Forever Mine (Tormentor Mine Book 4)

by Anna Zaires

  “And do you want that?” I ask softly. “If you could wave a magic wand and have him go to jail for his crimes, would that satisfy you? Would it be enough considering what he’s done? To us, to Tamila and Pasha… to your parents?”

  Her breathing quickens more with every word I speak, and I can see her start to tremble. Spinning on her heel, she moves to walk away, but I catch her wrist and turn her to face me.

  “Tell me, Sara.” I pull her closer. “Is that what you’d want for him? Your normal civilian justice? Or would you want him to suffer? To know true pain and loss?”

  Her eyes are shimmering now, swimming with tears. “Stop it,” she chokes out, tugging on her wrist. “I don’t… I’m not…”

  “Not like that?” I refuse to let go. “Are you sure about that, my love? There isn’t a part of you that’s just a tiny bit glad that your patient’s stepfather got his just desserts? That you got to pull the trigger on the agent who killed your mother? That though Henderson is still out there, he’s already paying for his crimes in flesh and blood?”

  The tears spill over, covering her cheeks with wetness, and I feel her breathing hitch in her chest as I say softly, “He deserves it, Sara. You know he does. It’s regrettable that others had to die in his stead, but that’s how this world works. It’s not fair. It’s not just. I know—because if there was any fairness in this life, my son would be here with us today. Instead of dying with a toy car clutched in his fist, he’d grow up to drive the real version. He’d go to school and go out on dates. And one day, at some point in the future, he’d meet someone he’d love as much as I love you—someone who’d make him forget about life’s brutal lessons.”

  She’s crying now, pounding on my chest and sobbing, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her as her armor finally cracks and she gives in to her pain.

  73

  Sara

  I cry for what feels like hours. I grieve for my parents and for the man I killed, for Peter’s victims and for Pasha and Tamila. And most of all, I grieve for the woman I had been once, the one who couldn’t imagine taking a life… or loving a man capable of murder.

  It hits me in waves, all the pain and guilt and rage. God, there’s so much rage. I didn’t know I had it in me. If Henderson were here now, I’d kill him with my bare hands. I’d watch him die and bask in every gruesome moment. Despite all odds, Peter and I had built our dream life together—only to lose it all in a devastating blow.

  Is that what it had been like for him when Pasha and Tamila had been killed?

  Did he feel like this—like his world had suddenly stopped spinning?

  As I cry, I relive it all—all the memories I’ve fought so hard against. I hear the gunfire and the deafening roar of the chopper, smell the blood and panic in the air. I see my parents die, and feel the cold weight of the gun in my hand as I pull the trigger… once, twice, a third time.

  I remember what it felt like to see that man’s face explode and know that I took a human life—that deep inside, I’m capable of all the same things as Peter.

  I cry for that and for the knowledge that my child will never know a truly peaceful life, that he or she will grow up in a world colored with shades of darkness. I cry for my dad, who never got to be a grandfather, and for my mom, whose last moments were spent hunched over her husband’s dead body.

  I cry for them and I rage at fate, and all the while, Peter is there, holding me.

  Lending me his strength, so I can fall apart without breaking.

  74

  Sara

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Peter asks for the tenth time as we approach Esguerra’s mansion after dinner, and I nod, looking up at his concerned expression.

  “Don’t worry. I will be just fine.”

  For the first time in a week and a half, I’m not lying. My eyes feel like I’ve been rubbing them with sandpaper, and I have a pounding headache from hours of crying, but I know that I will eventually recover.

  I will move past this because I’m strong enough.

  “I don’t have to go,” Peter repeats again. “We can just turn around and go back home.”

  “You mean back to the house Esguerra’s letting us crash in? The same Esguerra whose hospitality is predicated on you helping him get Henderson in a speedy manner?”

  Peter lifts his broad shoulders in a shrug, looking unconcerned. “He’ll understand if I can’t make it to the meeting.”

  I smile up at him, my chest flooding with glowing warmth. My dark knight—always willing to go into battle on my behalf. “Maybe—but there’s no need. I’ll be fine. And to be honest, I really want to hang out with Nora and Lizzie.”

  “All right, my love. If you’re sure,” he says as we stop by the front door of the mansion. “Call me if anything, okay? I won’t be far.” He points at a small building nearby—must be the office Esguerra was referring to.

  “Sounds good. I’ll see you soon.” Placing my hands on his broad shoulders, I rise up on tiptoes and press my lips to his. I meant it to be a goodbye peck, but he loops one arm around my waist and slides a hand into my hair, holding me still as he deepens the kiss, hungrily plundering my mouth. My heart rate speeds up, a warmth curling low in my core as his cock hardens against my belly, and for a moment, I’m tempted to agree to his unspoken proposition.

  To bail on our commitments tonight, so we can go back to the house and spend the next two hours in bed.

  It’s only when he breaks the kiss to drag in air that my head clears enough to realize we’re making out on Esguerra’s front porch—and that the curtain on the nearby window is twitching, as if someone’s peeking in on us.

  “Wait…” Breathing heavily, I twist out of his hold and step back. “We can’t—we shouldn’t here.”

  He stares at me, his powerful chest rising and falling, and I know that if we weren’t in public, he’d be on me already.

  “All right,” he says gutturally, his big hands flexing at his sides. “But don’t stay here too long… Remember, first and foremost, you’re mine.”

  And with that atavistic statement, he turns around and stalks off.

  If Nora notices my red-rimmed, swollen eyes, she’s tactful enough not to say anything as I accompany her to Lizzie’s room.

  “It sounds like you love it here,” I say, smiling, as she bends over the crib to pick up her daughter. The baby makes a disgruntled sound, but then she settles into her mother’s arms, laying her tiny head on Nora’s slender shoulder.

  “I do love it.” Nora beams at me as she sits down in a rocking chair, gently patting Lizzie’s back. “I have from the beginning.”

  Chewing on my lower lip, I take a seat on the small sofa next to the chair. Curiosity is gnawing at me, but I don’t know if I should get that personal with this young woman. “Do you love everything about it?” I finally venture.

  I’m not talking about the weather or local nature, and I see that Nora understands. Still, my question is vague enough that she could answer it like that if she chooses—I don’t want to make her uncomfortable in any way.

  Her eyes are dark and thoughtful as she studies me. “No,” she says quietly. “Not everything—though I do love him.”

  Of course she does. I saw it at the dinner. And he loves her… though some might say a man like that isn’t capable of that kind of feeling.

  I now know that ruthless killers can love, and that the heart can lack a moral compass.

  “Do you know about their most recent operation?” I ask softly when she falls silent. “The one with all the hostages?”

  She slowly nods. “I do. I assume you do, too?”

  “Peter wasn’t going to tell me, but this afternoon, I overheard them.” I swallow, my skin crawling anew. “So yes, now I know.”

  “Ah. I was wondering about—” She stops and smiles ruefully. “Never mind.”

  I cock my head, marveling at how calm she looks, how unfazed by it all. “It doesn’t bother you?” I ask, unable to help myself
. “You don’t find this sort of thing… horrifying?

  She sighs, shifting the baby to the other shoulder. “I do. Of course I do. I’m not like Julian; I wasn’t born to this life.”

  “So how do you do it then? How do you let it slide?”

  “To be honest,” she says softly, “I don’t know. All I know is that I love him… that I need him like the rainforest needs the sun. My world is darker with him in it, but it’s brighter too, richer in so many ways.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. I understand her so completely that it’s scary. “Do you ever wonder if it’s you… if something inside you is wrong and broken?” I ask carefully as the baby starts to fuss. “That maybe normal women wouldn’t have… you know?”

  She sighs again and shifts Lizzie back to the other shoulder. “It’s possible. I know Julian and I— Well, the way we are together is not for everyone, that’s for certain.” She’s about to say more, but Lizzie’s fussing is growing in volume, and Nora stands up instead, bouncing the baby to calm her down.

  I rise to my feet as well. “May I hold her?”

  Nora grins as the baby’s fussing escalates to screaming. “Right now? Are you sure?”

  “I do need the practice,” I say wryly. “And your husband said you could use the help.”

  “In that case, here you go.” She hands over the baby with exaggerated eagerness. “This bundle of joy is all yours.”

  To my surprise, Lizzie immediately stops crying and stares up at me with big blue eyes.

  “Why, you little traitor,” Nora says to her daughter with mock outrage. “See if you get breastfed tonight.”

  I laugh, bouncing the baby in my arms, and as she gurgles, her tiny fist reaching for my hair, I feel more of the pressure in my chest easing, the dark clouds of grief lifting long enough to let me glimpse a hint of light.

  75

  Henderson

  Nowhere to be found.

  The words rattle around my migraine-ridden brain, the letters twisting on the screen like snakes.

  All my contacts are telling me my wife and children are nowhere to be found. It’s like they vanished into thin air.

  My neck spasms in pain, the agony radiating down my arm. I want to howl like an animal and down a pack of pills, but I can’t.

  I need all my wits about me for this.

  The odds are high that Sokolov already has them. What else could explain their disappearance? There are no records of them leaving Iceland, no plane tickets issued to anyone matching their description.

  They must’ve been abducted in Reykjavik.

  Soon, I will get a demand to turn myself over, along with some body parts from my children. Sokolov won’t spare them—not after what happened to his child in that shitty little village.

  There’s only one thing left to do, one last desperate plan to try.

  Picking up the phone, I dial the number on my desk.

  “Get ready,” I say when the man on the other end picks up. “Operation Air Drop is a go.”

  76

  Peter

  I run again through Plan A with my team, Kent, and Esguerra. Then we go through Plans B, C, D, and E.

  We also have to allow for the unlikely possibility that it is not a trap, and Bonnie Henderson really did reach out.

  Which is why, despite my reluctance to leave Sara, I’m going to London with my team.

  We have to find Henderson and finish this.

  This time, there’s no other choice.

  “How does Nora feel about you going?” I ask Esguerra when we’re wrapping things up. Sara didn’t react well this morning when I told her, and I imagine Nora is equally upset.

  Esguerra shrugs, though his expression tightens. “She’s not happy, but she knows this is important. It’s dangerous to grow soft in our line of business, and I don’t delegate something this big. Besides, it’s the four of you who’ll be in most danger. Kent and I will only get involved if all else fails… and unlike yours, our faces are not plastered all over the evening news.”

  77

  Peter

  We’re flying out first thing in the morning, so for tonight, I go all out, preparing all of Sara’s favorite foods for dinner and opening a bottle of sparkling grape juice. Despite the progress my ptichka’s made with therapy over the past couple of days, I hate the thought of leaving her alone for so long.

  Even with her staying at the Esguerras’ house, with Nora and Yulia within calling distance, I’m going to be worried the entire time I’m away.

  “Why do you have to go?” she asks again, her heart-shaped face pinched with stress. Her plate, piled high with her favorite pasta, is sitting in front of her untouched, as is her champagne glass with the sparkling juice. She hasn’t eaten all day—not since learning that I’m going to London.

  “You know it’s almost certainly a trap,” she continues as I contemplate how to get her to consume some calories. “He’s luring you out, using the email from his wife as bait.”

  “I know—and we’ve planned for that,” I remind her patiently as I nudge the bowl with freshly baked bread toward her. “It’s a still a chance to acquire a lead. It’s hard to set a trap without leaving traces; somewhere, somehow, he’s bound to fuck up.”

  “But what if he doesn’t?” She pushes the bowl away. “What if he succeeds in trapping you?”

  “Ptichka…” I sigh. “You know he’s just going to keep coming after us. I tried to walk away from this once, and look what happened. If I hadn’t taken that deal and given up hunting him—”

  “No.” Sara’s eyes glitter with painful brightness. “Don’t even go there. This is not on you. That deal you made—I know how hard that was for you, and no matter the outcome, I’ll always be thankful that you tried… that you made that kind of sacrifice for me.”

  “Then eat. Please.” I push the bowl of bread toward her again. “If not for yourself, then for me and our baby.”

  She blinks, as if only now realizing that she hasn’t had so much as a bite of anything I’ve made. Picking up a piece of bread, she obediently bites into it, then forks some pasta into her mouth.

  I stare at a speck of sauce left behind on her upper lip, and as if reading my mind, she runs her tongue over it, making my body tighten.

  Fuck, I want to nibble on those soft, plush lips… to feel them pressed against my balls as she runs her tongue up and down my scrotum.

  The surge of lust is so strong it catches me off-guard. My heart rate kicks up, and I go from mild arousal to a full-blown erection in a second. The only thing that stops me from stretching her out on this table is that she’s finally eating.

  Reluctantly, with an obvious lack of appetite, but eating.

  Reining in my lust, I finish my own food, watching her vigilantly the entire time.

  She consumes about half of the pasta on her plate before she gives up and declares herself full. I coax her into eating some dessert—a bowl of berries with whipped coconut cream—and then I finally give in to my own hunger.

  Leaving the dishes on the table, I pick her up and carry her to our bedroom.

  78

  Sara

  He’s careful with me tonight, unusually gentle, and for once, the tenderness is exactly what I want. Ever since this morning, when Peter told me he’s leaving for London, I’ve been paralyzed with fear, so terrified for him that I can scarcely breathe.

  He’s still not fully healed, though he acts as if the wounds don’t matter. Over the past two days, he’s resumed training with Anton and the twins, performing feats of strength and endurance that few uninjured athletes could’ve matched. Despite that, I’m acutely aware that he’s not superhuman—that he can bleed and die from bullets, just like anyone.

  I spoke to Nora after lunch, while Peter was finalizing the logistics with her husband and the others. She was outwardly calm, but I could tell that she was just as worried, that her anxiety ran just as deep. She told me some more details of their plan—about how Kent and Esguerra would be
heading up the backup teams, how six dozen of their best-trained guards would be involved in the entire operation. How the men have run through over fifty different simulations, preparing for everything under the sun.

  It should’ve reassured me, but the sucking pit of fear in my stomach has only gotten worse since that conversation, because it impressed on me just how dangerous this whole endeavor is—particularly for Peter and his teammates.

  As most wanted fugitives, they’re heading straight into a lion’s den.

  Closing my eyes, I try not to think about it, to focus only on Peter’s lips trailing sensuously over my back. I’m on my stomach, and he’s kissing every vertebrae on my spine, his calloused palms sliding over my skin with delicious roughness, stroking and massaging me all over. Each touch of his sculpted lips sends tingly warmth spreading through my body, each stroke of his big hands relaxing and arousing at once.

  “You’re so sweet,” he whispers reverently, raining kisses on the dip of my waist, the curve of my ass, the sensitive underside of my buttocks. “So beautiful all over.” His deep, faintly accented voice is like brushed velvet to my ears, adding to the heat building in my veins and the pulsing tension growing in my core.

  His fingers slip between my legs, finding my slick opening, and I moan as he penetrates me with two fingers, stretching me, filling me until I throb with need. I’m already so turned I’m on the verge of coming, and as he curls those fingers inside me, pressing on my G-spot, my body spasms, the release sweeping through me like a warm tidal wave.

  I’m still coming down from the high when he rolls me over and covers me with his muscular body. “I love you,” he murmurs, looking down at me as he holds himself propped up on one elbow. His free palm curves around my jaw, his thumb softly stroking my cheek, and the tenderness in his metallic gaze melts me all the way down to the bone.