Capture Me Page 12

  “Thirty-eight.” I don’t know why Lucas is asking all these irrelevant questions, but I’m happy to answer them for as long as it keeps him away from more important topics. “He thought I was eighteen; the identity I assumed was two years older.”

  I expect Lucas to drill me on this some more, but to my surprise, he releases my hair and steps back.

  “That’s enough for now,” he says, and I catch that odd note in his voice again. “We’ll resume this in a bit.”

  Without saying another word, he turns and leaves the room. A minute later, I hear the front door open and close, and I know I’m alone again.

  21

  Lucas

  A child. She had been a fucking child when they planted her in Moscow and forced her to sleep with sleazy government assholes.

  The rage blasting through me feels hot enough to incinerate my insides. It had taken every ounce of my self-control to conceal my reaction from Yulia. If I hadn’t left the house when I did, I would’ve put my fist through a wall.

  The impulse is still with me an hour later, so I hammer the sandbag in front of me, channeling my fury into each blow. I can see the other men giving me inquiring looks; I’ve been at it for the past forty minutes without so much as a water break.

  “Lucas, you crazy gringo, what’s gotten into you?” A man’s voice breaks my concentration, and I spin around to see Diego standing there. The tall Mexican is grinning, his teeth flashing white in his bronzed face. “Shouldn’t you be saving some of that energy for your prisoner?”

  “Fuck you, pendejo.” Annoyed at the interruption, I grab the water bottle off the floor and take a swig. I normally like Diego, but right now I’m tempted to use him as my punching bag. “My prisoner is none of your fucking business.”

  “I helped deliver her here, so she’s kind of my business,” he objects, but the grin leaves his face. He can tell I’m in a mood. “She’s the bitch who caused that crash, right?”

  I wipe the dripping sweat off my forehead. “What makes you say that?” I’d been under the impression that only Esguerra, Peter, and I knew of Yulia’s involvement.

  Diego shrugs. “We got her from a Russian prison, and everyone knows the Ukrainians were behind it. It just seemed to fit. Plus, it seemed kind of personal for you, so...” His voice trails off as I give him a hard look.

  “Like I said, she’s none of your fucking business,” I say coldly. The last thing I want is to discuss Yulia with the other men. What should’ve been the easiest thing in the world—revenge—has turned into a mess of epic proportions. The girl tied to the chair in my living room is not what I thought she was, and I have no fucking clue what to do about that.

  “Yeah, okay, no worries.” Diego grins again. “Just tell me: did you fuck her already? Even with the prison smell, I could tell she’s a hot piece—”

  My fist slams into his face before he finishes speaking. It’s not a conscious action on my part; the fury filling me is simply too explosive to contain. He stumbles back from the force of my blow, and I follow, leaping and tackling him to the ground. My leg protests the sudden movement, but I ignore the pain, raining blow after blow on Diego’s shocked face.

  “Kent, what the fuck?” Steely hands grab my arms and drag me off my victim, resisting my attempts to throw them off. “Calm down, man!”

  “What’s going on here?” Esguerra’s voice is like a splash of icy water on the flames of my rage. As my mind clears, I realize that Thomas and Eduardo are holding my arms while our boss is standing a dozen feet away, at the entrance of the training gym.

  “Just a little disagreement.” I manage to keep my voice steady despite the bloodlust still surging through me. Seeing that I’m no longer fighting them, Thomas and Eduardo release me and step back, their expressions carefully neutral.

  Knowing I need to say something, I turn to the guard I assaulted. “Sorry, Diego. You caught me at a bad time.”

  “Yeah, no kidding,” he mutters, getting to his feet with some effort. His nose is bleeding, and his left eye is already swelling up. “I’ve got to put some ice on this.”

  He hurries out of the gym, and Esguerra gives me a questioning look.

  I shrug, as though the problem is too minor to explain, and to my relief, Esguerra doesn’t pursue it. Instead, he informs me about a call with our Hong Kong supplier later this evening—he thinks it’s a good idea for me to be present—and then heads back to his office, leaving me to shoot beer cans with the guards and try not to think about my captive.

  22

  Yulia

  I don’t know how long I sit there, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard chair, but eventually, a quiet rapping on the window draws my attention. Startled, I look up and see the girl who was watching me before—the one with the rounded face. She’s standing outside, her nose pressed to the glass as she stares at me. I don’t see her friend, so she must’ve come alone this time.

  “Hello?” I call out, unsure whether she speaks English or would even be able to hear me through the glass. “Who are you?”

  She hesitates for a second, then asks, “Where’s Lucas?” Her voice is barely audible through the window, but I can tell that her English is of the American variety, with only a trace of a Spanish accent.

  “I don’t know. He left a little while ago,” I say, studying her as thoroughly as she’s studying me. It’s not a fair exchange; all I see of her is her head, while she’s looking at me in my birthday suit. Still, I note her regular features and full lips, filing the information away in my mind in case I need it later.

  Who is she? Could she be Lucas’s girlfriend? There was no mention of significant others in his file, but Obenko wouldn’t know about Lucas’s relationships on this estate. For all I know, my captor could have a wife and three kids here. A pretty young girlfriend is a no-brainer; Lucas is a virile, highly sexual man who’d have no trouble attracting women, even in a place as remote as this compound.

  The more I consider it, the more it makes sense to me. This, right here, is why he didn’t fuck me earlier.

  It wasn’t because of my pleas—it was because he didn’t want to be unfaithful.

  “What do you want?” I ask the girl, trying to ignore the irrational sense of betrayal at this realization. She doesn’t seem disturbed at seeing me naked and tied up, so she obviously knows what her boyfriend is up to. “Why are you here?”

  She opens her mouth as though to respond, but ducks out of sight instead. A moment later, I hear the front door opening and realize why.

  Lucas is back.

  A hum of awareness flutters through me as I hear his footsteps. He enters the room, stopping directly in front of me, and I see that his tan skin is glowing with perspiration. His sleeveless shirt is plastered against his muscular chest, a V of sweat visible in the middle. He looks powerfully, uncompromisingly male, and as I meet his icy gaze, I become cognizant of a heated ache between my legs.

  As unbelievable as it is, I want him.

  With effort, I tear my eyes away from his face, afraid he’ll realize what I’m feeling. Nothing about my interactions with him makes sense. I just realized he has a girlfriend, and even if he didn’t, how can I want a man I fear? And why hasn’t he hurt me yet?

  My gaze falls on his knuckles, and I tense as I see bruises there.

  He just beat someone up.

  I want to ask him about it, but I stay silent and look down at my knees. He’s still angry—I can sense it—and I don’t want to provoke him. I also don’t bring up the girlfriend, though I’m dying to confront him about it. For some reason, the dark-haired girl didn’t want him to know she was spying on me, and I don’t want to sell her out for now.

  I need whatever tiny advantage I can get.

  “Are you hungry?” Lucas asks, and I look up, surprised by the question.

  “I could eat,” I say cautiously. I’m actually starving, my body demanding sustenance after weeks of nonstop hunger, but I don’t want him to use that against me. I als
o really have to pee—a fact I’ve been trying not to focus on too much.

  He stares at me, then nods, as though coming to a decision. Turning, he disappears down the hallway to the bathroom, and then I hear water running. Is he taking a shower?

  Three minutes later, he reappears, dressed in a pair of black cotton shorts and a fresh T-shirt. His muscular neck is gleaming with droplets of water, and he smells like the body wash I used earlier, confirming my guess about the shower.

  Crouching in front of me, he deftly unties my ankles and then walks around to untie my arms. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my elbow to pull me to my feet. “You can use the bathroom, and then I’ll feed you.”

  He leads me to the bathroom, and I walk alongside him, too shocked to think about another escape attempt. “Go on,” he says, giving me a push when we get to the bathroom, and I step inside, deciding not to question my good fortune.

  As I wash my hands, I see a new, unbroken toothbrush sitting on the counter. For a second, I’m tempted to repeat my earlier stunt, but I decide against it. If I couldn’t get him with the element of surprise, I certainly won’t be able to overpower him now that he’s aware of my capabilities.

  Besides, he said he would feed me, and my stomach is doing cartwheels at the mere thought of food.

  “Hands,” Lucas says, grabbing my wrists as soon as I step out of the bathroom, and I open my palms, showing him that they’re empty. He gives me an approving nod. “Good girl.”

  I raise my eyebrows at his odd behavior, but he’s already leading me to the kitchen.

  “Sit,” he says, pointing at a chair, and I obey, watching as he takes out the same ingredients he used at lunch and begins making two sandwiches. As he works, I quickly scan the kitchen, trying to locate anything that could be used as a weapon. To my disappointment, I don’t see a rack of knives or anything along those lines. The countertops are empty and clean, with the exception of the sandwich makings. He’s not wearing a gun either; he must have all his weapons stashed somewhere else, like in his car.

  “Here,” he says, putting a plate in front of me, and I notice that it’s paper, not ceramic like the one that broke earlier. The knife that he used to spread the mayo is plastic too. He’s being cautious around me now. I have no doubt that if I searched through the drawers, I’d find something, but Lucas would be on me before I so much as opened a drawer.

  My hands may be untied, but escape is as impossible as ever.

  I run my tongue over my dry lips. “May I please have—”

  “Water? Here you go.” He pours water from the sink into a paper cup, places it in front of me, and sits down across the table with his own sandwich.

  I have a million questions for him, but I make myself drink my water and eat most of my sandwich before I give in to the impulse. The last thing I want is to upset him and lose out on this meal.

  Finally, I can’t wait any longer. “Why are you doing this?” I ask as he finishes his food. My stomach is full to the point of bursting, and I can feel myself getting stronger as my body absorbs the calories. “What do you want from me?”

  Lucas looks up, his features taut, and I realize he was just staring at my breasts—which are visible through my long hair. Heat climbs up my neck, and my nipples tighten, responding to the unconcealed desire in his eyes. I’ve been naked in front of him all day, and I’m getting desensitized to it, but that doesn’t mean the situation isn’t intensely sexual. As I hold his gaze, it dawns on me that part of the reason for his silence during dinner must’ve been the distraction of my unclothed body.

  He still wants me, and I don’t know if the knowledge terrifies or excites me.

  “Tell me about them,” he says abruptly. “Tell me about the people who recruited you, who made you do this.”

  And here it is: the true reason he’s being nice to me. He’s playing good cop to the Russians’ bad one, the savior to their villain. It’s so close to my fantasies that I want to cry. Except he’s not interested in saving me; he wants to get answers—answers that I can’t and won’t give.

  “What happened that day?” I ask instead. This question has been plaguing me ever since I learned that he and Esguerra are alive. “How did you survive?”

  Lucas’s jaw hardens, and the desire in his gaze fades. “You mean with the plane crash?”

  “So there was a plane crash?” I hadn’t been sure, though I figured his desire to make me pay meant that something had happened.

  Lucas leans forward, his hands crushing his empty paper plate. “Yes, there was a crash. Didn’t your superiors keep you informed?”

  I fight the urge to flinch at the renewed fury in his voice. “They did, but I thought they might’ve had wrong information.”

  “Because we survived.”

  I nod, holding my breath.

  He stares at me for a second, then stands up and walks around the table. “Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my arm again. “We’re done here.”

  And dragging me back to the living room, he ties me up in the chair and leaves again, the front door slamming loudly behind him.

  23

  Lucas

  As Esguerra discusses the latest transportation concerns with our Hong Kong supplier, I sit silently, my attention only partially on the video call. I don’t understand how one young woman can tie me into knots like this. One minute I want to take care of her, get her strong and healthy, and the next I’m torn between fucking her and killing her on the spot.

  A child prostitute.

  That’s essentially what they made her. They took her at eleven, trained her, and set her loose in Moscow at sixteen with instructions to get close to the highest circles of Russian government.

  Just thinking about it makes me sick. I don’t know what infuriates me more: that they did this to her, or that she was involved in the plane crash that killed forty-five of our men and left three more burned beyond recognition.

  How is it possible to hate someone and want to avenge the wrongs done to her at the same time?

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Chen,” Esguerra says, uncharacteristically polite, and I see the wizened old man on the screen nodding as he parrots back the words. It’s important to observe the niceties in that part of the world, even when dealing with criminals.

  As soon as Esguerra disconnects, I get up, impatient to get back to Yulia. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, and he nods, still working on his computer.

  “See you,” he says as I walk out.

  It’s dark when I step outside—dark, warm, and humid. Esguerra’s office is a small building near the main house, which is a bit of a hike from the guards’ quarters, where I reside. I could’ve driven here, but I enjoy walking, and after sitting still for two hours, I’m eager to stretch my legs and clear my mind.

  Before I take a dozen steps, I hear a woman calling my name and turn to see Esguerra’s maid, Rosa, hurrying across the wide lawn. She’s holding what looks like a covered pot against her chest.

  “Lucas, wait!” She sounds out of breath.

  I stop, curious to find out what she wants. I vaguely recall Eduardo talking about her. He might’ve been dating her at the time. From what he said, she was born on this estate; her parents worked for Juan Esguerra, my boss’s father. I’ve seen her around and exchanged greetings with her a number of times, but I’ve never really spoken to the girl.

  “Here,” she says, stopping in front of me and handing me the pot. “Ana wanted you to have this.”

  “She did?” Surprised, I take the heavy offering. The aroma seeping through the lid is rich and savory, making my mouth water. “Why?”

  Esguerra’s housekeeper occasionally sends some cookies or extra fruit to the guards, but this is the first time she’s singled me out like this.

  “I don’t know.” For some reason, Rosa’s rounded cheeks turn pink. “I think she just made some extra soup, and Nora and the Señor didn’t want it.”

  “I see.” I don’t see, but I’m not about to argue w
ith what smells like a delicious meal. “Well, I’ll gladly eat it if they don’t want it.”

  “They don’t. It’s for you.” She gives me a hesitant smile. “I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” I say, studying the maid. She’s pretty, with lush curves and sparkling brown eyes, and as I watch her flush deepen under my gaze, it dawns on me that the middle-aged housekeeper might not have been the one behind this.

  Rosa’s interested in me. I’m suddenly sure of that.

  Doing my best to conceal my discomfort, I wish her a good night and turn away. A couple of months ago, I would’ve been flattered and gladly accepted the invitation evident in the girl’s shy smile. Now, however, all I can think about is the long-legged blonde waiting for me at home and the dirty, savage things I want to do to her.

  “Bye,” Rosa calls out as I resume walking, and I give her a neutral smile over my shoulder.

  “Thanks for the soup,” I say, but she’s already hurrying back to the house, her maid’s black dress billowing around her like a shroud.

  * * *

  As soon as I get home, I put the pot in the refrigerator and then go to the living room. I find my prisoner exactly where I left her: tied up in the chair in the middle of the room. Yulia’s head is lowered, her long blond hair veiling most of her upper body. She doesn’t move as I approach, and I realize she must’ve fallen asleep.

  Crouching in front of her, I begin untying her ankles, trying to ignore my reaction to her nearness. With her legs bound apart, I can see the tender folds between her thighs, and I recall with sudden vividness how her pussy tasted—and felt around my cock.

  Fuck.

  I look down at my hands, determined to focus on my task. It doesn’t help. As my fingers brush over her silky skin, I notice that her feet are long and slender, like the rest of her. Despite her height, her build is delicate, her ankles so narrow I can encircle each one with my thumb and index finger.