Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine Book 3)

by Anna Zaires

  “Had,” I say, and despite my best efforts, the word comes out harsh, almost bitter. “Pasha, my son, and Tamila, my wife, were killed seven years ago. Daryevo, the village where they lived, was mistakenly thought to be harboring terrorists, and dozens of innocents were killed in a NATO-led strike.”

  Sara’s parents gape at me, their faces pale and eyes full of disbelief.

  “I don’t understand,” Chuck says after a long, heavy moment. “How could something like that happen? And wouldn’t that kind of horrible error have been all over the news? What you’re saying is…” He shakes his head and reaches for a glass of water with an unsteady hand.

  “It’s hard to believe, I know, Dad,” Sara says. “But I can tell you that it’s true. I saw the pictures with my own eyes. It happened, and it was horrible.”

  Lorna stares at her daughter, then turns to me. “I’m so sorry, Peter.” Her voice softens further at whatever she must see on my face. “How old was your son?”

  “He would’ve been three the following month.” A surge of anguish chokes me, and I stand up, unable to look at Sara’s parents. Walking over to the stove, I pick up the pot of pasta and return with it to the table, using the time to compose myself.

  “I hope you like this kind of marinara sauce,” I say in a calmer tone, putting a solid portion of the sauce-covered linguini onto Sara’s plate before doing the same for her parents. “It’s a little different from what you’d buy at the store.”

  Sara’s mother winds her fork in the linguini and takes a bite, then gives me a tremulous smile. “It’s very good, Peter. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I feel Sara’s delicate hand on my knee, squeezing lightly, and when I look at her, I see that her hazel eyes are much too bright. She doesn’t say anything, but the elusive warmth returns, thawing the icy block that formed inside me at the recollections.

  Sara’s father pointedly clears his throat. “So, um… how did you end up here, then? After, you know.”

  I take a breath. This is where I have to be careful not to disclose too much.

  “There was an investigation,” I say, meeting Chuck’s gaze. “One that resulted in the guilty being officially absolved of blame and the whole incident being dismissed as ‘one of those things that happen in that part of the world.’ I didn’t accept that outcome, and since my superiors were complicit in the cover-up, I left my job. I then traveled the world, working as a security consultant, and eventually, I ended up in Chicago, where I met your daughter.”

  “How did you end up in trouble with the authorities, then?” Lorna asks, eyeing me with wariness tinged with a touch of sympathy. “Did it have something to do with what happened to your family?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. As I mentioned before, it’s classified.” I pause, letting them draw their own conclusions, and when no more questions are immediately thrown at me, I look them both in the eye and say quietly, “Lorna, Chuck—I hope I can call you that?” At Lorna’s nod, I continue. “I can’t lie to you about the kind of man I am. I didn’t grow up in a nice neighborhood, and I didn’t go to school to be a doctor or a lawyer. I’m a soldier by training and inclination, and I’ve seen and done things you most likely can’t imagine. But I do love your daughter. I love her with everything I am. She’s the only person who matters to me in the world, and I would do anything for her.” Turning to Sara, I gather her hand in mine and say with complete truthfulness, “I would give my life to make her happy.”

  57

  Sara

  I have no idea how I thought the dinner would go, but the last thing I expected was for Peter to bare his soul to my parents, to disarm them with sincerity instead of squashing their objections with arrogance and veiled threats.

  All through the rest of the dinner, he’s polite and respectful, answering their questions with enough detail that when he does gloss over something, it still sounds like the complete truth.

  Where did we meet? In a club in Chicago. Was he already a fugitive? Yes. Why did we date in secret? Because of said status as fugitive, which he didn’t inform me about until I was already on the plane with him. Why didn’t I come home for five months? Because the authorities discovered where he was, and that was the only way for us to be together. What is he planning to do now? Still deciding, but he has enough money for both of us to live on for the rest of our lives. How did he acquire so much money? Through his consulting business—and yes, the specifics of that are classified, too.

  At first, I just listen, but when I better understand his strategy, I pitch in with my own answers, carefully following Peter’s lead. By the time we get to dessert—bowls of fresh berries topped with homemade tiramisu—my parents appear, if not exactly comfortable with our relationship, then at least more accepting.

  It’s certainly better than their panicked reaction when I informed them about our engagement in the parking lot. They were on the verge of calling the FBI when I told them our wedding is this coming Saturday, and it took everything I had to convince them to go up and actually meet Peter for themselves.

  “I still don’t understand why you’re rushing into marriage,” Mom says, sipping her chamomile tea, and I hide a smile at the resignation in her tone. At least the topic now is the speed of the wedding, not how dangerous Peter is or whether we should be together at all.

  “That’s my initiative, I’m afraid,” Peter says and gives my mom a smile so charming I’m surprised she doesn’t melt on the spot. “I’ve missed your daughter so much that I proposed as soon as we were back together. Life is just too short, you see; when you find the right one, you have to hold on to her—and I know Sara and I are right for each other. Besides”—he glances at me, his gaze heating up—“I’d like us to start a family soon.”

  My dad nearly knocks over his coffee cup. “You what?”

  Peter hands him a napkin. “I’d like us to have children,” he says calmly as my dad mops up the spill. “A little girl and a boy—or whatever fate has in store for us.”

  I blush as Mom’s gaze instantly zeroes in on my belly.

  “Sara, darling, you’re not—”

  “No, of course not.” I can feel my face reddening further as Mom lifts her eyebrows disbelievingly. “It’s too soon—Peter’s just returned.”

  “But you’re already trying?” Mom asks, a gleeful grin spreading over her face, and to my shock, I realize she’s happy about this development.

  The primal urge to have grandkids must outweigh her remaining concerns about Peter.

  Dad, on the other hand, looks as uncomfortable as I feel. “Lorna, please. This is none of our business.”

  “As soon as a baby is on the way, you’ll be the first to know,” Peter promises my mom, and she shocks me again by nodding conspiratorially.

  “Thank you.” Lowering her voice, she leans in toward my former kidnapper. “I thought it wouldn’t happen in our lifetime.”

  My face must match the color of the raspberries in my bowl, but my dad appears intrigued. I guess it just occurred to him that all of this—from the unexpected return of my no-longer-criminal lover to our hasty engagement—bodes well for something he’s been hinting at ever since my wedding to George.

  Like Mom, he wants grandkids, but given his advanced age, he’d all but given up hope he’d see any.

  On my end, I’m still rather terrified by the idea, but now is not the time to express those doubts. Besides, I remember how I felt when I got that late period, how the disappointment was so intense it was almost like grief. Maybe I do want a child with Peter, even though the rational part of me is screaming that we should wait and see how this all unfolds.

  Whether I can really build a normal life with a ruthless killer.

  As we finish up dessert, Peter discusses the details of the upcoming wedding with my parents, considerately asking them about their officiant preferences and how many people they’d like to invite themselves. I listen bemusedly as the three of them settle on a local
judge my dad knows, and my parents express a desire to invite the Levinsons along with a few more of their friends—something Peter very much supports.

  “On my end, I’m only going to have three friends,” he says, undoubtedly referring to his Russian teammates, and that seems to calm my parents a bit more—probably because the fact that he has friends further humanizes him in their eyes.

  When we finish, Peter starts clearing the table as my parents get ready to head home.

  “Thank you. That was delicious,” Mom tells him.

  “Yes, thanks,” Dad echoes grudgingly as my fiancé smiles at them.

  “It was my pleasure. We hope to see you again soon,” he says, and I put on my shoes to walk my parents down to their car.

  “Well, that was not what I expected,” Mom says as the elevator doors slide shut. “He’s… interesting, this Peter of yours.”

  I grin at her. “You mean, gorgeous and domesticated? Yes, I agree.”

  Dad snorts. “If that man is domesticated, I’ll eat my foot. A savage, that one. Without a doubt.”

  “Chuck!” Mom frowns at him.

  “Didn’t you see the way he looked at her?” Dad retorts as the elevator doors open on the first floor. “I’m surprised he didn’t club her over the head and drag her off to bed in front of us.”

  “Dad, please.” The blush that had just left my face returns, magnified tenfold. “That’s not—”

  “Well, of course I saw that,” Mom says as though I’m not there. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, though.”

  “It is when you are dealing with a man like that.” Dad glances over his shoulder, as though Peter might be listening—which, knowing his stalker tendencies, he might very well be.

  For all I know, there are already cameras in the building and who-knows-what planted on me.

  “I don’t think he’s as bad as that,” Mom says as we pass a couple of neighbors in the lobby. “I mean, yes, he’s not your average Joe or Harry, but—”

  “He’s dangerous,” Dad says flatly. “Don’t fool yourself. Just because the man wants a family doesn’t mean he’s not capable of things that would make your eyelashes curl. What he’s told us today is just the tip of the iceberg, believe me.”

  “Oh, I believe you,” Mom says as we exit into the parking lot. “But I think he does love her, and if all those problems with the FBI are really over—”

  “Maybe you guys want to wait two minutes, so you can discuss me in third person when I’m not there?” I suggest, trailing behind them. “Otherwise, I can head back up and—”

  “No, no, darling.” Mom stops and turns around, giving me an apologetic look. “Sorry, we’re just trying to come to terms with it all, you understand.”

  “I do, Mom.” I smile and lean in to kiss her soft cheek. “I was just kidding. I know this will take some adjustment.”

  “Sara, darling.” Dad touches my shoulder, and when I face him, he says quietly, “Just promise us one thing.”

  “What is it?”

  “If he ever hurts you, or scares you, or does anything else that worries you, come to us. Don’t hide it or try to deal with it on your own, okay?” Dad’s gaze is as hard as I’ve ever seen it. “I know you’re in love with this man—I see it—but tigers don’t change their stripes. He’s dangerous. Maybe not to you, but to everyone else. I see it in his eyes.”

  “Dad—”

  “No, listen to me, Sara. Even if he doesn’t bring the horrors of his past into your life—something I doubt very much—he’s not going to be like George, content to remain on the fringes of your life. He’s not that kind of man, you understand?”

  “I do.” I understand better than my dad can imagine, because I know exactly what kind of man Peter is. With George, even when I was part of a couple, I was able to remain my own person, to maintain that little bit of mental distance necessary to protect myself. But Peter is too dominating, too controlling to allow that. I’m going to be his in every sense of the word, and my dad intuitively grasps that.

  “Chuck.” Mom lays her hand on Dad’s arm. “Come. We should go.”

  “Promise me,” Dad insists, not budging, so I nod and smile.

  “I promise, Dad. If anything happens, I’ll come to you.”

  Dad nods, satisfied, and we walk together to their car. As I kiss and hug them goodbye, I notice Danny still sitting in his dark car, and I smile, looking up at the lit-up window of my kitchen.

  For all their warnings and admonishments, my parents have no idea just how dangerous and controlling my fiancé truly is. I lied when I made that promise to Dad. There’s no way I can come to them with Peter-related concerns because there’s nothing they, or anyone, can do.

  The monster I’ve grown to love is in my life for good, and I have to figure out how to live with him.

  58

  Sara

  I go to work on Friday as usual, but I end up spending every minute between patients fielding my coworkers’ questions about my upcoming wedding. To avoid sounding as ignorant about the event as I actually am, I tell them we want the details to be a surprise and leave it at that.

  They’ll see the flowers, the cake, and the dress tomorrow.

  My parents keep calling as well, asking about all sorts of minutiae that I can’t answer. I give them Peter’s number, as he’s the official wedding planner, but my mom still calls every hour with some kind of question or concern. I suspect it’s because they’re afraid I’ll disappear again, so I try to be patient, but by the fifth call, it’s all I can do to bring myself to pick up the phone and explain yet again that I have no clue if there will be chairs or benches at the ceremony.

  It’s a busy day at work, too, with a twin-pregnancy C-section scheduled this afternoon, which means I barely have time to get lunch before I have to head over to the hospital to perform the procedure. To speed up matters, I grab a sandwich from a convenience store and consume it in the car.

  One perk of having a driver is having both of my hands free for eating.

  The patient has already been given the epidural by the time I get to the operating room, and after I examine her, I perform the procedure right away, as she’s starting to dilate and one of the twins is positioned the wrong way. The mom-to-be frets the entire time—she’s in her early forties and wasn’t able to conceive until her sixth IVF cycle—and when I place the two tiny but perfectly healthy boys in her arms, her face lights up with such joy that I have to blink away a few tears.

  “Thank you, Dr. Cobakis,” she says fervently as the nurses take the babies for their tests. “Thank you so much for everything.”

  “It was my pleasure, believe me,” I tell her as I check her bandages one last time and jot down some notes in her chart. “Some pain and bleeding is expected after the procedure, but if you start to run a fever or are in severe pain, call me, okay?” I give her a strict look. “I mean it. Any time, day or night.”

  “Will do. You’re so kind.” Her teary-eyed smile is exhausted but full of joy. “Is it true what I overheard from the nurses? You’re getting married this weekend?”

  Rumors certainly travel fast.

  Stifling a sigh, I say, “Yes, I am. But you can still call me if anything. I’ll be around, okay?”

  “Oh, thank you! And congratulations. I’m sure you’ll be a beautiful bride.” She beams at me, and I smile back, enjoying the uncomplicated interaction.

  Unlike everyone else in my life, this woman doesn’t know that this wedding is coming out of nowhere, or that I’m marrying a man most of my friends haven’t met.

  “Get some rest and enjoy your sons,” I tell the new mom, and then I head back to the office to wrap up the day.

  Maybe Peter has the right idea about not dragging this out any longer than we have to.

  With any luck, the wedding madness will be over by Monday, and then things will return to normal—or at least as normal as they can be when you’re married to the man who once kidnapped you.

  59

  P
eter

  I give Danny an evening off and pick up Sara myself, too eager to see her to wait the extra few minutes necessary for her to get home. I’m glad she’s neither volunteering at the clinic tonight nor has a performance, because even the hours she spends at work are too much time apart for me.

  I need her with me. Always.

  She comes out of her office building, her hazel eyes searching the street—looking for Danny, no doubt—when I open the car door and step out.

  Her gaze immediately swings to me, and a smile lights her pretty face as she heads my way. It’s a warm summer day, and she’s wearing a sleeveless gray dress that hugs her ballerina-like frame. Her shiny chestnut waves bounce around her slender shoulders as she walks, and I’m again reminded of a fifties Hollywood starlet transplanted into modern times.

  My beautiful ptichka.

  I can’t fucking wait until she’s my wife.

  “Hi,” she says breathlessly, stopping in front of me. “Did you get a new car? I didn’t know that was—”

  I catch her face between my palms and slant my mouth across hers, kissing her deeply. I can’t help myself. I crave everything about her, from the sweetness of her scent to the way her slim body arches against mine, her hands clutching helplessly at my biceps. I want to devour that sweetness, drink it in until I quench this raging thirst—though I know there’s no quenching it.

  I’m going to crave her until the day I die.

  Becoming aware of some irritating giggling, I lift my head and pin the offenders—a pair of teenage girls standing a dozen feet away—with a harsh glare. They skitter away instantly, their faces paling under the heavy layer of their makeup, and I turn my attention back to Sara, who’s blinking up at me, her soft lips swollen and rosy from the kiss.

  “Hi, ptichka.” Fighting the urge to reclaim those lips, I lower my hands to her shoulders, squeezing gently. “How was your day?”