ABIGAIL

Abigail thought it was a mere rumour that Russian Roulette was a place where people played with their lives. Funny that. Here she was, trapped between an office wall and Alexander’s hard body. No matter what, she couldn’t admit to him that the moment she saw him, shivers coasted down her flesh to all the right places. No wonder Jennifer took her aside that morning, warning her about his visual perfection.

“I was—” she began but her words failed her.

The strange glow in his irises freaked her out a little. She pushed her glasses up, wondering whether it was the light in the room playing tricks on her.

He whipped the glasses off her face and tilted her chin up. She had to stifle a moan when his fingers absently caressed her jawline.

“How much did you see?”

“Nothing,” she lied.

Alexander’s dark brows drew together. “I cannot influence you…”

She, too, furrowed her brow. His image became slightly blurred after her glasses left her nose. In a bid to find them, she tried ducking under his arm, but he pinned her back against the wall.

“Where do you think you are going?” he asked.

“I need my glasses. I can’t see much without them.”

He grumbled something unintelligible under his breath and released her. “You’re going to stay here until I figure out what to do with you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take a seat, Abby, before I make you,” he ordered.

There it was again—Abby—a name she hated since she was a kid. She only ever liked one person calling it—her mother who died right before her seventh birthday. Her hands balled into fists as she fought against the need to scream at him to stop calling her that.

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” he demanded.

“I heard you loud and clear, but I have to go back to the office.” She rushed for the door.

Before she knew what happened, she was hanging upside down and staring at his ass up close. Her hair came undone, swaying with his strides as he brought her to a chair and dropped her into it. This situation should have scared her. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine him hurting a woman.

She glared at him when he rummaged in his desk drawer. A second later, he produced a pair of handcuffs.

“You’re not serious!” she said in disbelief.

“Oh, I do not have time to deal with you right now. If wiping your memory doesn’t work, there is little I can do other than imprison or kill you.”

Her face paled at the seriousness of his tone. The dryness in her throat became unbearable, so she launched herself out of her seat, screaming for help.

“Stop it,” Alexander hissed into her ear when his arm wound around her waist and the other covered her mouth.

Tears escaped her, and she mumbled obscenities against his palm. She didn’t want to die. Her father was in a hospital. Who will pay his bills? Her boss never said that Alexander was a maniac. Influencing people, memory wiping, and killing… He had to be a serial killer. Her mind travelled down a dark path, conjuring images of his dark deeds. Maybe Jennifer worked with him. Did she provide him with young interns, so he could torture them?

She shuddered when the cold metal of the handcuffs bit into her wrist, and she lifted her watery eyes. She couldn’t see his expression clearly. Is this how I’m going to die? That thought made her burst into another wail as she sniffled.

Alexander stuffed her free hand full of tissues. “Please don’t cry here. It makes me feel bad.”

“You’re going to kill me!”

“Only if I cannot erase your memories,” he replied.

Her mouth fell open. “That’s insane. You’re insane!”

“I guess I am.” Alexander removed his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it around her trembling shoulders. “Be a good girl and use those tissues to wipe your face. I hate it when women cry.”

His cologne enveloped her, and she struggled not to enjoy it as she dabbed at her face with the ball of crumpled tissues. She blew her nose then left the tissues on his desk in a silent form of revenge.

Alexander took out his phone and left the room.

Once she was alone, Abigail tugged on the handcuffs that kept her tied to his desk. With the world being a bit of a blur, she squinted to focus on the contents of his desk. She saw a pen and a few paperclips on top of a mountain of paperwork. Reaching over, she reshaped the paperclip into a straight wire before fiddling with the lock. Thank God her dad had taught her about locks since she could walk. Because of her locksmith upbringing, she couldn’t be contained in a room.

The cuffs clicked open. She searched the floor until she found her glasses.

Not waiting for him to come back, she grabbed her bag and ran to the window. Once she opened it, she looked down. At least, they were on the first floor. If she fell twelve feet, she’d live.

She jumped.

Her knee scraped against the rough dirt. Both of her wrists hurt from the impact since she landed on them, but she ignored the pain and ran to her car.

Speeding towards her apartment, she dialled the police with quivering fingers.

“Hello, I just escaped from a nightclub called Russian Roulette. It’s on the—”

“Could you please slow down?” the operator asked.

Abigail sucked in a breath. “Okay, I think I’ve witnessed a shooting at a nightclub.”

“Could you give us the address of your location?”

“Yes, it’s… Damn.” She hung up. Alexander was an influential man. If she went to the police with this, he would bounce back and kill her for real. No. She needed to be smarter than that. She gripped the steering wheel and headed to her apartment. Even her boss didn’t know where she lived because she had moved to a new place last week.

She parked outside the apartment block and hurried indoors. Her bag bounced against her side while she fumbled for her keys. She input the security code and entered the building. Reaching the third floor, Abigail unlocked her apartment door then slid to the ground. All energy left her as the adrenaline rush faded.

Drained, she picked herself back up and dragged her feet to the bathroom. She splashed her face with cold water. The only thing it did was prove how real the situation was. She slapped her cheeks until they stung.

“I did not witness a murder. I did not witness a murder…”

The image of that man in the VIP room putting a gun to his chest and pulling the trigger made her stomach do an unpleasant somersault. She bent over the toilet and the contents of her stomach spilled out. Exhausted, she rinsed her mouth and climbed in bed.

“I hate Wednesdays.”

ALEXANDER

Alexander returned to his office to find Abigail missing. Handcuffs lay on the floor, undone. He ran a hand over his face and dialled Jennifer again.

“I told you, Alex, you can’t kill her, or I will end your good publicity!” she screamed into his ear.

He grimaced. “I am not going to kill her. I just need to make certain she doesn’t go around telling people about the VIP room.”

After a long pause, she burst out laughing. “Did she get away?”

“How did you know?”

“Because you wouldn’t call me back without wanting something from me first.” She laughed again. “I can’t believe she gave you the slip.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“Like I’d tell you!” Jennifer yawned. “Look, I’ll call her tomorrow and have a chat with her. If you lay a hand on her, I will ruin your club. Are we in agreement?”

He sighed. “I could find out for myself…”

“You’ve been warned. Now let me sleep. I’ve had a long day.” She hung up.

Alexander fought the urge to throw his phone across the room. He made his way to the drinks cabinet. Pulling it open, he selected his favourite decanter of Dalmore scotch and uncorked it. He grabbed a glass, ready to pour some of its amber liquid into a glass when he scowled at the bottle. The last time he couldn’t influence someone, the girl turned out to be a witch and nearly got him and Lucious killed. No matter how he looked at it, she couldn’t be a normal human, not when she looked like the prim and proper Mary Poppins.

“Abigail Greene,” he said her name aloud. He couldn’t leave her alone. Her knowledge of the secret events in his club could be dangerous for both of them.

Alexander sauntered to the window she had escaped through. He glanced down, studying the car park shrouded in the night and neon lights. The girl had unlocked the cuffs, jumped from the first floor like an everyday thief, and had the audacity to leave dirty tissues on his desk. She certainly knew how to leave an impression.

He ground his teeth. Next time, I’ll use rope.

ABIGAIL

Her chirpy ringtone forced Abigail to peel her eyelids apart and face the morning sun. She reached for her phone on the bedside table. Sliding her thumb along the touch screen, she accepted the call.

“Abigail, this is your boss. What on earth happened last night?”

She cringed at Jennifer’s stern barks and sat up. Rubbing her face, she recalled yesterday’s catastrophe and flopped back onto her pillows. “Did you know Alexander is a psycho? We should report him! Someone died—”

“No one died yesterday, Abigail.”

“I saw it with my own eyes!”

Jennifer sucked in a calming breath. “I’m sure whatever you saw was an act they put on for the patrons.”

Abigail scrambled out of her bed and started tugging on her skinny jeans. “That’s not possible. He even said he’d kill me!”

“Are you sure you were sober?”

“I don’t drink on the job.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Alright, I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for whatever you saw because, I assure you, no one died at that club. Alexander is rich. He can afford realistic special effects. I guess he just got too engrossed in his role.”

Abigail slowly sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her eyes. She didn’t stay long enough to witness anything past the shooting. All she saw was blood spreading over the man’s shirt. In movies, they do it all the time. None of the attendees seemed too concerned about the whole thing.

Am I wrong?

“Are you coming into work today or are you planning to write a thriller?” Jennifer asked.

Abigail rolled her eyes. “I’ll be on time. I’m sorry about this, I really thought—”

“Don’t think about this anymore. Alexander likes theatrics, and he’s a flirt. As long as he can get into a woman’s head, he’ll use any tricks in the book. I’ve warned you about that.”

“Yeah,” Abigail mumbled. “You did.”

“Good. Now get your ass to the office. I need that article ready by noon.”

Abigail checked the time. She tugged on a navy tank top and a suit jacket. After putting on some makeup and her contact lenses, she ran out of her apartment.

With her steaming cup of coffee ready at her side, she sat at her desk and started typing up the interview with Alexander. Arrogance dripped from him as if he stood in a waterfall. She hated men like him. They hoarded money, used women, played around, and to what end? Self-serving pigs.

She snorted and added ‘craves female attention’ to her article. Without that warning from her boss, she would have interviewed him in her normal clothes, which would have been a grave mistake. Their office building had a TV studio on the lower floors where she could borrow some granny clothes from Niamh who worked with the wardrobe. That girl had a heart of gold, unlike Alexander.

Abigail sipped her coffee with a sour look on her face as she read her article. Her annoyance built up when she noted she had subconsciously overused his name.

Why do all hot men have to be jerks?