Claim Me(Capture Me: Book 3)(22)

He just stands there, looking tense and angry, so I plow on. “I’m sorry about Obenko—your uncle, that is. I know he meant a lot to you. And Mateyenko… They were good agents. They truly cared about their country, and I know Obenko cared about you…” I realize I’m rambling, so I take a breath and say, “Listen, I know the men holding us seem scary, but I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. Lucas said he won’t hurt you, and I—”

“Is he your lover?” Misha’s cheeks redden as he asks the question, but he doesn’t look away, his gaze locked on me accusingly.

I feel my own face heat up. This is not a conversation I want to be having with my young brother. “He’s… It’s complicated. But you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay?”

“Yeah, like you made sure Uncle Vasya was safe.” Misha’s tone is harsh, but I sense the fear and grief underneath. The training he received in the last two years wouldn’t have prepared him for this. My baby brother might know how to fight and shoot a gun, but I doubt he’d seen death up close before yesterday.

That part doesn’t come until later in the training program.

“Michael…” I bite my lip, wondering how to best tackle Obenko’s lies. “I know your uncle has told you some things about me, and—”

“Are you going to accuse him of being a liar too? Isn’t it enough that he’s dead because of you?” Misha’s face tightens, and his eyes gleam a shade too brightly. “These killers, they came after you. This all happened because of you.”

“No, Misha—Michael—that’s not true.” My heart aches at his pain. “I escaped so I could warn Obenko about—” I cut myself off, realizing I’m about to scare my brother further. In a calmer tone, I say, “Look, I know how it must seem to you, but I swear, I came with the best intentions. Everything I’ve done since leaving the orphanage was so that—”

“Oh, please.” Misha steps toward me, his handcuffed hands stiff in front of his body. “You left me there to rot. One day you were promising you’d always be there for me, and the next you were gone.”

Shocked, I open my mouth, but he doesn’t give me a chance to reply. “You think I don’t remember?” His voice rises as he takes another step toward me. “Well, I do. I remember everything. You lied to me. You said we’d always be together, and then you left!”

“That’s enough.” Lucas’s voice freezes us both in place as the door opens and my captor steps in. He’s followed by Dr. Goldberg, who’s wearing latex gloves and carrying a surgical tray with various-sized syringes and needles.

My heart skips a beat, then leaps into overdrive. “What is this?” I can’t hide my panic as I look at Lucas. “You said—”

“It’s the trackers I mentioned to you before,” Lucas says, crossing the room. Stopping in front of my bed, he glances at my brother, whose horrified gaze is locked on the tray. “She’ll be fine,” Lucas says, grabbing Misha’s arm and dragging him away from the bed.

“No, wait.” Cold sweat breaks out all over my body as Dr. Goldberg picks up a small syringe and comes toward me. I’m not ready for this battle. “Lucas, please, you don’t need these,” I plead as he tows my brother across the room, ignoring Misha’s attempt to drop to the floor and kick out his knees. “I won’t run, I promise. I’ll do anything you want…”

Lucas stops in the doorway and pulls Misha against him in a chokehold. His muscled forearm is thicker than Misha’s neck. “I know,” he says, his arctic gaze pinning me in place. “You will. And right now, I want you to be a good girl and let the doctor give you some local anesthetic to make the insertion easier.”

“But—”

Misha’s face turns purple as Lucas tightens his arm, and I nod quickly, my eyes burning with helpless tears. “Okay, yes. I’ll do it. Just let him go.”

“I will—when the implants are in.” Releasing Misha’s throat, Lucas grabs his shirt and drags him out of the room, shutting the door on the way.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says, leaning over me. His brown eyes are filled with sympathy. “I know this isn’t easy for you. If you could please lie down on your stomach…”

My bruises ache dully as I obey, stretching out and turning over onto my stomach. The doctor pulls the blanket off me, and I feel a small pinch between my shoulder blades as the needle sinks into my skin. It’s followed by another pinch at my nape and a prick near my underarm. My skin grows numb, and I close my eyes, my tears dampening the sheets under my face.

My captor is as cruel as ever, and this time, there’s no escape.





28





Lucas



“What do you want from us?” the boy asks in English, rubbing his throat with his handcuffed hands. His gaze swings between me and the bedroom door, and I know he’s deciding whether he should attack me to try to save his sister. “Are you going to kill us?”

His English is good, nearly as good as Yulia’s, which makes sense. UUR must’ve also taught him from an early age.

“No, Michael,” I say. “Not if your sister does what she’s told.” I wouldn’t kill him—and I certainly wouldn’t kill Yulia—but it’s best if the kid doesn’t know that yet. He may be young, but he’s strong and skilled for his age.

I’ll need leverage to keep him in line.

Sure enough, the boy’s chin juts out belligerently. “If you’re not going to kill us, why did you bring us here? I’m not going to betray my country, so if you think you can get me to talk—”

“I doubt a trainee would know anything worthwhile, so you can relax. Torture is not on the agenda today.”

He glares at me, and I see him weighing the odds of winning against me in a fight.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” I step to the right so that I’m between him and the bedroom door. “I promised Yulia I wouldn’t hurt you, but if you keep attacking me…” I leave the threat unsaid, but the boy blanches and takes a step back.

Satisfied, I gesture toward the couch. “Sit. You can watch some TV until Diego returns.”

The kid doesn’t move. “Why are you doing this to Yulia? What do you want from her?”

“That’s none of your business.” My words come out harsher than I intended. I overheard the two siblings talking when I came in, and though I don’t understand Russian, it was obvious to me that Michael accused his sister of something. She’d looked hurt, devastated by whatever the boy said to her. It almost made me change my mind about forcing the implants on her today.

Almost, but not really.

The need to lock Yulia down, to chain her to me, is a compulsion I can’t fight. Not having her with me these last couple of weeks has been the worst form of torture, and I won’t put myself through it ever again. Esguerra definitely had the right idea when he used the implants on his wife. The trackers will keep me informed of Yulia’s whereabouts at all times. With the devices embedded in her neck and back, only a highly skilled surgeon would be able to remove them safely.

“She’s my sister,” the boy snaps, his blue eyes—eerily like Yulia’s—burning with fury. “If you hurt her—”

“You won’t be able to do anything about it,” I say, figuring it’s best to establish that right away. “The only reason you’re alive and well is because I’m keeping you that way. A lot of people on this compound died because of your agency, and my boss was nearly killed. Do you understand?”

The kid stares at me for a few moments, then walks over to the couch and sits down, his shoulders rigid with tension.

He gets it now.

If something were to happen to me, he and Yulia would be goners.

I suppose I should feel bad scaring the boy, but he needs to know the reality of his situation. So far, the kid has been nothing but trouble. He attacked Eduardo on the plane, landing a kick to his groin, and when Diego dropped him off at my house, the guard told me the boy tried to grab his weapon in the car on the way here.

For his own safety, Yulia’s brother needs to accept his new circumstances.

“Listen, Michael…” I approach the couch and pick up the remote control. “I don’t intend to harm Yulia—or you, for that matter. But you need to cooperate and stop fighting us.”

The kid gives me a sullen look. “Fuck you.”

I should probably castigate him for his language, but I’ve said worse when I was his age. “What do you want to watch?” I ask, waving the remote at the TV.

He doesn’t reply for a moment, then says in a low voice, “You killed my uncle.”

I turn toward him in surprise. “Your uncle?”

“Yeah.” The boy jumps to his feet, his hands clenched. “You know, the man whose head you shot off yesterday?”

I frown. The story is more complicated than I thought. “He was one of the agents at the black site?”

“Fuck you.” The kid plops down on the couch and stares straight ahead. “I hope you eat shit and die.”