by Anna Zaires
“Señora Esguerra . . . I mean, Nora . . .” She stumbles over my name, her accent thicker than usual. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if you had a minute to talk?”
Taken aback by the unusual request, I nod. “Of course, what is it?” Ana and I are not particularly close; she’s always been somewhat reserved around me, polite but not overly friendly. Rosa told me that Ana is like that because that’s what Julian’s father demanded of his staff, and the habit is difficult for her to break.
Looking relieved by my response, Ana smiles and walks up to join me at the railing, placing her forearms on the painted white wood. I give her a questioning look, wondering what she wants to discuss, but she seems content to just stand there for a moment, her gaze trained on the jungle in the distance.
When she finally turns her head to look at me and speaks, her words catch me off-guard. “I don’t know if you know this, Nora, but your husband lost everybody he’s ever cared about,” she says softly, no trace of her customary reserve in sight. “Maria, his parents . . . Not to mention many others he knew both here on the estate and out in the cities.”
“Yes, he told me,” I say slowly, eyeing her with some caution. I don’t know why she’s suddenly decided to talk to me about Julian, but I’m more than happy to listen. Maybe if I understand my husband better, it will be easier for me to maintain my emotional distance from him.
Maybe if he’s not such a puzzle, I won’t be drawn to him as strongly.
“Good,” Ana says quietly. “Then I hope you understand that Julian didn’t mean to hurt you last night . . . that whatever he did was because he cares for you.”
“Cares for me?” The laugh that escapes my throat is sharp and bitter. I don’t know why I’m talking about this with Ana, but now that the floodgates have been opened, I can’t seem to close them again. “Julian doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “You’re wrong, Nora. He does. He cares about you very much. I can see it. He’s different with you than with others. Very different.”
I stare at her. “What do you mean?”
She sighs, then turns to face me fully. “Your husband was always a dark child,” she says, and I see a deep sadness in her gaze. “A beautiful boy, with his mother’s eyes and her features, but so hard inside . . . It was his father’s fault, I think. The older Señor never treated him like a child. From the time Julian was old enough to walk, his father would push him, make him do things that no child should do . . .”
I listen raptly, hardly daring to breathe as she continues.
“When Julian was little, he was afraid of spiders. We have big ones here, very scary ones. Some poisonous ones. When Juan Esguerra found out, he led his five-year-old son into the forest and made him catch a dozen large spiders with his bare hands. Then he made the boy kill them slowly with his fingers, so Julian would see what it’s like to conquer his fears and make his enemies suffer.” She pauses, her mouth tight-lipped with anger. “Julian didn’t sleep for two nights after that. When his mother found out, she cried, but there was nothing she could do. Señor’s word here was law, and everyone had to obey.”
I swallow the bile rising in my throat and look away. What I just learned only adds to my despair. How can I expect Julian to love someone after being raised that way? The fact that my husband is a stone-cold killer with sadistic tendencies is not surprising; the only wonder is that he’s not even worse.
It’s hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
Sensing my distress, Ana lays her hand on my arm, her touch warm and comforting, like that of my mom.
“For the longest time, I thought Julian would grow up to be just like his father,” she says when I turn to look at her. “Cruel and uncaring, incapable of any softer emotion. I thought that until I saw him with a kitten one day when he was twelve. It was a tiny creature, all fluffy white fur and big eyes, barely old enough to eat on its own. Something happened to its mother, and Julian found the kitten outside and brought it in. When I saw him, he was trying to coax it to drink milk, and the expression on his face—” She blinks, her eyes looking suspiciously wet. “It was so . . . so tender. He was so patient with the kitten, so gentle. And I knew then that his father hadn’t succeeded in breaking Julian completely, that the boy could still feel.”
“What happened to that kitten?” I ask, bracing myself. I’m prepared to hear another horror story, but Ana just shrugs in response.
“It grew up in the house,” she says, gently squeezing my arm before taking her hand away. “Julian kept it as his pet, named it Lola. He and his father had a fight about that—the older Señor hated animals—but by then Julian was old enough, and tough enough, to stand up to his father. Nobody dared to touch the little creature for as long as it was under Julian’s protection. When he left for America, he took the cat with him. As far as I know, it lived a nice long life and passed away from old age.”
“Oh.” Some of my tension fades. “That’s good. Not good that Julian lost his pet, I mean, but that it lived for a long time.”
“Yes. It’s good indeed. And you know, Nora, the way he looked at that kitten . . .” She trails off, gazing at me with a strange smile.
“What?” I ask warily.
“He looks at you like that sometimes. With that same kind of tenderness. He might not always show it, but he treasures you, Nora. In his own way, he loves you. I truly believe that.”
I press my lips together, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to flood my eyes again. “Why are you telling me this, Ana?” I ask when I’m certain I can speak without breaking down. “Why did you come out here?”
“Because Julian is the closest thing I have to a son,” she says softly. “And because I want him to be happy. I want both of you to be happy. I don’t know if this changes anything for you, but I thought you should know a little more about your husband.” Reaching out, she squeezes my hand and then walks back inside the house, leaving me standing by the railing, even more confused and heartsick than before.
* * *
I don’t join Julian in the office that afternoon. Instead I lock myself in the library and work on the paper, trying not to think about my husband and how much I want to be sitting by his side. I know that just being near him would make me feel better, that his presence alone would help with my hurt and anger, but some masochistic impulse keeps me away. I don’t know what I’m trying to prove to myself, but I’m determined to keep my distance for at least a few hours.
Of course, there’s no avoiding him at dinner.
“You didn’t come today,” he observes, watching me as Ana ladles us some mushroom soup for an appetizer. “Why not?”
I shrug, ignoring the imploring look Ana gives me before going back to the kitchen. “I wasn’t feeling well.”
Julian frowns. “You’re sick?”
“No, just a bit under the weather. Plus I had a paper to finish and some lectures to catch up on.”
“Is that right?” He stares at me, his eyebrows drawn together. Leaning forward, he asks softly, “Are you sulking, my pet?”
“No, Julian,” I reply as sweetly as I can, dipping my spoon in the soup. “Sulking would imply that I’m mad at something you did. But I don’t get to be mad, do I? You can do whatever you want to me, and I’m supposed to just accept it, right?” And taking a sip of the richly flavored soup, I give him a saccharine smile, enjoying the way his eyes narrow at my response. I know I’m tugging on a tiger’s tail, but I don’t want a sweet, gentle Julian tonight. It’s too misleading, too unsettling for my peace of mind.
To my frustration, he doesn’t take the bait. Whatever anger I managed to provoke is short-lived, and in the next moment, he leans back, a slow, sexy smile teasing at the corners of his lips. “Are you trying to guilt me, baby? Surely you know by now that I’m beyond that kind of emotion.”
“Of course you are.” I meant the words to sound bitter, but they come out breathless instead. Even now, he has the power t
o make my senses whirl and spin with nothing more than a smile.
He grins, knowing full well how he affects me, and dips his own spoon into the soup. “Just eat, Nora. You can show me how mad you are in the bedroom, I promise.” And with that tantalizing threat, he begins consuming his soup, leaving me no choice but to follow his lead.
As we eat, Julian peppers me with questions about my classes and how my online program is going so far. He seems genuinely interested in what I have to say, and I soon find myself talking to him about my difficulties with Calculus—has a more boring subject ever been invented?—and discussing the pros and cons of taking a Humanities course next semester. I’m sure he must find my concerns amusing—after all, it’s just school—but if he does, he doesn’t show it. Instead he makes me feel like I’m talking to a friend, or maybe a trusted advisor.
That’s one of the things that make Julian so irresistible: his ability to listen, to make me feel important to him. I don’t know if he does it on purpose, but there are few things more seductive than having someone’s undivided attention—and I always have that with Julian. I’ve had it since day one. Evil kidnapper or not, he’s always made me feel wanted and desired, like I’m the center of his world.
Like I genuinely matter.
As the dinner continues, Ana’s story plays over and over in my mind, making me viciously glad that Juan Esguerra is dead. How could a father do that to his son? What kind of monster would purposefully try to mold his child into a killer? I picture twelve-year-old Julian standing up to that brute for a defenseless kitten, and I feel an unwitting flash of pride at my husband’s courage. I have a feeling keeping that pet against his father’s wishes had been far from easy.
I’m still nowhere near ready to forgive Julian, but as we make our way through the second course, I consider the possibility that something other than Julian’s stalker tendencies was behind his desire to implant those trackers in me. Could it be that instead of not caring for me, he cares too much? Could his love be that dark and obsessive? That twisted? I’d known, of course, about Maria’s death and that of his parents, but I never put the two events together, never thought of it as Julian losing everyone he’s ever cared about. If Ana is right—if I truly am that special to Julian—then it’s not particularly surprising that he’d go to such lengths to ensure my safety, especially since he almost lost me once.
It’s insane and scary, but not particularly surprising.
“So what was so urgent this morning?” I ask, finishing my second serving of the baked salmon dish Ana prepared as the main course. My appetite is back with a vengeance, all traces of my earlier malaise gone. It’s amazing what even a little bit of Julian’s company does to me; his proximity is better than any mood-boosting drug on the market. “When you couldn’t join me for breakfast, I mean?”
“Oh, yes, I’ve been meaning to tell you about that,” Julian says, and I see a gleam of dark excitement in his eyes. “Peter’s contacts in Moscow got us permission to move in with an operation to extract Majid and the rest of the Al-Quadar fighters from Tajikistan. As soon as we’re ready—hopefully in a week or so—we’ll be making our move.”
“Oh, wow.” I stare at him, both excited and disturbed by the news. “When you say ‘we,’ you mean your men, right?”
“Well, yes.” Julian appears puzzled by my question. “I’m going to take a group of about fifty of our best soldiers and leave the rest to guard the compound.”
“You’re going to go on this operation yourself?” My heart skips a beat as I wait anxiously for his answer.
“Of course.” He looks surprised that I would think otherwise. “I always go on these types of missions myself if I can. Besides, I have some business in Ukraine that’s best handled in person, so I’ll deal with that on the way back.”
“Julian . . .” I feel sick all of a sudden, all the food I’ve eaten sitting in my stomach like a rock. “This sounds really dangerous . . . Why do you have to go?”
“Dangerous?” He laughs softly. “Are you worried about me, my pet? I can assure you, there’s no need. The enemy is going to be outnumbered and outgunned. They don’t stand a chance, believe me.”
“You don’t know that! What if they set off a bomb or something?” My voice rises as I remember the horror of the warehouse explosion. “What if they trick you in some way? You know they want to kill you—”
“Well, technically, they want to force me to give them the explosive,” he corrects me, a dark smile curving his lips, “and then they want to kill me. But you have nothing to worry about, baby. We’ll scan their quarters for any signs of bombs before we go in, and we’ll all be wearing full-body armor that can withstand all but a rocket blast.”
I push my plate away, not the least bit reassured. “So let me get this straight . . . You’re forcing me to wear trackers here, where nobody can touch a single hair on my head, and you’re planning to traipse off to Tajikistan to play ‘capture the terrorist’?”
Julian’s smile disappears, his expression hardening. “I’m not playing, Nora. Al-Quadar represents a very real threat, and it’s one that I need to eliminate as quickly as possible. We need to strike at them before they come after us, and this is the perfect opportunity to do that.”
I glare at him, the sheer unfairness of the whole thing making my blood pressure rise. “But why do you have to go in person? You have all these soldiers and mercenaries at your command—surely they don’t need you there—”
“Nora . . .” His voice is gentle, but his eyes are hard and cold, like icicles. “This is not up for debate. The day I start fearing my own shadow is the day I need to leave this business for good—because it will mean that I have grown soft. Soft and lazy, like the man whose factory I took when I was first starting out . . .” He smiles again at my look of shock. “Oh, yes, my pet, how do you think I switched from drugs to weapons? I took over someone’s existing operation and built on it. My predecessor also had soldiers and mercenaries at his command, but he was little more than a glorified paper pusher and everyone knew it. He didn’t keep tight reins on his organization, and it was a simple matter to bribe a few people and overthrow him, taking his rocket factory for my own.” Julian pauses to let me digest that for a second, then adds, “I’m not going to be that man, Nora. This mission is important to me, and I have every intention of overseeing it myself. Majid will not survive this time—I will make sure of that.”
Chapter 18
Julian
After dinner is over, I lead Nora to our bedroom, my hand resting on the small of her back as we walk up the stairs. She’s quiet, like she’s been ever since I explained to her about the upcoming mission, and I know that she’s still upset with me, both about the trackers and the trip itself.
I find her concern touching, even sweet, but I have no intention of passing up this opportunity to lay my hands on Majid. My pet doesn’t understand the dark thrill of being in the middle of action, of feeling the jolt of adrenaline and hearing the whizzing of bullets. She doesn’t realize that to someone like me the sight of blood and the sound of my enemies’ screams are a turn-on, that I crave them almost as much as sex. This trait of mine is why one shrink thought I might be borderline sociopathic . . . well, this and my general lack of remorse. It’s a label that’s never particularly bothered me—at least not once I got past my youthful delusion that I could someday lead a ‘normal’ life.
As we enter the bedroom, the hunger that I’ve been restraining since yesterday intensifies, the monster inside me demanding his due. The distance I’m sensing from Nora only makes it worse. I can feel the barriers she’s trying to erect between us, the way she’s trying to shut me out of her thoughts, and it maddens me, feeding the sadistic yearning coiling within.
I am going to smash those barriers tonight. I am going to tear them down until she has no defenses left—until I own her mind fully again.
She excuses herself to go take a quick shower, and I let her, walking over to the bed to wait for h
er return. I am already semi-hard, my cock stirring in anticipation of what I’m going to do to her, and my pants are starting to feel uncomfortably tight. Hearing the water turn on, I undress, then reach into the bedside drawer and pull out an assortment of tools I plan to use on her tonight.
True to her word, Nora doesn’t take long. Five minutes, and she’s coming out of the bathroom, a plush white towel wrapped around her petite body. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and her golden skin is damp, droplets of water still clinging to her neck and shoulders. She must’ve taken off the Band-Aids in order to shower, because I can see a tiny scab and some bruising on her arm where the tracker went in. The sight of it fills me with an odd mixture of emotions—relief that I can now always keep an eye on her and something that tastes strangely like regret.
Her gaze flicks toward the bed, and she stops dead in her tracks, her eyes widening as she takes in the objects I laid out.
I smile, enjoying the startled expression on her face. We haven’t played with toys in a while—at least not to this extent. “Drop the towel and get on the bed,” I command, getting up and reaching for the blindfold.
She looks up at me, her lips parted and her skin softly flushed, and I know that she’s excited by this too—that her needs now mirror mine. There’s only a hint of hesitation in her movements as she unwraps the towel and lets it fall to the floor, leaving her standing there fully naked.
As I feast my eyes on her slim, shapely body, my balls tighten and my heartbeat picks up. Rationally I know there must be women more beautiful than Nora out there, but if there are, I can’t think of any. From the top of her head down to her dainty toes, she fits my preferences to a tee. My body craves her with an intensity that seems to be growing stronger every day, with a desperation that almost consumes me.
She climbs onto the bed, getting into a kneeling position with her feet tucked underneath her tight, round ass. Her movements are fluid and graceful, like those of a sleek little cat.