Chapter 5: Chapter Four

Another murder has taken place, this one reportedly near Starbucks on Pike Street.

Police ask that Seattle residents trust them to solve the case; the reward for the Pier killer has been raised to seventy-five thousand dollars. Any information is helpful. —The Seattle Tribune

Maya

A black folder was slammed onto the table in front of me; it may as well have been a gavel. The sound emitted carried a certain type of finality. The nail in the coffin. The fat lady singing.

The pig flying. It was my end, and I was horrified that the powerful man in front of me had a say in it.

I couldn't decide if I was terrified or simply scared.

“Aren't you going to read it?” Mr. Blazik asked, his eyes alight with humor. Most likely at my expense, the ass.

I shoved the folder even harder into my purse and glared. “I'd rather not.”

“Your loss.” He shrugged, pressing the penthouse floor.

“I thought we were going to lunch.” The elevator started to move. Panicked, I braced myself against the wall.

“We are,” he answered, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and firing a text off.

“Tell me, are you always this silent?” He shoved the cell back into his fitted black pants and leveled me with a curious stare.

“Yes,” I snapped. Maybe if I was horrible to him he'd leave me alone, or release me from whatever contract he'd made with my father.

With a smirk, he nodded his head once and pressed the emergency stop on the elevator.

In most movies or books, that's where the girl either dies or gets the crap kissed out of her.

I wasn't sure what I was hoping for, or why my body had any business arching as he neared, but arch it did, as if ready for his touch.

Which was ridiculous.

Because he owned me.

Quite literally.

And honestly, I don't care what anyone says, it may appear sexy when you see it on TV—but it's not, it's horrifying. Absolutely degrading.

It makes you feel like less of a person, less of a woman, more of a possession.

And I'd been fighting my whole life to be something more than that.

Because that was exactly how my father always treated my mom.

And I despised him for it.

“Listen.” Mr. Blazik braced his hands on either side of the wall.

The beeping in the elevator was starting to make my ears ring. My head swam, and I realized I'd stopped breathing. I sucked in a lungful of air that smelled like his spicy cologne.

“This doesn't have to be difficult.”

“Then let me go,” I hissed, pushing at his chest.

He looked down at my hand, still resting against his body, almost curiously, as if he hadn't been touched in all his thirty-two years. “Your hands… they're warm.”

I jerked my hand back. “What? Only used to working with corpses?”

His eyes flashed as his body pressed mine hard against the wall. My head nearly collided with a light fixture as I gazed up into his cold eyes.

“As of right now, I don't give a shit who your father is, or who you are. You work for me. I own you. Give me attitude, and it's only going to make things harder—for both of us.

“Now,” he said, stepping back and tugging at his collar. “Let me at least feed you since I can hear your stomach growling from here. Then I'll show you where you'll be staying for the next year.”

My stomach dropped. “Staying as in…” I gulped. “Living?”

“What is living… really?” He shrugged and pressed the red button, and the elevator continued to move up, finally stopping at the penthouse floor. “After you.” He nodded.

I stepped into the hallway.

The floors were black marble, the walls were a matching gray, and again, it felt cold, like someone had decorated it with only one thought in mind—that it would be easy to clean the mess left by victims of gunshot—or other—wounds from the tile rather than carpet.

“It's—” I swallowed hard. ”—nice.”

“It's hideous.” He stepped around me. “Yet absolutely necessary.”

“Right.” I blew air between my lips. “Because of the vampires?”

His hand froze on the lock. “So, you do have a sense of humor.”

“Only with friends.”

He turned his head, affording me a glimpse of the slight shadow of his jaw and his full lips. “I don't have many of those.”

“Shocker.” I crossed my arms.

With a smirk, he twisted the lock and pushed the large black door open.

White.

Everything was white. If the hallway was the location of a vampire coven, then the apartment was something straight from heaven.

White leather sections covered half the space in front of the living area with a flat screen TV. Large gray fur rugs covered the white marble.

White drapes hung over the floor to ceiling windows.

A diamond chandelier hung above my head.

It almost burned my eyes to blink, everything was so bright. I did a small circle, my eyes resting on the full gourmet kitchen.

Stainless steel double oven, gas stove, and an incredibly large fridge that looked like it could hold at least four people inside, dwarfed the rest of the kitchen.

“Do you like it?” Mr. Blazik asked, setting the key on the white granite countertop.

“It's… something.” I shivered. “No color?”

“Not here,” he barked, though his eyes seemed to penetrate right through me, like he was waiting for me to run or scream.

I held up my hands, seriously, one minute the guy was calm, not necessarily warm but at least somewhat kind, the next he looked ready to turn a knife on himself—I shivered—or on me.

“Mr. Blazik—”

“Nikolai,” he corrected. “If you don't mind.”

I ground my teeth together. “Nikolai, is there a reason we're here?”

“To eat.” He flashed me a white toothy grin that matched perfectly with the décor around us. “And to make sure you get settled in.”

He moved effortlessly through the kitchen and began pulling things from the dinosaur fridge—I couldn't help thinking of it as T-rex, the thing was so huge—he set some cheese, bread, and grapes on the counter, then pulled out some sliced meat.

Everything looked like it had been prepared or catered for a specific event.

I really hoped I wasn't that special event, but I had a sinking suspicion I was.

I quietly set my purse down on the white couch and made my way over to the kitchen.

Nikolai retrieved a bottle of chilled champagne from T-rex, popped the cork, without injuring me or anything else in the apartment, and poured two glasses.

My hands were still shaking when he gently shoved the glass against my trembling fingers. I hated that I gave myself away so easily—but what woman, I don't care how strong, wouldn't be freaking out?

It was all like a bad dream.

Gorgeous billionaire kidnapping me from my drug lord family? Hah, right, I think I read that somewhere in a book.

But this wasn't a book.

It was as real as death, and something warned me that if I pushed him too far, he'd break—and I'd be caught in the storm, unable to save myself or anything around me.

The terror was coming back full force. I had no idea who this man was—outside of reading magazines and watching interviews on TV.

He was brilliant, he was rich, and something about him was clearly… off.

“Let's make a toast.” Nikolai said, his dark eyes trained on my mouth. “Shall we?” His eyes jerked away from my mouth as if I'd done something offensive like try to breathe or something.

“A toast,” I repeated. “Am I supposed to pretend like this is a happy moment in my life?”

Nikolai set down his flute and pressed his palms flat against the granite, his expression hard, his mouth set in a grim line. “Life doesn't always go as planned.

“Think of it this way, you wanted to interview me, and now you have an internship. Make it through the next year, and who knows what doors may open for you?”

“So that's it…” I held the champagne to my lips. “You want me to pretend I'm okay with this for a year—and when I'm finished being your secretary I get my freedom?”

“Freedom…” He lifted his glass again, his dark gaze finding mine, penetrating to my very soul. ”…has to be earned.”

“So,” I said, irritated that my voice came out in a hoarse croak, “how do I earn it?”

He took a long swig of champagne and grinned. “Maybe you should read what's in that folder... ask and you shall receive, Maya.”

I finished the entire glass of champagne in one gulp.

“Eat.” He tapped his manicured fingertips against the counter. “I'll be back in three hours to check on you and make sure everything is agreeable.” He started walking toward the door then paused.

“Oh, and Maya? I'd really read that folder if I were you.”

“If I read it that means this is really happening.” My voice was shaking, I couldn't control it any more than I could control my emotions.

Nikolai hung his head. “Sweetheart, some things have been set into motion for centuries, things you can't fathom or understand.

“This moment right here, this is taking place because of things that you have no control over. You coming here today is proof of that. When you sin…” His eyes flashed.

“It's only a matter of time before you're asked to repent.”

“Repent?” I repeated. “But I didn't do anything!”

“Maybe not.” He jerked open the door. “But your father did. And the daughter carries the sins of her father…” With one final glance in my direction he shut the door behind him.

And locked it.

I ran over to the countertop searching frantically for the key.

Nothing.

Maybe it only sounded like a locking mechanism, I rushed to the door and pulled. No such luck.

I banged my fists against the wall. What if there was a fire? What if I started choking on a peanut and needed 911?

“Bastard!” I hissed, kicking the door with my high heel and stomping back into the living room.

I couldn't enjoy the beauty because it felt so wrong, so... trapping, so final, like a high-priced cage with invisible bars. For the most part, I felt like I was handling things.

I mean, I didn't have a nervous breakdown, but I wasn't the type of person to do that.

I was logical, a realist.

It only made sense that what he was doing was illegal, but I knew firsthand men like Nikolai, men like my father, they were above the law, they had the law in their back pockets.

With a shudder, I walked over to the kitchen and poured myself another glass of champagne to settle my nerves. My eyes fell to the couch and my purse with the black folder sticking out.

Blowing out a heavy breath, I chugged the rest of the glass and made my way over to the couch.

I could do this.

Reading. I could read. The words had no power over me and Nikolai had no power over me—regardless of what he believed.

The folder was thick and heavy. I sat on the couch and opened it to the first page.

It was the contract he’d asked me to sign. I imagined he would have made copies of it, so tearing it up would do no good.

It was a basic NDA saying if I spoke to the press or anyone about the happenings of Blazik Enterprises, I’d be sued.

I skipped the fine print and went on to the next page.

Job Title: Intern.

Hah! So, he wasn’t lying about that part. Feeling a bit more optimistic, I kept reading underneath the bold print.

—Don’t ask questions. Ever.

—Don’t give your opinion.

—Dress Code: Black. If an error occurs during operations and you need to get something dry cleaned, you must wait before sending it in.

—No outside phone calls.

—Eight-hour work day. Vacation available, but travel must be first approved by Mr. Blazik and will be monitored.

I scrunched up my nose. What did that mean? Monitored? At least he was going to let me vacation, though I had a sinking feeling we had two very different definitions of the word.

—No relationships.

—No family.

—No Internet.

Seriously? So, I was basically going to be locked up in a fancy apartment for an entire year, wearing black, and doing… what? His laundry?

I grit my teeth and read the next line. My eyes nearly fall out of my head at the next line.

—No sexual relationships. Must stay pure the entire year.

My cheeks heated with embarrassment. How in the world did he know I was still a virgin, and what business was it of his in the first place?

Rage overtook me as I threw the papers across the table and cursed.

It wasn’t for lack of trying—the whole virginity thing. But my father had made sure no man touched me. And every time I did date, it was like the men in my life panicked and backed off.

The one and only time I’d gotten close to hooking up with a random guy from a bar—don’t ask, low point in my life—I went home with him and he had a freaking heart attack—at twenty-eight—in my bedroom.

He lived.

But blamed me.

What? Like my mere presence caused his heart to stop?

Tears stung at the back of my eyes as I glared at the papers. I wanted a life away from my father, away from his control, away from my family.

This morning I’d been so excited about my research, about meeting a man who was my idol.

It sucked.

Meeting someone you idolized for five years only to find out he’s not the hero after all—but a complete monster in disguise.

Two and a half hours—and my monster would return.

I’d be ready.

I just needed to say that in the mirror about fifty more times after finishing that bottle of champagne.