Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
“Let me introduce you,” Radik said before hitting Saskia with a dozen names. “Zara, Hasan, Blessing, Peter, Kate…”
She was never going to remember them all, but it wasn’t the names that interested her anyway.
It was the dynamic between Radik and his people.
They smiled at him, shook his hand, slapped his back, some even hugged him.
There was no organization as employees of the household turned up in the foyer to greet their master and his new friend before disappearing again.
It was all so casual. The opposite of what she’d expect in a military-esque compound.
This would never happen in the Koba household, not under Jozef, and definitely not under Krystoff, her late father. Stiff formality was the go-to for all staff. Even Havel, Jozef’s best friend and right-hand man, acted deferentially around his boss.
“Muhammed, it is good to see you home safe.” A woman who looked to be in her 50s or 60s stepped forward, her eyes crinkling as she grinned. She wrapped her arms around him, embracing him tightly.
“Nonna,” Radik said warmly, hugging her back.
When she released him, another woman replaced Nonna, offering him a cheeky grin. She was maybe around Saskia’s age. “You look like you’ve eaten too much rich food on your trip.” She pointed at Radik’s stomach. “You’ve gained weight.”
Saskia raised a brow, a shaft of jealousy rippling through her. Who was this woman that she felt so comfortable speaking to Radik in such a familiar way?
“Nikka! You incorrigible child,” Nonna scolded, swatting the girl’s hip, though she seemed to do it with affection.
“What?” Nikka asked innocently. “Should I not tell him he’s gotten fatter in the middle?”
“You know it’s not true,” Nonna scolded. “You must always poke at the man.”
Radik chuckled, wrapping an arm around Nikka’s shoulders and turning her toward Saskia. “Saskia, this is Nikka. She’s Nonna’s granddaughter. Both live here with me.” He wasn’t doing anything to ease Saskia’s jealousy. “Nonna is my chef and Nikka helps keep the place tidy.”
“We’ll be heading back to the kitchen now to prepare your homecoming meal.” Nonna gave Nikka a light push and both disappeared through a hallway.
Looking around, Saskia realized the entrance to the house was now deserted except for her and Radik. She felt a chill settle over her. She rubbed her arms, but it wasn’t an external chill. It came from feeling out of her element, a foreigner in a well-established community.
Radik’s gaze penetrated her insecurity. “It will feel like home soon. The people here are good people; you’ll feel like one of them in no time.”
“Who are they? Where do they come from?” Were they mercenaries like Radik? Shola looked like she could be a merc, but not Nonna or Nikka. And while she’d seen people wearing militaristic gear as they drove in, she’d also seen people who looked totally normal.
“A few are here for sanctuary, having fled from bad situations, but most are hired soldiers who brought their families to live here. Marifiya is well hidden so they’re safe.”
Saskia frowned, her eyes wandering out the window to what looked like a group of children playing, but as she watched, she realized they weren’t just playing, they were practicing. She recognized some of the defensive moves she was taught by Havel and Jozef when she was a child.
Voice flat, she turned away. “You teach the children warfare.” She was disappointed. “You’re training child soldiers to fight for you.”
Radik shook his head, his dark eyes reflecting his own disappointment at her accusation. “Not for me, for themselves.”
“What’s the difference?”
“We live in an area that has seen over a century of conflict. It’s important for our people to be able to defend themselves and their homes.
Age doesn’t matter when your home is under attack.
” He took her shoulders in a light hold and turned her to face the window again.
“Watch and you’ll see how much they enjoy learning new techniques. ”
Much as she tried, it was difficult to watch, calling up in her head images of herself as a child forced to train for hours.
Her heart was never in it, as she would much rather have had her nose in a book, and her frustrated tutors knew it.
Jozef would go extra hard on her when she lost attention and her father, Krystoff, would lecture her endlessly about the importance of being able to defend herself.
She wouldn’t have had to defend herself if she wasn’t a Koba. And these children shouldn’t have to learn to defend themselves either.
“I’ve seen enough.” She turned from the window, slipping away from Radik. “I’m tired. Can you please show me to my room?”
Radik didn’t touch her, but she felt his immediate concern. “Are you unwell?” It was more of a demand than a question and despite her downshift in mood, her lips curled in a half smile at his worry.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s been a long day.” She realized just how long it had been, adding, “And night for that matter. I need to get some rest.” She needed to think and she couldn’t do it around Radik.
“Of course,” he said, waving her toward a set of stairs leading to the second floor of the house.
Its sprawling size reminded her of the Koba manor, but the similarities ended there.
Radik’s house was much more rustic with exposed wood floors and light filtering throughout from the many windows. It felt so much more homey.
On the second floor, he opened the door to a room revealing a paradise that had her both gasping in shock and spinning in circles to take everything in, which was saying something considering the vast wealth she had been born into.
The single room was easily the size of her entire apartment in Prague.
The walls were wall-papered in gold hues with blue trimming.
There was matching gold furniture including a wardrobe, fainting couch, ornate table and chair set, and four-poster bed with sheer blue hangings that fluttered in the breeze coming in through open French balcony doors.
A huge bookshelf sat against one wall, filled with books.
She wandered toward a gold screen, artfully folded to shelter part of the room.
While furnished elegantly, nothing was unnecessary or over the top, except… “Is that a pool?”
Radik chuckled. “I know how much you love bathing. I had the best bathtub I could find brought in for your pleasure. It took several of my people several days to haul it in from the capital.”
Wow. He knew of her preference for bathing and had gone all out in getting one here. He cared enough to give her the extreme version of a bathtub. Her emotions went on a wild ride for several long seconds – shock, awe, wonder, fear – before settling on numb.
“Where’s your room?” A tiny part of her hoped he would say this was his room too, but she knew it wasn’t. Though not overtly feminine, it was definitely designed with a woman in mind.
Radik strode to a connecting door that was nearly invisible, having been decorated with the same wallpaper as the rest of the room, and opened it, revealing another room. Stepping through, she was hit with a wave of Radik’s scent.
The room wasn’t as large as hers and it was extremely spare, with very few pieces of furniture. A utilitarian bed, smaller than the one next door, a basic wardrobe, and a single chair. The walls were bare wood with no artwork to relieve them.
What kind of a man would create the Shangri-La next door while subjecting himself to about as much comfort as a prison cell? There wasn’t even a nightstand. Where did he charge his phone?
She approached the bed, running her hand over the thin blue blanket before wandering to the French doors and looking out. “You’re a strange man, Muhammed.”
She could feel the heat of his body as he came to stand beside her. “I won’t seem so strange once you get to know me.”
“What if I don’t want to get to know you?
” She turned, looking into his dark bottomless gaze.
“What if I want to go home?” And she did.
The longing was strong within her. She was in a strange land, surrounded by things she didn’t recognize, languages she barely knew, brought here by a man who said they belonged together.
“This is your home.” His voice was quiet but firm.
“This isn’t my home and you insisting it is doesn’t make it so. I have no connection to this place and I’ve never lived here. One must live in a place first before they can consider it home.”
He dipped his head, acknowledging her words. “You are correct that this isn’t home yet, but it will be soon.”
As attracted as she was to him, she felt in over her head. “I want to go home, Radik.” Her lips trembled as she held his gaze. “Please.”
A flash of regret lit his eyes before he shuttered it. He touched his thumb to her lips, pressing until they stopped shaking. “I won’t let you go.”
Tears rushed to her eyes and she turned away from him.
He stepped toward her, so close, the heat of his chest seared her, but he didn’t touch her. “In time, you’ll accept your place here.”
She swallowed and blinked rapidly, speaking only once she knew her voice was under control. “I want to be alone.”
Without looking at him, she went back to her own room, closing the door behind her. There was a bolt so she locked it too, though she was certain Radik would have a key.
She leaned against the door, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. She couldn’t stop the flow of tears as they seeped from beneath her eyelashes, wetting her cheeks.
Why was she crying? Wasn’t this what she wanted? Well, not this exactly, but she wanted Radik. She had for a long time; since their first meeting. She’d had fantasies of seeing him again.
In Paris perhaps, when she was in the city for a function, translating on behalf of her boss.
They would attend a masquerade, each not knowing the other was there.
She would be in a gold and blue ballgown, her two favourite colours, her hair in an elegant pile on her head, a gold mask obscuring her face.
But Radik, wearing a crisp, classic tuxedo, would know it was her.
He’d drop his golden mask and approach, his finger brushing her cheek as he forced her to reveal herself to him.
Then he would sweep her onto the dance floor before whisking her away from the ball and out for an evening in Paris.
She laughed bitterly at the naive, youthful fantasy, weaved by a child who should have known better. Radik was a warlord, a mercenary, and he was raising an army of loyal soldiers. Her current predicament was so far from fantasy it was laughable.
Her eyes flew open at the sound of a throat clearing. “My apologies for interrupting, Ms. Koba.” It was Nikka, the young woman she met downstairs.
“Please go away,” Saskia said, sharper than she intended, swiping the wetness from her cheeks.
“Of course, of course,” Nikka said, pulling something from her pocket and rushing to hand it to Saskia who took it automatically. “I was instructed to give this to you. So sorry for the intrusion.”
It was her phone. “It’s… it’s okay, I didn’t mean…
” Saskia stared at the phone wondering if it was a mistake.
Why was Radik giving her access to her phone after he’d refused just a few hours earlier?
He wasn’t stupid. He had to know she would use it to try to leave.
To Nikka, she said, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. I’m sort of having a bad day.”
Nikka smiled sympathetically. “I understand. I’ll leave you alone to get some rest.” She nodded at the phone. “I put my number in your contacts. Call or text if you need anything at all. I’ll come back in a few hours to fetch you for supper.”
Nikka made her way quickly to the door, her hand on the knob as Saskia asked, “How did you get into my contacts? My phone is password protected.” Nikka left without answering, closing the door softly.
“Another day, another prison,” Saskia muttered, walking tiredly to the bed.
She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the mattress, groaning as the plush quilt enveloped her, the pillows beneath her head as soft as clouds.
She lifted her phone, opening it and going to her contacts.
She quickly found Nikka’s information, then scrolled to discover Radik’s number had been added too.
They’d invaded her privacy. She wanted to be mad… was mad… but also, so, so tired.
She should call Jozef.
She brought up his contact, but before she could call him, her eyes closed and she decided to rest for a minute first.