38. Pasha
38
I want to strangle this motherfucker.
But he belongs in the Smithsonian next to the dinosaur fossils, not on the Senate floor. I’m pretty sure one squeeze of my fist around that turkey neck would shatter his brittle bones.
“I’m sorry, Pasha.” Senator O’Cronin sighs. “I just can’t get the rest of the Senate to agree to this. It’s regrettable, indeed. But that’s just how things are.”
I frown at him. “A few months ago, you didn’t have a problem with any of the terms in the contract. Neither did your colleagues. Brennan was the only obstacle, but?—”
“A few months ago, things were different.”
I hold back my frown from turning into a glare. I still need this ancient specimen to agree to my terms. Offending him will get us nowhere, and we haven’t yet reached the time for threats. “Please explain.”
“What is there to explain?” O’Cronin shrugs again. “Time changes things. New policies have been enacted since our last review?—”
“Which policies?”
“Pardon?”
“Which. Policies?” I tap my pen on my desk. “Since they are affecting our ability to move forward and provide the United States military with enhanced firepower, I’m dying to know which specific policies you’re referring to.”
He clears his throat, shifts in his seat, and glances around the room in search of help that will not ever come. “Ah, well… you know how these things go. A little bit of this and a little bit of that, all stacked up…”
His pathetic attempt to bluff through his own bullshit falls on deaf ears. I’m way too distracted by the sudden alert on my phone informing me that the Hamishes are not at home.
Something doesn’t feel right. They could be grocery shopping for all I know, but something in my gut is screaming that this isn’t that.
Seeing their name on my screen does bring an idea to mind. And, combined with my impatience for this political tango, it’s worth flinging out there to see what sticks.
I cut off the senator’s blubbering. “What do the Hamishes have on you?”
O’Cronin freezes in his seat. He blinks at me stupidly, the blood draining from his face.
“I… I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure you do.” I stare straight into the motherfucker’s soul. “Stewart Hamish. He used to be the president of the board at Chekhov International. I believe you met his wife, Ophelia, at one of the dinners my company used to host back in the day.”
He clears his throat. “The name… rings a bell…”
“It should. They’re blackmailing you, right?”
No response.
“What do they have on you?” I repeat.
It’s a few more silent moments of blinking at each other before he finally breaks.
“My grandchildren.” O’Cronin slumps in the chair as the mask of professional competence vanishes completely from his face. “Hamish, that bastard. He figured out I bribed my grandchildren’s admissions into the Ivy League.”
It’s all making sense to me now. “You pulled strings and paid the right people to make those doors open.”
He nods. “And now, Hamish has it hanging over my head, ready to drop if I don’t do what he says.”
“Even so, I don’t see how that impacts you. At least, not bad enough to warrant this shut-out you’re lobbying against me.”
The senator levels his gaze at me. He looks almost thoughtful. “You just had a child, didn’t you?”
I nod.
“So you know. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for your children.” O’Cronin tilts his head to one side. “What happens to her? When you’re found out? When all the world discovers your… many, many indiscretions?”
The only reason why I’m not insulted by his implication is because he has me caught in a thought I’ve never had before.
I’m always so confident I’ll never be caught. I’m too meticulous, too careful, too diligent. I’m smarter than the rest of these fucking fools, so it will be a cold day in hell before the feds come bursting in with actual, undeniable evidence of my “underworld” activities.
But what if they did?
What would happen to Tatyanna?
My silence seems to be some sort of confirmation for him. “So you see why I cannot allow my poor decisions to become public. Not only will my career be ruined, but so will the careers of my grandchildren. And they haven’t even started.”
I want to be pissed at this man for being so sloppy. For allowing himself, and his family, to be caught out, so vulnerable.
I just… can’t.
Not without becoming a massive hypocrite.
“This contract.” I pull out a copy of the damned thing and set it on the desk between us. “This is designed to give our soldiers the best of the best in artillery and defenses. These soldiers have families, too. Families who pray for them to return home, safe and sound. To walk away from this contract is to deny your people, our people, the best chance to return home.”
“But, as I said?—”
“So here’s what I’m proposing. You take Hamish’s threat of exposure and shove it up his ass. Tell your colleagues to do the same.”
He balks. “But?—”
“You think Hamish will ruin you? I will do far, far worse, Senator. He can blow the whistle on your grandkids, sure. But I can let the Department of Defense and a few choice journalists know that you and your friends decide the fate of this country by how fucked you are.”
“You can’t?—”
“Oh, but I can. Do you really want to try me?”
He very clearly does not.
I flash him my most magnanimous smile and stand, gesturing him toward the door. “I look forward to our follow-up meeting with the DOD.”
My assistant holds the door open for the senator to shuffle out. He’s barely rounded the corner when my phone starts buzzing in my pocket.
At first, I think it’s a call.
But then I recognize the pattern of vibrations.
It’s worse.
“Bozhe moy.”
I nearly vomit the words when I see Daphne being loaded onto a stretcher.
Her face is swollen and red. Tears slice through caked-on dirt and blood. She keeps trying to curl in around her stomach, but the paramedics urge her to lay still.
I look around for whoever the fuck did this to my wife.
Paramedics, police, I don’t care who’s around to witness—I’m about to murder someone.
It’s Daphne’s groan that reminds me she needs me by her side more than she needs my rage. I rush over to her and grasp her hand in mine. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”
She can barely open her eyes. Watching her struggle makes me feel nauseous and beyond enraged on her behalf.
“Just rest,” I say when she tries to speak. “I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Daphne uses what’s left of her strength to pull my hand to her chest.
“Br…Brit…” She starts coughing.
“Brittany?”
She slowly, painfully nods.
I know what I want to do. I also know that my beautiful wife is not as monstrous as I am. Which is why I ask her, my voice low enough for only her to hear, “What do you want me to do?”
Daphne sniffs. “End this.”
Those two words take the last of her strength. She slumps. She’s unconscious, but alive.
I’m about to climb into the ambulance with her when I see Sofiya’s car peel to a stop next to mine. When she steps out, it’s only one look from her that I need to know what I’m about to do is the best course of action.
“Makari will meet you at the hospital. I’ll be there, too.” I press one more kiss to her scraped-up fingers. “I have to take care of something first.”