Page 48 of Sin Wager
The lie is obvious, pathetic. The envelope in her hands, the fear in her eyes, the guilt written across her face—it all betrays her. She's ignoring what I told her to do.
"Try again," I say, my voice low and controlled. Her eyebrows rise now, jaw going slack.
"I don't know what you mean."
"The envelope, Vera. Sonya… The real reason you're in this tunnel instead of doing your job in the stables."
Her face goes pale, and for a moment I think she might collapse. "Misha, please?—"
"The truth. Now!"
She looks around desperately, as though seeking an escape route. But we're alone in the tunnel, nowhere to run, no one to help her.
"It's not what it looks like," she says.
"What is it, then?"
"She's threatening to stop helping Elvin. I don't know what to do…"
The partial truth is worse than a complete lie. She's still trying to protect Sonya's operation, still putting their interests above her own safety. Maybe I've been wrong about her this whole time.
Cold anger settles in my chest—not at her, but at the situation that's forced her into this position. At Sonya for exploiting her desperation. At myself for letting it go this far.
"Don't lie to me." My voice comes out edged with the temper I'm struggling to control.
Vera flinches. "I'm not lying."
"You were taking instructions from Sonya Radich. The same Sonya who was connected to Pavel before he died. The same woman I told you to stop speaking with."
"I know, but…”
"You know?" I step closer, and she backs against the tunnel wall. "You know she's dangerous. You know this isn't about simple betting favors. And you know you're in deeper than you want to admit."
"Misha, please. I only place the bets. That's all. I don't know anything else."
The fear in her eyes is genuine, but there's something else there too—something she's not telling me. The way she holdsherself, the careful movements, the protective way she positions the envelope against her body.
My temper flares, the careful control I've maintained for weeks threatening to snap. The urge to shake the truth out of her, to make her understand how dangerous this game has become, rises in my throat. I see blood. I see myself gripping her throat and choking her until she gives me the answers I need, and then…
Then I see the way she's looking at me—not with defiance or calculation, but with terror. She's not afraid of Sonya's threats or the consequences of the betting scheme. She's afraid of me.
And I stop cold.
Somewhere in the process of protecting her, investigating her, manipulating her trust, I've become another source of fear in her life.
I force my voice to soften, push down the anger that wants to explode. With a gravelly voice and a bitter taste on my tongue I push out, "I'm sorry."
The words feel foreign in my mouth. I can't remember the last time I apologized to anyone for anything. But the fear in Vera's eyes demands something I've never given before.
"I didn't mean to frighten you." The apology feels rough and unfamiliar. "I'm concerned about your safety, not angry with you."
Her shoulders ease slightly, though the wariness remains in her expression.
"I know you're in a difficult position," I continue. "I know someone is pressuring you, threatening people you care about. But lying to me won't make it better."
She searches my face, looking for deception or manipulation. Whatever she sees there seems to reassure her, because some of the tension leaves her posture.
"I'm scared," she admits quietly.
