All The Pretty Little Lies (Second Sons Duet #1)

26. Alex

ALEX

The road stretches out before us, a ribbon of asphalt cutting through the lush New York landscape. Zaire's hands grip the steering wheel, his knuckles white with tension. The playlist I'd curated for our impromptu road trip fills the car with a mix of classic rock and indie tunes, a futile attempt to lighten the mood. The four hour drive passes quickly despite the silence from Zaire.

“The clinic should be up here on the right.”

The clinic finally appears, a nondescript building nestled between a laundromat and a convenience store. Zaire pulls over a few blocks away, finding a spot with a clear view of the entrance.

We sit in silence, watching the steady stream of people entering and exiting the clinic. The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the street, painting everything in hues of orange and gold. It's almost beautiful if you can ignore the fact that we're here on a potentially dangerous mission.

I pull out my phone, fingers flying across the screen as I text Oscar.

At location. Clinic closes in 1 hr. Waiting and watching.

As I wait for a response, I can't help but observe the scene before us. A young couple exits the clinic, their faces etched with worry. An elderly man shuffles in, leaning heavily on his cane. A harried-looking woman juggles a crying toddler and a diaper bag as she hurries inside.

It's strange, seeing this slice of normal life when our world is anything but. These people have no idea that two members of a powerful crime family are sitting just a few yards away.

My phone buzzes with Oscar's reply:

Good. Keep eyes open. Be safe.

“Oz knows we made it.”

“Good,” Zaire responds. He’s back to whatever LaLa land he’s been letting his mind race off to before I can even take another breath. Normally, he’s all business, but there’s something about him right now that is piquing my curiosity. What better time to poke the Russian bear than when you're alone in a car with him? At least, I will have witnesses if he kills me here in the car.

"So," I begin, trying to keep my tone light, "you and Oz, and Vesper. That's quite the triangle you've got going on there."

Zaire's grip on the steering wheel tightens if that was even possible. "It's not a triangle, Alex," he growls, his voice low and rough.

I can't help but chuckle, despite the gravity of our mission. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is it more of a straight line? Or wait, given Vesper's involvement, maybe it's a V-shape?"

Zaire shoots me a glare that could have melted steel, but I catch the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're an ass, you know that?"

"It's part of my charm," I quip, turning down the music slightly.

“You and your computer are practically married with three kids, asshole. How did you figure it out?”

"Come on, Z. I'm not blind. The way you two look at her, the tension when you're all in the same room. It's like watching a soap opera but with more guns and tattoos. Plus, she did walk out of her room wearing one of Oscar’s shirts then she beelined it to your room after our meeting this morning. Stevie Wonder could have seen this coming."

A muscle in Zaire's jaw twitches, and I knew I'd hit a nerve. "It's complicated," he finally says, his voice low.

"Complicated?" I echo, raising an eyebrow. "That's the understatement of the century. You're in love with the same woman as your twin brother, who happens to be formerly engaged to your cousin. It's like a Russian nesting doll of drama. Apparently, Petrovs have the same taste in women. Well, one woman.”

Zaire's grip on the steering wheel tightens again, and for a moment, I think he might actually punch me. But then, unexpectedly, he lets out a short, bitter laugh.

“You’re not wrong.”

“So, how is this going to work? Are you guys like taking certain days? Is there a schedule? You get her every other day, weekends, and holidays?”

"Oh, shut up," Zaire groans, but I can see the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "It's not like that. We're figuring it out."

"Figuring it out?" I can't help but snort. "What's there to figure out? You're both sleeping with her, right? Or is it more of a 'look but don't touch' situation with one of you?"

Zaire's knuckles go white on the steering wheel again. "Alex, I swear to God..."

"Okay, okay," I hold up my hands in mock surrender. "I'm just trying to understand the logistics here. I mean, do you guys have some sort of time-share agreement? Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for you, Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays for Oz? Or is it more of a spontaneous thing?"

"Oh! I know! You guys probably have one of those fancy color-coded Google calendars, right? 'Vesper Time' in red for you, blue for Oz..."

"For fuck's sake, Alex," Zaire growls, but I catch the underlying hint of amusement in his voice. "It's not a goddamn timeshare. We're all adults here, and we're making it work."

"Making it work, huh?" I muse, tapping my chin thoughtfully. "Wait a minute. Is Talon mixed up in this too? I mean, he's been hanging around a lot lately, and he's got that whole 'golden retriever with a dark side' thing going on."

Zaire's reaction is immediate and visceral. His face contorts into a mix of surprise, anger, and is that a hint of jealousy? "What? No! Talon's not. I mean, he's not." He trails off, looking uncomfortable.

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by this new development. "Oh? You seem awfully flustered by that idea, Z. Something you're not telling me?"

Zaire takes a deep breath, his jaw clenching. "Look, it's Vesper's choice, alright? Who she lets into her bed, I mean. We don't control her. She's her own person."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I hold up my hands, genuinely surprised. "Are you saying there's actually a possibility that Talon's involved? I was just joking, but is he?”

“No,” he immediately fires back. “I think it’s just Oz and I.”

I can't help but burst into laughter, the sound filling the car and drowning out the music. "Holy shit, Z. You're telling me that not only are you and Oz sharing Vesper but there's a chance Talon's in on this too? This isn't a love triangle anymore, it's a whole damn love...square?"

Zaire's knuckles are practically glowing white on the steering wheel now. "It's not like that, Alex.”

“Seriously, Z. How do you deal with it? Knowing that the woman you love is also with your brother? And potentially Talon? I mean, that's got to be rough."

“It’s not about me. It’s about her. Plain and simple.”

“But Vesper,” he starts.

Zaire cuts me off abruptly, his voice sharp. "Enough, Alex. We're not here to discuss my love life."

“You mean your love square.”

“Enough,” he snarls.

I open my mouth to protest, but the words die on my lips as I catch sight of movement at the clinic's entrance. A middle-aged woman in scrubs exits, her keys jangling as she locks the door behind her. The last rays of sunlight glint off her name tag, but we're too far away to make out the name.

"Look," I whisper, unnecessarily. Zaire's already laser-focused on the scene before us.

We watch in tense silence as the woman makes her way to a beat-up Honda Civic parked a few spaces down from us. She fumbles with her purse, pulls out her car keys, and climbs in. The engine sputters to life, and she pulls out of the parking lot, disappearing around the corner.

The street falls eerily quiet. The convenience store's neon sign flickers to life, casting a sickly green glow over the empty sidewalk. A stray newspaper tumbles across the asphalt, driven by a gust of wind. The laundromat's windows are dark, the only movement inside the hypnotic spinning of a lone washing machine.

"That's our cue," Zaire mutters, reaching for the door handle. “Did you hack the alarm system?”

“You wound me.” I show him my phone with the system’s live feed on the screen. “They won’t even know we were here.”

“Good, let’s go.”

The weight of what we're about to do settles over me like a heavy blanket. Breaking and entering, theft of medical records, it's not exactly a typical Tuesday night activity, even for us.

As we step out of the car, the cool evening air hits me, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and distant barbecue. It's such a normal, suburban smell that it feels almost absurd given what we're about to do.

We move quickly and quietly across the street, sticking to the shadows cast by the buildings. Zaire leads the way, his movements fluid and purposeful. I follow, trying to mimic his grace but feeling more like a lumbering elephant in comparison.

As we reach the clinic's door, Zaire pulls out a small leather case from his jacket pocket. The lock picks inside glint in the dim light as he selects two slender tools.

"Keep watch," he murmurs, crouching down to work on the lock.

I turn my back to him, scanning the street. The world seems to hold its breath. No cars pass, no pedestrians wander by. It's as if the universe is conspiring to give us this moment of uninterrupted criminal activity.

Behind me, I hear the soft click of the lock giving way. Not a single alarm goes off audibly. Zaire’s hand reaches back, pulling me with him as he opens the door.

“Told you I hacked it.”

As we slip inside the darkened clinic, the antiseptic smell hits me like a wall. My eyes adjust quickly to the dim emergency lighting, revealing a maze of corridors and closed doors. Zaire nods towards the reception area, and I make a beeline for the computer terminal while he starts searching the rooms.

I slide into the receptionist's chair, wincing at the soft squeak it makes in the silence. My fingers fly over the keyboard, bringing the system to life. The login screen glows an eerie blue in the darkness, casting strange shadows across the desk, which is cluttered with patient pamphlets and half-empty coffee mugs.

"Come on, baby," I mutter, cracking my knuckles before diving into the system. It's more secure than I expected for a small-town clinic, but nothing I can't manage. Lines of code scroll across the screen as I work my magic, each keystroke bringing me closer to breaching their defenses.

Time seems to stretch and compress as I work, the world narrowing down to just me and the computer. I'm vaguely aware of Zaire's footsteps echoing through the clinic, doors opening and closing as he searches.

Finally, after what feels like hours but is probably only about twenty minutes, I'm in. "Gotcha," I whisper triumphantly, allowing myself a small fist pump.

I hear Zaire's footsteps approaching just as I start digging through the patient records. "Any luck?" I ask without looking up.

"Found the storage room, but it's locked," he replies, his voice tight with frustration. "Some kind of keycard system. What about you?"

"Just got in," I say, fingers still flying across the keyboard. "Give me a sec."

I pull up the records for the date and time I had previously uncovered, scanning through the entries. My heart races as I spot a familiar name.

"Holy shit," I breathe. "Zaire, look at this."

He leans over my shoulder, his breath warm on my neck as he reads the screen. "Is that?"

There in black and white on the computer screen is a file named Rossi.

"Open it," Zaire demands, his voice a harsh whisper in the stillness of the clinic.

My fingers tremble as I click on the file, my heart pounding so loudly I'm sure Zaire can hear it. The screen flickers, and suddenly we're staring at a treasure trove of medical records, each one a damning piece of evidence.

"Jesus Christ," Zaire mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

The file is a minefield of medical jargon, but certain phrases jump out at me like neon signs: "oocyte retrieval," "controlled ovarian hyper-stimulation," "in vitro fertilization." My stomach churns as I scroll through the records, each entry more damning than the last.

"Look at this," I say, pointing to a series of entries. "There's at least...six, no, seven separate retrieval procedures listed here."

Zaire's grip on my shoulder tightens, his fingers digging into my flesh. I barely notice the pain, too engrossed in the horrifying details unfolding before us.

As I delve deeper into the records, a pattern emerges. After each retrieval, there are notes about fertilization attempts, all ending in failure. Even the clinical language in the files can't mask the underlying frustration evident in the doctors' notes.

"None of them worked," I murmur, a mix of relief and dread washing over me. "They couldn't create viable embryos."

But then, as if the universe decided we hadn't been punched in the gut enough tonight, I stumble upon a file from ten months ago. My blood runs cold as I read the physician's notes.

I continue scrolling, my heart pounding in my chest. "Wait...look at this one."

The file opens, revealing a set of physician's notes. My eyes widen as I read aloud, "Two viable embryos created. One male, one female."

"They did it," Zaire breathes, his voice a mix of horror and disbelief. "They actually fucking did it."

I scan through the rest of the notes, my mind racing. "It says here they were cryopreserved. Stored for future use."

"Future use," Zaire spits out the words like they're poison. "Like they're talking about spare parts, not human lives."

I lean back in the chair, running a hand through my hair. "This is beyond fucked up, Z. I mean, we knew it was bad, but this is next level shit.”

“Wait," I say, squinting at the screen. "There's more. It looks like they've got a specific location for the cryopreservation tank. Didn’t you say you found a cryopreservation room?"

“Yeah.” Zaire's eyes widen. "Are you saying they might still be here?"

I nod, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "According to this, they're stored in Tank B3, Rack 7, Positions 4 and 5.

"Can you get that door open?"

I crack my knuckles, a grim smile on my face. "That almost hurts.”

It takes a few minutes of furious typing and some creative coding, but I finally hear the telltale click of an electronic lock disengaging. "We're in," I announce. I shove out of the desk chair. “Lead the way.”

Zaire spins on his heels, heading down the hallway, making a left and then a right until we come upon a large metal door. The sign on the door ‘Cryogenic Storage - Authorized Personnel Only.’ I look over to the keypad, where a green light shines from the top of it. “It’s unlocked.”

I try the handle, and it opens with a soft click. Inside, the room is filled with large, cylindrical tanks, each emitting a soft hum. The air is noticeably colder here, our breath visible in small puffs.

"Which one is B3?" Zaire asks, scanning the labels on the tanks.

I spot it in the corner. "Over here," I call, moving towards it.

As we approach the tank, I can't help but quip, "You know, I'm starting to regret skipping all those science classes at the academy. Any idea how to work this thing?"

Zaire shoots me a look of half exasperation and half amusement. "Just find the right rack, smartass."

I spot a pair of thick, padded gloves nearby and pull them on. The cold hits me immediately as I open the tank, a cloud of icy vapor billowing out. I reach in, my movements slow and careful as I search for Rack 7.

"Got it," I mutter, pulling out the rack. My heart is pounding as I scan the positions. "4 and 5...4 and 5..."

But as I reach the spots where the embryos should be, my blood runs cold. The slots are empty.

"Zaire," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "They're not here."

"What do you mean, they're not here?" Zaire demands, peering over my shoulder.

I gesture to the empty slots. "I mean, they're gone. Positions 4 and 5 on Rack 7, they're empty."

Zaire's face contorts with disbelief and frustration. "No, that can't be right. Maybe we got the location wrong. Check again, Alex."

We carefully replace the rack and close the tank, the soft hiss of escaping vapor filling the silence between us. I shed the gloves, tossing them to the ground. The cold air clings to our skin as we hurry back to the reception area, our footsteps echoing in the empty hallways.

I slide back into the chair, my fingers dancing across the keyboard with renewed urgency. The blue glow of the screen illuminates our faces, casting eerie shadows across the room. I pull up the file again, double-checking every detail.

"Look," I say, pointing to the screen. "It's right here. Tank B3, Rack 7, Positions 4 and 5. That's exactly where we looked."

Zaire leans in, his eyes scanning the information. I can see the muscles in his jaw working as he processes the implications. "Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his hair. "How is this possible? Where could they have gone?"

"I don't know, Z," I reply, scrolling through the file for any additional information. "There's no record of a transfer or...wait, what's this?"

I click on a small icon at the bottom of the page, and a new window pops up. It's a log of access to the file, showing who viewed it and when. My eyes widen as I scan the list.

"Zaire, look at this," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Someone accessed this file three days ago. Someone with high-level clearance."

Zaire's eyes narrow as he reads the name. "Dr. Ivanov? Who the hell is that?"

I'm about to run a search on the name when a sound from outside freezes us both in place. It's the unmistakable crunch of tires on gravel, followed by the soft thud of a car door closing.

Zaire and I lock eyes, panic flaring between us.

"Shit," I hiss, my fingers flying across the keyboard. "We gotta go."

I pull out a thumb drive from my pocket and start downloading everything I can. The progress bar crawls across the screen, each second feeling like an eternity as the sound of footsteps grows closer.

"Come on, come on," I mutter, willing the files to transfer faster.

Zaire moves to the window, peering through the blinds. "Local police by the looks of him," he whispers. "He’s got a flashlight out like he’s doing his rounds.."

My heart hammers in my chest as I watch the progress bar. 95%...96%...97%...

The footsteps are right outside now. I can see the beam of a flashlight sweeping across the parking lot through the gaps in the blinds.

98%...99%...

The door handle jiggles.

100%.

I yank the thumb drive out, barely remembering to shut down the computer. Zaire is already at the back door, gesturing frantically for me to follow.

The cool night air hits my face as we burst out of the back door, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My fingers are still clenched tightly around the thumb drive, the weight of the information it contains feeling impossibly heavy.

We sprint across the parking lot, our footsteps echoing in the quiet night. The moon hangs low and full in the sky, casting long shadows that seem to reach for us as we run. My lungs burn with each breath, the taste of fear metallic on my tongue.

Zaire leads the way, his movements fluid and purposeful, like a predator on the hunt. I follow, trying to match his grace but feeling more like a lumbering bear in comparison. The gravel crunches under our feet, each step sounding like a gunshot in the stillness of the night.

We reach the car, and Zaire practically dives into the driver's seat. I scramble in beside him, my heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. The engine roars to life, and we peel out of the parking lot, tires squealing against the asphalt.

As we speed down the empty streets, the reality of what we've just done begins to sink in. We broke into a medical clinic. We stole confidential patient information. We uncovered a secret that could change everything.

"We need to call Oz," Zaire says, breaking the tense silence. His voice is tight, controlled, but I can hear the undercurrent of worry.

I nod, fumbling for my phone. My hands are shaking slightly as I pull up Oscar's contact, the blue light of the screen harsh in the darkened car. I hit the speaker button, and it starts to ring.

One ring. Two. Three. Each one feels like an eternity.

Finally, Oscar's voice fills the car through the phone's speaker. “Are you on your way back? You both good?”

"We're fine," I rush to assure him, glancing at Zaire. "But Oz, we found something.”

"They created viable fucking embryos from Vesper's eggs."

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. When Oscar finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. "How many?"

"Two," Zaire replies, his tone grim. "One male, one female. But that's not all."

I watch as Zaire's expression darkens, his brow furrowing as he continues. "They're gone, Oz. The embryos. They were supposed to be in cryo-storage at the clinic, but when we checked, the slots were empty."

Oscar's sharp intake of breath crackles through the speaker. "What do you mean, gone? How is that possible?"

"We don't know," I chime in, leaning closer to the phone. "But we did get a name. Someone accessed the file three days ago. A Dr. Ivanov."

The name hangs in the air between us, heavy with implications. Zaire's eyes meet mine for a brief moment, a silent understanding passing between us.

"Oz," Zaire says, his voice taking on a determined edge, "we may need to stay longer than we planned. We need to find this doctor and figure out what happened to those embryos."

The silence that follows is thick with tension. I can almost hear the gears turning in Oscar's head, weighing the risks against the potential rewards.

"Agreed," Oscar finally says, his voice firm. "We can't leave without answers. But be careful. If someone moved those embryos, they might be expecting company."

Zaire nods, even though Oscar can't see him. "We'll be careful. We'll start digging into this Dr. Ivanov first thing in the morning."

"Good," Oscar replies. "I'll work my contacts, see if I can find any information on our end. And guys, watch your backs. This just got a lot more complicated."

As we end the call, the weight of our discovery settles over us like a heavy blanket. The rhythmic hum of the car's engine and the soft whoosh of passing vehicles are the only sounds that break the tense silence.

I lean back in my seat, my mind racing with possibilities. Who is Dr. Ivanov? Where are the embryos now? And most importantly, what does this mean for Vesper?