Page 59 of Morally Corrupt

I quietly enter the hotel room, take off my clothes, and slide into the bed next to my wife. Instinctively, she snuggles closer to me.

An image suddenly appears in my mind.

The moment I'd opened the door at the lake house when I'd seen her aiming the gun at the intruder, her expression had been cold… blank. I superimpose it to the image I have of my Bianca—sweet and innocent.

It doesn't match. They are two different people.

I just had the worst realization that the Bianca I love might not even exist.

* * *

So far, Bianca's maintained her facade. It's funny because, for all her pretense, she's never once asked me to notify the police. She has tried to get some information on what Marcel did with the bodies, but I shut her down.

She doesn't need to know for now.

Because my own wife may be a cold-blooded killer, the less she knows, the better. I can't believe she might have planted bugs on me. How long has she been doing this? Tracking me? Listening to conversations? There are so many questions going through my head right now, but I cannot allow myself to crack or show that I am in any way suspicious of her. I have to treat her as I've always done and figure out who she really is.

I almost want to laugh.

My wife, a killer, and a liar.

Hey, at least she hasn't slept with another man, my inner voice tells me. I'm almost mad at myself for being relieved she's not having an affair.

But yes, if I'm being frank, I'd rather she be a killer than a cheater.

What does that say about me? That I'm just as fucked up like her?

Yeah, I'll take that.

But more than anything, I'm disappointed. A disappointment so deep, I feel like a part of my heart has withered and died. After spending most of my teens and early twenties in what could only be described as hell on earth, doing everything to survive to see another day, I'd thought she was my peace, my salvation.

Instead, it slowly dawns on me that I'd exchanged one hell for another. I can never escape the violence or wash away the blood.

I'm startled out of my thoughts by a beeping sound that indicates we're running low on gas. I furtively glance at Bianca, and she has her bag on her lap, her hands nervously fidgeting with it.

"Gotta fill the tank," I say, and she just nods absentmindedly.

"I can't believe after last night, we still have to meet my father."

"Yeah… me too."

We resume our silence until we reach a gas station. I get out to fill the tank. After it's done, I signal her that I will pay and distance myself from the car. Call it instinct, but I know that she makes a grab for her phone the moment I'm out of sight. I can even see the movement.

Instead of entering to pay, I hide next to the building and open the app Marcel had installed on my phone, clicking in to listen to what's happening in my car. I hear Russian, and immediately, I record so I can have it translated later.

"?? ???? ???????. ????? ??? ??? ?????. ?? ?????? ??? ????? ??? ????????." Her words seem hurried, her accent quite flawless, but hey, what do I know about Russian?

A brief pause, and then I hear my name "??, ??? ??? ??????????????. ??? ???? ??????. ????."

After she hangs up, I send the recording to Marcel and tell him to give me a translation before heading to pay. I'm inside the store for maybe five minutes when the message comes through with the translation.

Can't talk. My husband knows. He saw me kill three men; Yes, Theo was suspicious. Go alone tomorrow. Later.

Marcel follows the text with.

This isn't good. Convince her you don't suspect a thing. If she's a Russian implant, it could really blow in our faces.

I reply that I'll try before deleting all the messages.

---