Page 143 of Captive Ruin

“My husband’s name is Lukas,” she snaps. “You’re just a stranger on the end of a line. And I’m going, okay? You can send your Dobermans with me if you must.”

“You’re safest in the house. It’s not open for debate.”

“I’m going mad in this goddamn house!”

I soften my tone with an effort. “It’s not for much longer.”

“That’s what you said weeks ago.”

I’m not sure I did. “I said I’d be gone as long as it takes.”

“No rush,” she says scathingly. “Take your time. I mean that. I really, really do.”

“You’re still pushing.”

“No, I’m serious.”

“Bad girls get punished.”

“By who? Tony?”

Another growl slips out. “You’ve already earned yourself a spanking. Do you want to make it worse?”

“No payoff when you’re not here,” she says flippantly. “It’s been so long, you’ve probably forgotten how to pin me down.”

Her words create pictures in my mind, so intense it’s painful. A groan escapes as I stare hungrily at the video feed, wishing the screen was bigger. “Push that sheet off and spread your legs.”

“No. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’ll do it anyway because you’re mine.”

She pulls the sheet up to her chin, and extends her middle finger to the room. “You know what, Van Wyk? Fuck you. You don’t get anything, and you don’t get to say I’m yours when you’ve not even goddamn been here!” Her voice rises to a shout at the end, and she’s leaning forward in the bed, breathing heavily.

Then she lets out a long sigh and collapses against the pillow. “I’m so lonely, so isolated,” she says softly, the anger gone from her voice and only sadness remaining. “You’ve cut me off from everyone I love. Why would you be so cruel?”

“It’s temporary,” I reply, putting everything into that word. “As soon as I’m done here…”

There’s a knock on my door and Haynes opens it. “Ready?”

I lift a finger, pressing the phone closer to my ear.

“—keep saying,” she finishes, and I missed the opening. But I can guess.

“It won’t be long, Little Stray. Be patient.”

“I’ve been patient. I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” The line goes dead, and in the video feed, she turns her phone off before dropping it on the bed beside her, clutching at her sheet and going still, gazing unseeing at nothing.

I hate seeing her so desolate, and want nothing more than to be done with all this and back with her. But first I have to get through tonight. If it goes well, I’ll be with her for New Year’s, and that’s all the incentive I need. I watch her for another few seconds, memorizing the line of her shoulders, the way she clutches the sheet, and I ache with the distance between us.

Then I shut my laptop, square my shoulders, and address Haynes. “Let’s get this done.”

Dmitri Koval’s winter retreat is a private chalet in the mountains of Wyoming. But we have six well-trained and well-armed men.

“Two on the balcony,” Ramirez mutters. “The idiots are smoking.”

Two guns fire as one, each a double phut phut, and the guards crumple.

We work quickly, fanning out around the building, the men knowing their tasks. Four more of Koval’s guards die without ever knowing we were there. Speed and surprise are our main weapons.