“Ke nighg-ya,” an order came from the bathroom, Russian again.

Mikhail pulled out of my grasp and ran away, the nails of his paws tapping against the bathroom tiles.

“Mikhail?” I said sterner.

“The dog was a mistake,” Damon said. “He won’t protect you from me. I know how to handle him. I know how to get things to obey me.”

“Give him to me.”

“Sure,” he chirped. “Take him. If you can.”

“Mikhail,” I demanded, tapping my leg. “Mikhail, come here!”

But my dog didn’t move, not a single jingle from his leash or sound of his nails.

My chin trembled, but I refused to cry.

But before I got a chance to spin around and walk away, Damon grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the bathroom. I resisted, trying to pull away and noticing he was only in a towel as he pressed me against the sink and shoved a long piece of metal in my hands.

“What is this?” I asked as he wrapped his fist around mine, forcing me to hold it.

The scent of shaving cream filled the space, and the steam of his shower crawled into my pores.

“Do you want to know how I control him?” Damon asked.

I didn’t give a shit…

“Food,” he explained. “Most animals, including humans, can be controlled by a system of consequences and rewards.”

Something hit the ground, I heard Mikhail move, and his jaws yapped as he ate whatever Damon tossed him.

“We want to eat, so we do what we need to in order to be fed,” he said. “And all animals have that in common. They can’t synthesize their own nourishment, so they easily become subject to whoever provides it. It’s how animals are domesticated. How humans can be enslaved in soul-draining jobs and relationships.” He leaned in, his breath wafting over my face. “We all need to eat, Winter.”

I jerked my head, trying to pull away from him again.

“And humans are complex,” he went on. “More than just our stomachs need to be fed.”

He raised my hand, and whatever was in it, to his face, and even though I gritted my teeth, trying to pull away, he forced it against his skin and glided it up his neck to his jaw. He forced my hand, and I stopped fighting as it grated against his stubble. Then he lowered my hand to the sink behind me, rinsing it clean.

A razor. A straight razor. I brought up my other hand, carefully feeling the object in my hand. Cool and metal, the blade was smooth and sharp, while the handle featured filigree etchings, making for an easier grip. Was it an antique? No one used these anymore.

He lifted me up and planted my ass on the counter, his hand on both sides of me.

“Keep going,” he said in a low voice.

Keep going? Did he want to die today? Or did he think I wouldn’t use this on him?

“Why?” I asked him. “So you can prove how well I can do what I’m told? Like a dog?” I put my free hand on his chest, trying to keep him from getting too close. “I don’t need you to feed me.”

“Maybe I need you to feed me.”

What did that mean?

“Do it,” he urged.

I held the blade, liking how easily the handle fit in my fist, and loving how he was right in front of me, putting a weapon in my hand, and this could all end now.

Did he trust me? Or did he think he could stop me in time?

He was definitely testing me. Seeing how much I did or didn’t hate him.

And he was willing to put himself in danger to find out.

All of a sudden, I felt like I did the night I drove his car all those years ago.

Like I was dangerous.

“I’ll cut you,” I warned him.

“Yeah.”

“And if I slit your throat?”

He breathed a laugh. “My kind of fun has a price, remember?”

I stopped breathing for a moment, remembering those words. Remembering that he was him. My ghost. The one I kissed and made love to.

At first those words had filled me with dread, because it meant he’d had no limit. Then they excited me, because I wanted adventures with the boy I thought I loved.

I brought my free hand up and gripped his face, tipping it back and keeping it still. Then I drifted my fingers down his neck, feeling where the skin was smooth and already shaven and where the shaving cream still sat.

“Come in, closer,” I told him.

He did, forcing me to spread my legs as his fingers brushed the outside of my thighs, bare in my sleep shorts. I ignored the goosebumps that spread over my skin.

Bringing the blade up slowly, I felt his chest start to rise and cave with shallow breaths, and I damn near smiled, because, if even just a little, he was nervous.

Finding the position with my thumb, I put the blade to his skin and pressed, increasing the pressure just a little more than I should have and feeling him suck in a breath.

It was his turn to be scared.

I let it sit there for a moment, feeling the air grow thick between us as he waited for what I was going to do with the blade pressed to his neck. Were his eyes cast down on me, watching me? Was he waiting for it? Was he ready for it?

I held it there for another moment and then…glided the blade up his neck, shaving it.

He held his breath for a moment and then exhaled softly as the blade left his neck.

Running my fingers over the strip I just shaved, I felt smooth skin. Skin I’d had my lips on when I’d thought he was someone else.

Rinsing off the blade, I took his face again, shoving it back to where I had it, because he’d dropped it again—probably to watch me.

He stood there silently as I slowly dragged the blade up his throat, the grainy sound filling the room and everything in the distance fading away. My hand shook with the knowledge that at any moment I could cut him.

Deep.

He would deserve it. After what he did to me…

After being everything I craved and needed, he made me fall in love with him, but come to find out, I’d fallen for a lie. A boy who treated me badly and found out how easy it was to hide right under my nose and get me to fuck him. Did he laugh about it after with his friends? Did he have fun?

My eyes pooled with tears as I shaved another strip, the tension in my hand making it ache as I gripped the razor so tightly.

How could he lie like that? The way he was… The words, the kissing, the shower, the way he held me and acted so sad sometimes, the desperation in his body when he took mine over and we were lost in the heat and the need to feel each other.... How could he lie so well? Young girls weren’t hard-hearted. He had to know how easily I would fall. Did he think it would be funny when he got my hopes up and played with me like that? Did he laugh at how pathetic the little blind girl was to think he loved her?

He sucked in a short breath, and I stopped, my tears threatening to spill over as I realized I’d cut him.

He didn’t say anything, though, and he didn’t move. I sat there, my hand in mid-air under his chin as I waited. I actually hadn’t meant to do that. Was it bad?

I heard him swallow and then he said, “Keep going.” But it came out as a whisper.

I blinked away the tears and loosened my grip, trying to relax.

“What’s all the noise downstairs?” I asked him.

“Extra security.”

“To keep me locked in?”

“To keep you safe,” he corrected in a coy tone.

I was sure the disdain was visible on my face. But then I remembered how he denied being in the theater bathroom and Crane denied that anyone was in the house this morning when I ran to St. Killian’s. They had no reason to lie. Was I in more danger than I thought? Was someone else after me? Enemies my father made or something?

I quieted, almost afraid of his answer when I asked, “Is my family really in the Maldives?”

“Yes,” he said.

Pain pricked at the back of my throat.

And while it was unusual my mother was on his honeymoon and not him, I knew why. He had no interest in the Maldives. Everything that interested him was here.

“Why would my mother leave me with you?”

“Because she’s a cunt.”

My hand shook a little, part of me angry and part of me wanting to cry. She left me. She actually left me. Did she fight? Sob? Have to be forced out the door at least? Did he offer her anything? Was she supposed to be back soon?

Why did she let him convince her to leave?

Because she’s a cunt.

My chin trembled for a moment, almost appreciating the genuine anger in his voice. He’d done this. He’d sent them away.

But even though he did what he thought he had to do to get what he wanted, he still didn’t have any respect for my mother for giving in to him. What kind of parent…

“Where do you go when you’re not here?” I pried, changing the subject. “Are you really going into the city? Or New York? Where?”

Or were you close? Always close.

He was gone a lot, and it hadn’t escaped my notice that he barely stayed here at night. Where the hell was he sleeping?

Maybe he had another woman. Another woman other than my sister, I meant.

He hissed again, and I knew I’d cut him again.

Shit.

But he still didn’t move or speak, just breathed, exhaling slow, almost like a sigh of relief.

“Keep going,” he whispered, sounding breathless and raspy this time.

Heat rolled off him, and I could feel his chest under my hand, the slow, steady breaths almost sounding calm and spent, like he enjoyed it.

He liked being cut?

Or he liked the fear?

Again, I was reminded of the night driving his car. I’d loved how he didn’t get mad at my mistakes and waited for me to do things at my pace. Just like now. He wasn’t mad I cut him.

But maybe there was something in it for him, too. He enjoyed toying with death. Fear made us feel alive.

I finished with his neck and rinsed off the blade. “Bend forward a little,” I told him. “I can’t reach your face.”

He came in as close as he could, pressing between my legs, and tipped his head down at me, our bodies chest to chest. His warmth spread across my face with him only inches away, and I felt self-conscious. “Don’t stare at me.”