by Rina Kent
“What are you going to do after you have the background check?” he asks more seriously.
“I don’t know. Play with her, punish her. Torment her. The sky is the limit.”
During lunchtime, I head to the IT department. Something I don’t usually do. Dan and Sebastian, another one of the junior partners who’s also Nathaniel Weaver’s nephew, gave me a weird look when I ignored our usual lunch gathering.
But I ignored them.
I’m on a mission that will take place on the “nerds’ floor,” as everyone at W&S calls it.
The receptionist desk is empty and I assume everyone is out for lunch. Everyone except her, because I didn’t notice her in the cafeteria yesterday or just now. Which means she takes her lunch here.
And bingo.
She’s sitting at her desk, her shoulders and back in a straight line as she eats a sandwich with one hand and types something on her keyboard with the other.
Just like yesterday, her hair is black and tied in a stiff bun, and the thick glasses cover half of her face.
Only her lips remain the same, petite and full, but they’re bare, with none of the red from two weeks ago.
Her entire face is free of makeup, but it’s still as delicate as I remember. Pale, too. So pale that I make out the thin veins in her throat when I’m within touching distance.
So pale that I left angry red bruises on her hips when I grabbed her by them while I thrust inside her heat.
At the memory, my dick hardens, tenting against my trousers, and I suppress a groan as I adjust it.
Down, boy. It’s not time for you…yet.
The distinct scent of orange blossoms and jasmine reaches me and I close my eyes to inhale it. Another thing that’s remained the same from that night. Another thing that I can’t stop thinking about.
She smells as delicate as she appears. She might be discreet, but something a lot more wild simmers beneath the surface.
Something I’ve had a taste of and can’t erase from my memories.
“If you were changing identities, you should’ve switched your perfume, too.”
She startles, the chair jolting with her sudden movement, and the sandwich remains suspended near her mouth.
Slowly, too slowly, she rotates the chair so that she’s facing me. Her throat bobs up and down with a thick swallow and I can’t stop watching those fine purple veins moving beneath the transparent skin of her neck.
The neck I held in a chokehold not so long ago, which I itch to repeat. Or maybe that’s not the part I’m most thrilled about. Maybe the part that’s stuck in my head is how I had her completely at my mercy, where her only way out was me.
“You.” It’s either a whisper or a pant, I’m not sure which. What I am sure about, however, is that she didn’t expect me.
Good.
I like taking people by surprise, both inside and outside the courtroom.
My lips curve in a sardonic smirk. “Me.”
“What are you doing here?” She searches around the IT department as if it’s her fortress and I broke entry into it. Or maybe she’s looking for an ally. Unfortunately for her, there is none.
The best way to crush someone? Leave them with no way out.
“Did you really think you could run away and I’d just forget about it?”
“Well, you should.”
“Just because I should, doesn’t mean I would.”
Her lips twist, and I assume it’s because she detected the sarcasm in my tone. “We have…nothing to do with each other.”
“I fucked your virgin cunt and made you scream until your voice turned hoarse, not to mention, the marks I left all over your pale skin. I’d say we have something to do with each other.”
She squirms visibly, and it takes her a few gulps to speak. “Even if that were the case—”
“Even if? Why are you acting as if it wasn’t real?”
“It’s in the past. It means nothing.” Furious determination laces her sweet, soft voice, and I don’t know which pisses me off more: the fact that she’s determined it means nothing or that what happened holds no significance to her in the first place.
“I haven’t agreed to that.”
“I don’t think your agreement is of importance.”
“I would argue otherwise. After all, I’m the only one at Weaver & Shaw who knows your real name, Anastasia.”
She releases a long puff of air. “It’s not—”
“Don’t utter that lie or you won’t get away with it this time.”
She blinks slowly, letting the sandwich fall to her lap. “What do you want from me?”
“The truth. All of it. And that includes your real name, true appearance, and your purpose for being here.”
“Jane is the only name I have. This is my actual appearance, the other one was fake. As for my purpose, I’m really just trying to work to keep food on the table.”
She’s still lying. I can tell when someone is, even if they’re perfect at it like she is. Usually, people give themselves away with tics or out-of-character body language, but she was completely still and calm when she uttered those lies.
Either she’s practiced them for a long time or she’s so used to lying that it doesn’t faze her anymore.
“That doesn’t look like working to me.” I motion at the screen behind her, where she has a Google page open with my name at the top.
She throws the sandwich aside and clicks something on the screen that makes it go black.
My smirk widens. “You’re not so subtle for a stalker.”
“I’m not a stalker.”
“Then what was that I just saw? If you want to know more about me, all you have to do is ask.”
“I’m only doing my research on all of the firm’s employees.”
“You should study law. Your impeccable lying skills would come in handy.”
“No, thanks. The profession suits shady people like you.”
“Hmm. Shady. That’s interesting.”
She purses her lips and I can tell she’s trying to fight with what she should say and shouldn’t. Then she levels me with a stare. “Well, aren’t you? I’m just trying to work and you’re making it impossible.”
“That’s because you’re shady yourself, Jane. Sorry, I mean, Anastasia. Did you really think I’d believe that your only purpose is to work here?”
“It is.”
“I’ll tell Nate about the Anastasia I fucked in Jersey and show him how she transformed into Jane. Then you can take up your case with him. I’m curious to see if he’ll believe you’re not here for ulterior motives.”
She curls her hand into a fist, then lays it on her chest before she whispers, “Don’t.”
“Why? Because it’s true?”
“No… It’s… I need this job. Please.”
“Fuck that. Try again.”
“I really do. I’m…I can’t tell you anything, but I want no trouble and I won’t put the firm in jeopardy, I promise.”
“I don’t believe that. In fact, I’m sure trouble is all you know.”
“Please.”
“Begging doesn’t work with me. At least, not under these circumstances.”
She pauses and a curious spark ignites in her eyes and her face turns a deep shade of red.
Due to her skin tone, each and every one of her emotions shows on her face. But at this point, I’m not sure if it’s bashfulness or anger.
Is she faking that innocence again? Only, she wasn’t faking it two weeks ago. It was her first time, after all.
But it feels different now, like a silent rage that’s about to decimate everything in its wake.
Dead or alive.
She slowly stands up and fuck, I noticed she was petite when we walked to the hotel together, but I’m once again struck by how small she actually is. How the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder when she steps closer to me, eliminating the distance between us.
Her fingers dig into the lapel of my jacket and she
says in a low tone, “If you let it go, I’ll give you what you want.”
My dick turns rock-fucking-hard, both at her closeness and at the way she looks at me. Even beneath the glasses, there’s a fire in her eyes. One I didn’t see when I bent her over and took her from behind.
And now, I’m tempted to repeat it. To remove the fucking glasses and sink inside her heat until she’s screaming and panting and unable to move.
The images turn more real with each passing second, until I’m two seconds away from bending her over her own desk and taking her from behind like a fucking animal.
“And what do I want, Anastasia?” I ask nonchalantly, despite the fucked up thoughts running rampant in my head.
She lets her hand drop to her side and says coolly, “Me.”
7
ANASTASIA
I’ve never been the confident type.
It doesn’t matter that I believed myself to be a fairy when I was young or that I mingled with pirates all my life. The only truth that remains is I couldn’t even make eye contact with people.
But I am right now.
Even though it’s through my glasses, I’m staring at him. The stranger whose actual name is Knox Van Doren.
The stranger whom I just so shamelessly told that he could have me—sexually or otherwise, he can just have me.
I sounded confident, too, as if I’m not melting on the inside. As if my skin isn’t catching fire and I’m not about to self-combust. That’s what happens when things don’t go according to plan. I lose it.
Like I lost it when Babushka was thrown away and basically given a death sentence. I might not make eye contact, but I can be as lethal as the people who raised me.
If not more.
Knox Van Doren.
That’s his full name. I found it after I ran from the elevator and browsed the higher employees in Weaver & Shaw and googled them. Sure enough, his name was there, with the junior partners.
And I might have researched him all night long. He comes from a mega rich family in England. His father owns an empire that’s recognized on the international scale and knows tremendous growth.
Not only that, but Knox also gained a reputation in the American press because of his antics and charming side. In the law circuit, he’s known to be a cunning devil in disguise who’s super picky on which clients to accept.
Those who are lucky to be represented by Van Doren might as well have acquired their “get out of jail free card.” Is what one of the magazines wrote about him.
I read countless articles about him and each one painted him in a more sinister light than the previous one.
What? A girl has to look out for herself.
The fact that Knox knows my real name and keeps repeating it and suspecting me is dangerous. Not only that, but it could ruin everything I’ve worked for. My new beginning.
My freedom.
Babushka’s life.
And desperate times call for desperate measures. Which is why I suggested that he have me.
Or that’s what I tell myself as I get incinerated by his presence. There’s something about it, about being so close to him that our breathing mingles together and I’m trapped by his size and his broad shoulders and those golden, intense eyes that could have been created from the combination of a forest and fire.
Or maybe a forest on fire.
There’s something about being so far beyond my comfort zone that it feels both foreign and exciting.
Delirious.
Maybe even addicting.
And like any addict, I can’t help sniffing in more, breathing in more.
Just taking in more.
“You,” he repeats slowly in that deep voice of his, with that eternal calm that still manages to steal shivers from my soul.
“Yeah, me.” It’s less confident now, betraying all the chipped things inside me.
His index and middle finger sneak beneath my chin and lift. The act is so minimal, but he might as well have doused me with gasoline and set me on fire. A touch. It’s a mere touch, so why the hell does it feel like a whole experience?
“What makes you think I want you?”
The sting of his words burns and jostles one of the broken pieces in my chest, but I grab on to my confidence with bloodstained fingers. “You did two weeks ago.”
“That was before I knew you were a liar.”
“What does that matter when I’m offering myself?”
“You were a good fuck, Anastasia, but not good enough to go against my principles for. I don’t do liars. So you’ll have to give me something first.”
“Forget it then. My offer is off the table.”
His lips curve in a cruel smirk. “I’ll be the one to decide that, and believe me, when I figure out who you are and what you’re after, you’ll be well and truly fucked. Hold on to these little lies while you can.”
He releases me with a slight shove and I stumble backward, my thigh hitting the chair.
“Oh.” He stops at the entrance and turns to face me. “Don’t even think about leaving or I’ll make this personal.”
Then he’s out the door.
I slide onto the chair, my nails digging into my palms and my heart nearly hitting the floor.
He’ll make this personal? Personal? Then what has he been doing ever since he saw me in the elevator? Making it impersonal?
Just what type of man did I get involved with?
Even my desperate attempt of offering myself has failed. How the hell am I supposed to keep myself and Babushka alive now?
“How are you, my little bunny?”
I clench the phone in my hands and resist the urge to bawl my eyes out, to tell her everything is not fine, that it won’t be anymore.
That I could be in danger and so will she.
Instead, I force a smile, straighten my spine, and stare out the window at the gigantic buildings of NYC. Then I speak in Russian since her English is rusty, “I’m fine, Babushka. How are you? Are they treating you well in the clinic?”
“Of course. The nurses are so nice and the food is exquisite. Not as good as your momma’s, but it’s close enough. How is she? Did she leave that lowlife yet?”
This time, I can’t help the tears that gather in my lids. Babushka isn’t my blood-related grandmother, but she practically raised me when I was young. She hid me in her house whenever Mom told me to run. The reason I traveled through the forest was to reach her place.
She protected me when she didn’t have to and made me my favorite orange cake and gave me treats.
Then she sang to me in Russian so I would fall asleep and not think about what Mom was going through.
In the morning, she’d braid my hair, heat me some milk, and give me cookies. She kept me safe until Mom could come to fetch me.
Even though she was old, she never once complained about taking care of me and always laughed when I told her stories about my fairy adventures.
She’s much older now, though, in her late seventies, and suffers from dementia that requires intensive care. It’s one of the main reasons I left, to get her the medical help she needs.
All the money I stole from my family is slowly being paid to the Swiss clinic where she’s staying right now. As soon as I disappeared, that’s where I went—moving her to Switzerland from a small town in West Russia. The small town she was expelled to soon after my mother died.
I cried and begged and even asked for help, but no one heard me. In fact, I was reprimanded for it because we can’t show weakness and we certainly don’t beg for those beneath us.
That’s when I decided to take things into my own hands.
It took me years to find her, and I’m still not officially reunited with her. Actually, she barely remembers me now, but that’s okay.
She protected me when I was young and I’ll do the same now that she’s old.
“Yeah,” I say in a cheerful tone. “She left.”
“Good. Good. I was always telling her he was no good fo
r her or you, but Sofia was too scared and always flinched the moment he walked in. She should’ve asked your father for help, but she was so stubborn, saying that your papa could be even worse.”
“He’s not.” I’m breathing heavily into the phone, forming a sheen of perspiration on the screen.
“Right? Just because he leads that type of life doesn’t mean he won’t take care of you both. I’ll talk some sense into her again when I see her.”
“She’s…gone, Babushka.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah. She’s no longer with us. She died fifteen years ago.”
“No…that’s not true… I was talking to her just yesterday when I did your hair…”
There’s a shuffle from the other side before the nurse’s voice reaches me. She speaks in English. “She’s a bit tired.”
“Is she okay?”
“Don’t worry. These episodes happen often in cases like hers, but she’ll be fine in a bit. She does ask about you all the time.”
A tinge of guilt wraps a noose around my neck. I should be with her, but I can’t. If they find me with her, they’ll blame her for the whole rebellion I singlehandedly plotted.
This time, they’ll make sure to end her life. In front of me, too, so I’ll learn to never mess with the system.
I hang up after I tell the nurse to call me if anything happens. It takes me a few seconds to gather myself, wipe my eyes, and stop being caught in the memories of the past.
Then, as I do during every lunch break, I take the elevator to the floor where the partners’ offices are.
It’s been a week since I joined W&S and was caught by Knox. Anyone else would do their best to keep their distance. Not me.
My family was a lot of things, but careless wasn’t one of them. I learned early on that the best way to beat an enemy is to learn as much as possible about them.
Their daily habits, their morning routines, and even their night ones. That’s where their weaknesses lie.
In the habits. In the routines.
That’s why I hacked into his computer, his phone, and his car’s GPS. What? I needed to know what he was up to at all times. And yes, that might sound a little bit stalkerish, but he messed with me first. He threatened me first.