The local police force is asking for anyone with information about the Pier Killings to please come forward. The reward has been raised to fifty thousand dollars. –The Seattle Tribune
SHE WAS A PUZZLE, ONE I would enjoy unraveling, playing with, touching. Damn, getting my hands on her would be a sweet sin—something I couldn’t do, something I had to deny myself no matter how much I wanted to touch, to feel, anything human, anything warm. Maybe that’s when you know you’ve actually lost all of your humanity—when you crave a stranger’s touch more than you crave your next meal or drink of water.
She would be water to me.
But it would be poisoned.
Touching her would end in both our deaths; he made sure of that, the bastard.
I cleared my throat and managed to keep my expression calm even though my heart was going into overdrive. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, soft where it counted. She had hips, full lips, a complexion that boasted of her rich heritage, and high cheekbones that accented her large eyes.
My admission had frightened her.
I could almost taste the fear in the air. It was a gift, being able to read people, being able to measure the emotions in the room and control them in order to benefit myself.
I toyed with the idea of letting her go for maybe a second. If I wasn’t so selfish I’d give her a new ID with a passport and send her on her way.
But I’d always been a selfish bastard, and she was my prize.
The one I’d waited for, but more than that, part of the contract stated she had to be in the right mind before she was freed, and I knew that even my work wasn’t always a guarantee.
I bent and pressed the remote switch beneath the table top and brought the lights up. I’d expected her to blink, momentarily disoriented. Instead, she leveled a stare on me.
“I don’t understand,” Maya said calmly.
She would be calm in this situation. She was always the type to fight rather than give up—I at least remembered that much about her.
“I’m not asking you to,” I said simply, my eyes focused in on her smooth neck and then her lips. “And you have no choice in the matter, no say, no voice.”
Her jaw clenched.
My heart raced. I loved the fight. It was like waving a flag in front of a bull. I braced myself against my desk, my fingers digging into the mahogany as I evened my breathing.
“I’m not something you can own or buy or purchase.” Her nostrils flared, “I’m leaving.”
“You can’t,” I said softly.
She stood, her knees knocked together, and then she sat and reached into her purse.
She was going for her phone.
Because a part of her believed me, which was fine because all I needed was a part of her. I didn’t want her to be whole, and it wasn’t my place to take more than she had to give.
I wanted a piece.
In order to give her peace.
In order for her to discover herself.
And in order for me to die without regret, without what I did hanging over my head.
Funny, I’d always believed myself to be a sociopath. Doctors couldn’t figure me out. My own parents were terrified of my intelligence. It made me too damn good at what I did.
And for a while I had been okay with it.
Until her.
And then, my world, the world that had always been so very black and white, started dripping with red.
Maya Petrov had been my game changer, but I still wasn’t sure if I was going to make her pay, atone for my sins, or destroy us both.
But what’s the fun in playing chess when you already know all the moves?
With shaking hands she dug around her purse.
Her hair was longer than I remembered, her body fuller. Alexander Petrov had known what he was doing when he sent her. I imagined him on the other side of the chess board, grinning like a damn fool. I sighed and looked away, mumbling under my breath. “Check mate.”
Love is evil. It will make you fall in love with a goat—Russian Proverb
MY BREATHING WAS ERRATIC, OUT OF control actually. I knew running would do nothing, plus I wasn’t really that type—a runner. My father had taught me that—the same father who had just sold me to the highest bidder. I paused, had there been an auction for my life? My body? My stomach clenched as memories assaulted me—I knew what he did, what he involved himself in.
My father worked for the Russian mafia it wasn’t a secret in our family or something we tried to hide. After all, he fought too hard to do things the right way, supported all the right universities, went to all the political parties. We were, from the outside, normal.
But there were always those times when I’d overheard conversations between my parents that I wondered… was my dad as good as he wanted people to believe or was it all a lie?
I got my answer when the very first boyfriend I had in high school lost his hand in a tragic accident.
The same hand that my dad had seen said boy place on my body just as I tried to shove him away.
I didn’t think much of it at the time, until every time I complained about something, an accident would happen. It was why I kept people away, because when they got close, they got hurt.
It was also why I was a certifiable nerd, pouring everything I had into studying and getting away from my family’s hold on me.
With a sigh, I pulled out my cell.
“I wouldn’t.” Mr. Blazik had somehow made his way from the desk to the couch again and was holding my hand, keeping me from dialing. “I really wouldn’t.”
“He’s gone too far.” I jerked my hand away and dialed my father’s number. It didn’t ring.
Instead, a chipper voice informed me that the number I was currently dialing was no longer in service.
With shaking hands I shoved the phone back into my purse and stared at the floor. “How much?”
“How much, what?” The couch dipped under pressure as Mr. Blazik sat down.
“Am I worth?” I whispered, voice hoarse.
He was quiet for a few seconds before answering in a hoarse voice. “For a man like me? Everything.”
My breath hitched in my chest. Everything hurt, from the betrayal of my father, to the fact that I probably wouldn’t be able to finish my education because somewhere along the way I’d turned into a pawn instead of a daughter.
“You’re not crying,” Mr. Blazik observed. “I expected more… emotion.”
“Would that make you feel better about owning me?” I snapped. “Or are tears the only thing that get you off?”
“You’ll be taken care of.” He ignored my rampage as he pulled out a new iPhone and placed it on the table. Then he opened a black folder, laid a sheet of paper next to the phone, and handed me a pen that probably cost more than some people’s cars. “Sign on the dotted line please.”
“Are you seriously asking me to sign my life away right now?”
“It’s not yours in the first place…” His soft sigh was filled with resignation “It’s mine. I own you… but I’d rather you be a willing participant.”
“You’re just as sick as he is,” I whispered, reaching for the pen and scribbling my name across the bottom of the contract without reading it.
“I hope you’ll come to regret saying that.” He barely glanced at the paper now bearing my signature. “Now, let’s discuss your… services.”
“I’m not servicing you.”
His eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “I’m sorry, did I ask you to?”
“N-no, but—”
He held up his hand. “You’ll report to work every morning at eight a.m., you’ll leave when I say you can leave, and everything you do for me is top secret. If any information is leaked to the public… well…”
Yeah, I knew that look. I’d be leaked to the public—in a very accidental way.
“So I work for you?” I stood and crossed my arms. “For how long?”