He brought the sickle he’d found in the lower level of the castle down, plunging it into the soft spot under Sergei’s collarbone. The tip escaped through an exit wound but curled around the clavicle to act as a hook. When it all became too much for the Russian’s body to process, it shut down, and Sergei went limp. Using his makeshift hanger, Lucian took in nothing of his surroundings as he dragged his prize away. He was intent on getting him into the chopper where one of the best surgeons in the country waited to perform a patch job.
In no time at all, they were landing on the helipad behind Lucian’s Southampton home. It took two hours for the surgeon to properly tend to—mainly cauterize—Sergei’s injuries. Lucian stayed in the infirmary the entire time, glad there was a reason important enough not to order the others out so he could be alone with his prisoner. It gave him time to bring himself to a place where he was able to separate what he wanted to do from what he would do. He dug deep and found a detachment. How? By picturing his pet waiting for him. Whenever the urge to kill rose, he jammed Yasmeen’s image in his frontal lobe, and found the distraction he needed. Usually by picturing her sitting on her feet, her hands on the floor in front of her, not a stitch on save for her collar and that tail she’d so beautifully taunted him with. Mmm. He had to fuck her with that dark fur wrapped around his fist. He could work the plug in and out in time to his thrusts and watch her smash to pieces right in front of him.
“Lucian.”
He looked up from where he was staring at the hole in Sergei’s skin and found himself smiling. That must look odd.
“Yes?”
Sorin hadn’t spoken to him the entire trip except in regards to the operation they’d just completed. “Can we get this piece of shit taken care of so we can go home?”
Home. Yes. “Of course.” He waved two of their men over. Both were medically trained. “Take him out to the front lawn.”
As they walked behind the stretcher, he and Sorin had a short discussion. When the surgeon, who came along out of curiosity, deemed Sergei fit for a photo op, Sorin arranged to have some materials waiting for them.
It took some doing, and much direction from the medical professionals, but in the end, Lucian, Sorin, and six of their men stood back to look at their handy work.
“You can’t leave him up for more than a few minutes or he’ll bleed out.”
Lucian nodded. He took his phone out and snapped a photo of Sergei Pivchenko resembling a scarecrow. They’d impaled him on a twenty-foot-long spike that was speared into the ground in the very place Lucian and Markus used to stand and talk when they wanted complete privacy. Not even his professionals had found a way to install listening devices on blades of grass.
“I have what I need,” he said as he turned away. “Take him down.” He stopped next to the surgeon and wasn’t surprised to see Claude and Gheorghe had come out. “You will tend to him just enough so he does not die. I mean no disrespect, Claude, but is this an assignment you would rather pass on?”
“No.”
“Very well. I want regular updates.” As he walked away, he sent a text to every contact he had in his phone. He included the picture he’d just taken. If it came down to it, he would not be afraid to re-enact the tale and add row upon row of spikes, one for every man who dared cross him. “Sorin?”
“I’ll call the airport.”
Lucian nodded. “I will be ready after a shower. I suggest you take one, too.”
As they entered the house, three Dobermans sprung up from where they were sprawled around the foyer. Their nails ticked as they came to Lucian and Sorin, stubby tails wagging, ears down. Their chains jangled as they were greeted with subdued strokes.
A man appeared under the arch that led to the living room, and further down, a rec room that didn’t get much use. Zlatan Novak. He was over six feet, lean and deceptively relaxed. He had dark hair, and eyes that were as blue as the Mediterranean. Currently, they were trained on the iPad in his hand.
After a moment, he lifted his head and nodded, raising the device. “I have news I think you might want to hear.”
Highly doubtful. Lucian motioned him to go on.
“Before he was taken down, your lawn ornament tried to kill Alek Tarasov. Apparently, Vasily took the bullet in his nephew’s place. He was hit in the chest, and that was after he’d already taken one to the gut only moments before. Davidenko still has him in his operating room.”
Lucian didn’t do or say anything for a moment. He stood there and tried to find the affection he held for the leader of the Tarasov Bratva. It was as if he was seeing it through an impenetrable glass case; he just couldn’t reach it. But it was there.
“Where have they taken him?”
Zlatan texted, and got an answer. “Kirov says they are still in the infirmary in Vasily’s home.”
“Send them the best we have. It is doubtful, but maybe—”
“Our best are here to keep our prisoner alive,” Sorin cut in.
Lucian looked to the front door and didn’t have to think long before making a decision. “Keep Brian and send Kurt. Once Sergei is stable, Brian may go over, too. Sergei can suffer; Vasily should not. Leave word to do whatever we can to ensure that man does not leave us or the family that is no doubt at their wits end right now. We cannot go through this again so soon.”
As Zlatan made arrangements, Lucian went up to shower. As he stood under the spray and watched the pink water circle the drain, he was tempted to send up a prayer for his friend, but didn’t. He and God had parted ways long ago, why ever would their creator do him any favors now?
♦ ♦ ♦
After waking alone, Yasmeen showered and got her search on. She was looking for Sorin, not Lucian, but ended up finding neither.
Hour after hour passed, a couple spent in the sitting room, a few in the library, a handful outside petting the nose of one of the horses while a man with a semi-automatic stood fifty feet away.
She thought and thought. About how Lucian had lost his father and siblings. About his obsessive need to get her under his control. To keep her hidden away. She wondered how he’d had his mother killed. Would he tell her if she asked? She thought about the way he touched her. How lost she became, and how addictive that was. The look on his face when she’d showed him the tail. She thought about what he’d done to punish her for trying to leave him. His cruelty. Had he extended it to last hours because she’d taken off her collar?
The one he’d placed around her neck last night, no matter what she did, would not come off.
I do not love you, Yasmeen. So why would I feel compassion for you?
As dinnertime approached, she once more made her way to the kitchen. She’d popped in and out all day, hoping to find the elusive cooks but had found nothing but prepared food. This time, she was tickled to see two women in residence. Both shared the same dark tones as the locals she’d seen in town when she’d gone in with Sorin. They stopped what they were doing to turn and smile at her. One was early thirties, the other mid-fifties. Yasmeen blushed when she realized the older one was the same woman who’d given her the ice tea the other day. She’d also served dinner the night Lucian had collared her.
“Hello.” She smiled but tried to hide her glee at finding them. “Um, do you by any chance speak English?” Pleeease, speak English.
Nothing but smiles.
Fuck. “Okay. Uh, Lucian? Mr. Fane?” She put her hand up to show someone tall.
They nodded, smiling.
“You know, that tall, brutally sexy dickhead who ditched me without so much as an I’ll-see-you-later?”
They came forward, shrugging, and even though they were darlings, Yasmeen wanted to scream in frustration. She swallowed the urge and held her friendly look.
“It’s okay. I’ll just continue wandering around this goth paradise and wait for the sound of my madman’s footsteps. Sorry to bother you. Maybe I should take this opportunity to run my ass off and hop on the next train to Paris, huh? Do you by any chance k
now where he stashed my passport? No? Damn. Okay, well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go cry my fucking eyes out then jump off one of the turrets.” She smiled widely and turned only to nearly run over a young boy who was gawking at her. He looked to be around twelve or thirteen.
“Oh! Hello,” she said carefully.
“Salut.” He was shaking his head as he looked to the younger of the two women. He pointed at Yasmeen and he ripped something out so quickly in his language she had no hope of recognizing it even was a language. The women gasped and grabbed Yasmeen’s arm. They started talking at once, the older one cupping Yasmeen’s face and patting her cheeks in a way she must do with her grandchildren all the time. For some reason, that made her throat sting.
“Hey, er, guess there’s no point in me asking what’s wrong because you can’t tell me anyway,” she muttered as she patted them back. Her smile was slipping.
“Lady say jump. Mihai tell.”
At hearing words she actually recognized, she spun around to face the boy. “What? What did you say? You speak English? Oh, my God. Really? That’s amazing! Will you…wait, what did you say?”
“Lady say jump. Mihai tell.” His expression grew dazed as he stared. He began smiling. Weird little guy.
She looked to the fretting women. The older one had her eyes closed and her hands clasped. She was praying.
“Oh, shit. I didn’t mean it, kid. I was just being silly. Sarcastic. Do you know what sarcastic means? Oh, God,” she groaned as she patted the woman’s shoulder and shook her head at his mother.
“Boss bring the bad time if lady jump. To Mama.” The boy’s staring was interrupted by his mother moaning. “Boss make go. No food.” He patted his stomach and his mother grabbed Yasmeen by the hand and shoved her into a chair. She spoke for a good five minutes to the boy then motioned him to repeat it.
“Er, boss smile for lady. Like lady. Er, no die.” He motioned around the room. “Bring the bad time.”
“I won’t die. I won’t jump. I promise. No jump. It was a joke. You know? Ha ha.” She cringed. Lucian liked her? He smiled for her? When? Why hadn’t she seen it? More tears tried to choke her. Christ, she was turning into a wimp. “I won’t jump. Never. Never ever. Okay?”
He said something to the others that made them clap and cheer, but there was a new wariness in their eyes. Yasmeen stood, held up a finger, and left them alone. The older one started chanting something.
Returning some minutes later, she held the dictionary she’d thumbed through earlier because it had English words in it. She waved it and read the few words she’d found during her walk back.
“No die. Lady sad.”
Three frowns hit her audiences’ faces, even the boy. “Aw,” the older lady cooed as she bustled over and jerked Yasmeen into one of the roughest hugs she’d ever received. She was pulled out of a big bosom after losing a few strands of hair. The woman said something.
“Bunicuţă say lady no sad. Bunicuţă say lady get happy. Eat. Sit. Now.”
Yasmeen looked through her book to find that word. Okay. The older woman was his grandmother. So that meant this was a mother and daughter team who worked for Lucian. She found a few more words. “May…I…help? Vă rog?” Did her ‘please’ sound as if she was begging?
She didn’t even get the opportunity to indicate she meant with the cooking of the meal before she found herself by the sink. A bowl of potatoes was shoved in front of her, and a peeler was jammed into her hand.
She flipped a few pages. “Mulţumesc,” she said, thanking them.
“Cu plăcere!” both women said, beaming at her. They pointed and waited.
“Uh, hang on…” She flipped pages to the tourist section. “I am Yasmeen.” She put her hand to her chest and silently repeated the phrase she’d found at the back of the book a couple of times before attempting it out loud. “Cum te cheamă?”
They both flew through their response and looked at her expectantly. After a few seconds, the grandmother brought the boy forward. He went from oldest to youngest, pointing to make sure Yasmeen got it. “Teodora. Iulia.” He took a hold of Yasmeen’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Mihai.” The slap his mother landed to the back of his head had him jumping away with a grin.
Yasmeen smothered a giggle. “It’s nice to meet you all. Really, you have no idea.”
They nodded and Iulia pointed at the bowl. They waited.
Okay. They were going to watch her peel the potatoes? She efficiently zipped around a spud with the knife, taking the peel off in one piece. She held it up, feeling kind of smug but careful not to show it. Teodora nodded and slapped her back as hard as a man would have. Iulia appeared slightly put out as if she’d wanted Yasmeen to fail. She sniffed and patted her arm lightly before eventually offering her a warm smile and going back to her bread.
Feeling better because she was among rational human beings, Yasmeen tackled the bowl of potatoes and tried to pretend she didn’t see Mihai leaning on the end of the counter, his chin in his hand as he stared at her. She smiled at him once and went back to her task when his cheeks grew ruddy.
How adorable.
♦ ♦ ♦
Twenty-four hours later, nothing was adorable. Everything from the scenery to the delicious meals to the lovely company she’d found in the form of two Romanian cooks and an enamored young boy was fucking infuriating—the latter, because they’d kicked her out of their domain.
Yasmeen roamed the bedroom like a caged dog. She’d long ago given up trying to rip off the stupid collar Lucian had clamped on her before he’d fucked off. It wouldn’t budge. The sonofabitch had apparently gone with the deluxe unit, after all. The one that allowed only the owners to remove it from their pets. The motherfucking thing was probably tricked out with an electrical impulse that would zap her into a coma if she crossed the property line.
“Fuck. Fuck! I need to get the hell out of here. No more. You inconsiderate sonofabitch!” she hissed quietly, in case someone could hear her talking to herself. Not that there was anyone around to hear her. It seemed any human who’d been in the castle when they arrived was now gone. She hadn’t realized until today that the workers she’d heard that first day had never been heard again, let alone seen.
She went to the window and peered out into the clear evening. Trapped.
“Ugh!” she wheeled away and stomped around, looking at all the fucking beautiful shit surrounding her. She ended up back at the window. “So, are you gone? Will you come back for me? Have you forgotten me?” The very idea made her chest ache like she’d been beaten. “Where are you, Lucian? You can’t just leave me here. You can’t. Have you forgotten me?” She pressed her lips together as the possibility came to her again. Was this to be her underground bunker? Was he done with her for now? Would he return in a few weeks, or God forbid, months, and expect a few days of non-stop sex before leaving again?
She banged her forehead on the glass and looked at the darkening countryside.
Or, maybe, she was free to leave and he just hadn’t seen fit to tell her.
She turned from the window and looked out over the room. Had she stayed in this castle for the last two days for nothing? Back to the window she spun when she heard the faint sound of a vehicle. Excitement and hope burst to life…only to fizzle and die when she saw it was a delivery truck. She squinted. Was that a woman driving?
Of course, it was. Her demented Romanian had pulled his staff and the workers, leaving her with no one but women in the castle. He, or more likely Sorin, had even gone so far as to arrange their supplies be delivered by someone who didn’t have junk hanging between their legs.
Oh, who cared? What did it matter? The point was, he’d left her here. She eyed the door and deliberated for only a few more seconds as her need to invade Lucian’s privacy morphed from a desire to a necessity.
“Fine. Fuck you. You have no respect for me. Why should I continue to offer it to you?”
She left the bedroom and rushed through the corridor
s. She was silent and quick, and she made it to Lucian’s office in under ten minutes after having to backtrack only once because she’d taken a wrong turn. Her heart pounded and her breaths were loud as she turned the knob. Expecting it to be locked, she stood there waiting for the guillotine to fall when it clicked and the door swung in.
“Hello?” she said, following the non-existent horror movie script.
Silence.
She reached out and clicked the light switch to illuminate the large room and walked across the soft carpet. The heels of her boots made a muted thud that was the only sound in the entire wing of the castle it seemed. A chill skittered down her spine as her eyes darted around. She went to the desk and found nothing on its surface but a copy of the New York Times. It was open to an article detailing Markus’s rise to the top in the business world before his tragic death.
“Oh, Lucian,” she whispered. “People lose their loved ones every day. You can’t let your experiences do this to you. You’re stronger than this.” She picked up the paper to read what had been written and jumped when something fell out. “Shut. Up.”
She reached out as if it was a mirage and picked up…her passport. She flipped it open to see her unsmiling face staring at her.
Before she knew what she was doing, she was clutching the document and racing from the room. She ran as fast as she could back to the bedroom and skidded to a halt in front of Lucian’s nightstand. She didn’t think twice about stealing from him. She just yanked the cabinet open and took a stack of money. Didn’t count it. She just took it and ran.
She made it to the foyer, grabbed her handbag that had been sitting on the table since her arrival, and scooped her faux-fur out of the closet someone had put it in that afternoon that seemed light years away.
Minutes later, Yasmeen was sneaking into the back of the delivery truck and tucking herself behind some boxes of lettuce. Her lungs were burning as hot as her eyes as tears tried to form. She blinked repeatedly. After all he’d done to her, he wasn’t worthy of these feelings cutting into her. He wasn’t worthy of the agony filling her that was making her want to howl like an injured animal.
Grievous (Wanted Men Book 5) Page 24
