Darker Than Love

by Charmaine Pauls

  With her platinum-blond hair gelled back and the makeup I insisted she wears, she looks like she belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine. The centerfold, if I strip her from that dress. Her blue eyes are even more startling with the smoky eyeshadow and eyeliner, and the pink gloss on her lips accentuates their lusciousness. The piercings and tattoo add an air of rebelliousness, spunk. She’s everything I’ve ever fantasized about rolled into one.

  The total package. Feminine. Alluring. Intelligent.

  Fucking deadly.

  She’s everything. The real deal.

  Too fucking bad she’s also the woman who framed me. I still hate her for the flippant brushoff, but not enough not to take her to my bed. Not enough not to want to keep her there forever. My fixation with her is too absolute. I love her strength and resilience. I love her brightness and sass. I love her touch. A stroke from one of those slender fingers, and I’m ready to go up in flames and fall at her feet in ashes.

  She’s gotten under my skin and I’m helpless to prevent the pride and protectiveness she brings out in me. I want to keep her safe. I’m proud of how she’s handling the Dimitrov job. I’m proud just for having her at my side. It’s becoming more difficult to ignore that she didn’t choose the position out of free will—that she’s not sitting here because she wants to, but because I ordered it. Yet I can’t help but adore her. I simply hate her a little more for her lies and deceit. I should never forget that.

  Who is the man you met in Budapest, princess?

  As if feeling the heaviness of my question, she lifts her gaze. I lower mine quickly, pretending to read the letters that are floating in front of my eyes. I don’t want to give her more power than what she already has.

  “Yan?”

  Her voice is husky. It makes me want to crawl under the table, spread her legs, and eat her right here.

  Get a fucking grip. “Yes?”

  “I’m not very hungry.”

  Concern pushes all my darker thoughts aside. Her appetite is on and off. Is she suffering from depression? The situation she finds herself in certainly merits some serious psychological shit, not that I’ve bothered with that kind of stuff before.

  She shuts her menu. “I’ll just have a starter.”

  Should I make her see a shrink? But what good would that do? If the root of the problem doesn’t change, treatment isn’t going to make a difference. I’m not keen on pumping her full of drugs, either.

  Then again, lies or no lies, adoration or hate, I took responsibility for her when I claimed her, and I take my responsibilities seriously.

  “Would you like to see a doctor?” I ask.

  She flinches. It’s a slight movement, but I miss nothing where she’s concerned. “Why would I need a doctor?” Her tone is defensive.

  “You’ve been through a lot.” My gaze slips to her legs that are hidden underneath the table. “Your bruises don’t seem to be fading as fast as they should.” Another observation that’s been worrying me.

  “You know what?” She opens her menu again. “I’ll have the escargot for a starter and the salmon for the main course.”

  Nice deflection, but that’s not going to work with me. “I’ll call someone in the morning.”

  “You’ll be wasting your time. I’m fine.”

  “No waste of time.” I give her my most charming smile.

  She answers with a look that’s meant to shred me to pieces. “I don’t need a physical evaluation.”

  “I wasn’t referring to the physical kind.”

  Her eyes widen as she catches my drift. “You want me to talk to a psychologist?”

  “A psychiatrist.” In case she needs anti-depressants or something.

  “Fuck you, Yan.”

  “Careful with the insults. You know where those will get you.”

  “Draped over your lap?” she asks scathingly.

  “I’m glad you’re still quick to catch on.”

  “If I need a head doctor, I’ll tell you.”

  “There’s no need to be so defensive. I’m acting in your best interest.”

  “Says the man who’s the reason why I’d need a shrink.”

  “Mina.” I say her name with enough warning to put a wary look on her face. “I want to enjoy this dinner with you.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have brought up a goddamn shrink.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to fight.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “You think sitting in a reclining chair and telling a stranger about our fucked-up situation is going to make me feel better?”

  Any other man would’ve felt remorse. Gut-wrenching guilt. But not me. Her resistance only adds to the challenge. “Maybe.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “How about pills, then?”

  “I’m not the pill-popping type.”

  “Suit yourself. However, the offer stands.”

  She narrows her pretty eyes. “How kind.”

  We fall silent when the waiter comes to take our order. I choose the same as Mina. With all my gawking, I haven’t had time to look at the menu, but I don’t want to ask for two more minutes because the men at the bar are unabashedly staring at Mina. I’m suddenly eager to take my woman home. It’s ironic, considering we’re here to escape being home and around Ilya too much. When the guy in the suit gives Mina another long look, I twist in my chair, ready to bash in his face. He catches my eyes and looks away quickly.

  Good.

  No, fuck that.

  I get to my feet.

  Mina gives me a startled look. “Where are you going?”

  “Stay. I’ll be right back.”

  The guy blanches as I advance on him. I stop in front of him and his friend. “Do I know you?”

  “No,” he stammers.

  “Then what the fuck are you looking at?”

  “N-nothing.”

  “She’s beautiful, right?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Are you saying my woman isn’t beautiful?”

  “Yes, I mean no. Yes, she’s beautiful.”

  “Is that what you were looking at?”

  He lifts his hands. “Look, man, I didn’t mean anything. I couldn’t help but notice.”

  “If you value your life, you’ll look fucking elsewhere.”

  His throat bobs with a swallow.

  “Got it?” I ask with a cold smile.

  “Yes. Yes, I got it.”

  “Good.” I pat him on the shoulder none too softly and go back to our table.

  Mina watches me with big eyes as I take my chair. “Was that really necessary?”

  Our glasses have been filled. I down half of the wine without tasting the Italian bouquet. “Yes.”

  Averting her eyes, she rubs a palm over her brow.

  “What?” I snap.

  She sighs. “Nothing.”

  “Say it.”

  “You can’t threaten everyone who looks at me.”

  Just like that, what’s left of my good humor slips. “That’s where you’re wrong.” I lean over the table toward her. “Don’t let the fact that I’m wining and dining you fool you into seeing this for something it isn’t. Your life is mine. I can do whatever the fuck I want with you or anyone who as much as glances at you. Or have you forgotten?”

  Hugging herself, she rubs her arms. “No.” Her voice is soft. “I haven’t forgotten.”

  Fuck. I feel like banging my head on the table. She does this to me. She drives me insane. I’m fucking jealous because I’m uncertain of her. Insecure. My head says it’s not her fault, but my anger is too fierce for reason.

  Avoiding my eyes, she picks up her glass and takes a sip. She looks at the table centerpiece, at the paintings on the wall, at the other diners, at anything but me. When she starts rubbing her arms again, I get up, remove my jacket, and drape it around her shoulders.

  She tenses, then remains frozen in a strange kind of limbo, not rejecting the ja
cket but also not truly accepting it by pulling it tighter around her. It annoys me, because she’s shivering, though the place is cozy enough. To humor Mina, I’ve chosen a restaurant I’ve never been, someplace where I don’t have a history with a woman. I wanted this to be nice, but all of my good intentions flew out the window the minute I opened my big mouth. And now the atmosphere is strained, even more so than earlier, when I showed Mina that photo. Her reaction wasn’t what I expected. I thought she’d be grateful I took care of one of her assailants. Instead, her face turned as white as the wall, and she clammed up, turning away without a word.

  I don’t know what about that picture got her so bothered, but if she thought I’d let those fuckers walk around with no cares in the world, she doesn’t know me at all. First, they’ll suffer. Then, they’ll die.

  But my thoughts are regressing. We were talking about her not needing a doctor. I was thinking about her frequent lack of appetite. That photo did pop up in my mind, but it wasn’t what spoiled her appetite. Yes, the sight of the ugly bastard’s mashed-up face wasn’t pretty, but she’s used to seeing that, and worse. There’s something else, something more she’s hiding from me.

  I never thought I’d need her trust, but I do. I want it like I want her body. I want everything. I can’t stand the thought of her keeping anything from me. She wants me. She’s wanted me from the start. Baring her body to me has never been an issue. It’s baring her heart that’s the problem.

  The more I think about what she’s withholding, the more I lose my own appetite. The silence stretches. I’ve never wanted her to talk as badly as I do now, but I don’t know how to breach this quiet standoff.

  When our meal arrives, we both push the food around on our plates. This is unfamiliar terrain. I know how to make a woman’s body sing, how to make her scream, but I’ve never tried to coax one into talking. Fuck, I’ve never had the urge to listen to any woman before. As much as I hate to admit it, this is where Ilya is better skilled. He’d know how to do it, but I can’t fucking ask him for help knowing he still wants to get into Mina’s pants.

  By the time I get the bill, I’m so wound up with frustration and so torn up about how to handle the situation, I feel like a zip line stretched between two trees. Mina doesn’t speak to me in the car. She doesn’t talk in the shower or when I fuck her six ways from Sunday in bed. She moans and gasps and makes all the right sounds, but how I’m making her body feel is no longer all I want to know. I don’t know when exactly it happened.

  I only know it’s no longer enough.

  26

  Yan

  Long after Mina has fallen asleep, I’m still lying awake in the dark, beating myself up about how the evening turned out. There’s only one remedy for getting rid of pent-up frustration. I have to take it out on someone else.

  Another photo waited on my phone when we got back after dinner, the men I’ve hired carrying out their job promptly.

  Two down, nine to go.

  I sneak out of our room and close the door so I won’t disturb Mina. Then I wake Anton quietly. Ilya’s snores remain steady as Anton grabs his pants and follows me into the lounge.

  “What’s up?” he asks, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair.

  “We’re going to Hungary.”

  He gives me a disgruntled look. “Again?”

  “You’re flying.”

  I pull on my jacket and head for the door. Anton curses softly, jumping around to fit his pants. He takes his trench coat from the back of the sofa and dons it over the T-shirt he’d been sleeping in.

  “Hurry.” I want to be back before Mina or Ilya wake up in the morning. Once we’re on the landing and the door is locked behind us, I ask, “How fast can you get our plane ready?”

  “It’s already on standby at the private airfield.”

  I head for the stairs. “Let’s go.”

  “What’s going on?” he asks, running to catch up.

  Pulling up the collar of my jacket against the cool bite in the night air, I check the message on my phone as I walk down the street to where the rental is parked. The men I hired are being clear about why they’re beating up the scum who served with Mina, and the two who’ve been beaten would’ve called their cronies to let them know what’s happening. That’s good. I want them to know what’s coming. Even if they go into hiding, I’ll sniff them out.

  Not one of them will escape his punishment.

  Since Mina was part of the Special Forces when she filed her complaint, her case was handled by court-martial. Her ranking officer, Major General Rafael Tóth, should’ve protected her. Instead, he claimed what happened was her own fault. I read the report he submitted. I read the half-assed excuses of the men who teamed up against an unarmed woman. I read the military attorney’s sad attempt at defense. Now I have a few questions of my own for the asshole who testified against Mina.

  Nine to go. Ten if I count Tóth.

  These days, he’s an advisor to some minor idiot for Veteran Welfare at the Ministry of Defense.

  “Yan,” Anton says as we reach the car. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “I have someone to interrogate.”

  “With regards to Dimitrov?”

  “No.”

  “What then?”

  “Something else.”

  He shifts into the passenger seat when I unlock the doors. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Mudak,” he mutters as I start the engine.

  In less than an hour, we land at a small airfield just outside the eastern border of Budapest. Anton’s control tower connection helped to get the takeoff and landing permissions in record time.

  The driver I requested before takeoff is waiting next to a car. I’ve worked with him before. He’s reliable and discreet. Once Anton and I are settled in the back and I’ve given our chauffer the address, he raises the partition to allow us privacy.

  I pull up the blueprint of the house on my phone as we pull off.

  Anton glances at the screen. “I don’t want to meddle in your private war, but that address will come with good security.”

  “Good, but not top notch.”

  “What aren’t you telling us?”

  “Us?”

  “Me. Ilya.”

  “I didn’t know this was me against you.”

  His dark eyes harden. “It’s Mina, isn’t it?”

  “Do not fucking say her name.”

  “There you go again.” He shakes his head. “You’ve beaten up your own brother over this woman. How far are you going to let this go?”

  “Let what go?”

  “You’re letting her manipulate you.”

  “Shut your mouth. You have no idea who’s manipulating who.”

  “Do you?”

  “Anton, I’m fucking warning you.”

  “Fine.” He huffs. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He looks through the window, then back at me. “Why am I even here? If you’re going to be this jumpy, you should’ve left me on the plane.”

  “You’re here to break into this house.”

  He looks at the screen again. “You want me to get you in, but you won’t say why.”

  “If you don’t want to help me, say so now.”

  He throws his hands in the air. “I’ll fucking help you.”

  “Good. Was that so hard?”

  He shakes his head again, but doesn’t answer.

  If it had been anyone but Mina, I would’ve told him. But this isn’t his business, and I have no right to share her private matters. Before this whole thing can blow up, these men will be dead. By then, we’ll be far away from here, spending the money the hit on Dimitrov will bring in. Someplace warm will be nice.

  Maybe a private island off the coast of Mozambique.

  Anton and I go through a few checkpoints during the drive. Cutting the alarm and breaking in is easy. The idiot doesn’t have a guard or a dog. We enter the spacious house on an isolated property outside of town and make o
ur way to the main bedroom upstairs, where our target’s heavy bulk is tenting the covers on the bed. The fucker only wakes up when I press the barrel of my gun against his temple.

  The whites of his eyes are wide in the moonlight that shines through the window. Cleverly, he keeps his mouth shut. His wife is asleep next to him.

  “Tsk, tsk.” I shake my head. “Not very vigilant for an ex-soldier. You’re losing your touch.”

  At the sound of my voice, the woman stirs. She opens her eyes, blinks, and shoots upright.

  “Shh.” I press my finger to my lips. “You don’t want to wake the kids.”

  “Whatever you want,” Tóth says, his sleep-hoarse voice unsteady.

  I address his wife. “I’m going to ask your husband a few questions. Stay here, and you won’t get hurt.”

  She swallows as she looks at her husband. At my nod, Anton moves to her side of the bed, making sure she sees his weapon.

  “Get up,” I tell Tóth. Keeping the gun against his head, I push him into the corridor. “To the garage.”

  He doesn’t argue. He leads me downstairs into the double garage through a door in the kitchen. I lock the door and flick on the lights. He turns to look at me, holding up his hands. He’s calm now. Too calm.

  “You know why I’m here,” I say.

  “I heard about the others.”

  I give him a grim smile. “News travels fast.”

  “That woman sent you.”

  “No one sent me.”

  He appears confused. “Then why are you here?”

  “Because of that woman.” Motherfucker. He doesn’t even remember her name. I cast a quick glance around the space. He seems to do a lot of DIY. The shelves are neatly stacked with jars of nails and screws. Hammers and saws hang from hooks on the wall. “Get some cable ties.”

  The fat slob goes to a drawer and pulls out a bunch of ties.

  I kick a workbench closer. “Sit.”

  “I’ll do what you want if you promise not to hurt my kids.”