Page 84 of Enemy of the Heart

The only pitfall is when Viktor gets frustrated by the lack of results within his desired timeframe. It happens occasionally. I’m sure Digs is reassuring him that we’ll get to the bottom of it when we return.

Cracking somebody isn’t always about physical torture, though, and it takes time to wage a war on someone’s mind. That’s my specialty. Where Sean prefers to hurt someone’s body, I’d rather break someone’s brain. Whittle them down until they obey my every command. When I step into the interrogation room, my intent is to make someone my puppet. It’s more fun when they hand me the strings themselves and ask me to make them dance.

It’s fucked up, but that’s alright by me. I am who I am.

“So, what are we doing today? Should we go out tonight? We could drive into Budva.”

I chuckle. “Digs will not be down for clubbing, Lou.”

She sighs like this is news to her. It’s not. I swear we have this same conversation every summer when we come to Montenegro. “He’s lucky we love him. Remind me again why Lydia couldn’t come?”

I shake my head at her sarcastic remark, a smile on my lips. “Because she’s eight months pregnant with my baby.” My baby. I’m more than a little obsessed with those two words and even more so with the reality of what they mean. This is our second child—a girl this time—and I’m just as thrilled as I was the first time my beautiful wife said the words, I’m pregnant three years ago.

Lou’s bottom lip juts out in a good-natured pout. She leaps off the couch and bounces toward the French doors. “I’m going to try to talk him into having some fun. Wish me luck.”

“You’ll need more than luck,” I snark. “Better take a beer with you.”

“Oh, good thinking.”

Through the glass, I see that Sean’s moved on to smoking a cigarette now that he’s off the phone. Louhi would have better luck taming a lion. She gets points for trying, though. When she climbs into his lap with a beer for him, I reach for my phone.

I access the cameras inside my house and watch the feed of my wife setting a plate of food in front of our son. Jordan beams up at Lydia like she just offered sunshine after a year of darkness. brushes a kiss atop his head while absently rubbing a hand over her swollen belly. She looks beautiful like this, but she’s always stunning.

She tucks a strand of curly blonde hair behind her ear and sets about tidying the kitchen. A pang of guilt punches me in the gut. I should be there, helping so she could get off her feet. I wanted to. She’s the one who insisted I come on this trip, told me that she wouldn’t let me between those pretty thighs of hers unless I came to Montenegro.

It’s been four and a half years since Lou, Sean, and I came here just the three of us. Lydia has slotted into our group effortlessly since the start, even if she’s, by far, the nicest of our foursome. Some weeks, I think my wife spends more time with Lou than with me. That might be because we still live next door to each other, though.

Lydia didn’t bat an eye when she learned how Sean and I came to meet Louhi. She’s extremely accepting of the violence that bonds our group together, especially since she’s no stranger to brutality either. It thrums in her veins the same way it bubbles in mine.

Navigating to my messages, I send her the racy picture I snapped last night. Back on the camera feed, I smirk as she picks up her phone and covers her mouth with her fingers. She bites her lip, then looks directly into the camera lens—the one I swore she didn’t know about—that’s secretively positioned on the bookshelf in the living room.

Her eyes dart to Jordan. After confirming that he’s fully occupied with his back to her, she grips the collar of her dress and yanks it down to quickly flash me those creamy tits. I throw my head back and laugh. So does she, a bright, luminous grin on her face.

I switch over to the other feed that I paid Viktor to help me setup a year after we moved to Russia. My mother is looking older, but she’s okay. I watch her every day, and while there’s nothing I can do to ease her pain, seeing her helps me breathe.

There have been a handful of moments over the years when I questioned my decision to leave Exile Island the way I did when this was the consequence. Ultimately, I don’t regret it. I couldn’t have stayed there. Dying wasn’t an option, even if the consequence was watching the light dim in my mother’s eyes.

Today, she’s getting ready to host her book club. The kitchen table is decorated with cookies and beverages. Based on the angle of the camera, I only get her side profile now, but she looks to be humming something to herself, a pleasant curl to her lips. I haven’t told Sean about this camera or the fact that our moms are spending every available waking hour together.

It took him a long time to grieve the loss of his family. I understand and respect his method. I wouldn’t survive without watching my mother, though. I like to delude myself into thinking someday I might still be able to see her again or introduce her to her daughter-in-law and grandchildren. Someday.

I set my phone down and stride outside and cannonball jump into the deep end of the glittering pool. When I poke my head out of the water, I find Sean shaking water from his body like an overgrown dog and rolling his eyes at my antics while Lou flings herself into the water with me.

She tackles me, but it’s brief, because a second later, Digs is playfully semi-drowning us both. All three of our heads are tilted toward the summer sun, filling the air with our boisterous laughter.

Life is awesome, perfect even, and I don’t worry about bringing any potential bad luck our way. Nothing bad happens when the three of us are together. Not anymore.

THE END