“People will try to stop you, but you’ll continue on with your goals… even your father may try to dissuade you, and here’s the gift I leave you with… He will never have any power over you. Do you understand?”

“Power?”

“Your father, Alexander Petrov will never own you, he will never be able to tell you what to do, there will be no fear when you look him in the eyes, only sadness that he is missing out on the wonderful daughter he could know if only he’d look past his own selfishness. The gift I leave you… is peace.”

“Nik, I don’t feel peace.”

His mouth kissed down my neck again and then his warm lips moved across mine in a searing hot kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he lifted me off the chair and into the air. My body ached everywhere but he felt so good, so warm, and I was suddenly chilled, my teeth chattering between kisses.

He placed me down on a couch and deepened the kiss then ran his hands down my hips. It felt so good having him in the places that hurt, knowing he would make it better.

I thought I heard him mutter a curse as he ran his hands up and down my stomach.

It was sore.

“Broken ribs… not by my hand, Maya, I would never hurt you in that way… In fact…” I could almost hear him thinking, I kept my eyes squeezed shut for fear that he would disappear or leave me if I opened them. “Every time you crack your knuckles it means you are remembering the bad, not the good. If you crack your knuckles I want you to pay special attention to your breathing then count to five and try to focus on your goals, focus on getting through school, focus on settling down, and focus on staying away from your father.”

“My father?”

“Promise me, Maya.”

“Okay.” I swallowed the dryness in my throat. “I promise.”

“Good.”

“One more thing… and then no more talking.”

“Yes?”

“Remember me…” he whispered, followed by another caress of his mouth. “Remember me in your dreams… not the pain, or the state in which you were brought to me, remember the pleasure, not the pain.”

“Remember the pleasure…” I repeated like an oath. “Not the pain.”

“Good.”

“Now what?”

“Oh Maya, now I show you what I mean by pleasure.”

My mind fast forwarded through moments where he cradled me, where he kissed my head, only to move down to my mouth. He only ever kissed me, barely touched me, but it was enough to fuel the fire of obsession for this man, the man who saved me.

The man who I thought had hurt me.

But had rescued me instead.

The hours went fast, my brain couldn’t catch up.

When the door opened to the room, the blindfold was put back on my face, and I heard my father’s voice.

“Is it done?”

“Of course,” Nikolai said in a smooth voice. “You brought her to me half starved, sleep deprived, and nearly dead, it took me less than twelve hours to finish your task.”

“She looks good,” my father said. “Why is she no longer bleeding?”

“I didn’t think it necessary,” answered Nikolai. “Now, if you no longer need my services?”

“One last thing…” My father grunted. “If I find out that you double crossed me, I will kill her.”

“Why should her life matter?”

“Because… I don’t trust you, and I never turned off the camera, though the sound was too muffled, I saw you touch her, I saw your want. And I’m not stupid, she could easily be triggered by any of the things you did to her. If she relapses, if she remembers, I will kill her and I know, the last thing you want is her death on your conscience. Then again, what would it matter since not only would I kill her, but reveal your family’s true identity to the media. Imagine what they would do if they found out who your ancestors were. You know, they still haven’t found that serial killer last year, what was his name again?”

“Fine.” Nikolai said in a cold voice. “But you have nothing to worry about, I did my best work…”

I was listening to them but it was almost like a dream.

I head more footsteps then Nik was next to me, whispering in my ear. “Butterscotch.”

It was impossible to keep my eyes open.

The next thing I remembered, I was in a hospital room waking up from a coma, and my mother was crying by my bedside… my father said I suffered such psychological trauma from the brain damage that I was lucky I wasn’t a vegetable. When I mentioned the man in the white mask, my father laughed and rang the nurse for anti-psychotic meds. They said to give me a while.

So I buried the memory and soon, it was nothing more than a weird dream induced by medicine, or so I thought.

With a gasp I woke up, to find Nikolai sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “So now you know.”

“How did you? I don’t understand.”

“Are you still afraid?”

“No,” I said in a calm voice. “But I am confused.”

“Hypnotherapy and brainwashing can work hand in hand but it’s imperative that the brainwashing take place before the hypnotherapy. Otherwise, it won’t last… you have to be open to suggestion and a strong mind is never open enough to suggestion or replacement of memories unless a severe trauma has taken place. The minute you left your dad’s whorehouse, you were beat within an inch of your life, starved for a week straight, only given enough water to survive, and when you ceased to remember your own name, when you cried out for death, they brought you to me. I’m always in white.” He shook his head bitterness twisting his lips into a non-smile. “Like an avenging angel… Your father has always been dramatic, the idea has always been so simple… take them from the depths of hell, give them heaven and offer them peace, and then, go through the stages of hypnotherapy. Did you know—” He laughed without humor. “—that ninety percent of people will agree with most statements if you repeat them more than three times? You have to be confident, convincing, but that’s without brainwashing, imagine what could happen if you were weakened physically?”

“But…” I pressed my fingers to my head. “I remember the accident.”

“I showed you pictures.” He sighed. “Of your wrecked car, and I did…”He swallowed. “Inflict some pain, I made the cuts on your arm because regardless of your mental state, I needed to show you I was in control and usually the only way to do that is through some sort of pain, it can be minor, I’m sorry yours wasn’t.”

It was too much to process. Almost.

“How did you get me back?” I whispered. “Why am I with you now?”

“Because I lied and told your father that the Italians knew where the rest of his whorehouses were… he believed me because ever since he attacked one of their own a few months ago, some key pieces of information have been missing. I asked for you… and told him I would take care of the Italians in return.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No… and there were... terms. He said I could have you for a year but that if I touched you and triggered one of the real memories of seeing him in the whorehouse with the girls… he’d kill both of us, so…” He stood and spread his arms wide. “I re-created a nearly identical room to the one you were held in, even kept masks nearby.” He walked over to the dresser then with a cry tossed it onto its side and slumped to the floor.

He was losing his mind.

Or maybe just allowing me to see he wasn’t as in control as I’d always thought.

Slowly, I slid out of bed and joined him on the floor.

“You should go,” he whispered.

“And where would I go? To my father’s house? The same one who tortured me for a week? No thanks, I think I’ll take my chance with the person who tried to save me.”