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“I don’t know but I’m going to find out.”
“Do that. And fix it. Did they talk?”
“Not a word and there’s no ID on them.”
“The weapons?”
“The kind you can buy on any black market. No identifying marks or tags on their clothing either. They were wearing all black. No tattoos either. They could be anybody from anywhere.”
Which meant it wasn’t a random attack but a warning of some kind. They wouldn’t easily offer up any information and I wasn’t in the mood to waste the time needed to try to convince them to talk.
I stormed away, heading toward the three men. When I stood in front of them, I did what I could to curtail my rage, but it was impossible. I kicked one, backhanding the second, then dragged the third partially off the ground by his throat. “What the fuck are you doing on my property?”
There was no expression on his face, no fear in his eyes. I’d known many assailants as well as trained soldiers over the years. Those with no remorse, no conscience, and no family were the most qualified to work in organizations such as mine. However, there were other options, including specialized military operations. I knew them well. I would get zero from the three men. They’d been programmed to do a job, embracing death if necessary in order to follow their orders.
With their nationality uncertain, I yanked the second one up by the throat, hunkering down so I could look squarely in his eyes. “Quien te envoi?” After asking “Who sent you?” I glanced at the other two. There was zero reaction. “Chto ty zdes’ delayesh?” I asked in Russian. What are you doing here?
Once again, there was nothing but a blank expression, the man’s eyes not focusing on mine. I was finished with playing games. After taking a few steps back, I popped off three shots, walking away almost immediately.
My thoughts drifted to the various occurrences. There was a connection. I was certain of it. It was time to handle things differently.
“What do you want me to do with them?” Diego asked.
“Feed them to the lions.”
CHAPTER8
Emily
“If you are taken, the person responsible will attempt to make you trust them. That could include in intimate ways. Just remember never to allow your guard to fall. He is the enemy. He is the attacker. You are the victim.”
As I floated up from sleep, my father’s voice and face quickly faded away instead of lingering as it had done before. I took several deep breaths, realizing I was no longer alone. I felt the heat of Kostya’s body nestled close to mine and realized he had his arm wrapped around my waist. I stared out the open door at the early morning light, able to hear the quiet roar of the ocean crashing against the rocks. I remained motionless, blinking several times as I studied the beautiful sky with crisscrossing colors. Then my mind started spinning out of control, avoiding the memory of our shared passion.
He’d left the bed after someone had knocked, the hard rapping awakening me. I’d played asleep, listening to the ugly conversation he’d had with some other man. Poachers? For the horses? It was possible he had a stable full of priceless creatures, perhaps racehorses. Nothing about the man would surprise me any longer. A strawberry farm? That was perhaps the most unusual legitimate business coverup I’d ever heard of.
I quickly glanced over my shoulder at the door. I’d been adventurous enough after he’d left to see if he’d left it open. Finding it locked had reinforced that I was nothing but his prisoner. After avoiding tears for the fifth time, I’d finally returned to a fitful sleep, only to sense his presence once again.
I’d watched him stripping off his clothes in the dark, ripping away the covers then shoving my legs up in order to feast on my pussy once again. The man was never satisfied, his hunger for me just another method of asserting his control. He’d given me hours of pleasure, which had only forced my mind to start shutting down as hate for myself replaced every other emotion. Now I felt nothing like the woman I used to know. I wasn’t certain if I’d ever be allowed to practice medicine again and it was just as painful as everything else.
I closed my eyes briefly, the urge to try to slip out just as strong as the night before. I had to know my boundaries, even if I was forced to endure his wrath.
There was something peaceful about that moment, but I forced my thoughts to return to what my father had taught me. How many drills had he forced me to endure? How many lectures had I faced after returning an hour or two late from some event with friends? I’d tuned out more than I should have, hating the time shared. If only I’d paid closer attention.
Shivering, I shifted slightly and as soon as I did, his fingers pressed against my stomach as he murmured in his sleep. I listened to his breathing for a full minute before trying to move away from his hold a second time. This time, he rolled over on his back. Very slowly I stood, turning around to face him. My God. The man was just as gorgeous when sleeping, his hair even more disheveled, several long locks resting in his eyes. I was shocked how much of an effect he’d already had on me in such a short period of time.
I knew why my father had mentioned an attacker using intimacy. I could understand why he’d been concerned, but the attraction we shared wasn’t some crazy syndrome. No. What was I thinking? I couldn’t help but reach down, gingerly easing the hair away in order for me to see his handsome face. While he seemed at peace, I gathered a sense that he was never truly peaceful, forced to remain on edge twenty-four hours a day.
I fisted my hand and turned around, noticing the tee shirt we’d shared back and forth. It was a silly reaction, but I grabbed it from the floor, pulling the cotton against my nose and inhaling his musky scent.
Then I noticed the spots of blood.
As I held it away from my face, the entire scene from when Eddie was murdered rushed into my mind. There were spots of blood covering it. All over. I pressed my hand across my mouth, uncertain if I was enraged or terrified. He’d killed the poachers. It was as simple as that. I couldn’t seem to stop shaking, allowing the shirt to slip through my fingers. The moment a glint of steel caught my eye, I realized he’d left his weapon on the dresser.
I twisted my head around to stare at him, confirming that he was still asleep before reaching for the gun. If I wrapped my hand around the barrel, there was no turning back from shifting from a captive he was trying to garner trust into an enemy that he would need to ultimately dispose of. There was no in-between in the dangerous game played in the world of organized crime. In their worlds, even friends were often shot in the head for no reason other than disrespect.
My pulse was rapid, my heart hammering against my chest. It was ridiculous to think that I could get away from him. All I would do is hasten my inevitable death, as well as my mother’s. And still, with the risk involved, I dared to pull it into my hand, the weight just as I’d remembered.
It had been some time since I’d held a weapon, a full year before I’d entered medical school. I’d made a vow to myself the day I walked into my first laboratory that I would replace a weapon with a stethoscope, saving lives instead of taking them. As I slowly twisted it in my hand, a sickening feeling shifted deep inside, pain tearing through me.
