“Where to?” Anton asks tightly as we near the first exit.
“Budapest.”
He doesn’t ask questions. He programs the GPS and does as he’s told. Unlike Ilya. When I get my hands on my brother, he’ll pay for not following the one, simple fucking order I gave.
According to the GPS, it will take us eleven hours to get there with the current traffic. That’s if Budapest is indeed Mina’s destination. What the hell is she doing? If she thinks she can run from me, she’ll be sadly disappointed. I’ll catch her.
Again and again.
Anton shoots me a sidelong glance. “What about flights?”
“It’s better to follow her on land. Easier to change direction if needed.” Our own plane is undergoing maintenance, and if we’re stuck on a commercial flight, it may take us even longer. There are a lot of overbookings and delays, as it’s the end of the summer holiday and the Czech Republic is swamped with tourists.
Time crawls by. We don’t stop. Not to eat, not to stretch our legs, not even for a piss. We only take five minutes to refuel. I don’t work. I don’t check my messages. I do nothing but study the red dot that represents Mina. The farther we advance, the more convinced I become I’m right about her destination.
Six-and-a-half hours later, she stops moving. I look up the location. It’s a private clinic in Budapest. I can only imagine why she’d go there. Tapping on the listed number, I dial the clinic. A female voice comes onto the line, asking if she can help me.
“I’d like to speak to Ms. Hanna Belan, please.”
“Certainly, sir. Who may I say is calling?”
“I’m having trouble hearing you. I’ll call back when I have a better connection.”
I cut the call. Just as I thought.
“Family of Mina?” Anton asks.
It’s not his business. Nothing concerning Mina is anyone’s business but mine. “Pull over at the next gas station.”
We swap places. He catches a nap and I drive, keeping an eye on the tracker app. For the moment, Mina is immobile. It’s only when I pull into Budapest that she starts moving again.
Changing direction, I drive to the station and park in the drop-off zone.
“Circle around until you hear from me,” I tell Anton.
The station is busy. I tuck a Glock into my waistband and pull on my jacket to hide the weapon. I stay vigilant as I walk, following the tracker to the cafeteria. It doesn’t take me long to spot Mina’s spiky, platinum-blond hair.
She’s sitting alone at a table, drinking something. There’s a teapot on the table. No food. I take in the details with a practiced eye. The tables around her are all occupied. A single man with black-rimmed glasses, dark hair, and a mole on his cheek sits in the corner. He’s attractive, about fifty I’d say. He’s the only other person on his own at a table, which is why he stands out. He’s reading a newspaper and eating a pastry. Maybe just waiting for his train. Still, I take nothing for granted. I scan over the mothers with children and elderly people with dogs. I check the exits and escalators. Then I glance at the departure screen. The next train for Prague leaves in forty minutes.
When I’ve committed every detail to my mind and evaluated every escape option and possible danger, I finally allow myself to feel. The emotions hit my chest like arrows. Worry, angst, and white-hot fury. The more I acknowledge the worry, the darker my anger turns. Sensations I didn’t know existed bulldoze over me, the biggest of them the fear of loss. I’ve never feared like this. Not even for my twin. It makes me vulnerable, makes my hands shake.
It makes me something I’ve never been.
Fucking weak.
I accept it all. Internalize it. What hits me the hardest is the punch of jealousy in my gut as I round the entrance and get a full frontal view of Mina’s face. Her lips are crimson, dark like blood. She’s so fucking beautiful, so stupidly brave, and all I can think about is that she’s never put on makeup for me. Who did she smear that lipstick on her gorgeous lips for?
Standing here, taking in my captive, I hate her as much as I want her. I want to hurt her, to make her pay for what she did, but I can’t really blame her. Who wouldn’t run in Mina’s shoes? This is all Ilya’s fault.
My mind is a mess of muddled thoughts as I slowly make my way over.
She’s so lost in herself she doesn’t notice me until I’m three steps away. When she finally senses the danger and lifts her gaze, her pale cheeks turn even whiter, her blue eyes flaring for a second before acceptance sets in.
She knew I’d come after her. She knew I’d find her.
Pulling out a chair, I sit down opposite her. “Hello, Mina.”
She swallows. “I wasn’t running.”
I look at the drink still left in her cup. The lipstick left a perfect red imprint of her lips on the rim. “Drink your tea.”
“Yan, I—”
“I said, finish your tea.”
Holding my gaze, she brings the cup to her lips and downs what’s left before placing the cup in the saucer. It clinks softly, a sound of gentle finality, but there’s nothing gentle about the way I feel.
I hold out my hand. “Ticket.”
She fishes a train ticket from her pocket and hands it to me. I glance at the destination. Prague.
“I was coming back,” she says.
“Do not speak unless I tell you to. Do not utter as much as a sound.” I’m too volatile, too close to losing my shit. I stand and extend a hand. “Get up.”
She obeys without arguing, putting her small hand in mine. I drag her closer. With a palm on her back, I press her against my side. She’s so tense her body is like a thin bar of steel, but she doesn’t resist.
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