L
ucas
T
he sun is impossibly
bright in the sky as I walk toward Esguerra’s office, the humid air making me sweat despite the early hour. Still, I feel lighter than I have in weeks, the knowledge that Yulia is sleeping in my bed filling me with an incandescent mix of satisfaction and relief.
I found her. I have her.
Even the knowledge that Kirill escaped is not enough to spoil my mood this morning. I left Diego to watch over sleeping Yulia so I could start the process of hunting Kirill, but I feel infinitely calmer after eight hours of sleep.
So calm, in fact, that my pulse barely increases when I see Rosa walking across the lawn toward me. As she approaches, I see that she looks uneasy, her hands twisting fistfuls of her skirt at her sides.
“I heard you were in another shootout in Ukraine,” she says, studying me with worried curiosity. “And that you found her. Is it true? Are you all right?”
I nod, my good mood slipping away with every word she speaks. Before leaving the house, I skimmed Thomas’s report on Rosa and found that it contained no new information. The maid hasn’t reached out to anyone outside the compound, nor has anyone tried to contact her. If the girl is working with UUR or any of our enemies, she’s either really good at concealing it, or my original guess about jealousy was right.
It’s time to deal with this problem once and for all.
“Rosa,” I say softly, stepping closer to her. “Why did you help Yulia escape?”
The maid’s bronzed face turns pale. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“Did someone pay you?”
She takes a step back, her eyes huge. “No, of course not! I—” She makes a visible effort to compose herself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says in an almost steady voice. “Whatever she’s told you is a lie. I had nothing to do with her escape.”
I smile coldly. “Yulia didn’t say a word, but I find it interesting that you think she would have.”
Rosa pales even more, and I see her hands tighten convulsively as she continues to back away. “Please, Lucas, it’s not what you think.”
“No?” I close the distance between us and grab her upper arm before she can turn and run. “What is it then?”
“It’s—” She clamps her lips shut and shakes her head, staring up at me. “I had nothing to do with her escape,” she repeats, lifting her chin, and I see that she has no intention of admitting anything to me.
“All right,” I say, tightening my grip on her arm. “Since you’re Esguerra’s maid, let’s see what he has to say about all this.”
And ignoring her terrified expression, I resume walking toward Esguerra’s office, dragging Rosa along at my side.
E
sguerra’s face
is rigid with fury as I present the drone footage. The videos are low resolution and obscured by trees in a few places, but there’s no mistaking Rosa’s curvy figure in her maid’s outfit as she approaches my house. Rosa sits quietly, trembling from head to toe while Esguerra watches the videos on his computer. It’s not until he turns toward her that she begins crying.
“Why?” His voice is like ice as he rises to his feet. “What did you hope to gain by this? You know what we do to traitors.”
Rosa shakes her head, crying harder as Esguerra approaches her, and despite my own anger, I feel a flicker of pity for the girl. In the next second, however, I remember what almost happened to Yulia because of Rosa, and my pity disappears without a trace.
Whatever my boss chooses to do to the maid will be no less than she deserves.
“Please, Señor Esguerra,” she begs as he grips her elbow and drags her off the chair where she was huddling. “Please, it wasn’t like that…”
“What was it like, then?” I ask, fishing my Swiss knife out of my pocket and opening the blade. Stepping toward the maid, I twist my fist in her hair, pulling her head back as Esguerra holds her upright by her upper arms. “Why did you help my prisoner escape?”
Tears streak down Rosa’s face and her mouth quivers as I press the blade against her throat, nicking her neck just enough for her to feel the first bite. “Don’t, please…” Her terror washes over me, but this time, it leaves me cold. I’m in my interrogation mode, and so is Esguerra. I see it in the hard gleam of his eyes.
If the girl doesn’t talk in the next couple of minutes, the tiny wound I left on her neck will be the least of her worries.
“Julian, did you see—” Nora freezes as she enters the office, her eyes widening as she takes in the scene.
“Fuck,” Esguerra mutters, releasing Rosa abruptly. I barely catch her as she stumbles backward, crashing into me. Before she can get away, I secure the sobbing maid with my forearm across her throat and lower my knife. At the same time, Esguerra steps toward his wife, saying, “Nora, baby, go home. This is a security matter.”
“A security matter?” Nora’s voice is thin as her gaze swings wildly between me and her husband. “What are you talking about?”
“Rosa helped Lucas’s prisoner escape,” Esguerra explains tersely, taking Nora’s arm and putting his hand on her back to guide her out of the room. She digs in her heels, but her petite frame is no match for his strength, and he gently but firmly steers her toward the exit. “We’re interrogating her to find out more. It’s nothing you need to worry about, my pet.”
“Are you insane?” Nora’s voice rises as she begins to struggle, and Esguerra stops, wrapping his arms around her from the back as she tries to kick, then headbutt him. “She’s my friend. Don’t touch her!”
Esguerra’s only response is to lift his tiny wife against his chest and hold her tightly to restrain her flailing. Nora screams, bucking in his arms, and Rosa’s sobbing intensifies as Esguerra begins carrying Nora out. He’s almost at the door when Nora yells, “Stop, Julian! She didn’t do it. It was me—all me!”
Rosa’s sobs cut off as suddenly as if she’d been muted, and Esguerra stops, lowering Nora to her feet.
“What?” His expression is thunderous as he grips his wife’s narrow shoulders. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I very nearly ask the same question, but at the last moment, I keep my mouth shut. Given Nora’s unexpected involvement, it’s best if Esguerra handles it from here on.
He’d gut me for so much as looking at his wife the wrong way.
“I did it.” Nora raises her chin to meet her husband’s furious gaze. “I helped Yulia escape. So if you’re going to interrogate anyone, it should be me. She had nothing to do with it.”
“You’re lying.” Esguerra’s voice is lethally soft. “I saw the drone footage. She went to Lucas’s house right before our departure.”
Nora doesn’t miss a beat. “Right. Because I asked her to.”
Rosa makes a choking sound, her hands clawing at my forearm, and I realize I inadvertently tightened my arm across her throat. Cursing silently, I lower my arm and push Rosa away from me, letting her collapse on the chair she was sitting on earlier. Esguerra’s wife is lying—I’m almost certain she’s lying—but I have no idea how to prove it. There was no reason for Nora to help Yulia; she doesn’t know the Ukrainian spy, and she certainly doesn’t have any feelings for me.
“Why would you do this?” Esguerra demands. He’s clearly thinking along the same lines. “You despise this girl. You hate her for the crash, remember?” His eyes drill into Nora, but she doesn’t back down.
“So what?” She twists out of Esguerra’s hold and steps back, her small chest heaving. “You know I had a problem with Lucas torturing a woman at his house—even
that
woman.”
Recognition flickers across Esguerra’s face before his jaw tightens further, and I realize to my shock that Nora might’ve done it after all. Esguerra did mention that she and Rosa had been to my house the day Yulia arrived. If so, Nora might’ve seen Yulia sitting in my living room, naked and bound to a chair. It’s not inconceivable that the sight bothered the girl; for all her newfound toughness, Nora is a product of her upbringing—her soft American middle-class background.
Most people new to this way of life would’ve objected to me torturing Yulia, and it’s possible Nora did too.
Fucking hell. If Nora weren’t Esguerra’s wife…
Esguerra himself looks on the verge of murder as he catches Nora’s arm and drags her closer to him. “Walk me through this.” His blue eyes gleam with rage. “You instructed Rosa to do what, exactly?”
Rosa begins crying again, and I spare her a glance before turning my attention back to the drama playing out in front of me. I’ve never seen Esguerra so mad at his wife before. If I were Nora, I’d be backpedaling right about now; the things I’ve seen her husband do would make serial killers squirm.
Nora’s face is white as she stares up at Esguerra, but her voice barely shakes as she says, “I asked her to help Yulia escape. I didn’t tell her how to do it—she knows this place better than me, so I left the exact method up to her. Rosa didn’t want to do it, but I told her how much it bothered me, and with the baby and everything, she gave in to my request.”
Manipulative little witch. I want to wring Nora’s neck and applaud in admiration at the same time. Mentioning the baby they just lost was a low blow, but it had the desired effect. Esguerra’s grip on Nora’s arm slackens, and pain flits across his face before he composes himself. When he speaks again, some of the lethal bite is gone from his voice.
“Why didn’t you talk to me about it? If it bothered you that much, why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t think it would’ve helped,” Nora says, and I see her big dark eyes fill with tears. “I’m sorry, Julian. I wanted the girl gone by the time we returned, and I told Rosa to make it happen. I was sure you wouldn’t go along with it.” Her chin quivers as the tears spill over and roll down her cheeks. “Please, if you have to punish someone, it should be me, not Rosa. She was just being a good friend to me. Please, Julian.” She reaches up to touch his face with her free hand, and I avert my gaze as Esguerra catches her wrist and pulls her flush against him, his nostrils flaring. The tension between them turns thickly sexual, and I suddenly feel like an intruder, a peeping tom observing an intimate moment.
Clearing my throat, I step toward Rosa and grab her upper arm, pulling her to her feet. “I’ll let you two figure this out,” I say, marching the maid toward the door. “In the meanwhile, I’ll have Rosa watched by the guards.”
Neither Esguerra nor his wife justify my statement with a response, and as I exit the building, I hear the sound of something falling, followed by Nora’s choked cry. Rosa sucks in her breath—she must’ve heard it too—and her shoulders shake with a fresh bout of tears.
“Don’t worry,” I say, giving the girl an icy look as I lead her away from the building. “Esguerra may be a sadist, but he won’t hurt her—much. You, on the other hand, are still a question mark. If Nora lied to protect you…”
I don’t complete my statement, but I don’t have to.
We both know what Esguerra will do to Rosa if she allowed Nora to take the fall for her.
Y
ulia
I
wake
up groggy and confused, hurting from head to toe. Groaning, I stumble out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Still half-asleep, I take care of business, and it’s only when I’m washing my face that it dawns on me that I’m alone—and untied.
A soreness at the back of my neck reminds me of the reason for that: the tracker implants. Lucas must be certain I won’t be able to run away again.
I lift my hand and touch the bandage on my nape, then turn to peer at my back in the mirror. Besides the spot I’m touching—and amidst a mottled canvas of bruises—there are two more areas where the trackers went in. The bandages on the wounds are simple Band-Aids now; Lucas must’ve changed them while I was sleeping. I vaguely recall the doctor giving instructions about that.
I also remember what happened afterwards, and a violent blush sears my face, chasing away the remnants of my sleepiness. I’m not sure why I egged Lucas on like that, but at the time, it seemed to make sense. He clearly cares little about me as a person, and I wanted him to admit it. I wanted him to prove to me once and for all that I’m nothing more than a convenient body for him to fuck, a sexual object that he can and will hurt at will.
Except he didn’t hurt me. He gave me pleasure, and then he took his own with his fist, leaving me covered with his seed.
“Yulia?” A knock on the door startles me, and I turn, my pulse jumping into the stratosphere. The voice is not Lucas’s, and I’m completely naked.
“Yes?” I call out, grabbing a big fluffy towel off the rack and wrapping it around myself.
“Lucas asked me to watch you this morning,” the man says, and I exhale in relief as I recognize Diego’s voice. “I hope I didn’t scare you. He said you might be sleeping for a while, and I was in the kitchen, grabbing myself a snack, when I heard the water running. You okay? Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m fine, thanks,” I say, my heartbeat slowing a bit. “I’ll just, um… I’ll be right out.”
“No problem. Take your time. I’ll be in the kitchen.” I hear retreating footsteps.
On autopilot, I brush my teeth and run a comb through my hair, untangling the wild blond mess. Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even trying to look presentable. The face staring at me from the mirror is like something out of a nightmare. My lips are already beginning to heal, but the left side of my face, where Kirill hit me, is one giant ugly bruise. Smaller scrapes and bruises decorate the rest of my face and body—except for my back, which looks even worse than my face.
No wonder I’m still in pain.
Carefully, I rotate my neck from side to side, trying to ease the stiffness in my muscles. My head aches with the movement, but not as much as yesterday. The doctor had been right about the mildness of my concussion; I had passed out on the plane as much from shock and exhaustion as the head injury itself.
Feeling marginally better, I tighten the towel around myself and walk to the bedroom to change. All the skimpy outfits that Lucas got for me are still there, and I select a pair of shorts and a T-shirt at random, grimacing in pain as I put the clothes on.
When I finally make my way to the kitchen, I find Diego there, spreading cream cheese on a toasted bagel.
“Hey,” he says, giving me his usual charming grin. “Are you hungry?”
My stomach chooses that moment to rumble, and the young guard’s smile widens. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, putting his bagel down on his plate and getting up. “What would you like? Cereal, toast, fruit? Here, sit.” He gestures toward the table. “I’m under strict orders to make sure you don’t do anything strenuous today.”
“Um, cereal would work.” I walk over to the table and sit down, feeling disoriented. It seems like only minutes ago, I was in Ukraine amidst gunfire and explosions, and now I’m in Lucas’s kitchen, talking about cereal with one of the mercenaries who killed my UUR colleagues.
My
former
UUR colleagues, I mentally correct myself. I ceased being part of the organization when I made the choice to disappear instead of carrying out my assignment.
“Where’s my brother?” I ask, remembering what Lucas told me about the guards watching him.
Diego gives me another grin. “He’s with Eduardo. The poor guy drew the short straw.”
I blink. “Oh?”
“Let’s just say your brother is not very happy to be here.” Diego walks over to the fridge and takes out a carton of milk. Pouring cereal into a bowl, he adds the milk, grabs a spoon, and brings the bowl to me. Before I can ask, he says, “But he’s okay, so don’t worry. Nobody’s going to hurt him.”
I pick up my spoon, though I no longer feel hungry. My stomach is tight with anxiety. Of course Misha is not happy to be here. How could he be? His uncle was killed in front of his eyes, and he must be terrified out of his mind. And if Obenko didn’t lie about Misha’s relationship with his adoptive parents, they must be worried sick about him. Unless he lives at the UUR dorms, like other trainees? If that’s the case, they might not be aware of what happened yet, though I’m sure someone is bound to notify them soon.
What a disaster—and it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been so weak, Lucas wouldn’t have known anything about UUR. I let my captor break me, and then I inadvertently led him to my brother—the very person I was trying to protect. I remember yesterday’s argument with Misha, the accusations he threw at me, and I want to curl up and cry.
“Are you all right?” Diego sits down across from me and picks up his bagel. “You look really pale.”
“I’m fine,” I say automatically, dipping my spoon into the cereal and bringing the soggy corn flakes to my lips. “Just a bit out of it.”
“Of course.” Diego gives me a sympathetic grin. “Jet lag is a bitch, plus you got it pretty rough yesterday.”
He focuses on his bagel, and I choke down a few bites of cereal before putting down my spoon. I didn’t lie about being out of it; my thoughts are all over the place, my mind jumping from one question to another. The future—especially my brother’s future—is like a terrifying black hole looming in the distance, so I try to focus on the present and the near past.
“How did you know where to find me?” I ask Diego when he’s done with his bagel. “In general, how did you locate that facility?”
“Oh, yeah, that…” The guard gets up and takes his plate over to the sink. “I’m afraid your rescue was more or less luck on our end, but I’ll let Kent fill you in on that.”
Great. Another person stonewalling me. Does every person on this compound regard me as Lucas’s property to such an extent that they can’t answer my questions on their own?
Suppressing my frustration, I force myself to eat another spoonful of cereal before getting up to dump the rest of it in the garbage.
“What are you doing? Here, I got it.” Diego intercepts me before I can get to the sink, grabbing the bowl out of my hands. “You need to rest today.”
“I’m fine,” I say, then lean against the counter, the weakness in my knees belying my statement. “I want to see Misha—Michael, I mean. Can you bring him here or take me to him?”
“Nope,” Diego says cheerfully. “Eduardo took him to the training gym an hour ago. Why don’t you rest for now, and then we’ll see what Kent says later?” The guard is smiling, but I can sense the steel underneath his easygoing facade. He’s not about to let me do anything other than rest and wait for Lucas to come home.
I want to argue, but I know it’ll be useless. Besides, getting back in bed doesn’t sound all that unappealing.
“All right,” I say. “Thank you for the breakfast.”
Making my way back to the bedroom, I lie down, feeling as exhausted as if I just ran ten kilometers. My head is throbbing again, and my bruises ache. Even my throat is sore, and my skin feels tight and achy all over. On the nightstand next to the bed, I see the pain pills from yesterday, and after a moment of indecision, I reach for the bottle and extract two pills. Picking up a water bottle that someone thoughtfully left on the nightstand, I swallow the pills and wash them down with water before lying back and closing my eyes.
There’s no point in fighting Lucas’s orders today. I need to save my strength for when it matters.