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

30. Zaire

ZAIRE

I can't get the image out of my head. Vesper, all golden hair and flushed skin, riding Oscar like she was born to do it. My brother's hands gripping her hips so hard I could almost see the bruises forming. And me, on my phone, my own hand working furiously as I watched them.

It wasn't how I typically got my kicks but fuck if it wasn't hot as hell. The way Vesper's back arched, the sounds she made as she chased her release. I shift uncomfortably, my jeans suddenly too tight as the memories flood back. As soon as I get back, the first thing I plan to do is steal her away and lock the world out until I’ve had my fill of her. Until I possess her body, mind, and fucking soul.

"Earth to Z," Alex's voice cuts through my reverie, snapping me back to reality. We're across the street from the clinic, watching the building from our car. I realize I've been staring blankly at the steering wheel for who knows how long.

Alex quirks an eyebrow at me, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "You seem relaxed," he says, emphasizing the last word with a waggle of his eyebrows. "Good night?"

I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure. "Just thinking," I mutter, not meeting his eyes.

"Uh-huh," Alex says, unconvinced. "And I'm the Queen of England. Spill it. What's got you so distracted? Vesper call you or something.”

“Or something,” is all I give him.

"You think he's going to show?" I ask, my hand instinctively moving to the gun holstered at my hip.

“I think he’ll show. I left it vague enough that he probably thinks Natasha is bringing Vesper back to him. As much money as she just made The Collector, he’ll be too tempted not to take the bait.”

I nod, scanning the street for any signs of movement. The night is quiet, almost unnaturally so, as if the city itself is holding its breath in anticipation. The streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement, creating pockets of darkness where anything or anyone could be lurking.

Suddenly, a sleek black SUV glides into view, its tinted windows reflecting the dim streetlights. My pulse quickens as it turns down the alley beside the clinic, disappearing from sight. A moment later, a faint glow emanates from the front window of the building, barely visible but unmistakable.

"Showtime," I mutter, my voice low and tense.

I pull out my phone, my fingers flying across the screen as I type out a quick message to Oz: "Target's here. Moving in." I hit send, then turn to Alex. "You ready?"

He nods, his face set in grim determination. "Cameras are down.”

“How about our friend from the other night?”

“They’re occupied,” he assures me. “I downloaded a scanner app. There’s an accident off the highway. The New York State Police called in our friend and his buddies to manage the traffic. We’re clear for a couple of hours at least.”

“Won’t that be a problem for us to get the fuck out of here?”

“It’s west of our exit. It’s fine.”

We exit the car silently, our movements fluid and practiced. The cool night air hits my face, carrying with it the scent of rain and asphalt. My senses are on high alert, every nerve ending crackling with anticipation.

As we approach the building, I can't help but think of Vesper. Her face flashes in my mind; determined, fierce, beautiful. I push the thought away and focus on the task at hand. There'll be time for that later, I promise myself. Right now, we have a job to do.

We stick to the shadows, our footsteps barely audible on the damp pavement. The alley looms before us, a dark maw ready to swallow us whole. I can feel the weight of my gun against my hip, a cold comfort in the face of what's to come.

Alex takes point, his lean frame melting into the darkness ahead of me. I follow close behind, my eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching for any sign of movement. The faint glow from the clinic's window grows stronger as we near the back entrance.

My heart pounds in my chest, a steady rhythm matching our cautious steps. The air feels thick with tension, charged with the impending violence. As we reach the door, I meet Alex's eyes. A silent understanding passes between us. Whatever happens next, we're in this together.

With a deep breath, I reach for the handle, ready to step into whatever awaits us inside. The metal is cool against my palm, a stark contrast to the fire burning in my veins. This is it, I think. No turning back now.

I turn the handle slowly, wincing at the faint creak as the door swings open. We slip inside, the darkness enveloping us like a second skin. The air is thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic, undercut by something darker, more metallic. My eyes adjust quickly, picking out the shapes of medical equipment and shadowy corridors.

A voice cuts through the silence, making my heart leap into my throat. "Natasha? Is that you?" It's male’s voice, smooth as silk, but with an edge that sends a chill down my spine. "I'm all set up in exam room three. Bring her in."

Alex and I exchange a look. This is our chance. We move silently down the hallway, our footsteps muffled by the worn linoleum. The sound of rustling papers and clinking instruments grows louder as we approach the open doorway of exam room three.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come. With a nod to Alex, we step into the doorway, blocking the exit.

The man inside freezes, his hands hovering over a tray of gleaming surgical tools. He's younger than I expected, maybe early thirties, with a shock of dark hair and eyes so dark they're almost black. Built like a linebacker, he towers over the exam table, his white coat stretched tight across his broad shoulders.

For a moment, time stands still. I can see the realization dawning in his eyes, quickly followed by panic. Then, like a coiled spring suddenly released, he lunges for the far side of the room.

We're on him in an instant. I dive low, tackling his legs while Alex goes high, wrapping his arms around the man's torso. The force of our combined weight sends us crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and curses.

He fights like a cornered animal, all desperation and raw strength. An elbow catches me in the ribs, knocking the wind out of me, but I hold on, gritting my teeth against the pain. Alex grunts as a fist connects with his jaw, but he doesn't let go.

Together, we wrestle him towards the hospital bed. It's like trying to subdue a bear, all muscle and fury. Sweat beads on my forehead, my muscles straining with the effort. But we have the advantage of numbers and surprise.

With a final heave, we manage to flip him onto the bed. I grab a leather strap hanging from the side, quickly securing one of his wrists while Alex does the same on the other side and then adds a strap across his midsection. The man bucks and thrashes, but the straps hold firm.

Panting, I step back, wiping the sweat from my brow. The man on the bed continues to struggle, his eyes wild with fear and rage. "Who the fuck are you?" he spits, chest heaving. "Where's Natasha?"

I ignore him, turning to Alex. "You okay?"

He nods.

“Natasha didn’t call you. We did, asshole.”

As my eyes sweep across the room, taking in the clinical surroundings, my gaze lands on the stirrups at the end of the bed. A chill runs down my spine as I imagine Vesper in this very position, vulnerable and exposed. The thought makes my blood boil, but it also sparks an idea.

Without breaking eye contact, I move to the foot of the bed. My hands, steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins and reach for his shoelaces. The room falls silent, save for the ragged breathing of our captive and the soft rustle of fabric as I remove his shoes.

"What…what are you doing?" The man's voice wavers, fear creeping in to replace the anger.

I don't answer. Instead, I position his feet in the cold metal stirrups. I want him to feel exactly what Vesper felt, what all his victims felt.

"How does it feel?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "To be on the other side? To be the one exposed, helpless?"

His eyes widen, darting between my face and his positioned body. I can see the realization dawning, followed quickly by terror. "Please," he whimpers, all bravado gone. "I'll tell you anything you want to know. Just...don't do this."

I lean forward, my gaze boring into his. "That's exactly what they said to you, isn't it? All those women you violated. They begged, pleaded. And you ignored them."

The man on the bed begins to tremble, tears welling in his eyes. "I...I had no choice," he stammers. "They would have killed me if I didn't comply."

"There's always a choice," I spit back, my hands clenching into fists. "You chose to hurt innocent women. To steal their futures, their dreams. And for what? Money?"

I reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone. The screen glows to life, casting an eerie blue light across the room. The man's eyes widen as I raise the device, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Smile for the camera," I growl, snapping a photo of his terrified face. I type out a quick message to Oscar, attaching the photo.

My phone buzzes almost immediately. It's Oz, relaying Vesper's response:

Put a surgical mask on him.

I nod to Alex, who moves to a nearby supply cabinet. He returns with a blue disposable mask, the kind used in countless medical procedures. As he approaches the bed, our captive begins to thrash anew, his eyes wild with fear.

"No, please," he begs, his voice muffled as Alex secures the mask over his mouth and nose. "You don't understand. They'll kill me if they find out I've been compromised."

I ignore his pleas, raising my phone once more, I snap another photo. The second flash seems even brighter in the dim room, casting harsh shadows across the man's masked face. My fingers tremble slightly as I hit 'send'.

The wait for a response feels interminable. I can hear my own heart pounding in my ears, feel the cold sweat beading on my forehead. The man on the bed has gone quiet, his chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his white coat as he awaits his fate.

Finally, my phone buzzes. I open the message with shaking hands, my eyes scanning the words once, twice, three times to be sure.

"It's him," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Vesper confirms. He's The Shadow Man."

The room seems to grow colder, the air thick with the weight of this revelation. I look at the man on the bed, seeing him through new eyes. This isn't just some low-level grunt following orders. This is the monster who's been haunting Vesper's nightmares, the one who's caused so much of her pain and suffering.

"You sick fuck," I snarl, leaning in close. The smell of his fear is palpable, a sour stench that turns my stomach. "Do you have any idea what you've done? The lives you've ruined?" He whimpers behind the mask, tears streaming down his face. But I feel no pity, only a cold, hard rage that threatens to consume me.

“Please, I am innocent. Just let me go!”

My phone buzzes again, and I see Oscar's name flash on the screen. I answer immediately, my voice low and tight. "Oz?"

"She wants to watch, Z," he says, his tone a mix of concern and something darker. "Vesper...she needs to see this."

I hesitate for a moment, torn between protecting her from this brutality and honoring her wish for closure. But I know Vesper, her strength, her resilience. If this is what she needs, who am I to deny her?

"Alright," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Give me a second."

I prop my phone up against a nearby tray of instruments, angling it so the camera captures the full scene. The Shadow Man strapped to the bed, his feet in stirrups, Alex looming over him with cold determination in his eyes. I step back, making sure I'm in frame too.

Oscar's face appears on the screen, and then he's turning the phone to Vesper. The sight of her nearly takes my breath away. Her golden hair is mussed, her green eyes wide and haunted. But there's a fierceness there too, a burning need for justice that makes my heart ache.

"Can you see okay, moya koroleva?" I ask, my voice softening despite the situation.

She nods, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I can see everything," she says, her voice trembling slightly. “Make him pay.” Her voice strengthens at her request. The fire I knew was inside of her showing through knowing that the man who hurt her is at my mercy.

The raw pain in her voice ignites something primal within me. "You heard the lady," I growl. “But, first, we need to have a little chat.”

I lean in close, my face inches from his masked visage. "Let's start simple. Who were the buyers for Vesper’s eggs?"

His eyes dart frantically between Alex and me, sweat beading on his forehead. "I...I don't know," he stammers. "Natasha oversaw all that. I just did the procedures."

"Bullshit," I snarl, slamming my hand down on the metal tray beside him. The instruments rattle, and he flinches. "You expect us to believe you were just some mindless grunt? Try again."

He shakes his head vigorously, eyes wide with panic. "I swear, it's the truth! Natasha brought her when she was ripe, I did the egg retrieval, and they left. I swear.”

"He’s lying,” Vesper’s voice cuts through the noise. “The place they kept me. He was there. He visited.”

“For her hormone injections,” he fires back. “That’s it.”

“And where would that have been exactly?”

“I can’t tell you that. They’ll kill me,” he pleas.

“If you think you’re walking out of here still drawing breath, you’re delusional.”

I glance at Alex, who's watching the exchange with cold detachment. He gives a subtle nod, and I know we're on the same page. This scumbag isn't going to crack easily.

"Alright," I say, straightening up. "If that's how you want to play it."

I step back, giving Alex room to move. He approaches the bed slowly, deliberately, a scalpel glinting in his hand.

"What...what are you doing?" he whimpers, straining against his restraints.

Alex doesn't respond. Instead, he leans over the man, the scalpel hovering just above the crotch of his dress pants. With precise movements, he begins to cut through the fabric, the soft sound of tearing cloth filling the room.

His pleas grow more frantic as Alex works, cutting through his underwear as well. "Please, stop! I'll tell you whatever you want to know!"

But it's too late. Alex steps back, and I can see the man's exposed flesh, vulnerable and pathetic. The sight fills me with a mixture of disgust and savage satisfaction.

"Now," I say, my voice low and dangerous, "let's try this again. Who were the buyers?"

He's sobbing now, his chest heaving beneath the white coat. "I don't know his real name," he chokes out. “They just went by The Collector, that’s all I know, I swear.”

I lean in closer, my eyes boring into his. "What did they want with her eggs?”

He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing beneath the surgical mask. "I…I didn’t ask," he whispers. “They paid triple the usual rate for a viable male embryo. They said she was special. I just did what they wanted me to do."

“The rack with her embryo. It’s empty. Where did they go?”

The man’s eyes dart nervously between Alex and me, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "The male embryo. It was couriered away as soon as it was frozen. Special handling, top priority. I don't know where it went, I swear."

I feel my jaw clench, anger boiling in my veins. "And the female embryo?"

He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing beneath the surgical mask. "Destroyed," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Per The Collector's request. They only wanted the male."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I turn to look at the phone propped up on the tray where Vesper's face fills the screen. The devastation in her eyes is palpable, a raw, open wound that makes my chest ache. Her lips tremble, and I can see her struggling to maintain her composure.

The sight of her pain ignites something primal within me. I whirl back to face him, my vision tinged with red. "Where?" I snarl, leaning in close. "Where did they send the male embryo?"

He shakes his head frantically, eyes wide with terror. "I don't know, I swear! They never tell me these things. I'm just the doctor. I don't oversee logistics!"

I can feel my control slipping, rage threatening to consume me. My hands clench into fists at my sides, knuckles white with the effort of restraining myself.

From the corner of my eye, I see Alex move. He reaches for something on the nearby tray, and the fluorescent lights glint off cold, polished steel. A speculum, its curved arms wickedly sharp in the harsh light.

Ivanov's eyes lock onto the instrument, and a whimper escapes from behind his mask. "Please," he begs, his voice cracking. "I've told you everything I know. Please don't do this."

Alex steps forward, his face a mask of cold determination. The speculum hovers over the man's exposed groin, and I can see him trembling, sweat beading on his forehead. Ivanov's sobbing now, tears streaming down his face and soaking into the surgical mask. "I don't know the exact location," he chokes out between gasps. "But I overheard something about a private clinic in Russia."

I look at Alex, our eyes meeting in a moment of shared understanding. Russia. Of course it would lead back there. The word hangs in the air, heavy with implications and unspoken questions. Without a second’s hesitation, Alex shoves the speculum into his ass, each click spreading his asshole wide open as he screams.

“I bet that’s uncomfortable,” I smirk.

"We need more than just 'Russia.' It's a big country, in case you hadn't noticed."

His eyes dart frantically between Alex and me, panic evident in every line of his face. "I don't know anything else, I swear! Please, you have to believe me!"

Alex gives me a subtle nod before disappearing from the room. For a moment, the only sounds are Ivanov's ragged breathing and the distant hum of medical equipment. Then, a new noise fills the air, the slow, ominous rumble of something heavy being wheeled down the hallway.

The sound grows louder, echoing off the sterile walls until it seems to fill the entire clinic. I watch as his pupils dilating with fear as he strains to see what's coming.

Alex reappears in the doorway, pushing a large, cylindrical container. It's a liquid nitrogen dewar, its metallic surface gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. A long, stainless steel hose snakes out from the top, coiling on the floor like some mechanical serpent.

The sight of it sends a chill down my spine, and I'm not even the one strapped to the bed. I can only imagine what's going through Ivanov’s mind right now.

Alex maneuvers the dewar into position next to the bed, the wheels squeaking slightly on the linoleum floor. He picks up the end of the hose, examining it with a clinical detachment that's somehow more terrifying than outright anger.

"You know," I say conversationally, as if we're discussing the weather and not about to torture a man, "liquid nitrogen is fascinating stuff. It’s so cold that it burns your skin in seconds. Imagine what that would feel like on your most sensitive areas."

Ivanov’s eyes are fixed on the hose in Alex's hand, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he hyperventilates. "Please," he whimpers, his voice muffled by the mask. "I've told you everything I know. I swear on my life!"

I lean in close, my face inches from his. "Your life isn't worth much right now," I growl. "But maybe, just maybe, if you give us something useful, we might let you keep some of your parts intact."

Alex moves closer, the hose hovering menacingly over his exposed groin. I can see goosebumps rising on his skin, whether from fear or the proximity to the frigid container, I'm not sure. Alex twists the knob on the top of the tank, a whooshing sound coming from it as frost begins to form on the hose. Alex hands me the hose. As the liquid spews, I shove the blunt end of the hose into his ass through the speculum.

Ivanov's scream pierces the air, a sound of pure agony that seems to vibrate through my very bones. His body convulses against the restraints, muscles straining as he tries to escape the searing cold invading his most intimate areas. Thick, white fog billows from between his legs, curling around the stirrups and spilling onto the floor like some ethereal waterfall.

The acrid smell of burning flesh fills my nostrils, turning my stomach even as a savage satisfaction courses through me. This is for Vesper, I remind myself. For all the women he's hurt.

I yank the hose free, watching as more fog pours from his abused orifice. "Start talking," I growl, my hand hovering threateningly over the liquid nitrogen tank.

Ivanov's words tumble out in a frantic rush, punctuated by sobs and gasps of pain. "It was Mario Rossi," he chokes out. "He bought the embryo. Natasha...she arranged it all for him."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. Mario Rossi. Vesper’s own uncle. The man who is supposed to be family. A red haze descends over my vision, rage boiling up from some deep, primal part of me.

Without conscious thought, my hand moves to the tank's controls. I crank it up, unleashing a torrent of liquid nitrogen into the room. The temperature plummets instantly, fog rolling across the floor in thick waves. It swirls around my ankles, climbs up the walls, fills every corner of the room until it's hard to see, hard to breathe.

I can barely make out Alex's form through the dense fog. The temperature in the room plummets, our breath visible in short, sharp puffs. Ivanov's cries grow weaker, muffled by the mask and the ever-thickening mist.

My hand shakes as I reach for my phone, still propped up on the nearby tray. Vesper's face is barely visible on the screen, her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and grim satisfaction. I snatch it up, my fingers numb with cold and shock. “Go to the warehouse,” Oscar calls out from my phone. “We’ll meet you there.”

"We're done here," I growl to Alex, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. Without waiting for a response, I turn and stride out of the room, Alex close on my heels.

The hallway feels unnaturally warm after the Arctic chill of the exam room. I can hear the faint, weakening cries of Ivanov behind us, but I don't look back. My mind is a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions, all centered around one devastating fact: Mario Rossi is behind all of this. Vesper’s fucking uncle.

“What do we do about him?” I ask Alex once we’re outside the room. “We can’t exactly leave him on ice. They’ll blow the whistle as soon as it opens up tomorrow. You can’t exactly miss a frozen ass popsicle in the exam room.”

Alex pulls out his phone, firing off a text. “He’ll be gone within the hour.”

“Do I want to know how?”

“Let’s just say I have a friend nearby in the big cat business,” he says with a wink. “He’s always looking for free meat to feed his tigers.”

“How the fuck do you keep making all these friends, Alex?” I ask, shaking my head.

“Message boards,” he shrugs nonchalantly. “You can meet all kinds of interesting people online.”