So strange, to pass by people laughing and walking home from work, to notice the little things like lights flickering in front of buildings, people holding hands, the stupid Starbucks guy handing out free samples. All of those things were symbols of freedom—something I didn’t have and wouldn’t have for an entire year.

What had I done wrong? In all of my years of living, I had to have done something horrible to my father to gain this type of punishment.

Maybe that was it.

I’d simply existed. And that had been enough.

I had no more tears left. Only despair as he pulled the car into the garage and turned off the engine.

I assumed he’d accompany me to my room.

He did.

The ride in the elevator was like absolute torture. I stood on one end, he stood on the other. The music was happily chirping in my ears, and I wished the damn thing would just plummet to the earth and let me die.

When we finally reached my condo, I expected him to leave. But he didn’t, instead, he opened the door, led me in, and went to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of wine.

What was his angle?

And why wouldn’t he just leave me in peace?

“I assume you met Jac?” He didn’t make eye contact, didn’t acknowledge my existence, simply pulled out two glasses and began pouring.

“She’s sweet…. beautiful.”

He stopped mid pour, his hand shaking a bit before he set the wine bottle down and braced himself against the counter. “She’s irreplaceable.”

“I’ll… try.” It was all I had. “To do my best.”

“They all try.” He sneered. “How about you succeed where they failed?”

“How about you tell me more about your high expectations so I don’t fail!” I yelled back.

His face broke out into a smile. “Ah, there you are.”

“What?” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“You need spirit to last… Women… when they lose their spirit, they lose everything.”

“You don’t make sense,” I grumbled and grabbed the glass of wine he held out to me.

Being that close to him again made me want to both strangle him and pull him even closer. He smelled so good, and even though his countenance was cold, his body heat was practically leaping at me.

Nikolai shrugged. “I don’t have to make sense… to you.”

“Answers to no one.” I lifted my glass into the air. “Got it.”

“Don’t lose the fight, Maya, even when the war seems daunting… simply keep fighting, let the fight mold you, don’t let it break you. Too many people give up in the face of defeat. I need someone willing to push through that.”

“I have…” I swallowed and looked away. “For my entire life.”

“I know,” he whispered. “Which is why I need you.”

It was the first time I’d heard those words from his lips. I almost dropped my glass onto the floor. Had he just said he needed me? After all the arrogance, all the bullying, taunting, bossing me around?

He took a sip of wine and smiled that blinding smile that had my heart fluttering way too fast. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“I am,” I said pointedly. “Shocked you need anything.”

He shrugged.

Apparently the conversation was closed.

“Eat something,” he urged, setting his wine glass down on the granite table. “My offices, tomorrow morning, eight o’clock, remember it’s the thirty-second floor.”

“Right.”

“Wear black.”

I gritted my teeth. “Not like you gave me lots of choices in that closet anyways.”

His smile was back full force. “You get choices when you prove I can trust you with them.”

“You don’t think I’m trustworthy?”

“Your father wasn’t.”

“I’m not my father.”

He sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Prove it.”

And that was the end of the conversation.

He walked to the door and slammed it behind him, leaving me more confused than before, which was pretty damn confused, all things considered. I decided it wasn’t worth the headache—he wasn’t worth the headache. I had exactly three hundred and sixty-four more days of hell then I could go back to normal… back to a time when I didn’t know Nikolai Blazik.

Back to a time when I actually knew myself.

The Pier Killer is believed to be looking during the day, attacking at dusk.—The Seattle Tribune

THE WOMAN HAD NO IDEA WHAT she was doing. It would be so easy to break her—again.

I needed her strong.

And I gave her rules in order to keep things within my control. The worst part was that she saw me as the monster when really in this scenario? I was as close to a white knight as she was going to get.

The elevator dipped with a groan then opened on the floor just below Maya’s. When the doors slid apart, the scent of bleach burned my nostrils. It was a familiar smell, one that held memories, heartache, shame—so many emotions that I found myself wanting to hold my breath and close my eyes—but it hadn’t worked all those times before, it certainly wouldn’t work now.

The walk to my door felt lonely.

And being lonely wasn’t a feeling I was accustomed to. I’d always had my work, I’d had my goals, one of which was most likely damning me to hell at this very moment, but I’d like to think she was one I’d accomplished beautifully.

I’d saved her.

She just wasn’t aware that her prison—was her freedom.

I opened the door leading into my penthouse apartment and walked numbly into the kitchen.

A glass of already poured Canadian whiskey was sitting in a glass on the table with the newspaper next to it.

I had to hand it to her—Jac never missed an evening, even if she was out doing what she did best—she always took care of me.

I never wanted for anything where she was concerned.

Yet a part of me wondered if she used that as a way to keep herself firmly attached to my life—where there was no room for any other female¸ regardless of how harmless she might be.

“What exactly… are you doing, Nikolai?”

Jac’s voice dripped with disapproval.

“Drinking,” I answered in a clipped tone. “And you?”

“The same.” She chuckled. “Join me.”

I knew where she would be. Sitting at the piano, drink in hand, eyes blurry with emotion.

Grabbing my glass, I made my way over to her and sat quietly, my fingers grazing the ivory keys just briefly before reaching for her hand and giving it a squeeze. “Hard evening?”

The hand I wasn’t holding lifted the glass to her lips—it shook violently. “When are they not hard?”

“True.”

“I’m not sure about her.”

And there it was.

“You don’t have to be sure about her. What she does for me has nothing to do with you and the family.”

“You like her.” Jac licked her ruby red lips and set her drink down. “That makes her different.”

“I’m protecting her. There’s a difference.”

“And when protecting turns into something more?” She tilted her head and gave a slight smirk, the way the moonlight reflected across her features cast a pale glow, aging her, reminding me yet again how frail she really was. “What then?”

“Then I set her free.”

Jac leaned her head back and laughed, and the sound chilled me to the bone. “When have you ever been good at setting your favorite things free? Remember that bird when you were small? You named him Fred and refused to let him out of his cage, even when we told you it was safe to let him fly around the house.”

I shook my head at the memory. I’d been so fearful he’d fly away that my fear eventually killed him—or so I believed. He’d never fully matured and died at a young age because of it.

“She isn’t a bird,” I finally whispered. “She’s a person.”

“Oh.” Jac patted my hand. “So now you actually see people as real people, not your own person version of Operation?”