Page 49 of The Bratva's Innocent Pregnant Bride
Mr. Bocharov—I couldn’t help but revert to thinking of him in the respectful way I used to think he deserved—snapped his fingers and turned away. Agent Pierce dragged me along behind him toward one of the closed doors in the vast, empty warehouse.
“Who are you really?” I asked under my breath.
“Agent Victor Pierce,” he said, his voice no longer filled with concern about my safety or curiosity about the Fokins. Now his voice could cut diamonds, it was so hard. “You saw my ID.”
For a split second I relaxed. This wasn’t a set up, but some kind of sting operation. But why not tell me about it in the first place? That delusional hope was shattered as soon as Bocharov opened the door and Agent Pierce shoved me in after him.
There was a metal folding chair in the middle of the room, under a harsh light bulb hanging from the water stained ceiling. I cast my eyes around for any means of escape, but there were none unless I could find the strength to break free from Agent Pierce and run faster than two men who both had eight or ten inches of height on me.
Pierce shoved me in the chair, a cruel grin on his face. “This is a matter of grave importance. Be sure to answer every question honestly.” He removed a gun from beneath his jacket and held it loosely in his hand.
The meaning was clear. If he was truly a cop, he was as dirty as they came. I looked away from him, disgusted both with him and myself for falling for his ruse. There wasn’t much time for self recrimination because Bocharov stepped forward. His hand jerked forward, gripping my chin, forcing me to look up at him. He already seemed big enough when I was standing, now he was a towering, angry giant.
“How long have you been working for the Fokins?” he asked.
I stopped trying to twist away from his fingers cutting into my jaw, stunned by the question. Just like I had been confused by Agent Pierce wanting to know so much about the family I had accidentally come to work for, I had no earthly idea why one of the head honchos at Axon would give a damn.
“A little more than two weeks,” I said.
He let go of my chin and stepped back, shaking his head in disgust. “You were warned to tell the truth.” As if on cue, Agent Pierce jumped forward and slapped me.
“That is the truth,” I said, shocked by the stinging blow. Unless I wanted to bring Marlowe into this mess, I had no real way of proving that. But they had to know when I was last at Axon. “I—I needed a break and took a last minute babysitting job,” I explained.
“How long have you known them?” Bocharov asked, leaning close again.
How was it possible that his eyes could turn even more glacial? A muscle in his jaw jumped as he ground his teeth, waiting for me to answer.
“Just a little more than two weeks,” I said, tears springing to my eyes. This wasn’t happening, it just couldn’t be happening.
Bocharov turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me anymore. Pierce tapped his gun against the palm of his hand, needlessly reminding me of its presence.
“We’re aware you’ve come across some highly classified information,” Bocharov said, turning back to me, crouching down so we were eye to eye. He gave me a stiff smile, revealing blinding white teeth that may as well have been fangs.
Was that supposed to be reassuring? If so, it wasn’t working. I shook my head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“A certain list?” the formidable man asked, the smile remaining.
Now that he was asking me about the very thing that had started the tumultuous downfall of my life, my stomach heaved.I leaned forward, certain I was going to throw up, never more scared in my life.
“I don’t know anything about it,” I said when he wrenched my shoulder and jerked me back to an upright position.
Agent Pierce snickered. I winced, realizing how dumb that had been to try and lie about the list. He knew I was fully aware of what had happened to most of the people on it. I recoiled, certain I was going to get another slap, but Bocharov only stared down at me like I was a bug.
Would he squish me, or was I not worth his time? As ice cold as he was, I could almost read those thoughts emanating from his frigid eyes. It might have been funny if I weren’t about to puke. I really didn’t want that to be one of the last things I did, and I really didn’t want to die in this dank warehouse. I closed my eyes and waited.
“Who else have you spoken to about it?” he asked.
“No one,” I said, opening my eyes to show him this was the truth. That piece of shit Pierce laughed again. “Just Agent Pierce,” I said. “Because I thought he was FBI.”
Wrong answer. It only proved I would speak, and probably keep speaking if I was allowed to live.
“He is FBI,” Bocharov said, with a hint of a smile that actually reached his eyes that time. “You’ll never know how deep my organization runs.” Did he want a pat on the back? A cookie? “It was no accident he was the one to contact you after you started reaching out to the family members.”
Shit. I was so screwed. “I don’t know anything,” I said. “I was just concerned.”
“You know more than you should,” Bocharov said.
Sweat dripped down the back of my neck. It was all I could do not to scream in his face, frustrated that they refused to believe me. I admitted to seeing the list, questioning family members, and even being a temporary babysitter to the Fokins, but they still thought I knew more than that. When they started asking about the Fokins again, I clammed up. There was no way I would drag them into this, just an unlucky family who needed a nanny for their Christmas vacation.
