Claim Me

Chapter 27

27Yulia

The second the door closes behind the doctor, I scoot closer to the edge of the bed, making sure the blanket covers my chest. My head pounds with the movement, but I say, “Mishen’ka—”

“It’s Mikhail—or Michael, since you’re so fond of the English language,” my brother snaps, his light-colored eyebrows drawing together in a ferocious frown. “I’m not a child.”

“No, I can see that.” Ignoring the throbbing in my temples, I study his features, noticing the changes brought about by adolescence. At fourteen, he’s already begun the transition into manhood, his face leaner and harder than I recall seeing in pictures as recent as from a few months ago.

Suppressing an irrational urge to cry, I begin again. “Michael”—the formal American version of his name feels foreign on my tongue—“I want to talk to you about… well, about everything.”

He just stands there, looking tense and angry, so I plow on. “I’m sorry about Obenko—your uncle, that is. I know he meant a lot to you. And Mateyenko… They were good agents. They truly cared about their country, and I know Obenko cared about you…” I realize I’m rambling, so I take a breath and say, “Listen, I know the men holding us seem scary, but I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to protect you. Lucas said he won’t hurt you, and I—”

“Is he your lover?” Misha’s cheeks redden as he asks the question, but he doesn’t look away, his gaze locked on me accusingly.

I feel my own face heat up. This is not a conversation I want to be having with my young brother. “He’s… It’s complicated. But you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay?”

“Yeah, like you made sure Uncle Vasya was safe.” Misha’s tone is harsh, but I sense the fear and grief underneath. The training he received in the last two years wouldn’t have prepared him for this. My baby brother might know how to fight and shoot a gun, but I doubt he’d seen death up close before yesterday.

That part doesn’t come until later in the training program.

“Michael…” I bite my lip, wondering how to best tackle Obenko’s lies. “I know your uncle has told you some things about me, and—”

“Are you going to accuse him of being a liar too? Isn’t it enough that he’s dead because of you?” Misha’s face tightens, and his eyes gleam a shade too brightly. “These killers, they came after you. This all happened because of you.”

“No, Misha—Michael—that’s not true.” My heart aches at his pain. “I escaped so I could warn Obenko about—” I cut myself off, realizing I’m about to scare my brother further. In a calmer tone, I say, “Look, I know how it must seem to you, but I swear, I came with the best intentions. Everything I’ve done since leaving the orphanage was so that—”

“Oh, please.” Misha steps toward me, his handcuffed hands stiff in front of his body. “You left me there to rot. One day you were promising you’d always be there for me, and the next you were gone.”

Shocked, I open my mouth, but he doesn’t give me a chance to reply. “You think I don’t remember?” His voice rises as he takes another step toward me. “Well, I do. I remember everything. You lied to me. You said we’d always be together, and then you left!”

“That’s enough.” Lucas’s voice freezes us both in place as the door opens and my captor steps in. He’s followed by Dr. Goldberg, who’s wearing latex gloves and carrying a surgical tray with various-sized syringes and needles.

My heart skips a beat, then leaps into overdrive. “What is this?” I can’t hide my panic as I look at Lucas. “You said—”

“It’s the trackers I mentioned to you before,” Lucas says, crossing the room. Stopping in front of my bed, he glances at my brother, whose horrified gaze is locked on the tray. “She’ll be fine,” Lucas says, grabbing Misha’s arm and dragging him away from the bed.

“No, wait.” Cold sweat breaks out all over my body as Dr. Goldberg picks up a small syringe and comes toward me. I’m not ready for this battle. “Lucas, please, you don’t need these,” I plead as he tows my brother across the room, ignoring Misha’s attempt to drop to the floor and kick out his knees. “I won’t run, I promise. I’ll do anything you want…”

Lucas stops in the doorway and pulls Misha against him in a chokehold. His muscled forearm is thicker than Misha’s neck. “I know,” he says, his arctic gaze pinning me in place. “You will. And right now, I want you to be a good girl and let the doctor give you some local anesthetic to make the insertion easier.”

“But—”

Misha’s face turns purple as Lucas tightens his arm, and I nod quickly, my eyes burning with helpless tears. “Okay, yes. I’ll do it. Just let him go.”

“I will—when the implants are in.” Releasing Misha’s throat, Lucas grabs his shirt and drags him out of the room, shutting the door on the way.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says, leaning over me. His brown eyes are filled with sympathy. “I know this isn’t easy for you. If you could please lie down on your stomach…”

My bruises ache dully as I obey, stretching out and turning over onto my stomach. The doctor pulls the blanket off me, and I feel a small pinch between my shoulder blades as the needle sinks into my skin. It’s followed by another pinch at my nape and a prick near my underarm. My skin grows numb, and I close my eyes, my tears dampening the sheets under my face.

My captor is as cruel as ever, and this time, there’s no escape.