Claimed

by Portia Moore

  My heart sinks. The ring on my finger has never felt so heavy. He’s taking me farther from my family, away from Mallory and Dena, away from Marcus, away from any ties that I have to my former life before him. He’s making sure that all I have is him.

  And there’s nothing I can do about it. The worst part is he’s smiling at me indulgently, like he’s doing something wonderful for me. So, I paste a smile on my face that doesn’t reach my eyes and tell him how happy I am. How much I can’t wait to move to New York with him. How excited I am for our new life together.

  I remember the first day I met him. When he told me I owed him, I just didn’t think paying my debt would mean giving him my entire life.

  All of this time, I thought Vincent had saved me, but he hasn’t. I know now he’s not that type of man.

  Vincent never wanted to save me.

  He just wanted to claim me.

  Zach

  Present Day

  What the hell was that?

  Fuck!

  My body is covered in sweat. The room is still dark, and when I look over at my alarm, it screams 4:30 in bold numbers. A half hour before I have to be awake.

  I rub my hand over my face, trying to get rid of the residue of the nightmare I just had. It was about Rain, and I can still see her face in front of me, terrified, crying out for help. It’s not abnormal that I dream about her. She invades my dreams every night, but usually they’re memories, little pieces of the time we spent together, or other things—things I’ll never get to do with her again. Dreams that I wake from aching, wanting to touch her, be with her, and knowing that I never will.

  This one was different, though. There was nothing nostalgic or sexy about it. It was a nightmare, plain and simple, a horror show where she was running from some monster that I couldn’t see, something that I couldn’t save her from. I could hear her screaming, could see her fear, but I couldn’t get to her. I couldn’t even move. I was helpless.

  Just as helpless as I’d always been to save my mother.

  It’s the past, I tell myself. Rain is fine. She always has been. I don’t let myself check in on her often. I limit myself to once every three months, and last I saw she was looking beautiful and flashing an engagement ring. A fucking engagement ring. Getting married to some rich as fuck dude. I couldn’t believe it at the time. She’s not even twenty yet, but hell, if me and Rain were still together I’d have married her by now, I can’t even blame the guy that realized how phenomenal she is. I try not to let myself think about it, so I get into the shower even though I’m about to meet Carlos for our morning run, hoping that maybe it’ll help wash away the remnants of the nightmare and wake me up enough to bring me back to reality.

  Some days I wish I could forget about her. But it’s impossible. Leaving her was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But at the time, I hadn’t seen how I had any choice. I’d thought my life was over, that I was going to prison or worse. I hadn’t been sure if I’d killed my dad or not. All I’d known was that my mother was calling the police and that I had to get out of the house as fast as possible, away from what I’d done, away from Indiana, and especially away from Rain—so that I didn’t ruin her life, too. I didn’t know what my mother was going to do or exactly what had happened, but I was sure that no matter how much it was going to hurt Rain for me to leave, it was going to be much worse if I stayed.

  I’d run to my aunt and uncle’s house in Michigan, worried the whole way that my car wouldn’t make it, but turned out I’d done a decent enough job fixing up the old beast that it had taken me all the way there. I’d confessed everything, told them that I knew I’d have to accept the consequences for what I’d done, but that I’d just needed to put some space between it and me, figure out what I was going to do, what I’d say when the cops inevitably came for me.

  To my surprise, neither my aunt or my uncle had been upset to see me or angry with me for what I’d done. Natasha, my aunt, had known for years what was going on in her sister’s marriage and had tried hard to get her to leave him. Neither she or my uncle Jack had blamed me. If anything, they’d only blamed themselves for not pushing her harder to leave him years ago, when they’d moved away from Indiana and tried to convince her to come with them.

  Natasha had called my mother immediately, and I can still hear the conversation ringing in my ears if I think about it.

  “No, Natalia, of course you’re not going to press charges against Zach. Are you insane? You know what Dimitri is like. And you know I know. I’ll testify if I have to, but why would you put your son through this…yes, I know you love him, Natalia. That doesn’t excuse it. Natalia, he’s your son! You can’t put your own son in jail because he shot your shit excuse for a husband…he was protecting you! This is your fault for not taking him away when he was a baby, and why we left. We would have helped you…no, this is on you. You can’t blame your kid for your failings.”

  In the end, my mother didn’t press charges. I didn’t kill him, but it couldn’t be covered up. My mother took the blame—her penance for not leaving him, I suppose, after pressure from my aunt Natasha. She claimed she shot him by accident, that she was cleaning the gun and it had gone off. I don’t know if the cops had believed her or not, but I suppose that her visible injuries might have convinced them not to ask too many questions. They never filed charges against her or me, but for all my aunt’s protests and pleas, my mother disowned me after that day.

  I haven’t spoken to her since, no matter how many times I’ve tried. Every call and text and letter and email go unanswered.

  I’d stayed with my aunt and uncle. I had nowhere else to go—all my friends were long gone, and I couldn’t go back home. Well, I’d gone back once, to see Rain. I wanted to talk to her, explain what had happened, why I’d left with no word and hadn’t contacted her in the months since. But when I saw her, she was walking out of the library with Marcus, smiling and laughing. She looked happy, not like she missed me, or was pining away. She looked more beautiful than ever, dressed in a denim miniskirt and white top with the sleeves rolled up and tied at the waist, her blonde hair long and shiny. Her face was upturned and smiling, glowing as if she didn’t have a care in the world. That’s the picture of her I’ve held in my mind ever since.

  It’s that, or the thought of her beneath me in her bed, her eyes wide and full of love and wanting, entirely mine in that moment. That one brilliant, shining moment when we had a future. But I try not to think of that one too often—it hurts too much.

  I don’t know if she was with Marcus or not then. All I knew was that she looked happy. That was all I’d ever wanted for her. I knew I couldn’t walk back in and ask her to be mine again, not with my future so uncertain, not with me living in Michigan, not with everything in my past and having no idea what was ahead. I’d promised her that I’d always protect her. I’d firmly believed that I’d been right when I’d said it would include protecting her from me. I wasn’t right for her. She deserved better. She deserved a future that she’d make for herself, not one that she’d build around me. I was gone. Better I stay that way.

  So I’d driven away, without speaking to her or seeing her, with just that last glimpse of her to get me through the rest of my life.

  After that, I just focused on trying to get my life straight. I’d been given a break when no charges were pressed, and I knew that, so I tried to make the best of it. I studied hard and got my GED, and the more I talked to my uncle Jack about his job, who was a local cop and had a lot of friends both in the police force and the U.S. Marshals, the more interested I became in criminal law. I didn’t just want to be a state trooper, though, or work for the local police. I thought about joining the Marshals, but my uncle told me to think bigger. He encouraged me, all the way to the academy for the FBI, where, to my amazement, I actually flourished. I had nothing to do but throw myself into my studies, and as a result, I’d excelled.

  If I stop to think about it too hard, it’s actually pretty funny, considering that I�
�d been on a path to being on the wrong side of the law for most of high school—and that the path that had led me to my aunt and uncle, and eventually the academy, included having shot my father. But life works out in funny ways, and I’ve made it to a place where I can feel good about myself at last. It helps that I can’t really maintain much of an interest in any girl long enough to date. They are always going to be measured up against Rain, against the what-if of the future we’d almost had, and that is an impossible bar to clear.

  So much for getting her out of my head.

  I get out of the shower and dry off, throwing on track pants and a t-shirt. Trying to shake off the uneasy feeling of the half-remembered nightmare and the memories of the past still clinging to me.

  Carlos is waiting for me when I get to the jogging path, stretching and doing lunges. He grins at me as I walk up, glancing at his watch. “You’re five minutes late, Rostov,” he says, and I roll my eyes.

  “You’d be late to your own funeral, but you’re not late for a morning jog. I think you’re the only person in the world who actually likes this shit.”

  He shrugs, laughing as we start off at a slow warm-up pace. “Gets me away from the old lady. She’s crankiest in the mornings and is still puking. Four months in and I already can’t wait for this to be over and the baby to get here.”

  “Then it’s just going to be the baby puking instead of your fiancé,” I tell him, deadpan. Carlos likes to bitch about his fiancé, a gorgeous black-haired girl named Maria who looks like she walked straight out of a modeling agency…too gorgeous for him, in my opinion. Carlos is short and has to work out twice as much as every other guy in our class to stay in shape, but I’ve never met a couple more madly in love. No matter how many jokes he makes, I know he’s head over heels for her, and she looks at him like he hung the moon.

  “Better hope the kid gets her looks,” I tell him, picking up the pace a little.

  “Shit, man, that’s cold,” Carlos says, but grins to let me know he’s taking the ribbing in good spirits. “Don’t forget her birthday party’s this weekend. You better be there. All Maria’s family and friends are coming, and I need my boys to balance it out.” He winks at me. “And she’s got a lot of fine sisters and cousins, if you know what I’m saying.”

  There’s a momentary flash of interest at the thought of that—some gorgeous dark-haired Latina girl like Maria on my arm and in my bed wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to me. But the thought is immediately replaced with that image of Rain that’s never far away—her happy, upturned face laughing in the sunshine.

  I shrug, laughing his comment off. “My girl is my job, man,” I say, shaking my head. “She gives me back exactly as much effort as I put in, and she’s always there for me.”

  “Yeah, but your girl is an ugly bitch,” Carlos says, snorting. “Man, you could have a soft sweet girl in your bed every night instead of sleeping alone. Look at you, they’re probably lining up. Sometimes I just don’t get it.”

  “Have you heard about that big case that’s coming down the pipeline?” I ask, quickly changing the subject. “Word is it’s going to be a career-maker for whoever gets it, as long as they don’t fuck it up.”

  Carlos laughs. “Yeah. People have been talking about it for days now. But it’s not going to affect us, man. We’re first-year rookies, bottom of the totem pole. No way is it going to get anywhere near us.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, you’re right. Still, it’s nuts to think about being involved in something like that one day. Big criminal bust like that? It’s something like the movies.”

  “For you, maybe. I’m happy just doing the lower-level shit, putting in my time and going home to my lady and my kid, whenever he or she gets here.”

  Sometimes I can’t help feeling nostalgic for that life when Carlos talks about things like that. I can’t quite picture myself there, though. I didn’t grow up with a good family like he did. A big, loud family that loves each other and is close. I grew up fending for myself. How would I know how to be married, how to raise kids? I know the answer is that I wouldn’t, and that’s why I’ve put my nose to the grindstone the way I have and focused on my work. I’ll be a damn good agent, I know that. Especially with no distractions.

  After I shower again and get dressed to go into the office, I’ve finally managed to push the thoughts of the nightmare and Rain away, and I’m ready to get started on my day. It’s going to be an easy one, mostly paperwork since I’m a newbie right now and get all the busywork. I don’t mind it. Being willing to take care of that stuff will earn me favor with the agents, and they’ll put in a good word for me when the time comes.

  I meet up with Carlos and we ride over together, with him telling me about the party the whole way, and reminding me that I have to show up and stay for the whole thing.

  To my surprise, when we walk in, there’s a woman I don’t recognize standing by my desk, dressed in a navy pantsuit with a short-cropped haircut. “Mr. Rostov?” she asks as I walk in, and I nod, too startled to do anything else.

  “That’s me,” I finally manage, ignoring Carlos’s expression.

  “Can I see you in the office?”

  “Of course,” I say, frantically wondering what I’ve done wrong.

  When we’re inside and the door is closed, she turns to face me. “I’m Special Agent-in-Charge Blake,” she says, holding out her hand for me to shake, which I do numbly. “How are you doing, Agent Rostov?”

  “I’m good,” I tell her, collecting myself and regaining some of my confidence. From her demeanor, I don’t think I’m in trouble, although I still can’t imagine why I’m here.

  “I assume you’ve heard the rumors about the new, big case the department is taking on?”

  “I’ve heard a few,” I say cautiously. “Not too much. I’m new here, as I’m sure you know. It’s a little above my pay grade.”

  She leans back against the edge of the desk. “Well, Agent Rostov, we have an undercover position that needs to be filled. I’m wondering if you might be interested in taking it.”

  For a second, I can’t think of anything to say. I’m completely floored. It’s the last thing I expected when she called me in. I find my voice after several seconds as she looks at me impatiently. “I’m flattered, obviously,” I say calmly, trying not to sound as confused and excited as I feel. “But I’m not sure why you would choose me over someone more experienced?”

  “We’ve looked at your file. You were top of your class at the academy. You consistently applied yourself more than any other student. All of the agents who taught you have nothing but glowing things to say. You have a stellar record, and to be honest, Rostov, you have the look that we need.”

  The look? I’m not quite sure what that means, if it’s a compliment or an insult, but I let it go. I look at her curiously, waiting to see if she’s going to say anything else.

  “So, are you interested?” she asks brusquely.

  It’s not a question that I even have to think about. My career is the only thing that I really have, and anything I can do to further it is a no-brainer.

  “Yeah, I am,” I tell her, trying to stay cool.

  “You can take the night to think about it if you want, Agent Rostov.”

  “No, I’m sure,” I say quickly. “I’d like to be a part of this.”

  “Alright then,” she says, and I can tell she’d expected that answer. “Wait here,” she tells me, leaving and then coming back a few minutes later with two other agents, both of whom look like cookie-cutter FBI. Looking at them is like seeing myself ten years in the future—but sooner, if this is successful. It’s thrilling to think about, and it’s a struggle to contain my excitement. I’m used to playing my cards close to the vest, though.

  Blake introduces them. “This is Detective Simpson, and this is Detective Bellona.”

  “We think you’d be a good fit for the job,” Bellona says. She’s a tall, broad woman, not unattractive in the slightest but someone I definitely
wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of. “But we want to make sure you’re clear on what will be expected of you.”

  “For all your qualifications, you’re green,” Simpson adds. He’s a bit older, with salt-and-pepper hair and a stern demeanor. “We already know you don’t have a wife. Anyone close?”

  “No, sir,” I tell him firmly.

  “Any other close family?”

  “I’ve got an aunt and uncle that I stayed with for a couple years leading up to the academy. I don’t speak to my parents anymore.” The look that I see flicker across both their faces tells me that they know that already, and what’s more, that they know the circumstances behind it. “No girlfriend, and no plans to get involved with anyone. Family life isn’t for me. I stick to being married to my job.”

  “Good answer,” Bellona says with a small smile.

  “No contact with your friends from high school?”

  I’m not at all surprised they know about that. “No, I haven’t spoken to them since they left town. We went in different directions. I’ve never heard from them again.”

  They look at each other and then back at me, mostly satisfied from what I can tell. “We’re investigating drug shipments, along with the possibility of some trafficking,” Bellona says. “We’ll have you briefed in the next forty-eight hours, but for now, here is the file to study until you have your cover down pat. You’ll be an ex-con, looking to take a low-level job and work your way up. We’re going to get you in close to one of the higher-ups if we can.” She reaches for a file on the desk and hands it to me.

  “Look that over. Blake will talk more with you when you’re done.” They nod at me and leave. I sit down and open the file. There’s a handful of photographs of a handsome, well-dressed man, his face angular and arrogant. And then the rest of the file with his personal information, the name at the very top of the sheet. The man that I’m going to be working with, undercover, for at least the next several months.