Chapter 2

Chapter Two

One hour earlier

" A rgh!" I throw my curling iron down onto the vanity. Why am I bothering? What on earth was I thinking? I can't just go out and hook up with some rando for one night. Can I?

I want to. I want to be that girl. The kind who can let go and have a little fun. I want to be the girl who doesn't come with enough baggage to fill an Amazon warehouse. And we all know how big those places are. I wish I could be carefree. Live in the moment. Have flings. Enjoy an orgasm that wasn't brought on by myself.

I've accepted the fact that I'm not girlfriend material. My one and only failed relationship is proof of that. I tried. I really did. I actually liked Flynn. I met him a few months after I moved to Melbourne, with every intention of starting fresh. A new me, new life sort of thing.

It didn't work. I was too much for him. I couldn't hide myself from him, no matter how hard I tried. Eventually, he saw the ugly parts of me, the things that haunt me not only at night but also in broad daylight.

I remember the first time I panicked in front of him. He freaked out, and I didn't hear from him for two weeks after the incident. I tried to assure him that I was fine, that I was healing from a traumatic event. I didn't elaborate on what that event was for obvious reasons.

Turns out, I liked Flynn more than he liked me. Because he only stuck around for six months before he broke things off. Telling me I was too damaged and that I'm never going to be normal.

It stung. But I got the message loud and freaking clear. That was a year ago. I haven't thought about dating or anything close since. Now, I'm ready to put myself back out there. Well, I'm ready to try to put myself out there.

I figure I can just have sex. People do it all the time. I don't need a relationship for that. And I enjoyed having sex with Flynn. I didn't know if I would, but he was gentle and sweet in the bedroom. Which was exactly what I needed.

Now, I just need to try. Right?

I pick up my phone and call Izzy. My… I guess you could call her my unofficially adoptive mother. She and her husband took me into their home, into their family, when I was seventeen. They didn't adopt me legally. But Mikhail did help me change my last name, insisted that I become a Petrov.

I owe everything to Izzy and Mikhail. If they hadn't found me when they did, I probably wouldn't be alive today. I don't know if I would have been strong enough to withstand the torment my life had become. The life I was sold into.

Yes, sold. Like I said, I'm recovering from a traumatic event, or rather a series of events. I'm never going to fully recover. I know that, but I refuse to curl up into a ball and cry in the corner. The Petrovs have given me a second chance at life, a chance not many girls like me get. A chance I'm not going to waste.

Which is why two years ago, when Savannah Valentino (one of Izzy's familial connections) set me up with a job in Melbourne, I jumped at the chance to leave New York and start over. And I haven't looked back. Being in a different city was exactly the change I needed.

Not that I didn't love living with the Petrovs. I did. But I couldn't live with them forever. I had to grow up eventually. Although Mikhail would totally jump at the chance for me to return home. The man is every bit the protective father I never had.

The ringtone stops on my phone's speaker before it's replaced by Izzy's voice. "Well, hello, stranger."

"Hey, I didn't wake you, did I?" I ask her.

"No, baby did. Hours ago. But even if you had, I wouldn't care. What are you doing? Ready to come home?"

"Always ready to come home. But I can't right now. Work is busy."

"It always is." Izzy sighs.

I understand her frustration. I haven't stepped foot in New York since I left. Izzy and Mikhail have come to visit me in Melbourne. A lot. I feel bad that they have to make such a long flight with little ones. They have three now, Mabilia, Neo… and little Lex, who I've yet to meet.

"How's the baby?" I ask.

"Perfect," Izzy says. "You should come home and let him meet his big sister."

"I will, soon."

"Okay. What else is happening in the world of the diaper-free life you're living?"

"So I was thinking… Wait… Is Mikhail listening?" No way am I telling my adoptive father what I'm planning to do tonight. He'd have his little Russian soldiers stop over and lock me away in some tower.

"No, why? What are you doing, Zoe?" Izzy sounds more intrigued now.

"I'm going out," I say. "I was thinking I could, you know, go out. Meet someone, just for the night."

"Oh my god! You're going out to hook up? A one-night stand?" she squeals.

"Well, I thought I was, but now I'm not so sure I can go through with it." I sigh.

"You can do anything you want to do. Is this something you want ?"

"I want to. Or I want to try. See if I can, you know." I pick up the red tube and line my lips.

"I get it. I think you should go out and see what happens. Don't have any preconceived notions in your head of what's going to happen. Just go to a bar, order a drink, and see where the night takes you," Izzy says.

"You're right. I can do that." I smile while straightening my shoulders. I can do this.

"You can. But make sure you have protection. Condoms, pistol, knife." Izzy lists off everything that's already in my bag.

"I know. I've got it all."

"Good. You know the last one-night stand I had was with Mikhail," she tells me.

I've heard that story so many times already. She and Mikhail hooked up some night in a bar. They were from rival families—though they didn't know it at the time. And then, well, the rest is history.

"Thanks, Iz. You always know what to say." She really does. I feel way better about my decision now.

"Anytime, Zoe. Just be smart and safe," she reminds me. "But also have fun."

"I will. Love you."

"Ti amo," she replies.

I think the universe is sending me a sign, seeing as the sky decided to open up on me the moment I stepped out of the car. I rush through the door of the closest bar. I was planning to walk up and down this strip and then decide on a place to try out this whole seeing where the night goes thing.

But as soon as I step inside the bar, I start second-guessing my decision. I can't do this. The place is crowded. I can feel my skin crawling. Itching. It's the first sign that I'm about to panic.

I take a deep breath and dig my nails into my palms. I will not panic. I can do this. Then I force my legs to take step by step until I reach the counter. I just need a drink. Maybe after a bit of alcohol, I'll have the courage to actually sit here longer than five minutes.

"Hey, sweetheart, what'll it be?" a barman asks, his forearms resting against the wooden top as he leans over to meet my eyes.

"Um, just a cosmopolitan, please," I ask him.

"Sure thing," he says before spinning around. I spend the next few minutes taking in the bar's interior.

I can do this, I repeat to myself.

I'm already sitting on a stool. At a bar. I've just ordered a drink. And I don't feel like I need to run for the hills.

The bartender places a glass in front of me. "Here you go, sweetheart," he says with an encouraging smile.

"Thank you." I pick up the glass, bring it to my lips, and sip at the sweet concoction. I'm not a huge drinker, but I do know a couple of these and I'll be way more relaxed.

Something presses against my side. Not something, someone . I lower my glass, slowly placing it back on the counter. Pivoting in my seat with my hand on my bag. I can reach for something, anything, if the need arises. Although I think turning around was a big mistake when a man pushes closer to me. Practically trapping me between him and the edge of the bar.

I do my best not to panic. I'm safe. This bar is full of people. Nothing is going to happen to me with all these people here to witness it.

"I haven't seen you here before. What's your name?" the guy asks.

My eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape. I need to get this man away from me. He reeks of beer. It's disgusting. How anyone can think it's attractive, I have no idea.

Before I can respond, ask him to take a step back, another man shows up, pushing his way between the first guy and me.

"Hey, babe. Sorry I'm late," he says with a wink, while my glare is hooked on a pair of dark-brown eyes until he isn't looking at me anymore. Instead, his attention is on the other man. "Mind backing the fuck away from my girl?"

The next thing I know, the first guy disappears into the crowd. And then, as if nothing happened, my new self-proclaimed boyfriend, who smells nothing like beer and everything like whiskey and citrus, sits on the stool next to mine and smiles. "Like I was saying, sorry I'm late. I got held up at the office."

I glance to my left. Surely he's not talking to me, but when I return my attention his way, he just keeps smiling. "Do I know you?" I ask in a low tone.

"I'm Marcel." He holds out a palm.

I look at his hand. His large, tanned hand. Before tentatively placing my much smaller palm in his. "Zoe."

"So, Zoe, did you know that wanker or am I like your knight in shining armour, saving you from spending the rest of your evening trying to evade him?" Marcel smirks.

"First, you didn't save me. I could have saved myself." I sit up straighter. One of the many things I learned from Izzy was to never let a man think you need him. Another? Don't rely on being saved. Help yourself. Fight for yourself with everything you have.

"I have no doubt." Marcel picks up a crystal glass from the counter. Where did that even come from? Before it reaches his lips, he tilts his head. "Just out of curiosity, how were you planning on saving yourself?"

I smile. "Well, let's see. I could have shot him in the balls with the pistol I'm hiding in my bag." I pause, waiting for his reaction. The guy doesn't flinch. Doesn't even glance at the bag I'm still clutching in my hand. "Or if I was worried about the noise, there's always the small blade I have within arm's reach. I could have gone right for his neck. That would be messy, though."

"And a bullet to the balls wouldn't be?" Marcel laughs.

"I guess you're right, but it would be much more satisfying." I swipe up my drink from the bar top and gulp down a mouthful.

"I don't know… Watching the fucker bleed out on the floor, flailing around and holding his neck would be pretty satisfying too."

"Maybe." I shrug.

"Is that what you do, Zoe? Go around to bars, looking for some helpless guy you can lure back to your lair to cut open?"

"It isn't, but now that you mentioned it, it could be a good career move." I smirk. "Rewarding even. Want to be my first client?"

"As long as the knife doesn't hit anywhere lethal." He lifts a single shoulder. "I'm always down for an adventure."

I laugh, and for the first time since this whole idea got into my head, I feel myself relax. It's easy talking to Marcel. There's something about him. Something that just, I don't know, puts me at ease. Makes me feel like I'm safe with him. Which I know is a stupid thought. I don't know the guy.

But I don't need to know him to have fun with him, do I?