Chapter Seven
Lucy paced around the small, nondescript house in Long Beach. Her FBI guard, J.J., a scrawny, self-important geek with a gun, sat on the couch watching the television, which he’d turned to one of the Jason Bourne movies.
She examined the framed Degas print of a dancer putting on her shoes that hung on the wall. Who furnished these places, anyway? Was there an FBI decorator? Or was it the same person who decided what art went on hotel room walls?
She shuddered, remembering the hotel room from the night before. This was the second night she’d spend in captivity. Just a different kind this time.
A tap sounded at the door. The FBI agent leaped off the couch and drew his gun before looking out the peephole. He holstered the gun and opened the door. “I didn’t expect anyone,” he said to their visitor.
Yuri walked in, pocketing his badge. Like her, he still wore the same clothes as the night before. His light blue button-down shirt still draped perfectly across his muscled shoulders, making him look more like a GQ model than an undercover FBI agent/mafia hitman.
Or it would have, if it wasn’t splattered with blood. He wore a bandage around his biceps. His gaze swept around the room as if assessing danger, then settled on her. “Your brother’s been picked up. He’s in for questioning, but they should release him soon.”
She’d been ready to glare at him or give him the silent treatment, but the news took all the fire out of her. She exhaled, a warm wave of relief washing through her chest. Finally, an answer. “He’s okay?”
“Fine.”
“What about your, uh, associates?”
“Dead.” To his colleague, he said, “I’m taking night watch here. You can head out.”
The guy hesitated, glancing at her. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I didn’t hear anything about you coming over here.”
Neither had Lucy. She folded her arms across her chest. If Yuri thought he could waltz in here and claim to be her protector again, keep her under his thumb in a hotel room—safe house, whatever—he was dead wrong.
Yuri shrugged his shoulders and strolled through the room. “Call Leo.” He spoke in a bored voice, but she’d seen a tick in his jaw, like he’d rather beat his chest and tell the geek to get out or be thrown out.
Which meant Yuri hadn’t been sent by the FBI. He didn’t have any right to barge in and spend the night with her. And she definitely didn’t want him there. She wanted to forget he even existed.
But she knew no matter how she tried, that was an impossibility. And as J. J. pulled out his phone to call and check Yuri’s story, she realized she’d pick Yuri over him any day. What in the hell did that say about her?
J. J. said a few words into the phone and listened, then hung up and looked at her. “You okay staying with him? Because if you’re not comfortable, I won’t go anywhere.”
Yuri actually bared his teeth, but his gaze locked on her and she realized he was waiting for her answer with what appeared to be held breath.
She made him wait another beat. “Yeah, it’s cool.”
Yuri’s nostrils flared and he devoured her with a gaze that promised both reward and retribution.
They both stood perfectly still until J. J. left.
The moment the door closed, Yuri began to speak. “If I could have told you I was undercover, I would have,” he said, his thick accent painfully familiar, even after just one night together. It would almost be endearing if she wasn’t pissed at him.
“Lucya—there were no lies between us. Only that one.”
She didn’t know why it hurt so much to look at him. Why her lips trembled to find herself the subject of his intense gaze again. She slapped his face.
Because, yeah. He didn’t get to kidnap her, whip her, fuck her, swear his undying obsession with her and then turn out to be an FBI agent. Her brain couldn’t piece all those parts together into anything that came out feeling right.
He didn’t move. Pain hollowed his eyes. The red prints of her fingers stood out on his cheek. “I’m sorry. For everything. I just wanted you to know that everything I said to you was true. I was Russian mafiya, and then got busted and turned. Put into this nest as an agent. Still playing the same role. You see? What I said about you giving me hope was real.”
She couldn’t figure out why her heart was bleeding, but she needed to harden it and get the fuck away from crazy Russians and drug-dealing dons. She took a half step back and firmed her expression. “Okay. But that means nothing to me.”
He sagged like she’d punched him. “Da.” He rubbed his forehead. “You said I could get free. Get us both free. Lucy, I have money—lots of it. From when I was in Russian mafiya. I set up Swiss bank account and funneled my income there. It’s been growing for last ten years. More than three million. I never had a reason to spend it. But with you—for you… we could go anywhere. Do anything.”
Her palm itched to slap him again. Was he insane? Yes, he totally was. She guessed that part wasn’t a lie, either.
“I can quit FBI. I owe them nothing—they’ve already taken what was left of my soul. You could do anything—open yoga studio, or your own nightclub.”
“Yuri, you can’t buy me.” The scorn in her voice gave her strength. She gathered it around her. He was crazy and she’d be nuts to want to have anything to do with him.
Horror shaped his face. He shook his head. “Nyet. I’m not trying to buy you. Only offer what I have. To make amends. To give you opportunity, if you want it. Never mind.”
She swallowed hard around the band in her throat. “I already have a life and there isn’t a place in it for you.”
He staggered back like she’d stabbed him.
Cold washed through her, and a prickling, like she was making a huge mistake. But how could it be? “I’m sorry—”
“No. You are right. I don’t belong in your life. I’ve known that from the very beginning. Biggest favor I can do for you is to stay away.” He turned away, then stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out her phone. “Here. FBI screened it and downloaded data in case it’s needed as evidence. I deleted photos of you before they got it, though.” He set it on the table by the door.
Her phone rang and she looked at the screen. Jake.
A mixture of relief and anger flooded through her. She answered the call. “Jake? Where are you?”
“Just leaving the police department. Where are you? The feds say you don’t have to stay in the safe house now that they’ve confirmed the deaths of Don Diego and his guys.”
***
Yuri left the room to give her privacy and found himself standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing. He wasn’t sure his heart even knew how to beat anymore. He’d never felt more dead. If he thought he’d lost his soul before, he’d been wrong. Now it had been fully rent from him, because he was nothing more than an empty shell.
Walk away. Leave her in peace. What seemed impossible a few hours ago now crystallized into resolve. Thank God she’d rejected him or he would have never let her go.
She came out and cleared her throat. “Jake’s going to come pick me up.”
“Great.” The word came out too quickly, sounded too stiff.
She found her purse and stuffed her phone in it.
He walked around the breakfast bar that separated the tiny kitchen from the living room and searched the cabinets. “Are you hungry?”
“No.” She drew a breath. “Yuri—”
“Don’t.” Whatever it was, he didn’t want to hear it. The sooner they ended this, the better.
She smacked the counter between them. “You don’t get to sulk, okay? You—”
He whirled around, cutting her off, because he sensed she was winding up for a tirade and he was already about to crumble. “No. I don’t sulk. You are right—this is best.” He walked swiftly back around the island and gripped her upper arms. “I should not have come here tonight. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you. Sorry for it all.” Breathing her scent was too much for him and he released her, turning abruptly away and walking to the window. “Sorry not sorry,” he admitted in a mutter.
She emitted a choked laugh. “What did you say?”
“Not sorry I got to touch you. Be near you. Fuck your hot little pussy. Not sorry for me. But sorry for you. ”
Another incredulous bark of laughter. “Crazy fucking Russian.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked over his shoulder at her. “Mostly crazy, yes.”
She walked over to him and threaded her arms under his, hugging him from behind.
With tremendous effort, he eased them off and stepped away. “Please. Don’t. Or Yuri will be nailing you hard against that wall when your brother comes.”
A shocked sheesh sound escaped her lips. She shook her head. “You’re speaking about yourself in third person again.”
“Da. Crazy fucking Russian.”
He made the mistake of meeting her eyes when she smiled and got caught in her gaze, the bittersweet pleasure of being the one who’d made her smile bowling him over.
The crunch of gravel sounded outside and he pulled back the curtain. “He’s here. Leave quickly. If I see him, I’ll smash his fucking nose for leaving you hanging last night.”
She didn’t move. “Yuri?”
He faced the window, didn’t respond.
“Have a nice life. Okay?”
“Da.”
She took a step, he sensed it was toward him, rather than away.
He tensed, but she seemed to change her mind. “Right. Thanks, Yuri. For protecting me. Even if it was your job.”
His hands balled into fists and he wanted to shout at her, to correct that notion that he’d done it because it was his job, but somehow he managed to glue his lips shut. “Goodbye,” he choked.
“Yeah. Bye.”
He waited for the door to close and watched her walk down the sidewalk and throw her arms around her brother in a tight embrace the fucker didn’t deserve. But when she drew away, she hit him with her purse three times.
The corners of his lips twitched. His girl had spunk, but he’d known that.
Except she wasn’t his girl. And she never would be.
The sooner he got that through his thick skull, the better.