BEST OF 2017 ALEXA RILEY A. ZAVARELLI CELIA AARON JENIKA SNOW ISABELLA STARLING JADE WEST ALTA HENSLEY AVA HARRISON K. WEBSTER CONTENTS Beast Synopsis...
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BEST OF 2017
ALEXA RILEY
A. ZAVARELLI
ISABELLA STARLING
CELIA AARON
JENIKA SNOW
JADE WEST ALTA HENSLEY K. WEBSTER
AVA HARRISON
CONTENTS Beast Synopsis Foreword Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34
Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Epilogue Bonus Scene Blackwood Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19
Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Epilogue Bonus Epilogue Acknowledgments His Muse Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Bonus Scene Affliction
Synopsis Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Epilogue Bonus Epilogue Buy Me, Sir Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13
Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Epilogue Bonus Epilogue Acknowledgments
Delicate Scars 1. Love At First Fucking Sight 2. Knight In Fucked Up Armor 3. Drink From The Fucked Up Bottle 4. Fucked Up Resume 5. Freaked The Fuck Out 6. All To Fucking See 7. Best Fucking Gift 8. Love Fucking Surprises 9. Fucking Vanilla With Sprinkles 10. Fucking Whack Job 11. Half-truths Are Still Fucking Lies 12. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck 13. Don’t Fucking Give Up 14. Foolish Fucking Fantasy 15. Fucking Jillian 16. No More Fucks 17. Goodbye To The Dark Bonus Epilogue trans·fer·ence: a novel trans-fer-ence Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16
Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Epilogue Bonus Epilogue Notice Untitled Warning Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9
Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Epilogue Bonus Epilogue Acknowledgements from K Webster The Final Fall Foreword Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Epilogue 1 Epilogue 2 Visit the Authors Visit Us!
BEAST A. ZAVARELLI
Once upon a time, I believed in fairytales. But then he took me. And he taught me that life isn’t a fairytale. He is scarred. Broken. A dark and wild thing. His beauty is violent, and his words are cruel. His heart is a shadowed landscape where nothing can grow. He tells me he could never care for me, and he proves it every day. He’s destroyed my life. Tortured me. And worse… He’s trained me to beg for his affection. This prison is a place where sunlight doesn’t reach. He taught me that hate is born in darkness. And then he taught me that sometimes love is too.
For a rose can wither in darkness, but burn in the light.
CHAPTER ONE
BLINDING CHAOS. The car door opens, and a wall of paparazzi close in on us, fighting for a prime spot as they shove and shout out their questions. The noise is jarring. The flashbulbs, even more so. It never gets any easier. I push my oversized sunglasses up the bridge of my nose, obscuring my eyes from the vultures. Luke takes my arm, dragging me through the crowd before I can mentally prepare myself. We’re fenced by security. There’s nowhere to turn. Everything is too loud and too fast, and I’m not certain when this became my life. It feels like it isn’t even my life. It feels like I’m trapped in a dream, watching from afar as I go through the motions. Luke pauses when we reach the stairs of the hotel. He always does this. He likes to feel important. Standing high above everyone else when he looks down on them and answers their questions.
His left hand is still wrapped around my arm, his fingers digging into the pale flesh. He holds up his other palm to the crowd, silencing them. I glare at him through the dark screen of my sunglasses. My cheeks are hot, and my hands are locked into fists. I specifically told him no questions. Not today. Not ever. I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to be here with their eyes on me. Cold, calculating. Tearing me apart. Exhaustion settles into my bones, and any fight I may have had drowned under the weight of my heavy eyelids. I can’t remember the last time I had a full night’s sleep. I don’t even know what city we’re in right now. They blur together. I’m running on caffeine and avoidance. But I know it’s short lived. The press isn’t here for the tour. They won’t be asking about the show or my upcoming albums. The masses are hungry for answers. And I’m the injured fish in the middle of a shark tank. “We’ll take a few brief questions,” Luke announces. His face is smug and proud in a way only he can pull off. He’s charming as ever, even while he capitalizes on my tragedy to squeeze out every last ounce of media attention he can garner from it. Later tonight, when I bring it up again, he’ll try to tell me this is what’s best. That the media cares about me. That we’re bringing attention to my father’s case, which is the most important thing we can do. He’s always been good at spinning things in his favor. The absolute best. Any PR is good PR, he says. And for the last six months, my name has been splashed across national headlines more times than I can count. American Star singer Isabella Rossi set for upcoming world tour. The question remains… beauty or talent? I’ve read them all. The articles proclaiming that I won the show based on my looks alone. The outraged fan interviews and rumors that I slept with one of the judges. Pregnancy claims and unflattering photos printed in ink for all the world to see. But now they have something else to lynch me with. Something I can’t stomach. Luke picks out a reporter from the crowd, and she speaks into her microphone. “Is it true that you are canceling your world tour in light of the tragic events with your father, Isabella?” I don’t have to answer because Luke speaks for me. Always.
“That is completely false. The show will go on.” The show does go on when he wraps an arm around me in a display of support for the cameras. “Isabella believes her father would want her to continue her life as normally as possible while the authorities handle the investigation.” Lies. Lies. Lies. It’s all that ever drips out of his mouth. He doesn’t know what my father would want. He couldn’t possibly since I don’t even know myself. “Isabella!” a man in the back of the crowd yells. “Is it true that you were sent a video of your father’s execution?” My hands tremble, and my eyes seek out an exit. A gap in the crowd. A dark hole. Anything to get away. Luke gestures for security to remove the man. “Those rumors are completely false and unsubstantiated,” he announces. “I’m done,” I tell him. “Stop this now.” His hand tightens around my arm in warning, locking me in place so that I don’t make a scene. “Just look at the cameras, baby,” he whispers. “Show them how sad you are.” I stare at him, and I am empty. I don’t know how my life came to this. How any of this happened. It feels like a blur of events I can no longer recall. All I ever wanted to do was sing. I wanted to create something. I wanted to be an artist. But somewhere along the way, art turned into marketing, and marketing turned into a puppet show with Luke controlling the strings. That flame inside of me has burnt out. And the truth is, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to light it again.
CHAPTER TWO
“OMIGOD, OMIGOD, OMIGOD,” Megan squeals. I rub my temples and wonder if I play dead if she’ll leave me alone. I’ve been trapped in this hotel suite with her for three days. She pinches my arm, and I hiss. “Omigod,” she says again. “Do you even realize who that is?” She makes a wild gesture across the room, to the guy that Luke is currently schmoozing. It’s another big shot producer I have no interest in meeting. Megan fluffs her hair and glosses her lips beside me. “How do I look?” Truthfully, she looks worse than me. She’s lost a lot of weight since we left the show. Weight that she didn’t really need to lose in the first place. And the way she’s constantly sniffling and never eats tells me she’s been doing a lot more than drinking every night at the parties. While Luke has me on a low carb diet, Megan apparently is on an all coke diet.
“You look… great.” Another lie. They come easily to me now too. I just want to be alone. Megan is over the top about literally everything. She’s the Regina George to my Wednesday Addams. After the show, Luke snagged us both for his label. It seemed like the right choice at the time, but I quickly realized not everything that glitters is gold. Megan trots off, and Luke flares his nostrils when she approaches. She’ll get a mouthful about it later, but right now I’m too tired to care. The conversation lasts for all of five minutes before Luke moves it to a more private setting and Megan returns to the sofa where I’m currently parked. She plops down beside me with a dreamy expression on her face. She wants me to ask, but I don’t. “You can’t say a word if I tell you,” she says. Her excitement is one hundred percent false. This is the same girl who used to ridicule me backstage for the way I dressed. The girl who referred to me as Goth Girl and spread a rumor about me practicing the occult. I’m also pretty sure she was the one behind some of the online terror campaigns during the show, but I don’t have proof of that. I trust Megan about as much as I’d trust a chunk of cheese in a mouse trap. Pretending is exhausting. But I learned a long time ago to go along with it. In this business, it’s better the enemy you know. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure her. She peeks over her shoulder to see if we have an audience- probably wishing we did- and then leans in to whisper in my ear. “Luke thinks he can get me in on a collab with Lana Cruz.” Even if I did believe it, I couldn’t find the energy to care right now. A smirk twists at Megan’s lips, and she thinks I’m feeling jilted. She doesn’t know I don’t feel anything at all anymore. My life is a series of robotic events. Travel, sleep, write, sing. Rinse and repeat. “We have to go shopping,” she insists. I blink at her. And the level of her ignorance- her coldness- shouldn’t come as a shock to me anymore. But it really does. My father is missing. Possibly dead. I haven’t eaten a full meal in two months. I can barely manage to get out of bed or wash my hair. And she wants me to go fucking shopping with her.
“Hey, Megan?” “Yeah?” she perks up. “Tell Luke I went to bed.”
I HIDE in my room for the rest of the night and search google for any piece of news I can find. There’s nothing new. Nothing but speculation. Speculation I can’t stomach to read. So I call Art. Art works for the same sector of the government that my father does. What they actually do, I’ll probably never know. As for their actual job titles, they are both contractors. Contractors who have worked with the CIA and NSA. But the rest, they don’t disclose. Over the years, my father always told me it was better I didn’t know. That was his answer for everything. I tried to believe that was true. I tried to trust that he knew what he was doing and I didn’t have to worry. But now that he’s gone- everything has changed. There is literally nothing I can do but put my faith into the people he works for, hoping they will come through on their promises. Hoping that they weren’t the ones to make him disappear in the first place. Art has been acting as liaison during the investigation. Relaying information back to me although there’s never any to give. He is probably sick of me by now, but if he is, he doesn’t say so. “Hey, kiddo,” he says from the other line. “Any news today?” “If there were, you’d be the first person I’d call.” I don’t really believe that. As much as I trust Art, I still feel like the agency is covering this up. They aren’t telling me everything. They aren’t telling me anything. The only thing I know for sure is that my father went missing during a job he was doing overseas. I don’t even know what country he was in. “Have you had a chance to speak with Javier Castillo?” I ask. Art is quiet for a long pause. Javi is another thing that I was never supposed to know about. And Art has already warned me once that I should never speak his name again. That I should pretend I never saw his file or that my father ever mentioned it, for my own safety. But my safety doesn’t matter anymore. Not when I’m stuck in this purgatory. “I have spoken to him,” Art answers quietly.
“And?” “And you already know the answer, Isabella. He isn’t going to meet with you. He doesn’t speak to anybody. He doesn’t even leave his home.” “He speaks to you,” I argue. “Through email,” he sighs. “Hell, Isa, I’ve never even met the guy. The only one that I know who has is your father.” “But you know where he lives, right? Take me to him. Just let me ask for myself. Please…” “You know I can’t do that,” he tells me. I can no longer hide my frustration or the sharpness of my voice. “Why?” “Because. I don’t know where he lives. Nobody does.” “Except for my father,” I finish for him. Again, I don’t believe that. Before I even heard the news about my father, someone came into our house and took everything from his office. His files. His computer. Everything. They have to know something. And I know Javi is the answer. He’s the only lead I have to go on. But not if I can’t get to him. “I’m sorry, Isabella,” Art says. “I promise I’ll call you if I hear anything. Anything at all.” “Okay.” My voice is numb. I don’t even know if he says goodbye. The phone is still plastered against my ear long after the call ends. Until I fall back on the bed and stare up at the ceiling and think back on everything my father ever told me about the mysterious Javi. The recluse who lives away from the rest of society. The child that he used to spend more time with than his own daughter. I grew up hating him. Resenting him. Wondering what was so special about him that called my father away so often. I asked him once if I could meet him. And I’d never seen my father so serious as when he looked at me and shook his head. Never, Isabella. You must never meet him. He made it sound as though the boy was dangerous. As though he were a monster. But yet, he was always there with him. Always. The door to my room opens, and I curl into myself.
It’s Luke. And he’s drunk. That never bodes well for me. He shuts the door behind him and comes to sit beside me on the bed, his fingers trailing over the naked skin of my ankle. I pull away from him. “What do you need, Luke?” “Is that how you talk to me, baby?” he asks. “After everything I’ve done for you?” Everything he’s done for me. He claims to care for me, but it’s not the way I want or need. He’s supposed to be my guiding light as an artist, but lately, it feels like he’s driving me further and further into the darkness. I’m locked into a contract I can’t get out of, and he exploits that at every possible opportunity. “You’ve had too much to drink, Luke,” I tell him. “I think you should go to bed.” “I think you don’t tell me what to do,” he says. The room is quiet, and my body is rigid. I hate when he’s like this. I hate him more with every passing day. “I care about you, Isa.” He reaches out to touch me again. “I just want what’s best for you. Let me comfort you. Let me be there for you.” He wants to comfort me alright. With his cock. I shrug him off again, and he gets pissed. He grabs my arm and squeezes. “Don’t be a tease.” “Leave me the hell alone,” I tell him. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.” He tries to climb on top of me. And this time, he’s taking it too far. I knee him in the balls, and he doubles over, coughing in pain when I shove him off of me. I bolt from the bed and out the door while he screams after me. But he’s too drunk to follow. I make it down to the lobby and manage to flag down a cab. I don’t know where I’m going. I’m supposed to attend a party tomorrow. I’m supposed to do a lot of things that I really just don’t give a fuck about anymore. The cabbie asks me where I want to go. “The bus station,” I tell him. “Just take me to the bus station.”
CHAPTER THREE
THE HOUSE that once seemed quaint and homey now sits stagnant. Brown patches of grass stain the formerly pristine green of our lawn. Dirt gathers in corners and crevices, and dust visibly lines the window sills from the outside. But on the front stairs, a flurry of crimson rose petals blows in with the breeze, settling against the door frame. Always the withered roses. I don’t know where they come from. I only know when they arrived. The day of my father’s disappearance, these rose petals greeted me at the door. There is solace in the dead beauty of the dark crimson. I collect them and keep them in a box above my closet. I don’t know why. I only know that somehow, they share in the pain of my grief. I hope they never stop coming. And I always wish they would. I check the mail. Three more letters wait for me there too. Always from a different city. Always
anonymous. The first is a charcoal drawing of a raven perched on a windowsill. The moon is eclipsed in the photo, and dark, ominous thunderheads line the sky above. A sliver of lightning pierces the center of the image, so real it looks as though it’s split the paper in two. The eery scene sends a chill up the back of my neck. The photos are always somewhat abstract. A message that often leaves me bogged down in the onslaught of disordered emotions they evoke. The lines are exacted so precisely. The artistry is pleasing to my eye in a way I can’t explain, except to say that I am drawn to the darkness of these photos. I am drawn to everything he sends me, and I don’t know why. I open the next letter, and I am confronted with a recurring sense of déjà vu. It is the same beautiful scrawl, only this time, it is words. The same words he always sends me- this stalker of mine.
Sing me a song, beauty. With words only I can hear.
MY FINGERS MAP over the lines while I try to understand. I haven’t told Luke of these letters. I haven’t told anyone. I’m not entirely sure why. Only that it feels private. And I have not yet decided whether they are dangerous or simply innocent flattery. The third and final letter contains the lyrics of my first song. I try to imagine the man behind these creations. The lost soul who wanders and listens to my music. He tells me to go back to my roots. He asks if my fingers miss the piano, or do I really prefer being a pop princess instead? I know what he prefers. His letters all surround my early works. Before Luke got his claws into me and decided it was better for me to appeal to a younger demographic with an ‘edgier’ sound. The ink had barely dried on my contract when he started changing the rules of the game. I was caught. Hook, line, and sinker. The only choice I had left was to adapt. It’s on constant replay inside my head. I’m a fraud. A phony.
Everything about me is fake, right down to my smile and the new lyrics I sing. They aren’t my own. Those are private now. For my eyes only. And this man doesn’t need to remind me of the things I already know. I fold up the letters and put them out of sight. My phone won’t stop ringing. When I draw a bath and climb inside, I imagine a current sweeping me away. One that could pull me backward- when life was still real and possible. Luke texts me incessantly. Threatening to drop me in one message while apologizing in the next. When that doesn’t work, he reminds me that I’m under contract. He reminds me of the fines he knows I can’t pay if I decide to stop being his puppet. Inside of my chest, there is a gaping cavity where my heart used to be. And in the place of my lungs is lead. I have to go back. I know I have to go back. And I will. On Monday.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE HAS COME HOME. Crying. I replay the tape over and over. Observing carefully the way the droplets splash against her cheeks. I like her tears. My mouth waters when they spill down her throat and onto her naked breasts. She feels so sorry for herself, this little beauty. She doesn’t know the meaning of sorry yet. My cock is uncomfortably hard and swollen when I retrieve the knife from my pocket. The flat edge presses into my thigh, and I imagine her cheek beneath my blade. I will see her tears again. The tip of the blade digs into my flesh, and I twist until I am consumed by the pain. Crimson oozes from the wound, and I smear it over my bloody knuckles, shoving my hand into my briefs. On the live feed, Bella steps from the bath, naked and wet with blotchy red skin from
water that is too hot. She does not reach for a towel. She does not move at all. Her eyes are on her reflection in the mirror. Lifeless. She does this often. Her lips are quiet, but I know her mind is loud. She is picking herself apart the way the papers do. Wondering if she is beautiful, or if it is all an illusion. The overnight success with mediocre talent. Some of the things they say about her are true. She is beautiful. With pure, pale skin and ice blue eyes. Long raven hair that kisses the curve of her lower back. She is the most delicate thing I have ever seen, and she sings like an angel. Mediocre, she could never be. So clean and innocent and tender. The thoughts I have of her are so dark. The fixation blooms inside of me every time I watch her this way. She is a witch, and she has me under her spell. This is not the way it should be. She should be in my possession already. Every day that I wait, I risk losing my chance. I risk losing her to a force outside of my control. An enemy of her father. Anyone that ever knew Ray is being eliminated. One by one, I have watched them disappear in a series of car crashes and freak accidents. It’s only a matter of time before they come for Bella too. I need to move soon. Before time and circumstance have the pleasure of taking what can only be mine. The light inside of her will be snuffed out, with certainty. But only by my hands. Mine alone. And yet, something holds me back. Something makes me question everything I have planned so meticulously. When I watch her this way, I have doubts. I need only to draw on my memories to vanquish those doubts. Visions of torture fill my thoughts and my heart. The rage consumes everything good and leaves only bitterness in its wake. That bitterness coats my tongue when I watch Bella crawl into her bed and reach for a book on the nightstand. So soft and carefree. She has never known hardship. She has never known hate. But she will. Crossing her delicate ankles, she pulls her knees to her chest and tries to read. It doesn’t
last. She is anxious. Fidgety. Distracted. And beneath her thin blue tee shirt, her nipples are hard. She discards her book and pulls the bed sheet up over her body. Frustration mounts when her hand slides down into her panties, into a place that I can’t see. She closes her eyes and breathes softly while she touches herself. My bloody fist chokes my cock while I watch. I punish myself for wanting her this way. For the thirst that breeds inside of me every time I see her pretty face. She touches herself uncertainly, never quite satisfied. I imagine tasting her, and then I hate myself for it. I imagine her bound beneath me, immobile and under my control. Squirming, crying. Hating me and wanting me. I want to hurt her. I want to mark her. I want to witness her blood contaminated with the blackness of mine. Her phone rings, and it is Luke. She doesn’t answer it. Contempt surges inside of me, equal only to my viciousness. I want to rip his beating heart from his chest and force him to choke on it. Isabella moans, soft and weak, and then releases herself with the tiniest of tremors in her body. Her eyes flicker open, and I zoom in on them. I imagine my come dripping down her face and her throat. Marking her. Claiming her. Smearing my seed all over her body, mixing with the blood from my fingers. The release is violent. My ears ring, and my lungs cease to function. I am bloody and spent. But I wait until she is tucked into bed and her breath grows still before I move on to my next obsession. I track his phone first. Luke is still at the hotel in the city. The bug planted in his phone allows me to hear everything he does. Every move he makes. I take note of his transgressions. I take note of each and every one. And I bide my time. He’s fucking Megan again. High, again. He fucks her for thirty minutes and can’t come. She asks if he wants another line and he tells her to piss off. “Is this about Isabella?” she snarls. There is a growl, followed by a soft whimpering noise. I envision him with his hand around her throat, threatening her. “What did I tell you?” “Don’t say her name,” she chokes out. There’s a sputtering cough, and then the sound of the door opening. “Do you love her?” she asks. There is a pause before he answers. “So what if I do, kitten?” he taunts. “Luke.” Her voice is desperate.
“What does it matter?” he replies. “You’re the one I fuck every night. Aren’t you?”
CHAPTER FIVE
ART AGREES to speak with me while I’m back in Virginia. The house that I grew up in is about an hour outside of Fairfax, which is where Art requests to meet. It’s at the same diner we’ve met at several times before, where the waitress knows him by name, and she doesn’t make a stink about us holding up the table for hours at a time. I spend the afternoon with him. He feeds me pieces of information from the investigation and tries to make them sound promising. They don’t sound promising at all. I still don’t believe what he’s telling me. Nevertheless, I continue to pursue my only hope. I plead with him to consider allowing me to contact Javi. In the end, the result is the same. I spend hours with him. Grilling him. Begging him. Wishing for any scrap of hope he could give me. It never comes. And eventually, he grows tired and unsympathetic. He leaves me with the same line he always does. They will continue working on it. The drive home is long and frustrating. I’m exhausted and I know I have to go back to Luke soon, but it’s the last thing I want to think about right now.
When I turn the knob on the front door, it’s unlocked. My palm hesitates on the handle, and I don’t remember leaving it that way. I rationalize. I can barely remember what day of the week it is, let alone basic safety precautions. But when I step inside, I know. I know something isn’t right, even before I turn the corner and see the mess. Someone has been in here. Someone has completely trashed the house in search of something. What, I don’t know. My first instinct is to call the police. But then I think of Art. This could be important. This could have something to do with my father’s disappearance. I pull out the canister of pepper spray that I carry in my purse and walk through the house, checking to be sure whoever it is has gone. When I’m certain that they are, I dial Art again. He answers with a sigh. “Someone broke into the house,” I tell him. “I think they were looking for something.” The other line is quiet for a minute, and then, “are you okay?” “I’m fine. They aren’t here anymore.” “You need to pack your things and leave, Isa. I will take care of it.” “Do you think this could have something to do with…” “I don’t know,” he tells me. “I’m turning around now. I’ll be there soon, but don’t wait for me. Just pack your things and go back to the city.” “Okay.” “Let me know when you get there.” He hangs up, and I do what he says. I pack. But I can’t leave like this. I can’t leave without checking to be sure that some of my father’s possessions are still alright. There are things everywhere, strewn all over the floor. My books have been pulled from the shelves. The photos that remain on the wall are crooked, and the ones that aren’t have shattered to the floor. Even the photo of my father. My hands shake as I pick up the pieces and replace them one by one. It’s a long process. I save the broken knick-knacks on the floor until last. But when I move to sweep them up, something odd catches my eye. And because of who my father was, I know exactly what it is before reality has time to sink in. A listening device. An icy draft crawls down my spine and settles into my shaking hands. Someone has been listening to me. Before I can even comprehend the full horror of my situation, I’m tearing the place apart.
Searching the walls. Underneath the counters. The vents. Things my father used to do. By the time I have finished, it isn’t only listening devices I have retrieved, but cameras too. The shockwaves have taken control of my entire body now. My heartbeat thrashes in my ears. My fingers tremble, and my lungs struggle to take in air. It isn’t the agency. It can’t be the agency. Right? But if not them, then who? The cameras were in my bedroom. In my fucking bedroom. Where I changed. Where I… touched myself. Oh god. I think I’m going to be sick.
CHAPTER SIX
LUKE BOUGHT a plane ticket for this evening, but when I get to the airport, they tell me that I’ve been rescheduled to an earlier flight. I assume that it’s also his doing. He probably thinks if I put it off any longer, I will lose the courage to go back. To smile for the cameras and pretend. The flight is short. The ride to the hotel is short. Everything is happening too fast, and I’m right where I don’t want to be again. I feel sick. So, so sick. I find myself wishing the power in the building would go out, and I’d get stuck in the elevator, just for the peace it would give me. I’d welcome the blackness. I’d welcome it with open arms. But I have no such luck. The elevator goes up without a hiccup. The keycard I had from before works without a hiccup. And everything in the hotel suite is as it was two days ago. Only it’s not. Because this time I catch sight of Luke across the room, fucking Megan over the sofa. His eyes are squeezed shut, and he’s dripping with sweat. It isn’t until the door falls back
against my foot that they hear me. Both of them freeze. Megan smiles. Luke looks horrified. And then angry. He shoves Megan away. He’s already zipping up his pants and preparing to give chase as I flee to the elevator bank. I press the button frantically, but there isn’t time. He’s coming down the hall. So I make a run for the stairwell, but I don’t reach it. Luke snags me by the arm and whirls me around. “It’s nothing,” he tells me. “Isabella, please. I don’t even think of her. I only think of you.” I feel like I’m going to throw up. “That doesn’t make it better, Luke,” I tell him. “I don’t want to know what you think of. And I never want to see that again. It’s disgusting.” “Disgusting?” he repeats. “Is someone jealous?” God, the man is so conceited that’s the only possible explanation that would make any sense to him. There is no arguing with him, so I get straight to the point. “I want my own room. One where I’m the only person who has a key.” He laughs, and it’s cold. “Yeah sure thing, baby. How do you plan to pay for that? An IOU? It’s a long wait until your check is cut.” “You’re a pig.” He tries to drag me back down the hall, but I pull away from him and stand my ground. “I’m not kidding, Luke. Either you give me my own room, or I go home. I don’t care about the money anymore. You want to sue me? Go ahead. I’m not as stupid as you’d like to believe. There are ways out of this contract.” His jaw works and his eyes narrow as they fix on my face. I’ve never called his bluff before. But I really don’t care anymore. He can bankrupt me. Ruin my life. Tell the media whatever he wants. I refuse to cave on this. “You want a world tour?” I gesture back down the hall. “Then take Megan.” “Megan isn’t the goddamned winner of American Star.” I cross my arms and refuse to budge. The tension is almost too much. But I can’t do this anymore. I legitimately cannot take one more second in that room with the two of them, and I think Luke knows it. He slides a hand through his hair and sighs. Then he turns on the charm. The same charm he used to get me into a contract with him in the first place. “Fine, baby. Fine. I get it. You’re pissed. You need to cool off. I understand. I fucked up, okay. I fucked up. I just… I want you so much.” “It’s never going to happen, Luke.”
My words roll right off him. He refuses to believe it. “It will,” he says. “Just give it time.” “Hotel room,” I tell him. “I want it now.” “Okay.” He holds up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Just tell the front desk to charge it to my account.” I turn towards the elevators, and Luke takes a step towards me. “Don’t follow me, Luke,” I warn him. “Not tonight.” For once, he listens. I ride the elevator down to reception and check into a new room on a different floor under Luke’s account. It is quiet and simple. I lock the deadbolt behind me and turn the shower to scalding hot, stripping off my clothes before stepping into the spray. I stay there until it goes cold. Until my eyes are red and my skin is raw, and my feelings are numb. I’m exhausted when I brush my hair and put on some face cream. I’m bare. Nakedemotionally and physically. I don’t know how long I stand there staring at myself in the mirror. Hating the reflection of the person staring back at me. Wishing that girl never had any aspirations at all. Wondering if what they say about her is true. Wondering if her father is still alive. If anything will ever be good again. I snag a pair of shorts and a tank top from my bag and pull them on before dragging myself to the bed. I may not be able to count on the power in the building going out, but I welcome the blackness that sleep will provide.
CHAPTER SEVEN
RIVER BITES into his apple and peers at me over the shiny red skin, chewing silently while he thinks loudly. He is seeking out signs of weakness in my eyes. “Any word yet?” he asks. “There is no need for pointless conversation,” I tell him. “If I’d had any word, you would already know.” He shrugs. Takes another bite of his apple. “Well, perhaps this is all by design then,” he muses. “What do you mean?” “Perhaps there are more enemies in the woodwork.” “Again,” I tell him. “This is something I’ve already considered.” “Yes.” He leans back in the chair and props his foot up on his leg. “Perhaps there are many, in fact. We can never really know for sure, can we?” He smirks, and I do not indulge him with a reaction. Psychological warfare is River’s favorite leisure time activity. Usually, he can entertain himself for hours with subjects less
intelligent than him. But that has never been the case with me. “I’m going to move soon,” I assure him. He shrugs again. Finishes off his apple. “I didn’t even mention her.” “You didn’t have to.” “Maybe you have nothing to worry about,” he says. “Maybe they won’t come after her.” “Your games don’t work on me,” I tell him. But he is grinning because I am reacting as I told myself I wouldn’t. River reads me too well, sometimes. He knows I’ve been putting it off. But he doesn’t know why, and he’s made it his mission to get to the bottom of it. “All I’m saying is that it seems you’ve moved on,” he says. “It’s like you don’t even remember the cage. It’s like you don’t even remember the animal they turned you into.” One single word. The cage is all I need to hear to bring back those visions. I close my eyes and recall the suffocating weight of death in my chest. Those memories flash through my mind in rapid succession. The waterboarding. The torture. The hallucinogenic drugs and the interrogations. My body still bears the scars of those years. The years that I spent in the secret program made especially for children like me. Children predisposed to murder. I was exactly the target they sought out. When they took me from the asylum, it was a simple matter of what my file said. That I had killed my mother. The perfect subject. I remember those words. Those were the last words I heard before they assigned me a number. A number that meant I was no longer part of the human race. A number that would become my only identifier in the darkest pit of hell. And when I had finally reached the end of my contract… when I was finally able to come home… vengeance could no longer be mine. I open my eyes to meet River’s. The resolve that wavered before is unhindered now. He smiles because he knows it too. “Can you just imagine it though?” he asks. “The expression on his face when he learns of all the ways the student has surpassed the teacher?” I can imagine it. I have imagined it many times. “If you don’t think you have it in you though, I’d be happy to volunteer,” River offers. “I’m not as well-versed in torture, but I think I’d do a bang-up job of it.” “Like fuck you will,” I growl. “You stay away from her.” River could do a good job of it. But the idea of him touching Isabella makes me want to murder my only friend in this world.
“You have plenty of willing subjects to play your games with,” I tell him. “This one is mine.” He smiles again and leans forward on his elbows. “Then what are you waiting for?” he asks. “Go and get her.” ONE NIGHT. I will let her have the night. I hate this fucking city. I hate Luke, and I hate this hotel. Anyone could get in here. Anyone like me. I stand over her bed and watch her sleep. The scent of lavender clouds the room, and this is how I know she is anxious. She always uses the oil when she’s anxious. There’s a knife on her nightstand. Because she doesn’t feel safe. She shouldn’t. There are so many predators out there. Predators like me. Predators like Luke. Even now, her phone vibrates from the nightstand with his name. Over and over. Never any peace. It has to stop. I retrieve her phone and block his number. Isabella flips over in the bed, and I freeze. It’s not necessary. She isn’t awake. She is trapped in a tormented sleep, tangled up in the sheets. And now her breasts are visible beneath the sheer material of her tank top. My hands ache to touch her.To feel her. I take the knife from her nightstand and trace the curve of her skin. She shivers, and it gets me hard. I want to taste the blood that flows beneath her milky flesh. I want to feel it between my fingers, sliding over my cock. The tip stops just above her breast, and I force myself to drag it away, digging it into my thigh until it burns. I must be patient. The rest will come. In due time. I know what I need to do. The pain doesn’t help. It doesn’t keep me from picking up her journal and indulging in the obscenities of her mind. She writes these lyrics every day. Depraved and melancholy. They speak to me. They speak to me in a way that nothing else ever has. It is a pipeline straight to the fucked up chambers of her deceptively innocent mind. These lyrics she writes are not lyrics at all, but only her own cravings coming out to play. Today’s song is darker than the rest. I am so hard I can’t control my thoughts anymore. Her clothes are on the bathroom floor. And this isn’t what I came here for. I tell myself to be patient.But I can’t. I find her panties, and I bring them to my face and inhale. Then I crumple them in my fist and unzip my jeans, wrapping them around my cock. Isabella breathes in and out, and I watch her. Choking my dick violently with her underwear. Her skin is so pale against the Raven of her hair. So pure and milky and
untouched. I have watched her for so long. I have watched the way she turns up her nose at the boys who look at her. I have read the words in her journal. The confessions of her raw desires. She is a virgin. An angel. I’ve never had the opportunity to ruin something so beautiful before. Her hair spills over her shoulders and skates across her nipples. Small and pink and hard against the thin fabric. I want them in my mouth. I want them on my face and on my cock. I want so much to feel her from the inside. To fuck her until I can’t anymore. This is neurosis. Fervent and miserable. The agony consumes me from the inside out. I will destroy her. I will destroy everything divine left inside of her. Coming on a choked sigh, I spill myself into her panties. I shove them in my pocket and keep them. The man in me tells me to leave. The animal won’t let me. I walk to her bed and sit down beside her. She is within arm’s reach. But I won’t allow myself to touch her. Beautiful things must be admired from afar. Beautiful things must not be touched. That’s what he always used to tell me. He was wrong.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN I WAKE, I am well rested. I felt at peace if only for a few hours. The room is still dim, but a familiar scent lingers. A scent that feels like home. One that feels like comfort. I roll over to retrieve my phone from the nightstand but stop short. The phone isn’t there. Something else is though. A solitary red rose. So beautiful, so flawless, I almost don’t believe it’s real. At least until I bring the delicate petals to my face and breathe in the familiar scent of wild beauty. And now I know for certain that I have not imagined it. The scent that always seems to surround me is not a figment of my imagination, and the rose petals at my house have not simply been carried there by the breeze. Fear settles over me like a cold blanket as the stem falls from my fingers, the petals wilting to the floor. If not the wind, then who? I wrap my hands around the sheet and squeeze as my eyes dart around the shadowed
room. I don’t see anyone. I don’t see a thing. But someone was here. In my room. And they left this rose right beside me. The curtains are long and dark, and I’m too afraid of what might be hiding behind them. I’m too afraid of my own shadow right now to stay here another second. I bolt for the door without grabbing anything. Not even a pair of shoes or my room key. Fear has taken the wheel now, and nothing is safe. I have no idea where I’m going. What I’m doing. I just know that I need to leave. I need to get out of here. I punch the down button for the elevator repeatedly, but it’s taking too long. My mind is wild with possibilities. And it keeps circling back to one thing. Luke. Did he do this? Has he been playing tricks on me all along? Is he watching me right now, savoring my fear? I can’t stand the wait. My heart is going to explode. My lungs are going to give out. Already, I can feel the air slipping away. I bolt for the stairwell and run down three levels, listening for steps behind me. They never come. They never come, and I am relieved. I can breathe again when I pass the second level. One more to go, and then I will be free. It is so close I can taste it. The fresh air. The escape. I look back one last time as I fling open the heavy door. The door to freedom. But freedom is obstructed by a wall. The wall of a hard chest in front of me. I was looking in the wrong direction. Because monsters don’t always come from the darkness. Sometimes, they hide in broad daylight.
CHAPTER NINE
BEFORE I EVEN OPEN MY eyes, a vivid and familiar scent hits me. Wild roses. I am surrounded by wild roses. They are the first thing I notice when I come to. And they are everywhere. Crimson and soft velvet perched upon delicate stems riddled with thorns. My eyes are dry and heavy, but a tear leaks from the corner and spills over onto my cheek. I don’t want to accept my reality. I don’t want to accept that this is anything more than a dream. But the high arched glass ceilings only confirm that I am trapped in a nightmare instead. A beautiful nightmare, with stars as far as the eye can see. It’s a conservatory. I’m in a conservatory. On a bed. Surrounded by roses and stars. This is not a place I have ever been. And yet, it feels acquainted to me. A place from my memories. My father used to speak of a place like this. A mansion in the forest. Moldavia, he said it was called. I didn’t know where it was. At times, I often wondered if it even existed, the way he spoke of it.
But I recognize the architectural style. I recognize the trees outside the windows. They are things that I know can’t be a coincidence. There is no doubt in my mind that I am at Moldavia. And the person who was leaving rose petals at my door all along was really Javi. The same man who refused to meet with me.The one I was so desperate to meet before. I wonder now if Art knew. If he knew how dangerous Javi was and he was just trying to protect me. I can’t understand it. Nothing about this makes sense. Has it been Javi all along? Has he been the one who has watched my every move for… I shudder to think of how long it’s been. That terror seeps into every one of my bones when I try to move and I can’t. I am bound by my wrists to the bed frame. My lungs burn with the need for air, and I can’t think. I want to scream, but I am paralyzed. Javi murdered his own mother. That’s what his file said. And now he’s going to murder me too. Tears well up in my eyes and I silently curse my father, wondering why he ever brought Javi into his life. Into our lives. With a jolt, I ride the rollercoaster of emotions. Hatred. Anger. Paranoia. And then, finally, determination. I’m struggling to pull free from my bonds when the sound of a door echoes through the cavernous space. A draft blankets the room before I ever see the shape of him. Even then, it is all I can see. He stalks around the perimeter like the predator he is, remaining shrouded in darkness. His hood is up, and his head is tilted down. A wildly overgrown beard is the only unobscured detail beneath the shadow of his cloak. The magnitude of his frame increases as he draws near, veiled in jeans and motorcycle boots. Every step is a gunshot to my ears. My breath has gone still, and my thoughts are careening out of control. I need to convince him not to hurt me. I need to hurt him first. I need to escape. He stops next to the bed, and those notions die a swift and brutal death. A tank. The man is a goddamn tank. And I’m going to die without mercy under the weight of those bear paws he calls hands. I don’t stand a chance. “Please,” I beg him. “Please, Javi. You don’t have to do this.” His name on my lips startles him, at least momentarily. “You know of me?” his voice echoes through the space and sends another wave of terror straight through my chest.
Javi’s file said that he doesn’t speak to anyone. That’s what Art told me. That’s what my father told me. For all the agency knows- he can’t speak verbally at all. But it isn’t true. It isn’t true at all. His words are accented with a Spanish lilt. Beautifully so.And he said them to me. A low growl rises from his chest, and I try to curl into myself. “How do you know of me?” he demands. “How do you know my name?” “Your file,” I whisper. “I read your file.” Another growl. I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t block it out. I can still hear him. He takes a step closer. Then another. And then he is sitting on the bed next to me. When I open my eyes again, he reaches for me. His fingers touch my face. Rough. Huge. Lethal. I wait for his wrath. For my death. But it doesn’t come. His palm drifts down my cheek and over the sensitive flesh of my throat before dipping to my heaving chest. He’s only an inch from my breast when he stops and jerks away. The impact shifts his hood slightly, and I can see him now. See his wild, golden eyes staring back at me. The scar that slashes right through his eyebrow. He has the bone structure of a Viking. One who looks as though at any moment, he might pillage my very soul. “Javi,” I whisper. Again, his name on my lips seems to knock his senses astray. He rises and disappears, only to return a moment later, placing a fresh cut rose on the pillow beside me. “Why are you doing this?” I beg. “Please tell me.” “Are you ready, beauty?” “Ready for what?” He smiles. And his teeth are perfect. His lips, sinister. “To sing me a song.” He touches my arm with a featherlight caress. “With words only I can hear.”
WHEN HE RELEASES me from my restraints, I dare to hope. I dare to believe that he isn’t as bad as I’ve heard. That maybe there is still some humanity left in him. A notion snuffed out completely in the next breath. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a red rubber ball with leather straps attached. When he moves towards my face, I try to jerk away, but he captures me by the hair and
wrenches me back. My scalp burns from the force of his grip and my eyes water. It doesn’t feel real. None of this feels real, and I just keep thinking it must be a bad dream. I will wake up and realize this is all some fucked up part of my imagination that conjured up this scenario. It’s the only logic I can find in a situation where nothing else makes sense. My father loved Javi. He treated him as his own son. And I can’t imagine why he would ever want to hurt me. Fighting him off is a fruitless endeavor. The man is a brick wall. More terrifying than I ever could have imagined. And the fact that he has something to hide beneath that hood only adds to the escalating fear in my mind. He secures the band around my head and forces my mouth open to lodge the ball between my teeth. Once it is secure, he taps me on the lips. “This will stay in place until I have a use for your mouth.” His words send another shot of adrenaline through my body, and it is pure instinct that has me trying to fight him off again. To flee. I kick him in the stomach, and pain radiates up through the bottom of my leg as though I’ve kicked a rock. But still his grip on me loosens, and I grasp at the opportunity to run. I make it ten steps before he’s got me by the hair again. I try to scream, but it only vibrates against my lips. He turns me in his arms, and I cower beneath his shadow, waiting for him to lash out. This must be it. I expect him to hit me. To kill me. I don’t know what it is he wants from me, and I’m petrified to find out. He reaches into his pocket again, and this time, he produces a knife. A strangled sound leaves my throat when he brings it to my chest and skims along my collar bone. I squeeze my eyes shut, and water leaks from the corners. This can’t be real. It can’t be real. That’s what I try to tell myself. But it is real. And this isn’t how I want to die. I haven’t even lived yet. The tip of the blade digs into my skin, and I stop breathing. I think of my father. I wonder how he could have ever trusted this man. How he could have ever cared for him. And then I wonder if Javi is responsible for his disappearance. The stark conclusion is a shock paddle to my heart. My eyes open again and seek out the golden orbs beneath the hood. But he is skilled at hiding them. So much so that I can no longer even see the lines of his face. And the need inside of me is real. To know. To unmask him and see him for the monster he really is. The boy that my father trusted and cared for. The one he sacrificed his time with me for. I hate him. I hate him with a level of passion I have never confronted before.
I try to tell him so, but the words don’t come out the way they should. Instead, spit drips from the corner of my mouth, and my humiliation is real and painful. But none of that matters. Because he is still wielding the knife against my skin. Edging the framework of my bones. And then he dips lower. So low, he’s tracing over my nipples with the tip of the blade. They harden in response. My body is betraying me. Disgusting me. Giving him mixed signals. I reach up and wipe the spit from my chin. And then I do something incredibly stupid. I hurl it at his face. Another low growl. And he tugs me closer yet. So close, I can feel the sickening hardness of his erection pressed against me. This is turning him on. He drags the knife between the top button of my shirt, slicing through the thread. I try to move, and he clutches me by the throat this time, with a palm that could crush the life out of me in one good squeeze. I am completely powerless to him. The reality of that washes over me again with stark clarity. I don’t move. I don’t even breathe. I just stand there, frozen and numb while he slices through the remaining three buttons. He slices all the way down until only two halves remain. Tears leak from my eyes when he does the same to the bra strap beneath. My breasts spring free, and he touches them with the knife. Dragging the blade over the soft mounds in an exercise that tests his own will. It occurs to me that this knife is the only thing keeping him from touching me himself. And suddenly, I am grateful for the blade. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand the darkness of his mind, but I realize that I need to. If I want to survive whatever fucked up game he’s playing, I need to make sense of this. Of him. He removes the scraps of my shirt and bra and allows them to fall to the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut again when he moves to my leggings and cuts through them too. Nobody has ever seen me this way. Nobody has ever seen me bare. I feel raw. Exposed. Vulnerable. And there is nothing I can do. The last and final piece to go is my panties. I try to beg him. I try to plead around the gag, but he doesn’t listen or care. He slices through the silky material and rips them away too. I am naked in front of him. My body is consumed with fear, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I can barely feel my legs as he drags me from the room, a blur of wild roses and shadows. The floor is cold beneath my feet, and I wish I’d grabbed my shoes. I wish I’d never left my hotel room. I wish I’d done so many things differently.
His strides are too large, and I can’t keep up. My arm burns from his grip, and eventually, he grows impatient with me. Heaving me up like I am nothing more than a feather, he tosses me over his shoulders and clamps his forearm over the back of my thighs. My head bobs over his shoulder, and my teeth gnash into the rubber ball with every forceful step. I try to count them. To distract myself. To focus on anything than whatever is about to happen. He stops outside of an open door, and I stop moving too. I’m gulping down breaths, and my heart feels like it’s going to explode in my chest. I wiggle in his grip and have one last futile attempt at fighting back, kneeing him in the chest while my hands slap at his face. It does me no good. He simply grabs me by the throat again and applies pressure with his thumbs in warning. It is the smallest exertion for him. Barely any effort at all, and already, I can hardly breathe. The resistance flees from my body in the presence of dread. I feel like a well-trained dog already. Bowing to his silent commands in such a short amount of time. I fear for my sanity if this is only day one. Part of me questions whether it might be better if he did kill me now. When he sets me down onto my feet, and my breath returns, it is the first opportunity that I have to take in the room around me. It is simple. Barren. And also, horrifying. There is nothing more than a bucket in the corner. And a piano in the center. A piano. The thing that used to be my instrument of choice now terrifies me more than anything. Javi makes a gesture to the shiny black nightmare. “Play for me,” he demands. I glance up at him, and my reply is reflexive. Instant. A mumbled no. I wait for another threat. More terror. But it doesn’t come. “No?” he repeats. “Suit yourself, beauty. I will play you a song instead.” I don’t understand what he means. Because he leaves the room, sliding the heavy door into place until the locking mechanism clicks behind him. I swallow and look around me. At the nothingness. At the emptiness. I’m freezing, and there is no comfort to be found in here. Not anywhere. I wrap my arms around myself and walk the length of the room to keep warm. I’m hungry and thirsty, and I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. The hunger that has been absent since my father’s disappearance is now back with a
vengeance. My body is preparing for a fight. An all-out war. But after a while, my feet are numb, and the walking isn’t helping. My stomach is growling, and my eyes are heavy, and I can think of nothing else to do. So I sit down in a corner and curl into myself. The floor is hard. Painful. Uncomfortable. But even so, the exhaustion from earlier events lulls me into a deep sleep quickly. I don’t know how long it lasts for. Only that I am jarred awake by the most horrifying of sounds. Confusion and shock take me prisoner when I open my eyes and confront the images in front of me. I never noticed it before. The projector on the wall. The projector that has now become my worst nightmare. It’s a replay of a well-known celebrity gossip show. And I am the unwitting guest star of their conversation. The topic is old hat. Specifically, the rumors of me sleeping with one of the judges to win the show. Each host throws in their two cents before they read some of the twitter comments from the aftermath while they laugh.
Fat, talentless cow.
Her face looks like it got ran over and glued back together.
Bitch can’t sing her ABCs. Go home, American Star, you’re drunk.
Another waste of human space. Hope she gets hit by a bus.
THE INSULTS CONTINUE, flinging at me like arrows. It’s a constant loop of interviews and my most caustic critics replayed at a volume I can’t ignore. I close my eyes and hum to try to block it out. I press my hands to my ears. It doesn’t work. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to be weak. And I hate him for this. I have never met anyone so evil. Rage overcomes me. I pound on the door until my nails break and my fingers swell. When that doesn’t work, I
launch my entire body against the frame. I scream until my throat is raw. I force the ball gag from my mouth in a fit. And just when I think I can’t take another second, everything goes silent again. I stare up at the ceiling. At the blinking light where he is undoubtedly watching me from. I wait for the torture to begin all over again. But it doesn’t. Ten minutes pass. Then twenty. And thirty. I curl up on the floor, on edge and exhausted. My eyes fall shut, and I start to drift off again. The moment I do, the projector screams back to life with more of the same. This time, I do cry. The tears fall and the words I can’t avoid blister every corner of my mind. I don’t know how long it goes on for. I can’t tell night from day in this room. So I count the drinks instead. Twice a day, he brings me a jug of water. It isn’t enough. And I’m never prepared. I never know when he’s going to come. So far, he’s been six times. But I’m never fast enough to get to him. He opens the door without a sound and sets them inside. Then he leaves before I get a chance to attack. He has to know. He has to know that I would kill him right now if I could. I’m going insane. I haven’t slept in three days, and I’m starving, and my mind is so fractured from this unspeakable torture that I could murder him with my bare hands if he let me near him. I would try. And I wouldn’t feel guilty for it. This is the animal he’s turned me into. In three short days. By the fourth, I can take it no longer. The humming doesn’t work. Talking to myself doesn’t work. Blocking it out isn’t an option. And so I do the only thing that I can. I sit down at the piano, and I close my eyes. And I play. My fingers are rusty and cold and numb, and it hurts. The pain is almost crippling as they move over the keys. But the sound that floods the room is such a welcome relief that I push through it. I push through it until my movements are fluid and my voice is humming along with the notes. And just like that, everything else fades away. My fear is gone, and I am playing again. I think of the notes. The notes he used to write me. And his words.
Sing me a song, with words only I can hear.
THIS IS what he wanted all along. When I open my eyes again, he’s there. In the doorway. My fingers pause, and he shakes his head. The room is silent now. The projector turned off. And I’ve lost the will to fight. This is my chance to kill him. To claw his eyes out. But I can’t move. I’m so tired. So numb. All I want to do is sleep. “Keep playing,” he tells me. I stare at him. It would be so easy to give in. To do what he wants and stop this pain. This torture. But I can’t bring myself to give up. Not yet. So, I stop playing. He leaves the room again. The projector does not come on again. Not that night. Or any after. Instead, I am entombed in silence. Silence so deafening, it is a different animal altogether. I start to imagine sounds that aren’t real. I start to see shadows that I know aren’t real. I feel like I’m going insane all over again, and I don’t know which is worse. The room is pitch black now. There is no light to be found in this prison. Twenty-four hours a day, I sit in darkness. I talk to myself. I pick at my skin. Bugs crawl all over me. I hear him in the room with me, breathing. At some point, I hear a baby crying. When I seek out the source of the noise, it disappears entirely. He brings me food, but I never know when. I can’t see him. I crawl around the floor like a dog, seeking it out. Always the same thing, over and over again. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I eat them and want for more. My stomach is so empty that it is caving in on me. Sometimes, I catch myself biting my lip just to taste the blood. I am feral. Wild. An animal. And this is what he wanted. I cry. I wail. I mutilate myself on the walls, cutting and scratching my skin just to feel something different. I haven’t showered since I’ve been here. I go to the bathroom in the bucket, like a heathen. I get my period and have no choice but to use some of my precious drinking water to clean myself with.
I am disgusting. Ashamed. Cold and lonely and tender in a way that I never thought was possible. At some point, my mind fractures completely. I feel it happen. I am broken. And I am willing to do anything. Anything at all. Anything he says. Just to stop this madness. So with my last scraps of remaining energy, I crawl to the piano stool and pull myself from the floor. I sit down and will my fingers to move. They are stiff and painful and bloody. But I play. I play a song for him. With words only he can hear. I sing him a song I’ve never sung out loud. With lyrics from my journal.The one that the world has never seen or heard before. And soon, the door opens again. This time, there is light. It hurts my eyes. It’s so beautiful, I cry because I can’t bear to look at it. To believe it’s real. But he’s there. And I don’t stop playing. I don’t dare. I play him three more songs before he halts me. He comes to sit beside me on the bench. And he does something that I don’t expect. He pulls me into his arms and pets my cheek reverently. I burrow into his palm. Into his warmth and his touch and his scent, so comforting after so long in isolation. And I hate myself for it. I want to die for feeling this way. For allowing him to break me. For turning me into this slave to human affection, even at the cost of reaping it from a monster. He holds me. He soothes me. And it is so confusing. It feels like a trick from this man who has tortured me for so long. He kisses my face. I am foul. But he doesn’t care. His lips are soft, and they feel good. I will do anything to feel good. I tell him so. “Good girl,” he answers. “You are learning, my Bella.” I nod into his chest like a puppet. And then I cry. He rubs my back. Then he carries me from the room. Back to the conservatory. To the bathroom nestled into the far corner. He deposits me in the bathtub. The cold porcelain bites into my skin and penetrates my bones. But I don’t even flinch this time. I’ve grown used to the cold. I’ve become one with the agony. And right now, the smallest of luxuries, even from him… feels like everything. “Lay back, beauty,” he directs me. “It’s time to come clean.”
CHAPTER TEN
SHE LAYS BACK in the tub when I ask without protest. And finally, the beauty is broken. It took longer than I anticipated. She is stubborn. Strong. Even now, when she looks up at me with misty eyes, it pains her to give in. To break down and need these things from me. The monster. The beast. Her captor. If I had any sympathy for the sweet girl, I would tell her she has no reason to be ashamed. It is a systematic destruction of the human psyche that anyone will succumb to, given the right amount of time and circumstances. But I am not sympathetic to her plight, even as I wash her and she responds to my touch like a well-broken pet. She is beautiful. Lovely. Even as messy and shattered and filthy as she is right now. But I
won’t allow that to make me forget. She will pay. She has to. It is the only way. And so I wash her, but I do not comfort her anymore. Comforts must be earned. And right now, she still has much work to do. “Why are you doing this to me?” she whispers so meekly as I wash her hair. “To see if you are stronger than their words,” I tell her. This is not the thing I should have said. But it is exactly the reason I chose the method that I did. And I must remember not to be so honest with her. Because now she looks at me differently. She looks at me like I might care. Which I don’t. And she must never think otherwise. “Bella,” I reply. “Do you remember what I said earlier about having a use for your mouth?” She doesn’t answer me, so I tug on the wet strands of her hair until she squeezes her eyes shut. I do not like her this way. Acting so delicate. Her nipples are hard, and I am certain if I were to thrust my fingers between her legs, she would be wet for me. Little liar. “Perhaps I was wrong,” I say. “Perhaps you need to spend some more time in your piano room.” “No!” she cries and curls into herself. “Please, Javi. I will do anything. Anything! Just don’t send me back in there.” Tears streak down her face, and they make me hard. “You will do anything, you say?” Her shoulders fall in defeat, and she nods. Her answer is quiet. Sullen. “Yes. Anything.” I want to play with her. I want to torture her some more. “So, you will fuck me?” She blinks up at me, and my words do not shock her as much as I had hoped. My broken toy simply nods and gives me another meek yes from her dry lips. The angelic virgin, so easily offering up her virtue to a monster. She is ruining my fun, and she should not be so agreeable. My methods have been too effective, it seems. Or perhaps I am just being too picky with her. This woman confuses me. And I need to stop thinking so much. I squeeze her throat, and her eyes grow large as I remove the ball gag from my pocket and secure it around her mouth once more. “Until I have a use for it.” I rub my fingers over her bottom lip.
She does not cry again. Even as I dry her and touch her with my bare hands. She does not try to move away, or even tremble beneath my touch. My cock is still hard, but now I am angry too. When she is dry, I drag her along to the kitchen where my dinner waits in the oven. “Get on your knees,” I direct her. She does as I ask without protest, the threat of the piano room still looming fresh in her mind when I remove the hot plate from the warming rack. “Are you hungry, Bella?” Her mouth waters and she does not need to answer verbally because the evidence is dripping down her chin. She nods. “If you want to eat, you need to earn it. Do you understand?” There is the slightest flash of indignance in her eyes, which she snuffs out with a nod. “Good girl,” I answer, soothing her with false security. My dick wants a reaction from her, and I am determined to get it. “Now get down on your hands and knees.” She does as I ask, her eyes focused on the tile floor while she waits for her next instruction. I kneel down beside her, hot plate in my hand, searing my own skin. There is pleasure in the pain while I watch her this way. So submissive. So broken. So degraded. Her father would be so ashamed. Appalled. He will cry when he learns of the things I have done to his precious daughter. “If you spill this, beauty, you go back to the piano room for two weeks. Do you understand?” Again, her eyes shoot up to mine, terrified. Resistant. And determined. She really will do anything not to be alone. How confused she must be, to crave my company so. I do not give her further warning. Instead, I set the hot plate onto the center of her back. And apart from a strangled noise in her throat, she does not move. Her body is rigid, her jaw taut. She is trying desperately to transcend the frayed nerves beneath her sensitive flesh. I walk to the dining room table and sit down, gesturing for her. “Come to me now, sweet Bella.” She crawls towards me. Slowly and carefully. Her pale blue eyes staring up at me like a beacon in the night. And she really is stronger than anyone gives her credit for. Because she does not spill. She does not cry. She does not move, even after I’ve retrieved the plate from her back. I spoon some of the pasta and chew while she watches. Her mouth is still watering.
Hungry. Starving. And I told her I would reward her. “Are you hungry?” I ask again. She nods eagerly. “Then do I have a use for your mouth?” I tap the ball gag. It takes her a moment to understand what I want. Her face falls, but still, she nods. What a pliable little fuck toy she will be. I remove the gag and watch her as I continue to eat. She is confused. Unsure. Awaiting more of my instructions. But she needs to know that it won’t always be so clear. “I thought I had a use for your mouth, beauty. Why are you just sitting there?” She crawls beneath the table without further insistence and positions herself between my legs. My cock is so hard I will probably blow my load in the first five minutes. How long I have waited to have this from her. How much I have anticipated it. She unzips my jeans with a trembling hand and reaches inside to retrieve my cock. I hear a small gasp from beneath the table when she sees it, and I smirk between mouthfuls of food. It takes her a few moments to figure out where to put her hands, and I don’t help her. I try to keep my distance. I try to focus on eating instead of her. I want to look. To watch. And this is how I know I can’t. I shouldn’t want these things with her. She is nothing more than a toy to be used. A doll to play with. I must remember this. Even when she takes her first lick, and my balls squeeze and contract with the need to fuck her throat raw. It is too soft. Too hesitant. This isn’t the way I like it. I let her get a feel for it before I start telling her so. “Do better,” I demand. Her nails dig into the material of my jeans, and she draws me deeper. But still too shallow. “I thought I had a use for your mouth, beauty. Do I need to go elsewhere and send you back to your room?” She makes another sound and drinks me all the way in this time. It feels like heaven. And now, now she is doing what I like. My dick lurches inside of her mouth, and I catch myself looking down at her when I shouldn’t be. Admiring the way her lashes look against her pale skin, and the way her silky black hair falls over her shoulders and tickles my balls. I imagine what it will feel like to have her lips on mine, hungry for me. And then heat flushes through my body. These are not things I am supposed to think of. Confusion causes me to reach down and shove her face all the way onto my dick, choking her.
She coughs and sputters around me, drooling as I grip her hair and fuck her face like the toy she needs to be. I call her a filthy whore, and she does not flinch. She does not recoil or slow down but instead pulls me deeper. It must be my imagination. I tell her she needs to do better. That her only purpose now is to serve me and please me. I demand that she learn how to suck my cock and take me whenever I choose. I ask her if she can do these things, and she tries to nod. Then she murmurs yes around me, her voice vibrating against my dick. It sends me spinning out of control, and I pull away from the warmth of her mouth at the last moment to teach her one more lesson as I spill my come over her face and her lips. I milk every last drop from my dick before I squeeze it back between her lips and tell her to clean me off. She licks me clean. Softly. Gently. Sweetly. All while my come drips down her chin and her throat. When she is finished, she tries to wipe it away with her hand, and I stop her. “No.” She looks up at me, used and filthy and mine. “Let it dry.” The contempt flashes in her eyes again, but she only nods. And then a quiet question, spoken politely, the way a good girl should. “May I have some food now?” “When I have finished my dinner.” She nods and remains on the floor between my legs while I eat the rest of my meal. And when I am done, I keep my word to her. This time. I allow her to make herself a tin of soup from the cupboard. She does not protest, and she eats too quickly, burning her tongue in the process. I watch her eat like a wild animal, my dried come still on her face. Her body naked and available to me for whatever I may wish. And I feel the undesirable urge to hold her. To kiss her. To reward her in another way and tell her how good she is. But I do not. Instead, I wait until she is finished. And then I lead her back to the conservatory. Binding her to the bed for the rest of the night.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
WHEN HE COMES for me the next morning, I am exhausted. And emotional. The fear of the piano room still lingers, but my hostility cannot be contained. “You can’t leave me tied up like this,” I tell him. “I’m not an animal. This isn’t right, Javi. You have to know this isn’t right.” He looks at me, but I can’t make him out from beneath the hood this time. It’s pulled low over his eyes, and he has to tilt his head just to see out of it. “Is that challenge I hear in your voice, Bella?” Even though his voice is harsh, he sounds pleased. I don’t understand it. I did not imagine the accent during my breakdown. It is still there. His words are not disjointed. They are eloquent and musical. And I think that his file was wrong. I think he has been speaking for many years without a hitch. It is perfectly natural to him. “What do you want from me?” I ask. “You need to tell me, Javi. I can’t do what you want if I don’t know what it is.” “This is not your concern,” he says. “I will have what I want regardless, my Bella. You will stay here. And I will own you.”
I swallow and try not to lose it completely. I need to be calm. Freaking out will get me nowhere right now. Because if I’m calm, then maybe he will let his guard down and I can run. “For how long?” I press. “How long do you want me to stay, Javi?” His reply takes longer this time. The drawn-out silence only makes my anxiety worse. His voice is too quiet when he speaks. And this is how I know he means it. “Forever,” he answers. Forever. The word ricochets around my skull, obliterating what little hope I had left. I can’t breathe. He really is going to kill me. Except, he’s untying me now. Gently. He’s so much bigger than me. There’s no way I will make it past him. There’s no way I can fight him off. He removes the bonds from my ankles and wrists and then allows me to sit up, gesturing to a tray next to the bed. Breakfast. He brought me breakfast. I want to cry. I want to plead with him. But he doesn’t let me do either of those things. “Would you like to eat today, sweet Bella?” I want more than anything to eat everything on the tray. But I am not naïve enough to believe that it will come for free. Everything with Javi will come at a cost. To my selfrespect. My dignity. My humanity. And there’s a part of me that wants to pretend that there is still a fight left within. That I am stronger than him- at least mentally, and I can defeat him in that way. But basic human needs are a motivation unlike any other. When you have gone without for so long, morals fall by the wayside. Everything else falls by the wayside. “What do I need to do?” I ask. He tilts his head down, giving me just a glimpse of his dark beard and a flash of gold eyes. “Lay back,” he tells me. “On the bed.” I do as he asks. “Spread your legs.” This time I don’t move. His voice grows harsher. Huskier. “Spread your legs, Bella. Or I will spread them for you.” I spread my legs and hate myself a little more. I can feel his eyes all over me. Assaulting me in the most intimate way possible. Visually penetrating the place I have never allowed a man to see before. I am humiliated. Ashamed. Degraded. And he is turned on, evident by his heavy breathing.
“Play with yourself, beauty,” he says. “Show me how you like it.” Again, I hesitate. A low rumble thunders from his throat. And his next words remind me that I have no choice. “Or perhaps you would like to play some more games with me, instead?” I reach between my legs and touch myself. It is robotic. Stiff. Awkward. My eyes are squeezed shut. I jump when his fingers find my breast, skimming over my nipple. My body responds to him, and a storm of emotions festers inside of me. I try to swallow them back down. This monster is the worst kind of evil. The kind that doesn’t feel like evil when he touches me. The kind that feels… good. And when his mouth captures the soft globe of flesh and he groans, I am wet for him. It is the worst kind of deception. The worst kind of betrayal from my own body. There is the sound of a zipper, and I stop breathing. Waiting quietly for what comes next. I need to be mentally prepared. And I am not mentally prepared. “Open your eyes,” he demands. I open my eyes. Slowly. Hesitantly. He is right there. Solid cock in hand, next to my face. Swollen and throbbing with his want for me. I try to force my legs shut again, to prevent him from seeing the lie between my thighs. The arousal I don’t want or need. I can’t control it. His fingers grip my thigh and pinch. “Don’t try to hide the truth,” he tells me. “I can smell how much you want me.” I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “No.” “You will take me, Bella.” “No,” I say again. “You will take me,” he repeats. “Or you will die.” I glance up at him, so close I can almost make out the lines of his face. His mouth. He is rigid. So, so rigid. And I don’t believe him. Maybe I just don’t want to. But I don’t believe he will kill me. I sense the struggle within him. I just don’t yet know what that struggle is. He watches me study him… and he doesn’t like it. “Suck me like a good girl,” he tells me. “Get me nice and wet.” I breathe out and do as he asks.
I draw him back into my mouth, sweeping over the velvet exterior of his heavy flesh. The salty taste of his arousal coats my lips and tongue. He doesn’t let me have control. The moment he’s inside, his restraint is gone. He cups my head and thrusts deep, hitting the back of my throat and choking me. I gag around him, and he grunts out his satisfaction when spit drips over the sides of my lips and down my chin. “Yes, my Bella,” he praises. “Good girl.” His approval eases my nerves and encourages me. I relax into him and let him use my mouth. But the better I do, the more tumultuous he becomes. With his pleasure comes his wrath. The next words out of his mouth are not praise at all. He calls me a lazy slut and tells me to go harder. I do. He grunts and then asks if I think I’m too good to suck his dick. I tell him I’m not. He rubs his cock all over my face, smearing my spit along with it. He tells me I need to do better. Learn faster. Do as he asks. But all the while, he can’t stop groaning. And I rise to every one of his challenges, meeting them with determination. Because I can hear the lies in his voice. How much he doesn’t want to like it. It chafes at him. And it gives me power. He must know that I know. Because he shoves my face away, allowing his own hand to take over as he glares down at me from above, telling me I couldn’t suck a dick if my life depended on it. I open my mouth to argue, and he squeezes my face in his palm to shut me up. “Play with yourself,” he orders again. But I already am. Nothing is happening. If he thinks I will come, he really is insane. “That’s right,” he says, and his voice is cruel. “I forget that this beauty can’t even do that right.” To prove his point, he touches me himself. Jacking himself off with one hand while he fingers me with the other. I don’t want to like it. I try my best to stay numb. But my body is a war zone of pleasure and pain. Humiliation and want. My legs fall wider, and he praises me again before criticizing me in the next breath. He says I don’t deserve to come. But still, he fingers me. And still, I am wet. So wet for him- for this- that I can hear his fingers slapping against me. He hears it too. And he likes it whether he can admit it to himself or not. Because his breath is guttural. Broken and agonized. His hand squeezes the life out of his cock, jerking so violently I am certain he is punishing himself too.
But I can’t focus on any of it. Because molten heat is surging inside of me like a volcano. I try to fight it off. To resist. To focus on anything else. But I can’t. I fracture around his fingers with something between a sob and a wail. My eyes fall shut, and I succumb to the pleasure, my ears ringing and my vision dancing with flashes of light. Javi comes too. Releasing himself onto my breasts with a long, tortured growl. He empties his cock completely and then smears the evidence over my skin. Leaving it to dry like last time. Marking me. Claiming me. And I think this is it. I am humiliated but sated. Hungry. Starving. Now I will get my food. But when I open my eyes, the temperature in the room has plummeted. Javi is erratic. Enraged. There isn’t time to question or predict his behavior. He flips me over and pins me down with the weight of his body, settling onto my lower thighs. My adrenaline spikes and my muscles lock when he removes his belt from the loops of his jeans. I try to wiggle away. His hand crashes down onto my ass cheek, searing a hot palm print into the flesh. “Stop.” The command is simple. Deep. Terrifying. And I obey. But then he grabs my foot, and the terror is real. “I did what you asked. I did everything you asked.” “But you didn’t please me.” It’s a lie. And I know it’s a lie. This isn’t fair. I can’t play the game when the rules keep changing. When he punishes me for doing exactly what he asked of me in the first place. I try to tell him so. But the words get swallowed down my throat when he lashes the bottom of my foot with his belt. It is an agony unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It is raw. Scorched nerves. Fire and hell. He doesn’t hold back when he does it again. And again. And again. I try to scream, but nothing comes out of my mouth. I try to move, but he is too heavy, and his grip is unyielding. I try to beg him, but the words don’t make sense. And I’m crying now. A sniffling, inconsolable mess. When I think it might be over, he starts in on the other foot. I am so certain that I am bleeding. Flayed wide open. But when he stops and climbs off me, my feet are bone dry. I scurry as far away from him as I can. Huddling against the corner of the bed.I rock back
and forth like a lunatic trying to comfort myself. For two minutes, he stands there. Quiet. Watching me. Judging me. I hate him so much. But then he comes to sit beside me, this tormentor of mine. And he becomes my solace too. Taking me in his arms and holding me. Rubbing my back and kissing my temple. It is so much what I need that my mind can’t comprehend this is the same man who just inflicted the pain. Because I am broken. All I can do is cling to the comfort. Bleeding more of my sanity. My pride. My dignity. He is stripping me bare with his methods. Destroying me piece by piece. And he makes no apologies for it. I am certain he feels no regret. His next words only prove me right. “You are mine to play with, beauty,” he says. “I can do whatever I want because you belong to me.” I sniffle and allow my hair to fall in a veil around my face, shielding my eyes from this monster who torments me so. But it does not help. He is not finished. He tips my chin upright and forces my gaze back to him. “Now thank me,” he demands. “Thank me for making you come.” I stare at him in disbelief. Horrified. The very idea is so disgusting to me all I want to do is spit in his face. And yet, the words come out of my mouth. Proving only one thing. My mind is a prisoner now too. And I am merely a puppet.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I HAD HOPED to find the conservatory lacking so that I could use the excuse to leave this room. To make a dash for freedom. But I was misguided by this thought because the conservatory has most of the things I would need to leave the room for. Javi has thought of everything. My own toiletries await me in the bathroom. I don’t know how many of my most private moments he has watched from his cameras, but if I thought I could forget that for even a second, I was wrong. This is the cold, hard reminder. Upon further exploration, I find a mini bar stocked with bottles of water. Water that I drink so greedily, I end up with a stomachache. But perhaps the greatest discovery is what I find at the far end of the conservatory. An entire library. A library in the middle of paradise. And if it weren’t also my prison, I might cry at the sheer beauty of this incredible sanctuary that Javi keeps hidden from the world. I’ve never seen so many books in all my life. I’ve never seen such a grand home in all my life. The Victorian architecture, the plush furniture, the stained-glass windows and antique conversation pieces- they are all things that speak to me. Things I would have dreamed of one day having in my own home.
In the back of my mind, I wonder if this is intentional. If he wants me to love this beautiful room where he holds me captive. If it is a conspiracy or mere chance that when the sky falls at night, it casts a blue light over everything inside and the stars shine through the ceiling to dance on the floor below. Is it all by design? It gives me hope, and yet it confuses me. There is not even a remote possibility that Javi cares about how I feel. I can’t make sense of his motivations. Why has he been watching me? What does he want me for? The mystery only becomes more muddled as my time goes on here. But it feels important. If I can understand what drives him, then I can find a way to get past it. It’s my only hope. I must get to know the real Javi. The one that hides beneath the shadows and the hood and the wild beard. And until then, I must bide my time.
JAVI COMES AGAIN at lunch to deliver a sandwich, and like my meals before, he tells me I must earn it. I don’t have to ask him how because he came prepared. With a cup of dry rice. He makes me kneel on the grains for twenty minutes before he allows me to eat. He watches me the entire time. Silent. Brooding. Cloaked in darkness and secrets. I grit my teeth through the pain and wonder how he became this way. What happened to make him such a monster? I don’t ask him, and he doesn’t speak to me again, except to tell me I can eat before he leaves quickly after. And so continues my life over the next week. I read all day, every day, and do little else. After checking the bathroom for cameras and finding it empty, I take a few baths as well. When I’ve grown tired of reading and need something else to keep me busy, I request a notebook and pen from Javi. But what he delivers this evening has the blood draining from my face. It’s my journal. My already half full journal. He hands it to me and tries to leave. My voice stops him. “Did you read this?” His back is turned away from me, shoulders tense. He doesn’t speak, and I know… I just know that he has. “What is wrong with you?” I demand. “Do you even realize how fucked up this is? You watching me on cameras and listening to me in my own home. Kidnapping me… and now this… reading my journal…” I choke on the words, and strangely enough, that feels like the worst of his offenses. Because these words are private.
So very private. So very shameful. My face is hot even thinking about him exploring the darkest and most intimate corners of my mind. “You had no right!” I yell at him. “Let me go.” He turns deliberately on his heel. Slow. Too slow. Deadly and massive. Looming over me like a black cloud. I back away, but there’s nowhere for me to go. I’m pinned between him and the bed. “I had no right?” His voice is deceptively soft. And for a moment, I think that I am safe. That it’s going to be okay. Until he reaches out and catches me by the chin, arresting my face in his unyielding hand. “I have every right,” he thunders. “You belong to me!” My lungs fight for air when he drags me closer, the pulse in my neck beating a wild staccato against my delicate skin. Javi sees it. He sees everything. And he likes what he sees. He likes to taste my fear. But it isn’t just fear anymore. It’s something else too. A force of nature that can’t be contained. It’s a thrill. An adrenaline rush. A rollercoaster of want and need and hate and revulsion. His breath whispers over my lips as he leans into my face. And I am not the only one at odds with my feelings. Javi is walking a razor’s edge of control, his eyes swinging from destruction to obsession and back again. I never know which side of him will win. So I remain still and quiet, waiting for the storm to pass. His fingers drift over my face. Soft and gentle and full of reverence. I don’t understand. What’s more, I don’t understand my response to him. He has conditioned me to accept his touch so freely. Not only do I accept it, but I find solace in it. Pleasure, even. “I told you to be a good girl,” he says. “I warned you.” “I’m sorry.” “Just one taste,” Javi whispers to himself. “Just one.” He kisses me. It shocks me back to life before I die all over again in his arms. I can’t grasp what’s happening. He’s never kissed me before. And it feels so different. His lips are soft and warm until they aren’t. When my lips part, his tongue invades and conquers. He drinks me in. He nourishes his obsession. And he devours me. What started as a simple taste now feels like he is taking a part of my soul. His arms hold me prisoner so he can take from me what he wants.
He doesn’t need to. Not anymore. Not when I am giving myself freely. Not when I am kissing him back. Drinking him in and nourishing my psychosis. Without warning, he pulls away. Breathless, we stare at each other. Feverish cravings ignite the air between us. I thirst for him, still. And he hungers for me. But Javi can’t and won’t admit it. The want in his eyes burns out, and malevolent storm clouds roll in. This is always the way with him. He reels me in and tosses me away. I can’t figure out what he wants from one minute to the next. Everything is a minefield, and I don’t have the strength left to navigate. I’m shaking my head already. Begging him not to do this. But my pleas fall on deaf ears. He drags me from the room. I dig my heels into the floor. I fight back this time. But it’s futile. He takes me to another part of the house. Cold and isolated. And in this room, there is nothing more than a wire cage. I cling to his sweatshirt when he tries to push me away. “Please, Javi. Please no. I will do anything. Anything you want. Please don’t do this.” He smiles beneath the shadow of the hood, and his lips are cruel. “Good, sweet Bella. Because this is what I want.” He shoves me into the cage- big enough for a dog- and engages the lock on the door before I can resist any further. “Why are you doing this?” I ask through my tears. “Why? My father loved you! He did everything for you.” This is the wrong thing to say.And I never could have known the impact of this statement. I never could have known what it would provoke in him. His fist shoots through the wire slot and wraps around my throat without warning. And this time, it is not a game. He is choking me. Watching the light dim from my eyes as I scratch at his hands. I think this is really it. This is how I will die. I never saw it coming. My hands fall limp at my sides, and I lose the will to fight. Only then does he release me. Rattling the cage with his fists and growling into my face. I scamper back into the corner and curl into myself, unexpectedly grateful for the lock that separates us. “He did everything for me?” he roars. “And this is why you are here, beauty. Because you are blind to the real monsters. The ones you’ve lived with all your life.” Tears track down my face as I shake my head in refusal. Denial. “My father is a good man.” “Is?” Javi mocks. “How hopeful of you to believe his heart still beats.”
“Was it you?” I accuse. “Did you kill him?” He laughs, and it is callous. “If I had killed him, Bella, you would know. For I would have delivered him back to you in pieces.” Now it is me who is unhinged. I grip the wire of the cage and rattle it as I scream into his face. “I hate you!” “Good,” he replies. “That hatred will serve you well, my sweet. That hatred will be the only thing you have left when I am finished with you.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LUKE IS LOOKING FOR HER. Making problems that I don’t have the patience to deal with. So when I go to her today, it is with this simple request in mind. I hand her the pen and paper and wait while she looks up at me. Half-timid, half curious. She should be afraid of me. She should be terrified. So long as she fears me… so long as she knows I am a monster, then we will be alright. I won’t lose control. I won’t forget. “What is this?” she asks. “A letter,” I tell her. “To Luke. Tell him you are done. With all of it.” Her face pales, and her fingers tighten around the paper. “You can’t honestly think this is going to work,” she says. “Javi, there are more people out there. More than just Luke will notice I’ve gone missing.” She’s lying, and I know she’s lying. When I discovered that Ray had a daughter, I knew I had to see her. I had to know who
she was. I had to know everything. And from the second I first glimpsed her, I have watched her. She was only sixteen then. Ray was already leaving her home to fend for herself while he went out into the world to do evil. It was foolish of him. He had so many enemies, and any one of them could have taken her. But they would not. I made sure of that. Because from the moment I saw her face, I knew she would be mine. Mine to keep. Mine to play with. I’ve watched her for so long. I know everything about her, and this includes who she keeps company with. She is lonely. Surrounded by people, but still alone. Using her books to keep her company. Using her songs to make sense of the darkness inside of her head. This has always been her way. She never fit in with the rest of society. She was never like them. She has always been an outsider. Like me. She only has Art now. Which she reminds me of in the next sentence. “Art checks in with me weekly.” “I know.” She’s quiet. And I am glad she does not try to lie to me again. “If I do this,” she says. “If I write this letter, will you let me out of the cage?” “Do you not like it in here?” She stares up at me, blank. “Please, Javi.” Now it is me who is quiet because I do not know what to do. The answer should be simple. Always no. Never give her what she wants. But she looks so lovely like this. Naked and filthy and mine. Her breath soft and her voice sweet and her nipples hard every time she sees me. I want to reward her. And it is a dangerous want to have. She is poisoning me. Making me forget. “I just need something else to do,” she says. “To keep me busy. Let me help you. Cooking and cleaning and doing the laundry. I can do those things.” She is trying to trick me. Just like he did. And now she does not look sweet. So perhaps I can be agreeable after all. “You want out, sweet Bella?” “Yes,” she answers quickly. “Then be honest about your father. About the kind of man he was. Tell me you are glad he is dead. Tell me that the world is a better place without him.”
Her mouth falls open, and revulsion darkens her delicate features. It does not give me as much satisfaction as I had hoped. “How could you say that to me?” Her eyes are filled with tears now. When they drip down her cheeks, I want to fuck her. She brushes them away and hides her face beneath a veil of hair, jabbing the pen into the notepad and scrawling across the paper in quick, angry motions. When she is finished, she rips the letter away and thrusts it in my direction. “There. You got what you wanted. Now leave me alone.” I want to punish her for speaking to me this way. I want to tie her up and flip her over and fuck her face down into the wire mesh of the cage. But I don’t. Because it is better that she hates me. It is better that she understands what I am and never forgets. Beautiful things were meant to be broken.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, I bide my time. Watching Javi’s every move. Seeking out a weak link in the chain. I don’t think there is one. He is regimental in the way he goes about his day. The times that he delivers my meals. The way he locks the door. Every day is the same routine. He comes to the cage. He humiliates or punishes me with a variety of terror campaigns. Forcing me to spread my legs for him and play with myself. Sucking him off through the holes of the cage. Torturing my feet with his belt. And then he feeds me through the cage too. Tossing me scraps like a dog before he leaves. He watches me. On camera and off. Of that, I have no doubt. Because there are cameras in here. I spend my days writing and plotting my escape. It’s the only thing I have to hold on to. Art has not come. Nobody has come. It was foolish of me to think that they would. He checks in with me via text. Javi probably knows my speech patterns well by now. He could easily fool Art with his own replies. Hope is abandoning me. I envision myself ten years from now, still locked inside this
cage. But in this vision, I am nothing more than a skeleton. Because surely, Javi will tire of me by then. He will destroy what’s left of me, as he promised. Every day, the light inside of me dims. And when I am finally certain that it has extinguished forever, something happens. Something that changes everything. Javi comes to retrieve me from the cage. There is no explanation. No apology. No words. He simply leads me back through the house, along the same corridor in which we came. This time, he makes me walk. My feet are bare, and the floor is cold, and Javi is not dragging me along by the arm. It gives me time to take in my surroundings. It gives me the opportunity to notice things I never have before. That’s when I see them. The trap doors in the floor. I count three on the way back to the conservatory. A renewed sense of determination blooms inside of me like Spring. When Javi turns to me, I wonder if he can see it. If I have given myself away. “Tonight,” he says. “What?” “Tonight, I have something I want from you.” I swallow and nod, playing the words on repeat in my mind. This is it. My chance. Javi leads me into the bathroom and points to the tub. “Wash up,” he demands. I don’t want to. I want him to leave so I can look for the door. But he doesn’t. He stands there, and I go about the process of bathing, hardly noticing him at all as my mind considers the possibilities. When my hair is washed, and my skin is clean, he tells me to get out. I do. And then he is gone. Leaving me to my thoughts. To my plan. I am unnaturally still while I wait for the sound of the lock to engage on the door outside. I know Javi will deliver my lunch soon, which means I only have a short window of time. The moment the lock slides into place, I dart out of the bathroom and begin searching the floor frantically. My heart beats erratically in my chest, and my fingers prickle with anticipation. But after three complete passes of the conservatory, I still have not found a door. My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I can’t accept it. I’m not willing to give up. I check every maladjusted tile. Beneath the columns of roses. The bookcases. And then, finally, the chairs.
I move them one by one. They are heavy and awkward, and I’m terrified that I’m making too much noise or that he could check the camera at any moment. I have gone through them all. All but one. The solitary chair that rests on a small area rug in the corner. It looks out of place there, and I have never noticed it before. But I notice it now. My feet slap against the floor as I run towards it and yank the corner of the rug back. I want to scream out my triumph. There is a trap door beneath. The latch is secured with a small padlock, but the hinges are old and rusted. I glance up at the cameras, and for a split second, I am paralyzed. I never thought of what would come next. There are so many unknown variables with this plan. Javi could catch me. He could catch me, and this time, he would certainly kill me. But I realize that it doesn’t matter. I have no choice. I need to take this opportunity while I can. My fingers scan the bookshelves for a hardcover. The hardest cover I can find. And though it is totally sacrilege, I use this as my tool of choice, striking the blunt edge against the lock. On the third time, I have success. I yank open the door and stare into the blackness, uncertain what waits for me below. It is dark and musty and old. I can’t bring myself to move. I can’t breathe. Fear threatens to steal my joy and keep me locked in place. What if it’s worse? What if I get lost, or… I stop myself. It doesn’t matter. Nothing can be worse than what he’s already done. I can only focus on one word right now. Freedom. I lower myself into the hole and shut the lid over me, obscuring myself in the blackness. The space is too small, too cramped, and it smells damp like the earth… and something more sinister that I can’t identify. My hand moves along the passageway, guiding me. I come to several crossroads throughout the path and use my best guess to find my direction. I don’t know exactly which part of the house the conservatory is in. But if my sense of direction is correct, I believe it is in the East Wing which means I need to move west. I move through the darkness for what feels like an eternity. It’s taking too long. Javi will have discovered my empty room by now. He will be furious. And he will be looking for me. The close confines are getting to me. I’m running now. Breathing too shallow. I trip and land on something hard and sharp. My knees burn, and the threat of tears is real, but when I look up, there is a tiny sliver of light peeking through another doorway.
I have no idea where I am beneath the house. It could be anywhere. It could be Javi’s bedroom for all I know. But at this point, I have no choice but to chance it. I will get out of the house much faster than I will this passageway in the dark. I push up on the door and meet no resistance. There is a small step ladder leaning against the wall, and I use it to climb up into the room. A room that looks like something straight out of a horror movie. It is all tile. The color of light sea foam. It is cold and sterile, and in the center of the room is a surgical table with straps. Straps stained with blood. A wave of dizziness threatens to topple me over. Instinct tells me that this is the room. This is where it happened. There is a drain in the floor beneath the table. A drain that is also stained with crimson. I lock my knees, so they don’t give out on me. I count to three and try to push through the nausea roiling around my stomach. My eyes move over the space, taking it all in. The workbench on the opposite wall is filled with vials of different colored liquids. Morbid curiosity drives me to examine them. They are sedatives. Children’s cough syrups. And in the pill bottles, prescriptions for Zara Castillo. My legs feel like jelly as I continue my investigation. There are surgical tools scattered everywhere. Scalpels, forceps, scissors. Alcohol wipes and bandages. I need to leave this room. I need to run away and forget whatever horrors happened here. But I am overwhelmed with questions. Why did Javi kill his mother? Was he bad from the start? I have an insatiable need to know more. To understand him. I can’t explain it. And I know that I am risking my only chance at freedom. But I also know I can’t leave here without answers to these questions. I need to know what really happened to Zara. What horrors might await me if I don’t escape. On the wall, there is a projector. And beneath it, reels and reels of old tapes. It is a foolish thing for me to wonder what is on them. It is a foolish thing of me not to run as fast and far as I can. I try to talk myself into leaving. But my eye is on the reel already in the projector. Just this one. I will see what’s on this one tape, and then I will go. I reach down and turn it on. It is old, but with a sputter, it comes to life, projecting the video onto the opposite wall. At first, what I see does not look like the horror movie I had imagined. It is a woman. A woman that I recognize from the media headlines as Zara. And in her arms, a young boy. He must have only been eight or nine here. She is cradling him in her arms, singing to him. Encouraging him to drink the liquid while she hums a soothing melody.
He protests, but in the end, she wins by forcing the cup to his lips. After a time, he grows sleepy. When his body is limp, she moves him to the table and straps him down, kissing his hair and smoothing it away from his face. “I’m going to remove the implants,” she whispers. “I’m going to get them all this time, Javi. I won’t let them control us.” On the screen, Zara retrieves a tray of surgical tools, and I swallow. She sets them beside the table and lifts Javi’s shirt. His body is so little here. The body of a child. And already, it is riddled with scars. Old and new. Deep and shallow. It is obvious that whatever this practice is between them, it has been happening already for some time. As the film goes on, it becomes apparent that Zara was living in another dimension altogether. She proceeds to document her findings in a series of unintelligible words and gestures. Sometimes walking directly to the camera to speak, or alternately scribbling into a notepad. A notepad already covered in black ink. When she is done, she rattles off some information about Javi. His age and gender and a few other clinical details that seem to separate her from the reality of the situation, at least briefly. She sobs over him and then hits herself in the head, yanking on her own hair. Crying out that she doesn’t want to do this. That she doesn’t understand how they keep implanting him. She berates herself for failing to protect him yet again. Then she whispers that they are listening. She must get the device out now. Her personality does another one-eighty when she reaches for a scalpel. With the precision of a surgeon, the barbaric practice begins. She carves into Javi’s arm, digging around in the flesh. When she does not find what she’s looking for, her search continues on his leg. His abdomen. His chest. And I can watch it no longer. I lunge for the machine and fumble with the buttons. On the screen, Javi is waking up. Crying. Bloody. Helpless. Pleading with his mother to stop. I feel like I’m going to vomit. And finally… finally… I find the power switch. The machine and the horrifying visions on the wall come to an abrupt end. I’m still shaking when the door swings open, and I am faced with the adult version of the monster she created. His rage is a force of nature this time. Unstoppable. Before he even comes for me, I know that I have crossed a line. This is a space I was never meant to see. I am incapable of words when he stalks towards me and backs me into the corner. It is of little use to close my eyes. The monster is still there. He will always be there. Javi grabs me by the throat and breathes into my face. “If you wanted some pain, my Bella, all you had to do was say so.” His words are taken as they are meant to be. They terrify me.
I plead with him as he hoists me up over his shoulder and pins me down onto the same table he was tortured on. I apologize. I cry. I beg him and kick him and scream as he tightens the bloody straps around me and shoves my face down onto the cold steel. He reaches for one of the tools on the tray beside us. “Please, Javi. Please.” “Please what, beauty? Please remind you who you belong to?” “No,” I beg through my tears. It doesn’t matter. I know it doesn’t matter. He tears open an alcohol swab and wipes the cold over my forearm. I am afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. But still, I plead with him. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please, Javi. Please just let me go.” My words are swallowed back down my throat when the metal tip of a scalpel digs into my arm. The weight of his massive frame crushes me into the table. I can’t move, but even if I could, I think I might be paralyzed. The only sound in the room is his ragged breath. The knife slices into me again and I stop breathing altogether. It burns. But there isn’t time to focus on the pain because it comes from a different direction each time he carves into my flesh. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know how deep the wounds are. But I can feel the blood dripping down onto the table. I can feel his excitement against me. His want and his need. And my mind blocks it all out somehow. The pain. The terror. And when he is done, the only thing left are the endorphins flooding my system. He dips his fingers into the blood and smears it over my cheek when he grabs my face and forces me to look. “Mine,” he snarls. And that’s exactly what his bloody artwork on my arm says. He kisses me again. Brutal and demanding. I’m still trying to fight. Still confused. But the adrenaline surging through me is tainted by something else. Something feral and toxic. Javi tastes me like he owns me. Drinking from my lips and rolling his hips into me. He’s feverish. Ravenous. And so drunk on me I am completely at his mercy. He leaves my lips only to bury his face in my hair and inhale me. Whispering his secrets in Spanish. Touching me reverently in one moment and violently in the next. He licks the length of my jaw and bites down on my ear, sending a shock of pain and heat through my body. I buck against him and cry out, and he repeats the sentiment on my throat.
“Mine,” he growls. I don’t know who he’s trying to convince. His hands are a hurricane, laying claim to the landscape of my body. My breasts, my back, my hips. He worships them all with his fingertips. Warmth gathers in my belly and spreads down between my thighs. I can’t help thinking of a similar scene. A scene that I wrote in my own journal. A journal he has read thoroughly. His lips hover at the base of my neck, chest heaving. His fingers drag down my spine, and he follows. My cheeks are hot. Everything is hot. And he is too heavy. I don’t know how to feel right now. I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore. The only thing I know is that when he assaults me with his mouth, I cry out for him. I encourage this fucked up need inside of me. Javi likes it. He likes it so much he tears the straps away and spreads my legs apart and shoves his face between them. He licks me until I am raw. Until I feel like I’m going to explode. Until I hate him for doing this to me. I can’t find the words to tell him so. Because he’s possessed me. And I fear the only way to get him out now is to find an exorcist. He unzips himself. I plead with him to stop. To keep going. To put me out of my misery. It goes unanswered. That’s when I feel him against me. Scorching hot and rock solid. He rests his cock between the cheeks of my ass and grinds against me. Squeezing my flesh around him as he rocks back and forth. I whimper, and he leans forward to suck the space behind my ear. His palm comes around the flesh of my throat, a reminder of his control. With a simple squeeze, he could end me. I should be terrified. I think I might be. But there is another part of me- the part of me that wrote this scenario in my journal- that is unable to separate the reality from the fantasy. He isn’t supposed to know these things about me. These thoughts were private, and they were never meant to be real. He is violating me in the worst possible way. Infiltrating my mind and creating a reality of the depravities that live there. He is punishing me for exposing his own vulnerabilities. For seeing things that I was never meant to see. “Javi,” I plead. He growls and unties my hand. The hand that is coated in my own blood. It is this hand he chooses to wrap my fingers around his cock. He is so large I can barely grasp him. So hot, it feels like he is branding my palm. “Please,” I murmur. All the while my hand continues to stroke him. I’m tattered and torn. He is groaning above me. So deep. So masculine. So wild and untamed and desperate for my touch. It’s too much for him to handle. It’s too much for me to handle. I’m ashamed and confused and turned on when I shouldn’t be. “Javi.”
I keep saying his name. Over and over. He yanks my hand away and forces both of them behind my back, pinning them beneath his wrist. His other hand comes up to capture a handful of my hair, wrenching my head back. He is captive to his depravity now. Fucking the soft flesh of my ass without ever pushing inside of me. I can’t see his face. I can only hear his sounds. Feel him against me. And still, it is the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced. “Javi.” He’s moving harder. Faster. Rougher. I can barely breathe. My wrists are bruised already. Every part of my body is sore. But needy too. I need something from him. Something I am afraid to admit. Right now, he is only taking. Using my body to get himself off. And he is close. So close. I can feel it in the way his muscles tense. When the tension finally snaps, he releases himself over my back with a long, tormented sigh. And then he rubs the come into my skin, spreading it over me in another show of ownership. “Javi.” I’m pleading again. I want to tell him to leave. I want to beg him to stay. I want to see his face. I want to hide. His come soaked fingers move down between my thighs and over my sensitive flesh. My breath halts. He smears my arousal with the blood on his fingers. And then he slips them inside of me. Feeling me from the inside. He moves in and out of me slowly. Stroking the cheek of my ass and squeezing with his other palm. His breathing has calmed, and mine has not. I’m squirming beneath him, my face buried against the steel table to muffle the sounds that escape me. My hedonistic desires are reflected in the noises that rip from my lungs. I don’t want him to hear. I contract around him, and he grunts in satisfaction. I want to fight it. I want to prove a point. That he can’t do this. He can’t just take from me and do whatever he wants. I also want to give in. I want to be completely at his mercy. Like my stories. Like my darkest fantasies. In the end, it doesn’t matter what I want. My body is a slave to its own cravings. And eventually, I come around him, just as he had intended. It’s embarrassingly wet. Javi does not apologize. I don’t expect him to. But I am not prepared for more of his cruelty either. He jerks me to my feet without warning and opens the trap door again. “You want to play games, little Bella?”
“No.” My eyes are blurry, and my legs are still weak from the orgasm that just ripped through me. I can barely stand. I can barely breathe. But beneath Javi’s release, his war still rages on. There is no escape for me. He hoists me up again and drops me back into the hole that I came in from. And then he kneels down and pats me on the head. “Run, run as fast as you can, beauty,” he says. “Don’t let me catch you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I TRY to stay away from her. I try. But she saw. She went into that room, and she saw. And now I want to punish her. I want to beat her ass red and then fuck it. I want to fuck her. The virgin. The innocent. The beauty. She was not made to be fucked by a beast like me. Beautiful things are not meant to be touched. But I have touched her, anyway. How can I ever forget it now? The softness of her skin. The catch in her breath. The way she looked face down while I debased her. The way I rubbed my come into her flesh. My claim is carved into her arm. Her blood still coats my fingers. A woman’s body is the most sacred thing on earth. That’s what River told me when he
brought me my first. A prostitute. She wasn’t soft like Isabella. But I fucked her nonetheless. She paid me weekly visits for two years. She let me do whatever I wanted to her. Until I saw her. Until I saw my Bella. Young and faultless and pure as snow. My dick never wanted anyone else after that. But I had to keep it to myself. Her father couldn’t know the depravities that lay hidden within my mind. The depravities I imagined with his own daughter. The most sacred thing on earth. I kept those thoughts at bay. I told myself that I could never indulge them because he was the one. He was the one I would destroy.But he is gone now. There is nothing to stop me. Nothing to hold me back. I want to take her. I want to make her mine. I try to tell myself I can’t. That I won’t. But I know it’s a lie. It’s always been a lie.
I SMELL her before I see her. The scent of her arousal is still strong. Contaminated with fear and the copper of her blood. Damp earth sinks beneath my feet as I follow her through the darkness. She is trying to be quiet. But as I close in on her, she cannot hide the terror in her breaths. And I know when I touch her skin, her pulse will throb against my fingers. I will touch that dread in her veins. And then I will taste it on my lips. I hunt her through the darkness, and her footsteps quicken. She knows I’m coming. She just doesn’t know when or where. She stops up ahead beneath a sliver of light, shoving desperately on a trap door that won’t open. The light creates a kaleidoscope of her face, washing it in shattered splinters of orange and the salt of her tears. Her hope is gone. And I like her broken. I like her shattered. I want her tears. Her fears. I want the darkest and most intense parts of her. Every human emotion that she can feel, I will experience through her. My steps are quiet, and she does not hear me coming. But my Bella is smart. Paranoid like her father. She can sense me. She looks down the dark passageway and freezes for a split second before she turns and runs again. This time, I give chase. Following behind her, I do not try to disguise the sounds of her predator. I want to feel her heart beneath mine when I capture her. She catches her foot on a rock and cries out when she collapses onto her knees. Bloody and dirty and still trying to crawl away when she sees my shadow.
“Javi?” she whispers. “Is that you?” The hope in her voice ignites the hunger in me. She wants it to be me. She dreads it being anyone else. And who else would it be? This is a fear I did not know existed. One that I will exploit at a later time. But for now, I will take pleasure in this knowledge. And I will not answer her. Even when I catch her around the ankle and she screams, I give nothing away. I lower the full weight of my body onto hers, pressing her into the dirt as I stroke her hair, and my lips find her throat. She shivers, and her heart is loud. Erratic. Beating so hard it vibrates up through her and into my chest. She breathes in, and she is relieved. “It is you.” My Bella is smarter than I give her credit for sometimes. I flip her over beneath me and position myself between her legs. “Please, Javi,” she says. “I’m so sorry.” “Not yet,” I reply. “But you will be.” Her chest heaves and she trembles when I grasp her throat and lick her face. This has gone on long enough. I have been too kind to her. She has grown too attached to me. She should be afraid. Not relieved. And I don’t know how this happened. I squeeze her throat, cutting off her air while she claws at my wrist. I count the seconds in my head, quietly. And then I let her go, listening as she gasps for breath and sobs beneath me. Now, there is fear. The way it should be. But when I reach down and touch her between her legs, she is still wet for me. Soaked for me. And there is something wrong with her too. This sweet beauty is just as fucked in the head as I am, perhaps. It makes my chest warm, and I want to kiss her. Hold her. These are not things I should want. So I unzip my jeans instead. Her breath halts, and she clings to my biceps. “Javi?” I position the head of my cock against her wetness. Her deranged need for me. There is no more time for niceties. I plow through her virginity in one hard thrust. She bucks up against me and cries out, but still, she clings to me. “Javi,” she whispers again. This time, I do kiss her. Because I have to. My own disturbed need for her is getting the best of me. That voice inside of my head tells me I’ve claimed her. I own her now. She’s mine. And nobody else will ever have her this way. Nobody else will ever get to touch her this way.
She kisses me back and digs her nails into my arms as I roll my hips and fuck her into the dirt. I tell her that she is nothing in one breath, and everything in the next. She sobs and pulls me closer, burying her face between my neck and chest. Smelling me. Covering my skin with her tears. I take one of my dirty hands and smear it over her face before I make her kiss me again. This time, she opens her mouth and lets me inside. My cock is swollen. So sensitive I can no longer control my thrusts. I smash into her. Fucking her hard and fast. Pulling on her hair. Biting her throat. Sucking her skin until I taste more of her blood. She reaches up. And tries to pull my hood down. I growl and capture her wrists, pinning them above her head. “I want to see you,” she pleads. “What you want doesn’t matter,” I tell her. I bite her nipple, and she cries out. In the next breath, I soothe it with my tongue. I’m getting close. My body is alive. On edge. But it’s her next words that trigger the explosion. “I’m not on birth control,” she cries out. “Javi, I’m not on birth control.” I bury my cock deep inside of her, and I come. I fill her up with all of my pent-up frustrations and the sadistic part of me wonders if it will happen the first time. “I’m not on birth control,” she repeats, and this time her voice is frantic. Terrified. I stroke her hair. Her cheek. My dick softening inside of her. “I know, pet.” She shivers. “You want me… you want me to get pregnant?” She is horrified. And I am getting hard all over again just thinking about it. I think of her father. How much he would hate it. And I smile. “It would be my greatest accomplishment, Bella.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SHE IS READING when I bring her lunch. Feet curled up, bare against the velvet chair she likes. Her eyes rise to meet mine, and they are soft. Timid. Embarrassed. This is not the girl on TV. The one who they say is arrogant and stuck up and uses her good looks to get what she wants. This girl has never been any of those things. But she lets them think it. She lets them think she’s that way. And I understand it all too well. I would tell her so, but she would not believe me. I set down the tray with her sandwich and move to leave. But she catches me around the arm. “Javi?” I glance down at her fingers, burning me even through the material of my hoodie. I want to know what her fingers would feel like on my scars. On my body. A place that I have not allowed anyone else to touch. When I look at her beautiful face, I know that I will never allow it to happen. She is tricking me with her looks and her soft words. When only hours ago, I took her virtue and
fucked her in the dirt like the toy that she is. She should not be so agreeable with me now, and this is how I know she is a skilled liar. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. Her voice is sad. And I don’t believe it. “I shouldn’t have gone into that room. I’m sorry.” I move to leave. She doesn’t let me. “And now it’s your turn to apologize.” I remain still and quiet, and her face changes from soft to hard. “You can’t just do whatever you want to me,” she says. “That isn’t how life works, Javi. I know you’ve been up here alone for so long. I know you don’t understand normal social conventions, but even you must know the difference between right and wrong.” “You are mine,” I tell her again. She has always been mine. Since the moment I first saw her. Since the moment my obsession began. “I’m not yours,” she says. “I’m my own person. And what you’re doing here is wrong.” “According to who?” I ask. “Who exactly says what I’m doing is wrong?” “I do,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction. “Funny you did not say so when I was fucking you,” I answer. She is quiet, lost in her thoughts, fingers still wrapped around my arm. Small and delicate. “I can’t protect myself from you,” she murmurs. Her words anger me. And I can’t stop myself. I lean down into her face, and she stops breathing. She stops moving. She trembles before me, and her fear makes me hard. It makes me want to lose control. “I did what you wanted,” I tell her. “What you wrote.” Her mouth falls open, horrified. I squeeze her face in my palm and kiss her. Taste her. She squirms in my grasp and balls my sweatshirt in her fists. She isn’t pushing me away. Or pulling me closer. She is always so tormented about her feelings. The same holds true for me. I pull away and stop myself. “Eat your lunch,” I demand. “And then write more.” She looks up at me, indignant. “I’m not writing more. You never should have read that journal in the first place.” “You shouldn’t have left it lying around then.” “You mean in the privacy of my own home?”
“Write more,” I tell her again. “Or I’ll write the story for you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I ESTIMATE that I have been at Moldavia now for a little over three weeks. In that time, I have read more than I ever thought possible. Books upon books upon books. Javi’s library cannot be rivaled. I don’t think I could come close to putting a dent in it even if he did keep me locked here forever. On my bad days, I wonder if I will ever be free again, or if it’s true what he says. If I will remain forever in his garden of roses. If I will live and breathe and die here in this enchanting prison. I write. I write a lot. And then I tear the pages out and hide them. Hide my darkest thoughts and fears and… wants… from the monster. He must know. He must know that when he comes and reads the things in my notebook, they are not the only thing I have been writing. But he doesn’t ask. The story I’m writing now has captured his attention. He reads the new parts every day.
Little by little. Chapter by chapter. The story about the girl with the absent father. At first, the details of her life are mundane. But he reads them nonetheless. He reads how she goes to school and none of the other kids talk to her. So she sings, and she loses herself in the world of books. And then he reads the parts about her growing up. How her mother died when she was only a baby. She was lost without anyone to guide her, and her father was always too busy. She decided it was a good idea to have several identity crises all before the age of eighteen. How her black clothing and nail polish prompted stares and whispers, but it also brought her peace. She didn’t want to fit in. She wanted more than anything to be different than them. To let them know that she wouldn’t be stuck in that town forever. That she wouldn’t be doing the things they all wanted to do. She wanted more. She wanted time with her father. And she acted out to get it. But he never noticed. Even when she sabotaged her grades. He didn’t notice. He was too busy. With him. The boy that he’d been spending so much time with. The boy that he seemed to care about more than his own daughter. This is the part that Javi is reading today. He is enrapt as he scans over the journaled pages. His eyes are dark, barely discernible beneath the hood. I wonder how it makes him feel when he reads about how she always hated the boy. How her jealousy got the best of her, and she resented him so much. But now she knows. She knows why her father spent so much time with him. He felt sorry for him. And now- against her better judgment- she does too. He looks down at me. I want him to take off his hood. I want to see his face. I want to believe that the man who lurks beneath the shadows is still human. That there is still something to be salvaged inside of him. Society has cast him out. Labeled him a murderer. Locked him away in a sanitarium as a child. I don’t know if anyone has ever really helped him. I don’t know if anyone besides my father has ever really tried to understand him. But I am trying now. By being honest with him about my feelings. By provoking something in him too. I need to understand him. And I want to believe that if I help him… that if I do the thing that nobody else ever has… that maybe he will set me free one day. That maybe he can be more than just the monster society has created. Maybe he can be a man, too. “Javi?” He is still silent. Lost in his own thoughts. I need something from him. Anything.
But he doesn’t give it to me. He hands me back the journal. And walks away.
WHEN THE TIME for dinner passes, I start to worry. Maybe I pushed him too far. Maybe this was all a huge mistake. I’m worried for nothing. Because tonight when Javi comes, something is different. He’s quiet, like always. Locked up tight, like always. But something has shifted between us, and I can’t quite understand what it is. He sets my tray down on the table beside me. And the food is different too. I recognize the pasta from my favorite Italian restaurant in the city. It occurs to me that he ordered this. For me. But I don’t know why. “How did you know?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, and I learned early on he doesn’t answer stupid questions. Nothing has changed in that regard. He’s on the verge of leaving. “Wait,” I stop him. He pauses. Lingers in place. “Will you stay for a while?” He thinks I’m tricking him again. I’m certain of it. It occurs to me that I might be. That I could and should be. But instead, my own mind is the one playing games. Tricking me into craving his company. His time and his attention. He has not punished me since he took me that first time. He has not touched me again either. He has even given me clothes to wear. Like he doesn’t want to look at me anymore. Like he doesn’t want to see me. I am lonely and afraid and confused, and I don’t know what comes next. Something is brewing inside of him, and I’m afraid I won’t like whatever it is. So I have to take these moments- these small kindnesses from him- while I can. “Please?” I ask. “I am tired of eating alone. Will you have dinner with me?” The very real vulnerability in my voice does not faze him. Because he does leave. And I sigh. I pull the tray closer and pick at my dinner when the door opens again. Javi stalks back into the room, and this time he is carrying another tray. With his own dinner. I bounce my knee and try to keep my cool when he takes a seat opposite me and starts eating his food.
He eats like a caveman. It is too fast for him to possibly enjoy it, and he is done within minutes. Meanwhile, my plate is still almost full. I don’t want him to leave though. So I use the opportunity to ask him some questions in hopes that he will answer them. “You have an accent,” I observe. “Where are you from, Javi?” “Chile.” “Chile?” I don’t know why this surprises me so much. But his accent is not watered down, and he has been here for so long. “I like it,” I tell him. “I like the way you talk.” It is not a lie. He does not answer. “Will you tell me about the roses?” “Your father said they were your favorite.” I smile, if only a little. They were my favorite as a child. But I suppose now I’ll never look at them the same way again. Something so beautiful and yet… so dark. I have always been drawn to dark things. Even now, my fingers trace over the petals that have fallen onto the table beside me. The last time Javi spoke of my father, it was explosive. It would be foolish of me to bring it up again. But how could I not? “Do you know what happened to him?” I ask. “To my father?” My heart is subdued while I wait. “I do not,” Javi answers. “I do not know, Bella.” I believe him. I don’t know why, but I believe that he is not lying about this. His voice betrays the certain torment he feels about my father. They were close once. Like father and son. But something happened to fracture that love. Something fractured it so badly that it has turned to hate in Javi’s heart. I don’t believe my father capable of hurting anyone. It isn’t the man that I know him to be. To believe anything else would be a betrayal of the worst kind. I am loyal to my father. My love for my father is unconditional. Something that has been proven time after time over the years. But I still find myself sympathizing with Javi for whatever wrong was done to him. The only conclusion I can draw is that it must have been a misunderstanding. Because my father would never intentionally hurt Javi. He’d never intentionally hurt anyone.
This much I know to be true. But I know Javi won’t see it the same way. And I don’t have the energy to travel down that path today. So I change the subject. “Will you show me your face?” I can’t look at him when I ask. “No.” His hands curl into fists at his sides, and I sense he is getting ready to leave again. Logic tells me I should be careful. I shouldn’t push too much too soon. But I need to feel like we’re making progress. At this rate, it could take years before we get anywhere. “I’ve already seen you,” I point out. “So what harm will come…” He’s out of his chair before I can finish the sentence. Hauling me up into his arms and squeezing my face in his hand. “You want to see the beast?” he asks. “Is that it?” “No.” I try to shake my head, but it doesn’t move in his iron grip. “I just want to see you, Javi. Please.” “You want to see me so you can hate me?” “No.” My voice sounds less and less sure, and that isn’t helping the situation right now. Javi spins me around and pins my back against his chest, caging me in with his arms. He’s impossible. I can’t fight him. I can’t fight him, and he knows it. I wonder again if this is it. If he’s going to choke me to death. I close my eyes and wait. He drags his nose along my neck, breathing me in. I shiver, and something else invades the space between us. Something potent. Something intoxicating. “I want you,” he grunts. I turn to cement in his arms, and yet he pulls me closer still. His cock wedged against my ass. “Let me have you.” His lips find my throat. Soft. He kisses his way down the column of my neck and over my collarbone. My breathing is disjointed. Too loud. My body’s response to him is not to be trusted. Do I want this? Do I not? I can’t figure it out anymore. His hands slip beneath my shirt, squeezing my breasts as he groans into my ear.
“Let me see you,” I plead. It’s the wrong thing to say. Javi is tearing at my clothes now. Clothes that I probably won’t get back. I am powerless to stop him. Powerless to do anything as he tosses me around like a rag doll. The shirt falls to the ground below. My leggings too. The bra comes next. And then he’s reaching for my panties. I do fight him this time. And in the chaos, I tumble onto the floor and scramble backward on all fours, trying to get away. Javi stalks after me like the predator he is. Too fast. He’s too fast. He catches me around the ankle and then kneels down in front of me, shoving me onto my back as he yanks my panties free. I kick at him, and it does nothing. He grips the soft flesh behind my knees with each of his palms and thrusts my legs up, exposing me to him in the most indecent way possible. “Javi, please…” He buries his face between my thighs, and I forget. I forget everything. I forget if we’re fighting or not. I forget how to breathe for a minute. His beard tickles and scratches me. But it’s his tongue. His tongue is inside of me. And my body doesn’t care anymore. Nothing else exists outside of this moment. I’ve never felt so exposed. So raw. It’s intimate, what he’s doing to me. It’s the most intimate thing a man can do to a woman. Before him, I never let anybody touch me. I never let them get that close. And now- it isn’t enough. I want more. I want everything. It dominates me. Javi is rough. He is demanding. And he is hungry. I jerk against him. I reach down and touch his hood. He pauses, and I beg him not to stop. But there is a moment when he looks up at me. A moment where… something else changes between us. “Please,” I beg him. “Let me see you.” He ignores me and turns back to his task. Eating me out. Devouring me. And I am a slave to the way that he makes me feel right now. I am captivated by the monster between my thighs. It’s getting me high. High on this. High on him. I feel myself falling. It’s all going to come crashing down. I don’t know what will happen when it’s over. But I don’t care. I ride it out. Soaking up everything he gives me. And when I come, it is nothing like the orgasms I have ever had before. It consumes me. Cripples me.
Blackens my vision and transports me to another world. I’m in a different headspace. One far removed from the reality of my situation. Because Javi is bending me to his will. Making me a believer in his cause. He’s infecting me with his disease of the mind. And I can’t seem to stop it. He crawls up my body and draws out his cock, rubbing it against my chest. He’s fucking my tits. Taking what he wants from me, the same way he always does. But even that isn’t enough for him. “Please me,” he demands. His cock prods the edge of my lips, and I open my mouth for him. I don’t know why. I don’t know anything. Except that a sick part of me wants this. A part of me wants him to keep defiling me this way. The head of his cock glides over my tongue, salty. Soft and velvet. He groans and then shudders when I close my mouth around him. I can’t suck him in this position, not really. He’s got me pinned. So he takes control. Moving his hips forward. Sliding in and out. The gentleness doesn’t last. When he grunts, he thrusts harder. Deeper. My eyes water and he cups my head to hold me in place. When I look up at him, I can see how untamed he is. He really is like an animal. Wild. Caged for all these years. He doesn’t know how to do anything halfway. He only knows how to take. How to fuck. How to use. And I’ve become his new favorite toy. The sick part of me likes that. She likes getting used by him. Getting mouth fucked by him. And she’s the only one in charge of my faculties at the moment. I reach up and touch Javi’s thighs. The muscles twitch beneath my fingers. He likes my hands on him. I wonder if he’s ever let anyone touch him this way. His thrusts grow frantic. I am sloppy. There is nothing pretty about me right now. My mascara drips down my cheeks, joining the dribble from my mouth. Javi likes it. He likes me dirty like this. I like me dirty like this too. Unpretty. His cock sinks into the back of my throat, and he comes with a violent shudder. I cough and swallow his release, my throat bobbing around him. He pets my cheek and continues to rock forward, even as his cock softens in my mouth. I keep nursing him until he pulls away and zips himself up. He lifts me into his arms, still naked, and carries me to the bed. I am weak. Used. Confused.
I don’t want him to leave. But that’s exactly what he does.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SHE IS SOFT THIS MORNING. Everything about her is soft. Relaxed. Her eyes are different today, lost in the pages of the book she reads. She is captivated. But peaceful too. She did not hear me come in. I like to watch her this way. It is different from the camera. I like to be close to her. In the same room where I can smell her. The room where I have tasted her. The room where I have held her captive for so long. I like the idea of keeping her in this room forever. Where she is safe. Where she is most lovely and delicate. But my Bella is not a rose, and she cannot grow in this room. Nothing else can grow in this room. Surrounded by such beauty, this room has opened her eyes to the monster that I am. It has served its purpose. And now it is time to move forward with my plan. She looks up, startled, and her fingers curl around the book. Her knuckles pale and rigid, her lips scarlet red. “Javi?” I don’t have her breakfast, and she wonders what this could mean for her. What fresh new
hell I might possibly have planned. My Bella is so smart. “Come, my sweet.” She doesn’t move. “What’s going on?” “I want to show you something.” She does not give in easily. It happens gradually. Inch by inch, second by second. Until she finally sets her book aside and rises to her feet. She is in a pretty dress today. Pale white and lace.And I wonder if she wore it for me. And then I wonder if I have forgotten who I am. She steps beside me, so small and fragile. I worry that I will break her when I see her this way. When I see the size of her next to me. This is why I must control myself. I walk towards the door to the conservatory, and she follows, hurrying along beside me. She takes three steps for my one, and I’m uncertain how to handle this, so I let her rush along beside me. When we reach the door, I pause. She looks up at me. Nervous. Eyes filled with restrained hope. “I am going to show you Moldavia,” I tell her. “Okay,” she whispers. “Do not try to run from me, Bella,” I warn. “I should not have to remind you of the consequences of such an attempt.” She nods. I don’t know what she is thinking. If she plans to attempt escape. I am uncertain. But I unlock the door anyway and leave her to follow me. She is quiet while we walk, her eyes soaking up everything around us. Her fingers reach out to brush the ornate details of each table and piece of art that we pass. I show her the rooms without telling her what they are. Without speaking at all. I allow her to look through them, one by one. To become familiar. I want her to feel at home here. I want her to experience these comforts and believe that she is safe. Secure. The way she feels right now. It is exactly what I intended to do. But I did not expect it to be so easy on my part. Or that I would enjoy watching her luxuriate in the comfort. Watching each day pass as she reads and settles into her prison and her life here with me. Enjoying the food I bring her that she doesn’t have to earn. Enjoying the clothing and gifts I bestow her. It should not feel good to give her these things. It should not affect me at all. But it has. And now, I know that it is time. I must stop this from going any further. I must remind her who she is. And more importantly, who I am. She is pleased with the house. She enjoys each room that I show her.Until I lead her to the
one that she knows best. It is well lit now. The bucket is long gone, and the floor clean. But it still possesses the same lingering effect. She stares at it, and her fingers tremble. For a moment, I find myself wishing she would be stronger. That she would not be afraid, and she would simply sing a song for me. I miss hearing her voice. “Play for me,” I demand. She blinks, startled, and then turns to me slowly. “You can’t be serious.” She tries to edge backward, but I take hold of her arm. “This is what you do,” I tell her. “You sing, and you play.” She turns up her chin and tries to look tougher than she feels right now. “No.” This is exactly the response I wanted. The one I anticipated. And yet, I feel disappointed. I know what I should say next. What I need to do next. But it does not happen the way it should. “Why do you let it bother you?” “What?” she asks. “What they say about you?” Her face is sharp now, all her softness gone. I do not like this. “Why do you lock yourself up here and speak to nobody?” she challenges. I don’t reply, so she takes it upon herself to answer for me. “Because of what they say about you. That you are a murderer. That you killed your own…” I slam her against the wall and wrap my hand around her throat before I can stop myself. Before I can breathe. My temper is running hot, and she is not backing down this time. “Did you do it?” she wheezes. “Did you kill her?” I squeeze a little harder. “Shut up.” “Will you do the same to me?” There are tears in her eyes now. And this time, they do not make me hard. My fingers fall away from her throat. We are both quiet. Breathing hard. I can hear the drum of her heart. See the vein pulsing in her neck. I can smell her fear. And her sadness too. “Do not provoke me,” I bite out. “I told you not to provoke me.”
“It’s not my fault you can’t control your temper,” she snaps. Her lip trembles and one of the tears spills over her eyelid and down her cheek. I wipe it away with my thumb before I have given it any thought. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch. Eager for the brief moment of comfort I have provided her. I want to do more. I want things that don’t make sense. I want to hold her. Kiss her. Lay with her. It has to stop. It has to stop now. I grab her by the arms and drag her down to the dining room. Her vulnerability flees in the presence of fresh terror. “Javi?” Her Javi is gone now, and only the monster remains. I don’t tell her so. I don’t need to. She will see for herself. This temptress who thinks she can fool me. I hoist her up onto the table, and she tries desperately to scramble away. She is fast this time, wiggling around as I bind her wrists to each leg of the table. It occurs to me that I have spoiled her. I have let her get away with too much. I pull out my knife and slash the full length of the dress, halving it from top to bottom. Then I slap each of her tits hard until she calms down and obeys. “Javi,” she pleads through teary eyes and broken breaths. “Please…” My only response is to bind her ankles next. So soft and slight and delicate. I pause only briefly to appreciate them, and then I snap myself out of it. I remove the scraps of material from her body and toss them aside. Leaving her naked. Vulnerable. Mine. Just the way that I like her. She looks so angelic when she cries, and I have forgotten how much I enjoy this. I was wrong to think anything had changed. That it could be any other way with her. Because this… this is what I need. What I want and what I will have. I lean down to kiss her, and this time, the flames are back in her eyes. She bites my lip and makes me bleed. My lips smear the blood onto hers, forcing her to taste it. And then I pinch her nipples and make her cry out one last time. “Tonight, beauty.” I stroke her cheek. “Tonight, you will receive your punishment.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
HE LEAVES me for six hours before he comes back this time. I know because I count each chime from the bell on the clock. I am cold. Dazed. Bitter. I don’t understand him. I don’t understand why he keeps doing this to me. Or what I’ve done to warrant this punishment. When I see him again, I tell him as much. But he has grown cold again. Closed off again. Unsympathetic to my plight. “I have to pee,” I tell him. He doesn’t care. He forces my mouth open and reinserts the ball gag that I thought was long gone, tapping me on the lips. “Until I have a use for it.” And then he moves down below me. Touching me. Groaning at the moisture he feels there. I try to mumble around the gag to tell him again, but it’s no use. He can’t understand, and my words don’t matter, anyway. Not to him. He pushes something inside of me, and it isn’t his fingers. The resulting struggle I offer up is hindered by my restraints, and Javi just grabs me by the thighs to hold me in place.
“Stop,” he commands. “Or you won’t like what comes next. I’m being gentle with you. But that can change very quickly, Bella.” I don’t understand what he means until he pulls the plug out of me and pushes it against something else. Somewhere he’s never touched before. I shake my head frantically, trying desperately to clench my legs together, but he slaps my thigh and makes me open for him. “Be a good girl,” he says. “And it won’t be so bad.” The reality is that he’s right. It doesn’t matter what I do or how much I fight, it’s going to happen either way. So I try to do as he says and relax. He slips the plug inside of me, and it burns. It’s too large, and my body is not accustomed to such an invasion. Not there. I want to hate him. I want to scream at him. I want to rip off his hood and make him feel the way I do right now. Exposed and raw and wounded. But then he starts touching me. Fingering me. And my hatred is swallowed up by the intensity of these foreign feelings. The pleasure is amplified. Profound. It takes root in the nerves I never even knew existed and holds me hostage. My legs fall wider, exposing myself to him fully, and there isn’t an ounce of shame left in me. “You see, Bella?” he taunts. “This is the only way. You are mine. Mine to do with as I please.” It’s a truth I can’t deny. I am a slave to Javi. Always. To his touch. But it has never been so clear as it is right now. He owns me. I squirm and twist and thrash against him, desperate for more. He has created this animal. Bent me to his will and turned me feral. And he is so proud of his little monster. He bends forward and licks my face. Pinches my nipple. Clamps his hand over my mouth and nose. Always playing his games. Reminding me who is in control. As if I could ever forget. My bladder is full, and there is so much pressure. I worry what will happen if I give in, but then I give up caring at all. I cry out and convulse like a demon from the onslaught of the orgasm. It is the most intense orgasm of my life, and yet it has barely touched on what I want or need right now. I’m a mess. Physically and mentally. Javi moves around the table, and I try to get his attention, mumbling around the gag. “I have to pee,” I tell him again. He gropes my breast. And then walks away.
I DON’T KNOW how much longer I can hold it. The pressure is too intense. And I know this is what he wants. He wants me to humiliate myself. The silence is even worse. There is nothing else to focus on. Until there is. The doorbell. It shocks me back to life. The doorbell means someone else is here. And I’m out in the open. They only have to walk down the hall, and then Javi’s darkness will be exposed. Hope blooms inside of me. This could be it. This could be my chance. I crane my neck to try to see what’s happening, but I can’t. I’m too far away from the hallway. A foreign voice echoes down the hall. I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. Whatever it takes, I will do it. My screams come out muffled around the ball gag, so I shake my head back and forth until I’m able to spit it out. “Help! Down here. Please, help me!” There are footsteps. Two pairs. They are drawing closer. My heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to explode. This is it. My saving grace. Someone has come for me. Someone is here, and this nightmare is over. Except when I see the man’s face, I realize that it isn’t. Because he takes one look at me, and he smiles before casually taking a bite of the apple in his hand. “So this is her, huh?” he mumbles around the half-chewed fruit. “Yes,” Javi answers. The stranger nods in approval, his eyes roaming over my naked body. “Very nice. So when do I get to have a go?” Javi will not look at me now, and I fear the worst. “Please, no! No, Javi. You can’t do this!” A heart-wrenching sob explodes from my chest. I know Javi is cold. I know he can be cruel. But not like this. He can’t do this to me. He comes to the table and pets my cheek. The sickest part is that I lean into him. I cling to his warmth and the safe haven he provides while I try to appeal to any humanity left inside of him. “I don’t want him,” I say. “I only want you. Please, Javi.” He glances back at the stranger and smiles. The stranger continues to eat his apple, unfazed. I hope that Javi will ask him to leave. The person that I thought had come to save me is now scarier than the monster standing right before me.
“You want to please me, my sweet?” Javi asks. “Yes. Anything you want. Please.” He unzips his pants. And the stranger steps closer. Watching as Javi shoves his cock into my mouth. My eyes remain glued to the intruder. Frozen. Unsure. Javi slaps my breast to get my attention. I close my eyes and forget about the guest while Javi fucks my mouth and fingers me again. I’m so wet for him. So sensitive. I have to pee so badly it hurts. I try to tell him. To mumble around him. But it’s a lost cause. He’s lost in his pleasure now. Using my face to get himself off. His fingers tangle in my hair, and his eyes stake their claim over every part of my body. It does not matter what Javi says or what he does. Because in moments like these, it feels like he cares. It feels like I mean something to him, even as he uses me. Perhaps it is only my imagination. Perhaps I am simply trying to justify. But it’s there, and I want more than anything to believe in it. And when he comes, I swallow everything he has to give me, just the way he likes. He pets my cheek again. And then replaces the gag I spit out earlier. I think that it’s over. I think that I’ve done well and that we have a connection right now, as he looks down at me, and I see the warmth creeping back into his eyes. It doesn’t last. I should know by now that it never does. Javi retrieves a blindfold from his pocket and ties it over my face, obscuring my eyes. My heartbeat slows. My stomach rolls. A chill creeps over me. There are footsteps. The intruder. He’s coming closer. So close he can touch me. I smell him, and he smells different to Javi. I shake my head and thrash against the restraints, repeating the same thing over and over again. No. He wouldn’t do this. Javi wouldn’t allow anyone else to touch me. Because I’m his. That’s what he says. But it isn’t true. I flinch when I feel fingers on my breast. Touching me. Groping me. My mind is playing tricks on me. But my ears aren’t. It’s Javi’s voice that betrays me. Cold and hard and cruel. “Now you can have a go.” I scream through the gag, and he moves away from me. Abandoning me. Footsteps echo down the hall. And with them, goes my fight. The stranger drags his fingers down my body. Right between my legs. Humiliation and shame wash over me, followed by blinding hatred. I hate him so much.
I will never forgive him for this. Never. I sob as the hands pry my legs open. And it doesn’t feel right because this isn’t Javi. I want to believe it’s a trick. I want my Javi. But he doesn’t come for me. Not even when the stranger buries himself inside of me. The blindfold blocks the sight, but nothing else. I can still feel him. I can still feel everything. He fucks me. He touches the parts of my body that belong to Javi. He twists the plug inside of my ass. My bladder can’t take it. I’m too full. There is too much happening. And I’m still too sensitive. I hate this man. I hate his hands on my body, his fingers working me over. I feel sick for responding to him. It’s not me. My body is betraying me too. Because I come again. And this time, the floodgates open. Mortification burns my cheeks as the liquid drips down my thighs and over him. There is a muffled groan. And then he’s pulling the plug out of me. Replacing it with his cock. I shake my head again, protesting as he pushes inside. The place that no man has ever been before. The place that even Javi has not been before. I beg him through muted sobs. I fight. I twist and thrash and bleed when the ropes chafe at my wrists. Eventually, my chest caves in on me, and the only thing to come out of my lungs is a godawful wheezing sound. It isn’t the physical pain. This pain inside has crippled me. Javi has stolen everything from me. Right down to my last breath. The weight of his malice has finally suffocated me. I can’t breathe at all. I’m deep in the throes of a panic attack. And this is how I’m going to die. My fingers make one last feeble attempt to claw at my throat. An instinctive reaction. One still hindered by the restraints. I fall limp. I stop moving. I stop fighting. The stranger’s fingers come up to touch my face, and I turn away from him. The gag slips out of my mouth. The blindfold falls away, and still, all I see is black. My heart has lost the will to go on. My chest is full of cement. “Bella. My sweet Bella. Shhh, it’s okay now. Just breathe.” Javi. My Javi. My cruel, cruel Javi. I don’t want to believe it. My mind has invented this. I squeeze my eyes to keep them shut, and he tries to coax them open with words so deceptively soft. “It’s okay, my Bella. Look at me.” He sounds so real. And I have to know. I open my eyes. Certain I will be forever damaged. Forever ruined and betrayed and filled with this hatred. His beard is the first thing that I see. And then the hood. I look down, at the place where we are still connected. And it has been him, the entire time. Inside of me.
Tricking me. Tormenting me. I sob, and it is not pretty. He is without mercy. Without humanity. I was wrong to think there was ever anything else inside of him. He leans forward and kisses me, his cock still throbbing in my ass. He tastes my tears and licks my throat. He comforts me with the sweetest lies. “It is only me, Bella.” My breath has returned. And Javi does not waste this opportunity. He thrusts into me, groaning out his pleasure. And I don’t understand this. I don’t understand how I can be so broken. How I can be relieved that it is him, even after what he just did to me. He unties my wrists, and they are limp at my sides, but still, he drapes them over his back. I claw into his sweatshirt, wishing I could draw blood, and he fucks me harder. Kissing me until I bite his lip again and force him away. “I hate you!” I scream. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” He kisses me anyway. And he fucks me anyway. Telling me how good I feel. How much I please him. And then, how I am only his. “Mine, Bella,” he repeats with every thrust. “I would not share you. I never will.” And with these final words, he bottoms out inside of me and shudders out his release. He collapses on top of me. Kissing my throat. Stroking my hair. Comforting me with his hands and his lies. “I hate you,” I tell him again. But my voice lacks the conviction to make it believable, even to my own ears. He unties me and carries me back to the conservatory. I am certain he will abandon me to my misery now. But instead, he climbs into the bed behind me and wraps his body around mine. Housing me with his arms and his warmth. “My Bella,” he whispers into the darkness. “Forgive me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
IN THE QUIET solace of night, her mind is still loud. Haunted by nightmares of the things I have done to her. The things I can’t stop doing to her. Even so, she clutches me like I am her savior. This girl has it so wrong. And I don’t know how she still doesn’t get it. That I am no savior. I am only a monster. I swipe away her tears with my thumb, and she opens her eyes. Bluer than ever. “You’re still here,” she croaks. I shift away, and she squeezes her fist in my shirt. One by one, I peel her fingers off and abandon her to the warmth of the bed. “I hate you,” she says again. But it is without heart this time. And when I look down at the hurt etched onto her sensitive face, I wonder if she will ever really hate me. If there is anything I can do that will make it so. “Do you like the house?” I ask. She lifts a delicate brow.
“You mean my prison?” she snaps. “Why wouldn’t I love it here?” “Then it is yours to do as you please,” I tell her softly. “To feel at home.” “You’re letting me out of the conservatory?” She doesn’t sound like she believes me. “As long as you are a good girl.” This makes her happy again, and it is much better when she’s happy. I tell myself so in one breath and hate myself in the next. “The doors and windows are locked, so do not think about trying to leave.” Her face falls, but still, she nods. “And you must promise to stay out of the West Wing.” “Why?” “Just promise,” I demand. “Okay,” she murmurs. “I will.” I let her get up, even though all I really want to do is kiss her. “Come.” I walk ahead and leave her to follow. “I will show you to your room.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JAVI WAS NOT LYING when he said that the doors and windows were locked. I know, because I have tried them all. Room by room. They are heavy. Well built. And impossible to open without a key. He has thought of everything to keep me locked away in this gilded prison. That is the first thought that comes to mind. But upon further inspection, I realize that the locks themselves are actually quite old. They have been in this house for many years. An artifact from Javi’s childhood? I know from the footage I saw that his mother was mentally ill. This offers a possible explanation. Perhaps I have not been the only prisoner within the walls of Moldavia. Perhaps… Javi was the first. My father used to tell me a story when I was a girl. A story about a caged bird who longed for the outside world. For the wind beneath its wings and the fresh mountain air. The bird would sing every day, yearning to break free from its golden cage. But little by little, the bird adapted to the cage. Over time, the enclosure began to feel safe. Slowly, the memories of the outside world faded away.
The bird could no longer recall what it was like to soar above the wind. It wondered if the memory was even real at times. And when the bird thought of flying again, fear replaced longing. What if it could no longer fly? How could it ever feel free in a world with so many unknowns? Now the bird had everything it could ever need. Safety. Peace. It spent its days singing and napping and snacking on seeds. Until one day when the cage door was left open by accident. The bird found itself powerless to leave the confines of the space. It realized that it did not want to. The cage was home. What felt like a prison at first was now a sanctuary. Whenever my father told me this story, I always felt so miserable for the bird. Every time, I would ask him for a different outcome. I would huddle beneath the covers, pleading that the bird would find freedom again. But it never did. My father told me that it was idealistic of me to ask for such an outcome. That life is not always so pretty. He said that sometimes the monsters lurking within us are worse than anything outside our safe spaces. I never really understood those words. But here in Javi’s home, they have become crystal clear. I get the analogy now. And I know what the bird represents. Javi is afraid. Afraid to leave Moldavia. Afraid to show anyone his true self. He was imprisoned here too as a child. Taught to fear the outside world by his mother. And when she died, her predictions were only all too accurate. Javi was taken away. Locked up. Abandoned with the rest of the bad apples. I don’t want to feel sorry for him. How can anyone justify murdering a parent in cold blood? I certainly never thought I could. But my thoughts are shifting, the longer I am here. The longer I spend with Javi and come to understand his deep-rooted fears. He has been alone his entire life. Cast out from society. Taught fear and avoidance. Hurt by the one woman whose role it was to nurture him. The extent of which, I may never know. Is it possible he snapped? That one day, he finally got tired of her hurting him? Is there a length of time that could ever justify his actions that day? What amount of pain must one endure before it is okay to make it stop? I don’t know. But I want to. I want to know everything about him. And that is a dangerous want to have. But once it takes shape in my heart, I can’t stop it. I can’t stop the sickness from growing inside of me. Day and night, it haunts me.
Javi told me not to go into the West Wing of the house. And this is how I know that is where my answers are. It starts out small. I learn his schedule first. I observe which rooms he occupies the most. They are in close proximity to each other. All in the East Wing. Even his master suite is only two doors down from my room. But he has not come to me again. Not since he showed me the house that day two weeks ago. He has left me to make my own meals. Meals consisting of what I find in the fridge and pantry. It is all child’s food. Macaroni and cheese. Fruit snacks. Chicken nuggets. Hot dogs. And the makings for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I didn’t realize it until now. These are the same things he’s been feeding me the entire time I’ve been here. He eats peanut butter and jelly sandwiches every day. It occurs to me that Javi probably does not know how to cook. Because nobody ever taught him. I make a mental note of it. I make a mental note of everything. How long he spends in his office each day. Working on several computers. Doing what, I don’t know. Something for the agency. Something I probably don’t even want to know. At night, he goes to the room at the end of the hall. I would call it a gym, except it consists only of a punching bag and a weight bench. He works out like he’s trying to kill himself. Then he showers. And he reads. This last one, I find surprising, though I’m not entirely sure why. There are no televisions in the house. He doesn’t listen to music. I suppose this is all he’s ever had to do. Work, exercise, and read. He is a caged bird if ever there was one. When I am confident I know his schedule, I decide that it’s time to move forward. It is mid-week. After lunch. His office door is still closed, and I know he won’t be coming out anytime soon. I also know that he can check his cameras at any time. But I can only hope that his avoidance of me has spilled over into the digital aspect too. My journey is a slow one. This part of the house is dark. Quiet. Ominous. I stay near the wall and keep to the shadows, trailing my fingers over the wood paneling to guide my way. The first room that I encounter is a bedroom. Another master suite. But this one belonged to a woman. Javi’s mother. Her things are still here. Just the way she left them. Preserved beneath a thick layer of dust. Her blankets are turned down, nightgown draped over the end of the bed. Nothing looks out of place. It appears as though nothing has been touched since that last morning she woke up. I move through the room like a ghost, afraid of any noise I might make. Afraid to even breathe. It is her desk that has captured my attention. A desk stacked with journals. One by one, I leaf through them. They are chronicled by time. The earliest are the works of the brilliant scientist she was known to be. But as the years progress, they catalog her descent into madness. The later stacks are filled with gibberish. Words rewritten over words. The pages are
almost entirely black in some of them, impossible to read. But the ones that I can see are clear enough. She talks of the implants. Her fears for Javi. She speaks of the steps she needs to take to safeguard the house. Her shopping lists. Her projects. She details her suspicions of the mailman. The maid. Her co-workers. And gradually, one by one, she tars them all as spies. It is when Javi is five years old that the surgeries begin. She describes them in horrific detail, right down to the precise muscles she believes the devices are implanted within. She decides it is not safe to keep Javi in school and withdraws him. Shortly after, she loses her job, citing irreconcilable differences. There is an indication that the doctors are trying to poison her with pills. Pills she refuses to take. And the journal entries continue over the span of Javi’s brief childhood. Until the very last day. Only one entry was penned on that day. Haunting last words. They got to her too. She can feel the device inside of her. And it has to come out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MY EXPLORATION of the West Wing is a measured task. It is done slowly, day after day. I don’t want to arouse Javi’s suspicions, and there is only a limited window of time that I feel confident in my routine. He continues to avoid me, for reasons I don’t know. But if the past is any indication that could turn on a dime. I question if he’s even capable of feeling guilt for the things he’s done. And then I wonder if he has tired of me. It shouldn’t matter to me. I should be relieved. But instead, I am lonely. More isolated with every passing day. And I am hesitant to acknowledge that I miss his company. His warmth… and on the rare occasion he offers it, his affection. Today, I pass by the remaining bedrooms in the West Wing. They are empty. Nothing to see. But I do find the surgery room again. And the tapes again. There are piles beside the projector. I don’t think I can stomach to watch any more of them. So I dig through the cupboards instead. Checking the labels and seeking out anything else that I might have missed before. There are too many bottles to count. More surgical tools than most operating theaters
probably have. Additional journals with irrational entries. And one odd looking key. At first, I dismiss it. Until I realize that it could be important. The lock on the door to this room is broken, and the key doesn’t fit. There is no window, so I go to another room and try the door and window there. Still no luck. I stare at it for a long while, trying to figure out what it could be for. As much as I want to believe it, it wouldn’t make sense for Javi to have a key of importance haplessly lying around like this. He is too careful for that. Even if he forbade me from coming into this wing, he had to know I might still try. So I go back to the surgery room and poke around the cabinets for a clue. They are all unlocked. But they aren’t attached to the wall. It is simply a standing row of shelves. Shelves that might have something behind them. It’s a long shot. And probably too risky to be moving furniture. Can Javi hear me in this part of the house? It feels so far away from his office. I’m not certain. Until I think of the bird again. And I realize that I am choosing safety over freedom. That if I really want to know the answers to my questions, I need to figure out what this key is for. I test the cabinets by wiggling them with my hand. They are old. Rickety. But they aren’t as heavy as I thought. I start out small. Sliding them just an inch forward. Pausing. Waiting. Holding my breath. Javi does not come. So after a minute, I move it another inch. And then another. And after I’ve cleared about half a foot, I can see it. The square shaped door in the wall. A built-in cupboard. With a lock. My heart beats faster.Louder. I move the cabinets again, not stopping this time until I can reach the lock. My arm almost gets stuck in my panic to test out the key. But with a twist, I hit gold. The lock turns. The door opens. And my shoulders fall when I see the contents. Tapes. They are simply more tapes. But why are they in here? Hidden away. It doesn’t make sense. Down the hall, a door slams and jolts me from my thoughts. He’s coming. He must know, and he’s coming. Gathering the tapes into my arms, I shove them into my pockets. I lock the door and slide the cupboards back into place. Footsteps echo down the hall, and I know I am caught.
He will be here any moment. And there is only one thing for me to do. I climb back down into the underground tunnel and run. Testing each latch that I come to with a sliver of light above. I pass up five before I find one that is unlocked. Oddly enough, it is the same one I escaped into before.In the conservatory. I swore Javi locked it again. But it doesn’t matter. He’s looking for me. And I need to hide these tapes and find a way to avoid his wrath. I dart into the one place in this room where I know he doesn’t have cameras and shove the tapes into a makeup case before securing them in the drawer. There is a loud crash from somewhere on the opposite side of the house. I don’t know what to do now. How to explain my absence, or if he knows. I creep back towards my room but stop when I pass the piano room. The piano. I haven’t played since those early first weeks. I haven’t wanted to play since long before I left Luke when he tried to turn me into a pop princess. But Javi asked me to play. He wanted to hear me play. And I can only hope that it will calm him now. I sit down on the bench and take a deep breath, closing my eyes as my fingers hover over the keys. Feeling them. Reacquainting myself with them. I don’t open my eyes. But I play. The song that I had stuck in my head for so long, but was afraid to give voice to. It’s rough at first. I have always done better thinking of the lyrics as I go along. Finding the right notes. I play it over and over again until I feel like I have it right. Everything else slips away. I forget why I came here as I get lost in the music. Nothing else matters at this moment. Not until I open my eyes and see him standing there. Watching me. Enrapt. Suspicious. I stop, and our eyes lock. “Keep playing,” he says. I keep playing. Javi doesn’t say another word. He just listens. Watches. Waits until the song is over. And then he leaves again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I HAVE UNDERESTIMATED LUKE. Underestimated his level of obsession, and also his reach. He has hired a team of private investigators. He is relentless in his pursuit of my Bella. He is sniffing around too much. Making too much noise. Her face is plastered over every major news outlet. Pop princess gone missing? Rumors of nervous breakdowns abound. Fans theorizing a possible connection to her father’s disappearance. Questions. Questions that I can’t have. The agency can’t know she is with me. And so it is time for me to quash the problem. River arrives at seven, two hours later than he said he would. We give each other a brief nod, and then he asks me where the girl is. If there is anyone I trust, it’s River. We were in the sanitarium together as children. I did not speak, and he spoke too much. And as luck would have it, he ended up being my roommate. He was annoying. Psychotic. But mellow, most of the time. And mellow was what I
needed. When I wouldn’t speak to him, he started writing me notes. In code. My brain liked the challenge. It took me a week to figure it out. He was smart, like me. So we wrote to each other. In code. I didn’t tell him my secrets, and he didn’t tell me his. We just talked. About stupid things. But it was nice to talk about stupid things. When everyone else looked at me like I was the worst of humanity. Like I was a monster.River never did. He was my first friend. My only friend. And he is the only person I would trust to look after my Bella. I have no need to call her out of her room. When she hears the door close, she comes on her own. Her face flashes with surprise and then fear when she sees that we have a visitor. The same visitor I tricked her with before. River smiles at her, juggling an apple between his palms. “Hello, Isabella.” “You know my name?” she asks. Her eyes flicker to me, and she bites her lip. She wants him to be someone other than who he really is. A knight come to save her. She wants to tell him about her monster. How I am keeping her here against her will. About the dirty things I do to her, but not how much she really loves them. The things he has already seen with his own eyes. “Of course I do,” he answers. “My friend Javi here has told me so much about you.” My cheeks heat, and I want to tell her that’s a lie. I’ve told River very little about her. But he is nosy. And this is his way of getting information. I have no doubt he will ask her plenty when I’m gone, while she tries to persuade him to set her free. “I’m leaving,” I announce. Both of them look at me. River takes a bite of his apple, and Bella’s eyes grow wide. Afraid. River is watching me carefully as I go to her, but I do not care. I touch her cheek. It has been so long since I’ve allowed myself to touch her. To feel her. To breathe her in. I want her. I want her to let me have her. “You are mine, Bella,” I assure her. “Only mine.” It is the right thing to say. Her shoulders relax, and she leans into my touch. It surprises me. River smirks. I don’t care. “Where are you going?” Bella asks. “I have some business to take care of.” She doesn’t know about Luke. She doesn’t know about the trouble he has gone to in order to find her. She also doesn’t know that I’ve been looking for her father myself. And that
Luke isn’t the only matter I am leaving for today. “How long will you be gone for?” Her lip trembles and something wrenches inside of my chest. An urge to comfort her. To tell her it’s okay. But that would be a lie. She is with me. And it is not okay. “I will be back soon enough.” “That’s what my father always used to say.” She retreats, and I feel the loss of her immediately. My hand is cold when I shove it into my pocket and turn away. River gives me a nod before I go. One that says everything I need to know. He will take care of her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
IF JAVI HAD A BROTHER, it could be River. They are alike in so many ways. Both lofty and well built. Masculine. Dark. Mysterious. But where Javi is closed off, River is open. There is something about him that alarms me. The way he smiles. It isn’t normal. I don’t trust that he’s all there in the head. But then again, I don’t trust that Javi is either, really. And yet, I have started to feel safe with Javi. It is the story my father used to tell, becoming my own. I am the caged bird, adapting to my prison. The guilt and confusion weigh heavy on my soul. I should want to leave. Before it’s too late. It’s a long shot. But I have to try. River is eating another apple. His third since he arrived. He is at ease in Javi’s home. He is at ease around me. I doubt there is anyone that can truly ruffle his feathers. “What has Javi told you about me?” I ask. “Very little, actually,” he says between bites. “I was just giving him shit.” “So he hasn’t told you?” “Told me what?”
“That he kidnapped me? That he’s holding me here against my will?” River smiles. Unfazed. “Oh, he did tell me that.” I glare at him. “So that’s the kind of man you are? You’re just going to let him do this…” “Do what?” he asks. “You look fine to me.” “I don’t want to be here,” I bark. “Please, if you have any morals at all… please just let me go.” He is quiet for a moment. I think he might actually be considering it. Until he laughs. “Do you know where I met Javi?” “No.” “In the psych ward,” he says, twirling a finger around his head. “That should tell you I’m loco, little Bella.” “You met him in the sanitarium?” Suddenly, I’m less concerned with my escape and more interested in what he has to say. “After he killed his mother?” “Yep.” His reply is matter of fact. Unbothered. And I find myself wondering about him too. If he doesn’t seem to mind that Javi killed his mother, I can only imagine what he was in there for. “You know what I think?” River asks. “What?” “I think you like him. I think you like the mystery of him. The dangerous man beneath the hood. Have you seen him yet?” I open my mouth to deny it. But River laughs. “Spare me. You can lie to yourself, princess. But you were worried about him leaving you here with the big bad wolf because you feel safer with him.” “I just want to leave,” I tell him. “Do you?” he asks. “Do you really?” “Yes.” “And go back to what? That glamorous life you hated so much? Your pervert manager who couldn’t keep his mitts off you?” “It’s not any different than Javi. I’ve traded one hell for another.” But even as I say the words, they feel like a lie. I hate it. I hate that I am so confused about Javi. I don’t understand why I feel things when he touches me. Why I dream about him sometimes. Or why I lie awake at night in my bed, listening to see if he will come down
the hall to my room. River can see this weakness inside of me. And I’m certain Javi can too. “I’m going to go read,” I mutter. River reaches for another apple and nods. But when I enter the hallway, his words stop me. “How do you know?” I turn and look at him. “What?” “How do you know he killed his mother?”
JAVI HAS BEEN GONE for four days. It feels like a year. It’s strange without his presence here.I’m on edge, and I don’t really know why. I’m lonely and bored and the last four days have left me wordless and anxious. River doesn’t bother me. He lounges around the house all day, eating apples and listening to music. Today I catch him looking at some of Javi’s drawings. Drawings that I have only recently discovered myself. They have the same precision as the ones he used to send me. I sit down across from River and watch him as he studies the charcoal sketches. “What do you think they mean?” River rolls his eyes. Laughs. “Why does everything have to mean something? Maybe he just likes to draw.” I don’t reply. He’s a smart ass. And I don’t know why I even thought to bother with him at all. I stand up. But he stops me again. “They’re tattoos.” “Tattoos?” River pulls up his sleeve and shows off his own ink. Raises his eyebrows at me like I’m a half-wit. “I know what tattoos are.” “Congratulations,” he replies. “You’re an asshole.” “Never said I wasn’t.” We fall silent. Staring at each other. I want to ask him when Javi is going to be back. It’s taking too long. And I don’t know why it matters, but it just does.
“He draws them,” River tells me. “I ink them.” “He has tattoos?” “You really haven’t seen him,” he says. “Have you?” I shake my head. He smiles. “Won’t be long now.” I glare, and he makes a gesture with his hand. “You can run along now. I’m bored of you.” And so continues the next three days. River doesn’t look at me. Whatever concerns I had in the beginning are long gone now. I know now that he either respects or fears Javi too much to do anything to me. We are like ghosts in the house, living together, but not really speaking. Until the seventh day. When even he is on edge, and he comes to the conservatory and finds me reading. He walks around the room, taking in the roses and the books while eating his apple. Quiet. Too quiet. “I have to go out for a little bit.” “What?” “I have to leave for a while.” At first, I think he’s joking. But it becomes obvious that this time he isn’t. I’m not really concerned with the why, because this could be it. My chance. “Okay.” He’s quiet again. Thinking again. Watching me while he eats his apple. “It’s been too long.” “What do you mean?” “He should have been back by now.” I swallow. Tell myself I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. Javi doesn’t mean anything to me. If he’s gone, then it means I can be free again. It’s what I should be thinking. Instead, something else comes out of my mouth. “Is he okay?” River shrugs like it’s not a big deal. But he looks concerned. As concerned as a psychopath can be, I suppose. “Come with me for a minute,” he says. “I need to show you something.” I close the book and stand up. He walks down the hallway, and I follow. He pauses at the door to Javi’s master suite and gestures to a piece of paper on the bedside table. I move to inspect it, only to realize it was a trick when River shuts the door behind me and engages
the lock. “What the hell?” I pound on the door. “Let me out.” “Sorry, princess. No can do. Gotta make sure you don’t cause any mischief while I’m gone.” “I won’t,” I lie. “Please don’t leave me locked in here.” “You have everything you need in there. I’ll be back soon.” “But what if you’re not?” I ask. “What if something happens and you can’t come back?” Silence is the only response I get. Because he’s gone. And when I turn around, I’m not any more relieved to see that he was right. He has, in fact, stocked the room with everything I could need. For what looks like a year.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
IT’S BEEN THREE DAYS. Three long, never-ending days. While River supplied me with food and books, he didn’t supply me with my journal. So I have my thoughts, but nothing to write them down with. I sing the new lyrics on repeat so that I can remember. I take baths. I eat the food he left in here for me. I attempt to read. But my mind is elsewhere. Scattered. Wondering what’s happening. Where is Javi? What is he doing? I don’t have to wonder long. On the fourth day, River returns. I want to slap him when he opens the door. But the expression on his face is grim. “What is it?” I ask. My stomach flips, and I’m afraid to hear whatever it is he has to say. He gestures for me to follow him. Something that didn’t bode well for me before, but this time, I trust his intentions aren’t trickery. I shuffle along beside him to keep up with his long strides.
“How are you with blood?” he asks. I stop. He turns around and sighs. “He’s been hurt.” His words urge me forward again, and we are walking in tandem now. He leads me to the conservatory. The same bed where Javi first held me captive is where he now rests, motionless. It isn’t until I am close that I see him. And I gasp. “What happened?” His clothes are shredded. Covered in blood and gravel. But it’s his face. His face that is no longer hidden beneath the hood. He looks like he’s sleeping. But his face is battered and swollen. He’s been beaten. Repeatedly. “Motorcycle accident,” River tells me. I turn to him and glare. “Don’t lie to me.” “What does it matter?” River barks. “Can you help him or not?” I hesitate. Unsure of myself. “He should be in a hospital.” Now River really does look at me like I’m stupid. “He can’t be in a hospital, Bella. He can’t ever go back to a place like that. I had to drug him just to get him back here.” Relief swells inside of me- if only briefly. He’s drugged, not knocked out. That is something, I guess. But the level of his injuries is not something I should be dealing with. He could have a concussion. He could have broken bones. There could be internal bleeding. There could be a whole host of things that I can’t fix. But when I look at Javi, I know River is right. He can’t go to a hospital. He won’t. Not after his mother. Not after the sanitarium. “I’ll do my best,” I whisper. River nods and gestures to the chair beside the bed. It’s stacked with first aid supplies. “I don’t like to watch,” he says. “Be careful of him when he wakes up. He won’t be pleasant.” “You’re leaving?” “I’ll just be in the kitchen.” I nod because I guess it’s better this way. I don’t need him here, questioning me. Watching
my every move and second guessing me when I’ll be doing enough of that myself. He moves to go. And then pauses. “Bella?” “Yes?” “Hurt him, and I’ll kill you.”
I’M NEVER SUPPOSED to see him. He would never allow me to see him. But right now, he is powerless. And it feels wrong, as I cut away his clothing, knowing he would not like this. But it also feels right. I am at war with my own thoughts. Part of me feels guilty for wanting this. For finally feeding the monster inside of me who craves this. The one who has wondered for so long what that dark figure looks like when he doesn’t have a shadow to hide behind. What this killer is hiding beneath the hoods he wears. My mind has conjured up so many different things. But my imagination never could have prepared me for the reality. He is massive. Imposing, even in a dead sleep. And he is completely naked now except for the black jocks stretched across his hips. His body is a mural of muscle and ink. Muscles that have been well built and well-utilized stretch over the canvas of his frame. An array of colorful ink kisses almost every visible inch of his arms and chest. He is beautiful and utterly terrifying. I knew this all along. But confronting it in such a visually violent way is a horse of a different color. I finally have the chance to study his face. The long, jagged scar that cuts across his forehead and all the way down to his cheek. My fingers hover over that scar. Wanting to touch. Wanting to heal. I’ve always known his scars existed, but the extent of them is shocking. There are so many. Angry and red. Deep and thick. Some are small and round, others stretched and jagged. They litter his chest and abdomen, biceps and even his neck. But the most notable is the scar intersecting the crest of his dark eyebrow. It makes him look like a warrior. And he is. Javi has been through so much. There is no denying it now. He was only a child when he was marked by these horrors. My father never spoke of Javi’s scars. There was only one time when I caught him watching the news of the events that unfolded that night. He said that it was the perfect storm of circumstances. Those words have haunted me for so long. They have instilled within me so many questions. Doubts about the things I read in Javi’s file. And perhaps justification for my baffling response to him.
My father knew Javi was dangerous, but he trusted him. He never came to harm while in his presence. The few times my father did speak of Javi, it was with reverence. My dad was the smartest man I ever knew. And yet, he would say that Javi’s mind was the most incredible thing he’d ever beheld. At this particular moment, faced with the beast himself, I would have to disagree. It is his body. Though scarred and hardened, he is a work of art. One so twisted, Poe could write infinite sonnets about the darkness he carries around with him. A beautiful monster. I can’t look away from him. And I have never stared at anyone this way. He is bloodied and battered, and utterly gory. And still, he is the most captivating sight I have ever beheld. I need to get a grip. I need to help him. Fix him. But I don’t even know where to begin. There is gravel lodged deep into the skin of his knees. His elbows. Fresh cuts litter his body. I take note of them all, categorizing them into order of severity. I decide to start with his face first. While he is still asleep. I know that River is right. When he wakes up, he won’t be happy. So, I need to work fast. The cut on his cheek is the worst by far, and this is the one I start with. Little by little, I cleanse the blood from his face with a wet cloth. Seeing him in a different light. He is still rigid. So rough around the edges. His beard is wild, and so is his long dark hair, pulled back into an untidy bun. It’s an odd thing. I had no idea his hair was so long. I wonder when it was last cut. And then I realize, he has nobody to cut it for him. But when I smooth it away from his face, I also realize it doesn’t need to be cut. Not really. He’s a Neanderthal. But it works for him. For his masculine bone structure. His oversized frame. Even with all of his hardness, there is still something soft about him too. At least like this. When he’s asleep. His face is relaxed. At peace. His lips soft and full, and his nose strong. His skin is softer than I expected. Naturally olive in complexion. His hair and his beard are dark. But even those are soft. I drink in his features while I can. Pausing my work every so often just to stare at him. To try to make sense of this beast of a man before me. But he is a puzzle I still haven’t figured out. And there isn’t time now. I feel him beginning to stir. When I go to work on the gravel, drawing it from his skin, he wakes completely. There isn’t time to prepare myself for his reaction. It is instinctive. A wounded predator, cornered. He launches his hand upright and seizes me by the throat. His breathing is harsh. Labored. And his eyes are vulnerable. So vulnerable. The wildest eyes I have ever seen. “Javi.”
My hand covers his, but I don’t struggle with him. I don’t resist. He needs reassurance right now. And that’s what I intend to give him. “Javi, it’s okay. I’m trying to help. You are injured. I’m just trying to help.” His brow furrows when he glances down at his body. His almost naked body. Shame washes over his features, and his grip on me loosens if only a little. “Leave me,” he roars. He is trying to intimidate me. But he can’t. Not this time. “No.” His eyes meet mine. Fiery. Confused. Frightened. “I’m going to tend to your wounds, Javi. Whether you like it or not. So please don’t fight me.” His hand trembles around my neck, and then slowly his fingers fall away. He is quiet. Still. And now I am the one shaking as I go back to work, pulling the gravel from his wounds. He hisses when I hit a tender spot, and I apologize. I am gentle with him. As gentle as I can be. But I know it still hurts. He doesn’t like me seeing him this way. He is ashamed. Embarrassed. But he has no reason to be. He did not cause these scars on his body. I want to tell him that he shouldn’t care what anyone thinks. But it is easier to say than to know how he must feel, living with such scars. “Why are you doing this?” he asks. “Why are you helping me?” The words are on the tip of my tongue. The words I should say, to protect myself. I should remain stubborn and indignant. Rebellious to my situation. I could tell him that River threatened to kill me. That I had no choice. But those aren’t the words that leave my lips. “I can’t just leave you here like this, Javi. Someone needs to take care of you too.” “I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” he growls. And now he is the one who is stubborn and indignant. I smile up at him. But it is not mocking. It is just that I never thought I could relate to him. But at this moment, I can. “Everybody needs some help sometimes, Javi. Even men like you.” “You mean monsters like me.” I shake my head. “I don’t think you are nearly as monstrous as you make yourself out to be.” His eyes move over me, but he does not reply. He does not say another word. Until I am
finished. When he asks me for something else. He asks me for some clothes. It is a softly spoken request. A difficult one for him to make. I don’t fight him on it. But when I return from his room, he is not happy with the selection I brought him. A pair of black sweats and a tee shirt. “A hoodie,” he demands, his polite demeanor gone. “No.” I cross my arms and hold my ground. “I have seen you now. River has seen you. There is no reason for you to hide.” He glares at me. “You would choose to look at me this way?” he sneers. “Yes,” I answer without hesitation. “I would prefer to see your face when I speak to you, Javi.” He does not believe me. He thinks it is a trick. And my heart hurts that he feels this way. I don’t want to feel bad for him. I don’t want to sympathize with him. But I do. I know better than anyone what it’s like to be so critical of yourself. To believe the nasty things people say about you. I know what it’s like to feel ugly inside and out. I know what it’s like to be a monster too. Javi might not know it, but there is still humanity left inside of him. There is still good. And I don’t know if he deserves it, but I want to fight his demons with him. I want to prove to him once and for all that these scars don’t matter to me. That the things I say and do are not a trick as he would like to believe. I’m not even certain what his reaction will be. Or how far I am willing to go. But I only know that it feels right when I kneel beside him on the bed and straddle his hips. He is hard beneath me, already. His breath still and silent when he looks up at me. I slide the strap of my tank top over my shoulder until it falls, repeating on the other side. The material pools around my waist, revealing my bra. Javi watches me, growing in size and hardness beneath me. I unbuckle the clasp, and it falls away. I am naked from the waist up. My breasts are heavy and tender and cold. I reach for his hands, and he lets me guide them to me. He touches me, groaning when I rock against him with my hips. There is still a barrier between us. His jocks and my panties. It feels safer this way. And also more forbidden. We are so close, but not quite skin to skin. It doesn’t matter to Javi. He fondles me roughly in his calloused hands. Groping my breasts and then wrenching me forward to kiss him. His mouth is hungry, and so is mine. I drink him in. I taste him. And I move against him. It becomes frenzied. Both of us forgetting the extent of his injuries until one of his wounds reopens, and he starts to bleed again.
I move to stop. To apologize. Javi clutches my hip and forces me to keep going. “I like it,” he tells me. The pain. He likes the pain. It concerns me. It excites me. It makes me want to hurt him and please him all at once. But Javi is in control now. Even from the bottom. He grasps my hips and forces my movements. Using me as the warmth and friction he so badly needs. I am a prisoner in his arms again. But I am free. Free to my sordid desires.I lean back and press my hand against his cut, applying pressure. Too much pressure. I give him the pain he needs. And then I pull away. His eyes darken when he sees the way his blood stains my skin. He is feral again. Seizing my bloody palm to smear it down between my breasts, marking me with his blood. I whimper, and he comes. For what feels like forever. His body purging itself of the pain inside of him. He kisses me again. And then releases me. For a moment, I don’t move. I don’t want to. I want to stay here with him, like this. I don’t understand it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me or why I want him this way. But I can’t control it, and I can no longer deny it. Javi is tired. His eyes are heavy and relaxed. But the longer we sit here, staring at one another, the more the tension creeps back into his body all over again. So I move from him. Slowly. I clean his wound again and then reach for his jocks. He grabs my wrist. “I’ll do it.” He doesn’t want me to touch him again. Because he’s exhausted and afraid he won’t be able to control himself if I do. It’s there in his eyes. And I had no idea how open his eyes could be until now. “You should get some rest,” I tell him. “I will make something for dinner.” I turn to go, and he stops me again with his hand. “Bella?” He looks up at me, anxious. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I MAKE SPAGHETTI FOR DINNER. River digs in as soon as he smells it. Javi is a different story. When I take the tray to the conservatory, he is still sleeping. I hover, unsure whether to wake him or not. He senses me before I can make a decision and his eyes open slowly. He is defensive again. Wearing the sweats I brought him earlier along with a hoodie that I didn’t bring him. It is obvious he has made his own way to the closet, and I make a mental note to take care of that problem as soon as I leave him tonight. “Are you hungry?” I ask. He tries to sit up, wincing as he props himself against the headboard. “What is it?” “Spaghetti.” “I don’t eat spaghetti,” he says. “Have you ever tried it?” He doesn’t reply.
I sit down beside him, and he reaches for the tray. I pull it back. “Let me help you.” “I don’t need your help.” “Then you don’t eat.” He growls, and I ignore him. I couldn’t imagine him attempting to eat this himself after the way I saw him eat before. I twirl some pasta on the fork and bring it to his lips. He’s still staring at me. Being stubborn. “Open.” He opens, reluctantly. I feed him and tell him to chew slowly. He listens this time, watching me carefully. When he swallows, I ask him how he likes it. “It’s… fine.” I’m relieved. It’s silly. But I want him to like it. I want him to experience something else besides peanut butter and jelly or macaroni and cheese. He eats the entire plate I brought him and then relaxes back against the bed. “Will you tell me what happened to you?” He stares at me. Guarded. “It was nothing.” “It’s not nothing,” I argue. “Is this because of the agency?” I can’t hide the worry in my voice. The worry that he will end up like my father too. “I can’t tell you that.” It’s the same generic response my father used to give and I know I’m right. I hate that I’m right. And I miss my father so much my heart feels like it’s splintered. I hate the agency. I hate them for taking him away from me. For lying to me. And I am angry at Javi too, right now. For not having the consideration to think that he might do the same one day. That he might just disappear, and then… Then I would be free. It hurts to think about. I look at him, uncertain. He is confused too, by my response. By my emotions. “I am sorry, Bella,” he says. And he is sorry, but for what I don’t know. “How can you work for them?” I ask. “Knowing that they don’t care. That you might meet the same fate. How can you do it?” He raises his brows, reaches for me, but stops himself.
“I am not going anywhere.” “That’s funny,” I tell him. “Because it’s the same thing my father always used to say.” “Your father did not want to leave you,” he says. “He did not do it by choice.” “I understand that,” I snap. “But the very agency that he has risked his life for refuses to tell me anything. For all I know, they want him to stay gone.” “Bella,” Javi says, and this time he does touch me. “Your father was not the man that you imagine in your head. He has many secrets. And many enemies too.” His words are not meant to hurt me this time. I can tell by the way he says them. But he believes them wholeheartedly. And I still can’t accept this when I know how much my father cared for him. I can’t comprehend what happened between them to make Javi hate him so much. But I’m tired of guessing. Avoiding. And I know he won’t be this agreeable forever. So if Javi wants to tell me some truths about my father, perhaps it’s time for me to listen. My fingers fall into my lap, and I lean back in my chair. “Will you tell me about him?” I whisper. “Will you tell me about your relationship?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HER EYES ARE SOFT. Hopeful. I can’t deny her. It would be better that she did not know. It would be better if she did not ask these things of me. But she has seen me. Touched me. And I want her to do it again. I want to give her the answers she seeks. The only thing I can ever really give her after the things I have done. “What would you care to know, my sweet?” “How did you meet?” she asks. It is an innocent question. And because my Bella is so innocent, she could never know the depths of her father’s depravity. She could never know the injustices he served to not only me but countless others. And she could never know the deepness of the despair this memory invokes in me. I will forever remember the day that I met Ray Rossi. He found his way into my room at the sanitarium, and I assumed he was another doctor. Someone else sent to pry the secrets from my mind. But he was different. Both in dress and decorum.
He was powerful. He told the nurse to go, and she listened, hesitating only briefly at the door. She informed him that I was dangerous. He met my eyes and smiled. “He is a child.” The nurse left, and Ray sat down with me. He wasn’t like the others. He did not ask me questions. He did not ask me to talk. Instead, he handed me a workbook. It had puzzles and math equations. Things that I liked. I wondered how he knew. I had done some of my own, on the paper they sometimes let me have. The doctor would stare at my scribbles strangely. He tried to make sense of them, I think, but he never could. This man, though, he understood. And this is exactly what I tell my Bella. “He brought me puzzles.” “At the sanitarium?” she asks. I nod. She waits quietly. Hoping for more. I don’t know what to tell her. There are so many things. Things I have waited to say. Hateful things. Painful things. Things that tear at the very fabric of the man I am now. I want her to know what a coward her father is. I want her to hate him as much as I do. To understand that given a choice, he would probably betray her too. He would rather leave her here with me than risk his own life to get her back because that’s the kind of man he is. But for as long as I’ve waited to say these things, I can’t seem to tell her now. Not yet. “He brought them to me every week.” “So you liked the puzzles,” she says. “I see you working on them sometimes, around the house.” “Yes.” “Because you’re smart, Javi.” I don’t reply. My mother always said I was smart because I was good at science. Like her. But I was never good at people. “And then what happened?” Bella asks. I try to recall the exact order of events. The time that I was locked away, and for how long. At first, I had counted the days and weeks and months. But when Ray started coming to visit and bringing me the workbooks, the counting ceased. I spent my free time completing the books. They became more and more challenging over the course of his visits. And I always wanted more. Sometimes, I completed them too soon, and I had to wait days for another. Until finally
there was a day that Ray came back, and he wasn’t alone. He had a different man with him this time. And he asked me for the workbook. The workbook that had been the most complicated one he’d ever brought me so far. I gave it to him. He smiled like he was proud of me. He hadn’t even checked it yet. But he told the other man he didn’t need to. He handed it off to the stranger who inspected it with a furrowed brow. That man looked at me, uncertain. “This can’t be right,” he’d said. “He’s only a boy.” Ray laughed and handed me another workbook. “Javi, can you do me a favor?” He opened up the book and pointed to a page. “Can you solve this one for me?” I took the pen he provided and solved it in ten minutes while they watched. The man beside him was smiling too when I finished. “Well, I’ll be damned.” They looked at each other, and then to me. “So?” Ray asked. “How about it?” “I think perhaps you are right,” the man said. “I think he will make an excellent addition to the program.” Ray looked at me and nodded. “Indeed.” I didn’t know it then, but my life was about to change. It was about to get better, for the first time in a long time. I didn’t know then that I would grow to hate Bella’s father so much. I didn’t know the kind of man that he was. Because he showed me something else at first. Something I needed at the time, in a world where nobody understood me. The man who gave me guidance and a purpose. The man who took me away from the sanitarium. He never treated me like I was dangerous. He helped me with my anger. He helped me as much as he could. He did everything he could to help me. And now here I am, holding his most beloved daughter captive in my home. When I think of those early days, and how much I cared for Ray- how much I respected him- it hurts to think of what has become of us. I can’t uncross the lines I have already breached. I can’t undo the moments I caved beneath the weight of my darkness and gave into temptation. But what I can do is be honest with her. I can try to make her understand. At least some of it. Until I’m ready to give her the truth. “It was never about leaving you,” I tell her. “Or choosing me.” She looks at me, eyes shining, and then hides them beneath a veil of hair.
“That isn’t what it felt like. He left me to go to you. He did it all the time.” “Because he was responsible for me,” I explain. “And he was teaching me. It was only part of his job.” She glances up at me, and her eyes are still wet, but it isn’t for herself. “You were never just a job to him, Javi. Surely, you must know that. He cared about you as if you were his own son.” His own son. Those words hit me hard. Much harder than I could anticipate. I knew that he was proud of me. I knew that he felt responsible for me. But I also know why he took on the burden of helping me. I did not live with him as a son would. I was kept separate. Alone. He came to visit me at the program, and I kept to my routine. I did what he asked of me, and I excelled at everything he put in front of me. Because I wanted to make him proud. At the time, I felt indebted to him. For saving me from that place. And for saving River too when I had requested it. He had given me so much. I never had a father. But hearing Bella say those words makes me feel as though perhaps I did. Perhaps I did see him that way, and I just never knew it until now. And now, there is a foreign sensation inside of me when I look at my Bella. So soft and sweet and broken. Caring for me after all that I have done to her. She is inherently good.She sees past my ugliness. My feelings for her are split. I want to hurt her. But I want to protect her too. And I think that perhaps she was right. I think the person she most needs protection from is me. “What are you thinking about, Javi?” she asks. I don’t like that she can see me so well. That even beneath the hood I have replaced, she can read me. It’s strange, not being able to hide anymore. It makes me feel exposed. I want to forget that she has seen all of me. That she has witnessed my scars. I wonder if they haunt her. If she cringes when she thinks of them. But I cannot tell her these things. “I’m thinking about what your father would say,” I reply. “If he knew you were here.” She is quiet. Lost in her own thoughts as she studies me. “Sometimes, I don’t know what my father would say,” she admits. “I love him very much. But I feel like I don’t know him very well. He had so many secrets. And I have wondered…” She threads her fingers together in her lap and looks into my eyes again. “Wondered what?” I press.
“I have wondered what he did to you, Javi.” I do not answer her. Bella rises from her chair and moves towards me. My pulse quickens. She approaches me the way one would approach a wild animal. My fists are locked at my side, my muscles tense. Her arm trembles and her lip does too. She raises my hood and pushes it back away from my face. My body is still sore. Still healing. And it looks worse than usual. I don’t like this. I don’t like her seeing me like this. I move to grab her wrist. But she is fast this time. And determined. “No, Javi,” she says. “I want to see you. Let me see you.” My body goes on the offensive. Every muscle tightening and contracting. Every instinct inside of me demanding that I eliminate the threat. But one look into Bella’s eyes gives me the control I need to restrain myself. My hand falls back to my side. And I let her see me. I cannot deny this angel. She moves between my legs. Hesitates. Now it feels as though she is the predator. She sits on my lap, and her palm comes up to touch my face. I close my eyes when she maps out the scars with her fingertip. I don’t like it. But I don’t want her to stop either. “Bella.” My voice is hoarse. Strained. I don’t know what I need from her. But my Bella knows. She leans in and kisses me. She kisses my scars, healing me in some way. As though they could disappear beneath her gentle touch. I know that they can’t. But it feels like they are. Like she is the cure to my disease. Her lips find mine. I can’t be gentle with her anymore. I catch her face in my hands and kiss her violently. She whimpers but does not protest. I am hard for her. So fucking hard. I grind my hips into her soft flesh and want so badly to feel her from the inside. I want to destroy her and fill her with my come. I want her to cry so I can taste her tears. I want her to make me bleed. I don’t know how to make it stop. I can’t cure this madness in my head. I’m not supposed to want her this way. I’m not supposed to feel anything when I look at her. Her hands are on me. On my skin. Beneath my shirt. Touching me. Feeling me. Burning and healing me. “Take off your sweater,” she begs. “Please, Javi.” I look into her eyes, seeking out the deception I am certain to find there. But it is absent. “Please,” she says again.
I push my hand between her legs. Cupping her through the leggings. She is wet for me. For the monster beneath her. I don’t understand it. How can she want something so bad for her? “Javi.” She’s pulling up the sweater herself now. My mind is still at war, but my body is responding to her. Lifting my arms up when she tells me. My sweater ends up on the floor, and my chest is bare for her. Hard and scarred to her soft and pure. Her palms move over me, exploring. Her lips find the skin of my throat first. And then my collar bone. Then the scars that litter my body. I close my eyes, and my head falls back against the chair. She is the only one I’ve ever allowed to touch me in this way. I would not have believed that it was possible.That it could be real. But it is. I am allowing her to touch me, and she is wet for me. “You have always been mine,” I tell her. Her hand moves down to the bulge in my sweatpants, cupping the hard heat through the material. “But what about you, Javi?” she asks. “Does that mean you are mine, too?” I groan when she squeezes me through the material, my self-control hanging on by a thread. She leans forward in my lap and kisses my neck again. All the way up to my ear. “Let me have you,” she says. “Let me have all of you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
JAVI’S FINGERS dig into my hips, his eyes sharp and intense. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” “I do,” I tell him, and it’s a lie. I know Javi is fucked up in the head. I know that he is a well of darkness I haven’t even tapped into yet. And I fear those parts of him. But I am also drawn to it. The darkness in him speaks to the darkness in me. The space between us is loud with energy, boiling over into our heated skin. “Get up,” he tells me. I hesitate. Afraid he is going to reject me. Afraid he is going to send me away. It isn’t what I want. I don’t know how to convince him otherwise. He reaches up and snags a handful of my hair in his grip. “Are you going to do what you’re told, Bella?”
His voice is menacing and hot. Hungry and full of promise. He’s on the verge of breaking. And I think he just might give in. So I stand, and he releases his grip on my hair, lifting his hips up to remove his sweat pants. I try to help him, and he growls at me. “Do as you are told, Bella. Be a good girl.” I let him do it, even though it’s obvious he is in pain. He removes his pants and slides to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over so that his feet rest on the floor and his hands are at his sides. “Now come here.” I come to him, still fully clothed. Javi directs me with short, precise commands. He tells me to remove my shirt. And I do. Then my pants. I do. I’m standing before him in my bra and panties, and he’s on the verge of losing control. I want him to. So I provoke him by removing the rest without his permission. I am naked before him. Naked and cold and vulnerable.Something I have never liked to be. I don’t know why I like it so much right now. Javi’s palm spreads over my hip and slides up my rib cage to cup my breast, his thumb skating across my nipple. I jerk forward like I’m being pulled by a magnet. Crushing against his body heat, and still not close enough. He is a composition of hard muscle and painted tattoos. His cock, rigid and swollen against his thigh. He’s a monster. A chillingly hot monster. And I want him. I want him so badly it hurts deep in my core. He’s going to ruin me. Destroy me. Physically and mentally. I know this. And yet I beg him for it, even as he shoves me to my knees before him. “Kiss me.” I kiss him. On the head of his cock. The moisture of his arousal slides over my lips, and I part them to lick it off. In doing so, my tongue brushes against the head of his cock, and he groans. As with all things, Javi does not have the patience for me to take him softly or slowly. He grabs my head and shoves himself deep into my throat, gagging me. He holds me there, testing me. My hands rest on his thighs, and I don’t dare move. I don’t even breathe. I remain silent and still, my eyes watering while he measures my limits. “Is this what you want, little Bella?” I try to nod, but I can’t move my head under the force of his grip. He sighs and releases me, allowing me to fill my lungs. I look up at him. He expects animosity. Hopes for it. Anything to stop this. His eyes are
pleading with me. Begging me to have some sense. To understand that he is a monster. To understand that I am asking him to destroy me. My eyes implore him to do it. To do the thing my lips can’t speak of. I rest my cheek against his thigh, stroking my fingers over the scarred skin there. The still raw wounds of his new injuries. Pressing a little harder than I should. Giving him the thing I know he wants and craves. The pain. He shudders. Petting my hair beneath his palm while I trace the sensitive flesh with my nails. And I know. I know he’s going to give into me now. He can’t help himself. He reaches for something on the bedside table, and I don’t see it until it flashes beneath the light. The edge of the metal blade presses against my throat, dragging over the skin there. My heart accelerates, and my eyes snap up to his. One push and he could end my life right now. I already know him to be a murderer. He murdered his own mother. But it’s his eyes that give him away. This is his last attempt at pushing me away. He wants me to be afraid. He wants at least one of us to come to our senses. I reach up and rest my hand over the blade. Gently, he allows me to remove it from his grip. I press it against his thigh. Javi’s eyes heat and his cock jumps. He wants this. He wants this fucked up scenario more than anything. He wants me to do the very thing his mother did to him. I should stop. I should run away. I should reason that they were right to put him away. To lock him up and institutionalize him. But the need inside of him calls out to me. And instead of appealing to logic, I dig the blade into his flesh. I dig until it pierces the skin and crimson oozes from the wound. His lungs are at a standstill when I move my free palm between his legs to stroke his cock. He grunts. Bucks into my hand. Tosses the knife away and yanks me up onto the bed. He is still bleeding from his thigh, and I wonder if I did too much. If I went too far. If I crossed a line I won’t be able to uncross. These thoughts all crash through my mind in jarring succession while he positions himself over me and secures my wrists above my head. I don’t even know what he bound them with until I see the ropes around the bed frame. The fear is potent when I pull against them and can’t move. “Javi,” I plead with him, my voice betraying my terror. “Please…” “I warned you, Bella,” he says. “I told you.” He reaches for the knife. I squeeze my eyes shut and tremble beneath him. The tip rests against my collar bone, trailing along the sensitive flesh before it dips lower. Onto my chest, directly above my breast. “My turn.”
He cuts into my flesh, and I don’t make a sound. Javi is breathing hard enough for both of us, his voice heavy with arousal when he speaks. “Open your eyes.” I open my eyes. The ache is intense. Euphoric. I feel lightheaded. High. And I can’t tell if I am afraid or turned on when I glance down at the red line on my chest. It is only small. Superficial. Enough to draw blood. I thought it would be worse. It felt so much worse. Javi leans forward, pressing his skin into mine. He kisses me. It’s so fucking wrong to like this. That’s what I keep telling myself. It’s so fucking wrong what he’s doing to me. I know it. He knows it. But we can’t help ourselves. I am at his mercy as he drags his lips down my throat and sucks my nipple into his mouth. He licks me until I am raw and drenched with need. And then he pulls my legs up around his hips, opening me up wide for him. It hurts already, and he hasn’t even entered me. I look up at him and plead with my eyes. I want to ask him to be gentle. I want to tell him to just take me. It doesn’t matter though because Javi does what he wants. He drags his cock through my arousal and pushes inside of me. “Javi.” He thrusts deep. I freeze. Burn. Cry. He collects my tears with his lips. “My Bella.” He rocks his hips into me. “My Bella.” I squirm beneath him, uncertain whether I’m trying to break free or get closer. His eyes find mine, soft and warm and golden. They are so different now. He is changing before my eyes. The icy walls around his heart are thawing, and it’s because of me. His fingers brush over my cheek. My lips. Full of worship. I squeeze closer to him, and his eyes flutter shut. The pain of our past fades beneath the soothing touch of his fingers on my skin. His lips on my neck. His body in mine. I ache to touch him. I beg him to free me from my restraints, but my pleas go ignored as he reaches down to touch me. He makes me come with several strokes of his fingers. It isn’t violent this time. It is a slow, lingering burn that stays with me while he sucks on my throat, marking me. Claiming me. He is bare inside of me, the way he always has been. Raw. I should tell him to pull out. I should be worried. Scared. Logical. But I can’t be any of those things with Javi. I am drunk on the kool-aid. Intoxicated by him.
My lips part against his throat. Breathing him in. I’m going to tell him to be smart. To think about this. That’s what I’m going to do. But the words come out of my mouth wrong. So, so wrong. And so, so right. “Come inside of me, Javi.” He bucks against me and thrusts all the way inside, jerking as he empties himself deep in my womb. Filling me with his come. Filling me with poisonous thoughts. I want him. I hate him. My feelings for him are a battlefield. And the only refuge I have is that when he looks down at me, I can see the same reflected back in his eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MY BELLA always tastes so sweet when she is like this. When she is pliable and sated and filled with my come. Her tits red and swollen from my beard and my tongue. Her chest dried with blood. And a cut that I trace with my finger, wondering if it will leave a scar. She is still bound at the wrists, but she no longer begs me to let her go. When she looks at me now, there is warmth in her eyes. Warmth that lies and lures me in. Warmth designed to make me let my guard down. She is still trying to deceive me. I am certain. How could she ever love the beast that I am? My body and mind are tired of this war raging on inside of my head. I untie her and lay beside her. She touches my chest with her fingertips. Hesitant. Anxious. There is a part of me that feels shame for that. For making her fearful. For making her question me. That same part of me wants to tell her that it’s okay. That she need not ever be afraid of me again. But that would be a lie. And unlike her father, I am a man of my word. I may not have honor, but the one thing I will not do to my Bella is lie to her now. I will not give her false hope where none can
live. For tonight only, I will hold her. Comfort her. And in the morning, she can learn all over again why it is unwise to trick me.
SUNLIGHT WARMS the back of my eyelids, and for a moment, I have forgotten where I am. My body is stiff and sore. A reminder of the events that have unfolded over the last several days. A reminder of another sacrifice I have made for this girl. One that I cannot fully comprehend. My intentions were simple. I would go to Luke and buy out her contract. I would tell him that she was done. He was never to speak her name in the media again. It should have been simple. But what I did not anticipate was that Luke was expecting me. That I would be greeted at his door by seven armed guards. And that I would be held there while they tried to beat their answers out of me. It was an irony I could not help but find amusing. I told Luke as much when he tried to punch me in the face. He doesn’t know the meaning of torture. And there was not a thing he could do that would ever make me tell him where my Bella was. I had already been subjected to torture on a level that Luke’s mind could never grasp. In the end, his guards were weak and ignorant. Luke was a slave to his addictions. Coming and going at all hours of the night, fueling his body with the drugs he needed to function. His guards got lazy. The beatings became careless. Lacking heart and spirit. Eventually, they became indifferent too, as they led me to the bathroom. They thought me weak. And that was the last thought they had before I killed them. All but Luke. Him, I am saving for another time. When I have regained my strength. When I can question him and find out who is at the root of this betrayal. I think of my Bella. I think of how she tricks me with her soft touches and warm looks. She could not have known my intentions for leaving. But I want to believe it is her. That she is the traitor at the root of this. It is easier to believe than any of the other scenarios in my mind. That I have been so careless not to have noticed I was followed. That the agency is watching me, and they are perhaps connected to Luke. These are all questions I have. And the answers have not yet come to me. But today… today they will. I will remember why I am doing this. I will remember that Bella is nothing to me. The only way this game can end is for me to destroy her before I deliver her fractured soul back to Ray. The same way that he destroyed me. I take a deep breath and open my eyes, recoiling at the brightness of the conservatory. Her scent still surrounds me. But when I roll over, she is not there.
My blood roars as betrayal rages through me. She is trying to escape. Trying to trick me. All of her words the night before… lies. Her touches… lies. Her soft glances and her acceptance of what I am… Lies. And she will pay for it like she has never paid for anything else before.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I‘M IN THE BATHROOM, digging through the drawers when a shadow passes over the frame, and I look up. Javi is there, stark naked. A powerhouse of muscle and ink. Muscles rippling with tension and golden eyes that are molten with anger. Those wild eyes move over me, cataloging every detail and trying to piece something together in his own mind. I’m in nothing more than a towel myself, fresh from the shower, wet hair hanging down my back. He glances at the brush in my right hand, and the dress I’ve picked out for today draped over the chair. He watches me carefully. Full of suspicion. He wants to lash out at me. He wants to believe that I am tricking him again. That I was planning to leave. To run away while I had the chance. There is no point in trying to reassure him. He would not believe me, no matter what I said to him right now. So I go about the business of brushing my hair while he watches from the doorway. “What is it you think you are doing?” he snaps. “Getting dressed,” I answer. I can see his longing to punish me. To hurt me. To push me away. But I also see the relief
hidden behind those harsh emotions. I’ve seen him vulnerable now, and it has changed everything between us. Even now, the tension still lingers. The chemistry that neither one of us can deny. His palm throbs with the craving to pull me closer. To keep me at arm’s length so I can never run away from him. But I think that even Javi knows he is powerless to this force now. He is softening. Bit by bit, I am chipping away at his armor. At his insecurities. I have seen this transformation. I have no intentions of stopping it. I point to the comb and scissors laid out on the counter. “I thought I might give you a haircut today,” I tell him softly. “If you’d like.” His eyes move over the comb and then my face. I won’t get a firm yes from him. I can already feel him slipping away. It needs to be now. I walk to him and take him by the hand. A hand that is so much larger than mine. A hand that can inflict pain and pleasure in equal amounts. I stroke my thumb over his palm and smile up at him. Soft. Vulnerable. Nervous. I want him to say yes. I pull on his arm, and he follows. And when I gesture to the chair next to the sink, he sits. The chair is small, and he is large. Still naked. He doesn’t like it. So I remove my towel and wrap it around his shoulders before placing another over his lap. Towels so large they swallow me whole look like mere scraps on him. I spread his long hair out and reach for the comb. I don’t know how much he’ll let me cut off. I don’t know if he’s even had a haircut since he was a child. “How short would you like it?” I ask. He’s quiet. Tense. Annoyed. “Just cut it all off,” he answers. So I cut. And I cut some more. And I keep cutting, waiting for him to erupt. But he never does. When it’s short enough, I pull the electric razor from the drawer and start to trim. It’s a long process. But he does not complain. The longer I work, the more relaxed he becomes. When I am finished with his hair, I move onto his beard. Trimming it to a more manageable level. One that highlights the strong features of his face, but still hides the scars lurking beneath. And when I am finished, I hand him a mirror. He stares at his reflection for a long time. I don’t know what to expect. I don’t know if he likes it. He simply hands me back the mirror and grunts. “Are you done?” “Yes.” He gets up and tells me to finish getting dressed while he walks down the hall to his own room.
I know what will come next. I hasten to put on my dress and wait for it. I wait for his fury. His yelling. And just as I feared, he appears in the doorway a moment later. This time, he is clothed in jeans and a tee shirt. But his fists are locked at his sides. The vein in his neck is pulsing. And his eyes are lasered in on me. “Where are they?” he demands. “You don’t need them anymore,” I whisper. He stalks towards me, and I scurry back until I hit the wall behind me. He corners me and grabs my face, rough and dominant. “Where. Are. They?” he roars. It takes every ounce of courage I can muster to do what I do next. I yell back at him. The way he always yells at me. “You. Don’t. Need. Them.” He stares at me in disbelief. Then annoyance. And I wait for it. Wait for him to blow. To flip. To say he’s going to punish me. To threaten me and scold me and have his way with me like he always does. But this time, he is waning. There is uncertainty in his eyes. He wants to believe me. And I am not about to let this opportunity pass me by. “I have already seen you,” I tell him again. “There is no reason for you to be lurking around here with your face covered in shadow all the time. Especially not now that you’ve had a haircut.” He searches my eyes. Looks for the lies hidden within my words. I take him by the hands again, and he lets me. He lets me touch his face. “Is it so wrong of me to want to see you?” I ask. “Can you not believe that perhaps I am telling the truth, Javi? That perhaps I actually find you incredibly handsome.” He doesn’t respond, so I continue. “Things are always worse in our own minds,” I remind him. “You should know this better than anyone. The way you exposed my fears and exploited them when you brought me here. The words you played on repeat. The ones you knew would hurt me most.” He looks away. And for the briefest moment, I thought I saw shame in his eyes. But he does not voice it. He does not allow me to witness it again, either. “Your scars mean nothing to me, Javi. Please. I am only asking you to try it.” “I want them back,” he says again. But his voice has lost the harshness from before, and he does not demand that I bring him the hoodies now. Instead, he simply leaves the room.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
JAVI LOCKS himself in the office over the course of the next three days. He has not asked me for his hoodies again. From the rare glimpses I get when I catch him in the hall, I know he is walking around without them. I am lonely. There is a hunger inside of me that I can’t defy. I ache for his body against mine. The smell of his skin. The vibrations of his voice. I lay in bed at night and wonder what he’s doing. I wonder how to break through the walls he has built so high around his heart. And then I wonder why I want to. Why am I still so broken for him?So willing to overlook the things he has done. My mind and heart are divided. I don’t know how to find peace with either decision when they both hurt so much. It is ripping me apart. I can love him or hate him, but I can’t go on feeling both. I write in my journal. I play at my piano. And I sing songs with words only he can hear. But still, he does not come. My heart is melancholy, and I think of my father too often. I wonder where he is. If he’s
even still alive. I wonder what he would tell me to do if he were here now. Then I remember it wouldn’t matter. Because I have always been on my own. Even when he was there, the solitude was an ever-present guest. He was consumed with work, and I was consumed with vying for his attention. My soul is tormented by the mystery of his fate. The unknowns that still linger. But even so, there is peace in my bones. Peace that wasn’t there before. I am at ease with the knowledge that Javi needed him too, in his younger years. Regardless of whatever happened between them, Javi did love my father once. He looked up to him. And I know my father loved him too. Now, only questions remain. Questions I am not certain I will ever have the answers to. Not until Javi is ready to share them. The doorbell rings again this afternoon, and this time I do not race to see who it is. Javi locks eyes with me before he moves towards the door. Searching for what he is so certain he will find there. Hope. Hope that someone else has come to save me. But that is not what he sees. I know, because it is not what I feel. I ignore the visitor and continue the business of writing new lyrics. It is only River anyway. He comes into the kitchen to snatch an apple from the counter before he follows Javi into his office. They shut the door behind them and remain there for an hour. And when River leaves again, Javi emerges. Agitated. He looks at me, and I do not like what I see there. I don’t like the doubt in his eyes. The shift in his mood. He seems cold now. Shut down. I think he’s going to punish me again. He’s going to push me away or hurt me. But that isn’t what he does. He goes to the gym. And stays there for two hours. Punishing himself instead.
I‘M SOMEWHERE between worlds when Javi startles me by removing the book from my hands and setting it on the table beside me. The conservatory is dark now, apart from the glittering lights of the stars above and a solitary lamp on the table beside me. The roses are fragrant, and the air is warm, and there is something else in the room between us. A new energy. A strange energy. An exciting energy. Javi bends down and scoops me into his arms, carrying me to the bathroom. He places me on my feet again and removes my clothes before starting the bath. I don’t question his actions. We are both silent when he helps me into the bath and begins to wash me. Shampooing my
hair and cleaning my body with his hands. When he is finished, he moves to pull the plug, but I stop him. “Don’t,” I plead. His eyes are absent of the turmoil I saw there earlier. He is softer now. And I don’t want to waste these moments, which are so rare with him. “Will you let me wash you?” He is silent and still for a long while. Too silent. Too still. I don’t know what he’s going to do. Not until he removes his shirt and unbuttons his jeans and discards them on the floor beside my own clothes. Then he climbs in behind me, pulling me into his arms. He does not let me wash him. But he holds me. And that is more than I had hoped for.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
WHEN THE WATER IS COLD, Javi helps me from the tub. He dries my hair with a towel and then my body too. He uses the same towel on himself, and I watch. Then he takes me by the hand and leads me back into the library in the conservatory. He pulls one of the chairs onto the hardwood floor and cups my face in his palm. “Do you know what I need from you, my Bella?” His voice is gentle. Filled with want. And it doesn’t matter what he needs from me because whatever it is, I will do it. I nod. He kisses me. “Good girl,” he says. “Now stay right here.” I stay in place while he walks back across the room and returns a moment later with a cup in hand. A cup that I recognize well from my early days with him. It is filled with dry rice. Rice that he scatters on the floor beneath me. I swallow and look up into his eyes when he is finished. Wondering if he is angry. Wondering if I’ve done something wrong. But that isn’t what I find. Today, I only see need. He needs this from me. And so when he
asks me to kneel, I do it without question. It has been a long time since he punished me this way, and I have forgotten the pain. But I bear it. For Javi. For Javi, I would bear anything. The thought scares me. Excites me. Confuses me. He sits in the chair in front of me. Naked. Hard. Swollen. He spreads his thighs in offering, and I lean forward to take him into my mouth. I draw him in, and he strokes my cheek reverently. “Good girl, my Bella. That’s such a good girl.” I work him over for a long time. Until my knees are on fire from the pain and I’m certain he’s about to come. But he stops me before I can get him there. He grips me by the hair and leans down to meet my lips. Kissing me in a way that he never has before. Like he is worshipping me. Like he is tasting me for the first time. It goes on until I am dizzy. And then he instructs me to lay back. I do. My knees are grateful for the reprieve, but my back smarts when the tiny grains of rice dig into my flesh. The pain is soon forgotten as Javi kneels down before me and squeezes my thighs in his palms. He buries his face between my legs, and his tongue inside of me. I cry out and jolt against him. He presses his palm into my stomach, holding me in place while he pleasures me. I come hard. And then I reach down and touch his face. I beg him for more. I plead for him. Javi leans back and drags me closer. His knees digging into the rice as he drives inside of me in one solid stroke. He squeezes my hips and angles them for his pleasure, thrusting in and out of me with violent need. Grunting and slapping against me as he stares into my eyes. It goes on forever. Until he can’t hold himself up anymore. Until my body is completely limp in his arms. Until he finally roars out his release and then collapses beside me. We lay there for a long time. Catching our breaths. Entranced by each other. I can feel that shift again. A barrier being swept away. It’s liberating. It feels like progress. We have come so far together, extricating ourselves from the prisons of our hearts. He kisses me again, and it’s sweet. Then he lifts me into his arms and sets me down on the chair, brushing the grains of rice from my skin and kissing the swollen flesh with his lips. “Such a good girl, my Bella,” he tells me again. “Would you like your reward now?” I nod because it does not feel like a trick. Javi dresses himself. And then me. He retrieves a remote and turns on a projector I never knew existed in this room. Fear twists in my stomach, but one look from him quickly snuffs it out. This is not a trick. Not this time. He brings me into his arms, turning me to face the screen. When it comes to
life, I am surprised by what I see there. A YouTube video. Of me. Singing at the piano. In Javi’s house. Here at Moldavia. Nobody else would know it, but I do. The room is black. So black. And I am playing one of my new songs. One that I sang for him. One that I wrote about him. The video is public, for all the world to see. My chest squeezes as he scrolls through the comments. I’m expecting the worst. I close my eyes and try to turn into him, but he guides my face back towards the screen and whispers in my ear. “Open your eyes, Bella. This is your reward.” I open my eyes. And I read. The comments are not what I expected. They are positive. Uplifting. The listeners say how much they like the song. How they miss my voice. How they hope that I will put out more. And there is more of the same, the longer Javi scrolls. I don’t know how it’s possible, but it is. “You uploaded this?” “Yes,” he answers. “They miss you, Bella. It is not fair for me to keep your voice only to myself.” I turn to him, and this time, he lets me. And he does something else. He wraps his arms around me and presses my cheek to his chest. And then he dances with me. Humming along to the music that I made. Music that I didn’t even realize he recorded. I wrap my arms around his waist, and I relax in his arms. For five minutes, nothing else outside of this room exists. For five minutes, Javi lets me inside. And in those five minutes, my emotions become so clear. I am in love with my captor. He is my tormentor. My greatest source of pain and fear. But somehow, he has also become my sanctuary. My whole world.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
BELLA IS IN MY BED. The same place she has been every night for the last three weeks. She came to me on her own, and I could not bring myself to ask her to leave. Even though I know it makes me weak. Even though I still question at times if it’s real, or if she is even more skilled than her father at trickery. She continues to come here, night after night. Curling her body into mine and wrapping my arm around her. She wakes in the morning and cooks breakfast, humming pieces of new music every day. She seems happy. And this was not the way it was meant to go. This was not the way at all. But when she kisses me this morning and looks up at me with sleepy eyes, I think that perhaps I never really stood a chance as far as Bella was concerned. I think of Ray, and he seems like a distant memory now. My Bella does not speak of him. And I often wonder if she thinks of him. If she misses him, still. If it’s true, she doesn’t say.
Each night, I go to bed with a new resolve. That tomorrow, I will punish her. That tomorrow I will make her pay. But each dawn, my resolve is gone all over again. My pulse hammers in my throat when she looks upon me. When she touches my scars and does not recoil. When she begs me to fuck her. I do not know what she is doing to me. She is poisoning my mind. Ruining my plans. Making me forget my revenge. I should be furious with her for doing this. But instead, the contempt I feel is for myself. I know that it cannot last. I know that my own mind is playing tricks on me. That given a choice, Bella would leave me. Because I have conditioned her to be this way. It is an illusion. A temporary illusion. And in time, the spell she is under will fade away, leaving only her bitterness and her own desire for revenge. If we continue down this path, I would let her take it. I would let her take my life to satisfy the inevitable darkness that lies buried in her heart beneath the lies. Because Bella cannot ever truly care for me. That was not the way this story began, and there’s no changing that now. She is a weakness. One that only metastasizes over time. And this is why I must act now. Before it is too late. Today, I decide, is the day. There is no other choice. I can no longer give in to the temptation of her. Which is why I climb from the bed before she can say a word. Before she can touch my lips, or ask me sweetly to be inside of her. I tell her there is something I must do before I dress and leave the room. I wait in my office until she is up and about, moving around the kitchen. And then I text River my instructions. When his reply comes through, I retrieve my toolbox and move to the entryway. The window is stiff, and it must be pried from the place it has rested for so many years. It groans loudly, and I do not have to look to see if she is watching. I can feel her eyes on me. Curious. I can almost hear the questions in her mind. And it is exactly what I wanted. So I do not know why I feel so ill. I do not know why I hesitate to answer when River’s call comes through exactly as I asked. I want to look at her. I want to see her one last time. But I don’t. Because I know it will only make me change my mind. It will only make me weak. With a stiff greeting, I answer River’s call. He mumbles into the other line, asking me what’s up. I tell him to hold on. I shut the window, but I do not lock it. Bella is watching. Thinking I’ve become complacent. That I am comfortable. Perhaps even forgetful. Silently rejoicing as I walk to my office and close the door. I ask River to give me an update on his end of the search for Ray so that I can use the time to think. To listen quietly to the sounds outside the room. I can’t bring myself to check the camera. Watching her come to terms with her decision
before she slips away. I can’t watch her leaving me because I will chase after her. I will want to punish her and lock her away again. But I can’t. It has to be now. I have to let her go. So she can no longer poison my mind. My heart. “Javi,” River says from the other end of the line. “What?” “You aren’t listening to me. What is going on over there?” “Nothing,” I tell him. “It’s nothing.” Silence greets me on the other end of the line. A long, painful silence. I know it will not last, and it doesn’t. “I knew this would happen.” “What would happen?” I ask. “This girl,” River snarls. “She has made you weak, Javier. She has poisoned you. Crippled you.” “No.” I don’t sound convincing even to myself. And I do not deny what he says next either. “Have you have fallen for her?” The quiet is tense, and I do not possess the energy to argue with River right now. I can only think of my Bella. My Bella slipping further and further away from me. It will take her twenty minutes to get to the main road. And from there, only a few minutes to the nearest gas station. She could be back home by noon. “She does not love you, Javier,” River tells me. “You must know she does not love you. It isn’t real, whatever she thinks she feels. Whatever tricks she plays on you. They are the same we have been taught ourselves many times. You must know this.” “I am aware of that,” I reply. “And what of your revenge then?” he asks. “My revenge will still be had. The past cannot be changed. I have damaged her, just as I set out to. I have tainted her. And when Ray comes home, he will see for himself.” “She does not look so damaged to me,” River remarks. “Walking around your home as she pleases. Wearing clothing and doing whatever she feels like. You have gone soft.” It is true, so I do not dishonor him by telling him otherwise. But I do try to reassure him. “It is done. It has already been done.” He is silent again, for several moments. Taking his time to gather the right words as River sometimes does. “Do you remember how they tricked us?” The memory of his fake murder still plays on repeat in my head. Every day, it has haunted
me. The way they deceived me. The way they used River as a tool in my training. They took everything from me. I believed he was dead, for so many years. For so long, I had nothing else but the thought of my revenge. And River knows this too well. “You were my only friend,” he tells me. “My first friend. Do you remember that, Javi?” “How could I ever forget?” “They took you away from me,” River says. “Ray took you away from me.” “I know.” “They tortured you too, Jav. Brainwashed you.” “I know,” I say again. “But what is the worst of his offenses?” he asks. I do not answer. Because I do not have to. River already knows. “Ray lied to you. He told you he believed you. But they chose you specifically, Jav. They turned you into a killer because they believed you were predisposed already. He tarred you with that brush, and he didn’t care if it was true or not. He made you what you are. He destroyed you.” I close my eyes, and Bella seems so far away. The rage is frothing inside of me, and River won’t stop. “They printed it right in your file, Jav. Those vile words about your mother. Have you forgotten so easily?” The flashbacks wrench me back in time, swallowing me whole. “Enough,” I say. But River does not listen. He speaks of my training with a level of detail that nobody else can. Because he is the only one who knows of my confessions. He speaks of the torture. The waterboarding. The burns. The mind games. The deceptions and punishments that followed. He speaks of the blood I spilled. Repeatedly. The tests. And I tell him to stop, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t stop until I have smashed the phone against the wall and red is the only thing that I see. Hatred. Rage. Hell. The door crashes against the wall from the force of my adrenaline. The vein in my neck throbs and my footsteps ricochet down the hall as I stalk towards the kitchen. She will be gone. She needs to be gone. I wait for the cool air. The air that will inevitably linger from the window where she has escaped. The breeze that will carry her scent as she runs fast and far away from this place. From me.
I expect quiet. The peace that I desire so badly. But I do not find those things. Instead, I find my Bella, still at the kitchen stove, her eyes wide as she watches me come down the hall. “Javi?” she whispers. “Why are you still here?” I roar. She backs into the counter and hugs herself, shaking her head frantically, but no words leave her mouth. “You should have left when you had the chance!” I sneer. I chase her around the counter and grab her arm, and she pleads with me as I drag her from the room. “Javi, please. No, please. Whatever just happened, don’t do this. I’m begging you.” Her words fall on deaf ears.I block out everything around me and focus on the red. The pain. The revenge. I am no longer weak. Nothing can break me. Not even this girl and her trickery. This is what I tell myself. This is what I believe. Until she speaks again. “Javi,” she whispers. “Javi. I love you. Please. I love you.” I freeze. And I stare at her. This girl with the pale blue eyes, more venomous than even her father as she spills such lies from her lips. I tell her so, and she tries to deny it. “It’s true,” she says. Tears track down her cheeks. And this time they do not make me weak. They do not make me want to fuck her either. They fill me with wrath all over again. “You are a liar and a fool,” I tell her. “I am not a liar,” she cries. “I may be many things, Javi. But a liar is not one of them. I will prove it to you. I’ll do anything. Anything. Just tell me.” This time, I smile. And I feel like my old self again. “Anything?” I ask. “Anything,” she replies.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
JAVI TUGS me down the hall. In a matter of seconds, everything has shifted. He is dragging me back to the past. Back to the room of horrors. The room where his mother carved him up. Where he carved me up. Where everything is bad between us and nothing is good. This isn’t where I want to go. But he asked me to prove myself. And I will. I will prove that it doesn’t matter what he does to me. He will see. In the end, he will see that I am truthful. That I do love him. And my love for him is stronger than his rage. Stronger than his hurt and his fear and his vulnerability. I will break through those barriers if it’s the last thing I do. So when he straps me down to the table, I do not resist. I remain silent, even as he stuffs my mouth with another gag and takes away every last shred of free will that remains in me. I do not cry. Even when he leaves the room. I do not feel ashamed when he comes to me the next morning and fucks my mouth and comes on my face.
I do not feel dirty when he comes back again at night and fucks me in the ass and comes on me again. I do not resist when he makes me pee in front of him and then restrains me once more. I do not protest that my stomach is hungry and I have not eaten or showered. And I do not feel sorry that he has turned me into a feral animal all over again. Coming and going as he pleases throughout the day, using me like a toy. Covering me in his come and then leaving it to dry. Calling me names while he fucks me. Lashing out and insisting that I will tell the truth soon enough. That I will break. But he is wrong. And it infuriates him that he is wrong. Because I do not break. Not even by the fourth day when I am truly disgusting. He does not fuck me again on this fourth day. Instead, he releases me and tells me to go clean myself up. He is too calm. Too silent. And I know something is not right. I expect the worst, the entire time I’m in the shower, scrubbing myself clean. Even when he tells me to get something to eat, I cannot. It only compounds my fear. He goes back to his office. The house is too quiet. But the storm that’s brewing is loud. I can feel it. I can feel it in my bones. Something awful is about to happen. I saw it in his eyes. The chill. The conviction. He intends to break me. Just as he always said he would do. He said he would destroy me. It’s what he set out to do. And perhaps I have been a fool to think that he has changed, even after everything. Perhaps I am the only one who feels. I don’t have to wonder long. Because at nightfall, the bell on the door chimes again. I expect River. It’s always River. Never anyone else. Nobody else comes to Moldavia. Nobody. But it is not River at the door tonight. The scent of her perfume assaults me first. And then I see her in all her beauty, standing coyly on the threshold when Javi greets her. This place is familiar to this woman. Javi is familiar to this woman. There is no doubt, she has had him before. He gestures her inside, and I rot on the inside. Agony paralyzes me as he leads her down the hall to his bedroom. There is no second thought about me. The door shuts with a resounding noise. My gut churns. My heart shrivels up and dies. And I was wrong. So, so wrong. Because Javi can still break me. He can still destroy me. He’s done exactly that. At first, I am immobile. Unable to move or blink or even breathe. And then the restlessness takes over. I pace back and forth in the kitchen, frantic. Sick. My fingers quake and my head spins. I want to vomit. I want to scream. There are no tears. There is no sadness. I am captive to only one thing now. Undiluted rage.
Hatred that burns so bright, I fear it will never be extinguished again. I can’t control it. I can’t deny it. The animal in me has taken the wheel. The animal in me is the one who grabs a knife from the wooden block on the counter. The animal in me is the one who walks down the corridor and heaves open his bedroom door, expecting the worst. Poised to kill. Poised to kill them both. But the woman in me sees only Javi, resting in a chair by the fire with a glass of whiskey in hand. My eyes scan the room, seeking to destroy. But she is not here. She is not anywhere. The animal doesn’t care. She wants retribution, and she will have it. When Javi dares to look at me, I lunge for him, striking out at his chest. He grabs hold of my arm and halts the blade mid-swing. “What’s the matter, pet?” he taunts. “I hate you!” I scream. I try to thrust the knife again. This time he doesn’t stop me, and it glances off his chest. He’s bleeding. But it isn’t enough. Not when I see the cruel laughter in his eyes. The way he mocks me with his lips. “I thought you loved me,” he sneers. “That’s what you said. You said you would do anything. Anything to prove it.” “Not that,” I cry. And the tears are real now. Pain. So much pain. I feel like I’ve been punched in the heart. “Where is she?” I demand. “Who is she?” Javi snatches me by the throat and looks deep into my eyes. There was a time when my tears turned him on. A time when he liked to collect them like sweet memories. But now, they disgust him. I disgust him. With my feelings and my humanity and my love. “You never loved me,” he snarls. “Fuck you,” I choke out. He smiles. And it scares me more than any of his other smiles. Because there is nothing behind it. He is dead. He is without anything now. I don’t know how it came to this. How everything changed so abruptly. Even as he drags me to the bed and tears off my clothes, I want to believe that there is hope. I want to believe all is not lost. This is just another temporary bout of insanity. But I should know by now. Everything Javi does leaves a permanent scar. He unbuttons his jeans and thrusts inside of me without warning. “Fucking liar,” he chants.
“You’re the liar!” I scream. “You’re pathetic. You can’t even admit your own feelings. You can’t even admit that you care for me.” It’s the wrong thing to say. He stops. And dread fills my stomach. I try to look back at him, but he presses my face into the bed. Then he takes his cock out and nudges it against my ass. I bite my lip to keep from crying out when he shoves inside. Now he wants my tears for a whole different reason. To punish me. But I won’t give him the satisfaction. I won’t let him see my pain. Not anymore. My strength only enrages him further as he grabs me by the hair and yanks. “You are nothing,” he tells me. “Nothing!” To further prove his point, he reaches for a pillow and frees it from the case. And then he wraps the case over my head, so he doesn’t have to look at me. He fucks me raw. Hard. Brutal. Neither one of us says a word. I cry silent tears behind the veil of the pillowcase, and he grunts out his frustrations before finishing inside of me. And when he is done, he pushes me away with one final parting blow. “Nothing.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
WHEN I WAKE, it is to the sound of the private phone line ringing. River. A glance at the clock confirms that it is three am, and I fell asleep at my desk. Drunk. I’m still drunk when I pick up the phone, and his words are not clear. That is my initial reaction. “Ray is back,” I hear. “What?” My head throbs and my eyes burn. “Check your email.” I rouse my computer from slumber. My inbox is filled with alerts. Ray Rossi has been found. Alive.
My initial reaction should be relief. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Hoping for. The day has finally come. Ray is alive. And he will finally know the suffering I have inflicted upon his daughter. Upon Bella. River mumbles something from the other line, asking if I’m still there. I disconnect the call and stare at the screen. My gut churns. It’s too soon. That’s my only thought. It’s too soon. I wasn’t ready for this. I’m not ready to let her go. I tell myself that she hasn’t been broken. That I need more time. But it’s a lie. Because it does not matter what I did before. Nothing else matters. After tonight, she will never look at me the same way again. My Bella is as broken as broken can get. She has seen me for what I am. She has seen me at my worst. She has dared to hope. And her hope has turned to dust. I flip over to the house security screens and search for her in the dim light. She is not in my room. Or the conservatory. Or even her own room. I continue searching, and I do not find her in the piano room. Or the library. Or the kitchen. Or any room. Dread coils deep inside as I search them one by one again. Something is wrong. Something is off. She isn’t anywhere. I leave my office and check the only places without cameras. The bathrooms. But they are empty too. I pace the halls and check the doors and windows. All locked. I can find no trace of her. Not one. My mind conjures up the worst scenarios as I retrace her last steps. My bedroom is the same as I left it. The pillowcase is now on the floor, next to her panties. And her shoes. Her shoes. Next to the bed, the floor board is misplaced. The trap door. The same trap door I sent the prostitute through upon her arrival this evening. And I don’t know how I missed it. How I could have been so careless. My Bella is so smart. So observant. It is too late. I fear it is too late. I have lost her forever. Following her scent, I descend into the passageway and find my way along the walls in the darkness. Waiting for a sound. A shadow. But there are none. When I reach the end, my worries are only compounded. The door is cracked, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from the outside. This is the way she left. It’s almost four am now. I don’t know how long she has been out here. I don’t know if she
found her way in the darkness. Flagged down a passing car on the old dirt road. What if someone took her? Someone worse than me? My chest caves in. There is nobody worse than me. That’s what I’d like to believe. But for my Bella, there are others who could be worse. I have to find her. I have to get to her and… There is a footprint in the dirt. It’s not right. She went the wrong way. She came out in the darkness and could not see the path to the road, so she unknowingly ventured deeper into the forest instead. I walk beside her footprints and retrace her steps. They are wild at first. She was running. But as the brush thickens, the footsteps disappear, and I have only broken twigs and bent leaves to rely on. I listen for her. My eyes seek out her hair, shining in the moonlight. I do not see it. Not after ten minutes. Not even after thirty. But the trail is still here. And so I keep going. I keep searching, hoping that my Bella is still here. After two hours, I still have not found her. And all traces of her disappear abruptly. There is nothing. But I am in the middle of the forest. It doesn’t make sense. I stop, and I listen. And eventually, I hear something. The faintest of sobs from behind a tree. I find her curled into herself, her face resting on her knees. She does not look up, even though she knows I’m here. She continues to cry. Shattered. Defeated. Her feet are bloody, and her knees are skinned. She is scratched from head to toe. I scoop her up into my arms, and she does not fight me. She does not say a word the entire walk back to the house. She does not say a word as I draw her a bath and clean her wounds. She remains silent even as I bandage her. It is only when I put her to bed that she looks up at me. Broken. Empty. Her eyes are absent of the light that used to shine so bright. “I was wrong,” she whispers. “Wrong about what, Bella?” “I don’t love you,” she tells me. “I despise you.” I swallow. And I wish I had just let her stab me. But I give her the words that she needs to hear now. The only ones that matter. “Then your transformation is complete. And nobody can ever hurt you again, my sweet.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
MY BONES ARE weary and everything aches, right down to my very soul. Javi lays me in bed. His bed. If I had any energy left to argue, I still don’t know that I could. I certainly don’t have any fight left when he lies beside me and swallows me in his arms. He holds me while I cry. Comforting the hurt that he caused. The despair that is so much a part of me now I doubt I’ll ever be right again. I think that Javi is correct. He has broken me completely this time. He thinks I can protect myself now. But I’ve never been able to protect myself from him. Because even as we lay here in the solace of darkness, unburdened from the heavy strain that still lives between us in the light- his presence does comfort me. I bury my face into his chest and breathe him in. I beg him to stop. What, I don’t know. I just want it to stop. I want it all to go away. Either let the blackness swallow me whole, or push me back into the light. It’s too much. Too much to be torn between the two. He holds me closer still and tells me it will all be over soon. Then he kisses me. He kisses
me like it’s the last time he will ever kiss me. And we fall asleep. Together.
I WAKE with a sluggish heartbeat and an invisible pressure bearing down on me.I don’t know where it came from, this foreboding feeling inside of me. Because when I open my eyes, Javi is still there. Watching me silently as he strokes my arm. Desolation shadows his eyes, and I think it is only fair. I wonder if he slept at all, and then I remind myself that I don’t care. Because I hate him. We all lie to ourselves, sometimes. His scars are unsheltered in the early morning light. Old and new, they litter his body in shades of pink and white. Today, my monster is visibly fraught with sorrow. This battle has raged within him for so long. Whatever torture Javi suffered, it extended far beyond his body. It embedded itself within his mind and made a home there. He’s been caught between two sides, just as I have. Only now, he’s made his decision. It’s written in his eyes. What’s done is done. But I don’t have a map to his secret language, and I am too weary to guess anymore. Whatever my fate is, it’s for the gods or Javi to decide. He pets my cheek and brushes his lips against my forehead. Gentle. Sweet. Reverent. It terrifies me. It soothes me. And I cry when I reach out to touch him. I’m in too much pain to move. Javi does not smile this time. He does not exalt in this kind of pain. Instead, he tells me to hold tight while he retrieves some pills and a glass of water. He helps me to sit up and waits until I have swallowed them before he lays me back down. The distance between us now may as well be an ocean. He remains on the edge of the bed. His thoughts are somewhere else. “What is it, Javi?” I ask him. “What’s happening?” His eyes move over me, and they are open now. Mournful and reverent. “I was only thinking that perhaps I would like to be selfish,” he says. “I don’t understand what you mean.” His lip curls up at the corner in the faintest hint of a smile. “I think you have made me want to keep you. And that would be the most selfish thing of all, my Bella.” I don’t want to hope. I don’t want to fall for any more of his cruel deceptions. I can’t afford to get stung again. Not when I am so empty. But it does not feel like a trick anymore. Not with his eyes on me like this. Not with his voice gentle and sad and thoughtful. “You said you would always keep me,” I remind him. “Always.” I don’t want him to throw me away. Maybe that makes me pathetic. Maybe it makes me so
fucked up in the head I can’t be fixed. But when he even mentions a scenario where we don’t exist together, I can’t cope. The possibility douses me in fresh terror. Javi is the poison I drink so willingly because nothing else has ever tasted so sweet. He is everything. The light and the dark. The solace and the pain. The torment and the peace. And I can’t imagine not having him here with me. I can’t even consider it. My nails dig into the flesh of my palms until I draw blood. “You promised,” I tell him again. “You promised that you would keep me forever.” “My Bella.” He comes back to me, tilting my chin so that his lips hover over mine. “It is alright. I am here now, yes?” I buckle in his arms, and he catches me. His touch hurts like nothing else ever has. It is the best kind of pain. The only pain I ever want. Javi drags his nose down my throat, breathing me in. “Say what you said before,” he whispers. “Say it, and this time, I will try to believe it.” It scares me. It scares me so much I hold onto him so he can’t let me go. But I say the words. I tell him the irrefutable truth in our bed of lies. “I love you, Javi. I love you so much. You’ve fucked me up so bad. You’ve messed with my head, and I don’t know… there are so many things I don’t know. I don’t know how to fix them. Or unbreak them. But this is the one thing I know. I love you.” He does not lash out this time. He holds me. He kisses me. Whispered apologies flow from his lips over and over. He tells me everything is going to be alright. He says he will protect me and never let me go. For once, my mind and my heart are at peace. There is light in the darkness. And I believe him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
JAVI TRIES to rouse me from my sleep, and I dig in deeper. My dreams are too sweet, and his touch is so warm against me. I don’t want to move. I don’t want to go anywhere other than this space between my dream and reality. But he is insistent. “My Bella, I need you to wake up. Wake up and be a good girl for me, yes?” My eyes are cemented together, and the thing that he asks of me is easier said than done. The pills he gave me knocked me out. I don’t know how long it’s been. Days, months, weeks. I’m groggy and confused when I realize that I’m already dressed. Not just dressed. But dressed for outside, with a coat and shoes and socks. My hair is braided too. I blink up at him, and he is still blurry until my eyes adjust to the light. “It is time to go,” he tells me. “There is something we must do together.” I shake my head and tell him no. Whatever it is, I don’t want to go. “You will want to see this, my Bella.”
Still, I try to pull the blankets back over me. Javi sighs. “It is about your father.” And now he has my attention. “What about him?” My voice is froggy. I sound weird. Terrified. Terrified that he will have bad news for me. But Javi’s only answer is to help me from the bed. “Come,” he insists. I follow him. It isn’t easy. I’m still in pain. But he helps me every step of the way, allowing me to lean on him for support. He unlocks the front door, and my legs grow weak before locking into place. I don’t want to leave anymore. I only want to stay. The caged bird is me. And I am afraid. More afraid than I have ever been in my whole life to step foot out that door. But I know that I must. Whatever news there is of my father, I must go. I must find out. Knowing and doing are two different things. So even when Javi steps outside, I hesitate on the threshold. He looks back at me, extending his hand. A gesture that means so much more than just this moment. It’s there in his eyes. The change I had been hoping for all along. His barriers down. My monster is asking me to walk beside him. To trust him to guide me. To protect me and care for me. With this knowledge, I step beside him. He holds my hand and nods. He feels it too. We are in this together. The walls have come down, and the only barriers we have now are those of the outside world. He leads me to a motorcycle. His only mode of transportation. After providing me with a helmet, he helps me onto the back and secures my arms around his waist. The engine roars to life, and the comfort of his scent surrounds me when I lean into his back. He drives us away from Moldavia and back towards the lights of the city. My heart is calm, but my mind is loud with questions. It only gets louder when the scenery begins to change. When Javi turns into my old neighborhood. Then onto my street. I hold onto him long after he parks in the driveway. He doesn’t move either. But then the front door opens. And everything implodes. My father stands on the stoop. The same stoop where I never thought I would see him again. He is alive. And his eyes are on me. Swimming with relief. I try to spring from the bike, but Javi captures me around the wrist. Our eyes meet for a split second, and there is real fear in his. Fear that he might lose me.
“Javi, it’s okay,” I tell him. “It’s okay.” He hesitates for another long second before releasing me. I bound towards the stoop, the aches in my body fleeing in the presence of the joy I feel at this moment. My father moves to meet me. Slower than usual. He is walking with a limp. But he is alive. Alive and… hugging me. I sob against his chest. There are no words. None. Not between either of us, for a very long time. We just hold each other. And I am a little girl all over again. But he has never held me this way. It feels so right. It feels like everything in my world is right again. Until I look up at his face and catch the way he is staring at Javi. I have never seen him look at anyone this way. I have never seen so much hate. My arms fall away, and I wrap them around myself instead. Relief dissipates and fades into confusion. Turmoil. The reality of my current situation is like a brick to the face. There is no peace to be had. There never was. Because now I’m caught between the two of them. The two men that I love the most. The two men who hate each other. “Let’s go inside,” Dad says. “Shall we?” Javi dismounts from his bike and reaches the stoop in three long strides. Both men try to usher me in beside them, but Javi is the one I allow to guide me. I don’t know why. I am ashamed when I see the hurt in my father’s eyes. I am torn. I want to feel happy, but right now, all I feel is that the ground is about to give way beneath me at any moment. And Javi is the one I lean to. He has been my source of comfort and pain for so long now. Perhaps it is just conditioning, but it doesn’t make it less real. I want my father to understand that. But it is clear he does not. I try to read the unspoken messages that linger between them. Awful silence fills the room as they look to each other and then me. Dad instructs us to take a seat on the couch while he sits in his usual chair. The chair that has been empty for so long. I have so many questions. “Where have you been?” I ask. And now it is me who is unable to hide the hurt. It might not be rational, and I never realized it until now, but a part of me has blamed him for his absence. A part of me has been so angry with him for leaving me. “Isa, I am so sorry,” he answers. “Something went bad on a job. It wasn’t meant to happen this way, but it did, and I’m sorry for the pain I have caused you.” “That isn’t good enough,” I tell him, swiping away the fresh wave of tears as they fall.
“You’ve been gone for months. I need to know where. I can’t accept your canned responses anymore. I need to know what happened to take you away.” He sighs and rubs his forehead. “I was in South America,” he says. “Our convoy got hit by a rebel group, and they took us hostage.” I search his eyes, trying to discern whether he is telling me the truth. But the reality is, I don’t know. I have always accepted whatever my father told me without question. Only now, I am not so sure. Regardless, it doesn’t matter where he was. He could tell me whatever he wanted to, and I wouldn’t know the difference. He could be spoon feeding me agency scripted dialogue, for all I know. The important thing is that he’s home. And he’s safe. This is what I try to tell myself. “There is much to discuss, my dearest Isabella,” he continues on. “But we have all the time in the world for that. First, I must know. Are you okay?” He glances at Javi again as he asks. I swallow and nod. It doesn’t look natural, but I really do feel okay. Dad isn’t buying what I’m selling either though. His eyes are roaming over my scratched face and arms. “They are nothing,” I assure him. “I’m okay, Dad. I promise. I’m just so happy to have you home. I thought… I thought I would never see you again.” My voice cracks and he reaches out to take my hand in his, squeezing with reassurance. “I am okay, Isa,” he assures me too. “I promise.” I choke back my emotion to give him a watery smile. Beside me, Javi squeezes my other hand. A gesture of comfort and possession. I glance at him and smile too. He wraps his hand around my knee, staking his claim on me in a way that provokes my father even further. “Isa,” my father commands. “I would like to speak to Javi alone.” Javi sneers, and he does not break eye contact from my father when he tells me it’s okay. I rise to give myself distance from both of them. “No.” “No?” they both ask in unison. “I said no,” I reiterate. “I’m done with the secrets. With the lies. Whatever has happened between you, I deserve to know the truth. The whole truth. And I’m not going anywhere until I do.” My father shifts in his chair, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and rubbing at his throat. Javi is still calm, but now his eyes are on me. Concerned. I don’t like it. But it only makes my point that much more valid. My father does not miss Javi’s concern, and he seems to relax if only a little.
“Would you like to start, Javier?” Javi scoffs at him and then paces the length of the floor. “You would like that,” he says. “You would like me to be the one to hurt her this way. Because you are a coward.” My father does not answer. His easiness is gone now, and all that remains is the flint in his eyes.Neither one of them is backing down from this silent war of wills. Javi moves towards me and tucks me back into his side. “This is where we stand,” Javi says. “Bella has been with me for the duration of your long absence. Much has changed since you were gone. Because she has been with me, and she has fallen in love with me.” The guardianship in his tone and body language can’t be denied. Even his stance is fierce. Protective. For some reason, he feels the need to safeguard me from my own father. But his eyes are soft and warm when he looks in my direction. “And I have fallen for her, as well.” My father shakes his head in disgust, but I can only focus on Javi’s words. He just admitted that he’s in love with me. In front of my father. I don’t know what this means. But my stomach won’t stop fluttering, and my head is all fuzzy. I’m smiling, and I can’t help it. Even though my father’s face is tomato red. Even though he looks so disappointed in me right now. He curses in Italian and scrapes a hand through his balding hair. “I suppose you feel as though you have served your just desserts then.” “I will not deny that it is precisely what I set out to do with Bella,” Javi admits with shame in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” I tell them both. “None of that matters now. It’s the past. Dad, you are back home now. And Javi and I… we love each other.” “What have you done to my little girl?” My father howls. His eyes are teary when he looks at me, pleading. “Isa, he is a dangerous man. Whatever he has done to you… we can get you help. Whatever you think you are feeling for him right now, it isn’t real.” Javi argues before I can, speaking in his native Spanish tongue, which my father understands but I do not. My head hurts as they continue to bicker, and I realize that maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all. I can’t understand their words. But body language has no barrier. They hate each other. It is clear as day. I still don’t understand what happened between them. But despite the obvious tension in the room, I’m on a cloud of euphoria right now. It feels as though the storm clouds have finally lifted away and the sun is shining again. Javi loves me. And my father has returned. The rest will have to work itself out. The rest,
we can figure out later. My father segues back to English, and Javi follows suit, answering him so that I can hear. “I have hurt her,” Javi says. “As I set out to do.” The tone of his voice threatens my haze of blissful ignorance. Something is off. Something is wrong. Javi is withdrawn. His eyebrows pinched, his shoulders tense. He looks so ashamed. So guilty. And worse, he looks so far away. “I learned from the best,” he continues. “I had every intention of coming here to thank you, Ray. For guiding me. For showing me the way. For teaching me how to destroy the fragile minds of people who are not like us.” My father’s face pales, and a cold sweat forms over my body. I don’t know what he’s saying. That my father did this to him? That he did to Javi, what Javi did to me? I look up at Javi and see nothing but genuine sincerity on his face. He reaches out to touch my face, and for a moment, I forget everything else and focus on him. On the light in my heart. The one I thought long since extinguished, which now burns bright. “My Bella,” he whispers. “I wanted to be selfish. I would give anything to be selfish if I did not know that there was only one possible outcome from all of this.” My heart stops beating. My lungs stop taking in air. And I’m shaking my head before he can even say it. “What do you mean?” “Isa.” My father’s voice is harsh. Harsher than it’s ever been with me, and he’s looking at me like he doesn’t know me at all right now. Like I am no longer his daughter, standing here in the house that I grew up in. “What Javi is trying to say is that the things you are feeling right now, they aren’t real. And in time you will see that. You will understand that when you’ve had some time to heal. To contemplate the reality of your situation.” “No,” I tell them both. “Don’t try to tell me what I feel. I love Javi. And it’s real. I will always love him.” My father sighs and Javi looks away. I don’t like this. I don’t like where this is going. I won’t let him leave me behind, and I tell him so. “I need a drink,” my father says. “Will you get us a drink Isa, please.” His bar is still stacked against the wall where he left it, so I don’t have to leave the room. It gives me the opportunity to clear my head. To digest everything that’s happening. I reach for the bourbon, and my father interrupts me. “Not that,” he says. “The Macallan.” I look back at him in question. He only drinks this whiskey on special occasions. But I guess today is a special occasion, being that he is alive.
I pour two glasses and take one to him and hand the other to Javi. They stare at each other from their seats, and I remain quiet between them. My father swirls the amber liquid in his glass, staring into the abyss as he gathers his thoughts. “This is over,” he says to Javi. “I’ll never allow it to continue.” I rub my temples and look at my father. “It isn’t up to you,” I tell him. “Dad, please. Don’t do this. Not today.” “You don’t know what you are saying, Isa. You have been brainwashed.” Javi meets my father’s gaze head on. “And you have a right to speak about brainwashing?” Dad’s face is red and mottled all over again. “There are many things you do not understand,” he tells Javi. “That you never could. You want to believe only what you want to believe.” Javi looks at me and shakes his head, his eyes sad. “Bella does not need to hear these things.” My father silently agrees, and the room falls still again. Too still. Like the calm before the storm. The tension is still there, simmering below the surface. And I am anxious now because I don’t know when it’s going to erupt. But I know one thing, and that is I won’t let Javi leave without me. Not today. Not ever. They both stare over the rims of their glasses, like snakes poised to strike. Javi is the first to drink, swallowing the entire contents of the tumbler in one fell swoop. And then he looks at me again. His face contorted. At first, I think he is angry with me. But then he coughs. And sputters. And coughs again. “Javi?” I move to his side, but he doesn’t respond. It all happens in horrific slow motion. The color drains from Javi’s face while my father looks into his own tumbler and it shatters to the floor. “Dad?” I scream. Javi falls back against the sofa and begins to convulse. “Dad! Help him. What’s happening? Please help him.” My father rushes to Javi’s side and begins chest compressions. I grab Javi’s face, trying to see him. Trying to see his eyes, but they are closed, and he is lifeless. It’s all happening too fast. It’s all too real. Nothing about this makes sense. He was just talking to me. And now he’s lying here, and I can’t see his eyes. I can’t feel his heartbeat or hear his breath.
I’m sobbing. Begging him not to go anywhere. Demanding that he stops this right now. He can’t trick me anymore. He can’t play these games with me anymore. I’m too fragile, and I can’t survive it. Not this time. Not when he said he loved me, and I believed him. During the chaos, the front door opens, and someone else appears. In the back of my mind, I hope that it’s the ambulance. The ambulance that’s coming to rescue him. To fix him. The ambulance that we haven’t even had time to call. But paramedics don’t wear a mask. And they don’t have guns, either. “Time to say goodbye, little Bella,” the strange voice tells me. “What?” I blink and cling to Javi. “No.” None of this is real. It can’t be. It just can’t. I don’t know what’s happening. Only that I’m sobbing hysterically and Javi isn’t moving, and I’m so scared. My father keeps saying that he’s sorry. He’s so sorry. There’s nothing he can do. But he’s a liar, and I hate him. I hate him so much, and I can’t even comprehend why at this moment. He’s dragging me away from Javi. The masked men are shouting orders. But I can’t hear them. Because I’m trying to get to Javi. I’m trying to fight my father off. But he’s too big. Too strong. And the men are taking Javi away from me. Dragging him out the front door. I scream at them to stop. Only one of them does, just to look back at me one last time. “I will send you the ashes, little Bella. It’s what he would have wanted.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
DARKNESS. It possesses me. It entombs me. And darkness is all that I am now. The void is empty and vast. It cannot be mended. Nothing can ever be fixed again. My father comes to my room often to check on me. The room where he has locked me. The room where he tries to feed me. I have traded one prison for another. He tells me he wants to keep me safe. He tells me he doesn’t know who to trust. But when I look at his face, it is him I don’t trust. I trust nobody. I feel nothing. Nothing can hurt me anymore. It’s what Javi wanted. And I refuse to believe that this is my reality. I refuse to believe that he isn’t here with me. I’m back in the piano room. Everything else is an invention of my imagination. My hallucination. That’s what I keep telling myself. That’s how I go on, breathing and thinking and living. He’s going to come for me soon. He will tell me that it’s all been a trick. And now it’s
time for my reward. Because I’ve been a good girl for him, he will comfort me. He will take me in his arms and hold me. Fix me. Give me the thing only he can provide. My sanctuary. My peace. “Isa,” my father’s voice echoes through the cavernous space of my new prison. “You must eat. You must stay healthy and strong.” I blink up at his distorted face, and I am glad that he is obscured. I can’t bear to meet the eyes of this man who has raised me. This man who- in my nightmare- took Javi away from me. It plays on in my head. Over and over again. The whiskey. The whiskey he asked me to pour. The whiskey he did not drink. And the expression on Javi’s face. Betrayal. It was the last thing I saw in his eyes. The last thing he felt in this nightmare. He thought I had betrayed him. My stomach churns, and I curl into myself. My cheeks are wet, but I know the tears don’t mean anything. It still isn’t real. Javi will come for me. He will ask me to play him a song with words only he can hear. I will play him a million songs. And I will sing words that I have never sung before. When my father leaves, I scribble them down in my journal. I write pages upon pages of lyrics. Frantically. Endlessly. Until my hands are black with ink and my eyes are too blurry to see anymore. “Sing me a song, Javi,” I whisper into the darkness. “With words only I can hear.” I repeat it, over and over. I cry. I pace. I never sleep. I don’t eat. I drink water only when my father makes me. I’m dead inside already. And the longer the days go on, the less certain I am. The harder it becomes to deny. He will come for me. That’s what I tell myself. That’s what I tell my father. Until the day that he comes for me instead. And he carries something with him this time. It is a card. And something else. A silver urn. An urn painted with crimson roses. “This came for you today.” His voice is solemn, and I hate him. “No.” I yank the urn from his arms and clutch it to my chest. “No!” I scream. I scream it over and over. “This is your fault! You did this to me!”
Tears fill his eyes, and he looks at the floor. I can’t pretend anymore. Because I’m dead inside. There is nothing left in me. Nothing. And I know that Javi is really gone. And I know that I’ll never be okay again.
MY ROOM IS SMALL. Sterile. White. But the tiles are sea foam green. Like the horror room at Moldavia. I wonder if Javi noticed that too when he was here. In the sanitarium. My therapist sits across from me, observing the pattern my fingers trace over the urn that doesn’t leave my side. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Isabella,” she says. I forgot her name. Or I don’t care. Names aren’t important anymore. Nothing is important anymore. “I was wondering if this was his room,” I tell her. “I was wondering if the bed that I sleep in was his too.” “And if it was, how would that make you feel?” I look at her this time. “It would make me feel happy.” But that’s a lie. Nothing can make me happy anymore. Not when grief is the only thing that exists. My father thinks I’m wrong. Disjointed. Mentally incapable of understanding my own thoughts. He thinks I have Stockholm syndrome. He says I’ve been brainwashed into hating him and loving Javi instead. But he’s wrong. I hate them both. I hate my father for his lies. And I hate Javi for leaving me. For ever loving me. For making me love him. I tell the therapist so, and she doesn’t judge me. At least not out loud. “I hate them,” I tell her again. My voice is rougher this time. “I hate them both.” “Anger is a normal part of grief,” she replies. I don’t want her justifications. Her agreement. I don’t know what I want. I’ve been here for two weeks, and nothing has changed. She can’t fix me. Only Javi can. But nobody understands that. They think I’m wrong for thinking so. “Would you like to play the piano today, Isabella?” I nod this time. Because I will play every day now. Every chance I get. I play him songs. But I don’t sing the words out loud. Because they are only for him. Words only he can
hear. The room is quiet, and the therapist is too. I don’t like it when she’s quiet. It’s easier when she asks me questions. Otherwise, I say things. Things that I shouldn’t say. “He isn’t bad,” I tell her. “You don’t know him.” “I never said he was,” she answers. Her voice is gentle, but I don’t believe her. “His mother did awful things to him. And then my father. Something happened to him. He was tortured.” She sits back and crosses her legs. Folding her hands over her lap as she watches me carefully. “Why do you feel the need to validate, Isabella?” “I see how you look at me,” I answer. “I see how you all look at me. How you scribble your notes. How my father whispers to you when I can’t hear. I know what you think. But you won’t change my mind. You won’t fix me. Or unbreak me. Or convince me that what I feel isn’t real.” She sets her pen aside. Her notebook is empty today. And I’m glad. “What if I said that I do believe you?” she asks. “What if I told you that what you feel is real? That your love for Javi is real. Would you believe me?” I trace over the roses again. “I don’t think so.” “Then perhaps the person you are trying to convince is yourself.” Her words confuse me. They make my head hurt. I don’t need to convince myself. I already know that my love for Javi is real. “Do you feel guilt for loving him?” she continues. “Or is it guilt for his death?” Death. The word punches me in the gut all over again. I want to tell her to shut up. I want to tell her that he isn’t dead. But he is. He’s right here beside me. And I’ll never hold him again. I squeeze my eyes shut, and the only thing I can see is that look on his face. The betrayal. It’s the only thing I see. Day and night. Every other memory has vanished, and this is all that remains. The haunting final moments when he was there, and then he wasn’t. “He thought I did it,” I whisper. “He thought it was me. It was the last thing he thought.” Tears leak from my eyes and I feel weak for crying all the time. The therapist doesn’t say anything. She lets me cry. She lets me feel. And it hurts so much. I wish she would just give me some pills. To numb everything. To make it go away. But
she hasn’t given me any. I ask her why, and she reaches for her pen again, tapping it against the corner of the desk. “I can’t give you any pills, Isabella.” “But why?” I ask her again. “Isn’t that the whole point? The whole point of me being here?” “The whole point of you being here is to rest,” she replies. “To be well.” I ignore her and go back to tracing over the roses. She watches me. She is silent for a long time before she speaks again. “I think you are strong, Isabella. I think you are brave. And I think Javi would want you to be well too. He would want you to be at peace.” “How can I be at peace?” I demand. “When he isn’t here?” She is quiet again. Her brow furrowed. “What if I told you that a part of him was? What if I told you that you had another reason to be strong?” Her words capture me. She knows it. But she does not explain right away. She watches me closely, gauging my reactions. And then when she has determined that I am ready to hear it, she goes on. “Do you remember when your father brought you here? Do you remember the tests we ran that first day, Isabella?” I nod. I was despondent then. I wouldn’t answer their questions. I didn’t need to. They took their answers from my father. From blood tests and eye tests and reflexes and other things that were supposed to measure how sick I was in the head. The answers to those tests are in my chart. The chart she carries with her now. She opens it up and reaches inside, flipping through to the back. And then she pulls out a piece of paper, sliding it across the desk towards me. “Isabella, the reason Javi still lives on is because he is here with you right now. Inside of you. You are pregnant with his child.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
MOLDAVIA IS the same as it always was. Shadowy. Secluded. Mysterious. But somehow, everything has changed. Inside is dusty. Stagnant. A time capsule of our last moments together. Javi’s bed is still unmade, where we slept together that night. The bandages remain on the bedside table, from when he mended me after I tried to escape. And the glass he brought me to take my pills remains, empty. It is an ache unlike any other when I walk around this house. When I don’t feel him here. I try to be strong. I try to remember everything I learned from my therapy. I want to hold on to the good memories and push forward. But it’s hard when everything is so desolate around me. It’s hard when every time I have to breathe, it hurts. His child grows inside of my belly. And I have to do this on my own. It cracks me open and makes me bleed all over again. But the worst pain comes when I visit the conservatory. When I see the roses have withered and died in his absence. The once familiar scent that used to surround us no longer lives.
Even the house is in mourning. I can’t feel him here. I don’t feel him here at all. I have to see him one more time. In the only way I can. I walk to the bathroom, and I find the makeup case. The one where I stashed the tapes. The tapes that have haunted me for so long. I don’t know what’s on these. I don’t know why they were hidden away from the others. But I have nothing left to lose now. I have nothing left to fear. The worst has already happened. There can be nothing on these tapes that’s worse than what I’ve already witnessed. That’s what I tell myself as I walk to the projector. They are numbered, so I start with the first. The projector sputters to life, but nothing plays on the screen. I try the next tape. And the next. And the next. They are all blank. All along, they meant nothing. There was nothing here. It doesn’t make sense. Why were they locked away?I can’t think about it anymore. I can’t focus. I put on one of his tee shirts, and I cry. But only for an hour. That’s all I will allow myself. Because I have to keep moving forward. I have to, for my baby. For our baby. I have to make a home. I have to play my music. I have to stay busy. And most importantly… I have to plan a funeral.
MY FATHER COMES to the door in the afternoon, his shoulders falling in relief when I answer it. “Isa, I was so worried. You should not have run off like that.” “I’m an adult,” I answer. “And I was free to go. I did not need your permission.” His eyes are sad when he looks at me. I am sad too. I don’t know how it came to this. I don’t know who this man is. “I know what you did,” I tell him. “I did not kill him, Isa,” he insists. “I know you find this difficult to understand, but I cared for Javi. I cared for him like a son. And I am mourning his death too…” “I’m not talking about that.” Guilt washes over his face. He tugs at his collar, his mind silently formulating the next untruth. “Don’t lie to me,” I bluff. “I’ve seen the tapes.” His reaction is small. But it’s there. The slightest flash of worry darkens his eyes before he masks it again. “Isa, I do not know what you are speaking of.”
“Yes, you do. He was tortured. Because of you. You took him from one hell and sent him to another. He loved you. How could you do that to him?” “I had no choice. Isa, you don’t understand.” “I understand that you betrayed him. All those years, you told me I could never meet him. That he was dangerous. But in reality, he was only the monster you created.” “I was following orders,” he says. “You don’t understand how the agency works. If I had not followed those orders, I would be dead. And then what would become of you?” “Then I would have at least known that my father was an honorable man.” My words cut him, and I can’t hold back the emotion in my voice. The shame. The anger. The grief. I want to take the words back as soon as I say them. I hate this. I hate being so conflicted. Living between love and hate. First with Javi. And now with my father. “Isa,” he pleads. “Forgive me. I’m so sorry.” He pulls me into his arms, and I don’t fight this time. It hurts so much. I want to forgive him, but I don’t know how I can. How can I when I still don’t know the truth about Javi’s death. “Have you heard anything more about River?” I ask. My father’s arms stiffen around me, and I pull away. “Tell me,” I demand. “You have to tell me.” “Let me come inside,” he implores. I let him into the parlor and shut the door behind him. He gestures to the kitchen, and we take a seat at the counter. I don’t offer him a drink. The time for pleasantries is over. “There is much more to River than I knew,” my father begins. “Javi trusted him,” I say. “He trusted him with his life. With my life. He thought he was his friend.” “I trusted him too,” my father answers. “I didn’t realize how deep this went.” “What do you mean?” “River is employed by the agency.” I shake my head. That can’t be right. Javi would have known. “They’ve known each other since the sanitarium,” I argue. “I know,” my father replies. “That’s why his cover worked so well. He is a handler of sorts. That was his role all along. He was inserted into Javi’s life at a young age to build a relationship of trust.” “But why?” I ask. “Why would they do that?” “Because Javi was a valuable asset,” he answers. “One that, in the right hands, could have been a dangerous weapon. If he ever decided to act on his own, to work for another
agency, it could have devastated the entire house of cards.” “So, you’re telling me the agency is behind his death? That doesn’t make sense. Why would they hurt him?” “I don’t know.” I want to believe him, but I don’t know that I can. “I know River cared for him,” my father tells me. “That wasn’t a lie. I know he cared for him.” His words make no difference now. What does it matter if he cared when he disappeared without an explanation? “I’m tired,” I say. “I think I’m going to rest now.” He shakes his head, his eyes pleading with me. “You can’t stay here, Isa. It isn’t safe. Not until we know what’s going on.” “Nowhere is safe,” I reply. “Not when I have no idea who to trust. What difference does it make if I’m here or at home? At least here, nobody can get in from the outside. Not unless I let them.” “You don’t know that,” my father argues. “I’m not leaving. This is my home now. Where Javi lived. That’s where I will live too.” He still wants to argue. But he doesn’t. And I know my father well enough to know that he will probably have at least a few armed guards surrounding the place when he leaves here tonight. “Just think about it, Isa,” he says. “Think about coming home.” I walk him to the door. “The funeral is on Friday,” I tell him. “If you want to come.”
CHAPTER FORTY
I THOUGHT that maybe this would help. Maybe it would give me some closure to bury Javi. To lay my torment to rest. But the only thing I have learned from this gloomy day is that nothing can lay those feelings to rest. He is so alone in this cemetery. And I worry that I am doing the wrong thing. Perhaps he should have remained at Moldavia instead. Only my father has come. Not even River made an appearance. This place feels so cold. So desolate. At the last minute, I lunge forward, desperate to stop them from laying dirt over him. Over my heart. My father halts me. “You are doing the right thing, Isa.” It doesn’t feel that way. It feels like he is dying all over again. But I don’t move. I don’t fight. I remain paralyzed. Long after they have finished. Long after night has settled over the earth and into my bones. “Let me take you home,” my father says. He means his home. But that isn’t home to me anymore.
“Take me to Moldavia,” I tell him. He doesn’t like it. But he does it anyway.
AUTUMN CREEPS IN SLOWLY, and then all at once. It seems that overnight, everything has gone crisp. I have a routine now. The same routine every day. I work on the nursery. I write my music. I record. And I visit the cemetery. Each day, I lay a red rose on Javi’s stone. And each day my belly grows. With it, my strength does too. I can feel him. I can feel him with me. In the air around me. In the scent of the wild roses that now bloom in the conservatory again. Moldavia is full of his energy. But oddly enough, this place isn’t. And yet I come here every day. I read him my lyrics. And today is the last song that I have to read him. When I close the pages of the journal, I know that it is time. I am ready. I drive into the city. Straight to Luke’s office. I know he’s here because the stench of his alcohol hits me before I even step foot inside. I knock twice, and he answers, more haggard than I’ve ever seen him. “You,” he growls. “What do you want?” “I’m ready to come back,” I tell him. He laughs. Shakes his head. And tries to shut the door in my face. I use my foot to intercept him. “Your contract has been paid off.” He makes a wild gesture with his hands. “It’s over. You’re finished.” “Paid off?” He looks at me like I’m an idiot, and then his eyes wander to my belly. “Yes, paid off. By your psychotic boyfriend. You’re out. Done. I don’t want anything else to do with you.” “Javi?” I whisper. “Yes, Javi.” He scowls and rubs his shoulder as though he’s recalling a painful memory. “He paid you off?” “Yes.” He blinks. “Are you hard of hearing, Isabella? I fucking said that already.” “That’s why you didn’t come looking for me.” He makes another gesture with his hand. “I’m done with you.” And it’s obvious he really is. Whatever happened between him and Javi has left a sour taste in his mouth. There isn’t an ounce of desire in his eyes when he looks at me now. But
that only strengthens my resolve. I didn’t want to play that card with Luke. I didn’t want him to think that things would ever be the same between us. That we could go back to the way things were with me as his willing puppet and him pulling the strings. There is one other thing that Luke loves though. One other thing I know I can use to my advantage. So before he slams the door in my face a second time, I stop him with one simple question. “What if I said I could make you a lot of money?” He narrows his eyes at me. Laughs and shakes his head. “And how exactly do you think you’re going to do that, princess?” “One final show,” I propose. “You can have it all. The rights to the music. Just give me ten percent of the profits.” He laughs again. “Oh, Isabella. You poor, naïve little country bumpkin. Don’t you realize that the world has moved on? There were twenty pop princesses ready to take your place the day you walked out.” He’s lying, and I know he’s lying. Because I can see the fire in his eyes. He’s already thinking about how he can spin this. “Everyone loves a comeback,” I tell him. “Do they?” he smirks. “I don’t know if you could call it a comeback when you never really got started in the first place.” I don’t take part in his verbal jousting. This is just the way Luke is. And I know how to push his buttons, just as well as he knows how to push mine. He’s all about the dramatic effects. I pull my foot from the door and meet his eyes. “Fine. I’ll go somewhere else, then. I’m sure there are plenty of others who would be interested in what I’m offering.” I turn to leave, and he grabs me by the arm. “What exactly are you offering?” He hates himself right now. Serves him right for putting me through hell. He doesn’t want to need me. But I know as well as he does that his career is in the tank after canceling my tour and then losing Megan to another label. “One show,” I tell him. “My way. No fireworks. No smoke. No backup dancers. Nothing but my music, my way.” “So you want a day at the nursing home then?” he scoffs. I try to yank my arm away, and he stops me again. “Fine, fine,” he grumbles. “I’m listening.” “My piano,” I tell him. “I’m going to play on the piano. And I’m going to sing. That’s it.
My songs. My choice. My control.” “Then what do you even need me for?” “You get to publicize it. I know how much you love that media attention. I’m sure that hasn’t changed.” “Why would you do this?” he asks. “Why even bother?” “Because, Luke. I know this may be a difficult concept for you to understand, but once upon a time, I loved music. I loved to sing. And then everything got messed up. I just want closure. One last show. A show where I can put it all out there. Then I can be done. I can move forward. For good.” He mumbles under his breath again before releasing me. “I’ll see what I can do.” And in Luke speak that’s a yes. I smile and pat him on the arm. He winces. “Your boyfriend won’t be coming around for this,” he says. My eyes burn as I swallow and avoid his gaze. “Don’t worry. He won’t be.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
COLD METAL TAPS the base of my skull, stirring me from my delirious slumber. It is familiar, this feeling. The heaviness in my body. The barrel of a gun rapping against my head. But it is the smell of earth that I remember most. The urge to wretch is strong, and I am still hungover from whatever it is I ingested. When my eyes finally open, everything is blurred. The room is dark and small. Cold. Underground. I’m trying to piece it all together. Trying to make sense of it. I see Bella’s face in my mind. Her screams. Her fear. A surge of adrenaline has me attempting to launch myself upright, but I am swiftly rejected by the confines of my restraints. “Easy there, tiger.” The voice is muffled, but familiar. The build of the man is too when he comes into view. And then I remember. Bella’s father. His house. The whiskey. This man is the one. The one who took me from my Bella. I try to lunge at him. To kill him. But my movements are still sluggish. My body
is still weak. And I am still chained. “There’s no need for dramatics.” It’s his shoes that I notice first. The same shoes I have seen a hundred times before. Shoes that have graced my own home. Shoes that belong to the man I trusted with my life. With Bella’s life. When he sees the stark conclusion on my face, he removes the mask and retrieves an apple from his pocket. “Sorry old pal,” River says. “Just the way these things go sometimes, isn’t it?” I look up at him. My oldest friend. My only friend. I thought I had known betrayal before. I thought that nothing could be worse than what Ray Rossi did to me. But I was wrong. I still can’t accept it. I want to be logical. River has taken issue with Isabella. He thinks me weak. Perhaps this is his way of trying to make me remember. To continue down the course of revenge that he helped me plan so meticulously. This is what I tell myself. “Release me,” I demand. He looks at me, apologetic, but does not move to help me. “I think you already know, Javi, that I can’t do that.” His words cement the doubts in my mind. Years of memories, skewed as I try to make sense of them. I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how. River gives me time to process. He has always been good about that. He knows me so well. “How long?” I ask. He paces around the room. Looks at me twice while he chews his apple. And then paces some more. “Since the sanitarium.” The sanitarium. He was only ten then. It doesn’t seem possible. But I know better. I know with the agency, anything is possible. But still, I reason that there must be another explanation. River could never betray me. It never even crossed my mind. Except for once… when I quickly dismissed it. Now I know better. “Luke,” I say. “It was you. You were the one who told him I was coming that day. You were the only one who knew.” He looks away again. “It wasn’t me,” he mumbles. “But I know who did. And the leak did come from me.”
Fucker. Lying, filthy, scum. It is the only thing I can think, and River knows it. He won’t even meet my eyes. “You were never unstable,” I accuse. He stops. And now he looks offended. “I’m as unstable as they come,” he assures me. “The back story was true. I wouldn’t lie about that, Javi.” “No?” I question. “So only everything else then?” “I know it might seem that way,” he says. “But you should know better than anyone that things are not always how they appear.” “So then tell me how they really are,” I demand. “Tell me the truth for once. If you can even bring yourself to do that much.” River appears hurt by my words. His eyes flash before he turns away again. “I need you to do something for me,” he says. “And it isn’t sanctioned by the agency.” This much, I believe. If the agency were involved in this, it would not be only River and me in this room. He is desperate. And I have never seen River desperate. “There is a girl,” he begins. “A girl,” I scoff. “You are lying.” This has to be the agency’s doing. There must be more to this than what I can see. River turns to me. Discards the apple core onto the ground. His eyes narrow and sharp. “It’s the truth.” “The truth is that you are a coward and a liar.” River is unfazed by my accusations now, and determination has strengthened his resolve as he continues. “The program. I was a part of it too.” And now he has my attention. I look up at him. I still don’t want to believe him. He is a traitor. A liar. He is no friend of mine. But then he recites his thirteen-digit code number. The same numbers we all had. The numbers we were assigned upon entrance into the program. It can’t be true. “I would have known,” I tell him. “You were the same age.” “Yes, but I was in a different sector. And they started me earlier.” “How early?” I press. “Nine.”
I shake my head. River ignores my doubt and goes on to explain. “I graduated from the program with top marks. Killed three men before the age of ten. I was quite proud of myself.” “Until they sent you to the asylum because you had imagined it all.” He ignores my jab and continues on to his point. “My first assignment was easy,” he says. “Just a man. I do not even remember his face, to be honest. They all blend together after a while. Even the second and the third. I didn’t care to know them, or what they had done to earn their deaths. I believed what the agency told me. I followed my orders. I earned my stripes.” He paces again. Looks at me again. “But then there was the girl.” And now it is me who has tired of his dramatics. “What girl?” “She was just a girl,” he makes a point to say, as though he hasn’t told me three times already. “There was nothing special about her, really. She was nice to look at as most girls are. She had a pretty face. I thought she would look very pretty when she was dead, and I told her I wouldn’t ruin her face because I intended to take her heart.” I think of my Bella. My beautiful Bella. So many times, I had imagined her dead myself. I had imagined how good I thought it would feel to see her that way. Until I tasted her. And she poisoned me. I could not have it any other way. Before River even admits it, I can tell that he has been poisoned too. “Those were my instructions,” he says. “Cut out her heart. It should have been quite easy. None of the others were difficult.” He struggles with acknowledging his defeat. River has always been too proud. Too arrogant. “There was something about her face though,” he declares. “I thought she was lovely alive. It seemed a shame to watch the life drain from such a pretty face.” He downplays the words, but he cannot hide his true emotion. Not this time. It is clear that River disobeyed his orders long before he ever knew me. He was a traitor before I ever trusted him. And not only to me. “You let her live?” I question. “I let her live,” he confesses. “I thought I could fool them. I have always been smarter than most of them.” That much, he does believe. “It worked, for a while,” he says. “I kept her hidden for four years. And I got careless. I
thought I could not be touched. That I could do no wrong. They believed I was doing so well. I had made progress with you after all.” I glare at him again. Recalling those initial conversations we used to have. And it is abundantly clear to me now why they paired me with River. He was sly. He was cunning. And he was so easily able to convince me he was nothing more than a boy. Just like me. A boy who I related to. One who I trusted. “Before you get angry,” River interrupts my thoughts, “Just know this, Javi. My friendship with you was real and sincere. That was not a lie.” “Everything you have told me is a lie,” I sneer. “Not that,” he insists. “You were the only friend I had. They made me kill all my others.” I do not feel bad for him. Even when he goes on. Because it doesn’t matter. Nothing he says matters anymore. I do not care about this girl or his plight. I only care about his reasons for bringing me here. For keeping me here. “This story is boring me,” I tell him. “If you have a point, River, get to it.” He nods. Retrieves another apple from his pocket and tosses it between his hands. “They were watching me,” he says. “Surreal, I know. It’s the agency. But you get comfortable. You get it in your head that you are not the one they don’t trust. That you are one of them. You do everything they ask of you. Why would they need to watch you?” “So they found the girl,” I say. “They found the girl.” He turns away so that I cannot see the emotion on his face. Emotion that is rare for River. I thought he was a sociopath, and I did not judge him for it. All those times he told me I was weak with Bella, I thought he was right. But I judge him for this because he is the one who is weak now. I tell him as much, but he ignores me. “When they discovered her, they decided to make an example of me,” he says. “They put her into the program. The assassins program.” They turned her into a killer. Before he even tells me, I know how this story will end. The agency is predictable, at least in this one respect. “She will come for you,” I say. “She will,” he agrees. “And she will try to kill me. They’ve turned her against me.” “Then she was weak too,” I observe. This time, it is River who sneers in my direction. “As weak as your Isabella?” “My Bella has more strength in her little finger than you will ever possess.” “You should hope so,” he tells me. “Since you have abandoned her.”
His words enrage me. I fight against the chains again, but it is no use. River is a skilled assassin. He would not do anything halfway. And most especially not with the likes of me. “I did what was best for her,” I snarl. “I was wrong. I was wrong to listen to you. To use her for my revenge. She does not deserve to be tortured anymore. She deserves to live in peace.” River stops. His face is serious now. So serious I know that he is not fucking with me this time. “How can she ever live in peace when she carries your child?” My limbs grow heavy, and my heartbeat sluggish.There is an ache in the back of my throat. A chill in my spine. My child? Isabella carries my child. I need to get to her. I was wrong. So wrong. She believes I am dead. That I have abandoned her. My Bella. It is pure agony to imagine her, swollen with my baby. Crying in her bed with nothing more than her vile father to comfort her. “I must go to her,” I tell River. “Let me go.” “Sorry,” he says again. “But I was making a point before if you’d let me get back to it. This information will only serve to hasten my purpose for you now. And perhaps make you more willing to help.” I thrash against the chains again until I am bloody, screaming out my loathing for him. He waits until I am calm before he explains. “I am doing you a favor,” he insists. “I know you will see this in time.” “You need not worry about your girl,” I tell him. “Because I will kill you myself.” “Think of her father,” River says. “Of what he did to you, Javi. Are you really ready to let that go?” I do not answer him. But I can feel the vein in my throat, throbbing. The desire is still there.The desire to kill Ray. I don’t know if I can let it go. River knows this. And he is using my own methods on me, quite effectively. The agency may train us in the art of psychological warfare, but they cannot make us immune to our own methods. “You only ever had two options, Javi,” he says. “In the worst-case scenario, Isabella would have been poisoned by her father. He would have turned her back against you if he hasn’t already.” “No,” I argue. “You are a skilled manipulator,” River acknowledges. “I will give you this, Jav. But Ray is even more skilled than you or me. It is how he fooled you before. How do you think his own daughter will respond to his tactics?” I shake my head and try to deny it. I don’t want to accept that it could be true. I don’t want
to believe it. River knows that everyone I have ever cared for has betrayed me, and he is exploiting that in the same way I exploited Isabella’s fears. “Trauma bonding,” River continues, “is a powerful weapon. But the bond must remain for that relationship and dependency to flourish. You know as well as I do that Ray would not allow that to happen.” “No,” I say again. “Isabella is not like us. She can forgive. She can…” “That’s the lie we all want to believe,” River cuts me off. “Just as my girl’s feelings were real too. Until the agency got a hold of her. Until they turned her into a killer. Just as our friendship was real, even as I lied to you, Javi. Even as I betrayed you like all the others before you.” “Bella is not that way,” I insist. But even I am starting to doubt myself. I am uncertain if she hates me now, just as I predicted. It was her hope for survival. She had only convinced herself that she cared for me to survive the circumstances of her situation. “I don’t think I need to remind you of the second scenario,” River goes on. “But let’s be hypothetical for a moment. Say that your Bella is as strong as you insist she is. Say that despite the odds and well documented psychological evidence to the contrary, her feelings for you endured in your absence. Would those feelings sustain even when you murdered her beloved father?” I do not answer him because I already know the answer. The answer is no. Bella could not love me if I killed Ray. She could not forgive me for that. “It is bound to happen,” River says. “You know it, Jav. I know it. Let’s not lie to ourselves anymore, okay? You would have to kill him. It’s the only way.” “No,” I argue. “It’s not so bad. You have accomplished what you set out to do. You have destroyed Ray by destroying his daughter. And now he must live with those consequences.” “You will not sway me,” I tell him. “There is nothing you can say that will stop me from killing you and going back to Bella.” River sighs. Then he stops tossing the apple between his palms to meet my gaze. “Nothing?” he repeats. “Oh but Jav, I’m afraid you’re wrong about that.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
THE SCENT of tobacco is the first thing to hit me. Tobacco and pipe smoke. I see his shoes before I ever see his face. It’s always the shoes that I remember. The shoes that have walked in and out of my life over the years. Shoes give away so much about a man. The way he wears them. The way he maintains them. And in Ray Rossi’s case, it is the way he shines them so meticulously. Cleaning up the evidence of where he’s been. The things he has done. My mother always told me that if someone’s shoes were too clean, it was because they had something to hide. In that respect, I believe she was right. Ray has many secrets and many faces. He hides his true nature well. Especially now, in his older years. Beneath the fuzzy gray of his mustache and the softness in his fading eyes, there lurks a master of exploitation. I was only a boy when he came for me. A boy who had lost everything. A boy who the world believed had viciously killed his own mother. And Ray was the only one who looked at me as if I did not. He disguised himself. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. I wanted to believe he would help me.
But once upon a time, I wanted to believe that my mother would get better too. Now here we are, years later. I am a man, and he is old and gray. I intended to exact my revenge. I planned it out so precisely. But instead, I fell in love with his daughter. “Surprised to see me, Javier?” he asks. I do not reply but instead look to River. He remains by the door, silent. The friend I trusted, working with my enemy all along. “You should not be,” Ray says. “You must have known this day would come. You must have known the moment you touched Isa, you would die.” This time, I do meet his eyes. And I make it known that I am no longer a boy. His threats mean nothing to me, and Ray must know there is nothing he can do that is worse than what I put his daughter through. I was a monster to her. And still, she fell in love with me. I smile, thinking of her beautiful face. “It was worth it,” I tell him. He clocks me with the pair of brass knuckles he reserves for such occasions. Ray is weak in his older years. He relies on weapons because his muscles fail him. Blood leaks from my mouth and I spit it onto the dirty floor. I can’t help myself. I can’t help but long for his suffering. “She still wants for me,” I say to him. “She will always want for me. I am inside of her. In her mind. In her heart. She will never be free of me, even in death. Your beloved daughter fell for the monster you created, Ray. How does that make you feel?” He hits me again. Three times. Until it becomes too much for him. Until a coughing fit seizes him and spittle flies from his mouth. “I will rid her of your poison, even if I have to cut it out myself.” The world around me falls silent, and River turns his gaze to the floor. My vision clouds and adrenaline floods every fiber of my muscles, straining against the chains that bind me. I will slaughter him with my bare hands. I will drain the remaining light from his eyes, and I will not regret it. Not anymore. “That’s right,” Ray taunts. “I will be the one to take that child and destroy it the moment it is born. Now tell me how that feels.” I struggle against the chains until I no longer can. Until I am out of breath myself. Until I am bloody and spent and completely at his mercy. Ray merely laughs at me. River remains motionless by the door. And I cannot believe I have been so blind. I allowed my own love for Bella to influence this grand illusion. I mistakenly believed that as sick as Ray was, he still loved his own daughter. Now I know that I was wrong. I should have killed him when I had the chance. The moment I learned he was back, I should have shot him where he lay. And now, I must pay the consequences for my
weakness. I told my Bella that I would protect her. I have failed her all over again. “We should move now,” River says. “There will be plenty of time to toy with him later.” Ray swivels his head around and scowls in his direction. “It’s time when I say it’s time.” River is a traitor, of this I am certain. But it seems that we have a common enemy. I don’t know how I could have missed it. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. All those times he encouraged me. How he helped me plan out the systematic destruction of Ray through Isabella. The way he whispered in my ear and never let me forget my revenge. The way he told me over and over that Isabella could never care for me. That I must remember the plan. It was in his mind all along. And instead of Isabella, it was I who was the pawn in this game. A knock sounds at the door and River looks to Ray for approval. Ray nods, and River opens it. The heat is stifling. Sand blows in from above, indicating that we are in the desert somewhere. “We have to move now, sir,” the voice on the other side says. Ray nods again and gestures the men inside. They surround me, and Ray makes a point to show me that they are all well-armed. “Make one move, and die now,” he tells me. They haul me up from the floor and unchain me. Six of them drag me out into the blistering sun and shove me into the back of a suburban. “Ten minutes,” someone says. And then, we leave.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
THEY TAKE me into the middle of the desert. If it weren’t for the compound in the distance, I would assume this to be my final resting place. Instead, they free my hands and shove me out of the truck. I don’t need to ask where we are. I know this area well. This is the same compound where I lived for the remainder of my childhood. The one where Ray took me when I left the asylum. Here, I was trained in computers. Math. Killing. Ray searches my face for any sign of emotion. But there is none. I can only think of my Bella now. Of the child that she carries inside of her. I will do anything to protect them.I will do anything to get them back. And for now, that means playing by Ray’s rules. He recites a thirteen-digit number and tells me to repeat it back to him. River’s eyes shift around anxiously, and I know this is for him. This is what he gets for betraying me and fulfilling his end of the bargain. “Delete everything on file,” Ray tells me. “Bring the girl to me when you are finished. And perhaps I can find it in my heart to be merciful. Perhaps the child my daughter births will be adopted into a nice family rather than a dumpster.”
My fists curl at my sides, and the guards raise their weapons. “I am giving you one last opportunity here, Javi,” Ray says. “Do not underestimate my reach. There are many others who would gladly take this task and complete it much faster than you. And they have much less to lose.” I remain silent. Steadfast in my resolve. I am doing this for Bella. Even knowing that when I come back, there will likely be a bullet in my skull. I can’t trust Ray. But I know Ray. I don’t doubt his words. He will destroy the child that he knows is mine. He will do it while he tells himself it is what is best for Isabella. I must find another way to end this. I turn to head for the compound, but Ray’s voice stops me. “Enjoy your trip down memory lane.” I curb the urge to kill him all over again by thinking of my Bella. I think of what I need to do, and I focus on that alone. And I walk. Silently through the desert. Leaving Ray and River behind. There is a reason they chose me for this task. Despite what Ray says, this task could not be completed by anyone. I am the only operative who ever managed to disable the entire compound security system. Not once, but twice. Today will make number three. It has been many years since I have been at this particular compound, but much is still the same. Including the guards who watch over the control room. They are older now, but I remember them just fine. Fear reflects briefly in their eyes when they see me for the first time. I kill them with their own weapons, and I take satisfaction in knowing that they no longer breathe the air of this scorched earth. The security system has updated with the times too. It is much more sophisticated than when I was here. But like the system, I am adaptable. It is not easy to navigate. It has already been thirty minutes. With each passing minute, I am more likely to get caught. It’s taking me too long. And Ray’s patience is not infinite. Just as I find my way into the system, a shadow passes over the door frame. Another guard. He draws his weapon, and I fire first. The body count is growing, and this is messier than I would have preferred. But with a few more clicks of the keyboard, I am finally in. I find the file for the operative that Ray gave me, glancing briefly at her photo to identify her and her location, and then I delete. I delete everything. The process takes another five minutes. When it is complete, I hesitate before leaving. Ray would expect me to leave the system as it was. He wanted this done quietly. I smile. Because I always did like irony. I unlock the cell doors. All but hers. And then I
shut down the power to the entire building. It is up to them now to escape. To overpower the guards and take what is rightfully theirs. Freedom. I leave the control room and walk down the hall that I know by heart. It is the same hall where I was kept for so many years. I open her cell door manually and shine my flashlight inside. She is sitting on her bed. Small and fragile in appearance. “Come,” I tell her. “We are leaving this place.” She glances up at me and shakes her head. “I don’t want to leave.” Her voice is soft. It’s obvious she has been broken, just as River said. It is also obvious why he cares for her. She does have a pretty face as he said. But there is nothing particularly special about her that I can see. She is not like my Bella. Then again, nobody really is. “I don’t have time,” I say. “And I’d prefer not to hurt you.” She rises from the bed and walks in my direction. I think that this is good. She is going to comply, and we can leave.Only this isn’t what happens. Because the girl punches me in the throat. She snarls and tries to make her escape around me. I stop her with a hand around her throat. And then she socks me in the gut. Of all the things I had to do in this compound, fighting a girl was my least favorite. I release her, and we go hand to hand. Her shots are sharp and precise. I was wrong about her. She is not fragile at all. In body or mind. She lands many painful blows that would disable me had I been younger and less accustomed to the pain. But I am not. And as well as she has been trained, I have many years of experience over her. I identify her weakness almost immediately and put her in a choke hold. “I am sorry,” I tell her. “But for now you must sleep.” And within a minute, she does.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
EVERYTHING LUKE HAS EVER DONE HAS BEEN on a grand scale. The PR for the show is much of the same. Tickets sold out within minutes. It makes me nervous. It makes me content. As content as I can be with a broken heart. This show is for him. An entire catalog of our time together. The songs I wrote from my first moments in captivity to the moments I fell in love with Javi. And then… the songs that express my grief in the only way that I can. It is a timeline of our entire relationship. A small blip in the enormous number of seconds and hours that have compiled my life. But these seconds and hours I spent with him are the ones that have impacted me most. The ones that will haunt me for the rest of my days. The ones that I will treasure. There is only one thing I need to complete the story. One more song for the final chapter. You can’t choose who you love, for better or worse. But there is one thing that will determine the way that I remember Javi. The thing that will help me to understand him. To have my closure. The thing that will provide me with the
lyrics for one last song. And this thing cannot be found at Moldavia. In fact, there is only one place that it can be found. And I am not certain that anyone else even knows this place exists. Except for me. Because I am paranoid, like my father. And because I did not trust him after Javi was poisoned. I tracked him up here into this cabin in the middle of the woods. As I stand here in the clearing, I know that this is where my answers lie. I have observed my father closely over the years. I have witnessed the fashion in which he sought out devices. The places he would hide things he did not want found. I am well informed of the precautions he takes and the way he goes about his security measures. And this is how I know that what I’m looking for will not be inside the cabin at all. When I find the loose floorboard on the porch, I know I am right. I lift it up and reveal the visibly undisturbed earth below. A trick my father once taught me. To everyone else, it looks like nothing. Just dirt. To me, it looks like a tarp below, covering something else. Something more sinister. I am right. When I brush my hand over the dirt, there is plastic beneath. I pull it up, only to reveal a shoebox below. It is not high tech. Anything the agency would have my father keep would not be kept here. This is something he has done on his own. In a hurry. Something he intended to come back to. And I must get to it first, whatever it is. I don’t look inside. I take the shoebox and replace the tarp, covering it with dirt. Then I leave, checking my mirrors the entire drive back to Moldavia. My heart is racing, and my palms are sweating, and I am afraid of the answers this box might carry. Something that once opened cannot be undone. But I have come to realize that what Javi said rings true. Nobody can hurt me anymore. I have a built a fortress around my heart. Whatever this box contains, I can handle it. No matter how sinister. I am ready to know the truth. I am ready to learn my father’s secrets. So, when I am secure inside of Moldavia, I open it up. On top, there is a file. An old file, with handwritten notes. It takes me some time to read the messy scrawl. But it is clear from the header that it is a medical record. For Javi’s mother. It speaks of her illness. Her mental decline. The tumor in her brain. An incurable tumor. Her illness was not random. It was because of the tumor. A tumor that would prove fatal in time, as evidenced by these very notes. What I can’t understand is why my father would keep the file hidden away like this. Why it would matter to him. There is so much paperwork that most of it seems irrelevant. It is the entire history of her medical records from the time she was first diagnosed to her last appointment. And then there are transcripts. At first, I think they are part of her records as well. Until I see the dates.They were after her death.
They are transcripts from something else. An interview performed by my father. An interview of Javi. He was only a child at the time. Eleven years old. It was after his mother had died. I read through the entire transcript. Three times. My father always told me how dangerous Javi was. He told me how he had killed his mother, and what a tragedy it was. But it was never true. The truth is right here, printed in ink. A truth that I can no longer deny. My father has been lying to me for so long. But even worse, he has been lying to Javi. Javi told him what happened that day. He told him how his mother believed there was a device implanted in her stomach. That she had to retrieve it. How she made Javi watch as she gutted herself like a fish and tried to perform her own surgery. She died of the blood loss, despite Javi’s best efforts to save her. It is a secret he has lived with his whole life. Allowing everyone around him to believe he was a murderer. That he murdered his own mother in cold blood. And my father has not only condoned the lie, but he has perpetuated it. He turned Javi into a killer on the basis that he already was one. He inserted him into the operative training program and left him there. A child. He was only a child. And I was wrong before that nothing could hurt me. Whatever was left of my heart has now disintegrated. It aches in a way that there is no cure for. This is a memory that will haunt me for eternity. I don’t know how my father can look himself in the mirror every day. But I can’t stop. There is a hunger inside of me to know more. To know everything. So I keep digging. And in the bottom of the box, I find six more tapes. Numbered, just as the ones hidden away in Javi’s wall were. They are identical to those tapes. In brand and size. It is not a coincidence. It didn’t make sense for Javi to keep those tapes hidden away if they were blank. And it wouldn’t make sense for my father to have the same amount of tapes, with the same numbers. The only conclusion that I can draw is that my father replaced them with blanks and took the real tapes. I head to the conservatory and fire up the projector. I start in order, with the first tape. The image flickers to life, and it is Javi. Javi as a child. A child in the operative program. Being tortured. Burned. Beaten. Interrogated. Trained. I can’t look away from the horrors on the screen. Not this time. I owe him this much. No matter how dreadful it is, I owe it to him to feel his pain. To understand it. Even if it is too late. My father comes to visit him in the tapes. He sits across from him at a steel table and asks Javi to give him progress reports. Javi refuses to speak to him. Sometimes he is strong. Stubborn. But there are times when he cries. When he pleads with my father to take him
home with him as he promised. My father always says the same thing. Soon. Another lie. One so easily spoken from his lips. It is something I can’t comprehend. I feel as though I am losing my mind. I feel as though I am watching a movie that isn’t real. I don’t know how this man can be so different from the one who raised me. The only father that I knew. The one who was distant and busy, but always loving. Fiercely protective. They were two different men. One good. One evil. But they both lived in my father’s body. They both inhabited his mind. And they are both responsible for the horrors that were done to Javi. Horrors that I can no longer refute. I have seen the evidence. I have seen all that I need to know. I watch the tapes on repeat. Until I am consumed with hatred and sadness. With rage and regret. Until there is nothing left for me to do but to put pen to paper and write one more song. My last song.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
I TOSS the girl over my shoulder and drag her through the desert. Within minutes, the compound is in chaos behind us. This desert landscape is unforgiving, but it is no match for those with a thirst for freedom. And these operatives do thirst for freedom. Their figures scatter around me in the distance. I pay them no mind, and they do not bother me either. My only focus is on the horizon, up behind the dune where I know River and Ray will be. I do not have many bartering chips. At this point, I only have one. Ray is not invested in her life, but I know River will do anything for her. It does not give me much to work with, but she is the only hope I have. When I reach the top of the dune, I have my freshly acquired weapon at the ready, targeted directly to the back of her skull. But River knows me well. He has prepared for the occasion. The guards have either been dismissed or disposed of elsewhere, and only Ray lies bloody and helpless at his feet. River has his own gun trained on Ray’s face, but his eyes are on me.
“Let the girl go, Javi,” he instructs. “Why should I?” I challenge. “It makes no difference to me whether Ray lives or dies.” “Oh?” he arches a brow. “And what of your Bella? What would you tell her about daddy dearest? How he died like a dog in the desert after he had finally come home. And would she believe you?” He knows very well that she wouldn’t. How could she after all that I have done to her? After the lengths I have gone to for my revenge. Bella would not believe that I did not kill her father. And I don’t know that she could ever forgive me for such an offense either. “You know she wouldn’t,” River answers my unspoken thought. “How could she?” “I will trade you then,” I tell him. “The girl for Ray. The deal is done. You have no reason to kill him.” River considers my proposition. Despite his cool demeanor, he is desperate. River does not really know how to handle desperate. His eyes keep darting to the girl, trying to get a look at her face. But he cannot. Not like this. She is starting to rouse, and everything is going to go to shit if he does not make a decision soon. She makes a noise in the back of her throat, and River straightens his posture. “Fine,” he says. “Fine. On the count of three, old friend.” River counts. I have always been a man of my word. But he has not. On three, he steps away from Ray. I release the girl and step back. She wakes- bound and startled- and her eyes move straight to River. Recognition flashes followed up with rage. She struggles against her restraints in an attempt to get to him, and River breathes her name, low and quiet. It is a secret to him. One that he does not wish to share with the world. “It has been so long,” he says. “I know you are angry. Confused. But in time, this will change.” “In time, I will cut your throat,” she snarls. He looks away from her, unable to bear witness to her wrath. His eyes seek out mine, full of remorse. “Old friend, I have always cared for you. That was never a lie. You must know this.” “I can no longer believe anything you say to be true,” I answer. He nods in understanding. And then he looks at the girl again. “For you, my love.” He shoots Ray in the head. Without warning. Without hesitation. I have already raised my gun, but it is too late.
His is aimed straight for my face.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
I AM MAKING a cup of tea when the doorbell rings. The doorbell never rings. Not here at Moldavia. I retrieve the small pistol that I took from my father’s house and move towards the door. “Isabella,” a voice speaks from the other side. “It’s me.” My chest expands with air, and in a moment, I forget that I can no longer trust him. He is not a friend. But it doesn’t matter. The only thing my mind can comprehend right now is that he is back. He is the last link to Javi that I have. I keep the gun in my hand and open the door. River stands on the other side, apple in hand. Relaxed as ever. Casual as ever. But there is something very different about him. His usual smirk is absent, and instead, his eyes are heavy and flat. “Are you going to invite me in for a cup of tea?” he asks. “No,” I answer. “But you can come in for the truth if you’d like.” He gives me a stiff nod and joins me inside. The pistol remains clutched in my hand as he
takes a seat at the counter island. I maintain a safe distance from the other side. He eyes the weapon but does not appear to be bothered by it. I don’t expect him to. Some men hide their evil well. Men like my father. Men like River. “You betrayed him,” I whisper. I can’t keep the tears from falling this time. I can’t help getting emotional as I recall the horrifying details of Javi’s childhood. “How could you?” I snap. “He thought you were his friend.” River has the decency to look ashamed, and his voice reflects his guilt when he responds. “I know,” he answers. “It is why I am here now. To make amends.” “There are no amends,” I say. “It’s done. It’s over. The chance for that has passed. There will never be another one again.” River does not argue me on this point, but instead goes on to say what he came to. “I have always loved Javi like a brother. I did not do right by him, and for that I am sorry. It is something I will have to live with. But I had my reasons. And I think he would understand, had he been in the same position.” “You just left,” I say. “You didn’t come to his funeral. There was a funeral. Did you even know that? I had to bury him, alone. Without anyone in the world who loved him. It’s not fair, River. You should have been there.” “Isabella, I know you are upset. But the reason I have come to you today is not because of Javi.” I blink and try to make sense of the gravity in his voice. I don’t know what it could be. What could be so serious that isn’t about Javi? “It’s your father,” he tells me. “Isabella…” His voice is broken, soft. And only slightly apologetic now. “I don’t know how to tell you this. But your father is dead. And I am the one who killed him.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
MY BELLA IS beautiful under the spotlight. The room is dim. Intimate. The seats are sold out. And it is not like most concerts. There is no screaming. There is no talking. There is complete silence when she takes her place on the bench, and they all hold their breath. Waiting for my angel to sing. She adjusts the microphone and glances nervously into the crowd before turning away again. She speaks softly at first. Holding a hand over her belly. The place where my child grows inside of her. “This is a new song,” she says. “It’s called Words Only You Can Hear.” She looks towards the ceiling and closes her eyes, a solitary tear rolling down her cheek as her fingers begin to roam over the keys. The music is soft and beautiful, just like Bella. And the words are songs she sang only for me. At Moldavia. It is the first of many songs. She has been busy in my absence. Busy writing and playing. This show is a time capsule of our journey together, and then hers alone. She sings of her pain those first few months. Her fear.
And then later, her love. She sings of her anguish when I left her. Of her anger. And then, of her solitude. The last and final song, she dedicates to her father. But it is not what I expect. It is anguish again. Anguish over his lies, and her questioning who he really was. Torment over the things he did. And I know by the time the music has finished playing that she has learned the truth. She knows he is dead. And she knows the parts of me I could never bring myself to tell her about. I don’t know how. But my Bella is smart. She is curious. And in my absence, she has only grown stronger. The room is still silent. The crowd holds their breath while they wait for her to speak again. And finally, she rises from the bench. Like a phoenix rising from the flames. Her head held high. Her grief behind her. She picks up the microphone one last time before the crowd erupts into applause. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
SECURITY USHERS me back to the dressing room where Luke greets me at the door. “Out of the fucking park,” he says. “Baby, you were out of the fucking park.” “Thank you, Luke.” “So…” He lingers in place, blocking my entry. “So?” “Let’s talk next show. World tour. Isabella, you have to give them more.” He’s got dollar signs in his eyes, and I’m already shaking my head. “I told you the deal, Luke. One show. One time. That’s it. I’m done. I’m out of the game for good.” His shoulders fall, and he still doesn’t want to accept it. “Baby doll, c’mon, did you not see that crowd out there? They were wild for you. You have to ride the wave.”
“There is no wave,” I tell him. “This was it, Luke.” “So that’s it?” he repeats. “You’re just going to give all this up and go back to your hole and be a mom?” I smile, despite the horrified expression on his face. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Unbelievable. You’re going to miss it, Isabella. You’re going to want this back. This feeling. But you won’t be able to have it. Not if you wait too long.” “It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’ll live with it if I do.” He sighs. Shuffles from side to side. “Will you call me if you change your mind?” “You’ll be the first number I dial.” He moves in for a creepy hug, and I hold my hand out instead. He shakes it, and then reluctantly moves along. I open the door to my room and sit down. Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. That’s when it hits me. The scent. The unmistakable scent of wild roses. I open my eyes to find the stems laid out on my dressing table. Crimson red. Tears fill my eyes. I don’t dare to hope. I don’t dare to fear. But there is knife right beside them. A knife that is all too familiar. “My sweet Bella.” The voice comes from behind me, so soft I can’t be sure I’m not going insane. I can’t move. I don’t dare. I am so afraid that if I blink, that if move even a fraction of an inch, the illusion in the reflection will disappear. His face will disappear, and I will be plunged right back into my waking nightmare again. “You have two choices,” he tells me. “You can keep me, or you can kill me. For I cannot go on living without you. And I cannot go on living with you as my captive. So you must decide on your own. You must choose to be my willing captive. You must choose to remain by my side for the days of your life, or be merciful and have your vengeance by bleeding me dry.” A tear falls down my cheek, followed by another. And then another. Soon, Javi is kneeling before me at my feet, cupping my face in his palms. And they feel so real. So warm. I can smell him. I can feel him. It is either the cruelest fabrication of my mind or the best day of my life. Javi wipes away my tears. “Do not cry for me, my Bella.” “You can’t be real,” I whisper. “This can’t be real. I must be dreaming.”
“It is no dream,” he assures me. I close my eyes and open them again. He is still there. Still breathing. His heart still beating when I feel it beneath my palm. “Javi?” “Yes, my love,” he answers. “It is me. I am real. I am here. And I am not going anywhere.” I leap into his arms, and he catches me. “Javi.” Over and over, I say his name like a prayer. He kisses me. He holds me. And he doesn’t let go. His eyes move over my body. Over the bump that now rests between us. “You carry my child so well, my Bella.” His hand hovers there nervously, wishing to touch, but possibly afraid. “You can,” I tell him. “This baby is ours, Javi.” He touches me, as gently as Javi has ever touched me. “I still cannot believe it is real,” he says. “Did you know?” I ask. There are so many questions. So much for us to talk about. I don’t know where he was or what happened to him. But I don’t know if I’m even ready to hear it yet, and I think Javi knows it. “I did know, Bella,” he answers. “There is much for us to discuss.” “There is,” I agree. “One step at a time. I only just got you back.” “I take it then,” he says hopefully, “you do not wish to kill me?” “Don’t ever leave me again,” I tell him. “Ever.” “I won’t, my Bella,” he says. “But your father…” I shake my head and close my eyes. “No. Not now.” Maybe not ever. I don’t know how to make sense of the things that I feel for my father. My warring grief and hatred for the man that he was. I think I will always be split in two as far as he is concerned. I mourn him because I am still his daughter. But I have so much anger towards him too. Anger that I never had a chance to express. But none of that matters right now. Nothing else matters when Javi is real, and he is right here beside me. I tell him as much. And then I tell him to take me home.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“MY BELLA.” Javi’s voice pulls me from my daydream, and I open my eyes. The sun is shining, but his body shields my face from the worst of it. The hammock rocks in the breeze and I cradle my belly, resting the book I was reading atop the bump as I give him my full attention. “What is it?” “You have been out here too long,” he says. “Your skin will burn in this light.” Concern mars his features, and I give him a gentle smile. He is unguarded. Still wild, as he always has been. But there is something so different about my Javi now. He is no longer ashamed of his scars. He no longer hides from me. He is beautiful and primitive. He still struggles with control. With asking questions or making suggestions instead of demanding them. Like right now when I can see he would prefer to simply pick me up and carry me back into the house. But he is trying to be patient. He is trying to learn. We are trying to learn together. I teach Javi patience, and he teaches
me strength, and together we make it from one day to the next. “Bella,” he says again. “Come inside, yes?” “Yes,” I answer him. “I will.” “Now?” He is anxious. The baby will be here any day. “I need help.” I hold out my hands, and Javi tugs me up from the hammock, cradling me in his arm as he walks me into the house. We sit down at the kitchen island, and he makes me a cup of tea while I watch. Since his return home, Javi has been busy remodeling Moldavia. The first thing to go was the surgery room. The walls of the house have been re-papered and painted, and the floors polished and shined. The only thing that remains is the locks on the windows. I feel more secure knowing they are in place. Javi no longer works for the agency. He tells me that they will not come for us, but I can never really feel one hundred percent comfortable when it comes to the agency. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel completely comfortable again. If I’ll ever stop looking over my shoulder or checking the house for devices. I know Javi won’t either. I see him doing the same. And now that we are about to be parents, it weighs heavy on both of our minds. That is not the only thing weighing heavy on Javi’s mind, and it is obvious in the way he carries himself today. When he places my tea on the counter, I reach for his hand. “Javi.” “Hmm, my love?” He seems scattered, his thoughts elsewhere. “It’s going to be okay.” “What is?” he asks. “You’re going to do just fine.” I tell him so every day, but he doesn’t believe me. I know he worries that he will not be a good father. He never had a father, he said. Or at least, he did not know him. And the closest he had to one was my father. The man who deceived him. “You will be nothing like him,” I say. “You will be here. You will be present. And you will teach your son to be a man of honor.” “Yes,” he says softly. “I hope so.” I smile and take a sip of my tea. And then my water breaks.
Javi is still at war in his own mind, and I have to call his name to get his attention. “Yes, my love?” “I guess there’s no time like the present to find out.” “What do you mean?” “It’s time,” I tell him.
CHAPTER FIFTY
THE WHOLE PROCESS is overwhelming from the start. The trip to the hospital takes an eternity, and I worry I will not get her there on time. The registration process overwhelms me. Paperwork this, and insurance that. These are things not to worry about I try to tell them. We can take care of it later. But first, we must have our baby. They tell me this is not the way this works, and I get frustrated. Bella reaches for my hand and smiles. I know I must be patient. I must do this right, for her. I fill out the paperwork as they ask. Nurses come and go from the room. A doctor comes and goes. I think that the baby will come soon, but they tell me no, this is not how it works. So we wait. And I watch Bella. This is not the kind of pain I like to see her in. Eventually, they say she is getting close. They give her an epidural, and I almost get sick. I do not like hospitals. I do not like the smell. The needles. The tools. I remember my mother, and then I try to erase those thoughts from my memory. Not today. Not ever again. Forward. Always forward with my Bella.
The doctor comes in and tells her it’s time to push. She does. They ask me if I want to see the baby’s head, and Bella tells me no. That I better not dare to look down there right now. So I don’t. I stay up by her side and hold her hand and kiss her forehead and tell her how amazing I think she is. How lucky I am to have her. How I will never let her go. She cries and tries to smile. She cannot say the words back. But I don’t need them. Not anymore. I know that when she does say them, she means them. I know that I love her. Nothing will ever come between us again. I tell her so. And she agrees. “Yes, Javi. Never.” The baby is born, and the doctor laughs as he cleans him up. “Would you like to meet your daughter?” “Daughter?” we both ask. “Yes, it appears that your son is not a son after all. What we have here is a little girl.” Bella smiles and I almost pass out. A girl. A girl is not better, is it? A girl is worse? A girl is sensitive. Delicate. This means I must learn to be sensitive and delicate. I’m still panicking over this until I look at my Bella. So soft and beautiful and exhausted, clutching our baby girl in her arms. She looks up at me, and there are tears in her eyes. “She’s so…” Her voice is weak. Raspy. She must be so tired, I reason. “Pretty.” The word is barely a breath. A machine starts beeping. The doctor yells something. But I can only focus on Bella. Her eyes have closed, and her body is limp, and I only blinked, and I don’t understand what’s happening. Someone shoves the baby into my arms and tells me I must leave. I tell them no. The machines keep beeping, and Bella is not waking up, and I am so scared. The most afraid I have ever been, with such a tiny baby in my arms. I cannot fight them. I cannot get to them. Because it would hurt the baby. The nurses push me from the room, and I tell them no again. “Mr. Castillo,” the nurse says. “You must be calm. You have to let us try to help her.” But that isn’t the way it sounds. That isn’t the way it sounds at all. Because her voice is
grim, and her eyes are apologetic. She’s looking at me like my Bella is already gone. And the only thing I can do is look down at the little baby in my arms. The little baby that looks so much like Bella.
EPILOGUE
-FOUR YEARS LATER“ARIA, COME TO PAPA.” The little girl with black hair and pale blue eyes bounds from the other end of the room and leaps up onto the sofa. “What is it, Papa?” she asks. I tap her on the nose and shake my head. “It is long past your bedtime, yes?” She giggles and shrugs. “I’m not tired, though.” “Ah yes, this is what you say. However, in the morning it will be, Papa I’m too tired to get out of bed.” She giggles again. “Can you tell me one story first?”
Like most things, I cannot turn her down when she uses this voice. The same one she got from her mother. She is a songbird, like her mother too. “Which story would you like tonight, my Aria? Will it be Kings and Queens or fairies and toads?” “I want the story about the caged bird,” she tells me. I smile. My heart aches whenever I tell this story, but I indulge her. It is good for me, to never forget. “Come, come.” I pat the sofa beside me and Aria cuddles into my side. “Okay, here we go. You comfortable?” “Yes, Papa,” she says. “Okay then. Once upon a time, there was a beautiful songbird. The most beautiful songbird in all the land.” “You forgot the most important part,” Aria interrupts me. “I have not forgotten. You just need to learn patience, my Aria. Now hush and let your Papa tell the story.” “Okay,” she whispers. “The beautiful songbird looked just like you. With long raven hair and pale blue eyes. Her skin was porcelain, and she could have been an angel who fell from the sky.” “Soooooo pretty,” Aria adds. “Yes, she was. And this beautiful songbird had the voice of an angel too. But sometimes, she did not always know this to be true. She was filled with doubt by all the villagers who told her she did not sing so well as she thought.” “They were sooooo mean,” Aria contributes. “Yes, they were mean. But the meanest of all was the beast that she crossed paths with one fateful day. He thought her so beautiful that he decided he should have her for himself. But it was not to covet her like the songbird she was. The beast had set out to hurt the songbird.” “But why, Papa?” Aria asks. “Why would he want to do that?” “I have told you this story many times,” I say. She grins. “I know, but not for a while now.” “Okay,” I concede. “Well the Beast, he was cold-hearted, Aria. Not like you. He did not care for others. He had no compassion. His heart was filled with hate and a thirst for revenge. Because the songbird’s father had tricked him once. And because he was scarred and ugly. He decided that it was easier to have his revenge than to accept what was.”
“So he did not think the songbird could love him?” Aria asks. “No,” I answer. “He did not. For he was a beast after all.” “But sometimes, maybe, a songbird could love a beast anyway,” Aria says thoughtfully. “Right, Papa?” “Yes.” I smile. “You are so smart, Aria. And this is precisely what happened. In spite of his terrible ways, the songbird fell in love with the beast, anyway.” Aria wiggles her feet beside me nervously in anticipation for the part that she remembers next. “But it was not to be. For there was a terrible, terrible illness that took…” “Papa!” Aria covers her ears and screeches. “Don’t say this part.” I poke her in the tummy, and she smiles. “But this is the story, Aria. Do you want to hear it or not?” “I do, but skip to the best part.” “Patience,” I mumble. “You must learn patience, my Aria.” “Okay,” she yawns. “Then let’s finish the story tomorrow night.” She closes her eyes and snuggles against me, and I do not have the heart to move her. Instead, I stroke her hair beneath my palm and marvel over the little girl that Isabella and I created. “Do we miss mama?” I ask her. She yawns again and nods into my side, her answer only a faint whisper. “Yes, Papa. We miss her very much.” And then she is asleep. Off to dreams in a place that no darkness can touch her. I close my eyes too and remember my Bella. I remember her in a white dress, with her hair falling in curls around her face. She wore a halo of roses that day, and I told her that I thought it was shameful I was the only one to bear witness to such beauty. She argued with me that the minister was there to witness it too, and all the stars in the sky above us, and of course, our Aria. I told her I had no need for the stars in the sky or the moon or the sun, because I had her, and that was everything to me. She replied with a smile on her face that I had gone soft, and she was probably right. But my vows were not soft. And the ceremony was not soft. I was determined to bind her to me for life, and words weren’t enough. Her blood still hangs in a vial around my neck, where it will remain until my heart gives out. My Bella conceded that this was the way it should be because our journey had never been all roses. I laid claim to her with my ring and my words and my knife. The minister paled as we
performed the blood ceremony and exchanged vows. I promised to love, cherish, and protect my wife. And then I promised to punish and reward her when I saw fit too. Bella promised to love me, even when I didn’t deserve it. She promised to teach me patience when I needed it, which was always. And she promised that even if I lived to earn another thousand scars, she would see nothing except for her beautiful beast. The last part was not necessary. Because I discovered that as time went on, my scars faded away. Perhaps not in the mirrors, but in my own eyes. It was easy to forget they existed when Bella loved me in spite of them. Her opinion was the only one that mattered. The only one that still matters. And I miss her terribly sometimes when she disappears this way. When she goes away to write. Vanishing into the other wing of the house for hours on end. It is something that helps her. It is her way of processing the emotions that she feels so strongly at times. I will often hear the soft notes of the piano at all hours of the night, playing songs with words only I can hear. She does not put them on albums. She simply records them and uploads them to YouTube. Something for her fans that costs nothing. And then she leaves them, never to return again. She does not read the comments. She remains safe in her bubble here with her family. Ever since that day when we brought our little girl home. It took some time to make this happen. I almost lost her. We almost lost her. To an embolism. But against the odds, she recovered. The doctors told me she was a fighter. And I told them they had no idea. I brought my Bella home, and we have never looked back. The door opens, and with it comes the light. “I wasn’t expecting you to finish so early.” “I know,” Bella says. “But I missed you guys.” She looks lovely this evening, her tired eyes roaming over Aria and then me. She is always so lovely. “Let me put her to bed,” she says. “And then I’ll come to you.” I scoop Aria into my arms and hand her to Bella. She leaves, and I go to the place where it all began, amongst the roses and stars. Bella meets me in the conservatory and pulls me against her, stretching up on her toes to kiss me goodnight. She always kisses me like it’s the last time now. We always treat each day like it may be our last. Bella has taught me patience, and I have taught her strength, and together we overcome every obstacle life has thrown our way. We have both learned that nothing can break those who have already been broken like us. “You are still my monster,” she tells me.
I kiss her again, just to be sure she knows I mean it. “And you are still mine. Forever.”
BONUS SCENE
Aria bounds into the kitchen just as I finish scrambling the eggs and dividing them up onto three plates. She smiles up at me and holds out her hands in anticipation. “Wash up first,” I tell her. She sighs but does as she’s asked. Javi doesn’t even seem to notice that we’re here. He’s at the counter, glued to his computer, the same way he has been for the past month. I ignore the dread churning in my stomach and fake a smile for Aria while we eat breakfast together. Her plate is empty ten minutes later while my food has merely been redistributed by the fork. “Can I go play now?” she asks. “Worksheets first,” I tell her. She skips off down the hall, leaving me to the suffocating silence that I’ve become so attuned to. Javi has not even looked at me this morning, but I’m getting used to that too. I’ve been afraid to ask what’s had him so preoccupied. The storm in his eyes hasn’t disappeared with time, and I’ve tried to reason that he must have good excuses for sneaking out at all hours of the day. But I can no longer ignore the tension that exists between us. I thought we had moved past this. I thought we would only ever move forward after everything we’ve been through. We have come so far that sometimes it seems like a bad dream when I recall the events of the past. But I can only pretend for so long. I can try to justify his actions and create excuses for his behavior, but it does not quell the hurt inside of me. The burning questions I am too afraid to ask. Is there someone else? Is it the same woman he brought here before? I swallow some cold coffee, and it feels like sand in my throat. When I set the mug down on the counter too hard, Javi finally looks up at me. “Why don’t we take Aria out for a picnic today,” I suggest. His shoulders tighten, and shame burns his eyes.
“I am sorry, my love,” he answers. “I can’t today.” I nod because I have no voice left. My eyes burn with unshed tears, and I shield them by turning away and tending to the dishes. At some point, Javi leaves again. The house is quiet for the rest of the day, and Aria and I eat dinner alone. When he returns at bedtime, I fake sleep and cry silent tears. Javi does not sleep either. He is still and quiet, but I know his body well enough to know when he succumbs to his exhaustion. I wonder if he knows that I am still awake too. The answer to that question comes when he sneaks out of bed five minutes later. A glance at the clock tells me that it’s three am, and I can’t take this anymore. I need answers. Aria is just down the hall, and she’s the first thing that crosses my mind. She can’t be left here alone, but at the very least, I need to see what Javi is doing. When he slips from the room, I leave the bed myself and follow the soft thud of footsteps down the hall. I expect him to use the front door, assuming that he will probably take his truck to wherever he’s going. But instead, he ducks right at the parlor and moves in the direction of the conservatory, locking it behind him. His actions won’t allow me to follow without being heard, and I’m afraid of losing sight of him. So I do the next best thing. I slip into his office and glance at the live camera monitors on the screen. Every angle outside the house is being recorded, and I know he will be on at least one of them. But I lose hope quickly. Javi is skilled at hiding in the shadows. He is skilled at going unnoticed through the darkness of night. I can’t see him on any of the screens. I can’t see anything. I slump back into his office chair and curl my fingers into my fist in frustration. He’s gone. There’s nothing. Until there is. It’s so faint that I almost didn’t see it. If I had even blinked, I would have missed the flash on the screen. There is a flicker of light coming from inside the tool shed. I watch the door for what feels like an eternity, waiting for him to emerge, but he doesn’t. And that’s when I know that I have no choice. He’s in there for a reason, and I need to know why. I use the side entrance of the house and walk softly towards the door, my fingers trembling as they hover over the doorknob. He could be in there with her right now. This could be worse than anything he has ever done to me. Something that I could never recover from. And I’m not entirely certain I can handle it. But then I think of all the things I’ve been through before, and it steels my resolve. The knob turns freely, and the door creaks open. I stand on the threshold, mentally preparing myself for every scenario my mind can conjure up. Only, I couldn’t have
prepared myself for what I find. Javi is not alone. But he’s not with another woman either. I can’t feel my fingers, and I’m trying to make sense of what’s happening here, but I don’t understand it. This is not the scenario that I prepared myself for. He’s sitting on a bucket opposite a young boy I don’t recognize, and they are playing checkers. Javi turns to me and blinks before the boy growls at me and scurries into the darkness to hide. “What are you doing, Bella?” Javi demands. “What are you doing?” I fire back. “Is that… her son?” Javi stares at me like I’ve gone mental. “Whose son?” “The woman,” I accuse. “Whoever you’ve been sneaking off to be with. I’m not stupid, Javi. Don’t lie to me anymore. I demand to know what’s going on.” He moves towards me then, his face grim. I step back and almost stumble. It’s the first time in a long time that I am unsure how to handle him. I have no idea what his intentions are when he comes near me and seizes my arm. He’s been so on edge. So off balance. It’s hard to read him right now. “My Bella,” he sighs. “How could you think that I would do that to you?” He regrets the words the moment they are spoken, and I see it in his eyes. Neither one of us likes to dredge up the past, but sometimes it can’t be helped. His fingers come up to touch my face, and his mouth lingers just a breath away from mine. It is the closest we have been in weeks, and my traitorous body relaxes into his touch, revealing just how much I have missed him. “You are crazy,” he whispers. “If you think there would ever be anyone else for me.” My bottom lip quivers and tears threaten to spill from my eyes. “Then tell me what’s happening, because I don’t understand.” He bows his head in a rare sign of submission and pulls me into his arms. “I am sorry,” he tells me. “I did not know how to tell you this. I did not know the best thing to do.” He steps away from me then, pulling me along with him into the shed. And the boy that I saw only a glimpse of earlier is now huddled in the corner, clinging to a tiny cot that I’ve never seen before. Beside him, there is a mini fridge with stacks of books and sketch pads and various activities to keep him occupied. It is as if he has been living here, and I didn’t even know it. And when I glance back to Javi, I realize that is exactly what is happening. “Who is he?” I ask again. Javi looks at the boy and back to me. “Technically, he does not have a name. At least not one that he remembers.”
My stomach lurches when I realize the implication of those words. This boy is from the program. The same one where they tortured Javi as a child. I don’t want to believe it’s true, but one look at him and I know that I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s easy to forget sometimes when we live away from everyone and everything that there are still children out there suffering. We go on with our daily lives and the things that are too difficult to accept sometimes just slip away. This child is a stark reminder that these problems still exist. He is so small. Only ten or eleven if I had to guess. And he is feral. Scared. Angry. His eyes move over me like a target, waiting for Javi to give him the green light to eliminate me. I do not have to wonder if he has killed before. It is written in his troubled eyes already. I have so many conflicting emotions about this boy that I’m having trouble processing them. If it were just the two of us in this house, then it would be different. But we have Aria to think about first and foremost. She is small and defenseless, and I can’t help but think that this entire time she could have been at risk. It angers me that Javi has done this without telling me, but that anger is only equal to the sympathy I feel for this boy. “Where is his family?” Javi guides me out the door and shuts it behind us, obscuring the boy from my sight and our words. “He has no family,” Javi answers. “Do you realize what you could have done?” I ask. “Aria—” “She was never at risk,” Javi cuts me off. “I would never allow him to hurt her. And I would never allow him to stay here if I thought for one second that he would.” “But you can’t know that for certain, Javi. You had me going crazy thinking that we were broken. That we were… through. You risked our marriage- our whole life together. You hid him from me. There must be a reason for that.” “I never meant to hurt you, Bella,” he murmurs. “But I could not abandon him. And I knew that you would not understand.” “That isn’t true,” I bite back. Javi steps closer, wrapping me in his arms. “You are my whole life,” he whispers. “And you have the softest heart I have ever been blessed to encounter. A heart that found love for me after all that I have done. But my Bella, as much as you love me, you cannot begin to understand or know what my life was like in the program. We are from two separate worlds.” I rest my head against his chest and listen to his heart beat strong and steady beneath me. His words are true, as much as I want to tell him otherwise. I could never understand the full extent of what Javi has been through. And I know that what he’s trying to tell me now is that this boy needs him. He feels an obligation to him that perhaps I can never relate to, but in my own small way, I do understand that much. “Where did he come from?” I ask. “How did he get here?”
“I am not entirely certain,” Javi answers. “I saw him on the cameras, lurking in the forest. He had been watching the house, and I thought that maybe he was an agent. I did not want to scare you, so I did not tell you. But when I found him, I realized he was only a boy. He said he had escaped and he was told that I could help him.” “By who?” Javi sighs. “A man with an apple.” River. The very name gives me mixed feelings, and I know Javi feels the same. There is still hurt in his eyes every time he thinks of him. “Then how do you know we can trust this boy?” I ask carefully. “I have interrogated him myself,” Javi assures me. “Interrogated him?” I swallow. “But he is just a child.” “He stopped being a child the day he was taken into the program,” Javi says. “And I could not risk my family until I was certain he was trustworthy, child or not.” I don’t ask for further details because I don’t want to know them. From this point on, there is only one decision to make. “A tool shed is no place for a boy to live,” I whisper. Javi squeezes me a little tighter. “I know.” He believes that I will tell him to send the boy away. I can feel the tension in his body. He doesn’t want to choose between us, and right now he is torn. “You will need to be responsible for watching him,” I say finally. “It’s the only way that we can ensure Aria’s safety. I need to feel comfortable in knowing that she will be safe no matter what.” Javi’s shoulders relax, and he nods. “Of course, Bella. I will never let any harm come to her. Nothing can ever cloud my judgment when it comes to our family. On that, you must trust me.” “I do,” I answer. And it’s true. I let my imagination run wild before, but being here with Javi now, I realize I should have known better. Aria and I mean everything to him. He wouldn’t have risked everything that we have without a good reason. A reason that I feel in my gut is about to change our lives forever. It scares me and warms me at the same time when I take Javi by the hand. “I suppose it’s time for a proper introduction.” His teeth flash in the darkness, and I know he’s smiling when he takes me back inside the shed. The boy is curled up on the cot, scribbling in his sketch pad, his hood obscuring much of
his eyes and face. He reminds me so much of a small Javi that it brings more tears to my eyes when I kneel down before him. His hand freezes and the pencil stops moving. From this angle, he can’t avoid looking at me. And I know that this moment is the most important one we will ever have. I only get one chance to lay the foundation of our relationship. I only get one chance to show him what a mother can be. “Hello,” I say softly. “My name is Isabella. Has Javi told you about me?” He looks to Javi for approval before nodding but doesn’t speak. I give him a gentle smile and reach out to touch his hand. He retreats into himself, and Javi steps forward as if to warn me, but I don’t shy away. Javi may understand this boy, but I understand something that he can’t. This boy doesn’t just need structure and a safe space. He needs a mother’s love. “I won’t hurt you,” I assure him. “And you won’t hurt me either.” He looks to Javi again but allows me to take his hand in mine this time. It is small and cold and clammy because he is nervous. No matter what this boy has done, these are still the hands of a child. A child I feel a connection with. I can’t explain it. I can’t make sense of it. But I just know that this is where he belongs. I tell him so. And when I ask him if he would like to come and live in the house with us, he gives me the faintest of nods. Once we have tucked him into bed in the room that he will call his own, Javi lingers outside the doorway. “It’s alright,” I tell him. “You should stay here with him tonight. He needs you.” He leans down into me and kisses me in a way that lets me know he will never forsake what we have together. This has been another learning experience for both of us, and although it was painful, I have come to understand that pain always brings about growth. And because of that, Javi and I will be stronger. “After what happened with Aria,” he says, “I didn’t think we would ever be parents again.” I smile up at him and peer through the crack at the form of the sleeping boy inside before I kiss him one more time. “I think we should know by now my love, fate has a way of surprising us.”
The End.
BLACKWOOD CELIA AARON
CHAPTER ONE
THE GRAND HOUSE ROSE from the ground as if it grew in that one spot, nurtured for years by the sun and rain. Trees encroached from all sides, their branches leaning toward it, as if seeking to gain some of the same sun and air. Despite time and neglect, the building remained strong, the corners sharp and the roofs perfectly angled. Whoever had built the Victorian masterpiece in the woods had done so with painstaking precision. It was meant to last. The Blackwood Estate was the last stop on my survey, and I intended to get permission to search the extensive grounds and do a few digs. Acres and acres of woods, unused farmland, and various creeks and river branches would provide months—if not years—of interest. But my main focus at that moment was the immense home hidden in the dark forest. I’d pushed the main gate open, the hinges screeching in disrepair. The driveway was mostly clear, the cracks in the concrete streaking like dark lightning. I’d rolled steadily forward, eyeing the gentle hills and wondering what archaeological treasures lay buried beneath the fertile Mississippi Delta dirt. At the end of the drive, I’d found the faded mansion, vines growing along the sides and a front porch swing rocking in the breeze. Despite its strong bones, time had worn away much of the home’s superficial beauty—the gray and white paint peeled, dark green shutters along the first floor hung askew, and the windows carried a film of dirt, making it hard to tell if someone lurked inside, watching. A shiver ran through me at the prospect. Slowing, I took in the house’s worn façade and maneuvered around a fallen limb. I eyed the second floor windows, but nothing moved. It was as if the house was holding its breath, waiting for something. For me? I drove to the side of the structure, the driveway continuing further into the dark property. Gathering my notepad, I climbed out of the car and took the full brunt of the winter wind. Fall had come and gone, leaves littering the ground and crunching beneath my feet. A surprisingly cold winter had followed in its wake, the low temperatures often the first subject of any conversation I’d had with the locals. The sun flirted with the tops of the trees to my left, throwing dappled shadows against the turret that rose three stories along the side of the house. A weather vane sat atop it, though it seemed frozen, the direction signifying nothing.
Pulling my red pea coat closed, I climbed the front steps and knocked on the dark brown front door with as much authority as I could muster. The wood was too thick and seemed to absorb the sound from my knuckles so that only someone standing right next to it would even hear it. “Hello?” I banged on the door with the side of my fist. A solid thunk of flesh on wood was my only reward. I glanced around for a doorbell or a knocker. Nothing. The wind picked up again, whistling along the eaves of the house like an unruly ghost. I swore under my breath and knocked again. “Is anyone home? I’m Elise Vale from the university. I just have a few questions.” No luck. The house remained silent, watching me. Turning, I walked along the front porch, past the rusted swing, and to a set of dusty windows. I bent over to peek inside. The interior was so dark that what little sunlight filtered through the surrounding trees was still too much. The gold reflection blinded more than it illuminated. I dropped my note pad onto the swing and cupped my hands on the chilly glass to peer inside. When I saw a face only inches away from mine, I shrieked and stumbled backwards, falling on my ass with a thump.
CHAPTER TWO
THE FRONT DOOR CREAKED OPEN, but not enough for me to enter or the man to come out. Relief flooded my veins. The man I saw through the window wasn’t someone I wanted to meet face to face, not when I was out in the boonies alone. I scrambled to my feet and clutched my notebook. The county records indicated the land was still in the Blackwood family, now owned by Garrett Blackwood, thirty-two years old. Could this be the same man? Surely not. “Mr. Blackwood?” “What do you want?” The voice was low and gruff, scratchy from disuse. “I’m Elise Vale from the university.” I brushed off my pants. “I’m not deaf, Red.” His voice boomed through the crack in the door. “I heard that part. What do you want?” I took a few hesitant steps closer. “I’m working on my Ph.D. in archaeology, and my focus is on Choctaw culture.” Usually that was enough to shake loose a question or an expression of interest from the landowners I spoke with. Not this one. I continued, “The woods and fields here in the Delta are littered with artifacts, and the university has made some great finds over the past few years in several of the areas near here. I was hoping you’d allow me to survey your land and perform a few digs—all with your express permission, of course. I wouldn’t do anything or dig anywhere without first gaining your approval.” A few beats went by. I tried to see into the dim interior of the house, but the darkness was all-consuming. Only his voice and the tips of his fingers—the nails dirty and black—along the edge of the door proved that a man stood just inside. “Go.” He pushed the door, closing the narrow pathway between us. I put my hand out and stopped the door before it closed all the way, only a sliver of space left. “Please. I’m counting on this to finish my Ph.D. Most of the land around here has already been searched and studied. The Blackwood”—I gestured to the skeletal forest encroaching on the house—“is the only untouched site in this part of the eastern Delta.” A harsh laugh cut through the air. “Untouched? Nothing here is untouched. Everything is spoiled, ruined. You want to hunt for remains of a murdered civilization? Look around; you’re surrounded by ghosts. No digging necessary.” He pushed the door all the way shut,
and the clink of a lock sounded from within the thick wood. “Leave.” His voice barely made it to my ears, though I suspected he leaned against the door when he spoke. It was as if I could feel him through the surface, the fibers separating at microscopic levels to carry his cruel voice to my ears. “Stay off my land or I’ll call the sheriff.” My stomach sank. I needed to dig on this property. And not just for my Ph.D. project. “Please reconsider, Mr. Blackwood. I’ll leave the papers in the letterbox out here if you change your mind.” I opened the rusted letterbox next to the door, the hinges squeaking angrily, then slid the permission documents inside. “My phone number is on the first page, and you can call my thesis advisor, Dr. Stallings, if you have any questions. His number is there, too.” “Go!” I jumped as the door rattled and boomed. He must have banged his fists on it. The sun hid behind the trees as the chill wind picked up again. I turned, disheartened, and trudged down the stairs and back out to my car. After one more glance at the faded mansion in the woods, I backed up and headed down the driveway toward the road. The windows remained empty in my rear view, no sign of life or hope to light any of them. I gripped the steering wheel hard, too hard, and came to a stop at the main road. This had been my chance, my one chance to find the truth. I stared into the woods ahead of me, my headlights barely penetrating the surface of their shaded depths. Blackwood had taken the truth away from me, along with so much more. I knew without a doubt those documents would rot in the letterbox, and I would never be allowed to dig on the property. I was so close. I looked at my stack of signed permission papers in the passenger seat and chewed my lip. I had to have express approval from each landowner before Dr. Stallings would release funds for my digs. I’d hyped up the Blackwood site so much—too much— that it was pivotal for me. Dr. Stallings warned me that the university wouldn’t pay for me to dig in tracts that had already been surveyed unless I had something fresh to investigate. It was Blackwood or nothing. I slapped my palm on the steering wheel, the resulting ache in my hand letting me know I was still alive, still in the game, and still able to continue my search. I pulled a copy of the Blackwood permission papers from my stack and took a pen from my bag. Putting pen to paper, the name “Garrett Blackwood” flowed out easily in black ink. His property was expansive. I could dig without him ever knowing, Professor Stallings would have his paperwork, and I would finally be able to discover the truth about my father’s disappearance.
CHAPTER THREE
DR. STALLINGS FLIPPED THROUGH my approval papers, his sandy blond eyebrows drawn down as he checked each signature. “They’re all there.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and tried to calm my skittering nerves. “I see.” He glanced at the last page—Blackwood’s page—then leaned back in his chair. “I see you got the Blackwood permission.” “Yes.” I dropped my gaze to my sensible flats. “I think I’ll start there.” “I’ve tried for years to get permission to dig out there. No dice.” He gave me a half-smile. “I should have realized all I had to do was send a sexy student to ask.” His light brown eyes scanned me with a cursory sweep. I used to think they were the color of honey, and the man who owned them just as sweet. Not anymore. “Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you on some of the scouting?” “And interrupt your classes?” I shook my head. “No. I can handle this.” He narrowed his gaze and motioned toward the door, silently telling me to close it. I stood and pushed it shut, even though acid began to rise in my throat. Even though I knew what was coming next. “Are you okay?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he asked, the buttons on his light blue dress shirt straining. “Yes.” I sank into the leather chair in front of his desk and silently prayed he wouldn’t ask me to chat with him on the couch. I’d heard too many stories about that couch. The wrinkles around his eyes tripled as he gave me a look of faux concern. “I wish you’d let me take you to dinner where we could talk quietly.” He glanced at the door. “More privately. I know it’s hard for you to share your feelings in this setting.” I had to play this carefully. One wrong move and he’d think I was interested in his advances. A move too far in the other direction and he’d threaten funding for my digs again. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit. “I’m still not ready. I’m sorry.” I sank into my chair with a sigh. He stood and walked around his desk. The skin on the back of my neck crawled as he hovered behind me. “Your mother would want you to be happy.” Don’t you dare talk about her. “You’re right.”
“I can make you happy.” He slid his hands onto my shoulders, the fingers digging into my flesh like tenterhooks. “Doctor—” “Call me Frank. You know you can talk to me.” I remembered the last time he wanted to “talk.” The memory of his hot breath on my neck made me shudder. “Frank—” “Come sit with me.” I bit the inside of my cheek, the sting of pain keeping me grounded. “I’m fine here.” He squeezed my shoulders hard, too hard. “Come on. You’ll feel better.” I bit my lip and rose as he released me. He sank onto his couch, one arm slung along the back. He was handsome, his sandy hair and clean-cut features screaming “All-American guy.” I’d never seen him with so much as a shadow along his jaw. Never a hair out of place, his clothes always perfectly pressed. He wore a uniform, a costume designed to lull me into a false sense of security. It failed to hide the fact that he was forty, married, and a known student-fucker. This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get close to me. But I’d heard plenty of stories about his conquests, and I wouldn’t be the next. All the same, I had to do this. For Dad. One last gauntlet before I could investigate his disappearance. I eased down next to him, but not close enough to touch. “It’s going to take time. I still think about her a lot.” “I know.” He grabbed my upper arm and pulled me into his side. “Shh.” He kissed my hair. “I know it hurts.” I stared at the door, willing someone to knock. “I think getting out and doing the surveying will help me. Maybe once I get back…” I shrugged and let the carrot dangle in the air. He ran his hand through my hair, then down to my waist. “You think you’d be ready to talk about it then?” His thumb stroked the bare patch of skin between my pants and my shirt. I swallowed hard. “I think so, yes. Doing the legwork will help me clear my head.” “But that will be months.” He sighed and slid his fingers under my shirt. I froze. “I know.” “I just thought I’d have the chance to help you through your mother’s passing while it’s still fresh. It’s only been a few months. Is being alone really the best thing for you right now?” He inched his fingers along my skin, sliding up my stomach. I pulled out my last card. Bursting into tears, I buried my face in his chest. “I just can’t stop thinking about her. Time alone would help me let her go, you know?” “Shhh.” He rubbed my back, and I could almost feel him smiling. “I’ve got you.” Not even close. I fake cried with hiccupping sobs as he wrapped his other arm around me.
“I understand.” He kissed my hair. “I can wait. How long will your surveys take? A month?” “I’ll need at least three.” I could do it in one, but he didn’t need to know that. “Three?” The frown in his voice iced my insides. “I want to be thorough, especially since my Ph.D. is riding on this. I hope that’s all right?” I kept my voice meek. “Well, I suppose that could work. Three months is a long time, but if that’s what you need to get your head clear so that I can help you, then I can live with it.” I nodded and blinked hard so a tear would wet my cheek, then looked into his eyes. “Thank you.” His gaze flicked to my lips. “Once the surveying is done—” “I’ll be back.” He leaned forward, and I let him brush his lips across mine. Then I buried my face against his shirt again. I hoped my nose would run and leave snot all along the designer check pattern. “Good.” He held me close. “I want to help you as soon as I can. I care about you so much.” I sniffled. “I know. You’re so good to me, Frank.” “That’s my job.” His chest puffed up. “Caring about students and their personal wellbeing is part of it.” “Thank you.” I lay my head on his shoulder. “I owe you so much.” “My pleasure.” His erection poked against his khaki pants, fanning out the pleats. He seemed to have no qualms about it. “I’ll get the funds all set up this afternoon. The sooner you get the surveying done, the better. Once it’s all laid out, you can come back. We can… talk through it all until you’re feeling better. Then we’ll both go out and oversee the undergrads on the digs.” The mental image of him grunting and grinding all over me in a pup tent was a particularly disturbing visual. I forced a wan smile. “That sounds perfect. I can’t wait.” “Good.” He stood and pulled me up with him. “I have to prepare for class.” He snagged a box of tissues sitting on a side table. Of course he kept tissue next to the love seat. “Sure, no problem.” I grabbed my bag and walked to the door. Before I could turn the handle, he was behind me, his erection pressing against my ass. “I can’t wait for you to get back.” He dropped a kiss on my shoulder. “Me neither.” I let my breath out on a silent sigh as he backed away. I pulled the door open and strode down the hall. Once I rounded the corner, I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. Students passed, completely unaware of the wank
session I was certain Dr. Stallings was engaging in just down the hall. Despite the fact that my skin still crawled, and I’d have to shower to get rid of the smell of his overpowering cologne on me, I smiled. I had the funding and the go-ahead to start my search. Blackwood’s secrets were mine to discover, and I would find them all before my three months were up.
CHAPTER FOUR
I SETTLED IN AT the counter of the small-town greasy spoon. Browerton was the closest spot of semi-civilization to the Blackwood Estate. It had a smaller population than my university, but was a big enough town to be the Millwood County seat. I’d spent a week back at school getting everything prepared and avoiding any more runins with Dr. Stallings. I was prepared to spend my entire three months at Blackwood, flying under Garrett Blackwood’s radar the entire time. “Usual?” Bonnie sidled up and poured me a cup of coffee. “Please.” She turned and shouted through the window to the kitchen. “Ty, two over easy, side of bacon extra crispy, and cheese grits.” “Heard.” A male voice called back, though I’d never actually laid eyes on “Ty,” and I’d eaten at the diner three times. I turned my head to the left and studied the cork board at the end of the counter. Livestock for sale, work at a lumber mill, and several faded missing persons’ posters. My father could have been up there, a staple through his description and zero chance of being found. “So, where you been?” Bonnie leaned on the counter and watched the county road outside through the wide windows. Farm trucks bumped along on the potholes under her curious gaze. She looked about forty and had a friendly demeanor. I suspected she and Ty were married. Her Southern lilt had more of a twangy tinge to it than I was used to, but I found it familiar and enjoyable all the same. Sometimes I wondered if she’d known my father. I never asked. Stirring up the past too soon would lead to disaster. “I had to go back to school and get all my permits and funding lined up.” I sipped my coffee, singeing my tongue as the caffeine worked its way into me. “You think you’ll find anything out there in the woods?” The sizzle of bacon and the smell of grease and butter wafted in the air. I warmed my cool hands around the coffee cup and looked up into her thoughtful brown eyes. “I hope so.” “Aren’t you scared to be out there all alone? What if something gets you? You know there
was this kid from the county high school that swears he’s seen Bigfoot tracks out in the woods. He makes these plaster cast things—” The door behind me opened, and Bonnie straightened, throwing her shoulders back to maximize her curves. “Sheriff Crow.” “Mornin’, Bonnie.” The sheriff sauntered in and dropped his hat on the counter next to me before sliding onto the stool to my left. “Mornin’, miss.” “Hi.” I glanced into his light blue eyes. Intelligence sparkled in them, and I hated the feeling of a pink blush creeping into my cheeks. He gave me a friendly smile. “I’m going to go ahead and hazard a guess that you’re the girl, I mean woman—” He shook his head at himself. “Sensitivity training clearly didn’t take, sorry about that—from the university looking for Choctaw artifacts?” “That’s me.” I tucked a lock of brown hair behind my ear. “How’d you know?” He arranged a napkin in his lap as Bonnie poured his coffee. “Everybody talks in a small place like this. A mosquito can’t sneeze on one end of town without me hearing a ‘bless you’ on the other.” “I see.” I had the irrational fear he’d ask to see my permission papers and somehow know I’d forged Garrett Blackwood’s signature. My stomach churned, suddenly angry at my order of coffee with a side of subterfuge. “Where you from?” He held up his hand to stop Bonnie’s steady pour of sugar into his cup. “That’s good, thanks.” “Stewartville.” “Up near Tupelo?” “That’s right.” I pressed my hands against my cup so hard I feared it would break. Revealing too much about myself wasn’t an option, but lying to the sheriff wasn’t high up on my list of priorities, either. “And getting a degree in something?” “Ph.D. in archaeology.” I nodded. “Makes me wish I’d gone to get some actual schooling.” He gave me a wistful look. “And leave us here with old Sheriff Pennington?” Bonnie crossed her arms over her chest. “God forbid.” “He wasn’t so bad.” The sheriff shrugged. “Yeah, back when he was a younger man, he was fine. But when he got the fits those last few years.” She shuddered. “That was a mess. We were lucky you were here to carry on his duties, even though you were just a deputy.” He grinned. “You’re just trying to flatter me into a bigger tip.” She fought a smile and lost. “If you say so.” He turned back to me. “Be careful out in the woods. The snakes will be hibernating, but
there are other nasties out there. It’s turkey season, first of all. So there will be hunters out and about. Then wild boars that could skewer you clean through. I’ve heard about panthers from hunters here and there. Never seen one though. And don’t wear white. We don’t want someone mistaking you for a white-tail deer and taking a shot. You have a cell phone, right?” He took a drink as Bonnie put in his order. “Yes.” I studied him as he spoke, the clean line of his jaw, the slight salt mixed into the dark pepper of his hair. He was handsome, and the allure of men in uniform wasn’t lost on me. Early forties, but still had the verve of a younger man, the same sort of twinkle in his eye and easy smile. I knew from scouring newspapers that he’d become sheriff two years prior, after the then-sheriff died. “Good service?” He glanced to the cell phone I drew from my pocket. “So far, but I haven’t been off the main road much.” “It might get dicey if you get deep into the woods. Here.” He snagged a napkin and wrote down a phone number. “This is my direct line. If you get into anything you can’t handle, give me a call. If you lose service, I suggest you go back the way you came. There’s no need to take risks.” “Are you going to Blackwood?” Bonnie slid my plate in front of me, the yellow egg yolks jiggling as the plate came to rest. “Yes.” I didn’t want to share too much of my plans. There was no way to know who to trust. “There and a few surrounding homesteads.” “Any spots in particular?” Bonnie took her usual spot against the counter, her eyes on the road. “Those woods are haunted, you know?” “Bonnie.” Sheriff Crow shook his head and laughed lightly. “Nothing’s haunted. Don’t try to scare her.” Bonnie drew her expertly arched brows together and put her hands on her hips. “Then how do you explain the screams? People all over say they hear screams in those woods at night. If you see that Garrett Blackwood, run. Understand?” “Why?” She crossed herself, her neon pink fingernail scratching across her starched top. “Bonnie, you aren’t Catholic.” The sheriff quirked his lip up in amusement. “Doesn’t matter. That man is bad news. Steer clear of him. Him and that Blackwood are cursed, if you ask me.” I conjured the limited image of Garrett Blackwood in my mind—the wild eyes through the window and the dirty fingernails on the door. Other than our brief run-in, I knew nothing about him other than what I’d found out in my research, which was enough to place a shroud of suspicion over him. He’d gone to my university, graduating with top marks in history and ancient cultures. I found a picture of him in the school yearbook. Deep blue eyes and dark brown hair—he smiled at someone off camera when the photo was snapped. I couldn’t reconcile that smiling face with the glimpse of the man I’d gotten at the Blackwood estate.
After graduation, he’d taught for a few years at a university in Alabama on a tenure-track position. Something happened in his sixth year, though, and he abruptly left school. Rumors were that he’d been embroiled in a scandal with a married female professor, but other than hazy rumors, I had nothing to go on. What did interest me was that he’d returned to Blackwood at around the same time as my father’s disappearance. “What makes you think Blackwood’s cursed?” I leaned forward, desperate for more of the urban legends that might shed some light on my father’s fate. Bonnie wasn’t the first person who mentioned screams in the woods near the Blackwood Estate. Sheriff Crow huffed out a breath. “Superstitious nonsense. Wind in the trees or some kind of animal. There aren’t any ghosts, Bonnie. And Garrett is just a quiet guy who likes his space. That’s all.” She leveled her gaze at me. “I wouldn’t be caught in Blackwood after dark, and neither should you.” “That’s good advice.” He arched a brow at Bonnie. “Even if we’re giving it for different reasons. The ghost talk is ridiculous, and Garrett isn’t a bad guy. You should be out of the woods by sunset because you don’t want to get lost or stay out in these temperatures. Always know where the road is. You got a compass?” I pulled one from my pocket. “Sure do.” I had two others stowed in my backpack. “Good. Always check it when you get out of the car.” I wanted to tell him I could survive in the woods for days, that I’d prepared for handling anything that came my way, that my dad had taught me how to shoot, skin rabbits, read a compass, and build a fire by the time I was twelve. That I had a knife and a gun, and knew how to use both. Instead, I nodded and smiled along like he was giving me the keys to the kingdom. “How do you even know where to look?” Bonnie still didn’t seem too keen on me exploring alone. “The Choctaw generally preferred level spots near strong water sources, so I’ll scope those out first.” “So along rivers and such?” Bonnie crinkled her nose. “Right. I’m going to start surveying in those areas, see what I can see. All the history I’ve managed to dig up points to a possible Choctaw village at the southwest edge of Blackwood where the trees open up onto a grassy field.” Sheriff Crow scratched his chin. “I think I know where you mean. It’s a flood plain, more or less. Dark dirt there, good for growing, but I’ve never really dug down. Garrett gave you permission to dig?” My mouth went dry and I took a sip of coffee before responding. “Yes, well, he gave permission for me to survey. I won’t start digging until the spring when I’ll have undergraduates out here to help me. But, of course, I have to find something first. Some sort of clue to point me in the right direction. If I can find some arrowheads or pottery— any artifacts, really—at a few spots, then I’ll be able to start digging.” I swallowed hard.
“With Mr. Blackwood’s permission, naturally.” “Right.” He thanked Bonnie as she set his plate in front of him, the grits swimming in butter. “Like I said, if you need anything or get into any issues out there, don’t hesitate to contact me.” Though I felt more than prepared for my task, it was comforting to know I had backup if I ran into any trouble. “Will do.” “Eat your breakfast. I’ve interrupted you for long enough.” He gave me another smile, the wrinkles around his eyes barely making an appearance. “Bonnie might take my head off if I talk until your food gets cold.” “You do like to talk, Sheriff.” She grinned and twirled a lock of hair around her finger, the flirtation obvious and only slightly awkward. “Good thing I don’t mind listening.” “Bonnie,” Ty called from the back. She rolled her eyes, then disappeared through the narrow door into the kitchen. I sliced through my eggs and scooped them onto my toast as two men from a logging truck walked into the diner. They exchanged bleary-eyed “good mornings” and sat down at the bar. I’d only taken a few more bites when the door opened again. A man in an ill-fitting navy suit hustled in. His collar hung loose around his neck, as if he’d lost a great deal of weight but still felt he could wear the super-size clothes. He gave me a lopsided smiled and plunked down next to Sheriff Crow. Something about his gray hair and sagging face seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him. “Sheriff.” “Mayor.” Sheriff Crow took a long pull from his cup. “You aren’t going to the winter market opening?” Mayor. I’d seen him before in news clippings, but he’d been a much larger man. He must have dropped the weight recently. He was only forty-five but looked more like a shrunken sixty. “Of course.” He shot a glance to the kitchen door. “Where’s Bonnie, and who do we have here?” He turned to me. “This is Elise from the university. She’s doing the—” “Digging. Right?” The mayor leaned backward so he could see me past the sheriff. “Out on the western side of the county?” “Yes.” I took a bite of cheese grits. “I’m surveying out there and digging if the property owners agree.” He drew his gray brows together. “Just don’t bother anyone. I have enough complaints to deal with around here.” “Len.” Sheriff Crow clapped him on the back. “Come on. She may bring more visitors to the county. Money, too. What if she finds some sort of, I don’t know, village or something? Good press.”
I took a swig of my coffee to try and fight off the awkward the mayor’s words had created. “Bonnie!” he called. “I need my regular to go.” “Heard.” Ty’s voice floated across the pass-through, and I was beginning to suspect he was a ghost. “Good press.” The harried mayor pinned me with his dark eyes. “I like good press. More visitors, more tourist dollars. That’s what we need.” “I can’t promise any of that.” I shrugged. “I’m just doing research.” He sighed and drummed his thick fingers on the countertop. “Well, keep it out on the west side of the county at least.” I returned his stare. He wouldn’t spook me from my investigation, and I wasn’t the type to let anyone—mayor or otherwise—push me around. I took a big bite of my eggs and spoke around the mouthful. “That’s my focus.” “Good.” He scowled. The sizzle in the kitchen did all the talking for a while until Bonnie appeared with a to-go box. “Got it all for you, Mayor Freeman. You going to the winter market?” The mayor swiped the Styrofoam coffee cup from Bonnie and snagged the box of food. “Yep, and I’m late. Put it on my tab.” “Sure thing.” She gave him a thin smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. He slid off his stool, gave the sheriff a nod, then headed out into the cold. Bonnie frowned as soon as the door closed. “Old sourpuss.” “Charming.” I nodded and bit into my toast. “Really got a way with people.” Sheriff Crow laughed. “Go easy on Len. He’s been crabby ever since he started the Lodge. Too much work.” I finished my eggs. “The Lodge?” “You haven’t heard of it?” Bonnie threaded a yellow dish towel over her shoulder. “It’s a swanky retreat. I hear you can get massages there.” She leaned closer to me and cupped her hands around my ear. “It’s for men only. I hear they get happy endings there and do crazy nude dancing around bonfires.” Sheriff Crow chuckled as my eyes widened at Bonnie’s revelations. “Not true. None of it true.” He shook his head at Bonnie. “Don’t go lying to her about it and scaring her off. It’s just a hunting club. Len’s been trying to get the governor to visit. Did you know that, Bonnie? It’s not a massage parlor or nudist colony. I’ve been a few times. Ty’s going to visit sometime soon. Right, Ty?” “Sure, if I ever get out of this hellhole!” Something clanged in the kitchen. Ty was definitely not a ghost. The radio attached to the sheriff’s shoulder crackled. “Sheriff, Danny is making trouble at
the Quick Mart again.” He clicked the radio. “I’m eating at Bonnie’s. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” “Carl says he’s screaming about the lights in the woods. Won’t stop. Scaring off customers.” The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bonnie, can you put mine in a to-go box for me?” “Sure thing, hon.” She swiped up his plate. “Viola, tell Carl to keep Danny there. I’m on my way.” “Will do.” The radio crackled once more and fell silent. Sheriff Crow ran a hand through his hair and plopped the hat on, snugging it down as he stood. “I guess I forgot to mention it’s not just the woods you have to watch out for around here.” He leaned over, his clean, masculine scent washing over me. “I was serious about calling me. Safety is important, especially since you aren’t from here. I want you going back to that school of yours singing the praises of country hospitality. The mayor will have my ass otherwise.” I bit into my extra-crispy bacon. “If the food is any indication, I’ll be able to give a glowing recommendation.” “Great.” He leaned away and took his breakfast box from Bonnie. “In that case, I hope you find what you’re looking for.” I smiled to myself. “So do I.”
CHAPTER FIVE
I HEFTED MY PACK onto my back and slammed my trunk closed. Dirt and gravel crunched beneath my boots as I studied the small slope to my left. I’d parked on an old logging road to the west of Blackwood near the site I’d described to the sheriff. Instead of heading south toward the clearing, I consulted my map and walked into the woods toward the northeast. I’d studied aerials and satellite data from the area and marked sites of interest—sites where I might find some trace of my father. I would hike to the Choctaw field after I checked the first spot, an area where something glinted from beneath the trees on the aerials. If I was lucky, I might find something of interest concerning my father or my dig along the way. The wind had died down, but the chill air remained. I started off through the pine woods, the ground sloping gently. The eastern edge of the Delta wasn’t as marshy as the lands closer to the Mississippi River, though wet patches and streams were frequent. The terrain remained almost flat, only rolling slightly, as alluvial soils fanned across the gentle slope down to the river. Preparing for the terrain and the weather was half the battle. I wore layers, jeans, waterproof boots, and carried another coat in my pack. The day had dawned bright and cloudless, and the sun helped me pick my way through the thickets and brambles. I snapped twigs and crunched pine cones as I trekked through the taciturn landscape. An hour of tramping later and I came to a wide stream, its surface placid in areas and gurgling over rock in others. I walked farther north, looking for an easy spot to cross. Cypress trees loomed overhead, their feathery branches leaning down to the water’s surface as the ground became boggier, my boots sinking with every step. I leaned against a twisting cypress root and grabbed my canteen. The woods remained silent around me, no summertime cicadas singing in the trees and the sun too high for the frogs to serenade me. After downing a few pulls of water, I stowed my canteen and stared down the path of the stream, looking for the easiest way across. A small outcrop about twenty feet ahead seemed like my best bet. I’d have to step through the stream to reach a dirt bank on the other side, but the water was shallower and clearer there. A twig snapped nearby. I whirled and peered through the trees, searching for movement. After staring for a solid thirty seconds, I relaxed against the cypress, the gray moss hanging from the low limbs forming a curtain around me. Whatever animal was out there
likely caught my scent and fled. The stream crossing went smoothly, my boots keeping my feet warm and dry despite the frigid water swirling around them. Once I gained the opposite bank, I continued my trudge, checking my compass every so often to make sure I was still on track to find the spot of interest. Every so often, I thought I heard some sounds in the woods, more twigs cracking or the crunch of dead leaves. Whenever I stopped, the only sound was my breathing and the quiet gurgle of the nearby waterways. After another hour of hopping smaller streams and picking my way through the undergrowth, my stomach began to grumble. A clearing opened ahead of me, the brown grass absorbing the sun’s rays and storing them up for the green of spring. I recognized it from my satellite map. The shine in the woods wouldn’t be much farther ahead. I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead where a fine sheen of sweat had grown during the journey. I’d spent hours on the treadmill getting ready for the arduous task of surveying the properties, but the actual hike—pack included—was proving more demanding than I’d thought. The sun hit my face with full force, warming my cold cheeks as I stepped into the small clearing, about fifty yards wide. Some of the grass was matted down, a sleeping area for deer or some other animals. I walked about twenty feet away and settled in a spot where the ground was dry and solid. My lunch consisted of a simple turkey sandwich and some chips. But food always tasted better when your senses were full of the palate-cleansing outdoors. Something about the clear air, or perhaps the cold and lonesome woods, made everything so much sweeter. I finished my food and stowed my trash in my bag. Before leaving the clearing, I unhooked my small spade from my pack and walked a few paces away, my eyes trained on the ground. When I found a slightly mounded section of ground at the edge of the plot, I dug down, turning a few shovelfuls of dark dirt onto the dormant grass. The smell of rich earth permeated the air, and I remembered why I loved archaeology— finding things, learning about the past, and trying to preserve whatever fleeting lessons the ghosts could teach us. I dug a layer deeper and found some particularly juicy earthworms, then changed position around the mound. I sank my spade deep, then hammered it further with my boot. Something hard clicked against the spade’s tip. Likely a rock, but maybe something else. I pulled the spade out, moved it back a few inches, then plunged it in again and pushed on the handle, leveraging the dirt up and over. Pottery pieces crumbled on top of the pile. My body buzzed with the thrill of discovery as I zeroed in on the find. Kneeling down, I picked up the biggest shard. Only a few inches across, it was a medium brown with scored lines across it in a repeating pattern—likely etched solely for decoration. I carefully turned it over and studied the inside. Made of clay and crushed ceramic, the piece was at least two-hundred years old. Yes. I returned to my pack and pulled out my map. With a charcoal pencil, I marked the spot
for future exploration, but frowned when I remembered that I was still inside the bounds of Blackwood property. Did I have permission for future exploration, or even current exploration? No. But I decided to let future Elise worry about that tiny snag. After carefully stowing the artifact, I got to my feet and continued my trek. Renewed energy flowed through my limbs from my lunch and the pottery find. The trees thinned a bit as I crossed a boggy area and then climbed a small hill. I was getting close and kept scanning the trees for any sign of something other than vegetation. Cresting the rise, I pulled out my binoculars and studied everything I could see as I spun in a circle. I stopped when an odd break in the trees caught my eye. That was it, the anomaly on the satellite image. My breath grew short as I hurried toward the spot. My heart constricted, and I was drawn to the odd patch of woods like a hunting dog toward its quarry. Somehow, I just knew it would give a clue to my father’s disappearance. “I wouldn’t go that way if’n I was you.” I spun and froze. A man approached from about twenty feet behind me, his feet quiet on the pine needles as he chose his steps with care. He was tall with bushy eyebrows, an overgrown beard, and a smile that revealed crooked, yellow teeth. “Who are you?” I reached into my pocket, palming my knife. He spat out a stream of dark liquid and grinned, a lump in his cheek next to his gum. “Are you following me?” Fear slid down my spine like a runnel of ice water. “Yep.” He kept walking toward me, and I felt the urge to back away. Instead, I flicked my knife open, the blade locking into place with a quiet click inside my pocket. “Why?” He stopped a few feet away and looked at me with curiosity. His beard was matted, the hair reminiscent of steel wool. “You shouldn’t be out here, punkin.” He let his gaze slide down my body, then back to my eyes. “Not safe out here for a girly like you. No telling what kinda madman might take a shine to you and carry you off.” “Is that a threat?” I held my knife with a death grip. “Just a fact.” He spat again, the stream tangling in his beard and dripping down to his tatty t-shirt. “I’ll be sure to be careful.” “You do that, punkin.” He grinned again and walked past me. I turned as he went, keeping him in front of me. “Who are you?” “Nobody important. Nope, not important. I’ll tell you something, though.” “What’s that?” “I would turn around if I was you, punkin.” He disappeared behind a tree, reappeared on the other side, and continued along as if he knew exactly where he was headed. “Go back. Go back to whatever town you come from. Don’t come here ever again.”
“You can’t scare me away.” I tipped my chin up, trying to speak the lie with conviction. “I have permission from Mr. Blackwood to be on this property.” He cackled but didn’t look back. “Mr. Blackwood, is it? He’s the one you should be afraid of the most.” “Why?” Another cackle, which faded as he wandered farther away. “I warned you, punkin. Don’t never say I didn’t warn you.” I stared after him for a long while until he was completely lost from view. His cryptic warnings only strengthened my resolve to keep digging. Whatever secrets these woods held wouldn’t stay secret for long. Keeping one eye on the direction he’d gone, I moved slowly toward my goal. There was nothing particularly different about the trees themselves, but something rested at the base of one of them just ahead. As I approached, I realized whatever it was had been covered in branches. Even so, the afternoon sun glinted off metal. My heart sped up as I took the final steps toward the biggest clue yet. There, under the canopy of trees and covered with rotten limbs sat my father’s green El Camino.
CHAPTER SIX
BLOOD POUNDED IN MY ears as I ripped the barren limbs from the car. I yanked and pulled, not caring that the jagged pieces of wood stabbed through my gloves and scratched my hands. When I finally pulled the last branch away, I stood back and took in deep gulps of air. The El Camino was the same mottled green—more Bondo than metal in some places—that I remembered from my childhood. Patches of rust had sprouted along the hood, and the tires had long since deflated. The car hunkered down like a corpse, all momentum lost. The windows were dirty, and I could only make out the dimmest outlines of seats inside. With shaking hands, I gripped the driver’s side door and pulled. A harsh creak cut through the air, and the angry joint gave way. I bent over and scanned the interior as a musty smell overwhelmed my senses. Beneath the decay, I recognized the familiar whiff of vinyl. The purple rabbit’s foot still hung from the rearview mirror despite dark brown stains on the beige vinyl telling me my dad’s luck had long since run out. I stepped back and took a breath. Even though I knew he was gone, seeing the evidence of it still hit me like a punch in the gut. I leaned my head back and stared up through the skeletal branches, past the spotty moss, and into the blue above. “Dad.” Tears I thought I was done shedding burned in my eyes. “What happened to you?” The empty air didn’t answer. It maintained its silence as I tried to piece together the few facts I’d learned about his disappearance. He’d spent his last moments on earth at Blackwood, but why, and who killed him? Taking a deep breath, I turned my gaze earthward. Someone had obviously gone to a good deal of trouble to cover up the car. Only time revealed its location, the branches withering until a glint of glass shone out to a satellite high overhead. Whoever drove or pulled his car into these woods probably felt safe, maybe had even forgotten about their dark deed. I’d find them, and when I did, I would see justice done. The first person on my list was the stranger in the woods. I filed him away and continued searching the car. Pulling out my flashlight, I scoured the interior of the car. Empty cigarette packs and some matchbooks littered the passenger floorboard. Memories of my father talking with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the ash precariously long, threatened to overwhelm me. I
pushed the thoughts away and kept looking. The glove compartment had been cleaned out. I pulled the passenger seat forward and shone my flashlight along the floor. Something under the driver’s seat caught my eye. Was that hair? I leaned in and ran my hand along the floor and snagged a few strands. The thing came free with a pull. A sob shook me when I recognized one of my favorite pony dolls. I remembered looking for it for days when I was nine years old. My mom gave up the first day, convinced I’d somehow accidentally thrown it away. I’d continued the search, even calling Dad to ask if he’d seen it. “No, darlin’. But they say if you love something and you let it go, it’ll come back to you.” I’d hung the phone up in frustration and eventually called off the search, opting for a different pony altogether. I smoothed the plastic hair out of the purple mare’s eyes. It was an artifact of sorts, a small piece of history from the life I’d had so long ago. After tucking it into my pack, I did another sweep of the car. The rest of the cab was empty, no spare keys or papers hiding in the visors. I dug through the mass of leaves and pine cones in the bed, but found nothing of interest. When I was finished, I closed the doors, the squeaky thuds giving a finality that I felt in my bones. My father was dead. But the car gave no explanation as to who killed him or why. Backing away, I searched the ground nearby, looking for any hint of a grave. I walked in concentric circles, tramping through the leaves and undergrowth as I moved farther and farther from the car. Nothing caught my eye, no obvious disturbances or tell-tale depressed ground. He wasn’t here, but I knew he couldn’t be far. I’d have to keep digging, just like I’d always done.
THE TREK to my car was an even slower slog, old grief weighing me down. Memories of my parents flitted through my mind like a movie reel, each image growing darker until finally eaten away by time and distance. My parents were shadows, both of them gone, yet
still haunting me. My father with questions, my mother with warnings. I’d never known which one to listen to when they were alive, much less now. I arrived at the same stream I’d crossed earlier and knelt down while peeling the gloves off my stinging hands. My palms were scratched and gouged. I leaned over, submerging them in the clear, cold water until the sting was replaced with a comfortable numbness. Once cleaned, I pulled them out, shook them off, and stuffed them in my warm pockets. I had bandaging materials in my pack, but my hands weren’t bad enough for me to stop and doctor them. Once feeling returned to my fingers, I pulled my canteen from my pack and fished out a granola bar. As the sun melted into the horizon, the frogs started their lulling songs, all of the notes mixing to form a homogenous hum. Since I was losing the light, I decided to wait and investigate the field near the river the next day. After gathering my strength for the push, I took off. I made it across the stream and through the boggy ground without too much trouble, then approached the logging road from the north. Coming out of the woods at twilight, I hit the road with solid, if tired, steps. I trudged steadily south, expecting to spot my car around each curve of the road. I walked a quarter of a mile as the sun set and the forest filled with fireflies. Stopping, I pulled out my map and compass. I didn’t mark the spot where I parked, but I knew I should have seen it by now. Something was wrong. My car was gone. Who would have taken my car? The image of the creeper from the woods walked through my mind, his filthy spit staining the ground. Foreboding darkened my thoughts, and I suddenly felt exposed out on the road. I hurried into the trees, though they didn’t offer much cover. I fished my cell from my pocket. No bars. The closest cell tower was too far on the outskirts of Browerton. “Fuck!” I rubbed my forehead with two fingers and clenched my eyes shut. I was seven miles from the main highway, in the middle of the woods, and the temperature was quickly dropping. Shining my flashlight onto my map, I searched in vain for a closer homestead, a forest ranger station, even a hunting shack. Nothing. The closest spot of civilization was the home at Blackwood, only two miles away through mostly flat terrain. I could either set up camp with what I had in my pack or try for the house. Getting inside was already on my list of priorities, though Garrett Blackwood had been less than welcoming when I’d met him. Did I really meet him? I still wasn’t sure. Those eyes from the window may have been the same hue as the ones from the university photo I saw, but the resemblance ended there. Whereas the man in the photo smiled, giving off the effervescence of youth, the man in the window looked nothing short of haunted. The decision came down to roughing it in the woods or risking it with the man in the house. A bitter wind kicked up in the darkness, and the promise of a long, cold night ahead made the decision for me. I turned toward the southeast and set out. Only ten minutes or so had passed when I heard a bloodcurdling scream tear through the trees.
CHAPTER SEVEN
STUMBLING ACROSS A SET of tangled roots, I pressed my palm against the closest tree trunk to steady myself. The scream had sounded once more after the first peal, only to be silenced halfway through, as if a hand had clapped over the woman’s mouth. The moon rose high and bright, shining its crescent light down through the trees and glinting off the small creeks and streams I crossed. Each step took me closer to the house and the screams that had chilled my blood. I reached into my pocket, my knife comforting against my palm. I kept walking, determined to rescue whomever needed saving. Jumping a small stream, I heard a huff, like a hard exhale, ahead of me. The hackles on the back of my neck rose as my heart kicked into high gear. I froze and searched the darkness. Far in the distance, a light burned through the trees. The house. It had to be. Salvation or damnation. Either way, I was focused on getting there. I took another step, and the sharp exhale sounded again. I pulled my knife from my pocket and held it out in front of me. Dead leaves crunched ahead and to the right. The noise grew closer as I held my ground. My knife hand started to shake as twigs snapped. A shadow darted through the trees, small and scampering. Then another headed right for me. I crouched, bending my knees and getting ready to spring forward with my blade. The shadow moved quickly, and I held my breath as it approached. A tiny boar dashed past me and bent its head at the small stream at my back. Another one barreled out of the night and joined its sibling for a drink. Their coarse black hair, striped with a lighter brown, shone in the moonlight and their stubby tails flicked and wagged. I sighed with relief. Dropping my arm to my side, I stood up straight. “You two scared the shit out of me.” My breath puffed in front of my face. They happily ignored me and kept slurping at the stream, one of them squealing lightly. They seemed cute in a creepy, middle-of-the-night sort of way. Or maybe they weren’t cute at all, and I was just relieved to find harmless piglets instead of a bear or the rumored panthers. I was too tired to give it much thought, and I kept trudging forward, still seeking the sounds of the screams. Throwing them one last glance, I continued toward the beckoning light through the trees.
Garrett Blackwood had left a light on, or maybe he was sitting in a room along this side of the house. Or maybe he’s in the woods dismembering the screamer’s body. I shivered and kept my knife in my free hand. I made it a dozen steps before the huff sounded again, louder this time, and followed by a low grunt. Leaves crunched as the animal approached. The noises alone told me I was dealing with a much larger boar than the two piglets. I edged to the closest tree and leaned into it, seeking some form of cover. It was barely wider than I was, but I would have to cross into open moonlight to make it to a bigger tree about twenty feet away. Peeking around the pine, I saw the boar emerge from a nearby thicket. Though I didn’t see any tusks, it had to weigh at least two-hundred pounds, maybe more. It lumbered through the undergrowth with heavy grunts. The boar snorted along the roots of a tree, then raised its head and began to move toward the piglets. I edged around the tree, trying to keep my steps quiet as I hugged the bark and circled. The boar kept coming and passed in front of me, its steps steady as it approached the stream. My lungs burned and I took a calming breath. Another dense thicket rose to my left. If I could get closer to it, it would serve as something of a hedge and hide me from the boar. I eased out from behind the tree and chose careful steps as the massive beast drank along with the piglets. The tangled brambles ahead promised safety, and there were only a few more feet left to go before I’d be out of sight. That’s when I heard another boar snort close behind me. Whirling, I found a dark blur charging me through the moonlight, a ghostly shine on its upturned tusks. I darted to the left as the animal careened past and into the thicket behind me. Breaking into a run, I tore down the slight slope toward the light in the woods. Hooves pounded the ground behind me, at least two of the monsters giving chase as I tried to manage the dark forest. I didn’t dare glance around, just kept my hellish pace and tried to avoid roots and branches. The cold air burned my lungs, and sapling limbs slapped against my body and face as I crashed through the woods. I kept hoping the boars would lose interest, maybe turn back to take care of the smaller pigs. Instead, the snorts and grunts behind me kept up even as my strength waned, the long day and the cold air weighing me down and slowing my pace. I slid the straps of my pack off my shoulders and let it fall. The lighter load urged me faster, and I chanced a glance behind me. Only one animal remained, the other sniffing the pack I left behind. Jumping a small stream, I hit the ground and veered to the right around another bramble thicket. I couldn’t see the light any longer, but I knew I was still headed toward it and the mirage of salvation. I’d almost cleared the tangle of vines when a burning pain ripped across my calf, the boar’s teeth sinking into me. I stumbled and fell, stings and pain erupting along my face and hands as the thicket’s thorns drew blood. I screamed and turned. My knife dropped away, lost in the dark maze of criss-crossing agony. The boar’s breath formed a puff of steam as it advanced, no longer in a hurry. It was as if it knew I was snared, and all it had
to do was wait. The thorns snagged all along my coat and in my hair. It would take time to rip myself free, but I had none. I kicked out with my good leg, but missed its wide snout. It surveyed me with black eyes, then lunged forward, spearing my bloodied calf with its tusk again. Another scream ripped from my lungs as I brought my heel down on the side of its head. It squealed and backed away, but quickly came again. The blood must have drawn it to my injured leg, because it went for it and latched on with a strong bite. Screaming and kicking, I fought as pain overwhelmed my senses and mixed with terror. It yanked, dragging me from the thicket. Being out in the open was somehow worse than being trapped in a wall of thorns. I landed another kick right on its eye, and it let go with a snort. Caught between the thicket and the boar, I had nowhere to go. Not that I could walk. My leg wound was too extensive. Tears threatened as the second boar approached, its nose in the air as it scented my blood. I felt around behind me, trying to find my knife and ignoring the thorns that ripped my already injured palms. It was my only chance. The boar with the tusks regrouped and lunged forward again, seeking my injured leg. I kicked, but it grabbed my right foot in its mouth and clamped down around my boot. The second boar, emboldened, ran up behind its mate, grunting and snorting its interest. I balled my hands into fists, leaned forward, and swung at the monstrous black snout. I connected, but the beast didn’t let go. Instead, it shook me so hard I thought it might pull my leg from its socket. A scream bubbled from my throat as its teeth punctured my boot and dug into my heel. The other boar circled around toward my left. I would die out here. The realization of death didn’t come like a sucker punch; it came as a cold finality. It was almost calming to know with certainty that the end is imminent and utterly unavoidable. I felt the cold air in my lungs, the roaring pain radiating from my leg, the tickle of hoarseness in my throat—everything all at once, my last bits of life. Was my father’s ghost here, watching me die in the same woods where he perished? The second boar snorted with agitation as it advanced, skirting the thicket and hemming me in. It surveyed me with black, shiny eyes. This was it. I readied my fists for the final assault. The boar at my foot yanked viciously as the one to my left charged. A shot cracked through the frozen air. The boar to my left stumbled and dropped, its forward momentum from the charge sending it skidding into my side. It shuddered and stared up at me with one black eye. Another shot echoed through the trees and the boar at my feet released its hold and backed up a few steps. It turned and started to run, moving like a drunk through the trees. Another shot, and it dropped to the ground with a thud and didn’t move. I scooted away from the dying boar and cried out from the searing pain in my leg. The
woods swam, the trees no longer straight but becoming wavelengths transmitting my horror. Leaves crunched nearby, and a dark shape approached as I struggled to breathe and keep my eyes open. He knelt down and peered at me as words came out of his mouth. I didn’t understand him, though I caught a “fuck” here and there. I couldn’t concentrate, so I stared into his eyes. They were familiar, even in the dark. A steely blue. Like water beneath a stormy sky. My vision fuzzed black at the corners, and then I fell deep into that churning water, a storm raging above me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FIRE BORED THROUGH MY CALF, each lick of flame hotter than the last. I came to on a scream. “Great.” The same deep voice from the woods. I tried to rub my eyes, but I couldn’t move my hands. The burn intensified as I struggled. “Stop moving!” A large palm gripped my thigh, skin to skin. Blinking hard, I took a look around. I was in a room, the décor dated. A fan twirled above me, and two wide windows showed me nothing except a reflection of the interior. It was still dark outside. The man from the woods bent over my leg, and a flash of searing heat shot through me again. I struggled, but he’d tied me to the bed. “Let me go!” I yanked at the rope, but it didn’t give, only dug into my wrists. “I said for you to stop fucking moving.” His voice remained calm, cold. I couldn’t make out much other than dark brown hair and a plaid shirt over broad shoulders. He didn’t meet my gaze, keeping his face turned toward my calf. He’d rescued me from the boars only to tie me to his bed? Fear churned in my stomach, and I turned my head to the side, afraid I was going to be sick. He let out a heavy sigh, and his tone gentled the slightest bit. “Stay still. I’m trying to sew you up.” “It hurts.” Tears welled and rolled down my temples. The fear and agony of the woods painted my thoughts a murky color, and I couldn’t seem to think clearly. “I can either sew it up or let you bleed out.” He rose to his full height and peered down at me, his eyes so familiar yet so changed from the college photo. He had a short, dark beard and hair that almost brushed his shoulders. Wild. “I’ve cleaned your wounds as best I can. The nearest hospital is an hour away. It was risk you dying to drive you there or this. I chose to keep you alive, though I don’t have a clue why. So don’t fucking move, and I’ll finish what I started.” I withered under his fierce gaze as the deep ache in my leg seemed to thump along with my heartbeat. “I don’t know if I can be still.” “You have to be.” He bent over, his hair forming a dark curtain between us.
I pulled on my bindings again. “Untie me.” He turned and slammed his fist into the sturdy wooden bed post, his anger swift and surprising. “If you hadn’t been on my land illegally, this wouldn’t have happened.” “I heard screaming. I wanted to help her.” The room began to expand and contract with my breaths. Why didn’t the plaster crack? “She’s in the woods. A woman in pain.” “There was no screaming.” He turned to me again, his eyes barely showing through his waves of dark hair. “I would apologize about this, but I’m not sorry.” “About wha—” My question turned into a wail as more agony than I thought possible cascaded up my leg, silenced my heart, and drowned my mind in a sea of terror. Silence.
BIRDS. Where did all the birds come from? I cracked my eyes open and stared at the lazy turn of the dusty ceiling fan. Each blade passed by slowly, whispering something to the air right next to it, though I couldn’t make out the secrets. My body ached, my leg sending waves of discomfort along with the steady beat of my heart. The shadows of the prior night danced and skittered across my mind—the woods, the boars, and Garrett Blackwood. I turned my head to look out the sunny windows. The cold woods gave off an innocuous air in the morning light, the oranges and golds trying to lull me into a false sense of security. But I remembered the screams. Something was wrong in those trees, and it wasn’t just my father’s death. Whatever claimed his life seemed to be intent on collecting others as well. I tried to sit up, but the throbbing in my leg advised against it. Instead, I raised up on an elbow and gave my body a once over. I still wore my bra, tank top, and underwear. My pants and other layers had been stripped from me. I rested on top of the covers, my body
exposed, my turquoise panties on full display. Embarrassment was overtaken by curiosity as I studied Garrett Blackwood’s handiwork. My left leg was carefully bandaged with white gauze, and my right foot had patches of gauze covering the spots where the boar’s teeth had punctured my skin. Wincing at the memory, I lay back down and finished my inventory. My hands bore a patchwork of adhesive bandages, and my muscles groaned as I repositioned myself in the bed. I would recover, though I worried about the extensive work he’d done on my left leg. I grabbed my right wrist and felt the slight sting left from the rope. What kind of man ties up an injured person? The rope was gone; he’d cleared away any evidence of my bondage, though the red marks on my wrists left me unsettled. A board creaked in the hall, and I grabbed a handful of the quilt beneath me and flipped it over my body. Closing my eyes, I feigned sleep. The door opened, and the air in the room changed, became fuller—charged with the heartbeat and movements of another person. “I know you’re awake.” The bed sank near my feet. “Garrett Blackwood?” I opened my eyes and stared at the man who stared right back. His cold eyes told me nothing, not even whether he was friend or foe. “Why were you on my land?” His scruffy beard spread across his gaunt cheekbones, down his throat, and tickled his Adam’s apple with its dark curls. “I heard screams. You didn’t hear them?” “I sure did.” He narrowed his eyes. “Turned out it was some idiot trespassing girl who couldn’t take care of herself.” “No.” I struggled to sit up, ignoring the fire in my calf. “Before that. I heard her.” “You didn’t hear anything except your own imagination. And look where that got you.” He extended his long index finger, pointing at my leg. I shifted farther up the bed, but groaned at the fresh wave of hell that rocketed along my nerve endings. He scratched his jaw, the sound bristly and rough. “Do I need to tie you up again, Red?” I stopped moving and glared at him. “My professor will come looking for me. There are others, too. The sheriff—” “Has already stopped by early this morning after I called him.” He smirked. “He brought your clothes and personal things from the hotel where you’ve been staying.” “What?” He pointed to the dresser where my overnight case sat. “He came in here to check on you and everything.” Color raced into my cheeks, and I swallowed hard. “But I wasn’t wearing any pants.” His smirk grew bigger, and he let his gaze slide down my body, his eyes lingering on the quilted patch covering my panties. “No, I suppose you weren’t.”
“I have to get out of here.” I scanned the room for my clothes. He stood and put his hands on his narrow hips, the sun peeking through the triangles created on either side of his body and exaggerating his V-shape. “Not until your leg heals up.” Now that I’d finally found a clue to my father’s death, I couldn’t waste another moment. “No, I have to go—” “Let’s get one thing clear.” He stepped closer and glowered down at me. “I don’t want you here. I want nothing to do with you or whatever it is you’re digging for. That’s why I refused to sign your papers.” His glower turned even darker, like a menacing thundercloud. “Remember that?” My forgery hadn’t exactly been the best move, but it had led to a major discovery about my father. I wouldn’t regret it, no matter what sort of trouble it led to. I stiffened my spine as best I could. “I remember.” “But you trespassed anyway. I should have you arrested.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and backed away a step. “Instead, Sheriff Crow wants you to recover here in the lap of luxury—” A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. “So word doesn’t get out that you didn’t enjoy your time in our fair county. Especially not that you got attacked and almost killed under his watch.” He hung his head, his chin touching his chest and his dark hair catching the light. “Fuck me, this sucks.” “You can’t keep me here,” I said with far more bravado than I felt. “I refuse to be held prisoner by a psycho in need of a shower and shave.” He laughed, this time the sound rich and sultry. It reverberated inside my chest. Something about it reminded me of the forest, the way the sunrise warmed it but couldn’t quite reach its dark heart. “You don’t like my beard?” He sat next to me, much closer this time. My pulse ratcheted up, and I took in a quick breath. “Well?” He grinned and took my wrist. I tried to pull it away, but his grip was like an iron shackle. He eased the back of my hand down his cheek. “Not so bad, is it?” It wasn’t. Not exactly soft, it felt thick and masculine. Rich. “What are you doing?” I leaned back until I pressed up against the headboard. He moved closer, his woodsy scent a mix of smoke and soap. Maybe he didn’t need a shower after all. I didn’t turn away, not even when his lips were only inches from mine. “I just wanted to see.” His eyes flickered to my lips. “You’re about to see what a vicious head butt looks like.” My rapid pulse infected my voice, making it quaver. “Yeah?” He squeezed my wrist harder. “I don’t believe you.” “Fuck you.” I stared into his eyes, searching the stormy irises for some way to solve the enigma of Garrett Blackwood.
He smirked again, just the slightest quirk of his lips, then leaned back and released my wrist. The air cooled between us, and goose bumps rose along my bare arms. “I won’t stay here,” I said as he stood. “Wrong.” He shook his head slowly, as if he were disappointed in a small child. “You’ll stay right there until I say you can leave.” “I’ll be gone long before then.” I tested my leg, trying to move it to show him I could do it. The scorching pain brought tears to my eyes. I bit them back and stilled. Fuck. “And where’s my car? Did you take it?” “Your car?” He scratched his beard and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, you aren’t going anywhere.” “This is bullshit!” If I could have pummeled something, I would have. “Give me my phone.” “Not a chance. And don’t kid yourself, Red. As soon as I can kick your ass out, I will.” He turned and walked to the door, eating up the dark wood floor with his long strides. I glared at his retreating back and stifled a litany of curses. They wouldn’t do any good. “My name is Elise.” “I’m aware of that, Red.” He shot an amused look over his shoulder as he walked out the door. “I’ll make your breakfast and bring it to you, but just so you know”—His voice floated back to me over the creaking floorboards— “I can’t cook for shit.”
CHAPTER NINE
GARRETT HAD BEEN HONEST about his lack of culinary prowess. I struggled through a breakfast of dry eggs and toast. Garrett disappeared while I ate and only showed back up after I’d been finished for half an hour. “I have to pee.” I glanced to a door I suspected led to a bathroom. He bent over and picked up my tray, then set it on the wide dresser. “I was afraid you’d say something like that.” “What, you never pee?” I fought the awkward, but it began to overwhelm me. “Sure, but I can do it all by myself unlike certain nosy little girls.” His smirk was back. “A: I’m a grown woman, not a little girl.” My voice rose, irritation winning out over fear. “B: go fuck yourself. C: if you would let me go, you wouldn’t have this problem.” “You forgot D.” I blinked, not sure if he was being forward or obtuse. “D?” “You really need a D.” He gripped my quilt and yanked it away. “Hey!” I reached for it, but my leg flared. I leaned back and took a deep breath, fighting away a wave of nausea. “Can you walk?” I scowled at him. “Does it look like it?” “Pete owes me for this.” He leaned over and, with a surprising gentleness, slid one arm under my back and the other under my thighs. “Who’s Pete?” “Sheriff Crow.” He lifted me easily and moved toward the bathroom. I clutched his shirt as my body adjusted to the change, my blood flowing at different speeds, the nerves in my leg alerting me to the damage in new, torturous ways. “I might be sick.” “God, does he owe me.” He stopped and held me as I clenched my eyes shut and tried to fight away the nausea. “Just breathe. Breathe through it. In… out. Come on, match yours to mine.”
His chest expanded slowly, and I followed, taking a deep breath and letting it out along with him. He stood there, just holding me and breathing for a few moments until I nodded. I glanced up at him and was surprised to find concern warring with his irritation. “Thank you. I’m better.” “Welcome.” The word was grudging, as if unwanted on his tongue. “Let’s do this.” He moved slowly, gingerly carrying me through the door and into a small en suite. “I have some of the good shit in my room. Should have already thought of that.” He frowned. “Anyway, once your stomach settles down—probably at lunch—I’ll bring you some pills, all right?” “Okay.” I didn’t know what he meant by “good shit,” but I would take anything if it would dull my aches. He lowered me onto the toilet. I held onto his arms, then let go once I felt sure I wasn’t going to topple over. “Your panties.” He stared at the turquoise fabric along my hip. “What?” I cocked my head at him. “Do you need help taking your panties off?” He said it as if it was no big deal to strip a complete stranger. “No.” I shook my head hard enough to bring back the nausea. “I can do that. Just some privacy, please.” “Sure.” He backed up, ran into the claw-foot soaking tub, then cleared his throat and left, closing the door behind him. He’d been kind. Still gruff and unreadable, but kind all the same. I hadn’t expected that. During my research, I’d looked into everyone connected with Blackwood. Of everyone, Garrett was the hardest to figure. His mother had died when he was ten, his dad when Garrett was twenty-four. The parents had a tidy history. Both of them had grown up in the county and married early, Mr. Blackwood rich and Mrs. Blackwood beautiful. They started a family later in life, their first child born when Mrs. Blackwood was forty years old. Other than being a member of the Blackwood family, they had no connection to my father that I could find, especially considering they were already dead when he went missing. Their three children were far more interesting. Lillian, Garrett, and Hart had been the pride of the county. Lillian had won every pageant she’d ever entered, Garrett was praised as the scholar of the family, and Hart was a loveable kid. I’d pored over stories about them from the local newspaper, trying to glean any clues I could. How did they know my father, and what part did they play in his death? Though the puzzle pieces were scattered, some of them faded by time, I still had a good idea of how the completed image would look. Somehow I knew that right in the very center, Lillian Blackwood would be staring out at me with bright green eyes and a mischievous smile.
I SPENT the rest of the morning in bed. Every time I worked up the nerve to try and swing my legs over the side of the bed, the pain stopped me. All I could do was watch the fan turn or study the two faded portraits on the walls. The room wasn’t unpleasant, though it needed a good dusting. The light green wallpaper, high ceilings, and dark floors had all the makings of a nice guest room, one that someone had taken time to decorate. I was certain that someone wasn’t Garrett Blackwood. Though the house showed its age in spots of cracked plaster and faded curtains, it still felt alive. Why was it that some old houses became dry and dead, the roof falling in and the walls crumbling, while others maintained a heartbeat? The house’s age turned out to be an ally, because the floorboards in the hallway creaked without fail. I had been staring out at the sunny day when the sound alerted me to Garrett’s approach. “Got your lunch.” He carried a wide plate piled with more food than I could eat in two sittings. Country fried steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans—all of it hot and setting my taste buds dancing. “Who made that?” I arched an eyebrow and wriggled up in the bed. He placed the tray across my thighs. His nails were dark again, his fingers tinged gray and black at the tips. “I did.” “Really?” “No.” He smirked. “Bonnie dropped by when she heard about you laid up in here. Gave me the evil eye.” He backed away, then dug in his pocket. “Before I forget, here’s the pain pills.” He leaned over and dropped two white, powdery tablets on the edge of the tray. “Eat some first. Those will hit you hard if you don’t.” “She didn’t come up to see me?” My closest friend was three hours away scouting dig sites in Tennessee. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to. Someone other than Garrett. But I was heartened by the news that others knew I was here. Maybe Garrett
didn’t intend to dismember me after all. “Ty would lay into her if she missed the lunch rush.” “Rush?” I grabbed my knife and fork. “I’ve never seen more than four people in the diner at a time.” “Right. The rush.” He deadpanned and crossed his arms over his chest. I laughed despite myself. Something softened around his eyes, and I realized what a handsome man he was. The beard and the hair couldn’t hide the man underneath, the one with sharp eyes and a sinful mouth. I forced myself to look away. There was no room for thoughts like that, especially when I wasn’t sure if Garrett could be trusted. I glanced to the marks on my wrists. Definitely can’t be trusted. I began cutting my steak. “Thanks for the food.” “Don’t get used to it. You’ll be back on my cooking tonight.” His softness left as quickly as it had come. “Hey, did you ask the sheriff about my car?” “No, I figure he’ll drop by here soon and you can lay all your concerns on him. Your car, your phone, my beard, all that.” He turned to leave. “Take the pills. I’ll check your bandages when I come back for the tray.” He strode out and closed the door. I stuffed a spare pillow behind my back and settled into the bed. Getting well enough to continue my investigation was the most important thing. I ate as much of my lunch as I could stomach, then popped the pills. The afternoon floated away, and I was only vaguely aware of Garrett cleaning and replacing the gauze along my leg and foot. Whenever I drifted to sleep, my dad was there. Sometimes it was a replay of a memory— him waving at me at my high school graduation, him snugging on his Braves hat as he watched a game, him kissing my mom on the mouth after he’d been drinking and showed up at the house uninvited. Sometimes, I found him sitting in his rusted-out car in the woods, smoking a cigarette and watching as I walked around and inspected the damage. No matter what sort of dream he appeared to me in, two things were always the same—his shirt was drenched in blood, and he had a smile on his face.
CHAPTER TEN
IT TOOK TWO DAYS before I could go to the bathroom without Garrett’s help, then another two days before I could take a bath with my leg draped over the tub. By that time, I couldn’t even bear to sniff my pits, and I found a new admiration for Garrett. He’d been attending to me dutifully and hadn’t commented on my desperate need for a bath. I sighed as I lay back and rested my head on the edge of the tub, the warm water swirling around me. Garrett had remained distant, only warming to me in rare moments of wry humor. They were so brief and dry that I sometimes wasn’t sure if he was joking or just saying something to shut me up. Any time I’d felt like I gained ground with him, he’d leave abruptly and not return until it was time for one of his terrible meals or one of Bonnie’s delicious ones. I didn’t know how long I’d been soaking before I heard the familiar creak. “Garrett?” Assuming he wouldn’t show up until mealtime, I’d left the door to the bathroom open. The bath was just water, no bubbles to hide my nude form, though I don’t know why I was shy. He’d perused my body plenty as he changed my bandages and carried me to the bathroom. His fingers lingered on my skin longer each time, his hold on me tighter. “Elise?” A man’s voice. I sat up straighter in the water and cursed myself for not laying my towel closer. “Who’s there?” “Sheriff Crow.” I relaxed against the porcelain. “Hi. I’m in the tub.” “Oh.” The creaking stopped. “Sorry about that.” “No, it’s okay. I’m happy to see you.” I stared at the door. “Not that I can see you…” He laughed. “I know what you mean. How are you recovering? I been meaning to come by sooner, but there was a hunting accident a couple days ago I had to look into. Took up too much of my time. Len—I mean, Mayor Freeman—chewed my ass when he heard I hadn’t made it out here yet.” “I’m doing better. But I’d like to have my cell phone.”
He coughed. “I’ve been in touch with your professor already. He’s glad you’re okay. There wasn’t any other family to notify. He said you didn’t speak about your dad and your mother passed—” “Great, but I want my phone.” Frustration seeped into my voice. What else had Professor Stallings told the sheriff? Irritation and petulance mixed as I considered how helpless I was under the Blackwood roof. “I want my phone. It’s mine.” He sighed. “I’ll talk to Garrett. I believe he has it. I’m sorry about that, Elise. It’s just that I knew you were in good hands, and I didn’t want anyone thinking less of my county. Len figured you didn’t need the distraction—” “No one expects you to control wild boars. And what I choose as a distraction is my business, not Mayor Freeman’s. And you didn’t have to leave me here with…with him.” Another creak—he was moving closer. “He hasn’t done anything, has he?” I shook my head even though the sheriff couldn’t see me. “No.” Had I thought about Garrett doing something to me? Something I might like? Yes. I chalked it up to the meds and my year-long dry spell. “But you don’t have the right to take my phone. And the mayor doesn’t have the right to cut off my communication just because he’s afraid of bad press.” “Yeah.” He sighed. “Damn. Yeah, you’re right. I got carried away. Len’s like Chicken Little, and I didn’t think it through. I’ll make sure Garrett gives your phone back to you. Okay?” “Yes. And someone took my car.” I stared at the silver faucet, a slow drip plopping into the clear water at a steady pace. “Your car?” “Yeah. My car was gone when I walked out of the woods that day.” His shoes scuffed along the wood floors, as if he were turning in a circle. “I don’t know anything about that. Gone? Where did you leave it?” “There’s a logging road. I think on the county map it’s marked with an L-8. I was parked about seven miles off the main highway.” “Huh.” More scuffing sounds. “Sounds like a theft. Maybe some kids came along and jacked it for a joy ride.” My memory fired. “Oh, there was a guy! In the woods! He had like, long hair, a scraggly beard, crooked teeth. Tall and sort of, I don’t know… He looked like he could use a good meal.” “Danny. Had to be.” Another fizzle of memory. “Danny, the crazy one?” “How’d you know that?” “I heard it on your radio at the diner that morning. Someone called in and said he was yelling about lights in the woods.”
“That’s him all right. I never took him for a car thief, though.” “Maybe he didn’t steal it, but he could have seen who did. I don’t know, but he was there with me. Seems important.” He was silent for a beat. “It’s odd. I have to admit. I’ll definitely look into it.” “Thanks.” “Very welcome. Well, I have to get back to it. I just wanted to stop by since I got a breather from the accident investigation.” “What happened?” I adjusted my leg upward and moaned at the relief from the blood rushing away from it and back toward my heart. “You all right in there?” I pressed my fingers against my forehead. Oh my god. “Yeah, fine. Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “Well, we aren’t quite sure what happened. One man shot dead with a high-powered hunting rifle. Damnedest thing. A local hunter found him still alive, but bleeding out. Couldn’t even talk to him before he died.” Glancing to my leg, I realized how lucky I was. “Poor guy. Someone you knew?” “No, that’s the part that’s got us standing here holding our di—err—I mean, scratching our heads. Not from here. No one recognizes him, not even the property owner.” “I hope you figure it out.” “You and me both. And after what happened to you, I’m trying to decide if I should get some guys together and go on a wild boar hunt.” I swished the water back and forth with my palms. “I’ve been eating the hell out of the sausage and bacon that Bonnie sends as payback.” He laughed, the sound rolling through the usual stillness of the house. “I like you. I’m glad you’re going to be sticking around. Still planning on doing your surveying and digging?” “Definitely. As soon as I can walk well enough, I’ll be back out there.” I was too close to pack up and go home. Asking him about my father’s car was on the tip of my tongue, but my mother’s warning echoed in my mind: Don’t trust any of them. Not a one. I stayed silent. He sighed. “Just try to be more careful this time.” “I will. Don’t worry.” “I can assure you I’ll worry. It’s my job. I’ll try and get back by here to see you in a few days. Keep resting up.” I wouldn’t ask about my dad’s car, but the screams were fresh. Maybe Sheriff Crow could help out with the new mystery. “Sheriff?” “Yeah?” I shifted in the water. “The night I was in the woods, I heard something. I heard…screams.”
“Huh.” The shuffling noise resumed. “Are you sure?” “Yes. That’s why I came onto the Blackwood property.” A white lie never hurt anyone. “I was looking for the source of the screams.” “You find anything?” “No.” I rested my chin on the edge of the tub and stared at the empty doorway. “Just the boars. Or I guess they found me.” “It could have been an animal. They say panthers and such have screams that sound human. Other animals, too, maybe bobcats. No one else lives out here, you know? And I haven’t had any reports of missing persons. But I’ll take a look, all the same.” I knew with unflinching certainty it wasn’t an animal. Maybe it was a good thing Sheriff Crow didn’t seem overly concerned. What were the chances something violent would happen in the same woods so close to where my father died? If they were related in any way, I wanted to be the one to discover the link. “Thanks. I appreciate it. And please make sure I get my phone.” “Sure thing. I’ll talk to Garrett on my way out. I gotta get going, but you keep resting up.” “I will. See you later.” “Yes, ma’am.” His footsteps receded. If no one was missing, where did the mystery scream come from? I watched the steady drip of the faucet, trying to hypnotize myself into discovering the answer. The water eventually cooled, and I still hadn’t figured it out. But I would, one way or another.
“WHY ARE YOUR NAILS BLACK SOMETIMES?” I took a bite of the most disgusting chicken salad sandwich I’d ever tasted. “Sheriff Crow comes to visit and all of a sudden you’re chatty?” Garrett leaned against my
doorframe and watched as I struggled to eat the “mayo with a side of chicken” sandwich. “I’ve always been chatty. Now it shows because the drugs have worn off and I’m not in agonizing pain.” I put the sandwich down and focused on the potato chips instead. “You’re the non-chatty one.” He tossed my phone onto the bed. “Maybe that’s for a reason, Red.” “What reason?” I picked it up and swiped across the screen. No service. Shit. “I told you when you got here that I wanted you out.” He sighed. “That hasn’t changed.” I dropped the phone with a grimace and picked at my sandwich. “Okay. And I told you that I can’t wait to leave, so we’re on the same page. Why would those facts keep you from telling me why your fingernails are covered in filth sometimes?” “It’s not filth.” He shook his head. “While you’re lying around eating my delicious food all day without lifting a finger, I’m working.” “On what?” In all the research I’d done, I never found Garrett to have any real source of income other than timber and oil royalties on the Blackwood property. “Why do you care?” He crossed his arms over his chest, the rolled up sleeves of his shirt revealing some dark ink snaking across his skin. “Why won’t you tell me?” “Why does it matter?” I crunched the salty chips. “It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t so stubborn about not wanting to tell me. Now I have to know.” “You’re calling me stubborn?” He arched a dark eyebrow. “I see your hearing is working fine.” I plucked out another chip. His lip twitched, a smile trying to form but failing. “You don’t even know me.” “I know you can’t cook for shit.” I ticked off my fingers as I went. “You avoid me if possible. You have a secret pastime that turns your nails black. You are secretly kind. And you desperately need a haircut.” “That’s all?” “And a shave.” I drew my legs up under the blankets, happy to be able to move them without searing pain. “Want to know what I know about you?” He walked in and sat on the spot my feet had just vacated. “Sure.” “You forged my signature on permission documents. You trespassed on my land. You almost got killed by wild boars.” His smirk began to surface. “You are eternally grateful to me for saving your life. And you have some major daddy issues.” I stopped mid-chew. “What?” “That’s right.” He snagged a chip from my plate and ate it. “You talk in your sleep. Most
of the time it’s nonsense, but every so often you say ‘dad’.” “You watched me sleep?” He glanced away. “Sometimes when you were on the pills, you’d be sleeping when I came in with food.” I didn’t buy his excuse, but I was more worried that I said something to give myself away. “So what kind of daddy issues do you suspect?” I tried to keep my tone playful. “I’m not sure, but there’s something about the way you say his name.” He pinned me with an inscrutable look. “It seems like you’re sad. Like…” My appetite dried up. “What? Like what?” “It’s like you’re lost and you’re desperately trying to find him. Like if you could only get to him, everything would be okay.” He shrugged. “It makes me hope you find him. That’s why I never wake you up.” I studied the strong line of his jaw, the messy locks of hair, and looked deeper. The man underneath wasn’t so easily discerned. For the first time since I’d shown up on his doorstep, I finally saw Garrett Blackwood.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“WHAT’S GOING ON?” I leaned against the doorframe and tried not to sound as exhausted as I felt. Garrett didn’t turn around. “If you were trying to surprise me, maybe you shouldn’t have come down the stairs sounding like a wounded elephant.” I stared at the library. Books lined the walls and only stopped for a window or a door. The turret along the front of the house spiraled up in the corner and let in plenty of light despite the encroaching trees. “I’m proud of myself enough for the both of us.” My left leg had healed to the point it could bear my weight without too much pain. The bone was fine, but the skin itched and stretched where the stitches ran along my calf. I only hoped the scars wouldn’t be too noticeable. “Color me completely unsurprised.” He sat at a wide work desk and looked through a lighted magnifying glass. I hobbled into the room and rested on the arm of a threadbare sofa. This part of the house seemed fresher, more well-used than my dusty guest room. “What are you doing?” He took a deep breath and leaned back. “I was working.” “On what?” I took a few more steps until I stood behind him. He waved his hands at the desk. An antique book lay open in front of him. The page on the left had crisp black ink on parchment. The right hand side was faded, the letters almost indistinguishable. Small pots of ink dotted the desk, and a wide selection of quills and fountain pens sat in a coffee cup to the side. A couple of books, their bindings frayed and worn, were stacked on the edge, as if waiting for their turn under the magnifying glass. “This is why your fingers are black.” Ink. “Give the lady a prize.” He glanced up at me. “What did you suspect?” “I had two theories, really.” “Yeah?” “Mechanic or casual murderer who likes to dig the graves by hand.” He laughed and shook his head, his shaggy hair giving off a clean shampoo scent. “Both
excellent guesses.” Something about his laughter sent my heart into a quicker rhythm. “So, you restore books?” He nodded. “Collectors send me their treasures, and I get them back into good shape.” “Seems really, um, tedious.” I scooted around him and sat on the edge of the desk. My leg needed a break. “It is, but I enjoy it.” He leaned back and stared up at me, his face reverting to the usual look of serious disdain. “You must have a lot of patience.” He smirked and gave me a pointed look. “So it would seem.” “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” His gaze traveled down my body, and I wondered for the hundredth time what he was thinking. I wore a college t-shirt and shorts. Nothing fancy, but the way he looked at me made me feel as if I were wearing nothing more than skimpy lingerie. I followed the line of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the chest hair that disappeared into his shirt. His beard had grown on me, and I’d often found myself wondering what it would feel like against my skin. I chalked it up to cabin fever. Other than a few heated looks—looks that turned my blood into lava—he’d expressed nothing but irritation over my presence. “How did you learn how to restore books?” He met my eyes again, his pupils wide and dark. “You aren’t the only one with an education around here.” I played dumb. “You went to school?” “Yes. I have two degrees in history, and my dad always had a thing for old books.” “So he taught you?” He nodded, but kept his gaze locked with mine. “It was just a hobby for him. Something he did as a favor for book collectors or my mom.” “Your mom?” “This is her library. The books over there”—He pointed to a row near the back—“were her restored section. She had several first editions, and Dad spent years restoring a handful of them.” For once, he seemed eager to talk. His parents were a fond memory for him, something that thawed his usually icy demeanor. “What was her favorite?” I wanted to keep him engaged, his words alive. He glanced to the bookcase and smiled. Actually smiled. He was handsome as a shaggy hermit, but when he smiled, he became irresistible. My heart cartwheeled, and I had the sensation of dropping down the first steep slope of a rollercoaster.
“Mom always had a thing for Alice in Wonderland. Dad found a beat up first edition. It took months, but he tightened the binding, freshened the ink, and then gave it to her on their thirtieth wedding anniversary.” His smile faltered. “That was the last time we were all together.” “Your family?” “Yeah.” He leaned back, his mood darkening by the second. “How many brothers and sisters do you have?” I kept trying even though the moment was lost. “I need to get back to this.” He pulled the magnifying glass closer. “The collector expects it done within the month.” I angled for more. “If you have a graduate degree in history, why don’t you teach?” “I did.” “Why’d you stop?” He sighed. “How much longer do you think you’ll be here?” All the warmth from only a moment before was gone. I swept away the stab of hurt. He’d been clear from day one that he didn’t want me here. Our brief conversation didn’t change that fact. Though a part of me wished it would, wished he would open up to me enough so that I could figure out if he could be trusted. “A few more days, tops.” I needed more time to search the house, and my leg, though improved, wasn’t in hiking shape. His cool smirk returned. “Now that you’ve shown me how very independent you are, tell me how you intend to get back up the stairs.” I effected a nonchalant air. “I was going to look around down here for a minute. You know, start getting my pack ready for when I’m able to get back out there.” “You want to snoop.” His hint of amusement encouraged me. “Just look around. Exercise my leg.” “Knock yourself out.” He bent forward and peered through the glass. “Really?” He didn’t respond, just plucked a fountain pen from the cup and began tracing the outline of antiquated lettering. “Okay, I’ll just see you later then.” I pushed off the desk, and it shifted slightly. He groaned and yanked his hand away from the book. “Sorry.” “Just go.” He tucked his hair behind his ear and leaned closer to the page. “And if you fall down the cellar stairs, don’t expect a rescue anytime soon.” “Got it.” I walked out of the library, my limp abating the more I stretched my leg. Heading across the foyer, I entered a small sitting room.
The furniture seemed dainty, and the fine layer of dust covering everything told me this room hadn’t seen much use. A fireplace presided over one wall, the hearth a wide expanse of dark brick. I walked to it and studied the images set along the mantle. The family matriarch and patriarch took the middle spot in a large photo. Mrs. Blackwood, her hair long and dark, smiled down at me as Mr. Blackwood looked over at her. His jaw cut the same sharp line as Garrett’s, and his love for Mrs. Blackwood still shone as brightly as it did when the picture was taken. Another photo to the left showed the three children. Lillian wore a floral summer dress and dazzled with a bright smile. Garrett quirked one side of lips up, as if he were in on a private joke. His dark hair was a stark contrast against the white of the house. Hart wasn’t looking at the camera, his eyes focused behind the photographer, maybe on something in the woods. The three of them were a mix of their parents’ beauty, though Garrett looked the most like his father. I reached up and ran my fingers along his face. Only a dark hint of a shadow hid his cheeks, which seemed fuller, his eyes brighter. How long ago had it been taken? Hart looked to be about fifteen at most, so it had to be five years old at minimum. When the photographer clicked his button, my father was still alive. Moving down the row, there were more photos, some of them graduation pictures, others candid shots of the siblings. I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of my dad, his eyes twinkling and his face scruffy. He wasn’t there. I limped around the rest of the room and walked into the foyer. Garrett had closed the doors to the library, but I could sense him in there, bent over his work. I moved to the next set of open doors and found a living room with a flat-screen TV and some comfortable leather furniture. Books littered the side tables, and a laptop sat in a chair. I plopped down on the couch and pulled the computer into my lap. Garrett said for me to knock myself out. I grinned. The computer wasn’t password protected, and I was on the web in seconds. Irritation percolated inside me when I realized I could have had a fully functioning phone via Wi-Fi over the past couple of days. Asshole. I accessed my university email and ran through the few messages I’d received from friends and professors. Dr. Stallings had written me, demanding I call him as soon as possible. Maybe it was a good thing my cell wasn’t working. After flipping through the national news, I cleared my history and closed out of the browser. My leg had enjoyed the break, but it was time to get moving. Pushing myself off the couch, I stretched for a moment then took off into the hall that ran along the side of the stairs. I peered into a dining room, the long table dusty and the chandelier dull. Heavy drapes covered the windows, and the dark mahogany walls sucked up what little light shot through the frilled curtain edges. I kept exploring until I turned right into a large kitchen. Dated appliances and cabinets lined the walls, but they seemed to have been top of the line in their day. A wide butcher’s block took up the center of the room, pots and pans hanging above it on a silver rack. The white fridge had some basics—eggs, milk, butter, and lunch meat. I had an inkling that
these items were placed there by Bonnie, especially given Garrett’s lackluster cooking abilities. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were the height of his cuisine. The small pantry had a decent stock of boxed items and a few canned goods. Slipping back into the hallway, I opened the door under the stairs. Simple wooden steps disappeared into the dark cellar. I felt along the wall for a light switch, but found none. Falling down the gloomy stairs didn’t seem like a good idea, so I closed the door and made a note to investigate once my leg had improved. A backdoor gave a view of the sunny yard, a rusted-out swing set grown over with weeds, and some sort of a gardener’s shed falling to pieces along the tree line. The woods were slowly reclaiming the property. How long before the house melted into the forest right along with its occupant? Only one door remained. I turned the handle, and a rusty squeak informed me that the door hadn’t been opened in quite some time. Pushing inside, I found a woman’s bedroom. The bed, perfectly made, was covered in even thicker dust than the other rooms in the house. Along one wall, a pile of trophies sat broken and upended next to a shelf. It looked as if someone had raked them all off with an angry sweep of their arm. I ventured farther inside, inspecting the rose bedspread, then the brushes, makeup, and knickknacks on top of the dresser. Lillian’s room, it had to be. I’d researched her life. It was such an odd task—cataloging someone else’s achievements, failures, joys, and sorrows. She received a degree in theater from LSU, then worked for a TV station in Columbus. After that, she moved to Los Angeles. She was a ten in Millbrook County, Mississippi, but California had a different scale. I’d read a story in the local paper touting the beauty queen’s homecoming. Her Hollywood misadventure didn’t dim her in the eyes of the community. She returned and took over the local newspaper— her reporting ranging from crop failures to debutante balls. I knelt and stared at the pile of discarded trophies. Several “Miss Millbrook” and “Miss Mississippi Queen” wins lay bent and broken, the golden angels atop them facing the floor —the fall of Lucifer in miniature. What happened here, and more importantly, why was it left this way? Rising, I surveyed the rest of the room. Some of the decorations were girlish leftovers from Lillian’s childhood, while others, like the half-used birth control compact, were artifacts from her adult life. I crossed the daisy-shaped rug and flicked on the light to her closet. I stepped inside, the space shallow with clothes hanging on either side. Shelves lined the top with sweaters, jeans, and bags stacked in neat rows. I ran my hands along the clothes, the empty hangers clicking against each other. Spreading them apart, I hoped to find a false back, a hidden treasure, anything that could point to my father. Nothing. The other side was similarly bare. I spun and leaned against the back wall. Peering up at the clothes on the shelves, I spied a shoe box resting behind a high stack of sweaters. I had to stand on my tiptoes, my stitches burning, but I managed to snag it and pull it down. I hobbled out of the closet and sank on her bed, sending a plume of dust into the air. The specks floated in the rays of sun, an endless fall of particles painted orange. I flipped the lid off the box, and my breath caught in my lungs.
On the very top of a stack of papers, sat my dad’s Braves cap.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE LIGHT HAD LONG since faded as I sat on the bottom step and contemplated how I’d get back up to my room. I needed to process everything I’d found in the shoebox. Putting my father’s hat back inside and replacing the box in the top of the closet was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. But I couldn’t keep it, not without the risk of Garrett knowing. The very fact that it was here in his house meant I couldn’t trust Garrett. Don’t trust any of them. My mom’s vague warning, delivered on one of her last breaths, didn’t give me much to go on, but I wasn’t going to disregard it. She and Dad had a bright, burning relationship when I’d been conceived. The fire had died down to angry hissing embers by the time I was born. Mom raised me on her own, with only occasional visits from my father. He provided—the child support paid every month like clockwork—but he was a rolling stone. His visits were infrequent yet all-consuming. I was a daddy’s girl, always desperate to hear his stories of travel and adventure as Mom sighed and shook her head. “I fell for the same song and dance, so I can’t say I’m surprised.” Her chiding voice in my head was more comforting than anything else. I missed her. Every day, I thought about her. She had been the only reason I hadn’t investigated Dad’s disappearance. Between her doctor’s appointments, treatments, and my studies, I couldn’t spend time on a father that hadn’t deigned to show up for years. Even so, my gut told me something happened to him. Something bad. Her dying warnings reinforced the feeling. She’d kept me away from Millbrook County, away from anything connected to my father’s disappearance, for a reason. I didn’t know what it was until after she died. That’s when I found my father’s final message in her cell phone. “Something is wrong here. I can’t trust anyone. Don’t come looking for me. I love you and Elise.” The message had been delivered two years prior, and Mom had never shown it to me. She knew I’d dig. I slipped my hand into my pocket and ran my index finger along the small memory card I’d found under my father’s worn cap. Maybe it was nothing, but its placement on the top of the stack hinted at importance. Getting a look at it became imperative, but I’d have to wait until Garrett was out of the way. “You get your fill of snooping?” His stark voice made me jump.
“I didn’t see you there.” I peered through the gloom to find him leaning in the doorway to the library. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t heard him. How long had he been there? “That’s because you’re sitting in the dark.” “Good point.” I tried to get to my feet, but my exploring and the shock of seeing my father’s hat seemed to have drained me. I faltered and gripped the banister. “Let me guess.” He sighed. “You need help getting up the stairs.” “No.” I refused to accept anything from him, especially not when he was sighing about it. “I just need a few more minutes.” “Sure you do.” His face was in shadow, but I could feel the smirk turning up the left side of his mouth. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.” He stood straight and walked across the foyer, a few rays of moonlight striping across him as he approached. I glared up at him. “I said I got it.” “I think we’ve already cleared up that I don’t have a hearing problem.” He leaned down and easily scooped me into his arms. “You can’t just manhandle me.” My mind said to tell him to fuck off, but my body relaxed against his, welcoming the warm feel of his chest. “You think this is manhandling?” He shook his head, his unruly hair escaping from behind his ears. “Yes, and if you take the stairs two at a time, I’ll lose my shit like Scarlett in Gone With the Wind.” He laughed, the sound throaty. “One at a time, then.” We ascended slowly, his steps even and constant. He turned left at the top of the stairs. “Is your room the other way?” “Yes. Why, do you want to go to my room?” He arched a brow and stared down at me. My heart did a weird stutter step. “I was just curious.” “My door’s locked. So it should go without saying that my room is off limits.” “Why? You got some hookers tied up in there?” He grinned. “Not at the moment.” I canted my head and studied his face. Joking. He was joking. Surely. The overhead light in my room brightened his features as he carried me to my bed. The longer I stayed here, the more handsome he became. Was this how Stockholm syndrome started? He set me on the bed and backed away.
I caught his eye. “Can I ask you a question?” “Here we go.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. More ink peeked from his sleeves, and I wondered what he had tattooed on his upper arms. “I knew I should have left you sitting at the bottom of the stairs, staring off all dreamy.” I wrinkled my nose. “How long were you watching me?” He shrugged. “Was that your question?” “No.” I scooted back in the bed and rested against the headboard. He catalogued every movement, his gaze darting down my body. “Why do you stay here by yourself?” “Because I like it.” He turned to the door. “Glad we had this chat.” “Wait!” He stopped, but didn’t turn around. “Listen, I know a few things about you.” I needed to sprinkle the truth with some lies. “I looked you up on your laptop earlier. You were fired from your teaching position.” He ran a hand through his hair, his back flexing. “Yes.” “Why?” “You didn’t figure all that out, detective?” The bitterness in his voice cut, and his use of the word “detective” had me worried he knew more about me than he let on. “No. That’s why I’m asking. So, why?” He stayed silent for a while, then turned back to me. “Because I’m a bad man who does bad things.” His gaze flickered down my body again, lingering on my breasts and then lower. When he licked his lips, heat burst in my cheeks and a tingle rippled across my thighs. “You don’t seem so bad to me.” His eyes darkened, as if he didn’t appreciate what I’d said. “You don’t know me.” “I think I know enough.” He smiled, but it was cold. “Do you?” I crossed my arms over my chest as goose bumps raced across my skin. “You’ve been taking care of me. You’ve been kind.” He walked back to the bed and sat next to me, our hips touching. “I’ve been kind because I’ve had to be. Pete gave very clear instructions on how you were to be treated.” I swallowed hard as his steely blue eyes bored into me. “Would you have treated me differently if it weren’t for Pete?” “Yes.” No hesitation. “How?” My blood raged through my veins. He leaned closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “I would have hurt you.” Why did his words shoot through me like a hit of a euphoric drug? “Why?”
“I’ve seen you looking at me.” He brought a hand to my cheek, his touch soft. “I know what you think about. I’ve heard you in here at night when you think I’m asleep.” My cheeks burned red. He heard that? I feigned nonchalance. “So?” “So.” He slid his hand down to my neck. “You said you saw where I left my teaching job.” “You were fired.” I tried to lean back—his eyes were too intense—but his grip tightened at my throat. “But you don’t know why?” He stroked my neck with his thumb and rested his other hand on my knee. I wrapped my hands around his wrists. “No.” He massaged his long fingers along my thigh while keeping my neck in his large palm. Control. He had every bit of it. “I had an affair with the dean’s wife. But that wasn’t what led to my dismissal.” He smoothed his hand up my thigh and under the hem of my shorts. He leaned closer, his warm breath tickling my ear. My grip on his wrists faltered; I couldn’t decide if I was afraid or turned on. Maybe a bit of both, and wasn’t that all kinds of fucked up? When his fingertips brushed my panties, I jolted. “Are you wet, Red?” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, and I shivered. “Don’t.” The quaver in my voice gave me away. I wanted him to touch me, wanted it more than I should have. He laughed, low and sinister. He pushed my panties to the side and ran his fingers along my wet flesh. “You are.” I whimpered and closed my eyes. “Fuck.” He bit my ear, and I grabbed his shoulders. Desire overwhelmed me and drowned out any logic. I wanted him, his wildness, and his veiled passion. If only for this single moment, maybe I could feel something other than loneliness and the burning need to know the truth. When he pressed a finger inside me, I moaned. I tried to press my thighs together, but his palm kept enough room between them so he could ease farther inside me. God, it felt good. “So wet and tight.” His voice was a growl as he fastened his lips right below my ear. Heat seethed inside me, and when he squeezed my throat, I moaned. “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” His voice shook, anger coating the words as he added another finger and slowly stroked me. “Couldn’t leave me alone.” I forced my breathy voice past his palm. “I just wanted to know—” “Some things are better left in the dark, Red.” “No.” I didn’t believe that. “It’s better to know.”
“You want to know why I was fired and ordered to stay off all campus property?” He nipped at my jaw. Every nerve ending in my body focused on his touch, but I had to hear the truth. “Yes, tell me what happened.” “Fucking the dean’s wife wouldn’t have been such a problem. But things didn’t go so well when he walked in on me raping her.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RAPE? M Y BLOOD TURNED to ice, and I struggled to escape Garrett’s harsh grip. He was bigger, stronger, and I was still weak from the boar attack. “Let me go.” I dug my nails into his wrists. He kept his grip on my neck, but pulled his fingers from between my legs. Licking them clean, he kept his eyes locked on mine as my heart banged against my ribs. He groaned as his tongue snaked along his fingers, and I fought down the heat his erotic show created inside me. He’d said rape. I couldn’t trust him. Had to get away. “You’re a rapist.” I wrapped both my hands around his forearm, but he still kept a solid grip on my throat. “No. I’ve never taken a woman against her will.” My mind spun. “But you just said—” “I know what I said.” He finally released me, but didn’t rise, just sat and held my gaze. I swallowed, my skin missing the heat from his palm. “This.” He glanced to my throat. “Is just a sample, Red. My appetites would disgust you. Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes they disgust me, but I can’t escape them.” I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “Like what?” “Haven’t you seen enough to know you should leave me alone?” He clasped his hands in his lap. “And get out of here as soon as you can?” “I need an explanation.” I’d never been able to let anything go. My career and the burning need to know what happened to my father weren’t choices. They were part of my makeup. Mysteries were meant to be solved, truths brought to light. “Did you rape the dean’s wife?” He shook his head. “No, but it certainly looked that way.” His expression soured. “And she preferred me leaving under a cloud of suspicion to giving up her position as the dean’s wife.” “What happened?” He stared at me, worry wrinkling the skin around his eyes, then rose and walked to the
door. “I’ve fucked up enough people. You don’t deserve it.” For reasons I didn’t understand, I ached for him. He seemed so lonely, lost. Maybe even lonelier than I was. “You can talk to me.” “It would ruin you, and I don’t want that.” “I’m not some virgin in an antebellum flick.” I cocked my head at him. “You can’t ruin me, Garrett.” He growled with frustration and slammed his palm against the doorframe. “Don’t you get it? I’m the wolf. That day you showed up on my front porch in your red coat, if you’d known the thoughts I’d had, the things I’d wanted to do to you—you would never have come back here.” His muscles were drawn taut, as if he were straining to remain still. I swallowed hard. “I’m a grown woman, not a child in a red cloak. You’re a grown man, not a wolf. I’m not afraid of you.” Was that true? “Why can’t you just talk to me?” “Because if I did, then you would be afraid of me. And for once, I don’t want that. You being here is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt…” He sighed, as if the word he was searching for was floating just out of his reach. “Not so alone. I know you can’t stay. I won’t let you for a million different reasons. But what we have right now is the most I’ve had since—” He stopped himself and turned to face me again, his eyes sad. “Look, I just don’t want to ruin it.” “How is you telling me about your past ruining it?” I absentmindedly ran my fingertips along my ear where his lips had been, the sparks gone but the memory still singeing my skin. His tone was almost pleading. “Don’t push me, because if you do”—His expressive eyes pinned me with a look so hot I tensed—“I’ll take you somewhere you’ve never been, and I doubt you’ll enjoy it. Not a girl like you.” “Garrett, please…” He closed his eyes at my words, as if my begging was a delicious treat. “I said no. Don’t bring this up again.” Before I could resume my entreaty, he stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. His steps retreated down the hall, and I heard another door slam. I sat in shell-shocked silence and tried to digest everything he’d said, every emotion that had flitted across my mind. Something twisted lurked beneath his dark exterior. I should have been scared. Instead, I found myself more worried over the fact that every harsh word he uttered seemed to speak to a secret part of myself. One that wanted to revel in his darkness and sample every bitter promise in his words.
OVER THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Garrett only visited to drop off my meals. No small talk or flirtation, just a quick hello and a heavenly meal from Bonnie or a hellish one he’d made. Two weeks after the boar attack, he sat at the end of my bed and removed my stitches with painstaking precision. My left leg sat in his lap, my right behind his back. I tried to ignore the buzz his hands on my legs created. Instead of imagining his hands roving higher, I focused on my new plan to survey his property. If he still wouldn’t give me permission, I’d decided I was going to do it anyway. He could call the sheriff on me all he wanted. I had a feeling, based on Sheriff Crow’s dislike of bad publicity, that all I’d get was a slap on the wrist for my trespassing ways. “Ow!” I tried to keep still. “Sorry. That one was probably the worst.” He pulled the thin wire from my skin and discarded it in a shallow dish on the bed. “I only have a few more to go.” I fisted the blanket as he snipped another one and then another. By the time he was done, I’d left ugly wrinkles in the flowery quilt. “All done.” He smoothed his hand over my calf. “Almost as good as new.” I stretched my leg slowly and smiled when I realized the tight pulling sensation was gone. “Feels so much better.” “I guess you’ll be taking off soon, then.” He rested his hand on my knee. “Yes. Lots of surveying to do.” And finding my father. He arched a brow at me. “On Blackwood property?” “Well, I do have a signed permission form and all.” I smiled. “I thought you might say that.” He sighed. “What happens when you run into another wild boar?” “I’ll shoot it.”
“With what gun? I’ve been through your pack.” “Shit.” Sheriff Crow hadn’t gotten back to me about my car, which happened to have a gun in the glove box, and Garrett had a point. I frowned. “Don’t go through my stuff.” “I figured it was only fair since you did that walkabout downstairs.” He gripped my knee tighter and pegged me with a knowing look. “And I know you’ve been trying to get into my room while I’m working in the library.” How did he know? “I was just, um…” “Right.” He placed my foot flat on the bed and stood. “So I think I’m entitled to check your pack. You need more water, obviously, and a weapon.” The top few buttons of his shirt were open, the dark hair showing through. “I had a knife.” “Yeah, a lot of good that did you.” “I’ll pick up something else in town.” I shrugged and inspected his worn jeans, appreciating the way they sat on his lean hips. Even the way he stood seemed masculine somehow. “You don’t have to. I have a .45 you can borrow.” “Really?” That would speed along my surveying. One less thing to worry about. “Yeah, just don’t lose it. I’ll get it out of the safe once you’re ready to go back out there.” “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it.” He shifted from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable with my gratitude. “I think tomorrow I can do a little walking.” “Not yet.” He furrowed his brow. “You aren’t recovered enough.” “I won’t go far.” I grinned. “And what’s this newfound love of my company?” He scowled. “Get over yourself. I just don’t want you getting hurt worse and then spending yet another two weeks here.” “Neither do I.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’d probably die of starvation from your cooking.” His smirk appeared, and my heart warmed at our not-so-friendly banter. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He turned to leave, then paused, as if unsure. “Red?” “Yeah?” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and tested my calf. “I just…” I stared at his back. “Yeah?” He shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll see you at dinner.” He strode away, his steps thundering down the stairs. I spent the rest of the day walking around the house and feeling pleased with my leg’s recovery. It was weaker, but having the stitches removed made every movement easier.
Pausing in front of Garrett’s door, I stared at it, wondering what he kept inside. I wasn’t much of a lock pick, especially given that the door had an antique handle that took an actual key. Jiggling the handle, I found it locked yet again and sighed. This time, though, I noticed light through the keyhole. His room faced west, the afternoon sun pouring through. If the light could get out, maybe I could see in. I stopped and held my breath, listening for Garrett. Nothing moved in the house. I imagined him locked in his library, bent over a book, his dark locks tucked behind his ears as he concentrated on each precise stroke of ink. Kneeling, I hunched forward and looked through the keyhole. The light blinded me, so I had to sit back. “Shit,” I whispered to myself and decided to sit and wait until the sun’s angle was bearable. Every moment risked me being discovered, but I would hear Garrett coming. I listened intently and waited for the light to fade. After what felt like an eternity, the glare died enough for me to peek through. My eye adjusted after a short moment, and I got a glimpse of a large bed, the wide window, and something hanging on the wall. I squinted and leaned forward, my forehead pressing into the door handle. What was that? Angling to the side, I got a better view of the wall. Rope. He had various coils of rope hanging on some sort of rack. I couldn’t see the rest of it, just the edge. I sat back on my haunches. What the fuck? A knocking sound had me on my feet and trudging back to my room at a fast clip. If he caught me, I wasn’t sure what he’d do, but I had an idea based on what he kept handy in his bedroom. The thought of being tied to his bed sent a thrill through me when I should be disgusted or scared. What is wrong with you? The fleshy knock grew louder as I passed the stairs. I paused. The sound was familiar— someone was knocking at the front door. I hurried down the stairs, my left leg aching in protest. With no Garrett in sight, I got on my tiptoes and peered out of the peephole. “Fuck.” I plopped back down on my heels. “I know she’s in there. Open up!” Dr. Stallings pounded on the heavy door, but it only rattled a little. The library door stood open, and I didn’t see any hint of Garrett. After a calming breath, I turned the bolt on the door and pulled it open. Dr. Stallings rushed in and took me in his arms, picking me up in a dramatic fashion. “What happened? Are you okay? The sheriff wasn’t giving me any information. I was worried sick. Did they hurt you?” He rattled off the questions, then pressed hot kisses to my neck. I cringed and pushed him back. “I’m fine. Promise. They’ve been taking good care of me.” He lowered me to my feet and looked around the foyer. “They kept you locked up in this ghastly house?” I frowned. The house had grown on me over the past couple of weeks. But, I followed his
gaze to the tatty rug and dusty chandelier, I could see his point. “I’ve been recovering here. It made sense. The boar attack happened nearby.” “Who’s here with you?” “The property owner. He’s around somewhere.” “Has he touched you?” He ran a possessive hand through my hair. “What? No. He’s the one who saved me in the woods and stitched me up.” I pointed to my leg. He knelt and ran his hands over the healing wounds. “You poor thing.” When his lips met my skin, I had to fight the impulse to knee him in the face. His clean-shaven jaw brushed against my skin as he dropped kisses up to my knee and then higher. I took a step back. “I’m okay. I promise.” He rose to his feet. “I think you should come back with me.” “No.” I responded more vehemently than I intended. His look of concern turned to a glower, and he took a step toward me. “I think this has been too much for you. You can always get back to the survey during summer term.” “But I’m so close.” I forced myself to move closer to him. “My leg is nearly healed, and I’ve already found a promising dig site.” Running my hands down the front of his wool coat, I stared up into his eyes and tried to look beguiling. He grabbed my waist and pressed me to him, his cock hardening against my stomach. “Maybe come back for just a week, so the two of us can get caught up.” I let him kiss me, his mouth clumsy and demanding. Closing my eyes, I imagined it was Garrett’s skillful tongue pressing inside me, his hands roving my ass. Instead of Dr. Stallings’ smooth skin, it was Garrett’s rough beard against me. Someone cleared their throat. Dr. Stallings released me and backed away. I wiped his saliva off my lips with the back of my hand. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Garrett’s glacial tone sent prickles along my skin. “I’m Elise’s professor.” He puffed out his chest. “I’ve come to check up on her.” “I saw how you were checking up.” Garrett walked up beside me, his jaw set in a furious line. “Teaching methods have certainly changed since I was a student.” “I, ah, that’s none of your business.” He tried to stare down his nose at Garrett, but Dr. Stallings was a good three inches shorter, so it didn’t quite work. “In my house, everything’s my business.” Garrett put his hand at the small of my back, his touch sending warmth licking along my skin. Professor Stallings eyed Garrett’s arm as it snaked behind me. “Elise, you’re coming back with me.” “I’m not finished. I only got one site scouted before the accident. I need more time.”
He shook his head, mock sadness drawing his mouth down in a frown. “I’m afraid it’s just too dangerous for you to be out here alone. I can’t promise funding for such a perilous expedition.” My heart sank. “You threaten her funding to keep her in line?” Garrett laughed. “That’s your power play?” “I’ve done no such thing.” Dr. Stallings narrowed his eyes. “She was almost killed trying to survey this area. I think it only makes sense for her to wait until the summer when she can survey in safety.” “And, let me guess, you intend to accompany her in the summer?” “I’ll be free to help then, yes.” “Help, huh?” Garrett tsked. “I hope you don’t intend to kiss her the same as you did a minute ago. Watching that shit was painful. So I can’t even imagine what a bumbling fool you’d be when trying to find her clit.” Dr. Stallings’ face turned an angry shade of red as I wished for the floorboards to open up and swallow me. I needed to defuse the situation. “Everyone just calm down, okay? We’re all adults here. No need for ugliness.” Garrett scowled at Professor Stallings, and I could almost feel the vicious take down building in his lungs. I edged closer to him. “Garrett, please.” His fingers dug into my waist as he pulled me into his side. “Don’t say that.” His voice hissed through his teeth. “Elise, come with me.” Dr. Stallings held his hand out toward me. “We can have that dinner and discuss your future like we should have done before you left. The land will still be here in the summer. I’ll come with you and help you get it all done. As your faculty advisor, I need you to trust me.” “Fuck off with that shit.” Garrett scoffed. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave this house. Elise is going to stay here. I’ve given her, and only her, permission to survey my lands. If you try to cut her funding, I’ll write a lengthy letter to my old friend Dean Bascomb about you and the way you treat your female students.” The color drained from Dr. Stallings’ face, and he dropped his proffered hand. “You know Dean Bascomb?” “I studied under him for six years. He directed my master’s thesis. I attended his youngest daughter’s wedding a few years ago. Trust me when I say that he’ll take my word very seriously.” Dr. Stallings cut his gaze to me. “Come with me. It’s not safe here.” Garrett made an irritated “pfft” noise. “It’s plenty safe. I’ve already offered her full use of my house and lands for her survey. And I’ll be accompanying her on her travels. So there
is no need whatsoever for any of your teaching methods.” The acid in his tone could have melted lead. I gaped at Garrett as he pulled lies out of the air faster than I could take a breath. “Elise?” Dr. Stallings, beaten but still clinging to me like a sad puppy, gave me a pitiful stare. “I’ll be back in a few months.” I wanted to feel bad about the verbal stomping he’d just taken, but I didn’t. Instead, I had to fight my smile. “If her funding goes away, I’ll pay Dr. Bascomb a visit. Don’t test me, asshole.” Garrett motioned toward the front door. “You know the way out.” “Elise—” “Did I fucking stutter?” Garrett’s harsh bark made me jump. Dr. Stallings too. He moved to the door and swung it wide before stepping out into the cold. He turned and caught my eye. “You have my number if you need m—” Garrett slammed the door in his face. “What a twat.” I turned to him. “I could have handled him.” “Yeah?” He gripped my shoulders and pushed me back against the door. “I saw your way of handling him.” I glared up into his fierce eyes. “Don’t you dare judge me.” I shrugged, but he pushed harder, keeping me in place. “Get off.” “You should thank me for tossing his worthless ass.” His gaze flicked to my lips, and my breath caught in my throat. I laced my words with venom. “I’m not going to thank you for meddling in my life. I need the funding to get this done. I would have had Dr. Stallings out of here in no time. Everything was under control.” “Under control?” He slid his palms down my arms, a sinister glint in his eye. “You let him touch you. Kiss you?” His voice vibrated with rage. I wasn’t afraid. “Fuck off. You don’t have any say in how I live my life! You want me out of here, remember? You better back off before you ruin me, remember?” I tried to shove him away. He didn’t move, every muscle in his body tensed into a wall of anger. “Stop.” “Or what? Are you going to give me another sullen stare?” I wasn’t sure why I wanted to unleash the beast I suspected lived inside him, but there was no stopping me. “Maybe ignore me some more? Maybe—” He gripped my hair and yanked my head back. Garrett’s kiss blasted away every moment of Dr. Stallings’ unwanted touches. His kiss was rough, possessive. Everything in me delighted in his dominance. But fighting back was in my nature. I captured his bottom lip and bit down until warm blood trickled from the wound. Instead of backing away, he growled and pressed his mouth tight to mine. His tongue brought the taste of copper, and
he turned my head to the side, giving him all the access he wanted. My breath was gone, and the anger leached away, leaving white hot desire in its place. He grabbed my ass and squeezed until I whimpered. The sound seemed to feed him. He gripped me harder, his tongue warring with mine as he pressed me into the unforgiving door. When I felt his thick cock against my stomach, my knees threatened to buckle. I dug my nails into his sides as he took everything he wanted, his body owning mine as he kissed me with more passion than I’d ever experienced. Not content with feeling my ass through my shorts, he ran his hand under the fabric, beneath my panties, and kneaded me. His palm covered one cheek, and he squeezed hard enough to leave bruises. He finally came up for air, my lips throbbing from his rough treatment. When he fastened his teeth to my neck, I bucked. He pressed his fingers down the slope of my ass and rubbed my entrance from the back. I tried to curl away from his touch, but I was trapped. “Wet. Fuck.” He pressed his finger inside me, and I gasped as he bit down on my throat almost hard enough to break the skin. “Garrett.” My voice was a breathy squeal as he pulsed his finger in and out of me. His beard tickled my skin as his teeth sent a ring of fire spiraling down to my pussy where it tightened like a lasso. He ground his erection against me, and I could barely believe this was really happening. Releasing my hair, he yanked my top up and fastened his lips around one of my hard nipples through the fabric of my bra. “Oh my God.” I ran my hands through his hair and arched my back as he sucked and continued to plunge his finger inside me. “I need to taste you.” My mind screamed in agreement. “Garret, please.” He groaned and dropped to his knees, then ripped my shorts and panties down to my calves. He stared at my pussy and licked his lips. “Beg me.” “Please.” He leaned closer and inhaled. “Fuck. Beg more. Tell me what you want.” I was losing my mind, every logic center shutting down and every pleasure center lighting up like a Christmas tree. I didn’t know him, not really; he didn’t know me. None of that mattered. This was lust, pure and undiluted. His breath ghosted across my hot skin. “Beg me.” His raspy voice set off a tidal wave of need inside me. “Lick me. Make me come. Please.” My breathy plea sent him over the edge, because he pressed his mouth to my clit and moaned as his tongue sank between my folds. I jerked as he dug his thumbs into my thighs and spread them just enough so he could wrap his mouth around my pussy. My head bumped against the door as I jolted. The sting was quickly smothered by the
pleasure Garrett’s tongue pulled from my sensitive clit. Relentless. Any finesses he may have had was gone, and in its place was a ravenous man. He kept my thighs pinned against the door as his mouth ravaged my pussy. The wet noises should have embarrassed me. Instead, I gasped at the ferocity of his tongue and whimpered when he sucked my tight nub. I tried to grind against his mouth, but he growled and pressed his thumbs into me even harder. He took every ounce of control, working me with his tongue as I moaned and shook. Spreading one palm against my thigh, he slid his other hand up my leg. He sank two fingers inside me, the intrusion so sudden I cried out. Instead of pulling out and easing in, he twisted his fingers around and pushed deeper. My hips tensed as he began working his fingers against the one spot that promised an unforgettable orgasm. I gripped his hair, the strands sifting between my fingers as I held on. When he bit down on my clit, I exploded. My breath rushed out of me on a moan as my pussy tightened and waves of delicious release broke against me. I shook as the euphoria dragged me down like a fierce undertow. I rode the release, and he licked more and more pleasure from me as I remained pinned against the door. He kept kissing and sucking as the waves began to quiet, my body finally giving up its hold on his fingers. He nipped at my clit, and I clutched his hair. Soft laughter rolled from him as he stood. “You like that, Red?” He met my eyes and licked his wet lips. My knees wobbled, and I wasn’t sure if I would have been standing if it weren’t for the door at my back. “I, uh…” I was incapable of molding any thoughts into words. Nothing coherent, anyway. His satisfaction slowly drained away as he glanced at my neck, at the marks that surely reddened my skin. “Shit.” He bent over and yanked my shorts and panties back into place. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.” “I’m okay.” I squeaked as he scooped me into his arms and headed for the stairs. “I can walk.” “I know.” He didn’t look at me. His heat was gone, a stony façade blocking every flicker of embers. “What is it?” I clung to him as he hurried up the stairs. “Nothing.” He pushed through the door to my room and sat me on the bed. “Garrett, you didn’t hurt me.” I ran my fingers along the bite mark on my neck. “It’s okay.” “No, it isn’t.” He shook his head. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. That”—He glanced to the mark— “isn’t keeping you safe.” “I’m safe.” I canted my head, trying to figure out what was going on inside him. “Better than safe. That was … intense.”
“That was nothing.” A flame leapt in him as he bent down and put his fists on the mattress on either side of me. “The things I want to do to you… You don’t deserve them. I’ve already gone too far.” I reached up and ran my hand down his cheek and across his beard. “I’m not afraid.” “That’s because you don’t know what I want.” He closed his eyes at my touch. “Tell me.” “No.” He pinned me with his steely gaze and stood. “Never going to happen.” Irritation roiled inside me. “I’m not some China doll you can break.” I rose and stepped toward him until we were almost touching. “You don’t have to protect me from anything.” “I do. I have to protect you from me.” “I’m not afraid of you.” I tried to touch his face, but he grabbed my wrist. “Not yet. I want to keep it that way.” “I saw the rope.” I locked eyes with him. “I know.” He smirked. “Rope? You think you know because you saw some rope. What? Did you peek through my keyhole?” Color fanned out across my neck and face. “Maybe.” His grip on my wrist tightened painfully, and he forced me back until I hit the bed and sat. He loomed over me, anger marring his features. “I told you to stay away from me, but you just keep pushing.” He wrapped his other hand around my throat and shoved me onto my back. The dark glint in his eyes should have frightened me. Instead, I felt every nerve ending in my body come alive. His hand at my neck was more aphrodisiac than threat. I knew it was fucked up, but I was helpless to stop how I felt. He pinned my wrist above my head and shoved a knee between my thighs. I gasped as he rubbed against my hot core. He bent down and pressed his lips close to my ear. “You think this is some fantasy where I tie you up and spank you a little?” A moan lofted from my lungs. “You think I’ll fuck you a little harder than your last vanilla boyfriend and call it a day?” He massaged my pussy, rubbing back and forth with his leg. “Here’s a crash course, Red. Here’s why I warned you to stay away.” My panties were already soaked, and I thought I might come again just from his words and his light touch. He squeezed my neck and spoke through gritted teeth. “I will hurt you, Red. Worse than you’ve ever been hurt in your life. I will fuck you like an animal.” Hurt me. I couldn’t stop the inferno of need that consumed me. I wanted him to do those things to me. Sparks burst in my vision, and I tried to catch my breath. But his palm
blocked any air from reaching my lungs. Panic began to set in when I realized he wasn’t letting up. I scratched at his wrist with my free hand, but he didn’t release me, not even when I drew blood. “I’ll enjoy your pain. I’ll use you, beat you, and love every tear you shed. I’ll get off on your fear. When you scream in terror, I’ll get harder.” The edges of my vision turned black. My mouth moved, but no sound came out. I was silently begging him to release me, but his grip was absolute. He stared down into my eyes. “I’m the fucking wolf, and I’ll eat you alive.” My eyelids began to flutter as my vision failed. With a vicious growl he released me and stalked from my room, the door slamming in a rattling boom. I gasped in huge breaths and rolled onto my side. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I replayed his words in my mind. Fear coated me like a thick layer of grime, and I staggered to my door and clicked the lock into place. Crawling into bed, I lay on my side facing the door and pulled my knees up in the fetal position. I ran my fingers along my throat, the skin hot and achy from his rough touch. I’d wanted it, but then something inside him had changed. He scared me. Wiping my tears away, I kept my eyes on the door. The lock didn’t matter. If Garrett wanted in, he was strong enough to break it down with ease. Strong enough to do whatever he wanted to me. A shiver raced along my spine. The man who restored antique books and took care of my injured leg wasn’t a killer. But the man who’d just choked me until I almost passed out—I wasn’t so sure.
THE SCREAM WOKE me from a fractured sleep. I blinked awake and stared at the window. Did I hear it? The house remained silent, and a light wind rustled the tree limbs closest to the house. A clear cold night awaited beyond the glass. I peered at the yellow shards of moon falling across the woods. Maybe I’d dreamed it, remnants from my night
in Blackwood. I glanced at the door. There was no way to know if it was still locked, but the fact that Garrett wasn’t looming in the open doorway was at least a little reassuring. I eased back down into my bed and parsed through what had occurred between us just hours before. He’d tried to warn me, to tell me who he really was. I didn’t listen. I should have focused on finding my father, looking for more clues in the house, or asking the right questions for more information. Instead, I’d acted like a fool in heat. Even as I berated myself, I pictured him, the way he’d dropped to his knees and given me an orgasm that seared straight through to my deepest places. But then he’d been cruel. I turned to my side and stared out at the night. Garrett Blackwood was an enigma. One I needed to solve if it would help me find out what happened to my father. For once in my life, I wished my need to discover wasn’t quite so hard-wired in my DNA. Then again, I couldn’t fight nature. My father had been a private investigator, and my mom worked as a low-level crime scene tech in Tupelo. They’d met on the job. It was in my blood. I couldn’t give up, no matter how threatening my surroundings became. I owed it to Dad to find out the truth. With new found resolve, I settled into my bed and closed my eyes. My blood chilled when the scream came again, desperate and full of terror. Not a dream. I threw the blanket off and scurried to the dresser. With shaking hands, I yanked out a pair of jeans, a sweater, and some socks. Dressing quickly, I snagged my red coat and flew down the stairs as quickly as my leg allowed. My pack sat in the foyer. I unzipped it as another shriek cut through the air, setting my teeth on edge. I ripped my flashlight from the front of the bag, yanked on my boots, then dashed to the kitchen for a knife. The biggest one in the butcher block called to me. I grabbed it and hustled out the back door into the cold dark. One more scream. I tracked the sound through the trees to my left. My breath puffed out in a white plume as I jogged into the tree line, my leg already aching. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t stop until I found the woman whose screams haunted my nightmares. Feathery clouds drifted past the moon, but the orb was bright enough to guide my steps over fallen logs and around bramble thickets. The woman couldn’t be far. Her cries had been earth-shatteringly loud, and I felt like I’d see her any minute as I trudged into the dark wood. The cool air bit into my exposed skin, but I hurried forward, the large knife a comfort at my side. Something white flitted through the trees, and I stilled, trying to make it out. I could only see bits and pieces, but I knew it was the woman running for her life. What was chasing her? A chill rushed through me as I wondered for a moment if she was the ghost of Lillian. I shook the thought away. This woman was real, the crunching sound of her feet on the leaves and branches just as certain as my own steps. I started forward again, running across the uneven terrain and ignoring the constant pain that raced up my leg. Getting to her, saving her, was all I could think about. She tracked to my right, and I changed my direction so I could intercept her. I picked up my pace as her ghostly form grew closer. What was she doing out here in the
cold? Movement to my left caught me off guard. A dark shape barreled through the trees at a hellish pace. I gasped as the dark shape collided with her. Her shriek was like a blade to my gut, and I ran as hard as I could. Keeping the knife out to my side, I finally grew close enough to see the white dress again. I blinked hard as I approached and slowed my steps. A man sat on top of her and pinned her wrists to the rotting leaves. I couldn’t mistake the long hair, the strong build. Garrett Blackwood.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
GARRETT’S GROWL, AS FERAL as any animal’s, rippled through the dark wood. I slipped behind the nearest tree and tried to plot my next move. I’d have to get the drop on him somehow. Maybe some sort of a distraction? I leaned down and grabbed a pine cone. “Garrett, please—” The woman was out of breath. “Shut the fuck up.” He slapped her, the sound like a shot. I clutched the pine cone and waited for my chance to lob it far enough to get his attention away from the woman. “Yes, sir.” She quieted except for her large inhales and shaking exhales. “I told you not to come tonight.” His voice was low, angry. “I fucking told you.” I cocked my head, not sure if I was hearing correctly. “I know, sir. But I wanted to see you. I needed you.” “No, Melinda. You don’t need me. You just want what I can give you. I told you no, and you disobeyed me to try to force my hand.” He released one of her wrists and ran a hand through his wild hair. “I don’t work that way. You know I don’t.” “I want to play.” Her voice turned into a whine. “I need you to hurt me. I’ve been very bad. Touching myself at work while thinking about you.” “No.” She huffed out a breath and tried a different tack. “I disobeyed you tonight, sir. You should punish me.” “You’re right.” He leaned down until his face was only inches from hers. “Leave, and don’t come back.” “What?” Panic turned her voice into a shrill whisper. “No. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise. Please—” “When we started this, we laid down our rules. Remember that?” “Yes, sir.” “Have I ever violated one of your rules, ever broken a hard limit?” She whimpered. I wasn’t close enough to see if there were tears, but I sensed them in her tone. “No.”
“You just broke one of mine, and you know it. That’s a violation of my trust. I can’t allow it.” He shook his head, and his tone softened. “You have to go, Melinda. You and I are through.” “No!” She slapped him with a vehemence that shocked me. He leaned back and rose, then offered her a hand up. She didn’t take it, instead scrambling to her feet. Melinda, whoever she was, was tall and thin, her body like that of a ghostly dancer. Her blonde hair flowed around her heart-shaped face as she advanced on Garrett. She slapped him again and beat on his chest, but he stood stoic, refusing to fight back or even speak. After she exhausted her rage, she wept and leaned into him. “I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry. Don’t do this.” “Just go.” She took a step back and wiped the dirty sleeves of her dress across her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I know. Doesn’t change anything. Go.” She sniffled and walked past him, back toward the house. I stared as he let his head drop to his chest and rested his hands on his hips. Even in that pose, he was an imposing figure. I wanted to ask him what was going on, question him about lying to me that first night when I’d heard screams—screams that obviously belonged to Melinda. But what was there to ask? Melinda’s footsteps faded, and I waited for Garrett to follow. He didn’t. Instead, he raised his head and stared right at where I was hiding. Fuck. I held my breath, desperate to stay hidden as Garrett’s dark gaze swept the area. “I know you’re there, Red.” No. Maybe if I just stayed still— “Come out. Don’t try to pretend you’re invisible.” I tightened my grip on the kitchen knife and eased out from behind the tree. He tracked me, his eyes in shadow as I backed away from him. My leg had reached a new level of ache as I’d watched the scene unfold, and my limp grew worse with each step. He walked toward me, and a primal fear rushed through me. I was in the dark woods with a wolf in the middle of the night. “Stop.” I held the knife out in front of me. “Don’t come any closer.” “I’m not going to hurt you.” He put his palms up, promising peace, and his tone was even and free of anger. But I’d seen the way he’d slapped Melinda. “Stay back.” I tried to hurry backward, but the throb in my leg grew more vicious with each beat of my heart. “You need help.” He kept coming.
“Not from you.” I feinted left and then ran right. My leg burned and stung as I struggled to escape him. I hadn’t gone a dozen steps before he grabbed my upper arms. “Red, please. Your leg isn’t well enough for this.” The pleading in his voice shocked me almost as much as the scene I’d just witnessed. My head swam, and I fought to stay upright despite the dizziness. He gentled his grip on my arms, then walked around to face me. I brought the knife up and held it out in front of me. He walked forward until the tip of my blade pressed into his chest. “You can stab me all you want, but I suggest you wait until I get you back to the house, warm you up, and check on your leg.” “You hit her. I saw you.” My teeth chattered. “You don’t know what you saw.” He leaned forward, as if daring me to hurt him. “I saw you chasing a girl, pinning her, and hitting her. I heard her screams!” “Did you see her hit me?” He grabbed my hand but didn’t force me to drop the knife, just held me in place. “Did you hear her beg me to hurt her?” “Y-yes.” My teeth chattered so hard I wondered if I might have cracked one. “I would never hurt you.” His eyes softened. “Not unless you wanted it like she did.” He squeezed my hand. “Okay? I wouldn’t take something that wasn’t willingly given.” My leg felt colder than the rest of me. I glanced down. The side of my jeans were dyed dark crimson. My wounds must have reopened as I ran. Shit. He gently eased the blade away and stepped closer. “Look, you can hold on to the knife if it makes you feel better.” The realization hit me hard—if he wanted to take the knife, he could. I was too weak to do anything about it. If I tried to limp back to the house, I had no doubt I’d make it, but it would take a lot of struggling out in the cold woods to make it happen. I could chance the walk or rely on the man offering to help me. I brought the knife to his neck and rested the blade against his pulse. “If you try anything, I won’t hesitate.” “I got it.” No fear. “Now, may I?” He raised his eyebrows. I dropped the knife to my side but maintained a death grip on it. He scooped me up and headed toward the house with long strides. “What was that? What did I see?” I stared up at him as the trees cast ever-changing shadows across his face. He sighed. “Melinda and I have an arrangement.” “Where you think it’s okay to hit her?” He ducked under a low branch and kept walking. “She wants me to hit her, just as much as
I want to hit her.” “Why?” He shrugged. “It gets her off.” “Does it get you off?” He tensed and glanced into my eyes. “Yes.” I’d heard about this sort of thing but never seen it firsthand. “So it’s BDSM? And you’re like a dom or something?” “Not as simple.” He shook his head. “Then what?” His grip tightened as he stepped over a fallen tree. “I’ve always been… I guess strange is the word, when it comes to sex.” “Don’t get vague on me.” I glared at him. “I need you to explain what the hell I just saw.” “Why? Why isn’t it enough for you to know I won’t hurt you?” “You almost choked me out earlier!” My voice cracked in the cold air. “But I didn’t, and I never would. Not unless you asked.” Not unless I asked? “Are you fucking kidding me? You explain and you do it fast. If I’m not satisfied by the time we get to the house, I’m calling the sheriff. Give me every detail. Make me understand.” “God, this is worse than seeing a therapist.” “You’ve been to a therapist for this?” I couldn’t imagine Garrett sitting in a staid office and telling his kinky sex fantasies to a guy in a smoking jacket. “When I was a teenager, my mom found some of my porn—not your average centerfolds. She freaked out and sent me to a specialist in Columbus.” He wrinkled his nose. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.” “Keep going or I’ll be telling Sheriff Crow all about Melinda.” He grimaced. “The therapist said I was fine, just different. He was actually helpful, taught me that I wasn’t the freak I feared I was. I mean, still a freak, but not some sort of psychopath or something.” I wasn’t so sure, but I wanted him to keep talking, so I stayed quiet. “I always enjoyed the idea of women in bondage, women who liked pain. Horror movies turned me on—” I stiffened in his arms. “Not the blood or the killing.” He hopped over a small stream. “The fear. I wanted to be the psycho killer, the hot girl afraid and screaming, but instead of slashing her to bits, I wanted to fuck her.” I shuddered. “Rape.”
“Yes, but no. I’d never take a woman against her will.” He peered down at me. “That night when I choked you—” His gaze fluttered to my throat. “—that was a warning, just a taste of what I’m capable of. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about touching you. I’ve wanted…” I swallowed hard as my emotions went to war with each other. Pain, longing, and my burning desire to understand how his mind worked. “Have you thought about hurting me?” He walked out of the woods and carried me toward the house. “Yes.” Each long stride seemed an eternity, the dead grass and fallen leaves whispering beneath his boots. “Did you hurt the dean’s wife?” He swung the back door open, and the screen smacked onto the side of the house as he pushed inside. “Yes. She was like Melinda. She craved it.” “And Melinda? Was she a regular thing?” The twinge of jealousy that shot through me was completely at odds with the knife in my hand and the fear in my heart. “Yes.” He carried me through the house. “We had appointments, more or less. Once a month. She’s who you heard that night when I found you. I hadn’t even caught her yet by the time I heard you screaming for help. I told her to leave, then set out to find you.” I knew it. I wasn’t crazy after all. The screams that brought me to Garrett were real. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time.” “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t elaborate.” “That’s the same thing.” I shook my head. “Maybe.” “Definitely.” I needed to know more, my curiosity overcoming my irritation with his deception. “Why would she scream in the woods? Why not come to the house and let you tie her up or something?” “That’s not my thing.” He powered up the stairs. “I think my wrists that first night would beg to differ.” I sighed with relief as he set me on my bed. My leg still stung and throbbed, but at least the house was warm and the bed was soft—and I still had the knife. “Let me rephrase.” He rubbed his jaw and avoided my gaze. “I enjoy rigging, but that’s not my main thing.” “What is your main thing?” I already knew, all the puzzle pieces falling into place, but I wanted to hear it from him. He sat back on his haunches and began unlacing my boots. “It’s best described as consensual non-consent.” I rolled the terms around in my mind. “So, pretend rape?”
He tossed one boot, then gently pulled the other off my injured leg. “The only thing pretend about it is the non-consent. The rest of it is real.” “So Melinda would come and run from you like a victim in a slasher flick?” I should have been repulsed, but I understood the excitement. Those movies were popular for a reason. Each of us had a little killer or victim inside. Even me. “Yeah, we had an agreement.” “Are there others?” I hated how badly I needed to know the answer. “Other women?” “No, just Melinda, and that’s over.” He tried to roll my jeans leg up to see the wound, but it was too skinny to cooperate. With shaking fingers, I reached for my waist. The more I thought about it, if raping me had been his goal, he’d had plenty of opportunities. He’d never harmed me. I ignored the chaotic jumble of thoughts rumbling through my mind and unbuttoned my jeans. He glanced up, surprise crossing his eyes before he dropped his gaze again. I dragged my zipper down and started wriggling out of the jeans. He helped me peel them off and kept his eyes on my injured leg instead of my pink panties. Quasi-rapist yet also perfect gentleman. My head spun. “This is a mess. I may need to stitch you again, but I’ll have to clean it up first so I can see.” He rose and walked to the bathroom. The cabinet squeaked open as he gathered supplies. “What was your and Melinda’s agreement?” Shrugging out of my coat, I adjusted my leg away from the bed. I didn’t want to get blood on the handmade quilt. He walked back to me, his dirty boots clunking along the floor and his arms full of gauze, tape, and alcohol. “She would come to the house, knock on the door, and then take off running into the woods. I’d be waiting at the door and give her a head start. Then I’d chase her.” The image of him running through the woods like a predator spoke to the darker parts of my soul, the ones I’d never explored for fear of enjoying what I found there. What had I gotten myself into? I tried to seem nonchalant. “And once you catch her?” He knelt down and wet a washcloth with alcohol. “You saw.” Glancing to the knife in my hand, he asked, “Could you put that down? This is going to hurt, and I don’t want to die by my own kitchen knife.” I narrowed my eyes at him but dropped the blade on the bed. “Thanks. Brace yourself.” When he touched my bloody calf, I brought my hand to my mouth to stifle the scream. “I’m sorry.” When I could finally breathe again, I asked, “Does that turn you on?” He shook his head. “Not even a little. The kind of pain I give is wanted. And there’s
always a reward.” He glanced up at me, the dark depths of his eyes making my stomach clench. My mind whirled around the thought of the “reward.” Fuck. “So this pain is…” “Different.” He wiped again, and this time I couldn’t keep the sound inside. “You have a great scream, though.” He lifted my calf and inspected the wounds. “It’s close, but I don’t think you need more stitches. The separations aren’t consistent. I think they’ll sew themselves back up after you rest it for a while.” I didn’t make it past his initial comment. “A great scream?” “Never mind that.” He began to place gauze on the bad spots, his dark hair falling along either side of his face. “Now that you’ve questioned me, I have something I’d like to ask you.” “What?” I wanted to push his hair back so I could see his face, but I kept my hands in my lap. He turned his face to mine, his stare cold. “Why are you really here?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MY HEART DROPPED INTO my stomach acid. Surely he wasn’t asking what I thought he was asking. Did he suspect something? I’d covered my tracks, or at least I thought I had. Maybe I’d misheard him. “What?” He taped the gauze in place. “I did a little digging of my own, pardon the pun, and found out your mother died a few months ago and your father, Vince Gallant, was a longtime resident of Browerton. He disappeared a few years ago. Last place he was seen?” He glanced up. “Millbrook County, with my sister.” I stuttered, and my mind blanked as he pressed the gauze onto a particularly tender spot. He continued, “So that begs the question of what you are really doing out here. Seems like you would have mentioned your connection to Browerton first thing—to the sheriff, or me; hell, even Bonnie. But you didn’t. Why is that?” “It didn’t really matter.” Oh, shit. “I’m here to dig for Choctaw artifacts, that’s all. My parents have nothing to do with it.” He stopped taping my leg and sat back, his gaze settling on mine and locking. “You’re good at a lot of things—getting into trouble, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and getting under my skin—but one thing you’re not good at?” He shook his head. “Lying.” He unspooled a length of tape and bit it off before returning to my leg. I didn’t respond, only watched as he kept working, steadily patching me up. What could I tell him? That I suspected him or his family to have had something to do with my father’s death? I almost laughed at the thought. I’m sure that would go over almost as well as his “I like to chase chicks through the woods and fuck them” explanation. “I’ve met him. You know that?” I twitched as he finished taping me up. “Who?” “Still playing dumb, I see.” He sat all the way back, planting his ass on the floor and staring up at me with an openness I’d never thought I’d see on him. It was as if telling me his dark secret freed a part of him. “Your dad. I met your dad.” “What?” I leaned forward, my need to know sparking to life. “When? Where?”
“Red, maybe if you’d just asked me right off, I would have told you. No sneaking around needed.” I gave him a look that matched the incredulous laughter inside my head. “You barely opened the door for me the first day. You ordered me off your property. And I’m supposed to believe you were just going to offer up information to me?” He clasped his hands, his forearms flexing. “Good point. But you’ve been staying here for almost two weeks, and you didn’t say a word.” “You aren’t exactly chatty.” I dropped my gaze to the floor. If I were looking at the situation fairly, I’d have to say he’d been more open with me than I’d been with him. But I had my reasons. “Well, we’re chatting now, aren’t we?” “Yes.” “So tell me the truth.” He slid his gaze up my body to my face. “For once.” I hesitated only for a moment. “I’m here for my doctorate. That’s all.” Disappointment flashed in his eyes. “Then I guess I don’t need to tell you about the time I met your dad.” Rising to his feet, he turned his back and strode to the door. “Wait!” I tried to stand on my good leg, but the sudden movement sent needles stabbing into the reopened wounds. The room swam, and I thought I might vomit. “Fuck, sit down.” He walked back to me and eased me onto the bed. “My dad. I need to know.” I gripped his wrists, refusing to let him go until he told me what he knew. “Just lie down.” “No! Tell me what you know.” I couldn’t let this lead slip away. “You being here has nothing to do with your parents, huh?” He pried my hands off his wrists. “Lie back and I’ll tell you, okay?” He lifted under my arms and helped me back to the pillows, then sat on the edge of the bed. “Garrett, please.” He closed his eyes. It was as if that word on my lips turned him inside out. I snugged my legs under the cover, ignoring the stings rippling beneath the gauze. “I need to know.” He met my eyes and reached up to my face. I didn’t flinch as he brushed a few strands of hair away and smoothed them into the rest of my locks. A faint smile played along his lips, as if he were pleased I let him touch me. I should have been afraid. I had been when we were alone in the woods, but the more he’d explained, the more everything seemed to click into place. His kink had cost him his career and who knew what else, but he’d shared it with me. I didn’t know how big of a concession it was for him to open up to me, but—given his hermit ways—I could guess.
He ran his thumb down my cheek, then dropped his hand to the bed next to me. “A few years ago, he came to the house. Lillian brought him. She’d been back from California for a while, and I’d come home for the weekend to visit. This was when I was still teaching. I walked into the house and found him and Lillian making out on the couch in the sitting room.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “No offense to your mom.” I snorted. “Don’t worry. They were on the outs before I was born. Never married.” “Sorry.” He rubbed the skin along the back of my hand with his thumb. I shrugged. “Mom had me when she was nineteen, and she raised me almost singlehandedly. Dad always paid child support, sent birthday cards, visited for Christmas, stuff like that. He wasn’t a bad guy, and I loved him.” My eyes began to water, but I willed the tears away. “He was never meant to settle down. My dad was a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy, at least that’s what Mom always said. She loved him, but she wasn’t in love with him, you know?” “I found your mom’s obituary. I’m sorry.” How could the man who’d just been a feral beast in the woods be such a gentle soul? I peered into his eyes, still trying to get a bead on which one of him was the true Garrett. “Thanks. My mom was my best friend and number one cheerleader.” Everyone in our hometown said I looked just like her—long dark hair and bright hazel eyes. I’d always thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I still told her so, even after the cancer had taken everything from her. “I miss her.” I cleared my throat. “Please go on about my dad.” “All right. After I interrupted, he introduced himself and headed out. Lillian told me he was her newest victim.” My eyes opened wide. “Victim?” He coughed into his hand. “Let’s just say I’m not the only one in the family with kinks. Lillian’s were different, but she still had a strong dominant streak. Hart does too; he just hasn’t realized it yet. I don’t know why. We all had good childhoods as far as I know. It’s just in our DNA or something.” I tried to distance myself from any thoughts of Lillian tying my dad up. “So they were an item?” “Right.” He pulled his hand away from mine and loosened the blanket around my bad leg. “Then what happened?” Once satisfied with the bed, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw him again. I went back to Alabama, taught the rest of the semester. That’s when Joan and I began our affair, so I spent most of my free time sneaking around with her.” His tone darkened. “Until it all ended, and she didn’t say a word to defend me.” My thoughts were on fire, each flash sending off sparks that set another idea ablaze. I needed information, all I could get. But first, I needed to know if I could trust Garrett. “What happened that night when you got caught with Joan?” His jaw tightened, and bitterness creased his brow. “I’d rigged her, tied her to the bed
and”—He glanced at me—“caned her legs and stomach. She was bruised and nearly bloody when her husband walked in.” He glowered. “Of course she failed to mention how she’d begged for the cane.” “Caned?” I conjured images of corporal punishment in other countries. “Like with a stick?” “Just a yew rod. Thin, flexible. Leaves some vicious marks if you use it right.” “Sounds painful.” “Yes, but it also releases endorphins. The pain heightens the pleasure.” It was the wrong time for a rush of blood to parts south, for anything remotely like attraction, but I couldn’t stop it. “Your pleasure, too?” He licked his lips. “Yes.” “You’d hit her and then…” I let my words trail away as that flicker of jealousy ignited in my heart. “Yes. Then we’d fuck.” I flinched at his directness. “So it was all consensual?” “Yes.” I chewed my lip as I searched his face for any sign of dishonesty. I found none. He squeezed my hand. “I swear it was, Elise.” My eyes widened. “Wow.” “What?” “That was the first time you’ve ever said my real name. Not Red.” “Don’t get used to it, Red.” His familiar smirk reappeared. “What happened next?” “How did this turn from me asking your real reasons for being here into you interrogating me?” A smile crept across my lips. “Just answer the question.” “You sure you’re into archaeology and not law?” The smirk widened. I wrinkled my nose. “I dig in the dirt. I don’t cover it up. Definitely not the traits of an attorney.” “Noted. Tell me something first, and then I’ll tell you the rest of my sordid tale.” I swallowed hard. “Okay.” “Do you think your father is still alive?” I dropped my gaze. “No. He’s not. I know it.” “I’m sorry.” He shook his head.
“Me too.” I swallowed my tears. “Now tell me the rest.” He looked away. “After the scandal, I left in disgrace and thought I could come home and lick my wounds. Lillian was always good at smoothing over trouble. I talked to her on the phone the day it all went down. She told me to come home and we’d sort it all out. I left school and drove straight here.” He closed his eyes, memory coating his voice. “It was near the end of spring session. Everything was in bloom on the road home—yellow honeysuckle and purple wisteria hanging from the trees. Despite what had happened, I began to feel hopeful. Lillian would know how to fix it. She’d charmed her way out of tons of trouble. I didn’t have half her ability, but with her help, I don’t know…I thought maybe I had a chance, you know? Maybe she could talk to Dean Farraway or Joan.” He shrugged and stared at the corner of the room, his eyes roving the wooden planks as if he could see to the bottom floor. To Lillian’s room. “I got home right at sunset. The house was lit up, welcoming. It wasn’t like it is now.” He waved a hand at the walls. “Dying.” He paused, as if trying to wrestle the unhappy words out. “When I got here, everything was quiet. I called for Lillian. She didn’t answer. I went to her room, and that’s where I found her. She’d hung—” He stopped, emotion welling up and drowning out his voice like a flash flood. “I’m so sorry.” I pressed his hand between mine. I knew she’d committed suicide, but other than her brief obituary, there was no information on it. The then-sheriff of Millbrook covered up the details. I always assumed he’d swept it under the rug so as not to tarnish the family. Suicide was an unbreakable taboo, especially in this notch of the Bible Belt. “It was unbelievable. When I saw her, it was like I couldn’t process, like it wasn’t real. But then I touched her, and she was…” He wiped at his eyes, the lashes wet. Seeing him in pain broke a part of me. I wanted to take it away, to pluck the thorn from his paw, but some things—like some people—were beyond saving. “Did she leave a note?” “No. I demanded Sheriff Pennington investigate it as a homicide. Lillian wouldn’t have done that. I refused to believe it.” “You think she was killed?” “I did back then. Sheriff Pennington performed the investigation like he did everything else—half-assed. He told me that because her prints were on the chair, the electrical cord, and the light fixture, he had no evidence of any assailant or explanation besides the obvious. I raised hell, and”—He shifted his gaze away from mine—“I made your father my number one suspect. I knew it was him. It had to be, and I wanted to make him pay.” Motive. I tensed and glanced to the knife on the bedside table. Was Garrett confessing to killing my father? He followed the direction of my gaze. “Take it if it makes you feel better.” The sadness in his tone made me feel like shit. He’d just opened up some wounds, ones that clearly cut him deep, and here I was still refusing to trust him. “I’m sorry.” I ignored the blade and focused on him. “It’s all so…new, I guess. Please go on.” “Not much more to tell. I always suspected your father of killing Lil, but he disappeared
right after her death. The coincidence wasn’t lost on me. I paid a private investigator to find him. But your dad covered his tracks so well that all traces led right back here, to Blackwood. A dead end.” He seemed to deflate as he relived his failure to find the man he suspected of killing his sister. I wanted to reassure him that Dad would never have harmed Lillian, but my words wouldn’t do anything to ease his pain. His sister was gone, and there was no reason for it. More than that, my gut told me he had no idea my dad’s car was rusting on his property. He was just as in the dark as I was. Relief washed through me like the first hit of anesthesia. He had nothing to do with my dad’s disappearance. I knew it in my bones. I took a chance. “What if I told you that I think all trails lead back here because my father never left Millbrook County—never left Blackwood—alive?” He let his head loll back and stared at the ceiling. “Nothing would surprise me anymore. Remember when you first knocked on the door, and I told you this place was full of ghosts?” “Yes.” “The longer I stay here, the truer it becomes. Ghosts, secrets, lies. All here, all just beyond my sight.” Despair laced his words. “Why do you stay here? Why not move somewhere else and start over?” “After Lillian, I couldn’t seem to leave. It’s in my head.” He stroked his temple. “I know it is. I realize I can drive out of the gate and never come back, but I think I’m…” I knew the feeling. “Broken? You think you’re broken.” “I would have said fucked up, but yes.” “I don’t think you are.” I ran my hand down his scruffy cheek. “I think you’ve been through some traumatizing events. And I think you’re afraid. But you’re not fucked up.” He looked at me with heartbreaking surprise, as if he’d never seen himself as anything other than a monster. “That’s why you pushed me away, why you’ve been pushing me away this whole time?” I cupped his face in my hands, and he closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. “You’re afraid you’ll hurt me or that I’ll be … what?” “Disgusted.” “I’m not.” I stroked my thumbs through his rough beard. “Not even close.” He drew his brows together. “You heard the part about how I’d like to chase you through the woods? How I want to tie you up and leave my marks on your skin? How I want to fuck you so hard it hurts?” My stomach clenched at his words. “I heard, though this is the first time you’ve said you wanted to do all those things to me.” He grabbed my wrists and gave me a hard stare. “Are you kidding? You are the worst temptation. When I’m near you, something short circuits in my brain. Fuck.” He pressed
his lips together, as if forcing himself to stop talking. “Let’s just say that every depraved fantasy I’ve had since you came knocking on my door involves a red coat.” The tips of my ears began to burn, and I stared at his mouth. It took every ounce of willpower I owned to keep from kissing him. Instead of giving in, I asked something that I’d been wondering for days. “Did you love her—Joan?” I cringed at my question as soon as it rolled off my tongue. It was none of my business, and I should have been asking more questions about my father. Instead, I was waiting for Garrett to tell me if he loved someone else. He didn’t answer for a long time, the silence building up like bricks in a foundation. After a while, he took a deep breath and blew it out. “I thought I did. Now, though…” Why did everything in me vibrate to whatever frequency he was putting out? I wanted to run my fingers down the back of his hand, hug him, do anything that would connect us as more than two people in an old house, each haunted by our own ghosts. “Now, I’m not so sure.” He pulled away from me and stood. “You need to rest.” “Don’t go.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. Maybe I’d lost more blood than I realized, or maybe I was foolishly letting my guard down. Either way, I didn’t want him to lock himself away in his room, to withdraw from me despite what we’d shared. “Will you stay with me?” He backed up a step. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “I won’t hurt you.” I gave him a wry smile and pushed away the sting of his refusal. “I think you know that’s not what I’m worried about.” He scanned the shape of my body beneath the blanket. “You said you’d never force a woman, remember?” “I won’t. I’d never take something that wasn’t freely given.” He backed up another step. “You’re afraid.” I smirked as amusement flitted through me. “You’re afraid of me. Or what’s the word—intimacy. You’re afraid of intimacy.” “I could pin you and rope you before you had a chance to scream.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not afraid of you.” “You’re not afraid to do those things to me, no, but you’re afraid to sleep here with me.” I grinned. “I want to cuddle.” He flinched. “Cuddle?” “Yeah.” I flipped the blanket and the sheet off the other side of the bed. “Come on. Get in. Unless you’re scared?” “I’m not scared, but cuddling may be a hard limit for me. Aftercare, yes. Cuddling, no.” He wrinkled his nose. “Aftercare?” “After a session in the woods, I would hold Melinda as she came down from the high.”
“And a hard limit, that’s—” “Something I won’t do.” “Right.” I grinned. “Because you’re scared.” “Not scared.” He shook his head. “I have an idea. Let’s have a safe word. I’ve seen enough movies to know that’s a thing, right?” “Yes, that’s a thing.” He shrugged. “But I’m still not getting into bed with you without fucking you.” Jesus. He had no qualms expressing what he wanted. I wasn’t going to let his directness rattle me. “So you’re afraid of spending the night with me without fucking me?” “Stop saying I’m afraid.” His voice lowered an octave, and heat pooled in my stomach. I put on my best poker face. “If you get scared, just call out your safe word. What is it?” He laughed, chagrin giving him an unexpected youth. “I’ve never had to come up with a safe word. That’s only for my subs.” “Well, there’s a first time for everything. So, let’s make up one. Like, I don’t know, excelsior. That’s a good word.” I nodded at him, as if the added movement would make it more convincing. “No, it needs to be simple, something you, or I guess I can remember with ease. Red is out. So we’ll have to go with black. Simple.” “So if you say black, then that means I stop whatever I’m doing?” He sighed. “I can’t believe this conversation is happening. But yes, if I say black, that means you’ve reached my hard limit.” He raked my body with a predatory gaze. “Same for you. You can call black, and I’ll know to stop.” “So the word stop won’t work?” He smirked and started unbuttoning his shirt. “No.” Oh, shit. He really did intend to take me up on my offer. “What about the word no?” “Definitely won’t work. The only thing a no will get you is choked.” I pressed my thighs together. Why was the threat so fucking hot? He peeled his shirt off, and I finally got a good look at the black ink curling up his arms and across his chest. A tangle of swirls and skulls danced along his skin and under the dark hair of his chest. His nipples were a dusky rose color and the right one was pierced with a silver barbell. He unbuckled his jeans. I leaned over and flicked off the lamp to keep from staring. Settling into the mattress, I heard his boots drop onto the floor, followed by the clatter of his belt. He stalked around the bed, his wiry muscles thrown into sharp relief against the
faint light from my bathroom. Focus. “So the deal is that we’re sleeping together, but no sex. Unless you’re scared, and we can call the whole thing off.” “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.” He sighed. “I’ve never gotten in bed with a woman without fucking her. This is dumb.” I smiled at the gruffness in his voice and continued my examination. “What if I said stop?” The bed shifted as he eased down next to me. “I wouldn’t, but the fact that you said it would guarantee a brutal fuck. Just black. That’s the only word that will save you.” I turned toward him as best I could. He’d thrown my quilt over his legs and hips and laced his fingers under his head as he stared at the ceiling. “But what if I said please?” He turned his head toward me, his eyes deep pools of desire. “If you said ‘please’, I’d fuck you so hard that you wouldn’t be able to sit down, walk, or breathe for days without thinking of my cock inside you.” Fuck.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“THESE GRITS ARE THE best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. Ever.” I spooned a hefty helping of the buttery, cheesy deliciousness into my mouth. “Because that Garrett has been starving you to death over here.” Bonnie sliced her biscuit in half and rattled her knife in the jar of homemade scuppernong jam. “I told Sheriff Crow to let you stay with me, but no, he wouldn’t have it. He said you were in good hands out here and moving you was out of the question until you got better. I raised hell about it, but he still wouldn’t budge.” She rolled her eyes and expertly spread the jam along the warm biscuit. “Maybe he’ll change his tune now that you’re up and around.” I sipped my coffee, happy for the food and the company. “Garrett’s not so bad.” We’d spent the night in the same bed. I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to go for a cuddle, and I’d fallen asleep too quickly to act on the impulse even if I’d had it. The run through the woods had taken more out of me than I’d realized. He was gone when I woke, but I’d run my hand down his side of the bed, knowing he’d been there all night. So close. “Not so bad, huh? He doesn’t feed you worth a damn and keeps you in this haunted house. Seems pretty bad to me. Where is he, anyway?” I glanced at the wall behind her, the library beyond it. “Working.” “On what?” “Books. He restores them.” She cocked her head at me as if I’d spoken another language. “He does what now?” I explained his work as we ate a leisurely breakfast. Ty had given Bonnie the morning free to come and visit with me. If I ever laid eyes on him, I’d definitely thank him. She brought me bits of gossip from the county, and more importantly, the knowledge that I had a friend nearby. After we finished and cleaned up, I leaned against the farmhouse sink and tried to figure out the best way to ask questions without raising Bonnie’s suspicions. “I looked around at some of the family photos here. One of them sort of got my attention. A girl, Garrett’s sister.” I fidgeted with the hem of my tank top. “Did you know her?” She glanced around, her dark eyes scanning every corner and shadow. Did she think Garrett was going to pop out and yell boo? “Everyone knew Lillian, sugar.” “What was she like?”
Once satisfied we were alone and staying that way, Bonnie relaxed and rubbed her fingers along the brown skin at her throat. “She was beautiful. Larger than life. Back in my heyday, I competed in a few pageants around these parts.” She stood a little straighter. “But I was always runner-up to Lillian. You know how you meet some people and you forget them the next minute?” “Yes.” “Lillian was the sort you never forget. She sparkled, you know?” I nodded. I’d always thought the same of my mother. “She could light up a room as sure as a chandelier. Bright. She used to get up to some crazy shenanigans around here, I tell you.” She smiled and leaned back against the counter next to the fridge. “Damn girl would toilet paper roll the Browerton mayor’s house, then egg Sheriff Pennington’s cruiser, then go on a tear all along the country roads on the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle—well, whichever boyfriend she had at the time.” I found myself smiling. “She sounds like a good time.” “She was. She really was. Charmed her way out of every lick of trouble.” Her face fell. “Shame what happened to her. I didn’t know she had any problems like that, you know?” “I don’t think anyone did.” Garrett still doubted it; his revelations last night told me as much. “Did you talk to her after she came back from Hollywood?” “Sure.” She started opening drawers, her scowl growing with each bit of disarray she found. When she discovered a stash of dishcloths, she snagged one, wet it, and began wiping down the counters. “Had she changed?” “Not really. Same sparkle. Just a little older like all the rest of us. She took up writing for the Browerton paper. Got the whole town riled when she did an exposé on Golden Grocery for discrimination against its black workers.” She smiled. “Made me damn proud.” I’d read her piece and remembered being impressed with her dogged search for the truth. We seemed to have that in common. “Did she still have boyfriends?” “Oh, sure.” She scrubbed a particular spot next to the sink with all the might her small frame could muster. “Any in particular?” I knew I was pressing my luck, but I had to make some headway on my father’s disappearance. The car told me I was on the right path. I just needed some trail markers to show me which way to go. “Sure, she saw crazy Danny—that was before he caught the crazy, mind you. Let’s see, the Satterly brothers. They got into a fight over her one afternoon right outside the diner. I’m talking grown men, in their late thirties, fighting over her. Ty had to break it up. I even heard she used to have girlfriends, too. Don’t know about that.” She worked her way around me, moving jars and wiping up every bit of dust as she went. “And there was one handsome fella she used to bring to the diner. Vince. He grew up around here. A couple years ahead of me in school.”
I went taut like a dog on the trail of a deer. “How long did she see Vince?” “About the same as the others. Though, I think she was still dating him when”—She faltered, then scrubbed the side of the counter even harder—“when she did it.” “What happened to Vince?” She paused and wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. “I don’t rightly know. I guess he left after that. He was raised here, but he never stayed. I think he was only hanging around again for Lillian, to be honest.” “So you never saw him again?” “Nope.” That put his disappearance just two weeks after I’d seen him last. He’d come to visit me at school, plopped down on my dorm room bed, and asked me when I was going to start digging for dinosaurs. He stayed long enough to smoke a cigarette, in violation of dorm rules, and give me an early birthday present—a surprisingly attractive scarf. Had Lillian picked it out? “You said she dated Danny. What happened to him between then and now?” She dragged the washcloth across the counter and shook it out in the sink. “Nobody knows. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he started acting squirrely right around the time Lillian died. Hiding in the woods. Showing up in town every few months screaming about lights in the trees, or voices, or God knows what else.” “I saw him. When I first started my survey, he found me in the woods, warned me away.” She turned and glanced down at my leg. “Maybe you should have listened.” She shrugged. “Sheriff Crow keeps him in line. Locks him in the drunk tank to dry out whenever he shows up. Then we don’t hear from him again for months.” If I could have physically kicked myself, I would have. My biggest lead had been right in front of me the whole time. “How would I find him?” “You don’t.” She stabbed a finger at me. “Stay away from him. You know how I told you Garrett was evil? Maybe, and I mean maybe, I was wrong about him. But I’m not about Danny. Something ain’t right in his head.” She scowled at the counters and tossed her dish rag into the sink. “Well, I’ve done all I can right this minute. This place needs a real scrub down, not my half measures.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Anyway, I’m so glad I finally got to come spend some time with you. Holler at me if you need anything. I’m always at the diner, and you have my cell.” “Yes.” I nodded as she pulled me into a crushing hug. “Watch out for Garrett.” She buried her whisper in my hair. “I’ve heard things about him. Bad things he likes to do to women.” I returned her hug. “He’s a teddy bear, I promise.” Unless you run from him. “If you want to stay with me in town, just say the word.” She grabbed her bright pink bag off the table and pulled her keys out. “I’ll get all over Sheriff Crow about it.” “Will do.” I stowed the two containers of food she’d brought in the fridge. “Thanks for the
food. Though the Garrett diet is doing wonders for my figure.” “No excuse for a grown man not knowing how to cook.” Her disapproving tone came back with a vengeance as she strode into the hall, and I followed with a limp. She’d let her hair go natural, the brown curls fluffing in a cute halo around her head. The library doors opened right as we passed by. Garrett looked up, surprise raising his eyebrows. “Bonnie. I didn’t hear you come in.” “I’ve been here for half an hour.” “Food?” A hopeful smile gave him a boyish look. “In the fridge.” She scoured him with a harsh stare. “But save some for your prisoner. She’s getting too skinny.” “Maybe you should bring food more often.” “Do I look like a Meals on Wheels to you, Blackwood?” He glanced to me, unsure. “Um, no?” “No is correct. Learn how to cook.” She pointed at me. “Let this little bit here teach you.” He glanced at me. “You know how to cook?” “I dabble.” I shrugged. “But I haven’t had a chance to try since my leg’s been messed up.” “Here’s what I’ll do.” Bonnie pulled the heavy front door open. “I’ll stop by the store and bring you two everything you’ll need for a week.” She flicked her gaze to Garrett. “Give me a credit card.” He fumbled around in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I’ll be back after my shift, and I’ll use this”—She plucked the card from his hand—“to pay for my gas.” “That would be perfect! Thanks, Bonnie.” I smiled, excited at the thought of having something other than a Garrett special. Maybe it should have put me off, the thought of cooking in this kitchen to the point of almost playing house with him. But good food wasn’t something I could pass up, no matter how awkward it got. Garrett frowned, but didn’t raise a fuss. “All right. See you in a few hours.” I closed the door as she walked down the front porch stairs. Leaning back against it, I eyed Garrett. “What’s with you?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not a big fan of visitors.” “Water is wet.” I rolled my eyes. “This will be great. It can’t be worse than what you make, right?” “You have a point. You already eat?” “Yep.” “Plans for the rest of the day? More snooping?” He stuffed his hands into his jeans, the
movement bringing my gaze down to his belt and lower. I snapped back up to meet his eyes, but his smirk told me I’d already been caught. “I’m all snooped out. If you don’t mind, I’d like to look at some cat videos—very important—and read the news on your laptop.” “By all means.” He gestured toward the living room. “Okay.” I turned and step-hopped toward it. His hand was at my lower back in a moment. “I can manage.” I didn’t move away. “I know you can, but you shouldn’t.” He stood close enough that I could feel his body heat, smell his woodsy scent. My bed still smelled like him. “May I?” His gaze landed on my lips. My nipples hardened and tingled. “Yes.” Permission. But what was I allowing him to do? Just help me, right? He wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted. We walked to the living room, our bodies pressed against each other and my feet barely touching the ground. “Thanks.” I held onto his neck as he lowered me to the couch. “You’re welcome.” I dropped my arms and stared up at him before letting my gaze trace down the buttons of his polo, past the lean stomach, and down to the bulge in his pants. Jesus. He turned and grabbed his laptop from the nearby ottoman, then handed it to me. “Try to keep the porn to a minimum. Viruses and all.” “No promises.” I took the computer and perched it on my lap. He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, then tightened his jaw and strode away toward the kitchen. I flipped open the laptop and searched in my pocket for the memory card I’d found in Lillian’s closet. The sound of a plate hitting the countertop reassured me that I was safe, but I turned on the sofa so I faced the door. If Garrett walked in, I’d have plenty of time to minimize whatever was on the memory card before he got around to see the screen. I didn’t know what I would find, and I wasn’t ready to share it all with him. Not yet. With shaking fingers, I snugged the card into the small opening along the left side of the laptop. A file popped open on the screen. I clicked inside and found about twenty folders, each one named by date, which I assumed corresponded with the dates on which the photos were taken. I opened the first folder and found five images. The first was of the front of the Browerton grocery store, the next four were photos of workers. The next folder had more of the same, but with images of paychecks. I sped through the next few file folders, most of them pertaining to Lillian’s investigation and eventual news article on the discrimination. The next folder, dated a little over two years ago, held something that I never thought I’d
see. Dad lying on a picnic blanket on a sunny patch of grass, a smile on his face and his Braves hat shading his eyes. Three more photos, then a selfie with both of their faces pressed together. Tears threatened as I studied them. My father’s crooked smile, the familiar wrinkles, and the mischief that always sparkled in his eyes. Lillian cut her gaze toward Dad, a smile along her reddened lips. Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders, and I could see why she won every beauty pageant she entered. Footsteps in the hallway forced me to minimize the window and click on the Internet. “Why did we agree to this cooking scheme when we could have just had Bonnie keep bringing us food?” Garrett leaned on the doorframe and rubbed his stomach. “I’m certain nothing I can make will beat those grits.” “I know right?” I answered so quickly all my words ran together. Garrett cocked his head to the side. “You all right, Red?” “I’m fine.” I fidgeted, making sure to wince when I moved my leg. “It’s just sore. I think I’ll go get some rest once I’m done with the kitten of the week video.” He didn’t seem convinced and ran a hand through his dark hair as he held my gaze. “If you say so.” “Yep.” “Call when you want to go up, okay? Can’t have you falling down the stairs. Insurance rates, you know?” I snorted. “Right, insurance rates.” He shot me a smile, one made of some sort of heart-melting material. “I’ll get back to work, but you can”—He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and inspected his feet —“you can come by if you want, or like I said, just tell me when you want to go up.” Heart definitely thawing. “Thanks.” “Welcome.” He walked out, the sound of his footsteps receding as I stared after him. He had a sweet streak. Who knew? I adjusted myself on the leather couch, the cushions squeaking a little as I lifted my leg onto the ottoman. I opened the file again and scrolled to where I left off. Instead of getting snared in the picnic photo again, I skipped to the next date. Woods. I zoomed in on the photos but wasn’t sure what I was looking at other than woods similar to those around Blackwood. I clicked to the next and then the next. Ten photos in, and I couldn’t tell what the hell Lillian thought she’d captured on the photos. But I did find a pic with my father’s hand and wristwatch in the side of the frame. Whatever she’d been looking for, Dad had been with her. I clicked through the rest, but I saw nothing that would help me figure out what happened. Deciding I had to have missed something, I started over, scrutinizing each photo for any missing clue. Other than a hunter’s mark on a few of the trees—a circle with a squiggly slash through the center done in orange spray paint, I found nothing. Shit. I closed out of the file and pressed my hand to the top of the monitor. I’d almost closed the laptop when a
thought hit me. I clicked on the memory card again. After a right click and changing some settings, I had the computer show me all hidden files. “Bingo,” I muttered under my breath when a new file emerged, the last date of all the folders. I clicked inside and saw one file. Click-click. The image filled the screen, and my breath stopped. Another shot of woods, the sun barely peeking between the branches. But this one had much more; a shallow grave filled with what looked like at least three bodies unearthed. To the side of the pit, my father leaned on a shovel and stared just above the camera with a look that turned my blood to ice. The sparkle had left his eyes and in its place—raw horror. “Red?” I yelped and slapped the laptop closed. Garrett threw his hands up. “Damn.” He walked in and sat next to me as I furtively freed the memory card and stowed it in my pocket. “Cat videos getting to you?” I swallowed and tried to play it off. “Just tired, I think. You scared me; that’s all.” “You’re acting sort of…” He scrubbed his beard, the rasp reminding me of how it felt against my thighs. “Weird. Even for you.” “Even for me?” I tittered out a fake laugh and kept my hand on the top of the computer. “Yeah, especially what you just did right then. That bizarre laugh.” He stared at me. Could he hear my heart beating faster and faster? He glanced to the computer. “Are you going to share?” I wanted to trust him. My instincts told me to open the computer and show him what I’d found, but my mind was still on the fence. I hedged. “Maybe, but not right now.” “Fine. Keep your secrets.” He stood and sighed. I took his hand. He couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d smacked him. “Just give me some time, okay? Just some time? Please?” His demeanor softened, and he squeezed my fingers. “You know I can’t say no when you use that word.” I smirked up at him. “I play to my strengths.” “I’ve noticed.” He helped me up and held my waist as I hopped to the stairs. Fatigue began to weight my limbs, and the stairs seemed impossible. Maybe I should have stayed on the couch. He scooped me up and smirked down at me. “Ready for this, Red?” “What do y—”
I gasped as he bounded up the steps two at a time. Strengthening my grip around his neck, I pulled myself closer to him. “I’ve got you, Scarlett.” He laughed when he reached the top of the stairs and carried me into my room. “I told you no Rhett Butler shenanigans!” I laughed through the scolding. “I couldn’t resist.” He laid me on the bed and ran his hands up my forearms, keeping my hands latched around his neck. “If it bothered you, you could always have called black.” He was so close that my mind seemed to scramble. “I wasn’t afraid.” “No?” He pulled my arms free and laid them next to me. Hovering above me, his mouth curving wickedly, he was every bit the villain—one who scorched me to my core. “You should be.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“NO, THAT’S SUGAR.” I laughed as Garrett stared at the measuring scoop in his hand with a confused expression. “Are you sure?” “Yeah.” I pointed to the next large jar on the counter. “That’s the flour.” He plucked the red lid off and stared down into the contents. “This looks just like the one I picked.” “No it doesn’t. Flour is powdery. Sugar is grainy. All in the consistency. Did you never take a home economics class or even watch your mom cook?” I flipped the eggs and eyed the crisping bacon. It was our fourth morning together after Bonnie brought groceries. Teaching Garrett how to cook had proven more difficult than I’d first thought, but he’d learned how to make an omelet, broil meat until it was done, and whip up a decent chicken salad. “No. I was busy.” “Doing what?” I scooped the bacon onto a plate covered with paper towels. “Chasing girls, I guess.” He shrugged. I arched an eyebrow as he leveled a scoop of flour and dumped it into a mixing bowl. “Literally or figuratively?” He smiled. “A little of both.” The more time we spent together, the more I saw the version of him that existed before Joan, before Lillian, and before everything that seemed to trap him at Blackwood. It scared me how much I liked him, the real him. He hadn’t slept with me again after that first night. I didn’t ask, though I wanted to keep trying to break down his walls. As he cracked an egg into the flour and started digging out the pieces of shell, I realized I was breaking them down. Cooking with Garrett seemed an impossibility only a week ago. Now we worked in the kitchen like a team, easy with each other in a way that should have seemed peculiar but didn’t. “You get all the shell?” I peeked around him as he flicked a jagged piece into the sink. “Think so. What now?”
“Buttermilk.” I pulled open the fridge and handed him the carton. “How much?” “Pour. I’ll say when.” He opened the container, his large hands making quick work of the cardboard. I let my eyes wander up his sinewy forearms to the ink at his elbow. Other than some looks that could melt a glacier, he hadn’t touched me or made a move. The tension built, invisible but so thick it was almost tangible. I had to force myself to stay in my room at night instead of creeping to his. My leg had healed since my run, the wounds sewing together faster the second time. My limp was all but gone, and I intended to restart my investigation in the next few days. “That much?” I snapped out of my gawking at his arms and looked in the bowl. He’d poured almost all the buttermilk because I hadn’t said “when.” “When!” I put my hand on his wrist. “My bad.” “Daydreaming over there?” “No, I was, um… Just stir the batter and add another cup of flour. That should sort it out.” I returned to the stove and slid the eggs onto a plate. We wound up making enough pancakes to feed all of Browerton, but the food was good, and we enjoyed each other’s company as we ate. When I’d cleaned my plate and rubbed the food baby growing in my stomach, a grating noise from outside caught my attention. I turned to stare out the dusty dining room window. “What was that?” He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and rose. “Special delivery.” “Of what?” “Come and see.” He smiled and held out his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. In all the time I’d been at Blackwood, only Bonnie or the sheriff ever visited. I couldn’t imagine what a “special delivery” entailed. We walked down the middle hallway and out the front door into a bright, cold morning. A large white truck idled in the driveway, a flatbed trailer attached to the back. Two red ATVs sat on the trailer, their new chrome shining in the sun. Garrett hopped down the front steps as a man opened the truck door and stepped out. I peered at the trailer. “What’s that?” “What’s it look like?” Garrett called over his shoulder. I slid on my sneakers and walked out behind Garrett. My t-shirt and jeans did nothing to keep the chill at bay, but my curiosity overcame the temperature. “Mr. Blackwood?” The man tipped his camouflage ball cap at Garrett. “That’s me. You Gene?”
“Yes, sir.” He paused for a second, then continued, “This may sound odd, but man, nice beard. I been trying to grow mine out.” Gene rubbed his graying patches of scruff. “Thanks, I’ve had it for about two years. Low maintenance.” Garrett shot me a sly smile. “Most women seem to like it.” The beard had grown on me, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Garrett, so I said nothing and walked past to look at the ATVs. They had every bell and whistle imaginable, and I could cover a lot of ground on one of them. “If the missus saw you, she’d be all for the beard. Me, though.” Gene shook his head and shrugged. “I’ll probably be back to shaving in a few days. Anyway, these are the ones you paid for. Top of the line, brand new, and fast as lightning. I just need your John Hancock.” Garrett took a clipboard from Gene and signed a sweeping signature. I leaned forward on the trailer and stared at the nearest vehicle, disbelief almost overwhelming the gratitude that welled up inside me. Had he really done this for me? “You like them?” Garrett walked up to my side, our arms touching lightly. I stared into his eyes, their blue tinted lighter by the bright sky. “Are they for me?” “Well, one of them is, but you can have both if you want to get greedy.” “Thank you.” The words felt inadequate on my lips. He didn’t seem to notice the shortcoming, because he smiled, his eyes sparkling with genuine joy. “You’re welcome.” “No, I mean it.” I covered his hand with mine. He looked at my hand, then locked eyes with me again. “It’s my pleasure.” “This is too much.” Gene unfolded the back of the trailer with a clank and rolled the ATVs down onto the driveway. “I don’t want the liability of you falling in the woods or getting attacked by wild boars again.” Garrett ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Insurance rates and all that could be a real pain with you wandering around the property. That’s why I got these.” “That’s the only reason? Liability?” I walked over to the nearest ATV and tried to fight back my smile. The smile won. “Give her a try.” Gene patted the ATV. “Key’s in the ignition.” I threw a leg over and settled onto the black leather seat. “It’s really big.” “I’ll be sure and tell the missus you said that.” Gene winked and lifted the back gate of the trailer into place. The rumble of an engine filtered through the trees. I glanced to Garrett, but his eyes searched the expanse of woods around the driveway. “Something else?” I followed his stare.
“Not that I know of.” “Well, I’ll be off then.” Gene tipped his hat at me. “Keys are there, and if you have any issues, you know where to find me.” Gene shook Garrett’s hand and gave me a smile before climbing into the truck. He cranked the engine and pulled to the back of the house to turn around. The source of the other engine noise appeared on the driveway—a muddy SUV emblazoned with the sheriff’s logo. “Whoa.” I stood and watched as my car approached behind the SUV. It looked none the worse for wear. How did he find it? “What is it?” Garrett kicked the tires on the other ATV. “They found my car.” Sheriff Crow pulled into the grass as Gene passed and waved. A deputy parked my car behind the SUV and got out. I hurried over, ignoring the chill that started to set in despite the bright sun. “Where did you find it?” I leaned inside and put my knee on the driver’s seat. Everything seemed untouched. Popping open the glove compartment, I found my gun just where it should have been. “It was on a logging road, the L-8.” The red-headed deputy, who couldn’t have been older than I was, watched as I looked around. Not possible. “That’s where I left it. When I went back, it wasn’t there.” “We rode up on it this morning, found a spare key under the floor mat, and cranked it right up.” The redhead smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Deputy Fields, by the way.” I shook his hand but stared at my car. “Nice to meet you.” “You too. I’ve heard a lot about you from Bonnie and the sheriff. I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance.” “Thanks.” “Little Rory Fields.” Garrett walked to the passenger side and leaned over the roof of the car. “Last time I saw you, you had a mouthful of braces and a real body odor problem.” Rory narrowed his eyes. “That was a long time ago.” “Yeah, I see the braces are gone.” Garrett sniffed the air. “Not so sure about that other issue.” I glared at Garrett, who gave me a shit-eating grin and shrugged. “What? It’s all true.” “Mr. Blackwood, I don’t apprecia—” Sheriff Crow put a hand on Rory’s shoulder and pointed his hat at me. “I told you we’d find it.” Rory bit back whatever tirade he was about to start. Garrett opened the passenger side door. “Anything stolen?”
“No, it’s all here. But I don’t understand how.” I shook my head, trying to figure out what the hell it meant. “You found it on the L-8?” “Yeah.” Sheriff Crow patted the hood. “About seven miles off the highway, just like you said.” “But it wasn’t there.” I stared at the car, wondering if I was losing my mind. Rory hitched a thumb into his belt right next to his gun. “Maybe when you walked out of the woods, you were disoriented about what part of the road you were on?” I wanted to tell him that wasn’t possible. My compass and my memory were just fine. But then again, if they found it on the road, maybe I’d missed it somehow? “It’s just that I walked down the road for a good quarter of a mile. I should have seen it.” I crossed my arms over my chest as goose bumps from the frigid air or the ghost car raced across my skin. “I don’t know.” Sheriff Crow snugged his hat on his head again. “But it’s here now. I guess that’s the most important thing.” “Yes. Sorry. I should be thanking you for finding it.” I nodded at him. “I really appreciate it.” “Just doing my job. Sorry it took so long. I been dealing with that hunting accident for days. Anyway, how’s the leg?” “Much better. Garrett’s taking good care of me.” “That’s what I want to hear. Maybe Bonnie will stop chewing my ass about letting you stay out here now.” Sheriff Crow grinned. “Then again, I like it when she gets onto me in front of Ty. I think the jealousy spices up their marriage, and it certainly inflates my ego.” “Honesty from an elected official?” I laughed. “What reality are we living in?” “I need to work on that for the next election cycle.” His easy smile was contagious. No wonder Bonnie had a crush. “These are nice.” Rory walked over and ran his hand along the handlebars of one of the ATVs. “You still planning on doing your surveying, Miss Vale?” “Looks like it. Garrett was nice enough to get the ATVs, so it should cut my field time in half.” Rory looked up and caught my eye. “You know, I’m pretty familiar with these parts. I’d be happy to help you—” “You’re about to freeze out here.” Garrett’s voice turned gruff as he walked around the car and took my upper arm. “Come on inside.” He started walking me toward the steps but called over his shoulder to Sheriff Crow. “Glad you and Junior Mouseketeer Rory stopped by.” “It’s Deputy Fields.” Rory snapped. Sheriff Crow cleared his throat. “Uh, all right. We need to skedaddle. Got a report of a…a poacher on Mr. Bowry’s property. Yep.”
“We did?” Rory didn’t seem convinced. “Yeah, come on, son.” Sheriff Crow chuckled. “Let’s go check it out and leave them to it.” “Nice to meet you, Miss Vale.” Rory’s hopeful voice only spurred Garrett to tighten his grip as he helped me up the stairs. “I’m fine,” I hissed as Garrett walked me through the front door and slammed it behind us. “I can walk.” He whirled to face me. “I know, and Rory Dickhead watched every step you took.” “He was just trying to be polite. What’s your problem?” He backed me into the door, and my body tingled with the memories of what happened the last time we were in this position. “My problem is that I don’t like him looking at you.” The sound of the sheriff’s engine died away. “That doesn’t give you a license to be an asshole!” “I think it does.” His voice lowered. I met his eyes and licked my lips. He followed the movement and bent his arms at the elbow until his body pressed against mine. My breath hitched, and I gripped his waist. My desire for him, the fire that had burned low over the past few days, roared back. I couldn’t deny it, not anymore. Rising onto my tiptoes, I kissed him. He answered, smashing his lips against mine in a blaze of passion as he cupped my face. A low growl rumbled in his chest as his tongue swept into me. I trembled, all hint of the cold disappearing. My nipples hardened and crushed into his chest as he ran one hand down to my ass. He squeezed hard, and I moaned into his mouth. His other hand dropped to my throat. I dug my nails into his sides as he pulled me close. My panties grew wet, and I ground against him shamelessly. His hand tightened at my neck, and I bit his bottom lip. The sting of pain seemed to bring him back to himself in the worst way. He broke our kiss and stared down at me. “What?” My voice barely made a sound. “I won’t hurt you. Not like this.” He backed away and held his hands up. “I won’t.” The stab of rejection sank deep inside me like a poisoned splinter. “Why?” “You’re too…” His chest heaved, and his cock pressed against his jeans. “I can’t do this to you.” His face began to blur as tears clouded my vision. “You can’t or you don’t want to?” “It doesn’t matter.” He took another step away, then turned his back on me. “I won’t hurt you.” “Fuck you.” I wanted to hit him, shove him, do something to show him that I wasn’t going to break. “I didn’t call black.” His shoulders slumped. “I know, but I feel like…”
“Like what?” I demanded. “I feel like if I do those things to you, those things that I want—” He let out a heavy sigh. “Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s just not going to happen. Things are good the way they are. Let’s keep them that way.” I dropped my head and two tears plopped to the floor. “I’m going to work. You, um, you get ready to start surveying or something.” He walked toward the library. I turned my head away from him. I didn’t want him to see me cry. A flash of red caught my eye. My pea coat hung on a hook along with other jackets in the foyer. I blinked hard, ridding myself of the tears. He opened the French doors to the library, his back to me. In a moment of pure impulse, I snagged the red coat and pulled it on. He still hadn’t turned around. With a deep breath, I gripped the front door handle and pulled. He turned then, and shot me a look so fierce I almost faltered. “What are you doing, Red?” The warning notes in his voice only strengthened my resolve. I gave him a smirk and my middle finger before taking off across the porch, down onto the lawn, and into the cold, shadowy woods.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I RAN FAST BUT not hard enough to re-injure my leg. Sprinting across the leaf-strewn ground, I felt electric. Each stride carried me away from Garrett, but also right into his arms. I’d made my choice. I hopped a small stream and cut to the left, dashing down an easy slope. My feet skidded on a patch of wet leaves. I slowed to keep from falling. That’s when I heard Garrett’s footfalls. A thrill coursed through me. My body kicked into a higher gear, and I sped away, endorphins telling me I could beat him, that I could get away even if that wasn’t my intent. I passed the silent trees. They watched as I ran for my life, my mind conjuring a killer chasing me down. A killer with Garrett’s face. The fear took me higher, gave me wings as I sprinted through a clearing. Garrett’s footfalls grew louder, the earth thundering beneath him as I broke through the tree line and darted to the right. Five more steps. That was all I got. Garrett tackled me to the ground, his strong arms wrapping around me as we fell. I hit the forest floor hard, my breath escaping my lungs with a whoosh. He grunted, and I threw an elbow back into his ribs as I tried to crawl away from him. “Not a chance, Red.” He gripped my upper arm and yanked me onto my back. Pinning my arms above my head, he glared down at me. His pulse thundered in his throat, and his eyes were wild, the pupils huge. He straddled me, his strong thighs keeping my legs pressed together. Transferring my wrists to one hand, he used the other to grab a handful of my t-shirt. “I won’t let you go. I can’t. Not now.” He yanked the shirt, and it ripped at my shoulders. “Call black.” “No.” I tried to pull my wrists free, but his grip was like an iron band. He yanked again, and the shirt came apart. Cold air assaulted my exposed skin, and my thin bra was no match for the frigid temperature. He leaned down and bit one of my nipples through the material. I arched and whimpered as he tongued me, then bit the other nipple. In one rough movement, he ripped my bra down, one strap shredding against my skin with a sting. He bit the inside of my left breast hard, and I squealed at the sharp burn.
“Call black.” He growled and ran his hand to my jeans. “Fuck you!” I wriggled, a stick poking against my right shoulder blade. He tugged at my jeans so hard my hips lifted from the ground. The button popped off and the zipper ripped. When his fingers snaked inside my panties and down to my clit, I threw my head back onto the hard ground. “Jesus, your panties are soaked.” He rubbed my clit, then sank two fingers inside me. I yelped at the sudden intrusion. In answer, he bit my other breast hard enough to almost break the skin. “Garret!” I struggled, arching my back and trying to yank free. Did I want to get free? Lust infected every one of my thoughts as he handled me roughly. “Call fucking black.” He leaned back and released my hands only to grab the hem of my jeans and rip them and my panties down my thighs. I instinctively flipped onto my knees and tried to crawl away. His large palm slammed into my upper back and pressed me into the cold ground. I clawed at the dirt and the leaves, but got nowhere as he yanked my jeans all the way off, my sneakers pulled off right along with them. I was naked except for the red coat. His hand came down hard on my ass, and I shrieked. The sharp ache cut through my haze, and I fought against him. He hit me again and again, each slap as unforgiving as the last. The cold amplified the pain to almost unbearable levels. My ass burned and tears welled in my eyes as he beat me. When the slaps stopped, I heaved out a breath, but then he bit my ass, tearing another scream from me. “Fuck!” He roared and bit me again, then flipped me onto my back. His hair hung in disarray, and he was every bit as wild as the forest around us. Danger and desire mixed. “Call fucking black.” He surveyed my body with a hunger that made wetness pool between my legs. “Never.” “Wrong answer, Red.” Spreading my legs, he dove onto my pussy, his hot mouth licking and sucking. He pressed my thighs painfully wide with his palms. I ran my dirty hands through his hair and yanked. He growled against my skin and bit my pussy lips. I cried out, and he sank his tongue inside me, fucking me as his upper lip pressed against my clit. He dug his fingers into my thighs as I moved my hips against his face. My body was drawn tight, ready to be shot like an arrow. Each stroke with his tongue, each rough touch of his hands only made me burn brighter. He returned to my clit, lashing it with his tongue as I writhed on the dirty ground. Just when my hips began to seize, he stopped and rose to his knees. “Don’t fucking move.” He unbuckled his belt. I stared at the bulge in his jeans, then up into his dark eyes. Fuck him. He would have to
fight for it. I scrambled back and tried to get to my knees. He was on top of me before I could even contemplate my next move. His weight pressed down, and his cock was like an iron rod against my pussy. He gripped my chin and forced me to meet his eyes. “You’re mine, Red. Where the fuck did you think you were going?” He ground his hips into me, and I moaned. “You asked for this. For my cock. I’m going to give it to you. Your dripping cunt is mine.” I tried to slap him, hit him, do anything I could to have one more chance at running. I wanted him angry, hungry, and past all reason. And I wanted to be caught. He laughed as I struggled, then dropped his mouth to my neck and bit me again. “Stop!” I screamed and raked my nails down his arm. “I like your fight, but I’m still going to do whatever I want to you.” He tugged my hair until I had to arch my back, my breasts jutting into the air and my ruined bra hanging to the side. “Don’t move.” Rising to his knees, he whipped his belt free. He gripped my hips and wrenched me over onto my stomach. With two hard pulls, he stripped my coat off and threw it aside. I tried to push up, but he took the opportunity to loop his belt around my throat and pull it tight. Panic blossomed in my mind. I reached up to work my fingers between the leather and my skin so I could breathe easier. He yanked on it, cutting off my air. “Try that again, and you’ll regret it.” I nodded as he pulled me onto my knees. He eased up, and I gulped in a breath. The sound of his zipper was loud in the quiet woods. I curled my toes in anticipation, needing to feel him, to feel everything he kept hidden, but also afraid of what I’d find. “Last chance, Red.” He ran his hand up my back and gripped my hair. “Call black.” “Fuck you.” His low laugh seemed to chill the air even further. “You sure?” He pressed his cock against my pussy, and a shudder went through me. I surged against his hold, still fighting, still pushing him. The leather tightened, and my scalp stung. “Scream for me.” He shoved inside me. I howled from the sudden shock of pain and the sensation of being full to bursting. He didn’t stop, only reared back and slammed harder into me, using the belt to keep me in place. Releasing my hair, he slapped his palm onto my lower back and pushed down, forcing me to bow my back as he began a relentless pace. My breath vanished, and I clawed at the ground as the pain sizzled away like water droplets on a hot pan. Raw pleasure shot through me, and I shook from each impact. Our bodies slapped together, and the slippery sounds from our union made an illicit soundtrack.
I’d never felt so alive. He slapped my ass, but the pain morphed into something different. Something with wings. I flew higher, each cruel stroke setting my body on fire and tightening the coil in the pit of my stomach. His grunts grew louder as he pulled on the belt. I could barely take a breath. He bent over me, his chest against my back as he pressed me into the ground. My cheek met the cold leaves as he snaked a hand to my clit. I tried to buck, but he was too big. I was caught beneath him, his cock owning my pussy as his fingers strummed me roughly. He pressed his lips to my ear. “I’m going to come deep in your cunt. That’s what you want, what you need.” He ran his teeth along the shell of my ear. “I own you, Red.” My entire body shook as he ground me into the dirt. All of it was wrong, but I reveled in it. My body seized, he tightened his hold on the belt, and the hardest orgasm of my life ripped through me. He plunged deep and roared as my pussy convulsed around him. “Fuck!” He slammed harder, his cock thickening even more. All thought was blasted away as the purest form of bliss filled my veins. I let my forehead rest against the hard earth as electricity skittered across my body. He didn’t let up, still fucking me deep. His erotic groan filled my mind as his cock kicked against my tight walls, and he surged hard against my cervix. He dug his fingers into the side of my ass as he came. I welcomed the pain and breathed in the dirt, the sweat, the sex. He collapsed onto my back and loosened the belt. I gasped as the aftershocks of my orgasm shot through me. He panted in my ear, his heart beating strong against my back. I floated down slowly, see-sawing back and forth like a feather on the breeze. My eyes fluttered closed as he removed the belt and stroked my neck with his long fingers. I couldn’t move, every bone in me melted. He pulled out, and I clenched my thighs together at the loss. My body trembled. From shock. From cold. I didn’t know. He moved around in the leaves, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I felt untethered, surreal. His hands, so violent only moments before, gently pulled my shoulders and turned me toward him. He eased an arm behind my back and one beneath my knees and lifted. I snuggled closer to his chest as he knelt, then tossed my red coat over me. My eyes closed, and I entrusted myself to him. He carried me to the house in silence, up the familiar stairs, and into my bathroom. Sitting me on the edge of the tub, he kissed my forehead, then peered into my eyes. “You’re coming back down, Red. The bath will help.” He twisted the squeaky knobs, and water began splashing behind me. He stood and stripped his navy plaid shirt off, the sleeves covered with dark dirt. His jeans, the knees black, went next. I gripped the edge of the tub to stay upright. Had he drugged me when I wasn’t looking? “I feel…” I couldn’t mold my thoughts together enough to continue. “It’s called subspace. So many endorphins in your bloodstream that it’s like you’ve taken a hit of heroin.” He stripped off his shorts, and I stared at his thickening cock. Fuck, it was gorgeous. A thick mushroom head and a straight, lickable shaft. “But you’re about to
crash.” He stepped into the tub and hissed, then tinkered with the knobs. Once satisfied, he gripped me under my arms and pulled me down with him. I moaned at the hot water, my skin prickling at the onslaught of comfort and warmth. Garrett’s erection twitched against my ass. “Do you have any idea what the noises you make do to me?” He wrapped his arms around me, and I relaxed against his chest. “I can guess.” I wriggled my ass. He growled. “You’re playing with fire, Red.” “Burn me, then.” I sighed, contentment coating every corner of my mind. His hands smoothed down my sides, lingering at the curve of my waist and then skirting along my upper thighs. “What am I going to do with you?” He turned me sideways, our legs tangling under the water. “I think you’ve already figured that out.” I stretched up and nipped at his throat. “Red.” The warning in his tone didn’t deter me, but my fatigue did. He wrapped his arms tight around me, pressing my softness against his hardness. I sank down and laid my head on his chest. “Are you…” He coughed. “Sorry, are you on birth control?” I snickered. “Yes. Maybe you should have asked that before having your way with me in the woods.” He squeezed me. “You didn’t really give me a choice there, Red. You ran.” He said it as if those two words explained everything. “Hang on a sec.” I grinned. “You’re cuddling. This is cuddling.” He shrugged, sending a small wave sloshing over the tub’s edge and slapping into the tile floor. “You make me do things that don’t make sense.” I traced my fingertips around the barbell in his dusky nipple. “Like what?” “Like cooking, like playing doctor without any of the pervy benefits, like cuddling, like not using a condom, or like taking baths with an angel in my arms.” If I weren’t already melted, his words would have done me in. “Smooth talker.” He laughed, the water trembling. “That’s the thing, I’m not. You’ve done this to me.” “I like it.” “Of course you do.” He shook his head, his beard whispering against my hair. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. I want you warm and in bed with me.” “Cuddling?” I grinned up at him. He smirked and ran his hand between my legs. “Something like that.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“THAT WORD IS MISSPELLED.” I peered over Garrett’s shoulder at the book he was working on. The text had been written in a harshly slanting hand, each letter seeming to lean on the next for support. “This is a seventeenth century manuscript that once graced the shelves of the largest monastery still standing in Britain.” He dropped his quill into the ink pot, spun in his chair, and dragged me into his lap. “I think they knew what they were doing.” He pressed his lips to my neck as thunder rumbled outside. The weekend had arrived cold and wet. Ever since our time in the woods the previous day, Garrett and I hadn’t been able to keep our hands off each other. I had no doubt the worries about my father were waiting for me on the front porch, ready to pounce once I left the comfortable cocoon of Garrett’s arms. So I staved them off and planned on restarting the survey Monday morning. “Where’d you go?” He stared into my eyes and cleared a few strands of hair from my forehead. “Nowhere.” I smiled and kissed him. “Just here with you.” He slid a hand under my shirt and up my back. Kissing down to my throat, he ran his teeth along my skin and sent goose bumps shooting down my arms. “Is that your ink hand?” I wriggled against the hand at my back. “Yep.” He sucked my jugular. I tried to lean away from his grip, but he held on tighter. After our time in the woods, I learned the quickest way to get close to him was to push away. He used his other hand to yank my tank top down. His hot mouth pressed against my nipple, and my breath hitched as he rubbed the flat of his tongue along the stiff peak. “Garrett.” I ran my hands through his hair and gripped the strands as he leaned me back, holding me at his mercy. He sucked and bit my bare nipple before trading up for the one still imprisoned behind the fabric of my top. Kissing back to my mouth, he murmured, “You taste good enough to eat.” He claimed my mouth with a roughness that spoke to some inner part of me. One that I had never considered, much less explored. I eased my hand down his shirt and stroked his hard cock through his jeans.
He groaned into my mouth and gripped my hair until I whimpered from the sting. Pain told me the game was starting, and I was eager to play. “On your knees.” He pushed me to the floor, my knees hitting his rug as he kept a strong hold on my hair. “Do you want my cock?” I licked my lips and stared up into his stormy eyes. “Please.” “Fuck.” He dragged me closer until my face hovered above his belt buckle. “Take it out.” I made quick work of his belt and button fly. When I flipped his boxers down, his cock pointed at my face. “Suck it.” He pulled me forward and gripped the back of my neck with his free hand. I opened wide, and slid him as far into my mouth as I could. It wasn’t far enough for him, because he yanked me onto his cock, the tip pressing into the back of my throat. I gagged and sputtered. He pulled out and thrust again. I dug my nails into his thighs and tried to pull away from him. But, as with everything else, if I tried to escape, it only made him tighten his grip. He forced his cock head into my throat and held me in place as my tears ran and I beat at his thighs. “Fucking take it, Red.” I needed air. But the only way to get it was to give in to him. I stopped struggling. He pulled my head back and let me take a breath. I went back in, sucking on his head and taking his shaft deep. He grunted, the sound masculine and sexy. My panties stuck to me, but I wanted to please him more than anything else. I rose up higher on my knees and pressed my elbows along the tops of his thighs as I bobbed on his cock. He guided my strokes, holding my head in place as I rubbed his cock against my tongue. Wet sounds echoed around the library as he began thrusting, fucking my mouth. “I’m going to shoot down your throat.” I’d never taken a man into my throat before, but I wasn’t about to stop. Garrett groaned and grunted, each thrust harder than the last. I took in noisy breaths around his cock, but didn’t stop sucking and licking. He tensed and yanked me onto his cock again. I couldn’t breathe, but he held me in place as he thrust once more. I closed my eyes and concentrated on him. His hands, his cock, his scent. I wanted it, all of it. He groaned as his cock thickened in my mouth and his come coated my throat. I pressed my tongue to the bottom of his shaft and swallowed. “Fuck.” He pushed me off his cock, then shoved me to the floor. I gasped as he yanked my jeans and panties off. Before I’d gotten my breathing back to normal, his mouth covered my pussy, and I arched my back. He grabbed my ass and raised me to his face as if he were feasting on a sumptuous meal. I moaned as he devoured me. Every lick, every bite was like a spark against a fuse, each one flirting with an explosion. I yelped when he dug his teeth into my mound and used his
tongue to stroke my clit in hard, inexorable passes. My hips met his rhythm. He moved one hand to my pussy, then trailed the wetness to my asshole. I dug my nails into the rug as he teased me, his finger caressing the ridges. He increased the pressure, and the sparks began to rain down. When he pressed his fingertip inside me, the fuse lit and my orgasm exploded. His name ripped through my lungs as my legs tightened around his head. Each wave of release shook me, and I moaned until my lungs burned. When I finally came back down from the heights he’d shot me to, he lowered my hips to the floor and kissed the spots where his bites would leave marks. “Holy shit.” My heart thumped roughly in my chest, and I slung my arm over my eyes because everything seemed too bright. I lay boneless as he dotted soft kisses on each hip and his gentle hands massaged my thighs. He crawled up my body and nudged my arm away to kiss me, giving me a taste of myself. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he pressed another kiss to my lips then rested his forehead against mine. “Damn, Red.” A smirk crept into his lips, the fine lines next to his eyes crinkling. “You get so aggressive when you’re horny.” I snorted out a laugh, and he grinned down at me. A click sounded from the foyer. “What was—” “Shh.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Someone’s trying to get in.” He got to his knees and straightened his pants. Snagging my pants and panties, he shoved them into my hands then hurried into the foyer. I yanked my pants on as the front door handle gave a familiar squeak. I’d made it to my knees when the door swung inward, and a young man walked in. “Shit, Hart.” Garrett walked out to greet him. “I was about to fucking clock you.” Hart laughed, his voice a pleasant baritone. “I still technically live here, you know.” I got to my feet and tried to ease out of Hart’s line of sight. He turned toward me at the movement. Fuck. His bright green eyes narrowed, then widened with recognition. “Sidney? What are you doing here?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
GARRETT CROSSED HIS ARMS over his chest and glared at me. “Who’s Sidney, and what the fuck is going on?” “I can explain.” Can’t I? Hart stared, his handsome face contorted into a mask of confusion. “How did you get here? Are you still doing that pine beetle study thing? The research?” “Oh, so you’re a researcher, Sidney?” There was no way out of this. Both men wanted an explanation, and what was more, they deserved it from me. I straightened my back and walked into the foyer. “Okay, so you know I’ve been looking for my father.” “You have?” Hart shook his head, his light brown hair flopping over his ears. “Yes.” I gave him the frankest look in my arsenal. “Hart, I’m sorry, but when I met you, I lied to you. My name isn’t Sidney, and I’m not doing research on southern pine beetles. My name’s Elise, and I was asking you questions about the woods around here to see if you had seen any trace of my father or anything strange.” He ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “This is sort of a mind-blown moment.” “I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t know if I could trust you.” I glanced to Garrett as my cheeks heated. “I didn’t know if your family had anything to do with my dad’s disappearance.” “Disappearance?” He looked from me to Garrett, then back again. “What are you talking about?” “Maybe we should all sit down?” I motioned toward the dining room. “No. Go on.” Garrett’s tone edged on dangerous. “Okay.” I met his fierce gaze. “I looked up your family. I found Hart was a student at a university just a few hours away. I figured he would be my best bet to ask questions about the property without raising suspicion. So, I pretended to be studying the woodlands for my thesis. Hart was kind enough to answer my questions and talk to me.” Hart smirked, the look almost as devious as the one his brother often wore, but with a hint
of innocence from a perfectly placed dimple. “I talked to you because you were hot, not because I’m kind.” Garrett thrummed his fingers on his bicep, irritation rolling off him in waves. I hurried along. “So, I asked him about the woods, if he’d seen any beetle activity or human activity because I, um, I said that beetles were attracted to man-made things like houses, shacks, cars, any of that.” Garrett drew his brows together. “Hart, you fell for that shit?” Hart shrugged. “Did you hear the part where I said I would have told her anything she wanted to hear? Look at her.” He scanned me with open interest. “Stop looking at her like that.” Garrett’s voice held a chill. “Hart is the reason I knew to search here. He saw my father’s car on your property. That’s why I’m here. I swear, Garrett, that was it. I wasn’t trying to trick him or you, I just didn’t know who to trust.” He stepped toward me, his arms still crossed. “So you still don’t trust me?” “No, I do.” I rested my hand on his forearm. “Then why didn’t you share this information?” I dropped my eyes to the floor and chewed my lip. “I intended to. I just didn’t, but I should have. I guess I was embarrassed about the lies, so I was holding off for as long as I could.” I caught his eye again. “And there’s one more thing.” Hart whistled. “Sorry to interrupt, but I still have no clue what’s going on.” Garrett ignored him and zeroed in on me. “What’s the other thing?” “I snooped in Lillian’s room” —His jaw tightened even more, so I sped my explanation— “and I found my father’s Braves cap and a memory card with photos on it.” “Photos of what?” Hart asked. I shook my head. No way I could explain it all. “Probably better if I just show you.” Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your dad’s car has been on the property this whole time, yet you didn’t say a word?” “I’m sorry.” I clasped my hands together. “I wasn’t sure about you, and I …” What else could I say? “Well, are you sure now?” “Yes.” I said it easily, no holding back. “All cards on the table.” Garrett narrowed his eyes. “No more secrets.” I nodded as regret settled on me like a fine ash. “I promise. You know everything. I swear. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” He seemed to relax a little, then glanced to Hart. “A beetle researcher? What else have you fallen for while you’ve been away?”
Hart grinned. “Well there was this one chick who said she was on the pill, but—” “What?” Garrett barked. I breathed a sigh of relief that he’d turned his ire on Hart instead of me. Hart laughed. “I’m just dicking with you. Calm down. There’ll be no little Blackwoods running around anytime soon. Promise.” He glanced to me. “Unless there’s something you’ve forgotten to tell me.” “Such an asshole.” Garrett gave a grudging smile and wrapped his arm around Hart’s neck. Both men were large, Hart’s thicker frame complementing Garrett’s more wiry one. “About time you came home to visit.” I stepped around them and headed for the stairs. “Where are you going?” Garrett asked. “I figured you two wanted some, you know, brother time?” I hesitated on the bottom stair. Garrett released Hart. “Go in the kitchen. There’s some leftover baked chicken and green beans in the fridge.” “Are you shitting me? Real food in the house?” He glanced at me. “I’m still not sure who you are, but thanks for cooking.” I pointed to Garrett. “Actually, he cooked it.” “Well fuck me running.” Hart bounded down the hallway, the promise of food the only lure he needed. Garrett walked over to me and cupped the back of my neck. “You think I’d let you get away that easy?” God, when he said things like that, it was all I could do to not curl my toes. “I-I don’t know.” He leaned closer, his lips at my ear. “I forgive you, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be punishment.” A tingle shot up my spine. “Garrett—” “No way out of it, Red. Not unless you call black.” He released my neck. “Now, let’s go get you reacquainted with my brother. Then I want to see the photos you mentioned. We’ll save the punishment for when he’s out of the house.” “Okay.” Did I just agree to punishment? “Go on now.” I walked past him and yelped when he gave me a firm smack on the ass. He wrapped his arm around my waist. “Couldn’t resist getting a head start.”
“LET ME SEE YOUR LEG.” Hart plopped down next to me on the couch. “Excuse me?” I gawked at him. Garrett, Hart, and I had spent the morning getting up to speed on my surveying project and the issues surrounding my father’s disappearance. Hart had taken it well, far better than I could have hoped. Of the two brothers, the younger one was far more easygoing, and I couldn’t see the dominance that Garrett hinted lived beneath Hart’s surface. Hart patted my knee. “I changed majors to pre-med. Maybe I can help.” He shot me a disarming smile and dropped to his knees. “Let’s see how it’s healing up.” “All right.” I rolled up the leg of my black lounge pants. He bent over and ran his fingertips along the scars. “Too bad about the marks, but they’ll fade.” “I figure they’re going to be permanent.” I shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it. Bonnie brought some cream that I put on them every night. I can’t really tell a difference, but she swears by the stuff.” “Any muscle damage?” He began kneading my leg, his strong fingers working my flesh as I leaned back against the cushions. “That feels amazing, and no, I think the tusks went clean through. It feels weird to say this, but I think I got lucky with the injuries. And I know I lucked out with Garrett saving me that night.” I moaned when he reached a particularly knotted spot toward the top of my calf. “You might not have any lingering muscle damage, but your leg needs a good working over to get it back in shape. Relying on the right leg has weakened the left.” “Yeah?” I peered down at him, his bright eyes shaded by the hair along his brow. He tried to run his fingers to my knee, but the rolled pants blocked him. “Do you mind? I can’t get a good idea of what sort of things might help without a look at the whole leg.”
“I, um…” I started to shake my head, but he pressed his fingers along my calf again, the sensation akin to a knotted ball of string unraveling. “Let me help.” He snagged his fingers in the waist of my pants and tugged. He made an mmm sound and pulled again. I grabbed his wrists. “I’m not sure if this is—” “Hart!” Garrett’s voice ricocheted around the living room like a shot as he stormed in. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I yanked my pants back into place. “He’s pre-med. He was just checking my leg and—” Garrett strode over, fisted the back of Hart’s polo, and dragged him to his feet. “Pre-med, huh?” Hart grinned, mischief all over his face. “Pre-law and pre-med are practically the same thing.” I shot to my feet. “You asshole!” Mortification painted my cheeks pink. “Oh, come on.” He ducked out of his brother’s grasp. “She owed me one after the beetle crap I fell for. And really, what’s a little perving—nice lace panties by the way—between friends?” Garrett took a menacing step toward Hart, who backed away and almost tripped over the ottoman. Garrett’s glower darkened. “She’s my guest. Mine.” “Sorry, my bad.” Hart’s smile undermined his words. Garrett lunged for him, and Hart darted around the back of the couch and out into the hall. He winked at me before dashing toward the stairs. Garrett followed, but Hart was already pounding up the steps. “Fucker!” Garrett called after him. Hart’s laughter grew fainter until a door upstairs slammed and cut it off entirely. Garrett stalked back into the living room, his eyes focused on me. I stood my ground, even as he churned toward me like a hurricane on the sea. When he reached me, he took my face in his hands and smashed his lips to mine. Possession. He lowered me to the couch, his body covering mine as we sank down. I gripped his forearms, digging my nails into his skin as he filled every corner of my being with thoughts of him. When he released me from his all-consuming kiss, he stared down at me, his eyes darkened with desire. “You’re mine. You probably think you can just leave here when you’re done with all this.” He pressed his thigh against me, rubbing between my legs. “Maybe find some asshole who closes his eyes as he fucks you so sweetly.” “I—”
“Not a man like me who takes what he wants.” He slid a hand down to my breast and squeezed until it hurt. I leaned up to capture his lips, to soothe the beast. But he hovered out of range, his stormy eyes raging. “You’re mine.” He moved a hand to my throat. “I won’t let you go. I can’t. I’ll destroy any man who tries to take you from me.” “I’m not going anywhere.” I ran my palm along his scruffy cheek. “I’m here with you.” He kissed me again, this time gentler, though his need—his need for me—burned me deeper than anything I’d ever felt. Raw and rough, he spoke his heart. His words created a new sensation inside me, an inexplicable cocktail of hope, heat, and something stronger. I didn’t dare define it, but as I ran my fingers through his unruly hair, I wished the feeling would never stop.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
GARRETT CARRIED MY PACK out the front door along with a small one of his own. I finished lacing my boots and followed him out into the brusque wind. The sky was overcast, promising rain later as a front moved in. We had until about three in the afternoon to do our first bit of surveying before the rain arrived. “You sure today’s the day?” He stowed our packs on the back of the red ATVs and glanced at the clouds. “Yes. I can’t wait around for the sun to pop out in a few days.” I stretched my bad leg, happy with the absence of pain or discomfort. “Besides, I’m already behind.” I’d scouted the best route to a mounded area on the southeast edge of the property. The ATVs should be able to make it there and back again with ease. I also hoped to check out another odd spot on the satellite image. I’d shown it to Garrett, and we both surmised it was some sort of shack hidden in a thicket along the edge of a dense stand of pines. He’d been just as puzzled as I was about it being on his property. We were equally stumped by the photos in Lillian’s camera, and Garrett couldn’t determine which hunter’s mark graced the trees in the background. Square one wasn’t so bad, though, now that I had Garrett to scout with me. I hurried to my car and snagged the pistol from my glove box. Garrett eyed me as I walked up, then reached behind his back and pulled out his own handgun. “We’re armed to the teeth. I don’t think any boars are going to get the drop on us.” I slung a leg over my ATV. “It’s not the boars I’m worried about.” He walked over and tipped my chin up. “You’re safe with me. Nothing is going to happen to you on my watch.” Leaning down, he kissed me with a sweetness that infused me with delicious warmth. “Is that a gentler version of ‘I’ll cut a bitch’?” I smiled against his lips. “I’ll do a lot worse than that if anyone lays a finger on you.” He claimed my mouth again, more urgent this time. I answered, my tongue sweeping against his as he roped my ponytail around his fist. It had been five days since I ran from him. We’d spent hours lying in bed, plenty of mealtimes cooking together, and our nights sleeping together. After that, I’d had a couple more days
of laughing with Hart, the two men playing off each other and amusing me to no end. After Garrett had marked his territory via loud, rough sex on the living room couch, Hart didn’t try any more come-ons. The night before he’d returned to school, he’d told tales of campus conquests until the wee hours, though I suspected half of the women he claimed to have bedded were solely in his imagination. Entertaining all the same, and something about him being around lulled Garrett into a happier mood. Quicker to laugh and throw witty comebacks, quicker to kiss me whenever we got a moment alone. He pulled back. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to drag you into the house and fuck the day away.” I pinned my lips between my teeth and shook my head. “No can do. Work first.” He groaned and dropped another kiss on my lips, his beard tickling my cheeks, before backing away. I admired the low-slung jeans, button-down red plaid shirt, and simple sheepskin coat. When he turned to finish stowing his gear, the view of his perfectly toned ass almost made me change my mind about staying home. “Oh, one more thing.” He grabbed the black helmet hanging from his handlebar and walked over. “Put this on.” I worked my ponytail down until it hung low against my neck, then slid the helmet on. It fit well, and the visor did a great job of blocking the wind while still giving decent visibility. Once satisfied I was concussion-proof, Garrett walked back to his ATV and mounted it. I flipped the visor up. “Where’s your helmet?” His signature smirk appeared. “I live dangerously, Red.” He cranked his machine and drowned out my protest. I glared at him and hit the ignition on mine. It roared to life. He pulled my map from his pocket, checked it once, then pointed past the house and into the woods. I nodded and gripped the handlebars. He eased down the cracked driveway. I followed, puttering along. Then I got a wild hair. Twisting the handle, I gave it some gas and motored around Garrett. I zoomed across the driveway and onto the leaf-strewn lawn. The tree line loomed ahead, but Garrett flew past me. I tried to bite back my laugh as he gave me an exasperated stare, though a smile crept along the corners of his lips. He slowed as he came to the edge of the woods. “Keep up, Andretti, and stay behind me.” I bobbed my head and followed him under the canopy of trees. It took me fifteen minutes, a couple of rotten trees, and a handful of small streams to get the hang of the ATV, but once I figured out my limits, we made good time. We headed straight for the mounded area that could indicate Native American activity. Garrett followed the map well, and I couldn’t help but be impressed with his skills at navigating the rough terrain and leading us through the tougher areas. We reached the mound just before eleven and parked under a huge oak at the edge of the rise.
“Lunch, then work. You warm enough?” He walked over and pulled my helmet off before removing his gloves and pressing his palms to my cheek. “I’m warm. Don’t worry.” I ran my palms along the backs of his hands. “You sure?” He grabbed my fingers. “Your hands could be warmer. I’ll start a fire.” I laughed and stood, my thighs and ass sore from the bumpy ride. “Calm down, mountain man. Let’s eat lunch, and then do some digging. I’ll warm up fast from the manual labor.” He kissed my forehead. “I’ll do the digging.” “Yes, we will do the digging.” I rummaged in my pack and pulled out some sandwiches, chips, and water. He grumbled and accepted the food. We leaned against the oak and ate. “What do you think we’ll find?” He let his eyes rake the trees, rocks, and fertile earth. “I don’t know. That’s half the fun.” I took a drink of the cold water. “Could be nothing, could be arrowheads, pottery, bones—anything that gives us a clue.” “What about the shack? What do you expect to find there?” I finished my chicken salad sandwich and stowed the bag in my pocket. “Not sure. Maybe something that will help me find my father’s grave.” “And what will that do?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, if you do find him, what then?” I hadn’t thought of after. My life over the past few years had been centered on three things: school, my mother, and wondering if my dad was ever coming back. Eventually, the last thing morphed into trying to find out what happened to him. School was almost over, my mother was definitely over, and the truth about my dad was within my grasp. I walked past Garrett and pulled the long shovel free from the back of my ATV. “I guess then I’ll know.” I shrugged. “I’ll know, and I can move on and finish my degree and start a career somewhere. Finally start a life.” “Why can’t you do that now?” I whirled on him. “And just forget about him? Let whoever killed him walk free?” He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s been two years. Any evidence is bound to be gone. I’m only saying I don’t want you to get your hopes up for a resolution that might not happen.” “I’m going to find out. I always do. I dig.” I held up the shovel for emphasis. “I’ll dig as deep as I have to and for as long as I have to.” I turned and snagged my measuring tape. Nothing was going to stop me from figuring out what happened. He walked up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I’m not trying to upset you, okay?” His scent surrounded me, comforted me. “I just don’t want you to end up like me with Lillian, always searching for an answer that won’t come.”
I turned my head and stared up into his steely eyes. “You’re not so bad, you know?” He kissed my hair. “You’re the only one who thinks that.” “True.” He laughed and took the shovel from my hand. “Come on. Put me to work.” We tramped through the underbrush until we came to a spot dotted with younger trees. I pointed. “Something was here.” “What makes you say that?” He scanned the ground, which looked much the same as the earth in the rest of the woods. “Look.” I pointed to the nearest tree. “That’s a bur oak. A notoriously slow grower. It looks about”—I glanced up and did some quick math in my head—“ninety feet high. That means it’s probably a hundred years old, tops.” “So, that means what exactly?” He cocked his head to the side. “Nothing on its own, but look at all the shagbark hickories around here.” I pointed out the nearest five trees. “They’re native to these parts, but not in this concentration.” “So are you saying someone planted them? Because that’s not possible.” He leaned on the nearest oak. “No. Of course not.” I kept walking through the trees. “This many hickories in various states of growth—they all grew here on their own, but they didn’t start out that way. The Choctaw preferred hickory for all sorts of crafts and projects and also ate the trees’ nuts. So, what the trees are telling me is that, more likely than not, a Choctaw camp was located in this area within the past few hundred years. The hickory trees mature and die relatively quickly, so these weren’t standing back then.” I rubbed my hand down the gnarled bark of the nearest tree. “But their ancestors were.” Some brown stalks caught my eye. “And this.” I knelt. “Look at all this sassafras. Dormant now, but thick in the summertime. The Choctaw used sassafras in all sorts of medical applications.” My spider-sense tingled out of control. “Something is here. Has to be.” He walked over to me, his lips twitching. “Would it be weird for me to say that watching you work and figure shit out is a turn-on for me?” “Not at all.” I pointed to a spot amidst the sassafras. “Let’s dig.” He sank the shovel into the dirt. “Yes, ma’am.” I watched as he dug. After a few turns of dirt yielded nothing, I had him dig every few feet on a straight line toward the nearest stream. While he dug, I used a hard rake and scoured the ground in concentric circles around the grove of hickories. If anything lay close to the surface, the rake would disturb it and, hopefully, bring it to my attention. I checked my watch. We’d been digging and raking for an hour with no luck. Garrett was halfway hidden behind some tree trunks and only had a few more spots to dig before he got into the marshy area next to the stream.
Leaning on my rake, I wiped the sweat off my forehead and stared at the scored ground. “Shit.” I’d really hoped we’d find something. “Hey!” Garrett’s deep voice cut through the cold. Adrenaline shot into my veins, and I hurried toward him. “Find something?” He sank onto his haunches and plucked something from the fresh dirt. “Arrowhead.” “Crap.” I took off my gloves and held out my hand. He dropped the arrowhead into my palm. “I thought finding something was good.” “It is.” I picked my way to the small stream and dunked the artifact into the clear, cold water. Swishing it around, I drew it out and stared at the rough divots along the shaft. “It’s just that I wanted more. But it’s a good start.” Garrett laughed. “So you found what you were looking for, but you won’t be satisfied until you have it all?” I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Look who’s finally on the same page.” His jaw tightened. “We need to get home.” “Why?” I stood up and stowed the arrowhead in my pocket. “Because it’s time you became acquainted with a few of my favorite toys.” I walked over to him and tugged on his beard. “I’m so very scared, Mr. Blackwood.” He gripped my ass and lifted me until I had to straddle him. “Taming your smart mouth is going to be a real pleasure.” I affected an innocent pout. “I don’t know what you mean.” He walked until my back struck the nearest tree. “I think you do.” He licked across my lips, then forced his tongue into my mouth. I opened for him as he pressed me into the tree, his cock already rock-hard against me. He gripped my ponytail and yanked my head back. His teeth hit my throat, teased with a little pressure, then bit down. “Garrett!” I dug my nails into his side as he kissed back to my mouth, the force of his kiss creating a shockwave of need in me. He ground against me, my clit taking the full brunt of his cock as he trapped me against the trunk. I wanted him to fuck me right there, up against the tree like two wild animals. He must have had the same thought, because he groaned into my mouth and skated his fingers down to my jeans. Something popped, and the skin along the top of my shoulder burned. Garrett’s body shuddered and he broke our kiss. His brows drew together, confusion washing across his face. “What? What is it?” I stared at him. Another pop, and the bark next to my head burst into shards of wood. “Down!” He sank to his knees and dragged me around to the back of the tree, then
covered me with his body. It was only then that I noticed the crimson stain spreading along his chest and soaking through the sheepskin coat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RAIN SOAKED THROUGH MY clothes until my skin crawled, my teeth chattering nonstop. Garrett sat behind me on the ATV, his head lolling forward onto my trembling shoulder every so often. He’d stopped shaking, which worried me more than anything else. We’d waited behind the tree while I did my best to stop Garrett’s bleeding. The bullet had gone straight through, but I couldn’t tell if it had hit any organs. The blood worried me, the crimson stain soaking his shirt despite my attempts to stanch the flow. And his breathing had taken on an ugly wheeze. He’d wanted to wait until dark before we moved, but I refused. He couldn’t stay out in the frigid woods for that long with major blood loss. So, despite his protests, I’d darted out to an ATV, started it up and driven it to where he was. He’d managed to climb on behind me, and then we took off through the woods. The rain had set in only an hour later, the smell of water mixing with the dirt. The forest floor became a sloppy mess, and I couldn’t fight the chill. Instead of trying to make it to the house, which was two more hours away, I headed for the shack. I prayed that it still had a roof. If I could get us somewhere dry, I could tend to Garrett and warm him up. I pushed ahead through a thicket, pinning the vines and scraping brush beneath the ATV. At least the shack was well hidden, though I had no reason to believe that whoever shot Garrett didn’t know about it. I stowed that thought and decided to worry about it later. I had enough on my plate. Once through the first wall of foliage, I saw the shack ahead. About ten feet by ten feet, the wooden structure had been constructed of roughly-hewn wood from nearby trees. The roof consisted of a pine thatch, one corner completely rotted through. Fuck. I motored up to it and peered through the darkened doorway. No windows greeted me, just a narrow entry. It would have to do. A burst of lightning shot across the sky, and the thunder chased it down, the rumble deep and loud. “Garrett.” “Mmph.” He squeezed around my waist. “Come on. We’re here. I have to get you inside.” I threw my leg over and slid off the ATV.
He stared up at me with glassy eyes, his wet hair plastered to his head. “Here?” His breath wheezed in and out. “Yes.” I dug in my pack and grabbed my gun, then found my flashlight, which I clamped between my teeth. I slung his arm over my shoulders and pulled, keeping my gun in my free hand. He stumbled to his feet, and I struggled under his weight. He stopped, his breath a rattle. “This isn’t the house.” “Uh huh,” I mumbled around the flashlight and helped him walk forward as the rain intensified, the sheets broken up by the pine boughs overhead. Training the gun on the door, I followed the beam of light and checked the dank interior. The floor was made of packed dirt and strewn with pine needles. A pile of leaves in one corner appeared to be an abandoned critter nest of some sort. The back left side was wet, water pouring through the hole in the ceiling. Not good, but the ground sloped, so the water ran out between the rough planks. I could work with that. I dropped the flashlight and pulled Garrett along. “Let’s go.” I dragged him inside, turning sideways so we could navigate through the narrow door. My back ached, and I wondered if I’d pulled something as I lowered him to the ground in the dry corner. “Stay.” I retrieved the flashlight and did one more sweep just to make sure nothing was going to jump out. Dashing back to the ATV, I grabbed our bags and dumped them inside the door. My face and hands were so cold they hurt. Not a good sign. Garrett rested against the wall, his eyes closed. Even in the dim shack, I could tell his skin was ghostly pale. A frozen hand squeezed my heart, and I snapped. “Garrett!” His eyes fluttered open. “Yeah?” “Stay awake, okay?” “Bossy. I like it.” I tore through my pack and snagged my Superman lunch box. “We already ate.” His words slurred, and I forced myself to move faster. “I know.” I unclicked the latch and flipped open the lid. “I keep my kindling in here so it stays dry.” I pulled out a small pack of dried twigs and a lighter. Glancing to the break in the roof, I realized it was a good thing. I’d need the smoke to vent out that way. Setting the kindling aside, I flipped up my hoodie and headed back outside. “Don’t!” He gripped my ankle. “It’s not safe.” I leaned down and kissed him, his cold lips spurring me onward. “I’m going to find a few
fallen limbs. They’ll be wet, but the rain only started within the last little while. I’ll cut down to dryer wood and we’ll be all set. Trust me.” “I’ll come too.” He tried to sit up from the wall, but only made it halfway before falling back. “Fuck.” “Stay here. I won’t go far. I promise. Two minutes, tops.” “I don’t like it.” He reached up and pulled me down, our foreheads touching. “Please be safe.” “I will. I swear.” I dropped another kiss on his lips and hurried out into the rain. I passed behind the shack and peeked out into the forest. The rain created a milky barrier. That meant I couldn’t see the shooter, but he couldn’t see me either. I hurried forward, my eyes trained on the ground. Up ahead, I saw a limb that would work. I snagged it and another and dragged both back to the shack. “Garrett, I need one more. I’m almost done. Stay awake.” He mumbled a response. I walked in the opposite direction and scanned the ground. An oak limb, the leaves long since rotted away, presented the perfect opportunity. I darted up to it and started dragging it along. Glancing back, I stopped dead. Beneath the limb, the ground was sunken in what appeared to be a six-foot by about three-foot rectangle. An unmarked grave. A warning sounded in my heart. I needed to dig. But I couldn’t, not until I was certain Garrett was safe and the shooter was gone. I forced myself to turn and keep going. Dropping the limb at the doorway, I walked in and pulled my hatchet from my pack. “I’ll have a roaring fire in under ten minutes. Want to time me?” “Merit badge if you make it?” I ran my hand along his forehead, hating the cold, clammy feel. “No. If I get it done, I get to use a flogger on you when we get home.” He grunted. “That’s a big reward.” “Hey, if you can’t handle it—” “Done.” He coughed. “What do I get if you don’t make it?” I kissed him again, then steadied myself so I could get to work. “Hypothermia.”
I STARED at the narrow door. The night beyond consumed what little light the moon offered, the rays gobbled up by the thick clouds and endless rain. Garrett slept beside me. I’d dressed his wound, stripped him, and covered him in fresh clothes from my pack. I’d dried my clothes by the fire and put them back on. We were both warm, well fed with snacks and water, and as comfortable as possible in the shack. Once I was certain he wouldn’t die from the cold, I let him sleep off the injury. Still, I worried that the shooter lurked just beyond the door, waiting for his chance. I adjusted so I could rest my gun hand atop my knee. If anyone came through the door, I’d shoot first and ask questions later. The fire crackled, and I tossed another piece of damp wood on the top. It would keep us warm until morning, though I intended to rouse Garrett and head to the house about two hours before daybreak. We’d be soaked through again, but the dark would keep us safe from the shooter’s scope. Midnight came and went as I kept watch, my eyes drifting closed and my hand drooping until I forced myself awake. The grave just fifty yards away preyed on my mind. Was it him? Had I finally found my dad’s resting place? And who was the shooter? If it had been one shot, I could have believed in a stray bullet from a hunter’s gun. But the second shot dispelled that notion. Someone had tried to kill Garrett. Maybe even me. What the hell was going on? Fresh mysteries piled on top of old ones, and my questions kept circling the grave like a drain. I spent the rest of the night like that—in between waking and dreaming, one eye on the door and my thoughts buried along with whoever lay in the shallow grave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
SHERIFF CROW AND R ORY burst through the front door as I leaned Garrett against the wall of the foyer. I’d called them as soon as I got within range of the house’s WiFi. “How far out is the ambulance?” I started stripping Garrett’s wet coat from him. “Ten minutes or so.” Rory dropped to his knees and opened a duffel bag of medical supplies. Sheriff Crow knelt, and both men helped me pull his wet shirt down. “Just a scratch.” Garrett didn’t open his eyes. Rory pressed his fingers to Garrett’s neck and stilled. “Shit, pulse is slow. Too slow.” I pulled the gauze away from Garrett’s bullet hole beneath his clavicle. “There.” Sheriff Crow leaned Garrett forward and stared at the exit wound. “Came out clean, but he’s lost a lot of blood.” “I had enough of a first aid kit to douse it with alcohol and pack the gauze, but I couldn’t stop the bleed. And the rattle in his lungs has gotten worse.” I tucked Garrett’s hair behind his ear. He leaned into my touch. “Red.” “Red?” Sheriff Crow asked. “That’s what he calls me.” I began pulling the damp shirt the rest of the way off, but lost my balance and hit the floor next to Garrett. Sheriff Crow grabbed my elbow and peered into my eyes. “Rory, get her upstairs and warmed up. She looks like she might fall over herself.” “No, I’m fine.” I shook my head and reached for Garrett’s hand. “No, you aren’t fine.” Worry creased around the sheriff’s eyes. “Rory, get on it.” “Yes, sir.” “I’ll wait for the ambulance. I expect it here soon.” Sheriff Crow rooted around in the duffel bag as Rory helped me to my feet. “Until then, I’ll check his wound. He’s going to be okay.” Rory steadied me and herded me toward the stairs. “Wait.” Sheriff Crow looked up from the bag. “Did you see anyone? Any clue who’d try
to take a shot at you?” “No.” “Could it have been another hunting accident?” He took his hat off and threw it onto the small settee. “A stray shot?” “That would have been possible if there was only one shot. But there were two.” He shook his head. “I’m beginning to wonder why I took this job. What the hell is going on around here?” My foot hit the bottom step, and I stumbled. I leaned on Rory as he helped me up the stairs. A distant siren promised help for Garrett, and I was finally able to take a breath without fear overwhelming me. “I have to go with him.” Rory wrapped his arm around my waist and powered the rest of the way up the stairs to my room. “We’ll see what the sheriff says.” I started to strip off my coat, then gave the staring Rory a look. His face fell, and he turned toward the wall. “Let me know if you need help.” His tone still retained some hope that he’d get to see me naked. I sank onto the bed and slowly dragged my clothes off until I was down to my tank top. The siren’s wail grew to ear-splitting levels, then quieted. Voices wafted up the stairs, and relief hit me like a wave. Garrett was going to be okay. I closed my eyes, and my world went topsy-turvy. The last thing I heard was Rory’s voice. “Shit, you got hit, too.”
“RED?” Fingers stroked along my face, down my jaw, and to my neck. I blinked awake. The septic smell of hospital seeped into my lungs as the light pinging of a machine told me my heart was still beating.
“Garrett?” I turned to find him sitting next to me in a wheelchair. Dark circles ringed his eyes. “Thank God.” He kissed the back of my hand, his lips so much warmer than they had been the last time I touched them. Memories of our last moments together hit me like a fist. “Are you okay? You lost so much blood.” I realized he wore the same hospital gown as mine, and the pole next to him carried an IV bag connected to his arm. “I’m good. I made it because of you.” He ran his thumb along my lips. They felt chapped. “How long have we been here?” I blinked hard to try to clear the floaters from my vision. “Only a few hours.” “Mr. Blackwood, please.” A nurse stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her name badge. “We need to get this done.” “In a minute.” His voice stayed near a whisper. “Had to see her.” I sat up, but the pain in my shoulder had me falling back against my pillows. “Damn.” I took a breath as the pain lessened. “What does she want?” “Surgery.” The nurse’s no-nonsense tone rose with each word. “We drew the air out from around his collapsed lung, but it’s not filling back up. He needs to have it repaired, but the stubborn jerk wouldn’t agree to surgery until he saw you.” I pressed my palm to his cheek. “Have you lost what little mind you had left?” He smiled and pressed his lips to my palm. “Maybe.” How had I ever thought this man was a killer? The love in his heart shone in his eyes, and I leaned forward slowly to give him a kiss. He returned it, then backed away and drew in a wheezing breath. I glanced at the nurse, who shook her head and glared at Garrett. “Go, stubborn man.” I kicked my chin toward the nurse. “I’ll be here when you get out.” He squeezed my hand. “I’ll be back.” “I know.” The nurse walked over and unlocked Garrett’s wheels. I wanted to ask her if he was going to be okay. No, I wanted her to promise me he would be. I bit back my question as my eyes welled. Instead, I asked, “Do you think you could give him a shave while he’s out? You know, surgery protocol or something?” “I don’t see any harm in asking Dr. Brown if it’s medically necessary.” The nurse smiled. Garrett grunted as she rolled him away. “Not cool, Red. Not cool at all.” The words, the three words that meant far more than just an arrangement of letters, beat on the bars of my heart, demanding I release them. But I couldn’t say them. Not even as he gave me one last soulful look. It was too soon, too intense. I lay back in my bed and listened to him go, the slight squeak of the wheels on the
linoleum growing fainter as my tears became a deluge that drowned out everything else.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“I NEED MORE BLOWJOBS.” Garrett pushed himself up on the couch as I adjusted his pillows. “This is the fifth, no, the sixth time you’ve mentioned that since we got out of the hospital.” I finished getting him settled. He’d been camping out on the couch so he could watch me during the days. I messed around the house, cleaning and trying to get it back into top shape—all the while lecturing him on feminism as he agreed and stared at my tits and ass. I refused to let the wound in my shoulder slow me down, and I itched to get back out into the woods to inspect the shallow grave I’d found. “I think it’s a valid request.” He gripped my ass as I finished fluffing and stood. “You know what the doc said.” I grabbed his wrist, and he tried to wrest it away from me. He put up a fight at first, but then cursed under his breath and let me go. “When I get better, I’m going to blister your ass with my hand, Red.” My heart flipped at the threat, but I adopted a prim tone. “You’ll have to catch me first.” He rubbed the scruff along his jaw that the nurse failed to shave away. “I’ll always catch you. And you’ll love every second of your punishment.” He glanced to my shoulder. “How is it?” I backed another step away and pulled down my tank. “A lot better. I clipped the stitches out myself this morning.” We’d been home from the hospital for a week. Garrett’s strength was steadily returning, but the doctor cautioned against any intense physical activity until the lung had healed completely. So, despite my patient’s grumbles and my own desire to climb on top of him and fuck him ragged, we had to wait. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t tease. I slid my tank strap lower. His eyes lit as he stared at my bare skin. “Lower.” His stern voice had me biting my lip. “I think you’ve seen enough.” Such a brat. “Healing up great.” I started to pull the strap back up. “Don’t you fucking dare.” He stabbed a finger at me, the bare muscles along his torso tensing with the movement. “Show me.”
“My injury?” I simpered. “I already did.” “I swear to Christ I will get off this couch and put you over my goddamn knee, Red!” He started to sit up. “Wait, wait.” I held a hand out to stay him. “I wouldn’t want you getting excited.” “Too fucking late for that.” He ground his teeth together and pressed his palm to the erection that threatened to break free of his pajama pants. “Show me.” I trailed my fingers down the edge of my top, then pulled the fabric down to reveal my right breast. “Oh, fuck.” He reached inside his pants and started stroking. “Hey!” I darted forward to stop his hand. “You can’t do that. The doctor—” He grabbed me, one hand clamping around my forearm and the other yanking at my jeans. “I don’t give two shits if this kills me. I need to be inside you. Now.” “No.” I smacked at his hand, but he’d worked two fingers into my waist band and used his thumb to unbutton them. “Did you just say no?” He smirked up at me and yanked my jeans and panties to my knees. “You did, Red.” He fell back against the pillows with a pained groan. “Ow, fuck.” I took the opportunity to scoot away from him. I fell on the ottoman, my bare ass against the leather. “We can’t! I told you.” I tried not to look as he freed his cock from his pants. Tried. Failed. I wanted it. “It’s going to go like this, Red. Either you do as I say and get on my dick right now, or when I get better, I’m going to tie you to my bed, cane your ass slowly over hours as you cry and scream for me to stop. I’ll record the whole thing and make you watch it as I fuck your mouth, your pussy, your ass; do whatever I want.” His smirk grew. “And I can tell you want that. I see your pulse rising, your skin flushing. I know what I just said turns you on. And I promise you’ll get it. All of it. The difference, though, is that if you disobey me right now, I won’t let you come then or for an entire week after.” He stroked his cock, his palm sliding against the soft skin as he spoke. “It’s up to you. I’m going to fuck you either way. You don’t have a say in that. But do you want to come?” I couldn’t look away from him as the threat hung in the air. He would do all those things. The set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes promised me he would. My pussy was already wet just from the way he said it, from the violence I knew churned inside him. Yes, I wanted it, and no, not coming for a week did not sound like a good deal. Rising, I shucked my jeans and panties. He followed each movement, a satisfied grin replacing the smirk. “You’re an asshole.” I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor. “Water is wet. Just like your cunt.” He ran his hand down my ass as I pressed one knee onto the couch. “Mount up, cowgirl.” “If this kills you, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
“Noted.” He dug his fingertips into my hips and situated me so I straddled him. He groaned when I sat on his cock, pinning it between us. “Are you okay?” I glanced to the bandage over his chest. “No, I’m not okay.” He rocked against me, his cock sliding across my slick skin and creating a buzz in my clit. “Not until I’m inside you.” I gripped the couch’s arm behind his head and rubbed my pussy up and down against his hard shaft. He grabbed my left breast and squeezed. Wrapping one hand around my neck, he pulled me down until he could claim my other nipple between his teeth. He bit me, and I gasped and stopped moving. “Don’t stop.” A vicious smack on my ass put me into motion again. I rode him, my arousal spiraling out of control as he sucked and bit my breasts. He slapped my ass again, the sting like a splash of lighter fluid on a fire. I leaned away from him, and he let me go. “I can’t wait.” He pressed his thumb under his cock and pointed it toward me. I lifted my left knee to line him up with my entrance. When I slid down on him, his thick cock touching me in all the right places, a shudder of pleasure rocketed through me. I stretched for him, adjusting as he cupped my breasts with his large palms. My rhythm started slow, my hips testing the bounds of how deep he could go. “Faster. Fuck me.” His gritty voice was accompanied by another hard slap on my ass, then another. “Garrett.” I moved faster, keeping him deep and rubbing my clit against him with each stroke. Another hard slap ripped a cry from me. “Yes.” He hit me again. “Fuck yes.” I kept riding him, his strikes crossing the wires on the ticking time bomb of pleasure and pain. His name coated my tongue, and I moaned when he wrapped his palm around my throat and squeezed. Again, he hit the sore spot on my ass, but I didn’t stop. Instead, I chased my orgasm with reckless abandon. I could see it ahead, just outside my vision, taunting me. “Fucking hell.” He groaned. “Goddamn.” I dug my nails into the couch as filthy words poured from his mouth. Each one like another euphoric slap on my skin. “I knew you wanted it the moment I saw you.” He twisted my nipple, then slapped my breast. I jerked at the pain, but wanted more. Always more. “Yes.” I purred past his palm as my pussy tensed and he hit my breast again. “Tell me you wanted it.”
“I did. Yes.” Just saying the words was like a shot of heroin in my veins. He thrust up, his cock hitting my spot, and moved his hand back to slap my ass. “Mine from the start.” I quaked, my muscles dancing to the dark music he played. “Whose cunt am I fucking?” His grip on my neck tightened. Smack. “Yours.” I squeaked past the pressure at my throat. “I bet you want me to come in your slippery cunt, don’t you?”Smack. “Yes.” I met his wild eyes. “Please.” “Fuck.” He squeezed my throat, and all air stopped. I kept riding him, my release hovering on the edge of a knife. My throat burned as I increased my pace, getting every bit of friction between us. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I flirted with unconsciousness. I was almost gone when he released my neck, and my orgasm burst through my body like a firework. I screamed as I came. High, frothy waves of pleasure rolled over me. Garrett grunted and surged up, embedding himself completely inside me as my toes curled and my mind blanked. “Fucking shit.” He grunted and then groaned low as his hips pistoned into me, his cock kicking with each spurt. He emptied inside me as I quaked, unable to control my movements as aftershocks shot through me like jolts of electricity. With a final groan, he relaxed down onto the couch and pulled me to his chest. I collapsed on top of him and sucked air into my lungs. He wrapped his arms around my back and pressed us together, his rapid heartbeat almost matching mine. I should have asked if he was okay, if his lung hurt, if I needed to move off his chest. Instead, I sank into him, let him hold me as lightness took over my limbs. I snuggled closer as he stroked my back. We lay together for a while, long enough for me to blink away the bliss and realize that I’d wantonly fucked a man who’d been in the hospital just a few days earlier. I sat up and peeked at his bandage. It was still clean. “Red, you have no idea how badly I needed that.” He stretched his arms up and tucked his hands behind his head—the picture of masculine satisfaction. He winced as I stood, his semi sliding out of me. “We shouldn’t have done that,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried to the bathroom. “You loved it!” he yelled back as I cleaned myself up. I took some tissue and a small tumbler of water back to him. “I may have enjoyed it.” I rubbed my ass. “That’s sore, though.” He let out a breath, and his eyelids began to droop. “I love it when you wear my marks.”
Reaching out, he ran his fingertips down the side of my breast. “Beautiful cherry red.” “Drink this. You need to stay hydrated.” I tipped the water to his lips. He took a few swallows, then gently pushed my hand away. “I’m good, just tired.” “Rest.” I kissed him and smoothed the tape around the gauze on his chest. “You overdid it.” “I want to overdo it again, soon.” His eyes closed. “I’ll be ready to go in an hour, tops, and that’s only because I’m injured.” “Sure.” I brushed his hair away from his forehead as he slipped into slumber. As soon as I was certain he was out, I dressed and headed to the foyer. My pack waited next to the door. I pulled on my socks and boots, then tucked my pistol at my back before pulling on a heavy coat. With one last glance toward the living room, I took a deep breath and eased the door open. I’d be back before he woke. The meds I slipped into his water would make sure of it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I SPED INTO THE WOODS, putting far too much faith in the ATV and my helmet. Sapling branches smacked against me as the wheels ate up the rough terrain. I was on a deadline. My shoulder ached with each rough jolt, but my curiosity wouldn’t be denied. Garrett had another week of bed rest before he’d be able to do any riding, and there was no way he’d let me go alone. My need to investigate had intensified each day until I devised a plan—one that Garrett would be pissed about as soon as he figured out what I’d done. The frigid air was still, giving no push back as I hurtled toward the biggest discovery of my search. The grave filled my thoughts. What was it doing out there, who dug it, and who was in it? My heart told me I’d find my father there, but I maintained an odd little sliver of hope. Like a splinter in my grief. Maybe it wasn’t him. I focused on my path, following the trail we’d blazed a week before, then splitting off toward the shack. Digging the grave would take half an hour. I counted on safety for that short window of time. Even if the shooter had seen me leave the house, he’d have to have wings to make it to the spot of woods near the shack in time to do any damage. Hunkering down, I picked my way through the undergrowth, aiming for patches of sun and avoiding marshy areas. The smell of damp earth clung to my nose as I rushed through the crystalline air and bitter cold. My thoughts flitted back to Garrett asleep in the house. I’d locked all the doors and made sure he’d be comfortable. Assuring myself that he wouldn’t be too mad when I got back home safe, I turned my attention to the thicket up ahead. Heading to the left, I veered among the dark tree trunks until I found the opening in the twisted vines. I powered inside, my wheels following the faded tire tracks I’d left before. I pulled to the right, away from the shack, and toward the dig site. After about ten more minutes of riding, I slowed as I approached the dented ground, the dead limbs hiding nothing from my trained eye. I rolled about ten feet from the depression and killed my engine. Then, I pulled off my helmet and listened. Minutes passed as my breath fogged in my face, and the tips of my ears began to ache from the cold. No sound, no breeze, just the infrequent sound of a woodpecker in a distant part of the forest. Satisfied, I slung my leg over the ATV and walked to the indentation. Dusky green moss crept along one side, covered here and there with brown leaf litter. One corner had a deeper depression—maybe due to normal settling
or perhaps an animal trying to get at whatever lay beneath the ground. The limbs around and on top of the grave had hidden it for maybe a season. After that, the leaves rotted off and left only interwoven branches, like two hands crossed over a dormant heart. I pulled them away and grabbed my rake to scrape the site clean of any other debris. The ache in my shoulder grew with each movement, but the burning need to know only glowed brighter. I pulled my small hand spade from my pack and knelt at the edge of the grave. The cold earth seeped through my jeans to my knees as I shoved the wide edge of the shovel into the damp dirt. It sank in easily. My heart thumped with heavy beats, as if filled with tar instead of blood. Putting pressure on the handle, I turned a small bit of earth up and out of the depression. I dug the way I’d been taught, the way I knew would preserve whatever I found. Slowly, methodically. Another slice into the earth, another push deeper into the mystery. Five turns of the spade later, each one creeping inward, I hit something springy. Something unnatural. Wiping the sweat off my brow, I shucked my heavy coat and tossed it onto the ATV. I stepped into the grave, careful to plant my feet where I’d already dug, then took a small hand shovel to the spot. I dug around the anomaly, trying to be careful despite my desire to hurry, to finally discover what I’d been searching for. I excavated around the shape until I hit something hard. Scraping the dirt off the top, a sob rocketed from my lungs and tears overwhelmed what little resistance I had put up. A shoe. I’d found a shoe. Blue canvas with a white sole. The only type of shoe I’d ever seen my father wear. I’d found him. “Daddy.” I choked on my grief. Bottled for too long, it had fermented into something uglier, something bitter, and I hated whoever had done this. Bile rose in my throat, and I darted out of the grave as my breakfast pushed its way into my mouth and out onto the unforgiving ground. Acid burned my throat, my mouth, and I didn’t stop retching until I was completely empty. I stood and leaned my head on the nearest tree as I tried to calm the shake in my hands. Who did it? I breathed deeply, forcing myself to go about this more rationally. I needed to find clues, something to point me to his killer. The grave was the only place I could look for them, but the thought of digging him the rest of the way out horrified me, sent my skin crawling. I dry-heaved and clenched my eyes closed as endless tears streamed down my cheeks. A scuffing sound at my back caught my attention. I turned and reached for the gun tucked in my jeans, but someone grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked me back and then shoved me face-first into the tree. I crumpled, blood streaming down my face. “I told you to stay out of these woods.” The scratchy voice, the unkempt beard. Recognition flared right along with a burst of fear. Danny loomed over me, my pistol in his hand. He flipped it so he had it by the barrel. The butt of my own gun was the last thing I saw.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“HEY!” My right cheek stung, and my ears rang. “Hey, wake the fuck up!” Someone yelled and slapped me, the sound like a shot. I opened my eyes and tried to back away, but I couldn’t move. My wrists and ankles were bound. Danny reared back to slap me again. “Stop!” I struggled away, but bumped into something sturdy and fell to my side. I blinked hard, but only one of my eyes opened. The dim interior of the shack greeted me as Danny yanked me upright and shoved me against the wall. “Stay put.” I sucked in air to scream. He clapped a filthy hand over my mouth and leaned down into my face. “Scream and I’ll put a bullet in your head.” I breathed out hard through my nose. “Nobody would hear you anyway.” He sat back on his haunches, the dim light seeping through the doorway only illuminating half his face. The matted beard seemed even filthier, the spit streaks forming two dark lines from each side of his mouth. He scratched at his sallow skin with one hand and pointed my gun at me with the other. “Let me go.” I glanced toward the door. “Nowhere. That’s where you’re going.” He scratched harder. “I told you to stop digging. Told you to leave well enough alone.” His voice grew to a shout. “I told you to go back!” I cringed against the wall as his face contorted into a mask of rage. “Please, just let me go.” I coughed. The pain in my head blossomed like the cruelest flower, and I tasted blood. “Please.” “I can’t! You done found your daddy.” He yanked on his beard. “That’ll get back to me. I can’t have that. No I can’t.” He shook his head. “Sure can’t. No, no, can’t. No.” “I won’t tell anyone.” I leaned forward, trying to look into his eyes, trying to convince him my life was worth more than a bullet and another shallow grave. “Please.”
“Stop saying please!” He stood, but kept the gun trained on me. “I can’t change it. Not now. Too late.” He sagged against the opposite wall. “Why didn’t you listen? Why?” “I had to find him.” Dizziness took hold, and I dry-heaved. The effort felt like a spikey sledgehammer to my face. “You found him. So what?” He bent over and stared into my one good eye. “You think he wanted you to die out here, too?” “Why did you kill him?” “Does it matter?” He shrugged. “Yes!” I screamed with what little force I had left. “Tell me why.” “You want a story before bedtime, is that it? You want to know it all before I kill you and bury you in the same grave?” He mumbled under his breath too quickly for me to follow. “You know what curiosity gets you?” He cackled, his missing teeth like the holes in his sanity. “Come on. I’ll show you.” He pushed off the wall, and I tried to make a move toward the door. All I managed to do was make it easier for him to rip me off the ground and drag me out of the shack. He took hold of my hair and yanked me toward my father’s grave. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you all you need to know about curiosity.” Agony and disbelief punctured every soft tissue of my body as my knees hit the forest floor and he dragged me along by my hair. My screams didn’t stop, but he wasn’t concerned with the noise anymore. He sped up, rushing through the woods. I skittered along the ground, kicking and twisting as the pressure on my hair increased until I feared it would rip out. He threw me into the grave, then grabbed my wrists. After a few moments, he grunted, and the pressure on my wrists eased; he’d untied me. He scrambled out of the grave, my gun still in his hand. He grabbed the small spade and threw it to me. “Dig!” I shook my head. “No.” “Fucking dig or I’ll put a bullet in your forehead right this second.” He shook the pistol at me. “No loss now that I’ve fucked up your pretty face.” He stepped closer and stabbed his tatty shoe into the dirt. “His head was about here if I remember correctly. That’s where I want you to dig.” Tears coursed down my cheeks as I took the spade with trembling hands. I thought of throwing it at him, but I knew I was kidding myself. One shot and it was over. I was going to die here. “Dig!” His scream was animalistic as he began muttering to himself again. I pushed the spade into the earth and hit something only a few inches down. A tink of the shovel blade and all forward progress halted. I knew the sound, the feel. It was a skull. My father’s skull. “Please, don’t make me.” I stared up at him as horror ripped through my mind. “Please.” “You need to learn.” What might have been remorse passed across his face. “This is what
happens when you keep pushing and pushing and pushing. Now dig. Learn your last lesson. Dig.” “No.” He fired a shot into the dirt. “Dig!” My body turned to ice, my heart to forgotten stone. I had no way out. Digging was the only thing that would prolong my life, give me some semblance of a chance. I gripped the shovel with freezing fingers and moved a few inches to the left of where I’d just planted the spade. The shovel blade sank into the dank earth, nothing halting its progress. I twisted it slightly, then leaned on the handle. A skull pressed up through the earth, pushing through the secrets and the lies until the dappled sunlight hit the dingy bone. I sobbed as bits of flesh stayed behind and strands of hair just a few shades darker than mine snaked through the dirt. I sat back and threw the spade away. “See, girl? See?” He walked over to me. “Your daddy, he asked too many questions, too. Wanted to know things. Him and Lillian.” His voice cracked. “My Lillian.” “You killed her.” A tremor went through me as he wrapped one arm around my shoulders. “Both of them.” “I’d never hurt my Lillian. No. No. That wasn’t me. That was him. Not me. No.” “My dad?” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at my father’s skull any longer. The cheeks I’d kissed, the face I’d loved before I even knew what love was. “No, fool woman! The one who runs things around here. The one who told me to do this.” He pointed the gun toward my father’s skull. “The mayor?” He cackled, the sound sick and wrong in the cold, quiet woods. “Try a little closer to home. Cozied right up, didn’t you? Did you know he likes to chase ‘em through the woods? Hunt them?” He ended his laughter on a wheezing note. Did he mean Garrett? No. “Garrett had nothing to do with his sister’s death. You’re lying.” “You think I’m just some mad dog killer, don’t you?” He tapped the barrel against my forehead. “That I just killed your daddy for kicks.” I winced, but he kept me still, his arm tightening around my shoulders. “I’m not a mad dog. No, no, no. I’m a kept dog. I get table scraps if I behave. But you, you were like a little bunny out here, running through the woods, whee! And I chased you, but instead of snapping you up in my jaws”—He shrieked and clapped his remaining teeth together—“I warned you.” His voice lowered to a hurried whisper. “I tried to tell you. Just like your daddy, you didn’t stop asking questions. Just like Lillian, you have to die. Just like both of them, your blood will be on my hands.” “You said you didn’t kill her. Lillian. You said—” “I didn’t stop it. I haven’t stopped any of the killing around here. Done a fair share myself. Now I’ll add you to my list.” He sighed and pressed the barrel to the center of my
forehead. “I really do keep a list, you know? It’s long, longer than my beard, longer than your pretty brown hair, longer than Lillian’s was.” He mumbled quick words. “The mass grave in the woods.” The photo from Lillian’s memory card resurfaced, though this time my body was piled in with the others. No. “Seen some of my handiwork, eh? I didn’t know you’d ventured over there, but I guess a gal like you gets around.” He cackled and pressed the metal harder into my skull. “Lots of graves in these woods. Lots of señoritas and señors and whoever I can get for cheap.” I couldn’t follow his words, only the shine of his barrel. “Let me go.” His finger rested on the trigger. I couldn’t see anything else. Just the cold metal and his dirty index finger flirting with my death. “They always say that.” He chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “I never do.” I shoved my elbow into his side with all the strength I had and grabbed for the gun. A deafening shot went off, and my right ear burned and rang. I fought with him, both of us grunting as I tried to wrest the gun away from his bony grip. He shoved me to the ground as we struggled, my hands around his on the butt of the gun. He punched me in the jaw and ripped the gun away from my desperate fingers. It was over. I stared up at him as he leveled the pistol. Another, quieter shot went off, and warmth sprayed across my face. “Drop it!” Someone shouted through the constant scream in my ears. More pops, like fireworks going off on the next block. Something large landed on my chest, knocking the wind out of me and blocking what little vision I had left. Everything went quiet except the whine in my ears, and I realized this is what dying feels like.
THE SHADOWY WOODS flew by in a rush. I bounced along like a bag of potatoes, lifeless and heavy. It was cold, getting colder, and I couldn’t seem to gather my thoughts. The pain in my head didn’t stop and dimly echoed from other places in my body. And I cried. Not because of the sharp aches like razors across my mind, but because of the man in the grave. After what I imagined were hours, the jostling stopped. Strong arms lifted me. “She doesn’t look so good.” A familiar voice. My ears had stopped ringing, but sound only came through in muffled tones. “Don’t you think I know that?” Another voice, this one laced with worry. Sheriff Crow. “Help me get her into the truck.” “Yes, sir.” The fuzzy shape moved away. Rory, maybe? “You’re going to be all right.” The sheriff walked gingerly, cradling me close to him. “Hear me? You’ll be okay.” I tried to respond, but nothing made it past my swollen lips. He laid me down, my head slightly elevated. The engine cranked, and faint warmth poured against my left arm. “We’ve got you, Ms. Vale.” Rory. The back of my head rested on his leg as he pressed down on my forehead. More agony bloomed where he applied pressure, and I tried to swat his hands away as the truck began to move. “Stay still.” He didn’t move his hand. “I have to stop the bleed. Shh. Please, let me help you.” I dropped my hands, my fingers prickling as feeling returned. Try a little closer to home. Garrett. Cozied right up. Garrett. I dry-heaved, my body convulsing as everything inside me rebelled at the thought. Rory leaned over and pressed his forearm across my hips to hold me still. “Sheriff!” “Keep her steady, goddammit! I’m going as fast as I can.” “I don’t know if she’s going to…” Their words faded away as my thoughts circled Garrett like a murder of crows. The man I’d slept with, the one I’d come to love—he was responsible for my father’s death. He’d played me this whole time. But what was he trying to hide? My thoughts scattered until an unwavering determination remained. I would find out. Garrett would answer my questions. And then he would pay.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“—ABOUT FIFTEEN HOURS , GIVE or take. I’ve given her something for the pain every two hours. Lessened the dose a little while ago.” “When do you think the swelling will go down?” “Days. These injuries are pretty bad, and head wounds take a while to stop swelling and bruising.” A cough. “Do you have any leads on who did it?” “That’s an ongoing investigation, Doc. Can’t say more.” Someone squeezed my hand. “You’ll heal, dear. You’ll heal in time.” The hand disappeared. “I’m going to get something to eat, then come keep an eye on her.” “Sounds good. I’ll sit with her while you’re gone.” Sheriff Crow’s voice grew louder. I forced my good eye open and blinked several times to clear the film. I lay in bed in a darkened room with a wide window looking out onto woods. The walls and ceilings were made of rough-hewn logs, and the décor was rustic with two sets of antlers on the wall near the door. “Elise?” “Yes.” My voice came out in a croak. “Here.” After a beat, a straw pressed against my lips. I drank as best I could. Sheriff Crow took the cup away and wiped the water off my chin. He stared into my good eye. “You had me worried there for a minute, young lady.” “Makes two of us.” My voice scratched through my throat. “You’re safe here. I was trying to get you to the hospital, but you sort of had a fit on the way and then lost consciousness. I radioed up to the Lodge, hoping like hell Doc Lewis was here or nearby. We lucked up. He was on his way.” He swiped his hat off and dropped it on the small wood table next to my IV stand. “Can you talk, or would you rather wait?” He took my hand, grasping gently. “Talk.” “What happened out there?” “I saw a grave. That day when Garrett was shot.” His name felt like a curse word on my
tongue. “I went back out there myself to see if it was…” I swallowed hard. It was too late now. My secret was out. The sheriff and Rory must have seen the grave, the skull. I took a deep breath. “To see if it was my father.” He squinted in confusion. “Why would your father be buried in Blackwood like that?” “He died there. Vince Gallant.” A spark of recognition lit, like a popping ember in a fire, and he opened his eyes wide. “Vince Gallant was your daddy?” “Yes. That’s why I’m out here. To find him. Find out what happened.” “Hell.” He ran a hand through his hair and sat back. “I haven’t thought about him in a while. Didn’t know he had a daughter.” “You knew him?” “Yeah. Went to high school together. I was a couple years ahead of him. Then he came back around about two years ago or so. Didn’t see him after that.” He shook his head. “From the looks of that grave, he’s been here the whole time. What the hell happened out there?” “Danny killed him.” His expression soured and he moved close again. “That crazy old coot.” He paled. “Jesus. If we hadn’t been out looking for poachers nearby, we never would have heard you screaming. Heard the shot.” “I’m glad you found me.” “Me too.” He squeezed my hand. “That day’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. First time I’ve ever killed a man in the line of duty.” “I can’t imagine how that must feel, but thank you. You saved my life. He was going to kill me.” “Then that makes it all worth it.” He scooted closer, the legs of the chair clacking against my bed frame. “More than worth it.” We sat in silence for a while as I replayed the scene in the woods. Other than Danny’s words, I had nothing to go on. And I couldn’t sort through them. Why would Garrett want me dead? “Sheriff?” “Yeah.” “Danny said things. I don’t really understand what he meant, but maybe you will.” He cocked his head to the side. “Like what?” “That he killed my father. That someone put him up to killing me.” “What? Who?”
A ruckus in the hallway had the sheriff on his feet with a hand on his gun. He hurried to the door and peered out. I shuddered, a tremor shooting through me at the thought of more danger, more violence. Clenching the sheets between my hands, I stared at the door and imagined any number of horrors coming for me. “Where is she?” Garrett’s voice, wheezing but still strong, shot into the room. Sheriff Crow relaxed. “Don’t.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Don’t what?” He glanced over his shoulder at me. I stared at the door, then glanced back to him. He seemed to understand and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. “Garrett, calm down. You aren’t well.” “Where the fuck is she?” he roared. I cowered, my entire body shaking right down to my soul. “Garrett, you shouldn’t be up.” “Is she in there?” A scuffle erupted outside the door. “Red! Red!” “Garrett, stop!” More scuffling, and the door burst open. Garrett ran in, blood soaking through the gauze over his chest. Wild eyes, hair even wilder, he lunged toward the bed. I screamed and held out my hands as a pathetic defense. Confusion crossed his eyes before Sheriff Crow tackled him to the ground. I stared down at the struggling mass on the floor, and only sank back into the bed when Sheriff Crow clicked his cuffs on Garrett’s wrists. “Calm the fuck down, boy.” The sheriff clambered to his feet and pulled Garrett up with him. “Doc!” he yelled out into the hallway. “What happened?” Garrett still tried to surge toward me even as I pushed back into the pillows. “Who did this to you?” Rage infused his words, and I almost believed it. Almost. “You know who did it.” I hated the quaver in my voice, the weakness I’d just shown. “How would I know who?” He shook his head before glowering. “All I know is I’ll fucking kill him.” “What in seven hells?” Dr. Lewis poked his head through the door. “You need to check him.” Sheriff Crow yanked on Garrett’s arm to try and pull him from the room. “No, you need to tell me who hurt you. Now, Red.” Garrett strained against the sheriff’s hold, his eyes never leaving mine. “Come on now. I’ll put you next door so you can calm down.” Sheriff Crow pulled again,
but Garrett wouldn’t budge. “It was Danny, all right? Now come on.” Garrett rattled his cuffs. “I’ll fucking kill him.” Sheriff Crow slumped a little, his shoulders pitching forward. “You won’t have to. I already did.” “Red, tell me what the hell is going o—” “You need help, Sheriff?” Rory had arrived in the hallway. “Just keep an eye on her. Come on, Garrett. Let the doc patch you up, and I’ll tell you what happened.” “I’m not leaving her.” My bottom lip trembled as I stared at the man I thought I knew, not sure if I wanted to run away from him or into his arms. It was all acting, had to be. “She’s in no state and neither are you.” Sheriff Crow gestured toward me. “You’re scaring her. Just look at her and have a little mercy, Garrett.” Garrett relented enough for the sheriff to pull him a few steps away. “I’ll be next door. Just next door. Nothing will hurt you. I promise. Not while I’m here.” “Not even you?” A tear rolled down my cheek and stopped at the patch of gauze across the middle of my nose. “What?” Hurt bloomed in his eyes like blood in clear water. The sheriff pulled him away, and pain welcomed me back into its thorny embrace.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
I SAT UP IN my bed, a steak knife I’d stolen from my dinner concealed under the covers. “You said I could see her. Let me the fuck in.” Garrett’s pissed off growl in the hallway had me clutching the knife harder. “Hold on a minute, now.” Rory kept his voice even. “The Sheriff left me in charge of this whole rodeo, so you can go in when I say you can go in.” A thump sounded against the rustic wood walls. “Fuck, Garrett. Get off!” “Move!” The door opened, and Garrett rushed in. “Hey!” Rory followed close on his heels. “Ms. Vale, I can throw him out of—” “Just you fucking try it, Deputy Douche.” Garrett whirled on him. To Rory’s credit, he didn’t back down. But it didn’t stop Garrett from grabbing him and tossing him into the hallway. Garrett closed the door and clicked the lock. My ears began to burn, my stomach in a knot. “Ms. Vale!” Rory banged on the solid door. “I’m okay,” I called. “Just wait outside.” Garrett rushed to me and sat on the bed, then pulled me into his arms. “Jesus, what’s going on?” He pulled away and ran his palm down my swollen cheek. “How could he? I knew Danny.” His demeanor turned to stone. “I would kill him with my fucking bare hands for doing this to you.” “Would you?” I tried to weigh his worth, to decide if he was a monster or a man. “What do you mean?” He pulled me into his arms again. The furnace of my heart sputtered and sparked from the nearness of him, but doubt darkened any flames. “I mean that Danny said things.” I hadn’t released the blade. “Like what?” He kissed my forehead, his warm lips reminding me of nights spent safe in his arms.
“About the graves.” He leaned back and peered at me, his hands still cupping my face. “What about them? Does he know where they are?” Why couldn’t I sense his lies? Everything from the tilt of his head to the worry in his eyes screamed that he was innocent, that he didn’t know what I was talking about. “I’m tired.” I backed away from his touch and pressed into my pillows. “Red, please, just tell me.” He clasped my hand between his. “Let me help you.” “The doctor said I need to rest if I want to get my strength back. We’ll talk when I’m better. I need some time. Alone.” The hurt that flashed across his face echoed in my heart, stabbing into the soft tissue and starting a slow bleed. But how could I trust him? The simple answer was that I couldn’t. I should have listened to my mother. Until I found the graves and dug down deep enough to hit the truth, I couldn’t trust anyone. Not even the man sitting in front of me with love in his eyes.
“YOU ALL RIGHT?” Rory walked down the hall with me. I glanced back to the room where I knew Garrett was holed up. The sheriff had tried to escort him off the property twice since he’d visited me. Each time was met with broken furniture and more curses than I’d ever heard in my life. He stayed in his room, and I slept uneasily the past two nights. “I’m fine. Just hungry.” I gave Rory a wan smile. He returned it five times brighter and put his hand at the small of my back. “Breakfast is already cooking.” The smell of bacon and butter wafted on the air, and my stomach growled. My appetite
had returned once Dr. Lewis stopped the IV. Once the pain from my injuries had receded to a dull ache, I spent my time hunkered down in my room, trying to form a game plan. Rory and I turned the corner and passed the large glass windows giving a view of the Lodge’s gym and sauna area. A few older men walked on state-of-the-art treadmills and stopped their conversation to give us small waves. “Mayor.” Rory kicked his chin up. I stared harder and recognized him. Mayor Freeman walked at a steady pace, his beady eyes focused on me. He’d come to visit me once, assuring me that the school was aware of my condition and that the sheriff’s department was personally overseeing the exhumation of my father’s bones. We continued down the wide hall lined with rustic décor and modern amenities. Rory pushed the door leading to the large dining room. Antlers and game heads covered the walls and clear windows looked out onto the barren woods. A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight, giving the ground a pathetic smattering of white. The darkness shone through, the rotted leaves and decay overpowering the perfect flakes. I let Rory lead me to a table next to the windows, and we sat. Pam, the cook and waitress, didn’t need our orders. We’d had the same thing for the past few days. “Are you sure you want to leave today?” Rory flipped over our coffee cups and poured from the carafe that had already been set out. “Yes.” “What are you going to do?” I took my coffee and sipped it, the bitter sting reminding me I was still alive. “Finish my survey.” Find the graves on Blackwood property. “I’ll go with you.” He leaned back as Pam put a plate of sausage, eggs, and pancakes down in front of him. “No thanks.” I slid my napkin into my lap as Pam served me. “Elise, you can’t go out there alone. Not again.” I wouldn’t. I intended to go back to campus and get a handful of undergraduates, lots of university attention, and a solid grid-by-grid inspection of Blackwood. The mass grave wouldn’t stay hidden with that sort of inspection. Once I found it, I’d figure out what the hell had gone on—what had gone wrong—at Blackwood. And I’d know for certain if Garrett was responsible for the deaths. “You still in there?” Rory’s voice snapped me back to the dining room. “Yeah, sorry. I’m not going alone. I want to get some backup from school. Bring some undergrads to speed up the process.” He met my eyes. “Good. I’ll be there whenever you want to go. The sheriff won’t give me any shit about spending time with you. Protection is part of the job.” “What about the mayor?”
“He won’t say anything.” He shrugged and speared a piece of sausage. “Sheriff Crow is the boss of me.” “You weren’t able to find out anything else about Danny?” I tasted my grits, but gave up on them when I realized nothing could compare to the ones Ty whipped up at the diner. “No. That’s a kicker.” He shook his head, his short sandy hair barely moving. “I can’t even trace him back to a house, under a bridge, anywhere. I don’t know where he was living. That sort of ruins the whole search for clues. I think he was just crazy, you know?” I chewed through my disagreement and remained silent. “Just like, found your dad out there, killed him. Found you out there, tried to kill you. Crimes of opportunity. He got lucky. You got unlucky.” “Sure.” I bit into my bacon and tried to gauge whether Rory was truly clueless. My bullshit meter didn’t blink, but I’d been wrong before. The thought of Garrett, of the things I’d done with him, burned through me until I couldn’t eat another bite. “I’m ready.” I folded my napkin next to my plate. “Now?” Rory spoke around a mouthful of pancake. “Yeah.” I stood as he took a gulp of coffee. “Sure.” He followed me to my feet. “I was thinking it would be this afternoon. I have to run to the back of the Long property first, check on a report of a deer in the road. Can you wait for me to get back?” I didn’t want to spend another minute in my room. With my mind made up, it was time to leave. Time to get started on finding the truth no matter how much it hurt. “I’ll just go with you.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “There might be a dead deer. Is that okay?” I wanted to laugh. I’d seen my father’s skull a few days ago. I could handle a deer.
THE SUV ROCKED along the gravel road, bumping over the back way out of the Lodge. A shotgun was locked upright between the front seats, and dirt was caked along the floor mats. “You want music?” Rory reached over and flipped on the radio. A country song warbled through the speakers. I stared out the window and fought the sadness that seeped into me. Garrett. I was leaving him behind. Was he still in his room or watching me leave? Did he know that I intended to bring him down? That whatever sins he’d committed two years ago wouldn’t stay buried as long as I drew breath? “I used to hunt out here before they built the Lodge. Seems like now, though, they scared the game away. Too many people, you know?” Rory cleared his throat. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” “Mmhmm?” I pulled my coat closer around me as I waited for the heater to warm the small space. “I know this isn’t the most, um, opportune time to ask. But since you’re going to be in town for a little while, would you like to—” “Shh.” I peered out the window. “Stop the car!” Something in the woods caught my eye. A flash of orange. The SUV halted, its tires skidding a little over the gravel. “What is it?” Rory leaned over and stared in the same direction. “I saw something.” I couldn’t find the mark anymore, but I knew it had been there, the same one from Lillian’s photos. “What?” “Come on.” I yanked on the door handle and stepped out into the frozen air. I walked through the gravel and up onto the short bank next to the road before plunging
into the woods. “Wait just a gosh darn second!” Rory caught up and took my elbow, but he didn’t stop me from walking. “What did you see?” “Orange.” “Elise, maybe we should go on back to the Lodge. I don’t think you’ve recovered enough.” I stopped and turned to him. “I’m not crazy. There’s a mark. I think it’s on one of these trees. I have to find it. If you don’t want to help me, go back to the truck, but I will find it.” I ripped my elbow from his grasp and clambered over a fallen tree, my boot slipping in the snow along the top. “Jeez, woman. No need to get mad.” He followed and took my elbow again, helping me along. “Keep looking.” He scanned the trees as we maneuvered around a fallen branch. “What kind of mark?” “It’s like a circle with a squiggle through the middle.” “Like the Ghostbusters thing?” He tipped his hat back on his head. “Yeah, kind of like that.” “That’s familiar. I’ve seen that in these woods.” “In Blackwood?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets to avoid the chill. “No. Never out on that side of the county. Only over here.” “Here? What, like at the Lodge?” “Yeah.” He helped me over a small stream. “I reckon that’s right. It’s just a hunter’s mark, to remind them where the game trails are.” He pulled me to a stop. “It’s nothing, just a hunter’s mark, okay?” He put a hand to my cheek. “You’re already frozen. Let’s go back.” “No.” “Why?” Exasperation colored the word, but once again, he helped me walk farther into the woods. “Because I saw photos of that mark. I saw a grave near one of those marks. A mass grave.” “A mass grave? In Millwood County?” “Yes,” I hissed. “There’s something out here. I thought it was at Blackwood.” A burst of orange caught my attention. “There!” I pointed. He peered through the woods. “Yeah, there it is.” We trudged over to the marked tree, and Rory ran his hand over it. “Just a hunter’s mark, like I said.” “No. There’s more.” I took a few more steps, my eyes trained on the ground. “A clearing.
Right up ahead.” And something else, highlighted by the dusting of white. “Come on.” I hurried forward, almost jogging through the trees until I found it. “Whoa, what is that?” Rory caught up and stopped next to me. I looked from the ground to him. “It’s—” A shot went off, and one of Rory’s eyes exploded as the bullet cut through his skull.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
MY BACK HIT THE nearest tree, and I slid down into a crouch. Rory lay face up, his legs kicking slightly before he stilled. He’d fallen sideways, his body lying at the edge of the same mass grave from Lillian’s photo. I bit the back of my hand as I searched through the woods and tried to think of a way out. If I could get to the clearing, maybe I could run through it and into the trees— “Elise?” A familiar voice yelled to me through the woods. “Don’t move. I’m coming to you.” “Sheriff?” My eyes flickered from tree to tree and then back to Rory. My breakfast rose in my throat at the splash of gore staining the snow-dotted ground. Approaching footsteps flicked the switch to my fight or flight, and I took off, racing through the trees. I zigged hard left into the clearing and raced across the uneven ground, the dead blades of grass slapping against my legs. “Elise, stop!” The footsteps behind me intensified. Mortal terror gripped my insides and twisted them. I put everything I had into my steps, my muscles burning as I gained the opposite tree line and hurdled a fallen trunk with a sloppy jump. Skidding as I dropped back to the ground, I lost my footing and fell hard on my side. “Stop!” Another voice ahead of me. Fuck. I scrambled to my feet and darted to the right. Another shot, and a stinging pain erupted in my side. I shrieked and fell against the nearest tree. “Stop running, you stupid bitch!” The voice from ahead of me grew louder. I pressed my palm to my stomach, but I didn’t know what sort of damage lay beneath my coat. Each breath felt like a knife stab, and I sank to my knees, the cold earth welcoming me as I rested my forehead against the elm tree in front of me. “Got another fucking mess on my hands.” Mayor Freeman emerged from the trees ahead of me, a high-powered rifle slung over his shoulder. “Am I a magnet for dumb bitches? Is that it? I feel like that has to be it.” “Shut your yap,” Sheriff Crow’s voice rang out behind me, his heavy footsteps echoing
through my mind. “I’m just saying—” “I don’t give a fuck. Shut your mouth.” Sheriff Crow gripped me under my right arm and pulled me to my feet. “Winged you, did he?” He turned me around and pushed my back against the tree, then opened my coat and whistled. “That’s worse than a winging, darling.” I looked down, watching the red stain spread across my top. Sheriff Crow kicked his hat back on his head and clamped a hand around my throat. “I’d tell you to keep pressure on that, but it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” Mayor Freeman walked closer and leaned in toward my face. “Dumb bitches never listen, do—” Sheriff Crow’s hand flew in an instant, punching the mayor in the side of the face. The man stumbled back then held a hand to his jaw. “When I tell you to shut the fuck up, I mean it, Len. Do we have to keep going over this?” Sheriff Crow’s voice had the same friendly tenor it always did. He even smiled a little, as if reminding a small child of the appropriate way to behave. “Right. Sorry.” The mayor dropped his gaze. “Good.” He turned back to me, the intelligence I’d seen in his eyes crackling like sparklers. “Now, I think you know what has to happen next.” “N-No.” I pressed back into the tree, the pain in my abdomen painting everything in a surreal light—the snow too bright white, the earth a dark shadow beneath it. “I tried.” He ran his fingers across my forehead and through my hair. “I did everything I could. Put your car back on that road so you wouldn’t keep looking for it. Left that body in the woods and claimed a hunting accident to keep you away. Even left you with Garrett so he could scare you off.” He leaned closer, his lips at my ear. “I saw you. In the woods. Saw Garrett fuck you raw. I watched the whole thing.” “Get off me.” I tried to knee him, but my limbs barely obeyed my commands, my life ebbing out of the wound in my abdomen. He pulled away from my ear, but leaned close enough for our noses to almost touch. “You know where I went wrong? I underestimated you. I did the same thing with Lillian and your daddy. They found out about what we do here at the Lodge.” He clucked his tongue. “And they lacked an entrepreneurial spirit.” “Wh-what do you do?” My teeth chattered as my worst fears began to roll off his tongue. “We run a hunting lodge. But what we hunt isn’t your average quarry.” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “It’s something special. Something people will pay for. You wouldn’t believe how much they’ll pay to hunt here.” “The missing persons.” The cork board at the diner, all the names and faces. Too many for such a small area. “At first.” He nodded. “We had plenty of trash to pick from in the beginning. Then we had
to expand our operation. Danny helped out, making sure our special deliveries arrived and were in shape enough to run. These people come here looking for a handout. We give them something better.” He snorted at his own sick joke. “A bullet.” I stalled. “Rory?” “He didn’t know. Shame about him, though. You killed him. When he heard your screams in the woods that day—even though I specifically told Danny to do it quiet”—He twisted his neck until it cracked—“I had to intervene. You got another chance. Then today you dragged him out to the graves.” He shook his head. “Game over.” “Garrett?” “That’s the best fucking part.” He laughed. “Had nothing to do with any of it. That basket case’s only mistake in all of this was getting involved with you. When I get done here, I’ll go to his house and hang him the same way I did his sister. Tragic.” “He’ll kill you.” I pressed harder on my wound, refusing to let go, to give up. “No, he won’t. He’ll let me in the door like he always does. He’ll leave a nice note detailing why he killed your daddy, poor Danny, and you. Won’t be able to live with the guilt.” He affected a contrite air. “Terrible shame for the community to lose that fucking nutjob.” “Pete?” The mayor’s tentative voice shocked me out of my horror. I had to fight, to try something. Sheriff Crow kept staring into my eyes, one hand on my throat. “What?” “Can I do it?” “No.” He tightened his grip on my neck, and I tried to grab his wrist. My bloodied hand slid off, but I grasped his coat sleeve. “Why not?” “Because she’s mine.” He squeezed harder, my breath gone as his eyes bored into mine. “Pete, come on. Give me a shot. I’ve been working out and practicing and—” “Oh, for the love of Christ.” He released his hold on my throat, and I choked down huge gulps of air. “Make it quick. We have to bury Rory and her, and we don’t have that dumb fuck Danny to do it for us anymore.” “Okay. I can do it.” Mayor Freeman pulled his gun off his shoulder and rested it against the front of his camouflage coat. “Run.” Sheriff Crow stepped back and put his hands on his hips. “Get going. Might as well use you for target practice. Waste not, want not.” “Fuck you.” My voice barely cut through the cold stillness. “Run or I’ll put a bullet in your face.” The sheriff pulled out his service pistol and aimed it at my forehead. An idea took root in the chaos of my mind. “I’ll run.” I coughed, and agony streaked through my body. “But you have to give me a head start.”
Sheriff Crow smiled and slapped the mayor on the back. “We can do that, right Len?” “I’d rather not. We’re in a hurry, and—” “You want to shoot her in the back after she’s taken three steps? That’s not very sporting of you. We can do better than that.” Sheriff Crow grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me forward. “Give her the full Lodge experience.” He shoved me, and I managed to stay upright from sheer will. “Twenty minutes.” I took a step backwards. Sheriff Crow laughed, real mirth crinkling the skin around his eyes. “Five.” “Ten.” “Think you can handle stalking a wounded bitch after ten minutes?” Crow glanced at the mayor. “Yes.” The mayor puffed out his chest and snugged his rifle tighter in his arms. “We’ll see. If you can’t, then I’m going to do it with my hands.” “Deal.” Mayor Freeman smiled, like a child given a chance to impress a grown-up. Sheriff Crow took his hat off and waved it at me. “Run, rabbit, run.” I turned and stumbled away through the undergrowth. “Need to go faster than that.” Sheriff Crow laughed. I didn’t look back, just kept moving through the woods, back toward the road, toward the SUV with the shotgun inside. One foot in front of the other, I stepped as quickly as the pain in my stomach allowed, each footfall sending a jarring misery through me. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t. I passed through the clearing and tried to avoid looking at Rory. Until I didn’t. Until I realized Rory had a gun. Fuck. I yanked his coat up, but his holster was empty. Sheriff Crow must have already taken it. My fingers had lost feeling, but I shoved them into his pockets looking for anything I could use as a weapon. In his right pocket I found a small knife. No keys, nothing that could get me out of this frozen hell. I could stay here. Just wait. The end was coming—either a bullet, bleeding out, or the sheriff’s hands around my throat. The row of graves blurred as I swayed on my knees. No. I pressed my palm against the wound, the pain dragging me back to the present, to the cold eventuality of my death if I failed to move. How long? I didn’t know how much time had passed by the time I forced myself back to my feet and began stumbling toward the road. My forward progress took all my effort. One step, another step. If I was moving, I had a chance. So I kept pushing forward, even as my vision began to dim and my legs felt as if they were fighting against quicksand. I saw the glint of the truck up ahead when the Sheriff’s voice cut through the woods. “Ready or not, here we come!” Step, step, step. After an eternity, my feet hit gravel, and I fell against the truck. With what was left of my strength, I yanked the passenger door open. Leaning across the seat, I
grabbed the shotgun and tried to pull it free. I couldn’t feel it, couldn’t tell if I had even moved it. My knees hit the running board just as the back passenger window shattered, a rifle shot roaring through the trees. They’d caught up. It was only a matter of moments. I didn’t have time to cry. And all I could think was that I’d finally found what I’d been looking for, but the price of knowledge had turned out to be far too high. I pulled myself into the passenger side and closed the door. Curling into the fetal position in the floorboard, I stared at the sundappled woods through the driver’s side window as my eyes began to flutter closed. Another slug lodged into the side of the truck. The faint sound of gravel crunching beneath boots told me I was done. All done. And I was…relieved. I let my eyes close as more shots rang out. So many shots. Someone yelled my name. No, not my name. The color that soaked my shirt, my coat, my hands. Red. “Garret!” The sheriff yelled. “It’s me. Come on. The mayor’s hurt bad. You got him in the head. I need to call it in. You’re looking at murder one. Let me help you.” “Go fuck yourself!” The driver’s side door opened. I turned my head and saw Garrett. He crouched down and reached out for me as the glass in the passenger window shattered. “I’m sorry.” I said it, but he didn’t seem to hear me. Did I say it? I meant it. More than I’d ever meant anything in my life. “Shhh.” He yanked out the floor mat, then reached up and pulled the visor down. A set of keys tumbled onto the driver’s seat. “Stay down.” He raised a pistol and fired three shots through the window over my head. “Fuck!” The sheriff screamed. I hoped Garrett landed a kill shot. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he shoved the key into the ignition and started the truck. Another, even louder shot rang out followed by the hard thunk of punctured metal. We surged forward, Garrett leaning down as he floored it on the rough road. “I’ve got you. Red, you’ll be fine.” He reached out and took my bloody hand. I couldn’t feel him. I felt nothing at all.
CHAPTER THIRTY
DÉJÀ VU. T HE TERM wasn’t strong enough for when I woke up in a hospital room with Garrett sitting next to me, my hand in his. I tried to speak to him, but something blocked my voice. His head was bowed, and he pulled my hand to his lips. I squeezed his fingers. His head bobbed up, his eyes wide. “You’re awake.” He turned his head to the side and yelled, “She’s awake!” He pressed his palm to the side of my face. “Red.” I leaned against his steady pressure. Tears gleamed in his eyes as the nurse—the same one from our last visit—hustled into the room. “Ms. Vale?” She leaned over the other side of my bed and spoke clearly and almost too loudly. “You lost a lot of blood. Dr. Turner repaired the damage to your liver caused by the bullet, but you’ll need to stay here for several days to recover. You’re still intubated to make sure you keep breathing well. We’ll take the tube out once you’re awake for a bit. You can’t talk, though. Blink one for yes, two for no. And press the call button if you need anything. Understand?” I blinked once. “Good. I’m going to let the doctor know you’re awake.” She tinkered with one of my monitors and took my blood pressure, then left, her shoes squeaking with each step. Garrett sat on the edge of my bed and kissed my hand again. “You’re safe. I swear.” I blinked once, though the shadow of Sheriff Crow passed across my mind. Garrett seemed to hear my thoughts. “Sheriff Crow got away, but not for long. There’s a state trooper outside your door, and the governor has ordered a perimeter around the county. He won’t escape.” I glanced to the door, the windows. I felt like the bed beneath me disappeared and I was sinking through to the floor below and lower. The sheriff was coming for me, chasing me. His footsteps sped up along with the beep of some machine. I clenched my eyes shut. “Nurse!” Garrett yelled. I couldn’t breathe. Sheriff Crow was going to kill me just like my dad and Lillian. The cold grave would open, and I would tumble in, landing amidst the rest of the victims and
barely disturbing the sparse snow along the edges. “Red, please.” Squeaking met my ears again, then hands landed on me. I struggled, pushing and fighting. Black. I tried to call black, but the word wouldn’t come out. “Red, you’re safe. I’m here.” Garrett’s voice broke. “Listen to me. Listen. I’m here. No one will hurt you. I swear I’ll die before any of them touch you again. I swear it. Hold onto me.” He cupped my face with his hands. “I’ve got you.” I opened my eyes and stared into his sparkling blues. Garrett, not the sheriff, held me. The nurse had both hands on my right arm, pinning it down. My body relaxed as I looked into his familiar, kind eyes. I was safe. The rapidly beeping monitor began to slow. Another nurse darted in with a syringe. I shook my head as much as I could. “Are you sure, honey?” My nurse let up on my arm and leaned down to stare into my eyes. “I can send you back to sleep for a bit.” I blinked twice as slowly and deliberately as I could. “All right, but if you have another attack, I’ll have to sedate you.” She pocketed the syringe. “You need to rest.” I blinked once, and Garrett wiped my tears away with his thumbs. “She’s all right.” He didn’t take his eyes from mine. “She’s strong. Strongest person I’ve ever met.” “Seems to me like you’re the one upsetting her.” She scowled at him. “Ms. Vale, would you like Mr. Blackwood to leave?” I blinked twice. After a wary glance to Garrett, she strode out. “I’ll be just outside at the station.” I tried to calm myself, to snap out of the aftershocks of fear. Garrett wasn’t the enemy. He’d saved me. Again. He kissed my palm and sank back into the chair next to me. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea about any of it.” He pressed the back of my hand to his cheek. “I still can’t believe it.” He sighed and ran his lips along my knuckles. “Do you want me to tell you about it?” Blink. “I don’t want to upset you.” I need to know. I squeeze his hand. “You sure?” Blink. “When I found out you left with Rory, I followed. By the time I caught up, all I saw was
you staggering out of the woods and into Rory’s truck.” His voice turned cold. “I saw them chasing you, and I didn’t understand, but I knew I’d kill them to protect you.” He laced our fingers together. “All I had was a pistol. I aimed for Len. He was the one shooting at the truck you were in. I killed him in a few shots. Sheriff Crow ducked behind a tree. I should have stayed and shot him in the fucking face, but I couldn’t risk losing you.” So much killing. Death lived in the woods near the Lodge, not Blackwood. Anything that happened on Garrett’s property was spillover and misdirection by the sheriff. And I’d fallen for it. “You were in surgery for hours. Bonnie and Ty came by but could only stay for a moment since you’re in intensive care.” He quieted, though the storm in his eyes continued to churn. The steady beep of the machines and the comforting touches from Garrett soothed my soul. But a thought soured in my mind, and I dreaded sharing the bitter taste with Garrett. Lillian. He needed to know the truth. I drew my other hand across to him, though it took far more effort than it should have. Spreading his palm open, I traced the letter L. “Lillian?” Blink. “Are you saying Pete…” Blink. He squeezed my fingers. “I fucking knew it. Lillian didn’t kill herself. The photos, hanging around with your father—they found out about what he was doing at the Lodge.” He hung his head. “How did I never see it?” I ran my fingers through his hair, giving what little comfort I could. He wiped at his eyes, then glanced up at me. “Just rest. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. I swear.” I believed him, every word quieting my ragged nerves as I lay back and closed my eyes.
SOMETHING NAGGING broke through the veil of sleep. My chest hurt, and I couldn’t seem to fix it. Sheriff Crow loomed above me, one hand wrapped around my breathing tube and the other pressing a knife into my throat. “Shh. It’s just you and me now.” The tube blocked my air flow as I tried to take a breath. I was suffocating, Sheriff Crow’s fist squeezing the life out of me as I tried to pull his hand away. “No, no. It’s got to be this way.” He kept his voice low and gave me the same friendly smile that I’d first seen at the diner. “No witnesses. I can pin it all on the mayor, easy. But not with you around.” Garrett. I searched the room for him. He was gone. Where? My lungs convulsed, desperate for oxygen, but none was coming. I scrabbled for the nurse call button, but the sheriff grabbed my wrist. I used my other hand to try and push him away. Nothing. He was too determined, and I hadn’t recovered enough. I glanced to my closed door, hoping for the trooper. “Trooper’s on a smoke break, sweetheart. Just you, me, and the heart attack that’s about to kill you.” He crimped the tube completely in half. My lungs seized again, and I sucked in violently, this time catching some air from around the tube. The sheriff frowned. “That won’t do.” He grabbed the tube and yanked it off, the tape ripping and my throat turning to fire as it pulled out. I sputtered but only got a small breath before he slapped his palm onto my mouth and used the other to pinch my nose. A door squeaked open. A roar ripped through the room. And then chaos. Garrett had walked out of the small bathroom and tackled the sheriff. Both men rolled on the floor,
knocking over hospital equipment as Garrett screamed and fought like a wild creature. The door opened, and the nurse stared, perhaps just as unable to believe the sight as I was. “Call the trooper!” She dashed around the struggling men and came to the other side of the bed. Yanking my bed to the far wall, she put her arms around me, as if that would defend against the sheriff. “Get security!” Sheriff Crow swung his knife and caught Garrett in the arm, but it didn’t stop him. Garrett slammed his elbow into the sheriff’s face. The man howled and tried to roll away. Garrett grabbed him by the hair and yanked him down onto his back. Straddling him, Garrett grabbed the sheriff’s knife hand and beat it on the floor. Smack, smack, smack. The sheriff gave up, and the blade clattered loose. “Lillian?” Garrett roared. He grabbed the sheriff’s head and slammed it down, blood spurting across the white tile. “Elise?” Another slam. The nurse screamed as two more people in scrubs crowded at the door. The sheriff bucked and grabbed for something on his belt. Garrett swung wildly, fury in every vicious blow. “Garrett!” I screamed as the sheriff sprayed Garrett in the eyes with something noxious. The sheriff took the opening to shove Garrett off. Horror crawled around inside me, trying to scratch its way out of my throat. Sheriff Crow, his back to me, reached for the knife as Garrett swung blindly. I moved, slowly at first, the pain telling me I couldn’t do it. I ignored it and shook off the nurse’s clutching hands, but not before I grabbed the syringe from her pocket. Agony ripped through my abdomen as I struggled off the bed onto my unsteady feet. Surging forward, I ripped the IV free from my arm. Sheriff Crow grasped the knife, then raised it over Garrett as he continued trying to wipe the spray from his eyes. I lunged forward and stabbed the syringe into the sheriff’s temple. He screeched and grabbed my wrist, but not before I depressed the plunger. Dragging me to the ground next to Garrett, Sheriff Crow screamed and raised his knife again, though this time his arm wobbled. Garrett swung and landed a blow on Crow’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The sheriff dropped the knife, and his left pupil, near where I’d stabbed in the syringe, blew—the growing black hinting at his soul underneath. With a shudder, he fell backwards and began convulsing on the floor. Garrett pulled me into his arms and rose to his feet. The sheriff stopped moving, his mouth slack and his eyes open wide. Backing away, Garrett and I both stared at him, hoping he was dead, fearing he wasn’t. “I’ve got you, Red,” Garrett whispered into my hair. “I’ve got you.” My nurse rushed around the bed and hit her knees next to the sheriff as others poured into the room. Garrett went against the grain, leaving with me in his arms, where I belonged.
EPILOGUE
THE SCENT OF EARTH clung to me as I hefted my shovel over my shoulder. “Go easy there.” I stared at one of my undergraduate workers. “If you were to hit a piece of pottery, you’d shatter it.” “Right.” She sat back and wiped the sweat from her brow. Spring had hit Blackwood like a knockout punch in a prize fight. But instead of falling into darkness, light infused the air, the trees, and the plants. Wildflowers grew in the clearings, and the thickets bloomed with huckleberry blossoms and white honeysuckle. I skirted the dig and hooked my shovel onto the makeshift tool shed we’d built. About a dozen students dug, scraped, and brushed dirt away from the remnants of a small Choctaw village about fifty feet from the spot where Garrett and I had dug the day we’d been shot. Green tarps shaded the excavations as eager students honed their skills and discovered secrets of a lost civilization. I was in charge of the entire dig. Dr. Stallings stayed as far away from me as possible, and he was more than happy to give me carte blanche where Blackwood was concerned. The breeze picked up, bringing a taste of wisteria in bloom. Cicadas hummed in the trees, their endless song foretelling another hot day in the Delta. Arms snaked around my waist, and a familiar beard tickled the side of my neck. “Lunch?” “Yes.” I smiled as Garrett pressed his lips to my skin, creating a storm of goose bumps shooting down my arms. “I made something special.” I craned my head to the side and peered up at him. “Like what?” He kissed my forehead. “I can’t claim it all. Ty stopped by the house to help. It’s his signature country fried steak.” My mouth dropped open as my stomach rumbled. “Are you kidding? I missed him again?” “He’s a private guy.” Garrett shrugged and squeezed me. “I’ve already put him in the same category as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.” “Yes, Virginia, there is a Ty.” He released me and took my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you
washed up. Your fingernails are blacker than mine. Then we can eat.” I followed him to the small trough we’d set up with fresh water diverted from the nearby stream. After washing, we strolled hand in hand to the small picnic area where a few students ate their lunches and talked about what they’d found on the dig. Pride must have been written all over my face, because Garrett smacked me on the ass and said, “You got this.” I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed him. “I’ve got you. That’s what matters.”
“I CAN HANDLE THE REST.” Garrett took the last dish from me and dried it with a faded dish towel. “You go on up to bed.” I yawned and stretched. His eyes went to my chest where my nipples were hard and tingling. He gripped my ass and raised me onto the counter. “Do you do these things just to turn me on?” “What?” I bit my lip and stared up at him. “I just wanted to stretch.” He smirked and planted his hands on either side of me, then leaned forward until our bodies were pressed together and his lips were only a breath away from mine. “Liar.” His kiss heated my blood, my soul, warmed everything in me until I became an inferno that raged only for him. When he pulled away and traced his lips across my throat, I worked up another yawn. He shook his head. “Go on to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.” “Okay.” I let my eyes droop a bit as he slid me off the counter. “See you upstairs.” “Naked.” He popped me in the ass with the dish towel as I strode out of the kitchen. “Mmhmm.” Once I hit the hallway, I practically sprinted to the foyer on quiet feet. I
pulled on my shoes and laced them tight. This time, I was going to let go, to give us a night we’d never forget. The past two times when we tried to play this game, I’d called black before even getting to the woods. Garrett had caught up and carried me back to the house, cradling me in his arms and comforting me. His love healed me more than digging ever could. And now that I’d seen the Lodge dismantled, the building literally bulldozed, and justice for the victims, I felt ready. I could give myself over to the fantasy—fear and love and lust all wrapped in a fucked up and beautiful package. I pulled the red pea coat from the peg next to the door and slid it over my arms. The familiar flick of the kitchen light switch turned up my adrenaline. Footsteps, soft and even, made the wood boards creak as Garrett approached. My hand on the doorknob, I looked over my shoulder. He came into view and stopped, his body going tense. “Red, we don’t have to—” “Catch me if you can.” I swung the door open wide and ran. My feet pounded the soft grass, and the cool night air whipped my hair out behind me as I sprinted toward the tree line. Dread tried to press into my thoughts, to bring up images of a light snow, a row of graves, and a sheriff’s hat. I burst through all those dark thoughts as I passed the first tree and plunged into the moonlit forest. I took a different path, veering hard to the right and around a small thicket. The green of the trees gave me a better chance at concealment, so I stopped and leaned against a wide oak. The quiet woods played along, serving as my accomplice and hiding me from the predator on my tracks. Heavy footfalls sped my breathing, and I plastered myself against the tree as closely as I could. “Red, call black.” His gravelly voice sent a tingle down my spine. I held my breath as the scrape of underbrush on Garrett’s jeans told me he was getting close. “Just call black.” His voice was half pleading, half challenging. The darkness tried to rise, to swallow up the silvery forest, the moon, the sky, but I pushed it away. These woods were mine now. No ghosts. Only Garrett and me and the connection that intensified every moment we were together. “I can smell you, Red. I want to eat you up, make you scream, make you cry, and own you until I’m the only thing you can think. I know you’re close.” The footsteps grew ever closer. “Call fucking black.” “No.” I dashed from my hiding spot and exploded through the trees. I ran with everything I had, forcing myself to push through every haunted memory of my father, Lillian, the sheriff, the mayor—I hurtled through them, and they scattered like petals on the wind. “Fuck.” Garrett grunted at my back. He was close. I hopped a stream and hurdled a set of cypress roots. He hit the ground hard behind me as I dodged a tree and scraped past another. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I could feel
him before he even touched me. Garrett. He wrapped his arms around my waist and yanked me back. I yelped as we hit the ground and rolled. He pinned me before I had any chance of trying to make another great escape. “Call black.” He glowed under the moonlight, the silvery-yellow orb creating a halo behind him. But he was no angel. He yanked up my top and fastened his mouth to my breast. I moaned when he sucked my nipple into his mouth and teased the tip. When he bit me, I arched and struggled. He kept me pinned and released my nipple, then eased down the mound and bit the underside until I whimpered. More bites followed, both breasts stinging as he left his marks. “Garrett.” I squirmed. “Oh my god.” He transferred both wrists to one hand and pressed them into the leaves left over from winter. He kissed me, his teeth digging into my lip. I opened for him, and he swept his tongue inside, owning me with each stolen breath, each swipe of friction between us. Pulling back, he stared into my eyes and gripped the waistband of my shorts and panties. “Red, I want this. I want it rough and ugly and fucking primal. I want to hurt you.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “Please, call black.” “No.” He yanked at my shorts, the seams ripping and my panties shredding along with them. My skin ached where the fabric chafed, but I didn’t care. I wanted him, all of him. “You know, you could call black.” I spread my legs wide for him and gave him a smirk. He pressed two fingers inside me and gripped up on my spot. “Never with you. I love you.” The words spilled out as if they weren’t quite intended. I leaned up and kissed him. He answered, thrusting his fingers inside me in the same rhythm as his tongue. “I love you, too.” I rested my head on the ground and stared up at him as he stilled. “Really?” “What kind of question is that after a declaration of love?” I pushed down against his fingers, needing more of him. All of him. “I’m just—I just…” He smiled. “I don’t know. Happy.” He kissed me again, his beard tickling my nose. I reached down to his pants and popped the button and unzipped his fly. “We should probably seal the deal.” “So you aren’t going to call black?” He groaned as I took him in my hand and guided his tip to my opening. “No. Are you?” He growled and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling me up until we were face to face, breast to breast. He pushed inside me, the full sensation sudden and delicious—the spark
of pain and the euphoria of pleasure. I dug my nails into his side. “Going easy on me just because we’re in love?” His signature smirk crossed his lips as he began a wicked pace that curled my toes. “Never.”
BONUS EPILOGUE
A slow song played as twilight fell, and I rocked in Garrett’s arms. “Was it everything you wanted?” He pressed my palm to his chest. “More.” I smiled and rose on my tip toes to kiss him. His hands roved to my ass, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. No matter how many times he kissed me, it always felt new, exotic, delicious. This time was no different. A slight murmur rose nearby as more dancers joined us on the floor. “You may give Mayor Mitchell a heart attack.” Bonnie danced by in Ty’s arms. I pulled away from Garrett, though his grip remained on my ass, his fingers pressing into the lace of my wedding gown. “When can we be done with this, Mrs. Blackwood?” He smirked then glanced around the tent at the party-goers. “We already cut the cake and had our dance.” I shrugged. “So we can go whenev—” He scooped me into his arms, a surprised squeak eking from my throat as I held on. “I’m ready now.” Bonnie shot a disapproving glance as he carried me out of the tent and into the blustery fall air. Fairy lights twinkled along the walk to the back yard, and some were wrapped around the scaffolds along the side of the house where workmen had been scraping, replacing, and painting for over a month. Garrett strode steadily toward the house, giving nods and “thank yous” to a few of the guests who lingered outside. A chill wind blew past, cooling the exposed skin along my sweetheart neckline and the plunging back of my gown. “We should probably have stayed a little longer.” All I got in response was a grunt. He climbed the steps onto the porch and nudged the front door open with his foot. The house was quiet, only the music from the reception floating through the air. When he closed the door, he reached back and flipped the lock. “What if people want to come in?” “They can fuck right off.” He set me on my feet. His eyes glinted in the low light. “You
look good enough to eat.” A thrill coursed through my veins. “I don’t think this gown would hold up out in the woods.” I stepped back and traced the neckline with my fingertips as he followed the movement with a hungry gaze. “Not to mention the guests might get worried if they see me running through the trees with a monster at my heels.” “A monster?” He grinned, feral despite his elegant tux. “Is that what I am?” My pulse quickened as he reached for my throat, his warm palm igniting my primal need to escape. Leaning closer, his lips only a whisper from mine, he said, “Run.” My eyes widened. “I’ll give you a ten second head start. You can run and hide, little bride. But I’ll find you. And when I do—” His grip tightened as his gaze flicked down my body. “Let’s just say that I hope you weren’t intending to save that dress.” “You wouldn’t.” I grabbed his wrist. He ran his palm down my chest to the swells of my breasts. “I will.” I tilted my chin up in defiance. “If you think I’m going to let you—” “One.” “Garrett, you can’t—” He smirked. “Two.” Oh, shit. I backed away and glanced around. Rushing out the back door was a possibility, but ill-advised given the number of people on the back lawn. Though I would have liked to think Garrett wouldn’t chase me down in front of dozens of wedding guests, I knew better. Turning toward the staircase, I grabbed my flowing skirts and darted away. “Three.” Up the staircase as fast as possible in my heels and dress, I hurried down the hallway as Garrett called out number seven. I noisily ran to the empty bedroom at the end of the hall, then pulled off my shoes and crept back to our bedroom, slipping behind the door right as he called ten. His heavy steps on the staircase pushed my heart to beat faster, even though I was doing my best to hold my breath. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” His sly voice rolled over me as a board squeaked in the hall. I pressed my palm to my chest and peeked through the hinges. He passed by, his shadow darkening my doorway for a moment before he continued along to the last bedroom. I waited a few more moments until I was sure he was searching the bedroom, then I snuck out from behind the door, intent on heading back down the stairs.
A gasp rose from my throat when I found him leaning against the wall next to the door, a smirk on his face. “Gotcha.” He dashed forward and captured me in his arms before I could even take a step in the other direction. “Asshole!” “You’re just mad you got caught so easily.” He lifted me and carried me into his room, then slammed the door behind us. “I’ve gotten pretty good at evading in the woods.” In fact, the last time we played our game, I let him catch me. He laughed and nipped at my neck before dropping me on his bed. “I know you think you’ve been going easy on me.” “I have.” He shook his head and yanked his tie loose. “Not a chance.” Whipping off his jacket and then his shirt, he kept his eyes on me the whole time. “I let you catch me last time.” My eyes widened as he roped the tie around his hand. “Bullshit. I let you tire yourself out. Then, when I knew your pussy was wet and aching, I stopped playing and went in for the kill.” He leaned down, his lips at my ear. “Just like you’re wet and aching for my cock right now, Mrs. Blackwood.” I wanted to tell him to get fucked, but the damp satin between my thighs would tell him the truth. His rough talk turned me on, just like his rough hands on me. I needed more. The quickest way to get it was to put up a fight. I turned my head to the side and bit down on his arm. He groaned and grabbed the front of my dress, his fingers digging into skin. I bit down harder. He yanked, my beautiful dress straining along the seams at my sides. “Don’t you dare!” I reached up to try and shove him away, but his grip on my hair kept me in place. With another hard yank, the seams popped, the fabric falling away as he ripped the bodice apart. My strapless bra went next, his hand destroying it with vicious pull. “Garrett!” I dug my nails into his abs. He laughed and shoved me down, covering me with his body. Wrangling my hands together, he pinned them over my head and used his other hand to search beneath what was left of my skirt. “I’m going to beat you with a shovel!” I arched up and tried to yank my hands free. He fastened his teeth to my shoulder, biting down as his fingers found my wet panties. He made an mmm sound against my skin and slid the fabric to the side, pressing two fingers inside me with a harsh shove. My slick walls welcomed him, anger and desire warring inside me as I struggled beneath his grip. The pain in my shoulder subsided as he eased up and licked his teeth marks.
“Fuck, I love it when you fight.” He twisted his fingers and found my spot. My hips bucked as he stroked me from the inside. Kissing down my chest, he captured a nipple between his teeth, then sucked it into his mouth. Fireworks of heat prickled along my skin as he sucked and taunted me, his tongue lashing the tip and his teeth grazing it. When he switched to the other nipple, I melted beneath him, the fight leaving me as I spread my legs, needing more of his particular brand of pleasure. “You want me inside you?” “Yes.” I arched, pressing breasts against his face, his beard tickling my skin. He released me and stood, then shucked off his black pants. His cock sprang free, the thick length of him hard and smooth. I scooted up the bed, what was left of my dress falling into a heap on the floor. “Off.” He pointed at my panties. I slid them down my legs and tossed them aside. “Spread for me. Show me your sweet pink pussy and that perfect asshole.” He strode to the wall and ran his fingers along a row of floggers. A shudder went through me as the music outside picked up, the dancing moving into full swing at the reception. If he chose the one on the end, it didn’t matter how loud the music was, they’d hear my cries and probably wonder if the woods were haunted like all the rumors claimed. Surely he wouldn’t choose that one on our wedding night. Surely. His fingers dallied on the black leather flogger, the thin bits of leather deceivingly soft while at rest. I mentally willed him to move down the line to the light brown one, but he didn’t seem inclined to get the message. “No.” The word bled from my lips, and I knew I’d made a mistake. He gripped the black flogger at the end of the row and pulled it from the wall. “Tell me no again.” “Garrett—” “Tell me no.” He ran the flogger through his fingertips as he stared at my pussy. Had I just intentionally sabotaged myself because I subconsciously wanted the—OW! I yanked my knees closed after he’d flicked the flogger across my sensitive flesh. “Don’t do that.” His eyes darkened. “Open your legs.” I shook my head, taunting the beast. He would punish me. The fire raging between my thighs ratcheted up a notch at the thought. He stayed deceptively calm, the flogger in his right hand, as he climbed onto the bed. Resting one hand on my knee, he dropped the flogger to the bed and opened my legs. Bending over, he gave me a long lick, then rubbed the tip of his tongue back and forth across my clit. I gulped down air and gripped the sheets as he worked me, each stroke like one from a master painter.
He slowed, then stopped, his eyes dark and hungry. “Now, you either get on all fours and take your punishment like a good girl, or I flog your pussy. Up to you.” The haze of lust began to clear at his words, and I bit my lip at the Hobson’s choice he’d presented me with. After a tense moment, I turned over and got on all fours as instructed. “Good girl.” He rubbed my ass with one hand as I glared at him over my shoulder. “Keep looking at me like that.” His hand whipped back and flashed forward. I howled as white-hot pain raked across my skin. Another strike, another cry. Then several more in rapid succession until my legs were trembling and tears welled in my eyes. He dropped the flogger next to me and pressed his knees between mine. With a hard thrust, he entered me, his deep grunt striking a chord inside me. Resting a palm on each stinging ass cheek, he began a hard rhythm, each surge forward punishing me with the kind of pleasure only Garrett could provide. The pain subsided and melted into the rush of sensations that overwhelmed me. Every touch of his fingers was amplified. The feel of his cock stretching me, the slap of his balls against my clit as he pressed my chest toward the bed and hiked my ass even farther into the air. “That’s it.” He gripped around my hips and yanked me against him. I moaned into the sheets, taking every bit of what he offered and knowing, deep down, that I always would. This man—just as wild as the day I’d met him—had given me so much. He’d thought he was twisted and broken beyond repair. But he’d been wrong. He’d brought me to life. “I love you, Red.” He pulled out and rolled me onto my back, sheathing himself between my thighs with a sure stroke as he stared down at me. “I love you, too.” The truth was always easy with him. He claimed my mouth in a scorching kiss, his tongue working at the same pace as his cock. Palming my throat, he slid his other hand between us and teased my clit with his thumb. I jerked at his touch and raked my nails down his biceps. He answered with a squeeze at the sides of my neck, his large hand capable of cutting off every bit of air flow. “Trust me.” It wasn’t a question, and he already knew the answer. “With my life.” He thrust deep and hard, his eyes burning into mine as his grip grew ever-tighter on my throat. I gasped in a last breath. My hips rocked against his, his thumb strumming my clit as he slammed into me. Air leaked from my lungs, but I couldn’t take another breath. I chased my orgasm, rubbing against him and keeping my legs wide. My vision began to dim at the edges, dark spots invading. “Not yet.” His voice was harsh, strained through gritted teeth as his movements became
wilder. I couldn’t respond, only claw at his back as he mastered every last bit of me. The darkness spread until the only remaining spark was the one between my thighs, the tightness there, the need. He grunted, low and deep, then let go of my throat. As my vision bounced back in perfect color, his deep blue eyes searing a path to my soul, I came on a strangled cry. My body burst into a million flashes of light, the orgasm reaching to my deepest places and shaking every last bit of stardust from my bones. Garrett’s eyebrows drew together, his face frozen in that exquisite mix of agony and bliss. He surged inside me as he groaned, his cock kicking with each spurt as I writhed beneath him. I sank my nails into his back, pulling him close as he wrung every last bit of pleasure from my body. When we were both spent, he collapsed on top of me and littered my shoulder with errant kisses. His heart beat strong against my breast, both of us covered in sweat. I let my arms fall out to my sides as he wrapped his around my rib cage. Nuzzling against my ear, he whispered, “I’m sure they didn’t hear a thing.” I snort laughed. “They probably heard that across the county.” “That’s a bad thing?” He met my eyes and raised a brow. I kissed his nose. “Not to me.” “It’s your fault, really.” I gaped at him. “What?” “If you’d been a good girl and just let me have my way with you—” “You would have hated it.” He smirked and ran his teeth along my collar bone. “Okay, you got me there. I like it when you’re bad. More spankings, more floggings, more rough fucks.” “Oh my.” I batted my lashes and adopted my best old-south accent. “I do declare, Mr. Blackwood. All of this is rather inappropriate for a husband and wife such as ourselves.” “You didn’t say that when I was eating your pussy.” He pulsed inside me, his cock half hard. “Well, obviously, we’ll make an exception for that.” I ran my hands through his lanky hair and pulled his mouth to mine. “We may need to make an exception for something else, too.” “Yeah?” He nibbled my bottom lip. “I’ll play along and pretend you get a say in the fucked up shit I’m going to do to you for the rest of our lives.” “Thank you, Mr. Blackwood.” I licked across his lips. “You’re welcome, Mrs. Blackwood.” He smiled, the warmth he kept hidden spilling out like honey. “Now what’s the other exception? Better be rigging. Tying you up is at the top of my fun list.”
“No, actually, it’s not.” My heart swelled and tried to cut off my voice, but I pushed through it. “The other exception is that we can still do Daddy play.” He arched an eyebrow. “We don’t do Daddy play at all. You said you weren’t that into it when we…” His voice died in his throat as he stared at me, his eyes going wide. I nodded. “Daddy play.” “Holy shit.” He pulled out and rolled to my side even as I tried to keep him on me. “You mean?” He ran his hand along my stomach. I nodded. “I’m pregnant. About two months. Though I’ve only known for a week or so.” Tears glistened in his eyes as he pulled me into his arms. “I’m going to be a father?” “No.” He pulled back and gawked at me. “What?” I laughed and tugged on his beard. “You’re going to be a great father.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, the biggest thanks goes to Mr. Aaron, my number one cheerleader and best friend. He’s the greatest beta reader of all time. (He once read a draft of mine for another book and said, “this was all great and then you got to the big conflict and it was just … just a wet fart. Fix it.” Brutal honesty for the win.) Thanks for always keeping it real, my love. Thanks to Aoife McCartan, the amazingly talented photographer. I hounded her for this cover image for over a month, and she remained gracious the entire time. Make sure you check out her website http://www.aoifemccartan.com. Also to Adam Joseph Chase, for his handsome, sultry, wonderful (did I say HANDSOME?) mug on this cover. Follow him on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/adamjosephchase/. Perfect Pear. You love me. Don’t try and deny it. I may have chapped your ass over what I wanted on this cover, but you came through with a vengeance. Just remember, I’m always that other pear, sitting right behind you, rubbing your pear butt. Viv, Rach, and Sybil, y’all are fab, as always. Thanks for reading my stuff when I know you’re already plenty busy leading your own lives (though I’m still confused about why your lives don’t revolve around my life…). Your input is always appreciated and invaluable. And Sybil makes some excellent teasers. Thoroughly teased over here. Stacey, thanks for the eagle eyes on my text. There’d be quite a few bizarre typos in my books if it weren’t for you. (Whenever I type about it, it usually turns into abou tit.) And to Jeff, my long-suffering content editor. Your exclamations at the end of my cliffy chapters never cease to amuse me. Mel, I won’t tell everyone what a sweetheart you are. Because that would just be silly. Totally silly. But thanks for all your help and suggestions, and for constantly re-explaining to me what “safe” actually means. I’ll ask again tomorrow. Nicola and Dani—I’m still waiting on those tit pics. Just sayin’. Last but not least, thanks to my readers for letting me gad about and write all sorts of things. From sweet and short, to long and twisty—and everything in-between. Thanks for your love and support. I couldn’t do me without you doing you. Much love. xoxo, Celia
HIS MUSE ISABELLA STARLING
PROLOGUE
MASON I watch her sleep on the flight back, fighting the urge to stroke my cock the whole way home. Cara sleeps with her lips slightly parted, her head lolling to the side. She’s a none-toogracious heap in the plush leather seat, and yet, she’s the most stunning thing I’ve seen in my life. The flight is long. Too fucking long for me not to sleep. But even so, I’m too worried to so much as wink after everything that has happened. I just want to make sure we get back home alright. I need to know we’re finally safe from all the shit that’s happened this summer. When we land, my driver, Filippe, is waiting for us with the car. I don’t let him touch Cara. I gather her in my arms and carry her into the car. She hugs me, her arms wrapping around my neck as she presses her lithe body closer to mine. I don’t even try to untangle her from myself. I place her on my lap and look at her pretty features for the next two hours, the length of the drive home from the airport. I know I’m going to have to keep some distance at first. I’ve gotten too close to her, too deep inside her head. I’m fucking with her mind now, and I don’t want to damage her permanently. I need to take a step back, reassess. I need to give her some time to become whole again. I can’t risk losing her - not again. Once we’re back at the mansion, I dismiss Filippe quite roughly. He doesn’t say a word as I carry Cara into the room she’s spent her summer in, gently tucking her under the covers. She finally stirs as I’m about to leave the room, and she pulls on the collar of my shirt helplessly. “Please don’t go,” she mewls. “Just stay in bed with me.” Words she’s said so many times before, and yet, I can’t make her wish come true tonight. She needs some time alone. She needs to learn how to survive without me. I shake my head no and her lashes flutter closed. She’s too tired, anyway. She probably won’t even remember this come morning. I leave her safely tucked into the bed and close the door to her bedroom quietly. I’m about to leave when I remember something, and, as an afterthought, I turn the lock on her door.
I have every intention of heading to bed myself. But I’m a sick fucking bastard and I can’t resist the voyeur in me. I head to the room next to hers, the one that requires a keycard to get into. I sit in front of the large window into Cara’s room, disguised as a mirror on her side of the wall. I pull out a pack of cigarettes from my trousers. I’m not a smoker. Never have been, never will be. But the events of the past few months have shaken me up so much I’m dying for something to distract myself with. I light the cigarette and inhale, filling my lungs with poison. I watch her sleep as I smoke the thing down to a nub, just as she starts stirring in her big bed. I watch Cara get up, throwing the covers off her. Her eyes are big and manic, her hair messy as fuck. She shouts my name, loud and clear. She’d get spanked for that any other day. I like it when she calls me Sir. She tries the door as I watch, shaking and rattling the knob and then snarling furiously once she realizes she’s locked inside the room. My heart fucking aches seeing her like this, but I’m so fucking worried her father was right. Maybe I am a bad fucking influence. Maybe I am the last thing she needs. It may not seem like it, but maybe I am keeping her here against her will. No matter what Cara says. Daddy knows best, after all. Cara keeps screaming, my name on her lips, anger in her fists. Finally, she comes to stand in front of the full-length window, or what she knows as the ornate mirror in her bedroom. She stares at her pretty reflection, not knowing she’s looking into my eyes. She starts sobbing. Deep, heaving sobs wrack her body and she hiccups, wiping at her eyes angrily and smearing black mascara and eyeliner everywhere. She’s a fucking mess, and I’ve never wanted her more. She looks at her reflection again, her finger going to the mirror and outlining a heart. Without meaning to, I reach for the glass myself, following her motions. But when my hand falls back into my lap, her fist smashes the mirror. The sound of glass shattering blasts my eardrums and I just stare in front of myself as the last shreds of my disguise fall down. The glass that was separating us clatters to the floor and Cara’s lips part in a surprised O as she realizes the mirror was merely a decoy. We’re face to face now, mere inches apart. Her dress is rumpled. I know for a fact she’s not wearing panties, because I took them off on the plane and stuffed them in my pocket. “Cara,” I say roughly, and she whimpers. “Sweet fucking girl, what have you done?” She’s crying as she rushes into my arms. Our bodies meet with full force, crashing into one another as I gather her into my arms and carry her through the new hole in the wall and towards her bed. I lay her down gently and she squirms under my touch. I kiss her bloody knuckles, smearing the blood all over my lips, and yet I don’t give a shit. I reach for her and her body bends to my will. Always so submissive. Always so fucking irresistible.
“Fuck me,” she begs, her voice desperate. “I’ve waited so long, Mason. You have to.” She takes my hand and guides it under her dress, over the globes of her ass and onto the small of her back. I groan loudly, knowing I won’t be able to resist for much longer. “Don’t make me,” I say. “You need time to rest. You need to decide if this is really what you fucking want, Cara.” She laughs, a bittersweet sound. “That was never a question,” she tells me softly. And then she pulls me down, and suddenly my body’s flush against hers and all my reservations go through the fucking window. Because this is Cara fucking Newton, the girl I’ve been in love with since she was sixteen years old. The girl I waited for so patiently, the girl I fought to make mine. The girl that came to me freely, the girl that submitted with the click of my fingers. My perfect muse. My mouth descends upon hers and she kisses me desperately, hungrily. Her lips mould to mine and she pulls me closer, her body arching off the bed to fit into the contours of mine. We kiss deeply, roughly. It’s rushed, it’s needy, it’s so fucking sweet. “Show me I’m yours,” Cara whispers. “Make love to me, Mason.” “I don’t know how,” I tell her roughly. “You do,” she coos, guiding my hands to pull her dress off her body. She’s naked underneath. “You do know, Mason. Just… show me. Show me how beautiful it can be.” I don’t make love. I only know how to fuck. But damn it if this girl doesn’t make me want to learn to be better. I wrap an arm around her waist, pushing her up on the bed and climbing on top of her. She’s moaning already, her hurt knuckles smearing red all over the pristine white sheets. Neither of us cares. “One last thing,” she reminds me. “One last thing,” I promise. She smiles then, pretty and seductive and ready to be broken. God, I can’t wait to do it. To finally have her in pieces again, at my mercy. To watch her put herself back together in my arms. To see that look of pure bliss on her pretty little face. It’s different this time. And I’ll be damned if this isn’t love. She gets up on all fours and I stand in front of the bed as she crawls closer. She unzips my trousers, gets my cock out. I’ll never get tired of the marvel in her eyes at its size. The way her lips wrap perfectly around the tip. The way she tries so desperately to fit my whole shaft inside her tiny mouth, choking every time. “Make it wet,” I tell her. “Really fucking wet, Cara, or it’s just going to hurt even more.” She looks up at me, her eyes wide and trusting. I groan at the sight of those baby blues. So pure and so damn perfect. She swirls her tongue against the tip of my cock, sucking me deeper, working my cock so good I have to brace myself on her shoulders. The urge to fuck her face takes over, and I start thrusting into her mouth.
My hand tangles in her hair and I make her look up at me as I slide my cock between her lips. “Good girl,” I praise her softly. “Such a good girl. Open wider, baby.” She does, and I get lost in the moment, her mouth feels so good against my sensitive skin. I barely notice her choking, trying to take a deep breath and instead having her mouth filled with my cock all the way inside. My eyes must be glazed over as hell as I finally pull out from between her lips, long strings of her spit connecting my cock to her mouth. I groan, and something primal takes over me. I grab her waist and flip her around. Push her head down on the bed, her begging and low moans only making me want her more. She sticks her ass up in the air, wiggling that pretty bubble butt at me and begging me to fucking take it. So I do. I press a finger to her virgin asshole first, and she squirms under my touch. Her puckered little hole is insanely tight and it feels so dirty to be doing this, so wrong to be taking advantage of her, it almost makes me stop. “Please, Sir,” she says, her voice muffled from the way she’s biting into the duvet. “Please let me show you what a good little anal slut I can be.” “Fuck.” The word rolls off my lips just as my finger slips inside her. Cara mewls and grinds her hips against my hand, sweet gasps leaving her pouty mouth. “I… Oh my god,” she keeps saying over and over again, interrupted by little moans and deep breaths. Her body’s arching, not sure if it wants to get away or impale itself harder on my cock. I pull my finger out. I’m so fucking horny I can barely see five inches in front of myself. I place my wet, slippery cock on her ass and try to explain to her she needs to relax or it’ll hurt like hell. But she doesn’t listen. Cara never does. She moans and with a push of her hips, she impales her virgin asshole on my cock, cursing out loud and making me grip her ass tightly as I claim her last hole. I’ve already had her mouth, I’ve already had her pussy. Her ass is mine now, too. “You shouldn’t have done that, Cara,” I tell her roughly, but she’s so far gone she can only moan, beg and moan as she keeps perfectly still, the tip of my cock inside her sweet ass. “I’m not gonna be able to stop now, sweetheart.” “Don’t,” she chokes out. “Don’t fucking stop, please.” I groan and shift my hips a little, my cock penetrating her more and more. She’s gasping, just gasping for air like she’s taking her last breath. And it’s too much. I can’t stop, I really can’t now. I brace my hands against her ass and I push deeper inside her. All the way.
She’s sobbing. Deep, heavy sobs shaking her body as she begs for more. “Please, Sir,” she whispers. “More, please. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare fucking stop. Deeper. I want more.” She’s making me go fucking insane, but I obey, for once listening to her. I start fucking her ass and she cries out, my name always on her lips, my cock buried inside her ass. Cara starts grinding her hips, long sensual moans escaping her hips as I fuck her slowly, sensually. I’ve never had sex like this before. It’s always angry, fast, hard. This is completely new. And yet she still submits, her sweet body bending to my will. She puts her hands behind her back, and I grab her wrists with one hand while the other gathers her hair and pulls on it, hard. She begs for more. “You’re gonna cum for me,” I order her, the words alone sending her into a frenzy. “You’re going to fucking cum with my cock inside that tight little ass, sweetheart.” “Please,” she breathes. “Don’t stop. Don’t fucking stop.” I push deeper and shiver. She’s shaking, just like me. It’s almost too much. Almost there. Almost at her delicious breaking point. I keep fucking her. Rougher. Harder. Faster, like she begs me to. I hit a spot inside her then, something that makes her go wild. She comes suddenly, with a loud fucking scream tearing through the room. She pants and bucks her hips like a wild animal. I can’t even control her, and I can’t control my own orgasm as it rips through my body. I empty my balls inside her ass, with Cara grinding it all over my groin, smearing my cum everywhere. She’s moaning loudly, and it makes me wish I could treasure this moment forever. With that, I remember the cameras scattered through the room, and I grin to myself. Sweet, barely legal Cara Newton coming on Daddy’s friend’s cock deep inside her asshole. What a fucking sight. And now captured on film for my pleasure. I lean over to her as my cock leaks the last drop of cum inside her tight ass. “Thank you, sweetheart,” I whisper in hear ear. “You were the perfect little slut.” She pants as I get on the bed with her, pulling her on top of me and settling her against my chest. She nuzzles closer, her fingers running through the dark hair on my chest. My finger traces her spine, down her back and to her ass. My cum’s dripping out of her tight little hole, and it bothers me. I get up from the bed. “Don’t go,” Cara begs me, and I grin at her. “Don’t move.” I walk to the chest in front of her bed and dig inside it. Once I find what I’m looking for, I tell her to close her eyes, and she does as she’s told like a good girl. I walk back to her and put her on all fours again. She whimpers, needy for more. With a simple push, I plug her ass with a pretty jewel and she gasps so loudly she almost loses her
voice. “Good girl,” I mutter into the shell of her ear. “I want my cum to stay in your ass all night, sweetheart. Keep you full until I want you again.” She looks up at me through hazy, adoring eyes, and I finally realize I’m fucked. This must be love.
CHAPTER ONE CARA
“DADDY!” I run to the staircase and glare down at my father. He glances up and his eyes light up when he sees me, but my expression is furious where his is loving. He motions to be excused from his conversation, and rushes up the stairs to talk to me. “What is it, darling?” he asks me, and I pout, crossing my arms in front of my body. My eyes are shooting daggers at him and I have zero patience right now. My party started thirty minutes ago, and there’s a missing sequin on my dress! I can’t, and won’t, walk down the stairs in a ruined dress. Everyone would make fun of me. “My dress is ruined,” I announce to my father, and his expression darkens. “The beads on it… There are some missing, and it looks terrible. There’s no way I can wear it.” Daddy’s face lights up with a smile and he kisses my forehead gently. “I’m so sorry, Cara. It happens. But daddy thought of everything. Come with me for a second?” I follow him doubtfully, my heels clicking on the floor. I don’t care if I ruin the expensive wood. It’s my eighteenth birthday, and I should be allowed to do anything I fucking want. Dad and I walk into the closet and he pulls out a huge cardboard box. I see an expensive brand name printed on the box, and my eyes light up excitedly as I pull it from my father’s hands. “What’s this?” I ask him. “Another present? Oh, you spoil me, daddy.” “It’s the dress you wanted,” he tells me as I tear through the wrapping paper. “I know I shouldn’t have, but… I knew how much you loved this one.” I shriek once I get through the wrapping paper, and clutch the beautiful dress to my chest. “Daddy! It’s so pretty,” I exclaim, my eyes sparkling with happiness. I knew he’d get me the dress. When we went shopping a few weeks ago, he refused to get it for me because of the hefty price tag, but I sulked so much I knew I’d won him over. Now, I embrace him in a tight hug and he holds me close to his heart. However much of a spoiled brat I might be, I do love my father. I also know exactly how to play my cards to get him to give me what I want. And there’s one present I want even more than this dress… And I’m sure I’m going to get it tonight. My eyes shine as we break apart and daddy gives me a happy smile. “I’ll go change and be right down,” I promise him. “Thank you again. I really love it.”
“I know you do, darling,” dad says with a sigh, and I turn on my heels and rush towards my room to get changed into the dress I’d wanted all along. I put the dress on my beautiful four-poster bed, and quickly check my computer before I start taking my clothes off. And sure enough, I have a message from him… Happy birthday, cara mia. You’re going to make every man’s mouth water at that party. Have fun. I quickly type back a reply, my fingers shaking. We both know how important this birthday is. I’ve finally turned eighteen and if everything goes according to plan… tonight I’m going to get the most important gift of all. Thank you! I’ll think of you the whole time. Let you know when I know more :) x I hit reply and turn back towards my bed with an exasperated smile. I strip off my clothes quickly until I’m only wearing nude, lacy lingerie, and then I pull the dress on. It’s a pretty pink thing with a full, short skirt and a sweetheart neckline. Perfect for daddy’s little girl, and I know I still look like his sweetheart in it. See, I played my cards just right. Of course, I prefer the other dress, the beaded one. It is sexy, tight and revealing whereas the pink one is sweet and understated. But I knew my father had to believe I was still his innocent baby, if I wanted to get the present I really wanted. And I think I managed to fool him. I check myself out in the mirror. My blue eyes are wide and rimmed with thick, dark lashes. My hair is falling down my back in pretty blonde curls, and my body looks tiny in the dress. I look younger than I am, but tonight, that’s what I’m going for. I walk down the stairs and give a sign to our maid. She turns the lights down and everyone in the foyer gasps as I make my way downstairs. I know I look beautiful, and I grin with the pleasure of everyone’s eyes on me as I finally arrive downstairs. People rush to greet me, and I feel my father’s proud eyes on me as I mingle and chat with everyone who came here today to celebrate my eighteenth birthday. I play the good girl, declining the flute of champagne my father decided I could have today, and being as sweet and innocent as I can possibly manage. Several times throughout the evening, I catch daddy’s approving eyes on mine and I beam with pride when I do. I know this night is important for him as well, with his new boss here and dad wanting to make an impression. If all goes according to plan, there’s a big fat promotion for him too, as his boss loves seeing a family man in action. There’s just the two of us now - daddy and me. Since mom passed away when I was only seven, he never remarried or even dated another woman, and I am grateful for that. I couldn’t bear to see him with anyone else. I know how much he loved my mom, and so did I, even though her memory is fading daily. The evening passes quickly, and I’m the center of so much attention I can’t stop smiling. Finally, my father clinks on his glass and we all turn to face him for the announcement he’s about to make. My fingers shake and I dig them into the fabric of my dress when he
speaks up. “Friends, family. Thank you for celebrating my dear Cara’s eighteenth birthday with us,” he says with a smile in my direction. “Cara is the light of my life, and she makes every battle, every fight, worth it. I love you, darling.” I blink away the tears in my eyes and clap along with everyone else. I mouth the words ‘I love you’ to him and my dad smiles. But I am anxious… I need to know if I’m getting the gift I want so very badly. “Cara asked for one thing only,” my father continues, and my heartbeat quickens. “She wants to go to Italy this summer, spend some time getting to know the Italian art and architecture before she starts studying Art History in the fall.” Everyone claps again and I look down with feigned innocence, even though my heart is pounding so hard I’m sure I’m about to pass out. “So, of course I couldn’t deny my darling’s biggest wish,” dad smiles, and I let my face break into a smile. It’s really happening! He’s going to do it, he’s going to let me leave! “I’ve arranged for you, darling Cara, to stay with a good friend in Italy,” he tells me proudly, and my smile freezes in place. “He’s an artist himself, and he will make sure you’re taken care of and don’t get into any trouble. You’re leaving for his estate in Tuscany in a week!” I just stare at him, unable to believe his words. Be careful what you wish for… I do my best to clap along with everyone else, but my heart is breaking. I didn’t want this. I wanted to get away, not go from one prison to the next. And I can’t hide my broken heart any longer. I break away from the crowd as soon as I can, and run out into our expansive gardens behind the house. I hide between the hydrangea bushes, my favorites, and pull out my phone. I quickly send a text, my fingers shaking as they hit the screen. I’m going to Italy. Some old guy’s mansion, my dad’s friend. He wants me to stay there all summer. I lean back against a tree trunk and wait for the reply, blinking back tears. I can’t believe this is happening. I tried so hard to be able to go to Italy. To see him… Luca. The man I fell in love with… The man whose face I’ve never seen, but I’ve touched myself to his words too many times to count, made my tight virgin pussy cum over and over again. The man I’m falling in love with… The man I wanted to go to Italy for. And now it’s all over, because dad’s making me stay with that old friend of his and I’ll have no freedom there, I’m sure. I’m going to be a pretty bird in a golden cage, just like I am here at home. My phone beeps with a reply and I look down through cloudy eyes. We’ll find a way, cara mia. I need to see you. I type a reply.
I’m crying. He pings back a moment later. Good, I like that. I blush and raise my phone in front of my face, snapping a quick picture and sending it to him. Next thing I know, my father approaches from behind the corner with a worried expression on his face. “Darling, you alright?” he asks me with concern, and I can tell he’s really worried. “I guess,” I say softly. “I just… I’m not sure I like the idea of staying with a friend of yours, dad.” “It’s okay,” he nods. “I understand. I told Mason to go easy on you, darling. Don’t worry, you’ll still have some time for yourself.” I sniffle and my phone pings, but I stuff it deeper into my purse so dad won’t notice. “Do I know him?” I ask softly, and dad looks at me thoughtfully. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “Last time he was here was two years ago. Not sure you remember him, dear, but he’ll take good care of you.” “And I’ll have my privacy?” I ask. “Yes,” dad nods. “He has a big estate. You’ll have your own quarters, I made sure of it. It’ll be grand, darling. The best way to be introduced to Italian art.” “Alright,” I say softly, and let him hold me. “Come on, let’s head back inside. It’s after midnight - you should get some rest.” I don’t even protest because I’m really tired, and I want to get back to my messages and Luca. I say goodbye to our guests moodily and head to my bedroom. The maid has made my bed and cleaned the room, but I toss the expensive dress on the floor nonetheless and climb between the sheets with a sigh. I pull out my phone and check my messages again. My eyes light up when I read Luca’s. So pretty when you cry, cara mia. I’m going to break you so good. How good? I reply, needing to be comforted. To pieces. Put me back together, too? Yes. Only to break you again. I smile sleepily to myself as I write a last reply. Goodnight, Luca. I’ll talk to you in the morning. I can barely keep my eyes open, but I’m glad I did once I get his reply. Sweet dreams, cara mia. And don’t worry. When you come to Italy, I’m going to fucking steal you and make you my pretty toy. I fall into a fitful sleep, and my dreams are filled with Luca’s faceless image.
CHAPTER TWO MASON
SHE IS COMING. My sweet little girl, cara mia, is on her way to Tuscany right now and set to arrive any minute. I’ve made arrangements with her father; I’ve sent a driver to pick her up from the airport. I don’t trust myself to be around her yet. I need every second I have left on my own to remind myself I need to go slow. Ease her into it. Break her slowly, piece by piece, until Cara submits to me completely. I down my whiskey in one go and set the glass down on the marble countertop. The sound echoes in the spacious kitchen, and I run a hand through my dark hair as I wait. My cock is already straining against my pajama trousers, hard as a fucking rock with the mere thought of her. I remember her as if it was only a day ago that I’d seen her. An image flashes through my mind. Cara Newton, a vision in a white dress with a halo of flowers around her head. The heady scent of orange blossoms assaults my nose as I come closer, her innocent eyes slowly climbing up, up, up, until they reach mine. I am so much taller, so much bigger. She’s a tiny thing compared to me, a tiny fucking thing I want to own so badly it makes my chest ache. A noise interrupts my thoughts and I grin to myself as I hear my driver pull up in front of the house. More noise follows and I hear voices, but they are too muffled to differentiate between their owners. I look through the French doors leading out into my lavish garden as the voices come closer and closer. I hear footsteps hitting the ground and I turn around, readying myself for the sight I am about to witness. Truth be told, nothing could prepare me for the vision in front of me. She is beautiful, lovelier even than I remember from the first time I saw her. Another flashback. Cara Newton, the daughter of my best friend from work, back when I was still working in the States. She is sweetness and innocence wrapped into a feisty little package even at the ripe age of sixteen. She is stunning, she is delicious, and she is so fucking forbidden it makes my damn mouth water. “Hello,” I say easily, my voice low and throaty as she raises her eyes to mine, just like at her sixteenth birthday party. “I’m glad you’re here, Cara.” Her eyes go wide as she drinks me in. I see a flicker of recognition in her gaze. She knows who I am. It shouldn’t have an effect on me, but it does. My dick strains painfully against my thigh and Cara’s mouth opens in a soft gasp as she comes towards me. “Signorina Newton, this is Mr. Mason Scott,” my driver, Filippe, introduces us. His voice
seems a little embarrassed since I’m not dressed properly for the meeting, but I’m sure the man’s seen worse from me. I’m not exactly known for my propriety. “Mr. Scott, this is Cara Newton.” “We’ve met before,” she says softly, and I grin as I approach her. Her eyes drink me in, all six foot five of me towering above her like a fucking giant. She extends a hand for me to shake and I kiss the back of it, smirking at her. She’s openly staring, her eyes resting on my toned abs and rock hard chest. If she notices the hardness of my cock, she doesn’t say a word, but a light blush colors her pretty cheeks in a shade of rosy red. “Do you remember?” she asks me sweetly. “It must’ve been… Two years ago now. At my sixteenth birthday party?” The sound of live music. The oppressing heat of the late summer day, making me sweat underneath my customtailored Armani suit. Her, tripping into my arms. Those eyes, fearfully meeting mine as if she’s afraid of me doling out punishment for what she’s done and craving it at the same time. The way she licks her lips when our eyes meet. No words are exchanged, she doesn’t know who I am, she probably never even finds out my name. But I make it my business to get to know everything about her before I leave her sweet sixteenth. I’m in town on business, and her father, an old colleague of mine, invites me over after years and years of not hearing from one another. I don’t stay long – I can’t, not with my flight leaving in a few hours – but it is enough to memorize the contours of Cara’s beautiful face. Enough to decide she has to be mine. I bide my time carefully. When she fell into my arms, the girl was merely sixteen. It wouldn’t feel fucking right. It still doesn’t, in more ways than one. But what can I say… I like beautiful things, and the moment I saw Cara Newton, I knew I had to add her to my collection. “Vaguely,” I reply with a smirk, and her whole face falls when she thinks I don’t remember her. I love it, love how addicted she is to attention. My eyes go over her petite body lazily, seeing all the changes two years have made to my girl. She isn’t taller at all, but her curves are those of a grown woman now. Her tits are small and pert, and her waist is abnormally tiny in the sweet summer dress she’s wearing. I want to rip it off her, now that I finally can. In fact, my hands form fists at my sides so I don’t do it right there on the spot. I want her already. I don’t want to fucking wait. Patience was never a virtue of mine, and seeing beautiful Cara in front of me makes me want to ravage her. “Filippe will show you to your room,” I tell her easily. “I’d like to meet you downstairs in an hour so we can get to know each other properly. I’m sure you’re tired from your long journey.” She nods, and has trouble leaving. I can already tell she feels it too, the fucking pull towards me which makes it impossible to stay away. I felt it for the first time at her birthday party, and I pulled all the fucking right strings to get her in my arms this summer. And now all that’s left to do is turn Cara into a woman.
Filippe leads her away and I’m wildly jealous of his hand on the small of her back, even though my driver has had a boyfriend for the past thirty years. Still, I want it to be my hand, guiding her into a room on my property. I head into my study. I lock the door behind me and strip my pajama trousers before sitting down at my desk and turning my computer on. The monitor flickers to life and my pupils dilate as I see her. Filippe’s showing her into her room, the camera showing me her beautiful image. She doesn’t know it’s there, and there’s no way she’ll find the camera hidden in the ceiling of her room. I grin to myself once my driver leaves her, my hand going to my cock and slowly stroking the length of it as Cara twirls around her new room. She’s still blushing, and her lips part in a sigh as she opens the French doors leading out to the balcony. She looks at the stunning view, but merely for a few seconds. Then, she comes towards the white dressing table and looks into the full-length mirror at her perfect image. Another camera switches on, and I’m right there, behind the mirror, looking at the girl I’ve wanted to own for two years. The girl I am so obsessed with, I orchestrated everything, from her daddy’s approval, to a whole fake personality, just so I could fucking have her. I’m a sick fuck, and I never denied it. But from the moment I had Cara in my hands, I knew she craved this domination as badly as I did. And now it’s finally time. The strap of her dress falls down her shoulder and she tugs on it impatiently. A low groan escapes my throat and I stroke my dick harder, long motions threatening to make me come undone any second now. Having her this close to me, only a few hallways away, is fucking with my head. She’s all I’ve thought about for the past two years. Her mouth the only thing I’ve wanted, her sweet little pussy the one I’ve been waiting for my entire life. And as she slips her dress off her body, I can’t fucking help it. I stroke my cock harder, watching her move in front of the mirror, appraising her perfect image with critical eyes. She pulls the dress down and reveals a pretty, lacy pink bra to my eyes. I cup my balls, heavy with the release I’ve been building up for her for such a long fucking time. “Cara,” I groan to myself. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She’s already giving me a show, and she’s been here for mere minutes. I’m more than pleased with myself for installing the hidden cameras. The dress slips down her hips and pools at her feet, and she steps out of it slowly while I stare at her beautiful image. Her body is tiny, and she’s very frail, almost fragile looking. I think of all the fucking ways I want to hurt her and I can’t stop myself any longer. Thick, long ropes of cum spurt from my cock, landing on my desk as I groan her name and relieve myself of the tension I’ve felt for two damn years. I keep staring at her, slowly jerking my cock that refuses to soften. On my computer screen, Cara reaches for her bra strap and slowly pulls it down. I’m moments away from seeing her tits, and I turn my back to the monitor, getting up from my chair, naked as I am. I don’t want to steal this moment from her, like I did the others. I want her to give it to me willingly, just like she will her virgin pink pussy, her tight little ass and her sweet mouth. I know no one’s had them yet. I made damn fucking sure about that. No one touches my sweet doll until she’s ready to play with me.
There’s an ensuite bathroom adjoined to my study and bedroom, and I head inside there now to wash my spendings from my body. The water running from the shower is cool, almost icy, and I like it that way. I already know I’m going to have trouble keeping my hands off Cara, and I need to get rid of as many stimuli as humanly possible. My cock grows impossibly hard in the shower again, the mere thought of Cara only a few hallways away fucking with my head so fucking much I nearly burst all over the expensive marble tiles again. I restrain myself, and I come out of the shower with my head much fucking clearer. I look at myself in the mirror, giving my image a critical stare as the steam fogs up my view. I’m older than her, not by a scandalous amount, but enough to raise some brows. A thirty-two-year-old man with an eighteen-year-old virgin would definitely cause some uproar in her part of the world. But I’m handsome, probably more so now than ever. My features are chiseled, stubble covering my chin and the bottom part of my face. My eyes are a dark brown and my hair is almost black. I look like fucking sin in a suit, and like a dream when it’s off, and I like to use it to my advantage. My gaze falls lower, to my body. I’ve worked hard to keep myself in shape, and that’s one thing about me that’s never gonna change. My chest and stomach are covered in a thin layer of hair, dark and soft and so fucking different to those pansy-ass boys Cara must be used to. I’ve heard the term ‘real man’ thrown around, and I know I would be considered. Not just because of my looks, but because I care about the woman I’m with. And when it comes to Cara… I’m gonna show her what a real man looks like. And fucks like. I exit the bathroom, toweling off with an expensive Egyptian cotton blend, when I see my phone vibrating on the bed. I reach for it, and my eyes light up as I see an incoming text from a number I’ve memorized by now. I’m here! I quickly type a reply. That’s good. Met the man of the house yet? I wish I were still in my study to see her excited face as she types a reply. Yeah. He seems ok. Handsome? Several minutes pass as I wait for her reply, and I towel dry my hair and get dressed in one of my immaculate suits. When I’m almost out the door for my meeting with Cara, my phone vibrates again and I laugh at her reply. No. He’s old and boring. You’ve got nothing to worry about. What a sweet little liar, I think to myself. Cara still thinks I’m Luca, her little Italian boyfriend she’s so excited to meet here. And the sadistic bastard in me can’t fucking wait to tell her Luca and I are the same fucking person.
CHAPTER THREE CARA
I CAN’T STOP THINKING about the man who greeted me in the kitchen. Could he really be my father’s old friend? He looks so much younger than him, and so very different. I feel almost guilty for my intense reaction to seeing him, but truth be told, I couldn’t help it. As soon as I laid eyes on the man, my body went into sensory overload, my head pounding with his sheer force and masculinity, the way he held himself, the way he kissed my hand to greet me. I should be having second thoughts about lying to Luca about him, but I can’t bring myself to do it. It feels deliciously forbidden to have this secret, and I’ve always been a bit of a brat. Once I’m shown to my room by the man’s assistant, I make myself comfortable. I’m still sulking about the fact that I have to spend my summer with a man I barely know, though him being ridiculously handsome is easing me into it a little. I slip out of my dress and take a long shower, letting the cool water wash away the traces of my long journey and the hot Italian summer. I haven’t really had a chance to see much, since I was practically falling asleep on the ride here, but now I’m too excited to go to bed, even though exhaustion was threatening to pull me under only half an hour earlier. I get dressed again, this time in a sweet pink dress and sandals, and do my hair up, adorning it with pearly barrettes. I’ve always liked to dress this way - very feminine and pretty. It gives my father the impression that I’m still his little girl, and it makes me look less suspicious when I decide to play my favorite games and tricks on him. It takes me about an hour to get ready, and I’m a few minutes late for meeting Mason downstairs. I’m still undecided if I should really call him that, as it seems a little weird to be addressing my father’s friend by his first name. I didn’t even know they were very close, though I do recall seeing the man at my sixteenth birthday party. It would be hard to forget that moment… It was perhaps the first time I came in touch with my own sexuality, standing so close to him and feeling my pussy drip in anticipation as he held me up. He was gone the next second, and I was too embarrassed by my own body’s reaction to ever bring up the incident again. But still, it happened, and it made me realize I wanted a man to hold me like that again. You could even say that day was the reason I wanted to find someone like Luca. My mind drifts to the mysterious date I have in Italy, and I wonder when I’ll finally get to see him. I’m anxious to meet him and to finally see his face, almost as scared as I am excited. I try to push those thoughts to the back of my mind as I leisurely walk down the
intricately carved staircase to the lobby. I see a figure looming before me. He’s no longer wearing the simple, but expensive pajama pants he had on before. Now, he’s in an expensive, incredibly well-cut suit that hugs his body in the best possible way. Mason turns to face me and I have to take a deep breath to focus on him in front of me. “Hello,” I finally manage to get out, my soft voice ringing out in the vast emptiness of the beautiful hall. I was too tired to notice when we walked in, but the whole room - well, the whole house, really - is filled with expensive artwork and furniture. The room itself is like a masterpiece. “You’re late,” he tells me simply, his voice dark and delicious. I sidestep from one foot to another, giving him a strange look. God, he really is handsome, and my body is trying to do the same thing it did when I first met him at my birthday party. It’s as if there’s a pull between us, an invisible string he has in his hands to pull me closer. Of course, I don’t expect Mason to see me that way. He probably thinks I’m just a dumb kid he’s stuck with for the summer. I wonder if he’s fucking anyone. My own though takes me by surprise and I find myself blushing lightly as I meet his gaze again. “You said to meet you here in an hour, didn’t you?” I ask, feeling a little confused. “I did,” he nods. His dark eyes are like pools of something ominous, so clear but dangerous at the same time. “And you’re ten minutes late.” I laugh nervously, thinking he must surely be joking. Why would he be pissed about me being ten minutes late? He’s probably just trying to make a joke. A bad one, because now my body is shaking lightly in anticipation of his next words which never come. “I didn’t realize I was on such a strict schedule,” I tell him, giggling a little. With a single step, he has my back against the wall. I inhale sharply and it feels like I’ll never take another breath again. The last remnants of oxygen in my lungs make my eyes widen and my heartrate pick up. “What are you doing?” I ask him, feeling panicked as hell. He’s not actually touching me. He didn’t push me against the wall, I did it myself. When he stepped closer I got scared, and he’s not backing away. Several inches separate us, but it feels like he’s… inside me. Inside my head, inside my pussy, his long fingers exploring my virgin holes for his own pleasure. It’s invasive, it’s insane and… it’s all in my fucking imagination. “This is my house, Cara,” he tells me in a low, threatening voice. “Here, you play by my rules.” I exhale quickly, my heart feeling like it’s going to burst right out of my chest. “God,” I manage to get out. “I didn’t know you’d be such a fucking nightmare.” “Language!” His word is practically a slap across my face, and he looks pissed. This time, the crimson streaks coloring my cheeks are more intense. “I don’t like a dirty mouth on a girl unless I’m fucking her, and she can’t help herself.”
I stare at him openly, unable to believe the words coming from his mouth. I part my lips in shock, half expecting him to either kiss or slap me, but he does neither. He merely takes a step back and gives me a long, heated look that soon turns into complete disinterest. He reaches down and toys with the cufflinks on his suit while I try to catch my breath. “You’ll find I have some rules I like to stick to,” he tells me lazily. “You’re going to follow them, or you will be punished. Starting with being where I ask you to be on time. Is that clear?” “What is this?” I ask him, feeling enraged. “Some kind of dictatorship? You can’t expect me to… follow your directions like a child!” I almost curse on the spot, but his threatening look prevents me from doing so. I can’t help but notice how handsome he is again, almost in a way that makes me scared to look at him. His face is so perfectly chiseled, covered with just the right amount of stubble, his lips full, his eyes dark. He’s like a fucking god, and I bet he knows it, too. I bet he enjoys having this damn effect on me, which only makes me angrier. “It’s not a dictatorship,” he says simply. “But it is my fucking house.” The fact that he deems it appropriate to curse himself drives me up the wall even more. “I’m not a kid,” I spit out angrily, and he chuckles at my words, making me grit my teeth. “Are you a virgin, Cara?” he asks me simply, and my jaw nearly falls to the floor. I just stare and stare at him and he returns a cold and impassive look, waiting for my answer. “Well? Did I fucking stutter?” “I…” I can barely talk and I feel like my cheeks are going to catch on fire any moment now. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business! I don’t even understand who you think you are to ask me that kind of-” “So that’s a yes,” he confirms for himself, chuckling to himself. This fucking prick. If he weren’t my father’s friend, I’d launch myself at him and scratch his eyes out. But as it is, I still need to stay in Italy for the time being to meet Luca. And though I hate to admit it, it would be a damn shame to ruin his ridiculously handsome face. “I had a feeling you were.” I don’t have the words to reply, but he doesn’t seem to care. “I’m heading into town soon,” he tells me simply. “You can check out the house and the grounds while I’m gone. Do not go into my study or my bedroom.” I bite back the question why, and nod, still feeling enraged as he heads for the door. Once he opens it, I already see his driver waiting for him, and I thank every god I’ve ever heard of this conversation is finally fucking over. “Oh, and Cara?” I look at him and he throws me a grin over his shoulder. “Be in my office at 8:00 p.m. sharp so we can talk about your punishment for being late.” He leaves me standing there with my mouth hanging open and the front door slams shut behind him. There’s nothing else for me to do in the hall, and when I’ve finally calmed down a little, I storm towards the French doors leading out into the gardens.
Who the hell does he think he is? He can’t fucking boss me around like this, like I’m his damn property. He might think he owns me, but just because daddy agreed to send me here for the summer does not mean I’m going to listen to his every command. Because they’re not even wishes - they are full-on commands. And I didn’t come here to obey some madman’s orders. I open the French doors leading outside and a gust of impossibly hot air hits my skin, a none-so-pleasant change from the lovely air-conditioned interior of the house. Still, I need a breath of fresh air and I’m feeling claustrophobic from standing so close to Mason and his switching personalities. It feels like the man I met a few hours ago in the kitchen is a completely different beast to the one I just saw in the lobby. I stalk out onto the terrace, not even wanting to take a moment to admire my beautiful surroundings. But even though I’m not planning on it, the stunning Italian landscape makes my lips part in a gasp of shock. There are bountiful hydrangea bushes blooming by a big, azure infinity pool, complete with two Jacuzzis. Orange trees lead out into a garden filled with some of the most beautiful plants and wildlife I’ve seen, and the air is filled with the heady aroma of their flowers. It’s so beautiful it literally takes my breath away, and instead of stewing in my anger, I let the beauty of the grounds hit me in full force. The air is busy with the buzz of bees and insects, cicadas making a loud background noise that will become all too familiar in the coming months, I feel like. The house is truly a mansion, a jewel that fits in beautifully with the perfectly landscaped grounds. I consider taking a dip in the immaculate pool, but in the end, curiosity gets the better of me and I decide to explore the gardens a little bit more. As I walk towards the orange grove, I realize I forgot my phone in the bedroom, and I stop my walk uncertainly, wondering whether I should go and grab it, but changing my mind in the end. I just want to see the rest of the hidden beauty of this place, and I can always talk to Luca later - at least we’re in the same time zone now. My walk reveals sight after beautiful sight, and I drink in the beauty of the Italian countryside like I’m hungry for more. It’s vastly different from our place back home. The weather is cooler there, and we rarely get days like this. I’m enjoying the warm rays of sunshine on my skin, and I forget to worry about the sunburn I know I’m bound to get it I spend too much time out here. Instead, I inspect every flower in the grove, every bloom of the rose bushes planted on the south side of the house. I check the temperature in the pool - perfect, of course - and explore the impressively carved hedges in the center of the gardens. When I’m almost done with my walk, tired and ready to go back to my room to chat to Luca, I find a curious part of the garden that is walled in with a low brick fence. I can look over it when I stand up, but the door leading inside, a wooden one with a heart-shaped lock, is firmly closed, and I cannot get it to budge. I sneak peeks over the fence, finding the inside of the garden neglected and covered in weeds and shrubbery. It makes me wonder why this part of the garden was forgotten like this, and I do my best to get a good look inside, even though it means climbing up on my tiptoes and reaching for the mosscovered bricks to look inside the madness inside. The hidden garden is where nature reigns supreme, and I can tell there hasn’t been a human hand inside the garden for a long,
long time. “I’d be careful if I were you,” a voice interrupts me, and I shriek in surprise, falling and tripping on a rock as I try to get down from the fence. A pair of strong, tanned arms grab me and I look up into a grinning face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, signorina.” “Well, you did,” I manage to get out, getting up and smoothing my now dirt-covered dress. “Who the hell are you anyway?” I quickly regret my rudeness as I get a better look at the guy. He seems to be about my age, maybe a year older. He’s quite handsome - not in that ridiculous way Mason is, but a charming one nonetheless. He has dark brown hair and grey eyes, a sharp contrast with his tanned complexion. His nose is crooked and looks like it’s been broken several times, but it really only adds to his charm instead of taking away from it. “I’m sorry,” he laughs. “I figured we’d be introduced soon. I’m Luca.”
CHAPTER FOUR MASON
MY BUSINESS in town takes longer than I would like, but I don’t let it stop me from getting home on time. I keep my promises, and my word is as good as fucking sacred. If I told Cara to meet me in my study at eight, her ass better be there, because I sure as hell will be. Throughout my business meeting regarding an acquisition of a new office in the States, I keep thinking about her. The way her cheeks blushed when I came closer, the oh-soobvious reaction her pretty young body had to mine. It was so fucking obvious she wanted me, but poor cara mia didn’t have a fucking clue yet. She was still busy fighting it, pretending like there was nothing there. But I know she’ll submit soon enough. The drive back home is excruciatingly long. Living on the outskirts of the city does have its perks, but driving here and back sometimes almost makes me regret having a property so far out of the city. It’s why I have an apartment in the city as well, to make sure I have a place to stay whenever I need to spend a night in town due to meetings. We arrive at home thirty minutes before I’m supposed to meet Cara for our little chat, and my mind is already swimming with the possibilities of what I could have her do. I walk upstairs to my study, but on my way there, I notice the French doors leading outside from the hall have been left open. I walk towards them, enjoying the light breeze from outside. Now that it’s later in the day, it’s cooled down considerably and the air outside isn’t as oppressive or hot. I move to close the doors when something catches my eye outside. Cara, talking to him. Shit. I didn’t think he’d come back home for a while, I thought I’d at least have a few weeks before he got here. I purse my lips angrily, looking at Luca through the window. I close the door as quietly as I can and try to ignore the budding anger inside me which is threatening to spill out any moment now. I will not allow Luca to ruin any of my plans, even though his sudden arrival means I’ll have to deal with shit I’d rather put off for a while longer. I get so distracted I barely remember the time, but I manage to tear myself from Cara’s sinful little giggle as Luca tells her something out in the gardens. I walk upstairs after closing the double doors and dismissing Filippe for the evening. He has his own quarters in the house, where I presume he will spend the rest of the day. My office is pleasantly cool from the air-conditioning as I enter, and I strip off my blazer,
enjoying the sensation of undoing the upper button of my starched shirt. I run a hand through my dark hair and pour myself a glass of whiskey before sitting down at my desk again. The time tells me there are ten minutes to go before Cara will be knocking in my door, and I can’t resist sneaking a peek at my computer screen on my desk again. The cameras in her room click into life, and my blood instantly boils when I see them. Cara’s standing in the middle of her room with him, showing him something with her back to the camera. Luca’s hand is resting protectively on the small of her back, making me want to tear his fucking hair out. He hasn’t even announced his arrival to me, yet he has already introduced himself to our new houseguest. I could fucking kill him. Especially after being so damn careful and making sure Cara remained untouched for me, just like I wanted her. If the kid thinks he can have his way with her, he’ll have to go through me, and I won’t go down easily. I’ll put up a fight for Cara, and I know I’ll take him down. Angrily, I click on the screen to turn on the camera in front of them, above her bed. She’s showing him some drawings that I’ve never seen before. Pencil and white pen on dark paper. They’re just sketches, but they’re pretty damn good, and I admire them with a critical eye as Cara’s finger slides along the lines she’s created on the surface. I don’t put the sound on, and I can only imagine she’s telling Luca about her art. A quick look at the clock on the wall tells me there are two minutes left, and as Cara looks up with a look of horror on her face, I realize she must’ve just realized the same thing. She puts the sketches on her bed and rushes to say goodbye to Luca, practically pushing him out of her bedroom. He seems none too pleased about that, and I smirk at his offended face. Good. He’d better get used to it, because there’s no damn way I’m sharing cara mia with him. The bedroom is suddenly empty, and a moment later, I hear footsteps coming down the hall and there’s a light knock on the door of my office. “Come in,” I say darkly, and the door creaks open. Cara’s eyes sparkle as she walks inside, smoothing down the dress she wore earlier when we met up in the lobby. She’s beautiful like this, a little disheveled, but so stunning nevertheless. Her hair is escaping the bun she put it in, and her hands shake as she sits down in the chair in front of my desk that I’ve pointed out for her. “Hello,” she gets out in a small voice. Her eyes aren’t quite meeting mine, but she looks up curiously several times as I get up from my chair and perch on my desk. “I see you’ve learned your lesson,” I tell her with a chuckle. Her eyes follow mine to the wall where the clock has just ticked its way to 8:00 p.m. sharp. “I’m happy to see you’re a fast learner, Cara. I’m not a very patient man.” Unless it comes to you, I add in my mind. But even now, my patience is wearing really fucking thin and my whole body aches with the need to get my hands on her. I need to wait, though, ease her into this. There’s no way she’ll submit without being prepared properly. “I’m glad you think so,” she adds in a small voice. She finally looks up at me, and her eyes are full of apologies and a very deep need for me to forgive for. I live for that, the sheer desperation she feels and the need for me to say it’s all okay. It’s going to come in
very useful later on. “I really didn’t mean to disappoint you earlier, M- Mr. Scott.” “You can call me Mason,” I tell her, and she nods, though I can tell she’s having a bit of trouble with the informality. “I know you didn’t, Cara. I don’t have very many rules, but those that I do, I expect you to follow. Is that clear?” She nods quickly, and I smile. I don’t tell her I knew she’d be late. I don’t tell her I invented the ridiculous rule just so I could fucking punish her. She’s a smart girl, she can put two and two together by herself. “Have you had a look at the grounds?” I ask her, and she nods. “What did you think?” “Oh, it’s beautiful here,” she tells me, her voice full of impressions from our beautiful surroundings. I’m not very humble, but even if I were, I’d have to admit my home is stunning. “I love the little orange grove, the pool… And the other parts, too.” I can see an unspoken question in her eyes, but I don’t press her for information. It’s cute that she thinks she can hide shit from me. I’m going to find out eventually, anyway. “I’m glad,” I tell her with a warm smile. “I also met-” she starts up, and I cut into her words before she can go on. Fucking hell, I didn’t call her in here to fucking listen to her rant on about Luca. “Your punishment still needs to be taken care of,” I tell her simply. A light blush develops on her cheeks and she giggles nervously. “Oh, I thought…” “Thought I was kidding?” I ask her gently, then shake my head. “Sadly, no. I believe rules are meant to be followed. Mine aren’t too strict, as you’ll come to find out.” A lie, but she needn’t know that. “If you obey me, everything will turn out alright.” “Okay,” she says uncertainly. “So, what is my punishment, then?” I get up from my desk and sit back down in my chair after admiring the view from my window for a short moment. I can feel her nervous gaze on my back, but I don’t acknowledge it. Let her worry about what’s coming. I bet she thinks I’ll tell daddy dearest or some shit. “I’m a little bit old fashioned, Cara,” I tell her simply. “Okay.” Her voice is unsure and shaky, and I love its vulnerability. “Come here.” I motion for her to come closer, and she gets up on trembling legs and walks to my side of the desk. “Closer.” She looks unsure, but she follows my directions until she’s standing in front of me. She’s even more beautiful up close, a pure vision of young beauty and innocence. I can’t fucking wait to ruin her. “Now sit on my lap.” “W-what?” she stutters over her words, her cheeks blushing deeply, but she doesn’t take her eyes away from mine. I stare her down, waiting for the multitude of questions that never come. I’m a little surprised, but still unimpressed that she isn’t following my clear
directions. “Sit on my lap, Cara,” I repeat in a silky smooth voice. It’s up to her to react to my words. If she looks repulsed or refuses, I’ll let her go, for now at least. But I’ve spent a long time observing her, and I think she’s fucking excited. I think her little pussy’s dripping already, and I think she really fucking wants to do as she is told. Slowly, she moves her little body into my arms. Her ass comes down on my lap and I groan out loud when her movement causes the smallest bit of friction. My dick has been rocked hard since she walked into my study, but with her sitting on top of me like this, I’m worried I’ll embarrass myself and cum inside my pants like a fucking teenager. Cara drapes her arms around my neck and sits there, a vision in her pretty pink dress and her lips lightly parted. She’s more, she’s better than I ever thought she would be. She’s fucking unbelievable, and the way she followed my directions after only a moment’s hesitation makes me want to devour her. I need to own her ass, and I’m not going to stop until I do. “Good girl,” I mutter against her ear, and Cara shivers, her whole body trembling on my lap. She’s not letting go, and I need to have my hands on her right the fuck now. I take ahold of her tiny waist, my strong fingers digging into her sides and so desperate to have her bouncing on my cock. I can feel the prim and proper way she tucked her dress under her ass isn’t working, and her panties are so damn close to my cock the savage part of me wants to just rich them the fuck off and take her. “Your behavior is improving,” I tell her gently. I tuck a strand of her pretty blonde hair behind her ear and she keeps her eyes downcast, shaking with nerves. “But I still can’t let you get away with what you did. You know that, right?” She looks up at me, and her eyes are filled with betrayal and embarrassment. Good. I need to break those two emotions into pieces until there’s nothing left but yearning. That’s the next step, after all. “Yes,” she replies in a soft voice, and my cock throbs so hard against my thigh I swear she can feel it. Her eyes finally go up to mine again and she blinks once, twice, three times. Her thick lashes rim her eyes prettily and her mouth is still parted, as if she’s expecting me to kiss her. Too bad the truth of what’s going to happen is far from that. In one swift moment, I put her over my lap. She inhales sharply, but she doesn’t make another sound as she lays sprawled across my knee. “What happens to bad girls, Cara?” I ask her hoarsely, and she squirms in my arms. I put a hand firmly on the small of her back and hold her the hell down. “I… Please.” Her voice is weak and we both know what she’s asking for. “Bad girls get hurt,” I tell her simply. “And I believe in physical punishment, because I think you’ll love it as much as you’ll fucking hate it.” I know she’ll love the pain, but the embarrassment of being put over my knee like this is going to have her blushing for the rest of the week. She doesn’t say a single word, but she gasps softly when I pull her dress up. I swear I nearly cum in my trousers when I see her ass. I’d been saving it, the view of her
bottom soon to be marked by my lashes. But she’s fucking perfect, creamy, soft skin and a bubble butt I could’ve only dreamed of. She’s wearing a tiny thong, a scrap of lingerie that pisses me off. I would’ve expected her to wear something more modest, but then again, I should’ve known she’s a little slut on the inside. “What’s this?” I growl in her ear, my fingers going under the fabric of the thong and making her mewl softly. “That’s what you wear for a meeting with Daddy’s friend, Cara?” “Oh god,” she breathes, her gasps slow and heavy now. She’s stopped struggling to get off my lap, but she’s burning the fuck up, her skin hot and heating up even more. “I… I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry, Sir,” I correct her, and I can feel the tension making her body go rigid in my arms. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she repeats obediently. She turns her head to the side and looks at me, those eyes that are bound to be the death of me staring me down with their sparkling brilliance. And then the little slut grins at me, a wicked little smile for a wicked little girl. “What a naughty little whore,” I mutter, and with the snap of my fingers, her sinful thong falls to the floor, ruined. She gasps, and her intake of air turns into a long, sensual moan. “I haven’t even touched you, and yet,” I remind her, “You’re already moaning like a needy whore.” Her body writhes in my arms and I take my time putting my hand on her ass. She’s so fucking soft, her ass bouncing as my hand comes down against it for the first time. She shrieks when I hit her, and as soon as my hand’s left her butt, she arches her back and puts her ass up for more. “Please,” she begs desperately, and I chuckle. “Is that so,” I say. “Already begging for more like a real slut. We’ve barely started, Cara.” “How many?” she asks, and I smooth my hand over her reddening ass. I better not think about her naked pussy on my knee, because I’ll turn her the hell around and bury myself balls deep in her hole if I do. “How many do you think you can take?” I ask her teasingly, and she gives me a defiant look. “Fifteen,” she blurts out, and I grin at her. “Good,” I say sweetly. “Let’s double it and see what happens.” “But…” Her eyes are desperate. “Shhh,” I say. “Every time I hit your ass, I want you to say, Thank you, Sir, may I please have another? Is that clear?” Her breathing’s picking up and she’s panicking, squirming needily against my leg. She wants to get off, but fuck me if I’m going to let her. “I said, is that fucking clear, Cara?” “Y-yes,” she manages to get out. “Good,” I coo at her, smoothing my hand down her ass again. She moans and I hit her, harder this time. She yelps with pain, but my hand comes down against her ass and I
smooth the pain away with a gentle caress. “Thank you, S-Sir,” she whispers. “And what else?” I prompt her. “May I…” I smooth circles down her ass and she moans so loud she could wake the dead. “May I please… May I pretty please have another?” “What an overachieving little slut,” I praise her. “Making me fucking proud, Cara.” I hit her again. And again. And again.
CHAPTER FIVE CARA
THE SLAPS of his hand across my flesh send me into a frenzy. By the time we’ve reached ten, I’m shaking, my whole body threatening to collapse in on itself, and yet he isn’t stopping, and I know he won’t for a while, and it’s my own fault. I don’t even try to comprehend what’s happening fully because it’s almost too much for me to handle right now. “Please,” I croak. “Please stop just for a s-second…” Another slap shuts me up and I moan, long and slow and deep as he makes me stay still in his lap. “You said fifteen,” Mason tells me darkly. “And I promised you we’d double that. Regretting your words so soon, little girl?” “No, I…” I feel tears pricking my eyes. I don’t know whether it’s because it hurts or because I’m embarrassed, and I don’t really care, either. I’m humiliated, and I’m also dripping wet. The moment he lifts me off his lap, he’s going to find a big wet spot on his trousers, and I’ll want to die on the spot for it. “Please, stop. Please, let me go.” “Does it hurt?” he asks me gently, and his palm smooths down my ass, massaging the tender and sore spots in long and soothing circles. I moan, and I’m too embarrassed to admit that yes, it does hurt, but it feels incredible at the same time and I don’t want him to stop. “I’ll stop if it hurts too much, Cara. I promise.” “Y-yes,” I mumble. “Please, it hurts too bad.” It’s a white lie, but I’m too embarrassed to keep doing this. My center is heating up and I’ll die if I cum on his lap like this. I just can’t let that happen. “Just let me go, Sir, please.” Hearing the name on my lips makes him groan, and he rests his hand on my sore ass. “Alright,” he says softly, and I let out a long breath of relief. “I promised I’d stop, but you said you could take fifteen, and fifteen it’s gonna be. Are you gonna be more careful with your promises next time, Cara?” “Yes,” I choke out, nodding vigorously. “I promise, I-I really do.” I can’t even understand the idea of a ‘next time’. What we’re doing right now, this spanking, is already pushing my limits so much I can’t imagine anything as awful and delicious at the same time. “Okay,” he says, and in a second, he’s turned me around on his lap. Time stands still for a moment as I settle my back on his knees and his eyes bore into mine. I can see him like this, see his ridiculously beautiful face that makes me want to claw his eyes out for doing this to me. But he can see me too, and I become increasingly aware of my nakedness on
his lap. “Please,” I beg again, my bottom lip trembling. His gaze slowly roves over my body. He stops on my collarbone, going down hungrily and drinking in my tits along with my heaving chest. My hands shake with a need to cover up my pussy, but I know he’ll just push them aside, so I don’t bother. He groans as his gaze travels lower and takes in my flat stomach and finally, the shaved triangle between my legs. I’m breathing so heavily my back’s arching off his lap, and his eyes are violating me, fucking me with their intensity. He doesn’t touch me, but he really doesn’t have to. It’s still too much and I feel like I’m going to burst any moment now. “Luckily there are other surfaces for me to hurt,” he tells me, and I whimper at his words. He grabs me in his arms and lays me down on his desk, my back flush against the dark wood and my legs hanging off, trembling and shivering as his fingers graze my stomach. “You should learn what happens to little liars, Cara. I know it didn’t hurt that bad.” “Don’t,” I beg him. “Don’t what?” he asks me, giving me a grin. “Hit you here?” His fingers linger over my belly, traveling upwards. I hiss when he reaches the area under my tits, still covered by my pink dress. “Or here?” “Please,” I choke out. “Lower, please.” “Lower what?” he taunts me. “Hit me lower…” I beg, and my own words embarrass me so much I wish the ground would just open up and swallow me whole. “On my pussy, Sir.” I can’t stop the words from coming. I can’t stop myself from wanting what I do from this man, practically a complete stranger. “Please, Sir…” He chuckles and his fingers go lower. “I won’t be able to make it better, though,” he tells me darkly. “It’s gonna hurt, you know that, right?” “Okay,” I say breathily. “Just five more, right?” “Just five more,” he nods. “Can you take them, little girl?” “Yes.” I may have overestimated my strength, but I’m going to stand up to him now. I’m going to prove I can take five more slaps, in my most sensitive spot, just to spite him. Whether he actually sees it as that is left up to my imagination, and he holds me down with a hand firmly pressed to my stomach, raising his palm above me. I squint and look away as the slap comes down and rings out in the office. He’s gentler this time, and the sting feels too fucking good for me to stay in place. I squirm on the desk and try to get up, but he holds me firmly in place. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asks me gently, and I give him an incredulous look. “Don’t fucking test my patience, Cara.” “Please Sir,” I get out through gritted teeth. “May I please…” His fingers smooth the area he slapped and I gasp. “Please!” “Please what?” he demands, and his fingers stop rubbing, making me whimper in a frenzy.
“May I please have another?” My voice is shaking and I barely recognize the tone. I’m scared, but I’m turned on at the same time, unbelievably turned on and ready for him to do more to my body. Still, when the next slap hits me, I’m unprepared, and a long moan is ripped from my throat. “Good girl,” he praises me, smoothing down my hair. Most of it has escaped from my chignon now, and with a few simple motions, Mason undoes my hairstyle and my hair falls down in waves around my shoulders. “Such a looker,” he tells me gently. “You really are something, Cara.” He hits me again and again after I utter the magic words, but he doesn’t caress my pussy the way he did my ass and it’s making me squirm with need under him. No matter how big of a jerk he is, it doesn’t stop me from wanting his hands all over my body. “Only one left,” he promises. “Are you gonna be a good girl and beg for it?” “Please,” I whisper. “Please slap me again, Sir.” “Right here?” He smooths my pussy lips with his fingertips and I gasp. His fingers part them and I hear my own wetness, making me blush deeply. I look away and blink away the tears of humiliation. “Shhh, Cara,” he says gently. “It’s okay, it’s a normal reaction. I’ll stop now if you want. Just say it.” But I can’t talk, I can’t utter a single word. He sighs and it’s the most awful sound, the most awful feeling in the world to know I’ve disappointed him. He moves his hand away and I grab on to it. His eyes are surprised as they lock with mine, and I guide his hand back to the heat between my legs. “One more,” I say. “Yes,” he confirms with a nod. “Only one more.” His fingers part my pussy lips again, making me hiss as the air hits my wetness. And then he hits me, slapping the tender area of my opened pussy and making me scream and clench my legs. I really start crying then. Before I know it, he’s gathered me in his arms and he’s whispering calming, sweet nothings in my ear as he sits down on his chair with me in his lap. I curl up closer, needing the comfort of his presence and practically climbing on top of him. He keeps talking to me, sweet things I don’t even understand because I’m so far gone. It doesn’t even hurt, it’s just so much to take in such a short amount of time, and the sheer desperation of having him inside me is almost enough to forget about my throbbing ass. He picks me up after a little while and carries me out of his office. I look up through heavy eyes as we walk down the unfamiliar hallways into my bedroom. He places me on the bed gently and I sob, softly and barely there. He strips me of my clothes and I barely notice, barely acknowledge he’s now seen me fully naked. Mason covers me up with the duvet, tucking me in gently and turning on a nightlight for me. “I hope I won’t have to punish you again,” he tells me, and I nod. I can’t quite look into his eyes, but when he turns to leave, I reach out for him. “Don’t go.” He gives me a look full of wonder, like he didn’t expect that. I really should hate him after
he did, but a sick part of me - a big part of me - wants Mason to make it all better, the damage he caused himself. “Don’t go, please,” I repeat as he hesitates. “Stay here until I fall asleep.” He seems undecided, but finally gives me a curt nod and steps towards the armchair on the other side of the room. I whimper, needing him closer, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, and I somehow know if I beg him to come into my bed, he won’t do it. Instead, he settles in the chair and I glue my sleepy eyes to him. The jet lag is finally getting the best of me and I know I’m about to pass out. Mason’s heated gaze is fixed to mine as I slowly drift to sleep. I don’t realize he’s jerking his cock as he watches me, not until I wake up alone the next morning and remember his motions in that chair.
AS I WAKE up the next day, the events of the previous night come trickling back and I find myself blushing as I brush my tangled mess of hair. I keep thinking about Mason, what we did in his office and how pissed my father would be if he got wind of what happened. But at the same time, I can’t say I didn’t like it. The feelings Mason evoked inside me are completely unheard of and I feel shy about reacting the way I did. But there’s something else on my mind. As hard as I try to think about it, though, it keeps slipping away in favor of Mason and the punishment he doled out on me. Since no one has told me what I have to do today, I decide to take another stroll through the gardens and skip breakfast since it’s already too late for that. I get dressed in a pink skirt with a white blouse on top, along with sweet little ballet flats. I fasten my favorite charm bracelet around my wrist and head out of the door. I keep thinking about last night and somehow manage to forget where I wanted to go. Before I know it, I’ve already ended up back at the secret garden I discovered the previous day. I sit down next to the locked door, my mind swimming with thoughts and something that happened here only yesterday. “Who are you?” My voice is shaky and I feel unsure of myself. He’s handsome and about my age, and he just told me his name, but I’m too shocked to really understand. “Luca,” he repeats, giving me a curious look. “Does that ring a bell?” “I…” I just stare at him. “It’s me, Luca. It’s Cara.” He looks lost for a moment, but then his dark eyes start sparkling with mischief. “Cara,” he repeats softly to himself, and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, making me look to the side, blushing wildly. “I see. And you’re Mason’s guest?” “Yes,” I remind him. “I… I had no idea you would be here as well.” “The surprise is mutual,” he winks at me, and my heart pounds like crazy. I don’t know what to tell him. The way he’s acting makes me think he doesn’t want me here, and it’s odd after all the messages we’d exchanged. I still can’t believe he’s here, right here with me, on Mason’s property.
“But, what are you doing here?” I ask him. “I’m sure Mason will explain everything in due time,” Luca smirks. I give him a doubtful look, inspecting him further. There is no doubt about it - he’s a handsome man. But does he make me feel like I thought he would? Does he make my whole belly go aflutter with butterflies, does he make me feel like I’m about to pass out from the intensity of his gaze? I don’t want to admit what the answer is, and I busy myself with blabbering about my home back in the States. Luca seems vaguely interested, and he chuckles a few times as I drone on and on. We start heading back towards the house together, chatting to one another. It doesn’t feel quite like I thought it would. I don’t feel… that connection I felt with him over our texts and emails, and I don’t understand why. It should only be more special in person, shouldn’t it? And yet, I can’t seem to get rid of the awkwardness between us. “Am I interrupting?” A kind voice interrupts me, and I look up, startled from being so caught up in my daydream. “I’m sorry, Signorina Newton, I just wanted to check if you wanted some late breakfast.” The man who drove me from the airport, I think his name is Filippe, is looking at me with an all-knowing smile. “Oh, no, that’s okay,” I tell him, jumping to my feet. “I think I’ll just wait for lunch instead if that’s alright with you. Where is… where are the others, Luca and…” Filippe looks at me funnily and grins. “They will be back soon enough. Do you want me to walk you back to the house, signorina?” “Oh, Cara is fine,” I tell him with a smile, and he just looks at me, disregarding what I said. I step from one foot to another. “I think I’ll stick around for a while. I like it here.” Filippe looks worried for a moment, and it makes me curious. Finally, he speaks up. “I’m not sure Mr. Scott would like you being here, signorina,” he tells me softly. “Huh?” I give him a weird look, unsure of what he’s on about. “What do you mean? I didn’t do anything wrong, I didn’t…” “I know,” he tells me softly, placing a hand on my shoulder and gently, but firmly, steering me away from the walled-in garden. “I just think you should talk to Mr. Scott before you come to this garden in particular.” “Alright,” I say awkwardly, throwing a look over my shoulder at the mysterious wall. I wonder why Filippe - and I guess Mason, too - don’t want me hanging out here. I guess I’ll just have to find out by myself. I talk to Filippe as we walk back towards the house, and he tells me a little bit of history about the building and the ground it was built on. I’m fascinated, and Filippe seems pleased by my interest in the property. He likes talking about it, I can tell, and I briefly wonder how long he’s been working for Mason. The mere thought of his boss makes me blush, and Filippe gives me curious look as my words trail off into nothing and I try to hide my embarrassment. “Lunch will be ready in about thirty minutes,” he tells me calmly, not showing a hint of unprofessionalism. “If you’d like, signorina, you can look at the library upstairs. It’s quite the sight for sore
eyes.” “That sounds lovely,” I say with a genuine smile. I’ve always loved a good book. “I’ll be downstairs soon, then.” He nods and disappears towards the dining room while I run up the stairs. The library’s not hard to find, and it only takes me a few minutes to locate the beautiful room with tall ceilings, covered wall-to-wall in glorious books. “This is amazing,” I mutter to myself. I head deeper inside the library and am about to burrow my head in one of the books, when I notice a door in one of the walls. I walk towards it curiously, and my hand checks the handle. It’s unlocked. For some reason, I know I shouldn’t go in there, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I open the door, and I’m almost blinded by the wonderful lighting in the room. The whole south wall of the room is glass, and the light in the space is stunning. There are canvases strewn across the floor and leaning against the walls, some of them empty, some of them torn apart. An easel is placed in the center of the room, but I can’t see the canvas on it without going around to the other side. Curiosity gets the better of me, and with my heart pounding, I round the corner and stand in front of the easel. The sight before me takes my breath away, and I blink several times before I can fully comprehend what I’m seeing. It’s a painting, a beautiful one in so much vivid detail I can only imagine how much work and attention it took. A beautiful, young girl with blonde hair and orange flowers adorning her head stares off into the distance dreamily. I recognize her. I saw her in the mirror a little over two years ago at my sixteenth birthday party. A hand falls on my shoulder and I gasp loudly as strong, dominant fingers dig through the fabric of my blouse. “Disobeying again?” a deep voice asks me, and I look over my shoulder into a pair of dark eyes that will surely be the end of me.
CHAPTER SIX MASON
SHE’S SHIVERING ALREADY and I’ve barely got my hands on her. I don’t like this recent development. She wasn’t supposed to see the painting until a few weeks into her stay with me. But it is what it is, and I need to make the best of it. “Well?” I ask her, raising my eyebrows. “Answer me, Cara. You know I’m stern with my punishments. Or did you forget about last night already?” She takes a step backwards, nearly toppling over the easel. A deep blush colors her cheeks and she’s looking anywhere but into my eyes. Her hands are shaking and I put my own up as a sign that I’m not trying to hurt her here, even though she came into my atelier uninvited. “I didn’t touch anything,” she tells me in that shaky voice. I don’t know why, but her fear is sexy to me. The way she trembles, the question mark at the end of every sentence she utters. It’s sexy in its own right, and the desire to push her against the wall and just fucking take her is difficult to resist. I know I have to wait, though. I’ve been so patient so far, I can last a little while longer. “I know,” I tell her gently. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Cara. Just calm down, okay?” She nods, but the motion is panicked and scared. I approach her slowly, like a hurt doe on the road, and even though I’m not touching her, she gasps as if my hands just seared her skin. “I’m not gonna do anything to you, nothing you don’t want.” “Okay,” she manages to get out, swallowing thickly. Her eyes go to the easel and my own follow her gaze, looking at the innocent expression on her sixteen-year-old form. I painted her right after her party, starting the moment I came home and barely stopping to eat and sleep until I finished. I needed to have her on canvas, the way I remembered her from the day my obsession began. I was proud of the portrait - it was definitely one of my best. A selfish part of me hoped Cara liked it too, while another one wanted her to question me about it. And she didn’t fucking disappoint. “Your work?” she asks, gathering up courage and pointing towards the canvas. I come to stand behind her, noticing the way goosebumps prickle her skin as I stand behind her. “Yes,” I tell her simply. “I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of the occasion.” A blush creeps up her neck and she looks away, her eyes fixed on the floor. Her neck is exposed, and I want to sink my teeth into the gentle skin of her shoulder. “Do you like it?” Fuck. I sound uncertain, almost needy for her approval, and I am already
regretting my question. She needs to see that I am above her in every way, she needs to follow my every command. And besides, I don’t need her damn praise. She looks at me over her shoulder, her fleeting gaze connecting with mine. She looks selfassured and almost cocky as she does so, and I curse inwardly again for letting that question slip. She’ll pay for that cockiness later. “Yes, I do,” she smiles. She steps closer and admires the painting from up close. “I didn’t know you were a painter.” “A hobby,” I wave my hand dismissively. “You know I work in investments, just like your father. Painting’s just a hobby I picked up in Italy. Nothing special, I’m merely a student for now.” “Looks pretty professional to me,” she murmurs under her breath, and I grin to myself. A sharp fucking eye. I thought her interest in art and its history was merely a ruse to get to Italy, but it appears to be at least a little bit genuine. Cara looks at me again after inspecting a painting. “Yes?” I ask her, grinning under her inquisitive gaze. “I’m just wondering,” she says softly. “But… no, I’d better not ask.” “I’ll allow a question,” I tell her lazily, mostly because I want to see what she’s going to ask. “But only one. Shoot, Cara. Give me your best shot.” “Okay…” Her eyes sparkle as she looks at me again, genuine interest in those pretty blue eyes. “You have an American name, yet you live in Italy. What brought you here?” “A woman,” I tell her simply. “Oh.” Her small exhale sounds almost regretful, but I decide not to dwell on it. She’ll find out more when the time comes, but I don’t intend on getting too personal with Cara until I see fit. “And she was Italian? Do you speak Italian yourself?” “I said one question,” I remind her with a grin, and she giggles, blushing again. “I’m sorry,” she says, and from the strained way she utters the words, I can tell she’s not used to apologizing a whole lot. “I’m just curious. Seems like you know a lot about me, and I barely know you.” “I like it that way.” I turn to leave after those words, having had enough of this exchange, when her small hand tugs on my sleeve. “Mason?” Just that, the feel of her fingers gripping my sleeve, is enough to send me into a fucking frenzy. God, I want her so fucking badly. I thought I could resist her when she finally came here, but with Luca around her, I just want to stake my claim already. “What is it?” I bark at her, because fuck me if I’m going to deal with my feelings right now. “I just… I like the painting.” She has trouble getting the words out, and I turn around to face her again, crossing my arms in front of my body. She’s cowering in front of me, tiny and sweet and so fucking delicious compared to my strong stature. “I just wanted to tell
you, I feel honored you painted me. I love it.” “Thank you,” I tell her roughly. I approach her again and this time, she doesn’t shrink away from my touch as I reach for her. “I needed to be tough on you yesterday, Cara. I want you to understand this is my house, and here, you need to play by my rules. Is that clear?” She hesitates, and my grip on her arm tightens. Finally, she looks up at me and nods slowly. Her eyes are crystal clear, the blue of them almost mesmerizing. She looks so different now from the first painting I made of her, and I believe it’s time for the second painting. Pleased with this decision, I grunt and pull her towards me. She stumbles into my arms, but she doesn’t shy away from my touch this time. I let my fingers roam her pretty face, down her straight and prominent cheekbones and her small chin. She parts her lips as if she expects me to touch them, but I don’t. Instead, I turn around to leave. She lets out a small gasp, followed by a moan as she calls after me. “Mason…” “I have work to do,” I tell her simply, and head out of the room. Before I can step out the door though, she’s appeared in front of me, a little banshee in pink and white, stomping her foot on the ground angrily. “You can’t just leave!” she tells me defiantly, and her bottom lip pouts and trembles as if she’s about to start crying. “I… You can’t treat me the way you did yesterday and never give me an explanation.” I stare at her blankly, wondering where this spunky little personality came from. Her father had told me Cara definitely had a temper, but I hadn’t been privy to it until now. But as she stands in front of me with her hands crossed in front of her body, it becomes clear what her father meant when he told me she can be a handful. “Cara,” I tell her slowly, warning her. “You need to get the fuck out of my way and let me work.” “No,” she whines. “I want to know why… you touched me like that yesterday. Why you… spanked me like a little child!” She blushes and her small fists hit my chest, albeit hesitantly. “I need to know why.” “Why?” I groan into her face, and in a second, I have her pushed against the wall, my breath oppressing against her cheek as she tries to breathe, her frightened eyes dancing over my face. “Because it makes you feel like this, Cara,” I groan into her ear. “Because it makes you so fucking weak at the knees you feel like you’re about to pass out. Because it makes you want me, because it makes you submissive the way I want you to be. It makes your knees shake and your mouth water and your fucking pussy flood.” She moans in protest and I chuckle. “Am I wrong, Cara?” “Y-yes,” she gets out, giving me an angry look. “Is that so,” I say. “So if I reached between your legs now, your little pussy wouldn’t be soaking through the scrap of fabric you wear as panties? You wouldn’t be fucking desperate to have me inside of you, Cara?”
“No,” she says, and it comes out as a question. I stare at her for a long time, unsure whether I love or hate this new spunky personality of hers. “Alright,” I tell her simply. “Prove it then. Prove you don’t feel attracted to me.” She gives me a pissed off look, and I can almost see the gears in her mind running. Before I have a chance to react, the little vixen reaches for my shirt and pulls me in. I could’ve stopped her, but I let her do what she wants, and her hot, pouty little mouth melts against mine in a desperate, angry kiss. She’s not skilled in kissing. She kisses so needily it makes my cock tighten impossibly hard though, and I put both hands on the wall on either side of her to stop myself from tearing her panties off. Cara bites my mouth a little too hard and I grunt as she sticks her pink tongue in my mouth, demanding my attention, demanding I return her kiss. The little slut stole our first kiss, and I didn’t have it in me to stop her. Even though it’s probably her first kiss and she doesn’t know shit about what she’s doing, her sinful lips on mine make my cock throb against my thigh. She reaches up from my chest, her fingers trembling as she fumbles with my buttons, and that’s when I realize I really have to fucking stop her. If I let her go further, I really won’t be able to stop myself. I grab her wrists and pin them above her head. She moans, a dirty little sound that makes me want to explode inside that mouth of hers. “You don’t call the shots here, little girl,” I tell her darkly. “You know I could fucking punish you for doing that?” “Yes,” she moans, and it almost sounds like she’s begging for it. I shouldn’t, but I reach between her legs anyway. I slap her thighs apart and she starts breathing so hard she can barely keep herself up. I toy with the skin on the inside of her leg for a while before I slide a finger between her pussy lips, over her panties. “Soaked,” I tell her unnecessarily, and she whimpers, thrusting her hips out at me. I let go of her, and she crumples to the floor in a little heap. “Get out of here, Cara,” I tell her darkly, and it takes her a moment to pick herself up. For a moment, she’s just a sullen teenager who’s pissed at the world and then some. But the look she gives me, so broken and sad, almost makes me call her back. But this is what I have to do. I have to deal with her attitude, I have to break her down slowly but surely until she’s the perfect toy. Only when that’s done will I allow myself to play with her. She walks out of the atelier on shaky legs, and she doesn’t look over her shoulder as she leaves. I close the door behind her firmly, and get to work. I prepare my colors and paints and a fresh canvas on my easel. I imagine the sight of her the way I saw her last night, after I stripped her and put her to bed following our little playing session. The way her naked back was turned towards me, the yearning look she gave me over her shoulder as she pulled a sheet over her nakedness and buried herself inside the bed, with me sitting on the armchair. So close, but so far from her at the same time. I take my brushes out and I start to paint.
TIME GETS AWAY FROM ME, and I barely notice anything going on around me. I do realize it’s getting dark outside, and that’s my clue to finally stop painting as I prefer the natural light of the sun when I work. I admire what I’ve done so far before stripping off my paint-stained shirt and walking out into the library without a tee. I head out into the hallway and into my wing of the house, taking a long, ice cold shower to clear my fucking head. The pinpricks of the cold water against my pores are torture, but I tell myself I need them for ruining my plan. Cara and I weren’t supposed to kiss today, but I fell for her charms like some teenage sucker. I decide I need to get back at her for what she did, and as I get dressed in slacks and a simple button-down shirt, I intend on doing just that. However, when I walk outside of my bathroom, I find Luca sitting comfortably on the couch in my room, grinning at me as I walk out of the room. “Hello,” he tells me smoothly. “I thought it was high time I said hello to daddy dearest.” “What the fuck do you want?” I ask him, barely able to contain my anger. I towel dry my wet hair and throw the used towel on my bed. “I don’t have time for your shit right now.” “You’re not going to say hello to the prodigal son?” he asks me, feigning shock. “I’ve been home for two days now and you haven’t deigned me with your presence.” I stand in front of him, crossing my arms and glaring at him. “Alright, alright.” Luca laughs and gets up. He’s not as tall as me, but he has filled out over the year, since I last saw him. “I see you’ve brought in a tasty treat for yourself for the summer. Cara, is it?” I approach him menacingly, saying, “You stay the fuck away from her.” “It’s her that’s having trouble staying away from me,” he grins, smoothing a hand through his dark hair. He looks so much like me it’s unnerving. “She thinks I’m her little penpal boyfriend.” I can feel the color draining out of my face, and the little prick has the nerve to laugh at me. “Some fucking game you’re playing, old man. Better not ruin anything for you, then.” “What do you want?” I hiss, because clearly, this is about one thing only. He wants something in exchange for staying away from Cara, from letting me do whatever the fuck I want with my girl. “Twenty grand,” he says simply. “In my account, tomorrow.” “Done,” I tell him coolly. “Now get the fuck out of my face.” “It will do,” he nods, grinning at me. “For now.” “What the hell are you doing home, anyway?” I ask him roughly. “Weren’t you supposed to spend the summer with some friend?” Luca shrugs. “Apparently, the family frowns upon people deflowering their virgin daughter. You know I have a thing for virgins. Must run in the family.”
He squarely avoids my punch, and with those words, he leaves my room. I curse out loud, punching a wall instead. Blood runs down my knuckles, but there’s no sign in the wall this house is a solid stone and brick build. Still, Luca has me worried. He could fuck everything up with the wrong word. I don’t know what came over me when I used his name to play with Cara. I didn’t think he would be at the house this summer, and his sudden arrival has changed everything. If he fucks up things with Cara, so help me God, I will kill him.
CHAPTER SEVEN CARA
I HAVEN’T SEEN either Mason or Luca in a few days now, ever since that kiss in the atelier. I still can’t believe I did that, kissed my father’s friend in a way that would make any girl blush. I feel embarrassed, but I also feel angry, because he hasn’t sought me out once since then even though I was certain he was going to punish me again. But maybe this was his punishment - ignoring me completely and letting me be all on my own. Luca was a mystery in my eyes. Ever since we met in the garden, he hadn’t replied to any of my texts or messages. Not that I sent too many - I had been too preoccupied worrying about Mason. But I still had no idea what he was doing on Mason’s property or who exactly he was. He simply told me Mason would explain everything soon, but as for now, I am still clueless. I find myself spending more and more time in the gardens. There hasn’t been a single expedition into town since I’ve been here, which I’m bitter about. I thought this whole summer was supposed to be about me exploring Italy, and so far, I’ve barely seen any of it. I am mostly left to myself, and so I decide to explore the grounds of the property, always feeling Filippe’s watchful eyes on my back. I haven’t wandered back to the secret garden in a long time now, even though I feel the pull of the place on my soul. But I decide to respect the wishes of the man of the house. Besides, I’m too terrified he’ll punish me again if he catches me there, anyway. I eat dinner alone again for the third day in a row. I’m about to head back into my room when Luca walks inside the dining room, his walk confident, his broad shoulders held back and a winning smile on his face. Instead of feeling that surge of heat between my legs, the one that always happens when I read his messages, I feel something I can only describe as fear. It jabs my heart and I clear my throat, hoping Luca didn’t notice anything. “Where have you been lately?” I ask him, getting up from my seat at the table. He blocks my way and I give him an almost scared look. He’s intimidating in a much different way than Mason. He plain creeps me out sometimes, while Mason makes my pussy drip with a single look, sending anticipation and fear through my veins at the same time. “Busy,” Luca says, stealing some garlic bread from my plate and chewing. “I’m curious, do you know who I am yet?” “Luca,” I say simply, and my voice shakes. For someone who I’ve exchanged hundreds of messages with, he seems like a complete stranger. “I assume you work with Mason? Maybe like an apprentice, or an assistant?”
He laughs heartily and gives me a doubtful look, saying, “You can’t honestly believe that.” “No one’s told me a thing,” I protest wildly. “You’ve both just left me to fend for myself, pretending I’m not even here!” All of a sudden, Luca’s hand sneaks up the side of my body and his fingers grip my throat. I mewl, but it doesn’t feel sexy. It feels wrong instead, and I clench my legs shut, worried about his next move already. “Please,” I manage to get out. “Don’t hurt me.” “Why shouldn’t I?” he growls in my face, and for the first time, I see the almost animalistic quality in his gaze. He looks dangerous, not in a way that would make me excited, but in one that makes me shiver with fear. “There’s no one here to stop me.” “Get your fucking hands off her.” Luca looks over his shoulder lazily, never giving up the grip on my throat. Mason’s standing behind him, shooting him looks that could kill. “Or what, old man?” he asks him, and I laugh at the ridiculous insult. Mason is probably on the younger side of thirty, closer to Luca’s age than my father’s. “You can’t keep me away from her forever.” Mason approaches us both and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut as he peels Luca’s hand off me and throws him against the wall. I hear someone shriek and only a moment later come to realize the sound came from my mouth. Mason has Luca pinned against the wall, the two men glaring at each other like they’re exchanging a silent dialogue I’m not privy to. Finally, Luca starts laughing, a sound that makes my blood freeze in my veins. Mason pushes him away and the younger man stumbles to the floor, picking himself up in a second and dusting off his jeans. “You think you own her?” Luca hisses at Mason. “You don’t know shit. I own you both.” With that, he walks out of the room, and it takes me a moment for my heartrate to slow down until I can breathe normally. I let out a whimper, and Mason looks at me over his shoulder. I watch his eyes skim my body quickly, as if he’s checking to see if I’m on one piece. “I’m scared of him,” I tell him, feeling tears pricking my eyes. He doesn’t say a word, merely glares at me before disappearing down the hallway without uttering a single sentence meant for me only. It pisses me off, and once I’ve collected myself enough, I storm back to my room. There’s no key in the lock, so I push a chair from the vanity table against the handle, because I don’t want anyone coming in. Luca or Mason - they both have something going on, and no one is telling me a thing which really pisses me off. I deserve to know what’s going on, don’t I? I fall to the bed, and promptly fall asleep for the next few hours, waking up disoriented when it’s already dark and ominous outside. I know I should be smart and just stay in my room, save all my questions and complaints for the next time I see Mason. I haven’t told my father much, though he calls me every night. I don’t even know how to explain everything I’ve done and gone through in this house. I walk to the open French doors, standing on my balcony. The buzzing of the cicadas has become the soundtrack to my summer, and oddly, they manage to calm me down a little as I listen to their relentless songs. Finally, I decide I need some fresh air.
I put a cardigan over my white dress, keeping my feet barefoot so as not to make any noise when I sneak out on the stairway. I open my door softly, finding the house dark and completely deserted. I know Filippe’s in his wing, but I assume both Luca and Mason are either away or in their rooms, oblivious to me breaking the rules. I sneak down the stairs quietly, leaving through the backdoor in the kitchens. I’ve only been there a few times, but I memorized the small door leading into the gardens. Once I’m outside, I feel free and happy. The air is cooler and less oppressing, the insects are chirping happily, and there’s a spring in my step as I run through the grass. It’s going to need mowing soon, but for now, I’m enjoying its long blades leaving wet marks on my ankles. I know where I’m going already. Right now is the only time I feel comfortable seeing the secret garden, when nobody is looking. Whenever I tried to go earlier, I could always tell Filippe was watching, just waiting for another chance to tell me I wasn’t allowed to go back there. But with the lights in his wing of the room out, I know he’s fast asleep, and he’ll be none the wiser if I pay my special garden a visit. I’m there in mere moments, and I lean my back against the wall as I take a deep breath of the summer. It’s truly beautiful here, and I’ve never really appreciated my surroundings as much as I’ve started to in Italy. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I try the door in the wall again. As always, it’s firmly locked. I sigh in frustration and on a whim, decide I might as well try to climb the wall instead. It takes me a couple of tries, but in the end, I finally manage to climb on top of the stone. I can see the garden now, albeit not as clearly since it’s already nighttime. I swing my legs over the side and, before I can lose my courage, I jump off the edge. I end up in a heap on the ground, my bare legs smeared with the dirt and scratched by a neglected rose bush in the walled-in garden. I curse softly to myself and look at the distance I jumped from. I’m lucky I didn’t break anything, and I can only hope the way out will be as easy. I start inspecting the garden and am on my way to break down the brambles preventing me from going further when I hear someone approaching. I freeze completely, standing still and trying not to make a peep. But then something even more awful follows - a key turning in the lock. And then the door to the garden creaks open, and suddenly, I’m not alone anymore. I look over my shoulder, my face pale and scared as I lock eyes with Mason. He’s wearing a pair of jeans, which I’ve never seen him in, and a simple white tee. He’s more handsome than ever with his beard left untrimmed and his hair messy. I freeze like a deer in headlights. He sees me right away, but he doesn’t say a single word. I know I’m already in trouble as he closes the door and the lock clicks closed as he turns the key in it, pocketing it for safe keeping. I make a scrambled attempt to scale the walls again, but his strong body encompasses mine and presses me against it before I can make a move. He smells good, really fucking good. Like pine needles and summer, an odd combination that fills me with a need so deep I whimper, looking into his clouded eyes.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he tells me, and I nod. “I know.” “Why are you, then?” I hesitate before giving him an answer. He’s not touching me, not yet, but his enormous body is crowding mine, making me unable to escape. “I wanted to see,” I admit. “Filippe told me I wasn’t allowed to come here.” “You’re not,” Mason spits out. “I’m sorry,” my voice shakes as the sincerest apology of my life comes out. I really am sorry, and I’m scared too. I crumple into myself, but Mason grabs my hips, making me stand up straight. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just wanted to see.” Small, soft sobs start shaking my body and Mason curses out loud, running a hand through his inky hair. I can tell he’s pissed, but for some reason, he’s not telling me he’s gonna punish me yet. “It’s locked for a reason,” he tells me roughly, and I’m quick to nod. The cicadas are ominous now, their chirping becoming louder like it’s the soundtrack to the scene I’ve found myself in. “You’re not supposed to be in here. Or anyone else, for that matter.” “But why?” Curiosity gets the better of me and the question slips out before I can stop it. “It’s beautiful here. I like it. I want to see more.” Mason gives me a surprised look, saying, “It’s overgrown. It’s been like this for years.” “I like how wild it is,” I get out in a small voice. “It would look beautiful if you only tended to it a little. Why did you let it get to this point? It wouldn’t take too much work to bring it back.” Mason looks pissed, and I’m already regretting all of my questions. “Did you know I come here?” he asks me roughly, and I give him a strange look, shaking my head. “I just wanted to see,” I repeat softly, and he curses out loud, rubbing his temples. “No one but me has been in here in seven years,” he says quietly, and I try not to let my surprise show. “It’s that way for a reason.” He keeps repeating that, and I keep wondering why. “I can leave,” I offer. Only moments ago, I wanted that. But now, with him looking more vulnerable than I’ve ever seen him, I want to stay. I want to see more, find out why this place has such an effect on him. He looks at me, his eyes empty and hurt, and I can’t help but wonder who put all the pain in there. I’m too scared to ask, though. Mason’s standing a few steps away from me and I’m shuffling from one foot to the other, dirtying my legs with the unattended soil. My dress is already ruined, but for once, I don’t care about it. I just want him to ask me to stay. I make a move for the door when he doesn’t say a word. “Don’t,” he barks at me, and I stop in my tracks. I’m nervous, and he’s making me scared. In two long steps, he’s approached me. His hand shakes as he reaches up to my face,
placing a finger on my chin and making me look at him. He doesn’t say anything, and my bottom lip trembles as our eyes connect. Mason looks hurt, almost physically so, his dark eyes cloudy with anger, but his body broken with memories he never told me about. “Sir…” the word falls from my lips without being prompted and I blush, unable to look away from him. There’s something in his eyes that makes me want to find out more. Why is he so protective about this little walled-in piece of land? He groans when I call him that. “Don’t play games,” he warns me. “I’m not,” I whisper back, and for once, I’m telling him the truth. He moves away for a second, rubbing his temples. There’s such tension coming off his body it makes me wonder what’s troubling him, but before I can decide on a reason, he’s back. His hands reach for my dress and I gasp as he rips it open, right down the middle. The cool night air hits my exposed skin, my tits naked and my nipples painfully hard under his watchful gaze. “Are you going to punish me?” I ask in a shaky voice. He doesn’t answer me.
CHAPTER EIGHT MASON
SHE LOOKS beautiful in the moonlight, the soft glow of the night only serving to illuminate her stunning features. It’s getting harder and harder to keep my hands off her, and I already know I’m going to have trouble with this next punishment. But she shouldn’t be here. This garden is strictly off limits, as I’m sure Filippe has told her. Not that she listened. Girls like Cara never fucking listen. “I don’t want to hurt you,” I tell her, and she shivers under my touch when my hand slides down her forearm. Goosebumps prickle her skin and her big blue eyes find mine in the darkness, an unspoken question hanging in the air between us. So why are you going to? Because I have to. Because you want me to. For that divine look of submission, for that moment when you let yourself drift and your body belongs to me. I don’t say a word, just twist my fingers in Cara’s hair, gently pulling on the silky locks and making her come closer to me. Her scent is intoxicating, sweet peaches and cream, not unlike those that grow in my orchard in the height of summer. Her lips part as I lead her through the overgrown garden to a small bench standing in the corner. “Sit down,” I tell her gently, but firmly. She obeys my order without saying another word this time around, sitting on the edge of the bench, her thoughtful eyes following mine. I think she’s desperate for another order, but I don’t tell her that. She hasn’t been trained properly, she won’t understand it right now. Not like I do. “Part your legs.” My next order takes her by surprise, and she hesitates for a moment. Long enough to make me kneel in front of her, my hands resting on either side of her legs on the bench. “Did I fucking stutter, Cara?” She shakes her head frantically, and slowly, her legs part. I keep looking into her eyes even though it’s insanely fucking hard with her pussy calling out to me so desperately. She keeps pushing her legs apart, farther and farther, and I can’t help but feel proud of her. She
doesn’t stop until she’s opened up to me completely, her little cunt only inches away from my hungry lips. “Good girl,” I praise her, and her legs shake slightly. “Now stand them on your toes, on the very tips. And tense your muscles, every muscle in your legs.” “Why?” she asks, an instinct that earns her a stern look from me. She blushes and finally does as she’s told, her feet tiny and naked on the ground, her muscles straining as she fights to keep control of her body. “Pull your panties off,” I tell her, and her feet fall back down. “Cara. Feet on your toes. Panties off. Fucking now.” She’s starting to shake, her whole body trembling with the impact of my words. I want to tell her I’ve seen her naked before, and I’m going to again plenty of times, but I don’t. We’re gonna have to deal with this bratty side of hers, because it’s making me want to crack my belt across her ass. Not that it’s a bad thing. With shaky fingers, Cara reaches to her hips. My eyes follow her hands as she hooks her thumbs in her thong and starts pulling it down. Her feet shake on their toes and she tenses, slipping the panties off her feet. “Good girl,” I tell her again, and my fingers wrap around her dainty little ankles. She gasps and I grin at her, loving the effect I’m having on her body. She can try to deny it, but sooner or later Cara will realize she was made for me. “Now show me your pussy,” I order her. “Spread yourself wide open for me, Cara. I want to see every fucking part of you.” She hesitates again, but her own body gets the better of her and she lifts up her sweet white dress, showing me the shaved triangle between her legs. I exhale, my breath ragged, as she reaches between her thighs and shows me her pretty pink pussy. She opens herself up for me, showing me every fold, every fucking throbbing, soaked part of that sweet cunt. I’m worried I’m gonna cum in my pants, for fuck’s sake. “Such a beautiful little pussy,” I say roughly. “Hands behind your back now, hold your wrists. Be a good girl, Cara.” She doesn’t say a word, but she pants heavily as she crosses her arms behind her back. I torture her for a while longer, leaving hot, panting breaths along the skin of her inner thighs. “Please,” she finally begs, blushing as soon as she realizes the word has slipped out. “Mason, I-” “What did I tell you to call me?” I ask her, my grip on her ankles tightening. “Sir,” she manages to get out. “Sir, please. Get it over with.” “Get it over with?” I chuckle and tickle her legs, my fingers sliding along her thighs and making her squirm. “Oh, baby, you’re gonna be begging me not to stop by the time I’m finished with you.” With that, I lean closer, letting my beard prickle the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. She
moans, sweet and soft and sensual, as I lick and bite at her creamy skin. Fucking shit, she tastes delicious. If I’m not careful, she’s going to realize how fucking crazy I am about her and get the upper hand. I kiss my way between her legs, and Cara tenses all her muscles, her ass almost lifting off the bench. She’s moaning, sexy little sounds that make me swell in my pajamas. I bite the lips of her pussy and she thrusts her hips into my face. My hands leave her ankles and I wrap them around her waist instead. She makes a move to wrap her legs around my neck, but I stop her, giving her a stern look. “Legs on your toes, muscles tense,” I remind her, and she nods so fervently it makes her hair tumble forward. “Good girl.” I know for a fact she’s never been licked here. I’m the first man tasting her, having her in my mouth, and I intend on being the last one, too. I burrow between her legs and she lets out a long moan, her hands desperately shaking behind her back. I bite her sweet clit, throbbing and slippery wet from her juices running down her thighs. “Sir,” she whispers. “Sir, I want to cum again, please.” I chuckle between her legs and get back to work. I almost get lost in her, the sweetness of her pussy and the way her folds part to let my tongue in. I work her until she’s gasping, whether it’s my name or the one I told her to address me with, I don’t even know. I don’t even stop her when she reaches for me, her hands wrapping in my hair desperately, trying to get off on my mouth. So damn desperate. I wait until she’s so close she’s almost bursting. And even though it kills me, I give her sweet clit one last lick before moving away. Her eyes are glazed over as she looks at me. “No, fucking please,” she begs. “Please, more. Please, let me cum.” “No,” I tell her simply. “My fucking turn.” Her eyes widen as I pull my cock out of my trousers and she starts moaning. For a second I’m sure my plan has backfired and she’s gonna cum from the sight of my cock alone. Every time she tries to touch that sinful little pussy, I smack her hands away. “You knew you weren’t supposed to be here, Cara,” I tell her roughly. “So tonight, you don’t get to cum. But I do. I deserve it, don’t you think?” I start working my cock, slow, long strokes. She just whimpers and her eyes glaze over even more as she stares at me. I’m getting close, really fucking close. I was worried about her reaction, worried she’d get scared when she saw the size of my cock. She has no experience, after all. She doesn’t even know I could split her in half. Suddenly, Cara drops to her knees and crawls closer to me. I wrap my fingers in her hair and hold her at an arm’s length, and she makes desperate little noises in the back of her throat, trying to get closer to me. “What a filthy little girl,” I tell her softly, feeling a drop of precum glide down my tip and her hungry eyes following it. “You want a taste, don’t you, Cara?” “Please,” she mewls. “Just one. Just one drop.” “I don’t think so.” I grin wickedly at her, and a grunt leaves my lips as I feel myself at the
brim. Cara scoots closer, parting her lips and opening her mouth so wide. She’s too far away to get a taste, but goddamn, is she trying. “Jesus, Cara,” I growl, and she blinks, long lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks, her pink tongue out and ready for my cum. I don’t want to, but I fucking spurt cum all over my hand, all over my fucking fist and she cries and fidgets when it runs down my thigh and seeps into the ground. She rips herself out of my hold when I’m not careful, and her little tongue sneaks up my thigh, licking up a trail of cum. She moans and moans and I feel myself dripping again as another, fucking painful orgasm, takes over my body. Cara cleans my leg and pants for more, but as soon as my cock is drained, I put it back in my pants and grab her firmly in my arms. She’s so far gone she tries to grind on my lap, still so fucking desperate to cum for me. I carry her out of the garden, her body needily convulsing in my arms. I don’t stop until we’re in my bedroom. I don’t give a shit if anyone sees us. Finally, I place her in my bed, and she starts grinding against the sheets. “Little slut,” I tell her, but my voice is gentle. I dig around in a chest of drawers at the foot of my bed until I find my favorite silk rope. Cara’s eyes widen as I pull it out, but she doesn’t question me when I tie her wrists to the bedpost. It’s only when she realizes why I’m doing this that she mewls in protest. “Now, now, Cara,” I coo. “Can’t have you getting yourself off, now. Then your punishment would’ve been in vain, right?” “Fuck you,” she says desperately, and I laugh at her, helpless and stunning in my bed. “I have some work to do,” I tell her simply. “I’ll be back in the morning.” “You can’t just leave me here!” she’s incredulous, angry as fuck and beautiful as hell. “Watch me.” I grin and leave the room, her helpless, subdued little cries following me down the hallway.
I TAKE my sweet time working with some clients overseas that night. I don’t head back to my bedroom until 10:00 a.m. has come and passed. Finally, because I’m a damn impatient bastard, I leave my study and walk in on Cara with her eyes sleeping like a doll. “Morning, sweetheart,” I say gently, and she stirs sleepily at the sound of my voice. I walk over to her, pleased to see she hasn’t struggled against her restraints. I let her down, smoothing down the skin on her wrists as she curls up on the bed. “Sleep well?” “Not enough,” she mutters. “Need more.” “Sorry, Cara,” I laugh. “We’re going into town today. No more time to sleep.” As soon as the words leave my lips, she gets up and looks at me, wiping her sleepy eyes.
“Are we really?” she asks me, the excitement plain in her voice. “I want to go so badly. Do you promise we’re going? To Venice?” I nod, her excitement pleasing me. In a second, she’s forgotten all about her traumatic night, and she squeals as she jumps up from the bed, telling me all about how excited she is. It’s going to be a fun day. Cara doesn’t seem to remember I have an agenda though, and I have some plans for her when we get to town. She’ll find out what they are soon enough.
CHAPTER NINE CARA
I CAN’T BELIEVE I finally get to leave the house. I’ve been cooped up here, and my excitement at finally exploring Venice is making me grin the whole way into town. Filippe drives us to the city, with Mason and me sitting in the back. He keeps smiling at my childlike excitement, but I can’t stop myself. I never lied about my obsession with art history, and I’ve always wanted to travel and explore the world, Italy especially. I just know this is going to be amazing. I’m also trying to distract myself from thinking about Mason and what happened during the night too much. It was insane, the things he made me feel scaring me as much as they turn me on. I don’t really know what to think of the whole thing. Does he like me, or is he merely using me, showing me he has to be in control every single second I’m there? I guess I’ll find out eventually, but for now, it’s easier to occupy my mind with the beautiful scenery surrounding us. We drive up to the port, where Filippe explains the last leg of the journey will be spent on the boat. I grin excitedly as he helps me walk to a boat Mason apparently owns. The man in question is grinning at me as I sit down, barely able to contain my excitement. “This is amazing,” I tell him honestly. “Thank you so much for bringing me here, I really love it.” He gives me a thoughtful smile, and it makes me wonder whether this was all a test. Maybe he just wanted to see if I really was interested in art, like I’d claimed. Well, he won’t be disappointed. “First stop - the island of Murano,” Mason tells me with a wink, and I lean forward in my seat as the boat takes off. The sea is foamy and beautiful, the spray of the salty water pleasant against my cheeks as we make our way to the island. I don’t know a whole lot about Murano, so Mason fills me in over the sound of the crashing waves as we make our way to the island. I find out Murano is famous for its glass, a unique colored kind that is used in jewelry and decorations for the home. Mason promises he’ll take me to a workshop to see just how it is made. As soon as we arrive on the island, I realize he is well-known around these parts. Several people shake his hand and exclaim in Italian, obviously happy to see him. I follow
sheepishly behind and find myself oddly proud when he introduces me as his protégée. I haven’t really paid much attention to the fact that Mason is an artist, though the portrait he has of me has been on my mind constantly. But here on the island, it becomes abundantly clear how involved he is in the art world. He leads me into a small stone house, and as soon as we enter, the heat consumes me. There’s a fire burning in a huge oven, and a shirtless, incredibly handsome man is standing in front of it. Another excited handshake, a clap on the back for Mason. A curious look for me. Mason tells the man something in Italian, and they both laugh. I want to know what he said. We stand back as the man demonstrates how Murano glass is made, my eyes widening in surprise as he shapes the moldable, hot shape into a beautiful vase. He’s a master of his craft, but the scars and burns on his body speak of a time when he wasn’t. I find myself respecting this man immensely. Mason leans over to me and says, “Murano glass is expensive as hell. That vase could be sold for as much as twenty thousand dollars.” My eyes glaze over and I keep watching as the man - Cristiano, I think his name is continues to shape the beautiful vase. Once he’s happy with it, he sinks it into a bucket of ice cold water. A little while later, Mason and I admire the vase, finished and flawless. “For the ragazza,” the man says in broken English, pointing at me. “If you like.” “The vase?” My eyes widen. I wasn’t expecting this, and I know I should turn it down as it’s too generous a gift. “But why? You’ve only just met me.” “Bella,” he tells me with a wink. “Mason’s pet.” I blush deeply as Mason’s arm wraps proprietorially around my waist. I nod, accepting my role and accepting the vase. I would be lying if I claimed his words didn’t flatter me. Another boat ride and we arrive in the center of Venice, my vase wrapped up and left with Filippe. Mason shows me around the beautiful city and the sights I’ve only seen in pictures and TV come alive in front of my eyes. The pigeons in St. Mark’s Square make me squeal as they descend upon me. I feast my eyes on the beautiful canals, the bridges, the gondolas. I lose myself in our surroundings, Mason’s voice a pleasant distraction as he explains the history of the city. We end up in a quaint restaurant in one of the side alleys, and once again, Mason proves he knows everyone. I ask him to order for me, and when I’m presented with a huge plate of fettuccine with truffles, I lick my lips expectantly. It’s delicious. The day is perfect. So perfect I wish it would never end. While we eat, I ask Mason about his art, his paintings. He seems hesitant to answer me, but finally, he opens up a little. “Like I said, it’s merely a hobby,” he tells me softly. “I can’t live off it and I love my job, but painting is… it fills a hole in my life.” I wonder why the hole is there, but I don’t inquire about it, remembering my place.
“Do people know you paint?” I ask him, and he gives me a devious grin. “They do, baby.” His term of endearment makes me blush, and I wipe my lips with a napkin to hide the redness in my cheeks. I don’t think it goes unnoticed, as Mason smiles at me knowingly. “In fact, I’m going to have an exhibition at the house soon,” he tells me. “While I’m still here?” I ask, the excitement plain in my voice. “I think so. Would you like to be there?” he wants to know, his eyes curious. “Oh, yes.” I clap my hands, excited. “I would love to - if you’d like me to, of course.” “Maybe.” We finish our meal chatting about this and that. I try to convince Mason to let me have a Bellini, a mix of champagne and peach juice, but he merely laughs. The drinking age in Italy is eighteen, but he won’t budge. In some ways, the man is so traditional it hurts. Once we’re done eating, Mason tells me we only have one sight left - the Ponte dei Sospiri. He refuses to explain what it means until we’ve arrived at our destination. I realize he’s somehow managed to close it off for everyone else, as it’s only the two of us now. The bridge is small and quaint, but beautiful. It spans over a small canal, the white limestone worn under my fingertips. “Tell me what the name means,” I beg Mason for the last time, and he finally complies. “Ponte dei Sospiri means Bridge of Sighs,” he says, and I give him a curious look. “The view from this bridge is the last thing many people saw. Convicts were lead through it into prison.” “That’s awful,” I breathe, the gruesome history of the bridge taking away from its beauty. “It’s only awful if you make it out to be,” Mason tells me, moving to stand behind me. My hands are braced on the small windowsill of the enclosed bridge, and they shake as he puts his palms on my ass. “I like to make my own memories,” Mason says, sending shivers down my spine. “And I think it’s about time a different kind of sigh happened here.” The sun starts to go down, a beautiful sight from our spot, as Mason leans down and trails a line of kisses down my back. “Sir…” I’ve begun switching from calling him by his name and his role so fast, I don’t even know when the transition happens. “What if someone sees?” “No one’s here,” he promises me. “Relax, Cara.” His hand snakes its way down my back, and I arch my whole body against his touch. He cups my ass in both hands, squeezing hard and making me moan out loud. How he manages to get these reactions out of me is beyond me, but I can’t fucking help myself. I want to feel him go lower, reach between my legs and feel how soaked my panties are. He turns me around then, making me lean back against the wall of the bridge. His mouth
descends on mine and I stop breathing. His lips are strong, insistent. They won’t let me budge, they won’t let me be passive in the game we’re playing. I kiss him back softly, not knowing how to do it. The only kiss I’ve had was with Mason, and I was angry, upset and needy at the time. This is different. This is real. He won’t let me take it easy, and he kisses me harder, demanding more and more from me. I open my mouth wider and he slips his tongue between my lips, making me moan into his mouth so loudly I blush, knowing anyone could hear. The bridge is so small I can hear the chatter of people, and yet I can’t bring myself to stop. I need more of this, more of Mason. With a sudden movement, he reaches between my legs. “I can’t wait,” he says, “to have you come apart in my arms, Cara.” I don’t have time to blush as he pushes my soaked panties aside, his fingers outlining the shape of my pussy lips. He presses down on my clit, making me buck my hips wildly, desperate for the release only he can give me. He starts working my pussy without ever slipping a finger inside. He’s never made it clear he knows I’m a virgin, but I think he knows. He must… It’s like he’s saving my pussy for later, the cherry on top of this perfect day. I don’t know how he can pace himself. All I can think about is the cock in his pants, huge and throbbing and so hard it makes me want to climb on top of him and press him inside me. I mewl, and my conscience slowly gets pulled away from me as I succumb to what Mason’s doing, making me cream his fingers so loudly I blush in embarrassment. “You’re such a dirty little girl,” he coos. “So fucking wet for me. Can you hear yourself, Cara?” I nod and he keeps going, rendering me speechless. He’s working my clit, his mouth claiming mine again and biting into the soft flesh of my bottom lip. I can feel myself tensing, the orgasm coming with impending urgency. “Moan into my mouth, baby,” he tells me softly. “No one’s gonna hear.” I do as he says, soft, long moans between his lips, needy and pathetic little sounds that only make him go faster. He strums my clit until I crash over the edge, spiraling and falling as I scream my release into Mason’s mouth. He doesn’t stop and I come again, until I’m a helpless heap in his arms, panting and gasping for air. He’s chuckling as he stands me up, putting my panties back into place and reaching up with his fingers. “Suck me off, Cara,” he tells me, and gently puts two fingers inside my mouth. I lick at them tentatively, keeping my eyes on Mason. He leads me back to the boat with a hand on my back, making sure I’m okay. I realize I’ve never felt safer.
CHAPTER TEN MASON
THE TRIP to Venice was a success. Cara looks content and happy as we drive back to the house, her bare feet tucked under her ass and her hand resting in mine. It’s odd, this weird intimacy that’s developed between us. We haven’t really spoken about what we mean to one another. I wonder if she knows I plan on claiming her completely. She squeezes my hand every time she sees something exciting through the tinted windows, pointing out this sight and that plant as we drive back home. The partition is up, separating us completely from Filippe. I’m enjoying my time alone with her. Taking Cara to Venice was beneficial in more ways than one. I discovered she really does enjoy art. The way she listened to me speak about the architecture actually made me hard, and I want to learn more about her. She’s a complex little thing, but I can’t fucking wait to peel off all her layers and reveal her core. We arrive at the house in the late evening hours, and are greeted by Luca and a group of his rowdy friends. There are two girls among them, scantily clad in scraps of fabric, wearing heavy makeup and perfume. Cara cowers behind me as we come close to them, and I marvel at her repulsion towards Luca. “I’m leaving, old man,” Luca slaps me on the back with a big grin. “No more family time?” I mock him, raising my eyebrows. “Well, best of luck. I’m sure I’ll hear from you when you need more money.” Luca’s eyes spark with anger, then zero in on Cara behind me. I reach for her and she grabs my arm needily. Is she afraid of him? As far as I know, nothing’s happened between Luca and Cara, but the way she reacts to his presence is certainly worrisome. “I’ll miss you, little thing,” he tells her. “Can’t say deflowering Mason’s little pet wouldn’t be fucking fun.” My hands tighten into fists as I say, “Get out.” “Gladly.” Luca glares at me for a second before gathering his group and leaving towards two vans parked outside the house. On his way out, he bumps his shoulder into me, hard, and I have to physically hold back before I slam him into the ground. Once we’re alone, I lead Cara into the house. She’s a little shaky, but it seems like there’s some relief there too, after finally getting rid of Luca. Filippe serves us lasagna in the
dining room, and we tuck into our meal hungrily, chatting about the things we saw during the day. It’s mostly Cara talking, excitedly trying to remember every little fact I told her. When we’re done eating, she seems hesitant to return to her room, but I want her to go so I can have some time alone with my thoughts. I walk her to her room, and she hesitates before walking inside. “You’re not gonna disappear?” she asks me, and I give her an odd look, making her blush. “I just… I want to make sure you’ll be here when I wake up tomorrow.” “Of course I will be, Cara,” I tell her softly, my hand touching the small of her back. She’s really insecure for such a fucking brat. I lead her into her room, and just as I’m about to leave, she pulls me in for a kiss. She’s desperate, trying to come off as confident but only convincing me she’s too young for me, really. I pull away and kiss her hair instead. She’s sulking already, pissed that I won’t succumb to her feminine charms. I need to clear my fucking head, so I walk out of there, Cara’s gaze glued to my back as I get out of her bedroom.
I INTEND on spending the rest of the evening working, but instead, I find myself in the room next to Cara’s, watching her through the mirror like some fucking creep. She can’t sleep either, pacing the length of the room and pulling at her pretty hair. I know she wants to come out and see me, but I made her promise she’d get some rest. But I know how she feels - the pull we feel toward each other is fucking electric, and I can’t resist much longer. I watch her pull something out of her suitcase. It soon becomes obvious it’s a lingerie set, a black sheer thing that makes my mind go wild. I push my chair away from the desk I’m sitting at and force myself to leave. This wasn’t supposed to be this hard. Yes, I’d wanted Cara since the first time I saw her. Yes, I wanted to claim every inch of her… But she was having an effect on me, a dangerous one I’d thought no other woman would ever have. I leave the room and head for my studio. I know it’s time for the third painting. I get out my paints and prepare a clean canvas. I don’t even give a shit if my expensive jeans get ruined, but it’s hot and stuffy in the studio, so I strip off my shirt and open the rooftop window. I light a few candles even though I know it’ll strain my eyes not to use a light instead. But I love working this way. I get to work. I paint her in the lingerie set, the way I imagine she looks in it. I know she’ll come and find me soon. If she feels the same way I do, she won’t be able to stay away for long. When I paint, I often forget about time. It’s pitch black outside when I finally pull myself back and look at the canvas in front of me. The outline of Cara’s small body faces me, the lingerie still needing to be painted on. Her back’s turned towards me in the painting, her body dangerously addictive.
Cara chooses that exact moment to come inside the studio, dressed in the lingerie set, no less. She’s wearing fuck-me heels, tall and studded and black. I still tower over her. Her eyes find mine in the candlelit room and I realize she’s shaking. “Come closer,” I tell her softly. She drops to her knees. She crawls to me without being told to do so. My dick swells painfully in the jeans I’m still wearing. The way her ass moves when she crawls closer is intoxicating, and my eyes drink her in as she approaches me. She really is fucking stunning, a vision in her little outfit, her ass practically bare for my eyes only. She sits down on her knees in front of me, her trusting eyes on mine as I tip her chin back. “Couldn’t sleep?” I ask her softly, and she shakes her head no. “Me neither, cara mia.” Her eyes flicker with something that could be recognition. I wonder if she’s figured it out by now. “You should be in bed,” I tell her firmly, meaning to send her back to her room. “Let’s get you back to your room.” But she grabs my hand with both hands. Her little pink tongue parts her juicy lips and she licks the tips of my fingers tentatively, her eyes always on mine. “I don’t want to,” she says softly, and I frown. “You need to follow my rules here, or have you forgotten about that already?” I ask her pointedly. “Back to your room. Fucking. Now.” She gets up, angry and clumsy in her too-high heels, saying, “I know you want me to stay. Why are you fighting this?” “Why?” I snarl at her, reaching for her with my bare arms. I push her against the wall, my hands wrapping around her roughly. “You’re too fucking young. You’re my business partner’s daughter. You’re…” “In love with you,” she finishes for me. All the color drains from her face when she realizes what she’s said. She fights to get away from me, her little hands going to my hand around her throat. “What did you say?” I ask her roughly. “Stay fucking still, Cara.” I’m not trying to choke her. I’m just holding her in place. But if she struggles too much, she’s going to get both of us in fucking trouble. “Nothing,” she mutters, a note of panic now present in her voice. “I didn’t say anything. Let me go!” “Never,” I growl, pressing my body against hers. Her curvy hips buck against mine, making me wonder how on earth her body can have such a strong response to mine. I’ve been nothing but cruel to her, save for today. I’ve punished, spanked and started to ruin her little body and yet… she can’t fucking stay away.
“You wanted to put on a little show for me?” I say into the shell of her ear. “This outfit, Cara. You buy that here?” She shakes her head no. Of course she didn’t, today was the only time she’s been out, and I was with her the whole time. “So you brought it from home,” I taunt her. “What for, Cara? Why did you bring this sexy lingerie to stay with daddy’s business partner?” She struggles in my strong arms, but I’m not letting go until she answers my question. “I hate you,” she finally spits out once she realizes the struggling is futile. “Let me leave. I don’t want to be here anymore.” “Little liar,” I tell her. I reach between her legs with my free hand. The fucking sinful panties she’s wearing are soaked through, her pussy throbbing almost visibly. “Tell me why,” I tell her again. “Why did you bring this stuff with you? Why did you come to Italy, cara mia?” “A boy,” she finally gets out, her cheeks blushing deeply. “There was a boy…” “Who?” I ask her, my grip loosening. She doesn’t move though, admitting defeat as she sinks towards the floor. I wrap a hand around her waist before her ass hits the ground and lift her up. I’m going to get my fucking answers, and then I’m finally going to break her. Make her submit to me. “I talked to him online,” she says in a shaky voice, making my cock even harder. “I came here so I could see him. He’s Italian.” “So he put this whole fucking idea in your head?” I ask her sweetly. “The trip to Italy, telling your dad you so desperately wanted to come here…” She gives me a desperate look, saying, “I… It was before I met you. I didn’t know… what you were like.” “So tell me right now, Cara,” I keep taunting her, even though I know how this story ends. “If you’d have to pick between this boy and me, who would you pick? Right the fuck now.” I can see the wheels in her head turning as she thinks it over. I give her time, but not too much. My grip on her throat tightens in warning as I wait for her answer. “You,” she finally whispers. “I’d choose you.” “What about the guy?” I ask softly. “Didn’t you like him?” I think about all the messages, the texts we’d exchanged. I really fucking bared myself in some of them. I showed her a side of me a lot of people don’t know. I have to know what she thought of him, the phantom Luca that made her come to Italy in the first place. “I…” She swallows hard. “I was in love with him… Before I came here.” “Because you met me?” I ask her gently, and she nods.
“His name is Luca,” she blurts out. “Like… like…” “What’s your middle name, Cara?” I interrupt her. “What?” She gives me a confused look. “I… It’s Annabelle. Why? Why are you asking me this?” “Mine’s Luca,” I tell her darkly. Her eyes widen. The shock registers. She’s starting to realize the game I played on her. When she finally gets it, she sinks into my arms. I’m there to catch her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN MASON
FOR A SECOND, I’m sure she’s going to pass out. But before Cara hits my arms, she picks herself up, and next thing I know, she’s shoving me away, her palms resting on my chest, her eyes blazing with anger. “It was you?” she asks me, seething with rage. “It was you all along?” I nod, grinning at her. I don’t think she’ll take it too seriously, and her little outburst is adorable. Time to get it over with though, I have a few other things on my list of tasks for today. “You prick,” she hisses. “How long? How long have you been playing me?” “Must be a year and a half now,” I tell her simply. “I needed some time after your sixteenth to prepare. Wasn’t sure what the best way to get you here was.” “You’re sick!” Her tone is accusatory and disgusted, and it stings a little. Perhaps it would sting more if her nipples hadn’t tightened into hard little buds underneath the thin fabric of the bra she’s wearing. “Get over it, Cara,” I tell her calmly. “You wanted me since the moment you walked into this house. You even wanted me before you knew who I fucking was.” “But…” She’s trying to come up with something, anything - a reason to object and convince me I’m not right, but she’s coming up empty. “You’re such a jackass, Mason.” I chuckle at her poor attempt at an insult, caging her body with mine. “I told you to call me Sir,” I remind her with a smile on my face. “Fuck you,” she snarls. And then the little slut spits at me. I’ve got her in my arms, turning her around before she can even understand what’s going on. She writhes against my embrace, but her perky little ass wiggling against my crotch is only making me more fucking intent on showing Cara her place. “You’re going to regret that,” I promise her. I rip off her panties with a single motion of my hand, and she gasps as I expose her pussy to the oppressing heat of the studio. Her bra follows next, and I rip it off her, leaving her chest naked and heaving. She presses her ass against my groin and I growl her name
needily. Fuck, she’s making me lose my focus. I don’t stop stripping her until she’s only wearing her garter belt and suspender stockings. She looks so fucking stunning it could make my damn heart stop, and I’m having trouble keeping my hands off her. “You like spitting, little girl?” I ask her roughly, and she stops struggling for a second. I can feel her heartbeat, fast and crazy loud. She looks at me from the corner of her eyes. “I didn’t mean to,” she says weakly, making me chuckle. “You didn’t mean to go off on me?” I ask her. “I think you did. But that’s okay, sweetheart. That’s why I love you. You make me punish you so good, baby.” I realize what I’ve said a second too late, just as Cara’s body flattens against mine in anticipation. Knowing I have to distract her, I whip her around, my fingers wrapped tightly around her swan neck. “Open your whore mouth,” I tell her, and she parts her lips in a sweet little O, making me laugh. “Gonna have to be wider than that, sweetheart.” She blushes as I pull her down, undoing the zipper on my jeans with my free hand. I pull out my cock, hard and throbbing for her, my jeans falling to the floor. She gasps when I bare myself to her, and it only makes me twitch harder. “Spit on it,” I tell her roughly, and she gives me an uncertain look. “Make it wet and slippery, baby, come on.” She spits, a trickle of saliva dribbling from her mouth to my cock. I groan when it hits the sensitive tip of my dick, but her pathetic attempt is barely enough to get my shaft wet. “You did a better job before,” I tell her sweetly. “Ran out of spit, baby?” She whimpers and I force her to her knees. My cock’s precariously close to her lips and she opens her mouth hungrily, like she’s desperate for a fucking taste. This is going to be hard to resist, but I have to. I have to punish her for what she did. I spit on my own cock, rubbing in the saliva over my whole length while she licks her lips hungrily. My thumb is resting firmly in the crook of her neck, massaging the sweet spot there and feeling the vibrations of her throat. “Look up at me,” I order her, and she complies right away. Her eyes are big and needy, begging for more. I’m sure she already knows what’s coming next. “Please,” she manages to get out. “Please what?” I fucking love teasing her. I’m never going to get sick of it. “I…” She blushes, cringing at the ideas running through her head. “I want to taste you.” “Not a fucking chance, sweetheart,” I tell her with a grin. “Now open your mouth.” She does, and it’s not enough. “Wider.”
She tries. She really does. Such a sweet little thing. I force her lips open with my free hand and she moans needily as she complies, sticking her tongue out and opening up so wide I could fit two cocks inside her if I wanted to. Instead, I tip her head back gently, and I spit into her mouth. She moans. It’s incredible, the almost animalistic sound being ripped from her throat as she grinds her hips on her own legs, so needy she could get off from the friction alone. “Beg,” I tell her simply. “For what?” she asks, her lashes fluttering open. She’s licking her lips. Needy. Desperate. “Whatever you want right now.” My thumb draws circles in the hollow of her throat. “Sir,” she says softly, her eyes never leaving mine. “I want… I want you to fuck me.” “Prove it,” I demand. A flash of anger in her eyes, her fists tightening. And then a desperate, pleading look. “I remember the day I got here,” she says with some trouble. “You said you don’t like girls cursing unless you’re fucking them.” “That’s true,” I confirm. “What about it?” “I…” Her cheeks are flaming red, but she keeps looking at me. “I want you to fuck me, Sir. I want you to fucking split my virgin pink pussy open and make me yours. I want your fucking cum in my cunt. I want you to spread me open and take what’s yours-” I don’t let her finish. I gather her in my arms and push her against the wall, and she wraps her dainty, pale legs around my waist. She’s so fucking small, so frail, I’m worried she’ll just snap and break. But the moans that are leaving her mouth now… Dirty, sensual and so fucking needy. I’d have to be a saint to stop in that moment. A fucking saint. The tip of my cock presses against her pussy lips and she mewls, nuzzling my neck with her hot little mouth. “Is it gonna hurt?” she asks. In that moment, she shows me how old she really is. Barely legal, Daddy’s spoiled little girl. There’s no going back after this. I know I’m never going to regret it. I can only hope she doesn’t, either. “Yes,” I promise her, and she sinks her teeth into my shoulder as I enter her. She’s so tight it almost hurts going inside her, splitting her open and feeling her virgin juice spill down my thigh. Her legs wrap around my middle tightly and she lets out a small sob, making me want to stop. But fuck, her pussy’s gripping me so damn tight I don’t think I could pull out now, not even if I wanted to. “Shhh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” I tell her gently. I make her look at me, her eyes big and filled with tears. One tear lands on my mouth and
I lick it, savoring the saltiness. Fuck, is she beautiful when she cries. I get harder and Cara whimpers as I stretch her, her sweet little pussy trying to adapt to my enormous size. “More,” she whispers. “More, deeper. Make it hurt more.” I try to go slow, but when she starts moving her hips with my thrusts, I nearly fucking lose it. My fingers wrap in her hair and I really start fucking her. So hard I can barely hear her sobs mixing with begging for more. God, she’s incredible. In-fucking-credible. She licks at every inch of my body, nibbling and biting and sucking at my neck, my face, my chest. She’s clawing at me, her long talons leaving moon-shaped marks in my skin. And I don’t give a shit. All I want, all I’m aware of, is her tight pink pussy that’s currently so wet she’s literally dripping down my groin. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” I mutter into her hair, not knowing whether I could if she really did. This is addicting. This is insane. This is it. What I’ve been waiting my whole life for. She screams, and I pull back, convinced I’m hurting her. But she throws her head back and her body pulsates, her fingernails clawing at me, desperate, needy. “Keep going,” she begs. “You have to, you have to. I’m so close, Mason, I’m almost there.” I don’t even register my own shock, I just keep fucking her, my cock thrusting into her cunt so fast I can hear her arousal. I’ve never been with a girl this wet, this fucking tight. It’s like the chemistry between us has gone apeshit with sparks flying all over the place. Cara clings to my neck, looking into my eyes and gasping. “I’m gonna cum for you, Sir,” she promises, her breathing heavy. “I’m gonna cum right now.” “Go on, sweetheart,” I groan. “Cum for me, right on the tip of my cock. Go on, baby.” She lets out the longest moan and then she’s shaking. I forget about everything. Every fucking thing. I forget about the shit at work, about Luca, about her being too young. I forget about the fact I’m not wearing a condom and I don’t have a fucking clue if she’s protected. And I don’t give a shit, either. I feel myself spurting, slowly at first. It sends Cara into a frenzy, and she comes like crazy. I try to pull out, but she claws her way back, nearly toppling us over as she impales herself on my cock, making me groan and curse and spurt so deep inside her it makes her blush. I can’t even come down from the insane orgasm when she climbs off me carefully, gasping for air. She collapses to her knees as I run my fingers through her hair, and she sucks my cock into her mouth. “Jesus fucking shit, Cara,” I curse out loud. Looking down into her eyes makes me get hard again, and the last few drops of my orgasm leak from my tip into her wet whore mouth. She closes her eyes and moans needily as she drinks from my cock. Her hand goes between her legs and she toys with her pussy, bringing up her fingers to taste the cum I pumped inside her.
I just fucking stare at her, smoothing down her sweaty blonde hair. She’s so beautiful. “Good girl,” I tell her absentmindedly, and she giggles. She sucks my cock between her lips, so deep she almost chokes and makes me pull back in alarm. But she won’t let go. She deep-throats my cock until I think I’m about to die, just so she can get the last, very fucking last, drop of my cum from deep inside me. And then she pulls back, licking her lips daintily and smiling up at me. “I think you mean good whore,” she says with a wink.
CHAPTER TWELVE CARA
IT’S FINALLY HAPPENED. He’s finally made me into a woman. That night, I sleep in his bed. His hand between my legs, pressing hard against my mound. He breathes deep and low breaths, and I lie awake all night thinking about what happened, what he said. That’s why I love you. I didn’t imagine it, did I? He really said it, and then he tried to distract me as quickly as possible to make me forget he really said it. But I remember the words rolling off his lips, the way he rushed to cover them up. I decide not to mention it. Better to pretend I never heard anything. He’s going to tell me when he’s ready… and even though it stings, knowing I already told him I was falling for him, I know I have to be patient. I wake up to an empty bed, the sheets rumpled and the AC humming softly in the cool room. Goosebumps prickle my skin at the sudden drop in temperature as I climb out of the bed. Mason’s nowhere to be seen. I have breakfast by myself, spooning oatmeal into my mouth and thinking about the previous day. I really shouldn’t be. I should be focusing on the present, not on yesterday. He might even act like nothing ever happened between us… The mere thought of that makes me panic and I grip my spoon firmly between my fingers. Surely, he wouldn’t do that? Not after the fucking connection we had, not after I let him cum inside me. I’m on the pill, but Mason doesn’t know. He never asked me when he was fucking me, and I didn’t let him pull out, either. I don’t know whether that makes our night together special or just plain dangerous. I spend the day wandering around the grounds. Filippe makes my meals, but it seems like I’m alone in the house. My mind is swimming with everything that happened - Mason confessing he was the one sending me messages. So it wasn’t Luca after all. I feel relieved, and embarrassed I ever thought it was him. As the day drags on and on, I begin to get upset. Why is he not here? Why is he not taking care of me, making sure I’m alright after last night? Maybe he doesn’t care anymore… maybe he lost his interest now that he’s had me.
It’s tough to concentrate on anything but the negative thoughts taking over my brain. I try to convince myself he’ll come back, but as the hours pass, it becomes more and more obvious I’m waiting in vain. I spend the rest of the evening in the gardens, skipping dinner. I don’t ask Filippe about Mason’s whereabouts, and he doesn’t elaborate. But thin lines of worry are etched into his face, making him appear somber and serious. It makes me worry even more. After the sun goes down, I walk towards the walled-in garden. As a force of habit, I check the overgrown door leading inside it, and I’m shocked to find it open. I haven’t been here since the night Mason caught me, and it makes me wonder if he forgot to lock the door that night… or maybe he left it open on purpose. For me. I cling to the thought as I walk inside. The garden is silent and beautiful in the dusk of day. There are insects buzzing, and I find a bird’s nest in one of the gnarled olive trees in there. Finally, I settle on the bench where Mason made me cum, and I lose myself to the world of my fantasies. I’ve never paid much attention to why I am the way I am. I guess not having a mother does play into it - I’ve always known my dad spoiled me because I only had one parent. I think of myself as quite intelligent, knowing I’ll always get what I want if I play my cards right. But with Mason… it makes me different. It makes me want to be real, not lie constantly and cover up the little untruths that have a tendency to spill from my mouth. It makes me want to lose control for once in my life. I don’t know how much time I spend in the garden, but when I get up to leave, it’s pitch dark outside. I smooth down my simple, long dress. I’m wearing it over my bikini as I had planned on testing out the pool tonight - something I’ve longed to do for a while now. But the day passed faster than I intended it to. I wonder if I could take a night dip. I head to the pool in the back of the house and look around to make sure I’m alone. Then, I strip off my dress, and on second thought, my bikini too. I dive into the pool, relishing the feeling of the cool water against my skin. I swim, I float, I let the water wash away my worries. I don’t notice that I’m crying until I hear a splash. I stand on my toes, panic taking over as I see a body in the water. Instinctively, I cover up my pussy and my tits, my chest heaving with suppressed panic. A male form emerges from the water. I know right away who it is, and as he wipes away the water from his face and grins at me, I know this won’t end well. “Hello, Cara,” he says sweetly, but he’s slurring his words. “Luca,” I say in a shaky voice. “Do you mind? I… I don’t have a swimsuit on.” He approaches me, the water making his movements painfully slow. “How delicious,” he says. “Let’s play now, Cara.”
I scramble to get away from him, a million thoughts racing through my mind. What is he doing here? Didn’t he leave last night? Mason wouldn’t want us alone together. I think he doesn’t trust Luca. Mason. Where is Mason? I push my feet off the ground, trying to get outside of the pool desperately. Any notion of shame at Luca seeing me naked is forgotten as I realize there is a bigger risk at play. He wants to hurt me. I’ve known that since the first time I met him. It’s what made me so uncomfortable around him. He makes a grab for me, reaching towards my naked skin. His fingers brush my hip and I scream, loud and scared and panicked. I try to run in the cool water, but my foot slips on the slippery floor of the pool, and I crash face first into the pool. Strong arms wrap around me, one of them going to my face and covering up my mouth with a thick, meaty palm. I scream into his hand but no sound comes out, only muffled whispers. Luca pulls me towards him, makes me face him and stares me down with a cruel, glazedover look on his face. If I wasn’t sure he was drunk before, it’s painfully obvious now. His breath it tinged with alcohol, he reeks of booze. He holds me down firmly and I struggle in his arms. “What’s so special about you, then?” Luca’s slurring at me. “You must have a magic fucking pussy if it made the old man like you this much.” My cheeks burn up as he reaches for my throat, his nasty fingers wrapping around my neck and choking me. Hot tears of helplessness fall from my eyes, stinging my cheeks on the way down. “Get your fucking hands off her, NOW!” Someone’s yell interrupts us, and Luca lets go of me like he’s been burned. We turn to face the garden, where Mason is pulling off his clothes before diving into the water. I sob, unable to stop my body from heaving from what I’ve just experienced. Mason resurfaces and grabs Luca by the throat as I retreat out of the pool, grabbing a towel I’d brought with me earlier and wrapping my shivering naked body inside it. The two men are fighting in the pool, throwing punches at one another. Mason’s got the upper hand – he’s bigger, broader, and he’s pissed. I shiver on the lounge chair, retreating somewhere deep inside of myself as the two take it out on each other. I don’t know how much time has passed when Mason emerges with Luca from the pool, holding him down with disgust.
Luca has a bloody nose – maybe even broken. He’s crying like a child. “You’re leaving,” Mason tells him. “Right the fuck now. And you’re not coming back.” “You can’t kick me out,” Luca groans, wiping the blood from his face. “Can’t I?” Mason snarls, pulling him closer by the throat and making the younger man groan in pain. “I don’t owe you shit, little boy. And when you pick on her,” he gestures towards me, “you’re picking on my fucking property. I don’t want to see you near her again.” He pushes Luca to the ground and I look away when the man tries to make eye contact. I can’t stand to look at him, not after he scared me so badly. “You’re picking her over me?” Luca asks angrily. “She’s just a piece of fucking ass, Mason! When are you going to realize that, old man?” “Get. The fuck. Out.” Mason emphasized every word with a jab in Luca’s throat, and the younger man laughs bitterly. “Call me when you’re alone again,” he says to Mason and storms off, his clothes dripping with water from the pool. Mason approaches me as soon as Luca is gone from the garden. He gathers me in his arms and lifts me up. “You can’t carry me,” I protest softly. “I’m too heavy for that.” “Shut up,” he says gently. “You weigh nothing.” He carries me inside the house, into his own bedroom. He dries me off with the towel, wrapping my hair up and putting PJs on me like he’s dressing a little doll. He tucks me into bed and climbs in along with me, his fingers trailing a line down my arms. “Where were you?” I ask him. “I didn’t know… I thought you left me here by myself.” “I had to deal with some shit,” Mason says roughly. “Luca… he got into a fight at some bar. I had to go intervene. I had no idea he’d come back here, sweetheart. He was gone by the time I got there.” I sniffle and he pulls me tightly against his chest, crushing me on top of him. I climb on top of his strong, muscular body, and Mason’s hands go to my hips, holding me in place as I settle down. “Don’t leave me again,” I beg him. “Never,” he mutters in my hair.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN CARA
A FEW DAYS LATER, as we’re having lunch, Mason tells me he wants to take me out. I get excited right away, remembering the trip we took to Venice and hoping for something similar. “Where are we going?” I ask right away, finishing off my plate of chicken salad. “I can’t tell you,” he grins at me. “That would just spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?” I pout, but only for a little while. We’ve spent every hour of the past few days together, trying to put what happened with Luca behind us. I think it’s working, and it’s making us grow closer as well. “Meet me downstairs at seven p.m. sharp,” Mason tells me, and I nod. A million other questions race through my mind and I have to bite my lip before they slip from my tongue. Where are we going in the evening? Will we spend the night there? Will there be other people?” Mason’s leaving the room, but as an afterthought, he turns around and grins at me. “I want you to wear a skirt,” he tells me. “Your sluttiest, shortest one.” I blush, but find myself nodding nonetheless. “And, sweetheart?” I look up at him, my cheeks burning up. He grins, showing me his perfect smile and making me get wet on that dining room chair. “Underwear is not optional. I want your ass bare in that skirt.” With that, he leaves the dining room, leaving me guessing.
I SPEND the rest of the day finding an appropriate outfit. Of course, I know what I should wear the whole time I’m digging through my suitcases. But it’s just a little bit too much too revealing, too sexy. My dad would kill me if he saw me in it. In the end, I decide I don’t really have a choice. I have to wear my shortest skirt, like Mason said. If I don’t, he’s going to find out somehow and punish me for disobeying. I bring out the black leather miniskirt. It’s short as hell, and I don’t even know what I was
thinking, bringing it with me. It’s so not my style. Still, I slip it on along with a frilly white blouse that’s cropped in the front. I don’t really have anything that goes with it. I obey Mason’s orders and don’t put on a bra or panties. But on second thought, I go for a pair of fishnets I bought in secret back at home with one of my girlfriends. It’ll help me feel less naked. The car is waiting for us as I come downstairs. It’s Mason’s usual ride, the black one that almost looks like a limo. Filippe doesn’t comment on my outfit as he opens the back door for me, even though my cheeks are burning up. I’m thankful that he chooses to ignore what’s going on here. I climb into the backseat, and a strong hand guides me in. Sitting down on the plush leather of the chair, I blush as my eyes meet Mason’s. “My, my,” he says roughly. “Don’t you look like a fucking dream, princess. Always have loved a girl in fishnets.” He’s wearing a suit - so expensive I’m almost worried to touch it. The sharp contrast between our outfits is jarring and makes me question where we’re going once again. “It’s going to be quite a long ride, sweetheart,” he tells me. “So sit down next to me and let me talk to you for a little while.” I do as I’m told and he tickles my arm, making me giggle. “Cat got your tongue?” Mason teases me. “No, I just…” I feel like I’ll never stop blushing. “I just feel so… exposed.” “Good.” His reply is simple. The car pulls out of the driveway and we’re on our way. I want to focus on the landscape outside the car window, but I find myself sneaking glances at Mason instead. The partition separating us from Filippe is up, and I feel safer knowing he can’t see or hear us. “I wanted to tell you something,” Mason says. He’s running a hand through my hair absentmindedly. I remembered him saying he liked it down and left it natural today, just freshly washed and falling in big waves down my shoulders. “What is it?” I ask him, genuinely curious. “It’s about Luca.” His words make me freeze on the spot, but Mason coaxes me into his lap, smoothing down my hair. I mewl, feeling the hardness of his cock between his legs, only a scrap of fabric separating it from my pussy. God, I want him. “I don’t want to talk about him,” I say weakly. “I really don’t… Sir.” He groans, obviously pleased I’ve remembered to address him properly. “I do,” he says, as if it’s as simple as that. “So we’re going to talk about it, right the hell now.” I squirm on his lap, but he grabs ahold of my wrists and makes me sit up straight on his
lap. “I was married to Luca’s mother,” he tells me roughly. “She was older than me, about ten years. I met her at a business event and fell in love. I was pretty young. Pretty fucking stupid.” I want him to go on, every pause he takes between sentences feeling like a cold shower. Finally, he speaks up again. “Luca was hers, from her first marriage. She never really gave a shit about him, though,” he says. “And I had no clue how to raise a kid. Fuck, I wasn’t even thirty at the time. I still have no idea.” He rocks me on his hips and I listen to his hypnotizing voice, hoping he’ll share more with me. And he does. “She… she left me after a few years,” he explains. “She left Luca, as well. Said she’d give me money if I took care of the kid. I agreed. I needed to invest in some business, and the money she gave me helped.” His hands form fists and I can tell he’s not pleased about how it went down. “So he’s been living with me, though he’s really at school most of the time,” he finishes. “And he’s troubled. The thing with his mom… it’s fucked him up. I don’t know if he’ll ever be normal. Not that the rest of us are.” He quietens down and I play with a button on his shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I want to know, and Mason shrugs, giving me an intense look. “I didn’t want you to know about my dirty past,” he says. “I didn’t want you to think I was some kind of slimy bastard. I’ve repayed her all the money. I make enough by myself now, but Luca… he doesn’t really have another place to go.” I nod and press myself closer to his chest. I can hear the steady thumps of his heart and it makes me feel safe. We stay like that for a wile, my head resting on him, listening to his heartbeat. We’ve been driving for ages, but I don’t really mind. “Cara,” Mason finally says, and I stir from the state I’m in. “Sit back on your chair. I want to play a game with you now, sweetheart.” I do as I’m told, feeling my pussy tingle as I climb off him and onto the car seat. “Take your tits out for me,” Mason orders me, and I shiver under the weight of his order. “N-now?” I’m hesitating, but my fingers are already poised over the buttons of my blouse. “Now,” he nods. I undo them slowly, one at a time. I don’t take the blouse off, but I let it part and reveal my little tits to him, my puffy pink nipples tightening into buds under his watchful eyes. “Pretty girl,” Mason murmurs, leaning over to me. “Such a pretty fucking girl.” He’s got his mouth pressed against my ear, his fingers gently going to my chest. I gasp, really loudly.
“Shhh,” Mason coos. “Quiet now, baby. Don’t want Filippe to hear, do you?” I shake my head no and he starts caressing my skin, long, barely-there touches of my skin. Never on my nipples. All over my chest and down my tummy. I feel the familiar tingle between my legs, realizing my pussy’s getting really fucking wet. He toys with me, touching me so lightly I can almost convince myself I’m imagining it. “I want to strip you naked,” he whispers in my ear. “Right here. Make Filippe pull over and fuck you on the hood of this car, parting your whore legs wide and sliding into that pussy.” I mewl, feeling myself drip on the plush leather of the chair. “More,” I beg him in the smallest voice. “I want more, please.” “Beg pretty, sweetheart,” Mason grins against my ear. “Please, Sir,” I mumble. “Please, touch me some more, say more things to make me wet.” “I want to feel your wetness,” he tells me. “Lick it, taste it, fucking feel it, princess. I want to sink my cock into your pussy and feed it to you later so you can taste yourself on my dick. I want to claim your sweet little ass.” I squirm at his words, making Mason chuckle. “I’m going to do it eventually, baby,” he promises me. “I’m going to own all of your holes.” He keeps running his fingers along my skin and, combined with the whispered promises, it’s driving me fucking insane. I’m realizing I’m going to leave a wet mark on the car seat when I get out, and it makes me blush even more. Just then, I realize the car’s come to a stop. Mason grins at me and opens the door. I try to look outside and see where we are, but it’s already gotten dark. We must’ve been driving for a while. Mason opens the door on my side, and offers me a hand to help me climb out of the car. I accept it gratefully, covering my naked ass. It makes Mason laugh. As soon as I’m out, I try to close the door, hide the wet mark I’ve left on his seat. But Mason notices it right away, and his eyes light up with mischief. “Filippe’s not gonna be pleased about that soaked seat,” he tells me, and I blush. I finally take a moment to look around us. We’re in front of a house, and there’s a long line of people waiting to be let inside. They’re all staring at us, all of them in expensive clothes, ball gowns and tuxedos. I flush with embarrassment at my outfit, at what I’d done in the car. “I think you’ll have to apologize,” Mason tells me, and before I can stop him, he calls out for his driver. “Filippe, Cara here had a little accident in the car.” The driver looks at me blankly, and I blush so much I’m sure I’ll just catch on fire. “I…” I can’t even get the words out. “I’m sorry for ruining your seat.”
“Go on, sweetheart, tell him what happened,” Mason prompts me. “I…” I give him a helpless look, but he’s unrelenting. “I let my pussy drip all over the car seat.” “Good fucking girl,” Mason tells me. Filippe walks away and I can feel dozens of eyes on me as Mason comes closer. “I hate you,” I tell him, and he chuckles. “I know, sweetheart,” he says simply. “You’re about to hate me a whole lot more, though.” I give him a blank look and he grins at me. “Get down on your knees and lick the seat clean,” he says lazily. “Right the hell now. We’re already late.” I can feel the eyes on me, all the people standing in line. I don’t know any of them and they don’t know me. But they’re going to remember this, that’s for sure. I want to protest, but the thought of getting on my knees, exposing my cunt to everyone here, is somehow turning me on. Keeping my eyes trained on Mason, I sink to my knees on the asphalt. I turn around and brace my palms on the seat, fully aware that my pussy is out on display. I lean over and slowly start licking at the supple leather, tasting my own pussy on the seat. The fact he didn’t give me a choice is almost liberating. I feel eyes on me and it almost makes me cum. I hold it back, but a long moan is ripped from my throat as I clean the car seat with my tongue. “Good girl,” Mason tells me, the pride obvious in his voice. “Such a good girl. Now it’s time to go inside, sweetheart. Let’s get this party started.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN MASON
BEFORE WE HEAD INSIDE, I have a final surprise for Cara. I walk her to the top of the stairs leading into the house, past the crowd gathering outside and waiting to be let in. When we’re standing at the doorway, loud music blasting through the door, I reach for her swan-like neck, wrapping my big hands over it. I move her hair out of the way and she looks at me with those big, innocent eyes that are making me swell in my trousers. “I bought you something special,” I tell her, and her face lights up. Underneath it all, Cara’s still just a little girl that gets excited about pretty shiny things. It makes me chuckle as I pull a velvet box from my pocket. “What is it?” she asks excitedly, and I motion for her to open the box. Her hands shake as she reaches forward, slowly moving the lid of the box up. I look into her eyes as she stares into the jewelry laid out on a white silk surface. “Sir,” she gasps. “Would you like me to put it on?” I ask her, and she nods excitedly. I take the body chain out of the box and place it back in my pocket. I walk behind her and kiss Cara’s neck softly. She melts under my lips. “You’ll have to take your shirt off for this, sweetheart,” I mutter against her skin. Her hands shake as she undoes the buttons of her blouse, right there, in front of fucking everyone. I’m so damn proud of her. She hasn’t questioned me once. I let my hands wander down her creamy skin, across her nipples and down her tummy. She arches her back against my chest and pulls off the blouse. I slip the body chain around her, thumbing the pretty Murano glass beads. It was the real reason I took her to see Massimo that day - I wanted him to make something perfect for Cara, just for tonight. The glass is cool and sexy as hell against my little girl. The body chain closes around a collar for her neck and she looks up at me with adoring eyes as I lock it in place. “Such a pretty slut,” I tell her softly, caressing her pretty face. “Now get on your knees, sweetheart.” Her eyes dart to the people crowding the entrance, all of them in expensive clothes and
heels, a sharp contrast to her little outfit. Then, she bends down until she’s on her knees, her eyes always on mine. If I’m not fucking careful, I’m going to cum in my damn pants. I lean down and pull a little chain from my pocket, carefully attaching it to her collar. She licks at my fingers when I brush them against her lips. I pull on the leash tightly and she crawls up to my leg, rubbing against my pants as I walk her inside the house. A bouncer opens the front door for us and then we’re in. It’s dark inside, with only a few spotlights here and there. There are people milling about and they all stop when they see me. Cara shrinks back behind my legs and I pet her, gently touching her pretty hair. We walk inside, me comfortably and confidently, and Cara crawling like the sexy little pet she is. I don’t stop until we’ve reached out destination. When we get there, I help Cara climb on the armchair I’ve prepared for her. She pulls her knees up to her chest and gives me a scared little look that sends chills down my spine as people gather around us. “She’s exquisite,” someone commends me, and Cara blushes at the words. “It was well-worth the wait,” a woman’s voice, this time. “I can’t wait to see her come alive.” “She’ll look pretty in tears.” I reach for Cara, running my thumb across her lips. She’s high on the adrenaline, and she looks into my eyes when she licks the tip of my finger. “Cara mia,” I tell her simply. “Remember when I told you I was going to have an exhibition for my art?” She nods slowly, sucking on my finger, licking it in a way that makes me want to be inside her already. “Well, you’re in it. I’m going to paint you here today,” I explain. “The last portrait in your series. Innocence. Yearning. Submission. And today, Domination.” Her eyes are fiery and I don’t really know whether she’s angry or excited. Probably a little bit of both. “Will you be a good girl for me and show my friends your pretty pussy?” I ask her, and her cheeks turn bright red. No one’s allowed to touch her. All these people are friends, people I’ve known for a long time. I’m not going to let anyone hurt her. But this is the final step - little Cara Newton becoming so submissive she lets me have her in front of anyone. She parts her legs slowly as I kneel down in front of her, arranging her cute skirt. “Wider,” I whisper against her thigh, and she obliges. “Wider. More, baby, more.” I don’t let her stop until her legs are on either arm of the chair, her pussy exposed. She’s breathing heavily, her eyes glazed over.
“You’re gonna follow my directions now,” I tell her, leaving a kiss on the inside of her thigh and making her shiver. “So be a good girl for me and put your hands on your neck.” I take my paints and set up in front of the canvas so I can get started. There’s a crowd around us, people Cara will never see again. People she can bare herself to, because that’s what she was made to do. I start to paint.
I DON’T KNOW how many hours passes. Like every other time I’ve painted, the time slips away from me and I get lost in my canvas, my paints, my muse. There’s something special going on with Cara, too. She’s living for this, breathing for the adrenaline rush of being sprawled naked like this for all these people. She’s never looked beautiful, and it’s as if there’s a glow coming from within her, coloring her in beauty like I’ve never seen before. Her eyes are fixed on me, boring into my gaze and demanding I return the look. I barely have time to look at my canvas, I’m so fucking mesmerized by her. All I want is to stare at her, but I know I have to capture this beauty, this last shred of innocence she has, on canvas forever. I paint her the way she’s going to look in a few minutes when I’m finished. With my hand in her mouth, hooking my thumb between her lips and making her suck it. A look of complete submission on her face. I can’t wait to make her mine completely. It looks like she’s completely forgotten about all the people around us. She’s looking at me only, and her sweet pink pussy is glistening with wetness. She’s turned on, she likes this. It makes me unbearably horny, and I finish my painting in a rush. The crowd parts when I move towards here, people milling about and making way for me to come to the armchair. I kneel in front of her, Cara’s pussy laid out for me like an exquisite fucking dinner. I lick at the inside of her thigh, and in that moment, we’re alone in the room. Just me and her, about to come together in the most carnal way possible. From this day on, she’s mine, completely and utterly. “You did so well, cara mia,” I tell her softly, pulling on the leash she’s still wearing. It makes her arch her back from the chair and push her hips against my chin. I can fucking smell her, her heat and unbearable sweetness making my mouth fucking water. “Do I get a reward?” she asks, earning a tight tug on the leash around her neck. It makes her giggle, and it makes my cock swell impossibly in my trousers in return. “Be careful, little girl,” I tell her. “Or you might get what you’re wishing for.” “Please,” she mewls, right away turning into the submissive little slut I know her to be. “Give me what I deserve, Sir. You know you want to.” I growl and then my mouth is on her. She gasps as I suck her clit between my lips, biting down gently on her sweetness and letting her amazing peachy taste wash over my mouth.
She rocks her hips in my arms and I fucking eat her out because I can’t stand not having her in my mouth anymore. I need to taste her on my tongue, I need to feel her dripping into my mouth. I’m going to lose it otherwise. “Sir,” she gasps, over and over again. “Oh my fucking god, please, I want to cum.” I can barely hear the people behind us, watching us and murmuring to one another. I briefly wonder how many guys are dealing with the same tightness in their pants as I am. How many of them wish they were in my place, men and women alike. “Cum then, baby,” I tell her softly. “Cum on my tongue, let me taste that sweet little pussy.” Her eyes flutter closed and her hand moves between those whore legs. I smack it away when she tries to touch herself. She’s so damn desperate to get off now, she’d do pretty much everything just to cum. Exactly how I want her. Her body’s twitching, her pussy pulsating against my mouth. Her hands go to her tits instead and she tries desperately to suck on her own nipple, but she can’t reach it. She’s a fucking sight, and I can’t keep my eyes off her as I fill my mouth with that delicious cunt. “Good fucking girl,” I praise her as she starts to raise her hips from the armchair she’s sitting in. “Now cum for me.” She only needed to hear those four words. She comes apart loudly, moaning and screaming her release as she collapses in my arms, grinding her pretty cunt all over my face. I realize the orgasm isn’t stopping, and push three fingers so deep inside her pussy she cries out. I fuck her relentlessly, never giving her a chance to take a breath. Her slutty leather skirt is riding high on her waist, exposing her soaked pussy to everyone in the room. I curl my fingers inside her and she screams. And then she fucking squirts. I keep my fingers curled up inside her cunt and drink from her, the sweetness leaking from her little pussy to fucking sweet for me to pass up. I lap at her, bite her clit, I make sure she’s licked fucking clean when she’s done. But she can’t stop cumming, can’t stop thrusting her hips into my face and begging in a small, broken voice, for me to fuck her. I step away, feeling dozens of eyes on me as I walk behind Cara. Once again, I put a finger in her mouth and pull out a flogger I’ve chosen for the occasion. She’s never tasted pain before. I did spank her, it left her ass marked for a few days, but it was nothing compared to all the other things I wanted to do to her. Now, I let the leather tassels of the flogger glide along her tits, making her cum again and again. “Sweet little girl,” I tell her. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?” “Yes, Sir,” she gasps. “Yes… Perfect for you. Keep going. My pussy, please.” I let the flogger wander lower, gently slapping her cunt with the tassels and letting her feel their sting - pleasant for now. “Who owns you?” I ask her softly, caressing her mouth.
She opens her eyes, and if I wasn’t a gone man before, I sure as fucking hell am now. She’s got the sweetest, most submissive look on her face. As sweet as her dirty little cunt. “You do,” she promises me in a whisper. “I’m yours.” I hit her now, the flogger making her hiss as it connects with one nipple after the other. “Who owns this body?” I ask her. “You do,” she moans. “It’s all yours, Sir.” I circle the flogger along her cunt. “You want me to fuck you, princess?” “Yes,” she gets out. “Yes, fucking please.” “Cum,” I order her, and she does as I slap her clit with the flogger. She looks so fucking stunning when she comes apart it messes with my plans. I let the flogger fall to the ground and for the first time, I remember we’re not alone. I look up at everyone staring at us. Those horny faces, the men hoping for a turn, the women wishing they could join. And I scream at the top of my voice. “Fucking get out of here.” In the silence that follows, I know my exhibitions are over. I’ve made her submit. I’ve broken her. But now she’s all fucking mine. I rip my clothes off as Cara convulses in her orgasm on the chair and Filippe starts leading people outside with an apologetic smile. I ignore the glances being thrown over shoulders, the loud protests as people are rushed and ushered out of the fucking house. I’m too fucking hard to even think about us being alone. I lift her off the seat and sit down myself, placing Cara on my lap. “Ride,” I order her in a rough, hoarse voice. “Fucking ride me, sweetheart.” She lets out a sweet, needy moan as she sinks that pretty cunt on my cock. She starts moving her hips and it feels like magic sparking between us. She’s got my cock so deep I can feel a wall on every side of me, her pussy devouring me as she rides, her thick juice spilling down my groin. I’ve never seen her like this. So out of control, so beautiful, so fucking vulnerable at the same time. She rides like she was made to do this, even though she’s so fucking clumsy it’s cute as she tries to get my dick deeper inside her. “You’re fucking perfect, princess,” I tell her roughly. “Fucking perfect.” She nuzzles her mouth against my neck just as I hear the front doors of the house closing. We’re alone now. She’s passed my test and she’s my perfect little toy now, always mine. My fingers tighten along her leash and I tug on it every few seconds, making her gasp desperately every time. She’s so damn perfect I just want to spill everything I have inside of her, but I keep holding myself back. I can’t let go yet, need to watch her ride me for a while longer, because this is a memory I’ll remember forever. “Mason,” she whispers, and my skin prickles with goosebumps.
I don’t correct her, not this time. We’re alone now, but even then, I might’ve scolded her for not saying Sir. Not today though, not right now. My real name feels fucking perfect on her slutty lips. “Mason, please,” she begs now. “Cum inside me. I need you filling me up or I’m going to lose it, please, Sir, please…” I grab her hips and start fucking her harder than ever, making her gasp so loudly it sounds like she’s screaming. “Good fucking girl,” I growl in her ear. “Such a good girl for me, keep going, let me fill that pretty pussy up, let me come undone in that cunt, sweetheart.” “Please, Mason,” she’s breaking down, I can feel it. I tug on her leash again, really fucking gently this time because she makes me want to be careful with her. She seems so fucking vulnerable sometimes, I’m worried I’m just going to break her. And then she comes apart, starting to cry the moment she cums, sobbing and gasping for air as my cock swells impossibly, pulsing inside her tightness. “Fucking please,” she keeps saying. “Please, Mason, more, don’t stop, I’m gonna pass out.” My arms wrap around her, I’m fucking worried but I can barely stop myself now. She moves her lips to mine fervently, barely able to suck a kiss from my mouth. “Don’t stop,” she whispers. “Don’t stop fucking me if I pass out, Mason.” “Jesus,” I groan against her mouth, feeling myself starting to spill inside her little hole, long ropes of cum shooting from the tip of my cock and painting her pussy from the inside. “Jesus Cara, are you okay?” She yelps when I cum inside her, and for the last time, whispers a ‘please’ against my lips, and then she goes fucking limp in my arms. I feel her heartbeat, I know she’s fucking fine, but my conscience won’t let me keep pounding inside her. But my cock has a different idea and as hard as I try to make myself stop, I can’t anymore. I finish inside her, so damn needy I hold her up with one hand and jack my cock off inside her cunt with the other. She comes to with a little mewl, desperately trying to kiss me as I shower her in my cum. I can barely move by the time I’m done, her used cunt dripping on my groin with every breath we take together, my cock still rock hard inside her. “Your cunt is mine,” I whisper against her mouth. “You’re fucking mine, Cara.” “Yes,” she promises me, sliding down my cock one last time and milking the last few drops with her impossibly tight, swollen pussy. “All yours.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN CARA
1 MONTH AGO It’s been a week since the exhibition and Mason’s fucked me every day since. He’s made me cum more times than I can count, and it seems like the man always has something new in store for me, making me cum in so many ways I never imagined existed. It’s one of the last steamy hot summer days, and we’re lying by the pool. His hands are trailing over my body, gently soothing the welts he put into my skin the night before. I stretch out for him like a kitty cat, my naked body glistening from the heat of the day. “Cara,” Mason mutters against my ear, and I arch my back, mewling softly because I want to get closer to him, but his firm grip on my hips won’t let me budge an inch. “I want to try something very special with you today.” My eyes fly open and I look into his handsome face. His features are shadowed and the sun beats into my eyes over his shoulders. He’s like a god, my own Hades, and I want to be his Persephone even if it means I’ll be dragged to the depths of hell for him. “What is it?” I ask softly, a little bit worried even though I already know I’m going to agree to whatever is on his mind. Maybe that’s why I’m scared. “Do you trust me?” he asks me, and I let my body go soft and willing in his arms as he waits for his answer. I think about the question for a little while, letting it simmer in my mind. Do I trust him? I would let him hurt me, and I have. I know he knows what my limits are better than I do. I would let him fuck me mercilessly, until I pass the fuck out, and I’ve done that too. I would let him love me, and treasure me, and punish me as he saw fit, and I’ve done that the most. “Yes,” I reply simply, and there is not a doubt in my mind that what I’m saying is the truth. “Good,” he says, his fingers trailing over my collarbone, down the sensitive skin of my stomach and over my tits, making my nipples pebble and my lips part in a desperate gasp for more. “That’s good, cara mia. We need that for what we’re about to do.” Suddenly, he grips my neck hard and picks me up as if I weigh nothing. I let out a
surprised gasp, but apart from that, I let him do whatever he wants with me. My body goes slack in his arms and makes me feel like a puppet. I’d gladly place my strings in his hands. I trust this man with my life. I had been lying on the warm tiles by the pool, but he puts me on my knees and I obediently cross my hands at the wrists behind my back. His hand doesn’t leave the back of my neck and I open my mouth needily, sticking my tongue out. I want a taste of him, need a shot of Mason down my throat. But he doesn’t do what I expect him to, doesn’t fill my mouth with a hot load of his cum. Instead, he forces my head down and makes me look at my reflection in the pool. “Such a pretty slut,” he mutters, and I whimper, looking at our image in the pool. “I don’t want to hurt you today, Cara. You understand that, don’t you?” “Yes,” I whisper back, my eyes going to his, full of trust and love. “Good,” he says soothingly, and I offer him a tentative smile. He smiles back and smoothes down my hair. Then, he plunges me face first into the pool in front of me. My first instinct is to panic. I open my mouth and I scream in the water, letting all the oxygen out of my lungs and filling them with water instead. He pulls me out by my hair and I gasp and cry at the same time, taking grateful lungfuls of air through my mouth and gasping through the sobs wracking my body. “Don’t panic,” he tells me calmly. “Just be a good girl, Cara. I’m not trying to hurt you, you know that, right? I won’t let anything happen to you.” “Yes,” I manage to get out, but I’m still sobbing. Sobbing like a fucking animal, scared and raw and vulnerable because I’d thought we’d done anything and everything, and he keeps throwing all this stuff at me, stuff that scares me and stuff that makes me scream and stuff that tests limits I didn’t think I had. “Yes, I-I know you won’t.” Mason leans his body against mine and I relax, feeling his muscles strain against my skin. “Want to try again?” he asks me gently, and I start nodding almost hysterically, unable to stop myself. “Okay, baby girl. Relax, nothing bad is going to happen, I promise.” He plunges me back into the water, slower this time. I open my eyes inside the pool but I don’t panic this time. I try to save my breath even though panic is threatening to tear down all the walls inside my head. My heart pumps into overdrive and I’m panicking again, so fucking scared I kick my legs out on the surface. He pulls me out and I sputter and scream. “See, what a good fucking girl you are,” he coos at me and I stop crying, I just listen to his voice, and I need it, and I need him, and I need more of this awful torture. What does that make me? I’m a fucking masochist, I’m fucked up, I’m broken. And I don’t give a hell. “Please,” I beg. “Do it again, do it again.” “Okay, pretty thing,” he promises softly, and my head goes into the water again.
This time, instead of letting the panic take over, I try to hold on to the feeling I had before I came up for air last time. That fleeting but oh-so-precious moment of pure bliss before he lifted me out of the water. I cling to it and let it take over me, wrapping in its gauzy fingers. And then Mason pulls me out again, and instead of screaming and crying and begging, I let out a long moan that makes him chuckle. “That’s a good fucking girl, cara mia,” he tells me, his hand tugging on my hair, hard. “Time to see if my little plaything’s getting wet, don’t you think so?” I mewl in response, and my legs part of their own accord as he reaches between my thighs. My cheeks burn up in embarrassment because I know exactly what he’s going to find at my center. “Oh, Cara,” he coos. “You’re so fucking wet. So wet for your master.” I let out another moan and my whole body starts to shake as he groans, his fingers exploring my slit. “Dripping,” he says roughly against my cheek. “So fucking wet, such a perfect little toy. Yes, baby.” “Sir,” I manage to get out. “You need to fuck me now, please.” “I think I will,” he promises in a low, throaty whisper. “I think I just have to, after you’ve been such a good little girl for me.” He flips me over, and my face settles against the cool tiles of the pool as Mason pulls my ass up. He pauses for a moment and I wait in anticipation, wiggling my butt at him. The first rope of his spit ands on my butt, sliding down my asshole and towards my pussy. My eyes roll into the back of my head and I moan like a sex-starved nymphomaniac. “Please, Sir,” I beg pathetically. “Inside me, now, please.” His fingers reach for me and he slides them across my mouth, slapping me so lightly it feels like a kiss. “Stay with me, princess,” he orders me. “I want your eyes open and your pussy fucking ready for this.” I mewl as he enters me, his whole cock inside me with a single thrust of his powerful hips. He groans as he fucks me, long, slow, torturous grinding motions against my clit making me go crazy. He fucks me like his own personal fucktoy, making me into a little slut just like he wanted to all along. And I let him, submitting to him completely and letting him fill every inch of my hole until I feel like I’m ready to fucking burst. I start talking nonsense, pleases and ohgods slipping from my mouth so easily it makes Mason chuckle. He spanks my ass while his other hand goes to my nipple, and he flicks his fingers against the hardened little nub, hard. It makes me yelp and that makes him swell so much in my cunt I think he’s about to rip me apart. He pulls out suddenly, and I protest at the loss of him with a long moan. “Jesus fucking shit, princess,” he says roughly. “Your sweet little pussy’s gaping for me.
What a sweet little thing you are.” I push my ass out towards him and he rushes his cock back inside. “I can’t go easy on you anymore,” he tells me between thrusts. “I have to fuck you really hard now, sweetheart, and that might hurt a little. Is that okay?” “Yes,” I almost shout my response. “Yes, please, just let me fucking cum for you, Sir.” He groans his release, fucking me so fast his motions are a damn blur through the tears in my eyes. I love crying for him. Love letting those tears fall hard and fast as he claims my tender, swollen little hole. “Cum with me, princess,” he orders me, and I do. A long moan pushes me over the edge and I feel myself getting so wet something gushes out of my pussy, making his cock slide into me louder and louder. I’m whimpering, not even sure whether I’m sticking to ‘Sir’ anymore. He fucks me until he cums with a growl, and then he pulls out his cock to my dismay, and makes it spurt all over my ass. I protest with a loud howl as another orgasm rips through my body, making me tremble in his arms. Once he’s done, Mason reaches for my butt and smears his cum all over my cheeks, making me laugh. “Dirty girl,” he tells me with a big grin on his face. I open my mouth wide and he lets me suck his cum from his fingers, his dark eyes already plotting what he’s going to do to me next.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN CARA
THE SUMMER IS PASSING SLOWLY, but surely. There’s a noticeable chill present in the nighttime, and I’ve started wearing a cardigan over my dresses when we have dinner on the veranda. I know my time at Mason’s place is slowly coming to an end, but neither of us has brought it up yet. I don’t want to admit I’ll have to go back to my real life in the fall. Go to one of the colleges I got accepted to and resume life as it used to be. Is that even possible after everything that has happened? I guess I’m about to find out. I’ve started sleeping in Mason’s room, curled up against his chest with my head resting in the crook of his arm. I like the sense of familiarity between us now, it makes me feel good. We’re getting ready for bed that night and I head to his bedroom earlier, while Mason finishes up some work in the office. I take a long-forgotten paperback from my suitcase and thumb through the pages until I found the chapter where I left off. I don’t remember the moment I doze off, but I wake up with a throbbing headache hours later, the paperback discarded on my chest. Mason’s sleeping next to me, his strong body cradling mine. He’s put a blanket over me and I smile to myself as my fingers glide over his handsome features. Then I realize why my head is pounding - there’s a loud noise coming from downstairs. Someone’s shouting. Mason stirs awake a moment later, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He looks concerned as he sits up in the bed, extending an arm to be and rubbing my wrist to comfort me. “What’s going on?” I ask, my voice shaky. “Is someone here?” “I’ll go check it out,” he promises me, and I make to get out of the bed at the same time he does, but his firm grip on my arm stops me. “No, you stay here, sweetheart.” I pout at his words but he ignores me, putting on the jeans he’d worn earlier and heading out of the room. I hear his footsteps going down the stairs, and for a moment, everything is quiet. I lie in the bed with my heart pounding and an impending sense of doom. I have a bad feeling about this. Something isn’t right. Just then, I hear a loud crash and more voices being raised. It’s enough to get me out of bed. I slip on a silk robe Mason got me last week, my bare feet shuffling along the floor as I
rush out of the room. I don’t even bother looking in the mirror, too worried about Mason’s safety to worry about my appearance. I walk downstairs where the noises are coming from. I come to an abrupt stop at the top of the stairs overlooking the front room. There are three figures there, talking in urgent notes, loud and angry voices taking up the whole room. Mason, Filippe and… “Dad?” The word comes out small, like I feel right now. The three man all look towards me standing at the top of the stairs. It is my dad. What the hell is he doing here? He looks at me, his eyes furious. He takes in my disheveled appearance, and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear as he stares me down, trying to get some kind of answer from me. “What the hell?” he asks. His voice isn’t loud, but his tone is pissed. Enough to scare me into blushing. “Did she come from your fucking room?” My dad glares at Mason, who runs a hand through his hair. “Calm down, James,” Filippe begs my father. “We can sort all of this out, don’t worry.” “Sort it out?” My dad laughs bitterly. “I send her to him,” he points at Mason, “to show her the country, not the size of his dick!” I’ve never heard my father curse in my life, and it sends scared shivers down my spine, like little razor-sharp needles forcing their way into my skin. “James, please,” Mason finally says, his voice firm. “We can talk about anything.” “Yeah?” Dad looks at him, pure fury in his eyes. “Are we going to talk about the fact you turned my fucking daughter into a sex toy for your pleasure?” My hand trembles on the stairway rail. “Are we going to talk about you painting her,” dad bellows. “Fucking naked in front of your sick damn supporters?” “James,” Mason begs him, sneaking a glance at me. “I don’t know who told you about all this.” My dad laughs bitterly, saying, “Word gets around, Mason. You wouldn’t even believe.” “He didn’t force me to do anything,” I get out in the smallest of voices. My dad laughs, like it’s the most idiotic thing he’s heard in his life. “Didn’t force her,” he mocks Mason. “She’s fucking eighteen, you son of a bitch. She’s been manipulated. You fucked up her head, you jackass. You fucking ruined her!” “Daddy, stop!” I yell, but my words fall on deaf ears as my father lunges after Mason. I shriek as the two men tumble to the ground, trying to make my way to the spot on the floor where they’re brawling. But Filippe intercepts me, holding me back while the only
two men that mean anything to me fight it out. My father is fueled by rage, but Mason is taller, stronger. He’s got the upper hand, even though I can tell he’s just trying to calm dad down. “Where are they?” dad snarls as they get up, Mason holding him at an arm’s length. “Where are the fucking paintings, you son of a bitch?” None of us says a word as my dad rips himself out of Mason’s grip and runs up the stairs. He doesn’t even stop when he passes me, and I feel myself crying, hot tears of humiliation falling down my cheeks. We all race after my dad as he tears through the house. He doesn’t stop until he comes to a door I don’t even remember. “In here?” he snarls at Mason. “Did you put her with all of your other whores, you sick bastard?” I give Mason a confused look. He looks at me worriedly, before raising his arms at my father. “Calm down, James,” he begs for the last time. “Let’s sit down and talk about this.” “I did not take a fucking ten-hour flight to talk,” dad yells at him. He tries the door, it’s locked. Then, he lunges at it with all his might, screaming as he breaks down the door. We all stare into the Pandora’s box he’s just opened. The room is big, more of a hall, really. There are four easels in the middle of it, my nakedness exposed on every one of them. I blush deeply, but then I see the rest of the room. It’s really a gallery, the walls adorned with paintings. Dozens upon dozens of them. I walk past Filippe, past Mason, past my dad. Someone flips the light switch and I come face to face with them. The women. The muses. Innocence. Yearing. Submission. Domination. Four portraits for every one of them. All of them on the walls of this room. It must be over ten women. Maybe over a dozen. And in the middle of the room, my own portraits, like a fucking mockery to everything I thought I’d experienced with Mason. I can’t even turn to face him as the hot tears start to fall. I hear them talking, shouting. I feel someone reach for me but I rip myself out of their touch and sit down on the floor in a corner. I can’t keep myself up anymore. I watch my dad head for the paintings of me, punching a hole in every one of them.
Ruining them. Someone kneels down in front of me, and makes me look into his eyes. Mason. “How could you?” I ask him. “How could you use me?” “I didn’t,” he says. “You were the last one. The most important one. My work of art. My magnum opus. My muse, cara mia…” “Shut up!” I wipe my tears off angrily, my whole body throbbing with the lies and deceit he’s fed me over the past month. “I hate you, Mason Scott. You’re a jackass. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.” “Tell her you love her, then,” my dad interrupts from behind us, and Mason clenches his fists like he’s in physical pain. “Tell her you love her, you bastard.” Mason looks at me and his mouth opens, but there are no words. He just stares at me, begging me to understand, hoping I’ll see something I don’t believe in anymore. “Please,” I say softly, even though I don’t want him to see how vulnerable I am. “Please, Mason.” “I…” he swallows. “I’m sorry, cara mia.” I push past him and start running. I can barely see through the tears clouding my vision. I don’t stop until my bare feet hit the ground. I don’t stop until I reach the secret garden. Once I’m there, I tear through it. I want to hurt him by damaging something that means a lot to him. Even though the garden is overgrown, there is still a certain kind of beauty to it. And I tear through it like a banshee. I pull out roots, break down branches. I dig up the soil, kick the flowers, I do my fucking best to destroy the beauty of the place. I don’t stop until someone drags me away. My feet drag on the ground as I get taken away, feeling like a lifeless doll. I realize it’s my father talking to me as he sits me down into a taxi. I’m still only wearing the silk robe over my PJs, the fabric now stained with blood. I look down at my hands and find them cut up. Probably from the rose bushes in the garden, I think absentmindedly. Someone slams a fist on the window and the taxi driver starts chattering in Italian. “Don’t fucking take her.” The voice is muffled. I look up at Mason, his eyes pleading with me, with my father. Don’t. Go. I want to say something back, but my mouth has dried up. Surely all this wasn’t fake. Surely he felt something for me, even though he painted so many other women in the same manner. But what we had… It was real. Maybe just for me. Maybe not for Mason. Fresh tears spill from my eyes as I look at him through the window. He’s desperate, he’s reaching for the door, but we’re locked inside. A part of me wants to tell my father to let me out, another part wants me to stay put and leave it all behind. The pain, the heartache.
The love, the intensity of the man I spent my summer with. “Drive,” my dad orders the taxi driver. “Marco Polo airport. Now.” The driver hesitates and Mason slams a fist on the window again. “NOW!” my dad demands, and the driver steps on the gas. I stare outside of the window feeling numb as the car drives off. Mason’s figure gets smaller and smaller and smaller. And then it disappears, and I don’t feel anything anymore. “It’s okay, honey,” my dad tells me, his voice shaky and pent-up. “You’re okay now. I’m taking you home now. Don’t worry, you never have to see him again.” I always thought I would break with a scream, go down in flames, come apart loudly. But as I fall apart in that car, I don’t make a single sound.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN MASON
AFTER JAMES LEAVES with his daughter, I’m a wreck. I don’t know how I get back inside the house, don’t know how I rip my knuckles open and make them bleed down my fist. The red mist finally starts to back away when Filippe patches me up in the kitchen. I lost her, just like that. Because I was a fucking prick and couldn’t tell her how I really felt. What she made me feel, what kind of man she made me become. Cara had changed me for the better, and I hated myself for not telling her that when I had the chance. Filippe’s calming words are coming in through a dark cloud of anger. “I want you to leave for the night,” I tell him roughly, as he’s putting away the first aid kit. “I don’t think that’s wise,” Filippe says hesitantly, but one look from me has him too scared to say another word. He nods one, packs up his stuff and leaves, letting me wallow in my sadness by myself. As soon as he is gone, I get up and walk to the bar in the dining room. I go through the numerous bottles in the bar and finally find an 18-year-old Scotch in the bar. I stare at it for a long time, letting it bring back all the memories from the day I received it. “She’s pregnant! She’s fucking pregnant!” I grin at my friend’s words, clapping him on the back and giving him a big hug. “Man, I can’t believe it,” he keeps saying. “Can’t fucking believe I’m going to be a father.” James Newton is a few years older to me, but he’s still a huge fucking kid. We’ve been working at the same company for a few years now, me just as the delivery guy and him as one of the newest partners. His wife Corinne and he have been trying to have a baby for a while now, and it looks like the time is finally here. Looking at my buddy’s eyes and the pure joy displayed in them makes me wonder if I’ll ever be this excited about the prospect of having a child. I don’t think so. “Congratulations, man,” I say as we sit down at the bar. “Can’t believe this is actually happening. I’m going to be uncle fucking Mason!” “And you won’t be able to curse around her,” he warns me. “Her?” I lift my brows in wonder. “Didn’t know they could find out the gender so early
on.” “It’s just a feeling.” James is smiling wide as he orders a round of drinks for us. Scotch. “That reminds me, I brought you something.” “Now you’re making me look bad,” I joke. “I haven’t got anything for you. Making me feel like a prick.” James laugh and pulls a bottle from a paper bag. “Got this from the in-laws. I want you to hold on to it for me,” he tells me, emotion getting the better of him as he hands the bottle over. “It’s Scotch. I want you to keep it until the kid turns eighteen. Then, we can have some together.” “You know I should be the one giving you a bottle, right?” I remind him, and we both laugh. Truth be told, I’m kind of touched he thought of me as the keeper for this bottle. “Of course, man, I’ll hold on to it. To your baby girl!” We drank ourselves into a stupor that night, and coincidentally, it was one of the last nights I spent with James for a long time after that. I got promotion after promotion, and ended up getting offered a job to handle the Italian branch of the company, while James moved up north with his family. By the time his wife gave birth, we’d grown so far apart he never even called me. I found out about the little girl, Cara, from another co-worker. We stayed in touch sporadically over the years. A birthday message here and there, a Christmas card once in a while. No phone calls or texts. The odd Facebook message. When I was in town, James found out through a mutual friend. His invitation to his daughter’s birthday party seemed more of a chore than an exciting occasion. But I’d heard of James’ wife passing, knew he was having a hard time, and I decided to pay a visit to my old friend. It had been good catching up with him, and we had fun remembering moments from all those years ago. He even asked me about the Scotch, and I promised him I was still keeping it safe. I don’t remember whether I told him about Luca or just-about-to-be ex-wife. I forgot every fucking detail of that day after I set my eyes on Cara for the first time. And then everything else went out of the fucking window, my only intention getting Cara into my life. And it worked like a damn charm. I open the Scotch and drain it down my throat. One sip, two, three, four, five. It burns my throat and I keep drinking until the pain takes over my broken heart. At least this one’s fucking temporary.
HOURS LATER, I drag myself from the dining room table and head upstairs. The door to the gallery mocks me, hanging wide open. The faces of all the women I’ve painted laugh at me from the walls, becoming my downfall in the very end. I walk inside the room, barely able to stand on my feet. My fingers graze the surface of the
paintings Cara’s father has ruined. The only ones that really mean anything to me. Ruined. I head for the ones on the wall, looking at the women Cara thought were her competition. The women she thinks I betrayed her with. All of them, all eleven, were for practice. All of them knew what was going to happen. That I was in love with someone else, waiting for her. Even then, I loved her. I just didn’t fucking know it. I look at the portraits on the walls, remembering each and every woman fondly. The very first one only two weeks after Cara’s sixteen birthday. She taught me how to turn punishments into unbearable pleasure. I go through all the muses this way, thinking about what each one of them has taught me. All in preparation for Cara, so I could be the best master she could wish for. So I could be the right man for her. To lessen the blow to her dad, to make her fall in love with me more - because I was so fucking paranoid about losing her, even then, when she wasn’t in my arms yet. I start picking at the surface of the paintings, getting my hands dirty with the dried-up paint. When I can’t destroy them sufficiently that way, I take matters into my own hands, just like James did. I punch a hole in every one of the canvases until there’s nothing left of the paintings on the walls. I break the frames, smash them on my knee, break them on the ground. I don’t stop until the whole gallery is ruined. I don’t need it anymore. It was all for Cara, but Cara is fucking gone. I pull out my cellphone and dial James’ number, even though I know they’re on the plane back right now and there’s no chance he’ll see my call. I let it ring repeatedly, over and over again until the shrill dial town is making me lose my mind. I feel the loss of Cara everywhere, my head, my heart, my fucking limbs. I miss the weight of her on top of me, the way her head fit into the crook of my arm. She’s been gone a mere few hours and already, I’m losing my damn mind. “What’s going on?” I turn towards the source of the voice, for a moment certain that I’m imagining the figure standing in the doorway. But as my eyes come into focus I realize it really is him. “Get the fuck out,” I snarl at him. “I can’t deal with your shit right now.” Luca hesitates before approaching me slowly. I collapse against the wall, my back sliding down until my ass hits the ground. I cover my face in my hands and Luca sits down in front of me. “What happened?” he asks simply. “She’s gone,” I tell him. It’s all he needs to know. It’s all that matters, really. Cara is gone and she isn’t coming back.
“Shit, I’m sorry.” Luca does sound genuinely sorry, and I’m surprised he’s actually capable of any kind of emotion. I look up at him and find him staring at me with bloodshot eyes. He’s not drunk though, not like I am. “What happened to you?” I ask him. I choose to overlook the fact that he technically shouldn’t be back at the house after I kicked him out a few weeks ago. I didn’t care where he ended up that night, after treating Cara the way he did. But now that he’s back, I’m almost relieved that he’s in one piece. “I found her,” he tells me simply, and I give him a blank stare. “Found who?” He looks into my eyes and I see the pain in his gaze, the answer so obvious it makes me sigh out loud, saying, “Oh, Luca.” “I was surprised she lives so close by,” he says conversationally, but a single look at him explains how hurt he is by this knowledge. “Did you know she was only an hour’s drive away from us?” I hesitate for a second before nodding. I can see my admission has hurt the young man even more. “How did you find her?” I ask him, and he runs a hand through his dark hair. We really do look alike, even though we’re not related. I wasn’t much of a father figure for Luca either, and I never gave a shit about it. But seeing him so vulnerable now makes me wonder how much of his fucked up personality is really on me. “I’ve been looking for a while now,” he admits. “I just… I guess I wanted to see if she had any interest in seeing me. Maybe making things right.” “I’m sorry, Luca,” I say roughly. I don’t tell him he could’ve asked me. Don’t tell him she stopped paying for him ages ago, that she never even responded to my calls when I wanted to talk about him. She’s written us both off, for good. “It’s okay,” he says. “I guess we’ve both messed up, haven’t we?” I laugh bitterly at his words, wondering how much he actually knows. He must’ve figured out Cara was special to me - it was why he was picking on her, after all. Maybe it was to get my attention as well, I don’t know. “You really shouldn’t be here,” I tell him coolly. “Not after what you did to Cara.” “I know.” His voice is weak, for once. “I wanted to apologize to her. I know I can’t really say or d anything that would make it better. I never meant to hurt her, I swear.” I look up at him, realizing I don’t even know him after all these years. But I think he’s telling the truth. “Okay,” I say quietly. “We need to talk, anyway. But I need to get to bed first.” We both know I’m lying, that I’ll spend the next few hours tossing and turning. I also know I’ll be dialling James’ number the whole time, hoping and begging that he’ll pick
up. That he’ll change his mind. Luca gets up from the floor and gives me a small smile. “Goodnight, old man,” he says. His voice is tired. “Good night, Luca.” I don’t move from the floor I’ve collapsed on, and he doesn’t make a move to help me, either.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CARA
THE FLIGHT back and the first few days at home are a blur. I barely remember a thing from that time, and I sleep for hours and hours, day and night blending into one another and making me forget about my whereabouts. Dad doesn’t pry. He makes sure I’m fed and that I take care of myself, but I’ve switched on autopilot. I’m barely aware of what’s going on as the days start to pass. On the fifth day, I ask dad for my phone, and he refuses. I realize he’s taken it away from me, worried Mason will try to make contact. My computer is gone as well, and I’ve never felt more isolated. “I’m not going to call him,” I tell dad. He refuses to acknowledge Mason, hasn’t said his name or anything about him since we got back. Now, his hands form fists at his sides and he looks away, like he can’t bear looking at me anymore. “I said no,” he says simply, and with that, he leaves the room. I listen on and hear the tell-tale sound of the lock turning. He’s locked me into my own room, made me a prisoner in this goddamn house. I start to get antsy, wanting to get out, wanting to make sure I’m making the right decision. Doubt gnaws at me like an old friend, reminding me I never truly believed Mason loved me. Yes, he was fond of me, yes, he loved touching me. But he made it plenty clear he never fucking loved me in the first place. Dad doesn’t really talk to me either. Sometimes I wake up to find him in the room, leaving me some food on the desk or checking up to make sure I’m fine. He never says a word though, usually doesn’t even reply when I’m the one addressing him. I’ve never felt so alone, not even when my mom passed away when I was seven. Hours blend into days and the future looks bleak. I have no interest in getting out of the bed and moving on with my life. Every thought I have is preoccupied by Mason, thinking about what happened between us and how much of it was just a damn lie. I’m obsessed. I spend hours upon hours lying awake, worrying, daydreaming about him. I don’t know whether I regret my decision - well, it wasn’t really my decision - to leave. I know I was upset when it all went down, but I never gave him a chance to explain. Sometimes I wonder if he’s trying to make contact. Maybe he’s calling my cell in vein,
maybe he’s tried my dad’s number and had another huge fight with him. I don’t know, and I might never find out. My dad’s made it plenty clear that I need to just move on. Dad sees how upset I am and how lethargic I’ve become, and when a week passes, he lets me out of my bedroom. We never talk about what happened. He doesn’t ask and I don’t offer him any details. I wonder if he knows everything and what his version of the events that transpired is. I don’t make an effort to find out. It’s a week later, I think, when I break down. I beg dad for my phone and laptop again, and he refuses every single time. I sink down into a heap at his feet, sobbing like fucking crazy because I can’t keep these emotions bottled up inside of me for much longer. I need to show him that I’m hurting, and I need to fucking talk to Mason. Dad walks away from me, leaving me in a crumpled heap on the floor. He sends a maid to make sure I’m alright later, and I wonder if our relationship will ever go back to being the way it was before. That night, I convince myself I’m dreaming when I hear Mason’s voice downstairs. I toss and turn at night, imagining him coming back and demanding my dad let him see me. For a moment, I’m almost convinced it really happened, but when I ask my dad about it in the morning, he refuses to tell me anything. I stop sleeping completely and my nights are spent tossing and turning the whole time, just waiting in limbo for something to happen. The days are passing so fast now, and I’m becoming aware that it’s going to be fall-time soon. Time for me to go to school and put this summer in Italy behind me. I wonder if I’ll even be able to do that. The next day, I lie in bed awake just as dawn breaks outside. I get up on auto pilot even though it’s much, much too early, and dress myself in one of the dresses I wore in Italy. I do my makeup, too, because I need something to do, and it’s a good distraction. I sit at my vanity table in my childhood bedroom, combing through the tangles in my hair and looking at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot from crying, my complexion pale, like it’s already lost the tan I got in Italy. I look unwell. I’ve just finished getting ready as the clock strikes 6 in the morning, and the door to my bedroom opens slowly. I look at the intruder in the mirror, and my eyes widen in shock and surprise when I see Mason’s broad form filling the doorway. I must be dreaming, because there’s no way this is happening. No chance he’s actually here with me. I hear someone racing up the stairs as I stare at Mason, my eyes drinking him in. He’s as handsome as he’s always been, but he doesn’t look well. I turn around in my chair to convince myself he’s merely a mirage, a figment of my imagination. But when I look at him now, he’s still standing there, as solid as he ever was. “Cara mia,” he says softly, his lips parting as the nickname slips from his mouth. My whole body shivers when he calls me that, reminding me of a different time when those two words made me submit so freely.
In that moment, my dad walks up behind him, hitting Mason’s head hard. The two men fall to the floor and I get up, my hands going to my face as I stare at them going at it for the second time in a row. I don’t just watch this time, though. I come in between them and try to separate them, and they stop brawling for a second to make sure I’m safe. I stand in front of my father, protecting him from Mason’s punches, even though he hasn’t even thrown any. “Stop it,” I hiss at them both. “Just fucking stop it already.” “Cara, get the hell out of my way,” my dad says in a strained tone, trying to push me to the side. But I’m relentless, and there’s not a fucking chance I’m going to move before we settle this once and for all. My heart is beating loudly because Mason is so close once again. I’ve finally realized he really is here, looking at me with those hungry eyes, like he’s trying to devour me with his gaze alone. “Stop fighting,” I tell them both again. “This isn’t solving anything.” “Cara,” Mason bellows out. “Let us sort this by ourselves.” “Don’t I get a say?” I bite back. “Don’t I get to decide what I fucking want?” They both stare at me as I take a deep breath and walk away from them both. My skin is prickled with goosebumps and I’m desperate to be back in Mason’s arms. I hate the way my body has betrayed me already. “I need to explain,” Mason tells me gently. “I wanted to show you those portraits, Cara, when the time was right. I want to explain everything. I want to make it fucking right.” I stare at him, waiting for him to go on. Even my dad seems to be listening for once. Mason runs his fingers through that dark hair of his, and my stomach hurts from being so close to him without touching him. “They didn’t mean anything to me,” he explains. “I just wanted to make sure I knew how to take proper care of you, how to make sure you were… okay. I saw those women after I met you two years ago. I waited for you, Cara. I was trying to make things right before we even saw each other again.” “You bastard,” my father snarls at Mason. “You think she can make a choice by herself in this state, when you’re feeding her lies? She’s convinced she’s in love with you, you jackass!” “Good,” Mason tells him firmly, looking at me for confirmation. I avert my eyes. “I hope she fucking is, because I’m in love with her too.” With that, he comes at me, grabbing me by the thighs and lifting me up. I’m thrown over his shoulder in the next second, and I don’t even fucking resist. He carries me out of the room, and after a moment’s hesitation, my father follows. “If you fucking hurt her,” he bellows after Mason. “I’m going to kill you.” “Likewise,” Mason says back over his shoulder. “If you make her cry,” my dad goes on. “I’ll make you pay.”
We make our way down the stairs and I don’t even fight Mason as he carries me out of the house. I’m so fucking confused, my heart and my head pounding as I try to make sense of this situation. I don’t have a clue if what’s happening is what’s right for me, but I know, without a doubt, Mason’s the man I want to be with. He sets me down in the front room, and my dad and I look at each other with tears in our eyes. I think I’ve already made my decision - I’m leaving with Mason. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” I tell him softly, and he covers his eyes as he realizes this is really happening. “I need to go with him.” “Cara…” His voice is hurt, but at least it isn’t broken. He understands I need to do this, and though he my think it’s a foolish decision, I hope I’ll prove him wrong in due time. “Take care of her,” he orders Mason as he pulls me in for a tight hug. I relish the feel of him against me, knowing it might be a while before I see my father again. He lets go of me after a while, angrily wiping at the traitorous tears in his eyes. “I want to hear from you every day,” he makes me promise. “Just so I know you’re okay.” I nod. This time, I’m not carried out of the house. Mason takes my hand and walks me outside, down the stairs and towards the car that’s waiting for us. I see Filippe standing in front of it. “Good to have you back, signorina Newton,” he tells me as he opens the back door for me, and I give him a weak smile. I take one last look over my shoulder, and seeing my father alone like that hurts, I’m not going to lie. But I know I owe it to myself to see if there’s a future in store for Mason and me. “Goodbye, Daddy,” I say softly, then quickly look away and climb into the car. I can’t stand looking into my father’s hurt eyes. Mason climbs in after me, and I stare at my father’s figure as we drive away. The tension in the car is palpable, but neither of us says a word. After a while, Mason’s hand finds mine, and our fingers intertwine. We’re still not talking as I lean my head against his shoulder, and let myself slowly drift off to sleep. For the first time in a week, I’m not plagued by nightmares, and I sleep the whole way to the airport, and most of the plane ride home. Home. Because that’s what Mason’s house is to me now, and hopefully, for a long time to come.
CHAPTER NINETEEN CARA
PRESENT TIME He’s claimed my last hole, just like I knew he would. And now I belong to him completely. Neither of us has said the words yet, confessed how we feel about one another. I can feel them on the tip of my tongue, hanging above us in the hot room, just waiting to spill from our mouths. But something’s stopping me. Mason’s hands are caressing my skin, sliding down my back. My spine tingles from his touch and I lean into his palm, desperate for more. I can’t believe I’m back here, can’t believe he came to get me. My dad’s going to kill me… and I don’t give a shit. This is where I belong, and I’ve never been more sure about that in my life. Lying in Mason’s arms is where I should be. It takes us several minutes to calm down and he cuddles me close with his eyes close. Finally, he reaches for my hands and grunts at the sight of my ruined knuckles. “We have to take care of that,” he says roughly. “Can’t let it get infected.” I nod, half-expecting the spell we’re under to break, but it persists. The floor is covered with glass shards and Mason lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing, carrying me out of the bedroom. I curl up in his arms, naked and vulnerable, always feeling the fullness inside my ass. He’s lodged the plug in there firmly, and as he carries me, his hand ventures down my back, toying with the crystal toy. I whimper and he chuckles. He carries me up into his studio. I can’t look at the paintings, the torn canvases are too painful for me right now. Mason notices, and throws a white sheet over their ruined surface. He sits me down on the floor and returns a moment later with some antiseptic and bandages. He makes me stretch out my hands, and I whimper at the pain in my fingers. I shouldn’t have smashed that mirror, but fuck, I needed to. I needed to show Mason how much he meant to me, how badly I wanted him. I needed him to know we belong together. Mason cleans my cuts gently, the antiseptic making me hiss when it stings my wounds. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he tells me gently. “Shhh, I’m only making it better.” “I know,” I reply weakly, offering him a brave smile - as brave as I can muster at the late
time of night, when I’m sleepy and tired and so fucking full. “Good girl,” Mason praises me. “Only a few fingers left.” He wraps up my hands in the bandages, and the blood starts seeping through right away. Mason furrows his brows at that. “This isn’t good,” he tells me. “We should probably get you to a hospital, baby. See if you need stitches.” I panic at the thought, crawling into his arms on the floor and pressing myself as close to him as I can possibly manage. “Don’t leave me,” I beg him. “Don’t take me away. I’ll be good, I promise.” My voice is shaky and scared, and Mason seems surprised as he smoothes down my hair, pressing a sweet kiss against my forehead. “Okay, I won’t,” he promises. “But we do need to talk, Cara.” My body tenses in his arms and I wait rigidly as he gets up. He digs around an old wardrobe in the corner of the room and comes back with several pillows and thick blankets. “I sleep here sometimes,” he explains as he settles them on the floor. It’s late summer now, and it’s cooling down. We burrow ourselves in the softness of the blankets and he pulls me tightly against his chest, my breasts pressed against his hard pecs. I look up at him, his eyes already on mine. Once again, I’m reminded of how painfully handsome the man is as he reaches between my legs again. I mewl when he pushes the plug deeper inside me. “Does it hurt?” he asks me gently, and I shake my head no. “Good. Keep it in a while longer. I like knowing my cum’s trapped inside you, baby.” I blush at his words and try to look away, but Mason won’t let me. He keeps his gaze locked on mine as he begins to talk. “I think I should tell you something,” he says simply. “What is it?” I’m scared. “The garden,” he says roughly. “Remember the garden? The walled-in one.” I nod, my heart pounding. The secret garden. Is he finally about to tell me what happened there? “It was built for someone,” Mason says. His eyes are clear, his voice strong, but I can hear the vulnerability in his tone. “A little girl. She was… she used to live here,” he continues. “Her name was Olivia. She was my daughter.” My whole body tightens in his arms, but it only makes him hold on to me harder, like an anchor. Like he needs me to stay afloat in this mess we’ve made for ourselves.
“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I say softly. “Not many people do,” he says. “Except for Filippe, and of course, Luca.” “Is she his sister?” I ask. “She was.” Mason touches my bottom lip, his finger sliding into my mouth. I lick him because it’s an instinct, because I want to taste him, fill all of my senses with him. He groans. “What happened?” I want to know. “Car accident.” His voice is devoid of emotion. “Her mother was driving her to kindergarten when a trucker hit them. The back of the car, it was smashed. She died on the spot. She was four years old.” I don’t even know what to say, but my eyes fill with tears nonetheless. We look at each other for a long time. “I’m so sorry, Sir,” I say softly. “Don’t.” His voice is rough, scaring me. “Don’t call me that right now.” I reach for his face and he turns to the side. I pull myself higher and kiss him. Soft, sweet. Promising him a future and hoping he understands what I’m trying to convey. His lips are rigid against mine, cold and unrelenting. I push my way through the barrier he’s trying to create between us. This whole summer, our whole relationship, has been about him breaking me - making me submit. But maybe Mason’s the broken one out of the two of us. “Kiss me,” I whisper against his lips. “Let me make it better.” He sighs and his lips part. I take advantage of it, pushing my tongue into his mouth and whispering against his lips. “It’s okay, Mason. It’s okay. I know it hurts. It’ll get better. I’ll make it better.” His bottom lip is trembling and I bite down on it. “Mason,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry, Mason.” A single groan leaves his lips and then he’s on me, climbing on top of me and caging me underneath his strong body. “You’ve already made it better,” he says roughly. “You… you made me love you.” I giggle, though my heart is pounding. “So it’s my fault then?” I tease him, and he grins. “Yes.” He nuzzles my neck. “All your fucking fault, sweetheart.” I wrap my legs around him and he settles against my body. I can feel the tension inside him slowly seeping away, falling through the cracks his tragic past made in him. He’s getting better. And I’ll help him heal. “Cara mia,” he mutters against my ear. “I love you, Cara. I really fucking do.”
I bite his neck and I lick my response into his skin, making him groan. “Say it back,” he demands, and I laugh again. “Make me.” He raises his eyebrows. In a second, his hand is on my ass, and he toys with the plug. In an out, swirling it in my ass so I feel his cum inside me. I gasp, and I can’t stop myself from moaning his name. “What was that, baby?” he asks me roughly. “I…” I mewl. “I love you.” “And what else?” “And I’m yours, Mason.” “Good,” he coos, pulling the plug out and making me gasp as I feel his cum spill from my hole. “That’s all I ever wanted, sweetheart.”
WE DON’T COME out of the studio until midday the next day. We stop in our respective bedrooms to get dressed, and Mason holds my hand as we walk down the stairs and into the dining room. I stop in my tracks when we walk in. Luca’s sitting at the dining room table, digging into a plate of eggs Benedict. “Good morning,” Mason says formally, and Luca looks up from his meal. “Morning,” he replies stiffly. I stand there, frozen to the spot. “What is he doing here?” I ask, my voice shaky. “Leaving,” Mason promises me. He leaves a fleeting kiss against my cheek just as Luca gets up from his chair and approaches me. Instinctively, I hide behind Mason, his strong body protecting me from his stepson. “I just want to apologize,” Luca says, looking into my eyes. “I never meant to hurt you, Cara. I just… I was fucking drunk. I wanted to scare you.” “You did a good job,” I hiss. He laughs bitterly. “I fucked up,” he admits. “More than once. But I’m hoping we can make things better, since it seems like you’re here to stay.” Mason grunts at that and I stand prouder behind him. “Maybe,” I say doubtfully, and Luca flashes his brilliant smile at me. “I’m leaving for school today,” he lets me know. “I’ll be back for the holidays.” I don’t reply, but my eyes follow him around the room carefully, as if I’m anticipating
another attack on either me or Mason. “Oh, and Cara?” He looks over his shoulder on the way out, and bores his eyes into mine. “Always knew you were perfect for the old man,” he grins. “I never would have touched you.” With that, he leaves the room. Mason turns around and kisses me gently, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Sorry I didn’t warn you about him,” he says, and I give him a look that speaks volumes. “I should have, I know. We’re… trying to make things better. Luca found his mom a while ago.” “His… and Olivia’s mom?” I ask tentatively. Mason looks away at the mention of her name, but he doesn’t flinch like he did yesterday. “Yes,” he says. “She’s remarried. Won’t talk to either of us.” I look at the door Luca’s disappeared out of and wonder what it must be like to lose both his parents that way. He really is alone. A sudden urge awakens inside me and I look at Mason desperately. “Do you think I could make a phone call?” I ask him. “Of course, sweetheart,” he nods. As an afterthought, he adds, “Your dad?” I nod. He takes my hand and leads me into his study. He shows me to the phone in his office and then leaves quietly, giving me some much-needed privacy. I hesitate with my hand positioned over the phone for ages before finally picking it up. I type in dad’s number with shaky numbers. The phone rings and rings and rings. I’m almost sure he isn’t going to answer. But then, I hear someone pick it up, and my dad’s frazzled voice greets me. “Hello?” I take a sharp intake of air, wondering if he knows if it’s me. He’s quiet for a long time, listening to me breathing. “Cara?” he finally says. His voice is shaky and filled with so much sadness it breaks my heart. I think back to the time we lost mom, to how well dad took care of me. How he always tried to make things better for me, for us. He was a great father. “Hi, dad,” I say softly into the phone. He breathes a sigh of relief, and for a moment, I think he’s going to cry. But instead, he laughs. A sound I know so well it makes me smile in response. “Hi,” he says, and his voice is calmer. “Hi, sweetie.”
I don’t know why, but I sob. Only once, but enough to make my dad worry. “Oh, honey,” he says softly. “We’re going to make things right.” “Okay,” I reply in a small voice. “Maybe not today,” dad jokes, and I giggle through the few tears that have escaped my eyes. “But soon. I’ll… I’ll come to terms with it.” “Will you come visit me?” I ask. “Of course,” he promises. “All the time.” “And…” I let the sentence hang in the air. “And what, honey?” “And you still love me, right?” “Cara,” he says simply. “Always. I promise you that.” I look up to find Mason standing in the doorway, his concerned eyes following my motions. I smile, and he smiles back. “Good,” I say into the phone. “That’s good, dad.”
CHAPTER TWENTY MASON
1 MONTH LATER I crawl closer to him. I’m only wearing a nightie, nothing else. Not panties, not a bra. I crawl onto his lap, straddling him. My heart is beating a million times per minute, and I’ve no idea why I’m doing this. I just want his pain to leave his body. “Cara…” he breathes a warning down my neck, leaning back so his torso isn’t touching mine. But the breath against my neck is enough for my nipples to harden, and I’m thankful the room is dark apart from the lamp on my bedside table. I don’t want him to see how fiercely I’m blushing. “Cara, you need to move,” he tells me, his voice rough and strained. “If you don’t, you won’t be able to get away from me.” I take his hands gently and put them on my hips, and he groans out loud. I need him close. Need him touching me. Need him inside me. “Please,” I breathe. “I just need to feel safe. Can you help me?” “Jesus,” he groans when I grind my naked hips against his crotch. I can feel him getting hard under me. Mason’s hands push my nightie up, until it’s above my hips. He doesn’t look down at my naked pussy, instead focusing his eyes on mine, making it impossible for me to look away. “Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re impossible to resist, cara mia.” “So don’t resist,” I tell him. “Just give in.” He hesitates, but only for a second. In the next moment, he’s got his fingers wrapped up in my blonde mane of hair, pulling my head back. “Strip,” he orders me in a raspy voice. I blush and try to look away, but he makes my head stay in place. “I said strip,” he repeats. My hands shake as they leave his shoulders, going to my hips. In one swift motion, I pull my pink lacy nightie over the top of my head. It lands in a heap on the floor and I’m left
exposed, my breasts tightening in the cool air of the room and my pussy dripping on Mason’s pants. “Fucking hell,” he breathes, and finally, his eyes roam my body. “I keep forgetting you’re fucking perfect, cara mia. So perfect.” I try to shield my body with my hands, suddenly feeling shy, but he gently pries them away, admiring my body with lust-filled eyes. “Do you want to fuck me?” I ask him. “No,” he groans, thrusting his hips against mine. “I don’t, Cara. I want to make love to you, baby. Is that okay?” I take a moment for the rush of the moment to wash over me, and finally nod. “Please,” I beg him. “Show me what it feels like.” Mason is up in a second, lifting me off the bed and placing me gently on my back. He climbs on top of me, and I feel shy as I’m stark naked and he’s still fully clothed. “Do you ever touch yourself, Cara?” he asks me roughly, and I tremble. He’s never asked me that before. I nod. “Show me,” he orders me. “Show me how you touch yourself, princess.” My fingers don’t obey my mind, which is shouting for me to stop. Instead, they follow an instinct of my body, roaming down my thighs and between my legs. I press my index finger against my clit and Mason grabs my hips as I moan. “You like that?” he asks me as I circle the little bundle of nerves. “You like feeling yourself get wet, baby?” I nod, moaning. He’s holding my hips down with one hand, while the other goes to his neck and pulling off the tie he’s wearing. My eyes glaze over, but he won’t let me stop touching myself. My fingers leave my clit, and he stops holding me down, his palm smacking my pussy hard. “Fuck,” I yelp. “Don’t…” “Don’t?” he asks me, his hand lingering on my pussy and making me gasp. “Remember who’s in charge here, cara mia. Tell me.” I look at him with my eyes wide, and his finger parts my pussy lips, making me arch my back with neediness. “Tell me who owns this pussy,” he orders me, circling my clit with his thumb. My eyes are glazing over. “Y-you,” I stutter over the word. “You do…” With a groan, he gets off of me, pulling off his shirt and then his trousers. He stands before me in his boxers, his cock straining against the fabric and begging to be released.
“Go on, Cara,” he tells me slowly. “Play with my cock.” I crawl over to the edge of the bed, slowly reaching for his ass. He thrusts his hips into my hands, and I look him in the eye when I pull down his boxers. His dick springs free and I moan at the sight of him, just like I always do. Mason’s hands wrap in my hair again, making me look down. “Do you want it?” he asks me, like he’s talking to a pet. “You want a taste, sweetheart?” I nod, moaning low in my throat. He doesn’t even have to push inside my mouth, I lean closer by myself. Slowly, I lick the tip of his dick, and Mason groans with pleasure. “Fucking shit,” he tells me, his fingers tightening in my hair. “More, baby. Show me how good you lick.” I circle my tongue around the crown of his cock, tentatively at first, but getting braver and braver. He tastes so masculine, deep and dark and delicious. I need to have him deeper. I need to have him inside me. I suck his cock inside my mouth and Mason curses when he fills my mouth. I keep sucking, slowly at first, but picking up speed when I see how much he loves it. “I can’t fucking hold back, baby,” he tells me darkly. “I’m sorry… I don’t even want to.” He holds my head still and starts fucking my mouth, excruciatingly slowly at first, making me want him so much deeper. But he soon picks up speed, filling my whole mouth up with his throbbing cock. I swirl my tongue around it as he fucks my face, his moans making my clit throb. My eyes are pleading with his to fuck me, and when he hits the back of my throat with the tip of his cock, I choke. He pulls out slowly, and I take a deep breath. When I look back at Mason, his eyes are glazed over with need. “Lie on your back,” he orders me. “On the bed. Fucking now, princess.” I scramble back, lying down with my whole body exposed and trembling for his touch. This is different than anything we’ve done before. Yes, we’ve fucked numerous times now, we’ve even come really damn close to making love. But this time, with his eyes boring into mine, I know this is going to be special. “I want that last part of you, Cara,” he tells me as he climbs back on top of me. “The part that loves me, the part that can’t stand to be without me. I want your love, princess.” I wrap my legs around him and he groans as the tip of his cock presses against my pussy. “Make love to me,” I beg him, and with his name on my lips, he presses inside me. His eyes are on me, always, as he pushes his cock deeper and deeper inside me. Like this, with me on my back, it seems like he can go deeper than ever. He doesn’t fuck me though. His thrusts don’t get faster and faster like they usually do, like he’s just so damn desperate to fill me with his seed. Instead he fucks me slowly, like he’s relishing every second of being inside me.
It takes me mere moments to cum all over his cock, gasping his name. He kisses it off my lips, going even slower now and with more intent. “More,” I beg Mason, and he pulls out his whole length, then plunges inside me again as I gasp. The feeling is something I’m getting addicted to by the second stroke, my body shaking with the need for more. I keep repeating his name as he pumps inside me, one hand holding the small of my back, the other braced on my side. He curses out loud as he fucks me, and I’m seeing stars – not just the ones in the summer sky. “You feel so good, Mason,” I whisper in his ear. He groans against my mouth, shutting me up with a deep kiss, then moving away and looking at me with concern. “Does it hurt?” he asks worriedly. I gulp as I ride another wave of pleasure, my walls tightening around his thick shaft, ready to milk every last drop of his hot come. “No,” I promise him. It doesn’t hurt like it usually does, even though he’s stretching me wide. It feels good. He curses out loud and makes love to me like it’s the first and last time. “I’m going to come inside of you now, okay, princess?” he asks me, his voice pained. I nod, begging him to do what he’s promised. “Be a good girl,” he orders me. “I want you to come on my cock again.” I writhe under his touch, getting off on those words alone. “Can you do that, Cara?” Before I can answer him, my body is taken over by a shiver and I bring my hips up to him, whispering his name over and over again. Mason curses as he drives his cock into me, fucking me harder than ever before. And it doesn’t hurt, it feels amazing. It feels like we’ve connected more than ever before, his perfect, veiny cock stretching me within an inch of my existence. He curses against my hair and his whole body tenses as he pumps one last time. He groans and I can tell he’s going through the same thing, shaking and calling my name in a broken, ragged whisper. His body convulsing, Mason collapses on top of me, his cock still inside me. He looks down at me, his smirk ever present on his face as I pant in exhaustion. “I’ve wanted to do that for months,” he tells me, kissing his way up to my lips. “Make love to you, princess. Make you give me the last thing I was missing.” “And what might that be?” I tease him, running my fingers through his hair. He grins, saying, “Your heart, baby.” I giggle and try to push him off, but he won’t fucking budge. “Was that as corny as I think it was?” Mason laughs, and I nod. “It was true though. I
wanted the last part of you.” “Well, you got it,” I kiss him on the lips, my tongue sneaking between them and demanding more attention. He groans as he kisses me, his mouth drinking me in like I’m the only substance he needs to live. “Maybe you should’ve paid more attention,” I say, biting his neck gently. “Why’s that, sweetheart?” Mason asks roughly. I can feel his cock getting hard between my legs again, throbbing to be inside me. “Because you would’ve noticed I gave it to you the day I came here,” I whisper in his ear. Epilogue – Cara 2 years later It’s my birthday today. Oh, how time flies. I’ve been thinking about the last two birthdays that meant this much to me. First, my sixteenth. Then, my eighteenth. And today, I’m turning twenty, and my father is coming to visit us in Italy for the first time. I never thought he would come to terms with mine and Mason’s relationship. He was angry as hell, though he did his best to pretend it was okay because he loves me so much. But he refused to speak to Mason for a full year after that summer. I’ve seen my dad, have flown back home twice per year. But I also made it plenty clear the beautiful house outside of Venice was my home now, whether dad accepted it or not. He didn’t, at first. He was sullen and refused to speak to me when we were together, at least for the first few days. But we talked a while later, and he confessed why this whole thing hurt him so badly. He told me Mason was one of his best friends, and he felt betrayed by what he’d done. I wanted desperately for them to rekindle their friendship, but it seemed like that would never happen. For the past two years, I’d sent my father invitations to my birthday party, and he refused the first time around. But this year, I earned a call back, and he promised he would be there. It made me both happy and incredibly nervous. I still remembered what had happened when Mason and my father were in a room together, and I didn’t want a repeat of that awful fight. As I get ready, a million thoughts swimming through my head, I hope that everything will go okay today. Luca’s homing home for the first time since I’ve been back too, and Mason has been promising me he is a changed man. I really hope so - for his sake. I know if he lays a hand on me, Mason’s going to have his head. I’m wearing a long, baby blue dress. It’s flowy and Grecian, with a long slit amongst the drapes on my legs. To compliment the color, I’m also wearing a gold leaf headband that Mason had made especially for me. I feel beautiful today. I know the party’s about to start, but I want to steal another moment with Mason before all the guests arrive. My eyes light up as he opens the door into our bedroom, finding me at the vanity table.
“Cara,” he says, his voice deep and throaty. “You look sexy as hell.” “Likewise,” I smile wide at him, getting up from the chair at my table. I walk up to him, smoothing the collar of his shirt. He’s forgone the blazer, but he still looks semi-formal in his outfit. Handsome as ever. I pull on the hair at his ear and he groans. He’s got some grey hairs there now that never cease to make me wet, even though he hates me teasing him about them. “Do we have time to…” My words are interrupted by a knock on the door and Mason groans when I call for the intruder to come in. “Signorina Newton,” Filippe says pleasantly. “You look like a vision.” “Thank you, Filippe,” I smile, feeling the ghost of a blush creeping up on my neck. Still haven’t quite gotten rid of that habit. “There are people arriving now,” Filippe tells us. “I’ve told them to wait in the garden for you. Everything else has been prepared, we’re just waiting for you now.” I nod and Filippe disappears discreetly. As soon as he’s gone, I steal a kiss from Mason’s lips, and he tangles his fingers in the drapes of my dress. His hands find the slit in the side and he strokes my smooth, tanned legs. “Jesus, cara mia,” he says roughly. “How am I going to get through tonight without sliding my fingers in that pussy when nobody’s looking?” “Try hard?” I suggest innocently, and he grins as I tear myself from his embrace. “Come on, let’s go downstairs.”
IT’S a few hours into the party and I’m having the best fun. There are people here I’ve come to know and love. People we consider friends, neighbors, people from Mason’s work. All my people now, too. The only person missing is my dad. I keep looking at the corner of the house where Filippe is bringing my guests in, but so far, no luck. My dad hasn’t shown up, and it feels like there’s a little puzzle piece missing in my fairytale. Just like last year. Finally, several hours into the party, I see a familiar figure approaching. My dad smiles wide and waves at me as he rounds the corner. There are several other guests with him. A woman and two small children. I don’t realize they’ve come together until they’re all standing in front of me. “Daddy!” My excitement is obvious as I jump into my father’s arms, holding him tightly and relishing the hug I so rarely get these days. “I’m so glad you’re here. You’re late!” My dad laughs and shakes his head when he lets me go. “Sorry, honey, delay with the airline. We got here as fast as we could,” he promises me, and I give him a curious look, followed by a glance at the woman and children he’s brought with him. My dad clears his throat and I realize he looks really nervous as he speaks up again.
“I hope you don’t mind that I brought a… date.” He looks into my eyes as he delivers the blow, and my lips part in shock. Is that what his woman is? His date, and her children, presumably? I don’t say a word as I’m introduced to them. Her name is Kate, the kids are Jonathan and Bella. They’re cute, probably around six and twelve. She must be my dad’s age or a little younger. “It’s nice to meet you,” I tell her honestly, and am surprised to realize I’m being honest. It is nice to see her. I didn’t even know my father was dating, and I shoot him an annoyed look which he makes sure to avoid. “I should’ve told you I was bringing other people,” dad fidgets. “But I thought it would be awkward if I did, so…” “So you brought them without telling me,” I finish for him, and the woman, Kate, blushes deeply. “I’m sorry, I’m coming off as really rude. I’m really happy you’re all here. I wish you’d told me sooner, dad.” He looks up at me and his eyes explain why he didn’t. Of course, I understand. I know I would’ve made a big deal out of it. She is the first woman I’ve known my father to date since my mother passed away when I was seven years old, though. Of course it’s a big deal. I look at her two children to distract myself. “Hey guys, I think there’s a cat here on the property that just got kittens. You wanna come check it out?” They nod right away, excitement shining in their eyes. The younger one, Bella, gives me her hand as we walk away from the crowd. I smile at my dad who gives me a grateful look. “Have fun and I’ll be with you in a second,” I promise, leading the kids away. We find the neighborhood tabby and her kittens in the old barn, and the kids go crazy over them. They’re gentle and sweet with the cats, and I decide I like them on the spot. I keep stealing glances at the party going on behind us. Just like I had hoped, my dad is now talking to Mason. I don’t think they’ve spoken to one another in two years - ever since I left my home in the States to leave with Mason. Their postures now are rigid and I can tell they’re uncomfortable around one another, but at least they’re talking. It’s a good start, and it makes me smile to see them making an effort for my sake. I wait until the kids have had enough of the kittens, and lead them back to their mom with big smiles on their faces. Kate gives me a grateful smile once I tell them there’s cake by the pool, and they rush in that direction to get the biggest slice they possibly can. “They’re great kids,” I tell their mother honestly.
“Thank you.” Her smile is shy and she doesn’t go on. It makes me wonder what her story is and how she met my father. The notion of finding out soon is exciting, and I offer her a genuine smile. “You alright, darling?” Mason’s hand wraps around my waist and I lean back into his embrace. My dad looks a little, but not overtly uncomfortable as he joins us with a flute of champagne for his date. I look between him and Mason expectantly, but neither says a word. Eventually, we fall into a conversation about Italy. Kate confesses she’s always wanted to visit Venice. “Well, you can stay a few days now, can’t you?” I ask her, and she nods, giving my father a careful glance. “We were planning on visiting tomorrow,” she explains. “We have to book a hotel still.” “You’re welcome to stay here,” Mason says with a small smile. I look at my dad to see if he’s going to accept his offer, an