Part 11 (1/2)
Viktor's smirk tells me before he does, ”Yes. I had a fair reason.”
My head starts to pound as I look into his calm demeanor. I'm no threat to him at all, which begs the question, ”What reason would that be?”
”Later,” he tells me, brus.h.i.+ng me off with his hand for added emphasis. ”Tell me how it is you've come to know Hoss Lattimore.” His request comes with curiosity, but also a hint of impatience.
Carefully choosing my words, and being unsure what the correct answer is, I tell him, ”I knew Hoss when I was younger. I did some work for him years ago.”
”Work?”
”Yes. I helped him collect debts he was owed.”
”Did you enjoy this work?” he asks without hesitation.
My patience is waning slightly and being that I'm still not completely sure of my reason for sitting across from him, my nerves are on edge, as well.
”Didn't enjoy it, but at the time, the money was good,” I answer.
Nodding again only once, Viktor's steel grey eyes bore into mine. My gaze moves quickly to the gla.s.s he's spinning on the table with his fingers.
”You're not even the slightest bit nervous right now, are you?” he asks quietly.
No. I'm not. My edginess is caused only by the unsaid reason of why I'm truly here, not because I'm alone in his company. ”No.”
”That's impressive.”
Getting further annoyed, my agitation comes through with my sarcastic remark. ”Glad you're impressed.”
”You've seen quite a lot in your life. Am I right?”
”Some would say.”
”Hoss tells me you once had a younger sister and that you cared deeply for her,” he observes out loud before taking a drink from his small gla.s.s. I don't respond, so he places it down on the desk again and continues. ”He also told me she was a beautiful girl who was viciously murdered in cold blood.”
”Yes. Her name was Marie.”
”Beautiful name,” he comments. ”And her killer still roams free?”
”As far as I know, yes.”
”Max.” My name, clearly stated through his Russian accent, makes my skin crawl with bated expectation. ”You and I aren't so different. We each treasure those we care about.”
Scooting his chair back, he opens a desk drawer and pulls out a piece of familiar-looking paper. The edges are worn and the paper is flimsy.
Laying it down on the desk, Viktor slides it over to me. It's face-down, so I can't see what's on the other side, but I already know where it came from.
Casey.
”Before taking a closer look at it, can you tell me what this is?” he asks.
”Yes,” I give him my honest answer. He displays no outward expression at all.
”Take it,” he tells me. ”Look at what she's done.”
After inhaling a breath, I reach out to grab the edge and turn it over. My intention was to leave it on the desk, not let him notice my reaction to it. This fails when I look at what Casey's drawn.
In the picture, she's drawn herself. It's not the first time I've seen her draw a self-portrait, but it's the first time I've seen her truly smile. Her teeth are straight and she's drawn a dimple I hadn't noticed her ever having. My face is next to hers and my temple rests on the crown of her head. This one is perfected and different than the one she showed me earlier. In comparison, the one she has in her room looks incomplete and rushed.
My thoughts are interrupted with Viktor's words. ”She's a little girl with a special gift,” he comments first. ”And who seems to love you like a child would love or trust their favorite uncle.”
”She's a good kid,” I admit the truth freely.
I haven't spoken outwardly to anyone other than Emma and the guys about Casey. Hearing Viktor praise her in one breath, yet knowing he's holding her captive in this place with the other, erases any compliment I thought in favor to him.
Setting the picture down, face-up, I keep my eyes trained on those of hers she drew. ”Why are you holding her here?”
”Holding her here?” he asks with innocence as if he doesn't have a clue what I'm talking about.
I clarify my statement with urgency. ”In that filthy room.”
”Her mother lives in this G.o.dforsaken place, Max,” he states plainly. ”Casey and her mother are hardly being held against their will.”
As I reach for my pocket, Viktor's eyes stay focused on my hand. His eyebrows raise in question when I slide the key to Casey's room across the desk; the one I took from Dee Dee.
”Her mother is trash,” I explain what he should already know.
Leaning over and picking it up, Viktor studies the key. His manicured fingernail bites into the top of it as his words come out through a clenched jaw. ”Where did you get this?”
”Casey's mother, Dee Dee.”
Narrowing his eyes briefly, he tosses it in his drawer before turning back into the calm and collective man he was before I shocked him with what he obviously didn't know she had. ”Family is family. You know something of this.”
I won't let this s.h.i.+t slide. I'm pus.h.i.+ng and it could be a mistake to do so, but I'm making a point. ”When I walked into Casey's room this evening, Dee Dee was there. She wasn't there to hold her, either. She's Hangar's old lady, but I'm guessing you already knew this.”
Dismissing me again, but this time with a terse tone, he promises, ”I'll address it.”
”Emma is her aunt,” I tell him what he knows. ”She's family, yet you've kept Em from her for over a year.”
”And there are reasons for this.”
Raising my eyebrows, I ask, ”What would those be?”
”Reasons that are my own,” he responds, correcting his prior claim.
As Viktor stands from his seat, he grabs my gla.s.s and turns to pour us both another drink without asking if I'd like one. I hadn't noticed he had finished his, but rather have been concentrating on our conversation.
With his back to me, he continues talking. I hear the clink of the carafe hitting each gla.s.s in turn before he speaks. ”Anna tells me you're not a member of this club. She tells me you've been good to the girls, and she also tells me you're very good to her and Casey.”
After he sets the gla.s.s in front of me, I reach to grab it and then do the same as I did the one before. I slam it back and set it down on the desk, also finding him shaking his head mildly and holding in a smirk.
No, Viktor. I still don't savor your expensive s.h.i.+t.