“You’re supposed to be my relative?”

  Dead eyes blink up to me, and he nods briefly. “Simon Petrovich.” He produces a document that looks suspiciously like a birth certificate. “Your father gave you to me long ago when he could no longer pay his debts. You’re in my service now.”

  “Why am I meeting you for the first time today?”

  “It was supposed to be six weeks ago. This pointless act is costing me time.”

  Pointless act. “I’m not going with you. I don’t know you, and I owe you nothing.”

  His voice lowers to a growl. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead along with your entire family. Now you’ll get your strength back and go to my brother in New York. He needs a bodyguard, and you’ll do nicely.”

  Hesitating, I turn the paper over and back. “My last name is Lourde, not Petrovich. You are not related to me. If you provided for me financially, I thank you, but this is not legally binding.”

  Another cold smile stretches Simon’s lips. “You look at me and think, I am not afraid of this man. I have rights. I am a hero. I am somebody.”

  “I don’t think I’m a hero.”

  “You are nobody. You are a freak and a monster, and you will follow my orders or I will have you arrested for war crimes and executed.”

  “War crimes?”

  “You aided the Americans in the destruction of several hospitals on the border of Belarus. Innocent civilians were killed, your countrymen.”

  “I did no such thing–”

  “Your arguments are pointless. You will take your place in my service or you will not take another breath.” Turning his wrist over, he glances at his watch. “I’ll see you in the car.”

  He leaves me to finish pulling on the soft-knit pants and long-sleeved shirt. The fabric is clearly expensive, and the weave is loose to cover my bandages. From everything Simon has said, he’s clearly very wealthy, which means he’s dangerous.

  I’m too weak to fight, and Russian thugs can be problematic. For now, I’ll go to Minsk and get stronger, then I’ll see what this bodyguard duty entails. I’m not afraid to walk away, but I want to have a fighting chance before I gamble my life.

  1

  Hana

  Present Day

  His face is marred by shadows, and he leers at me through the darkness. “You were dancing the first time I saw you.” His voice is gravel scraping against concrete, tensing my spine and constricting my throat. “An ethereal, delicate ballerina.”

  I cross my arms over my chest as his eyes slide down my body. Rubbing my palms against my upper arms, I try to create warmth on my exposed skin.

  He would sit on the front row with my parents, my mother between him and my father, watching. My heart would beat so fast, and in my pale pink leotard, I felt exposed, completely nude. An oily smile curled his lips, exposing large teeth, black eyes lit with evil.

  I stopped dancing when I was thirteen, when my father died, but it didn’t stop him.

  Sweaty palms grip my shoulders in the darkness and my stomach knots. Just a taste…

  I can’t breathe, and tears burn my eyes. He holds me down. Claustrophobia presses against my temples. I wave my hands, twist my body.

  You like this. Your body doesn’t lie.

  I want to scream, I don’t! I don’t like it. I want to kill him.

  Rage billows and grows into a mushroom cloud in my belly, flooding my chest with hate. It leaks out of my pores and steams in my eyes. I’m a walking column of red-hot fury.

  He’s gone, but his destruction remains.

  Make me forget.

  Drugs… So many drugs.

  Alcohol… Pour more alcohol on it.

  It only makes the fire bigger.

  A dark room, a circle of men chanting. I’m standing in the center like a statue, holding a torch as an old man approaches to kneel at my feet. Just a taste…

  How does he know? Hit him with the torch–my arm doesn’t listen. Burn this place to the ground, kill them all, send the demons to hell.

  My brain is cloudy, but he's here. I blink away the smoke and see him lying at my feet, facing up. His black eyes are empty, glassy, and satisfaction unfurls in my stomach.

  A voice at my back, He’s dead.

  Cold filters through my chest. I did it, but I’m still not free.

  Kicking against the covers, I bat my arms against the nightmare, flinging blankets across the room as I jump out of my bed and scamper to the other side of my elegant, oversized suite.

  Crickets…

  I’m in Hamiltown, alone in my bedroom.

  He’s gone, and I’m fighting ghosts in the darkness.

  “No.” My voice is a broken whisper. “I said No.”

  Staring into the black, my eyeballs ache, and I realize it was all a dream, a nightmare.

  “Oh, God.” I exhale heavily, dropping my head.

  My shoulders tremble as I cry. I’m safe in this beautiful room in Uncle Hugh’s posh estate. Correction, our posh family estate in my family’s town.

  Pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes, I exhale a growl. I have to move past this. I’m surrounded by people who care about me. I’m twenty-one, my trust has matured. I have all the money in the world… And I can't forget.

  Sitting on my butt on the warm wood floors, I need a drink. I need a drug. My eyes are wet as I wipe them. I need him.

  When he enters the room, his presence calms me. I’m safe.

  The first day I got here, our eyes met, and the earth moved. He reached out and caught my hand to steady me, to keep me from falling. He never touched me except to protect me.

  I close my eyes, and I see him there, always there, silently guarding. He’s tall and ripped, with long hair and intimidating ink. His expression says just try to fuck with me, and his scars say he’d walk into the fire to save me. He’s beaten hell, and the demons fear him.

  Lying at his side was the first time I’d slept in so long. I curled up and closed my eyes, and everything slipped away. I never wanted to leave, so he did.

  He walked away, but his last words were a promise.

  Placing my hands on the floor, I crawl to my bed again and slide under the sheets. I curl into a ball like before and slide my fingers over my eyes. Tingles in my fingers and toes. I focus on his wolf eyes and steady gaze. He’s not here, but I believe he’s watching over me.

  He’s the only memory I want to keep.

  “You’re up early.” My sister Blake leans on her elbow at the bar, swiping her finger across the face of an oversized iPad pro. “Do you have an appointment?”

  The sun shines bright through the wall of windows in our kitchen, illuminating the white countertops and contrasting them with the rough-hewn wood floors and cabinets. It’s warm and homey, and I glance out the window through the drooping wisteria towards the stables.

  When Blake and I were little, our dad brought us here a few times to visit our uncle and get to know our home, but we never went into town or met the locals. We rode horses or played in the large rooms, running through the wide halls and sliding down the banisters.

  It imbued this house with memories of safety, of a life before the nightmares began.

  Going to the coffee press, I pour myself a mug. “Appointment for what?”

  She looks up at me, her silver eyes full of concern. “A photo shoot? You usually sleep late.”

  I usually don’t fall asleep until dawn, but I don’t tell her that. I’ve been trying to turn over a new leaf and not leave Blake to clean up my messes or worry about where I am anymore. Not that I ever expected her to do those things.

  Still, she did.

  Blake has fretted over me since we were kids, even more after our father died and our mother sent her away to boarding school. She texted constantly, asking what was happening, how I was doing.

  I was going through hell, so she asked her friend Debbie to help. That’s when my life really blew up. Debbie’s mom was one of our mother’s high-end drinking buddies. They were obsessed with betting on thoroughbreds, taking ski trips to St. Moritz, and gossiping about other women’s husbands. Debbie was the wild-child product of neglect.

  She was a year older than Blake, which made her four years older than me, and she affectionately pulled me under her wing–into her world of wild parties, fake IDs, high fashion, alcohol, and drugs. That’s when I discovered drinking made you forget, and Molly made you have fun. I wasn’t stupid enough to do anything addictive like heroin, but I was too young, and I got too close to the edge too many times.

  It stopped the nightmares, and I thought I could control it. I guess that’s what everyone thinks starting out.

  Now Debbie’s dead, and I’ve got a lot of making up to do, a lot of debts to repay.

  Wrapping my hands around my mug, I can’t help a shiver, but I do my best to distract my mind. I can only take my past one day at a time. “What are you looking at? Wedding dresses?”

  Her furrowed brow relaxes with a smile, and she returns to the screen. “No, I’ve already found my dress. I was looking for a place to hold the ceremony. I’m not sure how many people will attend, and I don’t know. Uncle Hugh says he loves having us here, but he’s been doing things on his own so long. It feels like an imposition–”

  “If you don’t have your ceremony in the carriage house, Uncle Hugh will shit a brick.” Walking around the bar to where she’s standing, I lean in for a closer look. “I can also stage early photos, since you’re making me be in the ceremony.”

  “You’re my sister. You have to be in the ceremony.” She tugs a blonde spiral curl hanging by my cheek. “You’re my maid of honor.”

  “I’m your sister, which means I’m better at capturing your emotions. No one would love this job as much as me.”

  Not to mention, I’d rather be behind the lens instead of onstage for everyone to stare at and whisper. Still, she’s right, I guess. If I weren’t in the ceremony, people would think I don’t like Hutch or had some problem with their marriage, which is absolutely not true–even if her future husband only recently decided to give me a chance.

  I can’t be angry with him for being hesitant, and I do like Hutch Winston, even if I was surprised when Blake said she was falling for him.

  For years, she blamed him for her being sent to the nuns, but I think Mama really wanted her out of the house. Blake didn’t approve of Uncle Victor–and said so, loudly. Hutch just gave our mother the perfect excuse to get rid of her.

  Then, when we came here, and Hutch appeared, looking like a mashup of an Esquire cover model and a Playgirl centerfold, saying our uncle hired him to keep us safe… I guess I can’t blame a girl for letting all that anger bubble over into crazy-hot sex.

  She would still fight with him, but they sorted it out in the bedroom. Now they’re getting married.

  “I still can’t get over you in love.” I wrinkle my nose at her. “It’s a big change. I like it.”

  She tries to act coy. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

  “No, you’re not. Before you were always so controlled and formal. Now look at you with your hair in pigtails and your cheeks all pink. You’re wearing jeans and a tank.”

  “I’ve always worn jeans.”

  “Not ripped jeans, and definitely not with a tank top. You said tank tops showed too much skin.” Blake always worried her curvy body attracted the wrong kind of attention.

  Those nuns really fucked her up, but Hutch seems to have undone the damage.

  She starts to wave me away, but pauses, touching my chin lightly. “Why are your eyes so tired? Are you sick?”

  Pressing my lips together, I wish I’d minded my own business. Things always go sideways when I start talking too much.

  “I’m fine.” I try to pull away, but she holds my forearm.

  “Talk to me, Hana. What’s going on?”

  She probably thinks I’m using drugs again, and I don’t have the right to be angry with her for assuming it. My only choice is to be honest.

  “I haven’t been sleeping so great is all.” I lift my arm to drink more coffee, and her hand falls away. “I’m probably still adjusting to being here. It’ll pass.”

  “We’ve been here almost a year. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

  Anxiety knots my stomach. I don’t want to tell her about my nightmares–they’re not her fault. Victor Petrov was not our uncle. He was a vile, wicked man who stole from our family and abused me. The people who should have protected us failed, and now we’re doing our best to pick up the pieces.

  It’s what my therapist would say, and I’m trying so hard to grow and get stronger. I’m trying to stand on my own and not use crutches.

  Lowering my mug, I push off the bar. “I do need to work today. The light is perfect, and I should get Pepper and do some poses with the horses. Or maybe something at the skate park. Everybody’s roller skating again…”

  “I need you to talk to me, Hana. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  What’s on my mind… What’s always on my mind, since we came here, since my birthday party? Exhaling slowly, I decide to put all my cards on the table. I’m trying to do better, right?

  “Remember when we went to New York last time, and Scar and Hutch went with us?”

  “Is that the last time you slept? That’s been weeks–”

  “I thought Scar might like me a little then.” Tracing my nail along the grain in the wooden countertop, I feel so silly saying it out loud. “I guess I was wrong.”

  Her brow relaxes, and she leans back on her barstool. “I’m not so sure. He’s definitely interested in you. It’s painfully obvious. I was actually a little worried, because he doesn’t seem, I don’t know. Safe?”

  “I’d argue the opposite. I’ve never felt more safe than when I’m with him.” Leaning forward on my elbows, I exhale. “Why does he keep me at arm’s length? I’ve tried to be open, warm…”

  “He’s ten years older than you, for starters.”

  “I’m twenty-one!” Exasperation burns in my stomach. I’ve never been aggressive, but I’ve also never felt this way. “I’m not a baby.”

  Blake walks over and slides the curl behind my ear. A smile softens her features. “You’ve always been able to get what you want. Scar is protective of you, and he is older. Maybe he thinks you don’t think of him in that way.”

  She picks up the tablet, and I consider what she’s saying. In my opinion, I’ve been very clear I’m interested in him, but maybe he interpreted it as friendship. Maybe I do need to be a little more suggestive.

  Glancing at Blake, I sometimes wonder how we came from the same parents. She’s dark and curvy and confident. She looks like a woman who can get anything she wants–and clearly she can. I’m waifish, pale and insecure. Damaged…

  Oskar Lourde is a grown man. He’s quietly confident and sure of himself.

  “I think maybe he knows I’m not worth the effort.”

  Blake stops at the door, leveling her gray eyes on me. “I’ve only talked to him a few times, but he seems intelligent. If he can’t see your worth, he’s not the man I think he is.”

  A smile twists through the frown on my lips and the pain in my chest turns to gratitude. Of all the things for her to say, after all I’ve done…

  “Thanks, B. I don’t deserve you.”

  “You just keep getting better. That’s all I care about.”

  “I will.”

  I promise, I will.

  2

  Scar

  “Talk to me, Dirk.” I’m in Midtown Manhattan, looking up at the Empire State Building. “What do we know?.”

  I’ve been in the city for two weeks, and I’m no closer to finding “Ivan X” than when I arrived. The last time I was here, Dirk traced the blackmail payment Blake made for the porn film supposedly starring Hana to Trip Alexander, their friend and occasional roommate.

  Of course, we went after him, but he gave us the slip after dropping a shitload of information that only muddied the waters even more.

  Trip claims he’s trying to help the girls, but his actions keep putting him in the wrong place with the wrong people. I don’t trust him, but Blake is undecided. Hana doesn’t remember enough to be a reliable source.

  Hutch is right–this case is fucked up. We find answers, but they only lead to more questions. Now Trip has disappeared, and his friend the pornographer-blackmailer seems to have learned how to be a ghost overnight.

  “I’ve got nothing.” Dirk exhales heavily in my ear. “After weeks of un-encrypted messages and sloppy trails, Ivan X is suddenly a privacy wizard?” Sarcasm is thick in my partner’s voice. “Either he’s gone deep undercover, or–”

  “He’s dead.” My voice is grave.

  The line falls silent, and I know Hutch’s younger brother, our computer-genius partner, is thinking the same thing I am. Still he pushes back.

  “I’m hesitant to call it without a body. Why kill Ivan?”

  “Trip said we should be asking why everything.” I’m thinking out loud.

  “Trip said to follow the money.”

  “I’m going to Gibson’s. Someone has to be in charge over there now.”

  “You think whoever took over Gibson’s is the new point person?”

  “I don’t know. They could transfer the club to a dummy for a little while, until the dust settles, but it’s a good place to start. Even dummies come from somewhere.” Holding out my hand, I hail a cab to get me to the financial district.

  “Watch your back. After talking to Hana, it sounds like her porno was actually a snuff film. I don’t like you going into that place alone.”

  My thoughts are distracted. Dirk is right, but the murder victim in that film can’t be the person Hana said it was. It’s impossible. With all the drugs in her system, it could’ve been a dream.

  “Scar? Are you listening to me?” Dirk’s a good guy. He’s not as big as Hutch and me, but he’s smart as a fucking whip. He also knows how to handle himself in a fight.

  Hell, he knows how to handle himself around brutes and billionaires, which is why his dad nicknamed him the duke.