The Lies Between Lovers (The Beast of Moscow Book 2)

by Bethany-Kris

  Her mother was right.

  She needed antibiotics, and rest.

  “Where did that stupid bitch put it?” Feliks asked in a hiss, shoving files back and then forward again in the drawer. Just as fast, he slammed it shut with a bang and yanked open another one with the same lack of grace that he’d treated the first. “It can’t be gone.”

  “Are you busy?” Vera decided to ask.

  Might as well break the damn ice.

  Feliks shoved the drawer closed when he couldn’t find what he wanted in that one, and moved on to yet another one. Like when she first entered the space, he didn’t give her his attention beyond a muttered, “Yes, kind of.”

  Oh, well.

  If only Vera cared at this point.

  She did care right up until the moment she entered The Swan House that morning to let Feliks know she wouldn’t be able to teach her class—her infection wasn’t any better, and she’d settled on the fact she needed to see the doctor—but first she went to the studio. Only to drop off a duffel bag of extra things she might need when she did get back to work, except there wasn’t a studio to go to.

  Well, there was.

  It was just destroyed.

  “I’ll kill her,” he said under his breath, still digging in the drawer and flipping through files.

  “I thought you said they were fixing the water leak downstairs,” she said, not even bothering to hide the thinly veiled accusation in her tone.

  An almost sardonic laugh that came back from Feliks had Vera stiffening on the spot. He sounded like her question was ridiculous and not like he’d spent several weeks lying to her about the current state of the studio downstairs and why she wasn’t needed at work. There had been something heavy that settled deep in her stomach when she found the studio doors still barricaded with caution tape that was half ripped off. Not that she paid the tape any mind before going beyond the doors to see why it was still hanging in the first place.

  Oh, she certainly learned why.

  The entire studio stunk like musty water the second she shoved open the doors. There had been a water leak—that much had been clear by the buckets she found catching what drips remained falling from a pipe in the ceiling. A good portion of the wall where the pipe came down had been ripped open to expose the water lines. Without a single light on in the studio—the switches hadn’t worked for her when she had tried—she still had full view and understanding of the damage.

  And the fact that Feliks lied.

  “I asked you a question! You could at least answer me.”

  It was only her raised voice that finally seemed to drag Feliks away from searching his row of cabinets on the far wall of his office. She’d noticed when she first came in that the space looked different—the gray filing cabinets had been replaced for sleek, tall black ones that appeared to conserve more space than the others had. The center carpet had been replaced with another she didn’t recognize, and even his desk was reorganized so the things on top weren’t in the same place they used to be.

  Placing both of his hands on the open drawer, Feliks’ head fell lower than his shoulders. He shook his head back and forth, and another low laugh started to echo from the man. The longer he laughed, the angrier Vera became at his behavior. Not that it was anything new for Feliks.

  “What is funny?” she snapped.

  Feliks swung around on her, then. “A little early, aren’t you? You’re not scheduled to come in until this afternoon.”

  Vera’s brow raised. “What does that matter?”

  This was her goddamn place of work, even if she had given him a deadline for the end of her employment. It wasn’t unusual for Vera to hang around the ballet house—well, before.

  “Well, you’d think if you were coming to my office to make a scene,” Feliks muttered, “then you might give a guy a heads up first. I don’t know, a phone call?”

  “Why because you’re so busy?” she returned, gesturing at the empty office. She hoped her sarcasm landed like a slap to his face.

  Actually, the entire place felt the same way his office did. Lonely, cold, and without any real soul. She hadn’t seen anyone except the one girl running the reception desk at the entrance. There was always a ballerina or two around—instructors getting something prepared or chatting in the corridors.

  Someone.

  But she saw practically no one.

  “When is the studio going to be fixed?” Vera asked. “Has someone called the parents and guardians of the kids to—”

  “When I get around to it.”

  Vera blinked at that reply. “You told me it was being fixed! That it would be done by today. The walls and ceiling are practically rotted out, Feliks. How long has it been down there dripping like that?”

  There hadn’t even been industrial fans in the studio to try and keep the hardwood floors dry. No doubt, that would just add more cost to the repairs at the end of the day.

  Feliks scrubbed a palm down his jaw, but she could see the tension in his arm muscles at the action. All the way up to his elbows where he’d rolled the sleeves of his silk button-down shirt, his arm clenched and trembled.

  “You’re fired,” he uttered.

  No warning.

  Just like that.

  You’re fired.

  “Excuse me?” Vera asked. “Feliks, I already quit. I even gave you a deadline to find a replacement.”

  “And that means nothing to my decision. I’ve already officially ended the program you were in charge of and have notified anyone that would need to know.”

  A chill settled in Vera’s heart. Cold enough that pins and needles prickled into the beating organ and her chest. “What are you talking about?”

  Planting his brown leather loafers shoulder width apart, Feliks crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down where he stood fifteen feet away. The expression on his face, however, made it feel like the man was standing over her, looming there and glaring down. She refused to move, or look away from him even if it did make her uncomfortable. Part of her issue with this man was the fact she let him get away with far too much.

  With everything.

  When they dated.

  For the company.

  In general.

  All of it, she let him get away with too much disrespect, and now it was simply his second nature where she was concerned. Vera was done with it.

  And him.

  “No, you misunderstand,” Feliks said, his tone reverting to one she recognized enough to make her bristle. It was the same way he liked to talk to anyone he considered less than or unworthy of his time and attention. “As of today, your employment with this company is over, Vera. Your services are no longer needed, and as your contract already expired, we don’t need to bother with any of the standard business to get things between us cleared up. You’re welcome to clean out any locker you’ve been using, and make your way off the property as soon as possible. Is that clear enough?”

  This is what you wanted.

  Despite telling herself that, and knowing it was true, Vera couldn’t help the anger that welled inside. “Why?”

  Feliks blinked at her sharp question. “I don’t—”

  “You couldn’t even let me say goodbye to the kids? Or give me a chance to—”

  “I was more than willing to go with your decision, actually,” Feliks interjected, cocking a single eyebrow in challenge. “I even spent two weeks trying to find the funds to fix your precious fucking studio on the off chance that I could keep you working here a little bit longer, but then it didn’t even matter because a better opportunity presented itself and all I need to do is get rid of you to make it happen.”

  What?

  Vera shook her head a little bit like that might help all of this make sense. It didn’t. “What opportunity?”

  That question pulled another one of those irritating chuckles from the man. “Vaslav Pashkov—who else?”

  He said that as if she should already know. All she could think about was ho
w her heart felt as it splintered and broke.

  Vera barely even spoke to Feliks about her private business, never mind her burgeoning relationship. He didn’t make her wait long before he filled in the missing pieces.

  “Seven-point-seven trillion rubles.”

  “What does money have anything to do—”

  “That’s how much Vaslav offered to pay me to remove you from this company in any capacity, and my life,” Feliks said, shrugging with little remorse or care. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but The Swan House hasn’t seen that kind of profit in ever, and I couldn’t justify worrying about your feelings in the matter when all I really need at the moment is money.”

  Of course.

  The fact she was too shocked to decide which man she wanted to be angrier with spoke volumes to Vera.

  “I hate you,” she told Feliks.

  Petty, sure.

  It was still true, and she didn’t regret saying it.

  Feliks only laughed again.

  Someday, she hoped he choked to death on that laugh.

  Wouldn’t that be fair?

  *

  Vera should have listened to her mother and headed for the closest clinic that could get her pumped full of antibiotics. Instead, when she blinked awake to quiet beeps she didn’t recognize and stiff sheets that weren’t her own, the sterile smell of the hospital was the first thing to assault her senses.

  She dragged in one breath, and then another. Letting her vision settle on the IV pole next to her bed and where the tube had been connected to her hand, Vera struggled to remember how she even got there in the first place.

  The room, dimly lit and private as there was no other patient or bed except for hers, was quiet but for the soft murmurings she could hear from somewhere out in the hallway. The door had been left cracked just a little, letting a slice of light fall across the floor where it stopped at a sink connected to the wall. The room didn’t offer much more—there wasn’t even an attached bathroom, and she couldn’t be bothered to turn to her other side and see what waited for her over there.

  She was still trying to figure out how she got there.

  Her hands were slow.

  Or maybe that was her mind.

  It took Vera entirely too long—like her movements were done in slow motion—to get her one arm untucked from the blanket. The one that didn’t have an IV stuck in it. She tried to pull the messy bun out of her hair, but gave up when it seemed to take more energy than she had to expend. Even rubbing her palm over her cheeks and eyes did little to help the exhaustion weighing her down and pulling her back to sleep.

  At least, she didn’t feel wracked with chills or barely able to keep water down from the rising fever she hadn’t been able to break with ibuprofen. She considered settling back into the stiff blankets and double stacked pillows behind her head for another sleep—at least until a nurse or doctor came to her room—but something caught her eye, and she couldn’t look away.

  The newspaper sat folded neatly on her lap. Like someone had purposely sat it there because they wanted her to find it as soon as she woke up. Reaching for the paper, she only needed to pull it a little closer to be able to see why.

  The headline read: Another Body Pulled from Canal

  Vera blinked before her gaze narrowed in on the smaller writing beneath the headline to distinguish the written details of the crime.

  It wasn’t actually a full body—more like pieces of one tossed like trash inside black garbage bags into the canal. According to investigators, there was a suggestion made to the reporter covering the incident for the newspaper that the newest murder victim might be connected to the last one found in the canal only months ago.

  Vera let out a slow breath, wishing it would help to sooth her frayed nerves as she read through those first few paragraphs again. She shouldn’t have bothered, really, because it wasn’t even the most important part.

  Or interesting, for that matter.

  The remains have been positively identified based on a missing person’s report and jewelry found on some of the remains, the writer informed in a succinct tone that offered no emotion about the killing or body. A wedding ring obtained from the hand of the remains was confirmed to belong to Oligarch Viktor Antonovich. Divorced from his first wife, he had recently remarried. Officials hope that by releasing the name of the deceased as soon as possible that there will be more witnesses willing to come forward with any details they might know about the crime. Contact—

  Vera stopped reading, then, and tossed the paper away. It landed on the same spot where she’d first picked it up from, but the force at which she threw it sent it sliding to the floor. Flapping open on the way down, the picture of a man fishing a garbage bag from the canal with a pole stared up at her.

  Vomit threatened to spill from her throat if she didn’t look away, so Vera did. Not that she could really forget the image just because she wasn’t staring at the paper anymore.

  Jesus.

  Her heart raced while her mind went straight to Hannah. Her friend had been extra quiet since Vera left Italy, but she expected that after the message Viktor left on Hannah’s voicemail.

  It was in that moment when her companion sitting at her left finally decided to make himself known. The squeak of leather soles against the tiled floor had her whipping to the side. Next to the window, in a wooden rocking chair where he sat like a silent predator waiting on his prey, a solemn Vaslav stared back at her.

  She didn’t know what to say.

  So, she said nothing.

  Quiet and rough, Vaslav asked, “Well, does that solve one of your problems?”

  She didn’t need to ask what he meant.

  It could only be one thing.

  22.

  “Your color is a lot better than it was when I got here yesterday,” Vaslav noted.

  Vera squinted despite the low lighting. “What day is it?”

  “Tuesday evening.”

  She didn’t really seem to register what he had just told her. Her black stare didn’t flicker with the knowledge that she had been in the hospital for more than twenty-four hours. The concern that had been gnawing at his heart since Igor got the call from Kiril that Vera had needed to be hospitalized didn’t ease up. If anything, that bitch doubled down.

  “Apparently, you had a bad infection.”

  “And an appointment to get antibiotics,” she replied just as fast.

  Except he could see the way her fast defensiveness went away the second she couldn’t say what happened after.

  “No worries,” a medsestra said as she pushed open the door and strode into the room with a wide smile. Her standard white uniform and apron only made the woman’s icy, sleek hair all the more blonde. “We’ve got you on the right antibiotics now, Misses.”

  Vaslav opted to settle back in the rocking chair as the nurse came in and moved around the room. First came the rolling table that she pulled away from the wall and pushed the top to position over the bed. She picked up the newspaper and corrected it without a complaint about why it was there in the first place, and never once stopped smiling all the while.

  She easily distracted Vera—bubbly, friendly personalities tended to do that to people. Vaslav didn’t mind letting the nurse wake Vera up a little more and bring back some of the memories that might be fuzzy from a long, much needed sleep and whatever medicinal cocktail they had shoved into her IV.

  Antibiotics, they told him.

  That didn’t mean he trusted it to be true.

  Vera was happy to maneuver into a sitting position when the nurse encouraged her to do so, all the while explaining how her stop at an emergency clinic when her doctor cancelled at the last minute had landed her here.

  “You don’t have any antibiotic allergies, do you?” the woman asked.

  Vera shook her head. “No, but I also haven’t been on a lot of medicine to say I could be, either.”

  The nurse nodded, smiling again. “The doctor will get into specifics, but you
do have what is probably an allergy. Your pressure dropped, you already had a spiking fever again, and—”

  “Kiril found you in the clinic’s bathroom,” Vaslav interjected, wanting Vera to know who it was that came upon her when she was most vulnerable. The nurse wouldn’t have those details, but he wanted Vera to. To the medsestra, he said, “Apologies—please continue.”

  “Anyway, you’re on the right antibiotics to treat your infection now, and you’re getting a good dose through IV until at least tomorrow, so you won’t have to worry about that much longer,” the nurse continued, her gaze drifting back to Vaslav in the far-left corner of the room.

  He ignored the woman.

  Instead, the thick, plastic shades became more interesting to him that whatever else the nurse had to say. He pulled one of the shades away from the window to survey the manicured grounds of the hospital’s sick wing.

  “And why was I brought here?” he heard Vera ask. “European Medical is closer to the clinic.”

  Vaslav let the blind go and returned to his previous position.

  The nurse only said, “Perhaps they diverted for whatever reason. Your chart looks like there might be a discharge tomorrow if everything stays on track. It’s a bit late, but you’ve been sleeping so even though you missed dinner, I could gather you something if you’re feeling up to eating?”

  “I could try to eat, thanks.”

  It was only after the nurse had left the room that Vera turned to him again. “I blame you for this.”

  Vaslav’s brow lifted a bit. “Excuse me?”

  “I shouldn’t have gone straight to sleep. I told you I had to pee!”

  Ah.

  Tipping his head to the side, he said, “The infection.”

  Vera curled up her nose. “Stop saying that word.”

  He did.