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“Why would you do that?”
“Because Defense Minister Brnovich has been lying to me about purchasing weapons for years. The funds go out, disappear, but no guns come back. He lines his pockets and gets fat and rich. I believe he is working with a Russian-backed syndicate to steal as much government money as he can.”
“I’ve seen the boats. And I’m aware of the Russians.”
He rolled his eyes. “I hate the damn boats. All he talks about.”
“Prime Minister, this is a misunderstanding. I can prove that I mean you no harm. In fact, I want to help your government.”
He placed the gun down on the nightstand and pursed his lips. “How much weaponry are we talking? I want details, as many as you can provide. And I am already sending men to check your plane and your hangar to ascertain the truth of this.”
“Very good, Prime Minister. I think we can make a deal.” I grinned at him and glanced back at Matthias.
He rolled his eyes, as if everything always worked out for me in the end.
It didn’t. Not always.
But I couldn’t deny that luck was on my side tonight.
The prime minister stepped out of bed. He wore pajamas, dark gray with blue stripes. He was in decent shape for a man his age. He strode over and shook my hand.
“Come. Let us have tea and work this out. Perhaps Brnovich can join us.”
“I’m not sure that would be a good idea. All due respect, I think I’d kill him.”
The prime minister laughed and led me back into the hall. I followed him downstairs and into the kitchen, where several of his guards were waiting.
He made tea for everyone, and we sat and talked.
Dear Robyn
I know what you see when you look at me.
Rich. Handsome. Given everything. Every advantage in the world.
My life’s been a struggle. Since the day I opened my eyes for the first time, I’ve been fighting to survive.
I know that sounds strange.
My fight was never for comfort, or food, or luxury. I was given all of that and more. Privilege and honor and duty.
My fight was for strength.
My father instilled a killer instinct in me and my brothers from a young age. He pitted us against each other in fights, in contests, in competitions. We grew up trying to kill each other, sometimes literally. I have scars from my brothers.
I have wounds that will never heal.
When I was ten, my brother shot me in the face with a BB gun. I still have the scar above my eye. I bled so much it still shocks me to think about it. A sea of red. When I was twelve, my father made my brothers and I fight with sticks until only one of us was left standing. I won that competition, but things were never the same after.
We struggled. God knows I’ve struggled.
I don’t love my brothers. Does that make me a monster? You already thought I was. What’s one more sin?
When I was thirteen, my youngest brother, Raymond, broke my wrist with a baseball bat. When I was fourteen, my middle brother, Noah, pushed me down a flight of stairs.
On and on. Injuries and betrayals.
I don’t love them because I know that if I did, they’d use my love against me.
They’d do to me exactly what I’d do to them.
All because my father taught us that was what a man was supposed to do.
I still have nightmares about the pain.
Does this make me weak?
Then I’m weak.
But I promise you, my life was not easy, and it never will be.
Not while my brothers are alive.
I hope you never meet them.
Love,
C
12
Robyn
The Blackwoods campus felt like heaven. I lounged on a bench with Cora and kicked my legs out.
“So you’re telling me you nearly sparked an international incident? In freaking Latvia?” She leaned forward, staring at me with an open mouth. “Jarrod’s gonna freak when I tell him.”
“Please don’t. Calvin would murder me. And I think I mean that literally. I’m pretty sure he killed people out there.”
Cora’s laugh was disbelieving, and I couldn’t blame her.
I still hadn’t processed what happened in Latvia yet.
After the attack in Brnovich’s lake house, I spent a night in a quiet, cold, anonymous rowhome, curled in a comfortable bed. Calvin and Matthias were nowhere to be found, and the soldiers assigned to keep me safe wouldn’t tell me where they went.
My ears rang. My body ached. I yearned for Calvin’s arms. I despised myself for that, too.
He returned in the morning with good news: The prime minister would take over the contract, and we were selling his weapons after all.
He never fully explained. The next day was a whirlwind of official signings and inspections, and we were hustled back onto our plane before sundown. The Latvians were happy to get their guns, but they didn’t want Calvin to linger long.
