Aequitas by Hope Anika (best classic books of all time .txt) 📕

“His name is Andrei Petrov. He’s a weapons manufacturer out of Tallinn. While it’s highly likely he sells arms to anyone with the funds, I couldn’t find any evidence of wrongdoing; the man reeks of legitimacy. His company does business globally, but he’s careful to stick to dealing on the right side of international and local law. He’s not a major player, but also not a man you want to cross. He’s loosely connected to the Stavos Brotherhood, a collective of Russian loyalists who’ve dedicated themselves to reuniting the Soviet Union, and he has a reputation as a hard, unbending bastard who doesn’t take kindly to being fucked with. I don’t know how long he’s had Hannah, or how he got her. I don’t know if she’s with him willingly or under duress. But she is with him.” Cian paused. “On that, there’s no argument, at least. Petrov has an estate on the outskirts of the city, manned by a dozen hired guns and a state of the art security system. He won’t be easy to infiltrate.”

Honor stared at the information spread out on the table before her, painfully aware that she was going to owe the man beside her, no matter what. Because here was everything she needed—and then some.

We’re going to get your sister back.

She was beginning to believe it.

Damn him.

How did he know? Who she was, who Hannah was? More importantly, why did he care?

She didn’t know, and that scared the shit out of her.

A fat, decadent pastry glazed with shiny white icing sat next to her. Bacon, eggs, French toast. Belgium waffles, crepes, fat, sizzling sausage links. Fruit, granola, yogurt. Anything anyone could possibly want for breakfast was laid out like Thanksgiving dinner, and Cian indulged in everything, eating so much she was surprised he didn’t split at the seams. For a man so…fit, it was surprising.

And tempting. That stupid pastry was calling her name.

But she didn’t want to accept anything; she’d already allowed too much. He was a man who would take her over if she let him. She didn’t need to be experienced with men to recognize that. He was like Sam: he got the job done. And he didn’t bend. He did what he thought was best, and to hell with anyone who disagreed.

Perhaps it should have relieved her, his resemblance to Sam, but it didn’t. Because Sam was honest and strong and good; she trusted Sam.

She didn’t trust Cian. Not even a little bit.

The way he looked at her… No. She didn’t know much about men—relationships, love—but she wasn’t blind. He wanted her. And he didn’t bother to hide it. Instead, he challenged her with it, and damned if some part of her didn’t want to take him up on that challenge. But the rest of her knew better, understood how out of her depth she was, how painful a lesson she was courting.

Hannah. Focus on Hannah.

Get in, get her sister, get out.

With herself intact.

Her secrets intact.

Jesus, how much did he know?

For a woman who lived in the gray area, it was shocking. And she wanted to know what he knew and how. Because him knowing anything was very, very dangerous, and no matter how often he reassured her that he could be trusted, Honor knew better.

No one was safe.

“Petrov is having a benefit at his estate for Syrian refugees tomorrow night,” Cian said and popped a strawberry into his mouth. “We’re on the guest list.”

Honor stared up at him. “How?”

A flash of that roguish smile, one that made her stupid heart skip a beat. “I’m a good man to know, a rứnsearc.”

That she could believe.

He nudged the pastry toward her. “You know you want to.”

Always with the daring.

“Indulge,” he murmured, and when her gaze met his, his eyes gleamed, and she knew he was talking about more than the pastry.

She looked away, back at the photo on the table.

Andrei Petrov. The man who had Hannah.

He was average. Average height, average looks; the only remarkable thing about him was his twenty thousand dollar suit. In his fifties, with a head of salt and pepper hair and indistinct features. Flat eyes, narrow mouth.

Nothing special, one way or the other. Who was he? How did Hannah end up with him?

What happened to you, little sister?

“We’ll get her back,” Cian said softly, and Honor could feel his gaze, as heavy as a physical touch.

She was still angry over the way he’d handled her, as if she was a child in need of leading. His possession was misplaced, and she didn’t appreciate it. He had no right to touch her, especially not like that.

He wanted something. Something beyond her in his bed; Honor was certain. He had to. People didn’t do for others; they did to others. That was the world. So what was it?

And why did she have the feeling it would be something she couldn’t afford?

“Eat,” Cian said.

She looked up at him. “It won’t work.”

“What?”

“Seduction.”

His brows rose. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Don’t pretend,” she told him. “Is that why you’re doing this? For a fuck?”

Darkness slid over his features, and he leaned down, so close she could smell the sweet scent of strawberry on his breath. Heat flashed through her. “Don’t malign it.”

She blinked. “Malign what?”

“I like you, lass. I respect you. There’s more to it than just the fucking.”

Another jolt of heat, turning her joints liquid. Among other things. The fucking. As if it just was. “There will be no fucking.”

That darkness spread, until his face was hard and lined, and she saw, in that instant, the man who’d built an empire from nothing. A man feared in some circles and revered in others. A man with blood and death on his hands.

But her hands weren’t any cleaner, and goddamn it, the sight of that man made her…want.

You are totally fucking fucked.

“Aye, well, we’ll see about that, a rứnsearc,” he said, and there was no mistaking the promise—threat—in him.

She licked her lips, and his gaze followed the movement, and something within her flared, an ache, a demand. “I have money, connections, invaluable contacts. We can make a fair trade.”

A smile curved his mouth, but there was nothing humorous, nothing pleasant. “I told you: I’m doing this for you. And I expect nothing in return.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Nay. I may want something, but I don’t expect it. There’s a world of difference between the two.”

The smell of him invaded her nostrils. His hands came down to brace themselves against the table, muscle hardening beneath the sweater he wore, which fit him like a glove. A tremor moved through her, and she had an insane image flash through her head: him, above her, naked, his body rippling as he—

“No.” She took a deep, gulping breath, struggling to regain the control he stole so effortlessly. “I don’t…I’m not… Just no. No.”

“Why not?”

She shook her head, and an odd, painful yearning sliced through her. Goddamn him. “I’m alone. I like it that way.”

“That’s because it’s all you know,” he said, his voice gentle. “I ken that, lass. But you’re not alone any longer. Best you accept that. Things will go easier—for us both.”

She glared up at him. “There’s nothing easy about me.”

“Nay, you’ll make me earn it.” He leaned closer, so close that—for one terrified and thrilling moment—she thought he was going to kiss her. “I’m prepared for that.”

“Why?” she whispered, baffled.

“Because you’re worth it.”

Those words made a thin fissure erupt within her, a line so deep she knew it cracked the wall she lived behind all the way to its foundation. But before she could respond, the huge, scary African man Cian called Akachi appeared behind him.

“We are going to land,” he said, his black eyes hard.

Distrust and warning emanated from him; he watched Honor as though he expected her to palm the silver, and while she was mostly offended by that, she knew it was