If I told her the truth, that I made a deal with Richard Beaumont in exchange for her treatment, she’d freak out. She’d be furious.
Then an idea hit me.
I managed to squeeze out a smile, shifting my gaze toward Adrik. “I couldn’t have done it without him.” I blinked at him, a signal for him to play along.
She turned her head in his direction. “What a gentleman. Thank you.” She extended a hand toward him.
“No problem.” He took her hand. “I only assisted anyway.”
“I owe you my life,” she said, her voice tinged with gratitude. “Both of you.”
A faint, nervous grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, knowing I’d just complicated things.
On our way home, the car’s cabin was filled with an awkward silence as tension hung in the air. I was seated in the front passenger seat while he was at the wheel, eyes fixed on the road.
I was lost in my own thoughts, thinking of the various ways this whole madness could end. The last thing I wanted was to drag my mother into this.
What if she found out the truth? How would she react? How would Richard feel when he realized that I let Adrik take the glory for whathedid?
Didn’t I just overcomplicate things?
“Why?” He finally broke the silence, stealing a glance at me. “Why’d you lie to her?”
I looked at him. “Because it was the only way to keep the truth from breaking her.”
His grip tightened around the steering wheel. “I hate lies.”
I frowned at his hypocrisy. “Says the man who’s guilty of worse crimes than that.”
He didn’t respond.
Although his expression remained flat, I still could sense his displeasure.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just frustrated.” My fingers combed through my hair.
“I said I hated lies,” he began. “I never said I didn’t understand why people lie.” He paused. “The truth can be a hard pill to swallow sometimes. And it can destroy what you invested a lot of time to build.”
Apt.
He couldn’t have been more correct.
But wait, why did it seem like he was speaking from a personal experience? It sounded a lot like he, too, was keeping a secret from someone.
Before another thought could form in my head, three cars swerved dangerously out of a corner street. The loud screech of their tires made my heart skip a beat, and my eyes widened with terror.
Adrik slammed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt halt.
“Oh, my God,” I whispered as three armed men stepped out of the car in front of us.
They had their rifles aimed at our windshield, ready to open fire. When I glanced back, another vehicle had blocked our path, and two other men were climbing out, pistols in their hands.
“Fuck,” Adrik murmured.
“Adrik Tarasov!” a familiar voice thundered.
It was Richard Beaumont. He’d just stepped out of the backseat of his vehicle, flanked by two guards.
“Stay in the car,” he said to me, his voice calm and collected. “Lay low.”
