Rip

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “In church.”

  “Where did this attitude come from?”

  “You kissed me.” Her eyes narrowed as she leaned back into her seat, not missing a beat as she let her gaze wander across my body like a caress. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel good, to be desired, wanted, and it was a welcome distraction from the pit in my stomach. I really, really didn’t want to go to Chicago.

  “You kissed me back,” I retorted.

  “Doesn’t matter, you still kissed me. The line between beast and his little toy has been crossed, therefore I kind of own you like you own me, just in a more... irritating way. I have your balls in a vise.”

  “Let’s leave my balls out of the speech if you don’t mind,” I said ignoring her little ploy to get under my skin again.

  “Hey.” Her grin spread smugly across her pretty face. “It may just inspire the crap out of them, you never know.”

  This was a conversation that Andi would have loved, in fact, the more Maya talked the more I saw Andi in her, which just made it that much worse. Here Maya thought I was going to Chicago to slap hands with rich doctors and make speeches, when really, I was going because I made a promise, to a dying girl.

  Just one more girl, I’d failed to save.

  “Let’s leave all references to body parts out of my speech, hmm?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I am the boss.”

  “So you are.”

  “I’ve created a monster. Had I known feeding you would gain this response I would have tied you up in the basement with a protein bar and some Gatorade.”

  “It’s not your fault. It’s Netflix. Orange is the New Black combined with the nightmares…” She yawned and it was then that I noticed how tired she looked.

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat wanting to press things further, what kind of nightmares had she been having?

  “I haven’t been sleeping much. Then again I blame you for keeping me from technology for so long.”

  “Which brings us back full circle. I should have never given you such privileges.” My voice came out in a bark.

  “It’s a right, not a privilege,” she snapped.

  “So this…” What the hell was it? A eulogy? Not really, that was Sergio, but he’d asked me to say a few words. Shit. I struggled with how to ask, I didn’t know the first thing about being at a funeral, I put people in the casket, I didn’t visit them after they took their last breath. My eyes stung with exhaustion. “I need you to help me write it.”

  “Wait...” She visibly paled. “What did you say?”

  “Write.” I nodded encouragingly, my anger surging, breaking through all of my carefully constructed walls. Anger had no place in my business, in my life, and anger toward her, did nothing but put her in danger. “You know, words on a paper, you put them down, I say them.”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “Maya…” I tsked. “I am what I am.”

  “Put that in your speech.”

  “Maya.” I grit my teeth together to keep myself from snapping at her. “I need a speech, something… encouraging, inspirational, happy.”

  Maya pulled out her laptop and opened it up. “Inspirational… I can do inspirational. When was the last time I was inspired…?” Her cheeks bloomed red.

  “What was that?” I breathed, my eyes lowering to the expanse of cleavage, it was a welcome distraction from my morose and jumbled thoughts. “Didn’t catch what you just said.”

  “I, uh, didn’t say anything.” She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her cheeks pinkening even further.

  “Your mouth didn’t… your face did.”

  “Let’s not talk about my mouth…”

  “Why?” I leaned in. “Does it inspire you too much?”

  “Ass!” she hissed.

  “I think you’re on to something…” I chuckled, bracing my hands on the armrests. Six inches, and our mouths would touch. I wasn’t just toying with breaking the contract, I was ripping it up, burning it. Just as our mouths were about to touch, I paused, lingering where our breaths mingled, hers warm on my lips, mine ragged and needy. I was right about one thing; she would be a welcome distraction, one that wouldn’t allow me to feel sad, or bothered by the fact that I was flying to a friend’s funeral.

  And that history, if I wasn’t careful could repeat itself.

  She moved, dislodging her water bottle. It landed with a soft thump on the floor.

  I reared back and stared at it.

  What the hell was I doing?

  And as luck would have it, the water droplets had cascaded against my left hand, my tattoo—the mark of the sickle, the mark that would tell anyone who knew anything about the darker side of life.

  What I did.

  Who I worked for.

  What I was capable of.

  What I would do—to protect not just my own identity but those closest to me.

  My phone rang.

  I reached down to silence it—ready to silence it, when I noted the number. Cringing, I answered it with a smooth hello.

  “You know I have eyes everywhere.”

  “Good afternoon to you, too.”

  Maya pretended not to eavesdrop.

  The last thing she needed to know was that I was talking to her father—correction, receiving another threat.

  This one not so baseless as the rest.

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” I said, waiting for his response.

  “She’s been touched.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You sure about that?”

  The line crackled.

  “She flushes when you’re near.”

  “Most women do.”

  “Cocky son of a bitch.” He chuckled. “Remember the terms of our agreement, Nikolai, I scratch your back, you scratch mine. She means nothing to me. You are the one who has everything to lose. You’ve developed a god complex, but I know all your secrets. It would take nothing for me to destroy you. You signed in blood. And it will be your blood that is spilled if you go back on your promise.”

  My nostrils flared, heat surged through my body as I watched Maya happily pull out a magazine and cross her legs. Damn it, he was right. What the hell was I doing?

  My lack of self control would end up getting her killed.

  I knew that just as much as he did.

  I was stuck.

  And he knew it. Part of me wondered if he was aware that I’d developed a conscience—then again, I’d stopped working directly with him long ago, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t still owned.

  “We’ll be in touch.” The phone went dead.

  Damn Russian mafia.

  And damn me for being one of the best. I didn’t get the nickname The Doctor because I had a good bedside manner.

  And I wondered, as I tried not to stare too hard at Maya while she read through her magazine, would she still be alive if I hadn’t have taken the job that changed everything?

  Had I damned her, then?

  Had I truly saved her?

  I let out a low growl of frustration; clenching my phone in my hand, ready to break it in half. I wanted so desperately to protect her from Andi’s fate, but would it be better that she died?

  My body tensed.

  Would I be extending her mercy, by snuffing out her life?

  Maya frowned down at the magazine, her eyebrows furrowed as the plane rose to altitude.

  I didn’t shake, didn’t so much as tremble. I was a doctor, after all, and whenever I made a decision of life and death, I was calm. Humanity didn’t slip through. I didn’t have a come–to-Jesus moment, where I wondered if what I was doing would sentence me to the darkest depths of hell.

  It was… clarity.

  The only way I could explain it.

  “Something else to drink?” I asked Maya while she popped her knuckles again. Shit, twice in a few minutes? Was there something about the plane? Or my conversation?

  “Wine.” She said quickly. “If yo
u have it.”

  I nodded, already walking to the bar. I glanced to my left to make sure she wasn’t watching me, then reached into the cupboard and pulled out a syringe of sodium pentothal. It wouldn’t harm her. If anything, it would relax her more, make it so that I would be able to hold a conversation with her… without her remembering a damn thing, though the dosage needed to be precise. The last thing I needed was for her to end up unconscious.

  “What time is it?” I asked while I poured the wine, keeping the small syringe in my right hand.

  “Oh.” Maya yawned then glanced at her watch. “It’s nearing four in the afternoon, why?”

  “Just thinking about our dinner plans,” I lied. Two and a half hours since she’d last eaten. I mentally went over her stats, weight one-forty, height five seven. She’d need a half dose at the most.

  Clearing my throat, I turned, sliding the syringe into the top of my sleeve and bringing over the two glasses of wine; hers was more full.

  “Wow, generous in all areas aren’t you, Nikolai?” Maya eyed the wine glass and took a long sip.

  “Drink it all,” I instructed with a half smile. “Doctor’s orders.”

  “All of it?” She laughed lifting the glass into the air. “This is at least two glasses.”

  “At least half,” I said in a more gentle tone. “You seem stressed, and I know… I’m not the easiest to travel with.”

  Maya blinked then took another sip of wine. “No, you think?”

  “It’s a…” I coughed into my hand letting the syringe slip out to the tips of my fingers. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, setting her wine down on the arm rest.

  “Nope.” I offered a encouraging smile. “A few more sips, trust me, you’ll feel so much better.”

  Maya rolled her eyes but drank deeply.

  The alcohol would work beautifully with the sodium pentothal. Truth serums, didn’t necessarily work by themselves, they were used in conjunction with other tools and drugs, allowing the human mind to be open to suggestion.

  But no human mind or body was the same, meaning, the outcome was always different.

  If Maya had any sort of… secret she was keeping close, something she wanted to tell me, but couldn’t or refused to, it would most likely come out at some point in the next half hour.

  If she were harboring memories, dark ones, ones that scared her, and I offered her a caring ear, she’d jump at it.

  And I’d know.

  If she was getting triggered and how.

  It sounded sick.

  But it was of the utmost importance that she be kept in the dark, especially since her father clearly was still keeping eyes on her.

  I told myself that as she drank more wine.

  But, convincing the monster what he was doing was right, was never difficult. I’d been justifying my actions since we’d originally met.

  The day after her sixteenth birthday.

  Although there have been no new murders, the Pier Killer is still at large. If you have any tips or hints, please contact the police hotline. –The Seattle Tribune

  THE WINE WAS HELPING, THOUGH NOT enough for me to forget what a messed up situation I was in. Private plane or not, I was still with Nikolai, and as per usual, he was being extremely vague about why he was so incredibly stressed out and clearly not sleeping. His eyes held more darkness than before, almost like he was fighting a losing battle with some sort of life ending sickness and knew the future was bleak.

  I sighed and took one more healthy drink of the red wine and sat my glass on the table next to me. Warmth flooded my veins as I closed my eyes.

  Nikolai leaned forward, his eyes focused in on my mouth. Butterflies erupted in my stomach as he slowly pressed a kiss to the side of my mouth.

  Searing pain erupted in my neck. A stinging, and then warmth washed over me.

  “What the hell?” I shoved him away from me, knocking my wine glass to the floor as I frantically pressed my fingers against the delicate skin on my neck. When I brought them back, there was no blood. For a second there I could have sworn he stabbed me. Frowning, my vision doubled as I stared at my finger tips for any trace of… my mind went completely blank as waves of heat softly rolled across my body like a caress.

  “Something wrong?” Nikolai asked in a gorgeously smooth voice, like velvet, or the most exotic wine. He was positioned directly in front of me, part of his black button down shirt was opened at the neck exposing bronzed skin and an expanse of muscle I knew dipped lower.

  My gaze fell down examining his pecs, wishing his shirt was tighter. I licked my lips as my eyes focused in on his belt buckle.

  “Maya?”

  “Hmm?” I blinked a few times then met his gaze. “Sorry.” My lips felt fuzzy. “I think that wine made me… dizzy.” Wait, did I have wine? I looked down at the spilled glass. Clearly I’d had wine, I’d just drank too much. “Sorry.” I repeated again, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for.

  “You’re exhausted.” Nikolai’s voice had shifted, something in his tone was different, something that called to me, or maybe a memory inside my head. Fear, trickled down my spine as I gripped the arm rests of my seat. “Why don’t you tell me what has you so stressed, Maya?”

  My name on his lips was damn sexy.

  He chuckled. “Why thank you.”

  “Did I say that out loud?” I asked, embarrassed.

  “Yes.”

  “Great.” I smiled, though my face still felt funny. “You have to know working under you, wait, if I was under you I’d be… a prostitute, like the ones you see. They are prostitutes, right?”

  “In a way,” he finally answered.

  “I knew it!” I tried to push against his chest but my hands wouldn’t move as fast as I wanted them. “You and prostitutes. Why is it that you flirt with them and you don’t flirt with me?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “That’s what has you stressed? You want me to flirt with you?”

  I frowned. Did I? “I don’t… know.” I finally said. “I mean you kiss me, then you… act like I don’t exist.”

  “Hmm.” Nikolai took a seat directly next to me and pulled my hand into his lap. “Does that hurt your feelings?”

  I nodded dumbly. “Or maybe it hurts yours.”

  “Pardon?” His smile was devilish.

  I wanted to run my tongue along his lips, so bad that I couldn’t focus on anything else. I just wanted to taste him.

  “Maya?” His tone was low, gravelly. “Other than the flirtation is there something else bothering you, perhaps your dreams?”

  “You’re in them.” I didn’t realize it was true until the words were out of my mouth, like my brain had chosen to remember something that every other part of me had sworn to forget. I pressed a hand against my right arm as a stinging sensation built from my wrist all the way up to my elbow.

  “Scars?” Nikolai pulled my arm into his lap and ran his fingers delicately over the scars from my car accident.

  I nodded. “Car accident. I was sixteen, well, almost sixteen and got in a wreck. It was my fault. All of it. My father had told me I could drive after my birthday, but my car was just sitting there. So I drove it… straight into an office building.”

  “Lucky to be alive.” Nikolai said in a tone I could only describe as angry. What? That I was living?

  I popped my knuckles nervously. “Yes, I guess so.”

  Nikolai gripped my hands to keep me from popping. “Why do you do this?”

  “Nervous habit.” I shrugged and then a memory flashed. “Or…” Popping knuckles, bloody knuckles, right in front of my face.

  “Maya?”

  I shook my head. “Sorry, I just have a reoccurring nightmare about bloody hands.”

  “Maya, this is important, are there any defining marks on these bloody hands?”

  “Bloody.” My heart started slamming against my chest as a choking sensation washed over me. “So much blood.” I let out a whimper and b
egan frantically clawing my way out of the airplane seat. “I have to get away! It’s not safe! I’m not safe!” Tears blurred my line of vision. “He’ll kill me!” I was full on screaming, unable to control the panic building in my chest. “He’ll kill me, you too! He’ll kill us all!”

  “For what?” Nikolai asked calmly, as if we weren’t about to die. “Why would he kill you? What did you see?”

  “Blood.” My teeth chattered, “So. Much. Blood. And she was just… laying there, after he—” Shaking, such uncontrollable shaking, I made it out of my seat and into Nikolai’s lap as he started wiping the tears from my cheeks, tears I didn’t even know had spilled.

  “Shhh,” he whispered in my hair. “It’s just another nightmare.”

  “No,” I argued. “No. It’s real!”

  “Maya,” he said my name slowly. “Open your eyes, really open them. Look around you. We’re safe, in my plane, and you’re in my arms. Too much wine and you fell asleep and woke up screaming.”

  “But—” I glanced around, throat dry, he was right but I still, I felt… like something was missing, something important. “Something… feels wrong.”

  “You were terrified, I’m sure. But I’m here now…” Nikolai’s deep brown eyes searched mine as he lifted a piece of candy into the air and whispered. “Butterscotch?”

  An open door may tempt a saint.—Russian Proverb

  I WAS A SICK BASTARD. I’d always known it, but it wasn’t until she was in my arms shaking, that I realized how far I’d actually push myself, and those I cared about in order to protect everyone involved, protect my own name, protect her sanity.

  She was remembering, albeit slowly. I had a decision to make. If I hypnotized her again, I risked more trauma to her limbic system, the implications of what could happen were enough to make me pause. Hell, I really was developing a damn conscience if I was suddenly toying with the idea of letting it go.

  Maya was a sobbing mess. Her eyes frantic, her breathing slow. She would remember nothing once I put her to sleep, at least I could do that for her, make her sleep. Mentally, she was exhausted; physically, her body couldn’t take much more, because whenever an individual revisited specific traumatic events in their subconscious, the body physically responded as if it was happening all over again, triggering the amygdala into a fight or flight response.