by Zaires, Anna
“Mina,” he says at long last, his voice gentle. “Look at me.”
When I don’t react, he takes my shoulders and turns me to face him. The expression on his face is as soft as his voice. It holds an apology, but not remorse. He doesn’t feel bad about what he’s doing. He’s not going to let me go.
He studies me for a long time before he speaks again. “Anton and Ilya are jumpy. We’re all tense.”
“Are you justifying their behavior?”
“Just putting it in perspective.”
I suppose it’s noble of him to try and patch things up, especially seeing how possessive he is. “Why does he hate me so much? How many times do I have to apologize for the job I did?”
“Anton doesn’t hate you. It’s me. I’m not behaving like myself. It worries him, especially before a job.”
“What do you mean you’re not behaving like yourself?”
“I’ve never been attached to anyone except Ilya. This…” He waves between us. “Anton doesn’t understand what’s happening. We’ve worked together for a long time. He knows what I’m like. He believes I’m incapable of caring for anyone who’s not family, so he thinks you’re leading me around by my dick. We’ve already had one team leader—Peter—bow out because of a woman; he doesn’t want the same thing to happen with me.”
It’s the caring part I latch on to. “You care for me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“I thought you hated me.”
He doesn’t reply.
My heart shrivels. “So you do hate me.”
“I hate what you did.”
“It’s the same thing.”
His gaze homes in on me as if he’s drinking in my very thoughts. “There’s always been chemistry between us, Mina. We’ve wanted each other from the start. And I hoped to take a chance with you, to see where it would lead…” He lets me go to drag a hand over his face.
“But you couldn’t because I framed you,” I finish for him, my chest squeezing agonizingly. I can’t believe Yan is telling me this much, letting me glimpse the man under the cool, distant mask he presents to the world.
A man who can be vulnerable. Who can feel.
His mouth twists. “Put yourself in my shoes. Knowing how easily you threw me under the bus, how would you have felt?”
Every part of me aches to come clean, but I can’t be honest without risking Gergo’s life. There’s no choice but to accept the consequences of my lie and live with them. “So you’re never going to stop punishing me.”
“I’m not punishing you.”
“Then let me go.”
He stares at me as if I’ve slapped him. “You want to leave? After everything we’ve shared, this is how little I mean to you? Just like when you sold me out?”
I clench my jaw in frustration. “No, Yan. That’s not what I meant. I don’t want to leave. But how can we have anything without freedom and trust?”
“Do I have reason to trust you?”
Tears burn behind my eyes. “I’m not going to run.”
Uncertainty plays on his face. He looks at me like he wants to believe but is incapable. “That’s what you said before you ran.”
“I didn’t run. I went to see my grandmother.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
My answer disappoints him, I can see that. “Maybe trust isn’t in the cards for us.”
Defeat makes me weary, the usual tiredness snagging me as the adrenaline from the fight drains out. “Then we have nothing to talk about.” I try to move around him, but he grabs my wrist.
“There’s more to talk about.”
“Not now, okay? I need a shower.”
“Now.” He’s unmovable, his mouth set in a firm line. “You haven’t answered Ilya’s question. Do you have feelings for me?”
I stare at him, the ache in my chest intensifying. Do I tell him the truth? Do I even dare to admit it to myself? Ever since my parents’ deaths, I’ve felt so little, going through life on autopilot, subsisting on Hanna’s love and the adrenaline buzz from my jobs. I thought it was impossible for me to love, to feel anything beyond a mild attraction, but I was wrong.
So very, very wrong.
Stepping up, Yan cups my cheek. “Tell me, Mina. Just give me this one truth.”
He regards me as if he needs this truth with every fiber of his being, as if the answer is his alpha and omega. I consider lying to protect my heart and pride, but what’s the point? I’m not going anywhere. The war is long lost. And Yan might not have given me his trust, but he’s given me vengeance—and as much of himself as he has to give. The man who’s incapable of affection outside of sex has opened up to me, letting me see into his icy heart. For that, and for making me feel again, he deserves the truth.
For the short time left, we both deserve the truth.
“Yes. I do have feelings for you.” My admittance escapes on a rush of air, defeat weighing me down even before the words are out. “Yan… I’m in love with you.”
His expression is a mixture of shock and satisfaction that grows into tender possession. Folding his arms around me, he pulls me against his chest. It’s not an exuberant caress that celebrates love. It’s a gesture that offers comfort, a Band-Aid on a cut. He holds me close and consoles me for having lost not only my freedom, but also my heart.
“Minochka,” he murmurs, “I’ll make it good. I promise.”
The fact that he doesn’t reciprocate my love declaration isn’t lost on me. He wants my body. He cares about it like someone cares for a pet, making sure it’s fed and healthy to serve its owner’s purposes. He may even care about my mind, in his own twisted way, but he’ll never love me. The thought hurts, but the clock is ticking and there’s not enough time for resentment or pain.
Melting against him, I take what I can get. I accept the physical affection, the mistrust, and the inevitable blame I’ll carry to my grave. I take responsibility for my feelings and lower my defenses, giving him access to both my body and my soul.
Anton was wrong. It’s not my body I used as a weapon; it’s the walls I’d built around my heart. But now, I have no more weapons left.
I’ve given Yan the ultimate power over me.
Sensing my surrender, he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the bed. He’s lowered me onto this mattress countless times, but never with so much tenderness, such reverence. He holds my gaze as he unbuttons his shirt to expose the chiseled muscles of his chest, then undoes the cuffs and peels the sleeves off his arms. He goes about undressing slowly, creating a memory I’ll never forget.
His movements are strong and decisive when he unbuckles his belt and pulls down his zipper. He studies me as he removes his shoes and socks before pushing the pants with his briefs over his hips. I watch everything, taking in every detail, committing it to memory. I imprint the picture of his lithe and powerful body in my mind, reveling in how hard he is for me, how much he wants me.
Climbing onto the bed, he straddles my legs and slips his hands under the hem of my T-shirt. His palms lock around my waist, and he strokes up, bringing the fabric with him and baring my skin. When my upper body is exposed, he lowers his head and kisses a path from my navel to the dip between my breasts. He touches and licks. He explores me as if it’s our first time. And in a sense, it is. I’ve never fully surrendered when we fucked, always holding back a part of me. Not anymore.
Nuzzling my neck, he nips his way to my jaw. I part my lips when he finally reaches that destination, and his tongue slips into my mouth, tangling with mine. The kiss is unlike any we’ve shared. It’s urgent, yet tender. He traces the contour of my lips with his tongue while lifting my arms to pull off my T-shirt. He undoes the front clasp of my bra and sweeps away the cups, freeing my breasts.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers, lowering his head for another taste.
His mouth is hot on my nipple, his kiss wet and gentle. I arch my back, wanting more, but he keeps the caress soft. His fingers play with
my other nipple until every pinch and roll echoes in my clit.
He’s as slow in taking off my clothes as he was in undressing himself. I’m panting by the time he’s removed my jeans and underwear. When he buries his head between my legs, it’s as much as I can take. At the third lap of his tongue, I come. The release is brutal. It tears through me with emotions in its wake that shake me to my core—a need to belong, an infinite well of painful love, a futile will to live. When he positions his hips and enters me, the fragmented feelings come together. They fuse with the warm glow in my body, and for the first time in my life, I’m complete.
“Minochka.” He frames my face between broad hands and starts pumping. His rhythm is leisurely. “This is everything.”
I grab his shoulders and hold his gaze, needing him like nothing before. “Perfect.”
“Yes.” A drop of sweat rolls over his temple. “Like you.”
I’m far from perfect. My life is stained with blood. My body is dying. But we have this moment, and I cling to it with everything I’ve got.
He thrusts slowly, savoring me. I’m tight around him, the aftershocks from my orgasm still making my inner muscles clench.
“Sweet mother of…” he groans as another spasm hits.
Sitting back on his heels, he drapes my thighs over his. One hand wraps around my neck, while the other slips between our bodies. The hold is possessive and dominant. He’s careful not to squeeze too hard as he picks up his pace. He hates leaving marks on me. The control etched on his face is stark and raw. He looks like a beautiful, wild animal.
Changing the angle of his penetration, he hits the spot that makes my toes curl. My eyes roll back as he adds pressure to the circles he’s drawing on my clit with his thumb. The rhythm of his hips becomes punishing, but it’s what I need. My pleasure is already climbing again. The dark lust twisting around my body and stealing my reason demands instant gratification. It unleashes an uncontrollable wildness that makes me lift my hips to take him harder and deeper. It creates a tunnel vision in which nothing exists but him.
I’m close, so close. I chase my release, meeting his every thrust. When he tightens his fingers around my neck, I almost come. I’m drunk on passion, barely registering reality when he pulls out and flips me over.
Before I have time to protest, he’s back inside me, taking me with relentless thrusts.
“I want your ass,” he says raggedly, folding his hands around my middle and pulling me up on my knees.
Leaning over me, he opens the nightstand drawer and removes a tube. He’s better prepared this time. He keeps a warm hand on my back as he unscrews the cap and dribbles cold liquid between my cheeks. The pressure of his cock on my dark entrance stills me.
He kisses my spine. “Tell me if I need to stop.”
The words reassure me.
I trust him with this.
I trust him with my life.
He works himself in slowly, and the discomfort is significantly less than the first time, though there’s still an extreme feeling of fullness, a sense of being stretched beyond my limits, of being invaded in a strange, unnatural way. But the burn that comes with the stretch only adds to my need, fueling my pleasure, and when he finally starts thrusting, I’m on the verge of coming again.
“Not going to last, princess.”
It’s been so long since he’s called me princess that the word jars me from my delirious state. Where he’s used the term in a derogative way before, now it’s laced with endearment. Pressing my cheek to the mattress, I watch him from over my shoulder. His face is tight with concentration, all his focus on me.
Fastening one hand on my hip and the other on my breast, he orders hoarsely, “Touch yourself.”
The moment I do, I know it’s over for both of us. My climax is like an electric shock. I’m falling apart and coming together all at once. My lower body tightens, triggering his release, and he plunges deep, then stills with a groan, his cock pulsing inside me. Warmth fills me, and it goes much deeper than flesh. The love I thought I’d never know spreads through my veins, melting the last of the numbing chill in my heart. It should be dirty, this joining of ours, but instead, it’s pure and whole. Beautiful.
Surrendering to Yan is the most meaningful act of my life.
We collapse flat onto the bed, his weight pressing me into the mattress. I can hardly breathe, but I want to stay here forever and pretend there are no bars on the windows or defective cells in my body. I want to just lie here and love him, and pretend he loves me back.
“I’m crushing you,” he says, kissing my neck.
Too soon, the cocoon in which I’m hiding lifts. And there’s no transformation or butterfly, only stark, empty reality.
He pushes up, keeping his weight on his arms. “Take a deep breath.” He pulls out when my lungs expand, leaving an after-burn, but the pain is grounding. “Stay.” A command he loves giving.
He goes into the bathroom and comes back with a wet washcloth. After cleaning the spillage between my legs, he turns me over. “Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head.
“Painkiller?”
“I’m good.”
He dumps the washcloth on the floor and stretches out beside me, spooning me from behind. “Sleep.”
“I should have a shower.”
“Tomorrow. I like the idea of you sleeping with my cum in your ass.”
I swat his arm that lies snugly around my waist. “You’re so filthy.”
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
“I thought you’re not telling me when to sleep any longer.”
He nips my earlobe and nuzzles my temple. His lips stretch into a smile against my skin. “This time, you’ll want to obey.”
“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?”
“Because tomorrow, I’m taking you to see your grandmother.”
29
Yan
Mina is in love with me.
I try to wrap my mind around it on the way to Budapest. It’s not what I expected, and so much more than I could’ve hoped for. How can anyone love me, let alone someone as guarded as Mina? At the same time, the attraction makes sense. We’re so much alike. We’ve both seen the uglier side of life, and we can be ruthless. Yet we’re both loyal as hell to the family we love. Not to mention, we both need a little more spice in our lives than most people.
Still, we’re a world apart. For all the numbing trauma of her past, she feels more, cares more for people than I do. I can see it in the way she interacts with my brother, and even Anton, to some extent. Her hard shell is just that, a shell. Inside, she’s vulnerable, fragile. Wounded. And there’s a soft side to her, a nurturing and caring part that draws me like a prickly thorn to a lamb’s wool.
Even now, as I sit opposite her in the Cessna Anton is piloting, my hand is resting on her knee. The hold may seem casual to an onlooker, but it’s a possessive touch, a claiming touch. Now that I know how she feels, I’m more reluctant than ever to let her out of my sight. I’m not blind to how wrong that is. Keeping her against her will is the most fucked-up thing I’ve done. But I can’t let her go. Setting her free would be like chopping out a part of me. She’s gotten way deeper than under my skin, and I won’t be the same without her.
No, there’s no other option. She has to stay. I’m still keeping her forever.
The scale of my feelings has tipped, though. Before, I wanted to own her life and make her pay for her betrayal. Now, a calm acceptance invades my mind. The pressing need for vengeance has shifted to a pressing need to please. To make her happy. Which is why we’re on our way to see her grandmother a day before we carry out the hit on Dimitrov. I want to give her everything I can to make up for the love she offers despite the freedom she’ll never have.
She’s tense, my little soldier. Her body is rigid and her face paler than usual. Disregarding Anton’s weight-distribution-impact-on-aerodynamics theory that awarded me the seat facing her, I shift onto the one next to her. I take one of her han
ds that’s clamped between her knees and brush my lips over her knuckles before intertwining our fingers. I wish I could tell her I love her, but I don’t know what love means. The feeling I harbor for Ilya is an ingrained duty to protect and take care of him. It’s part of my programming. What I feel for Mina is new, hard to define. I only know I can’t bear the thought of being apart from her or, God forbid, any harm coming to her.
“Nervous?” I whisper against her ear, sneaking in a kiss. She smells like lemon and honeysuckle. Mouthwateringly delicious.
“What do you think?” she snaps.
“I thought you’d be happy to see your grandmother.”
“I’m not happy about you coming along.”
“Don’t fret, princess.” I smile. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
Snorting, she turns her face toward the window as if I’m not worthy of her sight, which I’m not.
“Not long now.” I put her hand on my thigh and massage the knots in her shoulder.
She relaxes marginally, leaning a little toward me. The submission is small, a tiny drop in a vast ocean, but my heart warms as if I’ve put a blowtorch to it.
A few minutes later, Anton announces our descent. We touch down at the private airport where the same driver from a few nights ago waits.
“Stay in the car,” I tell Mina, helping her into the back. And just in case, I nod at the driver, who locks the doors. Love or not, I’m not going to lay temptation at Mina’s feet.
With Mina safely locked in, I lead Anton a distance away. I do want Mina to see her grandmother, but I also have an ulterior motive for the trip. Taking out my phone, I pull up the information that arrived last night. Someone took out Mina’s assailants, the men my hired team beat and mutilated. I was going to kill them soon, but someone beat me to it. I can only assume it’s to make sure they didn’t talk.
Perhaps I don’t know everything. Perhaps there’s more to Mina’s attack than I thought.
“What’s up?” Anton asks when we’re out of earshot.