Darker Than Love

by Zaires, Anna

  Making the most of my spurt of strength, I clean the kitchen and set the table. Dinner is almost ready when Yan comes out of the bedroom freshly showered and dressed in slacks and a tailored shirt.

  He looks neat. Classy, like always. I’ve never seen him in comfy clothes.

  “Do you always dress like that?” I ask.

  He stalks toward me, caging me against the counter with his arms. “Why? Do you have a problem with it?”

  He smells so good. I can’t get enough of that clean sandalwood scent with the spicy pepper undertone. “Don’t you ever want to relax, just lie around in sweatpants and a T-shirt?”

  “No.”

  “I see.”

  He drags a thumb over my lip, no doubt smearing my lipstick. “Go wash your face.” He almost sounds angry.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t like you as someone else.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I slip around him and hurry to the room.

  “Mina.”

  I turn in the door.

  His frosted gaze is piercing. “You’d tell me if you went to Budapest for a different reason, wouldn’t you?”

  The air leaves my lungs, my chest deflating. “You know why I went.” It takes great effort to keep a poker face with him. With other people, it’s second nature, but Yan can cut me open with a single look.

  He studies me, missing nothing. “Just checking.”

  “Was there anything else?”

  “No. Go.”

  Beyond grateful, I close the door on his invasive stare and take a few deep breaths. He doesn’t know. It’s only his suspicion. He can’t know.

  Still, my hunger vanishes. Suddenly feeling depleted, I get rid of the disguise, clean everything, and put it back in the case. After washing my face, I go back to the lounge where a brooding Yan and Ilya sit on opposite sides of the table.

  Yan pulls out the chair next to him. “Sit.”

  I walk over and sit down as I’m ordered. Yan gets up and brings the pots from the stove to the table. Ignoring Ilya, he dishes up some for me before helping himself. When Yan digs into his food, Ilya grabs the serving spoon with a grunt. His gaze rests accusingly on his brother as he dumps a portion of rice and chicken on his plate.

  Our meal takes place in strained silence. I’m pushing the food around on my plate, managing only a few bites.

  “Not hungry?” Yan asks, glancing at my untouched food.

  I shift in my seat. “No.”

  Ilya huffs. “She must’ve lost her appetite when she came out of the room and saw you.”

  Yan turns a steely gaze on Ilya. “Did I ask for your opinion?”

  Leaning back, Ilya stretches out his legs. “You’re getting it anyway.”

  “If you know what’s good for you,” Yan says through tight lips, “you’ll put a cork in it.”

  “If you grow tired of his pretty face, you know where my room is,” Ilya says to me.

  The crockery rattles as Yan slams a fist on the table. “I’m warning you.”

  “Please, Ilya.” I lean over and touch his arm. “Cut it out.”

  “You”—Yan’s tone is clipped as he glares at me—“don’t get to say anything.”

  Ilya grins. “Touché.” He turns to me. “The truth is, I have a bigger dick.”

  A glass of water falls over as Yan jumps to his feet.

  Ilya is up, too. He rounds the table, putting himself in Yan’s way. “I took your beating because I deserved it. This time, I won’t let you win.”

  “Yan! Ilya!” I push back my chair, almost stumbling in my rush to stand. “Stop it.”

  Yan grabs the front of Ilya’s T-shirt in a fist. “Go for it, moron. Give it your best shot.”

  Squeezing myself between the two men, I push on their chests. “Break it up. Focus. We have a fucking job to do.”

  They still at that, and Yan lets Ilya go with a shove.

  I’m responsible for this rift, and I feel awful, especially after what Ilya confided in me. “I’m sorry, Ilya. Really, I am.”

  Even so, this fight isn’t about me. Not really. It’s about Yan’s rejection of his brother when he punished him for being nice to me, for trusting me. Ilya is just taking his frustration and the fact that Yan hurt his feelings out in the wrong way—the only way he knows, with his fists.

  “Stop fucking apologizing to him,” Yan says.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ilya replies in a bitter tone. “What’s done is done.” He turns away from me, rejecting me in his own way, and walks to his room. The door slams behind him.

  With shaking hands, I pick up the glass and wipe up the water with the napkins. Yan fetches paper towels from the kitchen and dries the spillage on the floor. We’re salvaging what’s left of the meal when Anton returns.

  He watches us with his hands on his hips. “What happened?”

  Yan only glances at the closed bedroom door.

  Anton’s look is accusing as it settles on me.

  “Go have a shower,” Yan tells me.

  “The dishes—”

  “Mina.” The way he says my name sends chills down my spine. “You’re pushing me too far.”

  Dropping the dirty cutlery I was gathering, I go to the room, bristling. I’m tired of this. Who does he think he is to treat me like this?

  I may be his prisoner, but I’m no one’s puppet.

  * * *

  I’m ready for him when he walks into the room. Eyeing me where I stand next to the bed, my arms crossed and every muscle in my body tight, he closes the door with a soft click.

  My annoyance boils over. “Is this how it’s supposed to work?” Walking up to him, I poke his chest with a finger. “You order me around and tell me what to do?”

  He appears amused, his sour mood all but vanishing. “Actually, yes.”

  “No.”

  He raises a brow. “Excuse me?”

  “It must be difficult for you to understand the word. Don’t worry. I get it.” I infuse my tone with mock sympathy. “I suppose not many women tell you no.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “Not many, no.”

  “If you’re going to keep me prisoner and I’m to live in your space, we need to lay down some rules.” I jab him in the chest to emphasize the part about the rules.

  He grabs my finger and moves it away. “Rules, huh?”

  “Are you listening?”

  “You’re cute when you’re trying to be bossy.”

  “I’m serious, Yan. If we’re to survive under one roof without killing each other, we both need to compromise.”

  Holding my hand, he walks me backward. “Are you proposing a relationship? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

  “I’m proposing getting along.” My back hits the wall. “Or do you prefer we fight all the time?”

  He cages me between his arms. “I’m curious. What would such compromises entail?”

  “You and Ilya, I’m sick of your fighting.”

  “You don’t have a say, remember?”

  “I’m my own person. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  He bends his head down to mine. “Is that so?”

  “You might’ve taken over my life, but you have to give me a small measure of freedom in the mundane decisions.”

  His voice is low, seductive. “Such as?”

  “Such as when to have a shower.”

  “This is about a shower,” he says with disbelief.

  “This is about…” Making the most of whatever time I have left. But I don’t say it. I can’t. Instead, I stare up at him silently, defiant.

  “You asked me if I’m listening.” He rolls his hips forward, pressing his erection against my stomach. “Now that I am, you don’t know what you want to say?”

  I flatten myself against the wall, but the spark is already there, my senses waking to the dark magic of his touch. “Just don’t treat me like an animal, like I have no say over my body. I’m a grown woman. I think I know when I need to shower or ea
t. When you order me around like that, it’s humiliating.”

  “An animal. Humiliating.” He nuzzles my neck. “You believe you have any power to negotiate?” His breath is warm on my ear. “You think you can say no to me?”

  “Yes.” My tone is firm despite the pleasurable chills rippling down my arm. “Give me this, and I’ll give you what you want.”

  He pushes his hand under the elastic of my sweatpants and underwear, resting his fingers on my sex. “What is it you believe I want?”

  My breath catches when he parts my folds with a finger. I try not to show him what he does to me, but it’s hard to keep my voice even. “To get on. To live in peace.”

  He watches my eyes as he curls the digit, dipping it inside. I grab his wrist to push his hand away, but he’s stronger. He doesn’t let me. Instead, he pushes the length of his finger inside. My body clenches around him, my arousal spiking. I’m breathing too fast, feeling too much.

  “No, princess. You’re wrong,” he says, studying my face as he starts moving his finger. “I want everything.”

  The starkness of the confession makes my knees weak. What was I thinking? I should’ve known with Yan there could never be give and take.

  The pleasure climbs as he pushes the pad of this thumb on my clit, massaging in circles. The sensations hit me hard and fast. Instead of trying to push him away, I’m clinging to him.

  “Are you really going to say no to me, Minochka?” he asks gently, his gem-green eyes already bright with his victory.

  We both know it’s a foregone conclusion. I’m so close.

  He brushes his lips over mine. The kiss is feather soft, deceivingly caring. “Answer me.”

  I want this. I want him. Despite everything, I, too, want it all. And maybe in a different life, I could’ve had it. If I hadn’t taken the Henderson job when Gergo recommended me. If my body wasn’t as messed up as it is. But this is how it is now, and nothing can be done about it.

  “Tell me,” he insists, deepening the kiss.

  “Yes,” I say into his mouth. The word is a sigh. It’s surrender. In the bigger scheme of things, time is too short. “Yes.”

  He picks me up and carries me to the bed. Laying me down gently, he kisses me until I feel dizzy, then undresses me slowly, caressing every part of my body as he does. His gaze is reverent as he watches the path of his hands where they slide over my breasts and down to my stomach, his fingers tracing my belly ring. I want to feel him against me. I need the warmth of his skin. I yank up his shirt, not bothering with the buttons. He lifts his arms to aid me, gets tangled in the sleeves, and finishes the task himself. His shoes, socks, and pants follow.

  When he stretches out over me naked, he’s tender. He frames my face and kisses my lips softly as he enters me. He pours care into the way he holds me, setting a lazy pace. He makes me come before he does, and even after, he kisses me still. Like Ilya said, he gives me what he can’t outside of bed.

  He gives me compromise and affection.

  22

  Yan

  Mina is sleeping soundly in my arms, her small shape fitting against the curve of my body as though she was made for me. Still, even after the tender lovemaking we just shared, I can’t help feeling agitated. The image of the man Mina embraced is burning a hole in my brain. They must’ve made their way to the station together before splitting up. He didn’t look at us because he was gawking at a couple hugging in public. He looked at me. He was sizing me up like a rival. The bad feeling I had about him was right.

  Are they lovers? Is that why Mina went to the clinic? To see her boyfriend?

  The thought of a boyfriend I might’ve overlooked is like an iron peg hammered into my chest. The image of them together has been driving me insane since I saw it on the video feed. Even while I was making love to Mina, I saw it in my mind. Thought about it. Obsessed over it.

  There’s only one thing to do.

  Find him.

  Deal with him.

  Mina is mine. I don’t give a fuck about their history. This is the present. This is how it is now. This is how it will be forever. If my bossy little woman lied to me about their rendezvous, it’s to protect him.

  Too late. He sealed his fate the moment he touched what belongs to me.

  Despite my anger, I smile when I think about earlier. I like that she keeps me on my toes. She’s right to put me in my place. I need it. Of course, I’m not going to let her know that. I’ll just enjoy it quietly, like I’m enjoying her relaxed body in her unconscious state. She’s much more pliant like this. With her in my arms, I can forget about the circumstances that landed her here.

  I can forget I’m making her stay by holding a figurative gun to her head.

  Careful not to wake her, I get up and make sure she’s covered. I close the bedroom door and walk into the dark lounge. The apartment is quiet. It’s just after three in the morning. I don’t switch on the lights. In the kitchen, I use the light from the freezer to pour a shot of vodka into a chilled glass and sit down at the table to boot up my laptop. I’ve watched it twenty times, but I play the security feed from the clinic again.

  The black-and-white image comes to life, the resolution startlingly clear. The clinic must use high-quality equipment.

  Mina enters the building. The feed skips to where she’s walking down a hallway and up a flight of stairs. She enters a room, which I’ve confirmed is her grandmother’s. After a while, she goes to an office downstairs. There are no cameras in the rooms or offices. The video jumps to her leaving the office and walking outside. The gardens aren’t under surveillance either. She disappears in a blind spot and remains out of view for ten minutes.

  The next part is where my heartbeat spikes and fury claws inside my ribcage. A man is with her when she walks back to the entrance. He says something that makes her smile. That smile, it’s sad. That’s what hurts the worst. She didn’t want to say goodbye. She has feelings for him, feelings she doesn’t have for me. He hugs her, the motherfucker, and then she goes back inside while he gets into a vehicle in the parking lot.

  I freeze the frame and enlarge the license plate, something I’ve been meaning to do after dealing with my idiot brother and showing Mina to whom she belongs.

  I don’t watch the rest again. The rest doesn’t matter. Mina exited alone but must’ve met her friend in the street to travel to the station together. I’ve ordered the station camera feed as well. The recording only shows him entering the cafeteria a few minutes after Mina, taking a table behind her. Maybe they were planning on taking the same train to win more time together. Maybe I ruined their plan when I showed up. Whatever the case, their plans—past or future—will soon be of no consequence.

  Mina’s companion signed in at the clinic gates as Izsak Varga fifteen minutes before she arrived. The search for Izsak Varga was fruitless, as Mr. Varga doesn’t exist.

  After signing in, he headed straight for the gardens, which tells me they had agreed on the place and time of their meeting. Somehow, Mina must’ve communicated with him. Perhaps via a burner phone. She could’ve easily bought one and chucked it once she was done. Tracing the call is near impossible. I won’t find his number via that route. My best bet is the license plate.

  Ignoring the late hour, I type a message to our hackers, asking them to run a search on the vehicle license plate. They never sleep anyway. Two minutes later, a reply comes in. As I expected, the car was a rental. Varga rented it under the same false name.

  I’m at a dead end. Not knowing where to go from here, I open Mina’s personal file. Somewhere in the vague mass of information that makes up her past must be a clue about Varga’s true identity. Thread by thread, I’ll pull apart her history until I find him.

  An hour later, I’m still none the wiser. I instruct our hackers to dig deeper into Mina’s background, especially the years she was in the Special Forces and after—the time Mina turned into a woman old enough to harbor sexual interest in a man.

  Rubbing my temples, I fight the f
irst faint pulses of a headache. I won’t be able to go back to sleep. Instead, I quietly grab my running gear from the bedroom, get dressed in the lounge, and hit the streets. I run until sweat pours down my body and endorphins from overexertion expel the headache. My muscles are cramping by the time I get back, but it feels good. I needed the physical outlet for my frustration.

  Mina wakes up when I enter the bedroom at sunrise.

  Sitting up, she rubs her eyes. “Yan?”

  I use the hem of my T-shirt to wipe the sweat from my face. “I’m here.”

  “Where were you?”

  “Out for a run.”

  The sheet slips to her waist, exposing her breasts. They’re pale and round, too full for such a slight body.

  I should have a shower. My feet should carry me to the bathroom, not to the edge of the bed.

  All traces of sleep vanish from Mina’s face as she stares up at me with guarded blue eyes.

  Reaching out slowly, I weigh one of those perfect tits in my palm. The tip is candy-sugar nude, a beautifully light shade. I roll her nipple between a forefinger and thumb until it grows hard and her pink areola contracts. I pull gently until it extends, popping out like a bitable cherry. Mina regards me with slightly parted lips and a peachy blush on her cheeks. I like her like this, all flushed and ready to be sucked.

  Unable to resist, I lower my mouth to her breast. When she doesn’t object, I plump the curve between my fingers and taste that little cherry on my tongue. She gasps as I lick her. I like that, too. I like to hear what I do to her. I suck deeper and swirl my tongue.

  Threading her fingers through my hair, she moans. “Yan.”

  Yes. That’s exactly what I want to hear. I want my name on her lips when she comes.

  I release her breast, moving my lips to her flat stomach while I drag the sheet away. Catching the gold belly ring between my teeth, I tug gently.