Anything He Wants: The Betrayal(10)
Then the front door burst open and a familiar woman’s voice shouted, “Lucas!” Every head turned toward the sound, and a moment later a disheveled Anya Petrovski stumbled in through the entryway door, flanked by a large guard. Gone was the dressed-to-the-nines beauty from the ball; very little makeup graced her face, and the elegant clothes were rumpled and disheveled as if she’d just thrown them on haphazardly. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and while her natural beauty still showed as plain as day, her features were less severe, making her appear younger and more vulnerable. Her eyes quickly scanned the room and it was obvious the moment she found Lucas that he was all she was interested in.
Lucas, however, eyed the girl coldly. “I told you to stay away from me,” he said, voice devoid of emotion.
His reaction toward the woman surprised me but Anya endured his scorn. She was babbling in Russian, back stiff and face stoic, but tears had pooled in her eyes at Lucas’s icy rebuff. Russian beauty moved toward him until he held up a hand to ward her off. “I’m sorry,” Anya finally moaned in English, her eyes haunted.
“I told you I never wanted to see you again,” Lucas growled. His glare was frightful to behold—in that instance he looked and sounded very much like his brother, and Anya quailed back. This wasn’t the haughty, annoying woman I’d met before; the desperation and pain in her tones bled through, even if the exact meaning remained a mystery. I exchanged a look with Jeremiah, who looked as baffled as me. What is going on?
Lucas pointed at Jeremiah. “He’s the one you should be begging for forgiveness,” he said, voice dark, but Anya continued speaking to him in Russian. She kept clutching the Orthodox cross I remembered hanging from her neck at the gala in Paris, pleading with a stone-faced Lucas to no avail.
“Why is she here?” Jeremiah finally asked. At his words Anya grew quiet suddenly and seemed to withdraw in on herself, looking at the floor and wringing her hands.
Lucas gave the blond Russian a look of contempt. “You were wondering before who hired the assassin to kill you?” Lucas jerked his thumb at the cringing beauty, giving his brother a tight smile.
“Surprise.”
3
At first, I didn’t understand what he meant. The whole room was silent for a moment, then Jeremiah snapped his fingers and pointed toward Anya. Immediately the two men who had escorted her into the building each grabbed an arm, holding her firmly in place. Only then did Lucas’s meaning sink in, and I gasped at the revelation.
“Anya hired the assassin.” The words, summing up my own confused understanding of the situation, came from Jeremiah. Incredulity crept into his voice, as he repeated it as a question. “Anya hired the assassin?”
“Never cross a Russian,” Lucas replied, rolling his eyes and sighing. “It seems as though the truth of that saying extends beyond my current profession.”
“I did this for you,” the blond woman said toward Lucas, struggling to free herself from the guards’ grip. “I thought this what you wanted!”
“What I wanted?” Lucas sneered at Anya. “You did it for yourself—don’t try to lay blame at my feet.”
Anya eyed the bodyguards around her but kept speaking to Lucas. “You said you hated him, that you wished—”
“I never wanted him dead,” Lucas roared, and Anya flinched.
“You always talk about him,” she persisted. She slipped into Russian for a second then caught herself. “When you drunk, you always talk about how you wish to go home…”
“And killing my brother will get me my place back?” Lucas barked a laugh. “Anya, you’re not a stupid woman, all evidence to the contrary in this situation aside. Look at me!” He spread his arms. “Thousands of people are dead at my hands. Maybe my finger wasn’t on the trigger but I provided the bullets, the guns. I’m covered in blood—how can I come home after what I’ve done, what I’ve allowed to happen?”
Anya’s chin trembled as my own heart constricted at the man’s obvious pain. She crooned something softly in her native tongue and reached out to Lucas, but he slapped her hand away. “Don’t flatter yourself, my dear.” His cold fury sliced through the air, designed only to inflict pain. “I never loved you. Why would one have any affection for a clever tool?”
The blood drained from Anya’s face as she gaped at Lucas in disbelief. “You said…”