by Anna Zaires
Oh, well. I take a deep breath and picture myself crawling through the mud in the mountains of Afghanistan, with icy sleet soaking through my clothes. When that doesn’t work, I think of my parents and the way they never touched or smiled at each other, substituting politeness for caring and mutual ambition for a family bond.
The latter memory does the trick, and my erection subsides enough for me to relax. As I sink into the soothing darkness of sleep, I dream of peach pies, angels with long blond hair, and a smile.
Yulia’s bright, genuine smile.
20
Yulia
“It’s your fault, bitch. It’s all your fault.”
Dimly, I’m aware that the words are strangely distant, but the terror still engulfs me, pressing down on me like a smothering blanket. I can feel him over me, and I scream, struggling to avoid the violation, the awful pain.
“No, please, no!”
“Shh, baby, it’s okay. You’re just having a bad dream.”
Strong arms tighten around me, pressing me against a hard, warm body, and the suffocating terror eases, the cruel voices receding. Sobbing with relief, I try to turn, to face the person holding me, but something hard tugs at my left wrist.
The handcuffs.
“Lucas?”
“Yeah, it’s me.” Warm lips brush my temple as a big hand smoothes back my hair. “I’ve got you. You’re all right now. You’re fine.”
He’s got me. Something should worry me about that statement, but at this moment, all I’m aware of is its seductive comfort. Lucas’s powerful arms are around me, holding me, protecting me in the darkness, and the horror of the dream grows more distant, sinking back into the mire of the past.
There’s no Kirill. There’s just Lucas, and nobody can take me away from him.
“Baby, you’ve got to stop moving like that.” His voice is hoarse, strained, and I realize I’m rocking against him in an attempt to burrow even deeper into his embrace. In the process, my ass is shimmying against his groin—with a predictable result.
The horror flickers distantly, the panic returning for a moment, and I try to turn again, to hide my face against his broad chest, but the handcuffs are in the way.
“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe.” There’s a tug and a quiet snick as the key turns, unlocking the cuffs. “You don’t have to be afraid. It’s okay.”
It’s okay. The panic retreats, especially when I’m able to wrap my arms around Lucas’s muscular torso and inhale his familiar scent. He smells like his body wash and warm male skin, like safety, strength, and comfort. Burying my face in his chest, I throw my leg over his hip, wanting to wrap myself around him like a vine, and I hear him groan as his hard cock presses into my belly.
Something about that should worry me too, but with my mind still wrestling with the dream, I can’t figure out what. I just want him closer—as close as two people can possibly get.
“Fuck me,” I whisper, slipping one hand between our bodies to cup his tightly drawn balls. “Please, Lucas, fuck me.”
“You…” His voice sounds strangled. “You want me?”
“Yes, please, Lucas.” I know it’s pathetic to beg, but I need him. I need him to chase away the horror. “Please”—I grab his cock and try to align it with my sex—“please fuck me. Please.”
“Yeah. Oh, fuck, yeah.” He sounds incredulous as he rolls on top of me, his hips settling between my open thighs. “Whatever you want, beautiful. Whatever you fucking”—he thrusts in deep—“want.”
We both groan when he’s seated to the hilt, his thickness stretching me to the limit. I’m not as wet as usual, but it doesn’t matter. The near-painful friction, the overwhelming force of his sudden entry—it’s exactly what I need. This is not about sex or pleasure.
It’s about being his.
“Yulia…” His voice is a tortured groan as he begins to move inside me. “Fuck, baby, you feel so amazing…”
“Yes.” I wrap my legs around his muscular thighs, taking him even deeper. “Yes, just like that. Oh God, just like that.”
He complies, his rhythm strong and steady, and I forget all about the initial discomfort. As he keeps thrusting, a wild heat ignites inside me, a need that’s purely animalistic. I want him to fuck me so hard it hurts, to make me come so much I’ll forget my own name.
I want his savagery to destroy my demons.
“Harder,” I whisper, sinking my nails into his back. “Take me harder.”
He tenses, a shudder running through his big body, and I feel his cock swelling even more. A low growl rumbles in his chest, and he picks up the pace, his muscled ass flexing under my calves as he jackhammers into me, each thrust so deep it almost cleaves me in two. It should be too much, too hard, but my body embraces him, the heat inside me blazing brighter with every bruising stroke. I can hear my own cries, feel the explosive pressure building, and all my fears evaporate, leaving nothing but scorching pleasure.
“Lucas!” I don’t know if I scream his name, or if it’s only in my mind, but at that moment, he lets out a hoarse cry, and I feel him jetting into me as white-hot ecstasy rips through my nerve endings. The orgasm is so powerful my entire body arches upward and white flecks appear at the edges of my vision. It seems to go on forever, one pulsing spasm after another, but eventually, the waves of pleasure recede, and awareness slowly returns.
Lucas is lying on top of me, his big body covered with sweat, but just as I register the heavy weight of his frame, he rolls off me, gathering me against him so that my head rests on his shoulder. We lie like that, both panting and too drained to move, and as my heartbeat begins to slow, the heavy lethargy of satiation steals over me.
“Sleep tight, baby,” I hear him whisper as it pulls me under, and I close my eyes, knowing I’m safe.
I belong to Lucas, and he’ll keep the bad dreams away.
* * *
“Morning, beautiful.” A tender kiss on my shoulder wakes me up. “How about some tea?”
“What?” I pry open my eyelids and blink to clear the fog of sleep from my brain. I’m lying on my side, so I roll over onto my back and squint up at Lucas—who’s standing next to the bed, already dressed and with what appears to be a steaming cup in his hand.
“Tea,” he says. His hard mouth is curved into a smile. “I made some for you. I hope I didn’t mess it up.”
“Um…” My brain is still not fully functioning, so I sit up and try to make sense of what’s happening. “You made me tea?”
“Hmm.” Lucas sits down on the edge of the bed and carefully hands me the cup. “Here you go. I wasn’t sure how long it should steep, but there were instructions on the box, so hopefully, it’s right.”
“Uh-huh.” I take the cup from him and take a few sips. The tea is hot enough to burn my tongue, but the familiar taste of Earl Gray revives me, chasing away the cotton-candy fuzz in my mind. Slowly, in bits and pieces, it all starts coming back to me.
Lucas as Kirill. Telling him about UUR.
The cup tilts in my hand, hot liquid spilling onto my naked breasts.
Startled by the sudden pain, I look down and hear Lucas curse as he grabs the cup from me. He puts it on the nightstand before dabbing at my chest with a corner of the sheet. “Fuck. Yulia, are you okay?”
I stare at him, my skin growing cold despite the burn from the tea. “You want to know if I’m okay?” I remember everything now. The way he broke me. The way he held me afterwards. The nightmare. Clinging to him in the darkness.
Asking—no, begging him to fuck me.
Lucas’s face tightens. “Did you get badly burned?”
“No.” The chill within me deepens, numbing the sick terror flowing through my veins. “I didn’t get burned.”
Not by tea, at least.
Turning away, I lift the blanket, searching for the pair of shorts he kicked away when we were going to sleep. It’s something to focus on, something to do. Besides, I need those clothes. They’re a buffer, and I need that.
I need to cling to something to stay sane.
How could I have reached for Lucas after that awful dream, when just hours earlier he made it my reality? How could I have wanted a man who broke me in that manner? It’s like I blanked out about what he did, suppressed it all in my desperate need for comfort.
In my weak, selfish neediness, I embraced the man who’s going to destroy my brother.
“Yulia.” Lucas reaches for me, but I twist away. My fingers finally close around the shorts, and I grab them before jumping off the bed on the other side. I know I have nowhere to go, but I can’t let him touch me yet.
I’ll shatter all over again.
“What are you doing?” he asks as I shimmy into the shorts and then get on all fours, looking for the top I dropped last night. “Yulia, what the fuck are you doing?”
Ah-hah, there. Ignoring his question, I grab the tank top—if the lacy-edged sports bra can even be called that. All the clothes Lucas got me are like that: casual, yet ridiculously sexy. They’re better than nothing, though, so I pull on the tank top and get to my feet, doing my best not to look at him.
That seems to irritate him. In a second, he crosses the room and stops in front of me, his fingers closing around my arm.
“What the fuck, Yulia?” Lucas grips my chin with his free hand and forces me to look at him. “What game are you playing?”
“Me?” As I meet his gaze, a tiny ember of anger flickers in the ashes of my despair. “You’re the game master, Kent. I’m just along for the ride.”
His eyebrows snap together. “So last night was what? You going along for the ride?”
“Last night was a moment of insanity.” That’s the only way I can explain it to myself, at least. My voice is hard and bitter as I add, “Besides, what do you care? You have what you need.”
“Yes, I do.” His expression is unreadable. “I have enough to take down UUR.”
A swirl of nausea makes me want to throw up. I don’t know if Lucas senses it, but he lets go of my chin and steps back.
“You’ll be fine,” he says, his voice oddly strained. “I told you I’m not going to kill you or do anything to you once I got the information, and I won’t. There’s no reason for you to stress anymore. It’s done.”
I stare at him, struck by the fact that the idea of Lucas killing me didn’t cross my mind either last night or this morning. I didn’t think about what’s going to happen to me at all. Somewhere along the way, I started believing that my captor doesn’t want me dead.
I started trusting that his sexual obsession with me is real.
“Look,” Lucas says when I remain silent, “things are going to get better. Once UUR is gone, I’ll give you more freedom. You’ll be able to walk around the estate on your own, go anywhere you please.”
“Really?” Despite my despair, I almost laugh out loud. “And what makes you think I won’t run?”
The corners of his lips pull up in a dark smile. “Because you wouldn’t get far if you tried. I’m going to put some trackers on you.”
My heart falters for a beat. “Trackers?”
Lucas nods, releasing my arm. “Esguerra’s guys worked out a new prototype. For now, why don’t I give you a small taste of what your future will be like and take you outside after breakfast? We’ll go for a walk.”
A walk outside. At any other point, I would’ve been ecstatic, but now, it’s all I can do to interact with him in a semi-normal manner.
To act as if my whole world isn’t about to come crashing down.
“Breakfast first, though,” Lucas says when I remain frozen. “Let’s go. I’ll take you to the bathroom for your morning routine.”
Bathroom. Breakfast. I want to scream that he’s insane, that I can’t possibly eat, but I keep my mouth shut and do as he says. I need to figure out what to do, how to fix the awful mess I’ve made.
“What kind of trackers are you talking about?” I force myself to ask as we walk to the bathroom. “Implants or the exterior kind?”
“Implants.” Lucas stops in front of the bathroom door and looks at me. “Just a few to keep you safe.”
And ensure he’d always know where I am.
“When are you going to put them on me?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. If the trackers are going to be as difficult to remove as I suspect, escape will be all but impossible.
“When I return from Chicago,” Lucas says. “I have a two-week trip coming up in five days. Unfortunately, the trackers won’t be here before then, so you’ll need to be restrained for the duration.”
“You’re leaving?” My heartbeat kicks up with sudden hope. If he’s going to be gone…
“Yes, but don’t worry. I’ll have a couple of guards I trust keep an eye on you.” He smiles, as if reading my mind. “They’ll make sure you’re safe and comfortable.”
And still here when I return.
The unsaid words hang in the air as I step into the bathroom and quietly close the door behind me. Lucas’s plan to chain me to him should terrify me, but the nauseating fear I feel has nothing to do with my own fate.
If Esguerra’s men come after UUR the way they’ve gone after other enemies, nobody connected to the agency will escape their wrath.
Obenko’s entire family will be wiped out—and my brother along with them.
21
Lucas
Yulia is silent and withdrawn as she makes us breakfast, and I have no doubt she’s thinking about him—the man who holds her heart. She’s probably wondering what’s going to happen to him, beating herself up with the knowledge that she inadvertently betrayed him. I want to grab her and order her to put him out of her thoughts, but that would just make things worse. If she realizes I know about him, she might plead for his life, and I don’t want that.
I’m going to kill the fucker no matter what, and I don’t want her unnecessarily upset.
As it is, there’s no sign of yesterday’s joyous smile, no jokes or laughter as she moves about the kitchen, performing her task. With the fork incident fresh in my mind, I keep an extra-careful eye on her, making sure she doesn’t conceal anything else. I suppose it’s arrogant of me to let my prisoner walk around like this, untied and with access to things that could be used as weapons. I’m fairly sure I can contain her as long as I see her attack coming, but there’s always a chance she might catch me off-guard one day.
She’s dangerous, but like a challenging mission, that fact only excites me.
The breakfast Yulia makes is a simple one: an omelet with cheese and a bowl of strawberries for dessert. I could’ve theoretically made that, except my eggs would’ve been either rubbery or runny, and the cheese would’ve gotten burned on the edges of the frying pan. With Yulia, none of that happens. The omelet comes out light, fluffy, and perfectly cheesy, and even the strawberries taste better than I recall.
“This is amazing,” I tell her as I devour my portion, and Yulia nods in a quiet acknowledgement of my thanks. Aside from that, she doesn’t look at me or speak to me.
It’s as if I don’t exist.
Her behavior infuriates me, but I contain my anger. I know I deserve her silent treatment. I might not have hurt her physically, but that doesn’t lessen the severity of what I did.
I tortured her, used her worst fear to break her.
Annoyed by the sharp prickle of guilt, I get up and wash the dishes, using the routine task to distract me from my churning thoughts. As far as I’m concerned, I’m doing Yulia a favor by getting her lover out of her life. It’s clear that he’s in no way worthy of her. He let her go to Moscow to sleep with other men, and he left her to rot in the Russian jail for two months. Agent or not, the man is a weakling, and she’s better off without him. When Yulia came on to me last night, I thought that by some miracle she forgave me and decided to forget her lover, but now I see that was just wishful thinking on my part.
She’d been too traumatized to know what she was doing.
“Ready for the walk?” I say, approaching th
e table. Yulia is sipping her tea and still not looking at me. “I have a call in less than two hours, so if you want to come out, we should go now.”
She gets up, still silent, and I see that her face is ashen. She’s upset. No, more than upset—devastated.
The guilt bites at me again, and I push it away with effort. “Come here,” I say, taking her hand. Her slender fingers are cold in my grasp as I lead her out of the kitchen. “We’ll go out back.”
The bedroom has a door that opens into the backyard, and I use that entrance now to avoid prying eyes. I don’t want anyone seeing my prisoner outside and spreading rumors. Until I have something tangible to give Esguerra about UUR, I don’t want to broadcast our relationship. My boss does owe me a favor, but it’s better if it’s a combo deal—the heads of our enemies alongside the news that I want to keep Yulia for my own.
“Sorry it’s so hot,” I say when we step out. It’s only eight-thirty in the morning, but it’s already like a steam bath. It’ll probably rain within the next hour, but for now, the sky is clear with just a few white clouds. “Next time, we’ll go earlier.”
“No, this is fine,” Yulia says, stopping in a clearing between the trees. Surprised, I glance at her and see that her face has a tinge of color now. As I watch, she closes her eyes and tilts her head back. She looks like a plant absorbing the sunlight, and I realize that’s exactly what she’s doing: basking in the sun, taking its warmth into herself.
“You like it here.” I don’t know why that surprises me. I suppose I pictured somebody from her part of the world being acclimated to the cold and hating the humid heat of the rainforest. “You like this weather.”
She brings her head down and opens her eyes to look at me. “Yes,” she says quietly. “I do.”
“I’m glad.” Squeezing Yulia’s hand, I smile at her. “It took me a while to get used to it, but now I can’t imagine living someplace cold.”
She doesn’t smile back, but her hand feels warmer in my hold as we resume walking, going deeper into the forest that borders the compound. Esguerra’s estate is huge, extending for miles through the thick canopy of the rainforest. Back in the eighties, Juan Esguerra, Julian’s father, processed vast quantities of cocaine here, but few traces of that remain now. The jungle has already swallowed up the old shack-style labs, nature reclaiming its turf with brutal swiftness.