by Zaires, Anna
He turns me around to help with the zipper. His tone is clipped, his voice angry. “He’s keeping you against your will.”
I glance at him from over my shoulder. “He planted a tracker in my neck.”
His gaze flits to my nape. “That son of a bitch. I can cut it out. I’ll get you out of the country.”
“I would’ve done it myself if I didn’t need this job with him.”
“Why do you need it so badly?”
“I need the money for Hanna. Her care is expensive.” I wiggle out of the dress and pull on my jeans and T-shirt. Gergo and I are used to being around each other in our underwear. It comes with the job. We often completed missions in cramped spaces.
“I can get you another job or give you a loan.”
There won’t be enough time. It’s running out too fast. “What’s the difference? A job is a job.”
“When is this job supposed to be done?”
“In three weeks.”
“Three weeks? Yan Ivanov is a dangerous man. I don’t trust him with your life for a day, never mind three weeks.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I say, tying my sneakers.
“Goddamn, Mink. Do you know how risky this is?”
“Yes.”
“Are you willing to put your life on the line?”
I don’t tell him it’s already over for me. If he knew the cancer is back, he’d never let me walk away. I pick up the dress. “I’ve got to go.”
“I’ll get you out after your three weeks are up.”
I smile at that. “You’d do that for me?”
“I’ll organize a private plane. You can assume a new identity and fly to Tahiti. They’ll never find you.”
“I’m sorry.” I squeeze his hand. “I can’t do that.”
He narrows his eyes. “What is he holding over your head?”
“Hanna.”
“That piece of shit. You should let me take him out now and get it over with.”
“No,” I say quickly. “There are others on his team. They’ll make good on his word if he’s dead.”
Scrutinizing me, Gergo says slowly, “You don’t want him to die, do you?”
I avert my eyes.
“Fuck, Mink. Do you have feelings for him?”
I want to deny it, but the lie sticks in my throat. “What I feel doesn’t matter. What matters is Hanna and therefore this job.”
“And after?”
“I’ll take it one day at a time.”
“You do understand if you stay with him, we won’t be able to see each other. You won’t be able to take referrals from me.”
I nod. “It’ll be safer for you if we don’t have contact.”
“You’re asking me to turn my back on you.”
“There’s no other way.”
“I can move Hanna somewhere safe.”
“She’s fragile. She won’t survive the stress.” I glance over the door. “I better go.”
“Wait.” He catches my wrist. “At least tell me what you’re getting yourself into. Tell me what this job entails.”
“It’s better you don’t know.”
“Just put my mind at ease. That’s all I’m asking. For God’s sake, I may never see you again.”
Hearing it hurts. It hurts as much as I’m able to feel for someone other than Hanna. And Yan—though I’m not yet comfortable admitting that to myself. “The job is Dimitrov.”
His eyes widen. “Casmir?”
“Yes.”
“The man’s security is unbreachable.”
“I’m going to pose as Natasha Petrova under the guise of selling a stolen painting.”
“I’m not sure there’s any painting he’d find worth the risk.”
“He already agreed.”
“What? What the hell are you selling?”
“The Salvator Mundi. It’s a fake.”
He gives me an impressed look. “I can’t believe you pulled it off. Where are you doing it?”
“Hotel Paris. Yan has a government connection that put pressure on the manager to work with us.”
“The painting was your idea, wasn’t it?”
“It was the only way I could think of to get Dimitrov alone.”
“Mink, you know what will happen to you if your cover is blown.”
“No one will blow my cover. Yan and his team are invested in this job. They’re not going to jeopardize their own mission.”
“What about the hotel manager? Can you trust him?”
“Yan’s government connection does. I think he’s safe.”
Gergo presses a finger above my heart. “Just make sure you’re safe.”
“It’ll be a piece of cake. All I have to do is walk in, say hello, offer Dimitrov a glass of champagne, and that’s it. I don’t even have to pull the trigger.”
“If you have doubts—”
“I don’t.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“One hundred percent.”
“If you need me—”
“No. I’m not dragging you into this. Promise me you’ll stay away from Yan and his team. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He cups my cheek. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m tougher than that.”
A loud knock falls on the door. “Mina?”
Fuck. Shit. It’s Yan.
The blood drops from my head all the way to my toes. Gergo climbs onto the bench and flattens himself against the wall, his hand going for his gun.
Yan won’t hesitate to break down the door if I take a second too long to let him in. I turn the lock and open the door wide, hiding Gergo behind it. I don’t give Yan a chance to step inside. With the dress clutched in my hand, I walk out ahead of him, not looking back to see if he’s following. All the way to the register, my heart beats in my throat, but I walk with confidence.
I walk like I have nothing to hide.
At the counter, I hand the dress to the sales lady. It’s only when she rings it up that I dare to turn. Yan is right behind me, taking a wad of bills from his wallet. Relief floods me, leaving me lightheaded. From the corner of my eye, I see Gergo cutting across the floor toward the exit. Pretending to watch a mother with a screaming child, I follow Gergo’s progress until he steps out onto the pavement. By the time Yan lifts his eyes to the tantrum scene, Gergo has already disappeared around the corner.
My hand shakes slightly when I take the bag from the sales lady.
Yan fixes his attention on the exchange, his eyebrows pulling together. Taking my elbow, he steers me outside. “Everything all right?”
“I’m just a little hungry.” It’s not a lie. “I get shaky when I don’t eat.”
He checks his watch. It’s close to lunchtime. Reassured by my explanation, he walks me to a fancy restaurant and asks for a table on the terrace. A hostess leads us to the rooftop where I’m surprised to see only one table set among flowering potted plants.
Yan orders the usual. The waitress serves champagne, giving him a sultry look. My pulse spikes in protest, a feeling close to jealousy burrowing into my chest.
“You come here often,” I say when the woman is gone.
“They have good food.”
I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip. The champagne is fizzy and yeasty. “Just the food?”
He doesn’t reply, which is an answer in itself.
The expensive liquor turns sour on my tongue. “I’d appreciate it if we went elsewhere in the future.”
He cocks a brow. “Is there something wrong with the setting?”
“I don’t like to have my face rubbed in your ex-lovers, at least not while you’re fucking me.”
His gaze drills into mine. “Why does that bother you?”
“It’s humiliating.”
“Sleeping with me is humiliating?”
“It’s humiliating to be paraded in front of your ex-lovers.”
A spark of amusement lights up his eyes. “Are you jealous?”
The bastard is pleased I’m feeling like this. “No.”
He considers me for a moment, then says, “We’ll go somewhere else next time.”
“Thank you,” I reply grudgingly.
His lips quirk. “You’re welcome.”
With that genuine almost-smile on his face, he’s even more handsome. His features are hard and uncompromising, but so virile. My body heats in response, my stomach fluttering with an echo of this morning’s orgasms when I think of what we’ve done. The arousal is untimely, the attraction uncontrollable. But recollections of sex with him isn’t what warms my chest. It’s that fact that he’s giving that semblance of a smile to me and no one else.
The exclusivity makes me feel special. It’s the same feeling I get when he takes me to bed and showers me with twisted lust and intense passion. When he fucks, he pours everything into the act, as if the woman on the receiving end is his beginning and end. I desperately want to believe it. I want to believe I’m the only one. That’s why knowing he fucked the waitress hurts so much. Because I want to be more than just another woman he fucked. I want to be someone special to somebody before it all ends.
No, not just somebody. I want to mean something to him.
At the revelation, I give an internal start. Since when does what he thinks matter to me? This is dangerous ground. Something about this man is getting through my shields, penetrating the comforting numbness that has encased me since my parents’ deaths. I better be careful. It will be so damn stupid to fall for him. I don’t want to die with a broken heart after it’s been frozen for so long. It’s bad enough I’ll be his prisoner until I blow out my last breath.
The waitress arrives with our food. She serves two plates of squid ink risotto with grilled prawns.
“White wine?” she asks Yan.
He looks at me.
“Not for me, thank you.” I’m already buzzing from the glass of champagne I’ve downed.
“Just mineral water, please,” he says, barely paying the woman attention.
She scoffs at his aloofness and leaves.
“I hope you like seafood.” He picks up his fork and gestures for me to do the same. “I should’ve asked.”
“I’m not a fussy eater.” I’ve survived on bugs and worms on some of the more difficult missions.
He loads his fork, brings it to his mouth, and watches me expectantly. He wants me to like the food. Why, I can’t fathom. What does he care? I’m hungry, however, and I know from experience a good appetite isn’t something I should take for granted. It’ll become worse as the days go by. Eating will become difficult.
Making the most of the favor my body is granting me, I take a bite. The savory flavors explode in my mouth. The risotto is al-dente and the sauce creamy. The shellfish tastes of garlic butter. I can’t help but close my eyes as I hum my approval. When I open them again, Yan is regarding me with a pleased expression.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says.
A waiter arrives with our water and pours two glasses. I suppose Yan’s non-interest offended the waitress. I’m relieved that I get to enjoy my meal without the hurtful reminder of her presence.
I finish every morsel on my plate and even the freshly baked bread roll. When Yan asks if I’d like dessert, I ask for coffee, too.
“You’re feeling better,” he observes.
There’s no way to explain my ups and downs, so I simply shrug.
He lifts the bottle from the ice bucket. “More champagne?”
“No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”
He pours himself another glass as the waiter reappears with strawberry pavlova and our coffee. My mouth waters at the sight of the delicate meringue crust filled with fresh berries drenched in a red fruit reduction.
It tastes every bit as good as it looks. I’m halfway through devouring my portion when I feel Yan’s stare on me. Lifting my eyes, I find him studying me with a disconcerting look, his pavlova almost untouched.
I swallow the bite I took and dab my mouth with the napkin. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze follows my action. “The cut won’t leave a scar.”
“Excuse me?”
“The cut on your lip. It’s healed. In a few days, the mark will be gone.”
“I suppose.”
He studies my eyes. “Bruises too. They’ve all but faded.”
“Um, yes.” Suddenly feeling self-conscious about my appearance, I touch my hair. I showered, but I haven’t made an effort to look presentable. Certainly nothing like the well-groomed waitress with her perfectly styled hair and carefully applied makeup.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen,” he says.
“What?”
“The mercenaries. They weren’t supposed to beat you.”
My craving for the sweet treat vanishes. I put down my desert fork. “I fought them.”
His smile is flat but not unkind. “Of course, you did.”
He didn’t want me to get beaten up? What am I supposed to make of that? “What are you trying to say? Are you offering me an apology?”
“Yes.” The word is firm, a strong affirmation that surprises me. His next words are spoken harshly, and are even more surprising. “I’m dealing with them.”
My mouth drops open. “Dealing with them? How?”
“A connection is repaying the favor.”
“You’re having them beaten?”
“Seems fitting, no?”
This isn’t what I expected from my kidnapper. “Because I’m a woman?”
My hackles rise. If the fight was fair, I would’ve stood a chance. The mercenaries outnumbered me. I’ve always been prone to gender discrimination in the military, no matter how many times I proved myself and executed missions better than my male comrades. Which is maybe why they resented me, why they thought a lesson was in order. My mouth tightens involuntarily at the memory, at the ugly pictures invading my mind.
“No,” Yan says, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs. “Not because you’re a woman.”
“Why then?”
“Because you’re my woman.”
Something in me gives, like a cord snapping, allowing my heavy heart to lift. The possessive pronoun sounds way too good, even though I know I shouldn’t read more into it. Of course, I’m his. His belonging. His toy. He claimed me the first night in Budapest. He admitted as much to Ilya in the conversation I overheard.
He scrutinizes me. “Why did you quit the Special Forces?”
The elation evaporates, the delicious food turning into a stone in my stomach. “I already told you. Money.”
“You said you needed the money after you left the military.” He stirs sugar into my coffee. Leaning over the table, he holds my eyes as he hands me the cup. “So tell me. Why did you leave?”
Something in his gaze says he already knows, and the realization both angers and shames me. It takes everything I have to keep my voice even. “If you know the answer, why do you ask?”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Why did you dig so deep?”
He pulls his espresso closer. “It came up.”
It couldn’t have just come up. That reason was never stated on my resignation. Only our superior, the guilty men, Gergo, those involved in the investigation and the resulting court case, the medics, and I know what happened. And none of them will ever talk. Of that, I’m sure.
No, Yan must’ve found out because he’s looking into my history. Because he’s searching for something. My heart rate jumps. Could he have seen Gergo and me together? It’s unlikely. We were careful. Still, the mere possibility pushes a sour burn up my throat. I can’t let Yan find out about Gergo. He can never know I took the blame for Gergo’s job, or Gergo is as dead as I’ll be soon.
“Mina?”
I look at my hands. “I don’t like talking about it.”
“Tell me.”
The burn turns to bile. This is as much as I can take. Pushing up, I make to leave, but he grabs my wrist. His hold is an i
ron band. He doesn’t hurt me, but he makes it clear he’s not going to let go. Slowly, he drags me to him. I feel his eyes on my face, but I can’t look at him. The memory is too shameful, too devastating. I can’t bear for anyone to witness my humiliation, and I especially don’t want Yan to see in my eyes the shadow that day still casts over my soul.
When I reach the vise of his legs, he pulls me onto his lap and nuzzles my neck.
His voice is soft and reassuring when he repeats his order. “Tell me.”
“Yan, please.”
He slides his fingers through my hair, caressing my scalp. “I need to know.”
“The past is best left alone.”
He kisses my neck, his breath hot on my skin. “Not always.”
Turning my face an inch, I finally meet his eyes and give him the most honesty I’ve given anyone. “It took years to forget. I don’t want to relive it.”
His lips brush over mine. “You’re not going to relive it. Just give me the facts.” He tightens his arms around me, his green eyes fiercely intent on my face. “You’re not alone anymore, Minochka.”
The promise is sweet, but he doesn’t know about the nightmares that had haunted my waking and sleeping hours for months and years after the incident. I’m not going to dig that skeleton out of the closet. Besides, the more he goes poking around my past, the more likely he’s to stumble onto my friendship with Gergo. “Why are you so set on hearing me repeat the sordid history? What will it change?”
“Everything.” His jaw flexes. “I’m going to make them pay.”
He can’t be serious. Why does he care? I don’t get it. No matter how many times Yan and I share an unnaturally intense intimacy, I’m no closer to understanding him, because our intimacy is limited to the bedroom. Or does this count? Does holding me close and offering me retribution count as affection when he’s blackmailing me with my grandmother’s life?
“Think about it,” he urges. “Don’t you want this?”
I can’t pin a motivation on his offer, but I do think about it. My attackers haven’t been convicted. They haven’t been expelled or lost their ranks. It was my word against theirs. They claimed my injuries were the result of a bad fall, that I lied about the attack to get them in trouble for coming on to me, like all men under the circumstances would. They labeled me as a slut who paraded naked in front of them, a cock-tease. But that was bullshit. Yes, we shared the same barracks and communal showers, but we were trained to look beyond our nudity and anything else that wasn’t part of the mission. We were machines, instruments to obtain a goal, nothing more. I always waited until the bathroom was empty, and I never took off my underwear in front of them.
