Capture Me (11 page)

Y
ulia

M
y knees shaking
, I collapse against the closed bathroom door and try to calm my frantic breathing. What nearly happened in that kitchen shouldn’t have freaked me out so much, but it was too close to before... too close to that dark place I’ve fought so hard to escape. The position—on my stomach and helpless, with a man who’s determined to punish me on top—had been all too familiar, and I panicked.

I panicked like that fifteen-year-old I thought I’d buried.

Perhaps it wouldn’t have been so bad if it had been someone else—anyone else. I could’ve put up that steel mental wall, the one that kept me sane before. If fear and disgust were all I felt for Lucas, it would’ve been easier.

If I hadn’t had those stupid fantasies about him in prison, it would’ve been less devastating.

Taking deep breaths, I force myself to straighten away from the door and use the toilet. I have only a couple of minutes before Lucas returns for me, and I can’t afford to waste them this way. As I wash my hands and brush my teeth, I stare in the mirror, trying to convince myself that I can do this—that I can withstand whatever punishment he chooses to dole out, even if it’s of a sexual variety.

“Your time’s up.” His deep voice startles me, and I realize I’ve been just standing there, letting the water run. “Come out.”

Panic floods my veins. “Just a second,” I call out.

I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready for
him
. For the first time in weeks, I’ve eaten a normal meal and had a shower, and somehow that makes it worse. Because now that I feel semi-human, I’m keenly aware of my nakedness and how much I am at the mercy of a man who wants to hurt me.

My heart pounding, I scan the bathroom. Lucas wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave a weapon lying around, but I don’t need much. My gaze falls on the plastic toothbrush I just used, and I grab it. Using both hands, I snap the handle in half. As I’d hoped, one side ends up sharp and jagged, and I clutch it tightly, concealing it in my right hand.

Taking another deep breath, I open the door and step out. “All done,” I say, hoping he can’t hear the strain in my voice.

“Let’s go.” Lucas grabs my left arm, and I stumble, on purpose this time. He turns to steady me, and in that moment I strike upward with my makeshift weapon, aiming for his kidney. I shut off the part of my brain that cringes at the thought of hurting him, the part where those fantasies still live, and I let my training take over.

He twists at the last moment, his reflexes razor sharp, and I graze his torso instead of stabbing him. The broken toothbrush catches on his shirt, forcing me to let go of it, but I don’t let that stop me. He’s still holding my arm, so I drop to the floor, letting my full weight hang on that arm, and kick up with my right leg. My foot connects with his jaw, the impact sending a shock of pain through me, but he reels back—which gives me the split second I need to twist free of his hold.

Scrambling to my feet, I sprint for the kitchen, desperate to grab a knife, but before I can take more than two steps, he tackles me from behind. I manage to turn, half-rolling as we land on the carpet, and my elbow slams into his hard stomach. The impact makes my arm go numb. He continues rolling without so much as a grunt, and a moment later has me pinned down, his hands capturing both of my wrists and lifting them above my head at the same time as his powerful legs anchor mine to the floor.

I can’t move. I’m once again helpless underneath him.

Breathing hard, I stare up at him, my insides squeezing with dread as I wait for his retaliation. Our fight aroused him; I can feel the hard bulge in his jeans against my naked stomach. Or maybe he’s still hard from earlier.

Either way, I know how he’s going to punish me.

He’s also breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling above me. I can see the rage burning in his pale eyes—rage and something far more primal.

To my shock, a tiny tendril of heat snakes through me, my mind transposing the horror of my current predicament with the stunning pleasure of that night. I lay underneath him then, too, and my body doesn’t seem to understand that it was different.

That the man on top of me doesn’t only want my body.

He wants revenge.

He lowers his head, and I freeze, scarcely breathing as his lips brush my left ear. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispers, the damp heat of his breath burning my skin. “I was going to give you more time, let you get stronger, but no more...” His mouth presses against my neck, and I feel his tongue flicking over the delicate area, as though tasting it. “You’ve used up all my patience, beautiful.”

I shudder, trying to arch away from that hot, wicked mouth, but I have nowhere to go. He’s all around me, his muscular body large and heavy on top of mine. The brief burst of energy I felt after my meal is gone, my strength nonexistent after weeks of deprivation. Exhausted, I stop struggling—and realize that the tendril of heat is expanding in my core, making me slick with unwelcome need.

“Lucas, please.” I don’t know why I’m begging. I just tried to wound him; he won’t show me mercy ever again. “Please, don’t do this.” My body’s irrational response should’ve made this easier to bear, but it just highlights my helplessness, my complete lack of control. I can’t face this with him. It would destroy me. “Please, Lucas...”

He shifts on top of me, his mouth still hovering near my ear. “Don’t do what?” he murmurs, transferring both of my wrists into one of his large palms. Moving his free hand, he wedges it between us, his fingers slipping between my thighs to find my sex. “This?” His thumb presses on my clit as his index finger penetrates me.

I jerk at the invasion, the heat inside morphing into a pulsing ache. My nipples tighten, and I feel myself getting even slicker, my body eager for an act that would leave my soul in pieces. “Don’t. Please don’t.” Tears, stupid, pathetic tears, come, and I can’t contain them. They spill out and roll down my temples, making me burn with embarrassment at my weakness. “No, please...” His finger advances deeper into me, and the old memories crowd in, taking me back to that dark, suffocating place. My breathing turns into frantic pants, my voice rising in pitch. “Please, Lucas, don’t!”

To my surprise, he stills, and then with a curse, he rolls off me, rising fluidly to his feet. “Get up,” he snarls, grabbing my arms to pull me up. As soon as I’m vertical, he drags me into the living room and pushes me onto the couch, gritting out, “If you move a muscle...”

Dazed, I watch as he disappears around the corner and reappears a moment later carrying a chair and a coil of rope. He places both in the middle of the room. I haven’t moved—I’m shaking too hard for that—and I don’t put up any resistance as he picks me up, deposits me into the chair, and binds my arms behind my back, securing them against the chair’s sturdy wooden frame. Then he uses additional rope to tie my ankles to the legs of the chair, leaving them spread apart.

When he’s done, he stands up and stares at me. The bulge in his jeans is still present, but the heat in his eyes has cooled, turning them into familiar slivers of ice.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he says harshly. “When I return, you better be ready to talk.”

And before I can respond, he strides out of the room, leaving me tied up, naked, and alone.

L
ucas

I
enter
the bathroom and close the door in a controlled motion, making sure it doesn’t slam too hard. Control—that’s what I need right now.

Control and distance from
her
.

My cock is like a spike in my jeans, my balls so full I feel like I could blow any second. I’ve never come so close to fucking a woman and then stopped.

I’ve never denied myself something I wanted so badly.

She had been right there, stretched out underneath me, her long, slender body naked and vulnerable. I could’ve fucked her any way I chose, taking my rage out on her delicate flesh while slaking the hunger plaguing me for so long.

Instead, I let her go.

Son of a fucking bitch.

I stare in the mirror, seeing the fury and frustration on my face. She wanted me—I felt how wet she was, how her body was responding to me—and I still let her go.

Despite my body’s burning need, I couldn’t bring myself to rape her.

Disgusted with my weakness, I look away, running my hand over my short hair. Rape is no worse than the crimes I’ve committed in recent years. In Esguerra’s service, I’ve killed and tortured both men and women, and I’ve felt no qualms. Taking Yulia should’ve been the easiest thing in the world—I’ve dreamed of fucking her every night over the last two months—yet I stopped myself.

I stopped myself because the terror in her voice had been real, and I couldn’t ignore it.

Gritting my teeth, I lift my shirt and examine my ribcage. There’s no blood where Yulia’s weapon grazed me, but there is an angry red scratch. She had probably been aiming for my kidney. If I hadn’t been fast enough, I would be bleeding out in hellish pain on that floor—assuming she didn’t slit my throat immediately. As it is, my jaw throbs where her foot struck me, reminding me how treacherous—and dangerous—she is.

It would’ve been smarter to leave her with the Russians.

No.
As soon as the thought crosses my mind, my entire body tenses in rejection. Now that I finally have her in my possession, the idea of someone else tormenting her is unbearable. Everything inside me screams that she’s mine—mine to fuck, mine to punish in any way I choose.

Nobody else will lay hands on her ever again.

Unzipping my jeans, I pull out my engorged cock and close my fist around it. Squeezing my eyes shut, I imagine that I’m inside her and it’s her inner walls gripping my dick so tightly.

With the pornographic images filling my mind, it takes less than a minute for me to come, my seed spurting into the clean white bowl of the sink.

Y
ulia

I
don’t know
how long it takes me to realize that the reprieve is real, but eventually I calm down enough to stop shaking.

He didn’t go through with it.

He didn’t force me.

I still can’t believe it. I know how hard he was—I felt it. There was no reason for him to show me mercy. I’m not some woman he picked up in a bar; I’m the enemy who just tried to injure him. He should’ve gloried in my pathetic begging and used the weakness I revealed to break me completely.

That’s what I would’ve expected him to do, at least.

Lowering my head, I stare at my naked legs, trying to understand why he stopped. Lucas Kent is not a novice to this life—far from it. According to his file, he joined the United States Navy right after high school and entered the SEAL training program several months later. There wasn’t much in that file on his assignments—only that they were usually classified and extremely dangerous missions—but the reason for him leaving was listed.

It was a murder charge eight years into his service. The man holding me captive killed his commanding officer and disappeared into the jungles of South America. There’s a four-year gap in the file after that, but eventually, Lucas Kent resurfaced as Esguerra’s trusted and extremely deadly second-in-command.

A tingle runs down my arms, and some sixth sense makes me look up.

Two pairs of dark eyes are watching me from the window, one huge and fringed by thick lashes, and the other slightly almond-shaped.

It’s two young women, I realize as the owner of the thick lashes ducks out of sight, leaving me staring at the braver intruder. The remaining girl is about my age and looks Colombian, her bronzed, round face framed by smooth dark hair. She’s pretty—and extremely curious about me, judging by her arrested stare.

I don’t have time to register more because a second later, she ducks and disappears too.

Confused, I continue staring at the window, waiting, but they don’t return. Instead, I hear footsteps and turn my head to see Lucas entering the room with another chair.

Placing it in front of me, he sits down on it and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “All right, Yulia.” His gaze is hard as it travels down my naked body and then returns to my face. “Why don’t you begin by telling me your story.”

My reprieve is over.

Trying to remain calm, I moisten my lips. “May I please have some water?” I’m thirsty—and desperate to put off the interrogation for as long as possible.

He doesn’t move. “Talk and I’ll give it to you.”

I swallow, noting the implacable set of his jaw. “What do you want to know?” Perhaps there are some basics I can share with him, just like I shared with the Russians. I can admit to being a spy for the Ukrainians—he already knows that much—and I can give him a little bit of my background.

Maybe that information will buy me some time without pain.

“You said you started at eleven.” He watches me coldly, without so much as a hint of the lust that burned between us. “Tell me about them—the people who recruited you.”

So much for hoping I can stall him with innocuous revelations.

“I don’t know much about them,” I say. “They would send me on assignments; that’s all.”

His eyes narrow. He knows I’m lying. “Is that right?” His voice is deceptively soft. “And was enrolling in Moscow State University an assignment?”

“It was.” There’s no point in denying it. “They falsified my documents and enrolled me in the university so I could live in Moscow and get close to key people in the Russian government.”

“Get close how?” He leans forward, and I see something dark flash in his pale eyes. “How exactly did they want you to carry out your assignment, beautiful?”

I don’t answer, but I can see that he knows. How else does a young woman insinuate herself into top government circles?

“How many?” Lucas’s voice is sharp enough to slice me into pieces. “How many did you have to fuck to ‘get close’?”

“Three.” Two lower-level officials and one of Buschekov’s friends—which is how I got the job as Buschekov’s interpreter. “I had to sleep with three of them.” I stare directly at Lucas, ignoring the ball of shame lodged deep in my chest. “Esguerra would’ve been the fourth, but I ended up with you instead.”

His eyes narrow further, and my pulse spikes with cold fear. I don’t know why I’m taunting him like this. Getting Lucas angry is a bad idea. I need to be pacifying him, buying myself more time. It doesn’t matter that the contempt on his face is like a knife stabbing into my liver.

An actual knife would be much, much worse.

He stands up abruptly, looming over me, and I try not to flinch as I tilt my head back to meet his gaze. His eyes glint at me, rage flickering in their blue-gray depths again. For a moment, I’m convinced he’s going to hit me, but he grips a fistful of my hair instead, forcing my head to arch back more.

“Did you want them?” His fingers tighten in my hair, making my eyes sting at the pain in my scalp. “Did your pussy cream for them too?”

“No.” I’m telling the truth, but I can see that he doesn’t believe me. “It wasn’t like that with them. It was just something I had to do.” I don’t know why I’m trying to convince him. I don’t want him to know that he was in any way special, but at the same time, I can’t bring myself to lie about this. “It was my job.”

“Just like I was your job.” He stares down at me, and I catch a glimpse of the dark lust lurking underneath his anger. “You gave me your body to get information.”

I don’t deny it, and I see his chest expanding as he draws in a breath. I brace myself for hurtful words of condemnation, but they never come. Instead, his painful hold on my hair eases a fraction, as though he realizes my neck can’t stay bent like that.

“Yulia...” There is a strange note in his voice. “How old were you when you slept with the first one of the three?”

I blink, caught off-guard by the question. “Sixteen.”

Or at least that was when our relationship began. Boris Ladrikov, a short, slightly balding member of the State Duma, had been my first boyfriend, and our affair lasted for the better part of three years. He introduced me to all the important people, including Vladimir, who had become my next assigned lover.

“Sixteen?” Lucas repeats, and I notice a muscle ticking near his ear. He’s furious, and I have no idea why. “How old was your target?”

“Thirty-eight.” I don’t know why Lucas is asking all these irrelevant questions, but I’m happy to answer them for as long as it keeps him away from more important topics. “He thought I was eighteen; the identity I assumed was two years older.”

I expect Lucas to drill me on this some more, but to my surprise, he releases my hair and steps back.

“That’s enough for now,” he says, and I catch that odd note in his voice again. “We’ll resume this in a bit.”

Without saying another word, he turns and leaves the room. A minute later, I hear the front door open and close, and I know I’m alone again.