Page 32 of Darkest Deeds

“Then you said my name.” He continues as if I’m not even here. “My hands were around your neck and you said my goddamn name like you’re doing right now, and something happened to me.” He stops, and I feel his eyes on me. “What is it about you, Ava? Countless men have begged for their lives, and I didn’t hesitate to slit their throats, but you—fuck, you make me crazy.”

I keep my eyes averted, his penetrating stare too much to take. Not only because he’s getting my fear like he wanted, but because my traitorous body is offering itself up to him as well. I can’t risk looking in his eyes. The guilt, the terror, the lust, the love, the deceit—all of it’s too much to take.

“You don’t even know the name you speak of anymore. I’m Niko Gaheris, not Nikolai Garetovsky. The sooner you realize I’m a stranger to you, the better off you’ll be.”

“I can get you money.”

Niko throws his head back and cackles. “If you’re referring to your father, I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck.”

Hell no. He’d leave me to rot.

I shake my head. “Dmitry.”

“Of course. You’re whoring yourself out for him anyway.”

There’s that word again.

I calmly hold his stare and seethe. “I’m nobody’s whore.”

Electricity sizzles in the air as Niko drops to his haunches in front of me and strokes my chin. “Wrong. You’re my whore now.”

“Because I said your name?”

“I warned you not to play with fire.” His lips curl into a cruel smile, his beautiful silver-gray eyes darkening to the blackest of empty souls. Within seconds, the darkness lifts, and I see a glimpse of something more than hate. There’s conflict. It’s in the grit of his teeth, the tightening of his jaw, and the wrinkle in his brow. He’s a beautifully dangerous soul with a face like granite. Even at thirty years old, he’s still hiding behind a mask no one notices. No one ever has.

No one but me.

“A little heat doesn’t scare me.”

My boldness surprises him. “No? That’s not the way I remember it. But don’t worry, you’re not alone in your cowardliness. Your lying father will pay for his sins as well.” He pauses for a moment, letting the words sink in before cradling my face in his hands. “You see, Ava, Sergei may have hated you, but you always knew that. But me? I loved you, and love that turns to hate is the most dangerous kind. So, you should be scared.”

I want to scream. I want to cry out and hurt him as much as he’s hurting me, but I don’t. Those black eyes flash through my mind and one phrase rings in my ears.

Don’t anger the monster.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“Anticipation is half the fun, pchelka.” Niko slides one hand around to the back of my head and threads his fingers through my tangled hair. Leaning forward, he buries his face against my neck, trailing his lips up until he gets to my ear. “Pchelka, remember when I gave you that name, little bee? You were so young and innocent. All you wanted to do was fly. Remember, Ava? What did I tell you back then?”

I bite the inside of my lips, forcefully keeping them closed. I’m not stupid. He’s baiting me. If I answer honestly, he’ll twist it into something ugly. If I say I don’t remember, he’ll call me a liar. There’s no right answer.

“Answer me!” he roars so loud it vibrates throughout my entire body.

“You said it was to remind me nothing was impossible—ahhhh!” I cry out, wincing as his hand tightens in my hair. With my head throbbing from the hit it took last night, the added strain pools tears in my eyes. “That people claim there’s no way a little bee should be able to fly. Just like me, its wings are too small to get it off the ground.”

“What else?”

“You said the size of my wings didn’t matter. I’d always fly because bees believed anything was possible.”

“Right,” he taunts, a slight slur in his voice. “But here’s the thing, Ava—you can’t fly if you don’t have wings.”

That’s when I understand.

I’m never leaving this room. No plea bargain will save me. No justice will prevail. No form of self-inflicted punishment will take away one moment gone horribly wrong. This isn’t about revenge or sex. Niko is no beautiful soul. He’s my torture and captivity until the bitter end.

An image of a sweet sixteen-year-old lying motionless on my bed flashes through my mind, and my heart stutters. “You killed Rose, didn’t you?”

His eyes flash, crushing my hope. “Oh, I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that the suffering of an innocent person bothers you now.”

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