Obsession Mine: Tormentor Mine: Book 2

1 Peter “They’re gaining on us,” Ilya says as the whine of sirens and the roar of helicopter blades grow louder. Light from the cars on the other side of the highway bounces off his shaved head, creating the illusion that his skull tattoos are dancing as he glances in the rearview mirror with a worried frown. “Right.” Ignoring the adrenaline pumping in my veins, I tighten my arm around Sara, preventing her head from sliding off my shoulder as Ilya zooms around a slower-moving car. I expected the pursuit, of course—one doesn’t steal a woman guarded by the FBI without consequences—but now that it’s happening, I find myself worried. My three teammates and I can handle a high-speed chase just fine, but I can’t endanger Sara that way. Reaching a decision, I tell Ilya, “Slow down. Let them catch up to us.” Anton twists around in the front passenger seat, his bearded face incredulous as he grips his M16. “Are you insane?” “We can’t lead them to the airport,” Yan, Ilya’s twin, points out. He’s sitting on the other side of Sara, and he must’ve caught on to my plan, because he’s already rummaging in the large duffel bag we stored under the backseat of our SUV. “Do you think the Feds know we have her?” Anton glances at the unconscious woman pressed to my side, and I feel an irrational flicker of jealousy as his black gaze roves over Sara’s face, lingering for a moment longer than necessary on her plush pink lips. “They must. Those guys tailing her were stupid but not completely inept,” Yan says, straightening with a grenade launcher in his hands. Unlike his twin, he favors a conservative hairstyle and neatly pressed business clothes—his banker disguise, as Ilya calls it. In general, Yan looks like someone who wouldn’t know how to handle a wrench, much less a gun, but he’s one of the most lethal individuals I know—as are the rest of my team. Our clients pay us millions for a reason, and it has nothing to do with our fashion choices. “I hope you’re right,” Ilya says, tightening his grip on the wheel as he glances in the rearview mirror again. Two black government SUVs and three police cruisers are now four cars behind us, blue and red lights flashing as they pass slower-moving vehicles. “American police are soft. They won’t risk shooting if they know we have her.” “Nor will they open fire in the middle of a highway,” Yan says, pressing a button to roll down the window. “Too many civilians around.” “Hold off for a moment,” I tell him as he moves closer to the window, the grenade launcher in hand. “We want the chopper as low as possible above us. Ilya, slow down some more and get into the right lane. We’re taking the next exit.” Ilya does as I say, and we switch into the slower lane, our speed dropping below the posted limit. A gray Toyota Camry zooms past us on the left, and I press Sara closer to me, telling Yan to get ready. The noise from the helicopter is deafening—it’s hovering almost directly overhead now—but I wait. A few moments later, I see it. The sign for the exit, coming up in a quarter mile. “Now,” I yell, and Yan springs into action, propelling his head and torso out the window, the grenade launcher in his hands. Boom! It sounds like the mother of all fireworks just went off above us. Brakes screech all around us, but we’re already at the exit, and Ilya swerves off the highway just as all hell breaks loose, cars colliding in both lanes with a clang of crumpling metal as the chopper above explodes in a fiery metal ball. “Fuuuck,” Anton breathes, staring at the mess we left behind. With the flaming chopper pieces raining down, a giant Walmart truck is in the process of flipping over, and no less than a dozen cars have already crashed, with more ramming into the pile with each second. The government SUVs are among the victims, and the police cruisers are trapped behind them. There’s no way our pursuers will be able to follow us now, and though I’m not happy about the injured civilians, I know this is how we’ll make our escape. By the time they regroup and send more cops after us, we’ll be long gone. Nobody is taking Sara away from me. She chose me, and she’s staying mine. We get to the underpass where we left our other vehicle without pursuit, and once we switch cars, we all breathe a little easier. I have no doubt the Feds will locate us, but by the time they do, we should be safely in the air. We’re almost at the airport when Sara lets out a small moan, her eyelids fluttering open as she stirs at my side. The drug I gave her has worn off. “Shhh,” I soothe, kissing her forehead as she tries to wriggle out of the blanket cocooning her from neck down. “You’re okay, ptichka. I’m here, and all is well. Here, drink this.” With my free hand, I open a sports bottle filled with water and press it to her lips, letting her suck down some liquid. “What… where am I?” she croaks hoarsely when I take the bottle away, and I tighten my arm around her shoulders, preventing her from unrolling the blanket and exposing her nakedness. “What happened?” “Nothing bad,” I assure her, setting the bottle down to brush a strand of hair off her face. “We’re just going on a little trip.” On the other side of Sara, Yan snorts and mutters in Russian something about major understatements. Sara’s gaze darts toward Yan, then bounces all over the car, and I see the exact moment she realizes what’s happening. “Please tell me you didn’t…” Her voice rises in pitch. “Peter, tell me you didn’t just—” “Shhh.” Turning her fully toward me, I press two fingers against her soft lips. “I couldn’t stay, and I couldn’t leave you behind, ptichka. You know that. It’s going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. I’m going to keep you safe.” She stares at me, her hazel eyes filled with shock and horror, and despite my certainty that I did the right thing, my chest tightens unpleasantly. Sara warned me about the FBI, knowing I would most likely take her with me, but she probably didn’t expect me to do it like this. And maybe there was some other way, something I could’ve done that wouldn’t have involved drugging her and stealing her in the middle of the night. No. Shaking off the uncharacteristic self-doubt, I focus on what matters: reassuring Sara and getting her to accept the situation. “Listen to me, ptichka.” I curve my palm around her delicate jaw. “I know you’re worried about your parents, but as soon as we’re airborne, you can call them and—” “Airborne? So we’re still in—? Oh thank God.” She closes her eyes, and I feel a tremor run through her before she opens her eyes to meet my gaze. “Peter…” Her voice turns soft, cajoling. “Peter, please. You don’t have to do this. You can just leave me here. It’ll be so much safer for you… so much easier to get away if they’re not searching for me. You could just disappear, and they’ll never catch you, and then—” “They’ll never catch me regardless.” My tone is clipped, but I can’t help the flare of anger as I lower my hand. Sara had her chance to be rid of me, and she didn’t take it. By warning me, she sealed her fate, and it’s too late to back out now. Yes, I drugged and took her without asking, but she had to know I wouldn’t leave her behind. I told her how much I loved her, and though she didn’t say the words back to me, I know she’s not indifferent. Maybe this is not precisely what she wanted, but she chose me, and for her to beg me to leave her behind now, to try to manipulate me with her big eyes and sweet voice… It hurts, this rejection of hers, though it shouldn’t. I did kill her husband and force my way into her life. “We’re here,” Anton says in Russian as the car slows, and I turn my head to see our plane some twenty meters ahead. “Peter, please.” Sara begins to struggle inside the blanket, her voice rising in volume as the car comes to a complete stop and my men jump out. “Please don’t do this. This is wrong. You know this is wrong. My whole life is here. I have my family and my patients and my friends…” She’s crying now, her struggles intensifying as I bend to grab her blanket-wrapped legs and haul her out of the car. “Please, you said you wouldn’t do this if I cooperated, and I did. I did everything you wanted. Please, Peter, stop! Leave me here! Please!” She’s hysterical now, twisting and bucking in the confines of the blanket as I back out of the car, holding her against my chest, and Anton shoots me an uncomfortable look as he helps the twins get the weapons from under the backseat. Though my friend had suggested on more than one occasion that I should just take Sara if I want her, the reality of it must be crueler than he imagined. Other people might deem us monsters, but we can feel—and it would take a heart of steel not to feel something as Sara continues to beg and plead, struggling inside the blanket cocoon as I carry her to the plane. “I’m sorry,” I tell her when I bring her into the passenger cabin and carefully deposit her into one of the wide leather seats at the front. Her distress is like a poison-tipped blade in my side, but the thought of leaving her behind is even more agonizing. I can’t picture my life without Sara, and I’m ruthless enough—and selfish enough—to ensure I won’t need to. She might be having second thoughts about her decision, but she’ll come around and accept the situation, just like she was beginning to accept our relationship. And then she’ll be happy again—happier, even. We’re going to build a life together, and it’s going to be one she’ll enjoy as well. I have to believe that, because this is the only way I can have her. This is the only way I can know love again.