Destiny Mine (Tormentor Mine #3)(81)

“I’m already fucking rich, you know,” he told me on the phone two weeks ago, when Yan prodded him for an answer again. “I might miss the excitement and all, but I don’t need more money—not the way Yan seems to.” He paused, then asked carefully, “You’re not mad at him, are you?”

“No,” I told Anton, and I meant it. I told the guys they can carry on with the business if they want, so what do I care if Yan had been planning to step in my shoes all along? None of us are angels, and deep down, I always knew that Yan wouldn’t be content following orders for long.

Even back in Russia, there were hints of that—a red flag I ignored when I offered the Ivanov twins a place on my new team.

In the context of my old world—our world—Yan Ivanov had been loyal enough, and since we avoided the ultimate clash, it makes sense to remain on good terms.

You never know when a favor might be needed.

“So what are you going to do here?” Yan asks when I stop to count the chairs in front of the gazebo. “Other than plan weddings?”

“I have a few ideas,” I say, finishing the count. We’re one chair short—something the venue staff needs to remedy right away. “For now, wedding planning suits me.”

“You know you’re deluding yourself, right?” Yan’s tone lacks all hint of mockery, and when I turn to face him, I see a peculiar seriousness in his cold green eyes. “This is not for you—any more than it would be for me.”

Did he and Esguerra read the same script? “Who are you trying to convince of that?” I ask curiously. “Me or yourself?”

He holds my gaze, then nods, as if seeing something I’m missing. “Good luck,” he says softly. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

And turning, he walks back, leaving me to track down the photographer on my own.





63





Sara



My pulse skips a beat, then roars into overdrive.

This can’t be happening.

They can’t arrest Peter on the day of our wedding.

“Agent Ryson.” I’m proud of the steadiness of my voice. “What are you doing here?”

He gives me a thin smile. “Oh, don’t worry, Dr. Cobakis—or is it soon-to-be Dr. Garin? I’m not here in any official capacity.”

My frantic heartbeat settles slightly. “Why are you here then?”

“To offer my congratulations, of course.” His mouth twists. “You and your Russian lover sure had us all fooled.”

I remain silent, because what can I say? I understand how this must look from his perspective—from the perspective of anyone who’s been following the story from the beginning, really. I’m marrying George’s killer, the man who waterboarded me, invaded my life, and kidnapped me.

The man Ryson spent the past two-plus years hunting.

“Tell me one thing, Dr. Cobakis,” the agent continues bitterly. “At what point did you and Sokolov conspire to rid you of your brain-damaged husband? Was it before or during the so-called attack on you?”

I suck in a horrified breath. Is that what he really thinks? “You’re mistaken. I never—”

“Never lied to us? Never pretended to need protection from the man you’re about to marry?” His gaze is cutting. “Yeah, I thought so.”

My neck burns. “It wasn’t like that. Not at the beginning.”

“Oh, really? How was it then? Did he brainwash you in Japan? Show you a few bedroom tricks to make you forget all the blood on his hands? Maybe you didn’t care about the alcoholic you were going to divorce—yes, we know all about that—but your lover killed Cobakis’s guards too. Good men, honest men. He blew their brains out—or have you forgotten?”

I swallow the bile rising in my throat. “Of course not.”

“No?” Ryson steps toward me. “What about the police officers in the helicopter he shot down when they tried to rescue you from the supposed kidnapping? Or how about all the others he’s killed and tortured in the name of whatever twisted justice he’s pursuing? Would you like me to give you a list of all his victims, so you can pin it on the wall above your marriage bed?”

I’m shaking now, my stomach in complete revolt. The smell of the warmed-up pasta, so tantalizing a minute ago, is making me want to vomit, and it’s all I can do to hold Ryson’s gaze instead of curling up into a little ball of shame on the floor.

It’s true, all of it.

Peter is a monster, and so am I for loving him.

At my lack of response, the agent snorts derisively. “Nothing to say? Well, let me give you a little warning.” He comes closer until I have no choice but to step back. Looming over me, he says softly, “I don’t know who pulled the strings, giving the two of you a clean slate, but if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s that psychopaths like Sokolov don’t change. He will commit another crime, and when he does, the deal he’s made with my higher-ups will be null and void. We’ll be waiting—and now, Dr. Cobakis, we also have your number.”

He steps back and turns, as if to leave, but then he stops and says over his shoulder, “Oh, and congratulations again. You make a beautiful bride. I hope the two of you will be very happy together.”