Dirty Damage: Chapter 52

“Blyat’. This doesn’t bode well for them getting back together.”

Artem’s low timbre tells me that he’s worried.

But not for me.

I edge close to the door as their voices spill over. I can make out Artem’s bicep and Vlad’s tattooed wrist. They’re standing close together, exchanging information in my fucking office that they don’t want me to know.

This is what happens when you lose focus.

This is what happens when you let your head get turned by a doe-eyed actress in a princess dress.

Because it is clearer to me now than it has ever been: She is a fucking actress.

No one can be that naïve, that innocent. That simpering gaze, the shaky lower lips—all one big act.

I pride myself on being a good judge of character. I pride myself on seeing through people.

And yet here I am, eating my words, re-evaluating my intuition.

I fell for it, just like Boris said—hook, line and sinker.

I smash through the door, sending both men grunting away from it.

“Oleg!” Artem’s eyes are wide. “I didn’t think you’d be in so early.”

He’s justified in thinking that. I haven’t been coming to the office early very often ever since a certain blonde seductress fell across my path.

No—not fell.

Placed.

She was placed in my path.

And instead of kicking her back out of it and striding onward like I should have done, I invited her into my bed.

I’ll bet she laughed about that with that scumbag boyfriend of hers. Can you believe how easy it was to pull the wool over his eyes?

Drew fucking Anton.

To think, I was within strangling distance of the man and I let him live. I should have finished him off when I had the chance.

Now, I’m forced to fantasize about all the ways I would kill him just to get through the night.

Gelding him is the front-running fantasy. Maybe I’ll even make Sutton watch.

“Vlad,” I spit, glaring daggers at the young lieutenant, “make yourself scarce. I need to have words with Artem.”

“Something wrong, brother?” Artem asks casually, recovering fast.

“Right now, I’m not your brother.” I crack my knuckles. “I am your pakhan, your leader, the man you swore fealty to.”

Artem nods curtly, all traces of familiarity disappearing from his face. “Understood, sir.”

“Good. If you don’t hand over any and all information you have on Sutton, then I will fire your ass right fucking now.”

Artem’s eyebrow flickers upwards. His eyes narrow. He surveys me studiously, his fingers twitching at his side.

“Listen—”

“You do have something on her?”

He sighs. “Vlad just showed up with it.”

“Then you should have informed me right away. It sounded more like you were trying to figure out how to conceal this information from me.”

“Oleg, we both know Sutton⁠—”

“Are you fucking stupid?” I growl. “Are you so deeply under that witch’s spell that you can’t see her for what she really is, even now?”

He hesitates before he says, “I think there’s more to the story than meets the eye.”

“Is this you talking?” I demand. “Or Faye?”

He bristles. “I’m speaking for myself here and no one else.”

“Boris handed me proof of what she is. When I confronted her, she didn’t deny it.”

“She did, actually,” Artem insists. “She told you why she was in contact with Anton. Isn’t it possible that she⁠—”

“—might be telling the truth? Jesus Christ, Artem, do you still believe in Santa Claus, too?”

“I’m trying to help you, brother.”

There’s a small voice in the back of my head advising restraint. I need to put my anger aside and be a leader now.

But there’s another, larger part of me that wants to take a bite out of anyone who crosses my path.

Unfortunately for Artem, that’s exactly where he’s found himself.

“I don’t need your help. I need your obedience. Your loyalty.”

He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “You have it, Oleg. But part of that deal comes with honesty. I don’t believe Sutton is a spy. I think if she were, you’d have sussed her out long before now.”

“Are you trying to rub my face in it?”

“I’m trying to tell you that your hurt is clouding your judgement.”

“I’m not hurt,” I growl. “I’m pissed off.”

“Oleg—”

I cut him off with a raised hand. “What do you know, Artem? I won’t ask again.”

He runs a hand through his hair, then pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Vlad is running the team that’s trailing Sutton,” he explains. “And this morning… This morning, she met with Drew Anton.” The words wheeze out as though it’s costing him a lot to tell me.

My lip twists in a cruel sneer. “And you’re still claiming that she’s innocent.”

“You should watch the—” He offers me his phone but I slap it away so hard that it almost careens out of his hand. “Oleg, there’s more going on here than we know. Maybe you should—” He blocks me before I can reach the door. “—calm the fuck down and think straight for a second. And if you can’t think straight, then at least listen to someone who can. There’s more than one side to this story.”

I stop, but only so I can whip around and glare at him head-on.

“Why? So you can plead Sutton’s case for her? Sure, there may well be eighteen fucking sides to this story—but I have neither the time nor the inclination to sort through them all. Boris is currently trying to run us into the ground. We might wake up tomorrow to a Martinek takeover, with a Martinek boss overseeing us. Is that what you want?”

“Of course that’s not⁠—”

“Then why the fuck are you still fighting me on this?”

Artem has never looked so exhausted. “Christ, Oleg. I’m not fighting you at all. We’re on the same side, remember?” He exhales again, miserable. “But considering we’re operating with very little intel, it makes sense to be cautious rather than reckless. You go in guns blazing and it might feed right into the Martineks’ hands.”

“If you have a plan, say it. Otherwise, get the fuck out of my way.”

“Bring Sutton in,” he says with a gulp. “Find out what she knows.”

Teeth grinding, I twist around so that Artem can’t see the vein I can feel trying to burst through my forehead.

It’s a fair suggestion. Reasonable. Cautious, like he said.

But I can’t imagine seeing Sutton just now, let alone talking to her.

Even if she does talk, how can I believe a single word that comes out of her mouth?

The only thing I am sure of is that it’s over between us.

The one small silver lining is that I found out about all this before I knocked her up with my heir. At least now, I can break the contract clean.

“Maybe later,” I agree, if only to placate Artem for the time being. “For now, I have more important matters to deal with.”

I push past him and stride toward my mother’s office on the opposite side of the floor. Ever since we found out about Boris, she’s been practically living on the premises.

I walk in without knocking. She’s standing between her lounge and her desk, clearly mid-pace. She’s holding a French cigarette slanted elegantly between her fingers. Smoke whirls around her face in a delicate plume.

“It’s a bit early for a smoke, isn’t it?”

“Considering the shit your uncle has mired us in, I think not.” She lifts one perfect eyebrow. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“It’s over,” I rumble, ripping off the Band-Aid off in one go. “Sutton and I. We’re done. The contract is broken and our arrangement is at an end.”

Oksana doesn’t say a word.

Not the reaction I was expecting.

“I thought you’d be happy,” I remark.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“For one, I expected an ‘I told you so.’”

She purses her lips and tosses her perfectly dyed mane of hair back over her shoulder. “Do you think me so cold?”

“Yes, and I happen to believe it’s one of your best qualities.”

She narrows her eyes. “You’re being sarcastic now. I take it that you’re not happy about the state of affairs?”

“On the contrary, I’m exceedingly happy not to have a conniving snake carrying my child.”

Oksana’s jaw drops. “What⁠—”

I hold up my hand. “I’m not here for comfort or advice. I feel nothing about the contract breaking. I came here to tell you that you win.”

“I… win?”

“That’s right. You win. You can find me a suitable girl. I will marry anyone you suggest, no questions asked.”

Her carefully composed mask wobbles. “Oleg… are you serious?”

I meet her gaze and for the first time, I see her coldness reflected back at me in the black pits of her eyes. “Yes, Maman. I am.”