Page 43 of The Wrong Monster

I actually wrinkle my nose. “God, no.”

“Are you sure?”

“Isla.” I lean back against the headboard. “I have exactly zero interest in the man.”

“But you’ve never even asked your mom for more than a name⁠—”

“Because I don’t care. I don’t need to know anything about him.” The response is sharp, automatic, and defensive; an arrow I can’t take back. I take a slower breath.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, I just…I don’t need to know who he was. I don’t need some tragic backstory explaining why he disappeared. I already have a dad.”

Ed.

The man who taught me to drive. Who sat through every debate competition.

Biology has never impressed me much. Showing up has.

“I don’t need another one.”

“Okay,” Isla says softly, sounding apologetic. “Sorry, I just wanted to make sure. This is just really unlike you.”

“I promise it’s not that. It really is just work.”

We talk for another minute or so about her clinic and the change in her hours before saying goodbye. It’s awkward; it never has been before, but the lie tastes bitter in my mouth.

Pocketing the phone, I wander toward the window. The afternoon has slipped toward evening, sunlight stretching like rose gold across the lake. Then movement catches my eye down near the shoreline.

Vasily.

He’s standing with Arthur and three other men. A fourth man kneels in front of them, his shoulder slumped, hands behind his back. Bound?

I can’t hear the conversation through the glass, but I can see gestures.

The kneeling man shakes his head frantically. Vasily says something calmly.

Then he steps forward.

He grips the man’s jaw almost gently...

...and forces his head beneath the surface of the lake.

My breath catches. The man thrashes, water rocketing up around him, reflecting some of the red sunset.

I stumble backward from the window so quickly my hip hits the desk. Pain spikes through it, and I hiss between clenched teeth, ducking. Surely they can’t see me.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and a text from Isla comes through: Something feels off. I’m coming up. Don’t argue. I’ll let you know when.

I feel the color drain from my face. I only just stopped feeling like I’m a mouse in a trap. Now someone else will be brought within Vasily Borisov’s reach.

Chapter 12

Vasily

The conference room overlooking the Lake Placid marina is one of Deep Waters' showcase properties. Clients come here to admire the lake, finalize business contracts, and take photos with trophies or athletes.

My people come here because no one thinks to pay attention to a room built for wealthy investors discussing vacation homes.

The irony isn't lost on me.