by H L Day
I forced words out through lips that suddenly felt numb. "If you think that, then I'm incredibly relieved that you never had children. Yes, you gave me dance instructors, but that was for your own selfish purposes. A father doesn't take away his son's freedom. He doesn't hit him." I swallowed. "And he certainly doesn't pimp him out to the highest bidder." I had nothing to lose by not saying it now. I was dead anyway.
A flash of anger crossed his face and I realized that somewhere in that dark, twisted mind of his, he'd actually believed the things he said. The phone in my pocket vibrated and I pulled it out with trembling fingers, opening the message from an unknown number. I found myself looking at a short video, less than a minute long. I pressed play, the phone on silent, and then I started to laugh as I realized what it was. The video showed Dmitry fucking someone over a desk. The recipient was unmistakably male, a young blond whose face was twisted in what could have been agony or could have been ecstasy.
I even recognized him. He was a dancer from a previous show. I'd spent years trying to get hold of this sort of evidence to no avail, knowing that above all else, Dmitry wanted to keep his sexuality and preferences a secret. I wondered who Mikhail's mysterious friend was that he could succeed where I'd failed.
I quickly sent a copy to Claude, knowing that even without an explanation, he'd print off screen shots or copy the video to a USB and include it with the other evidence. I lifted my head to find Dmitry smirking across the table at me. I was about to wipe that damn smile off his face, and I'd enjoy doing it. Every damn second. "I have one more thing that I need to show you."
I didn't wait for his response, pushing the phone across the table as I pressed play again. His fist clenched, crushing the cigar within it, and his face rapidly lost its color. He stopped the video, staring at the frozen screen for the longest time, as if he couldn't comprehend what it was he was seeing. "Where did you get this?"
I shrugged. "It doesn't matter. If you're not bothered about the other information being sent to everyone, how about this? Are you ready for everyone to know about your predilection for young blonds? What would your colleagues in Bratva have to say about that?"
He finally raised his head, the hatred in his eyes taking me by surprise. "What do you want? You said you wanted a deal?"
Those words were my proof that I'd snatched victory from the jaws of defeat. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I didn't do either of those things. I continued to stare coolly at the man opposite, the man who had controlled every aspect of my life for the last ten years. "Not much. I get my freedom and the knowledge that you will never contact me again. You don't blacken my name in dancing circles. We both agree to say that we went our separate ways due to irreconcilable differences. And you leave Max alone as well. That's it. That's all I want."
He laughed, shoving the phone back across the table toward me.
"You threaten to ruin my life, and that is all you ask for? You disappoint me, Valentin. I thought I taught you better than that. Where is the demand for money? Where is the demand to know the names of the men who were hired to kill your beloved boyfriend? An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth."
I shook my head, exhaustion starting to creep in. "I'm not like you. I'm not a killer, and I don't want your money. I just want out."
He rubbed his chin. "It occurs to me that you could be bluffing. Who is this mysterious man who is supposedly ready to mail this evidence? You do not have friends. I've made sure of that. So, how am I supposed to believe this story of yours? Tell me this man's name."
I smiled at his last-gasp effort not to come out of this as the loser. "I'm not that stupid. And by all means, gamble if you want. But"—I leaned forward for extra emphasis, putting every ounce of conviction into my voice that I could—"I'm not bluffing. He does exist." I gestured at the pieces of paper. "Where else did I get these from? Or do you think I've been carrying it around with me? You have my room searched regularly."
Dmitry's face had settled back into an unfathomable mask, but I'd had enough. "Do we have a deal or not?"
The seconds that ticked by while I waited for his response were the longest I'd ever experienced. Finally, he nodded. "We have a deal."
I stood immediately. "Then there is nothing left for us to say to each other." I pointed at the data and threw the envelope on top. "You can keep those... as a reminder." With one last glance, I limped away.
The two men closest to the door started to rise to their feet as if they were intending to block my path to the exit. They sank back into their seats at what I assumed had to be a signal from Dmitry. I didn't know for sure because I had no intention of looking back. I was free, and I had an awful lot of living to catch up on.
Chapter Nineteen
Max
Time had become my worst enemy. Each minute that ticked by was another minute of worry that Valentin's plan had failed. Even worse were all the minutes that added together and became hours. It had been five in total since Valentin had left the hospital, and I'd heard nothing. I'd only managed to convince my mum to go home and take a break about an hour ago. Her arguments about needing to stay had only been strengthened by Valentin's apparent request for her not to leave me alone. I'd known what his thinking had been. Of course I did. But if Dmitry was going to send someone to the hospital to finish the job, then the last thing I wanted was my mum getting caught in the crossfire.
Then there was the fact that, quite understandably, she wanted answers. Not just about last night's attack but also about the extensive bruising I'd already had prior to that. At the moment I couldn't give her any. My concussed brain still failed to come up with anything feasible that she'd believe. As if that weren’t bad enough, she'd also been desperate to interrogate me with questions about Valentin. I'd had to feign sleep to get out of that one.
The door to my room opened, the burst of optimism that briefly flared into life quickly extinguished at the sight of the nurse's happy, smiling face. She picked up my chart and examined it, the doctor having paid a visit a little over an hour ago. "Do you need more pain relief?"
Truth be told, I did. But it made me drowsy, and I didn't want to risk the possibility of Valentin arriving, only to find me sleeping. "Not yet."
She frowned. "Are you sure? Your last dose should be wearing off by now. There's no point in suffering."
I glanced over her shoulder toward the door. "What time do visiting hours end?"
"In an hour."
"And no one's come to visit? You haven't turned anyone away?"
She shook her head. "Afraid not. I'm sure whoever it is you're waiting for will come tomorrow."
I knew the comment was meant to be reassuring, but it wasn't. If Valentin didn't come today, then chances were high that I'd never see him again. And who knew whether I'd even get to see tomorrow. Although it would be hard to pass off a murder in a hospital as anything but what it was. So I had an inkling that they'd probably wait until I was discharged.
The nurse bustled around, checking my blood pressure and making a note on the chart while I did my best to pretend that each and every movement wasn't agony. Finally, she left with the instruction to press the button when I needed pain relief. And then I was back to solitude and watching the hand of the clock tick slowly around.
There were only thirty minutes left of visiting hours. It was time to face facts. Valentin wasn't coming. Tears pricked my eyes as I considered the fact that he could be dead. I remembered the way he looked when he danced, so vibrant and alive, like nothing could touch him. To think of that light being extinguished forever caused far more pain than the broken ribs and concussion ever could.
"You look sad, Max."
I looked up to find him standing by the edge of the bed. Various wild scenarios tumbled through my brain one after the other: he was a hallucination conjured up by the fact I'd been thinking about him; I'd fallen asleep and he was nothing but a dream; he was a ghost paying one last visit before he was claimed by the afterlife. Just like earlier, I reached ou
t, only truly believing it was him when my fingers met solid flesh.
He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat, his eyebrow lifting as I continued to drink my fill of him. He looked tired. No, scrap that. He looked exhausted. I made an effort to formulate words. "I thought you weren't coming."
He took hold of my hand without having to be asked, his thumb delicately tracing the lines on my palm. "Only reason I wouldn't have come was if I was dead." His face changed as he suddenly grasped my point. "Ah! I see. Sorry. Things took longer than I expected, and I spent all the money I had on printing. I didn't have enough for a cab to get back here." His lip curled. "I had to get the bus. It was not a pleasant experience."
Despite the fact I was having problems being able to tear my eyes away from his face, I couldn't help the smile that pulled painfully against my bruised flesh at the bus comment. It was so typically Valentin. The only thing missing was the cigarette in his hand. "Diva!"
He shrugged. "I guess I'm going to have to get used to managing without some of the finer things in life, you know, like five-star hotels, champagne, and being driven everywhere."
My heart started up a crazy rhythm in response to his words. The fact he was there should probably have been enough confirmation, but I needed more. I needed to hear the words. "It worked then?"
Valentin tilted his head to the side and looked reflective. "Eventually. Someone came through with something at the last minute." For the next few minutes, he filled me in on exactly what had happened in the meeting with Dmitry. I listened intently, not wanting to interrupt his flow by asking questions until he'd finished. I was left amazed, not only by the fact he'd been plotting for years but also that he'd been brave enough to go through with it, especially when I realized how close he'd come to failing.
I'd faced the real Dmitry during my first beating, had seen what a powerful and formidable opponent he was, yet Valentin had confronted him, armed with data that had turned out to be worth nothing more than the paper it was printed on. Whichever mysterious person had sent that video had my eternal gratitude. Valentin had said that he'd tried to call the number to thank them, but no one had answered. "Did you ask about your parents?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out of my mouth. "Sorry. You don't have to answer that."
Valentin's eyes closed. "I didn't ask, but"—when his lashes lifted, I was surprised to see his eyes shining with tears—"he didn't kill them. I don't know whether that makes it better or worse. Better, I guess."
I ignored the pain and managed to shift myself up onto the pillows into a more vertical position, gripping his hand tightly in case he had any stupid ideas about pulling away. "I don't understand. If you didn't ask, how can you know that?"
"Because"—wiped his free hand over his eyes, dashing the tears away before they could threaten to spill over—"he was furious that I'd won. If he'd had any ammunition to throw at me, any ammunition whatsoever, he would have used it. He would have looked me straight in the eye and told me that he did it. The fact he didn't has to mean it was nothing but an accident."
I wasn't entirely sure I followed his reasoning. It may not have been Dmitry personally, but that didn't discount Bratva from having been behind it in some way. As it was better for Valentin's mental health to believe it was an accident rather than cold-blooded murder, I said nothing. "So, you're free. What will you do?"
He exhaled. "I don't know. I have nothing. Even my suitcase was left at the airport. It's probably in Russia by now. All I have are the clothes I'm wearing, an empty wallet, and"—he pulled an old-fashioned phone out of his pocket—"this phone. Mikhail could have at least gotten hold of a decent one."
"Hey! Look at me." I waited until his head turned my way. "You have me. Tell me what you need."
I frowned at his subsequent look of amusement, unable to comprehend what he could possibly be finding so funny. "What do I need?" His smile grew even wider. "Same thing as I always need when my head is all over the place. A good fuck." His gaze traveled slowly over my prone and battered body hidden beneath the crisp, white hospital sheets. "Guess I'll have to wait a while for that one."
I dug my fingers into his hand. "Don't joke. Seriously."
He threw his head back and laughed. "Who's joking? I do need a good fuck. Sex is great therapy." He shook his head, his face switching to a more serious expression. "I guess... first and foremost, I need to find a place to stay." He toyed with the phone in his hand. "One of the dancers will probably let me stay on their sofa for a few nights. I don't think any of them have a spare room though, so I will have to—"
I cut him off. "You're still joking, right? What did you do with the real Valentin Bychkov? He would have swanned in here and, like the diva he is, told me that he would be taking over my house."
His eyebrow rose. "And would that have worked?"
It was amazing how I could feel the worst I'd ever felt but still want to tease when it came to him. "I don't know. Try it and see."
"Max?"
I smirked. "Yes."
He gave me his coldest and haughtiest look. I remembered it well from the first time we'd met and subsequent occasions after that. "I'm going to need to stay at your house."
The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that we still held hands, but I played along. "Oh, are you?"
"Yes." There was a glimmer of uncertainty on his face, and I reminded myself that the majority of the hard shell he wore on the outside was nothing but a carefully cultivated act. And he'd also just experienced the day from hell. He was bound to be feeling fragile. I pointed over to the small cabinet where the nurse had told me she'd placed the few belongings that were salvageable from the attack. Most of my clothes had needed to be thrown away. "My keys are in there." I waited until he'd moved across and had them in his hand, hating how bereft I suddenly felt at the lack of contact between us. "I can't give you any money because they took my wallet to make it look like a mugging, so we're going to have to work out how we're going to get you from here to there."
He sat back down, staring at the keys cradled in his palm. "Are you sure about this?"
I closed his fingers around the keys. "Yes. I want you there."
He peered at me from beneath his lashes. "And your mum will be okay with that, will she?"
I laughed, grabbing my ribs as the pain tore through me, turning it into more of a strangled gasp. "Are you kidding? After you told her that you planned to be my boyfriend... all she's done is talk about you. That and ask loads of questions. Most of which I couldn't answer. She's going to be over the moon to discover that you're staying at my house."
The nurse poked her head around the door. "Just a heads-up that visiting hours are over in five minutes." She gestured toward Valentin. "I guess this is who you were waiting for." She took a few steps into the room, addressing her next comment to Valentin. "He was pining for you."
A smug expression appeared on his face. "I wasn't pining for you!" Neither of them looked convinced at my interjection. It was amazing how it had only taken one set of keys and a comment from a nurse to turn Valentin back into a self-assured asshole. I had half a mind to wrestle the keys back off him. There were only two problems with that idea: I was in no fit state to wrestle anyone, and there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to have Valentin waiting for me when I was discharged from the hospital. I didn't want him finding an alternative place to stay. I wanted him with me. That only left words with which to defend myself. "I wasn't. I was worried, as you very well know."
Valentin winked at the nurse. "It can be our secret. He can say worried, and we'll know the truth."
She smiled conspiratorially back at him, a faint blush on her cheeks, and I decided a change of subject was needed before she fell head over heels in love with the man I was already in love with. I was beginning to see a lot of benefits to the frosty facade that he normally showed to the world. "Nurse?"
Her head turned my way. "Is there any way we can organize a cab when neither of us has the money to pay f
or it? My wallet was stolen, and..." He's spent years with a tyrant who wanted him to be completely beholden to him. "Valentin doesn't have any either."
"Hmmm..." She looked thoughtful.
"I can pay you back when my mum comes in tomorrow." I gave her my most beseeching look for good measure.
Her face softened. "I guess for you two lovebirds I can sort something out." She inclined her head toward the clock. "Speaking of which, time's up. You better say your good-byes. I'll wait outside, and then we'll sort that cab out for you. And then"—her gaze lost the softness as she raised her finger in my direction—"I'm coming back to give you that overdue pain relief, whether you like it or not."
I nodded meekly, and she left the room, giving us a last few precious seconds of alone time. I was suddenly seized by panic at the thought of letting him out of my sight. "What if Dmitry hasn't really accepted it? What if he just pretended to and he's biding his time and—"
"Max." He laid his hand against my cheek. "It's going to be okay. I can feel it."
"Are you sure?" My gaze searched his face, looking for any signs that he might be hiding something. But there was nothing. I relaxed slightly, noting that the time on the clock showed that it had already passed the hour. Given the nurse's generosity with offering to help with the cab fare, I didn't want to risk upsetting her. "You better go."
Valentin leaned over, planting a lingering kiss on my lips similar to the one from earlier, except that where the other had been filled with longing, this one held more of an air of optimism. He drew back, and I stared into his hazel eyes. He really was beautiful. "Are you going to be okay?"
He nodded. "You?"
"Yes." There was one more thing I needed to clarify if I was going to get any sleep that night. "When you said you needed a fuck..." I hesitated not sure how to phrase it.
"Are you asking if I'm going to pick someone else up?"
"I mean... if you were, I guess..." I wanted to say it would be okay, even though it wouldn't be. The mere thought of him with someone else made me feel sick. But we hadn't hashed out any relationship details, given that having one had only been a possibility for a little over ten minutes. The nurse knocked on the door, giving the universal sign for winding something up through the glass. "...if you did, then..."
