14. Vian
VIAN
Conrad is my inside man. I needed someone I could trust in her life.
That, and putting a tracking chip under her skin, made it easier to accept our new reality.
Following that small dot on my phone was like following my sanity.
Her men are hers. She handpicked them, and they are entirely loyal to her.
I could drag out this cat-and-mouse game, but I must return home, and I am eager to take her with me.
They don’t pose a challenge. My father prepared me from childhood to take his place—mentally and physically. I honed both my body and mind into weapons: an undefeatable fighter, a master shooter, and an expert with numbers.
He often left me in the woods, blindfolded, my hands tied behind my back. In the beginning, it was so I could free myself and find my way home, but progressively, the training became harder—fighting both to escape and to kill if needed.
Torture doesn’t faze me, as I needed to become someone who could withstand pain. I am honored she chose her best men.
These are trained mercenaries, but they can’t reach my level.
Modesty is overrated, and there is no humble bone in my body.
I didn’t spend two decades of arduous training to be anything but an expert.
I know what I can do. I am driven, my ambition helping me keep and grow an empire, but my skills made me into someone no one wants to mess with.
They surround me, thinking they’ve won. With an unassuming target, their tactic of cornering me would have worked, but not with me.
They exchange looks, unsure how far they can take it since I am still their boss’s husband—unaware that this is our foreplay.
She has been used to taking care of herself and doesn’t know about my involvement.
“Regulate your breathing, damn it,” I snap. “I heard you.”
“I still landed on top of you,” he grumbles as we stand up from the concrete floor.
“Now do your damn work.” I straighten my collar, sending them a hard look. “I’m the enemy. Treat me as such.”
“With pleasure,” says the one to my side, throwing a right hook at my cheek with enough force for my teeth to clatter. Good, at least they’re not completely useless.
Cracking my neck to dissipate the throbbing, I spit blood at his feet.
They look at each other, revealing proud smirks, thinking I can’t escape. Fools.
I outstretch my arms, and they cuff a zip tie around my wrists hard enough to force me to swallow a hiss. I could get out of these in under three seconds. When you must survive being thrown into a pool, every second matters.
I miss my steady father, and the gentleness of my mother. Those two were a brilliant team. Their relationship was something I always desired to emulate: that unbreakable, solid partnership.
The only thing that will bring my downfall is Zara leaving first. It might be selfish, but I want to die before her. Either way, I will follow quickly. Losing the woman who is an integral part of my life’s fabric is something I won’t overcome.
Subdued by grief, no wonder my father didn’t see the betrayal. He died in my arms with no remorse, only sheer gratitude, hoping to reunite with his loved one.
Pushing me down the stairs, they thrust me into a basement room. They hook me up, my feet dangling over the cement floor, then exit, surely to plan their next move.
I swing myself until I bring my weight up and tumble onto my feet, escaping the hook.
In a rapid move, I pull down my arms and separate my hands, and the ties break.
If that hadn’t worked, I would have used my teeth.
My back teeth are sharper than the rest; they were doctored that way.
Behind my tailored suits lies a shark, a deadly machine.
I acquire companies, tear them apart, and sell the pieces, just like I do with my enemies until nothing but ashes remain.
I’ve learned to tread the dual worlds, thriving on challenging myself.
By the time the door opens, I lean against the wall in plain sight, arms and ankles crossed.
The men stumble inside, staring at each other perplexed. The sight puts a grin on my face.
I gesture for the one who hit me and push myself off the wall.
Like an enraged bull, he stalks my way, and I block his punch, jabbing my elbow into his face, hitting his nose with such force the bones crack—the pleasant sound ringing like a rhapsody of dominance. Blood oozes from his nostrils, coating his mouth in red.
“That is how you hit,” I snarl.
The other two join his buddy, ready to save his reputation.
I easily outmaneuver them, and they lie at my feet in a pile of broken limbs. Then I hook them up, enjoying teaching them a lesson a tad too much while thinking about what happens next: whether my wife sends more men or is done, eager to reunite with me like I am with her.
I hear her sharp intake of breath as she enters.
“Having fun, I see,” she says, and I turn around, brushing invisible lint from the shitty coveralls she gave me. From her heated gaze, she likes it. Fuck, it does things to me knowing how attracted she is to me.
She plants her hands on her waist, genuine interest etched into her expression. “Tell me, how is it possible for you to be this good?”
“Have a date with me tonight,” I propose, plastering a grin on my face.
She tilts her head and taps her chin in a thinking pose. “And what will it cost me for you to help my men improve?”
“Nothing.”
Her brows furrow, the note of surprise clear in her voice. “Nothing?”
No, by then she will be mine. I only need a few more weeks.
Fuck if I am not in awe of her right now. Even if it pisses her off that I overpowered her men, she’s smart and strategic. Instead of taking it as an insult, she sees an opportunity to improve. That’s why she got this far. I might have given her a push, but she did it herself.
“You’re my wife, Zara. I want you to succeed in everything you desire. It would be my honor and pleasure to help you reach your goals.”
The sincerity behind my words registers, and she gulps, clearly taken aback. “Thank you.”
Our eyes lock, and everything else vanishes.
For a few moments, it’s just us, like it has always been.
A gravitational force pulls us together, two objects drawn in, unaware of the fatal collision awaiting.
The violent clash will destroy the world we know and birth a new one.
Fighting would be futile. She will see it, and give in.
“Let’s go to Chicago,” she says, turning around and indicating for me to follow.
One day, she’ll call it home. But that day is not today.
On our way to the locker room, she tells Conrad, “Schedule a meeting with the team next week.”
That gives me hope she plans to stay more than one night. A deal is a deal, and she will honor her word. Having her is what matters, not whether she wants it or because I forced her hand.
As Conrad passes me, his face betrays nothing, but he gives an imperceptible nod my way.
Inside the locker room, I take off the gear, and she gasps.
Stopping, I catch my back in the mirror.
My skin is immaculate, not riddled with reddish spots that would turn purple in the following days.
Fake or not, I wouldn’t have accepted getting shot.
Simulation or not, you treat it as if your life depends on survival.
In our line of work, that will get tested sooner rather than later.
Warmth spreads through me as she palms my cheek, gently stroking the reddish spot where her man hit me.
“I survived, wife. Your men are in worse shape,” I say with a hint of arrogance to distract her from worrying more. That might threaten our time together.
I am so fucking exhausted from tiptoeing around her brain, but the warnings of three different doctors have haunted me. Another crisis might do irreparable damage. She could dissociate to the point of mental regression.
When she first approached me, I asked them how I should proceed, and I got three different opinions.
That maybe she’s ready to face what happened.
That I must be very careful.
That I should not even consider it.
But they agreed it was a good sign that she sought me out. I latched onto the opportunity as if it were the difference between life and death.
“You’re caring, wife.”
“Don’t break my heart, okay?”
Her trusting me with her vulnerability resurrects my comatose being.
I bring our foreheads together. “I would rather kill myself than do that. But if the devil takes my mind and I somehow do, then kill me.”
It would be the merciful thing to do if she realizes the extent of my deception. But I prefer to see this evolution as our second beginning, a clean slate.
I slam my mouth onto hers to memorize the delight enveloping my insides, tasting like her—sweet, euphoric, blinding.
“How can it not hurt?” she asks after I kiss her senseless, tracing the wound around my wrists. Angry red lines mar my skin from tearing the ties, then she moves to my chest as if wanting to make sure there are no blemishes she missed.
I don’t know if it’s worry or if she just loves to touch me, but she has palmed my six-pack three times already.
“Extensive training. My father made sure I got extraordinary survival and fighting skills. He had professional fighters come and teach me until I could defeat them.”
“That sounds harsh.” She frowns, confused, as he is the same man I rave about.
Occasionally, the older version of her seeps through, the one that wishes to ignore the world we rule.
My father said she was the right one when I returned from three brutal days of surviving in Greenland with freezing temperatures and killers at my back, to find her threatening him if something happened to me.
I knew long before then that she was it, but having my father not only approve of my future wife but respect her felt even better.
“I’ll do the same with our child.”
“Even if it’s a girl?”
“I didn’t specify the sex for a reason.”
My parents tried but couldn’t get pregnant after me. I always desired a sibling, and so did she.