Hidden Truths: Chapter 4

I am not sure what wakes me, but the moment I open my eyes, I know I’m not alone in the room. The digital clock on the nightstand shows two a.m. I sit up in the bed and look around the room. I don’t notice him at first because he blends well into the darkness. The only thing that gives him away is his hair, caught in the moonlight coming through the window.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Sergei says from his spot in the recliner.

I doubt it was him who woke me. He is sitting so still that if I didn’t know where to look, I wouldn’t have noticed him.

“Can’t sleep?” I ask.

“No.”

He seems relaxed, but there is something in the tone of his voice that seems . . . wrong somehow.

“Why?”

“Too much shit over the past couple of days.”

“You should let me go then. One less thing for you to worry about.”

“I will. When you tell me the truth.”

I blink. “What truth?”

“Why were you on the truck full of drugs that was sent to the Albanians, and why were you starved half to death when we found you?” he asks casually. “We can start with why you lied to me in the first place, Miss Sandoval.”

Oh, fuck. I shut my eyes, trying to subdue the rise of panic. He knows who I am, but it doesn’t seem like he is aware that Diego is looking for me, so not all is lost. “How do you know who I am? We’ve never met.”

“The Bratva always does thorough research of all our potential partners. Including their family members. There is no point in lying anymore.”

I open my eyes and find him watching me. “So, now what?”

“Now you tell me what you were doing on that truck.”

I look away. No chance in hell I can tell him the truth. The Bratva does business with Diego, so they will send me back the moment they hear he’s looking for me. I’m not risking it.

“It was personal. It shouldn’t concern you or the Bratva.”

“Everything that happens in this city concerns The Bratva. Especially when a cartel princess lands at my feet, seemingly out of nowhere.”

“It was you who found me?” I ask.

“Yes.” He leans back and tilts his head up, staring at the ceiling. “Mikhail and I went to intercept the shipment. The intel we had said that there will be a girl on the truck, so we got you out before I blew it up.”

“You blew up the truck full of drugs? Why not just take it.”

“Pakhan wanted to make a statement.” He shrugs as if it’s completely normal to destroy several million dollars’ worth of product just to make a statement.

“A rather expensive statement.”

“Yeah. Roman is a fan of theatrics.” He looks over at me. “I’ll ask Nina to send you more clothes tomorrow.”

“Nina?” Is that Sergei’s girlfriend? I look down at the T- shirt I’m wearing. The fact that I’m dressed in his girlfriend’s clothes doesn’t sit well with me.

“Roman’s wife,” he clarifies.

“Oh. Pass her my thanks.” I’m glad it’s not his girlfriend’s stuff. “I need you to let me go, Sergei. Please.”

“Sure. As soon as you tell me what I need to know.”

I press my lips together and lie back down, covering myself with the blanket to my chin.

“Nothing to share?”

“Nope,” I mumble.

“When that changes, let me know, and we will discuss your freedom.”

I regard him for a long time as he keeps sitting there, staring at the ceiling in silence, his body completely still. I’ve heard stories about him. My father’s men loved to gossip, especially when they got drunk. From what they said, I got the impression that Sergei Belov was some kind of crazed killer, going around and offing people for no reason. Now I’ve met him, however, that image doesn’t seem accurate. He doesn’t come across as crazy to me. In fact, he acts like a pretty normal guy.

Maybe I could try seducing him, and then get away when his guard is down. Yeah, right. I almost snicker out loud at the thought of Angelina Sandoval, a book nerd, and local weirdo who’s slept with exactly one man in her twenty-two years, becoming a queen of seduction. He would laugh at me if I tried.

I let my eyes travel over his body, noticing the way his wide chest and shoulders strain the material of the black T-shirt he’s wearing, and stop my inspection at his forearms. Thick, strong, and corded with perfectly shaped muscles. Some women are attracted to a man’s hair or mouth. I’ve always been a forearms girl.

I yawn. Does he expect me to go to sleep with him lurking there? I can normally crash in the weirdest of places. In fact, I once fell asleep at a bar, leaning on Regina’s shoulder as some guy tried to convince her to go out with him. But I don’t think I can sleep while a stranger, whom I consider a threat, is sitting in the same room. What if he tries something? Although, there were enough opportunities for him to do so while I was passed out that first night, and he didn’t.

My eyelids are getting heavy, so I decide to close them, but only for a moment. Because there is no way I will let myself actually sleep with . . .

* * *

The ringing of a phone wakes me. I actually managed to fall asleep while the Bratva’s soldier was in the same room. People go to therapy when they have trouble sleeping, but it looks like I need help knowing when not to fall asleep. It’s still partially dark outside, with dawn fast approaching. I turn to look at the recliner and find Sergei still sitting there, holding the phone to his ear. He listens to the person on the other end, and his body suddenly goes rigid, the expression on his face changing from slightly tense to volatile. He doesn’t say anything, just lowers the phone and stares at it like he wants to smash it.

“Bad news?” I mumble.

He doesn’t reply, just keeps his eyes on the phone with such malice that I wonder if the thing will combust from the intensity of his stare.

I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s clear something’s happened and it isn’t good. It shouldn’t matter to me. After all, the guy is keeping me a prisoner in his home indefinitely unless I spill my secrets. But he did save my life. I would probably be dead if he didn’t find me, or perhaps worse off if it was someone else.

I should just go back to sleep, but I can’t. So, against my better judgment, I get out of bed and slowly walk toward the recliner until I’m standing just in front of him.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

Nothing.

“Sergei?”

Still nothing. He just keeps staring at the phone. I reach out and poke him on his shoulder with the tip of my finger.

His head snaps up, and I start registering the things I missed from a distance. The way he grinds his jaw, the slight shaking of his left hand, and the sound of his breathing—which is a bit faster than normal. But most of all, I am taken aback by his eyes, which are unfocused like he is looking through me.

“Yes?” he asks, his voice sounding . . . detached somehow.

“Did something happen?”

He closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “Go back to bed. I’ll leave.”

There is something wrong. I just can’t pinpoint what. He seems angry and agitated, but trying to keep it subdued. Other than those little tells, he looks perfectly composed.

He’s right. I should go back to bed. What’s going on with him is not my problem. I shouldn’t care. So, why do I? I focus on his eyes again. Yes, the look in them is really strange.

“Are you meditating or something?” I ask.

He blinks, and I might be wrong because it’s still rather dark in the room, but his eyes seem more focused now.

“I am not fucking meditating.” He shakes his head. “I just got an update on my friend who was shot yesterday. The one who was with me when we found you. Mikhail.”

“Oh.” That’s probably why he stormed out of the house yesterday morning. “How is he?”

“Bad.”

“Will he pull through?”

“They just took him to surgery again. He has internal bleeding.”

“Are you two close?” I place my hand on his left one and brush it slightly. His eyes are now honed in on me, and the shaking of the hand beneath mine seems to stop.

“Not really,” he says. “But I’ll kill him if he dies.”

I feel the corners of my lips curl up slightly. He’s coming back from wherever he went earlier. “In that case, he’ll probably be sure to stay alive.”

Without breaking our eye contact, Sergei slides his hand from beneath mine and wraps his fingers around my wrist.

“Who starved you?” he asks leaning toward me.

“I did,” I say. “I was on a hunger strike.”

“Why?”

I bend my head slightly so our noses almost touch and stare into those light eyes. “I can’t tell you.”

His lips widen. “I will find out, lisichka.”

“Lisichka?” I raise an eyebrow. I don’t know that word.

“Little fox.” He takes my chin between his fingers. “Appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Not really.”

He smiles, shakes his head, and gets up from the recliner. I forgot just how tall he is.

“Yes, I think it’s perfect.” He brushes my chin with his thumb, then turns and heads toward the door. “Go back to sleep, my little liar.”

Roman calls around noon to let me know Mikhail is out of surgery, and that he should be okay. I pass out on the living room couch shortly afterward. I’m rarely able to sleep during the day, but my brain finally got the memo from my body, which was operating on only a couple of hours of sleep in the last three days. When I wake up, it’s already close to four.

“You need to let that girl out of your room. She’ll go moldy there,” Felix says, passing me by, and hits me with a kitchen rag on my shoulder. “And if you plan on keeping her here, you’ll need to get her some clothes. Other than Nina’s. And shoes.”

“Shit.” I sit up and rake my hand through my hair. “Where can I get female clothes?”

“In one of those things they call shops. You can find many inside the big buildings known as malls.”

“Such a comedian.” I stand up. “How about you go buy some stuff for her?”

“Oh no. She’s your prisoner, so you’re the one who should dress her and feed her. And I’m already doing the feeding part.”

“All right, fine. I’ll go right away. I have a meeting with Shevchenko later.”

“I thought Shevchenko said he doesn’t want to talk business with you anymore. Since you tried to chop off his hand and all.”

“He’s overreacting,” I throw out over my shoulder while looking for my helmet.

“So, you didn’t try to cut off his hand?”

“Of course, I did.” I shift through the throw that’s been haphazardly draped over the couch. “Did you take lunch to Angelina?”

“Nope. I will go get her and give her lunch in the kitchen. She needs to stretch her legs. But you need to call Mimi off so she can come out of the room.”

“Make sure she doesn’t get away.” I whistle for my watchdog, and Mimi comes padding down the stairs. “And don’t forget to get me the info I asked for. I need everything you can find on her.” I look around the room. “Where the fuck is my helmet?”

“Dining room,” Felix says and continues dusting the TV.

“Why are you doing that? It’s Marlene’s job. Where is she?”

“She’s mad because I canceled our date since I had to play the jailer. She told me she’s taking the rest of the week off.”

“Marlene is my housekeeper. She can’t tell you she’s taking a week off.”

He turns toward me with his hands on his hips and fixes me with his gaze. “I’m getting the job done, so it doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Works for me.” I raise my hands in defense. “I’m off.”

* * *

I stop in the middle of the store and turn around, looking over the mile-long racks of female clothes. Shit. Where do I start?

“Need any help?” a store attendant asks, coming to stand next to me.

“Yes. Please.”

“Okay.” She laughs. “What do you need? A present?”

“I need everything,” I say.

“Everything?”

“Yeah. A friend is staying with me, and she lost her luggage. She needs everything.”

“No problem. What size?”

I stare at the lady, who probably thinks I’m an idiot. “A little over five feet or so. Around ninety pounds. Does that help?”

“Shoes as well?”

“Yes. I’ll have to ask the size for that.”

“Sure. Do you want to pick, or do you want me to do that for you?”

I look over at all the racks and shudder. “You pick. Jeans, T-shirts, a jacket. Casual stuff.”

“Okay. How many of each?”

“Let’s say for a month.”

“Socks, underwear? I’ll need the bra size.”

“Hm. Medium?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Let’s make it sports bras. Those are stretchy.”

“Yup, that would work.”

“Perfect. I’ll start collecting your things. You can wait there, or you can go to the store next door and get her some cosmetics if she needs any.”

“I’ll do that. Please make sure you pick the good stuff. No budget limit.”

I shoot Felix a message, asking about Angelina’s shoe size, and head into the neighboring shop. When I tell the attendant what I need, she starts asking me questions about skin and hair type, as if I’m supposed to know that crap. So I just tell her to give me one of everything.

Thirty minutes later, I find myself standing next to my bike with dozens of bags in my hands. I should have brought the car, but I didn’t think of that. I end up calling a cab to take the bags back to the house and head home.