To control me, so I can’t leave him.
So he won’t lose me, the way he lost Tamila and his son.
“I do love you,” I say softly, the words coming easier the second time. “I love you, Peter, with everything I am. And I appreciate what you’ve done for me… what you have given up.”
He chose me over his vengeance.
He chose our love over his desire to deal death.
His smile dims—the reminder about Henderson must still hurt—but then he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “I know, ptichka. I know you love me—and one way or another, we’re going to make this work. We have to… because I’m not letting you walk away.”
I lay my head back on his shoulder, closing my eyes, and feel the heart beating inside that powerful chest.
He’s right.
We’re going to make this work.
Our love may not be simple and straightforward, but it’s no less strong for how it began. This marriage won’t be easy, but it’s forever.
No matter what happens, we have each other.
For as long as we’re both alive.
Epilogue
Henderson
I stare at my computer screen, clicking from one glossy picture to another, my throat burning and my hand shaking with nauseating rage.
They look beautiful, both young and healthy, dressed in the best wedding finery blood-stained wealth can buy. In one picture, he’s lifting her against his chest; in another, they’re holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes.
I click again and taste the bitterness of bile. They’re smiling at each other in this picture, standing next to her family and friends.
Do any of these people know?
Do they realize what he is?
She knows. Of that I have no doubt. I see it in her eyes, her pretty, lying smile.
She knows, and she loves him.
She married him, knowing the monstrous things he’s done.
I roll my head from side to side, futilely trying to release the agonizing tension. The steroid shots are no longer helping, and the pain eats at me, keeping me awake at night, adding to my nightmares and insomnia.
Three years of running.
Three years of fearing for my children’s lives.
Three years of knowing that everyone I left behind may be killed or tortured… that no one I care about will ever be truly safe.
I click over to a browser window and navigate to my daughter’s Facebook page. There’s nothing there since three years ago, nothing on my son’s social media as well. They, too, have lived in fear all this time.
In fear of the monster smiling at his loving bride.
He thinks he’s won.
He thinks it’s over.
He’s convinced they’re going to let his reign of terror slide.
Turning away from the computer, I open the folder on my desk, trying to stay calm as I review the list of names—my own list this time.
Julian Esguerra, CIA’s pet monster.
His loyal partner, Lucas Kent.
Yan and Ilya Ivanov.
Anton Rezov.
And of course, Peter Sokolov himself.
They think they have it made, that they’re untouchable.
They couldn’t be more wrong.
It’s time the world saw them for the terrorists they are.
One way or another, they’ll pay.
The End