Chapter Thirteen
Audrey
The way he forces me to look into his eyes steals every coherent thought from my head.
For a long moment, all I can do is stare at him. The pain in his eyes cuts deeper than his anger ever could. He isn’t just furious. He’s hurt.
Which I find weird, because for a long time, I’ve justified my actions by telling myself Igor’s not the type of man who would be hurt over betrayal. He’d be angry, of course. I even came to terms with the possibility that he might murder me.
But this—the way he’s looking at me as if his heart is shattering into pieces inside his chest—is the last thing I expected.
Regret and guilt hit me all at once.
I should’ve told him the truth last night, or even come to the club right after that call with Sergei. I just didn’t expect this would be happening so quickly, and despite my intention to open up to him about everything, I came too late. Way too late.
Turning my face away from his grip, I lower my gaze to the files scattered across the desk, forcing myself to breathe before panic completely takes over.
This isn’t the time for me to be careless with my thoughts or actions. One mistake is all it will take to lose him and the life I’ve started dreaming I could have with him, and I can’t risk that happening.
I need to come up with something. I need to think fast, before he begins to suspect I’m trying to manipulate my way out of giving him the answers he’s demanding from me.
I force myself to pick up the folder and skim through the documents, files, and pictures in it.
Every piece of evidence has timestamps and surveillance stills that I couldn’t lie my way out of even if I wanted to.
No one would believe a word I said after looking at all of this, especially Igor. If he believes I did this, I have no idea what he’ll do to me.
My pulse pounds so loudly it drowns out everything else as I flip to the next page, then the next. Whoever put this together didn’t leave anything to chance. Every trail leads back to me.
I know that bastard is behind this, and I should have taken his threats a little more seriously. Instead, I acted like I had all the time in the world, and look where that’s landed me. Igor is so furious that the truth won’t help me anymore.
Shit.
I need to convince Igor this is all a setup, so I have to give him evidence he can’t simply dismiss.
My eyes catch something on one of the photos, and I freeze with my fingers tightening around the paper. “Fuck.”
Igor tilts his head, his eyes narrowing on me suspiciously. “What?”
Glancing back at the document, I read the timestamp on it again just to make sure what I saw the first time isn’t just a figment of my imagination.
The date of the login into his encrypted files doesn’t match the date on the photo, or the time. My head snaps up immediately, and I press the tip of my finger beside the timestamp on the photo. “This. Look at the timestamp.”
Igor straightens, takes the photo from me, and sits on the edge of his desk. His eyes narrow, but he says nothing.
Swallowing hard and hoping this is enough to convince him, I continue, “This says someone accessed your files at 8:43 p.m. on Friday night.”
He turns to face me now, his interest piqued. “And?”
“It’s fake, because at 8:43 on Friday night...” My voice shakes despite my efforts to steady it. “I was in the SUV with you.”
The memory from that night crashes into me all over again—the motorcycles, the gunshots.
His body covering mine protectively in his attempt to make sure I was unscathed. And then the mind-shattering pain I felt when the bullet pierced my arm.
My throat tightens and becomes so dry that even swallowing doesn’t help.
“You were holding me down while bullets were flying through the windows.” I meet his gaze, desperation bleeding into every word as I hope he sees the sincerity in my eyes and believes me.
Because it’s true: I didn’t access his files that night.
“How could I have been hacking your files while I was with you?”
Igor remains quiet for a moment, probably thinking. The silence is deafening, and the void it creates is filled with the anxiety burning in my stomach and the pounding of my heart against my ribcage.
I watch his expression change almost imperceptibly, and an emotion that seems very similar to realization flickers over his face.
Rising to my feet, I move closer to him and grab another photo from the pile, scrutinizing it carefully. “And this one...” I point at the timestamp. “You said I was in a restricted corridor.”
His gaze locks onto mine. “Is that fake, too?”
I came here to be honest with him, so I answer truthfully, though I’m not certain how much I can tell him until I see his reaction.
Shaking my head, I answer, “No, it’s not.
I was in the restricted corridor.” I pause and suck in a deep breath, then lower my voice until it’s barely above a whisper.
“But what happened afterward? Did anyone actually see me access anything? Or are you assuming I did because I was standing there that night?”
He stares at me intently. “And the bratva files? They were accessed with your work I.D.”
“I didn’t do that.” Igor was my target from the start. I know how deadly the bratva are and what they do to anyone who crosses them. I’m not stupid enough to hack into their data, and that was never my goal.
But someone else was, and he used my I.D, setting me up as a sacrificial lamb if things went wrong, which they now have. From the start, I was never a player in this game, but a pawn.
He planned to use and discard me from the start.
I want to tell Igor everything, but that would make me seem like a mouse caught in a trap, saying anything to escape.
He’s mad as fuck right now, and I don’t think upsetting him more would do me any good. It’ll make him even angrier, and probably cause him to turn his back on me.
I can’t let that happen. He’s the only safety net I have now.
After a long, tormenting minute that feels like I’ve been thrown into hell with the devil himself, Igor finally sighs and closes the folder.
“Is there anything else I need to know?”
My heart lurches and panic blooms in my chest. I feel a pang of guilt for not opening up. I want to, but the fear unfurling in my chest doesn’t let me. The only way I can convince Igor that I’m not involved anymore is by bringing him proof. My words alone won’t fix this.
Even as my spine stiffens and dread seeps into my bones, I clench my jaw and lie to him. “No.”
His brow arches and he searches my face as if looking for a crack in my story. He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he dismisses me with a wave of his hand, marking the end of the conversation.
I know he doesn’t believe me, at least not fully, but a new wave of determination builds inside me.
My nostrils flare and my hands ball into fists. Serrano dared to mess with me, and he’ll pay for it.
I’ll beat him at his own game and feed him to the dogs.