Chapter 9
Roman
The car was too quiet.
Dmitri sat in the front passenger seat, all stoic calculation and clipped orders given into his earpiece. Lev was next to me in the back, silent as the grave, staring out the tinted window like he wanted to storm the horizon itself.
The desert rolled past us in long, endless waves of gold and dust. The sun hung low, cruel and perfect. Somewhere ahead, beyond the heat shimmer, waited the man we’d come to see—the Sheik.
“Remind me,” I said lazily, “why we’re meeting an oil-obsessed desert peacock again?”
“Because the ‘peacock’ funds half of ARCHEON’s field operations in this region,” Dmitri said without turning.
I smirked. “You say that like you expect him to tell us anything useful.”
“I expect him to tell us what he’s told everyone else,” Dmitri said. “And then I expect us to figure out the truth underneath it.”
Lev didn’t look away from the window. “Or I could just make him talk.”
Dmitri sighed. “We’re in Dubai, not a basement in Chechnya. No blood today.”
“That depends,” Lev muttered, “on whether he lies to us or not.”
I grinned. “There it is. The diplomacy our family is famous for.”
Dmitri finally turned in his seat, his gaze cold enough to crack glass. “You’d do well to remember what your diplomacy got us last time. You. Naked. And to top it off, throbbingly erect.”
I stretched, feigning boredom. “I was a victim, thank you very much. A beautiful one, if reports are to be believed.”
Lev snorted. “You should’ve tied her up and brought her back.”
I shot him a glare. “Maybe if you’d moved a bit faster, little brother, she wouldn’t have slipped through your fingers either.”
He turned his head then, those pale, predatory eyes meeting mine. “Next time I won’t let her walk away.”
“Next time,” Dmitri said sharply, “you’ll think before acting with your dicks. Both of you.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I muttered.
“The fun,” Dmitri replied in a steely tone, “is not dying before we’ve cleaned up your mess.”
The car slowed as we approached the Sheik’s estate.
It was less a palace and more a private kingdom carved into the desert.
White stone and gold, glass domes gleaming beneath the sun, fountains whispering across immaculate courtyards.
Security everywhere: men in suits, men in robes, men with rifles that probably cost more than most small cars.
Lev adjusted his cufflinks, every movement precise. “This man funds ARCHEON?”
“Among other groups,” Dmitri said. “They call him Sheikh Khalid al-Sarif. He calls himself a collector of futures.”
“Sounds pretentious,” I said.
“Sounds rich,” Lev corrected.
The car came to a stop. Two guards opened our doors in perfect sync. The air outside felt like we were stepping into an oven. A servant led us through an archway into a long, shadowed corridor lined with carved marble and gold filigree. The scent of oud hung heavy, ancient and intoxicating.
The Sheik waited at the end of the hall, seated in an ornate chair that wasn’t quite a throne but might as well have been.
He was younger than I expected—in his forties, maybe—dressed in a pristine white kandura, his dark beard trimmed to perfection.
His smile was pure hospitality, but his eyes held a certain clever intelligence that couldn’t be faked.
“Ah, the Markovs,” he said in flawless English, rising to greet us. “Finally, the legends of commerce and chaos visit my humble home.”
“Humble?” Lev murmured, glancing up at the glittering chandeliers.
Dmitri inclined his head, all professionalism. “Thank you for seeing us, Your Excellency.”
“Of course,” the Sheik said, gesturing for us to sit. “When the three most dangerous brothers in Dubai ask for a meeting, one makes time.”
I liked him already.
We sat. Servants brought coffee and left us in silence.
The Sheik leaned back, studying us. “So. You’ve come about your pretty little thief.”
Dmitri didn’t flinch. “You know of her.”
“I know of everything that happens in my city,” he said smoothly. “Especially when it involves a woman working for ARCHEON.”
“Working for them?” Lev asked, his tone skeptical.
The Sheik’s smile widened slightly. “Ah. You think she is one of them.”
“She drugged me,” I said. “Then she searched my apartment—for what, we don’t know. I would think that would be enough evidence to prove that.”
“She left you alive,” the Sheik replied. “That tells you more than you realize.”
Dmitri’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
The Sheik leaned forward, his voice lowering. “ARCHEON doesn’t employ agents; they acquire them. Through persuasion, coercion, or leverage. This woman—your thief—she isn’t one of theirs. She’s property. They hold something over her. Something she cannot afford to have exposed.”
Lev’s jaw tightened. “They’re blackmailing her.”
“Precisely,” the Sheik said, sipping his coffee. “She is not loyal to them. She is loyal to her own survival.”
I felt a cold, slithery thing settle in my gut. “So she didn’t choose to do this.”
The Sheik tilted his head. “Did you choose your empire, Mr. Markov?”
Dmitri ignored the philosophical jab. “What does ARCHEON want from us?”
“Your technology,” the Sheik said simply. “Your drones. Your AI programming. Your influence. They plan to hijack the market. Create instability. Then sell them back to the highest bidder.”
“Typical,” I muttered. “Chaos for profit.”
Lev’s eyes flicked to me then back to the Sheik. “So she was just doing as she was told?”
“A pawn,” Dmitri said, very clearly intrigued now.
The Sheik smiled faintly. “Pawns can still topple kings.”
The silence that followed was heavy, each of us lost in thought.
Finally, Dmitri stood. “We appreciate your insight, Your Excellency.”
“Of course.” The Sheik inclined his head. “But a word of advice—your thief may fear ARCHEON more than she fears you. If you truly want to control her, you must make her believe otherwise.”
Dmitri’s mouth curved up, his eyes glinting with dark promise. “That won’t be a problem.”
As we left the hall, the desert heat rushed to meet us again. Dmitri walked ahead, already issuing orders into his earpiece. Lev and I followed behind him, side by side, silent for a moment.
“She was blackmailed,” I said finally. “That changes things.”
“It changes nothing,” Lev replied.
“Maybe she didn’t have a choice.”
He gave me a look that was equal parts contempt and curiosity. “You starting to sympathize with her, brother?”
I smiled faintly. “You’d be surprised what I can sympathize with.”
Lev’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer.
Dmitri called over his shoulder, “Enough philosophizing. We go back, regroup, and decide how to use this information. And next time—if either of you finds her—tie her up and bring her home before you fuck her.”
The hum of our Maybach filled the silence. We’d left the Sheik’s palace twenty minutes ago, and Dmitri had been quiet the entire time. That was never a good sign.
Lev sat opposite me, his attention on the world beyond the tinted glass. His jaw was set, one hand curled into a loose fist on his knee. I’d seen that expression before; he was chewing on something, and he was trying to decide if he wanted to kill it or save it.
Finally, Dmitri broke the silence.
“Well,” he said dryly, “that went about as smoothly as one of Roman’s one-night stands.”
I arched a brow. “Meaning successful, memorable, and deserving of applause?”
“Meaning messy, expensive, and a disaster waiting to happen,” he said without looking back.
Lev smirked faintly. “At least he remembers those.”
“Careful, little brother,” I said, slouching deeper into the seat. “You’re still the one who let her get away after storming into her hotel like a jealous lover.”
His head turned sharply. “You’re still the one who let her drug you like an idiot.”
“I was being polite,” I said.
“Polite?” Dmitri’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “You were both thinking with your dicks. As always.”
I smiled, unbothered. “And yet it’s my dick that usually gets results.”
“Results?” Lev snapped. “She made you her puppet, and you’re proud of it?”
I spread my hands in mock-seriousness. “I didn’t invite her into my bed,” I said. “She followed me there.”
Lev laughed once, humorless. “You really can’t help yourself.”
“Would you prefer I start acting like you? Silent, brooding, scaring the help?”
Dmitri sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enough. Both of you. We have bigger problems than your fragile egos.”
But I wasn’t listening anymore.
The Sheik’s words still echoed in my head: She isn’t one of theirs. She’s property.
I stared out the window as the city unfolded before me, tall buildings shining in the golden light of the sun.
A flash of red caught my eye, taillights braking, neon, the color of her dress.
For a second, it was her reflection in the glass.
The tilt of her head, the curve of her lips when she’d smiled at me across the table.
And then it hit me, I remembered a little bit of her, the first crack in the blank wall of memory ARCHEON’s drug had left behind.
Her scent came next: jasmine and smoke, like sin disguised as perfume.
Then the sound of her voice—dry, amused, careful.
“Only if you’re worth admiring.”
The words slid through me like a whisper against skin.
I blinked hard and leaned forward, elbows on my knees.
“Roman?” Dmitri said, noticing. “What?”
I hesitated. “I think I remember something.”
Lev’s gaze cut to mine. “What kind of something?”
“She was… laughing.” I frowned, searching for it. “She had this smile. I don’t know, like she was already two steps ahead of me. And her perfume…”
Dmitri groaned. “Christ, he’s romanticizing her.”
“She drugged you,” Lev said flatly. “You’re remembering a con, not a connection.”
“I’m remembering a feeling,” I said quietly.
Dmitri turned in his seat, eyes sharp. “Stop thinking like that. She’s not some tragic love story. She’s a threat.”
“Maybe she’s both,” I said, meeting his stare.
That shut him up, but only for a second. “If she’s being blackmailed,” Dmitri said slowly, “that makes her dangerous and desperate. Don’t confuse sympathy with strategy.”
I smirked. “You always think the only way to win is through control.”
“And you always lose because you mistake manipulation for charm,” he shot back.
Lev, still staring out the window, said quietly, “You think she smiled at you because she liked you? She smiled because she knew you’d fall for it. She played you.”
I turned toward him. “You seem to be making this personal, little brother.”
He didn’t answer at first. Then, “I knew her once, back at boarding school. She was a mouthy little thing who thought she could outsmart everyone. Always picking fights she couldn’t win.”
I leaned back, studying him. “You sound almost fond.”
He gave me a hard look. “I sound like someone who knows better.”
“Mm. You sound jealous.”
“Of what?”
I smiled. “That she chose me instead of you.”
He shifted, his voice lowering. “Careful, brother. Now you’re confusing luck with favor. She’s not a prize; she’s a loaded gun. And she’s already aimed directly at us.”
I didn’t disagree.
But I couldn’t shake the image, her eyes meeting mine over the rim of a champagne glass, that cute little smile that dared me to want her.
There was a magnetic charisma about her, an honest part of her even in her deception. She had fooled me, yes, but it was artistry, not malice. The kind of lie you almost admire for how beautifully it’s told.
I looked back out the window, my reflection staring back at me, tired, bruised, and utterly haunted by someone who’d walked away.
Dmitri muttered something under his breath in Russian, something that sounded a lot like idiot romantic. Lev laughed once, dark and quiet.
For the first time since Dubai, the tension between us softened. It wasn’t gone, but bent toward a common focus.
The woman who had outplayed us.
The woman that none of us were through with yet.