Hidden Truths: Chapter 10

I look up from the book I’ve been reading to follow Sergei with my gaze as he takes a change of clothes from the closet and goes into the bathroom. The sound of water running reaches me a minute later. The other bedroom must not have a bathroom. I try to remember if I’ve ever seen him go in there and can’t.

Placing the book on the nightstand, I get off the bed and head out of the room, walking around Mimi, who is sleeping in the middle of the carpet. The door on the other end of the hallway is unlocked, so I open it and look around the almost empty space. There is a dresser on one end, two mismatched chairs in the other corner, and a pile of boxes near the window. No bed. A military green sleeping bag is spread out on the floor, with a folded blanket and a pillow placed atop it.

I go back to Sergei’s bedroom and lean against the bookcase, facing the bathroom door and waiting for him to emerge. The water shuts off, and the door opens. Wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, Sergei exits while drying his hair with a towel.

“Where have you been sleeping since I’ve arrived?”

He stops midstep and looks at me. “In the other bedroom. Why?”

“There’s no bed there. You’ve been sleeping on the floor this whole time?”

“It’s a nice floor. I’ve slept in worse places.” He shrugs like it’s nothing.

“You can’t sleep on the floor in your own house.” I sigh. “Do you want me to look for a hotel?”

“You are not going to a hotel. You’re staying right where you are.”

“But . . .”

“No buts. You’re staying put.”

“Then, I’ll sleep on the couch downstairs.”

He takes a few steps until he’s standing right in front of me, puts his finger on my chin, and tilts my head up. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, Angelina. And don’t worry, I don’t sleep much.”

“How much is that?”

“Three hours. Maybe four.”

“No one can function on that little sleep.”

“Well, I don’t function that well anyway. As you’ve probably already noticed.” He laughs, but I don’t find it funny. He needs help. The finger on my chin starts moving along my jaw, then over my neck until his hand ends up at my nape.

“Roman ordered me to go to some damn fundraiser tomorrow,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”

“He told me. Are we going on the bike?”

It’s really hard to concentrate on the conversation because with each word Sergei’s head bends slightly, his mouth coming closer and closer.

“I’m not sure that riding a bike in an evening dress is wise.”

“I don’t have any dresses here.”

His head dips even lower, while his fingers lace into the hairs at the base of my neck, squeezing and coaxing me to tilt my head up.

“We will buy one tomorrow.” His voice is deep, huskier than normal, and his lips brush mine as he speaks, but only for a fraction of a second.

“How will I pay you back? I don’t have any money right now.”

He watches me, then closes the distance between us as his lips crash against mine. It’s like thunder and lightning. Hard, unexpected, deafening, and blinding. There’s no time to think about what I’m doing, and I don’t have the will to resist, so I don’t. I grab at the fabric of his shirt and rise onto my tiptoes, trying to get closer. Sergei’s hand squeezes the back of my neck, his other hand caressing the small of my back, pressing me tighter against his body while he attacks my mouth.

It’s not enough. There was a pile of books on the floor somewhere. I couldn’t decide what to read. I take a step to the left. Where’s that fucking TBR pile when I need it, damn it? Why can’t I be taller? Sergei’s mouth leaves mine and proceeds to trail kisses along my jaw and neck. I suck in a breath and pull on his shirt even more as a tingling sensation starts building between my legs. I need him closer. My toes hit something solid. Yes! I step up onto the stack of hardbacks I piled on the floor and wrap my arms around Sergei’s neck. My mouth finds his again. The hand at my back moves lower to squeeze my ass, then traces around my hip until it reaches the front of my jeans. He slides his palm lower and cups my pussy over the fabric, pressing the denim seam into my core.

“Sergei!” Felix shouts from somewhere in the house.

Not fucking now! I grip Sergei’s hair, trying to keep his lips from leaving mine as I feel myself getting wetter and wetter. He starts brushing his palm between my legs, forward and back. And I think I’m going to ignite under his touch.

“Sergei!” Another round of yelling from downstairs. “Your brother is sending his regards with an extremely vivid description of cutting off your head and stuffing it into your anus if you don’t answer your phone.”

My eyes snap open and I stare at Sergei. He still has his hand between my legs. As I look into his eyes, he presses onto my frustrated pussy again, and a small moan leaves my lips.

“There.” He smiles and lightly bites my lower lip. “Consider the dress reimbursed in full.”

His hands vanish from my body, and he’s gone the next moment, leaving me in the middle of the room, standing on an assortment of genuine leather-bound Dostoyevsky hardcovers, with my panties completely drenched.

* * *

The following morning, I find Felix fumbling with an electrical socket above the stove. He looks me over, then resumes what he’s been doing.

“Is Sergei out?” I ask and sit at the dining table.

I haven’t left the room since yesterday evening, trying to avoid Sergei until I manage to process the meaning of that kiss . . . or the entire encounter for that matter. Thinking about it didn’t help much. I still can’t decide if I should ignore it completely and pretend it never happened, or jump all over him the next time I see him. My brain says the former. My body wants the latter.

“He’s walking Mimi,” Felix calls over his shoulder. “I heard you’re staying. Roman spoke to you yesterday?”

“Yes.” I nod and reach for the carafe of juice on the table. “I think we should talk.”

“About?”

“About those episodes Sergei has. I need to know what I’m dealing with.”

Felix leaves the screwdriver on the counter, turns, and fixes me with his gaze. “You’re dealing with the result of what happens when you take a nonviolent child and forcibly turn him into a cold-blooded killer.” He places his hands on the counter, gripping its edge, and looks over at the window.

“Sergei was a normal kid. Loved. But then his mother died when he was only twelve, and he was sent to foster care and later to a group home. There were some brawls, small thefts, nothing that wasn’t unexpected of a child in his situation. He ended up in a juvie after he and his friends tried to steal a car. That’s where Kruger found him.”

“Kruger?”

“The man in charge of the Project Z.E.R.O. unit. They took him in and put him into training. I was a handler there. From the moment I saw Sergei, I knew he wasn’t a good candidate. He was not aggressive or violent, and didn’t have the urge to hurt anyone or to destroy things like some of the other boys they took.” He turns to look at me. “I tried to send him back, and failed. Kruger liked him too much. Sergei was impossibly agile, and he always got the best results during physical exams. He also spoke English and Russian perfectly, as well as Spanish. Kruger liked that very much. Fluency in several languages is very useful in our business.”

“You helped make boys into killers?” I stare at him with disgust. “What kind of person does that?”

“A person who works for the government.” He sighs and shakes his head. “I’m not proud of some of my choices, Angelina, but I’ve tried my best to correct my mistakes as much as possible.”

He walks toward the bowl of fruit on the table, takes an apple, and starts rolling it in his hand, seemingly focused on a single blemish marring its otherwise perfect yellow skin.

“I first noticed signs that something wasn’t right after Sergei came back from a mission in Columbia,” he continues. “During field missions, his performance was impeccable. But when he would get back, he’d just sit down and stare in front of him for hours. Physically he was there. But mentally, he was away. One time, one of the guys from his unit stumbled upon him while Sergei was zoned out. I’m not sure what happened exactly, but I assume the guy tried poking Sergei with the knife we found next to his body later.”

“What happened?”

“Sergei broke his neck,” Felix says. “It got worse after that. He started getting violent every time someone approached him during one of his episodes. He also started having problems differentiating the field missions from everyday situations.”

“How so?”

“Most of Z.E.R.O. unit’s training consisted of extinguishing any trace of empathy or consciousness in the operatives, making them focus on completing the mission no matter what. Some missions, usually those that involved high-profile targets, resulted in significant collateral damage.”

“What kind of collateral damage?” I ask as dread starts to build at the bottom of my stomach.

“If a certain person needed to be eliminated, and the only way to do so was to blow up half of the building, it was deemed acceptable. Those situations were rare, but they happened. Sergei performed the missions without fail, but then, his behavior would turn extreme when he was out of the field. One time, he saw a man mistreating a homeless woman and gutted him on the spot. He didn’t feel he did anything wrong. In his mind, he neutralized the threat and that was it.”

“Petrov said you managed to get him out, eventually.”

“Yes, but it was too late. When Sergei started losing it more frequently, I pulled some strings to get us released. I contacted Roman soon after. He had no idea that he had a brother. Sergei knew about Roman, though. His mother told him that Lev Petrov was his father and that he had a half brother. But Sergei never wanted anything to do with Lev or Roman. I had to do it behind his back, and he almost strangled me when he found out.”

“And why hasn’t anyone tried to get him some help? Counseling? Anything?”

“Sergei is not just a trained killer, Angelina. He’s a top-of-the-line government weapon. The best-case scenario would be Sergei ending up drugged and tied down in some institution.” He looks up at me, squeezing the apple in his hand. “The worst would be the government neutralizing him the moment they got him. Sergei knows too much, but as long as he’s a part of the Bratva, they won’t touch him. Roman pays a lot of money under the table to make them look the other way.”

“Has anyone tried to help him? Or does everyone just avert their eyes and wait for a miracle?” I throw my hands in the air with frustration. “He calmed and came back when I spoke to him. Maybe he just needs to know that someone is there for him, damn it.”

“He would kill anyone who gets close to him when he’s in that state, Angelina.” Felix looks down at the floor. “I don’t know why he reacts the way he does around you. I’ve been with him for fifteen years, and I don’t dare approach him when he’s out. You may have awoken some protective instinct in him. When he brought you here that night, he wouldn’t let anyone get close. We barely managed to convince him to let the doctor check you out, and for Varya to bathe you.”

“You think he can get better?”

“I have no idea.” He shrugs. “But you need to keep one thing in mind. If I’m right, and Sergei for some reason thinks he needs to protect you, he won’t be reasonable.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he will kill every person he feels may be of any kind of threat to you. Real or imagined.”