Claim Me (23 page)

Y
ulia

T
he next month
zooms by in a flurry of work and departure preparations. I continue operating the cafe, figuring the extra money can’t hurt, though I do stop ordering new food supplies and limit the menu as various products run out. The cafe keeps me busy, which is good because Lucas works nonstop, frequently putting in eighteen- and twenty-hour days. In a span of four weeks, he trains Diego to oversee the guards on the compound, sets up manufacturing facilities in Croatia, finds clients for the weapons that will be made at those facilities, and purchases a house on the Karpass Peninsula in Cyprus—a country we settled on as our home base due to its warm climate, strategic proximity to Europe and the Middle East, and relatively high percentage of population fluent in either English or Russian.

“The house is on a cliff overlooking a private beach,” Lucas says when he shows me photos of the new property. “It has only five bedrooms, but there’s an infinity pool, a balcony on the second floor, and a fully equipped gym in the basement. Oh, and I’m having them remodel the kitchen, so it’ll be done exactly to your specifications.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, looking through each photo. Though “only” five bedrooms, the house is large and spacious, with an open floor plan and floor-to-ceiling windows facing the Mediterranean. And most importantly for Lucas, it’s set on ten acres of land that he intends to fence in and protect via bodyguards, guard dogs, and a variety of surveillance drones.

We
will be
living in a fortress—albeit a gorgeous, beachfront one.

It seems so surreal that I often feel the urge to pinch myself. The life Lucas is planning for us is like nothing I could’ve imagined when Esguerra’s men came to extract me from that Moscow prison. I’m still Lucas’s prisoner—the faint white marks where the trackers went in are a daily reminder of that—but the lack of freedom bothers me less nowadays. Maybe it’s the needy little girl within me, but Lucas’s fierce, unapologetic possessiveness reassures me almost as much as it frightens me.

I belong to him, and there’s a comforting stability in that.

Of course, even if I could leave Lucas, I wouldn’t. With every kiss, with every caring gesture big and small, my captor ties me to him a little tighter, makes me love him a little more. And though he doesn’t say the words back, I’m increasingly certain that he loves me too, as much as a man like him is capable of loving anyone. What we have together is not normal, but neither are we. My “normal” ended with my parents’ crash, and Lucas’s may never have existed in the first place. But as I’m fast discovering, I don’t need normal. My ruthless mercenary is giving me everything I’ve ever wanted, and when I stop to think about it, I’m seized by equal parts joy and fear.

Things are going so well I’m terrified something will happen to snatch it all away.

“Is everything okay?” Misha asks during dinner one day. Lucas is working late again, so it’s just the two of us for the third night in a row. “You look worried.”

“Do I?” Pushing my mushroom risotto away, I make a conscious effort to relax the tense muscles in my forehead. “I’m sorry, Mishen’ka. I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

Misha frowns over his quickly emptying plate. “What about?”

“This, that… the transition,” I say with a shrug. “Nothing in particular.” I don’t want to tell my teenage brother that the future, though bright and shiny, scares me to the point of nightmares every night, that a cold, hard fist seems to be permanently lodged inside my chest, squeezing my heart every time I think of how fragile and fleeting happiness can be. Pushing the dark thought aside, I smile at Misha and say, “What about you? Are you excited about going home?”

“Yes, of course.” Misha’s face brightens as he reaches for a second serving of the risotto. “Lucas let me speak to my parents yesterday. Mom was crying, but they were happy tears, you know? And Dad is already planning all the things we’re going to do together.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” The knowledge of my upcoming separation from my brother is like an acid burn on my heart, but the joy in his eyes makes it all worthwhile. “How are they?”

Lucas showed me the surveillance photos taken of Misha’s parents, and I can now picture them in my mind. Natalia Rudenko, Obenko’s sister and Misha’s adoptive mother, is a slim, stylish brunette who resembles her brother, while Misha’s father, Viktor, is plump and balding—a typical middle-aged engineer. He’s almost ten years older than his forty-something wife, and he looks it, but he has a kind face, and in many of the pictures I’ve seen, he gazes at his wife with a worshipful smile.

“They’re good,” Misha says. “Same, you know.” His expression turns somber as he adds, “Mom’s been grieving for Uncle Vasya, but Dad said she’s doing better now. They’ve always known that his job was dangerous, so what happened wasn’t a huge surprise. It helped that Lucas contacted them back then and told them I’m okay.”

“Right.” Lucas’s message explained that I, Misha’s long-lost sister, had come out of a long-term undercover assignment to take Misha someplace safe for a while. “So what did they say about that?”

“Well, they had a million questions, as you would expect, but for the most part, they were just relieved I’m returning home and”—he gives me a slightly bashful look—“going back to school.”

I smile, more than a little relieved myself. It seems that the recent events have cooled some of my brother’s enthusiasm for nontraditional career paths—at least for a while. “Will you have to take any extra classes to catch up?” I ask. It’s already October, so Misha has missed at least a few weeks of ninth grade.

“No, I don’t think so,” he says, chowing down on the risotto. “We covered most of the subjects taught in school during UUR training.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.” I’d almost forgotten that the reason why I’d been able to start college at sixteen was because the curriculum for trainees had included math, science, history, and language studies at levels far beyond those taught to kids that age. “So you’re more than caught up.”

Misha nods, reaching for a cup of water next to his plate. “Yeah, I should be fine.” He gulps down the water, and I study him, noticing again the leaner, harder lines of his face. With every day that passes, my baby brother grows up a little more, maturing right in front of my eyes. Soon, he won’t be a boy at all, just like he’s no longer the toddler of my memories.

My throat grows tight as I think again about him leaving. “I’m going to miss you,” I say, trying not to sound as choked up as I feel. “A lot.”

Misha puts down his cup. “I’ll miss you too, Yulia.” His expression is even more somber than before. “You’ll come to visit, though, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Unable to sit still, I get up, swallowing the tears stinging the back of my throat. “We’ll be just a three-hour flight away. Practically next door.” At least when we’re not traveling all over Europe, Asia, and the Middle East, as Lucas warned me we will have to. Pushing that knowledge aside, I say with forced brightness, “And you’ll come visit us. During summers, school holidays, and such.”

“Yeah, that’s going to be great.” Finishing his plate, Misha gets up too. “I’ll be the envy of all my friends, vacationing in Cyprus like that.”

“That’s right.” I smile, though all I want to do is cry. “You’ll be the most popular boy in school.”

“Oh, I was anyway,” he says with a total lack of modesty. “So it’s all good.”

I laugh and walk around the table to hug him. He lets me, and even hugs me back, his sinewy arms sturdy and strong. When I pull away and look at him, I realize my baby brother has grown another couple of inches in the last month and get all choked up again.

“Oh, come on,” Misha mutters as the tears I’ve been holding back spill out. Pulling me into another hug, he pats my back awkwardly. “Don’t cry. Come on, it’s going to be fine. We’ll see each other often, and we’ll email and Skype…”

“I know.” I pull away and smile at Misha, wiping the wetness on my cheeks with the back of my hand. “It’s just that I keep remembering how little you were, and now you’re growing up so fast, changing into this young man…” I sniffle. “I’m sorry. I’m just being silly.”

“Well, you are a girl,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re allowed, I guess.”

I burst out laughing at that chauvinistic statement, and for the rest of the meal, we don’t discuss the separation again.

O
n the afternoon
before our departure, I throw a big party in Lucas’s back yard, inviting all of my cafe’s customers and anyone else who wants to come. Using the remaining food supplies, I make a variety of hors d’oeuvres and, with Lucas, Eduardo, and Diego’s help, set up a couple of barbecue stations where I grill steaks, burgers, and lamb chops. Manning the grills is hot, sweaty work, but I feel elated as guard after guard comes up to me to say goodbye and express his gratitude for the gourmet meals.

“We’re going to miss you here,” one of the guards says gruffly. “Seriously, your cafe was the best food I’ve eaten.”

“Thank you.” I beam at him, then turn to smile at another guard who says something similar to me in Spanish. Most of these men are ex-soldiers of some kind, tough, scarred killers armed to the teeth, and to have them thank me like this touches me tremendously.

Of course, most guards here today are new recruits or those who didn’t have friends among the victims of the crash, but I don’t let that bother me. I know I’ll never be fully accepted at Esguerra’s estate—that’s why we’re leaving, after all—and to have so many people express regret at my departure is a gift beyond anything I could’ve expected.

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch,” a red-haired guard says to Lucas as I put a piece of medium-rare steak on his plate. “Seriously, man. Your girl’s the best.”

“I know,” Lucas says and wraps a possessive arm around my waist. “Now move along, O’Malley. You’re holding up the line.”

After all the barbecue is eaten and the last of the hors d’oeuvres disappear off the plates, the party starts to wind down. Lucas leaves to get on yet another call with new suppliers, and Diego, Eduardo, and Misha carry the empty platters inside and collect all the trash. Exhausted, I go in to wash my hands, and when I come out, I see that all the guards are gone. Only one person is standing in the middle of Lucas’s yard, her curvy figure clad in her usual black dress.

Stunned, I stare at the maid who helped me escape. “Rosa? What are you doing here?”

She casts a nervous glance at the house, where Misha and the two guards are still cleaning up, then says hesitantly, “Do you have a moment? I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

I automatically scan her for weapons. Finding nothing suspicious, I say, “Okay, sure. Want to take a little walk?”

She nods and disappears into the trees. I follow, both curious and uneasy. I’m fairly certain she won’t physically attack me, but I don’t know what she’s after and that makes me nervous. At the same time, I recall what Lucas told me about the events in Chicago, and sympathy tempers my wariness.

I may not know Rosa’s motivations, but I certainly understand what she’s been through.

When I catch up to Rosa, she stops and turns to face me. “Yulia, I…” She takes a breath. “I wanted to thank you for what you told Lucas. Nora said she spoke to you, but I wasn’t sure if you’d do it or not.”

“Well, Nora didn’t leave me much choice,” I say drily, recalling the petite girl’s graphic threat. “But you’re welcome. I assume you and Nora are both okay?”

Rosa nods, flushing. “Yes. I was under house arrest for a while, and I don’t have access to those keys anymore, but Señor Esguerra reinstated my position in the main house a few weeks ago.”

I smile, genuinely happy on her behalf. “Good, I’m glad. And I guess I should thank you for helping me that time. It was very nice of you—”

To my surprise, Rosa shakes her head. “It wasn’t nice,” she mutters. “It was stupid.
I
was stupid.”

The smile dies on my lips. “What do you mean?”

Rosa’s face is now dark red. “I had a crush on Lucas, and I thought that if you were gone…” Her hands twist in her skirt. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was just that I wanted to believe that he was different. But then he was keeping you like that and—” She stops, pressing her lips together.

“And it was ruining the image you had of him,” I say, finally beginning to understand. “You thought that if you let me go, you’d be doing something good while increasing your chances with the man you want.” Seeing the stricken look on her face, I stop, then say gently, “Except he’s not really the man you want, is he?”

“No.” Her brown eyes darken. “He’s not. He never was. I made up the man I wanted, and I pinned him on the nearest handsome face.”

“Oh, Rosa…” Giving in to a sudden impulse, I step forward and give her hand a comforting squeeze. “Listen to me,” I say softly. “You’re going to find the right person for you, and he might not be whom you imagined, but you’ll want him anyway, flaws and all. It won’t be perfect, but it will be real, and you’ll know it—you’ll feel it. You’ll both feel it.”

She swallows thickly and pulls her hand away. “Is that what it’s like for you and Lucas?”

“Yes,” I say, and the truth of that sears through me. “It’s not tender and pretty like I thought it would be. Some might even say it’s ugly. But it’s us. It’s our reality, our version of perfect. And you will also have that one day—your own version of perfect. It might not be what you expect, or with whom you expect, but it
will
make you happy.”

The girl’s lips tremble for a second; then her face goes blank and she steps back. “You should go,” she says, her hands once again playing with the skirt of her dress. “They’ll be looking for you if you don’t return soon.”

“Right.”

I’m about to turn and go back when Rosa says quietly, “Goodbye, Yulia. I wish you and Lucas all the best. I really do.”

“Thank you—and the same to you,” I say, but Rosa is already walking away, her black-clad figure melting into the greenery of the rainforest and disappearing out of sight.