by Julie Miller
“There is nothing to forgive.” She answered the question too quickly and tried to leave, but Bryce’s grip didn’t budge.
“There is, and we both know it.”
Tasiya wanted him to forget that humiliating embrace. Obviously, it had meant something different to her than it had to him. She ducked her head to stare at the black space where she knew his chest would be. “I know now you did not want to. That it was only a trick to distract me. I understand why you did it.”
“I’m up here, honey.” He slipped his callused fingers beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his. “You be mad at me all you want. Hate me, if that’s what you feel. But I never want you to be afraid to look me in the eye and tell me the truth.”
The warmth of his fingertips and his fierce words quickly took her back to the strength she’d felt before realizing he’d stolen her keys. But wasn’t that just an illusion? Did Bryce Martin really care? She lifted her chin away from his touch but gamely held her head high. “I do not hate you. I am embarrassed to be so—what is the American word?—gullible? You must think me very foolish to throw myself at you like that.”
“No.” His hands closed around her shoulders, his fingers kneading her flesh with a little bit of that controlled desperation she’d found so seductive earlier. “You didn’t read the signals wrong. I wanted that kiss more than my next breath. I wanted you. I still do.” He released her and she could see the silhouette of his fingers splayed out to either side as if she was arresting him for touching her. “But this can’t be about what I want. I got a job to do. My men are dependin’ on me. Maybe you were, too, and I screwed that up. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Apology accepted. Now can we go?”
“Slap my face or somethin’. Call me whatever they call a pig in your country.”
“I will not hurt you,” she vowed, shocked at the notion after seeing so much violence in her life already. “And you are not the son of the bitch. It is no crime to help your friends or do your duty. I do the same thing when I bring you extra rations and care for your wounds. I am only sorry that I confused our comradeship with something more.”
“What’s goin’on between you and me is a hell of a lot more than comradeship.”
“There is nothing going on between us,” she insisted, confused to hear him claim he had some kind of feelings for her. “We are two lonely people caught in a terrible situation. Do not worry about it.”
“How many men you ever kiss like that before?”
She shook her head. They needed to leave. “Forget it.”
He grabbed her by the elbow as she tried to hurry past. He bent his head and whispered in her ear. “I’ve never kissed anyone like that.”
Tasiya stopped in her tracks, feeling his breath like a caress that stirred her hair, hearing his ragged words like some kind of promise. She turned her head. His mouth was right there in front of her eyes. A rugged, sensuous line that had shown her kindness and passion, that had made her feel powerful inside and weak in the knees. “What are you saying?”
She watched his lips and waited for his words. But Bryce Martin had his own way of communicating with her. He tugged on her arm, tunneled his fingers into her hair and dipped his head to cover her mouth with his own.
Electricity arced instantly between them, making Tasiya catch her breath. He tongued the seam of her lips and she opened for him, helpless in the face of his unfiltered need. The tug of an emotion too powerful to acknowledge squeezed her heart and filled her with the desire to heal the hurts and distrusts and misunderstandings between them.
She lifted her hands up to frame his face, less aware of the rigid scars at the surface than of the flex of muscle and the pounding pulse beating underneath. Bryce’s quick, deep breaths fanned across her cheek as his mouth moved against hers. This kiss was quick, fiery and all too brief.
With a groan from the cavern of his chest, Bryce lifted his mouth. With his passion-hooded eyes looking deep into hers, he pulled her hand from his jaw and slipped something hard and cold into her palm.
His nostrils flared as he worked to regain control of his breathing. Tasiya was too shaken by her own eager response to move away, but she understood the gift as he curled her fingers over her keys and held her fist in his larger one.
“A gesture of good faith.”
Tasiya nodded her thanks, unable to speak. She was too busy trying to regulate the pulse still pounding in her ears and decode all the emotions she’d felt in that kiss.
Bryce stroked his fingers through her hair, the only place he touched her now. Maybe he was straightening the tangles from his clutching hands, but Tasiya sensed it was more of a petting, a soothing, an apology. Though which of them needed more comforting right now she couldn’t tell.
“You’re gonna get hurt if you get involved with me, Tasiya, and that’d kill me. I don’t know what you’ve seen in me these past weeks, but I’m grateful. I will always treasure our time together—even if it was all inside this crazy place.”
This was goodbye? How could that be? How could he show her such need and concern one moment, then say such a fatalistic farewell in the next breath? “Bryce—”
But the man finally had something to say, and he wanted her to listen. “I gotta do my job. But I’ll find a way to do it without you. So you don’t get hurt again. By me, or anyone else. I can live with loneliness and I can live with anger. But I can’t live with knowin’ I hurt you.”
He tucked her hair behind her ear, lingering in the long strands as if savoring a forgotten memory. But then he let her go and grabbed her hand. “C’mon. You can lock me up, and I promise I’ll never mess with your head again.”
“Mess with my head?” Was that part of caring or escaping?
He grinned at their latest communication snafu, but she noted the smile never reached his eyes.
“Let’s go.” He pulled her alongside him, keeping her out of sight as he paused in the doorway and checked for any visitors. With the light from the passageway to highlight his craggy features, it was easy to read his austere expression. He was all business now, and she should be thankful. But Tasiya missed the tender, passionate man she’d seen glimpses of tonight.
She believed, now, that he really cared about her on some level. As a friend, an innocent caught up in a dangerous game of survival, a woman he was attracted to. How else could a man be so protective yet feel so guilty? How could he kiss her as if she was a precious, beautiful treasure and then turn around and ask to be forgiven for wanting her in such a deeply personal way? She couldn’t help but admire him for his loyalty to his friends and his devotion to freedom and justice.
Why hadn’t any other woman seen through all his scars to the good heart he had inside?
Pressing a finger to his lips in the universal sign for quiet, Bryce led her out into the hall. Darting from shadow to shadow, alcove to alcove, he guided her through the twisting halls.
“Where are the other prisoners kept?” he whispered as they crept through the passageway.
She pointed down the darkened corridors as they passed. “The soldiers are there. Your friends, there.” She curled her free hand over his grasp on her and asked. “You are not going to try to see them tonight, are you?”
He shook his head. “I promised I’d go back. Besides, I need some time to think of a plan. I do need to make contact with them somehow. Before the tapes are made tomorrow.”
They reached the last lightbulb and turned the corner. If he would do this for her, then she would repay the favor. “I will take a message to your friends for you.”
“No. It’s too dangerous.”
He stopped in his tracks, tugging her off balance. But his hand was there to steady her. “You’ve already done more than you should to help us. It’s probably best if you steer clear of me from now on. I have a feelin’ things are gonna get pretty rough before this is over.”
Steer clear sounded like never see him again. And she couldn’t do that. She was fal
ling in love with the man, and he was in danger. Nothing might ever come of her growing feelings, but Tasiya Belov was every bit the fighter Bryce Martin was.
She wasn’t the same woman who’d first come to Devil’s Fork Island, cowed and afraid of a country she didn’t know or understand. She’d made a deal with a real devil to save her father’s life. But she wouldn’t sink to Dimitri Mostek’s level and trade one man’s life and misery for another’s.
Bryce seemed to think that was the end of the discussion. After she unlocked the cell door, he stepped inside and pulled it shut himself. Tasiya watched him pull the chains from between his mattress and cot and refill the hiding place with the items he’d stolen from the supply room.
She rested her forehead against one of the bars and watched the expression on his face turn grim and resolute as he snapped the manacles around his wrists and ankles. Though her bonds were less tangible than steel and iron, Tasiya understood his driving need to escape and to ensure the safety of the people he cared about. She even suspected she was one of them now.
“Can you really find a way to escape and free your comrades if you are out of your cell at night?”
The question seemed to take him aback. His gray eyes searched hers before he stepped closer. “I think so. But I promise I won’t take advantage of you again.”
This wasn’t about his promises. “Can you stop the militia from killing anyone else?”
“I dunno.” He came even closer, until only the steel bars and the memory of that goodbye kiss lay between them. “That’s a tall order unless I can find a way to contact my boss in Montana and let him know where we are so he can send reinforcements. Otherwise, it’d be a pretty bloody battle to get out of here. It would help, too, if I knew where I was telling him to go.”
Tasiya didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Devil’s Fork Island. It takes the ferry two hours from the North Carolina coast to get here. Does that help?”
His beautiful eyes narrowed. “What are you doin’, Tasiya?”
She could feel the heat of his body through the barrier between them, almost as if there was an invisible link channeling his energy into hers. She curled her fingers around his where they hugged the bars and was rewarded when he shifted his grip to link their hands together. “Tomorrow night I will bring you my keys. I will help you and your friends escape.”
Chapter Nine
“Why is Boone Fowler demanding more money?”
Tasiya listened to Dimitri Mostek’s accusatory voice and wondered why she didn’t fear it so much anymore. “He says training new militia soldiers is expensive.”
“He’s not pocketing any of that money himself?”
Thrusting her fingers through the hair at her temple, Tasiya resumed her pacing. “How would I know what he does with your superior’s money? He makes me clean his toilet and burn his garbage. He does not show me his bank account.”
“Are you taking a tone with me, Anastasiya? I will not tolerate disrespect from a woman.”
She stopped at the blanket that was her door and bit down on her retort. Another marvel of American life she’d learned was that she could lose her temper; she could have a different opinion and not be punished for it the way she would be back home. At least, Bryce Martin had accepted her in all her moods—from fear to anger to an awakening passion he did not believe she could feel for him. After tasting such a gift, it was difficult to remember the subservient mandate for women in Lukinburg society.
She lowered her voice and moved the phone closer to her mouth. “No. Of course, not. I meant no disrespect. Things have been very stressful here today, that is all.”
Seemingly appeased by her quieter tone, Dimitri returned to the business of spying. “What things?”
Tasiya fingered the nearly completed basket on her bed, anxious to take it on her rounds tonight and get started on her dubious role as a double agent. She wanted to collect more grass to braid ropes and build the sides of the basket even higher, but with a handle and large, shallow base already, it would fulfill her need for a silent means to carry goods to and from the prisoners.
“Today Mr. Fowler began videotaping the soldiers he captured.” She closed her eyes, but could not forget the terrible images she’d seen from the breezeway. “He marches them into the courtyard in chains and forces them to read letters he has written for them. Behind the camera there are men with guns aimed at the prisoners.”
“It is an effective means of propaganda.”
It was a cruel and dangerous practice. To the soldiers’ credit, none of them had read their letters with any conviction. Nor did any of them make an effort to hide the injuries they’d received during their capture and imprisonment. If Boone Fowler thought the tapes would convince anyone that his ideas had merit, he was mistaken. But it had still twisted her stomach to see those strong, proud men denouncing the UN’s planned invasion of Lukinburg, saying it would harm her people instead of help them. And then they read that their own lives would be forfeit if the militia’s demands were not met.
Thankfully, Mother Nature had been their ally. “The salt air apparently is not good for the equipment,” she explained. “Everything is damp here. There were some technical problems. A man was sent to the mainland for new batteries and cables. They will resume filming tomorrow. I overheard Mr. Fowler telling his security chief that they will send the tapes to the media the day after that.”
“Good. I am tired of Boone Fowler dragging his feet. My superior is beginning to question his loyalty.” Tonight she found Dimitri’s lecherous laugh more annoying than intimidating. “And it keeps you away from my bed that much longer.”
Tasiya pulled the keys from the pocket of her skirt and slipped them onto her wrist. She wanted to tell Dimitri that Boone Fowler was loyal to no one but himself, and that the hundreds of thousands of dollars he’d claimed to have spent on the Montana Militia for a Free America wasn’t a sound investment.
She also wanted to tell him that she would never willingly go to his bed. But somehow she didn’t think willingness made any difference to Dimitri.
Swallowing her distaste for the man, she made her usual nightly request. “May I speak to my father?”
“Keep it short,” Dimitri warned. “As you are always reminding me, you cannot neglect your duties for too long, or Fowler’s men will become suspicious.”
Tasiya didn’t respond until she heard Anton’s voice. “Tasiya?”
“Papa.” An instant warmth swept through her like one of her father’s bear hugs. “How are Mostek’s men treating you?”
“I am fine, daughter. Well fed, but hungry for the sound of your voice. Are you well?”
“Papa.” Tasiya peeked through the blanket at her door to make sure no one could overhear. Then she ducked her head and spoke with an unmistakable urgency. “Can you speak freely?”
There was a short pause. “For the moment. What is wrong?”
“Do not be afraid for me. I have met a man here. No matter what Dimitri preaches about American infidels, I intend to help him however I can.”
“You are helping the militia?” His shocked concern only reinforced her resolve.
“No. They are no different than Mostek and his bullies. I am speaking of one of the prisoners. Bryce Martin is his name.”
“Is this Bryce Martin a good man?” He sounded less disappointed, though still cautious, with a touch of fatherly concern thrown in.
Tasiya smiled. Her voice softened as she sank onto the bed. “Yes, Papa. He is a very good man.”
“He is special to you?”
More than she was ready to admit. She simply answered the truth. “He is my friend.”
His long, weary sigh tore through her heart. “Then you must help him. Do not turn a blind eye to your captors the way our country has turned a blind eye for far too long to the king and his regime.”
She’d never heard her father make any kind of political statement before. His words both worried and inspired her. “I will be as careful as
I can, Papa. I do not want my actions here to harm you.”
“I am a sixty-five-year-old man, daughter of mine. I have lived a full life. From the day your mother died in childbirth, I knew you would always be a special gift to me. Nothing you do could ever—” His startled catch of breath made her think Mostek or his guards had returned to eavesdrop. But Anton continued. “I raised you to be a good person. I have always been proud of you, and I will always love you with all my heart. No matter what happens, know that.”
That sounded ominous. “Papa? What are you saying?”
He waited a deliberate moment. Long enough for her to hear Dimitri in the background. “You’ve talked long enough, Belov. Say goodbye to your daughter.”
“I am not finished.”
“What?” Dimitri snapped.
He was talking back? Tasiya shot to her feet. “Papa, no. Give him the phone. We will talk again tomorrow.”
She heard the clicking rasp of metal against metal, and the distinctive sound of a bullet sliding into the firing chamber of a gun. “Now, Belov.”
“Papa!” She’d screamed the word too loudly. Tasiya slapped her fingers over her mouth. Someone had surely heard her. She needed to disconnect the line now, and hide the phone before someone came to investigate. But she was so afraid it would be the last time she heard her father’s beloved voice that she couldn’t let go. “Papa, please,” she begged on a ragged whisper. “Do as he says. I love you.”
“I love you, too, daughter.” Tears leaked through her tightly closed eyes. She prayed his defiance wouldn’t cost him his life. “My highest regards to your friend.”
The line went dead. Tasiya’s breath rushed out on a painful gasp. “Papa?”
Had there been a gunshot after the disconnect?
Out of habit, she stashed the phone in its hiding place inside her pillow. But Tasiya could barely think, much less move. She was numb from the heart out. How much more of this could she take?