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Forbidden Captor
Julie Miller
Mills & Boon Silhouette
He'd fallen into enemy hands. Now, battle-scarred bounty hunter Bryce Martin and his comrades were imprisoned in dungeonlike torture chambers on wind whipped Devil's Fork Island.He was at the mercy of the barbaric militia members who'd been breaching homeland security, yet Bryce somehow forged a human connection with a mysterious servant girl. In the dark shadows of the night, gentle-hearted Anastasiya Belov saw beyond his beastly appearance to the tender man inside. Spurred by their desperate situation, a forbidden attraction ignited. Bryce's beautiful keeper was the key to escaping, but she led a double life in a dangerous game of survival. Could Bryce outsmart his foes…without sacrificing his most precious ally?
Bryce Martin wasn’t exactly what she’d call a confidant
But in the dark shadows of the night, when Tasiya felt vulnerable and alone, when she ached for a kind word—for hope—he noticed. He hadn’t said much, but the depth of his voice had resonated every shattered nerve, calming her, grounding her. He seemed solid as a mountain to cling to, yet just as forbidding.
There was a kindness to his perceptive gray eyes that had washed over her like a gentle spring shower. A sadness, too, as though the ugly marks on his body were etched more deeply inside.
He called himself a monster at their first meeting, and she believed him. But last night she saw a glimpse of the heart within the beast. And that paradox gave her the strength to survive one more day….
Forbidden Captor
Julie Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author and teacher has published several paranormal romances. Inspired by the likes of Agatha Christie and Encyclopedia Brown, Ms. Miller believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.
Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Anastasiya (Tasiya) Belov —Her father’s been kidnapped by the terrorists he dared to betray. The ransom? Cook and clean for—and spy on—an American militia who would gladly kill any traitor in their midst. The price of failure? Losing everything she loves. Including the man who would save her.
Bryce Martin —A battle-scarred warrior inside and out. He’ll do whatever it takes to escape from prison and save his Big Sky comrades—and the one woman who might learn to love this beast of a man.
Boone Fowler —Leader of the Montana Militia for a Free America. An escaped convict who has no love for foreigners. But he loves their money. And if their “gift” will help him take revenge on Big Sky Bounty Hunters…
Marcus Smith —Big as an ox, with the charm to match. He wants Tasiya Belov to be his reward for his service to the militia.
Dimitri Mostek —Lukinburg’s Minister of Finance. He has no patience for men who embezzle money from him. But he answers to a higher power.
Anton Belov —He was only trying to make a little extra money for bills and food. Now his extravagance might cost his daughter her life.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Prologue
St. Feodor, Lukinburg, November 4
9:07 p.m.
The chocolate-caramel torte was a delicious success. And an incredible mess.
But Anastasiya Belov didn’t mind being elbow-deep in suds and dishwater, scraping the sticky topping from the pan. Not when her latest recipe had brought such a delighted smile to her father’s face and earned her a hug even before she’d served him coffee.
Lukinburg, an eastern-European monarchy reformed after the disbandment of the Soviet Union, was a country beset by hard times. Even with her job cooking and cleaning for the minister of finance, Dimitri Mostek, she and her father, Anton, barely made ends meet.
But Anton, one of the senior accountants working for the ministry, had earned a bonus in his November paycheck. To celebrate his success, Tasiya had been extravagant with her market shopping and had prepared her father a feast far grander than anything she was allowed to fix for the Mosteks. Her father’s smile had been worth the extra pound of butter and brown sugar.
“You look so like your mother when I see you in the kitchen like this.”
Tasiya smiled and turned at the sound of her father’s musical accent. His rolling rs and guttural consonants echoed in her own voice. “You mean hot and perspiring, even though there’s snow on the ground outside?”
He brushed aside a strand of curly black hair that clung to her damp cheek. “I mean beautiful. Strong in spirit and body.”
“I love you, Papa.”
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I love you, Tasiya. Now—” he stood straight and tall and clapped his hands “—is there more of that chocolate cake?”
Tasiya laughed. “It’s a torte, Papa.” She reached for a towel and dried her hands, then gave him a nudge back to the living room where he’d been reading the paper. “You go. Relax. I will bring you another slice and a fresh cup of coffee.”
“You spoil me, daughter.”
“You’re the only one who’ll let me. Now go.”
As her father disappeared around the corner, Tasiya went to work. She twisted her long tresses into a bun and secured them with her metal hair clip. Then she set the coffeepot back on the stove to reheat while she prepared a second helping of dessert.
She was glad to do this for him, glad to bring a little happiness into their humdrum lives. There’d been far too little rejoicing in recent years. Not since King Aleksandr had ascended the throne. His solution to creating order and reviving a badly wounded economy had been to rule with a tight, cruel fist. Inflation was out of control. And while the royal family lived in a palace that showcased the elegance and wealth of the Lukinburg of old, basic supplies such as food and fuel couldn’t be guaranteed to its citizens. Financial aid from foreign countries had been rejected time and again, and those who protested the king’s strict policies and isolationist philosophy were often imprisoned, or else they mysteriously disappeared.
So Tasiya took joy in her father’s success. She celebrated it as her own success because it was the only type of achievement she would ever be allowed.
After setting her mother’s silver tray with a plate, fork and napkin, Tasiya reached for the coffeepot and—
Gunshots exploded in the living room. “Papa!”
“Tasiya!”
She ran to her father as the front door splintered and cracked around the lock and swung open. Four or five men dressed in black from head to toe stormed in, along with rifles and curses and a blast of snow and frigid air.
“What are you— Papa!”
She never reached him. One of the men grabbed her around the neck and shoved her back into the kitchen. “Stay back!”
Tasiya twisted to see around the man blocking the archway with his gun. Though her father struggled, Anton was no match for the three men who dragged him outside into the snow. “Papa!”
Not waiting to ask questions, Tasiya pulled the lid from the coffeepot, grabbed the handle and whirled around to sling the steaming liquid into the man’s face. Even with a stocking mask on, the scalding coffee did the trick. He screamed in pain, lifted his hands to his face.
She scooted past him and dashed out the door in her slippered feet. “Where are you taking him? Papa!”
She leaped down the front steps and saw to her horror they weren’t taking Anton anywhere. Instead, two of the men pushed her father down onto his knees in the middle of the street. The third man pulled a gun from his belt and placed the barrel against her father’s forehead.
“No! Don’t!”
Tasiya ran straight into the nightmarish scene. Snowflakes bit into her cheeks, and cold soaked into her feet. She shoved the gun aside and hugged her father’s head to her breast.
“Don’t hurt him!”
“Tasiya, no—”
“What do they want?”
“Isn’t this a pretty picture?”
Tasiya recognized that voice. Smooth and arrogant, used to having its own way. She spun around as the fifth man approached, not dressed in black like the others, but wearing a finely cut suit and expensive wool coat. Keeping her hands on her father’s shoulders, she stared at the familiar face in shock. But she didn’t for one minute think this man would help.
“Minister Mostek.” Her employer. Her father’s supervisor. The man with the beautiful wife and three children and roving eye. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded. “What do you want?”
“Justice.” He trailed the tip of one leather-gloved finger along her jaw and Tasiya flinched. His smile never reached those cold, beady eyes. “Your father has stolen from me.”
“It was so little,” Anton protested. “I only took enough—”
With a nod from Mostek, one of the so-called soldiers of the kingdom rammed the butt of his gun into her father’s temple. Tasiya sank to her knees as he fell, cradling his bleeding head in her arms.
“Your bonus,” she murmured. Not a reward for a job well done. But funds stolen from the coffers of men who would terrorize their own country in the name of order and line their own pockets while citizens starved. “Let him go,” Tasiya pleaded, looking up at Mostek. “He’s an old man. He’s no threat to you. He was only trying to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. You cannot punish a man for trying to survive.”
Dimitri Mostek cared so little for her father’s plight that he’d pulled a tiny cell phone from his pocket and placed a call. “We have him,” he reported, his greedy eyes dropping to the beaded tips of her breasts, made rigid by the wintry air seeping through her blouse. “We will execute him and set an example for others like him who would put themselves before our cause.”
Execute?
“No!” Tasiya bolted to her feet, not knowing where to place herself with three guns all aimed at her father. “Minister…Dimitri…please.”
His black eyes glistened as she used his given name. He’d asked her to do that before. In the pantry one morning where he’d trapped her unloading groceries. In his son’s bedroom when she’d been changing the sheets. One time he’d held on to her paycheck until she’d said his name. Each time she’d reminded him she was there to work, to perform menial tasks for his family, nothing more. But to save her father…
“Take me instead.” Bold words for a woman of no value.
“Tasiya, no.” Her father’s weak voice whispered from the ground at her feet.
Mostek held up his hand. The guns lowered. “You would be killed in your father’s place?”
The man she’d burned inside the apartment came charging down the steps. “You bitch!”
Tasiya whirled around and gasped at the raised hand swinging toward her face.
“No!” Mostek grabbed the man by the collar and shoved him into a snowbank. “Stand down.”
“But she—”
“I said no.” Mostek’s deep, articulate order silenced the man. “No one touches her but me.”
The man in the snow, nursing his scalded cheek and humilated pride, had shed his stocking cap. But it wasn’t enough damage to keep Tasiya from recognizing the chief of security in Mostek’s office. Her heart raced at the discovery. She glanced all around her. Did she know all these masked men?
Dimitri shrugged, straightened his coat and faced her with a smile that oozed a repugnant brand of charm. “So, Anastasiya. You would sacrifice yourself for your father?”
He seemed to doubt her loyalty to the only family she’d ever known, the only person she’d ever loved. “If it will spare his life.”
Tasiya’s deep breaths clouded the air around her as she waited for a response. She lowered her eyes, sensing Mostek’s traditional beliefs that a woman shouldn’t be allowed to address anyone, especially a man, above her station.
“Such a waste of beauty.” She detected the same lustful hunger that had repulsed her when he’d offered to set her up as his mistress that day in the pantry.
“Yes. I’m here.” Mostek’s voice sharpened. He was talking into the phone now, though she could feel his gaze on her. “Anton’s daughter has offered herself to me as a gift in exchange for his life. I would like to accept.”
“No.” Anton tugged at her skirt. He wavered as he pulled himself to a sitting position and clung to her arm. “She cooks and cleans for you, but she will not be your whore.”
Mostek flicked his hand and the guns went up again. “Then you will die.”
“Papa…”
Mostek spun away, arguing with the man on the phone. “I have been your loyal servant, carried out every secret…”
“These are very dangerous people, Tasiya.” Anton reached for her hand. “I knew the risks when I embezzled their money.”
She knelt beside him. “But the punishment does not fit the crime.”
“These are terrorists, my love. They do not care who they hurt, only that their cause endures and is triumphant.”
