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He’s malevolence and violence incarnate.
Rage personified.
And I’m trapped with nowhere to hide.
I flinch as he brings his face right to mine. For one shocked second, I’m sure he’s either going to kiss me or fuckingbite me. But instead, I just feel his breath against my neck.
“The truth aboutwho you are,” he rasps, his words warm against my ear. “The truth about your fucking family,Freya.”
“W-what do you want with Kir?—”
I gasp as he snarls right into my ear.
“Notthe fucking Nikolayevs,” he hisses viciously. “You’re as bad at playing stupid as you are at lying, so stop it.”
His fingers tighten around my neck.
“I’m talking about your real family,Freya Lindqvist.”
The name slams into me like a freight train, knocking the air out of my lungs. My body goes numb, every nerve ending alight as alarm bells jangle inside my head.
He knows.
He knows about everything I’ve been running from for years.
I remember the wall of “conquests” in my father’s office, trophies from his vanquished enemies. The steering wheel from the vintage Rolls Royce belonging to a Norwegian government minister who’d gone to war with William Lindqvist and paid with his and his family’s lives. The badge belonging to a former local chief of police who’d also run afoul of my father.
The jeweled crucifix that belonged to Erik Johannsen, after the once notorious Johannsen mafia family lost a territory war, and their lives, to him.
But there was one trophy from that wall in particular I could never forget: the brutally charred, bullethole-ridden, family crest hewn from stone that had once sat proudly over the front door of the home of another family that had fallen to my father.
A crest that readUlstäd.
That trophy used to haunt me more than the others, because of the sheer physical violence still evident on it. The other trophies were possessions that had been taken after death. But that stone crest looked like it’d been pried from an enemy’s bleeding hands even before victory was certain.
Andthatis why I’ve avoided Mal. Because I know the history with his last name, and used to have nightmares about it after visiting my father’s office.
Because I know at some point in the past, my family destroyed Mal’s.
And nowhe fucking knows, too.
I don’t know how. I’ve been so careful, so meticulous. I’ve spentyearscovering my tracks, erasing every connection to the Lindqvist family and to my past, building an entirely new life and identity.
“How...” My voice cracks, barely audible. “How do you know that?”
Mal crouches down in front of me, his hand still wrapped around my throat, pinning me in place. His eyes bore into mine, intense and unyielding.
“Becausenoneof your fucking secrets are safe from me, Freya.”
I shake my head, my thoughts ricocheting in a million different directions.
This can’t be real. No one knows who I really am. Not even Annika and Damian.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Mal leans in close again, his lips brushing against my ear. “I want you to know that youbelong to me now.”
The words send a shiver down my spine, a mix of fear and something darker that I don’t want to admit. I try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers around my throat like iron, cutting off my air.
