“I need to come see you.” Nick Alexander’s text to Nessa Santiago after his conversation on the computer with Briel.

There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth. – Charles Dickens, Great Expectations

“We're going to have to tie her to something if we're going to keep her here very long,” Liam coldly informed Amélie.

After Liam had sensed Briel's concession, he had tightly taped her legs together, receiving for his trouble a solid kick in the jaw. The dim light from an overhead bulb now cast a meager glow over the center of the room, but the room's inhabitants stayed in the shadow of the perimeter. A calm had replaced Briel's combatant demeanor, and she stared calculatingly at each action that Liam took, intent on determining any weakness.

“You're awfully quiet over there. What, no swagger, Briel? No threats? I purposely left your mouth free so I could enjoy your sarcasm to its fullest.”

“Don't worry, Liam. I'm sure you'll get your share when you're under my foot.”

Throwing his head back, Liam guffawed heartily. “Yeah, I can see that's where this is headed,” he noted, gesturing with a nod to Briel's bound form.

“Right. You know as well as I do that my current position does not guarantee you any success beyond this point. You've only won one battle; not the war.”

“You are seriously delusional, Briel,” he chuckled again.

“Do you think this would work?” Amélie's voice interrupted the banter, and she pressed her palm onto a strange round pillar, two feet in diameter, apparently the remnant of an attempt to shore up the foundation of the bar above. It stood in a corner behind several casks, and though it seemed one piece with the wall, it in fact did not connect, rather forming a complete circle separate from the wall.

“Perfect,” Liam crowed, obviously excited at the prospects of immobilizing Briel completely. Maybe his jaw aches, she smirked to herself, unwilling to succumb to too much anxiety.

Though she found herself in a weaker position than she desired, Briel held no great fear for herself just yet. Liam obviously wanted more than to kill her, or he could have done so many times without all this trouble. If he had planned some evil scheme to torture her, he most likely would not have involved a third party like Amélie, though Briel could not imagine why Liam had involved the Frenchwoman at all. He should have taken Amélie's information, paid her, and sent her on her way.

Briel hated the idea of such confinement, but in her current state, she knew she posed little risk to Liam, and she did not wish to waste any energy in the futile exercise of trying to avoid the pillar.

“Call your boss,” he commanded Amélie as he finished strapping Briel to the concrete. “Tell Henry that I've taken care of the problem, and ask him when he wants me to deliver the goods.”

So, that explained Amélie, the connection to Henry. Liam wanted to enter Briel into human trafficking since he had failed in Mexico. Briel laughed out loud, and Liam glared at her, his suspicion plain on his face. “What's so funny?”

“Do you think that anyone that you could turn me over to would have a prayer of keeping me confined for any length of time, much less selling me into slavery? Who is the delusional one now?”

From across the room, Amélie's voice rose in pitch, distracting Liam from whatever response he had intended.

“What's the problem?” he shot at Amélie, obviously annoyed at any escalation of emotion.

“Hold on, please, Mr. Henry. Mr. Henry is very concerned that Ms. Cortes will prove too difficult to tame. He is concerned about the incident in Mexico and does not want a repeat. He has a reputation among his clients that he wishes to maintain.”

Irritated, Liam mashed his lips into a line, “Let me talk to him.” Liam grabbed the phone from Amélie's perfectly manicured fingers.

“Henry, it's Liam. We had a deal.” Briel watched the metamorphosis of emotions that swam over Liam's visage. “No, I understand that, but I could make sure she didn't give her buyer too much trouble...No, nothing permanent; I'm very good at this job.”

Though Briel worried little at Liam's success, she could not help the nausea that gripped her stomach as she considered the pain he might inflict in an attempt to subjugate her. She knew above all else that she would die before she let him succeed.

“Right. Give me a week, and I'll let you know where I can deliver her. Sure. Okay, bye.”

“You know you'll have to kill me,” Briel leveled squarely at Liam. “Under no circumstances will you make me a slave. One of us will die first.”

An imperceptible smile curved his lips, and, like the thugs' ringleader in Mexico, Liam began a slow perusal of Briel from several feet away.

“Maybe. Maybe you will have to die,” he stalked closer to her. “Or, maybe I could exact your cooperation.” His intentions lay clearly on his face, and Briel had moved far beyond disgust for him.

Unwilling to give him any false confidence, she lured him to her, appealing to his ego in order to draw him in.

“Such big words, Liam!” she crooned. “I thought you had limited your vocabulary to a second-grade level.”

As he pulled closer, he smiled with amusement. He had drawn so close that Briel could feel the warmth of his body in contrast to the icy concrete behind her. To her disgust, he closed his eyes slightly as he leaned in to kiss her.

Though she could not gather the force she desired, she knew she could cause him some significant pain, and the thought brought her great pleasure. Leaning her head back as if in accession to his advance, she slammed her forehead forward as hard as she could, crashing it into his nose, and she lifted her duct-taped legs to shove him with full force across the room.

The gesture couldn't accomplish much, but Briel determined that she would make Liam's job as difficult as possible. Liam stumble backward, pressing his hands to his face in pain, but he did not strike immediately back at her. Knowing Liam, Briel had, in fact, anticipated this, but her breathing sped as she prepared herself for the possibility that he might surprise her and retaliate. Her instincts proved right, however, and he backed away huffing in irritation.

“I don't have time for this right now,” he asserted angrily.

Coward, she accused silently.

Still, he managed to turn, leering, to Briel. “We will continue later,” he promised.

Turning across the room, he plodded to an upended keg that had obviously served as a table in the past, as three chairs had been unceremoniously thrown around it. “Where's my backpack?” he demanded, turning to Amélie.

“Un moment,” she responded, turning toward the door into the bar. For a few minutes, Liam sat staring at the cask, scowling.

“I can't believe you were this desperate to date me, Liam,” Briel couldn't resist the opportunity to goad him since he obviously did not wish to engage her at the moment. “Do you realize how pathetic this is?”

Liam raised his eyes sluggishly, drunk with some mental exertion, then smiled minutely. “No, Briel, it's not pathetic. I'm getting a lot of money for this little foray into crime. I might decide that my old job is merely a means to an end.”

Briel shook her head in disbelief, “This is a more than a 'little foray into crime.' I believe you've overstepped the bounds into the realm of psychopath.”

“Would it make me less psychopathic if I said I was just doing it for revenge?” he bared his teeth at her in a gleeful expression.

“Um, no. That would still be psychopathic, but at least it would be true.”

Once again, Amélie provided an interruption to Briel's discourse with Liam. The crack of light from the door widened into an irregular polygon invaded by the silhouette of a woman. Amélie glided into the room holding a backpack at arm’s length, as if revolted by it.

“Here is your bag,” she announced, traversing the gap between the door and the table and laying the backpack in front of Liam.

Without a word, Liam unzipped the main compartment and pulled out a laptop and a satellite phone.

“You are not very grateful,” Amélie pouted, and Liam grinned up at her with a wicked light in his eyes.

Standing from his chair, he crossed to Amélie, wrapping his arm around her waist and glaring into her eyes, forehead to forehead. Her eyes looked almost levelly into his from her sinewy height. “How would you have me express my thanks?” he teased.

Amélie coyly turned her head to the side, refusing to look in his eyes. “Next time, you should remember without my telling you.”

Briel rolled her eyes in disgust. Even when they had dated, Briel had sensed the waxen nature of Liam's kisses, and now that she knew his duplicity, any expression of supposed affection brought a sour taste to the lips that had kissed his.

She thought she had repressed the inadvertent sigh of disgust, but Liam turned to smirk at her.

“I think we're annoying our guest,” Liam mocked, entertained by Briel's verbalization. Amélie giggled delightedly at the shared diversion, and Liam spent the next several minutes devouring Amélie’s mouth, untying her scarf and exploring the flesh of her neck. The Frenchwoman feigned gasps of pleasure, her eyes conspicuously trained on Briel to gauge her reaction. “Would you like us to find a more secluded location?” Liam taunted, his tone breathy from his exertion.

“On the contrary,” Briel asserted coldly. “Feel free to distract yourselves as much as you want. It will give me more time to get out of here. Plus, you two deserve each other: the back-stabbing criminal and Machiavelli Barbie.”

“Tu es très froid,” Amélie accused, staring through half-open lids at Briel and lifting her nose slightly in the air.

Briel couldn't restrain a laugh. Despite her current desperation, Amélie presented a highly entertaining persona.

Liam grinned, even more amused than before, and released Amélie from his grasp. “I think I'll leave you two alone for a while. Amélie might break you before I can just by annoying you to death.” He interrupted Amélie's protest. “If we're going to work from here, I need to go get a few things.” With that, Liam stared into Briel's eyes with a strange, fiery joy that brought a shiver to her spine. This did not, however, turn her eyes from his gaze, but rather fixed them on his in determined defiance.

As soon as Liam left the room, Briel sent herself into an intentional stupefaction, approximating sleep, so that she could remain alert enough to react to her surroundings, but unconscious enough to rejuvenate her energy. She did not fear Amélie, and she had nothing to say to the professional false-friend that provided her only source of companionship.

With an immeasurable amount of time on her hands, Briel’s mind drifted, and it began to replay the mistakes that had led her to a basement prison. She had succumbed to weakness, but what kind of mental lapse had allowed so much susceptibility?

Maybe, she thought, her vulnerability grew from her discontent and not from some tactical mistake. Briel had assumed that her general lack of satisfaction with life had begun only recently, dating back to her time with the Millers and the compromise she had felt forced to make concerning them.

Looking back, however, Briel wondered if her unhappiness hadn't begun earlier, around the time she succumbed to dating Liam. For most of her adult life, Briel had contentedly followed her course, successful in her goals of gaining in prestige and accomplishment.

She had, however, reached a sort of plateau in her career and could no longer bury her restlessness beneath achievement. Around that time, Liam began to pursue her, intrigued, she had guessed, by her abilities and physical appeal. He was not the first to strive for her affections, but he did prove the most persistent, never completely cowed by Briel's refusal.

As Briel considered her predilection for poor choices in her relationships, she felt annoyed that the very sentiment that repelled her most in regards to intellect attracted her when she encountered its physical counterpart. The reason she had always felt Liam's allure stemmed from the fact that he ran just a little out of control, both her control and sometimes even his.

The companionship of such a tendency offered Briel a constant adrenaline rush, something that, as any addict can contest, wears off and demands greater stimulation for less reward. Thus, her recent abandonment of Liam.

With Nick, however, Briel couldn't explain the attraction quite as simply. She knew that part of the allure stemmed from his intelligence. Where Liam kept her on her toes, Nick knocked her off balance, never really allowing her to establish a sense of equilibrium.

She never knew if he were going to say something that made her want to knock him to the ground or to crawl under a table. In theory, this should have sent her running, but something in the kindness of Nick's heart diffused the sting of his insights and drew her to him.

Nick laid the blame for her current situation on himself, though she could not legitimately blame him for either her own carelessness or Liam's ruthlessness. Still, she had wanted to assign the blame to someone, and when she realized Nick's involvement, he presented a convenient scapegoat. So if he's not the cause, she wondered, maybe he's the effect. Maybe, instead of Nick's causing all of the turbulence, all of the turbulence was somehow meant to lead Briel to Nick.

She could remember clearly the night she began to fear Nick, an emotion which should have engaged her rational filters immediately. How could anyone fear Nick? Though she tried to repress it, the memories surfaced of their own accord, and the ironic sensation of mental amusement washed over her as she stood steeped in physical misery.

On the day after their first coffee date, Briel had returned with Nick to the Millers' empty suburban house, ostensibly for the purpose of gathering intel. Not in on the agenda planning, however, Nick had set about gathering intel on Briel, aided in this endeavor by his never-failing perception. After only twenty minutes of conversation, Nick had jumped to his feet in the middle of a sentence and had cut off Briel's confused request for clarification.

“That's it. Enough of this; you seriously need to loosen up.”

Briel had heard it before, usually an indictment aimed at her by a spurned lover or a less-gifted superior. Still, for the sake of the mission, Briel ground her teeth and rose hesitantly to her feet. Grabbing her by the hand, Nick dragged her to his car and, after seeing her seated safely in the passenger seat, he seated himself behind the steering wheel and began to drive northwest toward the center of town.

Ten minutes later, he pulled up to a valet at a club known for raucous alcohol consumption and unfettered debauchery, or so Briel had heard. As she staggered unwillingly behind Nick, he literally held her hand and pulled her past all of the strobe lights, thumping music, and gyrating bodies straight to a seedy lounge in the back, complete with love-seats and heart-shaped tables. She began to fear that he had brought her there to make out, and she started to plan evasive maneuvers.

As usual, though, Nick caught her completely off guard, dragging her beyond even the smarmy lounge chairs and, to her horror, up onto the stage. Without ceremony, he handed her a mic and turned to the bartender to direct him which song to begin. Briel turned her head to a chalkboard that rested ominously on a nearby easel. “Karaoke night,” it announced.

Briel had not even sung to herself in the last ten years, much less in front of people, though her school friends had once told her that she had a soft, sweet voice. Still completely in shock, Briel cringed like a nervous child when she heard the first chords of the song. This is possibly the most overplayed song in existence, Briel lamented silently, but tried to appease Nick while saving as much face as possible. For the mission, she reminded herself.

No matter how coolly she worked to participate in Nick's ridiculous task, Nick managed to make a fool of himself to such an extent that Briel could not maintain her dignity. She stopped her performance many times during the song just to watch him. Seeing as how the other denizens of the lounge watched him as well, sometimes cheering him on, Briel almost successfully faded into the background even as she sang the main part.

By the end, she had fallen reluctantly into a subdued fit of laughter brought on by Nick's imitation of a back-up singer. With the final strum of a chord, Nick forced Briel to bow, sweeping his arms toward her in grand fashion and whooping with the other men when she smirked and rolled her eyes.

Finally, the torture had stopped, and Nick had dragged her once again, this time off of the stage and to a heart-shaped booth.

“You have to admit that was fun,” he teased her once seated behind the table.

“No, I don't! That was awful,” Briel wanted nothing more than to discourage a repeat of the night's events.

Nick gasped at her in mock offense, “Are you saying I wasn't entertaining?”

“Don't misunderstand me on purpose,” she chastised him. “Obviously, I meant me.”

“You were great. You sing really pretty.” Nick's artless statement had sent Briel into an unexpected fit of discomposure. If he had said it as an attempt at flattery, she could have sloughed it off, but his sincerity disconcerted her.

“Thanks,” she offered, embarrassed. “Why in the world did you pick that song?”

“Because you remind me of the singer. You know, bad attitude, mousy hair, short, and sexy as hell.” Even these statements came out without guile – he didn't look at her when he said them- and Briel couldn't escape the mix of self-consciousness and pleasure that his words stirred within her. “Do you want to sing again?” he asked nonchalantly.

As he spoke, he munched mindlessly on a bowl of cashews that sat on the table before them, and his demeanor did not indicate a preference in the least. He seemed to give the choice entirely into her hands.

“Um, no?” she answered sarcastically. “Not if you paid me a million dollars?”

A devilish smirk entered his eyes, but he merely continued to munch on the cashews, then waved down a waiter for two glasses of chardonnay. “I promise not to get you drunk and take you back to my place,” Nick informed Briel. Then he continued ominously, “However, I don't promise not to get you drunk and drag you back on stage. And take a video.”

Despite her visceral terror, she forced herself to remain calm and merely smiled her best Mona Lisa smile in an effort to discourage his amusement. She failed, however, and the smile seemed to evoke such a fit of laughter from Nick that Briel almost stood up and left him to himself in the booth. Just in time, he restrained himself and grasped her hand.

“Please stay,” he pleaded pleasantly.

The gentle, earnest manner of his plea compelled Briel to remain with him the rest of the evening, ever cognizant of his genuine pleasure at her company. That day, she now realized, had begun her final descent. It wasn’t the date, though.

What had really changed her had come later.

Unfortunately, she had made the bad decision to invite Nick over to her apartment. It was against every protocol, letting someone into personal space. She had almost forgotten, though. Forgotten that she was playing a role, that Nick was a mark.

Who could blame her?

For some reason, Nick answered so much of her wishes – not for a boyfriend, really, though that was true as well. She couldn’t really remember the last time she had relaxed with anyone. How he seemed instinctively to draw her out when she found herself in a funk. Even more, how he sat quietly in the room with her when she needed to process or think. How could he tell? How could she let him?

They had returned to Briel’s apartment, and Nick had seated himself in the armchair – like he knew that she needed space, no pressure. By the time they had talked for several hours, Briel had stretched out on the couch, completely at ease. Nick settled into one of the many silences that happened that night, and Briel found herself staring at the ceiling above the couch, asking herself why she had to give him up.

Because it’s not real, she reminded herself.

But it had been real. Not the circumstances that had brought Nick to her – of course not. What was real though? She was actually being herself. She was calm, relaxed, laughing – vulnerable. That thought more than others sent her up to a sitting position, the tension back in full force.

“I think it’s time for me to go,” Nick offered, as always so attuned to her. For the first time she could remember, the thought pained her. Not just that he was leaving, but that she had dismissed him.

When he stood to his feet, so did she. “You don’t have to, Nick,” she found herself saying, and she reached for his hand, which he stared at with confusion.

“You realize…” He brushed his fingers across her intertwined ones, affection and playfulness apparent. “…that we have spent every evening together for the past week. You implied that you’re not seeing Liam anymore, and I let myself believe it.”

Briel felt her duplicity closing in on her.

“There are things you keep saying, though – you mention him, you make jokes. I don’t think it’s fair to him for me to be here.”

Briel pulled her hand away, not angry, just frustrated, and she turned her back to him.

“Liam is my coworker,” she hedged, suddenly realizing that she was in danger of ruining her plans. How had she revealed so much to Nick? Mixed so much of reality into the fantasy?

In a few hours, all hell would break loose in Nick’s life, when he found out that his sister was a prisoner and in danger. And Briel had let herself play pretend with him. For the first time in years, she missed regular human interaction – normal relationships with normal conversations and connections.

Steeling herself, she painted a complacent expression on her face before turning back to him.

“Liam is in my past, Nick,” she equivocated. “I’ve known him for years. I’m sorry. It was rude to be casually talking about him.” She stepped close to him, taking Nick’s hand again as her insides died with the lie. “I’ve moved on.”

Instead of the pleasure she expected from Nick, he placed his other hand on top of their entwined fingers, his eyes downcast. He hadn’t believed her.

“I don’t know what is going on with you,” he told the floor, “and I don’t know why you aren’t telling the truth.” He finally raised his eyes to hers. “But I’m not playing at this. You have your own reasons for what you do, and so do I. Mine are mostly just that I really, really enjoy being with you.”

When his lips twisted, Briel found her lips raising at the corners. “But I don’t believe you’re a dishonest person. You’re playing a role. I just wonder if you know which part is the role and which is real.”

Briel bit her lip.

“I plan on sticking around as long as you’ll let me. As long as you insist that you and Liam aren’t together. I’m willing to risk that I’m being an idiot and that you are completely deceiving me. If it means that there’s a chance you will end up with me, I’m willing to wager some happiness on the possibility that you’ll wake up one day and walk out of my life.”

Everything in her wanted to confess, to pour out the reality of who she was. The realization terrified her, and she determined that she would do whatever she had to in order to maintain her front – including tell him enough truth to completely deceive him. Even as she pressed the lie on him a few days later, she fought herself to reveal everything. To explain who she was and what she was doing, and to ask him if he could accept who she was and still want to stay with her.

Instead, she said nothing as he dropped her hand and made his way to leave.

“I’ll be here when you figure it out,” he offered as she followed him to the door, and when he turned back, she saw the desire in his face. If she offered the slightest encouragement, he would kiss her, and her plan would make incredible progress. She just couldn’t. So, she stepped back from him and closed the door, the paneled wood offering the only protection she could find against her own wishes.