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I roll my eyes. “All men think they’re right.”
“Admit it,” he says, a glint in his eyes.
“Fine. I enjoyed it. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” He gives me a peck on the lips. “I’ll race you back.”
I’m always up for a dare. And I always win. Of course, he says I only won because he let me.
28
Mina
The days after the morning Yan dragged me outside to exercise are easier. Despite my flagging energy, we run and work out every day. It helps to channel my frustration and chase the depressive feelings away. And that’s not the only gift he gives me. He also continues to give me vengeance.
Ten more men.
Yan brings the proof of their torture to me like a cat would proudly show off a mouse to its owner—an undead mouse, one he’s cruelly playing with. I’m terrified he’ll stumble onto Gergo at any moment, but so far, it seems like he’s only focused on the men who assaulted me. I’m also worried the violence will catch up with us and we’ll have to flee before we finish the job in Prague, but my ex-teammates aren’t talking about their run-ins with Yan’s hired team. It’s not as if they can press charges. What will they say? They don’t want the world to know what they’ve done—or what was done to them in retaliation. Yan intends to let them suffer for a while; then he’ll go back to finish them off. Of course, it takes him time to flush them all out, and by the time there’s only one name left on the list, we’re two days away from our meeting with Dimitrov.
The stress runs high. The apartment is small, and the men get on one another’s nerves. It’s a good thing this will soon be over. Not only for the men, but also for me. As the days go by, my strength deteriorates. It’s happening faster than before. I can almost feel the defective cells growing inside my body, destroying me little by little.
And as I deteriorate invisibly, our plan progresses.
Dimitrov uses the secure number I gave to ensure our meeting is still on. The painting is dry, thanks to the acrylic paint. The fact that it’s not oil will be obvious on closer inspection, but by that time, Dimitrov will already have a bullet in his brain. I try on the dress with the body pads and practice my disguise. I work on my persona. We go back to the hotel and speak to the manager, making sure everything is set. We do a practice run on site. We rent a room in another hotel up the street where I can disguise the two hotel security guards. Yan and Ilya test the weapons. They clean and take the rifles apart for less conspicuous transportation. They test the rope and go abseiling at an indoor training site. All the while, we keep an eye on Casmir Dimitrov and Natasha Petrova in case he behaves suspiciously or she makes a sudden change in her schedule. But everything goes smoothly—which is why we’re all extra tense. In our business, it’s never a good sign when the sailing is too smooth. Nobody says as much, however, because that will only jinx it.
That evening, we eat a quiet dinner and watch a movie to relax, since everyone is strung out. I’m sitting next to Yan on the couch while Anton takes the chair. Ilya is in the kitchen, making popcorn. It’s a stupid horror movie, a film that has us laughing rather than being scared. Yan has his arm around my shoulders. His fingers play with my upper arm, sending delicious chills over my skin. It’s a soothing touch. Familiar. I can’t believe how quickly he became a part of my life, how much I miss him when he steps out for even a minute.
Over the past three weeks, my captor has somehow become my anchor.
Ilya finally joins us with a bowl of popcorn, stuffing a handful into his mouth as he squeezes in next to me. Predictably, Yan stiffens, and the gentle brushing of his fingers on my arm stops.
I turn my head to look at him. “Not tonight,” I whisper-plead, kissing his temple. I don’t want them to fight.
He catches my chin before I can turn my face back to the television. Holding my eyes with a smoldering look, he brings his mouth down to mine for a passionate kiss. My cheeks heat a little, knowing Ilya and Anton are watching, but the kiss seems to settle Yan, because he goes back to stroking my arm.
Ilya holds the bowl out to me, and I help myself. The popcorn is warm. It melts with a buttery taste on my tongue. I get engrossed in the silly movie again until Ilya picks up the popcorn I’ve dropped in my lap.
