Aequitas - Hope Anika (i like reading books txt) 📗

Do you ever dream of me?

He didn’t expect a response.

In the six months Cian had spent cajoling his Aequitas—also known as Honor Genovese—into communication, she’d only ever replied a handful of times—mostly to tell him to go fuck himself.

Good, then, that he was a tenacious bastard. Because regardless of Honor’s refusal to talk to him, he wasn’t giving up.

He planned on keeping her.

As he’d told her, they were the same. Driven by blood and vengeance and accountability. Righting the wrongs; warriors of the wounded. Dedicated to something bigger than themselves.

He would have never predicted the events that had unfolded before him, but he was no fool.

He knew a miracle when he received one.

And if she was a little obstinate in sharing his vision…well. He had all the time in the world.

He’d already spent five years tracking her down, countless hours whittled away surfing the electronic highways of the world until he’d managed to pinpoint her location. And if she hadn’t been who she was—taking the risks she took—he would have never succeeded.

He would have never known she existed at all. No, he’d found her by accident. Unexpected, stunning; captivating as hell. Sharp and efficient as any blade.

He hadn’t expected the single, unilateral stroke that had changed his life, and if part of him had bucked at the perceived loss—after all, she hadn’t owned that moment of vengeance alone—when he’d come to understand who she was, and why she’d cleaved his revenge out from beneath him, he forgave her. Because it was hers as well as his, and when she’d acted, she’d avenged them both.

Whether she knew it or not.

His unknowing—and, he suspected, quite unwilling—champion. The biggest temptation he’d ever faced.

A delicate scalpel to his serrated blade. His perfect match. If only she would—

I don’t dream.

I need your help.

Cian blinked. He stared at his computer screen, and every muscle lining his frame went taut.

Well?

For a moment, he didn’t move. Frozen, his heart thudding hard, his blood a sudden, furious rush. And then his fingers kicked in. “Took you long enough.”

Suck it.

Which made him laugh, half-disbelief, half-delight. “What can I help you with, a rứnsearc?”

Stop calling me that.

I need…

No matter the miles that separated them, he could always read her. The fury, the pain, the frustration. The temptation she fought so valiantly, never realizing she couldn’t possibly win.

They were fated. Nothing could stop that, not even her.

And her fear now was sharp and ripe, like the air that streamed in the window next to him, salty with the sea. She was pushing herself. Taking a risk. On him.

Finally.

“Tell me,” he whispered, coaxing her with his keys.

This doesn’t mean anything.

That I’m asking for help.

You’re just…the most convenient man for the job.

Cian didn’t care. She was coming to him. That was all that mattered. “What can I do for you?”

A long pause that made panic lick through him. Then:

There’s someone I’ve been looking for.

I found her.

He knew immediately who she was talking about: her sister, Hannah. The child she’d admitted she was searching for during the one, true conversation they’d had. The child Vladimir Dragunov’s men had stolen after they’d killed Honor’s father and brother and left her to die in a pool of her own blood.

He wished they weren’t dead, so that he could kill them.

“Do you want me to bring her to you?” he typed, everything within him stilling as he awaited her answer.

Another long pause.

No.

I want you to take me to her.

Adrenaline slammed into him. “I can do that.”

Just a ride, some help on the ground.

That’s all I’m asking.

Oh, but she would get so much more. She didn’t even know.

He laughed again, and the relief and exultation he heard told him he wasn’t truly as patient as he liked to believe. He wanted her beside him. Working, playing. Being. Because he knew she didn’t live, not truly, and he was determined to change that. To give her the life she sacrificed in order to placate the fury and pain that drove her.

Separate they were powerful; together they would be unstoppable. “You know I’ll help. Always.”

Don’t make this into something it isn’t.

You say you’re my friend—so be one.

He could do that, too. Because he had to start somewhere. “When?”

I can meet you at Charles de Gaulle in the morning.

Can you do that?

He would fly to the fucking moon if necessary. “Yes. Where are we going?”

Estonia.

His smile widened, and he turned to look out at the vast, deep blue stretch of the Gulf of Finland. The most convenient man for the job.

Apparently so. Lucky bastard. “What else?”

She hesitated again, and his fingers stilled.

All I have is a photo and a general location.

Satisfaction slid through him. She was sharing. Trusting. And it didn’t matter, that he knew she despised the necessity, that it was—he was—nothing more than a necessary evil.

She’d come to him. Freely. His pathologically careful woman was throwing caution to the wind. It was more than he’d dared hope for. And he wouldn’t squander the concession.

Not in any way.

“Send it to me.” He typed in his private email, aware that he was trusting, too.

Because she wasn’t the only one hunted. But she’d obviously figured out who he was; not that he’d tried to hide. He needed her to understand who he was.

Why?

So belligerent. Honest and funny and