Chapter 17-3
662 Words
Yulia is still reading when I step into my office, her blond head bent over the open pages of a Michael Crichton techno-thriller. She’s holding the book on her lap—the only position the ropes securing her to the armchair allow.
At the sound of my entry, she looks up, her gaze filled with wariness. She’s expecting me to push for information, and her fear is like gasoline on the flames of my fury.
Far be it from me to disappoint my prisoner.
“Why are you protecting them?” I cross the room and stop in front of her. My voice is cold, though the anger coursing through my veins is hot enough to burn. “What do they mean to you?”
Yulia’s gaze drops to my stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to me.” I crouch in front of her, so we’re at the same eye level. Extending my hand, I grip her jaw and force her to look at me. “You don’t want us to go after your agency. Why?”
She’s silent as she holds my gaze.
“Is there someone there you’re protecting?”
Her eyes widen slightly, and I catch a glimpse of panic in their blue depths. “No, of course not,” she says quickly.
She’s lying. I know she is, but I play along. “Then why won’t you talk to me?”
“Because they don’t deserve your vengeance.” Her words tumble out, fast and desperate. “They were just doing their job, protecting our country.”
“So it’s all about patriotism for you? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Of course.” A pulse is throbbing visibly in her throat. “Why else would I do this?”
“Maybe because they took you when you were a f*****g child.” My hand tightens on her jaw. “Because the only choice they gave you was to w***e for them or rot in the orphanage.”
Yulia flinches at my harsh words, her eyes filling with tears, and I stop, fighting a swell of rage. Realizing my fingers are digging into her skin, I unclench my hand and lower it to my lap. My palm immediately curls into a fist, and she shrinks back against the chair, as if afraid I’ll hit her.
I relax my hand with effort. “Yulia.” I manage to moderate my tone. “They’re f*****g monsters. I don’t know why you can’t see it.”
She closes her eyes, and I see a tear trickling down her cheek. “It’s not that simple,” she whispers, opening her eyes to look at me again. “You don’t understand, Lucas.”
“No?” Unable to resist, I raise my hand and wipe the streak of wetness off her face. My touch is almost gentle, the worst of my violent anger receding at the sight of her tears. “Then explain it to me, beautiful. Make me understand.”
“I can’t.” Another tear escapes, undoing my work. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?” There’s only one reason I can think of for her continued silence. My suspicions were correct. Yulia has someone there she’s protecting—someone she can’t tell me about because she knows what will happen if I learn of his existence.
Because she knows he’ll die at my hand.
She doesn’t answer my question. Instead, she says quietly, “May I please use the restroom? I really have to go.”
I stare at her, my fury deepening. In less than five days, I’m going to Chicago, and I’m still no closer to getting real answers.
I will never get any closer for as long as she loves him.
As I look at her tear-streaked face, an idea comes to me, one I would’ve once dismissed as too cruel. Now, however, with this new knowledge fueling my rage, I can’t see any other way. I can’t keep Yulia locked up in my house forever; at some point, I’ll have to give her more freedom, and when I do, I need to be certain there’s nowhere she can run and hide.
I need to make sure she can’t go back to him.
Reaching into my pocket, I take out my switchblade and cut through her ropes while she watches me, pale and visibly terrified.
Schooling my face into a hard, impassive mask, I take hold of her slim arm and pull her to her feet. “Let’s go,” I say, my voice like ice.
As I lead her down the hallway, my resolve firms.
It’s time for the gloves to come off.
One way or another, Yulia is going to talk tonight.
- Writer
