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Maybe not for the right reason. Maybe she only fucked me that night in Budapest to distract me from killing her or to win time so she could escape later, but she chose me. It’s my hand she took. It’s me she followed to the bedroom.
Still, a nasty kernel of doubt sprouts in my mind. If Ilya had been sitting next to her on the couch and I’d been the one making the sandwich, would she have gone with Ilya? But no. She had her chance when I was making the princess her tea.
“She’ll want me,” Ilya says. “Give me the key and I’ll prove it.”
“Sorry, brother.” I move around him and say over my shoulder, “Not this time.”
He runs to keep up with my long strides. “Why do only you get to have her? Why can’t we share?”
I see bright fucking red. “It’s me she fucked over. The revenge is mine.”
“I was there.”
I chuckle. “You made the sandwich.” When it comes to revenge, a fuck weighs a lot more than a wasted sandwich.
He grabs hold of my arm, stopping me. “Sokolov is going to kill her. You know that, right?”
I pull free. “What do you take me for? An idiot?”
“Is that what this is about?” He lowers his voice and glances at the sky, probably scanning the air for nosy drones. “You want to be the one to swing the blade?”
“That’s exactly it,” I grit out.
He scoffs. “You think that’s your right?”
He better believe it. “Everything concerning that little traitor is my right.”
“Explain to me how one fuck makes her your property.”
I put my face in his. “Why? Because you want to fuck her before I kill her?”
His features tighten. “You’re overreacting. It’s her job. Anyone would’ve done the same. Put yourself in her shoes. You fuck her once, by random coincidence, and by frightening the hell out of her. Then someone comes along—say, Sokolov—and shows you a picture of Mina. He offers you money to disguise another woman to look like her. It’s how you make your living, so you do it. Would you have asked questions? Would you have wanted to know why he needed to make another woman look like Mina?”
Yes. I would’ve asked questions. And no, I wouldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have set up the woman I’d had in my bed only once but have craved every day after. Maybe that’s what makes my anger blaze so hot.
“Don’t justify her behavior,” I say. “What’s done is done.”
He changes tactics, going for a softer tone. “Let me take her some food, maybe some wine. Let me at least make it better for her.”
I grin. “So you can break her free, or force your advances?”
Just like that, his anger is back. “It won’t be forced.”
“I’m tired of giving you the same answer. I’m telling you one last time. No.”
“You’re a bastard,” he yells after me as I continue on the path. “She doesn’t deserve this and you know it.”
The first part? True. The second? False.
She deserves everything she’s going to get.
I leave my brother standing in the jungle like the idiot he is, and continue to our room, where I rip off the eyebrows and beard before having a shower. Then I change and go to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. I fix a sandwich and swallow it down with a beer, then make another and grab a bottle of water.
It’s late, and the guards who changed shifts have gone to bed. I sneak out quietly—not because I care who knows where I’m going, but to avoid Ilya—and make my way to the shed. I acknowledge the guards with a nod, unlock the door, and make sure I lock it again behind me.
She’s awake. I don’t need the light to know that. I can hear it from her uneven breathing. Moonlight enters through the cracks in the walls. The strips of light fall over her body, illuminating her in patches. A swatch of her pretty face, the swell of her breast, her flat stomach, a naked thigh, a delicate ankle. It’s different, looking at her like this. Subtle hints. I can focus on small portions of her, one at a time.
Leaving the light off, I advance on her. She goes rigid. Every visit from me brings the opportunity of death. I know it. She knows it. And I know what the knowledge does to a person. Even frail and small like a kitten, tied up and helpless, she doesn’t panic when her enemy looms over her. Oh, she’s scared. Terrified. But brave. I admire her courage. In fact, I admire it too much. It makes me hate her more, but it doesn’t make me want her less.
My cock jumps to life at the notion. I can have her like this, spread out like a sacrifice.
