“You can’t offer me peace with one hand and threats with another.” Why didn’t anyone understand that?
“It’s how things are done.”
“No.” It would not be how things were done. She’d never agree to marry him. Never. No matter what he did to her.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.” His voice was a growl, low in his throat.
“As I said,” she said, her mouth dry as the desert, “do as you must.” Damara tried to focus her mind, find her center and remember her training. He was bigger than she was, but she had speed and strategy on her side.
She studied her surroundings surreptitiously looking for a possible exit and weapons.
He lunged for her, and she grabbed the lamp on the nightstand, but it had been secured to the table in case of rough waters. So she used the table and the desk as leverage to deliver a roundhouse kick to his head.
It stunned him long enough for her to do it again, but he still didn’t fall. The man’s head must have been fashioned from concrete.
The door to the room swung open, and a flower of blood bloomed on his chest where Byron shot him with a .38.
Grisha clutched at his chest and staggered forward, but Damara didn’t stay to watch him fall. Byron grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the hall.
“This was not how this was supposed to go down.” His hand was warm and strong; his very presence made her feel as though everything was going to be okay. “But next time I tell you to stay put, stay put.”
“It was the only way.”
“I know that. But I had a plan.” He yanked her up the stairs toward the deck.
“What’s the plan now?” she asked as she hurried up the stairs behind him.
“Run like hell.”
She didn’t like that plan very much, but it seemed that it was all they were left with. An explosion rattled the ship and she screamed, but alarms drowned out the sound.
“Don’t worry. It’s forward aft. We’ll be exiting toward the rear.”
“What did you do?”
“Answers later. Running now,” he commanded.
The sun was overhead by this point, and the crewmen who saw them were too busy responding to the emergency and keeping the ship afloat to bother with them.
When they got to the side, he started to climb over. “I’m going to jump and then you’re going to jump, okay? I’ll catch you.”
Damara froze.
“Don’t bail on me now, Princess. You’ve faced down ruthless thugs like you were at a cotillion. A little leap is nothing.”
He landed on the deck of one of the Russian’s boats. Then he emptied the .38 into the rear of the boat ahead of him, damaging the rudder. Hawkins held out his arms for her. “Hurry. They can still use the lifeboats, and they might catch us. You have to jump now.”
Damara’s brain screamed at her to keep moving, but her feet were rooted to the spot.
Castallegna. She had to do this for Castallegna. If she was caught... She couldn’t finish the thought. They’d blame her for Grisha’s death. They’d punish her for it, and she knew from what her bodyguards had told her that Abele’s head torturer had nothing on the Russians.
She remembered again from when she was little—the wind would carry her safely. Like it had then, like it had on the bike...and it was Hawkins. He’d kept her safe before. If he said he’d catch her, he’d catch her.
She jumped. Time stopped, and for Damara, it was as if she’d flung herself out into nothingness rather than over the side of a boat down to waiting arms on the deck of the small yacht. Terror froze her limbs, but he caught her easily and deposited her on the deck. She didn’t want to let go of him; her arms stayed around his neck even as Byron started the boat. Soon, Circe’s Storm grew smaller in the distance behind them, as did the smoke billowing up from her. So far, no one was in pursuit, but the captain knew where they were headed and a radio or a satphone would be much faster than a boat.
“You know we’ll still have to be on our guard. It’ll be best if we choose another port. Maybe Barcelona. It’s closer. If the fuel doesn’t hold, the wind will.”
She leaned against his shoulder, knowing she should release him but unwilling to just yet. “Thank you for everything that you’ve done.”
“You’re not safe yet.”
“Safer than I was.”
“You did good in there, Princess. You’re going to be okay.” He pulled her closer for a minute. When he released her, she finally let him go.
Again, his praise shouldn’t have been so warm, like basking in the sun, but it was. She’d never been good for anything but getting her brother what he wanted. Pride swelled at the notion that a man like him thought she could handle herself.
But she remembered the look of surprise on Grisha’s face. The sound of the gun as the bullet exploded out of the barrel and into the man. She knew it had to be done, but that didn’t make it any less horrific.
Damara shivered.
“Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her again.
How quickly this physicality came to be normal between them, this touching. She leaned into his warmth and let him shelter her there for just a moment. Perhaps it was the stress of the situation, but she liked how easily he touched her, how he allowed her to touch him. This sort of intimacy was unheard of for her.
But as much as she enjoyed it, guilt swarmed her. “A man died. Because of me.”
“Are you sorry he’s dead?” He didn’t look at her, but out at the water as he guided the craft.
“Of course. He was a living being. I don’t want anyone to die because of me, but he was going to hurt me. And if he had the chance, he’d hurt Castallegna. He told me he was Bratva.”
Byron nodded. “Russian mob. They have a heavy presence in the Mediterranean. With the state of geopolitics, it makes sense.”
“I can’t believe my brother would align himself with these kinds of people.” No, she supposed that wasn’t true. She could believe it, but she didn’t want to. Abele had loved her once, when she was very young. Before he’d gone power mad when their father had died.
Before the Council of Lords had tried to have him declared illegitimate.
She tightened her arms around Hawkins’s waist and just buried her face in his chest. It was safe there. The outside world didn’t exist, only his warmth and strength.
Why couldn’t a man like him want her?
He was fierce and strong as all good leaders must be, but he was noble, too, self-sacrificing.
“Castallegna is small. This seems like much trouble to go to simply to have a base and consulate on Castallegnian soil.” She sighed.
“It would be good to have a government that was receptive to our operatives. Safe houses, if you will. Priceless, really. The Russians are trafficking in people, arms, munitions, and a lot of it is filtering through Greece, Cyprus and Italy.”
“Won’t that make Barcelona too dangerous because of the proximity to the Mediterranean?”
“No, I have contacts in Barcelona. We may have to lie low for a few days, but we’ll get you on U.S. soil soon.”
“I don’t mean to look a gift horse, Hawkins, but wasn’t Miklos a contact?”
“He