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“Messy eater,” he says, nudging me.
Yan shoots him a look. Anton clears his throat.
The woman on the screen leaves the safety of her house to see who’s hiding in the woods. We all laugh at that.
“That’s so unrealistic,” Anton complains.
“Without the dumb moves, there wouldn’t be a movie.” Ilya pushes his leg against mine. “Tell him, Mina.”
Yan tenses again. Since the episode in the restaurant, he’s made a big effort to behave less possessively, even with Ilya. It’s as if he’s trying to make up for his behavior that night, for the hurtful way he reminded me of my place. And I want to believe this, want to trust that the affection he shows me stems from more than a physical attraction, but I know better.
No matter how real this seems, I’m nothing more than his possession.
Sure enough, when Ilya throws his arm along the back of the couch, hugging me from the other side, Yan pushes to his feet.
Jaw tight, he holds out his hand. “Come, Mina. Time for bed.”
“The movie isn’t finished,” Ilya protests. “I was going to make hot chocolate.”
“Enjoy the rest of the movie with your hot chocolate,” Yan says coldly.
My captor doesn’t tell me when to shower or eat any longer, but when he orders me to bed, I don’t argue. It only pisses him off. Besides, I know when a fight is brewing.
Taking Yan’s proffered hand, I let him pull me to my feet. He drags me behind him to the bedroom. To my surprise, Ilya gets up and follows.
Yan stops in the doorway and turns to his brother. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Mina.” Ilya shoves his hands into his pockets. “You don’t have to be afraid of Yan’s reaction. In fact, pretend he’s not here. I want you to tell me honestly. Are you with him because you want to be?”
Yan lurches, going for Ilya, but Ilya jumps back.
“You motherfucker.” Yan glares at him, fists clenched. “What’s your fucking problem?”
“I think Mina could be attracted to me,” Ilya says calmly, “if you’d allow her to look at someone else.”
“You know what I think?” Yan asks through thinned lips. “I think you have a death wish.”
“Guys.” I step between them. “Cut it out.”
“No,” Anton says, joining the circle. “I want to know.” He looks at me. “Tell us, Mina.”
Swallowing, I look between the three men. “What is wrong with you? We’re going after Dimitrov in two days!”
Anton’s bearded chin juts out. “Stop using that as an excuse. Tell us the truth now. Do you have feelings for Yan?”
I gape at him, my mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water. I wait for Yan to tell Anton it’s none of his business, but Yan just stands there, staring at me. Waiting.
Fuck.
“That’s not fair,” I say.
Yan crosses his arms. He’s not coming to my rescue.
“What’s not fair,” Anton continues, “is playing games.”
“I’m not playing games!”
Anton widens his stance. “Then answer the question.”
Yan glares at him. “Back off.”
“We just want her to tell us,” Anton says, “since she seems to have you wrapped around her little finger.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you saying?”
“I don’t know, Mina. That maybe you’re using your body as a weapon with Yan.”
I lunge and slap him without thinking, my palm connecting with his cheek with a sharp thwap before he has a chance to jump back. I’ve had enough of these false accusations. “I didn’t ask for this,” I growl as he stares at me in disbelief, his hand cradling his stinging face.
My words are barely out when Yan grabs Anton by the front of his shirt. In a flash, the two men are wrestling. Fists fly everywhere. Ilya ducks just in time as Yan swings an arm past his face and punches Anton on the jaw. The blow makes Anton stumble. His back hits the wall.
“Stop it!” Jumping between them, I try to push them apart, but Yan is too strong.
He easily shoves me away. “Stay out of this, Mina.”
Ilya grabs my arm and pulls me aside. “Let them fight it out.”
“You started this,” I accuse, freeing my arm.
Holding Anton pinned against the wall with an arm pressed against his throat, Yan raises his fist. “Apologize to Mina.”
Anton’s dark gaze only hardens. “Not before she admits the truth. I’m not apologizing for anything.”
A crunching sound reverberates as Yan brings his fist down on Anton’s nose, then steps back, breathing heavily as Anton grabs his face with a string of profanities. “You fucking broke my nose,” he snarls as blood drips through his fingers.
“Apologize,” Yan says through clenched teeth, advancing on him again.
I grab Yan’s arm before he can get in another punch. “I don’t need his apology. I don’t need anything from him.”
Anton sneers. “The truth is ugly, isn’t it? Not easy to admit, either.”
