by Zaires, Anna
Wrapping my arms around him, I give him a quick hug. Besides Hanna, he’s the closest person I have to family.
“Take care,” he says when I pull away.
I rush up the steps and don’t look back. I go forward, like I always do.
Fetching Hanna, I take her down to the dining room. We have dinner against the backdrop of the view. I feed her, my heart aching when I remember the strong, proud woman who’d cooked for me in her kitchen. I miss those times, but this is the present, and this is who we’ve become. I imprint every detail in my mind. I inhale her perfume. Anais Anais. I make a new memory as I sit next to her and hold her hand while we talk about old times.
When it’s time for Hanna’s medication, the nurse tells me Lena would like to say goodbye before I go. My heart breaks a little more with every step I take away from the small, wrinkled woman who raised me, but I keep my shoulders straight. Turning in the doorway, I wave cheerfully, giving Hanna my happiest face. Then I round the corner and she’s gone, lost from my view. The loss is so profound I have to brace myself with a hand on the wall.
A nurse walks by. “Is everything all right, ma’am?”
“Yes.” I straighten. “Perfectly.”
Swallowing my tears, I go to Lena’s office.
Her face is grim. “Sit down, Mina.”
My chest shrinks as I sink down into the chair facing her desk. “Is it bad?”
“I’m afraid so.” She leans over and takes my hand where it rests on the desktop. “I’m sorry. The leukemia is back.”
Even if I expected it, the news comes as a blow.
“There’s a new treatment,” Lena says. “It’s still experimental, but—”
“No.” The previous treatment was hell. “No more treatment.”
She gives me a sympathetic look. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I get to my feet. “Thank you for running the tests.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Will you take care of Hanna?”
“You can count on me.”
“I’ll transfer the rest of the money soon.”
“Take care of yourself, and call me if you change your mind about the treatment.”
With the reassurance that Hanna’s every need will be catered to, I catch a taxi to the train station where I buy a ticket to Prague. While I wait, I order a cup of tea in the cafeteria. The brew is strong and bitter.
It tastes like goodbyes and regret.
20
Yan
Something’s up. Ilya wouldn’t call me otherwise. The hair on my nape stands on end as I hold up a palm to silence Anton in the middle of his sentence and take the call.
“What’s wrong?”
Ilya clears his throat. “It’s Mina.”
I’m on my feet. “What did you do?” I’ll kill the fucker if he touched her.
“It may be nothing.” He hesitates. “I didn’t want to take a chance.”
Grabbing my jacket, I motion for Anton to follow. “You’re wasting time. Spit it out.”
“She went out for breakfast and—”
“She what?”
“She said she needed time alone to deal with all the shit happening in her life.”
Motherfucker. Rushing out the door, I take the stairs two by two. “How long ago?”
“Just over an hour.”
“You let her go on her fucking own?”
“She said she’d be back.”
“And you fucking believed her?”
“I felt bad, okay? What you’re doing, Yan, it’s not right.”
He thinks now’s the time for a moral lecture? “Where did she go?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Tell me you didn’t give her money.”
“Of course I did.”
My brother is a goddamn pushover, a fucking pussy when it comes to that little spitfire of a woman. I’ll deal with him later. The priority is finding Mina. “Where are you now?”
“At the apartment. Should I go look for her?”
“Stay the fuck put and call me if she shows up.”
I cut the call and activate the tracker app. We’re running the two blocks to where the rental is parked.
Throwing the keys to Anton, I say, “Drive.”
As always, he’s fast and efficient. Cool and collected. He unlocks the doors and takes the wheel. “What’s going on?”
I slide into the passenger side, nearly choking on my relief as the tracker appears on the app. “Mina ran.”
“Fuck.”
Mina didn’t get rid of the tracker. The microscopic electrodes are picking up her pulse. The elevated reading shows she’s stressed. Otherwise, her vitals are normal. She could’ve easily cut out the tracker, something I wouldn’t put past her, but the red dot blinks reassuringly on the screen.
I pull up the coordinates as Anton steers the car into the heavy traffic. By the speed at which she’s moving, I’m guessing she’s on a train. She’s roughly four hours ahead of us. Opening a railway plan, I study the lines. If my assumption is correct, she’s on her way to Hungary.
“Where to?” Anton asks tightly as we near the first exit.
“Budapest.”
He doesn’t ask questions. He programs the GPS and does as he’s told. Unlike Ilya. When I get my hands on my brother, he’ll pay for not following the one, simple fucking order I gave.
According to the GPS, it will take us eleven hours to get there with the current traffic. That’s if Budapest is indeed Mina’s destination. What the hell is she doing? If she thinks she can run from me, she’ll be sadly disappointed. I’ll catch her.
Again and again.
Anton shoots me a sidelong glance. “What about flights?”
“It’s better to follow her on land. Easier to change direction if needed.” Our own plane is undergoing maintenance, and if we’re stuck on a commercial flight, it may take us even longer. There are a lot of overbookings and delays, as it’s the end of the summer holiday and the Czech Republic is swamped with tourists.
Time crawls by. We don’t stop. Not to eat, not to stretch our legs, not even for a piss. We only take five minutes to refuel. I don’t work. I don’t check my messages. I do nothing but study the red dot that represents Mina. The farther we advance, the more convinced I become I’m right about her destination.
Six-and-a-half hours later, she stops moving. I look up the location. It’s a private clinic in Budapest. I can only imagine why she’d go there. Tapping on the listed number, I dial the clinic. A female voice comes onto the line, asking if she can help me.
“I’d like to speak to Ms. Hanna Belan, please.”
“Certainly, sir. Who may I say is calling?”
“I’m having trouble hearing you. I’ll call back when I have a better connection.”
I cut the call. Just as I thought.
“Family of Mina?” Anton asks.
It’s not his business. Nothing concerning Mina is anyone’s business but mine. “Pull over at the next gas station.”
We swap places. He catches a nap and I drive, keeping an eye on the tracker app. For the moment, Mina is immobile. It’s only when I pull into Budapest that she starts moving again.
Changing direction, I drive to the station and park in the drop-off zone.
“Circle around until you hear from me,” I tell Anton.
The station is busy. I tuck a Glock into my waistband and pull on my jacket to hide the weapon. I stay vigilant as I walk, following the tracker to the cafeteria. It doesn’t take me long to spot Mina’s spiky, platinum-blond hair.
She’s sitting alone at a table, drinking something. There’s a teapot on the table. No food. I take in the details with a practiced eye. The tables around her are all occupied. A single man with black-rimmed glasses, dark hair, and a mole on his cheek sits in the corner. He’s attractive, about fifty I’d say. He’s the only other person on his own at a table, which is why he stands out. He’s reading a newspaper and eating a pastry. Maybe just waiting
for his train. Still, I take nothing for granted. I scan over the mothers with children and elderly people with dogs. I check the exits and escalators. Then I glance at the departure screen. The next train for Prague leaves in forty minutes.
When I’ve committed every detail to my mind and evaluated every escape option and possible danger, I finally allow myself to feel. The emotions hit my chest like arrows. Worry, angst, and white-hot fury. The more I acknowledge the worry, the darker my anger turns. Sensations I didn’t know existed bulldoze over me, the biggest of them the fear of loss. I’ve never feared like this. Not even for my twin. It makes me vulnerable, makes my hands shake.
It makes me something I’ve never been.
Fucking weak.
I accept it all. Internalize it. What hits me the hardest is the punch of jealousy in my gut as I round the entrance and get a full frontal view of Mina’s face. Her lips are crimson, dark like blood. She’s so fucking beautiful, so stupidly brave, and all I can think about is that she’s never put on makeup for me. Who did she smear that lipstick on her gorgeous lips for?
Standing here, taking in my captive, I hate her as much as I want her. I want to hurt her, to make her pay for what she did, but I can’t really blame her. Who wouldn’t run in Mina’s shoes? This is all Ilya’s fault.
My mind is a mess of muddled thoughts as I slowly make my way over.
She’s so lost in herself she doesn’t notice me until I’m three steps away. When she finally senses the danger and lifts her gaze, her pale cheeks turn even whiter, her blue eyes flaring for a second before acceptance sets in.
She knew I’d come after her. She knew I’d find her.
Pulling out a chair, I sit down opposite her. “Hello, Mina.”
She swallows. “I wasn’t running.”
I look at the drink still left in her cup. The lipstick left a perfect red imprint of her lips on the rim. “Drink your tea.”
“Yan, I—”
“I said, finish your tea.”
Holding my gaze, she brings the cup to her lips and downs what’s left before placing the cup in the saucer. It clinks softly, a sound of gentle finality, but there’s nothing gentle about the way I feel.
I hold out my hand. “Ticket.”
She fishes a train ticket from her pocket and hands it to me. I glance at the destination. Prague.
“I was coming back,” she says.
“Do not speak unless I tell you to. Do not utter as much as a sound.” I’m too volatile, too close to losing my shit. I stand and extend a hand. “Get up.”
She obeys without arguing, putting her small hand in mine. I drag her closer. With a palm on her back, I press her against my side. She’s so tense her body is like a thin bar of steel, but she doesn’t resist.
From over her shoulder, I catch the eyes of the man, the one with the mole. He averts his gaze, ashamed I caught him staring. There’s something about him, about his smile, that doesn’t feel right. But then he folds his newspaper, gets up, and leaves.
With Mina tucked against my side, I walk us out. I’m a cesspool of conflicting emotions. I’m boiling with rage, yet my relief is so huge it makes me shake in the aftermath of my fear, of eleven long hours of the worst torture of my life.
My steps match my fury. Mina battles to keep up with her shorter legs. She’s practically running next to me, but I don’t slow down. Tightening my fingers on her hip, I fish my phone from my pocket and call Anton to let him know he can drive back to Prague.
“What about you?” he asks.
“We’ll catch the next flight.”
I enter the nearest hotel—a two-star, rundown place—and pay cash for a room. The wooden stairs creak under my shoes as I drag Mina up the two flights to a room with a bed, chair, and dresser. Nothing more. The wallpaper is orange and flaking. The walls must be paper thin, but I don’t care. I pull her with me to the bed, sit down, and drape her face-down over my lap.
She cranes her neck to look back at me. “What are you doing?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to speak?”
“Yan.”
Gripping the elastic of her sweatpants, I pull it with her panties over her thighs, exposing her tight ass. Perfectly rounded. The skin is pearly, soft. I stroke my palm over the curves because I need to feel her. I need the confirmation that she’s here.
“You ran from me, Mina.”
“I didn’t—”
“Quiet. I didn’t tell you to speak.”
She shuts up at my tone.
I caress her globes gently, squeezing the toned flesh. “What did I tell you?”
Now she’s quiet. Now that I’m asking her a question.
“I’ll remind you.” I drag my hand down her thigh and between her legs. “I told you not to test me.”
Biting her lip, she just looks at me.
I outline her folds with a finger. She’s dry. “You’re giving me no choice.” I have to make good on my word.
When the first slap falls on the underside of her ass, she starts to struggle. I press a hand on her nape, feeling the small lump where the tracker is buried under her skin, knowing it will never be enough. Nothing can ever be enough.
Smack!
She cries out.
I can’t lose her again. I fucking hate the feeling.
Smack!
Her back hollows.
Smack!
Another smothered cry.
I don’t hit her hard enough to bruise, only to leave a red imprint of my hand. I cover every inch of that snow-white skin until her ass is as pink as a rose. She’s not crying, not that I expected her to. She’s a killer. A soldier. She’s gone through much worse. But I know it hurts. The heat seeps from her red skin into my palm as I rub her globes slowly. She squirms. The caress is painful on her smarting ass. Still, it’s not enough to settle the hell she put me through.
Flipping her around, I stand with her in my arms. I’m not gentle when I dump her on the bed. I don’t look at her face as I yank her sweater and T-shirt over her head, and rip off her bra. I don’t look into her eyes because I don’t want to do it. Not like this. But she left me no choice.
I finish undressing her. My command is curt, humiliating, something aimed at a pet, not an equal. “Stay.”
She flinches.
Going through the room, I find nothing that can serve as restraints. The threadbare towels will have to do. I twist the biggest one like a rope, lift her arms above her head, and bind her wrists to the headboard. She watches me as I work. She’s quiet, but her eyes glint with her own anger.
I test the knot, then spread her legs. “Don’t move.”
She continues to watch me silently as I undress and climb between her legs.
“This is how you want it?” I position my cock at her entrance. “Like it was in Colombia?”
Her reply is soft. “No.”
“If you run, you tell me otherwise.”
I don’t get her ready. That’s not what this is about. I press the head of my cock at the pink flesh between her legs and part those delicate petals. I’m too thick for her, too angry. Yet her pulse quickens, her breasts heaving with her fast little breaths.
“You want this?” As angry as I am, I’ll stop if she tells me to. Forcing is a line I won’t cross.
Her nod is cryptic.
I grip her hair. “Say it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” I need to know. I don’t know what I expect her to say, only that I burn to know why she wants this.
“Does it matter?”
It fucking does. Maybe not to her. To me, nothing has mattered more. “Tell me why.”
Her gaze takes on the steel-blue hue of a winter sky. “Just do it.”
So be it. I do it. I sink into her greedily, selfishly. Violently. Like she asked. As if she’s proving there’s nothing loving about this. It’s savage. It’s unquestionable. It’s a truth, the rawest truth I’ve known. She’s too tight, her flesh unrelenting as I draw back and slam home again, going as
deep as I can.
Tears fill her eyes, drowning the gray, softening the steel. I grip the towel around her wrists. I don’t dare sink my fingers into her hips. I’m not leaving marks on her again. Then I move. Savagely. With truth. I take her over and over, thrusting into her body like I’m chasing unobtainable dreams.
Our hips slam together in a rough, punishing rhythm. I don’t take care of her pleasure; I come. Harshly, brutally. I empty myself in her body, filling her up. I leave my mark inside her, and when I’m done, I kiss her. I kiss her hard, smearing the red lipstick over her face. I bite her lip and stroke my tongue over the teeth marks. Then I pull out and let go.
My cum leaks out, staining the ugly orange bedspread. When I get up, she closes her legs. Her cheeks are red, and she can’t look at me. She turns her face away.
I wet the remaining towel and clean her up before settling down next to her and pulling the sheet over us without untying her.
Draping an arm over her stomach, I press my lips on the shell of her ear. “You could’ve had it like in Prague. Just remember, this is how you chose it.”
She doesn’t speak. She accepts the verdict, and I fall into an unfulfilled, haunted sleep.
* * *
I wake up early. The sun isn’t up yet, but Mina’s eyes are already open. Maybe she never slept. My anger has burned out, and regret tastes like cold, stale ashes. It could’ve been different. I want it to be different.
“Uncomfortable?” I ask.
She nods.
I kick away the sheet and slide down the mattress. She doesn’t ask what I’m doing when I bury my head in the soft flesh between her thighs. I lick her pussy, taste her on my tongue. What wouldn’t I give her, if only she asked.
“What were you doing in Budapest?”
She shivers when I trace her clit with my tongue. “You know.”
“Tell me.”
“I went to see my grandmother.”
I suck a little harder. When she gasps, I let go. “Why?”
“I didn’t want to make her worry.”
“If you’d asked me, I would’ve taken you.”
“Would you?”
