Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine Book 3) Read online

  Destiny Mine

  Tormentor Mine: Book 3

  Anna Zaires

  ♠ Mozaika Publications ♠

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Anna Zaires & Dima Zales

  www.annazaires.com

  All rights reserved.

  Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  Published by Mozaika Publications, an imprint of Mozaika LLC.

  www.mozaikallc.com

  Cover by Najla Qamber Designs

  www.najlaqamberdesigns.com

  e-ISBN: 978-1-63142-298-0

  ISBN: 978-1-63142-299-7

  Contents

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Part II

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Part III

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Part IV

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Epilogue

  Excerpt from Twist Me

  Excerpt from Capture Me

  Excerpt from The Krinar Captive

  About the Author

  Part I

  1

  Sara

  Warm lips press against my cheek, the kiss soft and tender even as day-old stubble rasps across my jaw.

  “Wake up, ptichka,” a familiar accented voice murmurs in my ear as I mutter a sleepy protest and snuggle deeper into the pillow. “It’s time to go.”

  “Hmm-mm.” I keep my eyes closed, reluctant to let go of my dream. It was a pleasant one for once, involving a sunny lake, a pair of romping dogs, and Peter playing chess with my dad. The specifics are already fading from my mind, but the light, euphoric feeling remains, even as reality, along with bitter awareness of the impossibility of the dream, is creeping in.

  “Come on, my love.” He presses a gentle kiss to the sensitive underside of my ear, sending pleasurable shivers through me. “The plane is waiting. You can sleep on the way home.”

  The last of the dream fades, and I roll over onto my back, suppressing a wince at the lingering soreness in my left shoulder as I open my eyes to meet my captor’s warm, silver gaze. He’s leaning over me, a tender smile curving his sculpted lips, and for a moment, the euphoric lightness intensifies.

  We’re alive, and he’s here with me. I can touch him, kiss him, feel him. His face is leaner than before, hollowed out by stress and sleep deprivation, but the weight loss just enhances his stark male beauty, sharpening the slant of those exotically angled cheekbones and highlighting the strong line of his jaw.

  He’s gorgeous, this assassin who loves me.

  My husband’s killer, who’ll never set me free.

  My chest tightens, my joy tainted by the familiar squeeze of self-loathing and guilt. Maybe there will come a day when I won’t feel so conflicted, so torn about needing the man looking at me like I’m his heart, but for now, I can’t forget what he is and what he’s done.

  I can’t let go of the shame of knowing I’m falling for my tormentor.

  Peter’s smile fades, and I know he senses my thoughts, reads the guilt and tension on my face. For the past two weeks, ever since I woke up here at the clinic, I’ve been avoiding thinking about the future and dwelling on what led to the crash. I needed Peter too much to push him away, and he needed me. This morning, though, we’re returning to his safe house in Japan, and I can’t hide my head in the sand any longer.

  I can’t pretend the man I’ve been clinging to like he’s my lifeline doesn’t intend to keep me captive for the rest of my life.

  “Don’t, Sara.” His voice is deep and soft, even as the warm silver of his gaze cools to icy steel. “Don’t go there.”

  I blink and smooth out my expression. He’s right: now is not the time. Pushing up onto my right elbow, I say evenly, “I should get dressed. If you’ll excuse me…”

  He straightens, giving me space to sit up. Grateful for my hospital gown, I slither out of bed and hurry to the bathroom before he changes his mind and decides to have the discussion after all. We do need to talk about what happened—the confrontation is long overdue, in fact—but I’m not ready for it. Over these past two weeks, we’ve been closer than ever, and I don’t want to give that up.

  I don’t want to go back to seeing Peter as my adversary.

  As I brush my teeth, I study the diagonal scar on my forehead, where a shard of glass left a long gash. The plastic surgeons at the clinic did a good job fixing what could’ve been a disfiguring mark, and with the stitches out, the scar is already looking less angry. In another few weeks, it’ll be a thin white line, and in a couple more years, it might be completely undetectable, like the faint bruises that still decorate my face.

  By the time the child Peter wants to force on me is old enough to notice and ask questions, there should be no traces left of my disastrous escape attempt.

  My breath seizes at the thought, and I press my hand against my stomach, counting the days with growing dread. It’s been two and a half weeks since we had unprotected sex during a potentially fertile window, which means my period should’ve started a few days ago. Between the surgeries and the drugs, I wasn’t paying much attention to the calendar, but now that I’m doing the math, I realize I’m late. Not so late that I have to go into complete panic mode, but late enough to seriously worry.

  I could already be pregnant.

  My first impulse is to rush out, find the nearest nurse, and demand a blood test. I’m sure they tested me for pregnancy two weeks ago, when I was brought to the clinic after the crash, but the first traces of hCG in my bloodstream wouldn’t appear until seven to twelve days after conception. I undoubtedly tested negative, and they would’ve had no reason to test me again.

  No reason
except that my period is now late.

  I’m already reaching for the doorknob when I stop myself. The minute I take that blood test, Peter will know. He’ll have access to the results before I do, and something in me recoils at the thought. I’ve had no choice, no control over anything in our relationship thus far, and I need to feel like I do, even if it’s only in this one instance.

  If there’s a child, it’s growing in my body, and I want to decide when to share the news.

  It’s not a rational decision, I know. Peter isn’t stupid. He can also count the days. If he hasn’t realized my period is late yet, he will soon, and then he’ll know he’s won, that for better or worse, we’re bound together by the bundle of cells that might already be growing inside me.

  By the child who’ll be born to a killer hunted by authorities worldwide and the captive object of his obsession.

  A painful throbbing begins behind my left eye, the headache sudden and relentless. I can’t avoid thinking about the future any longer, can’t afford to take each day as it comes and hope for the best.

  I have to protect this baby, but I don’t know how.

  I can’t escape, and Peter will never set me free.

  2

  Peter

  Sara is unusually quiet as we leave the clinic, her slender fingers cold in my grip, and I know she’s again entertaining doubts about us, her overactive mind going over all the reasons why what we have is wrong and cannot work.

  I wish I could reassure her, explain my new idea and tell her she just needs to be patient, but I don’t want to make promises I might not be able to keep. There are so many layers to my plan, so many moving parts, that the odds of failure are much greater than those of success.

  If I accept Danilo Novak’s hundred-million-euro offer to eliminate Julian Esguerra, my team and I will be tangling with the most dangerous man I know.

  Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea. Esguerra has sworn to kill me for endangering his wife in order to rescue him, but before that, I spent a year working for him as a security consultant in order to get the list of people involved in my family’s massacre. I know the Colombian arms dealer; I’ve seen how violent and merciless he is. His organization singlehandedly wiped out one of the deadliest terrorist groups in history, and he’s done unspeakably cruel things to other enemies. With his enormous wealth and contacts in governments all over the globe, Esguerra is next to untouchable, his compound in the Amazon jungle the equivalent of a military fortress. And that’s why Novak is offering that kind of money: because no one in their right mind would go up against someone so powerful and ruthless.

  The only reason I’m even thinking about embarking on my plan is Sara.

  I have to make up for the crash that nearly killed her.

  I have to do whatever it takes to give her the life she deserves.

  Anton is already on the plane when the twins and I drive up with Sara, and as soon as I get her safely seated, we take off. It’s a fourteen-hour flight to Japan, so once we’re airborne, I remove Sara’s sneakers and tuck a blanket around her feet, hoping she’ll be comfortable enough to take a nap.

  I myself haven’t slept much since the crash, but I want her to rest and heal.

  She regards me with somber hazel eyes as I reach for my laptop, and I ask, “Hungry, my love?”

  We had breakfast before leaving the clinic, but she barely ate, so I brought extra sandwiches for the flight.

  She shakes her head. “I’m okay, thanks.” Her voice is melodious and a little husky—a singer’s voice, I’ve always thought. I want to listen to it forever, whether she’s speaking or belting out one of the pop songs she loves. Most of all, though, I want to hear it croon a lullaby to our baby, so the child knows he or she’s safe and loved.

  With effort, I push that alluring image away. I can’t think about starting a family with Sara now… not when I have such a dangerous task ahead.

  It’s for the best that Sara is not pregnant, and until we’re past this hurdle, I’ll make sure she stays that way.

  3

  Peter

  “You did what?”

  Anton stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, his bearded jaw slack with shock. Like me, the guys are up early despite our late arrival last night, so I figured I’d fill them in on our next mission before Sara wakes up.

  “I scheduled a meeting with Novak,” I repeat, cracking an egg into a mixing bowl before stirring in a little milk. “We’ll be going to Belgrade mid-December. The Serbian bastard’s too paranoid, said he’ll only communicate the specifics of whatever asset he’s got in Esguerra’s organization in person, not over email or phone.”

  Yan leans against a nearby counter, his green eyes coolly amused as he crosses his trouser-clad legs at the ankles. “Why mid-December? It’s only early November.”

  I shrug. “We’re not in a rush, and neither is he.” The latter is not true, actually. Novak wanted to meet next week, but I put him off until next month. Once we start the ball rolling, there’ll be no stopping it, and I’m not ready.

  I want—no, I need—to spend time with Sara before I embark on this mission. Also, our hackers are hot on Wally Henderson’s trail and may uncover another lead soon. He’s the last name on my list, and by far the most elusive. He’s also the general who was in charge of the Daryevo operation—which makes him the person most directly responsible for the massacre of my wife and son. If not for Sara’s accident, we might’ve caught him in New Zealand when his wife’s picture appeared on Instagram, posted there by a clueless winery owner proud of his clientele. As it was, however, by the time we detoured to the Swiss clinic and I pulled myself together enough to send my men to capture Henderson, he’d performed his disappearing act again. Only this time, his trail is fresh, and our hackers have a better idea of where to look.

  We’re going to find Walter Henderson III, and when we do, I’ll tear the sookin syn limb from limb.

  Ilya frowns, his skull tattoos gleaming in the morning light as he sits down on a barstool. “Are you sure about this, man? A hundred million is juicy, but this is Esguerra we’re talking about. Kent’s going to get involved and—”

  “Fuck Kent.” I break the next egg so viciously it splatters on the side of the mixing bowl. “That bastard deserves it after the way he fucked up with Sara.”

  “But Esguerra?” Anton says, getting over his shock. “The guy’s got a small army on his payroll, and that jungle compound of his—you said yourself it’s impenetrable. How the fuck are we supposed to—”

  “That’s why we’re meeting with Novak, to find out what he’s got up his sleeve.” I’m starting to lose patience. “I’m not fucking suicidal; we’ll only do this if we can make it out alive.”

  “Really?” Yan crosses the kitchen and sits down on a barstool next to his brother. “Are you sure about that? Because Sara did get hurt on Kent’s watch.”

  His voice is silky soft, but I know a challenge when I hear one.

  Keeping my expression calm, I walk over to the sink and wash all traces of raw egg off my hands. Anton, who knows me best, prudently steps away, but the Ivanov twins don’t budge from their seats, regarding me with identical green stares as I casually round the bar and approach Yan.

  “So you think I’m reasoning with my dick?” The softness of my voice matches his. “You think I’m willing to get us all killed to punish Kent for letting Sara crash?”

  Yan swivels his barstool to fully face me. “I don’t know.” His expression is mildly amused, but his eyes are cold and sharp. “Are you?”

  My lips stretch in a grim smile as my right hand closes around the switchblade in my pocket. “And if I were?”

  Yan holds my gaze for a few tense seconds as the air in the room thickens with challenge. I like Yan, but I can’t let this insubordination stand. He knew what he was signing up for when he joined this team, was fully aware that to participate in the lucrative business I was building, he’d have to help me with my persona
l agenda. That was our deal, and I intend to hold him to it, even if it’s now Sara who motivates my actions instead of my dead wife and son.

  “Yan.” Ilya’s voice is quiet as he rises to his feet and places a massive hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Peter knows what he’s doing.”

  Yan remains silent for a moment longer, then inclines his head with a hard-edged smile. “Yes, I’m sure. He is the team leader, after all.”

  His words are conciliatory, but I’m not fooled. I’ll have to be extra alert on this mission.

  Yan could easily become a complication.

  4