Deceitful Lies by Brook Wilder
Chapter 2
Andrei
I rush from one room to the next in the ER, searching for Paige, although I know she won’t be there. But that doesn’t matter. I have another person in mind. A plan that is overdue. I find the room I want and Gerald Reyes lying in bed, looking like he’s already dead.
With great difficulty, I manage to stop my hands from squeezing his throat. I step closer to his bed, hovering over him, the man who inadvertently brought Paige to me.
For better or worse.
He moans softly against the pillow, looking like a skeleton with his sickly complexion and mouth hanging slack. He senses my presence as his eyes flutter open. He gazes at me without recognizing who I am. But then, gradually, he sees my resemblance to Vasily, and his face morphs in response.
“What are you doing here?” His voice is a raspy whisper. “Go away. I’ll get the police.”
I shake my head. “No, you won’t.”
He looks at the empty chair. “Where’s my daughter?”
Dmitri steps into the room and shakes his head slightly. There are no clues in the hospital to Paige’s whereabouts. But I’ve decided on someone else.
I reach for the tubes connecting Gerald to an array of machines and start pulling. He winces as the needle rips out of his arm.
“What are you doing?” asks Dmitri. “You can’t get rid of him here.”
I glare at Dmitri. “We’re taking him with us. Call ahead to the house and have a room and a doctor prepared for our arrival.”
Dmitri pauses, ready to argue, as Gerald uses all his strength to move to the edge of the bed. Before he can fall out of it, I grab him. Dmitri closes his mouth and heads out the door.
A nurse rushes in, no doubt alerted by the machine. “Sir, what are you doing?”
I have Gerald in my arms, holding him easily. “I’m taking him home.”
“You can’t do that, sir! He’s very ill.” She rushes toward me, and I push past her. “Sir, are you a relation?” She follows close on my heels. “I’m calling the police!”
“Go right ahead,” I reply without looking back.
She watches helplessly as I put Gerald into the Rover. She may give the numbers on the plates to the police, or maybe not. It makes no difference either way. I’ve already informed the hospital administration about checking Gerald out today to bring him into private hospice care. A hefty follow-up donation sealed the deal.
Gerald does his best to sit up in the back seat, but eventually, he lies across it as Dmitri and I sit in the front.
“I know who and what you are,” he wheezes. “And I don’t care what you do to me. Shoot me in the head and throw me in a ditch. I don’t care. Do you have a message for your father when I see him in hell?”
“Don’t plan your trip so soon.” I watch the traffic out the car window as if I’m a tourist enjoying the ride. “You’ll be receiving medical attention where I’m taking you.”
“I’ll refuse it. I want to die.”
“If it was up to me, old man, I’d let you die. Hell, I’d even keep you around to witness your slow and painful decline. But your daughter Paige would be devastated. So, you’ll be under a doctor’s care.”
“How do you know what she wants?” he asks. “What have you done with my daughter?”
“What have I done to your daughter?” I meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. “I married her.”
“Liar.” He folds his arms over his chest and winces in pain.
“I don’t lie,” I say as I turn to look him in the eyes. “That’s something thieves do.”
A shadow of a recoil passes over his face at the mention of the word, and that single shadow tells me everything I need to know.
***
Gerald coughs the entire way, and I wonder if he will die before we get to the mansion. We arrive seconds after the doctor. Dr. Amal Meyer has no loyalties to any of the Bratva. He treats us all equally for good pay, and it is understood that he is protected by one and all so he can continue to patch us all up.
Dr. Meyer looks curiously at Gerald in his hospital gown.
“He has been refusing his cancer treatment,” I reply to his unspoken question. “He is also my wife’s father.”
Dr. Meyer nods to his nurse, who grabs his bag and orders my men to take Gerald into the house carefully.
“Do you think he will last long enough to tell us what we want to know?” Dmitri asks after we enter my office.
“A man on his deathbed has no secrets,” I reply. “Paige will want to see her father after we get her back. Has Talia made contact yet?”
Dmitri shakes his head. “She’s waiting for you to go to her.”
I would rush to get Paige back if I could. I will lose control if she isn’t back safely in my arms. But to let Talia know how much I want and need Paige would be fatal for all of us. I wish I had told Paige how my feelings for her have changed, and I don’t want to regret never having the chance.
“Tell Talia that if Paige is hurt, I will consider it war.”
In less than an hour, a spare guest bedroom isolated from the others on the second floor has been transformed into a hospital room. Gerald lies in a reclining hospital bed, and the machines beep softly around him. A guard stands outside the door, and a private nurse sits beside Gerald, browsing her phone. She puts the phone away when I enter, and I motion to her to leave us alone.
She exits out the door, and I make a mental note to have it locked from the outside.
I stand over him as I did at the hospital, but now we are on my property. I could place a pillow over his face and put him out of his misery, just as he demands.
But I won’t.
Because of Paige.
“I don’t believe you.” His eyes stay shut, but he knows I’m there. “My daughter would never marry you unless you forced her. That’s what your kind do. You force women because you don’t have the balls for rejection.”
“Do you want me to tell you how I forced her, old man?”
His eyes open gradually and stab me with hate. “You are scum, like your father. I’m glad he’s dead, and I wish you were too.”
As feeble as Gerald is, he tries to fight back with words. But there’s nothing he can say to me that I cannot take. Not after growing up with my father. I move away from the bed and head for the door.
He tries again. “Do you know why your father beat your mother?”
My feet freeze before I can make it.
“Because she was a whore that he couldn’t control, just like my wife,” he says. “Has dear Eva ever shown you the list of men she’s been with? I’m surprised Vasily didn’t break her neck that night. How do you know you’re even Vasily’s son? Maybe you’re a bastard, like your sister.”
I rush to the bed, but he smiles at my display of anger. He wants to die, I remind myself. Now he knows what to say, and I don’t know how to get under his skin.
“I don’t believe you’re married to my Paige,” he continues. “She has the good sense not to get involved with filth. All the gold and money in the world can’t hide you for what you are: trash.” He cackles lightly. “If she’s your wife, where is she?”
“I know who and what you are, old man!” I grip the rail on the bed.
“Then say it.” A twisted smile rises on his cancer-ravaged lips. “Say my name. Not my real name, but the name you people branded me with.”
“Sava Khodemchuk.” I take a deep breath, snarling. “The Thief.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it, boy?” Despite the weakness of his voice, his eyes are hard. They burn like Paige’s, but there’s no warmth behind them.
“Where’s my father’s money, Sava?”
“Same thing I told all his friends, I squandered it at the track and on lottery tickets. Not a penny is left.”
“I don’t believe you, thief” I hiss, spit hitting his face. “You hid it; I know it! Where is it hidden?”
“It’s no more mine than it is yours. He took that money from his victims. Who’s the thief now, son of Vasily?”
I raise my fist, but stop when he smirks. He’s done it again. He wants me to hit him, but I won’t do it. Paige would never understand if I killed her father.
I walk over to the door and call the guard in. Viktor Krasnov is an uninitiated soldier—a child still at sixteen; tall, wiry, and heartless, he’s eager to prove his worth to the Bratva and earn his first tattoo.
“I have a job for you.” I grab my phone from my pocket and scroll through the pictures. “This ublyudok has another daughter. My wife’s sister. I want her brought here. Keep her in one whole piece so that he can see.”
Viktor looks at the photo I sent to his phone. Emma smiles at the viewer with pouty lips. For a moment, his gaze lingers on the screen, then he nods and leaves the room.
I look back at Gerald, who remains stoic though his hands are curled into fists. I’ve gotten to him, but his eyes still have a defiant look.
“You’ll regret this, Andrei Vasilyevich,” Gerald whispers. “I outlasted your father, and I’ll outlast you.”
