There was someone crying. A heart wrenching sound, deep and full of despair. The tile was cold under her feet as she walked towards the door, nervous energy tickling its way up her spine.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. She was supposed to be sleeping.

The doorknob was practically eye-level, and she wrapped her hand around it to twist, but it barely budged. From the other side of the wood the crying stuttered and slowed.

“Lianna?” It was a woman’s voice, still on the verge of tears. But she couldn’t speak, couldn’t respond. Thin, pale fingers reached under the door, stretching until they brushed against her small toes. “Lianna.” The voice came again, another sob, but she stepped back. Scared.

This was bad. She was going to get in trouble.

The fingers disappeared and a soft tap on the door was almost completely muffled by the sniffled sigh inside the room. “You have to go back, darling. Go to bed.”

“I can’t open the door,” she whispered.

“It’s okay. You need to sleep. I’ll be quiet, I promise. Go back to bed. Hurry. Run.” There was a pause where Lianna was frozen to the spot, trying her hardest to think of how to make the knob turn. “Go! Now!” The urgent whisper felt like a push, and she obeyed. She turned, ran back towards her room — and woke up.

Lianna flinched, rolling to her back as a latent nausea quickly reminded her of all the stupid choices she’d made.

“You’re awake,” the man’s low voice made her lift her head, and she groaned and fell back against the mattress.

Ah, yes, there was one of her stupid choices in the flesh.

“I brought you water. Toast. Something for the headache.”

Turning to the side, she saw that he had, in fact, filled her water cup and provided toast and two pills on a paper plate. A bitter laugh slipped past her lips. “You think I need pain relievers now?”

Muttering, he pushed a hand through his dark hair and clenched his fist at the root. He was half-dressed again. Dark colored jeans, but no shirt, no shoes — and he’d left the mask off. A quick glance at the ceiling told her the cameras were off. It was just the two of them. “I brought them for the hangover. I’m sure you have one.”

“So, these pills are not supposed to help the bruises or the other marks? Just the headache?” She sat up, and realized her temples were pounding, but the broken skin and splotchy bruises around her wrists were impossible to ignore.

“If you don’t want them, don’t take them.”

“I’ll take the whole bottle if you’re offering.” The dark comment seemed to come from nowhere, but it made his eyes snap up to hers.

“You don’t mean that.”

She shrugged. “I might. Are you going to kill me now?”

“No,” he growled under his breath, cradling his head with his hands like he was the one with the vicious headache.

“Then what are you going to do with me? I’ve seen your face.”

“Did you look at the photos?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Answer mine first.” Leaning back against the wall near the door, he stared across the room at her, knees bent so he could rest his arms on them as they let the silence stretch between them. Such a reliable negotiation tactic.

Her eyes went to the scattered photos, and the names wormed their way back up from memory. Strange and concerning connections forming now that she wasn’t drunk — and as much as she didn’t want to give in, she did have questions. “Yes, I looked at them.”

“And?”

“And I don’t understand.”

“What part?” He seemed to relax slightly, the tension in his shoulders dropping.

“Any of it. I agree that this is my father in some of the photos, but the older ones?” She shook her head, rubbing her fingers against one throbbing eye. “It may look like him, but it can’t be. My dad was an only child, his parents died a long time ago. I think you’re confused.”

“I’m not confused.” An edge of threat was back in his tone, that anger resurfacing, but she was too tired and too hungover to entertain it.

“Apparently you are, because his name isn’t on the back of any of these.”

“His real name is.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m not lying to you.” Shaking his head, he blew out a slow breath. “Come on, Lianna. You’re smarter than this.”

“I am smart, it’s why I refuse to just believe a bunch of random photos that you’ve scribbled on!” She leaned forward and ripped a handful of photos from the floor. “You think a bunch of grainy photos are going to turn me against him? To convince me my father is some monster?”

“I think the truth will.”

“The truth.” She laughed, tossing the pictures into the air in front of her so they fluttered down across the others. “You don’t get to pretend to be all noble now. You, of all people, don’t have a fucking leg to stand on when it comes to this. You are a monster.”

He turned away from her and despite her pounding headache, and the sour taste on her tongue, she pushed herself off the mattress and strode to the photo she’d avoided, snatching it off the floor.

“Look at this.” Turning, she threw it towards him. “You want to talk about the truth? Look at those girls, look at their wrists, and then look at mine. Look at all of the things you have done to me!” She laughed, her sanity frayed at the edges. “And you want to sit there and say you can tell me the truth? As if you aren’t exactly like the assholes who did this to them?”

The man picked up the photo that had landed beside him, and there was a flicker of a flinch. The barest reaction to the image before he was stone faced again.

“Talk to me! How is that any different than what you’ve done to me?”

His voice was almost too low to hear when he finally spoke, “You don’t know what happened to them.”

“I’m not an idiot, I have a pretty good idea.” There was heat in her voice, her rage finally finding an outlet that seemed to work. His shoulders hunched forward, and his head dropped into his hands as he took a slow breath. When he didn’t speak, she threw her hands up with a huff and turned away from him.

Bastard. Spineless, insane –

“I wanted to destroy you.” The sudden, harsh words stopped her in place, but he continued in a growling tone. “I wanted to decimate you. Tear you down off your privileged, golden pedestal and break you down until you were nothing. I didn’t just want to hurt you, I wanted to ruin you forever so that even when he got you back, you would never be the same. So, he would never be the same.”

Lianna turned around slowly, watching as his eyes traced the photo in his hands before he let it drop to the floor, shrugging like nothing he said bothered him.

“I admit that, I admit all of it. I even admit that I’ve enjoyed it. I love the way you scream, the way your body tenses and arches when I hurt you. I love the way you fight, the way you refuse to break no matter how hard I push you. I am addicted to the way you respond to me.” Tawny brown eyes lifted to hers, that powerful gaze catching her off guard. “But I have never lied to you, princess. I told you right away what I was going to do to you, before I even took you out of his fucking apartment.”

“And?”

“And what?” His expression was blank, unfettered by guilt as he stared up at her.

“And have you destroyed me? Have you decimated me like you wanted to?”

“Not yet.” His eyes stayed on hers, and she felt a tremor rush through her muscles. A quiet reminder in the back of her mind that he was allowing her to speak to him this way, that at any moment he could stop her if he chose. “But here’s the difference, princess, I don’t pretend to be a good man. I know that I’m damned. I know I’m a monster, a demon, a nightmare. Even right now I want to pin you to the floor, I want to feel you fight as I take you, and then I want to feel you come under me. I want to make you scream, I want to light up your skin with my belt again, I want to do so many obscene things to your body, but… right now there’s something more important.”

The pulse of need between her thighs brought on by his words made a blush burn its way up her chest and into her cheeks. There was definitely something wrong with her. With both of them. None of that should have excited her. “You’re sick.”

And so am I.

“I won’t argue that. I won’t argue any of it.” With a shrug, he gestured towards the photos scattered across the floor. “But all of that is real, and I didn’t write on the backs of them.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her hands formed tight fists at her sides, ragged nails biting into the skin as she tried to stay calm, her rational mind fighting its way forward. “This is just a skewed sampling of data, put together in an attempt to prove some ridiculous hypothesis that my father was—”

“Tell me your last memory of your mother.”

Lianna rolled her eyes and turned away from him, walking back over the pictures to drop onto the mattress. She was done with this insanity. Done with this damn conversation, done with trying to reason with a villain, and done with the throbbing ache behind her eyes and the hum between her thighs. With a growl, she swallowed the two pills with a sip of the water.

“You’re going to want to eat the toast if you took the medicine.”

“Since when do you give a shit how I feel?” she snarled at him, but ripped a bite of the toast off anyway and devoured it. Picking at the crisp edges as she glared down at the pictures.

He sighed. “Tell me your last memory of your mother.”

“She died when I was little. I don’t have any memories of her.”

“Try harder, princess. What’s your last memory of her?” He was so calm, so monotone, while she was a ball of tangled thoughts and rage. As the fire in her belly grew, she was about to scream at him, but then there was a flash. A woman with blonde hair smiling at her, laughing. It disappeared as quickly as it came, taking with it the vicious words she’d planned to shout. “Are you remembering?” he asked.

Lianna shook her head, the mental cloud of the hangover was making it hard to think clearly. Making her imagine things. “There’s nothing to remember. She died in a car wreck when I was three.”

“Did she?”

“Yes.” Lianna nodded, swallowing the suddenly too dry bread. She chased it with more water. It was the hangover, it was messing with her head. He was messing with her head. This whole fucked up situation was doing nothing but mess with her, and he’d already admitted that was exactly what he’d wanted all along. She was just playing into his game now.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and she let out a scream of frustration.

“What the fuck do you want me to know? Why won’t you just spit it out?” Leaning forward she shoved her hand through the photos, spreading them out further. “This shit isn’t helpful! It doesn’t explain anything! Not why you’re doing this, not why you hate my father, not why you want to hurt me, none of it, so go fuck yourself!”

“Did you find your father in each of the photos?”

“He’s not in all of the photos,” she hissed before she popped another bite of toast in her mouth, her stomach rumbling with the need for food.

“Yes, he is. Want me to point him out?” The asshole started to get up and she raised a hand, wanting him far away from her and the thrumming sensation between her thighs that reminded her of the explicit feeling of his mouth.

“Stay over there.”

“Alright,” he conceded, sitting back down. “Your choice, do you want to know or not?”

Grumbling she crawled forward to grab the photos together, flipping through the ones where she recognized him. Lifting the one of the family getting out of the car, she turned it toward him. “This one?”

“He’s the shortest one. The blond teenager near the rear door. His brother Marc is next to him.”

Lianna watched him as he spoke, and there wasn’t a twitch in his face. His eyes were steady. No hint of a lie, but she slammed the photo down and grabbed for the one she hadn’t looked at closely the night before. It was a group of unsmiling men sitting around tables, many with their heads down, and she raised it so he could see.

“On the left side, second table back. I believe he’s almost looking at the camera in that one.” A smirk threatened to tilt his lips up. “You should have caught that one.”

“Fuck off,” she spat, turning the photo around to play the most screwed up version of Where’s Waldo she’d ever attempted — but there he was. Younger, yes, but still him. Glancing at the date on the back she saw Feb. 2002. That photo joined the pile of failures and she lifted the one of the men around the guns, almost smiling as she held it out.

He nodded slowly, closing his eyes for a second as his head dropped back to the wall. “I think he’s the third or fourth guy back on the right. Behind the open crate.”

No. Pulling it close to her face, she studied the grainy faces, some obscured by the lapels of their coats, but then she saw him. His nose, his face, him. Her ears buzzed, lungs tightening, and she wanted to scream, but there could be explanations. It could make sense... somehow. Tossing the rest of the photos to the side she pointed at the one beside the asshole who had joyfully admitted to wanting to destroy her. “And that one? The one of the abused girls?”

“You mean the sex slaves? The girls your family bought and used and sold?” He lifted the picture towards her and tapped his finger against the SUV. “Your father is the driver.”

Everything shifted and she shook her head, trying to push the idea away, but the son of a bitch kept talking.

“This was taken in 1984, the year he moved to the US. The year before he changed his name.”

“You’re a fucking liar!” she shouted, but she was shaking. Hands trembling, breaths too shallow, and she couldn’t get enough air.

“You don’t recognize a single one of your uncles, do you.” It wasn’t a question. He knew without her even answering. “Never met your grandfather? The grandmother whose name yours is so very close to? Liliane Faure… Lianna Mercier… they’re similar, aren’t they?”

“He was an only child. His parents are dead.” Right?

“They’re dead now, but you can see him shaking Jean-Luc’s hand in 2015, so I can assure he does not think he’s an only child. He just lied to you, princess. He’s been lying to you your entire—”

“Shut up!” she screamed, fighting the urge to look at the photo on the mattress, but her eyes shifted to it anyway. The other man had lighter hair too, did they share features? Did they look like siblings?

“Okay, enough about the Faure family. Let’s get back to my question then, what’s your last memory of your mother?” For some insane reason he was the calm one. Sitting against the wall like he could do it forever, while she felt like the ground was breaking apart beneath her.

“She died! That’s my last memory of her. Me asking about my mom and wondering where the hell she was. My father loved her so much he hasn’t been with anyone since. He just opened a women’s shelter in her name for fuck’s sake!” Kicking out in frustration, she sent several photos spinning away, mixing all of the horrible pictures together. “You don’t know anything! Not about me, not about my father, not—”

“I know why your mother died.”

The words rocked her, a dizzying heat flushing up her chest that left her speechless. When her lips finally parted to speak, nothing came.

“I know how your mother really died.”

“No, you don’t know anything. You’re a liar.” She shook her head as she tried to block him out.

“I’ve never lied to you, princess. She tried to leave with you. To take you away from your father, away from that family, to free the both of you — but he caught her.” His voice was too soft, and in her head she saw the doorknob from her dream. Heard the soft cries beyond it.

I can’t open the door.

Were those dreams, or memories? How many times had she dreamed those things and brushed them off? She rubbed her eyes and finished the water in the cup. “You’re wrong. He didn’t, he wouldn’t—”

“Do you really think he would have let anyone take his heir away from him? You’re all he has here. The only one groomed to take over when he’s gone. You’ve got the MBA, the experience, and I’m sure he would have told you about your uncles, about what you were really inheriting… eventually.”

“Stop.” Her chest was tight, her head pounding, and there was something just out of sight, like a word on the tip of her tongue, something pushing at her mind, wanting to be seen.

“Your father’s real name is Alain Faure, youngest son of the Faure crime family. Your uncles are Marc Faure and Jean-Luc Faure, who is the current head of the family.”

“You couldn’t possibly know all of this.”

“But I do,” he spoke softly as he stood up, but her head was spinning in circles. Too far gone to feel the fear at his presence.

“This can’t be real.”

“But it is, and I can tell you all of it. Every secret he’s kept, including the real way your mother died.”

She raised her eyes to his, realizing he was now so close he was towering over her. Carved marble perfection, angelic features, offering a devil’s deal.

“If you want to know the truth, princess, now’s the time.”

“What are you going to do to me?” she whispered.

“If you’ll let me, I’m about to ruin your life.”