25. Jetmir
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
JETMIR
She searched my face, looking for the empty threats, but she wouldn’t find them. She knew I meant every goddamned word.
Slowly, she pulled away until her back met the headboard, putting precious inches between us.
As if inches would save her. Not even oceans could.
However, Anya didn’t flinch at my threat because despite her petite frame and angel-like face, she was fierce, strong, and loyal almost to a fault. I had no doubt that if she could find a way to leave me, she’d run right back to her family and tell them of my threats.
The latter part I didn’t give a fuck about, but her leaving me… Yeah, that part fucking killed me.
“Something is seriously wrong with you,” she whispered.
“Sure is. My wife left me. It was supposed to be for better or worse, in sickness and in health, Anya. Not at the first sign of trouble, run. You. Fucking. Left.”
“You cannot be serious!” Her laugh was brittle. “You fucking lied and cheated. From the moment we met, you fucking lied, schemed, and cheated. You were supposed to be my hero and you turned out to be a… a villain. A bad guy who destroyed my brother’s life with your actions.”
The words landed harder than any knife could. That was exactly who I’d wanted to be. Who I’d set out to be, for her.
“I never claimed to be a hero,” I gritted, dragging a hand over my jaw as I forced my temper back into its cage. It paced in there like something that had learned patience only because I’d been starving it into obedience.
“No.” Her eyes glistened, but she refused to let the tears fall. “I guess it’s my mistake for assuming, but don’t worry, I won’t make it again.”
The room fell silent, weighted with our past, promises, and failures. Hers and mine. But she only saw mine.
She had no idea. No fucking idea.
“You’re my wife,” I said quietly. “We’ll handle this hurdle and find common ground. And we’ll grow old together and love each other for the remainder of our days.”
She scoffed, looking unconvinced, and something in me cracked a little.
But my wife should know by now that I played dirty. I intended to use every trick in the book to get her to fall in love with me again. Anya was a hopeless romantic with a dirty mind. She was a mafia princess who loved cuddles but also wanted a hand necklace.
And I was the man who would give it all to her until she was screaming my name like a prayer that would absolve us both of our sins.
I might be a villain, but I would be her villain. God could damn me when this was over as long as she was by my side.
And with that, I left her in her room, resolved to hack into her Kindle and uncover what kind of kinky stuff my wife had been into lately.
Anya was under my roof again, breathing the same air, sleeping ten steps away from me, and somehow I’d managed to make her hate me even more within the first hour.
Progress.
I headed down the steps and into the library where Elira was probably scoping out the collection I’d put together for Anya.
It varied from classic love stories to kinky alien smut.
Once I peeked into her reading history, I would procure those too.
Fuck, I hoped she was into illustrated versions. That would make it even more exciting.
“The expression on your face tells me your reunion didn’t go as planned,” Elira remarked dryly when I entered the room.
“It went fine,” I snapped. “You didn’t touch anything, right?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t touch your precious books.”
“They’re Anya’s, not mine.” I took a seat behind the desk I’d found myself working at more and more over the months. It made me feel closer to Anya being surrounded by things she loved.
“Let’s hope she appreciates them. By the way, Mother called. Word is out that you got your hands on your wife and the world is out to get you.”
Jesus, word traveled through our world faster than a bullet.
“You didn’t linger on the phone, right?”
“I didn’t answer, so she texted.”
“Good. It's best we keep our regular cell phones off and stick to disposable ones.” I powered up the computer, then entered my password. “They’re untraceable.”
“Jet, I wasn’t born yesterday. You don’t need to walk me through every damn step of what to do.” Her expression was cold, but I paid her no mind. Elira always had a resting bitch face. She used it to her advantage, but I knew better. “Why come here? This place gives me the creeps.”
The part she left unsaid was after learning all the shit our father, his family, and our ancestors did on this island, she hated to be here. It was a reminder of the lineage we came from.
That wasn’t even the worst part.
The very worst was learning that Santiago Tijuana had kidnapped Anya’s mother over two decades ago and brought her to this island. He tortured her here, tried to break her. She, and other countless women, endured so much horrors and trauma here.
Fuck, I wished that bastard was alive so I could break him.
However, I couldn’t ignore that it was exactly that history that would make this the last place the Santos family and the Triad would look for us.
“I know, but it’s the safest place to hide.”
Elira let out a heavy breath. “Do you think it’s in our genes to be villains?”
“There are no villains and heroes in our world,” I deadpanned.
“But if there were, you definitely wouldn’t be one.
” She didn’t seem convinced. “We’re going through some lengths to protect my wife and the most important thing is that my diversion worked,” I continued, unwilling to deal with my own feelings of fucked-up family traits.
“Raphael and Sailor believe you fucked off to Russia,” she remarked, thankfully changing the subject.
“Good.”
If the Santos family knew their daughter at all, they’d know that was the last place I would take her. She hated the cold and I wanted her happy and in the mood for seduction, not grumpy beneath a mountain of layers. But maybe they just didn’t know me. Their mistake; not mine.
Silence followed while my fingers flew across the keyboard, aware of Elira’s eyes zeroing in on me. “Well?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Well what?”
“What’s the plan now?”
“No plan. It’s probably best if you disappear so when her family shows up, you’re not implicated.”
She scoffed. “Too late for that. Anya saw me. I’m sure she’ll spill the beans.”
“She won’t.” Anya wasn’t a snitch. “Besides, you could follow up on that lead for me.”
I’d been chasing donors for years in order to remedy my mistake. I’d contemplated killing Gabriel’s match, but I knew Anya wouldn’t be okay with cold-blooded murder. Heck, that goody-two-shoes mobster of her brother probably wouldn’t accept it either.
“Okay, I guess I can do that,” she agreed. “And what are you doing right now? Maybe you should rest so you can keep your mind sharp. You realize Anya will not take this lying down. Right?”
I really, REALLY wished my twin didn’t know that Anya poisoned me with a homemade baklava after a huge fight we had. She’d claimed it was a peace offering. Newsflash, it fucking wasn’t. I ended up in the hospital puking my guts out while my wife ran back to her family.
Had she been trying to kill me? Nah, I didn’t think so. Despite what Elira believed. If my woman had wanted me dead, I would be dead.
“Don’t worry, sis. I won’t be eating anything my wife bakes.”
She nodded. “Smart. You should probably do all the cooking.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“And what are you doing right now?” she asked, tilting her chin in the direction of my computer.
“I’m hacking into Anya’s e-reader.”
“Huh?” I ignored her, focused on my task. “Jet, what does her Kindle have to do with getting back in her good graces?”
“The most important thing is having her fall in love with me again.”
“By hacking into her Kindle?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I noticed.”
“Do you care to explain?” When I didn’t answer, Elira came around and looked over my shoulder. “Hello, I asked a question.”
“Hello, I’m ignoring you.”
I inserted a code breaker, then waited as numbers and letters flipped through the page until the right digits came up. Bingo, I was in.
Titles started flashing across my screen. She even had them organized by folders and kinks. My angel had developed all sorts, it would seem.
I stroked the keyboard as images of my wife in compromising positions flared in my mind. Writhing, sobbing, screaming. Especially screaming. She did it so well during our short marriage. It was so fucking addictive.
Elira choked behind me. Frankly, I totally forgot she was still in the room.
“Shit, this is… yeah, I didn’t need to know this.”
“Elira, thank you for your help, but why are you still here?” I snapped. “I’ve got it from here. My wife and I will be—”
“On some kinky honeymoon, from the looks of it,” she cut in. “You know what? You’re right. I’m going to go. I’ll check on that donor you secured for Gabriel. Hopefully he keels over any day now so your kinky honeymoon will get… even freakier when Anya’s thanking you.”
And with that she left—thank God—while I focused on my wife’s notes from the books she marked as favorites.
I read the first one. When he said “good girl” I melted.
Another.
Touch her throat again and I’ll forgive every crime.
Another.
This man desperately needs therapy… but I’d still climb him.
I rubbed a hand over my mouth, trying—and failing—not to grin while my heartbeat kicked harder.
Anya had impeccable taste.
Unfortunately for her… I fit the profile almost perfectly.