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My mouth drops open. “Dealing with them? How?”
“A connection is repaying the favor.”
“You’re having them beaten?”
“Seems fitting, no?”
This isn’t what I expected from my kidnapper. “Because I’m a woman?”
My hackles rise. If the fight was fair, I would’ve stood a chance. The mercenaries outnumbered me. I’ve always been prone to gender discrimination in the military, no matter how many times I proved myself and executed missions better than my male comrades. Which is maybe why they resented me, why they thought a lesson was in order. My mouth tightens involuntarily at the memory, at the ugly pictures invading my mind.
“No,” Yan says, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs. “Not because you’re a woman.”
“Why then?”
“Because you’re my woman.”
Something in me gives, like a cord snapping, allowing my heavy heart to lift. The possessive pronoun sounds way too good, even though I know I shouldn’t read more into it. Of course, I’m his. His belonging. His toy. He claimed me the first night in Budapest. He admitted as much to Ilya in the conversation I overheard.
He scrutinizes me. “Why did you quit the Special Forces?”
The elation evaporates, the delicious food turning into a stone in my stomach. “I already told you. Money.”
“You said you needed the money after you left the military.” He stirs sugar into my coffee. Leaning over the table, he holds my eyes as he hands me the cup. “So tell me. Why did you leave?”
Something in his gaze says he already knows, and the realization both angers and shames me. It takes everything I have to keep my voice even. “If you know the answer, why do you ask?”
“Tell me what happened.”
“Why did you dig so deep?”
He pulls his espresso closer. “It came up.”
It couldn’t have just come up. That reason was never stated on my resignation. Only our superior, the guilty men, Gergo, those involved in the investigation and the resulting court case, the medics, and I know what happened. And none of them will ever talk. Of that, I’m sure.
No, Yan must’ve found out because he’s looking into my history. Because he’s searching for something. My heart rate jumps. Could he have seen Gergo and me together? It’s unlikely. We were careful. Still, the mere possibility pushes a sour burn up my throat. I can’t let Yan find out about Gergo. He can never know I took the blame for Gergo’s job, or Gergo is as dead as I’ll be soon.
“Mina?”
I look at my hands. “I don’t like talking about it.”
“Tell me.”
The burn turns to bile. This is as much as I can take. Pushing up, I make to leave, but he grabs my wrist. His hold is an iron band. He doesn’t hurt me, but he makes it clear he’s not going to let go. Slowly, he drags me to him. I feel his eyes on my face, but I can’t look at him. The memory is too shameful, too devastating. I can’t bear for anyone to witness my humiliation, and I especially don’t want Yan to see in my eyes the shadow that day still casts over my soul.
When I reach the vise of his legs, he pulls me onto his lap and nuzzles my neck.
His voice is soft and reassuring when he repeats his order. “Tell me.”
“Yan, please.”
He slides his fingers through my hair, caressing my scalp. “I need to know.”
“The past is best left alone.”
He kisses my neck, his breath hot on my skin. “Not always.”
Turning my face an inch, I finally meet his eyes and give him the most honesty I’ve given anyone. “It took years to forget. I don’t want to relive it.”
His lips brush over mine. “You’re not going to relive it. Just give me the facts.” He tightens his arms around me, his green eyes fiercely intent on my face. “You’re not alone anymore, Minochka.”
The promise is sweet, but he doesn’t know about the nightmares that had haunted my waking and sleeping hours for months and years after the incident. I’m not going to dig that skeleton out of the closet. Besides, the more he goes poking around my past, the more likely he’s to stumble onto my friendship with Gergo. “Why are you so set on hearing me repeat the sordid history? What will it change?”
“Everything.” His jaw flexes. “I’m going to make them pay.”
He can’t be serious. Why does he care? I don’t get it. No matter how many times Yan and I share an unnaturally intense intimacy, I’m no closer to understanding him, because our intimacy is limited to the bedroom. Or does this count? Does holding me close and offering me retribution count as affection when he’s blackmailing me with my grandmother’s life?
“Think about it,” he urges. “Don’t you want this?”
I can’t pin a motivation on his offer, but I do think about it. My attackers haven’t been convicted. They haven’t been expelled or lost their ranks. It was my word against theirs. They claimed my injuries were the result of a bad fall, that I lied about the attack to get them in trouble for coming on to me, like all men under the circumstances would. They labeled me as a slut who paraded naked in front of them, a cock-tease. But that was bullshit. Yes, we shared the same barracks and communal showers, but we were trained to look beyond our nudity and anything else that wasn’t part of the mission. We were machines, instruments to obtain a goal, nothing more. I always waited until the bathroom was empty, and I never took off my underwear in front of them.
