The Khan by Saima Mir (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📗

laughed. Maybe at his joke, maybe at herself for being there, maybe because if she didn’t she’d cry. She didn’t really know which it was.

‘Yes, perhaps,’ she said, then added, ‘I want to stay…’

He was about to say something about their son being in the house and the inappropriateness of the situation when she kissed him. He pulled away, unsure of what was happening. She leaned in closer, her warm breath caressing his neck. ‘I want to fuck your brains out,’ she whispered. He decided he would leave the emotional fallout until tomorrow.

She bit him, she gnawed at his lips, she sucked the kisses out of his mouth. Her hands held him fast and tight, and he let her. They moved to the bed, falling into it as they had when they were young, but this time it was more about forgetting than making memories. His mind kept wandering and he kept dragging it back. What would he tell their son in the morning? That was the difference between youth and age. Youth was always in a hurry, while age was eager to slow everything down, to think things through before acting.

His scent entered her bloodstream and hit her hard and fast, sharpening her senses, cutting the cord of self-restraint and destroying all logical reasons not to do this. She wanted to press him into her; she wanted to make herself whole again, the way she used to be. The old Jia, the innocent Jia, the one without blood on her hands, the one who was fearless. Her hands moved lower, unbuttoning his clothes, pulling him closer, making him hard, taking him into her. She wanted to lose herself in his smell and make him bend to her will, to control him, own him, make him feel things that only she knew how. And he, in shock from the moment she’d arrived, allowed himself to give in to her will.

Afterwards he lay on the bed, spent, exhausted, still reeling from the shock of it all. ‘Did you find what you needed?’ he said, as she came back to the room from the bathroom.

‘Yes, thanks,’ she said. She was wearing his shirt, and in the faded light she looked exactly the way she had done when they’d first made love. She began to take it off and he wondered if he had the energy to do it all again. But she put on her own clothes.

‘You’re leaving?’ he asked.

‘I can’t stay,’ she said. ‘It’s not a good idea for Ahad to see me here.’ Her directness, the mention of their son, took him by surprise again. It was the first time he had heard her say his name.

‘But this just feels sort of wrong somehow, your leaving, I mean.’

‘It was just sex.’

She was right. But these words, from those lips, were unexpected.

‘How have you changed this much?’ he whispered, intrigued and a little afraid. Because she had changed more than he could ever have imagined. He watched her dress and tie back her hair in that way she used to when they were together. He’d never really stopped loving her. She collected her things and she left, kissing him as she did so, telling him to bring Ahad to the funeral. And in that moment, watching her walk away alone, in the dead of night, the same way she had come, he understood just how broken she was and that he was never going to get over her.

CHAPTER 24

The cups rattled on the tray as the old man set it down with trembling hands, removing the items one by one and placing them in front of Nowak and his guest. Some of the coffee spilled from the pot and he grabbed a cloth, mopping up frantically. ‘So sorry. So very sorry.’ His throat was dry, his words afraid to leave his mouth.

Nowak smiled at him. ‘Don’t worry, old man,’ he said, baring his teeth, then his smile vanished. ‘Now, get out.’ His clipped accent added to the directness of his words. The owner of the restaurant backed away quickly, relieved to be able to do so. He knew men who had lost their limbs for less.

Sitting across from him, Jia waited patiently. ‘Would you like this with your coffee or later?’ she asked, pointing to a box by her feet. The words ‘World’s Finest Sweethouse’ were embossed on it, a claim as confident as the gold it was written in.

‘Later. We can deal with these things in good time. I don’t like to do business without getting to know my associates first. Let us get acquainted,’ he said, and smiled wide, every tooth visible. ‘Last time we met, you weren’t very forthcoming, as I recall. Funny, isn’t it? You were working for me then, and a fine job you did.’ He paused. ‘My cousin, whose name you helped to clear, he was there on Friday when your brother tried to steal from me. In fact, he’s the one who’s been looking after him.’

Something in the way he said the words made a shiver run down Jia’s spine, though she did her best to hide it.

Nowak sat forward, his long, tapered fingers clasped into a steeple, and Jia was transported back to the café where he’d approached her a year ago. He was wearing the same cologne. It was gentle, inoffensive, expensive. ‘You know, in my country, women usually pour the coffee,’ he said, leaning in as if about to share a secret and then changing his mind. ‘I like the ways of the English. They claim to make no distinction between men and women. But you and I know they do.’ He paused, waiting for her to agree, continuing when she didn’t. ‘I like my coffee strong, like my loyalties. How do you take yours?’ he asked, lifting the pot.

‘I am your guest, I will take whatever you offer,’ she said. The room was hot, the air musty, like the red velvet curtains that were draped across the windows, blocking