FYNN
“I know what you've been doing.” Daniel leans against the doorway to the dining room and stares at me, his arms folded over his chest. There's a disapproving look on his face. I should have known an unpleasant conversation was coming when he'd been unnaturally silent after entering my estate.
I glance over at him as I pull out my chair to sit. “What have I been doing?” He needs to specify. I do a lot of things during the day.
“Sending food to the people in that warehouse in sector seventeen,” he says and then waits for my reaction.
I show no sign of alarm from his discovery of my private betrayal. “If you're acknowledging that there are just displaced people there, then the area doesn't need to be swept.”
“Nice way of evading.” His jaw clenches. “Why are you supporting the enemy?”
“I'm not supporting the enemy.”
“I had your servant followed, Fynn. Not just once.” He pushes away from the doorway and walks over to me finally, pulling the chair out opposite from me. He drops himself into it heavily and bends to catch my gaze. “You've been having food delivered to them for lord knows how long. I need you to tell me why so I'll know whether or not to report this to your father.”
My nostrils flare from the threat, and anger takes hold. “And all this time I thought you were more loyal to my friendship.”
“We're at war, Fynn.” He bangs his fist on the table, causing the plates and glasses and silverware to dance for a fraction of a second. “My allegiance is to my country above all else.” We glare at each other heatedly for a moment before he settles slightly. “You're my best friend. We've never kept anything from each other. The thought that you're hiding something from me...”
I exhale, my own anger dissipating. He doesn't so much feel like the betrayal is to my country but more directly to him. There's concern etched all over his face. The threat was likely without merit. He doesn't want to turn me in to my father, he just wants to force me to tell him what's going on.
I'm speechless as I try to come up with some lie that's justifiable. Nothing is more justifiable than the truth, though.
“Do you remember the day we executed those rebels?” I begin. He nods. “I told you there was a woman watching us. Kenny Öberg reported back with her whereabouts, and I took it upon myself to investigate further.”
“Fynn, that's grunt work.” He shakes his head at me. “Why would you put yourself in danger like that?”
I hold my hand out to stop him before he chastises me further. I swear, sometimes he can be worse than my parents.
“There are twenty-four of them now,” I inform him. “There were twenty when I first started watching them. They mean no harm. They're just trying to get by.
“The girl had been scavenging through the neighborhoods. She came upon us by accident. It wasn't worth telling you about.”
“And you felt sorry for them, so you started sending them food,” Daniel finishes the story for me. The alternate version of it.
“The war is over, Daniel. We should be giving those who chose to stay in this country our assistance.” I start cutting into my salmon like it's no big deal.
“The war isn't over, Fynn,” he insists. “Your father wants this area cleared out, and that's what I intend to do. You can't be going about having a bleeding heart for these people. They know they're not supposed to be here.”
“There isn't anywhere else for them to go.” I set my silverware down and look at him. “What are they supposed to do?”
“I don't care what they do. It's not our concern. Our only concern is following your father's orders.” He sits back, challenging me. I wish he would just forget about it and eat his damn food, but that's not who he is. Daniel looks away from me, sighing. “I'm not going to tell your father about this out of my love for you. But I am ordering a sweep of sector seventeen on Friday whether you approve or not.”
I want to say no, but if I'm vehement about it, he'll know that there's something more going on. All I can do is nod and try to appreciate that at least he's giving me a few days to warn Anya's people. The thought of pushing Anya out of my reach doesn't sit well with me, that I'll no longer be able to keep an eye on her and protect her.
For as much as I've watched her from afar, I've made no further attempts to approach Anya. It makes me feel like a coward, hiding in the shadows secretly pining over her. I wanted to get closer, but how would that even be possible with the way things have been. I could make the food deliveries myself, but there's no guarantee that her people wouldn't take the opportunity to attack me. Capturing me would be advantageous to them, and there's no telling what they'd do to me.
I don't have long to decide my next move. Time is of the essence if I want to give Anya and her people time to relocate. But the thought of losing her tugs at me like nothing ever has, and after spending a full day thinking about it, I realize it's not an option—that there's only one option I'll be satisfied with. Only one way to help her people and still get what I want.
The following afternoon, when I'm done with my duties, I change into my street clothes and take a car to Anya's camp. I sport a hood and cover my nose and mouth with a handkerchief, trying my best to conceal my identity. I would have sent my servant, Jan, if I had thought that Anya would actually go with him. No, it has to be me. I have to make sure she can't get away.
Anya's people are accustomed to seeing the black sedan by now. I've been sending food deliveries every three days like clockwork. When I receive produce at the estate, the camp receives their shipment several hours later after my servants have had time to go through and pick out what we need to get by until the next shipment.
They're used to seeing Jan, though. Only Jan, dressed in his tailored servant's uniform, his face unobstructed and non-threatening. By comparison, I look like a terrorist having come to gun them all down. Wearing a mask isn't the best idea, but there's no way for me to sneak in when they have people on watch all the time, and I can't afford for anyone to see my face. Just in case there's a confrontation, I have a gun with a silencer in my pocket. I hope it doesn't come to that, though. No doubt, if I kill someone in front of Anya, especially one of her own people, she'll be terrified of me. What I'm about to do is risky business for everyone involved, but I have to do it.
I kill the engine and step out from behind the wheel. There's a middle-aged man with a large paunch of a stomach standing sentry in front of the warehouse. Discomfort fills his eyes as I approach him, and he grips the metal pipe he's holding even tighter.
“I want to speak to Anya.” I don't bother beating around the bush.
“We got our food delivery yesterday. Who are you?” He wrings his hands around the pipe, but he doesn't look threatening.
“I'm a messenger,” I reply plainly. He doesn't need to know more than that. “Where is Anya?” I look past him at the door. I know she's not out scavenging, so she must be inside.
“How do you know my girl?” He steps in front of the door as if he already knows what I'm thinking. His voice is full of suspicion.
“Your girl?” I jut my head back, squinting at him. “Are you her father?” If that's the case, that throws a whole other layer of unexpected complications to things.
He chuckles. “Not hardly. She's my woman.”
“Your woman?” I can't hide my disgust, nor my disbelief. Not once in all the times that I've watched Anya have I seen her with a man, and I can't bring myself to believe that she'd shack up with this useless lump of flesh for protection. “You'll step aside now,” I tell him. It's not a suggestion.
“I don't know who you think you are,” he comes toe to toe with me, “but you're not getting in there.” He points back at the door with his pipe.
Crunch.
The bones in his nose make a sickening sound as my right jab connects with his face. I don't have time for this shit, I think as I step past him while he stumbles back against the wall, blood running over his fingers as he clutches his face and murmurs in pain. The pipe in his hand has fallen to his feet and been forgotten in the wake of his injury. I'm both surprised and pleased that one punch was all it took to make him back down. Not exactly the kind of guy you want guarding the entrance to your hideout, though it did work out in my favor.
Within seconds of me entering the building, everyone is frantic. I spot Anya in a corner. There's a semi-circle of children around her. She's hunched over and has string wrapped around her fingers, probably showing them some trick. When she sees me, she steps forward and uses her arms to corral the children behind her, protecting them with her small frame. For as tender as the scene is, it wakes something hungry within me to witness her acting so maternally. An image flashes through my mind of her with a round belly, my child inside of her. My cock twitches in my designer jeans, an awkward time for it to rear its head.
The men rush forward to protect the women. Asshole outside rolls around the corner still clutching his face. He points at me and says, “Intruder,” like some damn machine.
“Who are you?” one of the men demands.
“I'm a friend.” I hold my palms out in a gesture of peace. Perhaps barging in wasn't the best idea, but I feel like Asshole didn't give me much of a choice. He wasn't going to let me in without some lengthy conversation, and beyond that, he was just pissing me off by claiming that Anya belongs to him. Even if that is the case, it won't be for long. I've come to take her.
“Anya,” I call out her name. The fear in her eyes is replaced with perplexity.
“Who are you?” the man repeats. He takes a step forward, and I step back. This one looks a lot more aggressive, well-muscled in a shirt with cut-off sleeves. He's the one they should have had guarding the building.
I glance at all the faces around me that stare back with tension and confusion.
“I came to warn you all that the military is going to be doing a sweep of this area tomorrow. You will need to be gone by then.”
“And why should we believe you?” The man with the cut-off sleeves points at me threateningly, taking a step closer still. This time, I stand my ground.
“I mean you no harm,” I repeat in the same tone I used with Anya when I came upon her in the abandoned house, hoping she'll recognize my voice. It must have worked because she leaves the kids to join the group of adults that have been slowly gathering around me.
“Wait. I know this man.” Anya holds her hand up as she approaches.
“Well who is he, then?” another man asks.
“A friend or relative of yours?” one of the women asks.
“Something like that.” Anya stops right in front of me, gazing up into my eyes. “We can trust him.”
“Can I speak to you outside?” I lower my voice.
“If we can trust him, then why is he hiding his face?” Muscle Shirt gestures to my handkerchief mask.
I grit my teeth, half wanting to put him on his ass, too. If he knew I was the one who has been feeding him these past several weeks, he might not be so hostile.
Against my better judgment, I pull my mask down, revealing my face. A chorus of gasps rise up into the air, and several of the people around me take a step back as if I'm some poisonous snake. A few of them begin to kneel, but when they see their comrades refusing to bend the knee, they stop.
“Now you know who I am,” I say before grabbing Anya's arm. She's looking at me as if seeing me for the first time, and it makes my gut twist because I can't tell what she's thinking. At least, she didn't start to kneel like some of the others. “I need to speak with you outside.” I don't give her time to respond or protest, practically dragging her with me.
“You don't have to go with him.” Asshole reaches out to her, trying to stop us before we reach the door.
I turn on him, showing him I mean business. “If you follow us outside, I'll have you executed.”
That makes him back off. It's obvious he's a coward through and through. The thought that he was the one protecting everyone inside makes me sick to my stomach. If someone dangerous had come instead of me, they'd probably all be dead, Anya included.
I close the door behind us, thankful to finally be alone with her again, though I know the others will be watching us from the windows. I won't truly have her alone until she's safely back at my estate. And when I do have her alone, I'll make her pay me back for all my generosity. But first I have to convince her to come with me.
She hugs herself, looking nervous and shy. Today her hair is braided back away from her face. Loose strands of gold fall messily over her forehead. I can't resist the urge to brush it back. The second my hand makes contact with her, she shrinks away from me. Displeasure wells up inside of me like bile. It tastes bitter and wrong. I don't want her sinking away from me. I want her rushing into my arms, thanking me for saving her from this shit hole.
“You can't stay here,” I tell her gently, biting back my feelings from her rejecting my touch.
“Where am I supposed to go?” Her eyes don't meet mine, but I know she's watching me in her peripheral vision.
“You'll come back to my estate.”
She gasps, her little mouth forming an O, her eyes finally looking up into mine. “To the palace?”
“No. I have a place here, for now.”
“Oh.” The shock fades from her face, and she glances back towards the warehouse. “And what about everyone else?”
“They'll have to move on.” I nod in no particular direction.
“So you just want me to go with you?” Apprehension and confusion take over her voice.
“Yes,” I reply plainly.
“Why?”
“Because you owe me a debt.” I can't resist the urge to try to touch her again. This time, when my fingers graze her cheek, she doesn't pull away, though I can tell it makes her uncomfortable. One step at a time.
“We all owe you a debt.” She hugs herself tighter.
“And you'll pay it.”
“And you're just going to let them go,” she glances back at the warehouse again, “if I agree to pay their debt to you?”
I find it funny that she keeps assuming this has anything to do with the others. It doesn't. It's all about her. It's all about me having her in the way I want.
“Yes.” I give her the answer she seeks, not bothering to add that I had always intended to let them go. Even if she refused, I would have let them go.
“Then what choice do I have.” She frowns. Her expression suggests she thinks I have something horrible planned for her, though I can't even begin to imagine what. I had hoped that by sending food and revealing my identity, she would understand that I'm not a complete monster. It looks like I still need to work on my image with her.
“None.” I step away from her finally, content in the fact that I've won. “Go gather your things, only what's sentimental to you,” I tell her. “And remind your people to be out of here by early morning at the latest. I'm not responsible for anything that happens if they're still here when my men sweep through.” She turns and places her hand on the door to open it. “And Anya,” I grab her attention before she can disappear inside, “don't try to run from me. If you run, I will track you down. You belong to me now.”