Blitzed (48 page)

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N
ow
, hours later and my stomach satiated, I still had the trembles as I checked my clothing. It had been laid out for me when I returned, Sacha letting me ride in the back of a pickup truck from the training area. I'd taken over an hour to bathe and clean each of my wounds, noting with displeasure that I’d have bruises on my face that I couldn’t hide. I was filled with shame, with nervousness, and with tightly controlled arousal. Even as unworthy as I was, I couldn’t help but see what was in her eyes when she told me eight o'clock.

Just before the clock in the wall started chiming the hour, I tapped on the door lightly with the heel of my right hand, my knuckles being too bruised and abraded to be useful for knocking. “Come in.”

I opened the door to see that she had left her lights off, nothing but seemingly dozens of candles illuminating the scene before me. “Mistress?”

“Come in, Spartak,” she said. I couldn't see her, but recognized her voice was coming from behind a changing screen on the right side of her bedroom, and I could just see a wisp of golden hair fly up as she put something on. “Please, make yourself comfortable in one of the chairs.”

I looked and saw that she had two chairs arranged on the other side of the room, facing each other. I took the smaller of the chairs, even though it had a back because it was lower in a position to the other, which looked almost like a Roman couch than a normal chair. Sitting straight and tall, I waited for her to come out from behind her screen.

“Did you enjoy today's test?”

“No, but it was necessary.”

“Necessary in what way?” she asked, her voice coming closer. “Don’t turn around, but look at the chair in front of you.”

I kept my eyes glued in front of me, even though I could hear her coming closer, wearing her high heels and sending jolts of electricity racing through me. Her fingers trailed over my shoulders and neck, and I struggled to find enough focus to answer. “Necessary because Sacha was trying to find men worthy enough to protect you . . .”

“I see. Eyes forward.” A black cloth appeared in front of me, dropping into my vision before wrapping around my head and being tied securely behind me. “And is my Uncle Vladimir overly concerned with my safety?”

“No, Mistress. Your safety and happiness are of primary importance.”

“To who?” she asked, coming around in front of me and sitting down. In the darkness of the blindfold, all I could do was listen as she settled down, the couch whispering as she settled in. “To Vladimir? To Sacha?”

“I don’t know them well enough to answer,” I said.

“Then to who is my safety and happiness of utmost importance?” She asked again. I could hear her arranging herself on the couch, and my nose tickled at the mysterious scent that she was wearing, arousing and airy, angelic.

“To me. I would give anything to serve you.”

“Anything at all?” she asked. “So if I told you that to be my companion you must become a eunuch, and have your balls cut off only to have them fed to the pigs, you would do it?”

I nodded without hesitation. “If that is what you ask.”

There was a slight pause, then a chuckle that sent shivers down my spine. “I think I like your balls exactly where they are. Tell me, if I were to make you my companion, and not just my pet, how would you serve me?”

“In whatever way you need,” I said. “My every thought is of you, and ensuring you’re happy.”

“And if I said that I’m not happy?” she asked. My heart broke at the pain in her question, and I knew that she wasn’t asking as a test, but because she truly wasn't pleased with her life. I was getting a rare glimpse that few other people got to see, behind the persona and at the woman herself.

“If I had to move heaven and earth itself, I would do whatever it takes to make you happy,” I said.

“So you love me, then?”

I nodded, unable to say more. I heard her chuckle, and her voice came closer to whisper in my ear. “I need you to say it, Spartak. Say that you will love me, serve me and be mine forever.”

“I . . . I love you, Mistress,” I said, warmth and pain tearing at my chest in equal amounts and for unknown reasons. Even though my heart said I loved her, there was something else that was breaking, as if I was enacting a betrayal. But to what? To whom? “I will serve you and be yours forever.”

Her hand stroked my cheek again, and I moaned when her lips caressed mine. Her kiss lingered, and it took every ounce of my willpower to not pull her to me, I was so hungry for her touch and her caress. Instead, our kiss continued, her tongue tracing my lips before we tasted each other. “I ask because I’m not happy, Spartak.”

I felt her reach behind my head, and the knot on my blindfold loosened. The black cloth tumbled from my eyes, and I could see again. The first thing I saw was my Mistress, her blue eyes swimming in tears, but a smile on her perfect face. She sat back, and I could see what she was wearing, a white teddy with silk stockings and matching high heels. She was beauty personified, as precious as the finest diamond, and her tears pierced my heart. “What can I do to help you find happiness?”

She reached out and took my hand, placing it on her left breast, where I could feel her heart pounding under my fingertips. “Am I beautiful?”

“Of course. Even if I didn’t love you, even a blind man could see that.”

“If I wanted men to be my slave, I have only to snap my fingers. Uncle Vladimir has ensured that. But I need more than that.”

“What do you need?”

“I need a companion that not only loves me, but I can love as well. But to love him, I must respect him. Your efforts over the past weeks have shown me that you are a man of remarkable strength, intelligence and ability. But you still have a ways to go to earn my respect. You won’t be sleeping with me tonight, Spartak, but you’ve moved one step closer.”

I
had just finished
a workout and felt wonderful. All of my strength was back after my coronation, and in the past week I had come to terms not only with Jordan's concerns but also with what had to be done with Syeira. Even my planning for how to break into the museum in Marrakesh seemed to be falling into place.

Leaving the gymnasium, I decided to run back to the barge instead of taking the bus. Charani had been using the car almost exclusively, and I still didn't feel like getting my Porsche out of storage — it just wasn't time. Maybe after Syeira was taken care of, and Jordan was ready to let her hair down again, I thought as I jogged along the Seine. The weather was starting to show signs of the end of winter, which in Paris usually meant that things were more miserable than the winter itself. In winter, you tended to have either gray clouds that promised snow, or bright blue days that seemed to sear their way into your mind with unrelenting electric hues.

Rounding the final curve in the river bank, I looked across the river to where the barge was, surprised when I saw three vehicles parked along the street in front of our Renault. I didn't recognize them, and I doubted that Charani would have let strangers just park their vehicles near our barge without giving me a call first. I picked up my pace, crossing the bridge that let me get on the right side of the river and over to the barge. “Hello? Maman? Où es-tu?"

There was no answer from the barge, and I sprinted up the gangplank, worry flooding my body. Thundering my way down the steps and inside, I threw open the door, already preparing to find something that would shatter my life.

What I found instead made me come to a complete halt, as Syeira and Jordan sat casually around the dining table, Charani in between to them. With them were three men I didn't know, but who looked Romani to me. “What is this?”

“Come, have a seat my son,” Charani said, indicating the empty chair across from her. “We have visitors.”

“I can see that,” I said, trying to regain my calm. “I’m surprised, though, I would have thought that I'd be informed.”

“Unfortunately, this was very short notice meeting,” one of the men said in heavily accented English that smacked of his Spanish roots. “Forgive me. I am Francisco Cordoba de la Rosa.”

I repressed my inner shiver, knowing the name. The De la Rosas were the heads of the largest tribe of Romani in the entire Iberian and Italian peninsulas, and in fact laid claim to most of southern France, with the defined borderlands being the small area that surrounded my family's property on the Rhone and in Paris. That had belonged to Guillaume Hardy before he married my mother, and as such was considered neutral territory. When grandfather died, the De la Rosa chief visited with Felix, to confirm the arrangement. They'd integrated themselves more into Spanish culture than a lot of the Romani, having even given up their Romani names and many not even speaking Rom. “Of course, Señor De la Rosa. It’s a pleasure to have you in my home. What brings you to Paris?”

“Well, it seems that a business associate of yours has recently been acting quite peculiar,” De la Rosa said, taking out a smartphone. “When some of my family's men questioned him, he had quite a bit to say. Would you like to take a look?”

De la Rosa set the phone on the table, turning it toward me. “Don’t worry, your mother and these ladies have already seen it,” he said with a grim smile. “There is nothing to hide here amongst us Romani.”

With trembling hands, I tapped the screen, starting the video. I saw our Spanish agent, the man I had sold out Felix to on the screen, his arms bound behind his back and his face beaten and swollen. In blubbering, sobbing tones, he described how he'd betrayed Felix, and how he'd transferred him to the Russian mobsters after the fake handoff in Calais. “Now, one last question, and the answer is of vital importance,” the cameraman said, waving a knife in front of the Spaniard. “Did Francois know about or participate in the betrayal of his brother?”

“Of course he knew, you stupid Gypsy!” the Spaniard spat back, his eyes wide and frightened. “Who the hell do you think contacted me about it? Hell, he talked with my men in Mexico about setting the whole thing up!”

“Thank you,” the cameraman said. “You have earned some mercy.”

The Spaniard's mouth widened in a grateful smile, only to be replaced by a shocked gape as the cameraman reached forward, and grabbed him by his hair.

“It was a hands-free setup,” De la Rosa explained as on the video, the cameraman shoved the knife into the Spaniard's mouth and jerked sideways savagely, slicing open his cheek before repeating it on the other side, giving the screaming man a Glasgow smile. “Mercy, no? We should have killed him.”

“You can’t believe what this man says,” I stammered, looking up from the video. “He was slime, and we only used him because he had connections for offloading our loot.”

Jordan, who until then had maintained her silence, slammed her fist down on the table. “Francois . . . how could you?” she cried, her eyes streaming tears. “How could you? He is your brother!”

“He spent his whole life holding me down!” I yelled back, slamming my own fist onto the table. “I was always second best! Always! Even with you — I was the second one in your heart. Admit it Jordan, whenever you needed tenderness, or comfort, or compassion, it was Felix you turned to, not me! I was good for having fun, and for a good fuck, nothing more!”

“I turned to you too, you selfish bastard!” Jordan screamed, throwing the napkin that she'd been holding in her hand at me. “I can't even . . .”

She got up and ran from the barge, out into the Paris afternoon. I turned in my chair to go after her, when the other two men with De la Rosa, as well as Charani and Syeira, stood up. “Don't move.”

I stopped and turned back, stunned at the tone in my mother's voice. I hadn't heard that tone in her voice to me ever. In fact, I had rarely heard her use it, and only then against those who had hurt the family. “Mother?”

“A title that I regret to have at this moment,” she seethed, her gray eyes flaring with anger. “A title that means nothing, since by what you have done, you have shown yourself to be nothing!”

“What I did, I did for you too!” I yelled back. “The phoenix must rise!”

“This phoenix rose on her own, thank you very much!” She spat back, her tone low and growling. “I was not named to be the mother of a traitor. Your brother has always been your biggest supporter, and you repay him by selling him to the fucking Russians?”

I wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes was implacable. Finally, I lowered my head and shook regretfully, knowing what I had to say next, even if it hurt her feelings. “It doesn't matter, mother. I’m the King now, and that is all there is to it. The other family leaders — they swore the oath.”

“You are not the King,” Syeira said, her voice the calmest I had heard since coming into the room. “Felix did not abdicate the title, nor is he dead. He is still King.”

I laughed harshly and looked at my aunt. “A fact that is not proven. Regardless of how I did it, fratricide is not against Romani law. My title is still mine, as is the power of the oath.”

Syeira shook her head, indicating the two men who had arrived with De la Rosa. “These men are from our allies in the Black Sea tribes. They have confirmed for me that Felix is being held in an estate belonging to Vladimir Ilyushin, a member of the Russian Mafia. That information has been passed along to the rest of the senior tribe members.”

“I know the name,” I said. “We have dealt with the Russians before, but never with him directly.”

“We are waiting, but the Black Sea Romani have promised to e-mail me pictures within twelve hours of Felix, alive and at the estate,” Syeira said. “It took some influence, but they are willing to support us.”

“On what?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Are you planning to rescue him or something?”

Charani left her seat and came over in front of me. I looked down at my mother, and in a flash of movement so fast I didn't even see her move, she slapped my face. “If you have any honor left in that black pit you call a heart, you will have answered that question for yourself already.”

“Mother . . .” I said softly, her anger breaking through my emotional shield. “Please, don't you understand?”

“I understand that at this moment, I would rather have died with your Father than have seen you betray your own blood like this. I would rather have been childless than to see this day.”

She turned and followed Jordan out of the barge, leaving me with our visitors and Syeira, whose eyes burned with just as much anger as her sister's, but had remained in control of herself. “You have two options, Francois,” Syeira said, her voice cold and heartless after Charani left. Romani or not, she was an aristocrat, one who'd grown up in the bloodline of generations of ruling people whose code made Machiavelli look soft. “You can either atone for your actions by lending your considerable talents to the rescue of your brother, or you can run. You have enough money in your personal bank accounts that I’m sure you'd make a decent go of it. But know that if you do, after our tribe rescues Felix, we will come after you. No matter if you run to the ends of the Earth, one day you will find my hand on the handle of a knife twisting into your heart.”

I sagged into the chair behind me, tears finally falling from my cheeks. Her words destroyed every bit of resistance left in me, and I felt hopeless, defeated beyond all measure. “I . . . I've lost it all,” I whispered, ignoring everyone around me. “The title, the position, my honor. Even Jordan . . .”

“Perhaps, just perhaps, you have a chance to redeem yourself.”

“And if I try, and I fail?” I ask, looking up at her, who shrugged, crossing her arms. We both knew the answer to that. If I failed, I might as well die beside my brother. “I understand. What can you tell me about this estate?”

* * *

B
y the time
De la Rosa and the men from the Black Sea tribes left, it was nearly midnight. Syeira had left an hour after I sat down with the men in order to learn what they knew, going out to get her sister and Jordan. They returned a while after sunset, carrying bags that ended up containing sandwiches they'd gotten from a street vendor. I noticed that when they were divvied out that I got the smallest, but by that point I didn't care. All I wanted was to regain some trust in Jordan's eyes, no matter how unlikely that was.

I sat up at the kitchen table, staring at the computer screen in front of me. Even I had to admit that I was disgusted by what I'd done to Felix, looking at the way he was being treated. While the reports were jumbled, him being kept in a cargo container was disturbing. I wasn't sure what some of it was, but the people who’d sighted Felix hadn't been able to get close enough to find out for sure. All they knew was that he was being kept like some kind of pet. I was disgusted at how weak I was — at how I let my thirst for greed get the better of me.

I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed, wishing I'd done things differently. I wondered how my jealousy had led me to this point, and what I could have done differently. I wondered if my own ambition and jealousy had ruined my life, and possibly Felix’s life too.

I was staring a hole in the table when I felt someone standing behind me, very quietly, just watching me and breathing slowly. Considering I hadn't heard them approach, I figured it was Charani or Syeira. “What is it, Mother? Come to say that I don't deserve my name again?”

“Actually, I came to see if you were sleepy,” Jordan said behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders. “You aren't going to save your brother in one night.”

I looked up, reaching for her hand before letting my hand fall back to the table. “Why?”

“A question I've been asking myself,” Jordan said, rubbing my neck, “but I doubt that we're asking why about the same things.”

I sighed and nodded, relishing the feeling of her touch even as I knew I had betrayed her. More than Syeira, I had betrayed Jordan, for which I was sorry. “You are right. I assume your whys have been more about why I did what I did, and why I deceived you.”

“Those were two of them,” Jordan agreed, letting go of her massage and coming around to sit next to me at the table. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the wood, and I couldn't help but notice that instead of the simply sexy sleepwear she'd favored most of the time we had been together, she was wearing one of Felix's t-shirts, a blue one that had a high neckline. “Also, why in the world you did it the way you did. Had we never found out, what you did was even worse than killing him. It was beyond low.”

“When I first had my plan, that wasn’t part of it,” I said, rubbing my temples, a nervous habit I'd picked up in the past few hours it seemed. Even angry and saddened, Jordan was extraordinarily beautiful, her insightful gaze still sending warm tendrils to my heart, each one of them aching because I knew what I was giving up. “That came later, from the Spaniard. I think it was a part of the price he used to set up the deal for the Quran.”

“So he wanted the book, you wanted the throne, and Felix was the price,” Jordan said, only a hint of anger in her voice. Instead, there was great sadness. “I'm not going to ask you why you wanted to do it. From knowing you, I think I know why. But why are you showing such a sudden change of heart?”