CHAPTER 8

PIPER

My eyes snap open and it's like I never slept at all. Between one blink and the next, I'm awake.

With a hand clamped over my mouth.

I claw at the muscled arm attached to the hand even while I'm positive this has to be a nightmare. Then a face leans close to me, and a now-familiar set of icy blue eyes appears like a mirage out of the darkness.

"Hello again, Ms. Quinn."

That's when I realize that this is not a nightmare.

This is very, very real.

I inhale to scream, but Timofey's hand clamps over my lips even tighter.

"Quiet." The word is surprisingly gentle, given the way he's holding me. "Screaming won't do any good. It will only make things harder."

It feels like his palm is vacuum sealed over my mouth. The restriction pushes all the same triggers as sitting in a small room. My skin starts to itch and my chest constricts as the claustrophobia fights for control of my fear center.

I know I'm not going to die. Not right this second, anyway. Timofey isn't actually stopping me from breathing.

But my body doesn't know that.

My lungs are frozen and I jerk upright, desperate for air. It's like I'm drowning in my own fear, thick and black and terrifying.

"I told you refusing me was a mistake." He removes his hand and watches me struggle to catch my breath. "All of this could have been avoided."

"Are you going to kill me?" I croak.

Timofey has the audacity to smirk innocently. "Kill you? What would make you think that?"

"You broke into my fucking house!"

"It wasn't exactly breaking in." He lifts his hand and I catch a hint of silver between his fingers. "I used a key."

"But I don't keep a spare—" The words lodge in my throat when I see the neon pink "A" painted on the top of the key.Ashley's."Where did you get that?"

"You know exactly where I got it."

Without thinking about it, I lunge forward, arms outstretched. Timofey bats me away easily.

"Where is she?" I hissed. "What did you do with her?"

He casually pockets the key. "What did I do with Ashley? Nothing. There was no need."

"I know she didn't give you that voluntarily."

"The way I found her, she wasn't capable of giving anyone anything. She might have a drug problem, did you know?"

"What thefuckdid you do to her?" I practically scream.

"I kicked in her flimsy front door and she didn't even wake up. Your friend is fine."

I have no reason to trust Timofey, but I believe him. If he hurt her, he'd tell me. He'd rub my nose in it, actually. So if he's saying he didn't hurt her, it must be true.

Still, the thought of Ashley tucked into her bed while Timofey peruses through the key cup next to her front door is enough to make me feel nauseous.

"I could have just broken into your place," he continues. "By the looks of it, your window frames are rotted out and your bolt isn't strong enough to make more than a moment's difference. But I thought this illustrated my point a little more clearly."

His eyes trace over my face and across my shoulder. I'm wearing a tank top from high school. The material is tissue paper thin, and suddenly, I feel vulnerable in more ways than one.

I jerk my comforter up over my chest and do my best to look brave. "What point is that?"

"I know more about you than you think," he whispers, leaning in close. "I know you need the money I'm offering you. Badly."

"You knew that before I even left your house this morning. You didn't need to break in for that."

"True. But breaking in did reveal one thing." He holds up the manila folder I stuffed in my purse on my way out of the office this evening. "I know you didn't fill out your report about our meeting this morning. Do you know what that tells me?"

I honestly don't. I wish I did.

I lied to Andrea about the meeting being rescheduled, but I tried several times today to sit down and write the truth. I tried to capture my experience with Timofey Viktorov in a few paragraphs. To succinctly explain why he is the single most intimidating, terrifying man I've ever met.

It was impossible.

So I brought the file home and hoped being back in my safe space would help. But I couldn't even bring myself to pull the file out of my purse.

Now, Timofey himself is waving it under my nose in the middle of the night.

"It tells me you're still considering my offer," he says. "Somewhere, deep down, you know it's an opportunity you can't walk away from."

"Is that a threat?"

He leans in closer. The dark obscures the edges of him like he's emerging out of a pool of black water. Just the highlights of his nose and lips are visible.

Along with his eyes, of course. No matter what happens from this point on, I'll never, ever forget his eyes.

"That's up to you, Piper."

"None of this is up to me!" I retorted. "If it was up to me, you wouldn't be here right now."

"You have more control than you think. What happens next depends on what you choose to do."

He pats his pocket and I remember the key. Ashley's key. Is that another silent threat? He said she's okay, but will that change if I don't do what he asks? As far as I can tell, Timofey Viktorov is capable of anything.

"Why me?" I whisper.

"Why you?" His voice is soft, and I glance up, hoping to see mercy there. Instead, I'm met with a cold, calculating stare. "Because you had the misfortune of being handed my case file. Fate fucked you. There's nothing more to it."

Is it disappointment I feel weighing me down? It would be nice if there was something about me specifically that warranted Timofey's attention. If the reason my life is being turned upside down was more than me being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Lucky me," I draw miserably.

"I'd say so," Timofey agrees. "I saved your life and now, I'm offering to change it. All you have to do is accept."

"And then you won't hurt my friends?" I ask. "I accept, and you won't track down my family and blackmail me?"

He doesn't say anything because he doesn't have to. It's clear we both understand what my options are.

If it was just me at risk, I'd refuse to help him. Timofey could do whatever he wanted to me.

But there are more people to consider.

My grandma took care of me when I had nothing even resembling stability in my life. Noelle and Ashley, too, have been there for me since the beginning. Ashley would pack extra sets of clothes for me in high school when I didn't have a way to wash mine at home. She's had a hard go of things since then, and she doesn't deserve for my bad luck to veer her any more off-course.

"Well?" Timofey snarls. "I'm not a patient man."

"You're really going to pay me?"

"I'm not in the habit of keeping slaves."

"And I have to live with you?"

He shakes his head. "Yougetto live with me. There's a difference."

I huff out a breath. This man really thinks he is God's gift to us all. He probably thinks he is doing baby Benjamin a favor, too. It tracks—most unfit parents have no clue how wrong they are.

Which is why I have to do this. At least long enough to get Benjamin out of Timofey's claws. The fact that I can get myself out of debt at the same time is a bonus.

This doesn't have to be forever. Just for now.

I press my comforter against my chest with one arm and hold out my other hand. Timofey eyes it suspiciously.

"I figured the CEO of Viktorov Industries would know what a handshake looks like," I snapped.

His brow lifts. "That's not how I'd prefer to seal this deal."