed her away, who told her that it couldn’t work, that it would never work. I told her I couldn’t be the man she needed. But it’s been two years, and the only thing I feel is regret.

I want to know what she’s doing. I want to know if she’s moved on. If she’s found someone else. If she’s happy.

Without me.

But I don’t want her to be damn happy, because all I’ve ever wanted is to be the one to give her that.

As I swipe through the old photos of us, it’s almost like a different life. The way she used to laugh at my dumb jokes. The way she’d look at me, like I was the only thing that mattered in the world.

But I’ve burned that bridge. I know that.

The storm outside picks up, rain slapping against the glass, and I can’t sit still anymore. I stand up, running my hand through my hair, pacing the length of the den like a caged animal, desperate to escape the thoughts that have been eating away at me.

What the hell am I doing?

I should’ve let her go completely. I should’ve erased her from my mind, just like I told myself I would.

But I couldn’t. No matter what I told her, no matter how many times I convinced her that it was for the best, I still want her.

She’s still the one. The only one.

I slam my fist into the wall, the pain sharp, but it does nothing to dull the ache that’s been there for these years. Nothing can make this go away. Not all the money in the world. Not all the women who’ve tried to get my attention, only to be disappointed.

Because no matter how hard I try to forget, no matter how many distractions I throw myself into, her memory is always there. She’s always there, haunting me, like a ghost that won’t let go.

And maybe this is exactly what I need. This pain. This brutal realization that no matter how hard I fought it, how many times I tried to move on, she’s the one. Always has been. Always will be.

I can keep fighting it, keep denying it, or I can finally admit what I couldn’t say before: that I’m ready to go all in. Ready to love her.

Because I wanna try. I have to.

Grabbing my jacket, I head out, calling Grant again to see if he has any new leads.

Right now, finding her is the only thing that matters. And this time, I won’t let her slip away.

I shouldn’t be here.

The thought drums in my head as I step out of the car, but I don’t let it stop me. Konstantin’s estate looms ahead, its iron gates swinging open before I pull into the driveway and step out. The doors open, and his guards don’t even try to stop me, though their eyes track me like they’re waiting for the moment they’ll have to step in.

“I need to see him.”

“Come,” one says as he leads me to a sitting room.

Konstantin is already there, swirling a glass of something dark and expensive. He barely spares me a glance as I stop a few feet away, tension hanging thick between us.

“Cillian,” he says, drawing out the syllables like he’s savoring them. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I promised myself I wouldn’t ask. Told myself I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me beg. But the words burn on my tongue, and before I can swallow them down, they escape.

“Where is she?”

Konstantin exhales slowly, the sound almost amused. “Dinara doesn’t want you to know.”

The sentence slams into my chest, knocking the air out of me. I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms to keep myself grounded.

“You’re lying.”

He takes a deliberate sip of his drink, watching me over the rim. “Am I?”

I move before I can think, my body acting on pure instinct. My fist is halfway to his jaw when something in his expression stops me cold. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t tense. Just watches me. A slow smirk pulls at his lips as he sets his drink down.

“I understand you’re angry,” he says, his voice measured, calm. “But try that again, and you’ll be the next one I feed to my pigs.”

The words are quiet, but they land with the weight of a death sentence. I force myself to take a step back, my pulse hammering against my ribs. I let out a sharp breath, hands still clenched at my sides.

I should never have come here. I knew it the second I walked through the door, but now it’s too late. Konstantin has seen my desperation. Worse, he’s confirmed my worst fear.

She doesn’t want me to find her.

I turn and leave without another word. By the time I’m back in my car, my body tenses with frustration and anger.

Not at Konstantin. Not at Dinara. At myself. I had her, and I ruined it.

Now she’s gone, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get her back.