by Lauren Rowe
“Oh shit,” Jonas says. “I think she just declared the start of the second Cold War.”
“No mention of the prostitution ring?” I ask.
“I guess not.”
“I repeat,” the reporter says, as if we didn’t hear her the first time, “federal authorities have thwarted an imminent terrorist attack here in Las Vegas—and we’re being told by reliable sources that the terrorist threat is somehow related to Russia’s recent bid for control of Ukraine.”
Oksana suddenly appears onscreen behind the reporter. She’s being escorted in handcuffs toward an unmarked car.
“There’s Oksana,” I gasp. Oksana looks shell-shocked—a deer in headlights.
“So far, fourteen people have been arrested in Las Vegas, four more in New York, and eight in Miami, all with confirmed ties to what’s being called the largest Russian terrorist cell ever discovered on U.S. soil.”
“Wow,” Jonas says. “That’s an interesting spin. Do they not know the difference between Russia and Ukraine?”
I can’t speak. This is surreal.
The reporter presses her earpiece into her ear. “I’m being told that two of the terrorists—excuse me, two of the alleged terrorists—are confirmed dead.”
Jonas jerks toward the television screen, suddenly mesmerized.
“Both men were killed in a shoot-out with law enforcement during the raid on the compound earlier today.”
Jonas makes a low sound I’ve only previously heard him make during sex.
“The two men reportedly brandished weapons at law enforcement officers . . .”
Jonas growls softly.
“. . . and multiple officers fired shots. Both men died immediately at the scene. No law enforcement officers were injured.” The reporter presses her earpiece into her ear. “We’re being advised by federal authorities that both men were known sympathizers of the Ukrainian separatist movement, but authorities are not yet releasing their identities.”
Jonas looks at me, his face aglow, his chest heaving with excitement. Holy moly, he looks positively euphoric. All of a sudden, he grabs my face and kisses me hard, like a mob boss ordering a hit, and when he pulls back from me, his eyes are on frickin’ fire.
“My precious baby,” he says. He makes an exuberant noise, his face flushed, and kisses me again. He pulls away again, his eyes sparkling. “Yes,” he says. “Yes.”
I’m in shock—a wet noodle. This is a lot to take in. They’re saying The Club is a terrorist organization? Max and Oksana are part of a “Russian terrorist cell” in Las Vegas? I’d expected to hear the words “prostitution ring” and maybe “organized crime” or “crime syndicate.” But “terrorist cell”? I never expected to hear those words in a million years, and especially not “Russian terrorist cell.”
Jonas flips through the channels quickly, confirming that, yes, this story is everywhere, and then he mutes the TV. He picks up his phone.
“Eric,” Jonas mutters, his voice low and intense. “Yeah, I saw. Fuck yeah. You’ve got the names?” His mouth tilts up into a crooked smile at whatever Eric’s saying on the other end of the line and his eyes flicker ferociously. “Thank you. Yeah, you, too. Absolutely.” Jonas hangs up and his smile widens.
Wow, that’s quite a grin on Jonas’ face—if I were to see it in a snapshot totally out of context, I’d swear the photo was taken while Jonas was getting a blowjob; he looks just that turned on.
“Boom,” Jonas says softly, his voice simmering with ferocity.
I pause, waiting for more. But apparently that’s all he’s going to say.
“Boom?” I ask.
He nods slowly, his eyes on fire.
I wait for more, but it doesn’t come.
Should I pretend to be confused by Jonas’ one-word proclamation of victory? Because I’m not. I’m not confused at all. The truth is I know exactly what names Eric just said to Jonas—no one needs to tell me which two alleged terrorists happened to die today. I continue staring at Jonas’ blazing eyes and an overwhelming kind of warmth spreads throughout my body.
“Boom, motherfuckers,” I say, my voice as sharp as the knife those fuckers used to slice my throat.
Jonas licks his lips slowly. “That’s right, baby.” He touches the inside of my thigh. “We fucked ‘em up the ass real good, didn’t we?”
I bite my lip. This just might be the sexiest moment of my entire life. “We sure did, love.”
“I’ve got the biggest boner right now,” Jonas says, lifting up the white sheet to prove it.
“Me, too,” I say, motioning to the invisible lady-boner on my naked lap.
Jonas chuckles. “Let me take you away today. I don’t want to wait another day to take you to my special place.” He gently caresses the inside of my thigh and my skin ignites under his touch.
“In a month,” I say. Oh God, I’m on fire.
“I don’t want to wait.”
“I know you don’t.”
“I want to go right now.”
“I know you do. But you have to wait.” I shudder as his fingers brush gently between my legs and drift over my sweet spot.
“I hate waiting.”
His expression morphs into his patented Jonas-is-a-great-white-shark-and-Sarah-is-a-defenseless-sea-lion smolder. His fingers brush between my legs again, right over my tip, making me throb.
“We did it, baby,” he says. “You’re safe.” His fingers begin caressing me in earnest. “We’re free.”
My breathing catches with excitement. He’s right. We’re free—free to begin our new life together. Free to do whatever the hell we want to do. And I know exactly where I want to start exercising my newfound freedom. Without warning, I crawl on top of him and take him into me, all the way, as deeply as I can, moaning softly as I do.
He exhales loudly. “You’re safe,” he says, closing his eyes. “My Magnificent Sarah.”
I exhale, too, a long, shaky breath, and begin moving slowly, ever so slowly, up and down and around, enjoying every sensation of his body fusing with mine.
“Let me take you away, baby,” he moans. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”
“In a month,” I breathe.
“Bossy,” he says. He touches my breast and groans.
“We’ll stop in New York before we go home,” I say. “You can introduce me to your uncle and tell him about Climb and Conquer in person.”
He gently touches the scar on my ribcage. “Whatever you say, my love,” he says, moving his body with mine. “A quick stop in New York it is.” His hands move to my hips.
The intensity of my movement increases. He did it. Jonas protected me, just like he promised he would. Oh, yes, yes, yes, my man did whatever the fuck he had to do to protect me, his woman, from the bad guys. And I love him for it. I fucking love him for it. Oh, yes, yes, yes, I do. “Thank you, Jonas,” I growl, riding him with enthusiasm. “You’re my hero.”
“You’re my everything,” he replies. He grabs my butt with zeal. “God, I love this ass.” He slaps it.
“Mmm,” I say, because that’s all the conversation I’ve got left in me at this particular moment.
He did it. He protected me. We’re free. I could cry with joy and relief. I lean down and kiss him, enjoying the feeling of my erect nipples rubbing against his chest. For the first time since those bastards sliced me and stabbed me and left me bleeding out on a bathroom floor, I feel completely safe—carefree, in fact.
“You did it, Jonas.”
“We did it, baby,” he says, his voice straining. He’s on the verge of climax. He groans. “We did it together.”
Chapter 42
Jonas
Sarah’s been talking up a storm the whole time we’ve been hiking up Mount Olympus behind our guide. Well, actually, she’s been Chatty Cathy ever since we boarded our flight for Greece three days ago, obviously relieved as hell to be done with her final exams.
I don’t mind Sarah holding up both ends of our conversation during this hike
, not at all, because, for the last three weeks, as I’ve planned and plotted and waited for this special day to arrive, as I’ve gotten boners in my sleep dreaming about getting down on my knee, as I’ve daydreamed about asking her the magic question and yearned for the moment when I’m going to slip that ring on her finger (and it’s a fucking epic ring, by the way), I’ve increasingly lost my ability to function let alone speak with each slowly passing day. Jesus, by the time we boarded our flight three days ago, I was a total wreck.
I pat the pocket of my hiking pants. Yes, the little box is still there. I let out a long, shaky exhale. I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’ll say yes, but it’s that one percent chance I’m about to get crushed that’s making me crazy. Yes, Sarah loves me, of course. But with Sarah, you never know what she might say or do in any situation. What if she’s got some bizarre idea about marriage being the death of a relationship or some other intractable prejudice against holy matrimony, thanks to the shit she witnessed as a kid? It’s entirely possible. I don’t think it’s likely, but she’s never once even hinted at wanting to get married—and neither have I, for that matter—so you just never know.
I tune into Sarah’s chatter for a moment. She’s talking about Josh and Kat—about how Kat was headed to L.A. for a long weekend when we left on our trip.
“Mmm hmm,” I say. I’m elated to hear things are going well for the Playboy and the Party Girl, I really am—and, actually, Josh hasn’t stopped talking about Kat since we left Vegas, so I’m not surprised at all—but I can’t concentrate on that right now.
When I planned our trip to Greece, I stupidly thought it’d be best for us to arrive, relax, get over our jetlag, explore Athens for a few days, and then climb Mount Olympus so I could ask her to be my wife. I truly didn’t understand how anticipating this moment would utterly consume me—how eating, sleeping, and simply conversing naturally would become a fucking impossibility. If I’d known, I would have planned this excursion for the first day of our trip.
“So I think I answered the question pretty well,” she’s saying. “But the whole question was totally ambiguous, you know? I feel like you could argue either side of the issue and be right.”
She must be talking about one of her final exams from last week—which one, I haven’t a clue.
“Sounds like you kicked ass with your answer,” I say. Hopefully, that’s the right thing to say at this particular moment.
“You really think so?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Well, that calms me down, then. You certainly know your contracts backwards and forwards. But, hey, what about this question on the torts exam . . .?”
I pat my pants pocket. The little box is still there.
After today, she’ll be wearing my ring on her finger for the whole world to see and I’ll finally be able to breathe again. Thank God I booked that villa in Mykonos for tomorrow night instead of at the beginning of the trip. If I’d have booked Mykonos for before Mount Olympus, I never would have been able to enjoy it, paradise or not. This way, we’ll have four glorious days in Nirvana to celebrate our engagement—assuming we’ll be celebrating. Oh my God. Fuck me. If she says anything other than yes, I’m going to curl up and die on the spot.
“It’s almost like you can feel the ghosts from thousands of years ago, just floating around you, you know?” she says.
“Mmm hmm,” I say. I pat my pocket again.
“Like, I dunno, you can feel their collective wisdom,” she says. “Like, it’s a physical thing, just floating in the air.”
“Mmm hmm.”
The hiking trail isn’t particularly demanding nor is it all that scenic on this side of the mountain. But this hike isn’t what we’re here for—it’s just a means to an end. Oh my God, I can’t wait to finally spill the beans and tell her why we’re here.
“It also makes me think, ‘Hey, these were real people,’ you know? Like, it makes it so clear these weren’t just names in an ancient history textbook. They were people just like you and me. They ate, slept, made love, cried, laughed, loved... You know what I mean?”
“Mmm hmm.”
She stops short and I almost walk into her back. She wheels around to look at me. “Are you listening to me, Jonas?”
“Totally,” I say. “Every word. I totally agree with everything you’ve said.” But I don’t know what the fuck she’s just said. I can’t think straight right now. All I can think about is asking this beautiful woman to be my wife—the mother of my future children.
She studies me briefly. “Are you okay?”
“Of course.”
“You’re acting weird.”
My chest tightens. Does she know? “I am?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think I’m just . . . deep in thought.”
“About what?”
“You.”
She studies me. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“Good thoughts?”
“The best thoughts. You’re the goddess and the muse, Sarah Cruz. There’s nothing but goodness when my thoughts are about you.”
“Oh, Jonas.” She smiles. “You’re so sweet.” She turns back around happily and catches up to the guide on the trail. “So, anyway, what part did you like best?”
What part of what did I like best? What the fuck was she just talking about? I try to recall what the fuck she just said. Real people. Yeah, that’s right. She said they’re not just names in a history book, they’re real people. She must have been talking about our walking tour of Athens on our first full day here.
“The Acropolis,” I answer. “There’s nothing like seeing the ground where Plato and Aristotle actually walked. That’s what captured my imagination when I was eighteen and it was even more magical to see it with you.” Oh my God. Stringing together so many coherent words just took a lot out of me. There’s only one thing I want to talk about right now—and it’s not the Acropolis. I’m dying to finally let loose with the speech I’ve been practicing in my head, day and night, for a solid three weeks.
“Yeah, me, too,” she says. “That was amazing—especially getting to see it with you.” She swivels her head around and shoots me a lovely smile.
I smile back. Or, at least I think I do. Who knows what the fuck my face looks like right now—my facial muscles are not my own. Holy shit, I’m losing my mind. I’ve been dreaming of this moment nonstop since we left Uncle William’s house a month ago.
Of course, Uncle William fell head-over-heels in love with Sarah the minute he met her. In fact, I’m positive Uncle William reacted so well to the news of my departure from Faraday & Sons because Sarah was there, casting some kind of spell on him. Sure, when Josh joined us on the second night and dropped the “I’m leaving the company, too” bomb on poor Uncle William, that made things a little harder for him to swallow. But, call me crazy, my uncle actually seemed relieved by Josh’s news a little bit, almost like he’d been waiting for the Faraday brothers’ simultaneous departure from the company for a long time and now he could exhale. All in all, the whole weekend went surprisingly well—and I’m sure Sarah was mostly to thank for that.
“You gonna marry this girl?” Uncle William asked me after dinner on the second night, the minute Sarah had left the dining room to use the bathroom.
“Absolutely,” I answered, shocking myself with how easily the word came out. It felt enthralling to admit my intentions out loud—especially to my family. “As soon as humanly possible, in fact.”
“That’s awesome, bro,” Josh said. “Does she know?”
That’s when my knee started jiggling under the table. “No,” I said, my chest constricting. “Am I supposed to ask her if I can ask her?” It was an honest question.
Josh laughed. “No, Jonas, you dumbshit. That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying if you’re gonna surprise the girl, then make sure you blow her socks off. This is the story she’s gonna be telling her grandkids one day. So don’t fuck it up.”
Well, duh, as Sara
h says. I already knew that. And yet, at Josh’s words, I suddenly felt like I was gonna throw up, and I haven’t stopped feeling that way since. All throughout the past month, even as I’ve been busy as fuck transitioning out of Faraday & Sons and into Climb and Conquer, I’ve grown increasingly anxious. I’m not nervous about making Sarah my wife—fuck no, that’s the thing I’m least anxious about in my whole life—I’m just worried I won’t be able to deliver the fairytale proposal my precious baby so richly deserves.
“So this is Mount Olympus?” Sarah says, looking around. “Huh. Not what I expected.”
“What’d you expect?”
She pauses. “Oh, I dunno. I thought maybe there’d be an old guy with a long white beard holding lightning bolts up here.”
I chuckle. “Actually, little known fact: Zeus is so old by now, he’s sitting in a rocking chair at the top of the mountain, doing Sudoku.”
She laughs. “It’s super cool to think about the ancient Greeks looking up at this very mountaintop, imagining the gods up here.”
The guide takes this as his cue (thankfully, because I’ve just exhausted my ability to converse for the foreseeable future) and he begins a lengthy explanation about Mount Olympus as the mythological home of the Twelve Olympians.
Sarah listens to him with rapt attention as I tune out.
I love how Sarah hasn’t once asked me why we’re hiking up Mount Olympus. I guess she thinks the mere existence of a mountain, anywhere in the world, is enough of a draw for me to suggest climbing it—which, normally, I suppose, would be true. But today isn’t a normal day.
We turn a corner in the trail and traverse over a small crest, and, just like that, we arrive at our destination—a small plateau spanning just below one of the mountain’s craggy peaks. I’m relieved to see that our next set of guides is already here, exactly as planned, awaiting us with all appropriate gear.
Sarah stops short on the trail, apparently seeing the crew awaiting us, too. She whips around to face me. “Are you effing kidding me right now?”
She must have seen the two colorful parachutes spread out on the ground.