Twist Me: The Complete Trilogy

Chapter 20

20Julian

The next morning I wake up before Nora, as usual. She’s sleeping in her favorite position: draped across my chest, one of her legs resting on top of mine. Quietly extricating myself from her, I head into the shower, trying not to think of the temptation of her sexy little body lying there, all soft and warm from sleep. It’s unfortunate, but I don’t have time to sate myself with her this morning; the plane is already waiting for me on the landing strip.

She managed to surprise me last night. All week long I’d sensed a slight, almost imperceptible distance from her. I may have broken through her barriers that night, but she rebuilt them to a small degree. She hadn’t been pouting or giving me the silent treatment, but I could tell that she hadn’t fully forgiven me either.

Until last evening.

I thought I didn’t need her forgiveness, but the light, almost euphoric feeling in my chest today says otherwise.

My shower takes less than five minutes. Once I’m dressed and ready to go, I walk over to the bed to give Nora a kiss before I leave. Leaning over her, I brush my lips against her cheek, and in that moment, her eyes flutter open.

Her lips curve upward in a sleepy smile. “Hi…”

“Hi yourself,” I say huskily, reaching over with my hand to brush a tangled strand of hair off her face. f**k, she does things to me. Things that no small girl should be able to do. I’m about to finally get revenge on the man who killed Beth and stole Nora from me, and all I can think about is climbing back into bed with her.

She blinks a few times, and I see her smile fading as she remembers that today is not just any morning. All traces of sleepiness disappear from her face as she sits up and stares at me, heedless of the blanket falling down and exposing her naked torso.

“You’re leaving already?”

“Yes, baby.” Trying to keep my eyes off her round, perky breasts, I sit down on the bed next to her and clasp her hand between both of my palms, rubbing it softly. “The plane is already fueled up and waiting for me.”

She swallows. “When are you going to be back?”

“If all goes well, in about a week. I have to meet with a couple of officials in Russia first, so I won’t get to Tajikistan right away.”

“Russia? Why?” A small frown bisects her forehead. “I thought you were going to take care of some business in Ukraine on your way back.”

“I was, but things changed. Yesterday afternoon I received a call from one of Peter’s contacts in Moscow. They want me to meet with them first, or else they won’t let us get to Tajikistan.”

“Oh.” Nora looks even more concerned now, her frown deepening. “Do you know why?”

I have some suspicions, but none that I want to share with her at the moment. She’s far too worried as is. Russians have always been unpredictable, and the increasingly volatile situation in that region doesn’t help matters.

“I’ve had some interactions with them in the past,” I say noncommittally, and get up before she has a chance to question me further. “I have to go now, baby, but I’ll see you in a few days. Good luck with your tests, okay?”

She nods, her eyes suspiciously bright as she looks at me, and unable to resist, I bend down and kiss her one last time before walking out of the room.

Moscow in March is colder than a witch’s tit. The cold seeps through my thick layers of clothing and settles deep within my bones, making me feel as if I’ll never get warm again. I have never particularly liked Russia, and this visit only solidifies my negative opinion of the place.

Freezing. Dirty. Corrupt.

I can deal with the last two, but all three combined is too much. No wonder Peter was glad to remain behind to watch the compound. The bastard knew exactly what I would be getting into. I could see the smirk on his face as he watched the plane take off. After the tropical heat of the jungle, the bone-chilling temperatures of Moscow in the last grip of winter feel downright painful—as do my negotiations with the Russian government.

It takes nearly an hour, ten different appetizers, and half a bottle of vodka before Buschekov gets to the point of the meeting. The only reason I tolerate this is because it takes about this long for my feet to defrost from the sub-zero chill outside. The traffic on the way to the restaurant was so bad that Lucas and I ended up getting out of the car and walking eight blocks, freezing our asses off in the process.

Now, however, I’m finally able to move my toes—and Buschekov seems ready to talk business. He’s one of the unofficial officials here: a person who wields significant influence in the Kremlin, but whose name never comes up on the news.

“I have a delicate matter I’d like to discuss with you,” Buschekov says after the waiter clears off some of the empty platters. Or, rather, our interpreter says that after Buschekov says something in Russian. Since neither Lucas nor I understand more than a few words of the language, Buschekov hired a young woman to translate for us. Pretty, blond, and blue-eyed, Yulia Tzakova looks to be only a couple of years older than my Nora, but the Russian official assured me that the girl knows how to be discreet.

“Go on,” I say in response to Buschekov’s statement. Lucas sits next to me, silently consuming his second serving of caviar-stuffed blinis. He’s the only one I brought with me to this meeting. The rest of my men are stationed nearby in case of any difficulties. I doubt the Russians will try anything at the moment, but one can never be too cautious.

Buschekov gives me a thin-lipped smile and responds in Russian.

“I’m sure you are aware of the difficulties in our region,” Yulia translates. “We would like you to assist us in resolving this matter.”

“Assist you how?” I have a good idea of what the Russians want, but I still want to hear him lay it all out.

“There are certain parts of Ukraine that need our help,” Yulia says in English after Buschekov answers. “But, world opinion being what it is right now, it would be problematic if we went in and actually gave that help.”

“So you would like me to do it instead.”

He nods, his colorless eyes trained on my face as Yulia translates my statement. “Yes,” he says, “we would like a sizable shipment of weapons and other supplies to reach the freedom fighters in Donetsk. It cannot be traced back to us. In return, you would be paid your usual fee and granted safe passage to Tajikistan.”

I smile at him blandly. “Is that all?”

“We would also prefer it if you avoided any dealings with Ukraine at this time,” he says without blinking. “Two chairs and one ass and all that.”

I assume that last statement makes more sense in Russian, but I understand the gist of what he’s saying. Buschekov is not the first client to demand this from me, and he won’t be the last. “I’m afraid I will require additional compensation for that,” I say calmly. “As you know, I don’t usually take sides in these types of conflicts.”

“Yes, so we’ve heard.” Buschekov picks up a piece of salted fish with his fork and chews it slowly as he looks at me. “Perhaps you might reconsider that position in our case. The Soviet Union may be gone, but our influence in this region is still quite substantial.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Why do you think I’m here right now?” The smile that I give him now has a sharper edge. “But neutrality is an expensive commodity to give up. I’m sure you understand.”

Something icy flickers in Buschekov’s gaze. “I do. I’m authorized to offer you twenty percent more than the usual payment for your cooperation in this matter.”

“Twenty percent? When you’re cutting my potential profits in half?” I laugh softly. “I don’t think so.”

He pours himself another shot of vodka and swirls it around the glass, regarding me thoughtfully. “Twenty percent more and the captured Al-Quadar terrorist remitted into your custody,” he says after a few moments. “This is our final offer.”

I study him while I pour myself some vodka as well. Truthfully, this is better than I had been hoping to get out of him, and I know better than to push too far with the Russians. “We have a deal then,” I say and, lifting my glass in an ironic toast, knock back the shot.

My car is waiting for us on the street when we exit the restaurant. The driver finally made it through the traffic, which means we won’t freeze on our way to the hotel.

“Would you mind giving me a lift to the nearest subway?” Yulia asks as Lucas and I approach the car. I can see her already beginning to shiver. “It should be about ten blocks from here.”

I give her a considering look, then motion Lucas over with a short gesture. “Frisk her.”

Lucas walks over and pats her down. “She’s clean.”

“Okay, then,” I say, opening the car door for her. “Hop in.”

She climbs in and settles next to me in the back, while Lucas joins the driver in the front. “Thank you,” she says with a pretty smile. “I really appreciate it. This is one of the worst winters in recent years.”

“No problem.” I’m not in the mood to make small talk, so I pull out my phone and begin answering emails. There’s one from Nora, which makes me grin. She wants to know if I landed safely. Yes, I write back. Now just trying not to get frostbite in Moscow.

“Are you staying here for long?” Yulia’s soft voice interrupts me as I’m about to pull up a report detailing Nora’s movements around the estate in my absence. When I glance up at her, the Russian girl smiles and crosses her long legs. “I could show you around town if you’d like.”

Her invitation couldn’t be more blatant if she’d palmed my c**k right then and there. I can see the hungry gleam in her eyes as she looks at me, and I realize that she’s one of those: a woman turned on by power and danger. She wants me because of what I represent—because of the thrill it gives her to play with fire. I have no doubt that she would let me do whatever I want to her, no matter how sadistic or depraved, and then she would beg for more.

She’s exactly the type of woman I would’ve gladly f****d before meeting Nora. Unfortunately for Yulia, her pale beauty does nothing for me now. The only woman I want in my bed is the dark-haired girl who’s currently several thousand miles away.

“Thanks for the invitation,” I say, giving Yulia a cool smile. “But we’ll be leaving soon, and I’m afraid I’m too exhausted to do your town justice tonight.”

“Of course.” Yulia smiles back, unfazed by my rejection. She clearly has enough self-confidence not to be offended. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” And as the car rolls to a halt in front of the subway stop, she gracefully climbs out, leaving behind a faint trail of expensive perfume.

As the car begins moving again, Lucas turns around to face me. “If you don’t want her, I’d be happy to entertain her tonight,” he offers casually. “If that’s all right with you, of course.”

I grin. Hot blondes have always been Lucas’s weakness. “Why not,” I say. “She’s all yours if you want her.” We don’t fly out until tomorrow morning, and I have plenty of security in place. If Lucas wants to spend the night f*****g our interpreter, I’m not about to deny him that pleasure.

As for me, I plan to use my fist in the shower while thinking of Nora, and then get a good night’s rest.

Tomorrow is going to be an eventful day.

The flight to Tajikistan from Moscow is supposed to take a little over six hours in my Boeing C-17. It’s one of the three military airplanes that I own, and it’s big enough for this mission, easily fitting in all of my men and our equipment.

Everyone, myself included, is dressed in the latest combat gear. Our suits are bulletproof and flame-retardant, and we’re fully armed with assault rifles, grenades, and explosives. It may be overkill, but I’m not taking chances with my men’s lives. I enjoy danger, but I’m not suicidal, and all the risks I take in my business are carefully calculated. Nora’s rescue in Thailand was probably the most perilous operation I’ve been involved with in recent years, and I wouldn’t have done it for anyone else.

Only for her.

I spend the majority of the flight going through the manufacturing specifications for a new factory in Malaysia. If all goes well, I may shift missile production there from its current location in Indonesia. The local officials in the latter region are getting too greedy, demanding higher bribes each month, and I’m not inclined to indulge them for much longer. I also answer a few questions from my Chicago-based portfolio manager; he’s working on setting up a fund-of-funds through one of my subsidiaries and needs me to give him some investment parameters.

We’re flying over Uzbekistan, just a few hundred miles from our destination, when I decide to check in with Lucas, who’s piloting the plane.

He turns toward me as soon as I enter the cabin. “We’re on track to get there in about an hour and a half,” he says without my asking. “There is some ice on the landing strip, so they’re de-icing it for us right now. The helicopters are already fueled up and ready to go.”

“Excellent.” The plan calls for us to land about a dozen miles from the suspected terrorist hideout in the Pamir Mountains and fly by helicopters the rest of the way. “Any unusual activities in that area?”

He shakes his head. “No, everything is quiet.”

“Good.” Entering the cabin, I sit down next to Lucas in the copilot’s seat and strap myself in. “How was the Russian girl last night?”

A rare smile flashes across his stony face. “Quite satisfying. You missed out.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, though I don’t feel even the slightest flicker of regret. There’s no way some one-night stand can approximate the intensity of my connection with Nora, and I have no desire to settle for anything less than that.

Lucas grins—an expression that’s even more uncommon on his hard features. “I have to say, I never expected to see you as a happily married man.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Is that right?” This is probably the most personal observation he’s ever made to me. In all the years he’s been with my organization, Lucas has never before bridged the distance from loyal employee to friend—not that I’ve encouraged him to do so. Trust has never come easy to me, and there have been only a handful of individuals I’ve been able to call ‘friend.’

He shrugs, his face smoothing out into his usual impassive mask, though a hint of amusement still lurks in his eyes. “Sure. People like us aren’t generally considered good husband material.”

An involuntary chuckle escapes my throat. “Well, I don’t know if, strictly speaking, Nora considers me ‘good husband material.’” A monster who abducted her and f****d with her head, sure. But a good husband? Somehow I doubt it.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then she should,” Lucas says, turning his attention back to the controls. “You don’t cheat, you take good care of her, and you’ve risked your life to save her before. If that’s not being a good husband, then I don’t know what is.” As he speaks, I see a small frown appearing on his face as he peers at something on the radar screen.

“What is it?” I ask sharply, all of my instincts suddenly on alert.

“I’m not sure,” Lucas begins saying, and at that moment, the plane bucks so violently that I’m nearly thrown out of my seat. It’s only the seatbelt I’d strapped on out of habit that prevents me from hitting the ceiling as the plane takes a sudden nosedive.

Lucas grabs the controls, a steady stream of obscenities coming out of his mouth as he frantically tries to correct our course. “s**t, f**k, s**t, s**t, motherfucking s**t—”

“What hit us?” My voice is steady, my mind strangely calm as I assess the situation. There is a grinding, sputtering noise coming from the engines. I can smell smoke and hear screams in the back, so I know there’s a fire. It had to be an explosion. That means someone either shot at us from another plane or a surface-to-air missile exploded in close vicinity, damaging one or more of the engines. It couldn’t have been a direct missile hit because the Boeing is equipped with an anti-missile defense that’s designed to repel all but the most advanced weapons—and because we are still alive and not blown into pieces.

“I’m not sure,” Lucas manages to say as he wrestles with the controls. The plane evens out for a brief second and then nosedives again. “Does it f*****g matter?”

I’m not sure, to be honest. The analytical part of me wants to know what—or who—is going to be responsible for my death. I doubt it’s Al-Quadar; according to my sources, they don’t have weapons this sophisticated. That leaves the possibility of error by some trigger-happy Uzbekistani soldier or an intentional strike by someone else. The Russians, perhaps, though why they would do this is anyone’s guess.

Still, Lucas is right. I don’t know why I care. Knowing the truth won’t change the outcome. I can see the snowy peaks of Pamir in the distance, and I know we’re not going to make it there.

Lucas resumes his cursing as he fights with the controls, and I grip the edge of my seat, my eyes trained on the ground rushing toward us at a terrifyingly rapid pace. There is a roaring sound in my ears, and I realize that it’s my own heartbeat—that I can actually hear the blood coursing through my veins as surging adrenaline sharpens all of my senses.

The plane makes a few more attempts to come out of the nosedive, each one slowing our fall by a few seconds, but nothing seems able to arrest the lethal descent.

As I watch us plummeting to our deaths, I have only one regret.

I will never get to hold Nora again.