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When I’ve committed every detail to my mind and evaluated every escape option and possible danger, I finally allow myself to feel. The emotions hit my chest like arrows. Worry, angst, and white-hot fury. The more I acknowledge the worry, the darker my anger turns. Sensations I didn’t know existed bulldoze over me, the biggest of them the fear of loss. I’ve never feared like this. Not even for my twin. It makes me vulnerable, makes my hands shake.
It makes me something I’ve never been.
Fucking weak.
I accept it all. Internalize it. What hits me the hardest is the punch of jealousy in my gut as I round the entrance and get a full frontal view of Mina’s face. Her lips are crimson, dark like blood. She’s so fucking beautiful, so stupidly brave, and all I can think about is that she’s never put on makeup for me. Who did she smear that lipstick on her gorgeous lips for?
Standing here, taking in my captive, I hate her as much as I want her. I want to hurt her, to make her pay for what she did, but I can’t really blame her. Who wouldn’t run in Mina’s shoes? This is all Ilya’s fault.
My mind is a mess of muddled thoughts as I slowly make my way over.
She’s so lost in herself she doesn’t notice me until I’m three steps away. When she finally senses the danger and lifts her gaze, her pale cheeks turn even whiter, her blue eyes flaring for a second before acceptance sets in.
She knew I’d come after her. She knew I’d find her.
Pulling out a chair, I sit down opposite her. “Hello, Mina.”
She swallows. “I wasn’t running.”
I look at the drink still left in her cup. The lipstick left a perfect red imprint of her lips on the rim. “Drink your tea.”
“Yan, I—”
“I said, finish your tea.”
Holding my gaze, she brings the cup to her lips and downs what’s left before placing the cup in the saucer. It clinks softly, a sound of gentle finality, but there’s nothing gentle about the way I feel.
I hold out my hand. “Ticket.”
She fishes a train ticket from her pocket and hands it to me. I glance at the destination. Prague.
“I was coming back,” she says.
“Do not speak unless I tell you to. Do not utter as much as a sound.” I’m too volatile, too close to losing my shit. I stand and extend a hand. “Get up.”
She obeys without arguing, putting her small hand in mine. I drag her closer. With a palm on her back, I press her against my side. She’s so tense her body is like a thin bar of steel, but she doesn’t resist.
From over her shoulder, I catch the eyes of the man, the one with the mole. He averts his gaze, ashamed I caught him staring. There’s something about him, about his smile, that doesn’t feel right. But then he folds his newspaper, gets up, and leaves.
With Mina tucked against my side, I walk us out. I’m a cesspool of conflicting emotions. I’m boiling with rage, yet my relief is so huge it makes me shake in the aftermath of my fear, of eleven long hours of the worst torture of my life.
My steps match my fury. Mina battles to keep up with her shorter legs. She’s practically running next to me, but I don’t slow down. Tightening my fingers on her hip, I fish my phone from my pocket and call Anton to let him know he can drive back to Prague.
“What about you?” he asks.
“We’ll catch the next flight.”
I enter the nearest hotel—a two-star, rundown place—and pay cash for a room. The wooden stairs creak under my shoes as I drag Mina up the two flights to a room with a bed, chair, and dresser. Nothing more. The wallpaper is orange and flaking. The walls must be paper thin, but I don’t care. I pull her with me to the bed, sit down, and drape her face-down over my lap.
She cranes her neck to look back at me. “What are you doing?”
“Didn’t I tell you not to speak?”
“Yan.”
Gripping the elastic of her sweatpants, I pull it with her panties over her thighs, exposing her tight ass. Perfectly rounded. The skin is pearly, soft. I stroke my palm over the curves because I need to feel her. I need the confirmation that she’s here.
“You ran from me, Mina.”
“I didn’t—”
“Quiet. I didn’t tell you to speak.”
She shuts up at my tone.
I caress her globes gently, squeezing the toned flesh. “What did I tell you?”
Now she’s quiet. Now that I’m asking her a question.
“I’ll remind you.” I drag my hand down her thigh and between her legs. “I told you not to test me.”
Biting her lip, she just looks at me.
I outline her folds with a finger. She’s dry. “You’re giving me no choice.” I have to make good on my word.
