Forever Mine (Tormentor Mine 4)

We’re far from safe, but we’ve just bought ourselves some time.

Part IV

57

Henderson

“Faster,” I bark at Jimmy as he drags the suitcase into the car, his expression one of petulant teenage boredom. Bonnie and Amber, my eighteen-year-old daughter, are already inside the vehicle, waiting tensely.

Unlike my stupid son, they understand the seriousness of this. They know that if Sokolov and his cohorts find us, we’ll all suffer fates worse than death.

Defeat is a bitter tang on my tongue as I get in the car and slam the door shut. According to my sources, Sokolov is now at Esguerra’s compound as well, which means my enemies are not only regrouping but teaming up.

We have to run again.

We have to hide.

At least until I figure out another way to get at them.

58

Sara

I wake up to the startling sounds of a baby crying, combined with women’s voices trying to calm it down.

Opening my eyes, I sit up, willing my brain to start functioning so I can figure out where I am. And as I look around the plain room, with its white walls and gray carpet, it comes to me.

We’re in Colombia, on the arms dealer’s compound.

More specifically, we’re in the house that Diego—a young guard Peter apparently knows from before—brought us to yesterday. I suspect our host gave it to us because of me. Yan, Ilya, and Anton went to stay with the guards in the barracks, but Esguerra must’ve figured it might be weird for a married couple to bunk with a bunch of guys.

I’m glad about that; I like the privacy. Not to mention, the house itself is nice—clean and modern, if minimally furnished. I’ve even found some clothes in the closet, and they look to be close to my size—a helpful development, as my own clothes currently consist of just the jeans and sweater I arrived in.

“Wasn’t this Kent’s residence? Where is he staying?” Peter asked as we pulled up, and Diego explained that Lucas and Yulia Kent are in the main house with the Esguerras—something about extra security and convenience for business meetings.

The crying seems to be coming from the outside, so I get up and throw on a robe that I found in the closet yesterday. Then I walk over to peek out the bedroom window through the closed blinds.

Two dark-haired young women are crouched over a baby lying on a blanket on the green lawn in front of the house. They’re changing the child’s diaper, and the baby is wailing like it’s the worst thing in the world.

Who are they?

And where is Peter?

Judging by the bright sun outside, it’s already morning—which, given that I passed out just a few short hours after our arrival yesterday, means that I slept for something like sixteen hours.

My body must’ve needed the rest after all the stress.

Automatically, my hand goes to my stomach. It’s still flat, with no sign of the life growing inside, but I know it’s there. I feel it.

A baby of my own.

In a few months, I’ll be changing diapers too.

Assuming we’re still alive, that is.

My chest tightening, I step back from the window. For a moment, I’d almost forgotten the precarious nature of our circumstances—and what brought us here.

The roar of the helicopter amid the gunfire, pushing on Dad’s chest in a futile effort to restart his heart, Mom’s face with a chunk of it missing—

Gasping, I sink to my knees, my heart racing as cold sweat coats my body. For a second, it was as if I’d been transported back in time, the flashback so vivid that I’d smelled the metallic stench of blood and felt the warm spray on my face.

Oh God.

I can’t do this.

I can’t go there.

Shaking, I get to my feet and stumble into the adjoining bathroom, where I turn the shower to the hottest setting and step in, letting the scalding water burn away the ice inside me.

One day, I’ll be able to think about my parents, but not yet.

Not for a long, long time.

The doorbell rings just as I’m entering the living room, wearing a pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt that I found in the closet. They fit me surprisingly well. Given what Peter said about this being Kent’s house before, I’m guessing all the women’s clothes here are Yulia’s.

Hopefully, she won’t mind if I borrow them.

The doorbell rings again.

“Peter?” I call out, looking around, but there’s no response. He must be out of the house.

Taking a breath, I walk over to the front door and open it.

Outside are the two young women I saw earlier, with the baby now sleeping in a stroller. They look to be in their early twenties and are dressed in sundresses and casual sandals. One is petite and strikingly pretty, with a thick, glossy curtain of waist-length hair and a slim, athletic build, while the other one is round-cheeked, with a bright smile and curvy figure. To my shock, both of them look familiar.