How had he gone so long in his life and not discovered this pleasure before? Was he the short-lived, closed-minded human he’d thought every non-traveler on the planet to be?
The worry drifted away as his pleasure soared. Remi slammed into him, the tendons in his neck and shoulders worked as he strained towards his own climax. “Oh la vache…” he breathed.
Neven barely heard it. His climax tore up from his toes, shredding nerves and tearing at tendons, straining every inch of him. He came with a shout that tore at the back of his throat, pumping in Remi’s hand.
Remi stiffened, his hips jerking, as he came in hard, deep thrusts that were barely movement at all, but spasms wracking his body. His eyes closed and his forehead creased, as if he was in pain. Then it smoothed out and his shoulders relaxed. A smile touched the corner of his mouth as he withdrew his cock and pushed Neven so he was lying fully on the bed.
He padded to the ensuite and returned with a cloth. He wiped Neven’s belly and chest clean and took it back. Neven’s entire body was useless. He had no strength to lift his hands. His heart was still pistoning furiously. Remi’s ministrations were welcome.
Then Remi laid down next to him, rolled onto his side and put his head on his hands. “It is an adequate distraction, no?”
Neven laughed. “I’m useless right now. Yes, it was adequate.”
“Good.” Remi’s smile was small.
Although his talk of distractions reminded Neven of why they had started this. “How long do you think they’ll be?” he asked.
Remi shook his head. “No. No speculation.” He bent and picked up his shirt from the floor and took a small black cellphone out of it and put the phone on the nightstand. “She will trip the tracker. Or she will jump. Or she will be okay. Either way, we don’t worry, no?”
“Your speech,” Neven said. “You have started sounding far more French than I’ve ever heard from you before.”
“I’m relaxed.” Remi shrugged. “Don’t ruin my mood.”
He did look relaxed. A mellow air was about him and an absence of the tightly held tension that usually seemed to flow from him. It was a tension that seemed to indicate that Remi was watching the whole world, wary and waiting for an attack that might come from anywhere.
“Why are you here in Serbia, anyway?” Neven asked.
“Of all the places I could be, instead, you mean?” Remi asked.
“Yes, exactly. This is not New York, or London. It’s…provincial.”
Remi shrugged. “The easy answer is, Kristijan was here. This is where he wanted to be.”
Neven realized he was staring in surprise.
Remi smoothed out the sheet between them, concentrating on it. “After…France, I spent most of my time in Eastern Europe and the Middle East. Constantinople, for a long time, until it became Istanbul. Now, there is a city!” He smiled, clearly remembering the delights of a city that Neven had never been to. Not yet, anyway. “Then I circled back west. It wasn’t deliberate. It just worked out that way. I ended up in Belgrade. A hot-headed, angry man was there, full of dreams and ambitions and a dark streak that was unusual in humans so young.”
“Kristijan.”
Remi sighed. “I loved him. I loved him long before the madness began. This morning, out there…the cages….” He dropped his gaze to the sheet once more. “I saw the cages. I saw the horror of it as if I was seeing it for the first time. The shipment, the deal with Usenko…” He sighed. “Kristijan called it his great project, as if it was culmination of a lifetime of work. Maybe it was. This morning, though, I was reminded of what he had become. Then I look at you and remember what he once was.”
Neven held still, afraid to speak in case it jolted Remi from this unburdening.
Remi sighed again and met his gaze. “Usenko must be stopped. That is what I was reminded of this morning. He must be stopped and everything that Kristijan built should be burned to the ground and the earth salted over so no one can pick up what he designed and carry on with it.”
Neven swallowed. “You’re with me, then.”
Remi nodded. “I’m with you.”
Neven was so relieved, he reached for him and kissed him. Remi took the kiss and turned it into a deep, silent commitment.
It turned out that Remi was right. After that first moment, he could take his time. He brought Neven to a trembling, thought-sapping, energy-draining climax more than once.
Neven was a fast learner. He returned the favor. Over and over.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Leskovac was a good city for shopping, if one couldn’t shop in Paris or London or Berlin. London had never been shopping there before and if it had been any other day or any other company, she might even have enjoyed browsing stores that were an amazing mix of international brands and local, home crafted delights.
Sofiya Sorokin certainly liked shopping. She didn’t bother trying on anything, though, or contemplating the use of an item. She would stalk into a store, flip through racks and on more than one occasion, grabbed the arm of an assistant, pointed to a dummy and say “I want that in a 34.”
London would not have been surprised if money had drifted out behind her like a contrail of colorful confetti. She seemed to like spending it to impress people.
It didn’t impress London. It just made her feel ill. Sofiya Sorokin could spend prodigious amounts of currency only because she acquired it by ripping off law-abiding people. She took from others.
London didn’t know the details of Kristijan’s business. When he had first told her that his business was all things criminal, her mind had blanked out, unwilling to hear any more details. Since then, she had sheared off from asking questions, or even seeing anything that would tell her what he did.
In the dark recesses of her mind, at night, when her defenses were weak and her lonely bed made her reflect on her life, she had wondered if Kristijan had been some sort of drug overlord. However, the village, Božidarko, and everyone in it, plainly adored and worshipped him, which didn’t match with what a drug kingpin did to the lives of the children and young adults. Although her idea of what a drug overlord looked like was informed by the few movies she had ever seen and was most likely inaccurate.
Perhaps drug lords did look like Kristijan. Quiet spoken, immaculately dressed, handsome. Thoughtful with strangers, always polite, yet with a look in their eyes that said they were watching everything.
Sofiya didn’t fit with any cliché London was aware of. The woman was dangerous—Remi and Neven’s caution told her that much. Plus, London had seen a gun in her coat, on the helicopter flight to the airport in Leskovac. When Sofiya paid for her purchases, London had spotted a smaller handgun and a switchblade in her bag that she made no effort to hide.
What else did she have that was hidden away?
The afternoon seemed to last forever, although in that entire time, Sofiya said nothing that was not about fashion, clothing, accessories or something she could buy. Sofiya did seem to like shopping for the sake of it, although most of the store staff she left behind looked breathless and bewildered by the time she sailed out of the shop, making London want to apologize for the woman.
It wasn’t until they were in the helicopter, heading back to Božidarko, when Sofiya seemed to switch from feminine shopping joys to her career of choice and the lifestyle that went with it.
“Tell me, Mrs. Zoric,” Sofiya said, twisting on the narrow back bench to look at London. She had called London “Mrs. Zoric” a few times. London wondered if she did it to emphasize their only common connection, Kristijan. Now she was using the title again. Her voice through the headset was higher than usual. “I’m curious to know something and I suspect you have the answer.” She was using heavily accented English, as she had since they had left the house after lunch.
A shadow in Sofiya’s eyes warned London. She braced herself. “What do you want to know?” she asked politely. She had remained polite all afternoon despite the complete innocence of the activities. Wa
s Sofiya about to reveal her agenda?
“I was wondering,” Sofiya said, her muddy eyes not moving away from London’s face, “why Kristijan won’t fuck me as he used to.”
London flinched. She let her gaze skitter away as it naturally would have. “I think I am the wrong person to ask,” she said stiffly.
Sofiya laughed. “Oh dear, I’ve offended you.” She didn’t look contrite.
London gave her a stiff smile. “You ask about screwing my husband and you’re surprised I’m offended?” Although the small, warm kernel in her chest had been placed there by the knowledge that Neven had refused her advances.
Sofiya laughed again. “You have feelings for him! How delightfully quaint!”
At least I can feel something for another person. London held back from speaking it aloud. Was Sofiya a genuine psychopath, unable to empathize with anyone? It would explain a great deal about her, including the compulsive, meaningless shopping London had witnessed.
London made herself look Sofiya in the eyes. “Can we please change the subject?”
Sofiya’s merry peel of laugher told her the request would be ignored. “You are such a sweet, gentle little woman, aren’t you?”
“I’m five foot ten. That’s not little,” London said shortly.
“I wasn’t talking about your height,” Sofiya replied. “You have no idea at all about Kristijan’s real nature, do you?”
London looked at her, her heart beating. Was Sofiya going to tell her Kristijan was a vampire? Both Kristijan and Remi had made it clear that they would tolerate London revealing facts of their business more easily than they would put up with her telling anyone they were vampires.
“If you can get anyone to believe you in the first place,” Kristijan had explained with his mirthless smile, “we will just have to deal with them after that. It is a fuss I’d rather not have to bother with.”
London didn’t want to know what “dealing” with people meant in Kristijan’s world. Not that she cared to talk about her estranged husband and his affairs, anyway. When she was in Britain, she could at least pretend she was free.
Now she stared at Sofiya, wondering if the woman was brazen enough to say it out loud. Surely Kristijan would not have told this woman what he was?
“What about his nature?” she asked, her voice strained.
Sofiya settled back against the bench and looked out the window, down at the valleys rolling beneath them at one hundred and fifty miles an hour. “I work for a man with peculiar talents and proclivities,” she said casually. Even though she was looking away from London, her voice came through London’s headset with almost perfect clarity. “His empire reaches across Russia and he might have expanded into all of Europe long ago, building alliances and partnerships. The factor that slowed him down was finding suitable partners. Not any petty criminal will do. It takes a certain type of mind and attitude to successfully partner with Usenko. He is selective.” She looked over at London. “I have shocked you with talk of criminals, yes?”
London swallowed. “I am not completely ignorant,” she said stiffly and realized that she had fallen for Sofiya’s little challenge. She had tried to look better in Sofiya’s eyes and had therefore revealed how much she did know about Kristijan’s affairs.
She’s clever. Remi’s words.
London kept her face blank, hiding the sinking sensation she was feeling. She was losing in this conversation. Yet she had assured Neven and Remi she could handle the woman. Only, she had been thinking of physical attacks and for that she had the perfect defense, thanks to Neven. She just hadn’t been braced for this psychological powerplay.
She wanted it to end, although Sofiya would only end it when she was good and ready. London would have to play it out. She met Sofiya’s gaze.
“You might think you know. I guarantee you don’t, unless I have misjudged you.” Sofiya shook her head. “I don’t misjudge people.”
She couldn’t afford to misjudge, not in her line of work.
London held still, waiting for Sofiya to drop the other shoe.
Sofiya looked out the window once more. “Usenko was pleased when he struck up the deal with Kristijan,” she said. “He thought he had found a genuine partner. Kristijan had a head for the work that few men do. Usenko was over the moon. Now, he is wondering if he misjudged, even just a little. That is why I am here.”
London recognized that Sofiya would circle endlessly around the point she wanted to make, until London asked a question that would let her make it. It was another powerplay. By forcing her to ask, it put London in the weaker position. Sofiya would look benevolent by answering.
London mentally shrugged. Now she knew what Sofiya was doing, she didn’t mind looking weak to get it over and done with. “What work is that?” she asked. “What is the partnership?”
“Human slaves,” Sofiya replied. “Thousands of them. A steady shipment of them, every year. It is the underground economy that drives industries, you know.” Her gaze was sharp, missing nothing.
London didn’t have to fake her reaction. Horror washed over her. “Slaves?” she breathed, her throat clamping down tight.
“Oh, there’s all sorts of names for them now. The horribly law-abiding call it human trafficking, which barely skims the surface. They’re so useful, you see. Drug mules, sex workers. The virgins get sold off at auction, too.” Sofiya leaned closer, her eyes sparkling. “The boys fetch the highest price. Interesting, hmm?”
London couldn’t speak. She could barely breathe. Her heart was thundering in her head, drowning nearly all sound, except for her voice.
“There’s so much more to it than that, though,” Sofiya added, her voice light and happy. “It is a complex business. Labor for factories and workshops of all sorts, including all the drug factories of the world. Test subjects for experimental trials. Drug trials, test surgical procedures. Organ donation—that one is almost depressingly legitimate, except the search for the compatible organ can be fruitless using purely legal resources. We have been able to build up quite a business from that, as few organizations can compete because of the overheads involved in setting up. You’d be surprised by how expensive it is to test DNA and other compatibility factors!”
London smothered her moan, breathing out through her lips.
The helicopter veered to the right and seemed to slide downhill like a rollercoaster. The pilot murmured a soft apology and announced they would be landing in three minutes.
London was dismayed. A whole three more minutes of this conversation? She wasn’t sure she could stand it.
Sofiya was watching her closely, like a cat standing over a mouse.
London understood. Sofiya wanted her to be disgusted and dismayed. This was her payoff. She wanted London to be so revolted by Kristijan’s activities that she would push him away. Sofiya hadn’t liked Neven rejecting her. This was how she was going to make him fuck her, by removing his objection.
London turned her head away, looking down at the estate as it rose up to meet them. She could see the fat little man that she thought was called Dragović, standing on the steps down from the porch, watching the helicopter sink down to land. They were nearly there. It was nearly over.
London had to let Sofiya think she had won, because that would relax her and put her off guard, while Neven and Remi worked to dismantle the shipment behind her back.
Shipment.
Now she understood why even Neven had refused to give her details about the project he wanted to stop.
Now it made perfect sense.
Letting Sofiya believe she had the upper hand was the smart move. Yet London couldn’t just walk away without a parting shot of her own. As the helicopter settled down with a funny little jerk and shiver, she tore at the seatbelt and ripped off her headset and gripped the long door handle and shoved it down, so the door unlocked. She just had to shove it open.
She looked at Sofiya. “He’ll never fuck you again,” she said flatly. “Kristijan has better taste tha
n that.”
London saw Sofiya’s eyes widen. She couldn’t stay any longer. She shoved the door open, even as the pilot was reaching for it. She almost threw herself out of the helicopter. She skipped the little footrest on the leg strut and landed heavily on the grass, then hurried for the house.
She had planned to run to her room and lock the door. The overwhelming thought pushing at her now, though, was to find Neven and Remi. With them, she would be safe.
Oh, how life had twisted on its stalk!
* * * * *
Medveda was a bigger town, eight miles from Božidarko. There, they could blend in—once they had cleaned up Dajana’s tear-streaked face and neatened up their clothes as much as they could.
Aran found the train station and Alan spotted an empty bench on the platform, for Dajana didn’t want to go inside, even though she was shivering beneath Aran’s coat. As Aran was the only one who could communicate easily with her, Alan volunteered to jump back. She walked back into the building as though she was heading for the washrooms.
Marit settled back on the bench to wait, glad to be off her feet. Eight miles didn’t seem like a lot, laid out on flat land. Most of the land in southern Serbia, though, didn’t know what flat meant. It was either going up or down, usually at a sharp angle.
Only ten minutes later, Uncle Rafe strolled onto the platform, a leather duffel bag slung over his shoulder, with Alannah at his side. He came right up to them and nodded casually, as if they’d only seen each other a few seconds ago.
“You’ve been having adventures” Rafael said. “You all look like runaways.” His deep olive complexion and waves of thick black hair were close enough to Serbian that he didn’t look out of place, here. He looked at Dajana, who was staring at him with wide, wary eyes. “This is the girl?” he asked.
“Dajana,” Aran said, picking up her hand. “She doesn’t know English.”
Kiss Across Worlds (Kiss Across Time Book 7) Page 26
