Claim Me (16 page)

L
ucas

W
hen my breathing
slows and my muscles start obeying my instructions, I get up and carry Yulia to the bathroom for a quick rinse. She’s silent and withdrawn, all but swaying on her feet as I wash her, and I know I pushed too hard, took her too roughly too soon. I should’ve given her at least a couple more days to regain her strength, but instead, I attacked her like a rampaging caveman, making no allowances for her fragile state.

Regret gnaws at me, mixing with worry for her health, but underneath the heavy press of guilt is a glow of hot, dark satisfaction. Beyond the aftermath of stunning pleasure, beyond the physical relief of sex, it’s a feeling that warms me from the inside out, making me feel like I’m on top of the world.

Yulia loves me. There’s no doubt of that now. She loves
me
, not some dream phantom or lover I’d made up.

It’s ridiculous, but I feel like I won a fucking lottery.

When we’re both clean, I help Yulia out of the shower and towel her off before picking her up again. Taking care of her this way feels like the most natural thing now, and the glowing sensation intensifies when she wraps her arms around my neck and trustingly lays her head on my shoulder as I carry her back to the bedroom.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, stopping next to the bed. Bending down, I place her gently on the sheets and clarify, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” Yulia whispers, closing her eyes. She looks exhausted, and worry spears through me again. What if this causes her to relapse? I should’ve held back, should’ve controlled myself better. Hell, I should’ve waited to get answers until she was completely well instead of giving in to my impatience.

Pushing the guilt away, I turn off the light and climb into bed beside her, pulling her into my arms. The feel of her warm, slim curves turns me on again, but this time, I’m able to ignore my body’s reaction.

“Goodnight, beautiful,” I whisper, reaching down to pull the blanket over us. “Sleep well.”

Within a minute, Yulia’s breathing takes on the steady rhythm of sleep, and I close my eyes, the glow returning as I hold her tight.

She loves me, and she’s mine.

Life couldn’t get any better.

T
o my relief
, the next morning Yulia wakes up with no signs of a relapse. I’m in the kitchen making breakfast when she walks in, already dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, her hair brushed and her eyes bright and alert.

“Hi,” she says softly, stopping in the doorway. A delicate flush colors her cheeks as she looks at me. “Are you home again today?”

“Just for a bit,” I say, smiling at her. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” She gives me a tentative smile in return. “Just a little hungry.”

“Good. The omelet’s almost ready.”

“Do you want some help?” she asks, coming up to the stove. “I can—”

“Thank you, but I got it.” I wave her away. “If you want, make us both some tea, and I’ll have this on the table in no time.”

Yulia does as I suggest, and five minutes later, we’re sitting down to eat.

“I want to see Misha today,” she says after consuming half of her portion in record time. “Since I’m well and everything.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I say. “I’ll ask Diego to bring him over this afternoon.” I’m still mad at the little punk for upsetting her the other day, but I know I can’t keep her from him—not after what she told me last night.

Yulia puts down her fork, her expression unreadable. “Lucas…” She reaches up to brush her fingers over the back of her neck. “Am I still a prisoner in this house, even with the trackers?”

I frown. “No, you’re not.” I’d already decided that I would give her freedom to roam around the estate once the trackers were in. “I told you that.”

“Then why does Diego need to bring my brother over? Can’t I go see him on my own?”

I hesitate, looking at her. Though in theory, I like the idea of granting Yulia some independence, now that the moment is here, I feel uneasy at the thought of her walking around the estate by herself.

“You can,” I say finally. “But not today. I need to introduce you to more people here first. They need to know who you are and what you mean to me.”

“Because of my connection to the crash,” she says, and I nod, relieved she understands. Though some of my unease stems from irrational possessiveness, there’s a reason to be cautious.

The guards who died in the plane crash had friends and families, some of whom reside on the compound. And though Esguerra and I have done our best to keep the details of the crash under wraps, I know there are rumors about Yulia’s involvement.

Until I publicly claim her as mine, she’s not safe on her own.

“What about my brother?” she asks, picking up her tea, and I notice that she stopped eating, her blue eyes trained on me intently. “Is he in danger?”

“No,” I reassure her. “Diego or Eduardo are with him at all times.”

“So
he
is a prisoner?”

I sigh. “Yulia, your brother is… well, it’s a fluid situation. Once we’re sure he won’t shoot anyone or try to run away, we’ll give him more freedom as well, okay? It’ll just take some time.”

She takes a few sips of her tea and resumes eating, but I see a small frown etched into her forehead. She’s worried about Michael—the brother who doesn’t seem to appreciate the sacrifices she made for him.

“What were you two arguing about?” I ask when we’re done with our food. “Your brother seemed angry with you for some reason.”

Yulia finishes her tea, then says quietly, “He’s confused. Obenko fed him a bunch of lies about me when he recruited him, and he was his uncle, so…” She shrugs, as if it doesn’t matter, but I see the shadow of pain in her eyes.

UUR’s betrayal goes deeper that I thought.

“So Michael doesn’t know what you did for him?” My hand tightens around my cup as I picture all the things I’m going to do to Yulia’s former colleagues.

“I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter.” She attempts a smile. “Misha’s here now, so I just need to talk to him, straighten it all out.”

“All right,” I say, coming to a decision. Rage beats in my chest, but I keep my voice level as I say, “Let’s go. I’ll take you to see him myself.”

Yulia’s eyes widen. “Now? Don’t you have work?”

“It’ll wait.” Putting down my cup, I stand up and walk around the table. “Do you feel up for a walk?”

She immediately jumps to her feet. “Definitely,” she says, beaming. “Let’s go.”

W
e leave
the house through the front door. As we step outside, I take Yulia’s hand, squeezing her fingers lightly, and she gives me a wry look.

“I’m not going to run, you know,” she says, and I smile, some of my anger fading.

“It’s not to prevent you from running,” I say, tightening my grip on her hand. Yulia is mine now, and nobody’s going to hurt her again—not without answering to me, at least.

“Ah.” She looks around at the guards and other passersby, most of whom are surreptitiously staring at us. “So this is strategic?”

“Partially.” I’m holding Yulia’s hand because I want to, but broadcasting our relationship to others is a definite bonus, especially since a few of the guards are eyeing her long, slender legs with obvious appreciation.

I glare at them, and they swiftly turn away.

Fuckers.

Yulia glances up at me and steps closer, all but pressing herself against my side as we walk. I give her an approving nod. She’s smart to publicly accept my protection. As soon as everyone on the estate knows she’s mine, she’ll be safe.

We pass by the guards’ barracks, and Yulia looks up at me again. “Where are we going?” she asks. “I thought Michael was staying here.”

“He is, but Diego told me he’s at the training field with him this morning. So that’s where we’re heading.”

“Oh, I see.” Yulia falls silent as we walk past a small group of guards. As soon as we’re out of earshot, she slows down and turns her head to look at me. “Lucas…” she says quietly. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“When we first returned, Dr. Goldberg mentioned you’d been injured recently. What happened? Was there some trouble on your trip?”

“Trouble?” With my free hand, I absentmindedly touch my ribs, which bother me less each day. “Yeah, you could say that.” And as we walk, I tell Yulia about the events in Chicago, from the nightclub assault on Rosa to the chase and its aftermath. I try to gloss over the more gruesome details, but even so, by the time I’m done, Yulia is ghost white, her hand icy in my grasp.

“You could’ve been killed,” she whispers in horror. “And Rosa… Oh God, poor Rosa…”

“Yes, about that…” We’re not far from the training field, so I stop and turn to face Yulia. “Why don’t you tell me about Rosa? I want to know how she helped you escape.”

Yulia’s hand stiffens in my hold before she relaxes it again. “What do you mean?” she says, her eyebrows pulling together in seeming confusion. Her expression is the perfect imitation of sincere cluelessness; if I hadn’t felt her hand twitch, I would’ve never known that my question gave her pause. “She didn’t—”

“No more lies, remember?” I interrupt. “We had an agreement.”

Yulia licks her lips. “Lucas, I…”

“You won’t be ratting her out, if that’s what worries you,” I say, releasing her hand. Stepping closer, I grasp Yulia’s chin, tilting her head up to meet my gaze. “We know what Rosa did, and we have the video to prove it.”

“You do?” Yulia’s slim throat works. “Did you— Is she okay?”

“For now.” I drop my hand but don’t bother elaborating further. “Now tell me exactly what happened. How did you escape?”

She stares at me, and I know she’s deciding whether she can believe me about the video. Finally, she says quietly, “On the day before your departure, Rosa came by and gave me a razor blade and a hair pin. She also told me a little bit about the guards’ schedules, including the fact that the ones at North Tower Two play poker on Thursday afternoons.”

“I see.” That explains why Yulia walked by that tower at that exact time. “And why was she helping you? Did your agency get to her?”

“No, of course not.” Yulia seems surprised. “How could they have?”

“I don’t know. But then why would she do this?”

Yulia hesitates again, then says slowly, “It was strange. She acted like she didn’t like me, so I didn’t understand at first, but then…”

“Then what?” I prompt when she doesn’t continue.

“Then she mentioned something about Nora,” she says, staring at me with wide, unblinking eyes. “It sounded like she asked her to do this. Rosa wouldn’t tell me why, though.”

Well, fuck. I want to punch someone.

Esguerra’s wife didn’t lie after all.

“Do
you
know why this Nora helped me?” Yulia asks, and I realize I’m just standing there, seething with silent rage. “She’s Esguerra’s wife, right?”

“She is,” I say grimly, turning to resume walking. “Unfortunately, she is.”

If she weren’t, she’d already be dead. But as things stand, unless Esguerra chooses to punish Nora, she’s untouchable, and if Rosa acted on her orders, the maid might be too.

Y
ulia

A
s we resume walking
toward the training field, I sneak a cautious glance at Lucas, trying to see if he bought my story. So far, it looks like he has. His square jaw is taut with anger, his mouth set in a hard, thin line. He looks like he’s ready to murder someone, and to my surprise, I feel a tiny spurt of guilt for lying to him about Nora.

It’s as if I’m betraying his trust.

No.
I shake off that ridiculous feeling. There’s never been trust between us. Lust, yes, and even some incongruous tenderness, but not trust. I may no longer be handcuffed, but with the trackers embedded in my body, I’m still Lucas’s captive, and falling for him didn’t make me blind. I know what kind of man he is and what he’s capable of. If Lucas knew that Nora told me to implicate her in my escape, it’s highly probable that the maid would be killed—which, I’m guessing, is why Esguerra’s wife took the fall for her.
If
she took the fall, that is. It’s possible the petite girl simply owned up to the truth, and if that’s the case, I didn’t lie to Lucas. I just didn’t mention Nora’s visit, which is a completely different matter.

Besides, when I think about what happened to Rosa, I feel sick inside. I know how horrible she must be feeling. The last thing I want is for her to be hurt more.

Thankfully, as we walk, Lucas’s anger seems to dissipate, and by the time we approach a large, grass-covered field, he appears to have gotten over it completely.

“Is this it?” I ask, looking around the field. It’s divided equally between a shooting range and an obstacle course. There’s also a flat-roofed building—an indoor gym, maybe?—on one side and what looks like a supply shed in the corner.

“Yes, this is the training area,” Lucas says as we walk past a few guards practicing mixed martial arts. “And I think that’s your brother over there.” He points toward a small cluster of men on the obstacle course.

Sure enough, my brother’s bright blond hair stands out like a beacon among the mostly Latino guards. He’s doing pushups on the grass next to a slim, brown-haired guard who looks to be only a few years older than him.

As we get closer, I realize they’re having a competition. The other men are standing in a semi-circle, cheering them on and placing bets in a colorful mixture of Spanish and English. Both Misha and the guy he’s competing against are shirtless and dripping with sweat, and I wonder how long they’ve been at it. Not that it takes much exertion to sweat in this weather; my own shirt is sticking to my back just from walking here.

“Looks like Michael is ahead,” Lucas comments, and I hear a note of dark amusement in his voice. “I’ll have to boost the new recruits’ training regimen. This simply won’t do.”

I shush him, not wanting to interrupt my brother’s concentration. Misha’s face is red, and his arms are shaking as if they’re going to give out. The other guard, however, is in even worse shape, and as I watch, the young man collapses on his stomach, unable to do another pushup.

“Go, Michael!” someone shouts, and I turn to see Diego clapping. He’s grinning from ear to ear. Turning to the other guards, he holds out his hand and says smugly, “Told you the kid could do it. Now pay up.”

While he speaks, my brother collapses on the grass as well. Panting, he rolls over onto his back, and I see a huge, bright smile on his face. He looks as happy as in those photos.

I hurry toward him, my own face split in a joyous smile. “Good job, Michael,” I call out, feeling like I might burst from pride. “That was amazing.”

He sits up, his eyes widening as he sees me approach. “Yulia?” he says in Russian. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m much better, thank you,” I respond in the same language. Then, cognizant that some of the other guards have started frowning, I say in English, “Glad to see you boys are having fun.”

Misha climbs to his feet, brushing off bits of dirt and grass from his shorts. “Um, yeah,” he says in English, casting an embarrassed glance at the others. “We were just, you know…”

“Yeah, she knows,” Lucas says, coming up behind me. Crossing his arms in front of his chest, he looks at the guards, and they quickly scatter, mumbling something about having a job to do.

Only Diego stays behind, a big grin lighting up his face. “We should hire him,” he says. “He’s already better than some of these new guys, and with a bit more training—”

Lucas holds up his hand, interrupting Diego. “Michael’s going to come with us for a bit,” he says. “I’ll call you when I need you.”

“All right,” Diego agrees easily. “I’ll be around.”

He lopes off to join the others, and Lucas turns to Misha, who’s watching him warily.

“I have to speak to a few guards,” Lucas says. “Can I trust you to stay on this field and not get into trouble if I leave you alone with your sister?”

Misha’s face is stony, but he nods.

“Good.” Lucas clasps my elbow and pulls me to him. Lowering his head, he presses a quick, hard kiss to my lips before stepping back. “I’ll see you both soon. Stay within sight. Got it?”

“Yes,” I say, trying to ignore the burn in my cheeks. “We’ll be here.”

Lucas walks away, and I turn to face Misha, my embarrassment intensifying when I see an identical flush on his face. I know why Lucas kissed me like that—it’s all about claiming me in public today—but that doesn’t mean I wanted my fourteen-year-old brother to witness it.

Misha already thinks poorly of me.

“Do you want to take a walk?” I offer, trying to pretend the kiss didn’t happen. “I haven’t seen this area before. Maybe you can show me around?”

“Sure.” Misha seems glad to have something to do. Grabbing his shirt from the grass, he pulls it on and says, “Here, let’s go this way.”

He leads me toward the obstacle course, and I follow, ignoring the mix of hostile and curious looks coming our way from the guards.

“How are you?” I ask in English. I want to get used to speaking with Misha this way, so that Lucas and the others don’t think we’re trying to hide something from them. “Are they still treating you well?”

He nods. “They watch me all the time,” he responds in English, “but other than that, it’s okay.”

“Good.” I give him a relieved smile. “How are your accommodations?”

He shrugs as we walk around a pair of guards practicing scaling a barbed-wire fence. “They’re fine. A little better than the dorms, I guess.”

“That’s good. And what about—”

“How long are they going to keep us here?” he interrupts, giving me a sidelong look. “The guards wouldn’t tell me anything.”

“Right. About that…” I take a deep breath. “I’m going to talk to Lucas, but before I do, I need to know a little bit more about your situation.”

Misha frowns. “What do you mean?”

This is going to be tricky. “How did you end up in UUR, Michael?” I ask carefully, using his preferred name. “Did your uncle ask you to join?”

“No.” Misha doesn’t blink. “It was my idea.”

I stop, staring at him in shock. “Yours?”

My brother gives me a level look. “I was in some trouble in school, and Uncle Vasya came to talk to me. He told me how stupid I was being, how many kids would’ve killed for a chance at my kind of life. And I told him that’s not what I wanted. I didn’t want to be an accountant or a lawyer or a nurse. I wanted to be an agent, like him.”

I frown in confusion. “This was openly discussed in your family? UUR and everything?”

“No, of course not. My parents were very secretive about Uncle Vasya’s job, but I kept overhearing things. Also, I knew I had a sister who was working for our country. My parents told me about that because I kept asking them why you left me.” I wince, but he’s already plowing ahead. “Anyways,” he says, “I put two and two together, and on that visit, I confronted Uncle Vasya about it. He admitted that you’d joined his program, and then he told me how I came to be adopted by my parents.”

“Michael, that’s not—”

“Don’t lie. He said you’d lie about it.” Misha’s tone sharpens. “He was a good man. He died for Ukraine.”

“I know that, but…” I draw in a steadying breath. “Listen to me, Michael. Your uncle and I had a deal. Your adoption was part of it. You were supposed to be safe, not recruited into this life. It was only supposed to be me. I joined the agency because I wanted to protect you, and I couldn’t do it at the orphanage. Obenko promised me—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” Misha steps back, shaking his head. “You’re lying. I know you are.”

“No, Mishen’ka.” My heart squeezes at the anger and confusion in his gaze. “Your uncle didn’t tell you everything. I didn’t leave because I was tired of the orphanage. I left because that was the only way to keep you safe.”

Misha keeps shaking his head, but he’s no longer interrupting, so I tell him about the visit by the man in the suit and the bargain he offered me, including how I was supposed to stay away from Misha and the pictures I received every few months. As I speak, I see uncertainty replace some of the anger in my brother’s eyes.

He doesn’t know whom to believe, and I can’t blame him.

“I still have all those pictures,” I say when he remains silent. “I uploaded them to a secure cloud service a few months ago. I could show them to you one day, if you want.”

Misha stares at me. “You kept them?”

“Of course.” My chest is painfully tight, but I attempt a smile. “You’re my only family, Michael. I kept every single one.”

He swallows and looks away before resuming walking. I catch up with him, and we walk without speaking for a few minutes. There are a million things I want to tell him, a billion questions I want to ask, but I don’t want to push us into another argument.

It’s nice to just have my brother’s company for now.

To my surprise, Misha breaks the silence first. “I didn’t know it was you that day,” he says quietly as we stop to observe two guards throwing knives.

“What?” I turn to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“That day at the warehouse, when I helped them catch you. I didn’t know that was you.” Misha’s forehead is creased with tension. “I only found out later.”

“Oh, of course.” It hadn’t even occurred to me that he could’ve known. “You hadn’t seen me since you were three, and I was wearing a wig. Besides, why would you ever expect your sister to be lurking outside your training facility?”

“Right.” He folds his arms across his chest. “So why
were
you there? Uncle Vasya said that you’d turned on us, that you were no longer loyal to UUR.”

“I never turned on the agency, but I
was
going to walk away,” I say, deciding to be completely honest. “I was following Obenko because I was hoping he’d lead me to you, so I could see you one last time before I left.”

Misha blinks. “You followed him to see me? But why were you going to walk away?”

“It’s a long story, Michael.”

“Is it because of him?” Misha glances toward the other side of the field, where Lucas is talking to a group of guards. “Because”—his cheeks redden—“you two are lovers?”

“It’s…” God, why is this so difficult? It’s not like
I’m
fourteen. “It’s complicated between us,” I finally manage to say. “His boss has been at odds with Ukraine for a while, and—”

“Is Kent forcing you?” Misha’s eyes flash with blue fire. “Because I’ll kill him if he is—”

“No, of course not,” I interrupt, my pulse jumping. The last thing I need is Misha in defender mode. “I want to be with Lucas,” I say firmly. “It’s just a complicated situation because of UUR and everything.”

My brother doesn’t look convinced, so I add quickly, “And yes, us being lovers was a big part of why I was going to walk away.”

Misha flushes again and looks away. “Okay,” he mutters. “That’s what I thought.”

“Yes, and you were right.” Pushing aside my discomfort, I give him a rueful smile. “You’re very smart, and pretty much an adult now. I’ll have to get used to that. The last time I saw you, your biggest achievement was going on the potty, so it’s a bit of an adjustment for me, seeing you all grown up like this.”

Misha grins, as pleased by that praise as any boy of fourteen, and I realize how mature my brother acts most of the time. I don’t have much experience with teenagers, but I doubt many of them could’ve handled this situation as well as he has.

In fact, few
adults
could’ve kept their cool while being kidnapped, taken halfway around the world, and kept captive on an arms dealer’s jungle compound.

As I ponder that, a flicker of motion from across the field catches my gaze.

“We should head back,” I say, realizing Lucas is waving at me. “I think Lucas is calling us.”

Misha nods, falling into step beside me, and as we walk back, I try to think of the best way to approach my captor about sending my brother home.