“Yeah, me.” It’s less confident now, betraying all the chipped things inside me.
His index and middle finger sneak beneath my chin and lift. The act is so minimal, but he might as well have doused me with gasoline and set me on fire. A touch. It’s a mere touch, so why the hell does it feel like a whole experience?
“What makes you think I want you?”
The sting of his words burns and jostles one of the broken pieces in my chest, but I grab on to my confidence with bloodstained fingers. “You did two weeks ago.”
“That was before I knew you were a liar.”
“What does that matter when I’m offering myself?”
“You were a good fuck, Anastasia, but not good enough to go against my principles for. I don’t do liars. So you’ll have to give me something first.”
“Forget it then. My offer is off the table.”
His lips curve in a cruel smirk. “I’ll be the one to decide that, and believe me, when I figure out who you are and what you’re after, you’ll be well and truly fucked. Hold on to these little lies while you can.”
He releases me with a slight shove and I stumble backward, my thigh hitting the chair.
“Oh.” He stops at the entrance and turns to face me. “Don’t even think about leaving or I’ll make this personal.”
Then he’s out the door.
I slide onto the chair, my nails digging into my palms and my heart nearly hitting the floor.
He’ll make this personal? Personal? Then what has he been doing ever since he saw me in the elevator? Making it impersonal?
Just what type of man did I get involved with?
Even my desperate attempt of offering myself has failed. How the hell am I supposed to keep myself and Babushka alive now?
*
“How are you, my little bunny?”
I clench the phone in my hands and resist the urge to bawl my eyes out, to tell her everything is not fine, that it won’t be anymore.
That I could be in danger and so will she.
Instead, I force a smile, straighten my spine, and stare out the window at the gigantic buildings of NYC. Then I speak in Russian since her English is rusty, “I’m fine, Babushka. How are you? Are they treating you well in the clinic?”
“Of course. The nurses are so nice and the food is exquisite. Not as good as your momma’s, but it’s close enough. How is she? Did she leave that lowlife yet?”
This time, I can’t help the tears that gather in my lids. Babushka isn’t my blood-related grandmother, but she practically raised me when I was young. She hid me in her house whenever Mom told me to run. The reason I traveled through the forest was to reach her place.
She protected me when she didn’t have to and made me my favorite orange cake and gave me treats.
Then she sang to me in Russian so I would fall asleep and not think about what Mom was going through.
In the morning, she’d braid my hair, heat me some milk, and give me cookies. She kept me safe until Mom could come to fetch me.
Even though she was old, she never once complained about taking care of me and always laughed when I told her stories about my fairy adventures.
She’s much older now, though, in her late seventies, and suffers from dementia that requires intensive care. It’s one of the main reasons I left, to get her the medical help she needs.
All the money I stole from my family is slowly being paid to the Swiss clinic where she’s staying right now. As soon as I disappeared, that’s where I went—moving her to Switzerland from a small town in West Russia. The small town she was expelled to soon after my mother died.
I cried and begged and even asked for help, but no one heard me. In fact, I was reprimanded for it because we can’t show weakness and we certainly don’t beg for those beneath us.
That’s when I decided to take things into my own hands.
It took me years to find her, and I’m still not officially reunited with her. Actually, she barely remembers me now, but that’s okay.
She protected me when I was young and I’ll do the same now that she’s old.
“Yeah,” I say in a cheerful tone. “She left.”
“Good. Good. I was always telling her he was no good for her or you, but Sofia was too scared and always flinched the moment he walked in. She should’ve asked your father for help, but she was so stubborn, saying that your papa could be even worse.”
“He’s not.” I’m breathing heavily into the phone, forming a sheen of perspiration on the screen.
“Right? Just because he leads that type of life doesn’t mean he won’t take care of you both. I’ll talk some sense into her again when I see her.”
“She’s…gone, Babushka.”
“Gone?”
“Yeah. She’s no longer with us. She died fifteen years ago.”
“No…that’s not true… I was talking to her just yesterday when I did your hair…”
There’s a shuffle from the other side before the nurse’s voice reaches me. She speaks in English. “She’s a bit tired.”
“Is she okay?”
“Don’t worry. These episodes happen often in cases like hers, but she’ll be fine in a bit. She does ask about you all the time.”
A tinge of guilt wraps a noose around my neck. I should be with her, but I can’t. If they find me with her, they’ll blame her for the whole rebellion I singlehandedly plotted.
This time, they’ll make sure to end her life. In front of me, too, so I’ll learn to never mess with the system.
I hang up after I tell the nurse to call me if anything happens. It takes me a few seconds to gather myself, wipe my eyes, and stop being caught in the memories of the past.
Then, as I do during every lunch break, I take the elevator to the floor where the partners’ offices are.
It’s been a week since I joined W&S and was caught by Knox. Anyone else would do their best to keep their distance. Not me.
My family was a lot of things, but careless wasn’t one of them. I learned early on that the best way to beat an enemy is to learn as much as possible about them.
Their daily habits, their morning routines, and even their night ones. That’s where their weaknesses lie.
In the habits. In the routines.
That’s why I hacked into his computer, his phone, and his car’s GPS. What? I needed to know what he was up to at all times. And yes, that might sound a little bit stalkerish, but he messed with me first. He threatened me first.
No one threatens me and gets away with it. No one.
I shake my head at that. I really sound like them right now, even though I’ve done everything possible to be separated from them.
In my digging about, I discovered that his father isn’t his biological one, but he’s still the foster son of a powerhouse English businessman, Ethan Steel, and has a twin and a foster sister. Said foster sister married into the King family, which is another influential name in the UK.
He comes from money and power, something I should’ve expected, but it still makes me antsy. I hate those two words. Money and power. They belong to the world I escaped from.
And I need to escape his orbit, too. Because even though he didn’t pay me a visit, I can feel him biding his time, waiting, pining for the right moment to attack.
If anyone is going to do that first, it’ll be me.
So I head to the open office area that situates the interns, junior associates, and some paralegals. The junior partners’ offices are on the opposite side, where they can overlook the interns if they open their blinds.
Knox’s are always open, giving everyone a 3D view through the glass wall of his office. It’s like he has nothing to hide.
And he doesn’t. From what I’ve learned, he’s a ruthless criminal defense attorney and is always in demand, probably because of his offensive style in court.