Page 61 of Call Sign: King
While she’d been thinking, the woman had turned and walked down the steps to place the file folder onto the dining table, spreading out the contents, picking items to show Khloe.
Returning to the stage, she held out more memories. “This is my son Oleg with his family. Nicolai robbed my grandchildren of their father.” Holding up a horrifying photo of a charred body next, the woman added. “This is what Nicolai did to my Oleg.”
Khloe slammed her eyes closed, trying to keep from puking. It was difficult to even make out that the blood and guts in the photo had once been a human.
“Open your eyes, bitch!” the woman shouted. “You need to see the photos of my oldest son, Artel. He was decapitated by the bomb Nicolai planted. They had to perform DNA tests just to identify his body.”
Khloe complied, trying to placate her as the woman’s body started shaking with emotion. A matching full-body shiver shook Khloe as she fought the panic the photos brought.
That they were gruesome was just part of what bothered her. She’d always known Ryder and the men who worked for him did dangerous things, and while she had absolutely no doubt they were the good guys, seeing proof of how deadly and violent Ryder could be shook her to the core. She struggled to square the two versions of her husband in her mind.
The old woman held out a new photo. She was grateful there was no gore in this photo of three smiling men, laughing like old friends. Had it been the woman’s three sons, Khloe could have maintained her cover, but there in the middle of the trio was Ryder — a cigar in one hand, his arm thrown over the shoulder of the man next to him.
Her heart lurched with love for her husband. She longed for him — felt empty without him. It wasn’t lost on her that she had a similar photo of a grinning Ryder between Jaxson and Chase standing near the fire-pit at sunset on their beach in Malibu. It was one of her favorite photos of her intense husband, looking relaxed and happy.
“Do not try to tell me he means nothing to you. You insult me.”
There was no stopping the tears that had blurred her vision from spilling over, running down her cheeks. They were her unspoken proof. With each photo, Khloe’s hopes of receiving any mercy dwindled.
She had news clippings from the recent news stories of Khloe’s secret lover, followed by paparazzi photos taken recently in Toronto. Those were replaced with snapshots of grainy security camera footage of Ryder coming and going from their shared suite at the Hyatt.
“That doesn’t prove anything. Dozens of men travel with me for security,” Khloe countered, still trying to downplay Ryder’s role in her life.
The woman’s smirk returned as she held out a final photo of Ryder and Khloe kissing in the Hyatt’s elevator. “Do you kiss all of those men, Ms. Monroe?” she taunted.
An irrational anger overtook Khloe’s fear. They had literally kissed one fucking time outside of their suite and this bitch had a picture of it. Was absolutely no part of her life private?
The sound of the door being unlocked saved Khloe from having to answer. As emotional as the woman’s visit had been, she still preferred her to the men with guns.
Except the person entering wasn’t one of her kidnappers. It was a handsome man wearing a designer suit, and if the look on his face was to be believed, he was pissed.
Ignoring Khloe, naked and chained to the wall, he approached the old woman. Angry words were exchanged. Unfortunately, the words were in Russian, leaving her to take context clues from their body language.
When they both turned to look up at her on the platform, Khloe saw a flicker of guilt in the man’s eyes, but he quickly replaced the emotion with a blank glare.
“You never should have brought her here,” he said, switching to perfect English. “He will look for her here.”
“Of course he will. I’m counting on it.”
“That’s insane. I thought even Vladimir wanted to take her to the compound in Siberia.”
Khloe recognized the newcomer as the man Ryder had his arm around, smoking cigars with in the photo she’d seen minutes before.
The men had been friends. Could he be a possible ally? She was grateful they’d switched to English.
“All in good time. He can take her there after we’ve killed Nicolai and exacted our revenge.”
Hope warred with dread as she internalized their words. Ryder would come. She knew that, but trying to get her out of this fortress would be a suicide mission.
“That’s not your decision. I’ve instructed the guards to collect her and have her moved to Siberia this evening. I don’t want her here in my home.”
“Excuse me? Whose home?” the woman challenged.
The man seemed flustered. “I misspoke, but it isourhome and as the head of this family, it is my…”
“You forget yourself, Alexi. You have done well these past four years, maintaining the family businesses in our time of need, but you are not now, nor ever will be, the true head of this family.”
“The hell I’m not!” When the woman didn’t answer, he shouted. “So, you just used me?”
