Sadie girl? I want to tease her about the nickname and the behemoth in her backseat, but based on the way she keeps glancing in the rearview mirror, Sadie is in love with this guy.

"I haven't seen you in months, it feels like," I say.

She nods, the messy blonde bun on top of her head bouncing around. "I know. Work has been crazy, and I'm sure school has been busy for you, too, Miss Neuroscientist."

"Whoa," Devon says, leaning forward between the front seats. His cologne is strong enough that it tickles the back of my throat, and I have to clear my throat. "I didn't expect Sadie to be friends with a brainiac."

I frown. "Sadie is smart too."

Sadie smiles at me but doesn't say anything. She went into cosmetology school right after high school, and while I know she loves what she does, her parents make her feel bad about not going to college. Devon doesn't need to pile on.

"Of course she is," he says, pinching Sadie's side and making her jerk the steering wheel, nearly sending us into the gutter. "All of her other friends are just hairdressers like she is. I didn't know she was friends with any scientists."

Just hairdressers. I don't even begin to unpack that statement.

"I want to be a clinical psychologist," I say to change the subject, turning around to study him as if I'm peering into his very thoughts.

Devon smiles back at me, eyes vacant. Somehow, I don't think he has many scientist friends, either.

Sadie must be able to sense my dislike towards Devon because she turns on the radio and manages the conversation for most of the drive. Devon seems incapable of not making at least one sexual innuendo or flirtatious comment for every normal sentence he utters, and Sadie doesn't mind at all.

The drive is only thirty minutes, but I still thought it would be a great time to chat with Sadie and catch up. I wanted to hear how work was going and her family. Instead, I'm trying not to vomit while Devon suggests we all hang out together in a "threesome." I wonder whether it didn't just come out wrong, but when I turn around, he's wagging his eyebrows, and I knew he meant it exactly the way it sounded.

"You two would totally get along," Sadie insists, nudging me in the arm.

"Would we?" I ask disinterestedly.

"Totally," she says.

"I can tell already," Devon says. "Maybe some time over winter break we can all get together."

"I'm actually going to be pretty busy hanging out with my dad." I shrug. "We don't get to see each other very often."

Sadie glances over. "You can spare an afternoon, can't you?"

"Maybe," I say noncommittally. "I'll have to check."

"You can't be busy every single day," Sadie pushes.

I sigh. "Like I said, I'll have to check."

"Courtney," she complains. "You don't really want to spend every single day with your dad. It's winter break. Have some fun."

"Just because you don't like your parents doesn't mean I don't like mine," I snap.

Sadie jerks back like I've slapped her, and then stares straight ahead at the road. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Sorry," I whisper. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired from finals."

She nods but doesn't say anything. And for the first time, Devon sits back in his seat and stops breathing in my ear.

There's only another five minutes left in the drive, but the car feels like it's running short on air, and I'm desperate to get out. We're driving down Main Street, and I see my dad's repair shop up ahead. The window in the back is illuminated, meaning he's in his office.

"Pull over," I say, pointing to the shop. "My dad is here. He must not have gone home yet."

Sadie pulls into the gravel drive along the side of the shop and parks. "I'll see you around?"

I grab my duffel bag from between my feet and crawl out of the car. I turn around and smile back at her. "Definitely."

"Great," Devon says, as if I was talking to him.

I refrain from rolling my eyes and wave at Sadie. "Thanks for the ride."

I watch them pull away and then walk around to the back and pull out my key. My dad gave it to me years ago, but I've only used it a handful of times. Even now I could just knock, but I want to surprise him.

As soon as I open the door, however, I freeze.

There are voices coming from the front of the shop.

Usually, I would just assume it was a customer and walk on in, but something about the mood in the shop feels different. The voices are loud and angry.

I close the door silently and tiptoe down the hallway, sticking close to the cinderblock wall.

"Have I not been generous with you?" a deep voice says. "Have I not held up my end of our bargain?"

"You have," my dad says quickly. "You absolutely have."

He doesn't sound like himself. His voice is high-pitched and frantic. I can feel the fear in it.

"And yet," the deeper voice says, "you don't have my money."

"Not today," my dad corrects. "I will have it-"

"Not. Today." I hear slow footsteps, and I can imagine the person pacing around the room, hands folded behind his back. "And when was the money due?"

"Today," my father says. "I know it was due today, but-"

"So, where is it?"

My dad tries to answer but before he can even get a word out, there's a loud bang.

I throw my hands over my ears and wince. For a moment, I think it might have been a gunshot, but I creep forward and am able to see a fist pressing against the metal top of my father's shop counter. Whoever the person is, he has big hands and is strong enough to dent a stainless-steel countertop.

Not good.

"Your dues ensure our protection," the man says. "Without them, you're left to fend for yourself. Is that what you want?"

"No, no," my father says. "Please. I just need a bit more time."

The unfamiliar man sighs. "We all want more time. Unfortunately, we don't always get it."

I don't understand exactly what is going on, but I know I don't like where the conversation is headed. My father is a good-sized man who has spent his life working with his hands, but he isn't a fighter. He doesn't even own a gun. Whoever this person is, I suspect they don't have exactly the same background.

I inch forward down the hallway with no plan or thought in my head aside from helping my dad.

That's the only thing that matters.

3

DMITRY

S

hitty day.

Beyond shitty.

Collection day is always a mixed bag. Some trips are dull and routine-knock, collect, leave. Others take an unexpected turn. People don't have their payments or they try to run or fight.

Regardless of the outcome, Sevastian and I, along with a few other lieutenants, always handled it. We worked well together.

Now, he isn't here, because I killed him. And Lawrence, one of the people I can always count on for a drama-free collection, is short on his money.

He's a small white man with a balding scalp and a soft chin. He wears a blue jumpsuit with grease stains around the wrists and oil splatters across the front. He's unassuming; clearly not the kind of man to challenge me to a fight. When I walk towards him, he holds up his hands in surrender.

"What are we going to do?" I ask, shaking my head.

My men shift behind me like starving dogs tracking an injured animal. Everyone has been on edge since the news about Sevastian was confirmed. I know I'm not the only one feeling pent-up. They want to beat Lawrence bloody-maybe even kill him. It really wouldn't be anything personal. They just need the release.

The trouble is that I like Lawrence.

Like with stray dogs, it's best not to get attached to our customers. They can come and go so quickly. Some don't pay or fight and need to be taken out. Others try to go to the police and come to the same gruesome end. Others simply move away, disappearing into the night, never to be seen again.

Lawrence always pays, never fights, and never runs. He's not a large man, but he faces me with courage I've rarely seen before and it's hard not to respect him.

Once, Sevastian and I came to collect alone, and Lawrence offered us a sucker from the cup on his desk. I refused, of course, because I'm not a child, but no one had ever offered us anything other than the money we came to collect.

Lawrence lowered his head and shrugged. "Do what you have to do, but if you could wait, just this once, I know I can get the money."

One of my lieutenants chuckles low under his breath. They have no suspicion that I'm going to be merciful, but Lawrence has never been late on a payment before. So, I'm going to reward his past timeliness with threats instead of a beating.

Power is important, but so is fairness.

A good leader knows when to show strength and when to offer encouragement. Lawrence just needs a little motivation. If he screws up again, then I'll pummel him.

"Twenty-four hours," I say finally. "That's how long you have to get what you owe me, do you understand?"

I can still see the panic in Lawrence's eyes. He blinks and opens his mouth but no words come out.

"Do you understand?" I growl, leaning down to get into his face.

He flinches away from me and nods. "Yes. Yes, I understand."

"You know I like you, Lawrence," I say, stepping back and twisting my neck to one side and then the other, a flurry of pops releasing the tension in my upper back. "But I don't often mix business and pleasure. If you fuck me over, I'll fuck you up. No second chances."

Lawrence pinches his mouth together and nods. "I understand."

I take another step backwards and shrug. "I just killed my best friend yesterday. So, if you somehow think you can sweet-talk your way out of this, I'd urge you to reconsider. Get the money. Hand it over. Make it easy on yourself."

His eyes flare when he hears my confession, and he looks around at my men. I see recognition flood his face. Sevastian isn't here with me. He isn't standing behind me like he usually is.

"He must have done something horrible," Lawrence says.

"He made his choice."

Lawrence looks up at me, his brown eyes wide and glassy. They crinkle in a sad smile. "We all make choices."

Me. He's talking about me.

I made a choice, and Lawrence doesn't agree with it.

But Lawrence doesn't know shit.

The anger that has been building inside of me since last night, the anger that I've kept quietly contained, breaks its mold for a second, flashing out. Before I can think about it, I've reared back and hurled a fist into Lawrence's stomach.

At the last second, I pull the punch slightly, but the force of it is still enough to make Lawrence groan and double over.

My men press forward, ready to act the second Lawrence tries to fight, but he just stumbles back and grips at the counter to keep standing.

I flex my fingers and am about to turn to leave when a flash of shadow catches my attention. I don't even have time to recognize what it is before I hear a high-pitched scream and then a person is on top of me.

Hands scratch at my face and chest, and I wobble, trying to find my balance with this new weight affixed to my side.

"Courtney!" Lawrence yells.

Suddenly, I remember Lawrence has a daughter. I've never seen her before, but he has mentioned her briefly. Never by name or anything identifying, just enough that I know she exists.

I suspect the woman pounding her fists against my chest is her. She's too small to be much of a threat to me with just her bare hands.

I grab for her flailing limbs, trying to peel her off me. My men are so surprised by her sudden appearance that it takes them a few seconds to recognize what's happening and step in to help. When they do, they manage to extract her from me easily, grabbing her arms and legs and pulling her back.

Her black hair is hanging over her face, wild and frizzy, and her chest is heaving from exertion.

"Courtney," Lawrence sobs, his first genuine show of emotion. "Please, let her go."

I hold up a hand to silence Lawrence and then direct my men to release her. They do it at once.

Courtney yanks her arms to her sides and then flips her hair back with an annoyed huff.

Now that I can see her face, I see the rage written there. Her top lip is pulled back in a snarl, her eyes narrowed and focused directly on me.

Still, even as angry as she is, she is beautiful.

I wouldn't have guessed she was Lawrence's daughter. He's pale and round, whereas Courtney has beautiful brown skin and a tight, lithe body. Her nose is pert and, presently, wrinkled in distaste.

"You son of a bitch," she spits, stomping forward like she's going to attack me again.

My men follow her movements, but she doesn't touch me.

I know I should be angry. Annoyed, even.

But I can't find it within me. I'm simply curious.

"Were you trying to attack me?" I ask.

Her eyes narrow further. "Only because you attacked my father."

"One punch," I say, holding up a finger. "That hardly constitutes an attack."

"He's a hardworking man, and you are a fucking leech."

"Courtney, baby," Lawrence warns. "I'm okay. I'm fine."

I wave another hand to silence him. It's hard to believe such a strong-willed woman could come from such a docile man.

"Don't speak again until I give the okay," I bark over my shoulder to him. "I'd like to have a word with your daughter."

I hear Lawrence's breathing pick up. My fists didn't scare him. But my merely looking at his daughter has him terrified.

"He isn't your slave," Courtney snaps. "He can do whatever he likes."

"True," I admit. "And so can you. Unfortunately, whatever you do, I'll take out on him."

Her eyes widen. I can see the words burning at the end of her tongue, but she doesn't speak them. She bites them back.

Good girl.

I walk towards her, enjoying the way she stiffens with every step. Just before we're chest to chest, I turn and walk around her, admiring every inch.

She has on a pair of tight jeans that hug her curves and a V-neck sweater that shows off her impressive cleavage. Her body is soft and tight in all the right places.

"Find the woman a seat," I say to Rurik, my eyes not leaving the girl. He nods and grabs a stool from the corner. He places it behind Courtney, but it isn't until I push on her shoulder that she sits down.

I pace the floor, drumming my fingers together. "This is an interesting turn of events."

"Please," Lawrence whispers.

I spin towards him, nostrils flared. "I told you not to speak."

He closes his eyes.

I begin my pacing again. "Lawrence owes me money. Did you hear that part, Courtney?" I ask, turning towards her. "I assume you've been eavesdropping for a while. You know what this is about?"

"I know what it's about," she says through gritted teeth. "It's about you compensating for your small penis."

I should slap her across the face, but instead I bark out a laugh.

My response surprises me more than anyone, but Courtney's eyebrow arches upwards.

"Your father and I had just reached an understanding," I continue. "Twenty-four hours for him to come up with the five thousand dollars he owes me this month."

"This month?" Courtney asks, turning her attention to her father. "Dad, why didn't you tell me?"

Lawrence inhales to say something, but I spin around and shake my head. He closes his mouth and stares down at the floor.

"That's too much," Courtney says. "It isn't fair."

"Fair doesn't exist in the real world."

She rolls her eyes. "God, you are a cliché."

I find Courtney intriguing in the best way, but I also can't go on letting her think she can say whatever she wants without consequence. I take a deep breath and then spin around, pummeling my fist into Lawrence's stomach. For a second time, I pull the punch, but the force is enough to surprise him.

Courtney yelps. "Jesus, stop! I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

When I turn around, her eyes are wide and glassy, and she looks like a doll. Her skin is smooth and perfect and her hair is shiny and falling around her shoulders in messy waves. She is a picture, and I want to study her further.

"Are you, though?" I ask, balling my hand into a fist.

She nods frantically. "I'm. I'm sorry."

I turn towards Lawrence, but he isn't looking at me. He's looking over my shoulder at his daughter, shaking his head.

She is what Lawrence cares about. She's the reason he always paid on time and treated me with respect. Not because he actually respects me, but because he loves her.

And he'll do anything to keep her safe.

"This stop has taken longer than I planned, and now I'm not so sure I want to come back here tomorrow night to do it all over again." I frown. "And since we never got a chance to shake on it, our deal wasn't finalized."

"You rat," Courtney says behind me.

I ignore her. "I believe we should resolve this now. In my experience, once someone gets behind on one payment, they continually come up short on the next, and the next. It is a slippery slope."

"I can get the money-" Lawrence starts.

"Still not okay for you to talk," I growl.

He closes his mouth and breathes heavily through his nose. Sweat is beading up on his forehead and his cheeks are red with emotion.

"I'm not as interested in money anymore," I explain. "Do you have something else to offer me?"

Lawrence stares up at me silently and after a few seconds, I tell him he can answer my question.

"I don't have anything of value," he murmurs. "Just my shop, but even that isn't worth much. Really, I have nothing."

I spin away from him, pacing towards Courtney. I stand next to her stool and lay a hand on her shoulder. She tries to escape my touch, but I grip her harder. "Don't you, though?"

When Lawrence understands my meaning, his face goes pale. He shakes his head. "No, no."

I shrug. "Fine."

Then, I gesture for my men to move forward. Ready for blood, they advance all at once. Before they reach him, though, Courtney jumps to her feet.

"Take me," she says. "I'll do it. I'll go with you. Just don't touch him."

"No!" Lawrence yells.

For the first time in my relationship with him, Lawrence lunges forward and grabs the back of my shirt. He pulls me towards him.

"Don't touch her. Please. I'll do anything. Kill me. It's fine."

I shrug Lawrence off and turn back to Courtney.

Lawrence would die for his daughter rather than have anything happen to her. Which means this is the perfect punishment. Worse than a monetary fine.

"Six months," I say to her. "You'll come live with me for six months."

"No," Lawrence moans. "No. Courtney, run."

Courtney looks at her dad, and her lower lip trembles. Then, she looks back at me, and she turns to granite. She is fierce and fiery and tough, and I want to explore every facet of her.

"Will you hurt me?" she asks. "Will you kill me?"

I shake my head. "You will be of no use to me gravely injured or dead. Though, if you make any attempt to escape our deal, I will hunt you down and kill you. And your father."

She swallows, and I smirk, lifting an eyebrow.

"Do you agree to these terms?"

Lawrence falls into sobs behind me, but Courtney doesn't spare him a glance. She stares me in my eyes and nods. "Agreed."

I clap my hands together. "See? I knew we could all reach a compromise. Six months with me and this will all go away. Plus," I say, turning back to Lawrence. "This will give you a chance to save up for the seventh month when I come back to collect."

Lawrence has his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He is still weeping when I order my men to take Courtney out to my car.

4

COURTNEY

H

is car is dark and leather-detailed and smells like warm spice. The seat is warm underneath me, and in any other circumstance, I'd be thrilled to be in a vehicle as nice as this one.

Unfortunately, since the owner of the car is a monster, my excitement is tempered with fear.

Raw fear.

I didn't think before I lunged at him. He hit my father and something inside of me snapped. I hurled myself at him, but the moment our bodies made contact, I knew my attack was useless.

He was pure muscle under his clothes. Slamming my fists against him felt like hitting a brick wall. As useful as standing in the middle of a hurricane and screaming at the rain.

Now, I'm his.

For six months.

The thought makes my stomach turn, and I wrap my arms around myself and look out the window. At first, I try to pay attention to where we're going, but then I remember his threat. If I leave, he'll kill me and my father. And all of this will have been for nothing.

If I want my dad to be safe, I can't run. I have to do what he says.

"I don't usually listen to the radio, but you can turn it on if you want," he says.

The suggestion is so mundane that I can't help but look over at him.

His jaw is strong and square, and his golden blond hair is coiffed on top of his head, the sides buzzed short. The slope of his nose is flat and smooth. If I saw him painted in profile, I'd comment that the artist made him too perfect. No one really looks like that.

Except for crime bosses, apparently.

Tattoos cover his muscled arms, but I can't see enough to know what they are-just swirls of black peeking out from the collar of his shirt and the cuff at his wrist.

I reach out and turn the radio on, jamming the volume up as loud as it will go.

The man takes a deep breath and reaches out to turn it down to a normal volume. I expected a larger reaction.

"That was childish," he says. "Please tell me I do not need to repeat the conditions of your stay with me."

"You said I couldn't escape, and I'm not."

He looks over at me, and I meet his blue eyes with a hard glare.

"Your father's life is on the line." He turns back to the road and grips the wheel harder, his knuckles flexing against tan skin. "Do you really want to piss me off?"

I sink lower in my seat and as my adrenaline fades, the weight of what has happened begins to sink in.

Six months.

I'll miss school. Will I have to drop out? Will I lose the money I've already paid towards the semester? I can't afford to pay it again.

Panic builds up inside of me like a Jenga tower, and all it will take is one false move to make it all come tumbling down.

I poke at the tower gently, testing for an easy brick. Just a simple question to make this whole situation less uncomfortable.

"Who are you?"

The man looks over at me, one eyebrow raised. "Your father never mentioned me?"

He mentioned someone, but never in detail. He certainly never explained he was paying five thousand dollars per month for protection. There were times he would get frustrated and say he wished he had more money to buy me the things I needed-clothes, a car, tuition. But our house ran on a single income, and I understood that. I didn't ask for anything unnecessary, and still this 'lender' hung over my father's head for years, starting back when I was in middle school.

"I thought he took out a loan for the shop or something and was having a hard time paying it off," I admit. "He never corrected me."

"He probably didn't want to scare you," the man says, looking over at me again.

I feel his eyes on me like the lick of a flame against my skin, burning and uncomfortable. "How is that working out?"

"I'm not scared," I say quickly. "I just want to know who I'm not scared of."

He smirks, and I want to slap the expression off his full lips. "Dmitry Tsezar, boss of the Tsezar Bratva."

I don't know who he is or what a "bratva" is, but it sounds worse than a simple loan shark.

We drive in silence for a long while, and I steal glances at him when he isn't looking.

He sits up tall and proud in the seat, chin lifted, eyes focused on the road ahead of him. But I get a sense there is something more to him. A story behind the strong face.

I hate him for what he did to my father, but I also can't ignore that fact that Dmitry could have killed him. Instead, he threatened him, he bargained with him, and in the end, he traded my father's debt for me. It doesn't make him a good guy, but it precludes him from being a soulless monster.

A monster with a heart of gold, then. Or something like that.

That doesn't matter, though. Not when he's holding me captive. I can't feel pity for the man who is going to ... well, I'm not sure what he's going to do, but I'm certain he isn't sending me on an all-expenses paid vacation.

"So," I say, breaking the silence. "What are you going to do with me? Lock me up? Throw away the key?"

"If that's the kind of thing you like."

I turn to him with a frown. "It matters what I like?"

The corner of his mouth turns up in amusement. "I always try to make sure the women I'm with have a good time."

A prickle crawls down my spine as I realize what he means.

Sex. With him. The two of us. Together.

Heat floods my entire body at the same time like a kind of explosion, and I shiver.