Capture Me: The Complete Trilogy

Chapter 6-2

The soup Rosa gave me is delicious, filled with mushrooms, rice, beans, and chunks of lamb. As we eat, I observe Yulia, wondering what the hell I’m going to do with her now. Keep her naked and tied up in my house forever?

To my shock, the idea holds a certain dark appeal. For the first time, I understand why Esguerra kept his wife, Nora, on his private island for the first fifteen months of their relationship. It’s as secure and isolated as one can get—a perfect place for a woman who may not necessarily want to be there.

If I had an island, I’d keep Yulia there, with nothing but her long blond hair to cover her.

Her spoon clinks against her ceramic bowl—I don’t have paper plates for soup—and I tense, my gaze jumping to her hand. She’s just eating, though, her attention seemingly focused on her meal.

Despite her calm demeanor, I don’t relax. She’s going to try something, I’m sure of it. I may have decided against making her pay, but that doesn’t mean I trust Yulia or expect her to trust me. Even if I told her I no longer plan to punish her, she wouldn’t believe me. Given a chance, she’d escape in a heartbeat, and the fact that she’s being so docile worries me. It’s a good thing I took the precaution of stashing all weapons from my house in the trunk of my car; it would’ve been too risky to have guns around when I let her eat untied like this.

Naked and untied.

I try not to get distracted by the sight of her n*****s peeking through the veil of her hair, but it’s impossible. Under the table, my c**k feels like it’s made of stone. I took the time to throw on a pair of cut-offs and a T-shirt before leading Yulia to the kitchen, but I didn’t give her any clothes, and I’m starting to think that keeping her undressed like this is not such a good idea.

As if sensing my thoughts, Yulia tucks her hair behind her ear, causing it to shift and mostly cover her breasts. I let out a sigh of relief and resume eating as my arousal slowly subsides.

“You know, you never told me what happened that day with your plane,” she says midway through her soup, and I see that her blue eyes are trained on my face, studying me. Once again, I’m reminded that I’m up against a skilled professional. She might’ve seemed fragile after her nightmare, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a deep reservoir of strength.

She must have it, else she couldn’t have done her job after that brutal attack.

“You mean after they shot the missile at us?” I push my empty bowl aside. The fact that she can talk so calmly about the crash brings back some of my anger, and it’s all I can do to keep my voice even.

Yulia’s hand tightens around her spoon, but she doesn’t back down. “Yes. How did you survive it?”

I take a deep breath. As much as I hate talking about this, I want her to know what happened. “Our plane was equipped with an anti-missile shield, so it wasn’t a direct hit,” I say. “The missile exploded outside our plane, but the blast radius was so wide that it damaged our engines and caused the back of our plane to catch fire.” Or at least that’s the theory our engineers have come up with based on the remnants of the plane. “We crashed, but I was able to guide us to a cluster of thin trees and bushes. They softened our landing somewhat.” I pause, trying to keep my fury under control. Still, my voice is hard as I say, “Most of the men in the back didn’t survive, and the three who did are still in the hospital with third-degree burns.”

Her face whitens as I speak. “So was your boss at the front with you?” she asks, putting down her spoon. “Is that how the two of you survived?”

“Yes.” I take another breath to battle the memories. “Esguerra came into the pilot’s cabin to talk to me right before it happened.”

Yulia’s forehead creases with tension. “Lucas, I—” she begins, but I raise my hand.

“Don’t.” My voice is razor sharp. If she starts lying right now, I may not be able to control myself.

She freezes and looks down at the table, instantly falling silent. I can feel her fear, and I force myself to take another breath and unclench my hands—which had unconsciously curled into fists on the table.

When I’m sure I’m not going to snap, I continue. “So yeah, we were both at the front, and we survived,” I say in a calmer tone. “Esguerra was nearly killed afterwards, though. Al-Quadar sniffed out that he was in a hospital in Tashkent, not far from their stronghold, and they came for him.”

Yulia’s head jerks up, her eyes wide. “The terrorists got your boss?”

“Just for a couple of days. We got him back before they did too much damage.” I don’t go into the details of the rescue operation and how Esguerra’s wife risked her life to save him. “His eye was the main casualty.”

“He lost an eye?” She looks stunned, and her reaction awakens the old seedling of jealousy in me.

“Yes.” The word comes out sharp. “But don’t worry—he got an implant, so he’s still as pretty as ever.”

She falls silent again, looking down at her bowl. It’s still half-full, so I say gruffly, “Eat. Your soup is getting cold.”

Yulia obeys, picking up her spoon. After a few spoonfuls, however, she looks up at me again.

“He must hate me a lot,” she says softly. “Your boss, I mean.”

I shrug. “Not as much as he hates Al-Quadar. Or I should say, hated Al-Quadar.”

She blinks. “They’re gone?”

“We wiped them out,” I say, watching her reaction. “So yes, they’re gone.”

She flinches, so subtly that I would’ve missed it if I hadn’t been staring at her. “The whole organization? All their cells?” She sounds incredulous. “How is that possible? Weren’t governments worldwide hunting them for years?”

“They were, but governments are always… constrained.” I smile grimly. “When you’re trying to be better than the thing you’re hunting, it’s hard to do what it takes. They have their hands tied by laws and budgets, by public opinion and democracy. Their constituents don’t want to see stories on the news about children killed in drone strikes or terrorists’ families abused during interrogations. A little waterboarding, and everyone’s up in arms. They’re too soft for this fight.”

“But you and Esguerra are not.” Yulia puts down her spoon, her hand unsteady. “You’re willing to do what it takes.”

“Yes, we are.” I can see the judgment in her eyes, and it amuses me. My spy is still an innocent in some ways. “The Al-Quadar stronghold in Tajikistan was one of the last big cells remaining, and from there, it was just a matter of finding the few that were still scattered around the world. It wasn’t difficult once we threw all our resources at it.”

She stares at me. “I see.”

“Eat your soup,” I remind her, seeing that she’s not eating again.

Yulia picks up her spoon, and I get up to get myself another bowl. By the time I return to the table, I see that she has nearly finished her portion.

“Do you want more?” I ask, and she shakes her head, once again letting me catch a glimpse of her n*****s.

“I’m full, thank you.”

“Okay.” I force myself to start eating instead of staring at Yulia’s breasts. When I look up again, she has her knees drawn up and her arms wrapped tightly around them. It makes me wonder if she saw the lust on my face and was reminded of her nightmare.

Thinking about that—about what happened to her at fifteen—infuriates me all over again. I want to dig up Kirill’s corpse and shred it into pieces. I know it’s ironic as hell that I’m outraged over a rape when I’ve done things most people would deem a thousand times worse, but I can’t be rational about this.

I can’t be rational about her.

“So, Lucas, what made you decide to work here?” Yulia asks, dragging me out of my thoughts, and I realize she’s trying to feel me out, to understand me better so she can manipulate me. I can deflect her question, but she was open with me earlier, so I figure I owe her some answers.

A little honesty will do no harm.

“Esguerra pays well, and he’s fair to his people,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “What else can one ask for?”

“Fair?” Yulia frowns. “That’s not your boss’s reputation. ‘Ruthless’ is how most people would describe him, I think.”

I chuckle, inexplicably amused by that. “Yeah, he’s a ruthless bastard, all right. However, he generally keeps his word, which makes him fair in my book.”

“Is that why you’re loyal to him? Because he keeps his word?”

“Among other reasons.” I also appreciate Esguerra’s loyalty to his own. He’s taken care of the people on this estate after his parents’ death, and I admire that. But all I say is, “A seven-figure salary helps for sure.”

Yulia studies me, and I wonder what she sees. An amoral mercenary? A monster? A man just like Kirill? For some reason, this last bit bothers me. I may not be much better, but I don’t want her to see me that way.

I don’t want to feature in her nightmares.

“So when did you meet Esguerra?” she asks, still in her information-gathering mode. “How did you end up working for him?”

“They didn’t tell you that?” I imagine she must’ve been briefed extensively on my boss, since he was her original assignment. And possibly on me, since I accompanied him.

“No,” Yulia replies. “That wasn’t in either of your files.”

So she did study up on us. “What was in my file?” I ask, curious.

“Just the basics. Your age, where you went to school, that sort of thing.” She pauses. “Your discharge from the Navy.”

Of course. I shouldn’t be surprised she knows about that. “Anything else?”

“Not really.” Yulia pauses again, then says quietly, “It didn’t even mention whether you’re married or otherwise attached.”

A peculiar warmth unfurls in my chest. Pushing my empty bowl aside, I lean forward to rest my forearms on the table. “I’m not,” I say, answering the question she didn’t pose. “In fact, I haven’t been with anyone but you since Moscow.”

Yulia gives me an unreadable look. “You haven’t?”

“No.” I don’t bother explaining how I’ve been too obsessed with her to think about any other woman.

Getting up, I take the bowls to the sink, then turn to face her. “Let’s go, beautiful. Breakfast is over.”