by Anna Zaires
Viktor—Misha’s adoptive father—is in a similar state, though he tries to put on a brave face for his wife. Whenever Natalia starts to cry, he comforts her, telling her that he’s fine, but the nurses told me that he himself wakes up screaming from nightmares.
The bullet that entered Viktor’s leg shattered his kneecap, and he may never again walk without a limp.
The only bright spot in the whole mess is that Misha’s shoulder wound has indeed turned out to be as clean as Lucas said. My brother lost a lot of blood, but the doctors promised that he’ll be back on his feet—albeit with an arm sling—within a week.
While we recuperate, Lucas’s men tear apart Rudenkos’ apartment to figure out how Kirill got in unseen, and what they find gives us all pause. It turns out that Misha’s parents’ new apartment—where they had been relocated after I returned—had originally been a UUR safe house. As such, it had a secret apartment concealed behind the living room wall—a place stocked with medical supplies, ammunition, and enough food to last for several months. It was there that Kirill must’ve gone to heal when he escaped from the black site. How he survived the trip and concealed his tracks will always be a mystery, but judging from the state of the apartment, he’d been hunkered down there the entire time we’d been searching for him. Misha’s parents swear they had no idea he was there, and after questioning them extensively, Lucas decides they’re telling the truth.
Apparently, they heard noises in their living room several times, but chalked them up to strange acoustics of their new apartment building.
“I thought it was a ghost,” Natalia Rudenko whispers, her eyes red and swollen in her pale face. “Viktor told me I was being an idiot, and I shut up. But I should’ve listened to my instincts. I’ll never forgive myself for what happened.”
Lucas starts to fire another question at her, but I stop him by laying my hand on his arm. The poor woman is in no state for further interrogation. “It’s not your fault,” I assure her gently. “Kirill was a seasoned agent. If he wanted to stay hidden, you didn’t stand a chance.”
“That’s what Viktor said, but still, I should’ve known.” Squeezing her eyes closed, she pinches the bridge of her nose with trembling fingers. “There were little clues, like our computer getting hacked that time, and a few things seeming to get moved on occasion…”
Secretly, I agree that she should’ve found those things suspicious—I certainly would have—but she’s a civilian, and I’m not. Regular people aren’t trained to look for those types of patterns, and even though Natalia wasn’t a complete stranger to the shadowy world of intelligence organizations, she couldn’t have imagined that a secret agent would be hiding in her apartment.
“The hacking of the computer must be how Kirill learned we were coming,” Lucas says grimly, and I nod in agreement. I don’t know if my former trainer used Rudenkos’ apartment because it was the best hiding spot, or because he suspected I might return with Misha one day, but either way, he was well positioned to strike when we least expected it.
The guards were keeping watch for danger from the outside, but the enemy had been inside all along.
To my relief, Misha seems far less traumatized than his parents. I don’t know if it’s his UUR training or what he’s already lived through during Lucas’s attack on the black site, but my brother is recovering quickly in more ways than one. Far from being distraught and remorseful about his role in Kirill’s death, Misha seems proud that he got to participate in the takedown of the man who hurt me and nearly killed his parents.
“I’m glad I got to shoot the bastard,” he says fiercely when Lucas and I visit his bedside. “It’s the least he deserved.”
“You did well, kid,” Lucas says, patting his uninjured shoulder. “Your hands didn’t even shake when you shot off his arm.”
I wince at the graphic imagery, but Misha just nods, accepting the praise as his due. He and Lucas appear to be on the same wavelength now, as if fighting Kirill together brought them closer. I like that development, but it does disturb me to see my fourteen-year-old brother being so casual about a man’s gruesome death.
“And why should he be upset?” Lucas says when I mention my concern to him later that evening in our private hospital room. “He’s old enough to understand that you have to do what’s necessary if you want to survive and protect those you care about. The kid’s growing up, and whether you want to admit it or not, he’s not a delicate flower.”
“Neither is he a remorseless killer—or at least he shouldn’t be,” I retort, but Lucas just sits down on the edge of the bed and picks up my hand. His gaze is hard and shuttered, but his grip is gentle. He’s been this way, caring yet distant, ever since we got to this clinic, and no matter how much I try, I can’t figure out why he does nothing more than cuddle me at night.
The doctors cleared me for sex the day before yesterday, but Lucas still hasn’t touched me.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, squeezing my hand lightly, “your brother is not like you. He never was, and never will be. It was his choice to join UUR, and whether you want to admit it or not, he belonged there more than you ever did.”
The conviction in Lucas’s voice distracts me from the puzzle of his behavior. Frowning, I say, “I don’t think so. Misha probably imagined it would be glamorous, being a spy and all. I’m sure that’s why he joined: so he could play at being James Bond. But when he saw what it was really like—”
“He still wanted it,” Lucas says quietly. “Or wants it, I should say.”
Struck, I stare at him. “What do you mean? He’s going back to school.”
“He is—but only to make you and his parents happy.”
“What? How do you know that?”
Lucas sighs, his thumb stroking the inside of my palm. “He told me. Yesterday. He wants to come work for me when he’s older, but for now, he thinks it’s a good idea to finish civilian school so he could ‘blend better into the general population.’” He pauses, then adds softly, “Those are his words, not mine.”
“I see.” Pulling my hand from his grasp, I get up, my temples throbbing with a headache that has nothing to do with the half-healed gash across my skull. I should be surprised, but I’m not. On some level, I already knew this.
Like Lucas, my brother is drawn to danger, and he’ll eventually embrace this kind of life.
The pain creeps up on me; it’s just a faint ache at first, but with every second, it grows stronger, welling up until it chokes me from within. My throat constricts, and I feel myself start to hyperventilate, frantically sucking in air to fill my stiff and empty lungs. A hoarse sob bubbles up, followed by another and another, and then Lucas is on his feet next to me, drawing me into his embrace as raw, ugly sounds tear from my throat. It feels like I’m cracking inside, like I’m crumbling into bits. I try to stop, to control myself, but the sobs just keep on coming.
“Yulia, sweetheart, it’s okay… Everything’s going to be okay.” Lucas’s arms are around me, holding me tight, and the knowledge that he’s here, that I’m no longer alone, opens the dam even more. The tears pour out, burning and cleansing at the same time, a toxic flood that destroys and renews at once.
I cry for my brother’s future and our past, for all the lies and losses and betrayals. I cry for what might’ve been and what has come to pass, for the cruelty of fate and its incongruous mercy.
I cry because I can’t stop, and because I know I don’t have to.
I trust Lucas to hold me as I break, to lend me his strength when I need it most.
Somehow we end up back on the bed, with me curled in his arms as he rocks me on his lap, cradling me like I’m the most precious thing in his world. And still I cry. I cry until my throat is raw and torn, until my agony drowns in exhaustion. I’m only half-aware when Lucas lays me down and removes my clothes, and by the time he slides in beside me, I’m asleep.
Asleep and purged of all my fears.
* * *
I wake up to find Lucas sittin
g on the edge of the bed, watching me. Instantly, the recollection of last night comes to me, and I flush, remembering my inexplicable breakdown.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, clutching the blanket to my chest as I sit up. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Lucas doesn’t move. “You have nothing to be sorry for, baby.” Despite the reassuring words, his gaze is inscrutable, his expression still closed off and distant. “You were due for a good cry.”
“Yes, well, I had one, that’s for sure.” Feeling embarrassed, I slide from under the blanket and grab a robe, then slip into the adjoining bathroom to take a quick shower and brush my teeth before the nurses make their morning rounds.
When I come out, I see Lucas still sitting on the bed, unmoving. The bruises on his face—the mementos of his fight with Kirill—are faded now, and with the morning light spilling across his hard, masculine features, he resembles a warrior’s statue more than a living, breathing human being. Only his eyes belie that impression; sharp and clear, they track my every movement the way a big cat watches its prey.
My breath catches, and I find myself walking toward him, my legs carrying me to the bed almost against my will.
When I’m next to him, he curls his hand around my wrist, pulling me down to sit next to him.
“Lucas…” I stare at him, feeling strangely nervous. “What are you—”
“Shh.” He presses two fingers against my lips, his touch incredibly gentle. His eyes burn into mine, and to my shock, I see a dark shadow of agony in his pale gaze. “I’m only going to say it once, and I want you to listen,” he says quietly, lowering his hand. “I’ve deposited some money into your account—about two million to start. Later, I’ll add more, but that should be enough to get you settled in the beginning. Of course, if you ever need anything, you and Michael can always come to me—”
“What?” I reel back, certain I misheard. “What are you talking about?”
“Let me finish.” His jaw is rigid. “I will also provide you with a set of bodyguards,” he continues, his voice growing more strained with each word. “Their job will be to protect you, but I expect you to be smart and not do anything to endanger yourself. If you have to fly somewhere, I’ll send someone to take you, and I’ll personally oversee the security perimeter around your new house. Also—”
“Lucas, what are you talking about?” Shaking, I jump to my feet. “Is this some kind of joke?”
“Of course not.” He stands up, his muscles all but vibrating with tension. “You think this is easy for me? Fuck!” He spins around and starts to pace, his every movement filled with barely controlled violence.
Stunned, I watch him for a couple of moments; then the neurons in my brain start to fire. Stepping forward, I catch his arm, feeling the coiled strength within. “Lucas, are you—” I swallow thickly. “Does this mean you’re letting me leave?”
His eyes narrow dangerously. “What else would it fucking mean?”
My heart thuds heavily as I drop my hand. “But why? Is it this?” Self-consciously, I touch the narrow strip of shaved hair on my head, where the stitches from the gash are visible despite my best attempts to hide them. Like Lucas’s, the bruises on my face are almost gone, but the scars from the broken glass are not. They’re healing—the doctors assured me they’ll be all but invisible one day—but for now, I’m far from beautiful, and it suddenly dawns on me that Lucas’s distance may have a very obvious cause.
His desire for me has cooled.
“What?” Incredulity fills his voice as his eyes follow the movement of my hand. “Are you fucking joking? You think I don’t want you because of this wound?”
“You didn’t touch me last night.” I know I sound like an insecure schoolgirl, but I can’t help it. Lucas is a highly sexual man, and for him to forego a chance to fuck me…
“Of course I didn’t touch you,” he says through clenched teeth. “You’re still healing, and I— Fuck.” He twists as if to turn away again, but stops himself. Reaching over, he grips my arm. “Yulia… If I’d touched you, if I’d taken you again, I wouldn’t have been able to do this, do you understand?” His voice roughens. “I’d keep you with me like the selfish bastard I am, and you’d never get a chance to leave.”
All breath exits my lungs. “No, I don’t understand. If you still want me, then why are you doing this?”
“Because you don’t belong in this world… my world. They forced you into this life, made you into someone you never wanted to become. When I saw you lying there, hurt and bleeding—” He breaks off, then says raggedly, “You should’ve never been in that kind of danger, never met men like Kirill and Obenko…” He takes a deep breath. “Men like me.”
I stare at him, a strange ache unfurling deep inside my chest. “Lucas, you’re not—”
“Yes, I am.” His hard mouth twists. “Let’s not pretend. I’m like them—the men who hurt you and used you and manipulated you. You never had a choice about it all, and I didn’t give you one either. I took you for my own because I wanted you, and I kept you because I couldn’t picture a life without you. When you escaped, I would’ve torn the world apart looking for you, beautiful. I would’ve done anything to get you back.”
A tingle ripples down my spine. “So why are you letting me go?” I whisper, my heart beating erratically. Could it be? Is Lucas—
“Because I can’t bear to lose you,” he says harshly. “When I saw you lying there, covered in blood, I thought you were dead. I thought he’d killed you.” A visible shudder ripples over Lucas’s skin before he steps closer, his hands moving up to grip my shoulders. Leaning in, he says with barely controlled fury, “What the fuck were you thinking anyway, taunting the bastard like that? You should’ve stayed quiet, let me—”
“Let you get shot?” Everything inside me recoils at the mere notion. “I would never. He was after me, not you or Misha—”
“So you tried to sacrifice yourself for us, like you’ve been doing for your brother all along? Did you really think there was a chance in hell I’d let you do that?” His fingers dig into my shoulders, but before I can so much as wince, his grip eases and his harsh expression softens. “Yulia,” he whispers hoarsely, “don’t you know that I’d take a thousand bullets, die a hundred deaths before I let anything hurt you?”
My pulse lurches. “Lucas…”
“You’re my reason for existing now.” His eyes glitter fiercely. “You’re my everything. I want you in my bed, but I want you in my life even more. It’s been that way from the very beginning. Even when I hated you, I loved you. If you were gone—”
“You love me?” My lungs seize as I latch on to those words. I’d suspected, hoped—I even told myself I knew—but up until he said it, I hadn’t been certain. For Lucas to finally admit this…
“Of course I love you.” His hands move up to frame my face, his big palms warm on my skin. Gazing down on me, he says roughly, “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw Diego carry you off that plane, thin and dirty and so gorgeous it made my chest hurt. I told myself it was only lust, pretended I could fuck you out of my system, but I ended up falling for you even more, wanting you more each day. Your loyalty, your bravery, your warmth—it was everything I never knew I needed. Before you came into my life, I didn’t have anyone, didn’t care about anyone, and I was fine that way. But when I met you…” He inhales. “Fuck, it was like I saw the sun for the first time. You made my world so much brighter, so much fuller…”
My throat is so tight I can barely speak. “So then why—”
“Because you were made for love and family, for pretty things and soft words.” Pain laces his voice as he drops his hands. “You should’ve been adored by your parents and brother, worshipped by loving boyfriends and loyal friends, and instead—”
“And instead I fell for you.” Reaching for him, I grip his powerful hand. Tears blur my eyes as I stare up at my ruthless captor, the man who’s now my everything. “I fell in love with the man who saved me from Kiri
ll and the Russian prison, who nursed me back to health and gave me my brother back. Lucas…” I curve my palm around his hard jaw. “You might be like them, but you’ve always given me more than you’ve taken. Always.”
He stares at me, and I see the growing frustration on his face. “Yulia…” His voice is low and lethal. “If you’re going to walk away, tell me now. I’m giving you this one chance, do you understand?”
“I do.” A smile trembles on my lips as I lower my hand. “I understand.”
His muscles coil, as though bracing for a blow. “And?”
“And I’m staying.”
For a second, Lucas is still, as if frozen in disbelief, and then he’s on me, his lips devouring me with a hunger that’s both violent and tender. His hands roam over my body, his touch rough yet restrained, cognizant of my healing injuries. We tumble backward on the bed, our mouths fused together and our hands ripping at each other’s clothes. Somewhere out there are nurses and doctors, my brother and his adoptive parents, the whole entire world, but here, in this private room, it’s just us and the heat burning brighter with each moment.
“I love you,” I gasp as Lucas thrusts into me, and he whispers the words back, his voice raspy and thick as he moves inside me, claiming me over and over again. We come together, our bodies shattering in perfect symphony, and as we lie tangled in the aftermath, Lucas holds my gaze. In his eyes are lust and possessiveness, hunger and need, and underneath it all, the warm tenderness of love.
In a few minutes, the nurses will come, and our little bubble will break. We’ll work on healing and moving on, on building our new life and settling into our new home. For now, however, we don’t need to worry about what the future holds.
What Lucas and I have together will never be pretty, but it’s perfect.
Our own version of perfect.
Bonus Epilogue: Nora & Julian
Approximately 3 Years Later
SPOILER ALERT: If you haven’t read the Twist Me trilogy, please stop and read that first (click HERE to get the book). What follows is for those of you who loved Nora & Julian’s story and asked for a glimpse of their future beyond the epilogue of Hold Me (Twist Me #3). Oh, and it gives a peek at Lucas & Yulia’s future too.