Page 94 of Lethal Torture
“I couldn’t say for sure.” Roman twists the bottle between his hands. “But I do know that back then, there was... nothing she wouldn’t do to uncover information about Sophie’s whereabouts.”
Suddenly, my murderous impulses are replaced by a sneaking suspicion.
“Nothing she wouldn’t do, huh?” I take the beer Mak hands me, eyeing Roman surreptitiously. “I take it the night you shared was Zinaida’s idea, then?”
If I had any doubt about how that night might have come about, the sudden, dull flush of red coloring Roman’s neck lays it to rest.
Mak almost chokes on his martini.
Roman looks between us. His mouth tightens, and for a split second I see the bastard in him, fighting the urge to punch us both. Then he relaxes back in his chair with a rueful smile. “Ah, well.” He lifts his beer in our direction. “I was sixteen, with a gun in my belt and about as many brain cells as you’d expect from a kid that age when a beautiful woman offers to buy him a drink. It never occurred to me that I might find myself handcuffed to a bed with a knife at my throat.”
I can see it all too clearly: Roman Borovsky, ruthless and ambitious, seduced by a tiny, seemingly harmless blonde, only to find himself helpless in the hands of an apparent psychopath.
And despite having wanted to kill him only moments ago, suddenly I’m fighting the urge to laugh.
Mak makes a strangled sound that indicates he’s struggling with the same impulse. Roman glares at us both, then his lips twitch, and suddenly we’re all laughing together, a proper, huge belly laugh that goes on for long enough to clear the air entirely.
When we finally sober, Roman shakes his head. “Scared the shit out of me, to be honest. As it turned out, it was a case of mistaken identity on both sides. I thought the man I was looking for was in her club; she thought I was a trafficker there to kill her. After we worked out what had happened, we got talking. Turned out we had more in common than we did reasons to hate each other.” He shrugs. “Might have been an unusual start, but oddly, the friendship stuck.”
Despite my initial reaction, I can see why. Roman and Zinaida are, in some ways, the same kind of animal.
Both driven. Both damaged. Both utterly ruthless—except when it comes to those they love.
Love, Luke?
Cold shock rushes through me.
That’s a bit of a strong fucking word for one mindless encounter in a shipping container.
I neck the rest of my beer and open another one, trying not to think about that particular word. Instead I focus on the outstanding food, delicious wine, and, despite Roman’s revelations, exceptional company. As we polish off a seafood feast good enough to make a grown man cry, and the conversation moves from one fascinating topic to the next, I’m reminded of all the reasons I like these men so much.
It’s late, and Mak has gone inside for another bottle of cognac, when Roman stands up, yawning. “I need to call Darya before it gets too late, then hit the sack.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Sadly, having three small children means that the bestnight out is one where I can enjoy uninterrupted sleep.” I don’t miss the fact that he doesn’t look sad at all.
As he passes me, he glances down and grips my shoulder. “Are we good?”
I meet his eyes. Just for a second, I let him see a glimpse of the savage that nearly threw him over a railing.
Roman tilts his head with a wry expression. “Copythat.” He pauses, as if he’s debating with himself, then abruptly says, “Did you ever hear how Darya and I met?”
“I think Dimitry might have mentioned a coffee shop?”
He gives a silent huff of laughter. “Sure. I guess that’s how we actually met. But after that, I hired her. As an au pair for the children.”
I don’t attempt to hide my surprise. “Youhiredher?”
“Yup.” Roman grimaces. “Believe me, I still cringe at the thought of the contract I made her sign. It took me a long time—longer than I like to admit—to realize that it was Darya I needed, not an au pair.” He meets my eyes. “Point is, Macarthur,” he says quietly, “I wasn’t lying when I said Zinaida and I have a lot in common.”
He claps my shoulder, then walks into the house, already lifting his phone as he climbs the stairs. The sound of his low laughter as he speaks to his wife makes me feel oddly lonely. I wonder if Zinaida is sitting at Roman’s house right now, listening to the same conversation and feeling the same way.
Restless, I wander over to lean on the railing. Mak joins me, filling my glass without asking. We stand in silence for a time, watching the moon play on the sea below.
You can’t put this off.
“I need you to end my contract with Zinaida, Mak.”
“I see.” He lights a cigar and blows a cloud of smoke. “Do you have a replacement in mind?”
“I’m not saying I want to be replaced.” I stare out over the sea, turning my glass slowly in my hands. “Just that I want to draw a line under the contract.”
