by Rina Kent
My mission is put to an abrupt halt when the doors slide closed with brutal finality. Now, it’s only he and I in the car.
And I can’t breathe.
Damn it. Damn it.
Listen, brain, this is about the worst time for your meltdown. Help me out here, please.
I inhale deeply through my nostrils and exhale through my mouth a few times. That’s it.
The buzzing in my ears slowly subsides, and it helps that he faces the door, cutting off that intense eye contact. Or maybe I’m the only one who thought of it as intense.
His back is the only thing visible as he focuses on his phone and scrolls through it.
I’ve forgotten how larger than life he looks, how broad and tall he is. How physically perfect he is that it’s impossible to focus on anything but him. He’s wearing another Armani suit, dark gray, like the expression on his face when he walked in.
It’s been only a few seconds since then, but I could swear that he saw me, that he made eye contact. Did he not recognize me?
It must be the different clothes, hair, and thick glasses. Right. He couldn’t possibly relate Anastasia to Jane. We’re not the same anymore.
A brick the size of my laptop sinks to the bottom of my stomach, and it’s completely illogical. I shouldn’t be feeling this way because he didn’t recognize me. If anything, I should celebrate it. I should feel lucky.
But that’s the last sensation inside me as I dig my nails into the heel of my palm.
Then I peek at him, at the stranger from that night, and I’m once again struck by his majestic presence. He seems different than back then somehow, more serious, hard. Stuck-up.
And I can’t help thinking about his dominant orders when he fucked me.
Those dirty, dirty orders that subconsciously make me clench my thighs.
I internally shake my head in an attempt to push those images away.
What’s he doing at W&S anyway? Please tell me he’s only here on a visit and doesn’t actually work in the same building as me.
That would be just…cruel.
Just when I’ve left everything behind, something has decided to follow me. And not just something. Someone.
The British stranger who should be in New Jersey where I left him after he fucked me senseless.
“Do you work here?”
I jolt at the deep tenor of his voice, and an electric sensation zaps through my entire body. I almost forgot just how commanding his voice is, how it’s a bit mellow and cool to the ears.
God, just why does he have an accent?
He’s asking me, I realize. Either that or he’s speaking to a nonexistent person. I realize I’m praying he sees a ghost lurking in the corner. That would be less catastrophic than the alternative.
Next step of denial: hope that he’s merely curious about a random stranger in the elevator.
Though he doesn’t strike me as the type.
“Yes,” I say as calmly as I can manage. “I…started today.”
Please, let it go. Please.
My prayer is obviously not answered when he asks, still not facing me, “Which department?”
“IT.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jane.” My voice is lower now and I hope he doesn’t notice it, he doesn’t sense the tremor behind it.
But what he does is worse.
He turns around.
As in, he’s now facing me and I have a full view of him, of his chiseled face, sharp features, and piercing eyes that are glaring at me now.
He so infuriatingly beautiful, so handsome that there should be a rule against it. And when he glares? It makes him inexplicably hot and scary at the same time. His lips are set in a line, as disapproving as his eyes.
“That’s not true, now, is it? If I remember correctly…your name is Anastasia.”
Shit.
Fuck.
No.
He recognized me. Even with a completely different appearance, he recognized me. He shouldn’t have, but he did. And holy hell, did I tell him my real name? How could I be so careless, just how?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign nonchalance even though I’m physically pushing back against the metal railing.
It’s a cheap tactic, but it should be effective. People are mistaken for others all the time. This shouldn’t be any different. Besides, I did everything in my might to become the opposite of who I am. I wouldn’t be recognized by those I’ve known for years, let alone someone I spent a few hours with.
He steps toward me, or more like, he stalks, moving fluidly and with predatory steps that nearly make me wheeze.
Or maybe it’s the way he keeps staring into my eyes as if he’s ripping every single one of my façades apart and digging his fingers into the broken parts inside me.
It hits me then, the reason why I’m hyperventilating. I’m being burned alive by his sharp hazel eyes. They’re crushing and melting me and I have to stop looking at them.
But I can’t.
I feel like if I break eye contact, I’ll be in a worse danger than I am right now.
That he’ll use the change to confiscate a side of me I’ve been hiding from the world.
Even from myself.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He reaches a hand toward my face and I flinch away, but he wasn’t actually going for my face.
His fingers flex around my throat and he digs the pads into the flesh of my neck as his other hand hits the stop button and something else.
But I don’t focus on that.
I can’t.
Not when all my blood rushes to where his hand is on the sides of my throat. It’s not harsh with the intent of stealing my breath, but it’s firm enough to trigger memories of that night.
Memories of him touching me, immobilizing me, and setting me ablaze in a blast of smithereens. And those thoughts are plaguing me right now.
They’re tearing me to pieces.
Setting me on fire.
Ripping through my bones.
And I can’t stop the images or the full-blown heat that invades my nerve endings, specifically the ones he’s touching.
“You don’t know me, so this is my first and final piece of advice to you. Don’t fuck with me. Not only will you be the one fucked over, but I’ll also take pleasure in tearing you apart and feasting on the remains.”
I’m used to living under threat. Being offered an ultimatum and never actually having a choice. But his way of doing it, with cold calm, slashes through the fairies in my stomach. They’ve turned black now, which is a signal to run the fuck away.
But I can’t.
Not with his savage hold on my throat. There’s a control in it, a simmering firmness, and it’s much more ruthless than the dominance I experienced when he fucked me.
This one is laced with a tinge of anger or displeasure. Maybe both.
“Now tell me what your name is. The actual one.”
“J-Jane…” I don’t mean to stutter, but I did and he must hear it, because his hold tightens on my throat.
“I don’t appreciate liars, beautiful. Especially conniving ones.”
“I’m not…a…liar…” He has to believe me. Otherwise, the new beginning I painted for myself will be null and void.
He can’t know who I actually am.
No one can.
“Your blood that I found on the condom would testify otherwise.”
I gasp, wheezing and shaking while he stands there still as a stone, a cold one that could be used as a weapon.
“I thought you weren’t a virgin.”
I press my lips together, unable to utter a word.
“Turns out, you were a virgin, after all, and since you lied about your name just now, it means you’re used to lying. So tell me, what’s your purpose, hmm? What are you after, Anastasia?”
“Jane… It’s Jane…”
“So it is Anastasia. I suspected it before, but now that you’re insisting i
t’s Jane, I’m sure that isn’t your true name.”
Oh, God.
Just who is he and why is he doing this? Is it just because I lied about my virginity?
But he shouldn’t be this intense, angry, and violent about it.
“What’s with the name change, Anastasia?”
Every time he says my name, a jolt rips through me. It’s fast and sharp and leaves me as breathless as his hold on my throat does.
I tap his arm, choking on my nonexistent inhales, but I don’t fight him. If I do, I’ll be giving myself away.
Besides, it’s not that I need him to release me because he’s hurting me. It’s more because my reaction to his hold is scaring the shit out of me.
It’s scaring me more than the fact that he found me or that he’s endangering my new beginning.
He releases me slowly, and I grab the assaulted spot, breathing harshly, the sound ugly in the silence of the elevator.
I should be focused on that, but all I can do is inhale his cologne, basically sucking it into my lungs. The lime and male musk is too familiar. I recognize it because it’s been on my mind for two weeks
“You didn’t answer my questions, Anastasia.”
“Stop calling me that.” I adjust my glasses, using them as a shield. “It’s Jane. My name is Jane.”
He’s about to grab me by the throat again. I can tell from the darkening of his eyes, and if he does, I’ll find no way out this time.
I won’t be able to escape.
So I use a tactic that’s common in my family. Distraction.
“I have an idea,” I say.
“What’s that?”
I duck and before he realizes what I’m doing, I push the elevator button.
The moment it opens, I’m dashing outside, running with all my might.
But I know, I just know this is only a temporary escape.
The war I unintentionally started is far from over.
6
KNOX
“Hey, Dan. What’s the best way to punish liars?”
“Fuck if I know. I don’t punish liars, I fuck them.”
I stare at Daniel who’s sitting on the top of my desk, eating the donuts my assistant brought me. He’s a thief that way and couldn’t care less what others think about him as long as he gets what he wants.
For him, efficiency comes first and everything else is secondary.
“Why the fuck would you fuck liars?”
“Hello? Because it’s fun. Liars are usually the best fuck because you never know what you’re in for.”
I tighten my fist on the desk to resist agreeing to how true those words are. I hate not knowing what I’m in for. Unlike Dan, I never seek out the thrill. In fact, I prefer it not be part of the equation.
I prefer having everything under my control. I’ve lost enough of it to the shadows in the past and allowing it to happen again is equal to blowing up everything to pieces.
“Why would you think it’s fun when they’re using you?”
“You’re using them, too.” He swings his palm in the air, imitating tapping an arse. “And then it’s, “thank you, have a nice life, love. ””
“That still doesn’t give anyone the right to use me.”
He raises his brows, studying me, and even pauses eating his donut, which is the equivalent to an event itself. “Since when did you grow morality balls?”
“It’s not morality. It’s the insult of being taken for a fool.”
“Oh, fuck me, this is good.” He jumps down from my desk. “Who took you for a fool? I need to buy them a drink. Wait a second, is it someone you fucked without me? I need a redo, one I can participate in.”
“No.” The word is so firm and final, it surprises me.
I’ve never said no to sharing before and he knows this, because he’s tilting his head with an annoying smirk that creases his cheeks with dimples.
Women love that shit. He’s the one they’re initially attracted to, due to his wittiness, charm, and conversation skills. I’m usually only along for the ride. It’s not that they’re not attracted to me, it’s that they feel like they should keep their distance from me.
Which is the smart thing to do.
Anastasia was the smartest of the bunch, because she fled the scene while I was sleeping. From the very beginning, she never envisioned anything beyond good old fucking.
And while I might have let that slide under different circumstances, the fact that she’s a pathological liar doesn’t play in her favor.
She lied not only about the virginity bit, but also about her name and her age. Because I sure as shit got her file from HR after I ran into her in the lift. And fucking surprise, she’s only twenty, not twenty-three as she told me that night.
Then there’s her weird new appearance. When the lift doors opened, I almost ignored the person inside, almost didn’t even look at her, since I was busy checking the group chat with mine and Dan’s friends in England.
It was a brief second, barely a lift of my head, but it was enough for me to see her.
And it didn’t take me long to recognize her. The blue-eyed, icy-haired girl from Jersey.
Though now, she’s nothing like that soft-looking blonde with deep blue eyes. She has black hair that’s tied in a twist and wears thick fucking glasses to hide her eyes that have magically turned brown.
Any other person would’ve been fooled by her appearance, especially with the baggy clothes and the general nerdy aura she gives off. But there’s something she couldn’t do with her makeover.
She had a habit of touching her chest now and again during that night, as if she was trying to reach for something beneath her flesh and bones. The moment I looked at her, she did that again—brought her hand to her chest and froze.
Those same soft hands with short, elegant bare nails that she couldn’t have changed.
If I hadn’t thought something was fishy due to the whole new look and the lies, I confirmed it when she ran from the lift as if her life depended on it.
And now, I won’t stop until I see the end of it.
Of her and her lies and deceit.
“Am I imagining things or did you just say no to sharing?” Dan licks the chocolate off his fingers slowly, like a cat who just finished eating and is in the mood to play.
“You’re not imagining it.”
“Why?”
The reasons are blurred in my mind and I couldn’t find an explanation even if I tried. One thing’s for sure, though. Neither Daniel nor anyone else will put their hands on Anastasia until I deal with this on my own.
“Because.”
“No, no.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder. “You’re not getting away with “because.” I need reasons, reports, and maybe a medical checkup to verify that you’re not suffering from mental damage so that I can determine whether or not you should revise your will. Tell me the truth, are you dying? Oh, maybe you fell victim to black magic; that would explain why you’re not acting normal.”
“I am fucking normal.” I push his hand away and go to sit behind my desk.
“No, you’re not. Let me think.” He makes a dramatic scene of tapping his forefinger against his lip. “Are you acting this way because of the liar?”
“What if I am?”
“You really want to take her on solo?”
“I do.”
“But I’m the best wingman. You know that.”
“Not this time.”
“Why not this time of all times? Did you hit your head somewhere? Bloody hell. Did she give you an STD? First rule of shagging is to always wrap it up. Come on, mate, you’re not an amateur.”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it? Do I really need to get you that checkup? Maybe I could find a priest and do some exorcism shit. I’m telling you, if there’s a demon inside you, I get the rights to sell your story to Hollywood.”
“Shut the fuck up, you sorry cunt.”
“What? Do you have any idea how many pe
ople are suckers for this type of real shit?”
“Either help me brainstorm or get the fuck out, Dan.”
He throws his weight on the sofa and flings his arm over the back of it. Then he exaggeratingly flips his chestnut hair back. “I’m all for evil plans. What do you need?”
I knew he wouldn’t say no to trouble. Ever since we moved from London to the States ten years ago, we’ve plotted one disaster after the other.
Or, he has.
For Dan, it’s that rush of adrenaline. For me, it’s the distraction from the shadows that are often perched on my shoulder.
Either way, we never stop.
Stopping means killing ourselves slowly, and neither of us wants that.
Neither of us has the luxury of surrendering to our demons.
I put my elbows on my desk and steeple my fingers under my chin. “What I need is a background check.”
“On who?”
“A tech in the IT department.”
“I like where this is going. But aren’t two geeky guys the only techs there? Wait a fucking minute, did you change preferences? No judgment here, but I kind of need to know if I’m the reason you flipped the coin. I’m hot and all, but no way in fuck, Knox.”
“I could get attracted to the entire world, but not you, fucker. And no, I didn’t change preferences. There’s a new girl in the IT department.”
“Ohhh. Now we’re talking. But why would you need the background check? HR must’ve done their homework.”
“Not enough apparently, because she fooled them.”
“Blimey.” He grins with mischief. “I like her already.”
Don’t. I want to say that, but I stop myself at the last second. He’s already suspicious as it is and I don’t want to add fuel to the fire. Considering his bastard tendencies, he’ll make a story out of this and sell it out to our friends like a pimp.
“She’s a nerd,” I say instead, trying to hold on to my calm while sabotaging his image of her.
“What’s wrong with nerds? They can be hot as fuck.”
“She’s a natural blonde.”
His playful expression disappears. “Pass.”
I can’t help the satisfied smile that breaks on my lips. He has a personal thing against them that he’s harbored for years. Daniel’s type is every woman on the planet aside from blondes—especially natural blondes.