Claim Me

Chapter 16

16Lucas

I spend the week after our return from Chicago dealing with the aftermath of the trip and recuperating from my injuries. According to Goldberg, our estate doctor, I have cracked ribs and a few first-degree burns on my back and arms—injuries that are beyond minor in light of the battle we survived.

“You’re one lucky son of a b***h,” Diego says when I finally sit down with him and Eduardo to catch up on the Yulia situation. “All those guys…”

“Yeah.” My teeth ache from clenching my jaw all day long. The faces of our dead men haunt me, just like those of the guards who died in the plane crash. Over the past couple of months, we’ve lost more than seventy of our people, and the mood on the compound is grim, to say the least.

Between organizing funerals, finding new recruits, and cleaning up the mess in Chicago, I’ve been running on nothing but adrenaline fumes.

“I hope you made the fuckers pay,” Eduardo says, his voice vibrating with fury. “If I’d been there—”

“You’d be dead just like the others,” I say wearily. I’m in no mood to indulge the young guard’s bluster; my burns are mostly healed at this point, but my ribs hurt with every movement. “Tell me what you’ve learned thus far. Did you figure out if anyone had contact with my prisoner prior to the escape?”

Diego and Eduardo exchange an odd look. Then Diego says, “Yes, but I don’t think it’s her.”

I frown. “Her?”

“Rosa Martinez, the maid from the main house,” Eduardo says hesitantly. “She… Well, the drone footage showed her coming to your house a couple of times during those two weeks.”

“Oh, yeah.” I chuckle humorlessly. “She had some kind of strange curiosity about Yulia.” I’m not about to tell the guards about Rosa’s possible crush on me. The girl seems to be past that now, and I don’t think she’d appreciate the others knowing about her feelings.

She’s been through enough.

“Oh, good. I’m glad you know about that.” Diego blows out a relieved breath. “We figured it’s unlikely to be her, but I wanted to let you know just in case. She’s the only one who came by your house on Tuesday, so…” He shrugs.

“Wait, Tuesday? As in, the day before we left?” I’d warned Rosa away long before that, and I thought she’d listened. “She came to my house on Tuesday?”

“That’s what the footage shows,” Eduardo says cautiously. “But it can’t be her. I know Rosa—we dated for some time. She’s not… she wouldn’t—”

I hold up my hand, cutting him off. “I’m sure she’s not the one to blame,” I say, even as a hard knot forms in my chest. If Rosa came to my house after I warned her away, that changes things.

My assumptions about the girl were wrong.

“You did well telling me about this,” I say to the two guards. “But I’d appreciate it if you kept quiet about it for now. We don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea—Rosa herself included.”

If there’s something more to her actions than a misplaced crush, I don’t want anyone to tip her off.

Diego and Eduardo both nod, looking relieved as I dismiss them. When they’re gone, I pick up the phone and call the men we sent to Chicago.

Esguerra’s CIA contacts did their best to cover up our high-speed battle, but it was impossible to conceal it all, and now every news outlet in Chicago is blaring with speculation about the clandestine operation to apprehend a dangerous arms dealer. The “arms dealer” story originated with the police chief, who had been in cahoots with Sullivan. The man used the information that Sullivan uncovered about us to come up with the tale of an arms dealer smuggling explosives into Chicago. Under that pretext, he assembled the SWAT team that helped Sullivan, and told everyone that Sullivan’s men were reinforcements from another division. The operation was kept secret from other law enforcement agencies—which is why we didn’t have advance warning of the attack. So now there’s a shitload of work to be done. The police chief and any remaining Sullivan moles have to be taken care of, and the remnants of Sullivan’s organization must be wiped out before Nora’s parents can return home.

As much as I’d like to tackle Rosa’s betrayal, I have more pressing matters to deal with first.

It’s not until I’m lying in my bed late that night that I have a chance to think about Rosa again. Could she have done it? Could she have helped Yulia escape? If so, why? Out of jealousy or because someone got to the maid?

Could Yulia’s agency have bribed or threatened Rosa?

I mull over that possibility for a few minutes before deciding that it’s unlikely. The compound is isolated, and all emails and phone calls with the outside world are monitored. Esguerra is the only one whose communications are private, which means there’s no way UUR could’ve contacted Rosa without raising alarms in the system.

Whatever Rosa did, she did of her own initiative.

The knot in my chest tightens, the bitterness of betrayal mixing with the ever-present anger. Rage has been my companion since I learned of Yulia’s escape, and now I have a new target for my fury. If it weren’t for the fact that the maid has just been through an ordeal, I’d drag her in for questioning tomorrow. As it is, I’m going to give Rosa another week to heal and use the time to keep a close eye on her, just in case I’m wrong about her motivations.

If she is on someone’s payroll, I’m going to find that out. In the meantime, I have to finish the cleanup in Chicago and locate Yulia, and I have to do it soon. Not having Yulia is messing with my head. Despite working to exhaustion, I can’t sleep at night. There are dozens of urgent business matters that should occupy my thoughts, but it’s not worry over finding new guards or containing media leaks that keeps me awake. No, what I think about when I lie in bed is her.

Yulia.

My beautiful, treacherous obsession.

The moment I close my eyes, I see her—her eyes, her smile, her graceful walk. I remember her laughter and her tears, and I ache for her in a way that goes beyond my c**k’s craving for her silky flesh. As much as I’d like to f**k her, I also want to hold her, to hear her breathing next to me and smell the warm peach scent of her skin.

I f*****g miss her, and I hate her for it.

Does she think about me at all, or is she too busy with the man she loves? I picture her lying in his arms, drowsy and replete after s*x, and my fury edges into agony, tightening my chest until I can’t breathe. I’d take a dozen broken ribs, suffer a hundred burns to avoid this sensation.

I’d do anything to have her back with me.

I love you. I’m yours.

Motherfucker.

I turn on the bedside lamp and sit up, wincing at the pain in my ribs. Getting up, I walk to my library and grab a random book.

It’s only when I return to my bed that I realize the book I took was the last one I saw Yulia reading.

The tightness in my chest returns.

I have to get her back.

I simply have to.