Rip

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And then a picture popped up with the word confirmed tagged to it.

“Something wrong?” Maya asked.

I offered a practiced smile. “No, no, everything’s fine.”

My hands shook as I unlocked the doors and shoved the key into the ignition. Jac was out there doing what I should be doing—what my family had been doing for years, and I was taking a girl who was completely off limits to di

Not because I owed her.

Or because I owned her.

But because I genuinely wanted to spend time with her—something I’d never before experienced.

I felt it then, the change in the wind as I hit the Audi’s accelerator and forced myself to calm down.

She was already getting underneath my skin.

And she had no idea how dangerous that simple action would be—for both of us.

Success and rest don’t sleep together—Russian Proverb

HE WAS ACTING ANGRY AND CRAZY again. He was like Jekyll and Hyde. I tried to force myself to put all the different pieces of his personality together, but really, the only visual it gave me was one of a Picasso painting. I wondered if I’d ever really know the real Nikolai, or if it was even worth trying to figure out.

Something on his phone had made him uneasy.

Or maybe it was just sadness I noticed in his eyes as we drove in silence. I tried not to stare, really I did, but it was hard not to. When Nikolai was brooding or sad, there was this enigmatic pull he threw out into the atmosphere making it almost impossible not to want to lean in and whisper, “Tell me your secrets.”

He’d been sad and uptight all day, ever since he’d disappeared into his hidden office.

“Why the contract?” I finally asked once the silence got to be too much. I figured he was angry enough as it was, may as well ask what I’d been dying to ask since my fate had been sealed.

“Let’s not discuss work.”

“It’s not work,” I argued. “It’s my life.”

“A life I’m very graciously allowing you to live out in one of my penthouse suites.” His voice was stern. “And let’s not forget payment.”

I ground my teeth together. “See the thing is, Nikolai… most people want to have a choice in where they live and how they live, what job they hold. I know, weird, right?”

His face cracked into a smile. “You don’t get a choice.”

He said it like a fact, not a question. “And why is that?”

“Tell me, do you have brothers? Sisters?”

“I can’t imagine you not actually knowing everything there is to know about me and my family but if you must know… I had a sister. She died when she was an infant, and last year my brother Pike was ruthlessly murdered by some Italian bastards who clearly underestimate a Russian’s desire for revenge.”

“Hmm, interesting.”

Fine I’d take the bait. I exhaled. “What is?”

His lips rubbed together briefly. “Your version of the story.”

“Is there more than one?”

“Several.” He took the exit toward Everett. “Depending on whom you speak with.”

“I want your version.”

“I bet you do.”

“Why bring it up when you aren’t going to tell me anything? Seems pointless.”

His frown turned into a smirk. “Are you pouting?”

“Is it working?”

He let out a low chuckle, it vibrated through the car, attaching itself to my nerve endings, causing a shiver to course through my veins. “Perhaps.”

“So?” I clenched my hands together to keep myself from reaching out to him—it would be another horrible idea considering how often the man rejected and scolded me.

“Your younger sister we will discuss at a later date.” His face paled. “Your brother Pike was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and your father thought it prudent to eliminate him before the Italian mafia decided to embark on a friendly war between the two families.”

“Italians,” I spat.

“Saved your ass,” he finished. “And are more loyal than you could possibly comprehend.”

“My sister?” I asked in a hopeful voice. I’d never met her, to me she was a stranger, though still family. “What about her?”

He hesitated then said in a low whisper. “It’s… complicated.”

“She’s dead.” It felt so final, saying it out loud.

“No.”

My heart skipped as my blood turned cold, “What do you mean, no?”

“No,” he said again. “Not dead. At least not as an infant.” He hesitated as if gauging what he should say next, his voice cracking. “For now we’ll just leave it at that.”

“Why?”

“Because.” He closed his eyes, while still driving, then opened them and said. “Her life was very different from yours… let’s eat and then we’ll discuss things like your sister.”

“So my father lied?”

Nikolai hissed out a breath. “What do you think? He also sold you to a bastard like me. He’s a monster. Plain and simple. Then again, I own a mirror, so…” He ended the statement with a half-hearted shrug.

“You aren’t a bastard,” I defended, then closed my eyes in humiliation. He didn’t need me to defend him any more than I needed to be feeling sorry for him.

“We’re here.” The car slowed to a stop. I glanced up. We were at the Everett Pier.

“More work?” I arched my eyebrows.

“Food.” He opened his car door. “I did promise you bread.”

“It better be good,” I grumbled opening my own door and joining him in front of the car.

The restaurant appeared small. Double iron doors were decorated with large sculpted fish handles, and a sign above the door said Confetti’s. It put me immediately at ease because really who takes someone to di

Wow, was I really entertaining the thought that he was a serial killer?

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. Good looking? Check. Brilliant? Check. Rich? Check. Possible sociopath? Double check. Great. I was dining with Ted Bundy.

My body revolted against me and shivered—the thought chilled me.

“Cold?” Nikolai shrugged out of his jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders before I could say no. And all thoughts of Ted Bundy flew out the window. The jacket smelled like it had spent the day hanging up in an expensive store only to be worn by Mr. Dead Sexy for a few hours then sprayed with the most delicious spiced cologne I’d ever smelled in my entire life.

“Are you going to smell my jacket or walk through the door, Maya?”

I released the lapel of the jacket as a flush sent warmth to my cheeks. “Sorry, thought I saw a… loose thread.” You know, by the lapel, where there were officially no buttons, therefore no thread. Good one.

“Ah, pesky threads.” He teased, his voice indifferent, but his posture giving way that he was amused at my expense.

Ted Bundy. Ted Bundy. Ted Bundy. I needed the distance, I needed to think the worst because for some reason his every action drew me in—caused me to question the type of man he was—and my position in his life.

“Mr. Blazik.” The receptionist was a short blonde with bright red lipstick, “We have your table all ready, if you’ll just follow me.”

“Thank you, Carly.”

I suddenly felt a warm hand on the small of my back. Every single fingertip seemed to singe into my skin making me hyper aware of his presence and again of how amazing he smelled. The hand soon left my body, causing me to feel a loss I had no right to feel. Nikolai pulled out the black velvet chair. I sat while Carly placed a white napkin over my lap.

“Still or sparkling?” She held up two glass bottles of water.

“Uh…” I nervously licked my lips and looked to Nikolai.

“Still.”

Did he really make me so nervous that I couldn’t decide which type of water I preferred?