Deceitful Vows (Marital Privileges #2)

18. Zoya

18

ZOYA

“ I thought the tears your colleague shed as he fell to his knees would have warned you to stay away.” I bump closed one of the many filing cabinets hidden at the back of the reception desk of Stoltz and Hemway before spinning to face the man whose pricy cologne announced his stalk long before the slow bob of his Adam’s apple. “If you’re as eager to breed as your brother, I suggest you turn around. It may be the only way your nuts will stay out of your stomach.”

Mikhail smiles.

He. Fucking. Smiles.

“I’m not playing, Mikhail.”

It only took me minutes to realize I was being followed when I raced out of Mikhail’s building, too hot with fury to remember my only mode of transport was parked in his underground parking lot.

I dealt with the tail as I wish I could have taken Andrik down.

I kneed him in the balls.

“I know how serious you are, Sunshine.” With his hands held in the air, Mikhail takes a non-defensive step forward. “I just figured if you truly want to remain off his radar, you’ll need the help I thought I was offering earlier.”

He scans his eyes over the filing cabinets I’m not even one-tenth of the way through. Dr. Hemway doesn’t file his patients’ records in alphabetical order like every other gynecologist. He has a system that isn’t meant to be cracked—or rate women on their fertility status.

I thought he was one of the good guys.

I’ve never felt more stupid.

Not even Mikhail’s betrayal hurt this much, because I understand he must side with his family.

Dr. Hemway was as close to family as I had in my adolescence.

I never thought he would betray me like this.

Mikhail’s low tone shifts my focus off my heartache. “There has to be hundreds of patients’ files here. You won’t find who you’re seeking without my help.”

“Who said I’m seeking anyone? Maybe I just want to ensure my imprint on society remains anonymous.”

I hate the sympathetic look he gives me. It is the same look I was given when the sole reason for my existence was removed from the table and I was overlooked time and time again.

That’s why I stupidly crave Andrik’s attention. I like that he picked me over anyone else—even his wife. Don’t get me wrong. I still feel guilty as hell. It was just nice to be picked first for a change instead of being disregarded like a broken toy.

Childish tears burn my eyes when Mikhail reminds me why I’ll never be first. “I saw your face drop when you realized his connection to Dr. Hemway.” Again, he doesn’t need to say Andrik’s name for me to know who he is referencing. “You know why he was here as well as I do.”

I hold out my hand, stopping him from coming any closer when an immature tear is close to rolling down my cheek. I should be used to rejection by now. It has been scalded in me since I was eleven. It just hurts being reminded why I was left to fend for myself at fifteen.

I had to do things no child should have to do to survive, yet my mother lived in a suburban mansion with a butler and half a dozen servants.

I doubt I would have seen adulthood if I hadn’t met Nikita and her family. They had nothing, yet they made me a part of their family as if their bank balances were garnished with millions of dollars.

The remembrance should end my search and see me returning to the town I now call home.

My mother articulated Aleena’s name without a single snarl, so to others, she is clearly not as “unfortunate” as me. It’s just my first two years on the streets that taught me even women draped in jewels can still be abused.

Angrily, I brush my cheek to make sure it isn’t wet before murmuring, “I need to make sure she wasn’t on his list.” I stop, breathe, then correct myself. “That she will never be on a list like that.”

“Who?” Mikhail asks a second before the truth dawns on him. “Your sister?”

My nod almost sends fresh tears streaming down my face. I hold them back. Just.

Mikhail works his jaw side to side as he contemplates. He wants to offer an easy solution. Since he can’t, he goes with honesty. “If she is on a list, you won’t find it here.” When I huff, he talks louder. “This is the first place men using this type of service would look to undercut the middleman. Dr. Hemway is a spineless leech, but Andrik wouldn’t have used him if he wasn’t smart.”

It takes everything I have not to defend Dr. Hemway. Don’t ask me why. I wouldn’t be able to give you an honest answer.

“So if you want answers, you need to go to the source of your anger. You need to confront…” His words are traded for a smile as he peers at someone over my shoulder. “You either have balls of steel or I gave your intellect more credit than it deserves.”

I crank my neck back so fast my muscles scream in disgust. Dr. Hemway is standing in the alcove of the storage room of Stoltz and Hemway. His nose is bloody, his top lip is cracked, and multiple bruises dot his face and torso. He looks like he’s been put through the wringer, but the only emotion I showcase when our eyes lock and hold is fury.

“Was she on his list?”

Dr. Hemway steps back like my question is loaded with more than anger. He looks set to dodge bullets. “What? I’d?—”

I cut him off with a roar the most unhinged man in the world would be proud of. “Was she on the approved list you gave your last client of the day yesterday?”

His eyes widen in shock. “He told you about that… assignment ?”

“No. He didn’t need to.” I step closer to him. “The guilt on your face tells me everything I need to know.” I speak slower, breathing through every punctuated word that grows louder with each one delivered. “Was. My. Baby. Sister. On. His. List?” I almost say Aleena’s name. The only reason I don’t is because I don’t trust either of these men standing across from me. They trade women. That makes them no better than the scum I was forced to endure when I was kicked out of my home when I was still a child.

“No,” Dr. Hemway answers, weakening my frustration by a smidge. “As I told you yesterday, I haven’t seen her in years. Not since she…”

“Got your seal of approval?” I ask when his words trail off.

When silence is the only answer given, I’m seconds from discovering if he, like Andrik, also gets horny when struck.

His brief headshake saves his face from additional bruises by the skin of his teeth.

“I’ve kept her off their lists the same way I have you for years.”

I stare at him in shock, unmoving and unspeaking.

He can’t be saying what I think he is. I suffer through horrific cramps and nonstop pain a minimum of three weeks a month. Sex hurts. I bleed, for crying out loud.

Although my last two points could solely correspond with having sex with someone as well-endowed as Andrik, my prior two can’t be as easily excused.

I’m an endometriosis sufferer.

Shock pummels into me when something Dr. Hemway said yesterday smacks back into me.

The severity of the diagnosis doesn’t often correspond with the pain allotment. Even someone with minor scarring can face immense pain.

“You—”

“Kept your sister safe the only way I knew how,” Dr. Hemway interrupts. “I logged your results into her file.”

Disappointment shouldn’t be the first emotion I express.

Regretfully it is.

I’m reminded that Mikhail is in the room with us when he stops Dr. Hemway from approaching me by coughing in silent warning. He fans out his jacket to announce he’s carrying. He doesn’t trust him. I understand why. I’m having a hard time believing him, and I’ve known him for over a decade.

My pain is real, so there’s no judging that, but if he diagnosed Aleena as infertile to remove her name from a list we were placed on when we were born, why hasn’t our mother discarded Aleena like she did me? Why is she still blaming the smudge against our family name solely on me?

I’m happy to take the heat off Aleena. That doesn’t mean I’m not also curious.

My eyes float up from the floor when Dr. Hemway whispers, “I want to give you answers, Zoya, but I can’t do that right now.” I’m reminded he is bruised and battered when the shudder of his words announces how hard his body is trembling. “Kiara”—he chokes on his next two words—“my daughter.” His face is the picture of petrified. “I can’t lose my family.”

I nod in full understanding. I’m here for that exact reason. There’s just one thing that is unclear. Why is he here, then? If he’s worried about his family, why leave them for something of little importance?

When I ask him that, he moves toward a filing cabinet I was hours from searching before he ruffles through the middle stack. In seconds, he removes three thick files. One I recognize from yesterday. The other two are nowhere near as thick.

After storing one under his arm, he places my patient record on top of the remaining file before he hands them to me. “Now you will never be on a list. Neither of you.”

A brick lodges in my throat when the shake of my hands rattles my file enough to expose the name of the secondary record.

It belongs to Aleena.

“Thank you,” I whisper, still wary but alert enough to know he risked a lot to come here and remove mine, Aleena’s, and I assume his wife’s files from a stack of thousands that will no longer be monitored by him.

Dr. Hemway cringes like he doesn’t deserve my praise before he dips his chin in farewell and hotfoots it to the closest exit—the same exit being blocked by Mikhail.

“Mikhail.” My mutter of his name gains me his attention. My reminder of his marshmallow heart frees Dr. Hemway from his wrath. “If you lose that, you’ll be no better than them.”

After a beat, he steps to the side, giving Dr. Hemway enough space to skirt past, before he joins me in the middle of the storage room.

His walk shouldn’t be so cocky.

He’s still on my shitlist.

When his eyes drop to the half of Aleena’s name exposed by my wonky hold of the files, I pull them in close to my chest before heading for the exit. I got what I came here for, so there’s no need for me to continue breaking the law.

“What now?” Mikhail asks after racing to catch up with me.

“I’m going home,” I answer before I can stop myself.

My brain is too clouded with confusion to think clearly. I need to step back and look at the entire picture. I can’t do that here. The memories are too painful, and I don’t trust myself not to demand answers I’m not sure I want to unearth.

My steps across a dusty lot slow when Mikhail says, “He will follow you there.”

“No, he won’t.” I twist to face him. “Because he doesn’t know where that is, and you’re not going to tell him which way I went.”

Again, he slows my steps. “He will log your tags into the transport department database the instant his security team strips them from the servers of the underground parking lot of my building.” I hate how much honesty is in his tone when he continues. “If you so much as drive through a toll booth or past an infringement camera, he will learn of your whereabouts.”

“Then I’ll take the bus,” I shout, my anger picking up.

My car is the only thing of value I own, yet the thought of abandoning it isn’t the sole cause of my frustration. I’m the most annoyed about the hope Mikhail’s warning flooded my veins with.

I can’t be attracted to a taken man.

It is morally unethical.

I just wish Andrik was as ugly as a monkey’s butt, and that the sheer honesty in his eyes when he said his marriage was a tactically laid out ruse seemed more fraudulent than real. Then I could walk away without the slightest snippet of hesitation. I’d stop second-guessing my guilt as doubt and move on with my life.

“His hacker will infiltrate the bus network as fast as he does any website, social media app, or bank account you use. From what I witnessed, he’s snowed fucking under, Sunshine. Buried deep. He won’t let you walk away from him.” I’m about to yell at him that it isn’t Andrik’s choice. That he doesn’t own me. Before I can, Mikhail’s eyes widen and his mouth gapes. “Unless…”

“Unless?” I encourage, desperate to get away from the inane thoughts in my head telling me infertility makes me worthless.

Mikhail digs a small black device out of his pocket. I have no clue what it is, but Mikhail stares at it as if it is the answer of every riddle. “He’ll kill me but fuck it.” Mischievousness fires through his eyes when he locks them with mine. “It is a little brother’s job to make his siblings miserable.” His expression takes on a serious note. “And maybe this will replace the hate daggers you’ve been hitting me with over the past hour back to friendly fire.”

I don’t hate him, but once again, I’m too confused to express any emotion, much less one that requires a fully functioning heart.

After exhaling his disappointment that I didn’t deny his accusation of dislike, he explains what the device is and how it operates. “You can’t use it at every location, or he’ll track the disruption of intermittence. But if you coordinate its use with visits to less monitored locations, you should be able to make it home relatively unscathed.”

“Is there a tracker in this?” I accept the dirtbox he’s holding out for me before swiveling it around. It’s so small it shouldn’t elicit so much power. But I feel stronger just holding it.

Dark hairs flop into Mikhail’s eyes when he shakes his head. “No. No one will know where it is used or when. Not even me.” When I fail to hide the flare of disappointment darting through my eyes, his lips inch higher. “You know where to find me when you’re ready.”

“For?” I ask, still too bamboozled to dig through the rubble unaided.

He bumps me like he knows I’m nowhere near as stupid as I am portraying, before he jogs to a car parked a couple of spots up. “This should get you across the country multiple times.”

I push back the wad of cash he attempts to hand me. “I can’t take your money.”

“Why the fuck not?” he asks, his tone serious.

He pffts me when I say, “I didn’t earn it.”

“You reminded Andrik that he is human. That’s worth far more than this.” His expression switches from serious to playful. “And I don’t want you using the excuse you’ve got no data or some shit like that when you’re finally ready to forgive me.” The crinkle between his brows is back, deeper and as uneased as ever. “I didn’t know they were going to bombard you like that. My father made out?—”

“It doesn’t matter,” I interrupt, too confused to add more to the over-stacked plate. “I’ll pay you back.” I split the bundle he handed me in half and return the bigger half to him. “So I guess you better give me your number so I have a way of contacting you for your bank details.”

You’d swear I invited him into my bed. That’s how big his smile is when he plucks a bill from his stack and scribbles his phone number across it.

I roll my eyes when he hands it to me.

Of course, it is the biggest denomination available in Russia.

“What?” Mikhail’s grin is brighter than the high-hanging sun. “It’s not like you’ll spend it.” He pops the cap onto the marker he summoned from nowhere before smacking his lips together with a similar noise. “Your eyes didn’t get the slightest sugar-baby gleam when I mentioned Andrik’s wealth earlier.”

“Well-rehearsed on the traits of sugar babies, are we, Marshmallow Man?” I ask, hating his dour tone.

I’m reminded that he’s been the most honest of the bunch when he quotes, “Will you call me a hussy if I say yes?” When I smile, he nudges his head to his ride before opening the passenger side door in offering. “My coffin has already been chosen, so why not add an extra few nails for sturdiness.”

If I truly believed he was in danger, I wouldn’t accept his offer.

But since I know the depths one sibling will go for another, I push the button on the dirtbox before sliding onto the passenger’s seat of Mikhail’s fancy ride.