by Nic Saint
“There is no other woman. For Jonathan there is only the poker demon.”
She should have felt relieved, but instead she was horrified. The man she’d been married to for five years… she hadn’t even known him. He’d harbored a dark secret that he’d never wanted her to find out. Now that she had, the respect she’d still felt was dwindling fast.
“He should have told you,” Vitaly confirmed. “He should have come clean.”
“I didn’t know,” was all she could manage.
“I know you didn’t. That’s why we’re going to let you go.” He then fastened his grip on her arm. “There’s one condition.”
Suddenly, the fear that had tapered off returned full force. “What’s that?”
“The people I work for… they will not be so forgiving. They will want to… hurt you. Use you as leverage to get at Jonathan.” He shook his head. “I cannot let that happen. Not after what you did for Yana. So I am going to have to ask you to come with me.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “What? What are you saying?”
“There is only one way to save your life now, Joanna. Only one way to keep you safe.”
Somehow, she knew what the answer was even before she voiced the question, and fear reared its ugly head, tightening her stomach and turning it into a knotty wasteland. “What?” she whispered.
“You will be my bride. It is the only way.”
CHAPTER 6
There was a hush as Joanna contemplated the outrageous proposal. She didn’t even know this man, let alone consider him a mate for life, and yet the intensity of his gaze and the tone in which he’d spoken told her he wasn’t kidding.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am,” he insisted. “As my wife, you will be shielded from scrutiny, the guilt you share with your ex-husband wiped out through your connection with me. If not…”
Her heart leaped in her chest. “If not, what?”
He shrugged. “You’ll be executed, your body found alongside your husband’s, a clear sign to all that it doesn’t do to renege on a debt owed to…”
She swallowed. “Owed to whom? Who are you working for?”
He shook his head slowly. “Later perhaps. Now you need to decide. Do you want to live or… die.”
He eyed her intently, the wheels of her mind spinning frantically. He realized it was a tough decision to make. The woman hardly knew him—had no way of knowing if she could trust him. He’d come barging in here, the harbinger of bad tidings and the promise of violence, and now this.
The moment he’d realized the predicament she was in, he hadn’t hesitated for a single moment. There was something about her that greatly appealed to him—something not from this world, perhaps—or at least not from his.
He lived in a constant atmosphere of peril, the only people he cared about his small circle of loyal comrades, and to survive he’d had to hone his senses, sharpen his skills to the point of deadliness, and control his emotions beneath a carefully constructed mask of brutality.
Joanna had pierced that mask that afternoon—had seen beyond it for a glimpse of the man he truly was, and at that moment their souls had briefly touched. Now he couldn’t think what might happen to her if he didn’t intervene. As matters now stood, he was the only one who could—or wanted.
All depended on her now. If she refused, she would be dead within a fortnight, along with her treacherous ex-husband. If she accepted? She was his.
He let his eyes roam across her womanly form, down from her bewitching eyes to the swell of her ample bosom and her round hips. She was a woman, all right, and not a girl. She had lived, and had experienced heartache and pain, and he longed to keep her safe from the peril that loomed over her now, not out of the goodness of his heart, but because there was lust when he regarded her. There was desire to possess her, to stir her flesh with his and become one in the marital bed.
“I don’t know,” she was saying. “I mean, you come barging in here with tales of Jonathan’s gambling debts, and you won’t even tell me who you’re working for? I have a hard time believing you, Vitaly. And now you want me to be your wife?”
She held up a delicate hand, and he took it gently, pressing a kiss on her palm. “I know it is hard to believe, but trust me when I tell you this is the only way I know to keep you safe. Marry me, and all will be well. I promise.”
“How can I trust you? I don’t even know you.”
“I realize that. Still, there is the matter of your husband’s debt. If not for him, you would be a free woman now.” He took a firmer grip on her hand. “I recommend you accept my offer, Joanna. Other men will come, and they won’t be as considerate as I am.”
She stood, withdrawing her hand and clasping that infernal dog in her arms. The moment she lifted her chin in that gesture of defiance, he knew he’d lost his plea.
“I’ll take my chances. You honestly can’t expect me to marry a total stranger, just because he comes barging into my house in the middle of the night with stories about debts and danger. I must ask you to leave now, Vitaly. Whatever business you have, you will have to take up with my ex-husband.”
With a somber finality, he acknowledged her decision. He hated to see a good woman fall victim to the kind of monsters Yury would send after her, and when he gazed upon her, his hand automatically stole up her cheek, and he caressed it in a rare moment of tenderness. He’d gambled and lost, and now her fate was no longer his to decide.
“I’m sorry,” he offered before turning away from her. He picked up the sledgehammer he’d casually parked against the banister and slung it over his shoulder, then expelled a piercing whistle to summon his men, and stalked out the door without another glance back.
The sooner he forgot all about Joanna Royale, the better for his peace of mind. The last thing he heard were the yapping sounds of her Maltese. At least the men who would follow in his footsteps would take out the dog first, he thought. It wouldn’t do to kill the woman and leave the dog to mourn over her dead body. They were killers, to be sure, but they still abided by a certain code. If not, they’d be no better than the animals in the wild.
Spartak removed his mask and eyed him curiously. “What was that all about?”
“I decided to give her a chance,” he muttered, the memory of her eyes haunting him. “After all, it is not her fault that no-good husband of hers got into trouble.”
“We should have grabbed her,” Spartak offered. “You know it’s only a matter of time before Yury sends Viktor.”
Vitaly fell into a moody silence as he climbed behind the wheel, the prospect of the madman that was Viktor plying his sickening trade on Joanna.
Boris, the third man, now also removed his mask. He was large and muscular, tattoos running the length of his shaven head. “I think she was mighty pretty,” he remarked. “Pity to whack her.”
Yes, thought Vitaly. A real pity. Then he slammed the door shut, deciding to put her out of his mind once and for all, and shoved the key into the ignition.
When the engine roared to life, and he stared out the windshield into the dark night, a pair of piercing green eyes seemed to stare back at him. His jaw working and his lips a tight line, he lurched the car into gear and soon they were swallowed by the blackness, the light in Joanna’s window quickly retreating in his rearview mirror until it was nothing more than a distant memory.
CHAPTER 7
Joanna watched the van pull away from the drive and the red streak of brake lights trail off into the darkness and only now became aware of the harness of tension that had held her suspended. To release some of it, she expelled a deliberate breath, then bent down and scooped up a nervous Ram. Cuddling the animal close to her chest, she whispered, as much to the little dog as to herself, “It’s all right now, honey. The bad men are gone.”
She felt a pervasive sense of urgency and restlessness creeping into her bones that had her stomping up the stairs, wondering about her next course of action. Vitaly had told her other men would come, and they w
ouldn’t be as nice as he was. Other men who would use her to get to Jonathan. As she swept into the bedroom and surveyed the suitcase awaiting her on the comforter, she took a decision and picked up her GSM from the side table where she’d carelessly dropped it.
Searching for the number of the cab company she’d contacted earlier, she dialed it, hoping they would have a night desk. When the call connected, her heart leaped in relief. “Yes, this is Joanna Royale? I called earlier about a cab ride to the airport. I’ve changed my mind. Would it be possible to send someone out here right away?” She anxiously waited for the response, and when it was affirmative, she closed her eyes in a silent thank you to whoever was watching over her.
The moment the receptionist disconnected, she put in another call, this time to the airline. She’d booked a nine o’clock flight to Montana, but something told her she’d better take an earlier one lest Vitaly’s men showed up to waylay her. She had little luck on this front, however, the nine o’clock turning out to be the earliest flight out. She’d just have to hope whoever was gunning for her would postpone their mission long enough for her to make it out of here alive.
In a way she had Vitaly to thank for giving her a heads-up. If not for him, she would have been sound asleep in her bed, unaware of the danger that was looming overhead.
She silently closed the suitcase and carted it down the stairs, followed by an eagerly yapping Ram. The little doggie knew that new adventures awaited and was all eagerness to get a move on. He was a smart one. Jonathan had always hated the little dog, and the feeling had been mutual. She should have known better than to dismiss Ram’s sentiments on the matter. A dog always knows.
She stepped into the living room, and the sight that met her eyes sent a jolt of anger and sadness through her. Furniture had been overturned, table and chairs hurled haphazardly across the small space, and the flatscreen TV Jonathan had been so fond of to watch his football games had been smashed to the floor. On the wall, one of the intruders had written in an aggressive scrawl, ‘Piks Mast Pey’.
Ignoring the thugs’ bad spelling, she slung a hand before her mouth at the mess the men had left, and felt her knees go wobbly. Why did people have to do such horrible things? Then, just as abruptly, the anger she’d been directing at the unknown assailants, abruptly was turned on Jonathan instead. If he had never taken money from the wrong people and then screwed them over, this would never have happened.
She wondered if Vitaly had spoken the truth when he said there was no other woman. Had Jon simply up and left her to deal with the backlash of his gambling addiction and money problems? That made him worse than merely an adulterer. It made him an accessory to a crime. The crime of putting her in harm’s way.
Helplessly, she shook her head as tears stung behind her eyes, then broke free and rolled down her cheeks. Angrily, she dabbed at them with her sleeve. No more tears for Jonathan. Not a single one. Her old life was over, and from now on she would simply disappear and start over.
When the doorbell rang, she started. She hadn’t heard the cab drive up. She wiped her eyes, adjusted her azure fleece with orange trim, and quickly moved over to the door, picking up her handbag from the entryway dresser. As she emerged from the living room and started uttering a greeting to the cab driver, she was driven back by the force of a man’s blow.
The door still hanging from its hinges from Vitaly’s ‘visit’, her visitor had silently stolen inside and had lain in waiting.
As she crashed to the floor, her chest aflame from the impact of the punch, she found herself looking into the darkest eyes she’d ever witnessed, the only other thing registering before he was upon her that this was no taxi driver.
He grabbed the front of her pullover and yanked her up, so her face was level with his. An angry scar slashed his left brow, and a wispy mustache adorned an upper lip that was pulled away into a snarl. The face was gaunt and elongated, and she couldn’t help but notice a row of snaggleteeth protruding beneath his upturned lip. The man was hideous, and Vitaly’s words now came home to her.
As he raised his hand to deal her a vicious punch, she yelled out, “You can’t do this to me! I’m Vitaly’s. Vitaly Loganov’s.”
The man’s cruel smile vanished and was exchanged for an expression of suspicion. Like a dog being denied a juicy bone, he frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She swallowed convulsively, the grip on her collar choking her. She tried to wrench his hands away from her, but it was to no avail. He had an iron grip. “I’m Vitaly Loganov’s… fiancée,” she gulped. “We’re engaged to be married.”
His eyes narrowed. “That is impossible.”
“It’s true!” she yelled out. “Ask Vitaly. Just… ask him!”
The grip relaxed, but only for a moment. The next moment he’d reeled her in again, this time bringing her so close she could smell his breath. It reeked of cigarettes and vodka. “Don’t think I won’t. And if I find out you’re lying…”
He abruptly released her, his meaning clear. She was dunked to the floor and lay panting for a moment, before scrambling back to the wall, desperately putting some distance between herself and the man.
As his eyes remained on hers, twin obsidian pinpricks, he picked out his cell and brought it to his ear. Mere seconds later, he was speaking Russian in a soft voice to whoever was his correspondent. Joanna hoped it was Vitaly. What was more, she hoped he would confirm her story…
The man’s eyes shot bolts of menace at her, his hand disappearing into his pocket and coming out with a switchblade. As he waited for an answer, he pressed a button, and the blade snapped free. Absentmindedly, he toyed with the knife, throwing it up into the air and expertly catching it by the handle before repeating the procedure, the message clear: if he didn’t like what he heard, her life was over.
The seconds ticked by ever so slowly, sweat dripping down her back and between her breasts. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, her heart beating so fast she thought the man must hear it, and take pleasure in the effect he had on her.
Finally, he nodded once and disconnected the call. The knife pointed at her, he approached her slowly, and stopped short when his feet touched hers. After a long glance down at her huddled form, he shook his head and uttered but a single word.
“Pity.”
CHAPTER 8
Joanna shrank back from the man’s chilling scrutiny, his murderous intent clear, even though he hadn’t uttered a word of menace. Then, as abruptly as he had spirited it from his pocket, he flicked the knife closed and returned it. With a frown, he regarded her contemptuously.
“I thought Vitaly had better taste,” he offered, then tapped an imaginary cap and strode to the door and was swallowed up by the night in a matter of seconds. When she heard the thunder of a motorbike rumbling into the distance, she heaved a sigh of relief, and when next the cab she’d ordered finally arrived, the predicament she was in came home to her with a sickening clarity.
She’d plighted her troth to a man she didn’t even know. And what was worse, there was no escape for her now, for that he would find her, she knew with certainty.
With a sinking heart, she apologized to the cab driver, handed him a wad of notes, and watched him drive off with trepidation. Only moments later, her fears became reality when Vitaly’s van materialized before her fearful gaze, and when he opened the door and came ambling up to her, she gave him a curt nod, embracing herself to ward off both the nocturnal chill and the feeling of despair.
“Thank you,” she muttered when he joined her on the porch. Then she flicked her eyes up, the one question burning on her lips finding utterance. “How long? How long do we need to keep up this charade?”
It was a testament to his honor that he responded with alacrity. “Until your husband pays off his debt.”
She closed her eyes, a throb at her temples announcing the onset of a splitting headache. “That might take a while.”
“The sooner he pays, the sooner you’ll be rid of me.”
<
br /> She looked up in surprise, the bitterness of his tone telling her this was as hard on him as it was on her. When she caught his gaze, she thought she saw a hint of compassion flicker across his face. Then it was gone, replaced by a mask of indifference.
“Why are you doing this?” she wanted to know. “Why would you offer to help a complete stranger?”
For a moment, he didn’t speak, the silence weighing heavy on her soul, then he offered, “Isn’t it enough that I want to repay the kindness you displayed to Yana? What more reason do you want?”
It was enough, she knew. She had helped one of his, now he was returning the favor. And yet, beneath the surface of his composure there lurked an emotion deeper than mere gratitude. Silent fury. But why? What had she ever done to him? What could have provoked such anger?
“If we are to be husband and wife,” she murmured, growing uneasy under his steady gaze, “we shall be living together under the same roof?”
“Of course. No other way to keep up the appearance. If my employer suspects foul play, he will have not only your head but mine as well.”
“So I’m to be your wife… with everything that entails?” She didn’t know how to pose the question, hoping a hint would suffice.
That anger once again reared its ugly head, and he lashed out in words. “If you are asking me if I will demand you share my bed, the answer is yes. The house where I live has servants. If we occupy separate bedrooms, they will know, and before long it will be the end of us.”
She cast down her eyes demurely. “Share your bed and… what else?”
“Nothing,” he grunted. He then cupped her chin and forced her to look up. “Have no fear, Joanna. I won’t demand you offer me more than what you are willing to give. I won’t lay a finger on you unless you ask me to.”
“I never will,” she returned, giving him a look of defiance. “Is that a problem to you?”
For a moment, she thought he would lash out, not just in words, but physically as well, for a flash of anger passed over his dark features. Then it was gone, and he nodded curtly. “It will not be a problem.” He offered his arm. “Now you need to come with me. Yury wants to meet my future bride.”
