Chapter 13 #2
Instead of responding, he rises to his feet and comes toward me.
Stopping next to me, he bends forward and places his hands on the desk on both sides of my body, trapping me again.
“Why do you think, Nora?” he murmurs, leaning closer.
His breath is warm against my cheek, and his arms are like steel beams surrounding me.
It makes me feel like a small animal caught in a hunter’s snare—an unsettling sensation that nonetheless turns me on.
“Because we’re married?” I guess in an uneven voice. His face is mere inches from mine, and my lower belly tightens with a strong surge of arousal as he nudges his hips forward, letting me feel his hardening erection.
“Yes, baby, because we’re married,” he says huskily, his eyes darkening with lust as my peaked nipples brush against his chest, “and because I think you’re no longer as fragile as you seem…”
And lowering his head, he captures my mouth in a hungry, possessive kiss, his hands sliding up my thighs with familiar intent.
Over the next few days, I learn more about Julian’s dark empire, and I begin to understand how little most people know about what goes on behind the scenes.
None of what I hear in Julian’s office ever shows up on the news…
because if it did, heads would roll, and some very important people would end up in jail.
Amused by my continued interest, Julian lets me listen in on more conversations.
Once I even get to watch a video conference from the back of the room, where I can’t be seen by the camera.
To my shock, I recognize one of the men on the video feed.
It’s a prominent US general—someone I’ve seen a couple of times on popular talk shows.
He wants Julian to move his manufacturing operations from Thailand out of fear that political instability in the region could derail the next shipment of the new explosive—the shipment that’s supposed to go to the US government.
My former captor hadn’t been lying when he said he has connections; if anything, he’d understated the extent of his reach.
Of course, politicians, military leaders, and others of their ilk are but a small fraction of the people Julian deals with on a daily basis.
The majority of his interactions are with clients, suppliers, and various intermediaries—shady and usually frightening individuals from all over the world.
His acquaintances range from Russian mafia and Libyan rebels to dictators in obscure African countries.
When it comes to selling weapons, my husband is very egalitarian.
Terrorists, drug lords, legitimate governments—he does business with them all.
It turns my stomach, but I can’t bring myself to stay out of Julian’s office. Every day I follow him there, driven by morbid curiosity. It’s like watching some kind of undercover exposé; the things I learn are both fascinating and disturbing.
It takes Julian three days, but he manages to break the last Al-Quadar prisoner.
How, he doesn’t tell me and I don’t ask.
I know it’s through torture, but I don’t know the particulars.
I just know that the information he extracts results in Julian locating two more Al-Quadar cells—and the CIA owing him another favor.
Now that Julian has decided to let me into that portion of his life, we spend even more time together.
He likes having me in his office. Not only is it convenient for when he wants sex—which is at least once during the day—but he also seems to enjoy the speed with which I’m learning.
I’m sharp, he says. Intuitive. I see things as they are instead of as I want them to be—a rare gift, according to Julian.
“Most people wear blinders,” he tells me over lunch one day, “but not you, my pet. You face reality head-on… and that’s what lets you see beneath the surface.”
I thank him for the compliment, but inwardly I wonder if it’s necessarily a good thing, seeing beneath the surface like that.
If I could pretend to myself that at the core, Julian is a good man—that he is simply misunderstood and can ultimately be reformed—it would be so much easier for me.
If I were blind to my husband’s nature, I wouldn’t feel so conflicted about my feelings for him.
I wouldn’t worry that I’m in love with the devil.
But I do see him for what he is—a demon in a handsome man’s disguise, a monster wearing a beautiful mask. And I wonder if that means that I’m a monster too… that I’m evil for loving him.
I wish I had Beth to talk to about this.
I know she wasn’t exactly an expert on normal, but I still miss her unorthodox views on things, the way she could turn everything on its head and have it make some kind of twisted sense.
I’m pretty sure I know what she would say in regard to my situation.
She would tell me I’m lucky to have someone like Julian—that we are meant to be together and everything else is bullshit.
And she would probably be right. When I think back to those lonely, empty months before Julian’s return—when I had my freedom and normal life, but didn’t have him—all my doubts fade away. No matter what he is or what he does, I would sooner die than go through that soul-crushing misery again.
For better or worse, I’m no longer complete without Julian, and no amount of self-flagellation can alter that fact.
A week after Julian’s conversation with Frank, I knock on the heavy metal door and wait for him to let me in.
I had spent the morning walking with Rosa and preparing for my upcoming classes, while Julian went in without me to do some paperwork for his offshore accounts.
Apparently, even crime lords have to deal with taxes and legal matters; it appears to be a universal evil that no one can avoid.
When the door swings open, I’m surprised to see a tall, dark-haired man sitting across the large oval table from Julian.
He looks to be in his mid-thirties, just a few years older than my husband.
I have seen him walking around the estate before, but I’ve never had an occasion to interact with him in person.
From a distance, he’d reminded me of a sleek, dark predator—an impression that’s only strengthened by the way he’s looking at me now, his gray eyes tracking my every move with a peculiar mix of watchfulness and indifference.
“Come in, Nora,” Julian says, gesturing for me to join them. “This is Peter Sokolov, our security consultant.”
“Oh, hi. It’s very nice to meet you.” Walking over to the table, I give Peter a cautious smile as I sit down next to Julian.
Peter is a good-looking man, with a strong jaw and high, exotically slanted cheekbones, but for some reason, he makes the fine hair at the back of my neck stand up.
It’s not what he says or does—he nods at me politely while sitting there, his pose deceptively calm and relaxed—it’s what I see in his steel-colored eyes.
Rage. Pure, undiluted rage. I sense it within Peter, feel it emanating from his pores. It’s not anger or a momentary flare-up of temper. No, this emotion goes deeper than that. It’s a part of him, like his hard-muscled body or the white scar that bisects his left eyebrow.
For all his cold, carefully controlled demeanor, the man is a deadly volcano waiting to explode.
“We were just finishing up,” Julian says, and I catch a note of displeasure in his voice. Tearing my eyes away from Peter, I see a tiny muscle flexing in Julian’s jaw. I must’ve stared at Peter for too long without realizing it, and my husband misinterpreted my involuntary fascination as interest.
Shit. A jealous Julian is never a good thing. In fact, it’s a very, very bad thing.
As I rack my brain trying to figure out how to diffuse the situation, Peter rises to his feet.
“We can resume this tomorrow if you’d like,” he says calmly, addressing Julian.
I can’t help noticing that unlike most on the estate, Peter doesn’t defer to my husband.
Instead he speaks to Julian as an equal, his demeanor respectful, yet utterly self-assured.
I catch a faint Eastern European accent in his speech, and I wonder where he’s from. Poland? Russia? Ukraine?
“Yes,” Julian says, getting up as well. His expression is still dark, but his voice is now smooth and even. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Peter disappears, leaving us alone, and I slowly rise to my feet, my palms beginning to sweat.
I didn’t do anything wrong, but convincing Julian of that won’t be easy.
His possessiveness borders on the obsessive; sometimes I’m surprised he doesn’t keep me locked away in his bedroom, so that other men will never see me.
Sure enough, as soon as the door closes behind Peter, Julian steps toward me. “Did you like Peter, my pet?” he says softly, crowding me with his powerful body until I’m forced to back up against the table. “Do you have a thing for Russian men?”
“No.” I shake my head, holding Julian’s gaze. I’m hoping he can see the truth on my face. Peter might be handsome, but he’s also scary—and the only scary man I want is the one glaring at me right now. “Not even a little bit. That’s not why I was looking at him.”
“No?” Julian’s eyes narrow as he grasps my chin. “Why then?”
“He frightened me,” I admit, figuring that honesty is the best policy here. “There’s something about him that I found disturbing.”
Julian studies me intently for a second, then releases my chin and steps back, causing me to let out a relieved breath. Storm averted.
“As insightful as always,” he murmurs, his voice holding a note of rueful amusement. “Yes, you’re right, Nora. There is indeed something disturbing about Peter.”
“What is his deal?” I ask, my curiosity reawakening now that Julian is no longer angry with me. I know Julian doesn’t employ choirboys, but what I sensed in Peter is different, more volatile. “Who is he?”
Julian gives me a small, grim smile and walks over to sit down behind his desk. “He’s former Spetsnaz—Russian Special Forces. He was one of the best until his wife and son were killed. Now he wants revenge, and he came to me hoping that I can help him.”
I feel a flicker of pity. It’s not only rage then; Peter is also filled with grief and pain.
“Help him how?” I ask, leaning back against the table. Julian’s security consultant didn’t strike me as someone who’d need help with many things.
“By using my connections to get him a list of names. Apparently, there were some NATO soldiers involved, and the cover-up is a mile deep.”
“Oh.” I stare at Julian, feeling uneasy. I can only imagine what Peter intends to do with those soldiers. “So did you give him this list?”
“Not yet. I’m working on it. A lot of this information seems to be classified, so it’s not easy.”
“Can’t you ask your contact at the CIA to help you?”
“I did ask him. Frank is dragging his feet because there are some Americans on that list.” Julian looks annoyed for a brief second. “He’ll come through eventually, though. He always does. I just need to have something the CIA wants badly enough.”
“Right, of course,” I murmur. “A favor for a favor… Is that why Peter is working for you? Because you promised him this list?”
“Yes, that’s our deal.” Julian smiles sharply. “Three years of loyal service in exchange for getting him those names at the end. I also pay him, of course—but Peter doesn’t care about money.”
“What about Lucas?” I ask, my thoughts turning to Julian’s right-hand man. “Does he also have a story?”
“Everybody has a story,” Julian says, but he sounds distracted now, his attention straying to the computer screen. “Even you, my pet.”
And before I can pry further, he busies himself with emails, putting an end to our discussion for the day.