Page 17 of Mine to Take

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

FARID

Everyone’s days on this earth are numbered. My number just happens to be much lower than everyone else’s currently.

I’d waffled between owning up to the things I actually had done and pleading not guilty to all of the things they think I have done. A litany of worldwide destruction that I at first, while not taking credit, did not deny either. It made me feared, which in turn gave me power. Power I thought I needed. Power I thought would make my father proud. But they would never believe me. Plus, the attacks I had orchestrated and the arms deals I had benefitted from were more than enough to justify a life behind bars.

But behind bars is not where they want me.

They want me 6-feet under.

If I cannot live on this earth with her next to me, feeling her lips pressed against mine, her tiny hands caressing my chest, her warm body melting with mine every night, then 6-feet under is where I’d rather be.

Sending the quote had been selfish. My own need to stay in her life, stay on her mind, when the healthiest thing for her is to let go. She needs to get back to her life. Her association with me can only bring her pain.

I looked at the blank computer screen in front me, pondering a last goodbye letter. I had hacked into her email last week searching for a way to communicate with her and then thought better of it. I opened the browser page to kill it and extract myself from it and her life once and for all.

“SUNDAY SUPPER CLUB…It’s BACK!!!”

She had sent the evite to a small group of friends, calling it the resumption of her World Famous Sunday Supper Club…but more importantly hockey!

Good, I thought, she’s trying to get back to her normal life. Good.

I stared at the screen for while longer before closing the laptop. My mind started to race.

If it is worth attaining, it is worth fighting for.

I have one card to play and it depends entirely on Maxwell Caukins still loving her as much as I do.

KIRSTEN

The party was already underway and I jumped up when the doorbell rang, wondering who would come to the front door instead of the back. “Oh turn that song up,” I said as I dashed to the door and an old Evanescence song came on. He held a bottle of wine, worn jeans, white shirt untucked, dark glasses, ball cap, sexy AF. My jaw dropped and I wanted to fling myself into his arms. He stepped inside and winked at me. “Stay calm,” he whispered.

“Eitan!” I said out loud. “I'm so glad you came!”

I hugged him. Letting his sandalwood and amber scent embrace me too.

I took his hand and took him into the room and introduced him as Eitan Hadad, a fellow translator usually based in New York but spending more time here lately. We met in Tel Aviv years ago.

He grinned appreciating my narrative, simple enough for him to follow and pick up and just complex enough to be believable.

“Israel? You made me Israeli!” He moaned against my neck as he followed me into the kitchen and wrapped around me from behind.

I pressed back against him. “It was the first thing that came to mind, it’s not like I had any warning. I thought I did pretty damn good considering!”

He laughed quietly, reaching around me to set the wine on the counter. “You feel so damn good.” He nuzzled my neck and my body tingled over with desire and joy. I tilted my head back and lost myself in the feel of his fingers tickling my throat, turning my face to meet his open kiss.

“How?” I turned to face him.

His expression told me I might not want to know. “Later.”

I reached for his scruff still in awe that I wasn’t just dreaming. “I never thought…”

“Shhh,” he pressed his finger to my lips. “Come on.” He led me back to the living room where a very spirited game of Texas Hold’em was already underway. We eyeballed each other. Some of our best nights had been spent in the library playing cards together, laughing, making ridiculous wagers usually regarding various articles of clothing.

“Where is he?” Farid asked in whisper, after bidding farewell to everyone and getting a ‘you go girl!’ from my friend Maria.

“One block down, dark blue van,” I scribbled on a note pad. “Max and his partner. Video on the front and back doors, audio throughout the house.”

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