Twisted Love (PDF)

TWISTED LOVE TWISTED BOOK ONE ANA HUANG Copyright © 2021 by Ana Huang All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission fro...

TWISTED LOVE TWISTED BOOK ONE ANA HUANG Copyright © 2021 by Ana Huang All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review and certain other noncommercial use permitted by copyright law. Resemblance to actual persons and things living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. TWISTED LOVE: Cover Designer: Quirah Casey, Temptation Creations Editor: Amy Briggs, Briggs Consulting LLC Proofreader: Krista Burdine Photographer: RafaGCatala Model: Jorge Del Rio Romero  To my mom, for all her support and encouragement over the years. Mom, if you’re reading this, turn back immediately. There are scenes in here that will scar you for life.  CONTENTS Playlist Synopsis 1. Ava 2. Alex 3. Ava 4. Ava 5. Alex 6. Ava 7. Alex 8. Ava 9. Alex 10. Ava 11. Ava 12. Ava 13. Alex 14. Ava 15. Ava 16. Alex 17. Ava 18. Alex 19. Ava 20. Alex 21. Ava 22. Alex 23. Ava 24. Ava 25. Ava 26. Ava 27. Ava 28. Alex 29. Ava 30. Ava 31. Alex 32. Ava 33. Alex 34. Alex 35. Alex 36. Ava 37. Alex 38. Alex 39. Ava 40. Alex 41. Ava 42. Ava 43. Ava Epilogue Books by Ana Huang Keep in touch with Ana Huang Acknowledgments About the Author  “Twisted”—MISSIO “Ice Box”—Omarion “Feel Again”—One Republic “Dusk Till Dawn”—ZAYN & Sia “Set Fire to the Rain”—Adele “Burn”—Ellie Goulding “My Kind of Love”—Emeli Sandé “Writing’s on the Wall”—Sam Smith “Ghost”—Ella Henderson “What Doesn’t Kill You”—Kelly Clarkson “Wide Awake”—Katy Perry “You Sang to Me”—Marc Anthony He has a heart of ice...but for her, he'd burn the world. Alex Volkov is a devil blessed with the face of an angel and cursed with a past he can’t escape. Driven by a tragedy that has haunted him for most of his life, his ruthless pursuits for success and vengeance leave little room for matters of the heart. But when he’s forced to look after his best friend’s sister, he starts to feel something in his chest: A crack. A melt. A fire that could end his world as he knew it. *** Ava Chen is a free spirit trapped by nightmares of a childhood she can’t remember. But despite her broken past, she’s never stopped seeing the beauty in the world…including the heart beneath the icy exterior of a man she shouldn’t want. Her brother’s best friend. Her neighbor. Her savior and her downfall. Theirs is a love that was never supposed to happen—but when it does, it unleashes secrets that could destroy them both…and everything they hold dear.  1 AVA T HERE WERE WORSE THINGS THAN BEING STRANDED IN THE MIDDLE OF nowhere during a rainstorm. For example, I could be running from a rabid bear intent on mauling me into the next century. Or I could be tied to a chair in a dark basement and forced to listen to Aqua’s “Barbie Girl” on repeat until I’d rather gnaw off my arm than hear the song’s eponymous phrase again. But just because things could be worse didn’t mean they didn’t suck. Stop. Think positive thoughts. “An Uber will show up…now.” I stared at my phone, biting back my frustration when the app reassured me it was “finding my ride”, the way it had been for the past half hour. Normally, I’d be less stressed about the situation because hey, at least I had a working phone and a bus shelter to keep me mostly dry from the pounding rain. But Josh’s farewell party was starting in an hour, I had yet to pick up his surprise cake from the bakery, and it would be dark soon. I may be a glass half full kinda gal, but I wasn’t an idiot. No one—especially not a college girl with zero fighting skills to speak of—wants to find herself alone in the middle of nowhere after dark. I should’ve taken those self-defense classes with Jules like she wanted. I mentally scrolled through my limited options. The bus that stopped at this location didn’t run on the weekends, and most of my friends didn’t own a car. Bridget had car service, but she was at an embassy event until seven. Uber wasn’t working, and I hadn’t seen a single car pass by since the rain started. Not that I would hitchhike, anyway—I’ve watched horror movies, thank you very much.  I only had one option left—one I really didn’t want to take—but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I pulled up the contact in my phone, said a silent prayer, and pressed the call button. One ring. Two rings. Three. Come on, pick up. Or not. I wasn’t sure which would be worse—getting murdered or dealing with my brother. Of course, there was always the chance said brother would murder me himself for putting myself in such a situation, but I’d deal with that later. “What’s wrong?” I scrunched my nose at his greeting. “Hello to you too, brother dearest. What makes you think something is wrong?” Josh snorted. “Uh, you called me. You never call unless you’re in trouble.” True. We preferred texting, and we lived next door to each other—not my idea, by the way—so we rarely had to message at all. “I wouldn’t say I’m in trouble,” I hedged. “More like…stranded. I’m not near public transport, and I can’t find an Uber.” “Christ, Ava. Where are you?” I told him. “What the hell are you doing there? That’s an hour from campus!” “Don’t be dramatic. I had an engagement shoot, and it’s a thirty-minute drive. Forty-five if there’s traffic.” Thunder boomed, shaking the branches of nearby trees. I winced and shrank farther back into the shelter, not that it did me much good. The rain slanted sideways, splattering me with water droplets so heavy and hard they stung when they hit my skin. A rustling noise came from Josh’s end, followed by a soft moan. I paused, sure I’d heard wrong, but nope, there it was again. Another moan. My eyes widened in horror. “Are you having sex right now?” I whisper- shouted, even though no one else was around. The sandwich I’d scarfed down before I left for my shoot threatened to make a reappearance. There was nothing—I repeat nothing—grosser than listening to a relative while they’re mid-coitus. Just the thought made me gag. “Technically, no.” Josh sounded unrepentant. The word “technically” did a lot of heavy lifting there. It didn’t take a genius to decipher Josh’s vague reply. He may not be having intercourse, but something was going on, and I had zero desire to find out what that “something” was. “Josh Chen.” “Hey, you’re the one who called me.” He must’ve covered his phone with his hand, because his next words came through muffled. I heard a soft, feminine laugh followed by a squeal, and I wanted to bleach my ears, my eyes, my mind. “One of the guys took my car to buy more ice,” Josh said, his voice clear again. “But don’t worry, I got you. Drop a pin on your exact location and keep your phone close. Do you still have the pepper spray I bought for your birthday last year?” “Yes. Thanks for that, by the way.” I’d wanted a new camera bag, but Josh had bought me an eight-pack of pepper spray instead. I’d never used any of it, which meant all eight bottles—minus the one tucked in my purse—were sitting snug in the back of my closet. My sarcasm went over my brother’s head. For a straight-A pre-med student, he could be quite dense. “You’re welcome. Stay put, and he’ll be there soon. We’ll talk about your complete lack of self-preservation later.” “I’m self-preserved,” I protested. Was that the right word? “It’s not my fault there are no Ub—wait, what do you mean ‘he’? Josh!” Too late. He’d already hung up. Figured the one time I wanted him to elaborate, he’d ditch me for one of his bed buddies. I was surprised he hadn’t freaked out more, considering Josh put the “over” in overprotective. Ever since “The Incident,” he’d taken it upon himself to look after me like he was my brother and bodyguard rolled into one. I didn’t blame him—our childhood had been a hundred shades of messed up, or so I’d been told—and I loved him to pieces, but his constant worrying could be a bit much. I sat sideways on the bench and hugged my bag to my side, letting the cracked leather warm my skin while I waited for the mysterious “he” to show up. It could be anyone. Josh had no shortage of friends. He’d always been Mr. Popular—basketball player, student body president, and homecoming king in high school; Sigma fraternity brother and Big Man on Campus in college. I was his opposite. Not unpopular per se, but I shied away from the limelight and would rather have a small group of close friends than a large group of friendly acquaintances. Where Josh was the life of the party, I sat in the corner and daydreamed about all the places I would love to visit but would probably never get to. Not if my phobia had anything to do with it. My damn phobia. I knew it was all mental, but it felt physical. The nausea, the racing heart, the paralyzing fear that turned my limbs into useless, frozen things… On the bright side, at least I wasn’t afraid of rain. Oceans and lakes and pools, I could avoid, but rain…yeah, that would’ve been bad. I wasn’t sure how long I huddled in the tiny bus shelter, cursing my lack of foresight when I turned down the Graysons’ offer to drive me back to town after our shoot. I hadn’t wanted to inconvenience them and thought I could call an Uber and be back at Thayer’s campus in half an hour, but the skies opened up right after the couple left and, well, here I was. It was getting dark. Muted grays mingled with the cool blues of twilight, and part of me worried the mysterious “he” wouldn’t show up, but Josh had never let me down. If one of his friends failed to pick me up like he’d asked, they wouldn’t have working legs tomorrow. Josh was a med student, but he had zero compunction about using violence when the situation called for it— especially when the situation involved me. The bright beam of headlights slashed through the rain. I squinted, my heart tripping in both anticipation and wariness as I weighed the odds of whether the car belonged to my ride or a potential psycho. This part of Maryland was pretty safe, but you never knew. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I slumped with relief, only to stiffen again two seconds later. Good news? I recognized the sleek, black Aston Martin pulling up toward me. It belonged to one of Josh’s friends, which meant I wouldn’t end up a local news item tonight. Bad news? The person driving said Aston Martin was the last person I wanted—or expected—to pick me up. He wasn’t an I’ll do my buddy a favor and rescue his stranded little sister kinda guy. He was a look at me wrong and I’ll destroy you and everyone you care about kinda guy, and he’d do it looking so calm and gorgeous you wouldn’t notice your world burning down around you until you were already a heap of ashes at his Tom Ford-clad feet. I swiped the tip of my tongue over my dry lips as the car stopped in front of me and the passenger window rolled down. “Get in.” He didn’t raise his voice—he never raised his voice—but I still heard him loud and clear over the rain.  Alex Volkov was a force of nature unto himself, and I imagined even the weather bowed to him. “I hope you’re not waiting for me to open the door for you,” he said when I didn’t move. He sounded as happy as I was about the situation. What a gentleman. I pressed my lips together and bit back a sarcastic reply as I roused myself from the bench and ducked into the car. It smelled cool and expensive, like spicy cologne and fine Italian leather. I didn’t have a towel or anything to place on the seat beneath me, so all I could do was pray I didn’t damage the expensive interior. “Thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it,” I said in an attempt to break the icy silence. I failed. Miserably. Alex didn’t respond or even look at me as he navigated the twists and curves of the slick roads leading back to campus. He drove the same way he walked, talked, and breathed—steady and controlled, with an undercurrent of danger warning those foolish enough to contemplate crossing him that doing so would be their death sentence. He was the exact opposite of Josh, and I still marveled at the fact that they were best friends. Personally, I thought Alex was an asshole. I was sure he had his reasons, some kind of psychological trauma which shaped him into the unfeeling robot he was today. Based on the snippets I’d gleaned from Josh, Alex’s childhood had been even worse than ours, though I’d never managed to pull the details out of my brother. All I knew was, Alex’s parents had died when he was young and left him a pile of money he’d quadrupled the value of when he came into his inheritance at age eighteen. Not that he’d needed it because he’d invented a new financial modeling software in high school that made him a multimillionaire before he could vote. With an IQ of 160, Alex Volkov was a genius, or close to it. He was the only person in Thayer’s history to complete its five-year joint undergrad/MBA program in three years, and at age twenty-six, he was the COO of one of the most successful real estate development companies in the country. He was a legend, and he knew it. Meanwhile, I thought I was doing well if I remembered to eat while juggling my classes, extracurriculars, and two jobs—front desk duty at the McCann Gallery, and my side hustle as a photographer for anyone who would hire me. Graduations, engagements, dogs’ birthday parties, I did them all. “Are you going to Josh’s party?” I tried again to make small talk. The silence was killing me. Alex and Josh had been best friends since they roomed together at Thayer eight years ago, and Alex had joined my family for Thanksgiving and assorted holidays every year since, but I still didn’t know him. Alex and I didn’t talk unless it had to do with Josh or passing the potatoes at dinner or something. “Yes.” Okay, then. Guess small talk was out. My mind wandered toward the million things I had to do that weekend. Edit the photos from the Graysons’ shoot and, work on my application for the World Youth Photography fellowship, help Josh finish packing after— Crap! I’d forgotten all about Josh’s cake. I’d ordered it two weeks ago because that was the max lead time for something from Crumble & Bake. It was Josh’s favorite dessert, a three-layer dark chocolate frosted with fudge and filled with chocolate pudding. He only indulged on his birthday, but since he was leaving the country for a year, I figured he could break his once-a-year rule. “So…” I pasted the biggest, brightest smile on my face. “Don’t kill me, but we need to make a detour to Crumble & Bake.” “No. We’re already late.” Alex stopped at a red light. We’d made it back to civilization, and I spotted the blurred outlines of a Starbucks and a Panera through the rain-splattered glass. My smile didn’t budge. “It’s a small detour. It’ll take fifteen minutes, max. I just need to run in and pick up Josh’s cake. You know, the Death by Chocolate he likes so much? He’ll be in Central America for a year, they don’t have C&B down there, and he leaves in two days so—” “Stop.” Alex’s fingers curled around the steering wheel, and my crazy, hormonal mind latched onto how beautiful they were. That might sound crazy because who has beautiful fingers? But he did. Physically, everything about him was beautiful. The jade-green eyes that glared out from beneath dark brows like chips hewn from a glacier; the sharp jawline and elegant, sculpted cheekbones; the lean frame and thick, light brown hair that somehow looked both tousled and perfectly coiffed. He resembled a statue in an Italian museum come to life. The insane urge to ruffle his hair like I would a kid’s gripped me, just so he’d stop looking so perfect—which was quite irritating to the rest of us mere mortals—but I didn’t have a death wish, so I kept my hands planted in my lap. “If I take you to Crumble & Bake, will you stop talking?” No doubt he regretted picking me up. My smile grew. “If you want.” His lips thinned. “Fine.” Yes! Ava Chen: One. Alex Volkov: Zero. When we arrived at the bakery, I unbuckled my seatbelt and was halfway out the door when Alex grabbed my arm and pulled me back into my seat. Contrary to what I’d expected, his touch wasn’t cold—it was scorching, and it burned through my skin and muscles until I felt its warmth in the pit of my stomach. I swallowed hard. Stupid hormones. “What? We’re already late, and they’re closing soon.” “You can’t go out like that.” The tiniest hint of disapproval etched into the corners of his mouth. “Like what?” I asked, confused. I wore jeans and a T-shirt, nothing scandalous. Alex inclined his head toward my chest. I glanced down and let out a horrified yelp. Because my shirt? White. Wet. Transparent. Not even a little transparent, like you could kind of see my bra outline if you looked hard enough. This was full-on see-through. Red lace bra, hard nipples—thanks, air-conditioning—the whole shebang. I crossed my arms over my chest, my face flaming the same color as my bra. “Was it like this the entire time?” “Yes.” “You could’ve told me.” “I did tell you. Just now.” Sometimes, I wanted to strangle him. I really did. And I wasn’t even a violent person. I was the same girl who didn’t eat gingerbread man cookies for years after watching Shrek because I felt like I was eating Gingy’s family members or, worse, Gingy himself, but something about Alex provoked my dark side. I exhaled a sharp breath and dropped my arms by instinct, forgetting about my see-through shirt until Alex’s gaze flicked down to my chest again. The flaming cheeks returned, but I was sick of sitting here arguing with him. Crumble & Bake closed in ten minutes, and the clock was ticking. Maybe it was the man, the weather, or the hour and a half I’d spent stuck under a bus shelter, but my frustration spilled out before I could stop it. “Instead of being an asshole and staring at my breasts, can you lend me your jacket? Because I really want to get this cake and send my brother, your best friend, off in style before he leaves the country.” My words hung in the air while I clapped a hand over my mouth, horrified. Did I just utter the word “breasts” to Alex Volkov and accuse him of ogling me? And call him an asshole? Dear God, if you smite me with lightning right now, I won’t be mad. Promise. Alex’s eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. It ranked in the top five most emotional responses I’d pulled out of him in eight years, so that was something. “Trust me, I was not staring at your breasts,” he said, his voice frigid enough to transform the lingering drops of moisture on my skin into icicles. “You’re not my type, even if you weren’t Josh’s sister.” Ouch. I wasn’t interested in Alex either, but no girl enjoys being dismissed so easily by a member of the opposite sex. “Whatever. There’s no need to be a jerk about it,” I muttered. “Look, C&B closes in two minutes. Just let me borrow your jacket, and we can get out of here.” I’d pre-paid online, so all I needed was to grab the cake. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’ll get it. You’re not leaving the car dressed like that, even wearing my jacket.” Alex yanked an umbrella out from beneath his seat and exited the car in one fluid motion. He moved like a panther, all coiled grace and laser intensity. If he wanted, he could make a killing as a runway model, though I doubted he’d ever do anything so “gauche.” He returned less than five minutes later with Crumble & Bake’s signature pink-and-mint-green cake box tucked beneath one arm. He dumped it in my lap, snapped his umbrella closed, and reversed out of the parking spot without so much as blinking. “Do you ever smile?” I asked, peeking inside the box to make sure they hadn’t messed up the order. Nope. One Death by Chocolate, coming right up. “It might help with your condition.” “What condition?” Alex sounded bored. “Stickuptheassitis.” I’d already called the man an asshole, so what was one more insult? I might’ve imagined it, but I thought I saw his mouth twitch before he responded with a bland, “No. The condition is chronic.” My hands froze while my jaw unhinged. “D-did you make a joke?” “Explain why you were out there in the first place.” Alex evaded my question and changed subjects so quick I had whiplash. He made a joke. I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes. “I had a photoshoot with clients. There’s a nice lake in—” “Spare me the details. I don’t care.” A low growl slipped from my throat. “Why are you here? Didn’t figure you for the chauffeur type.” “I was in the area, and you’re Josh’s little sister. If you died, he’d be a bore to hang out with.” Alex pulled up in front of my house. Next door, AKA at Josh’s house, the lights blazed, and I could see people dancing and laughing through the windows. “Josh has the worst taste in friends,” I bit out. “I don’t know what he sees in you. I hope that stick in your ass punctures a vital organ.” Then, because I’d been raised with manners, I added, “Thank you for the ride.” I huffed out of the car. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and I smelled damp earth and the hydrangeas clustered in a pot by the front door. I’d shower, change, then catch the last half of Josh’s party. Hopefully, he wouldn’t give me shit for getting stranded or being late because I wasn’t in the mood. I never stay angry for long, but right then, my blood simmered and I wanted to punch Alex Volkov in the face. He was so cold and arrogant and…and…him. It was infuriating. At least I didn’t have to deal with him often. Josh usually hung out with him in the city, and Alex didn’t visit Thayer even though he was an alumnus. Thank God. If I had to see Alex more than a few times a year, I’d go crazy.  2 ALEX “W E SHOULD TAKE THIS SOMEWHERE MORE … PRIVATE.” T HE BLONDE TRAILED her fingers down my arm, her hazel eyes bright with invitation as she swiped her tongue over her bottom lip. “Or not. Whatever you’re into.” My lips curved—not enough to classify as a smile, but enough to broadcast my thoughts. You can’t handle what I’m into. Despite her short, tight dress and suggestive words, she looked like the type who expected sweet nothings and lovemaking in bed. I didn’t do sweet nothings or lovemaking. I fucked a certain way, and only a specific type of woman was into that shit. Not hardcore BDSM, but not soft. No kissing, no face-to-face contact. Women agreed, then tried to change it up halfway through, after which I’d stop and show them the door. I have no tolerance for people who can’t keep to a simple agreement. That was why I stuck to a roster of familiar rotating names when I needed a release; both sides knew what to expect. The blonde was not making it onto that roster. “Not tonight.” I swirled the ice in my glass. “It’s my friend’s farewell party.” She followed my gaze toward Josh, who was basking in female attention of his own. He sprawled on the couch, one of the few remaining pieces of furniture after he’d packed the house up in anticipation of his year abroad, and grinned while three women fawned over him. He’d always been the charming one. While I put people on edge, he put them at ease, and his approach toward the fairer sex was the opposite of mine. The more, the merrier, according to Josh. He’d probably fucked half the D.C. metro area’s female population by now. “He can join too.” The blonde edged closer until her tits grazed my arm. “I don’t mind.” “Same.” Her friend, a petite brunette who had been quiet up till now but who’d eyed me like I was a juicy steak since I walked in the door, piped up. “Lyss and I do everything together.” The insinuation couldn’t have been clearer had she tattooed it across her exposed cleavage. Most guys would’ve jumped at the opportunity, but I was already bored with the conversation. Nothing turned me off more than desperation, which reeked stronger than their perfume. I didn’t bother answering. Instead, I scanned the room for something more interesting to hold my attention. If it were a party for anyone else but Josh, I would’ve skipped it. Between my job as COO of The Archer Group and my…side project, I had enough on my plate without attending pointless social gatherings. But Josh was my best friend—one of the few people whose company I could stand for more than an hour at a time—and he was leaving Monday for his gap year as a medical volunteer in Central America. So here I was, pretending like I actually wanted to be here. A silvery laugh pealed through the air, drawing my eyes toward the source. Ava. Of course. Josh’s little sister was so sweet and sunshiney all the time, I half-expected flowers to sprout on the ground wherever she walked and a coterie of singing woodland animals to trail behind her while she traipsed through meadows or whatever girls like her did. She stood in the corner with her friends, her face bright with animation as she laughed at something one of them said. I wondered if it was a real laugh or a fake laugh. Most laughs—hell, most people—were fake. They woke up every morning and put on a mask according to what they wanted that day and who they wanted the world to see. They smiled at people they hated, laughed at jokes that weren’t funny, and kissed the asses of those they secretly hoped to dethrone. I wasn’t judging. Like everyone else, I had my masks, and they ran layers deep. But unlike everyone else, I had as much interest in ass-kissing and small talk as I did in injecting bleach into my veins. Knowing Ava, her laugh was real.  Poor girl. The world would eat her alive once she left the Thayer bubble. Not my problem. “Yo.” Josh appeared beside me, his hair tousled and his mouth stretched into a wide grin. His hangers-on were nowhere—wait, nope. There they were, dancing to Beyoncé like they were auditioning for a gig at The Strip Angel while a circle of guys watched them with their tongues lolling out. Men. My gender could use a little more standards and a little less thinking with their small head. “Thanks for showing up, man. Sorry I haven’t said hi till now. I’ve been…busy.” “I saw.” I arched an eyebrow at the lipstick print smeared on the corner of his mouth. “You have a little something on your face.” His grin widened. “Badge of honor. Speaking of which, I’m not interrupting, am I?” I glanced at the blonde and brunette, who’d moved on to making out with each other after failing to capture my interest. “No.” I shook my head. “A hundred bucks says you won’t survive the full year in Bumfuck, Nowhere. No women, no parties. You’ll be back before Halloween.” “Oh, ye of little faith. There’ll be women, and the party is wherever I am.” Josh swiped an unopened beer from a nearby cooler and cracked it open. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. Me being gone,” he clarified. “Don’t tell me you’re getting sentimental on me. If you bought us friendship bracelets, I’m out.” “Fuck you, dude.” He laughed. “I wouldn’t buy your ass jewelry if you paid me. No, this is about Ava.” My glass paused an inch from my lips before I brought it home and the sweet burn of whiskey flowed down my throat. I hate beer. It tastes like piss, but since it was the drink du jour at Josh’s parties, I always brought a flask of Macallan whenever I visited. “What about her?” Josh and his sister were close, even if they bickered so much I wanted to duct tape their mouths sometimes. That was the nature of siblings— something I’d never quite gotten to experience. The whiskey turned sour in my mouth, and I set my glass down with a grimace. “I’m worried about her.” Josh rubbed a hand over his jaw, his expression growing serious. “I know she’s a big girl and can take care of herself—unless she’s getting stranded in the middle of fucking nowhere; thanks for picking her up, by the way—but she’s never been on her own for so long and she can be a little too…trusting.” I had an inkling of where Josh was going with this, and I didn’t like it. At all. “She won’t be alone. She has her friends.” I inclined my head toward said friends. One of them, a curvy redhead in a gold skirt that made her look like a disco ball, chose that moment to hop onto the table and shake her ass to the rap song blasting through the speakers. Josh snorted. “Jules? She’s a liability, not help. Stella is as trusting as Ava, and Bridget…well, she has security, but she’s not around as much.” “You don’t need to worry. Thayer’s safe, and the crime rate here is close to zero.” “Yeah, but I’d feel better if I had someone I trusted looking after her, ya know?” Fuck. The train was heading straight off a cliff, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. “I wouldn’t ask—I know you’ve got a lot of shit going on—but she broke up with her ex a couple of weeks ago, and he’s been harassing her. I always knew he was a little shit, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Anyway, if you could keep an eye on her—just to make sure she doesn’t get killed or kidnapped or anything? I’d owe you big.” “You already owe me for all those times I saved your ass,” I said wryly. “You had fun while doing it. You’re too uptight sometimes.” Josh grinned. “So, is that a yes?” I glanced at Ava again. Took her in. She was twenty-two, four years younger than Josh and me, and she managed to appear both younger and older than her years. It was the way she carried herself, like she’d seen it all —the good, the bad, the downright ugly—and still believed in goodness. It was as stupid as it was admirable. She must’ve felt me staring because she paused her conversation and looked directly at me, her cheeks tinting pink at my unflinching gaze. She’d changed out of her jeans and T-shirt into a purple dress that swirled around her knees. Too bad. The dress was nice, but my mind flashed back to our car ride, when her damp shirt had clung to her like a second skin and her nipples had strained against the decadent red lace of her bra. I’d meant what I’d said about her not being my type, but I’d enjoyed the view. I could imagine myself lifting that shirt, tugging her bra aside with my teeth, and closing my mouth around those sweet, hardened peaks— I yanked myself out of that startling fantasy fast. What the fuck was wrong with me? That was Josh’s sister. Innocent, doe-eyed, and so sweet I could throw up. The total opposite of the sophisticated, jaded women I preferred both in and out of bed. I didn’t have to worry about feelings with the latter; they knew better than to develop any around me. Ava was nothing but feelings, with a hint of sass. A ghost of a smile passed over my mouth when I remembered her parting shot earlier. I hope that stick in your ass punctures a vital organ. Not the worst thing anyone’s said to me, not by a long shot, but more aggressive than I’d expected coming from her. I’d never heard her say a bad word to or about anyone before. I took perverse pleasure in the fact that I could rile her up so much. “Alex,” Josh prompted. “I don’t know, man.” I dragged my eyes away from Ava and her purple dress. “I’m not much of a babysitter.” “Good thing she’s not a baby,” he quipped. “Look, I know this is a big ask, but you’re the only person I trust not to, you know—” “Fuck her?” “Jesus, dude.” Josh looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Don’t use that word in relation to my sister. It’s gross. But…yeah. I mean, we both know she’s not your type, and even if she was, you’d never go there.” A sliver of guilt flashed through me when I remembered my errant fantasy a few moments ago. It was time for me to call up someone from my roster if I was fantasizing about Ava Chen, of all people. “But it’s more than that,” Josh continued. “You’re the only person I trust, period, outside of my family. And you know how worried I am about Ava, especially considering this whole thing with her ex.” His face darkened. “I swear, if I ever see that fucker…” I sighed. “I’ll take care of her. Don’t worry.” I was going to regret this. I knew it, yet here I was, signing my life away, at least for the next year. I didn’t make a lot of promises, but when I did, I kept them. Committed myself to them. Which meant if I promised Josh I’d look after Ava, I’d fucking look after her, and I’m not talking about a text check-in every two weeks.  She was under my protection now. A familiar, creeping sense of doom slithered around my neck and squeezed, tighter and tighter, until oxygen ran scarce and tiny lights danced before my eyes. Blood. Everywhere. On my hands. On my clothes. Splattered over the cream rug she’d loved so much—the one she’d brought back from Europe on her last trip abroad. An inane urge to scrub the rug and tear those bloody particles out of the soft wool fibers, one by one, gripped me, but I couldn’t move. All I could do was stand and stare at the grotesque scene in my living room—a room which, not half an hour earlier, had burst with warmth and laughter and love. Now it was cold and lifeless, like the three bodies at my feet. I blinked, and they disappeared—the lights, the memories, the noose around my neck. But they’d come back. They always did. “…You’re the best,” Josh was saying, his grin back now that I’d agreed to take on a role I had no business taking. I wasn’t a protector; I was a destroyer. I broke hearts, crushed business opponents, and didn’t care about the aftermath. If someone was stupid enough to fall for me or cross me—two things I warned people never, ever to do—they had it coming. “I’ll bring you back—fuck, I don’t know. Coffee. Chocolate. Pounds of whatever is good down there. And I owe you a big, fat favor in the future.” I forced a smile. Before I could respond, my phone rang, and I held up a finger. “Be right back. I have to take this.” “Take your time, man.” Josh was already distracted by the blonde and brunette who’d been all over me earlier and who found a much more willing audience in my best friend. By the time I stepped into the backyard and answered my call, they had their hands beneath his shirt. “Дядько,” I said, using the Ukrainian term for uncle. “Alex.” My uncle’s voice rasped over the line, scratchy from decades of cigarettes and the wear and tear of life. “I hope I’m not interrupting.” “No.” I glanced through the sliding glass door at the revelry inside. Josh had lived in the same rambling, two-story house off Thayer’s campus since undergrad. We’d roomed together until I graduated and moved to D.C. proper to be closer to my office—and to get away from the hordes of shrieking, drunken college students that paraded through campus and the surrounding neighborhoods every night. Everyone had turned out for Josh’s farewell party, and by everyone, I mean half the population of Hazelburg, Maryland, where Thayer was located. He was a town favorite, and I imagined people would miss his parties as much as they missed Josh himself. For someone who always claimed to be drowning in schoolwork, he found a lot of time for drinking and sex. Not that it hurt his academic performance. The bastard had a 4.0 GPA. “Did you take care of the problem?” my uncle asked. I heard a drawer open and close, followed by the faint click of a lighter. I’d urged him to quit smoking countless times, but he always brushed me off. Old habits die hard; old, bad habits even more so, and Ivan Volkov had reached the age where he couldn’t be bothered. “Not yet.” The moon hung low in the sky, casting ribbons of light that snaked through the otherwise-inky darkness of the backyard. Light and shadow. Two halves of the same coin. “I will. We’re close.” To justice. Vengeance. Salvation. For sixteen years, the pursuit of those three things had consumed me. They were my every waking thought, my every dream and nightmare. My reason for living. Even in situations when I’d been distracted by something else—the chess-play of corporate politics, the fleeting pleasure of burying myself into the tight, warm heat of a willing body—they’d lurked in my consciousness, driving me to greater heights of ambition and ruthlessness. Sixteen years might seem like a long time, but I specialize in the long game. It doesn’t matter how many years I have to wait as long as the end is worth it. And the end of the man who had destroyed my family? It would be glorious. “Good.” My uncle coughed, and my lips pinched. One of these days, I’d convince him to quit smoking. Life had driven any sentimentality out of me years ago, but Ivan was my only living relative. He took me in, raised me as his own, and stuck by me through every thorny twist of my path toward revenge, so I owed him that much, at least. “Your family will be at peace soon,” he said. Perhaps. Whether the same could be said of me…well, that was a question for another day. “There’s a board meeting next week,” I said, switching topics. “I’ll be in town for the day.” My uncle was the official CEO of Archer Group, the real estate development company he’d founded a decade ago with my guidance. I’d had a knack for business even as a teenager. Archer Group headquarters called Philadelphia home, but it had offices across the country. Since I was based in D.C., that was the company’s real power center, though board meetings still took place at HQ. I could’ve taken over as CEO years ago, per my uncle’s and my agreement when we started the company, but the COO position offered me more flexibility until I finished what I had to do. Besides, everyone knew I was the power behind the throne, anyway. Ivan was a decent CEO, but it was my strategies that had catapulted it into the Fortune 500 after a mere decade. My uncle and I talked business for a while longer before I hung up and rejoined the party. The gears in my head cranked into motion as I took stock of the evening’s developments—my promise to Josh, my uncle’s nudge about the minor hiccup in my revenge plan. Somehow, I had to reconcile the two over the next year. I mentally rearranged the pieces of my life into different patterns, playing each scenario out to the end, weighing the pros and cons, and examining them for potential cracks until I reached a decision. “Everything good?” Josh called out from the couch, where the blonde kissed his neck while the brunette’s hands became intimately acquainted with the region below his belt. “Yes.” To my irritation, my gaze strayed toward Ava again. She was in the kitchen, fussing over the half-eaten cake from Crumble & Bake. Her tanned skin glowed with a faint sheen of sweat from dancing, and her raven hair billowed around her face in a soft cloud. “About your earlier request…I have an idea.”  3 AVA “I HOPE YOU APPRECIATE WHAT A GOOD FRIEND I AM.” J ULES YAWNED AS WE tromped across our front yard toward Josh’s house. “For waking up at the butt crack of dawn to help your brother clean and pack when I don’t even like the dude.” I laughed and looped my arm through hers. “I’ll buy you a caramel mocha from The Morning Roast after. Promise.” “Yeah, yeah.” She paused. “Large, with extra crunch toppings?” “You know it.” “Fine.” Jules yawned again. “That makes it somewhat worth it.” Jules and Josh were not fans of each other. I’d always found that strange, considering they were so similar. They were both outgoing, charming, smart as hell, and total heartbreakers. Jules was a human version of Jessica Rabbit, all shiny red hair, creamy skin, and curves that made me look at my body with a sigh. Overall, I was happy with how I looked, but as a member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, I did wish for an extra cup size or two without having to resort to plastic surgery. Ironically, Jules sometimes complained about her double-Ds, saying they were hard on her back. There should be a Venmo for breasts that allows women to send and receive cup sizes with the press of a button. Like I said, I was happy with how I looked most of the time, but no one— not even supermodels or movie stars—was immune from insecurities. Besides her grievances with her breasts, Jules was the most confident person I’d ever met—aside from my brother, whose ego was so large it could house the entire East Coast of the United States with room left over for Texas. I suppose he had reason to be, considering he’d always been the golden boy, and though it pained me to admit it because he was my brother, he wasn’t bad-looking either. Six-foot-two with thick black hair and razor- sharp bone structure, which he never let anyone forget. I was convinced Josh would commission a sculpture of himself and display it on his front lawn if he could. Jules and Josh never divulged why they disliked each other so much, but I suspected it might be because they saw too much of themselves in each other. The front door was already open, so we didn’t bother knocking. To my surprise, the house was pretty clean. Josh had put most of his furniture into storage last week, and the only things left to pack were the couch (which someone would pick up later), a few stray kitchen items, and the weird abstract painting in the living room. “Josh?” My voice echoed in the large, empty space while Jules sat on the ground and pulled her knees to her chest with a grumpy expression. If you couldn’t tell, she wasn’t a morning person. “Where are you?” “Bedroom!” I heard a loud thump upstairs, followed by a muffled curse. A minute later, Josh came down holding a large cardboard box. “Shit I’m donating,” he explained, setting it on the kitchen counter. I wrinkled my nose. “Put a shirt on. Please.” “And deprive JR of her morning eye candy?” Josh smirked. “I’m not that cruel.” I wasn’t the only one who thought Jules looked like Jessica Rabbit; Josh always called her by the cartoon character’s initials, which pissed her off to no end. Then again, everything Josh did pissed her off. Jules lifted her head and scowled. “Please. I’ve seen better abs at the campus gym. Listen to Ava and put a shirt on before I lose last night’s dinner.” “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Josh drawled, slapping a hand against his six-pack. “The only thing you’ll be losing is—” “Okay.” I slashed my arms through the air, cutting off the conversation before it went down a path that’d scar me for life. “Enough chitchat. Let’s get you packed up before you miss your flight.” Fortunately, Josh and Jules behaved for the next hour and a half while we packed up the remaining items and loaded them into the SUV he’d rented for the move. Soon, the only thing left to pack was the painting. “Tell me you’re donating this too.” I eyed the massive canvas. “I don’t even know how it’ll fit in the car.” “Nah, leave it there. He likes it.” “Who?” As far as I knew, no one had taken over Josh’s lease yet. But it was still July, and I expected the place to go fast closer to the start of the semester. “You’ll see.” I didn’t like the smile on his face. At all. The low purr of a powerful engine filled the air. Josh’s smile broadened. “As a matter of fact, you’ll see right now.” Jules and I exchanged glances before we ran to the front door and pushed it open. A familiar Aston Martin idled in the driveway. The door opened, and Alex stepped out, looking more gorgeous than any human had the right to look in jeans, aviators, and a black button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He took off his sunglasses and assessed us with cool eyes, unfazed by the mini welcoming party on the front steps. Only I didn’t feel particularly welcoming. “But…but that’s Alex,” I stammered. “Looking miiiighty fine, might I add.” Jules nudged me in the ribs, and I scowled in response. Who cared if he was hot? He was a jerk. “Hey, dude.” Josh slapped hands with Alex. “Where’s your stuff?” “Moving company’s bringing it later.” Alex side-eyed Jules, who assessed him the way one would a shiny new toy. Besides Josh, Alex was the only guy who’d never fallen for her charms, which intrigued her more. She was a sucker for a good challenge, probably because most guys fell at her feet before she even opened her mouth. “Wait.” I put my hand up, my heart slamming a panicked rhythm against my ribcage. “Moving comp—you’re not moving here.” “Actually, he is.” Josh slung an arm over my shoulder, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Meet your new neighbor, little sis.” My eyes ping-ponged between him and Alex, who couldn’t look more bored by the conversation. “No.” There was only one reason Alex Volkov would leave his cushy D.C. penthouse and move back to Hazelburg, and I’d bet my new camera it had nothing to do with nostalgia for his college days. “No, no, no, no, no.” “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.”  I glared at my brother. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’m twenty-two years old.” “Who said anything about babysitting?” Josh shrugged. “He’s looking after the house for me. I’m moving back in when I return next year, so it makes sense.” “Bullshit. You want him to keep an eye on me.” “That’s a bonus.” Josh’s face softened. “It doesn’t hurt to have someone you can rely on when I’m not here, especially given this whole thing with Liam.” I winced at the mention of my ex. Liam had been blowing up my phone since I caught him cheating on me a month and a half ago. He’d even shown up at the gallery where I worked a few times, begging for another chance. I wasn’t devastated by our breakup. We’d dated for a few months, and I hadn’t been in love with him or anything, but the situation had brought all my insecurities to the surface. Josh worried about Liam getting out of hand, but let’s be honest, Liam was a Brooks-Brother-wearing, polo-playing trust fund baby. I doubted he’d do anything that would mess up his perfectly gelled hair. I was more embarrassed I’d dated him than concerned about my physical safety. “I can handle myself.” I pulled Josh’s arm off my shoulder. “Call the moving company and cancel,” I told Alex, who’d been ignoring us and scrolling through his phone this whole time. “You do not need to move here. Don’t you have…stuff to do in D.C.?” “D.C. is a twenty-minute drive,” he said without looking up. “For the record, I am totally in favor of you moving in next door,” Jules piped up. Traitor. “Do you mow the lawn shirtless? If not, I highly recommend it.” Alex and Josh frowned at the same time. “You.” Josh pointed at her. “Do not pull any of your shenanigans while I’m gone.” “It’s cute how you think you have a say in my life.” “I don’t give a shit what you do with your life. It’s when you drag Ava into your harebrained schemes I’m concerned.” “Newsflash: you don’t have a say in Ava’s life either. She’s her own person.” “She’s my sister—”  “She’s my best friend—” “Remember when you almost got her arrested—” “You have to let that go. That was three years ago—” “People!” I pressed my fingers to my temple. Dealing with Josh and Jules was like dealing with children. “Stop arguing. Josh, stop trying to control my life. Jules, stop provoking him.” Josh crossed his arms over his chest. “As your big brother, it’s my job to protect you and to appoint someone to fill in for me when I’m not here.” I grew up with him; I recognized that look on his face. He wasn’t budging. “I assume Alex is the fill-in?” I asked in a resigned tone. “I’m not a ‘fill-in’ anything,” Alex said icily. “Don’t do anything stupid, and we’ll be fine.” I groaned and covered my face with my hands. This was going to be a long year.  4 AVA T WO DAYS LATER , J OSH WAS IN C ENTRAL A MERICA AND A LEX WAS ALL moved in. I’d watched the movers carry a giant flat-screen TV and boxes of varying sizes into the house next door, and Alex’s Aston Martin was now a daily sight. Since stewing over my situation wouldn’t do me much good, I decided to make lemonade out of my lemons. The gallery closed on Tuesdays during the summer and I didn’t have any shoots scheduled, so I spent the afternoon baking my signature red velvet cookies. I’d just finished packaging them in a cute little basket when I heard the unmistakable roar of Alex’s car pulling in the driveway, followed by a door slam. Shit. Okay, I was ready. I was. I wiped my sweaty palms against the sides of my thighs. I shouldn’t be nervous about bringing the man cookies, for Pete’s sake. Alex had sat at our Thanksgiving table every year for the past eight years, and for all his money and good looks, he was human. An intimidating one, but a human nonetheless. Plus, he was supposed to look after me, and he couldn’t do that if he bit my head off, could he? With that reassurance in mind, I grabbed the basket, my keys, and my phone and made my way to his house. Thank God Jules was at her law internship. If I had to hear her talk about how hot Alex was one more time, I’d scream. Part of me thought she did it to annoy me, but another part worried she was actually interested in him. My best friend hooking up with my brother’s best friend would open up a can of worms I had no interest in dealing with. I rang the doorbell, trying to still my rampaging heart while I waited for Alex to answer. I wanted to chuck the basket on the front step and run home, but that was the coward’s way out, and I was no coward. Most of the time, anyway. A minute passed. I rang the doorbell again. Finally, I heard the faint sound of footsteps, which grew louder until the door swung open and I found myself face-to-face with Alex. He’d taken off his jacket, but otherwise, he still wore his work outfit—white Thomas Pink shirt, Armani pants and shoes, blue Brioni tie. His eyes roved over my hair (tossed up into a bun), my face (hot as sun- scorched sand for no discernible reason), and my clothes (my favorite tank and shorts set) before settling on the basket. His expression remained unreadable the entire time. “They’re for you.” I shoved the basket toward him. “They’re cookies,” I added unnecessarily, because duh, he had eyes and could see for himself that they were cookies. “It’s a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift.” “A welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift,” he repeated. “Yep. Since you’re…new. To the neighborhood.” I sounded like an idiot. “I know you don’t want to be here any more than I want you here—” Crap, that came out wrong. “But since we are neighbors, we should call a truce.” Alex arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware a truce was necessary. We’re not in a war.” “No, but—” I blew out a frustrated breath. He had to make this difficult. “I’m trying to be nice, okay? We’re stuck with each other for the next year, so I want to make our lives easier. Just take the damn cookies. You can eat them, throw them out, feed them to your pet snake Nagini, whatever.” His mouth twitched. “Did you just compare me to Voldemort?” “What? No!” Maybe. “I used the snake as an example. You don’t seem like the type who’d have a furry pet.” “You’re right on that account. But I don’t have a snake, either.” He took the basket off my hands. “Thank you.” I blinked. Blinked again. Did Alex Volkov thank me? I’d expected him to take the cookies and shut the door in my face. He’d never thanked me for anything in my life.  Except maybe that one time I passed him the mashed potatoes at dinner, but I’d been drunk, so my recollection was hazy. I was still frozen in shock when he added, “Do you want to come in?” This was a dream. It had to be. Because the chances of Alex inviting me inside his house in real life were lower than me solving a quadratic equation in my head. I pinched myself. Ow. Okay, not a dream. Just an incredibly surreal encounter. I wondered if aliens had abducted the real Alex on his way home and replaced him with a nicer, more civil imposter. “Sure,” I managed, because hell, I was curious. I’d never been inside Alex’s home before, and I was curious to see what he’d done with Josh’s place. He’d moved in two days ago, so I expected to see stray boxes lying about, but everything was so polished and put together it looked like he’d been living here for years. A sleek gray couch and eighty-inch flat-screen TV dominated the living room, accented with a low, white lacquered coffee table, industrial-chic lamps, and Josh’s abstract painting. I glimpsed an espresso machine in the kitchen and a glass-topped table with white-cushioned chairs in the dining room, but otherwise, there wasn’t much furniture to speak of. It was a drastic difference from Josh’s messy but cozy collection of random books, sports equipment, and items he’d collected from his travels. “You’re a minimalist, huh?” I examined a strange metal sculpture that looked like an exploding brain but probably cost more than my monthly rent. “I don’t see a point in collecting items I don’t use and don’t enjoy.” Alex placed the cookies on the coffee table and walked to the bar cart in the corner. “Drink?” “No, thanks.” I sat on the couch, unsure of what to do or say. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat opposite me, but it wasn’t far enough. I caught a whiff of his cologne—something woodsy and expensive-smelling, with a hint of spice. It was so delicious I wanted to bury my face in his neck, but I didn’t think he’d take too kindly to that. “Relax,” he said dryly. “I don’t bite.” “I’m relaxed.” “Your knuckles are white.” I glanced down and realized I was clutching the edges of the couch so tightly my knuckles were, indeed, white.  “I like what you’ve done with the place.” I winced. Talk about a cliché line. “No photos though.” In fact, I didn’t see any personal effects—nothing that showed I was in an actual home and not a model showroom. “Why would I need photos?” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Probably not. Alex didn’t joke, except for that one blip in his car a few days ago. “For the memories,” I said, like I was explaining a simple concept to a toddler. “To remember people and events?” “I don’t need photos for that. The memories are here.” Alex tapped the side of his forehead. “Everyone’s memories fade. Photos don’t.” At least, not digital ones. “Not mine.” He set his empty glass on the coffee table, his eyes dark. “I have a superior memory.” My snort slipped out before I could stop it. “Someone has a high opinion of himself.” That earned me a shadow of a smirk. “I’m not bragging. I have hyperthymesia, or HSAM. Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory. Look it up.” I paused. That, I hadn’t expected. “You have a photographic memory?” “No, they’re different. People with photographic memory recall details from a scene they’ve observed for a short time. People with HSAM remember almost everything about their life. Every conversation, every detail, every emotion.” Alex’s jade eyes morphed into emeralds, dark and haunted. “Whether or not they want to.” “Josh never mentioned this.” Not once, not a hint, and they’d been friends for close to a decade. “Josh doesn’t tell you everything.” I’d never heard of hyperthymesia. It sounded fantastical, like something out of a science fiction movie, but I heard the truth in Alex’s voice. What would it be like to remember everything? My heart rate picked up. It would be wonderful. And terrible. Because while there were memories I wanted to keep close to my heart, as vivid as if they were happening right before my eyes, there were others I’d rather let fade into oblivion. I couldn’t imagine not having the safety net of knowing horrible events would eventually recede until they were only faint whispers from the past. Then again, my memories were so twisted I remembered nothing before the age of nine, when the most horrible events of my life had occurred. “What’s it like?” I whispered. How ironic the two of us were sitting here: me, the girl who remembered almost nothing, and Alex, the man who remembered everything. Alex leaned toward me, and it was all I could do not to back away. He was too close, too overwhelming, too much. “It’s like watching a movie of your life play out before your eyes,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it’s a drama. Sometimes it’s horror.” The air pulsed with tension. I was sweating so hard my top stuck to my skin. “No comedy or romance?” I tried to joke, but the question came out so breathless it sounded like a come-on. Alex’s eyes flared. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn honked. A bead of sweat trickled between my breasts, and I saw his gaze dip to it briefly before a humorless smile touched his lips. “Go home, Ava. Stay out of trouble.” It took me a minute to gather my wits and peel myself off the couch. Once I did, I all but fled, my heart pounding and knees shaking. Every encounter with Alex, no matter how small, left me on edge. I was nervous, yes, and a bit terrified. But I’d also never felt more alive.  5 ALEX I SLAMMED MY FIST INTO THE MANNEQUIN ’ S FACE , REVELING IN THE SHARP burst of pain that jolted up my arm at the impact. My muscles burned and sweat dripped down my forehead into my eyes, blurring my vision, but I didn’t stop. I’d done this so many times I didn’t have to see to land my hits. The smell of sweat and violence stained the air. This was the one place I allowed myself to unleash the anger I kept under careful wraps in all other areas of my life. I’d started Krav Maga training a decade ago for self-defense, but it had since become my catharsis, my sanctuary. By the time I finished pummeling the mannequin, my body was a mess of aches and sweat. I toweled the perspiration off my face and took a swig of water. Work had been a bitch, and I’d needed this release to reset. “Hope you worked off your frustration,” Ralph, the owner of the training center and my personal instructor since I’d moved to D.C., said dryly. Short and stocky, he had the powerful build of a fighter and a mean mug, but deep down, he was a teddy bear. He’d knock my lights out if I ever told him or anyone else that though. “You looked like you had a personal vendetta against Harper.” Ralph named all the training dummies after TV characters or real-life people he didn’t like. “Shitty week.” We were alone in the private training studio, so I spoke more freely than I would have otherwise. Besides Josh, Ralph was the only person I considered a true friend. “I could go for the real thing right now.” Dummies were good for practice, but Krav Maga was a hand-to-hand combat method for a reason. It was all about the interaction between yourself and your opponent and responding quickly. Couldn’t do that if your opponent was an inanimate object. “Yeah, let’s do it. Gotta end right at seven, though—no overtime. There’s a new class coming in.” I raised my eyebrows. “Class?” The KM Academy catered toward intermediate to advanced practitioners and specialized in one-on-one or small group sessions. It didn’t host large classes the way most other centers did. Ralph shrugged. “Yeah. We’re opening the center up to beginners. Just one class for now, see how it goes. Missy bugged me about it until I agreed— said people would be interested in learning it for self-defense and that we have the best instructors in the city.” He barked out a laugh. “Thirty years of marriage. She knows how to stroke the ol’ ego. So here we are.” “Not to mention, it’s a good business decision.” KMA had little competition in the area, and there was likely pent-up demand for lessons, not to mention loads of yuppies who could afford the prices. Ralph’s eyes twinkled. “That, too.” I took another swig of water, my mind spinning. Beginner lessons… Might be a good idea for Ava. For anyone, really, man or woman. Self- defense is a skill you never want to use, but which could mean the difference between life and death when you do have to use it. Pepper spray only gets you so far. I fired off a quick text to her before Ralph and I started our session. I still wasn’t happy playing babysitter, but Ava and I had settled into a wary “truce”—her word, not mine—since her olive branch the week before. Plus, when I commit to something, I commit to it one hundred percent. No half-assery or phoning it in. I promised Josh I’d look after his sister, and that was what I’d do. Sign her up for self-defense lessons, upgrade her house’s shitty alarm system— she’d thrown a fit when the security company woke her up at seven in the morning to install the new system, but she got over it—whatever it took. The more she stayed out of trouble, the less I had to worry about her and the more I could focus on my business and plan for revenge. I wouldn’t mind more of those red velvet cookies though. They were good. I especially wouldn’t mind if she delivered them wearing the tiny shorts and tank top she’d worn to my house. An unbidden image of a bead of sweat trailing down her bronzed skin into her cleavage flashed through my mind.  I grunted when Ralph landed a punch in my gut. Fuck. That was what I got for allowing my thoughts to stray. I set my jaw and refocused on the training session, pushing all thoughts of Ava Chen and her cleavage out of my head. An hour later, my limbs felt like jelly, and I had several blossoming bruises on my body. I grimaced, stretching out my limbs while the low hum of voices filtered through the closed door to the private studio. “That’s my cue.” Ralph clapped me on the shoulder. “Good session. You might even beat me one day—if you’re lucky.” I smirked. “Fuck you. I can already beat you if I want.” I’d come close to doing it once, but part of me liked the fact I wasn’t the best—yet. It gave me a goal to strive toward. But I would win. I always did. Ralph’s laugh rolled through the sweat-dampened space like thunder. “Keep telling yourself that, kid. See you Tuesday.” After he exited the room, I checked my phone for new messages. Nothing. A tiny furrow creased my brow. I’d texted Ava almost an hour ago, and she was a compulsively fast replier unless she had a photoshoot. She didn’t have one today. I knew because I made her promise to tell me every time she did, along with the location and clients’ names and contact info. I always ran background checks on the clients beforehand. There were crazy people out there. I sent a follow-up text. Waited. Nothing. I called. No answer. Either she’d turned off her phone—something I told her never to do—or she could be in trouble. Blood. Everywhere. On my hands. On my clothes. My heart rate ticked up. The familiar noose around my neck tightened. I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on a different day, a different memory —that of me attending my first Krav Maga lesson at sixteen—until the red stains of my past retreated. When I opened them again, anger and worry coalesced into a block in my stomach, and I didn’t bother changing out of my training clothes before I exited the center and took off for Ava’s house.  “You better be there,” I muttered. I blocked and flipped off a Mercedes who tried to cut in front of me at Dupont Circle. The driver, an overgroomed lawyer type, glared at me, but I didn’t give a shit. If you can’t drive, get off the road. By the time I arrived at Ava’s place, I still hadn’t received a reply, and a muscle pulsed dangerously in my temple. If she was ignoring me, she was in deep shit. And if she was hurt, I would bury the person responsible six feet beneath the ground. In pieces. “Where is she?” I dispensed of the usual greetings when Jules swung open the door. “Who?” she asked, all doe-eyed innocence. I wasn’t fooled. Jules Ambrose was one of the most dangerous women I’d ever met, and anyone who thought otherwise because of the way she looked and flirted was an idiot. “Ava,” I growled. “She’s not answering her phone.” “Maybe she’s busy.” “Don’t fuck with me, Jules. She could be in trouble, and I know your boss. Wouldn’t take much more than a word from me to derail your internship.” I’d done my research on all of Ava’s closest friends. Jules was pre-law, and the internship between a student’s junior and senior years was critical for admittance into a competitive law school. All traces of flirty coquettishness melted. Jules narrowed her eyes. “Don’t threaten me.” “Don’t play games.” We glared at each other for a minute, precious seconds ticking by before she relented. “She’s not in trouble, okay? She’s with a friend. Like I said, she’s probably busy. She’s not glued to her phone.” “Address.” “You’re hot, but you can be a real overbearing asshole.” “Address.” Jules huffed out a sigh. “I’m only telling you if I can go with you. To make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” I was already halfway to my car. Five minutes later, we were speeding back to D.C. I was going to bill Josh for all my gas expenses when he returned, just out of spite.  “Why are you so concerned? Ava has her own life, and she’s not a dog. She doesn’t have to jump every time you say fetch.” Jules flipped down the visor mirror and retouched her lipstick when we stopped at a red light. “For someone who claims to be her best friend, you’re not concerned enough.” Irritation coiled in my stomach. “When have you known her not to reply within minutes of receiving a text or a call?” “Uh, when she’s in the bathroom. Class. Work. Sleeping. Showering. A photo—” “It’s been almost an hour,” I snapped. Jules shrugged. “Maybe she’s having sex.” A muscle jumped in my jaw. I wasn’t sure which version of Jules was worse—the one who always tried to convince me to mow the lawn shirtless, or the one who relished baiting me. Why couldn’t Ava have lived with one of her other friends? Stella seemed more accommodating, and given her background, Bridget wouldn’t ever say the shit Jules said. But no, I was stuck with the redheaded menace. No wonder Josh always complained about her. “You said she’s with a friend.” I pulled onto the street where said friend’s house was located and parked. “A male friend.” She unbuckled her seatbelt with a beatific smile. “Thanks for the ride and conversation. It was…enlightening.” I didn’t bother asking her what she meant. She’d just feed me a heap of sugar-laced bullshit. While Jules took her sweet time, I exited the car and banged an impatient fist against the front door. It swung open a minute later, revealing a skinny, bespectacled man with confusion stamped on his face when he saw Jules and me standing there. “Can I help you?” “Where’s Ava?” “She’s upstairs, but who—” I shouldered my way past him, which wasn’t hard considering he weighed a hundred sixty, tops. “Hey, you can’t go up there!” he yelled. “They’re in the middle of something.” Fuck. That. If Ava was having sex—a dangerous rhythm pulsed behind my temple at the thought—that was all the more reason for an interruption. Horny college guys were some of the most dangerous creatures in existence.  I wondered if she’d gotten back together with her ex. Josh mentioned the weasel had cheated on her, and she didn’t seem like the type who’d crawl back to someone after they treated her terribly, but I wouldn’t put anything past Miss Sunshine and Roses. That bleeding heart of hers would land her in a heap of trouble one day. Once I reached the second floor, I didn’t need to guess what room she was in—I heard sounds bleeding through the half-open door at the end of the hall. Behind me, Jules and Spectacles pounded up the steps, the latter still blabbering about how I couldn’t be up here even though I was already fucking here. I didn’t know how humans survived this long. Most people were idiots. I opened the door all the way and froze. Not sex. Worse. Ava stood in the middle of the room, clad in a skimpy black lace getup that left little to the imagination. She huddled next to a guy with spiked blond hair holding a camera. They were whispering and laughing while staring at the camera’s display screen, so engrossed in their little tête-à-tête they didn’t notice they had company. My temple pulsed harder. “What…” My voice sliced through the air like a whip. “Is going on here.” It wasn’t a question. I knew what was going on. The setup, the rumpled bed, Ava’s outfit…they were in the middle of a photoshoot. With Ava as the model. Dressed in something that wouldn’t be out of place in Playboy magazine. The strappy concoction Ava wore barely covered the necessary bits. It looped around her neck, baring her shoulders, and plunged to her navel in the front. The high-cut bottom left her legs and most of her ass bare, and other than the areas covering her breasts and between her legs, the sheer black lace revealed more than it covered. I’d never seen her like this. It wasn’t just the outfit; it was everything. The usually straight black hair that fell in luscious waves down her back, the made-up face with the smoky eyes and glossy red lips, the miles of golden skin and curves that etched themselves into my brain forever. I was caught between disturbing lust—she was my best friend’s sister, for fuck’s sake—and inexplicable fury that other men were seeing her like this. Ava’s eyes widened with alarm when she spotted me. “Alex? What are you doing here?”  “I tried to stop him,” Spectacles panted, out of breath. Living proof that skinniness does not equal fitness. “He’s here for you, babe.” Jules leaned against the doorway, her amber eyes glowing with amusement. “You look super hot, by the way. Can’t wait to see the pics.” “You are not seeing the pics,” I ground out. “No one is seeing the pics.” I yanked the blanket off the bed and tossed it over Ava’s shoulders, covering her up. “We’re leaving. Right now. And Blondie here is deleting every photo he took of you.” Her jaw dropped. “No, I’m not, and no, he’s not. You can’t tell me what to do.” She threw the blanket on the ground and lifted her chin in defiance. “You’re not my father or brother, and even if you were, you have no say in what I do in my free time.” “He’s taking photos of you half-naked,” I snapped. “Do you know how destructive those can be if they’re leaked? If a future employer sees them?” “I volunteered for this,” she snapped back. “It’s boudoir photography. Artistic. People do this all the time. It’s not like I’m baring it all for a porn site. How did you even know I was here?” “Oops,” Jules said from behind us. She didn’t sound sorry at all. “You might as well be.” The simmering in my blood had reached a full boil. “Get. Dressed.” “No-oh.” Ava’s glare intensified, and she dragged out the word “no” until it had two syllables. “Hey, dude, I don’t mean no harm.” Blondie let out a nervous chuckle. “Like she said, this is art. I’ll edit it so her face is in shadow and no one can tell it’s her. I just need the photos for my port—what are you doing?” He squawked in protest when I snatched the camera out of his hands and started deleting photos but fell silent when I leveled him with a death glare. “Stop! You’re being ridiculous.” Ava tried to retrieve the camera, to no avail. “Do you know how long those photos took? Stop. You are—” She yanked on my arm. It didn’t budge. “Being—” Another yank, same result. “Unreasonable!” “I’m protecting you, since you clearly can’t do it yourself.” My mood darkened further when I saw the pictures of her lying on the bed, staring sultrily at the camera. How long had she and Blondie been doing this, alone? It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had been going through his mind the entire time. It was the same thing that would’ve gone through any red-blooded male’s mind. Sex. I hoped Blondie enjoyed his working pair of eyes while he still had them. Ava stepped back for a minute, then lunged for the camera in a poorly concealed attempt to catch me off guard. I’d expected the move, but I still grunted at the impact as she scrambled over me like a fucking spider monkey. Her breasts grazed my arm, and her hair tickled my skin. My blood heated at the sensations. She was so close I could hear her breath coming out in soft pants. I tried not to notice how her chest heaved or how smooth her skin felt pressed against mine. They were dangerous, twisting thoughts that had no place in my mind. Not now, not ever. “Give it back,” she ordered. It was almost cute how she thought she could order me around. “No.” Ava narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t give it back, I swear to God I’ll walk out into the street wearing this outfit.” Another bolt of fury sizzled through me. “You wouldn’t.” “Try me.” Our faces were inches apart, our words so soft no one could hear them except us. Nevertheless, I lowered my head so I could whisper right in her ear. “If you step a foot outside this room in that outfit, I’ll not only delete every picture on this camera, but I will destroy your ‘friend’s’ career until he has to resort to advertising shitty five-dollar-an-hour headshots on Craigslist.” A wintry smile touched my lips. “You wouldn’t want that, would you?” There are two ways to threaten people: attack them directly, or attack those they care about. I wasn’t above doing either. Ava’s mouth trembled. She believed me, as she should, because I meant every word. I wasn’t a senator or a lobbyist, but an obscene net worth, thick files of blackmail material, and years of networking had granted me more than my fair share of influence in D.C. “You’re an asshole.” “Yes, I am, and don’t you forget it.” I straightened. “Get dressed.” Ava didn’t argue, but she also refused to look at me as she disappeared into the bathroom across the hall to change. Blondie and Spectacles gaped at me like the devil himself had poofed into their house. Meanwhile, Jules grinned like she was watching the most entertaining movie of the year.  I finished deleting the photos and shoved the camera back into Blondie’s hands. “Never ask Ava to do something like this again.” I towered over him, relishing the subtle shake of his shoulders as he tried not to cower. “If you do, I’ll know. And you won’t like what happens next.” “Okay,” Blondie squeaked. The bathroom door opened. Ava brushed past me and said something to Blondie in a low voice. He nodded. She placed a hand on his arm, and my jaw ticked. “Let’s go.” The words came out sharper than I’d intended. Ava finally looked at me, her eyes flashing. “We’ll go when I’m ready.” I didn’t know how Josh dealt with her all these years. Two weeks in, and I already wanted to strangle her. She murmured something else to Blondie before she stalked past me without another word. Jules followed, still grinning. I cast one last glare in Blondie’s direction before I left. Silence permeated the car as we drove back to Thayer. Jules sat in the backseat, tapping away on her phone, while a stone-faced Ava stared out the window from the passenger seat, her shoulders tight. I didn’t mind silence. I craved it. There were few things I found more irritating than incessant, pointless conversation. The weather, the latest blockbuster, who broke up with who…who the fuck cared? Still, something compelled me to turn on the radio halfway through the drive, though I left the volume so low I almost couldn’t hear the music. “It was for your own good,” I said over the teeny-tiny beats of the latest rap hit. Ava turned her body further away and didn’t respond. Fine. She could be mad all she wanted. The only thing I regretted was not smashing Blondie’s camera altogether. It wasn’t like I cared about her silent treatment. Not one bit.  6 AVA “…T HEN SAID , NEVER ASK A VA TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THIS AGAIN , OR I will murder you and your entire family,” Jules finished dramatically before taking a sip of her caramel mocha. “Shut up.” Stella leaned forward, her eyes wide. “He did not say that.” “No, he didn’t.” I shot Jules a disapproving look. “Stop exaggerating.” “How would you know? You were in the bathroom,” she countered. When my frown deepened, she sighed. “Fine. He didn’t say those exact words—at least, not the last part—but the general idea was the same. He did warn Owen away from you though.” Jules ripped off a piece of her cranberry scone and popped it in her mouth. “Poor Owen.” Guilt niggled at me as I traced absentminded patterns on the table. Jules, Stella, Bridget, and I were at The Morning Roast for our weekly Tuesday coffee catch-up, and Jules had been regaling the other girls with a hyperbolized account of what happened at Owen’s house on Saturday. “I wish he hadn’t gotten dragged into this. All those hours of shooting, gone.” I worked with Owen at the McCann Gallery, where I’d served as a gallery assistant for the past year and a half. My father had never said outright he disapproved of me pursuing a photography career, but he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t fund any of my equipment. He paid for my tuition and other school-related expenses, but if I wanted a new lens, camera, or even a tripod? That was all me. I tried not to let his unspoken disapproval bother me. I was beyond lucky I’d graduate with no student loan debt, and I wasn’t afraid of hard work. The fact I’d shelled out my own money for every piece of equipment made me cherish them a little more, and I enjoyed my job at McCann. It was one of the most prestigious photography galleries in the Northeast, and I loved my coworkers, though I wasn’t sure whether Owen would want anything more to do with me after what Alex had done. Even now, my skin heated with anger at the memory of his overbearing attitude. I couldn’t believe he’d had the gall to show up and boss me around like that. To threaten my friend. To act like I was a…a servant or his employee. Even Josh had never gone that far. I stabbed at my yogurt with my fork, furious. “Sounds like I missed an interesting time.” Bridget sighed. “All the fun stuff happens while I’m away.” Bridget had been attending an event at Eldorra’s New York consulate, as was required of the Princess of Eldorra. That’s right. She was an honest-to-God, real-life princess, second in line to the throne of a small but wealthy European country. She looked the part, too. With her golden hair, deep blue eyes, and elegant bone structure, she could’ve passed for a young Grace Kelly. I hadn’t known who Bridget was when she, Jules, Stella, and I found ourselves assigned to the same suite freshman year. Besides, I would’ve expected a freakin’ princess to have a private room. But that was the great thing about Bridget. Despite her insane upbringing, she was one of the most down-to-earth people I’d ever met. She never pulled rank, and she insisted on living life as a normal college student whenever she could. In that sense, Thayer was the best fit for her. Thanks to its proximity to D.C. and its world-class international politics program, the campus swarmed with political offspring and international royalty. Just the other day, I’d overheard the son of the Speaker of the House and the crown prince of a controversial oil kingdom arguing over video games. You can’t make that stuff up. “Trust me, it was not fun,” I grumbled. “It was humiliating. And I owe Owen a dinner, at least.” My phone flashed with a new text. Liam. Again. I swiped away the notification before any of my friends saw it. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with him or his excuses right now. “Au contraire, I thought it was hilarious.” Jules finished the rest of her scone. “You should’ve seen Alex’s face. He was pissed.” “How is that hilarious?” Stella snapped a photo of her latte art before joining the conversation. She was a big fashion and lifestyle blogger with over 400,000 Instagram followers, and we were used to her capturing everything for the ‘Gram. Ironically, for someone with such a big social presence, she was the shyest in the group, but she said the “anonymity” of the Internet made it easier to be herself online. “Did you hear me? He was pissed.” Jules placed extra emphasis on the last word like it was supposed to mean something. Bridget, Stella, and I stared at her blankly. She sighed, obviously exasperated by our lack of comprehension. “When was the last time any of us saw Alex Volkov pissed? Or happy? Or sad? The man doesn’t show emotion. It’s like God gave him extra helpings of gorgeousness and zero doses of human feeling.” “I think he’s a psychopath,” Stella said. She blushed. “No normal person is that controlled all the time.” I was still upset with Alex, but a strange part of me felt compelled to defend him. “You’ve only met him a few times. He’s not so bad when he’s not…” “Being bad?” Bridget finished. “All I’m saying is, he’s Josh’s best friend, and I trust my brother’s judgment.” Jules snorted. “This the same brother who wore that hideous rat costume to last year’s Halloween party?” I wrinkled my nose while Bridget and Stella burst into laughter. “I said judgment, not taste.” “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Stella tilted her head until her glossy dark curls cascaded over her shoulder. We always joked that she was the United Nations of humans because of her multicultural background—German and Japanese on her mother’s side; Black and Puerto Rican on her father’s side. The result was five foot eleven inches of leggy limbs, deep olive skin, and catlike green eyes. Supermodel material, if she had any interest in being a supermodel, which she didn’t. “It was just an observation, but you’re right. I don’t know him well enough to judge. Statement retracted.” “I’m not upset. I’m…” I faltered. What the hell was I doing? Alex didn’t need me defending him. It wasn’t like he was here, listening to us. Even if he were, he wouldn’t care. If there was one person in the world who didn’t give a shit what others thought of him, it was Alex Volkov. “Guys, you’re missing the point.” Jules waved a hand in the air. “The point is, Alex did show emotion. Over Ava. We could have fun with this.” Oh, no. Jules’s idea of “fun” usually involved a heap of trouble and a potential dose of embarrassment on my part. “What kind of fun?” Bridget looked intrigued. “Bridge!” I kicked her under the table. “Don’t encourage her.” “Sorry.” The blonde made a face. “But all I have going on lately are…” She glanced around to make sure no one was listening. They weren’t, except for her bodyguard Booth, who sat at the table behind us and pretended to read the paper while actually keeping a sharp eye on the surroundings. “Diplomatic events and ceremonial duties. It’s terribly boring. Meanwhile, my grandfather’s sick, my brother’s acting weird, and I need something to take my mind off it all.” Her grandfather and brother, AKA King Edvard and Crown Prince Nikolai of Eldorra. I had to remind myself they were human beings like everyone else, but even after years of friendship with Bridget, I wasn’t used to her speaking so casually about her family. Like they weren’t literal royalty. “I have a theory.” Jules leaned forward, and the rest of us, even me, leaned in, eager to hear what she had to say. Call it morbid curiosity, because I was sure I wouldn’t like what was about to come out of her mouth. I was right. “Ava somehow gets under Alex’s skin,” Jules said. “We should see how far it goes. How much can she make him feel?” I rolled my eyes. “All those long hours you put in at your internship must’ve scrambled your brain, because you’re not making any sense.” She ignored me. “I call it…” Dramatic pause. “Operation Emotion.” She looked up and drew an arc with her hand like the words would magically appear in the air. “Creative,” Stella teased. “Hear me out. We all think Alex is a robot, right? Well, what if she …” Jules pointed at me. “…can prove he isn’t? Don’t tell me you guys don’t want to see him act like an actual human being for once.” “No.” I tossed my empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can and almost beaned a passing student in a Thayer sweatshirt. I winced and mouthed “sorry” before returning to the ridiculous proposition at hand. “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”  “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” my so-called best friend sang. “What would be the point?” I threw my hands in the air. “How would it even work?” “Simple.” Jules pulled a pen and notepad out of her bag and started scribbling. “We come up with a list of emotions, and you try to make him feel each one. It’ll be a test of sorts. Like giving him an annual physical to make sure he’s functioning properly.” “Sometimes,” Bridget said. “The way your mind works scares me.” “No,” I repeated. “Not happening.” “It does seem kind of…mean.” Stella tapped her gold-polished nails on the table. “What emotions did you have in mind?” “Stel!” “What?” She cast a guilty look in my direction. “I’m curious.” “Off the top of my head? We’ve already seen him angry, so happiness, sadness, fear, disgust…” A wicked smile slashed across Jules’s face. “Jealousy.” I snorted. “Please. He’d never be jealous of me.” He was a multimillionaire executive with a genius-level IQ; I was a college student who worked two jobs and ate cereal for dinner. No contest. “Not jealous of you. Jealous over you.” Bridget perked up. “You think he likes Ava?” “No.” I was tired of saying that word. “He’s my brother’s best friend, and I’m not his type. He told me so.” “Psshh.” Jules waved away my protest like she would a mosquito. “Men don’t know what they want. Besides, don’t you want to get back at him for what he did to Owen?” “I don’t,” I said firmly. “And I’m not going along with this crazy idea.” Forty-five minutes later, we decided Phase One of Operation Emotion would commence in three days. I HATED MYSELF FOR CAVING. Somehow, Jules always convinced me to do things against my better instincts, like that time we drove four hours to Brooklyn to watch some band perform because she thought the lead singer was hot, and we ended up stranded in the middle of the highway when our rental car broke down. Or that time she convinced me to write a love poem to the cute guy in my English lit class, only for his girlfriend—who I hadn’t known existed—to find it and hunt me down in my dorm. Jules was the most persuasive person I’d ever met. A good quality for an aspiring lawyer, but not so much for an innocent friend, i.e. me, who wanted to stay out of trouble. That night, I climbed into bed and closed my eyes, trying to sort through my racing thoughts. Operation Emotion was supposed to be a fun, lighthearted experiment, but it made me nervous, and not just because it erred on the side of mean-spirited. Everything about Alex made me nervous. I shuddered, thinking of how he’d retaliate if he found out what we were up to, and thoughts of being flayed alive consumed me until I fell into a light, fitful sleep. “Help! Mommy, help me!” I tried to scream those words, but I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. Because I was underwater, and if I opened my mouth, all the water would rush in, and I would never see Mommy and Daddy and Josh again. That was what they told me. They also told me not to go near the lake by myself, but I wanted to make pretty ripples in the water. I liked those ripples, liked how throwing one little stone could cause such a big effect. Only those ripples were suffocating me now. Thousands and thousands of them, dragging me further and further from the light above my head. Tears trickled from my eyes, but the lake swallowed them and buried my panic until it was just me and my silent pleas. I’m never getting out never getting out never getting out. “Mommy, help!” I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I screamed, screamed as loud as my little lungs allowed. Screamed until my throat was raw and I felt like I would pass out, or maybe that was the water rushing in, filling my chest. So much water. Everywhere. And no air. Not enough air. I thrashed my arms and legs in hopes it would help, but it didn’t. It made me sink faster. I cried harder—not physically, because I couldn’t tell the difference between crying and existing anymore—but in my heart.  Where was Mommy? She was supposed to be here. Mommies were always supposed to be with their daughters. And she had been there with me on the deck, watching me…until she hadn’t. Had she returned? What if she was sinking beneath the water too? The blackness was coming. I saw it, felt it. My brain went fuzzy, and my eyes drooped. I didn’t have the energy to scream anymore, so I mouthed the words. “Mommy, please…” I jerked upright, my heart beating a million drums of warning while my faded screams soaked into the walls. My covers twisted around my legs, and I threw them off, my skin crawling at the sensation of being entangled—of being trapped with no way to free myself. The glowing red letters of my alarm clock told me it was four forty-four a.m. A pinprick of dread blossomed at the base of my neck and slithered down my spine. In Chinese culture, the number four is considered unlucky because the word for it sounds like the word “death.” Sì, four; sǐ, death. The only difference between their pronunciation is a tone inflection. I’ve never been a superstitious person, but chills swamped me every time I awoke from one of my nightmares during the four a.m. hour, which was almost always. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d awoken during a different hour. Sometimes I woke up not remembering I had a nightmare, but those blessed occasions were far and few in between. I heard the soft patter of footsteps in the hall and schooled my features into something other than stark terror before the door opened and Jules slipped inside. She flicked on the lamp, and guilt swirled through me when I saw her rumpled hair and exhausted face. She worked long hours and needed sleep, but she always checked on me even after I insisted she stay in bed. “How bad was it?” she asked softly. My bed sank beneath her weight as she sat next to me and handed me a mug of thyme tea. She’d read online that it helped with nightmares and started making it for me a few months ago. It helped—I hadn’t had a nightmare in over two weeks, which was a record, but I guess my good luck ran out. “Nothing out of the ordinary.” My hands trembled so much liquid spilled over the side of the mug and dripped onto my favorite Bugs Bunny shirt from high school. “Go back to sleep, J. You have a presentation today.” “Fuck that.” Jules raked a hand through her tangled red hair. “I’m already up. Besides, it’s almost five. I bet there are dozens of overambitious, Lululemon-wearing fitness junkies jogging outside right now.” I mustered a weak smile. “I’m sorry. I swear, we can soundproof my room.” I wasn’t sure how much that would cost, but I’d deal with it. I didn’t want to keep waking her up. “How about no? That’s totally unnecessary. You’re my best friend.” Jules wrapped me into a tight hug, and I allowed myself to sink into her comforting embrace. Sure, she led me into dubious situations sometimes, but she’d been my ride or die since freshman year, and I wouldn’t have anyone else by my side. “Everyone has nightmares.” “Not like me.” I’d had these nightmares—these awful, vivid nightmares that I feared weren’t nightmares at all, but actual memories—for as long as I could remember. For me, that was the age of nine. Everything before that was a haze, a canvas peppered with faint shadows of my life before The Blackout, as I called the divide between my forgotten childhood and my later years. “Stop. It’s not your fault, and I don’t mind. Seriously.” Jules pulled back and smiled. “You know me. I’d never say something was okay if I wasn’t actually okay with it.” I let out a soft laugh and set the now-empty mug on my nightstand. “True.” I squeezed her hand. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep, jog, or make yourself a caramel mocha or something.” She scrunched up her nose. “Me, jog? I don’t think so. Cardio and I parted ways a long time ago. Plus, you know I can’t work a coffee machine. That’s why I blow all my paychecks at The Morning Roast.” She examined me, a tiny crease marring her smooth brow. “Give me a holler if you need anything, okay? I’m right down the hall, and I don’t leave for work until seven.” “‘Kay. Love you.” “Love you, babe.” Jules gave me one last hug before she left and closed the door behind her with a soft click. I sank back into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, trying to fall asleep again even though I knew it was a futile exercise. But even though I was tucked beneath my comforter in a well-insulated room in the middle of summer, the chill remained—a ghostly specter warning me that the past is never past, and the future never unfolds the way we want it to.  7 ALEX “D ON ’ T DO THIS.” I poured myself a cup of coffee, leaned against the counter, and took a leisurely sip before responding. “I’m not sure why you’re calling me, Andrew. I’m the COO. You should talk to Ivan.” “That’s bullshit,” Andrew spat. “You pull the strings behind the scenes, and everyone knows it.” “Then everyone is wrong, which wouldn’t be the first time.” I checked my Patek Philippe watch. Limited edition, hermetically sealed and waterproof, the stainless-steel timepiece had set me back a cool twenty grand. I’d bought it after I sold my financial modeling software for eight figures, one month after my fourteenth birthday. “Ah, it’s almost time for my nightly meditation session.” I didn’t meditate, and we both knew it. “I wish you the best. I’m sure you’ll have a flourishing second career as a busker. You took band in high school, didn’t you?” “Alex, please.” Andrew’s voice turned pleading. “I have a family. Kids. My oldest daughter is starting college soon. Whatever you have against me, don’t drag them or my employees into it.” “But I don’t have anything against you, Andrew,” I said conversationally, taking another sip of coffee. Most people didn’t drink espresso this late for fear of not being able to sleep, but I didn’t have that problem. I could never sleep. “This is business. Nothing personal.” It baffled me that people still didn’t get it. Personal appeals had no place in the corporate world. It was eat or get eaten, and I for one had no grand aspirations of becoming prey. Only the strongest survived, and I had every intention of remaining at the top of the food chain. “Alex—” I tired of hearing my name. It was always Alex