Captive by the Mafia

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

Nikolai

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 chessboard, grinning like a damn fool. I sighed and looked away, mumbling under my breath. “Checkmate.”