Page 171 of Dirty Damage

Oleg is standing by the window, staring out at the ocean beyond.

“Oleg, please,” I beg. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

He doesn’t face me. “Drew Anton,” he rumbles emotionlessly. “Explain.”

My blood drains south so fast I sway on my feet, gripping the back of the couch to stay upright. The room spins slightly at the mention of my ex's name on Oleg's lips.

Two worlds that should never collide, yet somehow have.

I was a fool not to have told him ages ago, the same day that Artem had told me to tell him everything.

But he had been so damn busy since then. When would I have done it?

Excuses, excuses,a little voice in the back of my head sing-songs.

It’s not wrong.

I take a half-step towards him, but freeze again when he throws me a look that impales me where I stand.

“Well…” I lick my lips but that doesn’t seem to make them any less dry. “… as you know, he’s my ex. We moved to Palm Beach together after he stopped working for Paul Lipovsky. But then we broke up and I’m not sure who he ended up working for. But recently, he moved back to Las Vegas because Paul apparently hired him back. I think?—”

Oleg spins to face me. It takes everything I have not to flinch away.

“I don’t give a damn about his fucking résumè,” Oleg snarls as he stalks closer. “I want to know what he is toyou. Have you been in contact with him? How often? For how long? Was it his idea to send those pictures to the whole damn company?”

“No!” I gasp, horrified that he would even think such a thing. Although, considering I didn’t come clean about Drew from the beginning, I’m on weak footing. “No, of course not. Those photos were never meant to be seen by anyone!”

He snorts. “Or so you claim.”

“Yes! Yes, I do claim, because it’s true. Those pictures getting sent to the whole company was a mistake, Oleg. I swear it.”

“And the rest of it? Have you been in contact with him the whole time we’ve been together?”

This time, I do flinch.

His nostrils flare as though I’ve just given him confirmation.

“No!” I yell, grabbing his arm before he can turn away from me.

“No?” he challenges.

I drop my hand. “I-it’s complicated…”

But even as I say it, I feel my words trailing off. Because it's not entirely true, is it? I've been keeping secrets. Ihavebeen talking to him.

That’s as black-and-white as it gets.

“You have ten fucking seconds to tell me the truth.”

“Y-yes,” I force through my teeth. “We have been in contact—but not for the whole time you and I have been together. The only reason I got back in contact with him at all is because he started working for Paul again and he said he could keep tabs on my sister for me.”

“And you couldn’t have just called your sister and asked how she was doing?” he snarls.

“Sydney’s in an abusive relationship, Oleg,” I sigh. “She’s not honest with me about what’s going on in it. She knows how I feel about Paul. And she’d gone silent on me. Which has always been a sure sign that something is going on between them. Something bad. I wanted to tell you about it; I wanted to ask for your help?—”

“Show me your phone.” His tone guts me. “The phone I know he gave you.”

I have no idea how he knows all of this. But now is not the time to ask questions like that. I walk, shaking, into our room and start rummaging around in my underwear drawer.

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