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“Yes, I am,” I said. Of course, I was his daughter in every sense of the word except blood. He didn't provide the seed forme, but he raised me like his own. I might not see eye to eye with him on things, but he was there for me. Hewasmy father.

Vega arched a brow and tilted his head. “Do you think I could do what I do without research? I know a lot of things. More than you realize. To start, he's your stepfather, not your father.”

“Blood doesn't matter. He raised me. He's my father. Give me back to him.”

“I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can't. You don't belong to him anymore.”

“You're sick. You're a sick, twisted piece of shit,” I said as I started to cry.

“It takes a sick, twisted piece of shit to do what I do.” Vega leaned in and wiped the tears off my cheeks. “But you don't need to fear me. I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Why should I believe you?” I asked. “How do I know you're telling me the truth?”

His thumb ran over my jaw and down my throat. I swatted him away again. Vega leaned in, coercing me to lean back. I had no place to go, and he knew it.

He smiled, forcing my eyes to his lips. Vega's mouth was so close to mine. His skin was warm. His breath was hot. My mouth buzzed for his like a magnet to metal. The kiss we shared at the gala and the way his hand worked my body almost washed the anger out of me. My heart thrashed. It beat like a hammer against a nail. I silenced it with a quick reminder that he wasn't just a man I shared an intimate moment with; Vega was a man with blood on his hands.

“You don't have to believe me,” he whispered. “But just so you know, without me, youwilldie.” My eyes turned to pinpricks. Vega grinned as he spoke. “I was hired to kill you. You thought you were living a safe little existence. You were wrong. Safety can look like all kinds of things. It can even look like love.Love from a friend. Love from a husband or wife. Even love from a parent. But that safety is never secure. It's never real. You've felt it, Poppy.”

“What are you talking about? No one wants to kill me. What reason would anyone have for wanting me dead? I haven't done anything.”

The only person I could remotely think of was Dylan. He was the only person I had scorned. The rage he had at the gala, the way he grabbed me, and what he said were enough for me to know. He did this. Dylan was responsible.

“Not all questions deserve answers. Who wanted it doesn't matter. What matters is they won't get it.”

My back was pressed against the door; the handle was jammed into my spine. The coolness of the glass window kissed the skin on my neck. I bristled. Vega stayed close to me, giving me no room to breathe.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly.

Vega bit his bottom lip as he squinted his eyes. He studied me for a moment, then said, “You're not afraid of me, but you are scared of me.”

“You are a murderer. That might have something to do with it,” I snapped.

“No, that's not why.” His eyes flicked between mine. They moved back and forth and then around my face. He was reading me. “You're scared because I turn you on.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “No. Absolutely not.”

He chuckled softly and ran the very tip of his finger up the side of my arm. “Yes, I do. You can tell me no all you want, but your eyes say otherwise. You want me, just like you wanted me the other night.”

“You're still a conceded prick. I'm glad to know that wasn't an act and is just part of your personality. I appreciate the little bit of truth in this whole mess.”

Vega smirked as he pulled himself away, putting space between us. “We are who we are, Poppy. I'm the villain in the story; you're the damsel in distress.”

“In what fucking story does the villain help the damsel?”

“This one.”

“I still don't see how this is helping me.”

“You're alive, aren't you?” Vega asked.

“For now. But for how much longer?” I asked.