Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(43)

The grief that hits me is as sharp as in the beginning, during those dark days when rage was the only thing that kept me going. For a second, I can’t breathe from the pain of it, from the agony so acute it feels like a blade through my spine.

My son. My little boy who never got the chance to grow, to go from toy cars to the real thing.

If I had any qualms about what I’m doing, they evaporate in this moment. I’m double-crossing a client, but it’s worth it. Even without the deal I made with Esguerra, I’d never hurt that helpless baby.

Not with Pasha’s face fresh in my mind.

It takes a couple of minutes before the crying stops and nearly a half hour before Esguerra returns, his arm wrapped around a petite, dark-haired girl dressed in a thick terrycloth robe that covers her from head to toe.

Esguerra’s very own obsession.

Nora, his wife.

Her small face lights up when she sees me. Unlike her husband, she bears me no ill will for the rescue that endangered her—nor should she, as it was her idea.

“Peter!” She makes as though to come forward to greet me, only to be restrained by her husband’s possessive grip. Sheepishly, she stops and smiles instead. “How have you been?”

“Fine, thank you.” Despite the guards all around us and my face feeling like a giant bruise from Esguerra’s pummeling, I can’t help smiling back. It’s hard to believe someone this young and delicate-looking could be a mother—or survive someone as ruthless as Esguerra. “Congratulations on the recent addition to your family.”

Her smile widens. “Thank you. I’d introduce you, but you know…” She glances up at her husband, whose thunderous expression grew even more forbidding during our exchange.

Sure enough, he’s reached the end of his patience. Tucking his small wife tighter against his side, he asks with lethal softness, “Are you going to tell me who it is or not?”

This is it. Time for me to give up my trump card. Despite Nora’s presence and the deal we made, he might still order me killed as soon as he learns the name.

Oh, well. No risk, no reward.

Meeting Esguerra’s icy gaze, I say calmly, “I don’t know her name, but it’s your pediatrician. She is Novak’s asset.”





35





Sara



“You know, Joe’s been asking about you,” Mom says, smearing the honey I brought from the farmer’s market on her toast. “You haven’t heard from him recently, have you?”

“Mom, please.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes like an overgrown teenager. For whatever reason, our Saturday morning breakfast is when this topic inevitably comes up. “He’s just being nice, that’s all. There’s nothing between us, I promise.”

“But why not, darling?” Lines of concern crease Mom’s forehead as Dad sighs into his coffee. “You’ve been back for almost nine months, and you have yet to go on a single date with anyone. You don’t owe that criminal anything. You know that, right? Clearly, whatever you two had is over, and you have to move on. He won’t be back.”

He will, judging by that note, but I can’t tell my parents about that. Despite my best efforts to convince them that I was with my abductor voluntarily and the whole FBI manhunt was a big misunderstanding, Peter will always be “that criminal” to them. I don’t know if it’s because they somehow caught wind of my official story to the FBI, or they just have a normal law-abiding citizens’ distrust of anyone on the outs with the authorities, but they’re convinced that Peter is evil and whatever feelings I had for him were of the Stockholm Syndrome variety.

Not that they’re all that wrong—at least, they wouldn’t have been wrong nine months ago. My attraction to Peter was unnatural and toxic, and I fought against it with everything I had. I fought up until the very end, when I nearly lost my life in that crash.

No. That’s not entirely true.

It was up until he put my needs above his own and let me go. That was the true turning point for me, though it’s only recently that I’ve let myself think about that… about the fact that I’ve somehow managed to accept the feelings I’ve developed for my husband’s killer, that when I think about him now, he’s “Peter” in my mind.

The man who loves me, not the man who murdered George.

My parents don’t know about that last part—at least I hope they don’t—but they still hate Peter for keeping me away from them for so long. They think he’s as dangerous as the FBI say, and it makes me sick to think how upset they’ll be when Peter steals me away again.

Still, I can’t stop myself from wanting it.

From wanting him and everything he is.

“I’m just not ready, Mom,” I tell her and get up to pour myself more coffee. “Please understand. I’m still in love with Peter, and when it’s all resolved, he will be back. You’ll see.”

And with that, I change the topic, launching into a story about my latest performance with my band.

It’s better than continuing to lie. Nothing will ever be resolved because there is no misunderstanding.

Peter is a criminal, and when he returns, it will be to take me with him.

To take me away for good.