by V. F. Mason
“I really appreciate the explanation, Kierian. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I reply, sarcasm coating my every word. “BAU needs more people like you.”
He winks at me, cocky jerk!
“Good.” Then he grabs my arm, bringing me closer, and I look around to make sure no one sees us.
“What the hell are you doing?”
He ignores my hiss; instead, he leans to me, and whispers, “Happy Birthday, Ella.” I blink, surprised. “I’d have gotten you a gift, but I suspect you don’t like them.”
That’s true. They hold very little meaning to me, and the only gifts I do accept are from my best friends, because they don’t know any other way.
“The kiss last night—”
“Was out-of-this-fucking-world good?” he supplies. I punch him in the stomach, but he merely grunts softly. “Too light? Should have gone in stronger?”
“Should have never done it!”
“You didn’t say no.”
“Really low.”
He chuckles, removing the lock of my hair that fell to my forehead, and I immediately look around, afraid someone might have seen him. “Just the truth. Outside work, we date. Here though? Focus on the work, Ella.” He winks at me and gets up, heading toward the conference room while I sit dumbfounded.
Date?
Psychopath
She gathers her stuff into her bag, rushing outside to escape Kierian.
She doesn’t appreciate his advance the way the guy would have probably liked.
That pleases me, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want to choke her and kill him for their kiss last night.
I heard her phone call with her friends; they want to celebrate her birthday somewhere fancy and think it will help her to heal and chill.
Only one broken soul can recognize the other.
But for her to stroll into the bar unaccompanied?
No fucking way.
Spinning around to face the guys who give me questioning glances, I say, “How about a drink?”
Surprise crosses their faces as they share a look but nod anyway.
Perfect.
I wish I could grab her and drag her to my basement, but the time isn’t right yet.
I’m tempted to break my rules for her, very tempted.
But where would be the fun in that?
Chapter Eight
New York, New York
May 2013
Ella
Loud cheers erupt as I hop on stage and wave at everyone while the chief of the New York Police Department holds the diploma for me, a bright smile on his face. “You deserve it, kid.”
Fuck yes, I do!
“Thank you,” I reply, and quickly get down while Chloe and Simone clap like proud moms whose kid has finally graduated.
“Relax, girls.”
They hug me instantly, and then Chloe whispers into my ear, “You are almost there.” Pleasure spreads through me as I squeeze her tighter and look up, hoping my parents are proud of me.
Through all the sleepless nights working at the local coffee shop while busting my ass for my master’s degree and then attending the police academy with no one on my side, the only thing that’s kept me going is the knowledge that I’ll do something good for the community.
That I’ll be able to stop those monsters who so carelessly destroy all those lives that deserve better.
“Now we need to get you out of the dump you’ve been living in.” Simone scrunches her nose, a horrified expression crossing her face as she imagines my studio on the outskirts of the city with the most affordable rent.
“I can’t now. I need to finish my internship with the FBI, and only then can I find a job to afford a decent place.” I heard from a girl who worked there that it would play in my favor later on if I interned with them, so that’s my intention.
Chloe and Simone shake their heads in disbelief. “Do you have any savings?”
I nod, not wanting to elaborate on my secret.
Mainly, I help a private investigator with his cases when he needs to figure out if the spouse is cheating or who is stealing. Not much psychology is used, but hey, at least it gives me experience in the investigative work and pays the bills nicely.
In addition, I mostly take pictures when following people, and there is an unmistakable thrill about holding a professional camera in your hands and allowing the beauty to come out of it.
Sometimes at night, what-if thoughts come to me, like imagining what would have been if I’d chosen photojournalism as my profession the way I always dreamed of. But those moments are rare, and it’s enough for me to glance at my family photo to remind myself that now my career has a purpose.
“Okay. Then let’s go to my place, order pizza, and have some wine.” They hook their arms with mine, while dragging me in the direction of the exit, probably thinking they can hide their intentions. It’s the moment all families start taking pictures, enjoying their time, and my friends want to spare me any poignant emotions.
A sad smile tugs on my lips as I tighten my hold on them and thank God that at least with everything else fucked up, he gave me my friends and my career.
Somehow, this will have to be enough for the rest of my life.
One Year Later
“I’m sorry, but you can’t be an agent.” The words are like cold water splashed over me.
Swallowing down the resentment in my throat, I ask, “Why?”
The man sitting behind the desk watches me carefully as if weighing his next words. But then he exhales heavily. “Truth be told, Ella, you’d be perfect. You have a degree, police academy experience, internship, recommendations, and you are smart. Not to mention, you were one of the best in your class.”
“But?” I don’t need his long-ass speech about me being good. I already know that anyway. But why has this man allowed other students to get their badges and then kicks me out of the academy.
Does he even realize he just crushed the future I have so desperately worked for?
“You are mentally not suitable for this job. Your past—” He takes a deep breath, his voice becoming gentle. “It will make you emotional on the job. It could trigger memories. With you, there is always a risk. You didn’t pass the test.”
Yeah, I failed just one fucking question when they asked me how I felt about what happened to me.
Maybe I got a little bit emotional, but how can they turn it against me?
“Your decision is final?”
He nods, and I grab my file. “Thanks for nothing, then. Goodbye.”
I open the door to get the hell out of this place before tears threaten to spill, when his voice stops me. “For what’s it worth, I think you would have been a great agent.” A beat passes. “No one can outrun their past.”
Yeah, well, fucking watch me.
New York, New York
May 2018
Ella
“Is this really necessarily?” I wonder aloud as the cab stops at the famous club in town that has a line as long as the Grand Canyon. Simone bursts out laughing while Chloe glares at her.
“Don’t encourage her behavior.” She fishes for a twenty for the cab driver, and we all get out, our heels clicking on the concrete while the barely audible music can be heard behind the club doors.
Several bouncers stand scanning the crowd before letting them inside. I don't miss how the majority of them are turned away and some of them even cry.
I raise my brow at this, hiding my smile, because the idea of being sad over such a minor thing is truly hilarious to me.
While I have nothing against clubbing—sometimes I even seek it out—I don’t feel like doing it on my birthday. Turning twenty-nine is special and all, no regrets there, but my birthday always reminds me of my family. So Chloe always insists we do some shit on it, like coming to this establishment, for that very reason. I know this one was created by Damian Scott a few years ago, but that guy disappeared, never to be seen again.
I have no clue
who is in charge now, but clearly the rules haven't changed.
Chloe bounces to the guys, flashing them a grin as she hooks her arms into Simone’s and mine. “We are here to party, boys.” One of them opens his mouth to say something, but then his eyes run down our figures.
He nods as if finding us good-enough looking, and then he opens the rope for us to enter. I want to knock him upside the head for doing that, and Chloe must have guessed my mood, as she quickly drags me to the hallway.
Well, the club is something else; I’ll give the owner that.
Gold wallpaper covers the walls while the floor is made of black, shiny stone, which allows women to walk freely in their high heels. Dancers move with grace on stage, probably arousing every male in proximity; waitresses wear provocative gold shorts, black corsets, and black stockings with stilettos. The light is dim, and the air is oddly fresh. Pearls dangle from the completely mirrored ceiling, decorate the corner booths that are upholstered in gold velvet, and add a touch to the exquisite diamond chandelier, which somehow manages to give the club a mysterious allure. There are couches and VIP lounges, and apparently a VIP corner on the second floor with a mirrored-glass balcony offering a view to the whole club… and several bouncers. I have a feeling there are cameras too, but they aren't visible. People look as though they’ve stepped out of a Vogue magazine, and they spend time trying to be sophisticated as they drink and dance, and now I understand the crowd outside.
The people who are here received a private invitation and are the elite, the high society of Manhattan. So all the folks outside waiting in line are meant to be playthings for the invited elite. The bouncer first had to be sure the people had good assets and would sell well. Sex could be bought. Especially in a society like theirs.
Simone marrying a rich magnate surely opens the doors for us we never expect, but then Chloe loves it.
I’m neutral. I can’t say I mind coming to nice places, because honestly, who would? But it’s not as if I make it my mission to attend every fabulous place in this city.
Simone points at the booth in the middle of the club and screams over the music. “Let’s get a table and then order something. I’m starving.” Even though clubs are generally places to drink, this expensive establishment has one of the best cuisines in the world, and it’s worth every penny. It’s a crime to come here and not eat.
I’m about to trail behind them when I notice Tim waving at me frantically from the bar, and a smile spreads across my face. “Be right back,” I say, pointing at Tim, and Chloe winks as I dart toward him. In a second, I hug him over the counter as he squeezes me tightly.
“Hey, girl!” He leans back and whistles. “Come here for a kill tonight?”
I laugh while pushing my hair over my shoulder, glancing down at my tight, black dress that emphasizes my petite form. The red lipstick is the only color I’ve used in my attire.
“Not at all.”
Tim wiggles his brows. “No shame in wanting to score, babe.” Tim and I met in our last year of high school. He dreamed about becoming a musician. He would play his new songs to me in the basement of his parents’ house and dream about forming a band, although he never clicked with anyone.
He still plays occasionally, but most of the time, he prefers bartending. I know his parents are extremely rich, so I don’t understand why he never did anything with his life.
I don’t feel like asking either. We catch up from time to time in a bar or some common parties, but that’s about it. He once tried to hook up with me, but I refused. Friends are off-limits for one-night stands, just one of my rules.
“Today is my birthday.”
His jaw drops. “Well, shit.” But then he quickly grabs the silver shaker from behind him and gets all the ingredients for a manhattan. “It’ll be done in no time and on the house.” The drink is usually stirred, but I’ve learned a long time ago that Tim has his own ways.
“What will the boss say?” I question, not wanting him to get in trouble over this stupid birthday stuff.
“He has no objections, trust me.” He agitates the shaker, and then continues, “So I heard you finally found a way to work as a criminal psychologist. Digging serial killers now, huh? I always said you crave the dark side, wild girl of mine.”
Plastering my palms on the counter, I whisper, “You have no idea.” He stops his movement as if unsure what to think about my words, but then he must have noticed my mischievous smile, because he grins. Then he whistles to a nearby waiter. “Hey, J! Ask the DJ to change the song to ‘Serial Killer’ by Lana Del Rey. Fits the mood.” And then he continues to amuse me while I wait for my drink so I can return to my friends and celebrate my birthday.
If I’m in the club, I might as well use the opportunity to have fun and let loose.
I’ll have time for grief and work tomorrow.
Psychopath
She bursts out laughing again, running her hand through her silky black hair as she enjoys the company of the skinny blond, who efficiently creates drinks for all the demanding people. Her perky ass is visible through the dress as she leans forward, and my hands twitch to spank her, so she’ll know not to flirt with anyone else.
Wanting her has nothing to do with sex; in fact, it’s the last thing on my mind. I crave to hurt her, so her mind will be filled with only me and the fear of what I might do to her. With her, I won’t have to hide, and just imagining it makes me harder than I’ve ever been in my life.
But the fact that her attention belongs to another man displeases me to the point of the glass cracking in my hand, cutting slightly into my skin, but I don’t give a fuck.
I’m the most important man in the world for her to be with, and she shouldn't look at mere individuals like that guy.
People like me don’t feel remorse, so she should be very careful. For the idea of a sexual high with her, I can eliminate anyone standing in my path without thinking twice.
When mine strolls around the city, easy prey for men, would I do nothing about it?
No fucking way.
“Is that Ella?” one of my colleagues asks.
I can’t call them friends if most of the time they act like idiots and can’t even catch me. But then again, for that, you’d have to be smarter than me, and that’s impossible for them.
“Yeah,” I reply, and then she spins around with her red drink in hand, sucking on the straw. She scans the place, probably for her friends, but then her gaze lands on us, and her eyes widen as her breath hitches for a second.
And I hate it.
Because who she wants is not me.
Ella
I can’t believe this! The one night I decide to go out, and my coworkers are out too.
Granted, it’s not forbidden, but I didn’t plan to wear a short dress and heavy makeup in front of my boss!
Talk about him not taking me seriously.
Right in front of me, I see Noah, Preston, and Kierian occupying a booth with whiskey and nuts on their table, while women nearby trail their fingers on their glasses and bite their lips, eating up the attention Kierian gives them when he only chuckles and winks.
Noah frowns at him, gulping his whiskey, and Preston just quietly sits there, uncomfortable about the whole thing. I have no idea why he is even here, considering he barely leaves the lab.
Clubbing doesn't seem to suit him much, as harsh as it sounds.
I try to blend between the bodies, but I have no such luck, when Noah calls, “Ella!” I pause and then plaster a smile on my face, turning around and facing them once again, but now their whole attention is on me.
They rise from their seats as I come closer, tugging my hair behind my ear. “Hi, guys. I didn't see you.”
“Right,” Kierian says, and I barely restrain myself from snapping at him, because no one on this planet confuses me more than this guy.
He is hot and cold, a whore, and a mastermind who knows his job. He is sweet one moment and then gruff the next; his constant mood changes give me whipla
sh.
And most importantly, I don’t understand why it bothers me so much and why I think about him all the freaking time. It’s not like I don't have more serious matters to attend to. Or that it was me who pushed him away.
One-night stand, Ella. He was a one-night stand.
But somehow repeating those words in my head doesn’t help me, and I want to scratch the women’s eyes out for admiring him too much.
I sip a bit more of my drink, hoping it will ease my stupid emotions, and flash them a grin. “Well then, have fun. I’m here with friends, so—” The words barely leave my mouth, when Chloe wraps her arm around my shoulders.
“Well, hello there. Are you here to celebrate this girl’s birthday as well?”
I groan inwardly, because the minute she says that, Preston and Noah blink and quickly congratulate me.
“Happy birthday, Ella,” Noah says, and Preston just grunts.
Great.
“Would you like to—” Chloe starts, but I quickly cut her off, not wanting to spend this evening with them. It’s one thing to see them, another to drink with them.
I prefer to have my own personal space and not be worried what I might do drunk while my boss watches me.
“Well we don’t want to bother you. Have fun tonight, guys.” They raise their glasses and I spin around, but not before I see Kierian’s eyes flash and hear some girl calling his name from the back.
Whatever.
Even though my fury has no logic, it rushes through me in waves, demanding to crush something.
I’m losing my mind with this job.
Once we reach the booth, I sit on the side that doesn’t allow them to see me, and the assault from my friend starts.
“Wasn’t that—”
“Yes.”
“And that night, you guys—”
“Yep.”
“And now you two work together?”
Huffing in annoyance, I reply, “What’s with the questions?”
Chloe grins and Simone whistles. “Someone is touchy about the subject, it seems.”
“I don’t see the point in this conversation, that’s all.”