The cut on that lip bothers me. It doesn’t fit there. Neither do the bruises on her translucent, perfect skin. It’s a good thing the guys who delivered her are already gone, or they’d be leaving in body bags. Liar or not, they had no right to rough her up. I should’ve said to take her unharmed, not just alive.
Sokolov is playing her, letting her believe her cooperation will win her freedom, but I see the knowledge in her startling blue eyes. Mina is cleverer than that. She’s not some civilian girl we snatched off the street. She tells him what he wants to hear, but says she only met Henderson in person once, and she doesn’t know where our impersonators are, though she’s worked with them in the past.
When Sokolov finally leaves, I relax my guard enough to look Mina over properly. She’s holding up well. My chest swells with pride. Unwanted pride, but I can help it as little as I can help how my cock takes interest in her nearness. Despite the anger, there’s a warped sense of excitement inside me, joy that I finally have her back. The little traitor still fascinates me to no end.
That fascination won’t last much longer if she doesn’t drink and eat soon. We’ve stretched it out as long as we could.
Our thoughts are often in tune, Ilya’s and mine, and just as I’m about to offer her what would seem to any captive like a reward for cooperation, Ilya asks, “Are you hungry?”
She gives him a smile that’s way too friendly for my liking. “I won’t say no to water.”
His tone is gruff. “We’ll get you something to eat and drink.”
Bristling, I turn to him. “Good idea. Why don’t you run to the compound and get us a meal and some water?”
His face contorts with an expression I know well from our childhood, when we’d argue over chores. “Why me?”
I cross my arms. “You’re the one who offered her a meal.”
“You go get it.”
“Fine.” I turn to my pretty captive. “Sorry, but it seems room service isn’t operating today.”
Ilya curses under his breath, calling me colorful Russian names. I laugh at his back when he goes for the door like a fuming bull. When he’s gone and I look back at Mina, she’s studying me.
“Do the two of you always share women?”
I shrug like it doesn’t matter—which it hasn’t, until her. “We don’t mind.”
“At the same time, or do you always go first?” There’s a bite to her question.
Grabbing the armrests of the chair, I get into her personal space. “Both, actually.” I smile. “Jealous?”
She cranes her neck to accommodate my proximity. “You didn’t share me.”
Just hearing it makes the hair at my nape stand on end. “Did you want us to share?” I drag my fingers through the silky strands of her short hair, the platinum color streaked with dirt. She watches me warily, cleverly not trusting the gentle touch. “Is that your fetish, malyshka?” I pointedly use my brother’s ridiculously sweet nickname for her. Little one, it means in Russian.
“No,” she replies heatedly, almost as if offended.
The answer calms me enough to release her and take a step back. She’s so pretty, even soaked with sweat and covered in dirt. It makes me want to rip off my shirt and get a different kind of sweaty look on her. No woman has ever affected me like this. Yesterday, I might’ve adored her for it. Today, I hate her.
Turning on my heel, I march to the door. Like the professional killer she is, she doesn’t ask where I’m going or what I’m planning. She knows she won’t get an answer.
The guards are back. Just in case, I secure the chain, and lock the door from the outside. Then I go to our sleeping quarters at the compound in search of a bucket and soap. Once there, I grab a clean shirt and a new disposable toothbrush from my bag. A quick walk past the kitchen confirms Ilya is angrily slapping a sandwich together. I leave before he sees me. He’ll only launch into another gripe session.
Back at the shed, I fill the bucket with water from the outside tap and lock the door behind me again. Mina’s expression doesn’t change, but the quick rise of her chest gives away her fear.
She probably thinks I’m going to waterboard her.
I untie her legs and make quick work of removing her boots, socks, pants, and underwear before tying her ankles back to the chair. I don’t bother with removing the top and bra. Those I tear off. They’re dirty and blood-soaked beyond saving. On second thought, the pants and everything else can go into the trashcan, too. I’m not doing the little traitor’s laundry.
I wasn’t going to look at her, not like that, but she’s no longer an image from a favorite memory in my mind. She’s right here, naked and spread. On display. I can’t help it. I start at her narrow ankles and slide my gaze up her shapely calves to the soft flesh of her inner thighs. Between them lies my prize, the prettiest pussy I’ve ever laid eyes on. I extend my exploration to her toned stomach and the navel piercing, a gold ring. Then the tattooed scribbling on her side. Her ribs are like the bones of a bird. With her arms stretched back, I can count each one.
The blue and black shades on her pearly-white skin are evidence that she’s taken a few
