Claim Me (Capture Me Book 3)

by Anna Zaires

  “Is he your lover?” Misha’s cheeks redden as he asks the question, but he doesn’t look away, his gaze locked on me accusingly.

  I feel my own face heat up. This is not a conversation I want to be having with my young brother. “He’s… It’s complicated. But you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay?”

  “Yeah, like you made sure Uncle Vasya was safe.” Misha’s tone is harsh, but I sense the fear and grief underneath. The training he received in the last two years wouldn’t have prepared him for this. My baby brother might know how to fight and shoot a gun, but I doubt he’d seen death up close before yesterday.

  That part doesn’t come until later in the training program.

  “Michael…” I bite my lip, wondering how to best tackle Obenko’s lies. “I know your uncle has told you some things about me, and—”

  “Are you going to accuse him of being a liar too? Isn’t it enough that he’s dead because of you?” Misha’s face tightens, and his eyes gleam a shade too brightly. “These killers, they came after you. This all happened because of you.”

  “No, Misha—Michael—that’s not true.” My heart aches at his pain. “I escaped so I could warn Obenko about—” I cut myself off, realizing I’m about to scare my brother further. In a calmer tone, I say, “Look, I know how it must seem to you, but I swear, I came with the best intentions. Everything I’ve done since leaving the orphanage was so that—”

  “Oh, please.” Misha steps toward me, his handcuffed hands stiff in front of his body. “You left me there to rot. One day you were promising you’d always be there for me, and the next you were gone.”

  Shocked, I open my mouth, but he doesn’t give me a chance to reply. “You think I don’t remember?” His voice rises as he takes another step toward me. “Well, I do. I remember everything. You lied to me. You said we’d always be together, and then you left!”

  “That’s enough.” Lucas’s voice freezes us both in place as the door opens and my captor steps in. He’s followed by Dr. Goldberg, who’s wearing latex gloves and carrying a surgical tray with various-sized syringes and needles.

  My heart skips a beat, then leaps into overdrive. “What is this?” I can’t hide my panic as I look at Lucas. “You said—”

  “It’s the trackers I mentioned to you before,” Lucas says, crossing the room. Stopping in front of my bed, he glances at my brother, whose horrified gaze is locked on the tray. “She’ll be fine,” Lucas says, grabbing Misha’s arm and dragging him away from the bed.

  “No, wait.” Cold sweat breaks out all over my body as Dr. Goldberg picks up a small syringe and comes toward me. I’m not ready for this battle. “Lucas, please, you don’t need these,” I plead as he tows my brother across the room, ignoring Misha’s attempt to drop to the floor and kick out his knees. “I won’t run, I promise. I’ll do anything you want…”

  Lucas stops in the doorway and pulls Misha against him in a chokehold. His muscled forearm is thicker than Misha’s neck. “I know,” he says, his arctic gaze pinning me in place. “You will. And right now, I want you to be a good girl and let the doctor give you some local anesthetic to make the insertion easier.”

  “But—”

  Misha’s face turns purple as Lucas tightens his arm, and I nod quickly, my eyes burning with helpless tears. “Okay, yes. I’ll do it. Just let him go.”

  “I will—when the implants are in.” Releasing Misha’s throat, Lucas grabs his shirt and drags him out of the room, shutting the door on the way.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor says, leaning over me. His brown eyes are filled with sympathy. “I know this isn’t easy for you. If you could please lie down on your stomach…”

  My bruises ache dully as I obey, stretching out and turning over onto my stomach. The doctor pulls the blanket off me, and I feel a small pinch between my shoulder blades as the needle sinks into my skin. It’s followed by another pinch at my nape and a prick near my underarm. My skin grows numb, and I close my eyes, my tears dampening the sheets under my face.

  My captor is as cruel as ever, and this time, there’s no escape.

  28

  Lucas

  “What do you want from us?” the boy asks in English, rubbing his throat with his handcuffed hands. His gaze swings between me and the bedroom door, and I know he’s deciding whether he should attack me to try to save his sister. “Are you going to kill us?”

  His English is good, nearly as good as Yulia’s, which makes sense. UUR must’ve also taught him from an early age.

  “No, Michael,” I say. “Not if your sister does what she’s told.” I wouldn’t kill him—and I certainly wouldn’t kill Yulia—but it’s best if the kid doesn’t know that yet. He may be young, but he’s strong and skilled for his age.

  I’ll need leverage to keep him in line.

  Sure enough, the boy’s chin juts out belligerently. “If you’re not going to kill us, why did you bring us here? I’m not going to betray my country, so if you think you can get me to talk—”

  “I doubt a trainee would know anything worthwhile, so you can relax. Torture is not on the agenda today.”

  He glares at me, and I see him weighing the odds of winning against me in a fight.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you.” I step to the right so that I’m between him and the bedroom door. “I promised Yulia I wouldn’t hurt you, but if you keep attacking me…” I leave the threat unsaid, but the boy blanches and takes a step back.

  Satisfied, I gesture toward the couch. “Sit. You can watch some TV until Diego returns.”

  The kid doesn’t move. “Why are you doing this to Yulia? What do you want from her?”

  “That’s none of your business.” My words come out harsher than I intended. I overheard the two siblings talking when I came in, and though I don’t understand Russian, it was obvious to me that Michael accused his sister of something. She’d looked hurt, devastated by whatever the boy said to her. It almost made me change my mind about forcing the implants on her today.

  Almost, but not really.

  The need to lock Yulia down, to chain her to me, is a compulsion I can’t fight. Not having her with me these last couple of weeks has been the worst form of torture, and I won’t put myself through it ever again. Esguerra definitely had the right idea when he used the implants on his wife. The trackers will keep me informed of Yulia’s whereabouts at all times. With the devices embedded in her neck and back, only a highly skilled surgeon would be able to remove them safely.

  “She’s my sister,” the boy snaps, his blue eyes—eerily like Yulia’s—burning with fury. “If you hurt her—”

  “You won’t be able to do anything about it,” I say, figuring it’s best to establish that right away. “The only reason you’re alive and well is because I’m keeping you that way. A lot of people on this compound died because of your agency, and my boss was nearly killed. Do you understand?”

  The kid stares at me for a few moments, then walks over to the couch and sits down, his shoulders rigid with tension.

  He gets it now.

  If something were to happen to me, he and Yulia would be goners.

  I suppose I should feel bad scaring the boy, but he needs to know the reality of his situation. So far, the kid has been nothing but trouble. He attacked Eduardo on the plane, landing a kick to his groin, and when Diego dropped him off at my house, the guard told me the boy tried to grab his weapon in the car on the way here.

  For his own safety, Yulia’s brother needs to accept his new circumstances.

  “Listen, Michael…” I approach the couch and pick up the remote control. “I don’t intend to harm Yulia—or you, for that matter. But you need to cooperate and stop fighting us.”

  The kid gives me a sullen look. “Fuck you.”

  I should probably castigate him for his language, but I’ve said worse when I was his age. “What do you want to watch?” I ask, waving the remote at the TV.

  He doesn’t reply for a mom
ent, then says in a low voice, “You killed my uncle.”

  I turn toward him in surprise. “Your uncle?”

  “Yeah.” The boy jumps to his feet, his hands clenched. “You know, the man whose head you shot off yesterday?”

  I frown. The story is more complicated than I thought. “He was one of the agents at the black site?”

  “Fuck you.” The kid plops down on the couch and stares straight ahead. “I hope you eat shit and die.”

  “Modern Family it is, then,” I say, turning on the TV and selecting the popular comedy. “Diego should be here any minute, but for now, I think that should hit the spot.”

  The show starts playing, and I walk over to the bedroom door and lean against the wall, keeping an eye on the boy while listening for sounds from the bedroom. Everything is quiet in there, and a few minutes later, Diego shows up.

  “Watch him carefully,” I tell the guard, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. “It seems we might’ve killed some of his family. I have to talk to Yulia to make sense of it all, but for now, keep an eye on him. The kid wants blood.”

  Diego nods, his face set in grim lines, and I know he understands.

  Nothing motivates quite like revenge.

  I walk them to the door, making sure the boy doesn’t try anything along the way, and then I return to the bedroom, where Goldberg is already packing up his bag.

  Yulia is lying on her stomach, stiff and silent, with square bandages marking the insertion sites. The blanket is folded down to her waist, exposing her slim back and the elegant line of her spine. Her face is turned away from me, her hair spread in a tangled blond cloud across the sheets, and my chest aches as I see the scrapes and bruises marring her smooth skin.

  Maybe I should’ve waited with the trackers after all.

  No. Shaking off the uncharacteristic self-doubt, I look at the doctor. “Did it go okay?” I ask, and Goldberg nods, picking up his bag.

  “Everything went fine,” he says, heading for the door. “The bleeding should stop in about an hour, and you can replace the bandages with regular Band-Aids at that point if you want. If you keep the insertion points clean, there won’t be any scarring.”

  “Good. Thank you.” I approach the bed and sit down, waiting for the doctor to leave. As soon as I hear the front door close, I extend my hand and run my fingers over Yulia’s naked back, avoiding the bruised areas. Her skin is cool and silky, and I feel her quiver under my touch. Instantly, my body comes to life, my hunger for her awakening with savage fury.

  Cursing silently, I withdraw my hand, curling it into a fist to keep myself from reaching for her again. I can’t take her yet. She’s traumatized and hurt, too weak to handle my pent-up desire.

  I have to let her heal.

  To my surprise, Yulia rolls over onto her back and stretches her arms above her head—a move that draws my gaze to the soft, round globes of her breasts. “Aren’t you going to fuck me?” she murmurs, and I see her nipples hardening, as if from arousal.

  My cock turns into a metal spike in my jeans. I know her nipples are most likely reacting to the cool air from the AC, but my mouth still waters with the urge to suck them, to lick the pale flesh around the pink aureolas and sink my teeth into the soft underside of her breasts. Only the black-and-blue marks on her face and stomach keep me from grabbing her then and there.

  With effort, I tear my gaze away from her breasts. “No,” I say hoarsely. I know I should get up, get away from the temptation, but I can’t move. I want her, and not just for sex. The longing that consumes me emanates from deep within my being. We’ve only been apart for two weeks, but it felt like years. “I’m not going to touch you today.”

  Yulia’s cracked lips twist, her eyes unnaturally bright, and I notice wet streaks on her cheeks. “No? I’m no longer pretty enough for you?” There’s a dark taunt in her voice, and I realize that she’s punishing me for the trackers, that this is her way of reclaiming control.

  Even knowing that, I rise to her bait. “You’re gorgeous, and you fucking know it,” I say harshly. If tormenting me like this makes Yulia feel better, I’ll allow it—if only to alleviate the uncomfortable prickling of guilt the sight of her tears generates.

  I should’ve fucking waited.

  “So do it. Fuck me,” Yulia says, kicking off the rest of her blanket. She’s naked underneath—I undressed and bathed her when we arrived an hour ago—and my body tightens at the sight of her flat stomach and slim, shapely legs that seem to go on forever. And between those legs… Heat rises in me, my breathing turning fast and heavy as I look at the glistening pink folds between her thighs.

  “I’m not touching you,” I repeat, but even to my own ears, my words lack conviction. She’d been unconscious when I bathed her, and even that simple act had brought me to painful arousal.

  Yulia fully awake and taunting me with her body is like a defenseless mouse parading in front of a starved cat.

  “Why not?” She arches her back, thrusting her breasts upward in a porn star pose, and I bite back a tortured groan as her nipples draw my attention once more. “Isn’t this why you chased me down? So you could fuck me?”

  She’s right, except fucking is only part of it now. I want what we had before and more.

  I want all of her.

  Giving in to the vicious hunger riding me, I climb onto the bed and straddle her on all fours, caging her with my body without touching her. Her eyes widen, and I catch a glimmer of fear in her gaze.

  She didn’t expect me to take her up on her offer.

  A dark smile forms on my lips. Leaning down, I whisper in her ear, “Yes, beautiful. I brought you here to fuck you—and I will. Soon. For now, we’re going to do something different.”

  A shudder runs through her as my breath warms her neck, and she lets out a quiet moan as I kiss the tender spot under her ear, then nibble on her delicate earlobe. Her hair tickles my face, and her peach-like fragrance fills my nostrils, making me burn with the need to possess her, to slide down my zipper and thrust inside her, sheathing myself in her soft, wet heat.

  The urge is almost unbearable, but I make myself move down her body, ignoring the insistent throbbing of my cock. I lick her neck, kiss her collarbone, and suck each erect nipple before tasting her flat, trembling belly. When my face is parallel to the V between her thighs, I bend my head and inhale deeply, breathing in her warm female scent. Yulia tenses, her thighs tightening to restrict my access to her sex, and I gently but firmly grasp her inner thighs, pulling her legs wide apart.

  “Relax, I won’t hurt you,” I murmur, looking up at her. Her blue eyes are wide and uncertain, the porn-star act gone without a trace. I can sense her growing anxiety, and the image of Kirill attacking her flashes through my mind, cooling my lust by a small degree.

  For all her bravado, my beautiful spy is nowhere near ready to play these games.

  Keeping my gaze locked on her face, I press my mouth to her pussy, tasting her slick pink flesh. Yulia quivers, her slender hands knotting into fists at her sides, and I nibble on the soft folds around her clit, teasing and licking the sensitive area before swiping my tongue along her slit. She moans, closing her eyes, and I taste her growing arousal as her inner muscles clench helplessly under my tongue.

  “Yes, sweetheart, that’s it…” I breathe in her intoxicating scent again, then close my lips around her clit and lave the underside of it with my tongue before sucking on it with strong, pulling motions. She cries out, her hips lifting off the bed, and I feel the tension in her rising. My own body responds with a fresh surge of blood to my cock, and my balls tighten as I feel her contractions begin.

  I lick her until she’s limp and panting in the aftermath of her orgasm, and then I finally give in to my own need. Rising up on my knees, I unzip my jeans and close my fist around my swollen cock.

  A few hard jerks of my hand, and I’m coming too, my seed splattering all over her white belly and breasts. It’s not a particularly satisfying release—I’d much rather
be inside her—but the sight of my cum on her body is erotic in its own way.

  On some primitive level, it marks her as my property.

  Yulia doesn’t move or speak as I climb off the bed and walk to the bathroom. She just watches me, her eyes half-closed, and when I return with a warm, wet towel a minute later, she remains silent, her expression unreadable as I clean her off.

  When I’m done, I undress and climb into bed next to her. Carefully, I draw her against me, trying not to put pressure on her injuries as I curve my body around hers from the back. My ribs ache, but I ignore the nagging pain. It feels too good to have her in my arms, to hold her and know that she’s mine.

  Yulia is stiff at first, but after a few moments, I feel the tension in her muscles slowly ebbing. In another minute, her breathing evens out, and I know healing sleep has claimed her again.

  My own eyelids grow heavy, and I brush my lips across her temple before closing my eyes. “Good night, beautiful,” I whisper, euphoric contentment spreading through me as she snuggles closer with a sleepy mumble.

  I have my Yulia back, and I’m never losing her again.

  III

  The Caretaker

  29

  Lucas

  The sun is impossibly bright in the sky as I walk toward Esguerra’s office, the humid air making me sweat despite the early hour. Still, I feel lighter than I have in weeks, the knowledge that Yulia is sleeping in my bed filling me with an incandescent mix of satisfaction and relief.

  I found her. I have her.

  Even the knowledge that Kirill escaped is not enough to spoil my mood this morning. I left Diego to watch over sleeping Yulia so I could start the process of hunting Kirill, but I feel infinitely calmer after eight hours of sleep.