I can’t handle Lucas Kent.
Maybe it would’ve been better if he had taken me roughly again. Lust—pounding, punishing lust—is what I expected when he reached for me. And it’s what he gave me at first, kissing me by force, using my body’s reaction to override my defenses. I was prepared for that after the last time, but I wasn’t prepared for his gentleness.
I didn’t expect him to treat me like I matter.
“Yulia.” He lifts his head, gazing down on me, and my cheeks heat up as our eyes meet. With the fog of lust receding, I become aware that he’s still deep inside me—and that I’m holding him there, my legs wrapped so tightly around his hips that he can’t move.
My flush intensifying, I unlock my ankles and lower my legs. I also change my grip on his sides to push him away instead of holding on to him. I can’t play Lucas’s game right now. It feels too real.
He leans down to brush a kiss on my lips and then carefully disengages from me. As he pulls out, I feel a warm, sticky wetness between my thighs.
His seed.
He fucked me without a condom after all.
Irrational bitterness seizes me, chasing away the remnants of my post-coital glow.
“You should’ve waited for the blood test,” I say, pulling my shirt down as Lucas pushes away from me and stands up, getting off the couch. Squeezing my legs together, I give him a hard look. “I have AIDS and syphilis, you know.”
“Do you now?” He sounds more amused than worried as he puts away his cock and zips up his jeans. His eyes gleam as he looks at me. “Anything else? Maybe gonorrhea?”
“No, just herpes and chlamydia.” I smile at him sweetly, propping myself up on one elbow. “But you’ll learn all of that soon, when the test results come back. Now, may I please have a towel or a tissue? I wouldn’t want to soil your nice carpet.”
To my disappointment, he doesn’t rise to my bait. Instead, he laughs and disappears into the kitchen, only to return a second later with a paper towel. “Here you go,” he says, handing it to me. Then he watches with undisguised interest as I sit up and wipe away the wetness on my thighs, doing my best to keep my shirt down as I do so.
“Good job,” he says when I’m done. “Now, are you hungry? I think it’s time for a second breakfast.”
I frown, more than a little frustrated that he’s being so calm. I don’t know why I want to yank at a tiger’s tail, but I do. I hate what he did to me; that impersonal doctor’s examination had been humiliating and dehumanizing. And then to come up with that bullshit excuse about potential internal injuries, as though I couldn’t see straight through him.
As though I don’t know that I’m his sex doll for as long as he cares to play with me.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, but right away realize I’m lying. My body is desperate for calories after being starved for so long. “Wait, no, actually—”
Before I can finish my sentence, I hear a faint buzzing sound and see Lucas reaching into his pocket. He pulls out his phone, looks at it, and lets out a quiet curse.
“What is it?” I ask, but he’s already grabbing my arm and pulling me off the couch.
“Esguerra needs me,” he says, leading me down the hall. “Use the restroom if you need to, and then I have to tie you up again. We’ll eat when I return.”
And just like that, he’s my unfeeling captor once more.
10
Lucas
Julian Esguerra is already in his office when I step in, the flatscreen monitors on the wall displaying news from all over the world. I take note of the Bloomberg one, where a reputable economist is forecasting another market crash.
It may be time to catch up with my investment manager.
I walk past a large oval conference table and approach Esguerra’s wide desk, which is populated with several computer screens. He’s on the phone, so he gestures for me to take a seat in one of the high-end leather chairs. I do so and wait for him to wrap up his conversation. Given the mention of Israeli border security, I’m guessing he’s talking with his contact at the Israeli intelligence agency, the Mossad.
After a minute, Esguerra hangs up and turns his attention to me. “How’s the interrogation going?” he asks. “Any progress so far?”
“A little,” I say with a shrug. “Nothing worth mentioning yet.” I don’t usually keep secrets from my boss, but I don’t want to discuss Yulia with him until I figure out the best way to approach the topic. Out of everyone on the estate, he’s the only one with the power to take her away from me—which means I need to tread carefully.
Esguerra’s harsh reputation is well deserved.
“Good.” He seems satisfied with my answer. “Now, on to the reason I wanted you here…”
“An urgent security matter, you said.”
“Yes.” He leans back, interlocking his hands behind his head. “Nora and I will be taking a trip to the States to visit her family. I’m going to need you to make sure we—and they—are fully protected for the duration.”
“You’re going to visit your wife’s parents? In Oak Lawn?” I’m convinced I must’ve misheard him, but he nods.
“We’ll be there for two weeks,” he says. “And I want the security to be top-notch.”
“All right,” I say. I’m fairly certain Esguerra’s lost his mind, but it’s not my place to say so. If he wants to enter a country where he’s technically wanted by the FBI and spend two weeks with the parents of a girl he kidnapped, married, and impregnated, that’s his business.
My job is to ensure he can do it safely.
“The new recruits are already far in their training, so we can take some of the more experienced guys with us,” I say, thinking out loud. “Two dozen should probably suffice.”
“That sounds about right. Also, I want armored vehicles for all of us, and a good supply of ammo.”
I nod, already thinking through the logistics of that. Some would say Esguerra’s being paranoid—bulletproof cars are hardly a necessity in the Chicago suburbs—but I don’t blame him for being cautious. Al-Quadar may have been squashed for now, but there are plenty of others who’d love to get their hands on him and his pretty young wife.
“I’ll make the arrangements,” I say, even as my chest tightens at the realization of what this trip will mean.
For two whole weeks, I’m going to be separated from my captive.
“How long do you think it’ll take to set everything up?” Esguerra asks. “Nora should be done with her exams in about a week and a half.”
“I’m guessing about two weeks.” Two weeks during which I’ll still have Yulia. “Procuring the cars and all the weapons will take some time, especially if we don’t want to set off any alarms at the FBI or CIA.”
“Good thinking. We definitely don’t want that.” Unlocking his hands from behind his head, Esguerra leans forward. “All right. Two weeks should be good. Thanks.”
I incline my head and stand up so I can leave and start making calls, but before I can turn away, Esguerra says, “Lucas, there’s one more thing.”
I stop, my attention caught by an unusual note in his voice. “What is it?”
“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but my wife and her friend saw Yulia Tzakova in your house yesterday morning. Nora mentioned it to me today.”
“What?” That’s the last thing I expected him to say. “Why were Nora and her friend—Wait, what friend?”
“Rosa, our maid,” Esguerra says. “They’ve become close in recent months. I have no idea what they were doing over there, but you need to make sure your house is secure.” He pauses and gives me a grim look. “I don’t want Nora exposed to anything disturbing in her condition. Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly.” I keep my voice even. “I’ll keep an eye out for any visitors, I promise.”
And the next time I see Esguerra’s maid, I’m going to have a little talk with her.
11
Yulia
“Hey.”
A quiet rapping on the window draws my attention. Startled, I look up and see the dark-haired young woman from before—the one I thought was Lucas’s girlfriend.
“Hey,” she repeats, pressing her nose against the window. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Yulia,” I say, deciding I have nothing to lose by talking to the girl. At least I’m not naked this time. “Who are you?”
“Yulia,” she repeats, as though committing my name to memory. “You’re the spy who caused the plane crash.” She says that as a statement, not a question.
I look at her silently, letting none of my thoughts show. I have no idea who she is or what she wants from me, and I’m not about to say anything that would get me in trouble.
She nods, as if satisfied by my non-response. “Why did Lucas bring you here?”
Instead of answering, I say, “Who are you? What do you want?”
I expect her not to answer either, but she says, “My name is Rosa. I work over at the main house.”
Her name sounds familiar. I frown, and instantly, it comes to me. Lucas mentioned a Rosa this morning. She must be the one who gave Lucas that pot of soup.