Why did the beautiful ones have to be sociopaths?
His rich chocolate hair curled behind his ears, dark eyes focused on the food in front of him and his muscled body stretched and strained against the tight pale blue pinstripe shirt.
“Why are you here?” I asked, “Wasn’t I supposed to meet you?”
“Got hungry.” He shrugged.
“And every Starbucks within the vicinity was closed?” My eyebrows arched.
He chuckled.
A laugh escaped from between his lips.
I clenched my teeth together only because it was a nice laugh, warm like honey. Damn him.
“No.” He finally turned around, smile still in place. “I actually was thinking it would be good for us to have a chat before work.”
“A chat, huh?” I fidgeted in my seat.
“Yes.” His smile flashed again, and my knees went weak. I licked my lips and looked away.
“So chat.”
“Bossy.”
“Like you should talk,” I muttered.
“You look nice.” He pulled out a plate and served the eggs onto it then handed me a fork. “I like black on you.”
“Apparently you like black on people and white on walls.”
His smile froze. “Pardon?”
“Walls.” I pointed around me. “Everything you live in is pristine, white, makes a girl wonder if you hate getting dirty.”
His eyes darkened as he leaned forward and flicked his tongue across his lips. “Are you asking me if I like getting dirty?”
No. No I wasn’t. Because I was pretty sure we were talking about two different types of dirty, and I wasn’t at all prepared for his answer, not with the way he was looking at me like he could devour me in an instant.
“Um…” I shoveled a forkful of egg into my mouth and nodded. “Good eggs.”
His expression changed from predatory to innocence. “Thanks.”
Were we actually having a normal non-creepy conversation? I cleared my throat and continued eating so I wouldn’t ruin it by talking.
“Yesterday…” He ran his fingers through his hair. He did that a lot, almost like he used his hair for his power when he had to talk about things he didn’t want to talk about. “It was a hard day…”
“Can I ask why?”
“You can ask.” He shrugged, “But I’ll lie.”
“Alright, then.” I put down my fork and folded my hands. “So it was a hard day. Doesn’t mean you have a right to own a girl, make her sign over her life all within an hour of meeting her, then yell at her.”
“I never yelled.”
Sighing, I rolled my eyes. “Well, you sure don’t like using an inside voice.”
His face cracked into a smile. “Like I said before, I need someone of your talents.”
“I don’t have sex for money.”
“Why are you so concerned with having sex with me?” He smirked, “Seriously, I want to know.”
“Uh, I just, you seem like the type of man who—”
“—can’t get a woman without paying for her services?” He finished, “That type?”
“Well no, but—”
“The type of man who needs to make a woman sign a contract in order to engage in an illicit affair?”
Was he seriously asking me that? My cheeks burned with embarrassment while my heart thumped with a wild curiosity. Images of bondage and blindfolds danced through my mind… and those masks.
“That’s not what this is.” His eyes were kind, damn him, and I felt like crying. I could handle an ass, but someone sensitive to my feelings? Not so much. Because I hadn’t experienced it much in my short life… my mother ignored me as much as she could, paying all her attention to my father. And my father, well safe to say if he was ever given a father of the year award it would be because he freaking paid for it.
“So you need me,” I finally said after a few moments of tense silence. “Why exactly do you need me?”
“Your research—” He drummed his fingertips along the counter. “—amongst other things, is absolutely brilliant.”
My heart soared. “You really think so?”
“Absolutely.” He smiled. “I see real promise, and I want you to study under me, but some of the ways I do my own personal research isn’t exactly…” He shrugged. “Legal.”
“Thus the contract.”
“Exactly.”
“But thirty girls?”
He froze, drew a deep breath, then shrugged again. “They didn’t follow the rules, therefore they got fired. I decided that what I needed wasn’t necessarily an assistant to replace Jac but someone who could empathize with what I was doing.”
It was the most information he’d told me in two days. I clung to it like a lifeline. “And if I do well?”
“Then the world is yours.” He flashed a smile. “But all the rules from yesterday still stand… what I deal with is very sensitive and not known to the public. Do your job, with a smile on your face, and as we build trust… slowly, I’ll amend the contract.”
“So I prove my trust and I get Netflix?”
He chuckled softly. “Yeah, something like that, but one thing… you still can’t date… or sleep around. I can’t imagine that will be a problem for you all things considering but, I can’t have you mixing business with pleasure.”
And all the happy moments we shared just went out the window. “I’m not a saint.”
“Lie.” He leaned forward and winked. “I know everything about you. Now, let’s get to work. We have a short day before we go… fishing.”
“Fishing?”
“In a sense.” He shrugged. “For patients.”
“What?”
“Keep up.” He knocked the counter top with his hands. “I’ll show you what you’ll be doing during the day and during the evening… you’re mine.”
“Can’t wait,” I said dryly.
“Most women… would be… pleased.” He shoved a pair of keys in his pocket, looking sexy as hell while doing it. “I imagine you’d rather stab me.”
“Good guess.” I said with a sweet voice.
“Russians.” He shook his head. “Always so ruthless.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Prove your worth, Maya. Let’s go.”
Fear has big eyes—Russian Proverb
MY PHONE HADN’T STOPPED BUZZING IN my pocket all morning. The very second I led Maya off the elevator and escorted her into my office, I knew, something was very, very wrong.
I felt it in the pit of my stomach.
I saw it in the gray cast sky.
She was dead.
With shaking hands, I basically shoved Maya into a desk, fired off instructions about some shit research I needed done then excused myself and went into one of the conference rooms.
Seven missed calls.
All from Sergio Abandonato, cousin to one of the most influential Italian mafia families in Chicago. He was married to Andi, Maya’s half sister. I’d basically grown up with Andi. While Maya was kept away from what her father did, Andi was used as a shiny tool for the FBI, infiltrating their systems at such a young age that even I had been impressed.
After selling out her father and one of the dirty agents at the bureau, the Abandonatos had offered Andi protection by marriage.
I’d expected her to kill Sergio the first night.
She hadn’t.
I’d expected her to drive him insane with lust.
She had.
Their marriage was supposed to be an arrangement, a way to protect her with their family name while she fought a losing battle with leukemia.
Instead, it had turned into so much more.
I’d visited during the wedding a few months ago, and even then I knew. I saw it in the way she talked to him, her body language whenever they were in a room together. And well, she was Andi; no sane man could deny her anything.
“You love him?” I asked once we were alone in her bridal room. She did a twirl for me then shrugg
ed her shoulders and reached out her hand. I grasped her fingertips as anger washed over me anew. Ice cold. I was a doctor. I knew what was happening to her, damn it. It was almost like I could see the sick blood in her system, and even me being who I was, one of the most brilliant minds in modern medicine, I could do nothing to stop the disease—nothing.
It was like a sharp knife getting twisted into my chest, watching her smile as if she had all the time in the world. Normal girls, on their wedding day, look in the mirror and fuss over makeup or the way the dress fits, but Andi? She didn’t have a complaint in the world. And out of everyone I knew, she should complain—she never did.
“Nik?” Andi gave my shoulder a little squeeze. “You’re doing that weird thing where you stare into space and you get a wrinkle between your eyes.” She pressed the skin between my eyebrows and scrunched up her nose. “Penny for those dark morose thoughts?”
With a sigh, I pushed her hand away then pulled her into my arms, my mouth hovered near her ear. “He will never deserve you.”
“And you did?” She fired back quickly.
I sighed and pulled away. “I guess I deserved that.”
“Yup.” She grinned.
I licked my lips and forced my gaze away from her mouth. “I’ll do what I can to keep your father away, Andi. But you know even I can’t make any promises.”
“He still owns you… doesn’t he?”
I didn’t answer her.
“Nik, I worry for you.” As she should. The Cosa Nostra was organized in a way that the Russian Mafia could only dream of, there was a certain respect amongst the Italians, a loyalty, not just based on family ties but blood.
“Don’t,” I said in a detached voice while I anxiously rubbed the sickle tattoo imprinted in black ink across my hand. “The last thing you need to do is add more worry to your life. Just promise me, if the Italians don’t hold up their end of the bargain, you’ll leave a trail of blood in your wake.” I had to say it, even though I knew they would. That’s just who they were.
Andi barked out a laugh. “Violent Russian.”
“Half Russian.” I corrected.
“Still counts.” She winked, then sobered. “Are you still a Boevik for my father, Nik? Tell me…”
Emotion clogged my throat mixing with the disgust and anger already present. I had to look away. “Just, be happy Andi, and if you need anything, ever…”
“There’s one thing,” Andi piped up.
“Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like what you’re about to say?”
“Because you won’t. Always trust your gut, Nik.”
I rolled my eyes in an attempt to get her to blurt out the favor rather than concentrate on my many sins or the way the Pakhan,r her father, still held me by the balls. “What is it Andi?”
“Come to my funeral.”
“Andi!”
“What? It’s only fair, I invite you to my wedding, and you’re really the only true family I have.” Guilt gnawed at the center of my chest. That wasn’t true. She had a sister, she’d just never met her. “Please? I need mother Russia present.”
“Fine.” I licked my lips forcing myself to smile when all I really wanted to do was anything but promise her that I would be at the funeral. I lived for death, it had never bothered me, until her. “I’ll do it.”
“Great, and Nik?”
“Hmm?”
“She must be really pretty.”
“Damn mind-reader.” I muttered pulling out a short glass and pouring whiskey into it. I was at work. Drinking. Something that, while in medical school, was clearly preached against, not that I was practicing surgery right that moment. My hands shook, making the drink in my hand nearly tip over the glass. With a curse I threw back the entire contents and called Sergio back.
“Sergio?” I barked into the phone.
He was silent for a few seconds and then. “She’s gone.”
Hollow, his voice was so hollow, like his world had stopped functioning properly, then again, how does the world continue its turn? Without the sun to lead it, the moon to follow?
“My offer.” I licked my lips, tasting the sweet whisky still caked along them. “It still stands.” A few months ago I’d told him I’d make him forget in the only way I knew how—he didn’t know it at the time but it was like a handshake, a gift, an offer of service, gratitude, loyalty.
Sergio sighed heavily. “Russians.”
“So?”
“I’d rather feel…” he whispered. “Because that means it happened. And she deserves to be remembered in the most raw way possible. So, today, my answer is no. Tomorrow, my answer? It will still be no.”
“If you’re sure.”
“She wanted you at the funeral.”
“I know.” I cleared my throat. It did nothing to keep the sadness dripping from my voice. “I’ll make arrangements.”
The line went dead.
I tossed the phone onto the counter and wiped my hands over my face as the choking sensation of loss washed over me.
Andi, the only friend I’d ever known, the daughter to one of my most hated enemies, the daughter to the man who held so much of the world in his hands, was gone forever.
I glanced over at the closed door. Maya was on the other side, oblivious to the fact that the world would forever be a bit darker without her sister in it.
I didn’t want to have that conversation.
I wasn’t ready for it yet. Would I ever be ready?
There were still so many secrets I was keeping from her, so many loose ends that I was having trouble remembering what to keep close and what to share. She made it impossible for me to distance myself.
And that’s what I needed to do.
She’d cracked her knuckles.
Stupid of me, at such a young age, to give her such a tell, but completely necessary.
“When you feel the memories return… simply crack your knuckles and they’ll be nothing but a fleeting thought. Do you understand me?”
Maya blinked hard, her eyes glassy. “No.”
I held the knife to her wrist and cut slowly. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, does it?”
“No.” She choked out. “It feels.”
“Freeing.” I answered for her. “As it should. Now, what happens when you crack your knuckles?”
Her eyes darted back and forth, unable to focus on any one thing for too long. “I…” She blinked again. “It means… it means I’m remembering but, I don’t know what.”
“You’re remembering how much you love ice cream.”
She nodded. “Yes… vanilla.”
“You love vanilla.”
Cursing, I pushed the memory away and stood, made sure to glance in the mirror. Every dark piece of hair was in place, my crisp black suit was tailored to perfection, my blue striped shirt buttoned in all the right places, but my eyes.
They were, as always, soulless. And today, of all days, I was bothered by that. Because it was just another reminder that the world wasn’t fair.
That a man like me should be allowed to live.
When people like Andi were taken too soon.
Nothing about it was fair.
I clenched my fists. This was why I was working so hard to save Maya, why I signed that damn contract with her father, why I was fighting my ass off to keep her at a distance.
So when the time came.
The darkness didn’t become her prison.
But her freedom.
Pier Killer still at large even though no killings have been reported in a week. –The Seattle Tribune
THAT MORNING I QUICKLY LEARNED SOMETHING about Nikolai—he had multiple personalities. No really, it was the only explanation as to why, when the elevator doors opened, what was once a commanding and terrifying individual took a plant from an elderly receptionist and watered it.
Right, he watered it.
I would have laughed had it been funny but it was more confusing than anything. It was kind of like watching a politician run a
n “I’m normal just like everyone else” campaign.
I half expected him to start kissing babies and giving away free puppies.
He calmly—and, mother of all shocks—patiently described what I’d be doing during the day in the office next door to his.
Research.
And then, like he had multiple personalities, he just… snapped. With his cell phone in hand he glanced down, paled, then fired off instructions about being worth what he was paying me.
“The newest strains of STDs.” He threw a file onto my desk. “Study the information collected and research about possible cures.”
He had started to sweat.
Then nearly stumbled into the wall as he made his way to that weird secret door and slammed it behind him.
My heart was hammering so hard against my chest as an uncomfortable silence descended. What was he doing?
I swallowed the lump of fear in my throat, because, he wasn’t just weird, he was, completely unpredictable.
I pressed my hands firmly on the large oak desk and eyed the Keurig to my left. Well, I at least knew how to make coffee. I could do that. Having no idea when he was going to be popping out of his weird super villain room, I made two cups set one on his desk and brought mine over to my chair and began pouring over the folders.
Ten minutes after his weird outburst, Nikolai emerged through the door, his stance rigid, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
Ignoring me, he walked briskly to his desk stared at the cup of coffee I’d made with a frown clouding his features.
Anxiety washed over me. Was the coffee a bad idea?
“What’s this?” He pointed at it, his eyebrows drawn together in what looked like utter disbelief.
“Coffee,” I said boldly. “Some people need it in order to function, but being who you are, I wasn’t sure if you actually needed anything other than blood and the souls of virgins to make it through the day, so I took a gamble.”
His lips twitched. “I can’t remember the last time someone made me coffee.”
“Not even at Starbucks?”
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