Double Dealing: A Menage Romance(82)

The woman laughed, and my hands tightened on my rifle. Bitch. “Oh Spartak, I’m more than just a homebody, you know. Besides, us Russian women, we get aroused from the cold.”

I saw them coming, three people. The woman was stunning, taller than me and with a ballet dancer's body, the type I'd longed for when I was younger and thought I was chubby. She was wearing a jogging suit, her long blond hair tied back into a ponytail as she bounced along lightly.

Felix was beside her, wearing just a tank top with long running pants, his muscles rippling and fuller than I'd ever seen him. Still, there was something different with his face, something that told me that despite the similarities in his voice, and the identical nature of his appearance, the man I was looking at wasn't quite the same as my Felix.

The third man was a hulking brute, easily taller than Felix by two or three inches, with a face that only a mother could love. He was about twenty meters back, clearly pacing them and providing security for the other two. I glanced at Francois, who nodded. It was time.

Francois reached for the radio on the lapel of the coat he was wearing, keying the microphone twice. It was the signal to the other groups that we had encountered Felix, and that they were to hold tight. If we needed a distraction or assistance, we could call in later.

“Now,” Francois whispered, standing up from behind his bush, his Kalashnikov at the ready while at the same time I stepped from behind the tree, my own rifle ready. Our ally would stay down, and provide us cover if needed.

“Lovely morning for a run, isn't it?” I asked, stepping onto the road. I kept my rifle leveled at the woman, my finger on the trigger. “But I think you have someone that belongs to me.”

Felix and the woman stopped, both of them shocked. I was dismayed when Felix immediately pulled the woman behind him, his face confused and protective at the same time. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“Felix . . .” I said, lowering my rifle as Francois came out onto the road. “It's me, Jordan. I'm here to get you out of here, to set you free.”

“Felix. . . .?” he said, his voice trembling and unsure. “Jordan . . .? Felix is dead, that's the life before Svetlana found me.”

“No, that was the life that you were taken from a month ago,” Francois said in French. “It’s me. We're here to take you home.”

“This is my home,” Felix stammered, his eyes clearly widening as he took in the sight of his near twin. “Svetlana is my Mistress. No . . . you must go. Whatever was in my past life, is my past life. I have a new life now. One with love.”

“You have love, Felix,” I said, my voice choking. The brute had approached, his hands going to his waist when a soft cough from our ally in the bushes stopped him, and he put his hands up. “Me. Your Jordan, remember?”

Felix's right hand came to his head, rubbing at his temples in an eerie imitation of the nervous habit Francois had begun over the past few weeks, and he started shaking his head back and forth, trying to negate what I was saying. For the first time, the woman spoke up. “Who are you? What is this talk of my Spartak? What are these lies?”

“No lies, sister,” Francois said, his rifle still at the ready. “Felix is taken. Didn't your father tell you? Vladimir always was a snake like that.”

“He is not my father,” the woman replied. Her voice shifted, going from haughty to pleading, desperate. “But I beg you, don’t take Spartak away from me. He belongs with me, and he’s happy here. I won’t betray him like his family did.”

“Even with the drugs you pumped him full of?” I spat back. “Bitch, you f*cked with his mind, and tried to turn the man I love into a goddamn puppet.”

“I . . . I . . .,” the woman stammered, unable to find the words. Instead, she grabbed Felix and pulled him to her, crying. “Please Spartak, don’t listen to them! I love you!”

Felix dropped his hands and took hers in his, kissing her knuckles. “Is it true? Did you drug me, try to warp my mind?”

She blinked, tears falling down her porcelain doll face, then nodded, lowering her eyes. “I did.”

“And did you try to twist my mind to serve you?” Felix asked, just as softly. He brought his hands up, still holding hers, and stroked her cheek with the back of the fingers on his right hand, tenderness and hurt mixing in equal parts.

“I did.”

Felix let go of her hands and stepped back. “Then what about your saying you love me?”

Svetlana looked up, her blue eyes flashing with fire and conviction. “That is no lie! Yes, you were supposed to be a plaything, a boy toy that I could dispose of at my leisure, but over the past weeks, you've become something much more to me!”

Felix swallowed, his throat working as he searched to find the words. “And I love you,” he finally said, his own eyes shimmering with tears. “But I can’t stay with someone who lied to me, who twisted me and tried to make me into someone I’m not.”

Felix stepped back toward me, and I lowered my rifle more, reaching for him. “Felix . . . oh my Felix . . .”

He didn't take my hands, but instead looked at me in that same confused expression that he'd had every instant he set his eyes on me. “Your face is familiar, but I don’t know who you are,” he said. “I’m sorry.”