Morally Corrupt: A Dark Romance (Morally Questionable Book 1)

by Veronica Lancet

  "I needed the funeral home to release Martin's body for the wake," I say and motion them to follow me to the kitchen. I open the freezer and remove a bag containing Martin's fingers.

  "You cut his fingers?" Adrian's mouth snaps open in shock as he watches me take a plate and shake the bag so that the fingers fall into the container.

  "Only the thumbs and the pointers."

  "Good Lord!" Adrian's hand goes to his forehead, massaging his temple.

  Marcel, on the other hand, doesn't seem at all phased. I narrow my eyes ever so slightly.

  Whatever. One less person to criticize me.

  "Fine! Let's get this over with!" Adrian shakes his head in disgust. I wonder why, though. It's not like they're smelly...

  "We can't... yet." Marcel intervenes as he studies the fingers. "Too frozen. We need to leave them thaw first."

  I scrunch up my nose as I look them over and realize he's right.

  "Let's microwave them," I suggest, and Adrian slaps his forehead this time, letting out a loud sigh.

  "I don't mean like that.“ I immediately add. "The defrost setting. It might work."

  "No," Marcel says pensively. "We can't risk the heat damaging the fingerprints." Ok, that does make sense.

  "You're right. We can wait for a couple of hours more. We should probably move them until then, though. I don't think the staff will react too well to detached body parts lying around." I take the plate with the fingers and motion the guys to follow me to Martin's room.

  "This is huge!" Marcel exclaims when he enters.

  "Wait until you see the dressing." I motion towards the door at the end of the room and show them where the safe is.

  "There's probably a fortune here only in watches." Adrian looks at the glass case in the middle of the dressing that displays Martin's collection. I'd wager it's a couple million just for the watches.

  "It makes you wonder what he keeps in the safe if he leaves the valuables outside," Marcel notes.

  "It must be business-related. There was absolutely nothing anywhere else. To be honest, considering his suicide method, he was prepared to die at any point."

  "I wonder why he was willing to risk death by crossing Jimenez. It's clear that he knew what he was getting into." Adrian says, and both me and Marcel agree.

  "We just have to hope the safe will give us some info. Otherwise, dead men tell no tales."

  I move a bunch of his clothes to reveal a hole in the wall and the front of the safe sticking out.

  "That's... a big safe." The safe is at least one and a half meters tall and probably stretching another meter in the back.

  We decide to sit around and wait for the fingers to thaw, checking every now and then.

  The downside is that it also doesn't take long for them to start smelling. Adrian turns his face and gives me a reproaching look.

  "Hey, I didn't have any other option, ok?" He shakes his head before saying

  "I'm not touching that, just so you know."

  "Pussy." I mutter, and Marcel coughs uncomfortably in his fist.

  "Don't worry, big guys. I brought gloves." I remove a pair of medical gloves from my pocket and slip them on. "Let's see now." I pick up a thumb, and I study the texture, rotating it around. If I wipe it well, it should be fine. I go to the closet and grab one of Martin's shirts, wiping the finger on it.

  "Let's try now." Both men watch me as I approach the safe with the thumb and press it onto the pad. I wait and... nothing.

  "Shit. Can you bring the plate here? This one isn't working." I proceed to try each finger after carefully wiping all moisture traces from them, but without any luck.

  "I think the prints must have been destroyed in the process," Marcel notes, taking one thumb and placing it in the light. "Look, the print is only partial."

  "Fuck!" I say, not expecting this. After going through the trouble of desecrating the dead, something even I hadn't done before, and this isn't working. I sigh, trying to think of alternatives.

  "Then what?" Adrian asks, and an idea comes to mind.

  "We blow it up."

  "What?" They both turn to look at me.

  "Let's evacuate the house, and we try to blow up the safe’s front door."

  "Where do we even get any explosives?"

  "I might have some..." I say sheepishly. "I had an explosive stage as a teenager," I add ironically and roll my eyes. "There might still be some left in the basement."

  Marcel shakes his head and steps forward to scrutinize the lock. "We risk damaging the inside if we're not careful. Let me have a go at the lock."

  I look at him skeptically, but we don't really have anything to lose, so I nod.

  "Do you have any tool kits?"

  I quickly go to the basement and bring him everything that might help. When I come back, Marcel looks at the different tools and tests for their size. He then takes a few screwdrivers and digs into the control panel of the vault. He removes the outside cap, and I can see some intricate wiring that's probably controlling the safe's functions. He uses a few more tools to dig inside the panel. I don't really understand what's happening, but suddenly there is a click sound, and the door opens.

  "Shit, man!" Adrian is in awe, and honestly, so am I.

  Marcel opens the door, and inside are rows upon rows of files. Marcel starts taking a few out and handing them to me. I'm looking at the documents in my hands, not really paying attention when I hear Adrian yell for us to step back.

  I don't register what happens exactly, but I'm thrown to the back of the room by an explosion coming from the direction of the vault. Adrian's hands are wrapped around me, cushioning me.

  "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I mutter when I see the vault in flames, the whole room surrounded by smoke and burnt paper. I turn around and see Adrian against the wall, his eyes closed. I don't even think when I start shaking him.

  "Theo... Theo, wake up. Please wake up." My hands go all over his body, trying to see if there is any hidden injury. I'm hyperventilating at this point. "Theo..."

  "Agh..." He coughs a few times, and the tension leaves my body. He's alright. He opens his eyes and looks at me with worry in his eyes. "Are you ok?"

  "Yes, because of you. How are you?" I get up and try to help him to his feet. He winces when he makes an effort, and his hand goes to his midriff.

  "I'll be fine. Marcel?" I then remember Marcel was there too, and even closer than me.

  "Fine!" He says, and I see him on the other side of the bed, with barely any injuries. He must have jumped when Adrian yelled.

  Now that everyone is safe and sound, I hurry outside and grab a fire extinguisher from the hallway. I remove the safety and spray it all over the clothes, putting out the small fire that had erupted.

  "I should have seen this coming," Marcel says ruefully. "Of course, a high-end vault like this would have a safety installed in case of a break-in. Especially if the information is highly incriminating."

  "We still have this." I wave the envelope that Marcel had managed to pass to me before the explosion. "Considering how many more there were inside, it's not much. But maybe it's something."

  "Let's see." Adrian still doesn't look right, but the prospect of opening the envelope is too tempting. I'll make him get checked out later, I promise myself.

  I open the envelope and dump its contents on the bed. It's a bunch of IDs - a passport, a driver's license, some subscription cards, an old Boston metro card, and a couple sheets of paper. I look at the IDs, and they all have the same name.

  "Greg Sullivan," I say out loud, frowning at Martin's picture next to that name. "Weird."

  While the guys are still perusing the cards, I grab the two sheets and skim them, quickly realizing they both contain high profile individuals - senators, governors, businessmen, etc. There are a few names on the list that are crossed out.

  "Look!" I hand the papers to Adrian and Marcel, and they also peruse the names.

  "This... do you think it's blackmail? Why else would all these peo
ple's names be in the same place? What do they have in common?"

  "No... it can't be..." Adrian looks at the documents as if he'd seen a ghost. He quickly takes the passport with Greg Sullivan's name on it and puts them side to side.

  "What?" I ask.

  "The night my parents were killed. I overheard them talking with someone. They said they had a list of all the names involved with Jimenez, and they wanted to go public, but they were afraid for me. They ended up giving the files away as insurance."

  "To whom?" I frown. How could he know they’re the same files?

  "To someone named Greg..." He raises his head and gives me an odd look. This just got a whole lot more complicated.

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  "We need to do further testing. I'm sending you to get a scan. For now, I'm mostly worried about your ribs and your right hand." The doctor writes down the order for the X-ray before telling us he will be back later on.

  Bianca had insisted for an ER visit when she'd seen me wincing a few times when moving, even though I'd said I was okay. Sure, there was some tenderness around my chest, but I've suffered worse in the past.

  I am now sitting on the hospital bed, pulling my shirt back on, and avoiding Bianca's gaze.

  "I don't think it's just your ribs and your right hand. What about your upper back? You smashed directly into the wall with your back." She shakes her head.

  "I'm sure the doctor knows what he's doing."

  "No." She starts adamantly. "I can't have you broken. What if he misses something?"

  "Bianca, calm down." She'd nagged me all the way to the hospital and almost bullied the hospital staff into looking at me as soon as possible. By the way she was speaking, you'd think I was bleeding out. In fact, when we'd come through the emergency entrance, she'd immediately gone to the reception, and straight-faced she'd said.

  "My husband is broken. I need you to fix him. Now!" For a moment, I really thought she'd pull a gun on them.

  I tried to calm her down, but she'd been belligerent until a doctor had seen me.

  I may have been annoyed at this type of behavior under any other circumstances, but coming from Bianca, it was a little too endearing to get mad at. Especially since I actually believe her concern is genuine.

  It had all happened so fast. Marcel was taking out the contents of the safe; the next, I noticed a countdown on its display. When I'd realized the imminent danger, my only thought had been to get Bianca as far away from the explosion as possible. I'd only managed to grab her and make for the floor when we'd both been flung to the other end of the room.

  And then there had been the shock of finding the envelope with the list of names. I hadn't quite registered the pain as I'd been too caught up remembering that long-ago conversation my parents had had with Greg.

  "Marcel is compiling information on every name on that list." Bianca relays this as she gets off the phone with Marcel. He'd refused to get a check-up saying he was completely fine.

  "I'm still not sure how he managed to avoid that blast altogether." She adds, and I have to agree. I didn't see exactly what happened with him, but it's impressive that he’s wholly unharmed.

  A nurse comes by, and she tells me to follow her to get the scan. Bianca starts behind us too, but the nurse shakes her head.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you must wait here." Bianca's eyes widen a little in disbelief, and I can almost tell she will not accept this.

  "It's fine, B. Wait here." I try to tell her gingerly, afraid she might cause a scene. She scowls at me but reluctantly nods.

  We go to a different floor, and they take X-rays of my ribs and my right hand. After I'm done, the nurse accompanies me back to my bed.

  "That was fast," Bianca notes when I lay down again.

  "They don't usually take long," I say almost absentmindedly.

  "I wouldn't know." Bianca shrugs.

  "You've never had broken bones?" Given her profession, it would be almost abnormal to not encounter that sort of injury.

  "Oh, I've had plenty." She waves her hand as if it's nothing, and my head snaps in her direction. "But I've never gone to a hospital for them." I mean, I can empathize with that.

  When I was fighting, we couldn't go to the hospital because they would alert the police. But we still had a makeshift clinic special for the fighters. After all, if you lasted longer, you could make more money for them.

  I'm curious how she got them treated, though. Maybe Vlad had doctors working for him?

  "Then how did you deal with them?"

  "Usually they happened while on a mission, and Vlad or I would make do with whatever materials we had. I think I've been lucky so far, though. I've only popped my shoulder a few times, broken my left wrist a time or two... but it wasn't something too bad."

  "You mean you never had them looked at by a professional?"

  "Well..." She thinks about it for a minute. "A surgeon once told me I shouldn't worry about it?"

  "A surgeon?" A stare at her in disbelief.

  "Yeah." She tugs her shirt, so her shoulder is exposed, pointing at a white puckered scar. "Got shot once. It was pretty messy because the guy couldn't find the bullet. He told me that compared to that, a dislocation isn't that bad." I'm...shocked. She tells this in an emotionless voice as if she's just reciting some random facts. I'm even more shocked to realize that the many scars that she'd blamed on childhood accidents were not actual childhood accidents.

  Remembering many of the marks on her body, I now realize how gullible I'd been. Or maybe, better said, blind.

  I, better than anyone, should recognize a knife or bullet wound, given my experience both in the force and during my time under Andrew. But of course, my sweet, sheltered wife could not have possibly gotten shot or stabbed.

  "What about your other scars?" I find myself asking. "The ones you said were childhood accidents."

  "Oh... let me think. I don't have that many. I'm good at my job." She looks at me offended as if I'm questioning her abilities. "Let's see. The one on my thigh is from a bullet. There's the big one on my back from a knife... oh, and there's also the smaller white ones on my chest and belly. Those are from some very shallow knife wounds. They scarred quite prettily, actually." She's about to take off her top to show me, but I stop her when I spot the doctor coming our way. She pouts for a second but doesn't continue.

  "Doctor." I nod at him, and his expression doesn't look too good.

  "Mr. Hastings. I fear I don't have good news. I've looked at your scans. You do display some cracking in your ribs and wrist. But what I'm most concerned is the bone that hasn't healed." He turns his tablet towards and pulls up my chest x rays. He points to some circled areas in blue. "These are your new injuries. But these..." He now points towards some areas in red. "These are old injuries that never healed properly. Have you had any breathing problems? Pain in your chest when you try to inhale and expand your lungs?" I shake my head.

  "Good... that's good." He almost sounds relieved. "Given your extensive previous trauma, it's imperative that you avoid anything that might cause further injury." He explains that badly healed ribs could affect my lungs and worst-case scenario and restrict my breathing.

  "He will do just that!" Bianca is quick to assuage the doctor, her hand on my back.

  "Now, on to your wrist scans. These are better. I can still see a lot of remodeled bone, but it's been set properly, so it shouldn't trouble you.

  There's only a hairline fracture on the distal side of your radius and should heal on its own. That's why I'm going to recommend you wear a hand brace instead of a cast. Don't put too much stress on it, though, because it will worsen."

  I nod as the doctor delineates everything I need to do. He ends up only prescribing me some pain medicine and advising me to be careful while my ribs are healing.

  We thank the doctor, and after he leaves, Bianca crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at me.

  "And you were saying about my injuries…?"

  "Why are you so satisfied w
ith yourself?" I grumble.

  "Because maybe at some point you'll realize we are not so different, you and I." I stare at her for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts for a reply, when her phone goes off again. She puts one finger up before accepting the call and putting it on speaker.

  "There you are, little goddess, Marcel told me you encountered some problems."

  "Yeah, we are about to leave the hospital," Bianca replies.

  "Good. Come by, will you? I think we've found something with that list of yours."

  "Fine. We'll be there soon." She hangs up the phone, and I voice something that's been bothering me for quite some time.

  "Why does he always call you a little goddess?"

  "It's from my code name." She leans in to whisper in my ear, "Artemis. One day he just called me that, and I went with it." She shrugs as if it doesn't seem entirely too intimate.

  "I don't like it," I tell her, and she frowns at me.

  "Why?"

  "I just don't," I complain and cross my arms.

  "Fine, I'll tell him not to call me that anymore." She takes her purse to go.

  "Just like that? No objections?"

  She doesn't seem to understand what I'm trying to say as she replies nonchalantly. "Why would I object? You don't like it, so I'll tell him to stop."

  "Never mind," I stand up to go.

  We get to Vlad's place, and we find both Vlad and Marcel in front of the computer, focused on whatever is on the screen.

  "There you are," Vlad says without looking up. "Come see this." We both go around the desk, and Vlad points towards the document he's pulled up.

  "So, there are a total of eighteen names on the list. We've managed to track all of them." He shows us pictures of the two sheets of paper containing the names, with six of those names being crossed out.

  "What did you find out?" I ask, hoping they found something.

  "All of those twelve names we can make out were important men in the public functions or heads of businesses twenty years ago."

  "Were?"

  "Some are dead now, and most have retired already. I've also talked to my IT guy to try to make out the crossed-out names."