by LP Lovell
I sigh and tap my nail over the table top. "What would you like to know about me?" I say through clenched teeth, my patience rapidly fading.
"Why fire?"
I narrow my eyes. "Why not fire?"
"I did not miss it when you said there was something spiritual about it, Krasivaya. And I do not tolerate lies well."
"I didn't lie," I say. He lifts a brow. Waiting.
Releasing a long breath, I tip my head forward for a moment and allow the memories I try to keep buried to surface. "The first time I was taken by my father's enemies,” I say, “I was fourteen. Innocent. Naive. And you're right, he didn't come for me. They raped me, tortured me, and burned me..." I smile sarcastically. "It did something to me. Destroyed me, but as you say; I rose from the ashes stronger, cleansed if you will. I didn't need my father to save me. I escaped and burned that house to the ground with my captors inside, so yes, it's powerful and spiritual."
"I see." He puffs on his cigar, his eyes dancing with a sick understanding before he falls quiet.
The waitress comes out of nowhere and places our plates on the table, and we eat in silence, the classical music drifting through the restaurant providing an ironic theme tune to our lunch date. After a few minutes, I place my knife and fork on my half-eaten plate of food. "Why the cartel?” I say. “We both know you don't need anyone's help." This question has been eating away at me since he took me. The cartel is powerful but Ronan Cole is playing a different game entirely. It doesn't make any sense, and yet I know enough to understand that Ronan does nothing without reason. I narrow my eyes and take another sip of wine. "Jésus told me about the land that 'the Russian' tried to buy..."
He dabs at his mouth with his napkin. "I thought it would make a nice spot for a vacation home, what with that beautiful lake and the buzzing insects." He grins.
That little thrill zips through my chest, the rush of having caught an opponent unaware. "I'm sure. Clearly you crave a warmer climate." I've never seen anyone look more at home in this frozen wasteland than this bastard. There's something there, in that lake. Something he needs enough to slaughter an entire cartel for. Ronan takes a bite of steak, and the rest of lunch is carried out without another word.
The waitress drops off the check. Ronan tosses a stack of Rubles on the table, pushes to his feet, and leaves with barely a glance my way. I follow him to the front of the restaurant, because, what else am I going to do? The icy air whips around me as soon as I step outside. I tilt my chin to my chest in an effort to keep warm, and walk into something solid. Ronan whirls around and catches me in his arms. I go tense for a second. He beams before pulling his arm tightly across the small of my back. His lips brush my cheek, his warm breath blowing over my cold skin. I feel like I'm getting whiplash from his hot and cold emotions.
"I've never tasted a pussy as sweet as yours," he whispers against my throat. "And the way your cheeks flush when you come...divine."
My heart bangs in my chest as I slowly lift my gaze. His blue eyes pin me to the spot as his fingertips run across my cheek. "What are you doing?" I ask, confused.
He answers with a smirk that is pure sin, then he leans in until his lips are only a breath away from mine. "Smile for the camera, little kitty." Camera? God, he's an ass. I shove at his chest, but he refuses to let me go. "Let's not fight,” he tuts.
"Fuck you, Russian!" I manage to get away from him and storm to the car, but he’s right behind me, laughing. The driver hurries to my side and opens the door. I climb in followed by Ronan, and the door slams shut. "You know,” I sat, “I don't mind being used, but a little fucking warning before you assault me in the street would be nice." An angry exhale rushes from my lungs, but of course, he doesn't acknowledge me.
I want to get close. I need him to want me. Genuinely want me. We're both wrapped in schemes on top of schemes. Him using me, me using him. There are no lines here, only inky, black smudges masquerading as some form of civilized warfare.
So it seems there is no honor to be had, only dirty tactics.
Chapter 18
Ronan
“No Retreat” – Joe Marson
The morning sun dances over my desk as I sit, watching the security footage of Camilla sleeping. I do rather enjoy being able to spy on her like this… She’s been tossing and turning. Thrashing. I lean back in my chair, curious about what she’s dreaming. A slight thrill shoots through me when she sits bolt upright in the bed, her chest rising in ragged swells. I can only hope I’m the monster in her nightmares, it would be such an honor.
A servant steps into the room and I close the screen. I watch him as he crosses the room, but his eyes remain trained on the floor. Without a word, he places the tray with my morning paper and coffee at the end of my desk and leaves. I immediately flip to the business section, smiling when my eyes land on the lovely picture of Camilla and I outside the restaurant, my lips against her delicate throat. There’s a slight blush to her cheeks which I find grave satisfaction in. Above the photo is the header: Is Business Mogul Ronan Cole Still Russia's Most Eligible Bachelor?
I laugh. If only those women knew what truly lurks beneath... My phone rings on my desk, and I groan when I see Anastasia’s name flash on the screen. Exhaling, I accept the call and can hear Anastasia screaming before I pull the phone to my ear. "Yes?"
"Why would you, Ronan?” Ana shouts between sobs. “How long have you been seeing her?"
I find it amusing that the woman who was having an affair can point fingers. "Not long," I say. Another wretched sob crosses the line. "You can’t possibly be angry at me. You’re married, Ana. Married! And your husband knows about us."
"But I love you."
"And what am I to do? Sit and wait for you? You can't leave him. He'll never allow you to leave, I'm just trying to—"
"Have you slept with her?"
My stomach flutters with excitement. "Ana..."
"Have you fucked her?"
"I'm just trying to get over you. My heart's broken, Ana, it truly is because I can never really have you." Lies. All such pretty, pretty lies. “I can’t do this anymore,” I say, and hang up. Love is a pathetic emotion too many people allow to rule them.
Smiling, I pick my phone up and dial Igor. It rings once.
“Yes, boss?” he says.
“When will the plane be ready for China?”
“Two hours.”
“Very good. Lock the little kitty up, while I’m gone, would you?"
“Gladly,” he says, and I hang up.
The phone buzzes again, Ana’s name flashing on the screen. I shut the ringer off, drumming my fingers over the table as I contemplate what truly rules the world, money or love. After all, love is what many wars have been fought for, and pretending it's an emotion I'm capable of is how I've started many wars myself. It may be how I start this one…
______
A small Chinese man buzzes Donovan and I through a set of metal doors. We follow a long hallway to another set of doors. An alarm beeps, the doors swing open to a dark room and the smell of gunpowder wafts out. The lights flicker on, and I inhale a deep breath, beaming. The room is filled to the brim with boxes of ammunition. "So good to see the supply from Mexico has been steady," I say.
We’re led to another room, and the man types in a passcode before the lock clicks. The door opens and a cloud of cold fog billows through the doorway as we step inside. The chill to the air rouses me, and then my eyes lock on three small, glass boxes placed on the middle of a table. Inside each box is a silver torpedo no bigger than a laptop. My heart palpitates, the excitement teems through my blood like a lethal dose of heroin.
Another man in a white lab coat enters the room, clearing his throat as he holds out his hand to me. "I'm Chen Hsu. It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Cole." I shake his hand, my eyes still glued to the shiny objects. Honestly, I can barely contain myself. "Each bomb," he says, "has an impact of one-hundred fifty megatons. Twice that of the largest nuclear weapon ever detonated. The Devil's D
ust you’ve been mining has proven very powerful." He beams, pleased with himself.
"Wonderful," I say, stepping to the edge of the table. The man shifts uncomfortably and I glance up.
"They are very delicate," he says.
I swipe a finger over the edge of the smooth glass with a grin. "Even better. I can't wait to watch the test detonation; it should be so festive." Donovan chuckles beside me. "You are the scientist responsible for the development, correct?"
The man nods.
"And no one else has access to that formula, correct?" I ask, lifting a brow.
"No one, as you requested."
"Very good. I’ll need the files, proprietary information and such, in the event something dreadful were to happen to you." I smile and he shifts uneasily on his feet, his gaze drifting from me to Donovan and back. "Well then, shall we prepare for the premier?" I say with a clap of my hands.
Exhaling, Chen nods and motions toward the door. We step back into the hallway. My face is flush with anticipation, and I’ll not lie, there’s a little pep in my step.
"You're rather jovial," Donovan says.
"Of course, it's the day I've been waiting on for seven years."
We follow Chen through the narrow corridor, passing team after team of men in lab coats. Finally, we're led into a breakroom. A large, plasma television with a live picture of a barren desert and blue sky hangs on the far wall.
I take a seat at the table, folding my hands on my lap as I stare at the screen. "Jung-Hwa is aware that his country is about to blow a crater in the Gobi Desert as a show of power to the Chinese?" I speak in Russian to Donovan so the little scientist won’t understand me.
Donavan nods. A fissure of delight tears through me. Pawn by pawn, I've placed men—very corrupt men— in seats of power with the promise of money. Anton, Jung-Hwa, soon the American President… It's all working like an orchestrated symphony, and I’m the master conductor. After all, it takes a lot to construct a fake war. "Oh, " I say, "and how angry everyone will become. Nuclear warheads are so taboo these days."
A phone in the room rings and the man answers it, shouting in Chinese before slamming it back down. He points at the screen and I watch, my stomach absolutely swimming with butterflies. Suddenly, a bright light washes out the screen. There's a loud boom and seconds later the floor to the building we're in rattles. My cheeks hurt from smiling. Adrenaline rumbles through my entire body as I anxiously watch the static fizzle on the screen. Within a few seconds, a pixelated image blips onto the monitor before slowly coming into focus, showcasing an aerial view of the blast site. My chest tightens and I push up from my seat, knocking the chair over as I step toward the television. Through the cloud of ash and smoke I can make out the blackened earth. Land passes underneath the drone, but it's all scorched. All demolished. Miles and miles of destruction. This is a weapon all the major power players will want when they find out their enemy is in possession of it. Because I’ll make sure the enemies have one… I glance at Chen. "Where do you keep your files?"
"Locked in my office."
Donovan stands and I adjust my cufflinks as he approaches the little scientist. He grabs his shoulders and spins him around, quickly jabbing a blade into his jugular. The man grabs at his neck, gasping for breath as the blood spurts through his fingers. He buckles and his knees hit the floor with a thud before he falls face first onto the tile. "What a shame to snuff out such genius, but..." I take a breath, "you never can be too careful with your secrets."
Donovan wipes the blade of the knife clean with a handkerchief and we step toward the door. "Grab those files from his office," I say, taking one last look at the glorious image on the screen.
Chapter 19
Camilla
“Trouble” – The New Respect
Ronan has been gone for two days. And for two days, I’ve been locked in this damn room!
I pace the room like a caged animal, crawling out of my skin. I have to talk to Gabriel, and that’s not happening while Ronan is here. I debated using the burner phone I've hidden in the toilet tank, but I still can't be sure it's not actually Ronan. I need to get out and get to another phone. Now. While he's not here. He said himself his men have orders not to kill me. Funny, I can get past the ones with the guns, yet the unarmed man in the suit stops me in my tracks.
There’s a knock on the door. The lock clicks, and I watch as one of Ronan's men brings a tray into the room. He flashes a nervous glance in my direction, and I sit on the edge of the bed. Smiling, I cross one leg over the other, and my dress rides up my thigh. His eyes drop to my legs before he quickly looks away. I've been here long enough to learn all the men that come in and out of here. This one is young, inexperienced. The weak link. You'd think after my little bonfire they'd be more careful about who they send in here.
He turns his back on me as he places the tray on the bedside table—like I said, inexperienced. I quickly stand and tiptoe over to him. My footfalls are muted by the thick carpet, so I’m surprised when he whips around, his body tense. I flick my hair over my shoulder as I reach out and trail my finger down the center of his chest. He glances at my hand working down to the waist of his slacks. His breaths come in short bursts, his eyes close—that’s a mistake. I jab him in the throat with two fingers and knee him between his legs. He buckles to the floor, gasping for breath. He's so young. I almost feel bad when I move behind him and wrap my arm around his neck. He chokes and wheezes as I grip the top of his head and violently twist. The satisfying crunch of bone is followed by silence, and he falls face down on the carpet. Yes, guilt is occasionally a factor, but so is the fact that you should beware of the company you keep. Working with men like Ronan Cole will get you killed.
I glance at that fucking camera in the corner of the room. I don’t know how much time I have, so I check him for weapons. No gun, but he does have a knife.
I grab a knee length fur coat from the closet and pull on a pair of boots. My heart hammers in my chest. The last time I got out was because I was pissed and I wanted to annoy Ronan. This is different. I don't want to start a blood bath; I just need to get out. The door creaks as I slowly open it, and I peek down the hallway. It’s empty, so I hurry out and make my way through the house, slinking along the walls and making sure to avoid the areas with cameras. The front is heavily guarded since my last escape. And while the vehicles are easy to get to, I'd be fighting off an army once I got in one. The back is the best option.
I hurry along the hallway, stopping at the elevator and pressing the down arrow before I hide behind the corner. My palm slicks with sweat as I clutch the knife in my hand. I think I’ve avoided the cameras until now, but they'll see the body in my room… There's a ping and I hear the doors slide open. I wait, listening for someone to step off, but there’s only silence. I pop around the corner and slip into the corner of the elevator. There’s a beep with each floor I pass, and when the doors open, I’m in a basement. Steel garage doors line the far wall and rows of luxury cars sit in each bay. The Russian really does have too much money.
Glancing around, I spot a key box on the wall and I go to it, managing to force open the lock with the tip of the knife. My pulse bangs in my ear as I snatch a key and press the unlock button. Headlights on a bright red Jaguar flash as a soft chirp echoes around the garage, and I hurry to it. It's not exactly inconspicuous, but at least it’s fast. I climb in, start the engine, and glance around for a garage remote. Fuck, there isn't one. There’s a sharp pinging noise followed by another. Bullets ricochet off the cars around me. I press the gas and the engine rumbles, snarling like an angry beast.
"I'm sorry," I say, and slam it into drive. The car shoots forward and I brace, closing my eyes as it collides with the garage door. The windshield cracks and bows, but it doesn’t break. The garage door hinges screech in protest as they begin to tear from the runners. I press all the way down on the accelerator, tires spinning, engine revving. As soon as the mangled doors scrape over the roof of the car, I floor it.
The car drifts, skidding around the back of the house before I speed up the drive. Guns fire as I approach the guard house, but the men aren’t aiming at me. Ronan and his no kill orders. I crash through the front gate, snow flying everywhere as the metal entrance rips off its hinges.
I glance in the rearview. A string of SUVs barrel up the drive after me. I slam my foot down on the gas, and they fall behind. Shouldn't be hard to hard to outrun them. After a few sharp turns, I lose them. I drive for about an hour, and when I feel it’s safe, I pull up to a gas station. The pumps are rusted and the advertisements in the ice-covered windows are faded. I don’t bother to cut the engine before I open the door and run to the shop. The bell to the door tinkles and I stop in the doorway, looking around the messy store. My breath fogs in front of my face. No heat. Someone coughs and I turn toward the sound, stepping around the shelving. There’s an old man bundled in a thick coat, toboggan, and gloves sitting behind a counter. He looks up at me with tired eyes.
"Phone?" I ask. He frowns at me. Damn it. Spanish and English are all I know. I hold my hand to my ear in the universal phone sign, and he nods before waving me behind the counter. He points to the floor, at an old phone. I pick it up and dial Gabe's number. The phone rings several times and I swear under my breath. I only have so much time to do this before Ronan finds me, because he absolutely will find me.
Finally, Gabe picks up. "Hola."
"Gabe!"
He pauses for a second. "Where is that fucking Russian?"
"Not here, but it won't be long. I cannot believe you sold out to him." I sigh. Not important right now. "Look, I need you to listen. The land, with the lake...that's why he wants us. There's something there. He tried to buy it off Jésus. Funny that he then suddenly makes a deal with you to take Jésus out... Find it and use whatever it is he wants so badly to get us out from under that Russian fuck."