I stopped myself because the terror in her voice had been real, and I couldn’t ignore it.
Gritting my teeth, I lift my shirt and examine my ribcage. There’s no blood where Yulia’s weapon grazed me, but there is an angry red scratch. She had probably been aiming for my kidney. If I hadn’t been fast enough, I would be bleeding out in hellish pain on that floor—assuming she didn’t slit my throat immediately. As it is, my jaw throbs where her foot struck me, reminding me how treacherous—and dangerous—she is.
It would’ve been smarter to leave her with the Russians.
No. As soon as the thought crosses my mind, my entire body tenses in rejection. Now that I finally have her in my possession, the idea of someone else tormenting her is unbearable. Everything inside me screams that she’s mine—mine to fuck, mine to punish in any way I choose.
Nobody else will lay hands on her ever again.
Unzipping my jeans, I pull out my engorged cock and close my fist around it. Squeezing my eyes shut, I imagine that I’m inside her and it’s her inner walls gripping my dick so tightly.
With the pornographic images filling my mind, it takes less than a minute for me to come, my seed spurting into the clean white bowl of the sink.
20
Yulia
I don’t know how long it takes me to realize that the reprieve is real, but eventually I calm down enough to stop shaking.
He didn’t go through with it.
He didn’t force me.
I still can’t believe it. I know how hard he was—I felt it. There was no reason for him to show me mercy. I’m not some woman he picked up in a bar; I’m the enemy who just tried to injure him. He should’ve gloried in my pathetic begging and used the weakness I revealed to break me completely.
That’s what I would’ve expected him to do, at least.
Lowering my head, I stare at my naked legs, trying to understand why he stopped. Lucas Kent is not a novice to this life—far from it. According to his file, he joined the United States Navy right after high school and entered the SEAL training program several months later. There wasn’t much in that file on his assignments—only that they were usually classified and extremely dangerous missions—but the reason for him leaving was listed.
It was a murder charge eight years into his service. The man holding me captive killed his commanding officer and disappeared into the jungles of South America. There’s a four-year gap in the file after that, but eventually, Lucas Kent resurfaced as Esguerra’s trusted and extremely deadly second-in-command.
A tingle runs down my arms, and some sixth sense makes me look up.
Two pairs of dark eyes are watching me from the window, one huge and fringed by thick lashes, and the other slightly almond-shaped.
It’s two young women, I realize as the owner of the thick lashes ducks out of sight, leaving me staring at the braver intruder. The remaining girl is about my age and looks Colombian, her bronzed, round face framed by smooth dark hair. She’s pretty—and extremely curious about me, judging by her arrested stare.
I don’t have time to register more because a second later, she ducks and disappears too.
Confused, I continue staring at the window, waiting, but they don’t return. Instead, I hear footsteps and turn my head to see Lucas entering the room with another chair.
Placing it in front of me, he sits down on it and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “All right, Yulia.” His gaze is hard as it travels down my naked body and then returns to my face. “Why don’t you begin by telling me your story.”#p#分页标题#e#
My reprieve is over.
Trying to remain calm, I moisten my lips. “May I please have some water?” I’m thirsty—and desperate to put off the interrogation for as long as possible.
He doesn’t move. “Talk and I’ll give it to you.”
I swallow, noting the implacable set of his jaw. “What do you want to know?” Perhaps there are some basics I can share with him, just like I shared with the Russians. I can admit to being a spy for the Ukrainians—he already knows that much—and I can give him a little bit of my background.
Maybe that information will buy me some time without pain.
“You said you started at eleven.” He watches me coldly, without so much as a hint of the lust that burned between us. “Tell me about them—the people who recruited you.”
So much for hoping I can stall him with innocuous revelations.
“I don’t know much about them,” I say. “They would send me on assignments; that’s all.”
His eyes narrow. He knows I’m lying. “Is that right?” His voice is deceptively soft. “And was enrolling in Moscow State University an assignment?”