Double Dealing: A Menage Romance

by Landish, Lauren

  “Then what are we waiting around for?” I hissed, fear filling my heart. “We should have been on the move yesterday!”

  Francois shook his head. “If they already have him to the point they trust him outside the buildings, then there is nothing more we can do until we get him back. We’re better off making sure we’re ready.”

  I clenched my fist, anger flooding me as he went back to polishing off his rations, and I stood up, nearly storming off. “I'll go wake everyone up,” I said instead, clamping down on my emotions. “Do they know?”

  “No, but it won't matter to them as much as it does to us,” Francois replied. “They want their King back, not another court jester like they have now.”

  I stopped and looked over at my shoulder, who for the first time since we got to Albania looked tired and defeated. “You're hardly a jester,” I reassured him. “And even if you are, well, every village needs its idiot.”

  * * *

  Forty-eight hours later, my muscles ached more than they had the entire time I'd been in training, as I'd slept my way into the Ukraine in the back of a truck along with the rest of the team. We'd taken two vehicles, both semis to give us the best chance of success at getting past the border guards. Thankfully, the Black Sea Romani had greased the right palms, and we slipped over the border into the Ukraine at eleven at night while I dozed in the back of the truck. Unfortunately, while the trailer we were in was large, the six members of my team had to be kept cramped into the middle section of the trailer, wedged between a pallet of televisions and a collection of refrigerators that were going to be sold on the gray market that permeated the city.

  Now, after being stuck in a cramped, cold trailer for close to twenty-five hours, with nothing but a couple of blankets, a carton of rations, two water cans, and a LED lantern to break up the monotony with my trailer mates, we were all stiff. The five men had at least been gentlemanly, and had given me a modicum of space to feel like I wasn't a female sardine crushed in a can with a bunch of males. Thankfully, our drive was at an end, and as our driver opened the small side door that was our only access in or out, I was grateful to touch the ground for the first time since my last toilet break seven hours earlier. “Tell me we're getting out in better conditions than we came in.”

  “If everything goes to plan, yes,” one of the men said. “The Hardys will be getting out of the Ukraine quickly, while the rest of us will make our way back in a more casual manner. Our Black Sea friends will help us.”

  “You aren’t too off-put by this, I hope?” I asked, as I looked the man in the eyes. He was young, like most of the men who had been sent for the mission, and wasn’t from the immediate Hardy family.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “No offense, American princess, but Romani women know how to appreciate a man with a heroic story, and I’m not about to miss out on this.”

  I smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go help unload.”

  We were traveling light, with most of us carrying only a rifle outfitted with a screw-in silencer and two clips of ammunition. We didn't want to engage in a prolonged firefight, in fact if things went according to plan, not a single shot would be fired. It only took us about four minutes to fully unload everything for our mission. While we were finishing the last of our gear checks, Francois’s group came from up the road, their gear slung in their packs over their shoulders. “Ready?”

  “Let's move,” he said. “We can stretch out as we walk — it's still five kilometers cross country to the property.”

  “And we know he's still there?” I asked.

  “I just spoke with my cousin Aleksander, he’s been watching the house for two days now. He said that Felix was seen inside having dinner yesterday, and that he has not left the premises since then.”

  “Then let's move,” Francois said. “If he follows the pattern that they've said, he'll be going out for his morning run in about two hours. I'd like to be on the path when he does.”

  We took off through the woods, following our local guide as he led Francois and I on the way. Five kilometers isn't much, only three miles, but we were moving through pitch blackness and through old growth European forest. With the constant stopping to check our position or listen for sounds, we only had forty-five minutes to spare when we reached the Romani observation point. Sergei spoke with his cousin in the alternatively guttural and liquid tones of Ukrainian-flavored Romani, nodding a few times. “Can I get a translation?”

  Francois, who could understand well enough, whispered back. “They're just confirming that Felix is still there. Are you ready?”

  I nodded, my grip tightening on my rifle that I hoped I didn’t have to use — I just had it in case of an emergency. “Let's go get Felix back.”

  Francois nodded and turned to the other Romani, speaking slowly in his accent. They could understand him, and soon enough our teams split up again. The fifteen people, twelve Albanian/Greeks from the Hardys and three from the Black Sea, would go to four locations, the largest on the heaviest traveled route in and out of the estate. Two other groups would go to the north and south side in order to provide either support or distraction, depending on what was needed.

  That left me, Francois, and one other who would cover the path that led along the Dnieper River. It was the path that Felix ran on most often according to our spies, one he ran almost every day. It was also the easiest point for us to get to, so we had plenty of time before the other teams were in place. As we waited, I tried to calm my nerves. I looked over at Francois, who was giving me a small grin. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Heady, isn't it?” he asked, becoming the man that I'd fallen in love with one more time. He was cocky, he was certain, and he was enjoying the thrill of the moment. “The adrenalin rush right before doing a job.”

  “Is that why you love it?” I asked, not contradicting his comment. “The rush of it all?”

  “Some,” he agreed. “Although the reputation and the money were good reasons too. But that's over now.”

  “You don't have to,” I whispered. “You can still do your jobs on your own, you know.”

  Francois shook his head, then stopped. “I won't say I’m not tempted. But the love of reputation and money is what took it all away from me. I don’t want to go down that path again.”

  “Shut up, I hear something!” the Romani above us whispered. I had at least picked up enough Romani in the past weeks that I could understand that, and I got behind a tree, while the man flattened himself onto the ground and Francois knelt behind a bush.

  I heard it next, the sound of footsteps jogging down the road. As they did, I heard two people talking.

  “It is a fine morning, Spartak.” The voice was certainly female, and with a Russian accent.

  The next voice I heard both thrilled and chilled my heart as I heard Felix reply, his voice happy and sounding enamored with the woman. “I agree, Mistress. But I’m surprised that you asked to come running with me today.”

  The woman laughed, and my hands tightened on my rifle. Bitch. “Oh Spartak, I’m more than just a homebody, you know. Besides, us Russian women, we get aroused from the cold.”

  I saw them coming, three people. The woman was stunning, taller than me and with a ballet dancer's body, the type I'd longed for when I was younger and thought I was chubby. She was wearing a jogging suit, her long blond hair tied back into a ponytail as she bounced along lightly.

  Felix was beside her, wearing just a tank top with long running pants, his muscles rippling and fuller than I'd ever seen him. Still, there was something different with his face, something that told me that despite the similarities in his voice, and the identical nature of his appearance, the man I was looking at wasn't quite the same as my Felix.

  The third man was a hulking brute, easily taller than Felix by two or three inches, with a face that only a mother could love. He was about twenty meters back, clearly pacing them and providing security for the other two. I glanced at Francois, who nodd
ed. It was time.

  Francois reached for the radio on the lapel of the coat he was wearing, keying the microphone twice. It was the signal to the other groups that we had encountered Felix, and that they were to hold tight. If we needed a distraction or assistance, we could call in later.

  “Now,” Francois whispered, standing up from behind his bush, his Kalashnikov at the ready while at the same time I stepped from behind the tree, my own rifle ready. Our ally would stay down, and provide us cover if needed.

  “Lovely morning for a run, isn't it?” I asked, stepping onto the road. I kept my rifle leveled at the woman, my finger on the trigger. “But I think you have someone that belongs to me.”

  Felix and the woman stopped, both of them shocked. I was dismayed when Felix immediately pulled the woman behind him, his face confused and protective at the same time. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

  “Felix . . .” I said, lowering my rifle as Francois came out onto the road. “It's me, Jordan. I'm here to get you out of here, to set you free.”

  “Felix. . . .?” he said, his voice trembling and unsure. “Jordan . . .? Felix is dead, that's the life before Svetlana found me.”

  “No, that was the life that you were taken from a month ago,” Francois said in French. “It’s me. We're here to take you home.”

  “This is my home,” Felix stammered, his eyes clearly widening as he took in the sight of his near twin. “Svetlana is my Mistress. No . . . you must go. Whatever was in my past life, is my past life. I have a new life now. One with love.”

  “You have love, Felix,” I said, my voice choking. The brute had approached, his hands going to his waist when a soft cough from our ally in the bushes stopped him, and he put his hands up. “Me. Your Jordan, remember?”

  Felix's right hand came to his head, rubbing at his temples in an eerie imitation of the nervous habit Francois had begun over the past few weeks, and he started shaking his head back and forth, trying to negate what I was saying. For the first time, the woman spoke up. “Who are you? What is this talk of my Spartak? What are these lies?”

  “No lies, sister,” Francois said, his rifle still at the ready. “Felix is taken. Didn't your father tell you? Vladimir always was a snake like that.”

  “He is not my father,” the woman replied. Her voice shifted, going from haughty to pleading, desperate. “But I beg you, don’t take Spartak away from me. He belongs with me, and he’s happy here. I won’t betray him like his family did.”

  “Even with the drugs you pumped him full of?” I spat back. “Bitch, you fucked with his mind, and tried to turn the man I love into a goddamn puppet.”

  “I . . . I . . .,” the woman stammered, unable to find the words. Instead, she grabbed Felix and pulled him to her, crying. “Please Spartak, don’t listen to them! I love you!”

  Felix dropped his hands and took hers in his, kissing her knuckles. “Is it true? Did you drug me, try to warp my mind?”

  She blinked, tears falling down her porcelain doll face, then nodded, lowering her eyes. “I did.”

  “And did you try to twist my mind to serve you?” Felix asked, just as softly. He brought his hands up, still holding hers, and stroked her cheek with the back of the fingers on his right hand, tenderness and hurt mixing in equal parts.

  “I did.”

  Felix let go of her hands and stepped back. “Then what about your saying you love me?”

  Svetlana looked up, her blue eyes flashing with fire and conviction. “That is no lie! Yes, you were supposed to be a plaything, a boy toy that I could dispose of at my leisure, but over the past weeks, you've become something much more to me!”

  Felix swallowed, his throat working as he searched to find the words. “And I love you,” he finally said, his own eyes shimmering with tears. “But I can’t stay with someone who lied to me, who twisted me and tried to make me into someone I’m not.”

  Felix stepped back toward me, and I lowered my rifle more, reaching for him. “Felix . . . oh my Felix . . .”

  He didn't take my hands, but instead looked at me in that same confused expression that he'd had every instant he set his eyes on me. “Your face is familiar, but I don’t know who you are,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head, swallowing my tears. “It's okay, Felix. We’ll get you your memories back.”

  I took his hand to lead him into the woods, when suddenly the brute behind Svetlana moved, faster than I thought a man his size could possibly move. The gun from his waist was in his hands even before I could turn, and the black, gaping barrel pointed right at my eyes. Felix hadn't even had a chance to turn when the hammer on the pistol fell, and fire spat from the end of the pistol.

  Before the bullet could hit me though, Francois was in front of us, his arms out wide and pushing Felix and I toward the woods. At the same instant, our ally fired, his silenced rifle barely making a repeated spitting sound as his burst tore through the brutish bodyguard, dropping him to the ground before he could even make a sound of protest.

  “Francois!” I screamed, grabbing him as our friend got to his feet, his rifle aimed at Svetlana. I looked at the woman, who dropped to her knees in fear. “No! Help me with Francois!”

  The Romani had no idea who Francois was, he had only known him as Nicolae, his Romani name, but he understood the words 'no' and 'help,' and he lowered his rifle, running over to sling Francois over his shoulder in a fireman's carry while I grabbed Felix by the hand. “We've gotta go.”

  Felix paused, looking back at the sobbing blond Russian, who reached out to him with one hand beseechingly. Felix blinked, then shook his head and looked at me. “Lead the way.”

  We took off, running as fast as we could. While our rifles were silenced, Svetlana's bodyguard's pistol hadn't been, and we were sure that the shot had attracted attention. Thankfully, Felix kept up, even helping the other man when he tired of carrying Francois. I couldn't see where he'd been shot, but as the Romani talked into the radio to pull our forces back, I could see that a lot of Francois's back and side had already turned shiny and black from the blood soaking into his clothes. “Set him down, he's bleeding out,” I said, reaching a clearing. “Come on, we have to do something.”

  Felix set his brother down on the pine needle carpet of the forest, and I reached for Francois's shirt, pulling it open. I didn’t know much, but if we could try and stop the bleeding, it would have to help. Slapping my hand over the hole in his chest, I yelled at our guide. “Get me a bandage!”

  Francois's face was pale, but his eyes were clear as he shook his head slowly, a little smile on his face. “It's too late for me, Jordan. There's nothing you can do.”

  “No,” I hissed, my eyes filling with tears. “You're going to live. I just got Felix back, I'm not losing you now!”

  He shook his head again, pulling my hands off and bringing the blood stained fingers to his lips, where he kissed them. “It's okay. You already saved me. And thank you.”

  I could see he was fading, and knew he was right — it was inevitable. With all my mental strength I clamped down on my tears, not letting them fall in front of him. “Thank me for what?”

  “For showing me what love really is. I’d never known it until I met you.”

  “I love you, Francois,” I whispered. His eyes fluttered, and I leaned down, kissing him on his bloody lips. He sagged back, his eyes losing the last of their focus as his hand fell from my cheek to collapse on the pine needles. I knelt next to him, and let the tears flow until our friend came and touched my shoulder.

  “I am sorry. We go. Danger.”

  I nodded, and stood up, lifting Francois's upper body. When our guide looked at me in confusion, I stared at him. “Help me! He may have made mistakes, but he deserves better than this pauper's grave.”

  Our ally shrugged, not understanding me, but Felix knelt down, lifting his brother’s body and putting it across his shoulders. “I'll carry him,” he said, holding his wrist to steady his fireman's carry. “
Is he my brother? He looks so much like me.”

  “He is,” I said, getting my rifle ready. “You don't remember?”

  “Everything is so hazy, like looking through a dimmed frosted window,” Felix said. “You said you love him, but you love me too?”

  “We have a lot to talk about. I promise you, no lies, no holding back.”

  He looked at me for a moment, then nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 39

  Felix

  It took us four days to get out of the Ukraine, during which I was in a state of total confusion. I kept being greeted by people who seemed overjoyed to see me, but I had no idea who they were. I was hugged, clapped on the back, and greeted like a family member by people who I swore I had never seen before, only to have them laugh it off and clap me on the shoulder again. “It’ll come back to you,” they kept saying. “You are Romani, stronger than any drugs.”

  After getting out of the country and getting into Romania, where we were greeted by members of my supposed tribe, I couldn't take it any longer. We were in a meeting room, in the basement of a restaurant, when I held up my hands. “Stop, all of you,” I said. “I . . . I need a moment.”

  I left the room to walk out into the hallway, looking left and right. Up the stairs was the restaurant itself, which seemingly doubled as a nightclub based off of the thudding industrial techno filtering down from above. There was no peace, no consolation there for me. Instead, I went the other direction, toward the meat locker that had a yellow tag on the door. It was unlocked, and I opened it to find the body bag that held the body of Francois, my brother, lying on the metal table in the middle of the room.

  I unzipped the bag, looking down at the frosted face that looked back at me, so like mine but slightly different. I’d been shown photos of our past, the two of us with our arms slung around each other's shoulders, with the woman Jordan between us, all of us looking happy on some beach.

  But I didn't remember it. The names Jordan and Francois stirred something in the soup that was my past, but it still didn't have the same emotional connection as my thoughts of my Svetlana, who had loved me and used me at the same time. My sleep had been disturbed constantly by images of her in my mind, waking up not at the foot of her bed like I'd expected, but in a place with people I didn’t know.