by SR Jones
The thing is, I know I'm going to have to be the one to do it. The one to interrogate her.
Damen won’t do it, I don’t think. He won’t slap a woman around. Ilya? I believe Ilya will do whatever it takes to protect the love of his life, including hurting Zoey if needed. Ilya will always put his woman first. Since the first moment he saw her in one of Allyov’s strip clubs, working under the stage name Amber, she’s been it for him, whether she liked it or not. Luckily for her, she did.
In order to protect Zoey from Ilya’s tender mercies, or from Damen simply giving her to Andrius, I need to be the one to make her talk.
Besides which, she’s mine to deal with. I touch the lip gloss again, reassuring myself it’s there.
If I need to get physical with her to make her talk, I’ll rein it in so I don’t do actual harm. I can't believe I'm even thinking these thoughts. It makes me feel like a shitty human being which, let's be honest, I am.
Following the dogs deeper into the woods, we come across a small, hybrid bivouac, covering what looks like a small human form. We all stop, and I glance at the men beside me. Can it be this easy? What the hell? I don't understand why she hasn't gone further; this makes no sense. Even if she’s scared out of her mind, this is bad decision making on an epic scale.
She took the boat so far and then only walked a few minutes into the woods?
Damen reaches into his holster and takes out his weapon. Ilya does the same, but I don't go for mine. Mouthing, cover me, at Damen who nods to show he’s heard me, I stealthily approach the shelter.
I reach out what I'm shocked to see is a shaking hand and slowly undo the zip.
For a moment, all I can do is stare.
Zoey is lying on her side, and she hasn't responded to me unzipping the sleeping bag, which makes me worry that she's dead.
I get a grip of myself when I realize there’s color in her cheeks, which means she’s alive. In fact, she's got too much color in her cheeks. They are bright red and her hair is plastered to her shiny forehead. I turn and glance at Damen who frowns and comes closer.
“I think she's sick,” I whisper.
I look beyond Zoey and shudder when I see not ten feet away a huge amount of what looks like vomit. I nod toward the pile of vomit, and Damen frowns, takes his backpack off, and rummages around inside.
He isn't being quiet, and suddenly Zoey stirs and makes a strange moaning sound as she stretches, yawns, shivers and opens her eyes.
She's facing away from us, so at first I don't think she guesses that anything untoward is going on. Then it's as if she realizes that the bag is open when it shouldn’t be. She puts her hand up to where it was zipped moments ago. Her hand waves in the air, and she frowns, then shoots up into a sitting position, panic etched on her features.
She glances around at us and unbelievably launches herself out of the sleeping bag onto all fours and starts crawling away as fast as she can.
Where does she think she's going?
Ilya follows her, taking big steps, laughing as he nears her.
“That's right. Crawl, bitch,” he growls.
Reaching a tree, she grabs the trunk, pulls herself to her feet, and starts to run.
Ilya follows at a walking pace, shaking his head and looking back at us with a wry grin. I don't like this, the way he seems to be enjoying himself. It’s a game to him, one he seems to be enjoying at Zoey’s expense far too much.
I know Ilya is ruthless and hard in a way you must be in order to run the whole of St. Petersburg. He's certainly ruthless when it comes to protecting Amanda. He’d do anything to keep her safe; he told me once a long time ago when we were drinking vodka late into the night. He’d said to me then that for the first time in many years he'd found someone he cared about more than anything or anyone else.
He told me during that conversation that he'd do anything to protect that.
I don't think he's a cruel man, in particular, but he is hard, and now he's livid. He's angry that Zoey has managed to strike right at the heart of our organization. Or rather, right at the heart of his old friend’s new business venture, I should say. One that was highly protected. I wonder how far he'd go to make Zoey talk and what he’d be capable of in this situation.
I'm not going to find out because in a moment I'm going to take charge. But first, and not because I'm cruel either, because it helps me reach my goals better, I want Zoey scared. I'm not sure if she'll be as scared of me as she will be a total stranger.
Maybe she'll think she can manipulate me and bend me to her will. She's not going to think so with Ilya.
“Where the hell do you think you're running to, little girl?” Ilya says with a laugh. “There's nothing but woods for miles. You should have taken your chance to get away last night or early this morning instead of sleeping like an idiot.” He raises his arms and turns in a circle, looking at us before turning to glance over his shoulder at Zoey as she keeps running. “I mean, who in their right mind takes a boat to a nearby cove, sets up camp and stays there, for what?” He glances at his watch. “Over twelve hours?” He shakes his head and advances on her inexorably.
Zoey keeps running but turns to glance at Ilya as she tears through the woods. At this rate, she's going to smack into a tree and do herself some real harm.
I decide to stop playing around and put an end to this charade. I break into a sprint and catch up with Zoey, who’s weaving all over the place in a matter of moments. I grab her wrist, but she turns on me and yanks it out of my grip.
She's panting, face pale in places but flushed in others. There's also a fine sheen of perspiration covering her skin. It looks like morning dew, but it's another sign that she's sick.
“Damen, you brought a first-aid kit with you, correct?”
He nods. “Was getting to it, when Zoey here decided to go for a morning jog,” he says in excellent English, smirking at Zoey.
“Does it have a thermometer in there?” I ask.
“Yeah, it does,” he says.
“Can you grab it for me please?” I ask him as I once more take hold of Zoey's wrist and pull it toward me. She doesn't struggle, but she's alert like a deer in the sights of a hunter’s gun.
I reach out slowly, not wanting to startle her more, and press the back of my hand to her forehead. She's clammy and hot. Very hot.
Damen takes the first-aid kit out of the rucksack and brings it to me. He opens it and pulls out a thermometer, which I grab with my free hand.
“Listen, Zoey, you're sick, and I need to take your temperature, so how about for the next moment, you just play nice, okay?” She nods and bites her lip.
The movement draws my attention to the plump flesh of her lower lip, and I have to resist the urge to feel the tube of lip gloss in my pocket. God, I'm so messed up in the head about this bloody woman. I put the thermometer on her forehead and hold it until it beeps. When I look at the reading it says 39.5 degrees and over 103 Fahrenheit, which is a fever.
I show it to Damen who raises his eyebrows, takes the thermometer and pops it back in his kit after wiping it clean. “Seems like you're pretty sick,” he says to Zoey.
She sighs, turns away from us, and gives me the silent treatment.
Marvellous. If this is how it's going to go down, it's going to be an absolute nightmare making her talk.
I grasp her chin between my thumb and forefinger and turn her face toward me. “Listen to me,” I say as forcefully as I can. Scare her now to save her pain later. “You’re in deep shit. The best thing for you right now is to cooperate with us. We know that you were acting under duress,” I say.
By saying this, I'm not giving away that she's called me or that we have any sort of history. She turns to me, eyes blazing, and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Nice of you to understand that … now,” she says.
Oh crap, it doesn't look like she's going to keep quiet about our past like I'd hoped she would.
“Listen,” I tell her, my voice low. “Right now,
we don’t have time. You need to focus and tell us exactly what happened, but first tell us why you're so poorly.”
“Do you have the flu, do you think?” Damen asks.
“I'm not sure what it is,” Zoey says. “I swam across the bay, to the next cove. Took the boat and went as far as I could before I started to feel awful. Obviously, I was wet, but the temperature is very hot for the time of year, so I wasn’t worried about getting too cold. I kept feeling all shivery and decided to get a few hours rest, and then I would be on my way. However, after about two or three hours sleep, I'm not sure how long exactly, I woke up shivering and aching all over, and then I began to vomit. Thankfully, I made it out of my bivouac and managed to crawl a few feet away, or that would have been an unholy mess. I also had diarrhea, and I kept being sick for hours. That’s stopped now, thank God, but I'm still shivering. I managed a wash with some soap and a bottle of water and crawled into my tent where I basically passed out. I think I still have a temperature.”
“Somewhat,” Damen says mildly.
“I'd say you either have a stomach bug, or you've eaten something bad,” Ilya adds.
“Yep, a gastroenteritis of some sort,” Damen supplies. “The good news for you, Zoey, is that you’ll probably start to feel better within the next day or so, but the bad news is you're coming with us. Then as soon as you start to feel better, we need you to talk, or you’ll be in a world of pain.”
She puts her hands on her hips, takes in a deep breath, and then looks up at the sky before turning her blue eyes to Damen. She’s ignoring me and focusing on him, and it’s driving me crazy, but I keep my face impassive.
“You won’t have to wait. I need help. Not for me, but for someone else. I know you won’t help me. I tell you everything, then you just kill me, no?” she asks, eerily calm about the fact.
“Not necessarily,” Damen says. “Depends why you did what you did, what the reasons were, and who's behind it. We're not in the habit of killing people who do things if they have been forced. Were you forced, Zoey?” he asks kindly. “I get the feeling maybe you were.”
I know Damen means what he says. The problem is Ilya and Andrius are both so upset at the way K was targeted on Andrius’ property that I can't trust them. They might decide that Zoey must die no matter what she says. If I have to, I'll take her with me and get her away somehow because I know for a fact, looking at her like this, forlorn, shivering and with two bright pink spots on each cheek, that I can't let her be killed.
Chapter Seven
Zoey
I’ve fucked it all up beyond redemption, and my only hope now is to tell these men everything, beg for mercy for my daughter, and accept my own fate.
I might have had a chance if the damn universe hadn’t conspired against me and chosen this moment to make me sick. Once I fell asleep in the bivouac for so many hours, my destiny was sealed.
“I don’t care what you do to me, but I’d prefer you make it quick.” I address the big one because no way am I talking to Vasily after the bastard ignored my calls repeatedly. I might be about to die, but I still have some dignity.
Stinking of sick, tired and aching, but determined not to go down like some snivelling wreck, I square my shoulders and look the big bastard in the eyes.
“I’ll tell you every single thing you need to know, but I have one condition.”
“You don’t get to make conditions,” the stocky, shorter one says.
I ignore him completely and focus on the one I’ve been talking with. “I did what I did under duress; you’re correct. I did it to save my daughter, but I failed. I couldn’t shoot Cassie…” My voice breaks, and I hate myself for showing this weakness. “I couldn’t do what I was ordered because I like Konstantin, and I like Cassie, but I wish I had done it.”
I ignore Vasily with his fists bunched as if he’s about to pulverise something and keep looking into this other man’s dark eyes. “I wish I had done it because then my daughter would be saved, and now, she’s facing a fate worse than death. They say the mothering instinct is the strongest in the world, and a mother will do anything to protect her child, but I didn’t. I failed. So, let me tell you all I know, and you can kill me, but you swear to me, please, that you’ll try to find my daughter. I don’t know who you are, but you must be powerful to be in with Konstantin. So please, find my daughter.”
“I swear to you now, I will try to find your daughter, but you have to tell me everything.” Dark Eyes takes my hand in his, and Vasily growls low enough I only just pick up on it.
Asshole. He has no right to be possessive. He has no right to be anything. Fucking coward who doesn’t answer his phone.
“I was in the military,” I say. I see something in the man’s dark gaze. “Not as high level as you, I’d think. You’re what? Marines?” I guess. “Special Forces?”
“Special forces,” he says.
“I was in the Army. Engineers.” I suck in a deep breath and steady myself to keep on talking. “We rebuilt after guys like you went in and cleared the area, made it safe. One day, myself and the man I was in love with, we were leading a clear-up operation, and we took the wrong turn. To this day, I don’t know how we did it. We went down the wrong road, into a part of town not cleared. The IED killed four people, and mortally wounded my lover. He would have been court martialled if not, as he was officially in charge. I was pregnant at the time, had only just found out. Our relationship wasn’t allowed. I shouldn’t have been in the field pregnant, and I had been second in command, so my head was going to roll. I could have faced jail time, not seen my child when she was born. When the nameless men came for me, offering a way out, I took it.”
I cough and shiver as pain wracks my stomach. Oh dear God, don’t let me be sick again. I don’t think I’ve ever been more wretched in my life. Not even when I lost Esme’s father.
“She needs a room, something to drink, a shower,” Vasily says.
I turn to him and laugh. “So worried about my comfort. Who would have thought?”
“Shut the fuck up, Zoey,” he snarls.
“Do you two know one another?” the big one asks. Perceptive fucker, I see.
“No,” Vasily says.
“Intimately,” I say at the same time. I laugh at his expression. “Oh, Vasily, wanted to keep me a dirty little secret, did you? Well, I’m done. No more secrets. I’m a dead woman walking, and I’m feeling all confessional.”
Vasily takes my upper arm in a vice-like grip and begins marching me through the woods.
“Hey, what the fuck?” the big one shouts.
“I’m in charge here, Damen,” Vasily answers. “Not you.”
Damen. I file away the big guy’s name.
“Who is the other one?” I ask Vasily.
“He’s Ilya.”
“Damen’s a big boy,” I purr. “I like them big.” I enjoy making this fucker suffer.
He grips my arm tighter and laughs. “He’s married, and you smell like a toilet. No one in their right mind will be wanting to stick their dick in you.”
Damen catches up with us and stops Vasily with a massive palm to his chest. “Hang on a minute. We need to talk about this. If she can give us information right the fuck now that can protect K and Andrius, me and the guys in Greece, and all our women, she needs to talk, and you need to let her. You can do your caveman bit after.”
“He can’t,” I say, indignant.
Damen looks to me and shrugs. “Sorry, sweetheart, but he’s right. K called him to come deal with you; I just came to help out. So, you talk to me, and I’ll keep my promise, but what happens to you is up to these gentlemen here.”
I roll my eyes. “You’d let them kill me?”
“A second ago, you thought I was going to kill you,” Damen points out, reasonably.
“No one is killing you,” Vasily says.
“Not your call,” the stocky one answers. I don’t like him, I decide. He’s cold.
“I’d rather one of you did and made it qui
ck.” I try to take my arm back, but Vasily keeps a tight hold.
“Keep talking, okay, and I promise you that while the other shit is out of my hands, I’ll personally try to find your daughter, and if anyone can, it’s me. I’m a highly trained hacker.” Damen pulls my attention back to him.
I sigh. “I don’t know how much I can tell you, or what use it will be, but I’ll tell you everything I know. I found myself facing a very uncertain future, as I said, but these men came to me. Said they worked partially with British Intelligence. I believed, maybe at first, they did. They offered me a total pardon if I worked for them. Said I’d be able to spend the first years of my child’s life with her, doing the odd job for them, and then when my child was old enough to go to school, they would be sent to the best private schools, while I did more work for them. I’m not an idiot. I knew work meant spying on people, maybe even having to sleep with men to get information. As it happened, though, those first few years, I mostly found myself given easy roles. Work as a maid in a house where I had to report on the activities of the husband. Then there was the time I had to befriend this snooty old matron. That was hard at first, but I found an in, and it turned out her husband was helping smuggle people into the country. So, at first, it wasn’t too difficult, and I felt quite good about it.”
I sigh and think back to how they sucked me in and wove a steel web around me until I was trapped like a fly.
“Once Esme, that’s my daughter, got to be around six or seven, the jobs became more dangerous. I also was told to befriend the odd man, which I did. Again, I didn’t have to have sex with them, but then they asked me to plant cameras in one man’s house. I liked him, plus he was high up in the government, and I supported the party in power. I said I didn’t want to do it, and they threatened Esme. It was the first time, but not the last. They’d promised that I’d only have to do a few jobs, but every year when I brought up leaving, they said soon. Always soon. Then they handed me the job spying on Konstantin. I didn’t want to do it, but they promised that this time I really would be out afterward. I had to sleep with him, they said. But once I’d done it and got as much info on him as I could, they’d release me from my obligation. I was skeptical, but they kept swearing if I did it, that would be it.”
