Anthology Best Of 2017

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, and am surprised when his strained expression shifts into a small smile. “That might be nice, yes,” he admits. “Thank you, Mason.” After a little while, we move towards the tables that have been set up throughout the lawn. I take the honorary spot at the head of the biggest table, flanked by Mason on one side and my dad on the other. Even Filippe is joining us today, even though it took us ages to convince him. He’s part of the family now, too. Luca’s sitting at a table with some of his friends, and I’m grateful he’s not at ours. I may have forgiven him for what happened two years ago, but something about him still makes me uncomfortable. I get up once everyone’s at their spots and smile at our guests. “I have to make the obligatory speech,” I explain. “Mason’s making me.” “Like every year?” someone asks, and I nod. “These are kind of a tradition now,” I sigh. “I think he just likes hearing me talking about him.” Everyone laughs and Mason sneaks a hand up my leg under the table, disguised by the heavy white tablecloths. I grin at him as I go on. “I’m so glad you could all be here today,” I begin. “Especially my dad and his girlfriend along with her children. Welcome, you guys. I hope you enjoy your stay here.” Kate gives me a smile while Jonathan and Bella stare at me adoringly. “I think we’ll get along well,” I laugh. “Especiallywith the help of some kittens.” I look back at my dad. “And, dad… I’m so happy you’re here after all this time. I know things haven’t always been easy.” Mason’s fingers tighten on my thigh.

“But I’m so glad you’re here for the big announcement.” Mason gets up beside me and wraps his arms around me as I giggle into the night. “Oh, what the hell,” he says with the biggest smile. “Sorry, darling, I’m stealing this moment.” He turns me around so I’m facing him. “Signorina Cara is going to make me the happiest man alive and marry me,” he says, and my mouth drops open. “But-” I start to say, but he drops to his knee before I can go on, presenting me with a ring. I can’t believe this. “You better say yes,” Mason grins at me. “Yes,” I breathe. Everybody cheers as he puts the ring on my finger. I haven’t even had the chance to look at it properly, I’m so damn shocked this is really happening. We never talked about this. I didn’t even know he wanted to marry me… A look at my father reveals him wiping tears away from his eyes with a napkin, and my bottom lip trembles. “Dad?” I say, with everyone’s eyes still on me. “Yes, honey?” he asks. His voice is heavy with unspoken emotion. “You’re gonna be a grandpa,” I confess, and his eyes widen. “A boy.” I point at my dress with shaky fingers. “Baby blue, for your grandson.” He gets up from his seat and wraps me up in a hug I’ll remember my whole life. People clap and start coming up to me to congratulate me, but all I can think about is what my father said in my ear when he hugged me. Thank you. I look at Mason, leaning back in his chair and downing his champagne. He grins at me, that wicked smile that got me in trouble in the first place. He pats his knee and I sit down, forgetting about all the guests, forgetting about everything as our lips come together in a searing kiss. “Mine,” he mutters against my lips. “My muse.” *The End*

BONUS SCENE

These are the times when Mason makes me forget how old I am. With clay all over my body, its gentle caress light and wet against my skin. He makes me forget it’s been years since I became his completely. He makes me forget about the three children I’ve given him over our years together. He makes me feel as carefree, as beautiful, as special as I was when I was only eighteen years old. He makes me believe no time has passed at all, and I’m still his little girl when he whispers cara mia into the shell of my ear. “You look so beautiful,” he mutters gently. His fingers make quick work of the brush he’s holding. He dips it in color as he paints me, and I look over my shoulder to glance at the man I share a life, three children and a neverending love with. “Thank you,” I whisper, sliding my clay-covered fingers over my forearm. My hair is messy, and most of my skin is covered in the thick Italian clay that fills the earth under Mason’s property. I feel beautiful. Wild, untamed and so very beautiful for him, my man, my lover, my dream. “Cara mia,” he says gently, his voice laden with emotion. I don’t look over my shoulder again, simply glancing at the floor and smiling as shyly as I used to, because even when it’s all said and done, he still makes me feel like a princess. Like I’m a priceless jewel he’s lucky enough to hold in the palm of his hand, and like there’s no one whom he’d rather share these moments with. He groans, and I hear him putting down the blush. He reaches me in three long steps filled with intent. His fingers wind their way into my hair, pulling, making me snap my head back. My blue eyes look up at his brown ones, his gaze filled with all the emotion, all those feelings we’ve been sharing for years. These days, there’s no need to speak them out loud. After so many years together, I’m in Mason’s head as much as he is in mine. I look up at him adoringly, looking for signs of trouble in those dark pools of his eyes. Of course, there has been trouble. Over the years, we’ve had our fair share of it. But moments like these, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even exist. All there is in the world is

just us. His hands holding me, his eyes imploring my own to find out my secrets. But I stopped hiding those a long time ago. I gave myself to Mason freely, and completely. “Open your mouth,” he groans, and my lips part for him just like they always do. Slowly, his spit trickles into my mouth, leaking down my lips and pooling in the hollow of my throat. He grins when I moan, still pleased by the sound of ecstasy he brings out from my body when nobody is looking. I always have been and always will be his muse. “Such a beautiful girl for me,” he mutters to himself. I don’t remind him that I’m a woman now. He knows, because he made me into one. “Kneel for me, Cara,” he says, and I slide down from the stool I’m sitting on until my knees hit the ground. The beautiful marble floor is messy, clay dripping everywhere. He painted my body with it, made me play with water and get as messy as I possibly dared for his painting. This is for our own private collection. Nobody sees this except Mason and me. They’re for our eyes only, and just because of that, they feel even more special than they are. I love it when he paints me. Still, after all this time. Love it when I know he’s touching brush to paper with my image in his mind. I’ll never get sick of it. The painting is long forgotten though. Now, all that matters are his fingers in my hair, his spit in my mouth. The need to have my pussy filled, the absolute unbearable desire, the lust that’s clouding my vision. He renders me speechless when he acts this way. So dominant, so dark, so very inviting at the same time. He gathers all my hair in his fist and watches me kneel obediently with my hands placed on my knees. He pulls my hair up, making me look down. Maybe it’s better, because looking into his eyes has me more nervous than ever before, and I’m too afraid to keep doing it. “What are you going to do to me?” I ask him shakily, and he laughs the same dark chuckle I’ve known and loved for so many years. “What haven’t I done to you?” he asks me gently, tipping my chin back with his pointer finger placed beneath my jaw. I look up, and he turns my face side to side, examining me, seeing if I am as beautiful as I used to be. That’s what I imagine, at least. But the hunger he displays when he’s around tells me I have absolutely nothing to worry about. “What would you like me to do?” he asks next, and I dare a look into his whirlpool eyes. “Come on, you can tell me, cara mia. Be honest with me. I promise I won’t get angry with you no matter what you say.” “Take advantage of me,” I whisper. “Hurt me… Do something I don’t want. Make me.” He laughs out loud, leaning down and leaving a rough but fleeting kiss against my lips.

“You can’t force the willing, my dear,” he says gently, and I stick my tongue out at him, which makes him laugh. But the next second, he slaps my face as if it’s nothing. I grab my cheek and glare up at him. “Is my sweet Cara angry?” he asks me with a grin. “Poor spoiled little girl isn’t used to being treated roughly anymore, is she?” “Try me,” I grind out through my teeth. “Try me. See if I can still handle it. I’ll bet you anything you want I win.” “Bet me?” he asks, his mouth lingering close to mine. “You want to bet me, cara mia? What are we betting for? I’ve already taken all of your virginities.” “True,” I say, giving him a wicked stare that makes him laugh out loud. “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll never let you do that.” “Well, if you’re so sure you’re going to win, you have absolutely nothing to worry about,” I shrug innocently. “So, do you want to play?” “And if I win?” he challenges me. “What happens if my little girl can’t handle me disciplining her like I used to?” “I’ll let you choke me,” I say, my eyes steady on his. “I’ll let you choke me until I pass out, and I won’t resist like I usually do. I’ll even beg you to fuck me. And you can only stop choking when I’m passed out or coming for you.” He contemplates his decision, but by the bulge in his pants I can tell he is already sold. He didn’t need much convincing, either. “Do we have a deal?” I ask in my best seductive voice. Mason gives me a single curt nod, before pulling on my hair so hard I bite back a scream. “Let the games begin,” he tells me with a wicked grin.

It must be hours later. I’m lying on the cool marble floor, still covered in the clay which has now hardened against my wet, hot skin and is pulling at it none too gently. Mason thrusts into me, still on top of me, still pumping into my cunt so fucking fast it’s a miracle he hasn’t covered me in his creamy essence. “Cara mia,” he mutters. “Cry for me, princess. I want to hear you fucking crying.” “No,” I choke out, even though I have tears in my eyes, even though he’s been torturing me for hours. I won’t give him what he wants, as much as he fucking wants me to do it. I won’t. I’ll never give it to him, because I want to win. I bite my bottom lip harshly to stop myself from crying out, but it only makes more tears gather in my eyes.

“You will cry,” he tells me darkly, and my vision darkens when he fucks me even harder than before. After all this time, I should be used to his thrusts, the way my body reacts to his. But again and again, I find my own body resisting. “Such a good girl,” he grunts to himself, driving his whole length inside me. “Doesn’t it hurt, Cara? Doesn’t it feel fucking good like this? Tell me this is your favorite way to be fucked. Tell me you love it most when it fucking hurts.” “I love it,” I whisper. “I love it most when it hurts.” His hands go up to my throat and I claw at them desperately. “Maybe I should just take what you promised me,” he says, gently sliding his fingers all over my burning skin. It feels like the mere touch of his fingertips is going to set my whole body on fire. I don’t understand the effect this man has on me, but it’s a universal truth he will always, always be able to do this to me. “What if I squeeze the tears out of you?” he asks gently, stroking my throat. “What if I press right here…” His fingers circle the indentation in my throat. “I could stop your air supply so easily.” How can his voice be so breezy when he’s thrusting inside me like a damn bull? The man has the stamina of an animal. I could never deny that. “Don’t,” I whisper, begging him with my eyes because we both know my words won’t last long. In moments, I’m going to be begging him to do it, anyway. Because it feels to good to resist Mason’s charms. I don’t even want to. All I want, all I need, is for him to take advantage of me. I’ve laid my body bare before him like so many times before, and it’s his turn to do whatever the hell he wants to me. And I will love every fucking second of it. “Cry,” he urges me, and I bite my bottom lip to stop myself. Maybe the difference in pain will make me able to ignore how fucking horny his hands on my throat feel. “No,” I manage to get out. “You can’t make me.” I feel my pussy barely stretching wide enough to adjust his growing girth. It feels like he keeps getting harder even now when he’s already thick and throbbing so much I’m convinced he’s going to come any second. But he won’t stop fucking himself into me, gently holding my throat. Holding me like I’m a porcelain doll but fucking me like I’m nothing but a cheap, dirty slut. He fucks me with need and no respect, and I love him for it. For making me feel like a whore even now. He’ll never stop. When Mason says it’s forever, he means it. I feel the first prick of tears in my eyes. Mason doesn’t say a word, just keeps fucking me as viciously as ever. His cock throbs inside me, his length making me open up wider and take all of his cock even though it almost never fits. I bite my lip, harder this time, but

even that doesn’t help. The first tear slides down my cheek and Mason growls at the sight of it. His hands tighten their grip on my throat. He’s holding onto me as he fucks me now, and it feels really fucking incredible. Like I’m the only thing tying us together. Like he needs to hold me down if he wants to keep fucking me like some kind of savage. That’s what we both are. Lying on the Italian marble, messy with clay all over us. We’re fucking savages, and I laugh as more tears fall and the realization dawns on me. “I love you,” I whisper to him, just as my vision goes black. I like the darkness. It feels so soft, so warm, so inviting. It feels like a cashmere blanket, enveloping me in a space so safe, so sacred, nobody could hurt me in it. It’s like being in Mason’s arms, falling asleep to the soundtrack of his beating hard. It’s an addicting feeling, and I have no idea why I always resist. Maybe it’s because I am dependent on it. Maybe because it gets me off so much I see fireworks in the darkness, and some too-far-gone part of me knows I just came all over my master’s cock. I open my eyes slowly, carefully, my lashes fluttering and seeing him still above me, pounding harder than ever. His hands are gentle, but I feel the prints of his fingers on my throat, and I know he’s bruised me so beautifully. “You look so peaceful,” he grunts, fucking me deeper. His cock is in my womb. I know that after tonight, I’m going to be pregnant again, even though our youngest isn’t even a year old yet. “You look so fucking beautiful passed out,” he tells me, and I moan when I feel my pussy coming. I can’t even help it. He just gets these reactions out of me so very easily, as if he’d just pressed a button to make me come. And I love every second of it. “That’s right, cara mia,” he groans. “Come on my cock, let me watch you soak it.” I fight to keep my eyes open, but if I do, the tears keep flowing. But for once, I don’t care about playing games with Mason. All that matters is that I get to come all over him, that he comes inside me. And just at that moment, when he thrusts so very deep one last time, I feel him fuck his cum inside me. It’s like planting a promise inside my womb, letting me know I’ll be carrying a child for the next nine months because he decided that was the way it had to be. “Such a good fucking girl,” he growls as he finishes, and my own body keeps spasming right along with his as he pulls his cock outside. I still feel him inside me, and my pussy clenches tightly, holding onto the gift he left in me. “You’re perfect, Cara. Will I ever have enough of you?” I smear a smudge of clay on his cheek and he laughs out loud at me.

“Still just a little girl,” he tells me affectionately as I get up on my elbows and kiss him with as much love as I had for him the day I decided to stay in Italy. “Your little girl,” I remind him, and his tongue dips into my mouth, playing another vicious game with me. This time, I let him win willingly.

AFFLICTION JENIKA SNOW



SYNOPSIS

It wasn’t until Cameron that I knew what real darkness was…or that I’d crave it so much. I’ve let the world weigh down on me, pull me under until nothing makes sense anymore. Maybe that’s how I let myself get into this mess. Maybe that’s how I’m in my current situation with a man I knew could save me from a fate worse than death. Even if being with Cameron, giving him every part of me, the only part that’s worth anything—my body —might very well ruin me, I have to survive. Drug lord. Crime boss. Murderer. I should fear him, be horrified by what he wants from me, by who he is. But instead I find myself wanting to please him, wanting to give myself over completely. Because I know that gives me control over him. Cameron Ashton reigns over the gritty underworld, the danger and violence of depravity, from his throne. A pistol is his sword, and apathy is his second-in-command. I know he’s dangerous, know he’ll break me and not think twice. But he’s my only chance, the only way I’ll survive. And I didn’t know how true that was until he owned me. He’s possessive and controlling. The darkness in him runs stronger, deeper than it ever has in me. Maybe we’re not so different. Maybe giving up my control to Cameron, giving him my very soul, makes me the powerful one. Maybe, in the end, I’ll be the one who owns him. Warning: This is a filthy, dark romance. There may be subject matter and triggers that are sensitive to some readers. This is a romance, albeit a twisted one. If you’re looking for a story that gives you the warm and fuzzies, this is not the book for you.



CHAPTER ONE

THE SWEAT RUNNING down the valley between my breasts was like fingers moving along me. I was hot, my body flushed, my heart racing. Everything in me felt alive, ready to tear through my skin like another entity wanting to escape. I was drunk, and I felt incredible. The bodies pressed tightly against me, moving sexually, suggestively, made me feel even better. It made me feel alive. I moved with them, swaying to the music, inhaling the scent of sex and alcohol that seemed to surround me. I was sure a lot of people would be fucking tonight. No doubt it would be dirty, their inhibitions having been left at the club as they took home a random person. It would be the kind of sex that drunk people had, sloppy, carefree. I wasn’t a good girl. I didn’t even feel like the girl they called Sofia. I didn’t follow the rules. And my life was less than memorable. I lived like today was my last, because for all I knew it would be. It could be. I came to this club when I couldn’t stand the box that was my life, the one that was sealed tight, no airholes, no light getting through the crack. I got wasted, danced until my body was covered with sweat, my muscles sore, and some poor, hard-up frat guy got off in his jeans by grinding against my leg. I was a wreck in many ways, and I had no doubt that people assumed I was slutty by the way I dressed, by the way I moved on the dance floor. But how I dressed and acted didn’t make up who I was: a virgin who was lost, who had no one, nothing. I was an inexperienced woman who came here and danced because I wanted a little bit of release…the only kind I ever got. How I felt here was like being consumed by the water, of being helpless but weightless, of being sucked down to the very bottom where no light was permitted. I wasn’t light. I was darkness wrapped up in a five-foot-five frame, with dark hair, a wild streak, and no one to stop me. Maybe I was a contradiction to myself, a lost girl who didn’t know what she wanted in life. But it’s who I was, how I got through each day. I embraced it, knowing that maybe my upbringing, that having an absentee mother, a drunk for a father, and a penchant for getting slapped on occasion by said parents made

me this way. I wasn’t broken, but I was damaged. Or maybe it had nothing to do with my parents or what I didn’t have growing up: love. Maybe I was just born this way. Either way I didn’t try and stop it. I didn’t try and change. “You look good out here dancing, girl.” The feeling of a guy behind me, of his hands on my hips, his hard cock digging into my lower back, had dual sensations moving through me. “You feel good,” he said again, his voice thick, aroused, slurred from the no doubt many drinks he’d consumed. I wanted him to get off, because knowing I had that kind of control, that kind of power, fueled me. But on the other hand I felt disgust, mainly for myself. I felt and smelled his hot, liquor-laced breath along my neck. I shivered, and the way he groaned made me assume he thought it meant I was into this. I wasn’t, but I didn’t stop from grinding on him. I lifted my hands, closed my eyes, and just thought about something else. I wasn’t here, wasn’t trying to get this guy to come in his pants. I was far away, so distant that nothing could touch me. “Come home with me. Hell, let’s go back to my car.” I shook my head. He needed to shut up. “Come on, girl.” He ground his dick against me again. He felt small, even though he was hard. “No. Either shut up and dance with me, or go find someone willing to go home with you.” I didn’t even know if he heard me over the rush of the music, but if he said one more word, I’d just go get a drink. He tightened his hold on my hips, digging his small dick into my back. “I bet you’re wet for me right now, aren’t you?” His breath was hot, humid. It was acidic and I gagged. I was bone-dry, not even the teasing of arousal playing over me. I never felt anything when I danced with these guys. It was what made me feel free, made me feel powerful in an otherwise unstable world. I might not have any kind of control with my personal life, with my finances, with anything that could ground me, but at this club, where the drinks flowed, the sex was potent, and my power was immense…I was the one in charge. I’d been called a dick tease, a bitch, whore, a cunt…any and all of the above. None of that mattered. They were verbal bullets, and in this club I wore my bulletproof vest. I pushed away from the guy and made my way to the bar. He was either cursing me out or had hopefully moved on to someone more receptive to what he was actually after. But when I got to the bar, the people crammed together, shouting, lifting their hands to get one of the three bartenders to come their way. I decided tonight was done. I’d hit the bathroom, then call a cab. Pushing my way through the throng of bodies, the air stale, humid, the heat suffocating, I

said a silent prayer that the line to use the bathroom wasn’t up the ass. But there were still a few girls ahead of me. I leaned against the wall, resting my head back on it, and stared up. I noticed the video camera aimed right at me. There were several in this hallway, two in the back, one pointing at me, and another aimed at the dance floor. I had no doubt there were a dozen more at other locations. Although this place was wild on most nights, it also had a reputation for being safe—well, as safe as a nightclub could be. It had just been renovated by the new owner over the last year, a man I’d heard rumors about, and one I never wanted to meet. Dark and dangerous. Violent and psychotic. He’s not a person you want to meet in a dark alley. He’d just as soon slit your throat for looking at him the wrong way. Rumors, of course, but it was those words, whispered by everyone and anyone, that told me there had to be a little bit of truth behind them. I feel sorry for anyone who pisses off Cameron Ashton, because he’ll solve that problem with a shovel and a six-foot-deep hole. Pushing off the wall when it was my turn inside, I used the facility, went over to the sink to wash my hands, and stared at myself in the mirror. The girl who stared back looked sad, and not in an emotional way. My reflection showed a hot mess. My eyeliner was starting to smear under my eyes, pieces of my dark hair stuck to my temples, and the lipstick I had on, once red and vibrant, now looked dead and colorless. I finished in the restroom, pushed my way through the crowd, and finally opened the door that led outside. The cool night air washed over me, and I involuntarily closed my eyes, moaning softly. It felt good out here, the crush of bodies and heat a distant memory the longer I stood here. The alcohol that had once numbed me, clouding my head with the nothingness, started to clear. Maybe I hadn’t been as drunk as I’d thought. Being behind those doors was like another world. The lights, music, the people trying to get off any way they could, brought you down low to a depraved, sticky and disgusting level. It’s what I loved. I needed to get home now, had work in the morning, had to get back to my shitty life. I fished my cell out of the miniscule handbag I carried with me, dialed the cab service I had memorized, and told them the address. Coming here for the last year should have had them knowing me by name. As I waited for them to arrive, ten long fucking minutes, I moved away from the front doors and leaned against the wall off to the side. I glanced up, the streetlight close by bright but not quite reaching me fully. Looking to my left, I noticed another security camera, this one pointed at the front doors. Never let it be said this place didn’t have their shit together. The sound of a lighter going off to my right had me glancing over. I saw the flare of the flame, smelled the scent of the cigarette as its owner inhaled and then exhaled. “Hey, girl.” I exhaled. God, of course the guy from inside, the one with the small dick and the need for me to go home with him, would be out here. I didn’t bother replying, didn’t want to engage. Instead I turned my head in the other direction and glanced at a few people across

the parking lot smoking. I felt the lightest touch on my arm. The hell? I glanced to my right, and before I knew what was happening, that light touch from the asshole turned into him pulling me farther into the shadowy side street.



CHAPTER TWO

“HEY,” I shouted, but he clapped his hand over my mouth. Panic welled in me so violently I couldn’t think straight. My heart started hammering against my ribs when he pushed me farther into the shadowy abyss. He had me pinned to the side of the wall, the brick scraping along my back. There’d be marks on my flesh, but that was the least of my worries. His forearm on my throat cut off my oxygen. I clawed at his arm, my nails digging at his skin. He hissed and put more pressure on my neck. My head started to grow fuzzy, my body going numb. I was far beyond panicking, the survival instinct rising up violently. “You stupid fucking cunt,” he said close to my face, his breath smelling stale, the aroma of the cigarette he’d been smoking making me sick to my stomach. I might have thrown up if I hadn’t been struggling to breathe The sound of a belt buckle being undone, of a zipper being pulled down, brought reality crashing down on me. I wouldn’t be able to get out of this, not without a hell of a lot more damage than just the scrapes on my back. The sound of people coming in and out of the club was so close, yet so far away. “You should have taken me up on my offer to come back to my place. I would have been gentle with you.” Lies. “But now you’ll get fucked in this dirty alley like the whore you are.” I felt his erection against my belly. I tried to say something, to yell out, do anything that would make me more than a victim waiting to get attacked. The flash of headlights pulling into the alley had my attacker stilling and glancing to the side. He kept his forearm on my throat but tucked himself back into his pants. He moved closer to me so I had no doubt that whoever was in that car couldn’t see his arm pressing into me, cutting off my oxygen. It was clear he didn’t care or was too drunk to have a problem with someone seeing us in this position. But I supposed it might look like two people about to get it on…both consenting, even though I wanted to knee this fucker in the balls. “Make one sound and I’ll find out where you live, come in through your window, and really do some damage.”

God, was the frat-boy appearance just a cover for his psychotic nature? But no way in hell I’d take his threat seriously, even if he meant one word. This would be my only chance to get help. Because even if I did nothing, he’d still destroy me. The car was a good ten feet away, the headlights shining right on us, the vehicle just idling now. It seemed like forever before the sound of a door opening and closing came louder than the rush of conversation from the club goers just around the corner. And then I heard feet hitting pavement in an easy, relaxed pace; then the sight of a large body—very large —came into view. I could only assume it was a man, given the size. He stayed behind the lights, the shadows wrapping around his tall frame. He stared at us for long seconds, and for some reason all I could do was stare right back. I started to struggle. I caught the asshole holding me off guard and managed to push him back enough that his forearm was no longer pressed painfully into my throat. I sucked in oxygen, sweet, life-sustaining oxygen. My throat burned, and a flush stole over me, the pain of being able to breathe again claiming me. “You fucking bitch,” the asshole next to me hissed. And then there was the sound of another door opening and closing, of a gun being cocked. The shadowy man tipped his head to the side. It was the slightest move, but it caused whoever had just gotten out of the car to start walking toward us. “The fuck?” the asshole pinned against me said in a hushed voice, his eyes squinted, the headlights blinding us. I feared the worst, thinking maybe I’d misjudged whoever had shown up as being able to help. Maybe they were worse than the fucker who’d attacked me. And then the guy was pulled away from me, the sweet relief of his body no longer on mine urging me to run. But I was frozen in place, the dark shapes still covered in the shadows, the headlights still blinding me, making it impossible to see anything clearly. I rubbed my throat, the burn almost unbearable. And then a body was thrown against the side of the building, and I realized it was the would-be frat boy. I stood there shocked, unable to move, as I watched a man approach. He was in front of the car, his body illuminated by the intense yellow glow of his headlights. But his face was still concealed. An air of danger came from this man like a punch to my gut. I sucked in more oxygen, this time not having anything to do with the fact I was struggling to breathe. I stared at the man currently holding the asshole up against the brick wall by his neck. Whoever the man was, he was big, supporting another human as if it was nothing at all. I covered my chest, despite the fact that I was dressed. I was bared, like I was so open my secrets were exposed. When I glanced at the man who’d tilted his head, who’d sent his guard dog to do his bidding, I could feel his gaze on me. I might not be able to see his face, but I felt his eyes on me like fingers touching me, stroking me, holding me down. And then my heart seized in my chest as I watched him lift his arm, the gun I’d heard being cocked most likely the one he held. He took a step closer, not to me, but to the body pinned to the wall. The guy was struggling to breathe, clawing at the grip the man had on his throat.

Just like me. A taste of his own medicine. He kept moving closer to the man pinned to the wall, but I knew he watched me, knew he was calculating all of this. I thought I’d be able to see him when he moved away from the headlights. But once he was standing next to his partner or guard dog or whatever the hell the guy was to him, I still couldn’t make out his face. I knew I wouldn’t have known him anyway, but I wanted to look into the face of the man who’d saved me. Saved me? Yes, he’d saved me from a very dark hole, pulled me out so I could breathe again. But I now had this feeling, this sensation like honey on my skin, thick, almost suffocating me again, that this man was far more dangerous than anything I’d ever come across. He said nothing, and the only sound that penetrated my foggy brain was of the man struggling, of his wheezes and gasps as he tried to claw at the hand holding him, keeping him up. I felt nothing, no sympathy for him, nothing but the need to see him hurt the way he’d hurt me. And then, my lungs clenching painfully with every inhalation I made, I watched the man push away his partner and take his place in front of Frat Boy. Instinct, survival told me to run, to get the hell out of here because this was going straight into hell, where the flames licked at me, threatening to burn me alive. The man had his head turned in my direction, the fucking shadows making him seem almost unreal, like maybe this was all a hallucination. He was so big, taller, thicker, and more muscular than the man pressed to the wall in front of him. Still he stayed silent; still he watched me. And then he lifted his hand, placed the barrel of the gun against my attacker’s forehead, right in the damn center, and everything seemed to stand still. I knew enough about guns, had seen plenty of movies, to know the silencer attached would make this clean, would have no one panicking and rushing away at the sound of a gunshot. I took a step forward, not sure why I’d do that. It was the equivalent of trying to touch a chained, starved dog, wanting to run my hands over it even though I knew it would attack me, tear me from limb to limb. “No,” I said. He might have been about to attack me, rape me, God, who knew what else. I couldn’t stand here and watch some man shoot him. I didn’t want that hanging over me, even if he deserved that and more. “I don’t want that,” I whispered. A long moment passed, maybe a second, maybe an hour. It seemed like ages where my body was stiff, my heart thundering, the man with the gun staring at me. He didn’t pull the trigger, even though maybe he should have. I felt dizzy, my head swimming, the feeling of falling having nothing to do with the drinks I’d had or the situation that had transpired up until right now. “It’s not worth it. He’s not worth it,” I whispered again, but even though I didn’t know this man, I knew that he wasn’t the type to give a shit about what was worth it or not. He did what he did because he wanted to. I knew that as well as I knew the man with the gun pointed to his head could be shot dead at any second. I was very aware of the blood rushing through my veins, drowning everything else out. The frat guy was saying something, but I couldn’t hear it, couldn’t focus on anything but the man in front of me who held so much power it could have brought me to my knees.

After a tense second he took a step back, the gun still in his hand, his focus now on the asshole who’d had me in a choke hold. He still hadn’t said one word, not when he cocked the weapon, and not when he had his thug slam the frat-guy up against the building. And he didn’t say anything when he lifted his arm and rammed the butt of the gun at the asshole’s temple. The guy slid to the ground, maybe knocked out, maybe trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable. And then there was nothing but him and me, staring at each other, the air thick, the world washing away. He turned and left me standing there, his hand at his side, the gun still in his grasp. The flash of a ring caught my attention, a thick one wrapped around his pinky, seeming much more ominous than it should. He got back in the car and drove off. I followed the car with my gaze, watching it disappear down the road, knowing he was staring at me the same as I was him. I had no idea what in the hell had happened. I didn’t know if I’d ever be the same.



CHAPTER THREE

I WIPED the sleep from my eyes, my dreams from last night consisting of a big, dark man. Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew he was more dangerous than anything I could have come up against. He’d had ropes around me, laughing in this deep, sick, and twisted way that had made my humanity run and bury itself deep inside of me. I’d slept for shit because of it. The dreams coupled with what I’d witnessed last night had been enough to keep me up, a warm glass of tea in my hand…the only thing stable enough to tie me to reality in that moment. “Darryl’s got your check in back,” Rita, the assistant manager of this shitty coffee shop, said as she passed me. “Thanks,” I mumbled. I had bills stacked against each other back in my shitty apartment, and although I worked overtime, I still wasn’t making it, was still struggling just to survive. The story of my life. I finished tying on my apron and walked over to Darryl’s office. My pervert of a boss was hunched over his desk, his cell pressed up to his ear as he barked into the receiver. “I don’t care what he said. I asked him to be here an hour ago.” A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. “Listen, if he doesn’t show up, then I’ll give his position to someone else.” He disconnected the call and tossed the phone. I stood there for a second before clearing my throat. Darryl turned and looked at me. Okay, he’s not in a pervert mood, not when he’s mean mugging me like that. I’d take his anger over him slipping in lewd comments any day. “Rita said my check was here?” He started pushing papers aside until he got to the stack of envelopes. After flipping through them and finally finding mine, he handed it over without looking at me. “Can you come in tomorrow an hour early?” he said, still not looking at me. He was such a shitty fucking boss. “Yeah.” I needed the extra money, needed another job really. As it was, working at the coffee shop wasn’t cutting it. My electric was going to get cut off any day, and I was barely scraping by enough to pay my rent.

Cutting out the bar scene is going to have to be a priority. I hated myself on some level for going out at all, for spending what little money I had. But if I didn’t get out, I’d kill myself. Maybe not literally, but I’d be stuck in that shitty apartment, no heat or electricity, staring at the wall. I’d be waiting for the world to swallow me up, because that would have been the only thing I had going for me. “Actually, I was wondering if you had any overtime?” He looked at me then and shook his head. Man, he had a bug up his ass big-time today, but I’d take it over his wandering eyes and his crude comments. “Sorry, I’m strapped for hours. What you are scheduled is all you’re getting.” And that was it. He waved at me to leave, and I forced myself not to make an under the breath comment. Asshole. I got to work because thinking about my problems, about the fact I’d have to find another job, wasn’t what I wanted to dwell on. I had no one to ask for help, no one that really gave a damn about me. I was on my own in every possible way. Twenty-two years old and a shell of a woman, an empty vessel that has nothing good going for her. I shouldn’t have had to feel alive by clubbing and getting drunk. I should have had some light and happiness in my world. But then I knew that wasn’t how reality worked.

I SAT on the curb at the back of the coffee shop. I had three more hours before my shift was over with, before I’d go back to the crushing realization of where I actually was in this world. It was times like this where the stress was almost too much to handle, where it tightened its hold on my lungs, squeezing me, trying to make me go blue and wither away into nothing, that I wished I had a cigarette. They were vile things, but smoking would have given me a small out, a tiny thing to focus on as the world went upside down around me. The sound of the door opening had me glancing back. Marshall came through, a white trash bag in his hand, his ball cap crooked. He looked just as worn-out on the outside as I felt on the inside. “Hey,” he said, his smile genuine. “Hey.” I focused on the back of the building in front of me. It was an antique shop. Maybe they were hiring? I felt someone close by, watching me, and looked over to see Marshall staring at me. “What’s up?” “I heard you talking to Darryl about needing extra hours.” I nodded, not sure where this was going. Marshall was lower on the totem pole than I was, and he barely worked as it was. He looked around as if he was afraid, as if he didn’t want anyone overhearing. Then he came closer, the smell of coffee beans coming from him in the same strength I assumed it

came from me. “You’re really hard up for money?” He was sitting beside me on the curb now, and I could see how his eyes were a little bloodshot, his pupils a little dilated. He seemed jumpy, but by the way he acted I could assume he was just nervous. Or juiced up on something. “I mean, I guess,” I said, my eyebrows pulled down, my confusion strong. He was silent for long seconds, fidgeting with his apron, looking nervous as hell. “I know a guy who can help.” “That doesn’t sound ominous at all.” He kept looking around, and I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end. “I think I’ll pass on whatever it is you’re offering.” “Sorry,” he said and exhaled. “But I do know someone who can help. He helps a lot of people.” “Yeah, out of the kindness of his heart I assume.” Marshall shrugged. “Here.” He reached in his apron and grabbed a pen and piece of paper. He wrote down an address, then handed it to me. I glanced down at it, not sure where this part of the city was. “Thanks?” I said, because this seemed pretty shifty. “But seriously, he can help.” Marshall stood and headed back inside. I should have tossed the address, because no way in hell this sounded legit or even safe. But for some reason I put it in my apron and stood. What I knew for sure was nothing was free.

CHAPTER FOUR

I COULD BARELY KEEP my eyes open as I drove my shitty car back to my shittier apartment. I took the last right onto the street, saw the apartment building looming up ahead, and parked right at the curb. For a second I just sat there, listening to the engine cooling, that clicking. I did this every day when I came home, dreading going in there, hating that I’d be alone. No real friends. No family that gave a shit about me. One day a month where I let loose, where I pretended to be someone else. That was my life summed up. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and headed inside. The elevator was broken, had been for the last month. I doubted it would get fixed anytime soon, not unless a bunch of people complained. Which they wouldn’t, because anyone who lived here didn’t really care about anything. The first two flights of stairs were easy, the third and fourth made me realize I was out of shape. Thighs burning, lungs seizing, I adjusted my messenger bag and took the last step. My head was downcast, my focus on the dirty ground with the cracked and peeling linoleum. When I lifted my head, the first thing I saw was my apartment door cracked open. My heart stalled. I’d locked it. I knew I had. This was a bad neighborhood, and although I didn’t have shit worth a grain of salt in there, having someone break in was an invasion. I should have called the cops, but again this was a bad neighborhood, and even if the cops did come by, it would take forever, and they’d assume I just didn’t lock the door. I had my keys in my hand, the metal sticking out between my fingers. I’d use it as a weapon if I had to. Creeping slowly toward the door, I pushed it open with my shoe. I could have maybe asked one of my neighbors to come with me, but with them being drunks, junkies, or senile, I didn’t think they would be much help. Besides, everyone here kept to themselves and didn’t worry about others…it was usually safer that way. The door swung open, and I saw that my place had been trashed. It hadn’t been a looker to begin with, and I really had nothing of value…expect my coffee can. My heart started beating a static rhythm. I shut the door, my safety not coming into play at this moment as I

rushed to the kitchen. The cupboards were all open, the few dishes I had crashed to the floor. And there, among the shards of thrift-store ceramic, was my coffee can. It was on its side, the lid a foot away. I knew it would be empty even before I picked it up with a shaking hand. I’d been saving any little amount of money from my paychecks, putting a dollar in the can here or there, or a few quarters. It was sometimes my free-for-one-day-a-month fund, what I’d dip into to buy a few drinks if I had any extra. Hell, I used it to put gas in my car when money was really tight. I sat on the floor, my legs feeling like they’d give out, my heart in my throat. The sadness was soon replaced with anger. I cried, hating that I couldn’t do better, knowing I deserved better. I tossed that fucking coffee can across the kitchen, the metal slamming against the cupboard. Then I put my head in my hands and cried, just bawled because there was nothing else to do. Maybe I didn’t have that much money in the coffee can anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t have even had money around, or hid it better. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe. There were a lot of things I could have, should have done differently. In the end, my life was still the same, still broken, twisted and gnarled, with the light I thought I needed drifting further away. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to have that light. Maybe I only deserved the darkness. Maybe that’s what made me stronger. I lifted my head, wiped the tears away angrily, and realized what I had in my pocket. I pulled that slip of paper out, the address scribbled across it seeming so damn ominous. Everything in me screamed to throw it away, but the reality of my situation was I was falling deeper into a hole. I just needed to get on my feet, find a second job, and then I could look for something better for myself, something that wasn’t infested with hatred and anger. My hand was still shaking when I shoved the paper back into my pocket. I stood, held my keys tighter, and headed out the door. I didn’t bother locking it this time. Because what was the point?

I PULLED my car to a stop, leaned forward, and stared up at the building. It looked abandoned, decay and age written all over it. Glancing at the piece of paper again, I knew this was the right place, but it looked fucked up for sure. This is stupid. Get the fuck out of here. About to do just that, because I’d rather scrape by than end up dead, I went to pull away. The sound of someone pounding on the hood of my car had a startled cry leaving me. The man in front of the car was wearing a hood and a dark mask that only covered half of his face. He took a step back, my headlights illuminating him. He was dressed head to toe in black, his body still in front of my vehicle. I could have mowed him down if I’d really wanted to get the hell out of there, which I did. But the truth was I was scared shitless. And I knew he wasn’t alone. The sound of banging at the back of my car had my heart racing so hard it was painful. “Turn the car off.” The deep voice beside my car had me jumping. When I didn’t move, he held up a gun, tapping the barrel on the glass of my driver’s side window. “Move it,” he shouted. I turned the key, shutting the car off. It felt like I’d unplugged my lifeline. “Get out of the fucking car.” I was too scared to try and make a run for it, the images of bullets flying through my car and slamming into me playing like a grotesque movie reel in my head.

I was out of the car faster than I thought I could move, and instantly pushed up against the side of the vehicle, the metal cold, hard, and unforgiving. The guy keeping me flat on the car started patting me down like I was packing a weapon. Surely they could see how terrified I was. I was spun around so fast my head swam. This guy was wearing the same mask, his eyes shrewd, dark. “What the fuck are you doing here?” “I…I…” My mouth wouldn’t work, the words not coming out, not being formed properly. “Speak up, you fucking bitch, or I’ll really give you something to stutter about.” He placed the barrel of the gun at my abdomen, pressing it in, showing me who was in charge. “Marshall gave me the address, said a man could help me.” The words tumbled out of my mouth, and I was proud and terrified I’d spoken them. I could hear how scared I sounded. I was scared, shaking, my nails digging into my palms. I was surprised there wasn’t blood on my hands, a testament to the violence swirling in the air. I glanced around. Four men, all of them dressed the same. Thugs. “People need to learn to keep their mouths shut.” He’s referring to Marshall. God, I shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have named him. I was so scared. Before I knew what was happening, I was being hauled away from the car and toward the building. I tripped over my feet, but the guy holding on to my arm squeezed tighter. I wasn’t foolish enough to think he would care if I fell on my face. We entered the building through this rusted-as-hell door. One of the guys hung outside, and the other three all but pushed me inside. The stench of dirt and mold was almost unbearable, and I coughed. Was that why they wore the masks? Or was it to make people like me know how low I was to them, how dangerous they really were? I was pushed through a set of doors, then pulled down a long hallway. Another door. Another hallway. I felt like we’d been walking forever, going deeper, the chill in the air becoming more intense. Finally we pushed through a door, and I could see tables all around. Guns and drugs littered the tables. It was then I knew that there was no going back. They’d let me see this, and although I didn’t know what their faces looked like, I knew where they holed up. “Ricky, yo, we got a live one here.” The man holding my arm finally let go. He pushed me forward, and I stumbled again, catching myself on a table covered in large square-shaped bags wrapped in duct tape. I glanced up at the one named Ricky, my throat dry, tight. I expected him to have the same getup as his thugs, but he was wearing dirty jeans, an equally filthy shirt, and sporting greasy hair. He had a cigarette hanging from his too-thin lips, and he eyed me up and down. I felt naked in that moment. God, what have I gotten myself into?



CHAPTER FIVE

“YOU’RE SCARING HER. EASE UP,” Ricky said to the guys behind me. And although he might be trying to make me calm, his too-pleasant voice and the way he smiled made my skin crawl. I straightened, clutching my hands to my stomach. I knew it was a defensive move, probably making me seem weaker. “What’s your name?” I had a feeling lying to this guy wouldn’t do me any good. Hell, I’d left my bag in the car, and I was sure they’d already rummaged through it, seeing my driver’s license, where I lived. “Sofia.” I only gave him my first name, hoping he didn’t press for anything else. “How did you find out about this place, about me?” I rubbed my hands on my jeans and glanced behind me at the three guys. When I faced Ricky again, I realized he’d moved closer. “I got your name and address from a guy I know.” He cocked his head. “A guy you know?” “Marshall,” one of the thugs said. “Marshall has a big mouth,” Ricky said, still eyeing me, making me feel dirty with the way he looked at me. “But that’s what you get with a junkie.” “I…I don’t think I should be here.” The words came from me before I could stop them. I knew better than to think they’d just let me go. “Calm down,” he said, moving closer. I couldn’t move, though, and even if I could, I knew there wouldn’t be anywhere for me to run to. “You clearly need something, and I’m here to help.” He held out his arms, his ego grand. “Tell me, Sofia, what do you need from me?” There he went, looking me up and down, making me want to go take a shower, wash off his presence. “Go on, tell me. You’re wasting precious time here.” “No, I don’t think I need anything.” “Fucking tell me what you need.” He slammed his fist down on the table, causing one of the duct-taped squares to roll off another. I jumped, my heart racing, the sound filling my head.

“I came here for money.” This man was crazy. I could see it on his face, in the way his eyes shifted back and forth. He smelled like booze and cigarettes, sweat and degradation. He grinned, and it was an ugly sight. “Money? I can help you with that.” He gestured me closer, and although I wanted to run out of there, I wasn’t a total moron. They’d catch me, and I nearly vomited at the thought of what they would do to me. I took a step closer, my throat so dry, my mind rushing with what I could do to get out of here. He took me to one of the tables off to the back, where I saw piles of cash. Some were in bundles wrapped with plastic, while others were clearly in the process of being counted. He took a stack and handed it to me. I didn’t take it, my limbs feeling like lead, fear too strong in me to even move. “Go on, take it,” he said, his face almost jovial. I shook my head, an act I didn’t even know I was doing until it was done. His face hardened. “You’re going to come to my place of business, asking for help, and then refuse what I offer?” God, he was insane, his shiftyas-hell eyes looking at me, checking me out. He was probably thinking some pretty disgusting thoughts. “I…I couldn’t pay you back, not that much.” I stared at the stack of money. It could easily get me out of the hole I was in, but that was not something I could repay, not in this lifetime. He shrugged. “We can work something out.” He looked at my breasts, and the need to cover myself, despite being fully clothed, rode me hard. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. Thank you for the offer, but I’ll just go.” I started to back up, but the feeling of a hard body behind me made me stop. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was one of his masked men. Ricky took a step forward. He was so close now that the disgusting scent of him washed over me. “No, you’ll take this, because you’re already here.” He grinned, revealing crooked, yellowing teeth. “Because if you don’t take it, Sofia,” he said, lifting his gaze to mine, “if you don’t take this money, I can’t let you go.” He tipped his head to the side. “You understand what I’m saying?” You’ve already seen us. You already know where we do our illegal shit. If you go, we’ll have to kill you. “I understand,” I said, my voice threadbare. But I straightened my shoulders, not wanting to appear weak. That would make them attack like a pack of wild hyenas. “Good,” Ricky said and all but shoved the money at me. “We can work out payment details later.” He eyed me again, that disgusting smile on his face. “In the meantime, don’t try and run, because Bobbie boy got all your information from your ID.” I turned and looked over my shoulder. One of the masked men held up my purse. Yeah, I’d assumed they’d go through my shit. “And if I can’t pay you back?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, collected. Ricky’s grin faded, and he got this crazed look in his eyes—even more than what was already going on. “Everyone ends up paying one way or another. We always find a way.”



CHAPTER SIX SEVERAL DAYS LATER

I HAD no intentions of spending this money, not when my life was going to be the collateral if I couldn’t repay it. I stared at the stack, that wad of cash sitting on my shitty table like a lead weight. I could have said I didn’t want it, tried to make a run for it, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think I would have made it out of there alive. “You stupid girl.” I rested my head in my hands, the tears threatening to come out, but my self-hatred made everything else stand down. But for as stupid as I was for even going there, and allowing my emotions at this horrible time to consume me, I also knew just giving back the money wasn’t enough. They’d want interest, and whatever that interest was had never been discussed. I grabbed the money, went over to the sink, and bent down. Behind the pipes was a loose piece of wall. After popping it off, I shoved the cash back there. I had just found the “secret” space earlier in the week, and even though I hadn’t known about it before, I cursed myself for not putting the damn coffee can there to begin with. Once I shoved the few decades-old cleaning supplies out of the way to make it not look obvious I had been messing around under the sink, I got up and headed to work. I didn’t know how much worse this situation could get, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t get any easier.

“Does anyone know where Marshall is, or has anyone heard from him?” Silence greeted Rita, the lead for the day. “He hasn’t been to work in three days, and I can’t get ahold of him.” My heart started beating faster. I hadn’t seen him since that day he gave me Ricky’s address. And although I could have said I was overreacting, something deep inside of me said I’d been the one to cause his disappearance. I started sweating, beads forming between my breasts, along my spine. “Well, if anyone speaks with him, tell him he’s out. He’s been fired. We can only handle so many no-call and no-shows.” My heart was thundering hard now, and as I watched Rita leave, I knew I was to blame. If anything had happened to Marshall, it was because of me. I’d opened my mouth, and now he hadn’t been to work. I had to see him, to make sure he was okay at the very least. I had know that my foolishness and big mouth hadn’t killed him. I might not have known him very well, but he didn’t deserve to die. I finished out the workday, my mind jumbled, a mess, threads of worry, confusion, and fear for my own safety weighing on me. The image of that money sitting on my table, and the implications of it all was a heavy weight, making the panic rise to a blistering level. I fished my car keys out of my purse, waited until I saw Rita leave to go up front, and slipped into the manager’s office. With the coffee shop still running on actual employee

files instead of them being on the computer, I was able to find Marshall’s address easily enough. Once I was in my car and heading toward his place, I felt my heart thunder. My chest ached, the reality of my life and where I was right now making me sick to my stomach. When I pulled up to Marshall’s housing unit, I held on to my steering wheel even harder. He lived in a shittier neighborhood than I did. The sound of sirens in the distance was barely discernable. What I did hear was men shouting, crude language being thrown around, and glass shattering. Before I could talk myself into just leaving, because I didn’t want to be put in an even crazier situation, the front door opened and a woman who looked worse for wear came out. She had shorts on high enough they left nothing to the imagination. Her legs had bruises on them, and her shirt was a piece of fabric barely covering her large breasts. Her hair was a rat’s nest atop her head, the black roots coming out an inch before her bleachblonde hair. I could see the track marks easily enough on the insides of her elbows, but I grabbed on to my courage and reached over to roll down the window. “Excuse me?” She glanced over at me but quickly looked away and kept walking. “Excuse me? I’m looking for someone.” “If you’re smart, a pretty girl like you would get the fuck out of here.” She glanced at me once more, a black eye now visible under the washed-out streetlamp. I rolled up the window, making sure the doors were locked. There was one second where panic settled deep in me. My throat closed up, and my heart started to make this warlike tempo in my chest, the pain strangulating. I closed my eyes, gripped the steering wheel, and tried to breathe through the fear. When I opened my eyes, I was exactly where I had been five seconds ago. There was a flash of headlights, and I glanced in my rearview mirror, seeing a shiny dark SUV pull up behind me. That panic grew tenfold. It was probably nothing, or maybe it was something. Didn’t know, but what I did know without a doubt was that if I didn’t figure out what in the hell I was going to do, I’d be dead.



CHAPTER SEVEN

MY MIND WAS FILLED with white noise, this static that consumed me. I stared down at the empty coffee cup, the insulated Styrofoam fragile in my hand. Before I knew what I was doing, I had it crushed in my palm, my fingers digging into the slightly raised exterior. “Excuse me?” I lifted my head, feeling like there was this rush of waves around me, filling my ears, making noise muted, blurred. The lady in front of me had this confused look on her face, or maybe it was fear. She looked at me like I’d grown two heads. “Are you going to make my coffee?” I swallowed, my hands shaking. Why the hell was I even at work? “Take fifteen,” Cambria said, pushing me toward the back. I blinked, my vision blurry. I was crying. I found myself walking into the room, stopping, standing there, looking around but not taking anything in. I felt lost, so lost my mind was a jumble of images and words, sounds of what happened around me. But just as promptly I turned and went out of the back room and right to a table. I sat in one of the empty booths, wanting to leave, to get away from all of this, from everything, but I needed the money. God, I could have laughed at that fact. I had a shitload of money back at my apartment, but still I was broke, wondering how I would survive. I scrubbed my hand over my face, over my hair, wanting to rip the strands out. At least the pain would have given me something else to focus on. The flat screen that hung in the corner showed the news. That’s all that was on, every day, all day. I stared at the muted screen, the news anchor saying something, but the volume was so low I couldn’t hear anything. I watched her mouth move, stared at her perfectly placed and made-up face, and wanted to scream. I was frustrated, my mind and body feeling like it was wrapped around itself, like it was this tangled mess inside of me with no hope of becoming right again. And then the screen switched to a neighborhood, one I recognized because I’d just been there the other day. I sat up straighter, staring at the shitty complex where Marshall lived. The apartment building was the focal point, and the people standing around were more

interested in the fact that a camera was there than the body that was being wheeled out on a stretcher. I obviously couldn’t see who they were taking away, but I didn’t need to see to know it was Marshall. The image of him flashed on the screen. The news anchor was back on, the little square to the upper-right side of her showing the guy I didn’t really know, but who I felt responsible for at this moment. He looked lost in the picture, his eyes red-rimmed, his face ashen. His death had to be something vicious, something truly newsworthy if they were taking time to report on it. Hell, his neighborhood probably had a high violence and death rate, so whatever had happened to Marshall had to be pretty bad for them to give it the time of day. I’d killed him. He’d told me about Ricky, tried to help me, and because I’d opened my mouth, his death was on my hands. I found myself standing, went over to where the TV was mounted, and craned my neck back. I stared at the picture of him, everything moving in slow motion, the world around me spinning, then promptly speeding up. I don’t know what made me look out the window, but before I knew what I was doing, I stared out at the passing world before me. The only thing separating me from it was glass and steel. There, sitting like an idling devil, or maybe the Grim Reaper, was a black SUV. The black SUV I’d seen at Marshall’s place. I couldn’t see who sat in the passenger’s or driver’s seat; the windows were too tinted, too dark with violence and death. But I knew they were there for me. I knew they were there to incite fear, promise. I had to decide what I was going to do. Now.

THE MUSIC FILLED MY HEAD, the crush of bodies, the heat…all of it had this calm settling over me. Maybe I was a fool, an idiot for coming to the club, for not locking myself up, trying to hide, maybe even escaping the city. But all these people made me feel safer. These strangers made me feel like I was already hidden, a dot of color in the middle of a rainbow. I didn’t need to see Ricky to know he was in that dark SUV, that he was watching me, waiting for me to do something, anything that would give him an excuse to react. Or maybe he was just taunting me, torturing me with the promise of what my future really held. I stood in the center of the room and turned around slowly, taking in the sights and smells that surrounded me. I felt like I could hide in plain sight, like nothing could touch me. There was strength in numbers, right? Stupid. None of these assholes would look your way if you needed help. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out slowly. Sweat, stale beer, the promise of sex in the air, all of it filled my head, made me dizzy. The music was loud, the vibrations settling into my body, twisting me up, making me sway like I was in the ocean and the current was trying to take me under, to make me its bitch. I had no money on me, couldn’t even get a drink to numb my emotions. I could have gone to the trouble of asking some poor asshole here to buy me a drink, ply him with the false promise of sex for a bottle of beer, but even

that seemed like too much work. Just being here, the crush of bodies making me move back and forth, was enough to placate me. It was enough to make me feel a modicum of safety. Up until I step out of these doors and am forced to go back to my shitty apartment. “Dance with me.” The voice came through like a whip to my back. I didn’t even turn around, didn’t even look at whoever was offering his company. I just pushed my way through and walked toward the bar. There were people milling around, throwing out their drink orders. The three bartenders worked fast, concentration etched on their faces. I glanced up to where several security cameras pointed to the patrons, taking in every little move, every hand being lifted. Who was on the other end? Who watched everyone from the safety of a padded chair and an eagle eye? Did I even care? “Let me buy you a drink.” I glanced to my left, my head feeling like it weighed a ton as I turned it. The guy sitting next to me looked nice, with a light gray button-down shirt, his tie loosened and his hair slicked off to the side. He was clearly a businessman, maybe coming to the club to unwind after a stressful day of mergers. I looked down at his hand, saw the gold wedding band, and lifted my gaze back to his face. He didn’t look the least bit ashamed that he was here, trying to pick up some random girl while his wife was probably at home with his kids. I didn’t even bother responding. Being here wasn’t helping me, not like I’d hoped. I’d wanted to be surrounded by people, to feel like I was nothing among a sea of everything. Instead I felt suffocated, like my own thoughts, my own needs were taking me further into the recesses of a place I’d never be able to claw myself back up from. But going “home” wasn’t an option. I needed fresh air, needed to breathe. I needed to still be close enough to something, to someone instead of surrounded by nothing. I pushed my way past the deadbeat husband, through the heavy crush of bodies gyrating on the dance floor, and finally made it outside. I sucked in a deep lungful of air. A few people were smoking to the side, the stench of cigarette smoke cloying, suffocating. I moved past them, turned the corner of the building, and found myself in a semi-quiet, pretty dark alley. I had some privacy, some breathing room, but stayed close enough to the corner of the building to feel like I wasn’t alone and foolish for coming out here. When I sat on the curb, the smell of piss, vomit, and stale beer filled my head, making me want to gag. But I didn’t move. I felt this tingle of reality deep inside me, this problem that I’d never solve making me its prisoner. I could hear people around the corner, their laughter, their drunkenness causing them to be carefree. I stared at the alleyway before me, the darkness creeping around, promising absolution, nothingness. That’s what I wanted, to just be swallowed whole. This alley wasn’t where my problems stemmed from, just the one where the mystery man had taken control and “saved” me with a gun and unconcern. No, my problems had started when I was born into a world that didn’t want me, when I was introduced into a life that

already hated me. I looked up and into the “eye” of the security camera pointed at me. I pushed the tears away with angry swipes to my cheeks. I wouldn’t cry for anything, for anyone, least of all myself. I’d gotten into this mess, and I’d figure out a way to get out of it. Leaving. Running. That was my only option. They might find me, probably would if I was being honest, but they’d just take me here, now, anyway. Running would at least not make me a victim. It would make me a fighter, and that’s how I’d survive. Until they catch up with me, which they will eventually. I scrubbed a hand over my face, so tired. I hung my head, closed my eyes, and just let the deep bass of the music come through whenever the front door was opened. The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end. I lifted my head and saw large black boots in my vision. I couldn’t see the man who stood in front of me clearly, the shadows were too thick, but for some inexplicable reason I knew I’d seen him before. That night in the alley. He was with the man in the suit. They’d been dangerous, the violence swirling around them like an imprint, a promise. They hadn’t said one word, yet their message had come through loud and clear. And then he held his hand out to me. I should have gotten up and left. I didn’t need any more trouble, but I found myself just sitting there, looking at it, wondering if it was a lifeline or an offer to drag me further into hell. “He wants to see you,” the man said, his voice deep, serrated. I felt his words slice into me like a rusty knife, opening me up, draining me dry. But instead of going, leaving the clear threat I knew awaited me, I found myself placing my hand in his, letting him lift me off the ground, and following him as he led me farther into the darkness.



CHAPTER EIGHT

AS SOON AS I stepped through the door I knew exactly where I was, who sat in front of me. I didn’t know his name, but I knew he was the man who’d been in the alley, the one who’d pistol-whipped that asshole who’d assaulted me. His office was hot, or maybe it was the way he stared at me. It was like he could see right into my very soul, and threatened to snatch it up and devour it if things didn’t go his way. He didn’t say anything for long seconds, but his silence spoke volumes. “Come closer,” he said—ordered—calmly. I took a step forward. “You know who I am?” I shook my head. “I mean—” I swallowed after I said those two words. “You’re the man from the alley, the one who saved me.” “Saved you?” He leaned back in his chair, his focus on me. I nodded. “From that asshole.” I stared at the TV monitors behind him, an array of shots of the interior and exterior of the club. He was the one behind the “eye” then, watching, calculating. I heard the door behind me shut with a deafening, final click. I was now left alone with this man. I’d been a crying mess, broken and so damn scared of where my life was going, when that other shoe would drop, I hadn’t even been able to stand. But here I was, for some unknown reason, and I didn’t know whether to beg for help or run in the other direction. I felt like I was this little rabbit facing a feral, starved lion. I had no doubt I’d find out soon enough. My heart raced, my head swam with the realization that this was bad, and that I’d put myself in a dangerous situation. Coming here hadn’t been smart; I felt that as strongly as I felt my heart pounding in my chest. I’m already in a dangerous situation, one that will get me killed…or worse. It was that “or worse” that scared the shit out of me. It was the image of being tied up, beaten, bloody, naked, my body a vessel for men who wanted nothing more than to empty themselves in me. Hell, I didn’t know for sure he’d even do any of that to me, but I wasn’t a fool either, despite my actions.

But this man in front of me seemed different, more calculating, and more dangerous. “I’m Cameron Ashton,” he said, his head now cocked to the side, his gaze taking me in as if he could see into the very depths of my soul. “You really have no idea who I am, despite coming to my club all this time.” He didn’t phrase it like a question. I just shook my head. I stared at the monitors again, reality and relaxation settling in. “You’ve been watching me?” I whispered those words, knowing my voice sounded accusing. “I have,” he said with no remorse, no shame. No, I could see he was different than Ricky, more organized, more controlled. He probably did things that would make me cringe, but was also powerful in every sense of the word. “Why?” I didn’t know why I asked or why I even cared. But the word came out on its own, refusing to be silenced. He didn’t answer me, just watched me like a hawk about to strike. This man could help me. This man who seemed far more powerful than anyone I’d ever come up against. I didn’t know how I knew that, or why I wanted to go down this road again, but I had no other options. The words played in my head, over and over again. A cry for help was poised at the tip of my tongue. Surely a man like him, a man who could hold a gun to a stranger’s head, could help me. And you’re foolish enough to ask? Isn’t this how you got into your current situation? I could see by looking into Cameron’s dark, bottomless eyes that he was a man used to owning the world. And it was an ugly world. Ricky would use me up until there was nothing left. Fucking Ricky. I should never have gone to him for help. God, poor Marshall. Is this how David felt when he went up against Goliath? The one thing I knew for sure was that I wouldn’t be getting out of this alive. Asking Cameron Ashton for help was the equivalent of asking the devil to promise not to drag me deeper into hell. I’m already in hell. How much deeper can I get? Neither of us said anything, and I had a feeling I could stand here all day and he’d just watch me, being the calculating bastard that I felt he was. I didn’t know why he’d brought me to his office. But I assumed he’d known, or at least sensed, that I was in trouble. Or maybe he just wanted to fuck with me. He’d been watching me this whole time, that feeling of being watched more literal than I’d ever imagined. “Why did you bring me in here?” Saying the words, questioning a man like this seemed almost abhorrent, like I was basically asking him to snuff me out. “Why did you agree to come here?” he threw back, his voice still calm, still so damn collected. “I need help.” And the words just came out, like spilled water refusing to stay in the glass. It was a thick string of letters mashed together. I didn’t want to wait for him to say anything, for him to be the one to start this, if he even would have.

Still he was silent. Still he watched me as if I intruded on his time, his space, even if he had called me here. “I have nowhere else to go, and I assume that’s why you brought me here?” “Is that what you thought?” His question had a sharp edge to it. I breathed out slowly, trying to appear calm, but I knew I was failing miserably at it. “I don’t know what I thought, what to think.” He lifted a dark eyebrow, maybe waiting for me to continue or for me to shut the fuck up. God, my throat was so thick. My heart raced, my hands shook, and I felt like I was on drugs, like I’d taken some speed and had no control over my body right now. When he didn’t say anything after that, I clenched my jaw, feeling light-headed, like I could pass out right now. Would he turn me down, beat me for being so brazen as to ask for help? Shit, why had he brought me here anyway? He still hadn’t told me that much. Maybe seeing me squirm got him off? And if he agreed, what would he want in return? Oh, you know. But I could handle some rough sex, even if I had no experience with it whatsoever. I could be whoever, whatever he wanted me to be if it meant saving my life. It wasn’t until the earth opened up and hell presented itself that I realized my life wasn’t disposable. I wanted to live, wanted to be a better person. I wanted that silver lining, that happily ever after. I wasn’t foolish enough to think I’d ever get any of that, but I still wanted it, and I was willing to do anything to make sure I kept moving forward. It seemed like forever that we stayed like that: him watching me, his focus calculating, intimidating. “You think I’d be interested in doing anything for you?” I couldn’t deny that I was terrified for even asking this dangerous man for help. It was stupid, given the fact I was in this problem for this exact situation. “I hope you can.” I swallowed. “I mean, you’ve been watching me. You had me come here, into your office—” He made this deep sound in his throat, cutting me off, making me even tenser, more frightened. “What makes you think I can help you, that I would help you?” His face remained a stoic mask, a stone statue. “Maybe I want you here, watch you, called you into my office because I want to defile you.” The way he spoke, his voice, was like ice, so emotionless, so hard and unforgiving. I had no doubt he meant that. I was on the verge of crying. He eyed me for a long second. “You screamed of desperation, and honestly I’m a vulture wanting to feed off that.” My entire body went rigid, frozen to the core. “Because that would be a lie, a bold-faced fucking lie.”

His voice was so deep, so heavy, that I felt it weighing down on me, sucking me under like a current, making me hold on for dear life. I opened my mouth but closed it promptly. I didn’t know what to say, how to answer. I felt like I’d fallen down a rabbit hole. But this was no dream. This was reality. It was my reality. “Tell me why I should do anything for you that doesn’t benefit me completely.” “I don’t know,” I said. It was the only thing I could come up with in that moment. This man didn’t even have to say anything for me to be afraid of him. His expression was stoic, his face a hard mask of indifference. This was a mistake, a terrible, horrible mistake. Although the truth was I’d known that deep down inside. The truth was I already had enough mistakes under my belt. What was one more? “I can give you whatever you want, whatever you need.” He made this sound in the back of his throat after I spoke, and I didn’t know what to make of it. “You can give me whatever I want?” There was this hard edge to his voice as he looked at me. “And what exactly is it you think I want?” He moved his gaze up and down my body. I felt like he was undressing me right then, like he’d reached out and torn the clothes from me as if they were tissue paper. I clenched my hands into tight fists at my sides, but even that couldn’t help the shaking that consumed me. “I don’t know,” I said again, feeling stupid. Show strength. “I don’t know anyone else that can handle my problem, that can get this asshole off my back.” I took a step closer, but a blast of frigid air that seemed to come from Cameron stopped me. “He’ll do unspeakable things to me.” God, I sounded pathetic. “I can offer you…me.” Then maybe you should have been smarter. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone to a motherfucker who uses people like toilet paper. If Cameron cared, I could imagine he’d have said something like that. Hell, I’d said that to myself many times over. I hadn’t told him what my problem was in detail, didn’t know what this payment would entail, even if he did agree to help me. But I’d do anything. “I owe a very bad man money, even though I never spent a dime of it. I know they are following me.” I ran my hands over my thighs, a nervous habit I’d always had. “I know they’ll hurt me before I can do anything about it, make my life right…” Or as right, as normal as it could be for me. I shivered at the thought of what they could do to me. “And you think I am the type of man that can come to an agreement with you, that I’d give a fuck what happened to you?” His voice was shrewd, his gaze glacial. “I don’t think you realize the type of man you’re standing in front of.” There was almost this touch of amusement in his voice. Almost. A criminal? A drug lord? A killer?

He’s probably that and more. So much more. “Tell me what type of man you are,” I whispered, not thinking he’d actually be honest. I thought the corner of his lips quirked up, but it was gone before I could really see if it was there. “What type of man do you think I am? What type of man would you need to help you get out of your situation?” Could he hear my heart? It was beating painfully hard. “I think you’re worse than them in a metal capacity, in the way you can outsmart anyone and anything.” I took a steadying breath. “I think you’re the type of man, the only type of man, who can help me.” He didn’t speak, but his gaze was unwavering. “And I hope you’ll help me because you want that bleakness I have in me, that emptiness.” That awarded me with a flicker of emotion over his face, but it was gone as soon as I saw it. “You want it because it matches yours.” He stayed silent. That was the worst of all. “Please,” I said, all but begging now, desperate. I’d already opened my mouth and asked him for help. There was no going back now. If he wouldn’t help me, I’d be up shit creek without a paddle. I’m already in that situation. Hell, I’d rather be dead than think of what those assholes would do to me. Cameron certainly seemed far worse, far scarier, than what I was currently dealing with, and he’d only said a handful of words to me, only stared at me, maybe gauging how “worth it” I was. He chuckled then, but it wasn’t humorous, wasn’t filled with amusement. It was the laugh of a depraved man…of the very devil himself, perhaps. “I’ve always liked the sound of begging.” I bet he did. I looked around his office. Aside from the television monitors behind him that showcased the entire club, and his desk and chair, there wasn’t anything else in the room. It was like a coffin, a large, cold and frightening coffin. It was a place for someone to rot in the ground, away from anything and everything. It was dark, like his soul, no doubt. I didn’t have anything of real value to offer—that was my problem, and how I’d gotten into this shit storm to begin with. But a man wanted one thing, and it was something I had, something I could give him in exchange for his help. Whether he’d accept it or not, deem it worthy of his time, was left to be determined. Before I could say anything, Cameron started drumming his fingers on the desk, his focus trained on me, as if I was intruding on his time, despite the fact that he’d invited me here. I shifted on my feet, feeling very vulnerable in this moment. I could see his mind working, and whatever he was thinking about couldn’t be good. I took a step closer and saw something dark come into his eyes. I wasn’t wearing anything sexy, but I didn’t need to show off skin to get a guy’s attention. The way he skimmed my

body with his gaze told me all I needed to know. Yeah, all men wanted something, one thing, but I was pretty sure I had something a man like Cameron could appreciate…nothing to lose. “Tell me your name.” “Sofia Mikellson,” I supplied, my voice wavering despite my desperate internal struggle to stay calm. “Sofia.” The way he said my name, the way it rolled off his tongue shouldn’t have made me tingle, shouldn’t have made my body tighten. He said it with this thick darkness in his voice that should have scared the shit out of me. It did. “Isn’t asking for help the reason you’re in this situation?” It was like he’d read my mind, his words a hot poker right through me. “Yes,” I whispered, not bothering to lie. Or maybe I was trying to jump out of the frying pan, the heat turned up so that I’d burn until there was nothing left. I could be a slave to his desires, a submissive to his dominance. I could be his personal victim. If it meant that I stayed alive in the end, so be it. I could be whoever, whatever he wanted. It seemed like an eternity before he finally moved, before he finally spoke. He leaned forward, his forearms on the table, his expression suddenly intense. “You need my help, and the payment I want in return is your body…used in any way I see fit, for the duration of two weeks.” And then he smirked. It was dark and dangerous, and shouldn’t have made me feel anything other than self-loathing. “You’ll be mine, Sofia. Any. Way. I. See. Fit.” I breathed in harshly. “Yes. Okay.” And so it was. I’d just sold myself to the devil.

CHAPTER NINE

I FELT like a lifetime had passed since I’d spoken with Cameron, told him my troubles… asked him for help. But in reality it had only been a few days. Hours, seconds, minutes, of me wondering what would happen, when it would take place. Would he scare Ricky, use his influence, whatever that might be, and make him leave me alone? Would he kill him? I hadn’t heard anything from him regarding it, and although Ricky hadn’t bothered me, I felt someone watching. I swore a car followed me, that same dark SUV that I’d seen when I went to find Marshall. Maybe it was just my nerves, my paranoia slamming into me, claiming me, and dragging me under. But even if it was, I couldn’t shake it. I couldn’t push it away or bury it, no matter how much I wanted to. You should just leave and take your chances. Yeah, that was easier said than done. I had no money—none that I dared to use, anyway. And even if I did leave, where would I go? Who would I run to? And I had a feeling Ricky would just find me. Because I hadn’t heard anything from Cameron either, I couldn’t guarantee that he’d still help me. But I didn’t think he forgot about the agreement. I knew he didn’t. Sure, he wanted my body as payment, but he’d given me no time frame, hadn’t even asked for details about what I was going through with Ricky. All he knew was the generic situation I’d explained. But Cameron didn’t seem like the type of man to go against what he said. And that scares the shit out of me. I felt my eyelids grow heavy, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. I was exhausted, but my nerves were shot, the worry of life, of the situation I was in wearing me down so much I couldn’t breathe. I was drowning, and there was no life raft, no one who would pull me out of the deep end and save my life. I shifted, rolled over onto my back, and stared at the ceiling. The stain to the right of me was from a leak in the above apartment, the brown circle spread wide. I stared at it, tracing the edges of it with my gaze. The place was liable to cave on me at any moment, just snuff my life out as if it meant nothing. And maybe it didn’t. Maybe in the end it was just me trying to pretend I could survive.

I exhaled, not wanting my thoughts to go down that dark path. I was Cameron’s. He’d help me, get me out of the situation with Ricky, but the cost, the payment I was giving to him would be so much more. It would suck me dry, corrupt my very soul. I closed my eyes, but I knew sleep wouldn’t come. My mind was moving too fast, my thoughts too consuming. I felt myself relax further on the shitty bed I was on, the mattress probably having seen more ass, more disgust than I cared to think about. And then I heard a soft sound come from the living room. It was a click, this little tick of a noise that seemed so loud, so menacing. I sat up, reaching down beside the bed without taking my eyes off my bedroom door. It was cracked open, and the thought that maybe I should have shut it completely played through my mind. But it wouldn’t have made a difference. There was no lock on my bedroom door, and if someone wanted in, they’d just have to slam their shoulder into it for the weak old-ass door to break open. I felt the handle of the bat slide along my hand, and I curled my fingers around it. Moving slowly, trying to be silent, I lifted the bat up. I pushed the blanket off me, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and when the mattress creaked, I grimaced. My heart seemed to still, my breathing stopped, and I stared at the door. I expected someone to come bursting in at that moment, but the silence stretched on. I wasn’t a fool to think I had imagined the sound, not in this apartment building, not in the situation I was in with Ricky. I shifted on the bed another inch, hearing that damn mattress creak again. I was frozen, my mouth tight, dry. And then the bedroom door swung open, someone kicking it in so hard it slammed against the wall, the doorknob crushing the plaster. I screamed out of instinct and fell to my knees. I had the baseball bat in my hand still, the wood feeling warm under in my hold. I scrambled to get up, because being in this submissive position wouldn’t be good for me, would only make me more of a victim than I’d already be. But someone grabbed hold of my hair and yanked me up. The bat was wrenched from my hold, and I saw scuffed-up boots in my vision. My head was cocked back, tears now in my eyes, the pain twisting me up. “Brad, no need to scuff up the merchandise.” The man tossed me to the center of the room, and I landed hard on my hands and knees. I tried to get up, but a hand on my shoulder kept me down. I turned and stared into the eyes of a man I’d hoped to never see again. Ricky. “I realize I’m early in collecting payment, but I decided I’d get more bang for my buck if the payment was you.” He grinned, a depraved sight, a smile that told me what he’d use me for would ruin me, would break me. But I’ll still be alive, suffering, wishing for death because my life will be nothing more than a vessel for another’s pleasure. “I need more time,” I said, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference, knowing the deal was

for Cameron to handle this. But I grasped on to anything, something. “Time isn’t what I’m good at giving, baby.” He took a step closer, and I held my breath, watching him. “And let’s be honest.” He cocked his head to the side. “You weren’t going to repay me. You couldn’t. The moment you came into my place of business you thought I’d let you off the hook.” He grinned again. “You knew”—he got down on his haunches. —“the moment that money touched your fingers that your body would be used in ways you never knew possible. Deep down there was no doubt that you’d be fucked so hard the only thing you’d know for certain was that you were crying.” He stood again, looked around my apartment, and tsked. “What a fucking shithole. I’ll be doing you a favor.” My hands were shaking, my thoughts whirling as I tried to think of how to get out of this. I knew if I just accepted this, it would be over. I’d be over. When Ricky crouched in front of me and went to reach for my face, I curled my hand into a fist and lashed out. I slammed my knuckles into his face, and when he reeled back, I stood and darted for the door. But the guy he’d brought with him was on me before I reached the exit. He tossed me back, my head cracking back on the floor. “You’re a spunky bitch, I’ll give you that,” Ricky said. I pushed myself up as best I could, the pain in my skull pounding through my entire frame. Ricky rubbed his jaw, the grin on his face telling me he liked that I’d hit him…that he’d get me back soon enough. “I got some guys that will pay a lot of money for you to fight them.” Chills raced up my spine. He reached for me again, but just then the front door opened. There was no force behind it, no wood splintering forward, violence promised. No, someone who didn’t need a show, who didn’t need to let anyone know the menace they held, did this. I felt it as the cold air rushed into the apartment and the two men surrounding me turned. And there stood Cameron with the man who I assumed was his muscle standing beside him. Before anyone could move, Damien lifted his arm and fired off a shot that had the guy Ricky brought falling to the ground. The gunshot was quiet, the silencer making the violence almost seem gentle. I couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe. If Cameron hadn’t shown up when he did—again —I knew I would have been hauled away and used for strange men’s sexual gratification. But him being here at the right time couldn’t have been a coincidence. Had he been watching me? Had he been waiting until this moment to step up, to claim what I’d offered by ending my problem? “How did you know?” I found myself saying, knowing I should have kept my mouth shut, but the words tumbled out of me on their own like they needed an escape, too. He didn’t show any emotion as he stared at me. He didn’t answer. I was his property, so surely he’d keep an eye on me. Either way I couldn’t feel anything but this bone-searing relief, because what Ricky had

planned would have made death seem like a gift. Damien moved close to Ricky, pressed the gun to his forehead, but didn’t pull the trigger. “On your knees,” was all he said. I didn’t know if I expected Ricky to fight back, but it was clear he was at least smart enough—or maybe just too terrified—to know these men were not to be fucked with. He went right to his knees. Cameron walked over to Ricky, the air suddenly hot, the feeling of suffocating intense. Cameron gave a nod, and Damien sheathed his gun right before he started wailing on Ricky. Punch after punch landed on Ricky, his face becoming bloody, swollen, like freshly tenderized meat. I gasped. “That’s enough, Damien” Cameron said after what seemed like hours. Although I had no doubt Cameron could hold his own, could gift anyone with his violence, he used Damien to extract that, to be his fists, his rage. Damien hauled up Ricky so he was on his knees again, the man wobbling, clearly having a hard time keeping upright. The sounds that came from him were gurgled, wet…bloodfilled. I glanced between Cameron and Damien—his muscle. His killer. Damien looked stoic, aloof, like he didn’t give a shit what was happening. He had just beat the shit out of Ricky like this was an everyday occurrence. You stupid girl. It is. These men are dangerous, far more dangerous than what you were up against. You’ll become ruined, broken, a shell of what you were or ever could be. And I’d signed up for this, all but begged Cameron to help me. You agreed to do anything, everything. I looked at Damien’s hands, his knuckles busted up, Ricky’s blood covering them. His arms were crossed, his face a mask of pure violence. He was a man comfortable with death, with killing. Just like Cameron…the man who now owned my body. Cameron was collected, calm, but I could see the anger, the rage simmering right below the surface. He wore a suit, the dark fabric molded to his strong, hard body. The white shirt underneath the jacket had the first few buttons undone at the collar, his chest and neck tattoos a stark contrast to the light-colored material. My heart was thundering, and I felt like I could pass out. His dark hair was short, cropped close to his head, styled like he didn’t give a fuck. And I knew he didn’t, because a man like him cared only about what he could gain, what he could own. He wouldn’t have gotten where he was in this life, in hell, by caring about anyone but himself. Then I watched as Cameron produced his own gun, the dark violence swirling around him despite the composed aura he held. He cocked the gun, his gaze locked on me. No

emotion, no fucks given as he stared at me. “He’s been hurting you,” Cameron said matter-of-factly. “He hurt you right now.” I couldn’t move, couldn’t even rise from the floor or say a word about this. I was a slave to my emotions…and I’d be a slave to Cameron once this was all said and done. I opened my mouth, maybe to say something, anything, but the words failed me, the air thickening. I was sweating, my hair sticking to the sides of my head, beads of perspiration dotting the valley between my breasts. “You want your trouble to go away?” Cameron asked. I was frozen, not even able to think coherently at the moment. “You want to be free of this pain, of this nightmare?” Still I couldn’t speak. I glanced at Ricky. He watched me, one eye swollen shut, blood covering his face. He didn’t seem strong now. He knew his number had been pulled and he’d be dead before the night was over. I knew that, too. I also didn’t give a shit. He deserved this. Ricky knew who and what he was up against, and he knew this was the end of the road for him. Maybe that makes me a monster, too, because I don’t care. I want him to suffer, to be afraid. “Sofia,” Cameron said my name softly, urging me in that deep, commanding voice of his. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice empty, just like my soul. I turned and faced the man who’d ridden in like the very devil himself. But then again, wasn’t I the match to this gasolinesaturated scene? “Say it. Ask me for it.” Cameron’s voice was eerily strong, collected. I looked at Ricky again, a man who would have done horrible things to me, trying to push my humanity down. I should feel nothing. I should want him to hurt as much as he’d planned on hurting me, using my weakness to benefit him. “Ask me to take your problem away.” Cameron’s voice was low, a little seductive. I glanced at him again, feeling like I was lost at sea. Cameron was powerful and wanted to exert that, wanted me to be on my knees as he showed me what he could do—figuratively and literally—what he could solve. I was at his mercy, the same as Ricky. And a part of me knew that once I said the words, everything would change. Once I told Cameron what I wanted, that I wanted Ricky gone, dead, the life I knew, albeit shitty, would become something else. I’d be the epitome of darkness, embracing it because I’d taken a life in my hands and extinguished it. “I want my problem to go away.” The words that came from me were cold, detached…just like my soul in that exact moment. I saw the way Cameron’s lip lifted, this sardonic, sadistic smirk coming into play. He would have killed Ricky without my prompt, without me begging. But here, now, making me ask, that was him showing me the control he had over me.

It was the promise of what he’d show me once we were alone and I had to pay my dues. “Say it,” Cameron said again, harder this time. I swallowed, squeezed my hands into fists, and said the words that would change the very person I thought I was. “I want him dead.” It happened in slow motion, the world rewinding, the air being sucked out of the room. Cameron lifted his hand, his hold steady on the gun, his body seeming corded, tighter. Ricky begged, pleaded. He cried and shook uncontrollably. It didn’t matter, because his fate had already been sealed. He knew what it felt like for me, how his life was now in someone else’s hands. Good. And then the sound of the gun going off filled me, surrounded me. It was an echoing in my head, rocking me to my core, shaking everything inside of me. Warmth seeped over me, seemed to seep into me. Blood. Hot, viscous, life-sustaining fluid covered my face and chest. I was frozen in place, my body numb, the feeling of that liquid dripping from my chin, from the very ends of my hair and onto the floor, stunned as much as it disgusted and pleased me. I looked down, this humming in my ears, this vibration starting deep in my belly. I looked at Ricky, who now lay on the floor just a few feet from me, the bullet having gone right through the center of his forehead. Just like his friend. “Look at me, Sofia.” There was this buzzing in my head, this war drum in my chest. “Look at me,” Cameron said, harder this time, commanding me to obey. I slowly lifted my focus from Ricky and looked at Cameron. He wore a mask of indifference. He tucked his gun at the back of his waistband, held out his hand for me to take, but I felt like I was going to throw up, like I was spinning out of control. This is what you wanted, what you knew would happen. I stared at his hand, feeling tears running down my face—or maybe it was Ricky’s blood. “Take my hand,” he said, his voice even, nothing wavering from him. I found myself looking at Ricky and the guy he’d brought with him again, my throat closing, my body feeling like it would shut down. And then I felt someone help me up, strong hands under my arms, lifting me as if I weighed nothing. The scent of Cameron filled me: dark, heady, and powerful. I tilted my head back and glanced at him. What did he see when he stared down at me? Did he see a broken girl who had nothing else to lose? And when he lifted his hand, I felt myself flinch. I didn’t think he’d hurt me, but after what had just happened, my body was on the defensive. I watched his jaw clench, wondering what emotion he was experiencing. Did a man like him even feel anything? Did he experience warmth, sadness, regret, or fear? No.

No, a man like him only cared about power, about bringing fear in others. “Damien will have the bodies disposed of.” My mind was a whirlwind, my body on autopilot as Damien led the way. We walked down the stairs of my apartment building, and I turned back and looked at my door. I knew I’d never be here again. Even after the two weeks was up, I couldn’t go back. The money was still hidden, maybe forever, or maybe it would be gone, lost like I felt right now. “The money. My things,” I found myself murmuring. “All your needs will be met.” Cameron’s voice was low, pitched only for my ears. Before I knew what was happening, I was outside, the air feeling colder than it should. And there, sitting right in front of me, was that dark SUV I’d been seeing around town, following me. I would have thought it was Ricky’s, but when Cameron opened the back door and ushered me in, that went right out the damn window. Once inside I stared at Cameron, not sure what to say, what to do. But before I could utter a word, he moved closer. Every part of me felt in shock, frozen to this seat. “You’ve been following me,” I said, my voice empty, my entire body, mind, and soul frozen. “Yes,” Cameron replied without remorse, without any shred of emotion at all. “Why?” He’d only seen me that first time in the alley. Did he feel sorry for me, or want to hurt me as Ricky had? But as that thought played through my mind, I knew that wasn’t the case. He could have done far worse than Ricky, could have denied helping me if he wanted to harm me. He stared at me with this indifferent expression on his face. “You…intrigue me.” I intrigued him? Like some kind of pet he saw in the window and just had to take home? That’s what I am to him now, his pet, his plaything. He’s known about me, been following me since before I went into his office, since before I begged him for help. I didn’t know what to make of that, if I should even put any stock into it at all. Did it really matter in the long run? He reached out and ran his thumb across my cheek, no doubt smudging the blood that covered me, painting my flesh with what my life was now. “You’ve never looked more beautiful to me than you do right now, with the reality of what you’ve gotten yourself into smeared across your face.” His voice was deep, commanding. He moved his thumb down to my mouth, painting my lips with the violence that surrounded us, with the blood of the man who would have destroyed me. “I’m going to open you up to my world, little girl.” He lowered his head so we were now breathing the same air. “I’m going to show you what it means to be owned by the very devil himself.”



CHAPTER TEN

THE CAR RIDE to wherever Cameron was taking me was done in silence. The only sounds I let penetrate were that of the vehicle moving forward and the rush of the wind that came through a crack in the window when I pushed the automatic button and rolled it down. I didn’t need that rush of air, didn’t need to make it seem like I was escaping either, even if I was. I wanted something to drown out the noise inside of me, the confusion and screaming that was driving me crazy. I don’t know how long we drove, but it had been hours. I was lost in my own thoughts, but I was aware of my surroundings enough to know I was going far away. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe leaving the grim horror of my world behind was what I needed. I was tired, but I couldn’t fall asleep, couldn’t allow that freedom to take me away, even for a little while. It had been dark, late when we’d left my apartment, but now the sun was starting to rise, the sky being painted a pink hue, maybe promising a new beginning. But who was I kidding? I didn’t have a new start anywhere. I had a future that would be laid out, set forth, planned, expected. Cameron would control everything, and as much as I should loathe that and instinctively want to fight it, a part of me welcomed it. A side of me that didn’t want to think or deal with anything, not even myself, would embrace the control I’d given him. The car started to slow, and I turned and glanced out Cameron’s window. I could see him watching me out of the corner of my eye, but I wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t give him that power yet. When the vehicle came to a complete stop, I stared at the massive home in front of us. I still felt Cameron watching me, maybe appraising what I thought or how I felt. Right now I was just numb. “Welcome home for the next two weeks.” I did look at him then, his voice deep, making me feel like I was on a wire, these flames barely licking at me from below. The back door was opened, and a rush of wind blew in, shifting my hair over my shoulders, having the smell of blood rising up, this metallic scent that made me sick and think about what we’d left behind. Cameron got out of the car first, but I sat there, not sure what to say, how to actually move. I was frozen in place, my mind a whirlwind, my thoughts jumbled together. Cameron

leaned forward, bracing his hand on the frame of the door, his focus trained right on me. “The sooner you come inside, the sooner you’ll be acclimated to the situation.” His voice was smooth, maybe even coaxing. I wasn’t a fool to think he would be gentle, that he’d give me time. I wasn’t stupid enough to think he cared about my feelings whatsoever. Of course I had no choice. I’d agreed to be his if he saved me. He’d held up his end of the deal, and now I needed to as well. In the end I reached out, slipped my hand into his, and allowed him to help me out of the SUV. I’d follow through with my end. But what frightened me most of all was the fact that fear wasn’t the only thing I felt. Arousal burned in the deepest depths of me as well. I didn’t have much time to take in the house once outside the vehicle. It was big, with giant white pillars in front, the lighting pointing to the double front doors, and the windows grand with this filigree design covering the glass. It was an elaborate, extraordinary prison, one meant to keep others out, maybe even keep some in. I noticed several men stationed close to the house, and knew there were probably more hidden in the shadows. I didn’t know much about Cameron, nothing really, but I had a feeling I’d learn a lot about him in my time here. We entered the house, and a man in a dark suit greeted Cameron. They spoke low, too low for me to hear what was being said, but I was too focused on my surroundings anyway. Dark granite, hardwood, and a crystal chandelier made up the foyer. There was a staircase in front of us, one of those like I’d seen in Gone with the Wind, which started on both sides, curved upward, and branched off in opposite directions. I’d never been around so many lavish things, such taste and expanse. I turned in a half circle, gasping slightly when I realized Damien stood right behind me. His dark eyes and aloofness set me on edge. This man was dangerous; that was clear. He might not show emotions, might not even experience them, but what he had was loyalty to Cameron. It was that loyalty that made a man violent, willing to do anything and everything to ensure the situation went exactly how it was supposed to. That went a long way in ensuring I was kept in line, even if I had no plans on making things difficult. After two weeks I’d move on, live my life—or try to at least. Damien stayed silent, his composure, his ramrod stance, bringing this frigid chill to my body. The tattoos I could see that crept up his neck made him seem even more imposing, even more menacing. No wonder Cameron kept him close. This man screamed danger. “This way,” Cameron said deeply, softly. I tore my gaze from Damien and followed Cameron up the stairs, the carpet beneath the hardwood making my footsteps light, silent. This home seemed to go on forever, and I found myself noticing the lack of warmth here. No, this wasn’t a home. This was a place where Cameron stayed. We continued down a long hallway, the few pictures I saw seeming dark and gloomy, depressing and frightening. Splashes of red and black, twisted birds with their beaks open, crying out. I felt like those birds, like those paintings. I was trapped, my world seeming

bleak and one-dimensional. I had no escape, not just because I was now with Cameron but because my world before him had been a dead end. I’d been trapped in my own roundabout, going around until that’s all I knew. He finally stopped at a set of polished dark wooden doors, the grain moving vertically, the gloss almost blinding. When Cameron pushed the doors open, turned on the light, and stepped aside, I didn’t hesitate to walk in, to accept this with open arms. Open arms? Who am I kidding? I’m accepting this on my hands and knees, crawling, submitting, pleading for the answer to come. And it would come, in some form, in some way. And it would be Cameron saying the words to me, telling me what the future held. I pushed all thoughts out of my head. Having a clean slate, a white wall was how I would manage, how I would keep my sanity. The room was large, the bed to my left imposing. Dark wood, fixtures, and everything in between told me this was a room that held no warmth, no life. The curtains were partially opened, but I couldn’t see outside, not with the sun barely rising and the glare on the glass. I stared at my reflection, distant, blurry. It’s how I felt on the inside too. Cameron shut the door, the click resounding, as if sealing my fate, wax on an envelope. I watched him, all hard muscle bunching under his expensive suit. His tattoos peeking out from under the cuffs and collar were the only indication of the monster who lay beneath all that refinery. “You’ll sleep in here, with me.” His stance screamed he wasn’t about to bend to this, that he wouldn’t give me an out. “The bathroom is there,” he said and pointed to a partially closed door to the right. “Clothing in your size is already in the dresser and armoire. You’ll shower, eat, and then sleep.” He wouldn’t start this now, wouldn’t break me before the sun fully rose? I saw the way he lifted his brow. Were my thoughts projected on my face? Had I said those words out loud? “I’m not a good man, Sofia, but I won’t be a bastard…not at first. Now, bathe, dress, and food will be here when you’re done. I have some work to do, so you’ll have to eat and sleep alone for this first time…” He moved closer to me, and I swear my heart jumped to my throat, trying to suffocate me, strangle me. “But for the next two weeks, Sofia…” He reached out and cupped my chin, tilting my head back, making me look into his dark, bottomless eyes. “For the next two weeks you’ll be mine.” I felt him smooth his thumb over my jawline. “When I’m done with you, walking will seem impossible.” Although I’d known he wouldn’t go easy on me, I just hoped I came out of this alive, that I was still breathing in the literal sense.



CHAPTER ELEVEN

FOR A MOMENT, just a second, just a sliver of time, I didn’t know where I was, didn’t have any worries or cares. It was that moment right before consciousness, right before light dawned on me and I remembered my reality, when I drifted through this pleasant feeling. That second right before being fully awake. That’s how I felt that first time waking up in Cameron’s bed, surrounded by his things, smelling his scent saturating the air. I stretched, the sheet moving along my body, the silk of the nightgown I’d found in the dresser after I got out of the shower feeling smooth. Everything he’d gotten for me, every outfit, every stitch of clothing seemed intimate, handpicked by him. Although that was most likely not the case. I’m sure he’d had someone do it, paid them to pick out the silk nighties, the lace bras and panties, and the hundred other outfits that lined the drawers and shelves. But the thought of Cameron touching these things, picking them out just for me, wanting to see me in them, tear them from my body, had every part of me on fire. There was a knock on the door before it was opened. I gathered the sheet to my chest and pushed myself up. An older woman came in, dressed in a standard maid outfit. Her graying hair was piled in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and the clean linens she had in her hand were stark white. She set the sheets down and turned to face me. “Do you require assistance getting ready before breakfast?” I clenched the sheets in my hand. “Assistance?” Since arriving here I’d been so exhausted I’d slept the day away. Having people wait on me, interacting with them, the possibility of them actually knowing why I was here, was too much. “I’m fine getting ready myself.” She nodded. “Breakfast will be served downstairs. Mr. Ashton is already waiting for you.” She then left me alone, and I relaxed. This was all so weird on its own, but to realize there was staff here, knowing, hearing what would go down, had this awkward feeling consuming me. I glanced at the spot beside me and ran my hand over the perfectly placed sheet and comforter. It was cold to the touch, letting me know Cameron hadn’t been in here all night. That confused but also pleased me, like this weight had been lifted from me, even though a part of me wanted that heaviness.

I waited until the maid left before I got out of bed and got cleaned up in the bathroom. Once I was dressed, staring down at myself, rubbing the lace material of the dress between my fingers, I finally took a deep breath. This was the first day of the rest of my life, right? Or at least my life for the next fourteen days. I opened the bedroom door and just stood there for a second, listening, watching. The upper floor was quiet, the dark walls and equally ominous decor making things appear cold. The sooner you do this, the sooner you’ll see how things go. The quicker this will be done. Steeling myself, trying to grab on to my courage, I stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind me. My palms were sweating, my mouth dry. I forced myself to walk, made myself do this, be strong. I’d made this agreement, and I needed to see it through. When I saw that black bird painting, his eyes so dark, yet seeming to stare right into my soul, this chill raced up my spine. I don’t know how long I stood there, the dark colors mixing together, his beak open, his cry silent, yet I could hear it in my head. I turned and made my way down the stairs, assuming I even knew where the dining room was where I was to meet up with Cameron. Everything was so still, so…lifeless. When I finally found the dining room, the wide double doors were engraved with this detail around the edges, maybe trying to soften it, make it appear gentle. It failed, or maybe that was because the man who owned this place, resided within these walls, was cold like ice and unbreakable like granite. He didn’t look at me as I entered, but then again I hadn’t assumed he would. I’d only been in his presence such a short time, but he was the type of man that moved at his own pace. He didn’t stop what he was doing for anyone. A side door opened, and I got a glimpse of the kitchen. Several servants came in, silver platters in their hands, their focus trained on anything but the man at the head of the table. I took a second to look around, looking at the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one whole wall, the dark accented decor, and the frigidness I felt surrounding me. I was still standing there when the servants left. “Sit, Sofia,” Cameron said, still looking down at the paper in front of him. I made my way toward the seat across from him. The table was long, easily seating sixteen. Yet I still felt as though we were seated intimately, like he was right beside me. The plate in front of me was white and empty. I reached out, seeing my hand shaking, feeling the nerves in me rise. I had my fingers wrapped around the crystal, the orange juice in it almost trembling from my shaking hand. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.” I glanced up, startled, surprised to find that Cameron was staring right at me. He grabbed his cup and took a long drink, watching me over the rim. When he set the cup down and leaned back, I felt on display despite my body being covered.

“You slept well?” I nodded. “You didn’t sleep with me.” I meant it in the most basic of senses, him beside me, the mattress dipping from his powerful weight. But I suppose it could be taken literally and figuratively. “That was the only night I won’t be in bed with you.” I had no doubt about that. “Eat up, because you’ll need your energy.” It was hard to be hungry, to have any kind of appetite when my stomach was in knots. The question I wanted to ask him was on the tip of my tongue, yet I didn’t know what the ground rules were, didn’t know what he did or didn’t want me to know. And I won’t know until I ask him. But I kept my mouth shut. I grabbed some fruit and a piece of buttered toast and started eating, keeping my mind and mouth occupied so I didn’t cross that line. Silence stretched between us, but I embraced it. “If you have things on your mind, it’s best we get that done now.” The bread was dry in my mouth, and when I went to swallow, it lodged in my throat. I coughed, grabbed my water, and took a long drink. Cameron was staring at me, watching me the same way a hawk probably did the mouse before it snatched it up and devoured it. “What exactly do you plan on doing with me?” Sex was the obvious, but what I meant, what was on my mind, twisting me up, was how far Cameron wanted to go, how far he’d push me. Would he break me? Did he want to ruin me? “You’re worried I’ll hurt you.” Cameron didn’t state it like a question. “You’re worried what you’ve agreed to is a fate far worse than what you were in.” Again it wasn’t a question. I looked down, not responding, because he already knew that was what I wondered, what I feared. I couldn’t deny my attraction to him, couldn’t lie to myself and say he didn’t make me feel this rush of awareness. He was a dangerous man who’d killed someone for me, because I’d asked. He could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d have no choice but to accept it, not just because I’d agreed, but also because a small part of me craved it. This twisted part of me wanted whatever he had to offer. The pain and pleasure, the coldness yet warmth he gave me with just a look. This man was a monster, and I was more than willing to let him destroy me. What was wrong with me? What kind of person did that make me? When I heard his chair scraping, I glanced up. Cameron stood, set his napkin down on the table, and came closer. I was frozen in place, unable to breathe, to even think. On instinct I rose, maybe to appear bigger, stronger. It didn’t help, though, not when the only thing I could hear was the thundering of my heart in my ears and the feeling of my belly doing flips.

And then he was right in front of me. He was so close, his body, his presence so consuming. For long seconds he didn’t speak, didn’t even move. He reached out and touched a lock of my hair, toying with the strands between his fingers, focused solely on it. “All I want, what I desire, is your surrender.” His voice was pitched low I knew if anyone else had been in the room they wouldn’t have heard him. “I’m not a good man.” He said it so matter-of-factly that I had no doubts whatsoever that this man knew who and what he was. “I’m a killer, a drug lord.” He took another step closer. “I rule the underground with apathy and violence.” His chest was so wide, so powerful that it took up my entire view. “I know who and what you are.” But did I really? He shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think you do, Sofia. I don’t think you do at all.” I was sucking air into my lungs, hard, fast, yet I couldn’t breathe. “I feel you’re my weakness,” he said softly, his voice deep, like a knife skating along my body, barely touching me, but the threat of getting cut was right there at the surface. He lifted his head then, staring me in the eyes, his gaze so cold, so hard. I was small, miniature compared to him. “And having a weakness isn’t something I’m comfortable with.” I shivered after he spoke, not because of the chill in the air and not because of his dark, deep voice. I did it because of the way he was looking at me. I didn’t need to know Cameron personally to understand a man like him didn’t do weakness. He was all strength, all power. Before I knew what was happening, he leaned forward, reached around me, and pushed the plates and silverware to the side. The china clinked together, the glass spilling water along the white tablecloth. And then he had his hands on my waist, lifting me onto the hard, unforgiving top. I reached behind me, bracing my hands on the linen, half of it wet under my palms. The heat from his body penetrated me, made me drunk, intoxicated with everything that was happening. Two weeks was short in the grand scheme of things, so the fact he wasn’t waiting to take me wasn’t all that surprising. “Spread your legs,” he said, low, demanding that I do what he wanted. The rational, survival part of me wanted to ask him what he had planned, what he’d do to me. But the smart part of me said, Shut the fuck up and do what he says. I stared into his eyes and felt him smooth his hands over my inner thighs, pushing up the bottom part of the dress I wore. It was light, summery, and the feel of the material sliding over my skin had goose bumps popping out over my flesh. When he was a few inches from the most intimate part of me, he exerted pressure and spread my thighs even wider. I swallowed, my throat feeling tight, dry. He moved his hands an inch closer, and I felt myself start to respond, felt my body heat come alive. I should have feared him, maybe even been disgusted, repulsed by what he probably wanted to do to me.

But I was wet. “How affected are you right now?” he asked, his sweet-smelling breath moving along my lips. He moved his fingers even closer. I knew he had to be touching the edge of my lace panties now. He leaned in until there was only an inch separating our mouths. “Answer me.” I licked my lips, searching his face, trying to read him. It was no use. This man was unmovable, unreadable. “Affected” was all I said, all I knew how to say in this moment. Actually saying I was wet, that I was ready for him, that this form of control and torture— albeit arousing me to no end—made me so on edge I would give it to him without a fight. I saw something dark flicker in his eyes, but he didn’t show emotion any other way. “If I touch your cunt, would you be wet?” I didn’t make him wait for an answer. I nodded. “If I stroked your little clit, would you come for me?” Again I nodded. I knew I would, knew it wouldn’t take me more than a few hard, fast strokes of his finger on my clit to bring me off. He lowered his eyes to my chest, and I knew he was watching the way my breasts rose and fell, fast, almost violently. The white shirt he wore was unbuttoned at the collar, and the tattoos I could see looked angry, harsh…untouchable. They matched the man in front of me. I shifted, maybe to move away, to get some air. Maybe I was suffocating from my own desires, the need to be with this man so intense my fear and pleasure slammed together. They fought, my common sense telling me this wasn’t what I should want, that my body reacting this way wasn’t normal. “Are you frightened of me or of this situation?” He smoothed his finger over the edge of my panties. “Does it scare the fuck out of you, what I plan on doing, that the unknown is right there, teasing you, tormenting you?” I didn’t know if being honest was the right course, if admitting that yeah, I was afraid but I was also turned on, would actually be the wisest decision. “You’re terrified right now, but I can also tell you want this.” He leaned in another inch, our mouths so close. “Your cheeks are pink, your pupils dilated.” He lowered his gaze to my mouth. “You’re breathing so hard right now, your breasts pushing against the material of the dress.” He lifted his gaze back to my eyes. “I bet you feel like you’re drowning.” I felt myself pull my legs apart even more, as if my body had a mind of its own, was controlling this situation…was seeking out more of Cameron’s touch. He made this deep, dark sound, this noise of approval, this tone that told me he liked what I’d just done. “You want me to taste you, to lick you until you come?” I shivered, my flesh tightening, my pulse racing. “You want me to run my tongue through your cunt, suck at your clit, and show you how

good I can make you feel?” I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if he actually wanted me to answer. And then he placed his hand right between my thighs, right over my wet pussy. “Tell me what you want me to do, beg me for it.” He got off on me saying these things, on the humiliation I felt succumbing to my desires, submitting to him. I felt a flush steal over me, my entire body on fire, my skin sensitive to the slightest breeze in the air. He added even more pressure, making me gasp, my toes curling. “Fucking tell me what you want, and if you’re a good girl, I might give it to you.” “I want you to touch me, to lick me,” I whispered. He made this low growl, this animalistic sound. I could hear people in the kitchen, the bang of pots, the clatter of china. They could come through that door right now and see me on the table, my legs spread, with Cameron’s hand between my thighs. “What else do you want?” He added even more pressure, and I closed my eyes, a moan ripping from me. “I want you to make me yours.” God, I’d just said that out loud, told him exactly what he wanted to hear, played into his hand. “Good girl,” he all but purred, his mouth by my ear, his hand still between my legs. “Your honesty deserves a reward.” And then he was on his haunches between my legs, his warm breath moving along my panty-covered pussy. He didn’t make me wait long to wonder what he’d do, how far he’d go. He pulled my panties aside, the dual combination of his warm breath and the chilled air sending shock waves through me. I wanted to scream, beg, plead for him to touch me, to lick me, to ease the raging arousal burning deeply in me. He either read my mind, or maybe I said the words out loud. Or maybe he just couldn’t stand it any longer either. Before I could even think about what was going on, before I could grasp the reality of my situation, I felt him move his tongue through my folds, parting me, making me shiver. I wanted more, yet I wanted to push him away, tell him I didn’t want this…convince myself of this fact. He continued to lick at me, dragging his tongue through my lips, circling my clit, sucking the bud into his mouth on every upstroke. I grabbed the tablecloth, held it tightly, my nails digging through it and spearing my palms. A gasp left me when Cameron gently bit my clit, making this high-pitched cry leave me and having me gasp for air. I yanked on the cloth as pleasure and pain consumed me. The sound of something clattering to the ground and shattering vaguely pierced my mind. I was trying so hard not to enjoy this, to fight myself on what he was doing to me, how he made me feel so free, so alive. His hands on my inner thighs were rough, painful. He held me in place as he opened me up to his tongue and mouth, to his beautiful torment. It was pleasure and pain all wrapped into one conflicting ball, into one war inside of me that wouldn’t surrender.

And then he thrust his tongue into my body, my pussy clamping on the muscle, dragging it farther in, needing it as deep as it would go. I wanted to be stretched, claimed completely, and in this moment nothing else mattered…my body, my situation, my very reasoning for not wanting this man. None of that mattered right here and now as the pleasure washed through me, dug its nails into my body, hanging on, not letting go. I felt the tendrils of that delicious, depraved pleasure wash through me. I should have fought it, rebelled against it, but instead I found myself welcoming it, embracing it. And just as I felt the pleasure crest, Cameron pulled away. I sagged against the table, my body shaking, the near orgasm leaving me breathless and on the verge of wanting to beg him to make me feel good, to wash away the bleakness in my life. “Open your eyes.” I found myself obeying him instantly. He still had his hands on my inner thighs, but he was no longer between my legs. His focus was trained on me, his lips red from what he’d just been doing to me. “You stopped.” I didn’t know why I thought it was a good idea to say anything, but the words came from me fast, breathless. He didn’t speak, didn’t even show emotion. He’d just been eating me out, yet his expression showed me nothing. He was like a brick wall, a poker face that would crush all others. I shifted on the table, trying to close my legs, but Cameron still had his hands on me, holding me open, making me feel vulnerable. The door to the kitchen opened, and in walked one of his waitstaff. My heart thundered, embarrassment filling me. But Cameron seemed unaffected, not taking his hands from my legs, not breaking eye contact. “I’m the one who holds the power, Sofia.” He moved a step away, running his big, tattooed hands on his pants as he stared at me. “You’ll be whole once this is all said and done, and I’ll let you go back to the life you know…if that’s what you want.” If that’s what I want? “But you’ll do best to remember that I’m the one you owe, that I’m the one who pulled you from the recesses of hell. For the next two weeks you’re mine.” He looked me right in the eyes. “Finish eating if you want, then get cleaned up and meet me in the solarium.” And then he turned and left, leaving me on the table, my legs spread, and the waitstaff on the floor picking up the shards of broken glass. I felt like that china on the floor: cracked, vulnerable, at the mercy of another. And I knew this was only the beginning.



CHAPTER TWELVE

I HAD to ask someone where the solarium was, and once I stepped through the glass doors, the heat and scent of sweetness filled my head. There were trees, plants, even a waterfall that cascaded into a small pool off to the side. There were no walls, not even a ceiling. It was all glass, and the sun streaming in made the room hot and slightly humid. I didn’t see Cameron, so, assuming he wasn’t here yet, I took some time to explore. I’d never seen a solarium before, didn’t even really know what one was. This oversize greenhouse was incredible, magical even. The smell of the many varieties of flowers filled my head, making me slightly drunk from the purity of it. The sound of the water crashing onto the rocks of the small pond almost had a lulling effect to it, calming me. Through the windows I could see a vast expanse of trees, thick pines and evergreens, ones that blocked out anything and everyone. I had a feeling it was something Cameron preferred. His privacy seemed pretty paramount. Just thinking about him had my body warming, my erogenous zones tingling. He’d brought me to the brink of coming; then like a sadist he’d backed off, leaving me cold and hungry. When I’d been straightening up in the bathroom, before I’d come down, I’d thought of touching myself, easing my arousal so I could get a little bit of relief. I’d refrained, though, from teasing myself any more. For some reason I wanted Cameron to be the one to finally break the dam in me, the passion and pleasure he’d brought right to the surface. I found myself walking toward a row of beautiful white flowers. They were almost wispy and dreamlike, soft and innocent. I ran my finger over one of the petals, the softness what I had expected. I was transfixed as I watched my finger move along the flower, over and over, smoothing, whispering along it. And then I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end, that feeling of being watched consuming me. When I glanced around, I didn’t see anyone at first, but the feeling that I wasn’t alone was too strong to ignore. I was about to turn back to the flowers, maybe move to another part, try and shake the feeling, when my gaze landed on a darkened corner. Then I saw him watching me, the shadows concealing him, making me feel very aware that we were the only two in the room. On instinct I glanced at the doors, seeing they were now shut. When I shifted back to look at Cameron, I felt his gaze on me, this intense feeling like a second skin going over me, covering me.

“Come here,” he said, his voice clear despite the high glass ceiling and the waterfall just on the other side of him. I felt myself move toward him, as if my body knew the routine, knew the path I had to take. I was only a few feet from him when he held his hand out to stop me. “I gave you a treat after breakfast.” He leaned forward, his face coming into the sunlight, his expression severe…aroused. “But this is about me, about you pleasuring me in any way I see fit.” I felt like he would have smirked at me then, but he kept his cold composure. “Isn’t that right, Sofia?” The way he said my name did all sorts of filthy, wrong things to me. I found myself nodding. Yes, that was true, so true I felt it in my very bones. “Now, undress for me.” I could do nothing but stand there for a second. Having him see me nude wasn’t a shock. No, it was the way he’d demanded it, his voice like ice: cold, hard, able to hurt without trying. I was here, alive, for one purpose, and that was to please this man, to bend to his will, and give him whatever he wanted. It was true when I said I’d be his victim…his willing, already wet victim. But what I hadn’t factored in was the fact I might actually enjoy this…want it. Anyone and everyone could see us, and a part of me grew even more aroused by that, even more on edge. What was wrong with me? Why was I enjoying this, finding myself wanting it? I pushed all thoughts out of my head. They wouldn’t do me any good, wouldn’t save me. Is that even what I want? Once I was undressed, my motions unceremonious, I stepped away from my clothes scattered on the floor around me. I felt my heart jackhammering against my ribs, like the muscle wanted out, needed to escape the depravity that was about to happen. But despite my fear, the knowledge that Cameron had more darkness in him than the very night, I anticipated this. I wanted this. Even now I was wet, ready for him, needing him inside of me, taking from me the way the entire world had for my entire life. He hadn’t told me to remove my clothing slowly, to make a show for him. I had a feeling a man like Cameron wasn’t about teasing. He wanted the reward when it was due. I noticed the small table beside him, the glass filled with what I assumed was alcohol. I guess it wasn’t too early for mind fucks or getting drunk. Cameron lifted his glass, the liquid within the cut crystal seeming darker than normal. He brought the cup to his mouth and took a long drink from it while watching me over the rim. The room seemed so cold with him in it, yet here I was, sweating, beads of perspiration rolling down my nude body, chilling in the air. The sun was a constant presence around me, the purity and beauty of our surroundings about to be tarnished and broken by what he wanted me to do for him.

He had his shirtsleeves rolled up, his thickly corded forearms, inked in abstract designs, frightening displays of power, flashing before me like a promise. His hands were so large, and I could imagine them holding me down, pinning me beneath him as he took me, claimed what he was after. After a second he set his cup down and just watched me, as if he enjoyed seeing me on edge, seeing me fragile…at his mercy. “Get on your knees,” he ordered, demanding my submission, my compliance. I found myself falling to my knees, the tiled floor unforgiving, reminding me where I was, who I was here with. I stared at Cameron, his body partially obstructed in the shadows. “Come to me, Sofia.” I wasn’t fooled by the low pitch of Cameron’s voice. He was like a snake: hypnotic, seductive, but striking when I least expected it. And so I came to him, crawled to him, my body shivering, my mind racing. I wasn’t cold, wasn’t even frightened in this exact moment. I shivered, breathed in hard, and tried to focus because I was turned on. I wanted this, wanted him to show me the black hole that was his soul, that had been my life. I knew he could give me that. I knew he’d want to give it to me as much as he wanted to take from me. When I was in front of him, my knees aching, my palms sweating, he did nothing but look at me for long seconds. But I sat there, waiting, holding my breath, knowing he’d take me when he was ready. He’d bend me to his will when he deemed it so. His body was big, corded with muscle. The tattoos that lined his neck and chest could be seen through the crisp whiteness of his shirt, past the open collar of the persona he showed the world. “Look at me.” I lifted my head, my gaze to his face. He leaned forward, dusk slashing across the harsh beauty of his face, showing me what lurked beneath the surface of this monstrously gorgeous man. “Ask me for it. Beg me for it.” My throat tightened, my mouth grew wetter, and every part of me was tense. It was like an electrical current washed through me, lighting me up, bringing me to life. “Ask me for it,” he demanded and instantly gripped my chin, his hold unforgiving, brutal even. I’d have bruises on my face, my skin matted with the blue imprint of his passion. And to Cameron this was his passion, roaring out at me, demanding that I give in. And a part of me wanted that, needed that mark of his ownership marring me, showing me that this was real, that I was truly alive. “Please,” I finally whispered. I felt him tighten his hold on me, knew that one word, that submissive word, struck him deep. “Again.” I licked my lips, seeing that he stared at them. He looked into my eyes now. “Again, Sofia, and say my name this time.” His words were like a whip to my flesh,

opening me up, making me bleed. “Please…Cameron.” His groan was the most emotion I’d ever seen from him, the biggest reaction he’d ever given me. For long seconds he just stared at me, holding my chin in that painful yet surprisingly erotic grip. He smoothed his thumb over my bottom lip, pulling the flesh down before letting it fall back in place. As the seconds moved by, the minutes, I was transfixed by the sight of him, by his touch. And then he let me go, and I felt as though I were falling into the abyss. He leaned back and undid his belt before undoing his button and pulling the zipper down on his slacks. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, although I knew I was, sensed my chest rising and falling violently. When he pulled himself free, his cock thick, long, hard for me, I did stop breathing then. I didn’t move, didn’t even contemplate taking control and starting this. Cameron was the one who held the reins, who would begin this when he was ready. “How much do you want this?” he asked and gripped himself, not stroking his length, just holding it. I stared into his eyes, wanting to lie, to say I didn’t want it, but the truth was the opposite. I did want it. I wanted the pain and pleasure I knew he could give me, not just from his power and strength controlling me, but because he knew what I was about. He really knew. “I want it.” He leaned forward an inch, and I smelled the alcohol he’d been drinking. No doubt it had been expensive, maybe even burned when it slid down the throat. It made me feel drunk, intoxicated with wanting more. “Tell me,” he demanded, his voice fiercer now. “I want it like I want to take my next breath.” Maybe a little overboard, but it was right on point with how I felt at the moment. The low sound he made had me growing wetter. I clenched my thighs together, wanting pressure, wanting his hand there, touching me, bringing out the filthiest part of my desires. “Do you like the fact I own you? Do you like the knowledge that you agreed to be mine in every way I see fit, any way I see fit?” I nodded, because right now my mouth wasn’t working, my lips not forming the words. “Yeah, I bet you do.” He had his hand on the back of my head, gripping my hair, yanking me backward so my throat was exposed, arched. The pain was intense, and tears pricked my eyes. But it also felt so good, so freeing. “If you want it, take it.” He tightened his hold on my hair even more. “But make it good, make me pleased to have you here, that it was worth it bringing you out of hell.” Out of hell? Wasn’t I in it, basking in the heat of the flames, the touch of the devil himself? He pulled my head forward until the slick tip of his dick moved along my lips. His hold on me was unforgiving, a promise that he did hold the power, that he’d control the situation. “Open up and suck me until I tell you to stop.” He yanked my head back again and looked

in my eyes. “And don’t stop until I tell you to, Sofia. Understand?” I nodded. His words and actions shouldn’t have made me so aroused. Was I so broken that his rough touch could incite these emotions in me, could make me crave him like an addict for their next fix? Or maybe I wasn’t broken at all. Maybe Cameron and I were exactly the same, sharing the same bottomless soul that had dragged me down but raised him up. Maybe what made me feel alone made him feel alive. He pulled me forward again, and I opened, taking his girth and length into my mouth. The flavor of Cameron was heady but also elusive, like the man himself. He didn’t make a sound for me, so I didn’t know if what I did pleased him. The only reaction he gave was a tightening in my hair and the tenseness of his thighs under my palms. I closed my eyes and got lost in pleasing him…needing to make him feel good, to see that he and I weren’t so different. He could make me feel something more with just a look, just a touch to my cheek. I wanted to make him feel that way, too, wanted to show him that I too could have power. So when I focused on pleasing him, I did it with everything in me. I swirled my tongue around the crown of his shaft, tasting the saltiness of his male essence. I clenched my legs impossibly tighter together, the feeling of my wetness coating my inner thighs, a telltale sign of how much I wanted him making shame and excitement wage war in me. I got lost in everything Cameron. I flattened my tongue, running it up and down his length. Still he was quiet; still he showed me no reaction. It made me frenzied to have him unravel the way he made me unravel. The longer he was in my mouth, the more control I felt I had. I took hold of the root of his dick and stroked what I couldn’t reach with my mouth. He still had his hand in my hair, keeping me stationary, a slave to my actions. But then something shifted…he shifted. He gently lifted his hips, pushing another inch of himself into my mouth. I took as much as I could, moaning around him, unable to hold in the sound, not wanting to. The tip of his cock hit the back of my throat with every thrust of his hips. I gagged, tears stinging my eyes, rolling down my cheeks. “Look at me,” he said, his voice husky, as if I were affecting him and my reward was this slight crack in his armor. With my gaze locked with his and his hips doing the work now, thrusting in and retreating between my lips, I could do nothing but hold on as he found his pleasure. The tears continued to stream down my face every time he lodged the tip of his shaft at the back of my throat. I felt high, like any moment now I’d reach the very heavens. Cameron cupped one side of my cheek, and I saw the way his jaw clenched, knew he was on the precipice of coming, of surrendering to me. I breathed in and out through my nose, not trying to stop this, not trying to push him back. I wanted to taste him, to have his cum in my mouth, sliding down my throat. I wanted him to force me to take it all. And then he buried all his hard, hot inches into me and came. And I swallowed every last drop.

His hold on my hair was brutal, the pain very real, but it was coupled with the desire I had for him, the fact it was because of me that he’d let go. He pulled my head back, his semihard shaft slipping from my mouth. I felt a little of his cum slip out of the corner of my mouth, and as he looked at me, I swiped my tongue over it. I wanted every last drop of him in me. When he let go of my hair, only then did I sag forward, my hands on the floor, my head lowered. I closed my eyes and sucked in much needed air, my lungs burning, my mind and body on fire. I felt his finger under my chin, lifting my head up so I had to look at him again. He leaned down and ran his tongue over one side of my face, licking the wetness away. “The sweetest flavor on my tongue is your tears.” He pulled back slightly, his face so close, his warm breath brushing along my cheek. “And you’ll give me more of them, so much more before our time is done, Sofia.”



CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I COULD HAVE GOTTEN LOST in a home this big, with so many rooms it was an endless labyrinth. The cold floors were unforgiving on my bare feet, and although I could have put shoes on, blocking out the rigid feeling, putting a barrier between the two, I liked the sensations. It made me feel like I was here, that I wasn’t dreaming, wasn’t conjuring up this entire situation. After the solarium encounter Cameron had gotten a phone call. He’d excused himself like we hadn’t just done something dark and…good? God, I didn’t know anymore, didn’t know what to think, didn’t know if I should embrace what I felt and ignore the nagging in the back of my head that told me I shouldn’t want this. But the truth was I did want this. I was tired of the feeling of being nowhere, yet surrounded by everything. I didn’t fit in anywhere, and I realized that in Cameron’s presence. I might cry for him, my body instinctively wanting to submit, but being in his presence told me exactly how fragile I was. It made me realize I really was here, experiencing the world. But I’d never been one to freely give in, never been a woman who just took what the world gave her. I’d fought for where I was, even if that place was shitty and broken down. I stopped in front of the window that overlooked the gardens. Despite the April weather being somewhat warm, I saw the wind pick up, brushing along the leaves, telling me that it was colder than it looked. Putting my hand on the glass proved my point, the chilled pane bringing a sting to my palm. The house felt still, empty, and the only staff I’d seen were those few during breakfast, when I’d first arrived, and the woman who’d come into the room just this morning. I had a feeling if Cameron had been there she wouldn’t have dared enter. He just brought out the instinctual fear in people. That much I’d felt myself. I moved my hand from the glass and turned, making my way down another long hallway, and stopped at one of the only open doors I’d seen so far. It looked like a sitting room, or what I assumed one of those rooms would look like if I’d ever been in one. Dark furniture was placed in the center, and large windows were on either side of the room. The marble fireplace sat unused, clean, pristine, as if it was just for show. Behind me were rows upon rows of books, and although I wasn’t much of a reader, I did find myself moving toward them. Old leather-bound books which spoke of age, time, stared back at me. I ran my hands over them, the ridges on the spines a texture that pleased me for some reason.

No pictures. Nothing personal. The thought came to me like a flickering light on its last leg. Why weren’t there any pictures of Cameron? Why did this seem so impersonal, this entire home—house—as if he didn’t really live here? So many questions filtered through my head, yet I knew I’d probably never have the nerve to ask, let alone get them answered. I pulled one of the books out, the writing on the front in another language. There was a vine and flower detail around the edge of the front cover, an embossed signature, the book’s fingerprint. As I started flipping through the pages, unable to actually read the book, unable to understand the language, I felt myself getting engrossed in it. It was beautiful, the letters placed perfectly together, the detail in each chapter…it was all so detailed. It was like a dream, an imagination that couldn’t be erased. I closed the book and gently slid it back in place among the others. When I turned, a startled gasp left me. Cameron stood in the doorway, his hands in his front pockets, his gaze locked on me. Neither of us moved, didn’t even speak for long seconds. “You’ve been exploring.” He didn’t phrase it like a question nor an accusation. I smoothed my hands over my dress and nodded. My body hummed with awareness, his close proximity, the things he’d done to me…made me do to him ringing through my very cells. “Yes,” I finally said. It was then I saw the dark security camera placed in the center of the room. No doubt there was one in every room, every hallway. “You’ve been watching me?” He didn’t speak for long seconds, didn’t answer me, didn’t confirm what I asked. “Yes. I watch everything that happens here.” He pushed away from the door frame, holding his hand out for me to take. For some reason I didn’t hesitate in slipping mine in his much bigger palm. He led us out of the room, back through the many hallways, down a set of stairs, and finally into what I assumed was his office. I didn’t ask what he was doing, why he’d brought me here. I assumed it had something to do with sex. That’s why I was here, right? He let go of my hand, went over to his desk, and pushed a button. Like some strange spy movie, some action flick that played out before me, a part of the wall behind his desk opened up to show rows upon rows of screens. Every part of the house was showcased before me, the screen flickering to different areas, inside and outside, bedrooms and the kitchen. I found myself moving closer, looking at the screens, seeing a few staff in the kitchen cleaning up from breakfast. I didn’t know how long I stood there, but I watched each screen, staring at each image, and wondering what Cameron thought about when he saw me. I felt his heat right behind me, his huge body making me feel like I could fall backward and he’d be there, catching me, holding me close. It was insane, demented, but I didn’t want to push that feeling away. I wanted to embrace it. He put his hands on my shoulders, slid them down my arms, and stopped at my hips. His fingers dug into my flesh, hard enough I felt the pain, the sting of his possession. And when Cameron pulled me back against him, the stiff length of his erection had this flush

stealing over me. “I’ve watched you on these screens, wondering what you thought about, what you imagined would happen here.” He ground himself against me, my body reacting instantly. I warmed, became wet, soft. “I thought about all the things I could do to you, what I wanted you to do to me, how I wanted you to submit to me like no other.” I closed my eyes, the rotating of his hips, the way he whispered the words against my ears…all of it made me ready for him, had me pushing away the fact I shouldn’t be enjoying it. “Who are you?” I whispered, not sure why I asked, not sure what this meant or what he’d think. He stopped grinding on me, turned me around gently, and cupped my throat. His hold was loose but there, telling me, showing me that he had the power. “Who do you think I am?” He didn’t ask it in a condescending manner, wasn’t taunting me, teasing me. I had a feeling he really wanted to know what I thought. I stared into his dark eyes, remembering all the things he’d told me about himself. Drug lord. Criminal. Killer. I wanted to know who he was. I wanted to know the type of man he was before he became this way. But asking him that seemed almost like I’d be crossing a line, something I wasn’t prepared to do, not yet, maybe not ever. But the longer he stared at me, looking into my eyes, the more I felt myself wanting to ask, wanting to push him. I might not have gone to school in the official sense, didn’t have a degree, couldn’t read people the way he could, but I could see a man with so much power also harbored his own pain. “I think you’re a man who has seen things he shouldn’t, a boy who is just as damaged, just as broken.” I felt him tighten his hand on my throat, just marginally, but his expression still stayed neutral. “I think you built up a wall around you, put yourself ahead of everyone, because you didn’t have any other choice.” I was grasping for straws here, just throwing this out, thinking a man like Cameron had to have his own weaknesses and that’s why he needed so much power. “I think you need to have control, because once in your life you had none.” He walked me backward until I felt the wall of monitors stop me. “I think that’s why you don’t have anything personal here, no pictures, no memories. You have a wall around your life to block it all out.” His hand was tight, unforgiving on my throat. I couldn’t breathe, but he was exerting his strength on me. For long moments he did nothing but hold my throat, keeping me pinned to the wall, staring into my eyes. And when he leaned in close, his mouth inches from mine now, I held my breath, unable to control it. “Careful, pretty girl. You’re moving awfully close to the fire, and if you’re not careful, you’ll get burned alive.” That, I had no doubt about, but a part of me wanted to get swept up in the flames, consumed by them. I wanted to be the gasoline that ignited it all.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN

IT HAD ONLY BEEN days since I’d been here. Well, it had only felt like days, but maybe it had been longer, time meshing together, coming as one. I was curled up on a bench, the sun setting, the husky pink glow of dusk washing through the window. The book I was reading was one of poetry, sad, longing phrases of love lost, of pain, sorrow. I stared out the window, thinking about the author, how they must have been in a dark place to write these words, to spill them along the pages in dark ink of emotion. After the encounter in Cameron’s office, he’d left me to “settle myself,” whatever that meant. But I was thankful for this time alone, my thoughts my company, the scenery my comfort. I set the book down and got up. I wanted to go outside, to get some fresh air. I didn’t care if it was chilly, and if I didn’t have a jacket. I was also shoeless, but I anticipated the feeling of that chill on my soles, and the texture from the ground seeping into me. After I left the room, I headed down the hall and to the solarium. I hadn’t explored the lower level much, so wasn’t sure where the actual back entrance was. But it didn’t matter in the end, because I’d make it outside regardless. I didn’t see anyone on my way to the solarium and was curious if Cameron would let me explore outside alone. It wasn’t until I pushed open the large glass door that led to the gardens that I stopped when I saw Damien standing just a few short feet away. No, it seemed Cameron wouldn’t let me roam alone. I clenched my teeth, that fact more than annoying. I was here of my own free will and had no intentions of leaving. He’d just find me anyway. “I don’t need a chaperone. I’m not going anywhere. A deal is a deal.” I had no idea why I even said anything to Damien. The man hadn’t said anything to me and always had this look of indifference and danger surrounding him. I didn’t expect him to respond, and when I started walking away, feeling him following at a distance, I figured at least if I had to have someone with me, Damien was as good as it would get. He’d keep his mouth shut and at least make it seem like he wasn’t really there. After some time I pushed the fact he was behind me out of my head and enjoyed the scenery. There wasn’t much in the growing department as it was early April. But some of the more common bulbs had already begun sprouting, the promise of color and life in the

air. I hadn’t come outside to look at what wasn’t here. I wasn’t to be outside to be free, to not have any walls surrounding me, to have the fresh air and sun on my skin. A breeze moved by, chilled, the hint of winter’s past in its touch. I shivered slightly and wrapped my arms around my waist. When I sat on a stone bench, the seat cold, hard, unforgiving, I stared at the woods that surrounded the property. It went on for as far as the eye could see, a natural fence, a blockage of green and brown. In the corner of my eye I saw Damien off to the side, his huge arms hanging loosely at his side, his focus on me. I turned and looked at him, wondering where this man had come from, who he was. How long had he known Cameron? Did they share the same fucked-up past? I might not know what that past was, but the reaction I’d gotten from Cameron when I brought it up told me he had his own demons he dealt with. “I’m really not going anywhere. You can tell him that.” I felt like saying the words, pushing them in further, making him see that I was here because I wanted to be. Because I wanted to be… That thought played through my head over and over again, and I realized that although my circumstances were pretty fucked up, being here wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Although I might not have seen the full extent of what Cameron wanted to do to me, so far he hadn’t hurt me, hadn’t made me feel degraded. He’d fed me, provided clothing—even if it did feel wrong at times. It was all so confusing, but I realized I was welcoming it, in some regard at least. I don’t know how long I sat there in silence, but then again I didn’t expect him to respond, didn’t expect him to grace me with anything. I pushed my hair off my shoulder, the wind like a lost lover’s caress, gentle, cold. “I’m not here because he thinks you’ll leave.” I turned and faced Damien, startled that he’d said something. “I’m here to make sure you’re safe.” He glanced at me, his dark eyes cold, his expression neutral. I didn’t ask what he meant by that, didn’t ask why he’d decided to tell me. Cameron was a dangerous man, I knew that, and I had to assume it was because of that, because he had connections, that he was looking out for me in that regard…because I was his property. Was he saying I wasn’t safe from Cameron’s enemies, or maybe he was being truthful, telling me that who I should really be afraid of, who I was really in danger from was Cameron. “But if you have any fear, you shouldn’t. This property is secure.” He did glance at me then. “I’m just the extra measure.” He broke eye contact and stared off into the distance. He’d said more words to me than he ever had before. I, too, looked out at the trees, not sure what to think, how to feel. Maybe I should have put more stock into what I wanted, into the fact that my desire played more of a role in this than my fear. Maybe I should have been worried, but instead I felt like I embraced it, like I wasn’t even giving myself a chance to not accept this. I glanced at Damien again and took in the several guns I saw strapped to his body.

“Should I be afraid of him?” I whispered, not sure if Damien would even answer, not sure if I wanted him to. He slowly turned his head in my direction. But before he said anything, if he even planned on saying anything, I felt as if someone was here, watching us. “Sofia,” Cameron said from the doorway, his voice deep, mesmerizing. I turned to stare at him. My heart was already stuttering in my chest. He looked fierce in this moment, maybe even angry with me for pushing him earlier. Had he heard what I’d asked Damien? “Go to the bedroom. Undress, and wait for me.” The fact he didn’t mince his words in front of Damien had my face heating, embarrassment swimming through me. And then he was gone, leaving me there with my mind reeling. Tonight I’d find out exactly what he had in store for me. The oral he’d given me, and when I’d done it to him, had just been the appetizer to this twisted story. I knew that, felt it.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I FOUND myself in the bedroom, taking my clothes off as if it was an automatic gesture. I thought about how I’d felt outside, the wind in my hair, the sensation that nothing contained me, nothing held me back, a familiar feeling since I’d been with Cameron. I was in the process of pushing my panties down when the bedroom door opened. I turned, my heart thundering, my mind spinning. Cameron shut the door behind him, the suit he had on not taking away from the sheer presence that surrounded him. “Damien is there for protection, not conversation,” he said as he started to remove his tie, his focus on me. I swallowed, not sure if I should hold my ground or back away. I couldn’t help but feel like he was stalking me, moving forward slowly, waiting for his chance to attack. There wasn’t anything I could say, nothing I wanted to say in that moment. He kept moving forward, tossing the tie on the bed. Then he went for his cuff links. It was then, once he had them off and set on the vanity, that I realized I was stuck between him and the wall. There didn’t seem to be any way to stop this. Do I want to stop this? Yes, I wanted to scream out. I want this to stop. I shouldn’t have to compromise myself because my body warmed at the thought and sight of him. This man made me feel things that I wanted to keep buried, hidden. I felt like my own body was working against me, succumbing, submitting to this man…this monster. This is insane. You are insane. I couldn’t help thinking that over and over again, disgusted with myself and this man, because not only did I fear him, but I wanted him, too. A gorgeous demon intent on corrupting me, determined to make me his. “You can ask anyone about me.” He moved a step closer. “But if you want the truth, you’ll ask me directly.” I was a prisoner of my own body, my mind. “Asking you anything directly seemed like crossing a line.” He was just inches from me now, his body so big, his heat so intense. Before I could contemplate what he was going to do, what he might say, he had his hands on my waist, turning me, and setting me on the vanity. The apothecary jars crashed to the side before rolling off and shattering on the ground.

Here I was, ready for him, my mind screaming to preserve my self-respect, to let him know that I was strong. “Who are you really?” I found myself asking, my voice breathy, my body ready. He had his hands on my waist still, holding me, caressing me. I wasn’t a fool to think this man would be gentle, not in the parts that counted, not when there was fucking instead of making love. No, Cameron was definitely the hate-fuck kind of guy, the one who took what he wanted because he knew he could. But then again, I wasn’t a flowers-and-chocolate girl. I’d come from the gutter of the world, fought my way to the surface just so I could breathe, and the darkness Cameron offered was what I craved. “Who are you, Sofia?” He slid his hands up to my bra straps, slid them over my shoulders, but didn’t remove the garment. “Tell me you don’t want what I can give you, that you aren’t wet with the idea of the depravity in which I can cover you completely.” He smoothed his hands over the mounds of my breasts, which rose violently above my bra line. “Tell me that taking you in the way I want to, crave to, doesn’t make you so fucking ready for me you’re on the verge of begging me for my cock.” His words should have shocked me, had bile rising in my throat. Instead I found myself moaning, unable to control myself, unable to control the most basic urges I had for him. “So tell me, sweet Sofia. Who are you?” We stared into each other’s eyes for a long second, my mind a whirlwind, my throat tight. “I’m the girl who sold herself to the very devil himself, right?” He smirked, the first time I’d seen anything but hard composure on this man’s face. “Who are you?” I asked again, not sure if this was smart, not sure if just playing out this time wasn’t the best route for me to take. After that I could go, live my life, be away from it all. I’d find a way to leave, to forget about what I’d gotten myself into, what I’d seen. The death, the violence, the fear I felt when I didn’t think I had any options with Ricky— those things didn’t have to control me. They didn’t have to follow me for the rest of my life. He slid his hand up to my throat, added a bit of pressure, and leaned in. “I’m a man with a past you don’t want to know about.” But I did want to know about him. I did want to know how he became the way he was, this powerful person who was deadly, intelligent, and mine for the next two weeks. That last thought slammed into me so hard I made this involuntary sound, this breathless gasp. “Tell me what you just thought about right now,” he said, moving an inch closer, my legs spread, his erection tenting the front of his slacks and coming into contact with my pussy. He felt so hard, so big. I was a virgin, had never even been with a man before. This would have scared me with a “normal” man. Cameron was anything but normal. He was dangerous, probably volatile, and the things he wanted to do to me…I shivered at the images.

I contemplated about lying, about making something up, or maybe being submissive, subservient. I thought about just telling him I made the sound because I was eager for this, or maybe scared of it—the latter being the truth. He added a bit of pressure to my throat, and I braced my hands on the vanity, rising up slightly. I arched my neck, wanting the pressure off, wanting him to add more. He held me like he had a right to, like I wanted this, would beg him for it eventually. I’d probably do that now. What I was fighting myself on was the fact that these things he said to me, did to me, humiliating as they were, turned me on. “I thought about how I’m yours for the next two weeks, but that you’re also mine.” Being honest seemed like the best course, but truthfully I probably wouldn’t have been able to force the lie out anyway. He pulled back and stared at me, barely breathing, not moving. A part of me didn’t want to desire him, didn’t want this. But I couldn’t fight it. I didn’t want to. “You want to know the man I am, Sofia?” The way he said it, the look in his eyes and the deepness of his voice, startled me. He was like an animal waiting to pounce on his prey, just take the weaker creature and devour it. And I was that weaker animal. He moved back from me, his hand leaving my throat. He started undoing the buttons of his shirt, pushing the material off his shoulders, and I was left speechless as I stared at the body before me. I’d been able to see how strong and muscular he was even when he wore a suit. Thick biceps, vein-roped arms, a defined six-pack and that V that framed it, and tattoos covering it all. It wasn’t the ink that startled me, but the thick scars I saw underneath. Ones that looked like knife wounds, maybe even cigarettes burns? There was an array of other nastylooking ones that could be made out if I looked hard enough. The ink did a good job of camouflaging it all, but they were there, a testament of the violent life he’d led. Were they self-inflicted or brought on by another? Had he been held down and tortured, or freely accepted his fate? The words slammed into my head, the questions replaying over and over again. “The monster I am is on the inside and outside, Sofia.” He moved toward me again. My legs were still spread, and he stepped between them, his body heat seeping into me. “I never pretended to be someone I’m not.” He tilted his head to the side, his focus on my mouth, his dark eyes like coal. “Beaten as a child, sold into an illegal underage fighting circuit, I made sure I stayed alive. That’s all I knew how to do.” He had his hands on my thighs, his fingers long, rough. He added a little bit of pressure. I knew he could snap my bones with ease, his strength not something he showed. It was just who and what he was. “Love and affection is not something I know, not something I will ever embrace.” He slid his hands up my thighs, over my belly, along the curve of my breasts, and wrapped them around my throat once more.

There was no fear in me, despite my heart thundering and my palms sweating. The feeling of his hands on my neck was comforting, secure. “The love I learned was fists slamming into my body, blood filling my mouth. Eating, breathing…surviving, meant I fought my way to the top.” He moved an inch closer, his hard cock pressed to my pussy again. “That’s the type of man I am, the only comfort I know.” His mouth was so close to mine, his warm, sweet breath moving along my lips. “But I saw you, and this obsession grew, this possessive need to have you, claim you as mine.” He looked me right in the eye, maybe willing me to understand the severity, depravity of what he meant. “And for the first time in my life I wanted something soft and sweet.” Could he hear my heart beating, see how rapid my breathing was? “So you know who I am, see what I am.” He moved his hands down my arms, squeezed my wrists, then moved them behind my back. “Keep them there.” He then lowered himself to his haunches, placed his hands on my thighs, and wrenched them open until pain sliced through my muscles. I was wrapped up in a delusion that I was his, or maybe it wasn’t delusional at all. Maybe I was his, in every way, and in the end I’d be this twisted, warped, desperate person, needing his touch, aching for it. “So pink. So wet.” He looked up at me, the shadows playing across his face. He leaned forward, and I held my breath. “Make noise for me, pretty girl. Scream, lash out if you want. Pain and pleasure make one strong emotion that’s undeniable.” I squeezed my eyes shut. I shouldn’t want to feel good, but God, I did. And when he ran his tongue up my slit, swirling along my clit, the noise did spill from me then. “Never deny me, sweet girl,” he said against my soaked flesh. He ran his tongue up and down my pussy, lapping up my arousal. “Never deny me and I’ll give you the fucking world on its knees, bowing to you.” He gave my pussy one last lick, causing me to shiver. He rose up, moved his thumb along the pulse right below my ear, and said, “Always be my good girl and you’ll reign over it all.” I didn’t know what that meant, didn’t know if I wanted to know. He had his hands on my waist, and in a second he had me flipped over, my belly on the vanity, my ass popped out. God, he was so strong. Cameron had my hands still clasped behind my back with the slightest discomfort. Everything happened so fast. My heart spun. My pulse raced. The feeling of his warm breath on my ass had me glancing over, seeing him kneeling behind me. He pulled my ass cheeks apart and stared at what he revealed. I was dizzy, my world rocking on its axis, twisting, turning. Uncontrollable. “You smell so sweet, so innocent, and mine.” He squeezed my flesh, a sharp sensation that claimed me, grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go. “You’re so fucking wet for me, for the fact I want to defile you, do things to you that you’ve never imagined.” He growled low in his

throat, this animal feral, stalking. He moved his lips over the top of my ass and took hold of each of my cheeks in his big hands. He just held his hands there, not doing much but kissing my flesh, running his teeth along the mounds. “I know you hate this, that you fucking loathe the fact you’re greedy for me, your body primed, ready for my invasion.” The cry that left me was more from arousal than anything else. He smoothed his hands over my waist, gently, almost caringly. But then he dug his fingers into me, making me still, holding me in place. “Oh God.” I tried to move away from his erotically abusive mouth, knowing that I shouldn’t want this. It was this instinct in me, this fight mode that had my toes rising, my heart thundering. “You already crave me, my touch, my mouth on you. And my cock will soon be filling you, stretching you.” He ran his teeth along my flesh, and a violent shiver worked its way through me. “My need for you, my obsession knows no bounds.” “This is twisted, insane.” “Sweet girl.” He was tormenting me with the promise of forced ecstasy. “Trying to fight me makes this better, turns me on more.” He groaned deeply. “I want all of you, your emotions, the sensations you feel,” he said and placed a finger by my pussy opening. “I want your words, the screams of your orgasm, the pleas for me to stop.” He pulled the digit away, never fully penetrating me, just staying right there at the cusp. “And when you beg me to stop, cry out for more, I’ll make you see that there is no end.” And then he did penetrate me, but not where I thought he would. He moved his tongue along the secret part of me, the spot hidden until he’d displayed it, pulled my ass apart. His entire focus was there, making me squirm, making me hate myself for wanting it so much. I was lost in the sensations, in the feeling of him running that muscle up and down me, teasing the hole, gently prodding it. He made me take it, made me want it. With his hand on the center of my back now, keeping me there, making me accept this, I felt the air leave my lungs. I didn’t know if someone could get off from this, but the intense sensations I felt made me realize that anything Cameron did to me, I’d want ten times over. Tears tracked down my cheeks, my emotions so turbulent I couldn’t control them, didn’t want to. The hand still holding on to my ass gave a hard, painful squeeze. Cameron licked that dark, secret place once more, then pulled away, spun me around, and stared me in the eyes. I was still crying, unable to stop. “Maybe I don’t want this.” The sweet, salty flavor of my tears slid down my cheeks, a path of sorrow, of need. I didn’t know why I said anything, why I felt the need to kick the hornet’s nest. I cried because the emotions, the sensations were too much, too intense. He placed his hand right between my thighs, right where I ached for him. I opened my mouth on a silent gasp when he started rubbing my clit. The pleasure built inside of me. Cameron

made this deep, humming sound. “Lies. Fucking lies, Sofia.” His hand holding my waist was bruising me, no doubt having purple and blue marks forming on my pale flesh. “With me you’ll only tell the truth. And if I have to force it out of you, make you come as you say the words, so fucking be it.” I knew I couldn’t lie. My body betrayed the truth, denying what I said. I tried to stay strong, distant. And then he wrenched the pleasure from me, reaching in deep to my very soul, pulling it out and ripping it free. I was helpless to stop myself, but truth was I didn’t want to fight it, didn’t want to pretend I didn’t want this. I started crying, the pleasure too much, the realization of it all too much for me to take in. “My sweet Sofia.” Before I knew what was happening, Cameron had me in his arms, cradling me to his hard, powerful body, and holding me. He said things low, far too quietly for me to hear, but I didn’t need to know what he said. The atmosphere had changed, and in that moment I was here because I wanted to be. I wanted the beautiful torment he delivered, gave me freely. I didn’t push him away, didn’t try to run. Instead I let Cameron carry me to the bed, knowing I was done fighting, even if it was only myself the war had been with.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I COULD SEE this wild look in Cameron’s eyes as he stared down at me, as he looked me over like I was this feast and he was eating for the last time. There was this part of me, this loud, raging part, that wanted to submit in all the ways that counted. Do it. Accept it. Be his. “Spread for me.” His voice was low, demon-like in its intensity, in the quality. While he stared at the valley between my thighs, he started undressing. He went for his belt, the button of his slacks. He pushed the material off, stood before me like this tattooed, scarred god that was intent on destruction. I must not have been fast enough, because he growled low, grabbed my inner thighs, and wrenched my legs open. “When I say spread for me, that means open fucking wide, Sofia. I want to see what I’ll be taking as mine.” He dug his fingers into my skin. “I want to see your virgin cunt, all open for me like a flower, wet, needy for my cock.” He kept his hands on me, his fingers in my flesh. I wanted his mark, those bruises that told me I was his property and he owned me. My muscles strained from the force with which he held them apart. All he did was stare at me, look right at my pussy, appraise it, memorizing every line, every part that was primed. “A virgin who likes her pussy lips bare…” He trailed off, one of his eyebrows lifting as if this intrigued him. Cameron moved his hands up my thighs until he framed my pussy, his big, tattooed fingers on either side of the most intimate part of me. “I’m going to tear you up, pretty girl.” Maybe his words should have frightened me, disgusted me, or made me want to lash out. But all I did was get wetter. He made this low sound in the back of his throat, and I had no doubt he saw the product of my desire for him coating my pussy lips. “And you want that too.” He said that almost to himself. He pulled my lips apart, and the chilled air moved along my inner folds, teasing me, making me shiver with desire. I was transfixed by him, frozen in place by the dark desire reflected at me. And then my heart stalled when he moved back, reached down for his belt, and wrapped half of it around his hand. Maybe he saw the fear in my eyes, the worry clouding me, because his chuckle was low and deep, taunting me. “Your fear only turns me on more.” I was about to push myself up,

not sure why, not sure if I’d try and stop what was surely about to happen next, but Cameron stopped me. He brought the leather down on the bed beside me, making me still, having my heart stop. “Turn around; present your ass to me.” “What are you going to do?” The words were low, stuttering out of me, broken and chipped. His laugh was deep, twisted, sadistic. I knew it was obvious, but I wanted him to say it, wanted that brutality in his words to be a reality. “Oh, Sofia, I’m going to bring this belt down on your pretty peach flesh, making it red, seeing the welts of my desire on your body.” He took a step closer, the glint from his belt buckle catching the dim light. “Now, turn over and let me see your pretty ass.” The look he gave me said I wasn’t to disobey. And I don’t want to. I moved onto my belly, looking over my shoulder, needing to see this, watch this act. He wasted no time. He moved all the way toward the end of the bed, lifted his arm up, and before I could brace myself, he was bringing the leather right across my ass. I had no time to react, to process any of this because he kept hitting me, bringing that wickedly good leather down on my flesh, sensitizing it, making it burn, tingle. Hot tears of pleasure fell from my eyes, burning their way down my cheeks like Cameron was doing with that belt on my flesh. All the while he stared right into my eyes, his look hot, pleasure-filled. He got off on this, hearing my gasps of pain, my swift inhalations of pleasure. He was getting excited by the fact he caused me this agony while gracing me with ecstasy. “Spread even wider,” he ordered, and I obeyed. I had my teeth gritted so tightly I felt like they’d break. Beads of sweat started to line my skin, a visual of how strained I was, how excited he made me feel. I anticipated this, was curious about how far he’d go. Would he be gentle this first time with me? The rational part of me screamed no. And when he brought the belt down on my ass once more, the leather stinging, maybe even breaking the skin, I cried out. “That’s it,” he said low, almost too softly for me to hear. He slipped his hand between my legs, and a startled sound left me. “So wet. You cry, but you like this.” And then I heard the clank of what I assumed was the belt hitting the floor. The weight of him covered my back, the hard length of his dick settling right between my folds. I was breathing so hard, the air leaving me, making the sheets humid, hot. I was hyperventilating. Could you pass out while lying down? “Calm yourself,” he said right by my ear. The thick, long length between his thighs, nestled right at my pussy, was intimidating. God. I thought for a second about how he wouldn’t fit, how the pain would be too much. He’d split me in two, make me hurt, bleed in ways that had nothing to do with taking my hymen. But even though I had those thoughts, I knew he’d fit, knew he’d stretch me, make me take all of him. He’d make me feel good. Cameron started rubbing the thick crest of his cock up and down my slit, showing me what was to come, what he offered. And when he rubbed it over my clit, eliciting a little moan from me, I felt like I’d suffocate from the pressure of it all.

“There’s no going back. Ready or not, Sofia, I’m about to devour you.” He pressed the head of his dick right at my entrance. My entire body tensed on its own, and I was unable to control it. His hold on my hips hurt so good. Then he pushed into me, making me take it, making me bite my lips until blood welled under my teeth and coated my tongue. The metallic flavor filled my mouth, a shock to my senses. He placed both hands beside my head as he continued to make me take his dick. Sweat bloomed between my shoulder blades, and, as if it was a temptation for Cameron, he lowered his head and ran his tongue along the valley between them. He pulled out slowly and pushed back. Over and over, tormenting me, making me weep with how much more I wanted. I clutched at the sheets, drawing them close to my face, saturating them with my tears, my honesty. There was darkness and light, literally and figuratively. In that moment I was his, the same as he was mine. That discomfort and pain slowly started to diminish. My virginity was gone, my virtue, innocence, in the hands of this man. And then he started thrusting into me like the rope tethering him to reality had snapped. He slammed into me so forcefully my body was shoved up the bed. He gripped my waist, keeping me in place, making me the vessel for his pleasure…for my pleasure. The pain took my breath away, the ecstasy confusing the hell out of me. I was full, so damn full of his cock I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even contemplate what was happening. I watched him over my shoulder, saw that he was focused on where we were connected, where he impaled me. His frantic thrusting slowed, and in its place was this lazy, prolonged swing of his hips against me, pushing his dick farther into me, making me take all of him. “You want more, want me to give you so much more you can’t even breathe?” He never stopped moving in and out of me. I felt the darkest parts of me rise, wage war with what I should want, should feel. He slid his hand up my back, moved it around to my throat, and circled my neck. The pressure, the slight feeling of him cutting off my airflow was just enough that I felt dizzy, just enough that I only felt him. He was a monster, a sadistic beast. He was the only person who could make me feel like this, who could free me. “I want more, so much more from you.” He uttered those words low, sharp, like a blade over my skin. He applied more pressure to my neck, released it, and clenched around my throat again. Dizzy, clear, twisted, alive. I felt conflicting emotions. Cameron was thrusting in and out of me ferociously now, his skin slapping against mine, forcing his way into me, out of me. Repeat. He plowed in and out of me, a mortar and a pestle. “Give yourself to me, tell me that you’re mine, that you want this, want all that comes with it.” He pounded into me, thrusting those long, thick inches into my willing body, making me take it all.

I closed my eyes, opened myself up, and allowed myself to just absorb the sensations. I came for Cameron, feeling him stretching me beyond belief, taking me to a place I’d never even known existed. The darkness kissed my flesh, stroked its icy cold hands on my body, and held me down. Cameron pressed his hand in the center of my back, thrusting, his motions hard, powerful. “Tell me you’re mine,” Cameron said in this almost violent voice. “I’m yours,” I cried out, the words spilling from me as if they were their own entity, wanting out, wanting to be free, as well. I was aware of Cameron slamming his cock in and out of me, but my mind was adrift, my body detached. I could only feel. He made this low, dangerous sound, and I felt him get thicker in me. “You’re fucking mine,” he said; then I felt him come, felt him fill me up, bathe me in his seed. He held me down, made me take it all, accept what he had to give me. The pleasure, Cameron’s desire, lasted a lifetime. And when he gave one last grunt, one final thrust, he rested his chest on my back. We were sweaty, our breathing rough, hard, and I felt my body start to shake. It was like I was coming down from this incredible high, feeling this chill seep into my very marrow. I hadn’t fought, hadn’t tried to survive. I’d given in to Cameron, became his willing victim, and God, it felt…freeing.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I STARED at myself in the bathroom mirror, feeling out of place, distant. Cameron had only told me a couple of hours ago that he had an event to go to, one where I would go with him. I’d be his arm candy, and even though he hadn’t said that, I’d read between the lines. I really doubted this “event” would have the legal, law-abiding type of citizens. I was afraid, even if I knew Cameron wouldn’t let anyone hurt me. I slid my hand down my stomach, over the silky material of the dress he’d given me to wear. My time was almost up with Cameron, the two weeks going in this blur of emotions and feelings. I only had a couple of days left here, and although I should be glad, my life free, I couldn’t help this emptiness that filled me. This hadn’t just been about keeping a deal. Cameron had taken my virginity, slept beside me, keeping me close. I wasn’t stupid enough to think he cared for me, but did so because I was his property. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t grown attached to him, needing him, wanting him. I placed my hand right between my thighs, still sore, still remembering the way he felt in me that first night. He touched me, stroked me with his mouth and tongue, caressed every part of me. But I knew he wouldn’t keep that up, knew he had a limited time with me, only the two weeks we’d agreed to. The sound of someone knocking on my door had me leaving the bathroom. Just as I walked out, I saw the bedroom door opening. Damien stood on the other side, his focus on me, his gaze cold, hard. “Cameron’s downstairs waiting for you.” I nodded. He turned and left, leaving the door open. I glanced down at myself again, the cream dress form-fitting, the silk showing off my curves—what little I had, anyway. Taking a deep breath was meant to try and calm me, but it didn’t. I’d noticed that being here had my body, my mind all in disarray. I wasn’t nervous or afraid of what might happen. I felt this way because the excitement of being with Cameron, others’ gazes on us, seeing him touch me if he wanted, simply because he could, made me anticipate it all. Steeling myself, I straightened my shoulders and headed out of the room and down the stairs. Cameron stood by the door, his focus on his phone, his fingers moving over the keys. He was messaging someone, and I couldn’t help but feel this twinge of amusement that a man such as Cameron, big and strong, scary and dangerous, was texting. I placed a hand on the banister, curling my fingers around it, the wood cold, smooth. I

took that first step, descending, my heart in my throat. I moved toward him, and he glanced up while placing his phone in his pocket. His gaze roamed over my body, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the view as well. He wore a dark tux, the white shirt under it stark, crisp. His tattoos could still be seen, creeping up his throat like icy fingers of dread —or power. Cameron held his hand out to me, the ink covering the back of it frightening as well as intimidating in appearance. When I slipped my hand in his, he curled his fingers around mine, pulling me closer, his hard body coming in contact with my soft one. He said nothing to me, just cupped the back of my hair. One of the servants had done my hair, a chignon that looked haphazard but elegant, whimsical even. And when I thought the air would leave my lungs, suffocation my last experience, he leaned down and kissed me. It wasn’t sweet, wasn’t soft. He took control, plunging his tongue into my mouth, claiming me, making me know he was the one who held the power. And strangely enough, I was okay with that. Without me giving my consent about it, without allowing myself to be here, experiencing it, Cameron had no power over me. I had strength in this “relationship” too, maybe even more than he did. That knowledge, that realization was heady. He broke the kiss but kept his hand on my neck. “Tonight is informal, more or less. You’ll be free to wander, but I’d prefer you stay close. Some of the guests at this event are… questionable in their endeavors.” And without another word, without waiting for me to say anything in response, he opened the door and we stepped outside. There was a stretch limo waiting, the back door already opened, Damien clearly waiting for us. Once in the back, the door shut, the scent of leather and Cameron filling my head, I sank back against the seat to try and calm myself. The privacy divider was down, but as soon as Damien climbed into the driver’s seat, he rolled it up, blocking Cameron and me from everything else. The car started moving, and the silence stretched between us. I stared out the tinted window, the sun already having set, so it was much too dark for me to really see anything. But looking out the window seemed better, safer, than trying not to glance at Cameron. “Look at me,” he said in a deep, baritone voice. I turned and stared at him, glancing into his dark eyes, wondering what he thought about, what he saw when he stared into my eyes. Did he see a broken girl, or did he see the changes in me, the ones I felt transforming me inside since being with him, experiencing his delicious capture? “Come closer,” he demanded softly. There was a dim light in the back of the limo, giving way to this dreamlike atmosphere, this almost hazy experience. I shifted on the seat, the leather and my dress causing my movements to be water-like. Before I knew what was happening, Cameron had me on his lap, his hands on my waist, his lips on mine. I was startled, gasping, the sudden movement making me feel off balance. Cameron moved his mouth slowly yet thoroughly against mine at the same time he slipped the dress up my legs. He moved his hand over my ass, the barely there thong I wore hardly a barrier. Cameron started rubbing ever so slowly the crease where my ass met my thighs. I was uncomfortable, because Damien was right on the other side of that thin protective shield.

If he wanted to speak with Cameron, he’d only have to push it down and he’d see the act we were doing. But in the same breath that act turned me on like no other. He slipped his hand farther down, right over my panty-covered pussy. And then he moved the material aside and ran his finger through my slit, eliciting a soft moan from me. I was still sore from what he’d done to me, from how he’d stretched m, despite it being two weeks since I arrived. Even my thighs objected to being spread, straddling his muscular frame. And when he applied pressure to my clit, I gasped, knowing I could come like this. “Seeing you like this, unhinged, at my mercy, does more to turn me on than anything else.” He rubbed my clit harder, a little faster. I’d come for him soon, and I didn’t want to fight it. I was so wet, maybe embarrassingly so. The sound of his finger moving over my soaked flesh filled the back of the limo. Could Damien hear what was going on? Did he know what was happening even if he couldn’t? I opened my mouth, the pleasure building, the silent cry right on the tip of my tongue. “Let go,” he said, those two words more of a demand than anything else. And when he slipped a finger into me, all the while still rubbing the little bud, I finally let go. It was like a dam opening up inside of me, breaking free, washing through my entire body and claiming me. I gasped and found myself biting down on his shoulder, knowing it had to hurt. He hissed, but a groan still followed. The ecstasy was body absorbing, taking me further away, higher up. And when the high faded, my body relaxed, my mind calmed, I rested against Cameron’s chest. He wrapped his arms around me, the act gentle, caring even. It was so against the man he portrayed, the one who killed without remorse because he could, because he had to in order to survive. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, but Cameron held me the whole way, moving his hand up and down my back, letting me relax, be calm before the storm. I could have stayed like this forever.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“WE’RE HERE,” Damien said through an intercom placed close to us. I lifted my head, surprised that the time had gone by so fast. Cameron helped me off him, and I adjusted my dress, making sure I was righted. Through the window I could see the massive house we’d pulled in front of. There were cars lined up, each one waiting their turn. I watched one of the cars farther up, this sleek red sports car. One of the staff opened the door, and a gorgeous blonde in an equally gorgeous ruby-colored gown stepped out. The man who accompanied her was older, maybe even double her age. They walked up the massive steps that led to the front door, and then we were moving forward. I was still wet between my thighs, the arousal and orgasm Cameron had brought forth in me not dimming in the slightest. Blood rushed through my veins, this excitement and fear coursing through me. Once it was our turn, the back door was opened. Cameron stepped out, then promptly held his hand out for me. I slipped mine into his much larger palm, allowing him to pull me out gently, and together we ascended the steps. My mind was whirling, my pulse racing. I could hear music coming from the inside. I wanted to ask what this event was about, but I knew better. And truth was I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to know about the men who were here, ones who were most likely dangerous, just as much as Cameron. We headed inside, and my breath was stalled in my lungs at the sight before me. Crystal chandeliers, a smoke-filled atmosphere smelling of sweetness, and servants walking around with silver trays and champagne flutes filled with bubbling liquid took up my view. I saw a few other servants with trays filled with hors d’oeuvres, the staff’s backs stiff and their expressions blank. The guests were in expensive outfits, diamonds and gems dripping from them. The men looked severe and intense as they spoke to each other. The women appeared to be more ornamental than anything else, their heads downcast, their expressions void. I didn’t miss the fact that some of the men eyed me, their gazes lewd. I felt Cameron wrap his arm around me, pulling me closer to him. I sank against his hard body, feeling like nothing could touch me. I knew he didn’t have to bring me here, didn’t have to show me off. He wanted to because he knew he could protect me, keep me safe. Twisted reasoning or not, I trusted him. For the next twenty minutes we walked around. I held a champagne flute in my hand, the liquid warming in the glass because I wasn’t drinking it fast enough. Cameron spoke with

a few men, his voice even, the respect they had for him clear. And then one man started speaking in another language, his voice clipped, his words clearly angry, even though I didn’t know what he said. The man had gray, thinning hair, and his eyes were these thin little black beads. He stopped in front of us, a young, voluptuous, and busty woman hanging on his arm. She too had her head downcast and couldn’t be more than twenty-five. Cameron’s arm was still wrapped around me tightly, but his fingers digging into my waist told me he was focused on the man he was speaking with, not realizing what he was doing. I slipped out of his hold, and he stopped speaking and looked at me. The man started rambling off in that other language, and Cameron turned and barked out a string of words. The other man paled, his back going straight, his eyes narrowing. Cameron looked at me again. “I’m just going to walk around, see the art.” Cameron looked me in the eyes, his gaze penetrating, intense. He finally nodded, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think he wouldn’t know where I was. I walked down one of the hallways, the guests thinning as they congregated with each other at the front of the house. The art was colorful, erratic even. I kept moving, looking at each piece. There was a set of open double doors to my right, and I moved closer. I didn’t want to be nosy, but the lights were on, and I saw even more art. Surely if no one was allowed in here, the doors would be shut. I stepped inside, the lights dimmer than I’d originally thought, the corners hidden with shadows, making the art seem ominous. I walked around, the scent of old leather, roses, and something darker filling the air. The sound of wood creaking behind me had me looking over my shoulder. A man stepped inside, his focus on his cell, his face cast in a scowl. He said something low, too low for me to understand. He shoved his cell in his pocket, went to turn around, but then spotted me. For a second he just stared at me, his dark eyes seeming like endless pools. It gave me the chills, made me frightened. I didn’t know why, but I didn’t want to be in the same room with him. “You like the art?” His voice was thickly accented. I nodded, not sure why I felt so nervous, so off-kilter. I wanted to go back to Cameron. I went closer to the door, but he shifted, blocking me. His smile was so dark it actually made me uncomfortable. Warning bells started going off, red flags flashing in front of my eyes. I needed to get to people, to the crowd. There I’d feel safe, just like at the club, being swallowed whole by the sea of bodies. “Are you here alone?” I shook my head, my throat far too tight to manage any words. Force them out. Show strength. “I’m not alone.” The need to run, to lash out, to fight ran strong within me. I was pressed to the wall, my hands flat on it, the sweat starting to form on my palms. He moved closer, the cloying, suffocating sensation of his cologne making me sick.

I tried to look around his shoulder, but he’d backed me into a corner, the people at this event farther away than I would have liked. I was blocked by his grossly large muscles. He breathed out hard, the scent of his liquor-laced breath wafting over me, the need to gag strong. My stomach was twisted, turned around. I was in flight or fight, my mind screaming to be rational, that I couldn’t stop this man if I wanted to. But my body wanted to lash out, to survive. “So small, fragile.” He looked into my eyes, his smile grotesque. “I’ll have fun breaking you, girl.” I didn’t know what came over me, but this surge of power, of strength took hold, making me feel—realize—I was not this asshole’s victim. I brought my knee up, rammed it right between his thighs, and felt really damn good when he made this pained sound. “You fucking cunt,” he gritted out. He was slightly hunched, and I knew he wanted to grab himself, relieve the pain I’d caused, but instead he raised his hand. I knew he’d hit back, knew he wouldn’t stand for me attacking him. I wanted to move, tried to in that instant, but his big body blocked me. I tensed, bracing for the hit, but before it came I saw a shadow cross over his body. Then a hand grabbed his arm, pulling back with a force that had him stumbling. The big brute cursed in Russian. Although I didn’t see, couldn’t see who held him away from me at this angle, I knew it was Cameron. I felt it in the air, this charge, this intensity that stole my breath, made me weak, had me shaking. And then the Russian was jerked back and I saw Cameron. He looked furious, enraged, his eyes cold, dead. I shifted, seeing the man’s face now, the fear that covered it. “Damien, take her to the car,” Cameron said, never moving his gaze off the man he still held. I glanced to the side, seeing Damien, not sure where he’d come from. “Let’s go,” Damien said, grabbing my arm, steering me out of the room, down the hall, and out the front door. The limo was already waiting at the bottom of the steps. Damien opened the back door for me and gently pushed me inside. I don’t know how long I sat there, my palms damp, my heart in my throat. Finally the door opened again, and I saw Damien hand Cameron a white rag. Cameron slipped in, his focus on his knuckles. That’s when I saw the blood covering them. I lifted my gaze to his white shirt, seeing the splatters of red along the stark light color. “Did you kill him?” I asked softly, almost frightened to know the answer. He didn’t respond me right away, just continued to clean his hands off. I looked out my window, not expecting a response. This was Cameron, after all. “Whether I did or didn’t isn’t the point.” I glanced at him after he spoke. “Isn’t it?” He looked at me then, his face hidden partially by the shadows, his expression void.

“No.” I slowly inhaled, not sure if I should push this. I wanted to, wanted to see what he was thinking about, what was going on in his head. I wanted to learn about him, know what made him tick. But I also knew Cameron was a mystery, didn’t let people in, and I doubted even if he trusted them. “But I didn’t kill him, even if I should have.” He stared me right in the eyes. “Make no mistake, Sofia. I wanted to rip his balls off and shove them down his throat for even thinking he could look at you.” This draft of frigid air slammed into me. “The fact he touched you…” He shook his head slowly. “If he wasn’t who he was, and a man I need alive for business purposes, I would have fucking gutted him.” I breathed in and out hard and fast, his words like a knife, sharp, deadly. “And no one would have fucking stopped me.” And then this expression covered his face, this hard, cold look that I felt to my bones. It was reflected at me. And then, just as fast as it had shown up, he masked it. Cameron turned and looked out the window, and I did the same. I watched the scenery pass us by, not sure what the sudden change in him was. He seemed angry. Was he blaming this on me? Why does it matter? In a few days I’ll be gone—all of this behind me, my life in front of me. But that felt so empty.



CHAPTER NINETEEN THE FINAL DAY

HE’D KEPT HIS DISTANCE, made me feel isolated. I was starting to feel, to think, this had more to do with his emotions than the fact that he didn’t want me. I found myself moving through the house, running my fingers along the smooth wood, taking in the desolate, dark pictures. The man I cared about, had fallen for during my short time here, was more of an enigma than anything else. He’d been beaten as a child, given away as if he were nothing. He’d fought to survive… literally, and here he was now, standing tall, above everyone else. Although my life, childhood, hadn’t been this bottomless pit like he’d experienced, I did know the darkness he felt, even if it wasn’t nearly to the extent he did. I found myself in front of the bird painting, staring at the mouth, the bleak eyes. I felt for Cameron, wanted to be the one who comforted him, shared in his pain. But a man like him, one who had been through so much, hid what he needed. He wasn’t normal in the sense that he needed, or wanted, comfort. The way he got rid of that darkness, that hardness and hatred, was through rough contact and violence. He’d always be like that, and I accepted it. I accepted him. I found myself moving away from the picture and back to the room. I’d be leaving tomorrow, saying good-bye to all of this, to Cameron. God, that hurt, made my chest ache. I rubbed it, right over my heart. When I pushed the bedroom door open, I froze, seeing Cameron over by the window. His big body kept the curtain to the side as he stared out. There was a glass in his hand, presumably alcohol in it. “Come in and shut the door,” he said, his voice soft, low. I did as he said, but as soon as the door was shut, I felt like I was trapped, no way to escape, no real reason I would want to. “Come here.” I moved closer, feeling the air getting sucked out of my lungs, feeling the room grow hotter, everything becoming tighter. He stayed by the window, his focus on whatever was outside. It was dark, but there were lights on, golden illumination covering the manicured ground. “I told you about my life.” He turned. “In a way, I suppose.” He took a small drink from

his glass. “Beaten as a child, sold off to earn money for people who thought of us as nothing more than a commodity, a paycheck.” He finished off the drink and set the now empty glass on the windowsill. “And no amount of tattoos can cover up the lasting impression they had on me, or what I went through.” He advanced, one step, making me feel smaller, weaker. “And after a while I thrived on the pain, on getting it and hitting back.” He grinned, and it was fucking frightening. “That’s the type of man you allow in your bed, between your thighs.” He was an inch from me now, the scent of alcohol making me drunk. “That’s the man that you’ve grown to care about.” He said that last part so low, so deep, I felt it to my marrow. “And you do care for me,” he said as if he knew that with certainty. “The man I’ve grown to care about…” I was saying it more to myself than asking it as a question, but the truth was between us. He knew it. I knew it. And there was no point in lying. “Have you not grown to care for me?” He reached out, grabbed a lock of my hair, and rubbed it between his fingers. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t right now anyway. He kept rubbing my hair. “Like a distant memory,” he whispered, almost to himself. But as soon as he let that piece of hair go, this hard mask covered his face. “I’ve come to realize the weakness you are to me is far too dangerous.” He looked into my eyes, this piercing, soul-catching expression. “It’s not what I want or need.” He turned, but I grabbed his hand, a bold gesture. He looked over his shoulder, down at my hand, his focus severe. “Don’t you fucking see?” he said, his voice low, dangerous… deadly. “You are here for my pleasure, nothing more.” He gave this humorous, scary laugh. “What did you think would happen, little girl?” I didn’t speak, not because I didn’t want to, but because I didn’t know what to say, how to respond. I didn’t know how to be honest with him. I wasn’t going to let his words affect me, wasn’t going to let him try and push me away. At least not before I told him I cared for him, wanted him. “I do care about you.” And then, right in front of me, I saw that wall shifting, breaking down, being exposed to me. He turned fully around to face me, that wall still breaking down. And then, before I knew what was going on, he pulled me in close. His anger was right there at the surface, and the internal war he fought was clear. He held my body to his, the stiffness of his erection pressing into my belly. Would tonight be rough? Would he take me for the last time in the totally demented way he’d always told me about, threatened he could do to me? Sure, he’d been on the rougher side when he’d taken me, but he’d held me afterward and stroked my skin when he thought I was sleeping. The feeling of his hand on my head, stroking my hair, gentle, caressing sweeps down the length, had me wishing for more time. I wished things could be different. I wished this could be permanent.

He took me to bed then, laying me down softly, being so gentle it almost brought tears to my eyes. This was not a side I’d ever seen in Cameron before. He took my clothes off, his hands soft, sweet even. The kisses, licks, and nibbles made me think of this as a good-bye, that one moment where he was mine and I was his. Once we were naked, his body on top of mine, his hard cock nestled right between my thighs, I was the one who reached down. I was the one who grabbed his dick, placed the tip at my entrance, and urged him to penetrate me. I wanted to feel him deep in my body, stretching me in the way he always did. This was our last time, and although I hated it, wanted to demand he accept what was going on, admit he had feelings for me, I kept my mouth shut. And then he did push into me, rocked back and forth, kept his hand on my throat, and took control. He was gentle, not rushing it, and a part of me knew he wanted it to last. A part of me knew he wanted me to stay, even if he didn’t say the words, even if he wouldn’t. I let him fill me up, claim me, make me understand I was the only woman, the one who held his attention. It didn’t matter what tomorrow held. In this moment I didn’t care about anything but being with him. And when we both found that completion, and he filled me up in the most basic of senses, he pulled out and lay beside me. He held me, pushed my hair from my face, and stared into my eyes. The tattoos, his scars, the life he’d led and the one he continued to lead, didn’t mean anything in that moment. It was just a man and a woman. It was just us. I pulled back and looked at him. This mask was on his face once more, that darkness that recognized me so well, that related to me like the other half of my soul. “Maybe I don’t have to leave.” I didn’t know if he’d answer, didn’t know if he’d react. He was silent, still—his hand still on my body, his focus still on me. And then his jaw hardened, his eyes went flat, and I knew, just knew, come morning, he wouldn’t be in the bed with me. Whatever internal battle he was dealing with was not something I would be allowed to witness. I don’t know if that broke my heart or reminded me that this was exactly who I’d fallen in love with.

The next morning

I SLOWLY OPENED MY EYES, the sun coming through the partially opened blinds washing over me, an invisible blanket of heat, comfort. I was alone in bed. I knew that without even turning and looking at Cameron’s side. This longing took place right in the center of my chest, this pressure, this emptiness. I would go home today, or whatever my shitty apartment could be called. A part of me hoped Cameron would force me to stay, make me his prisoner…only his. I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt this way, clutching at this feeling of being alive, of not being alone anymore. He was hard in all ways, indifferent, cold. But when he looked at me, I saw something shift. I felt it in him, this wave crashing to the surface, brutal, violent almost, but also so beautiful. I didn’t want to move, just wanted to let the situation filter over me, consume me, take me under until I was one with it. But the sound of the door opening had me glancing over, hoping, wishing it was Cameron. I wanted him to tell me I was his, only his, that he wouldn’t let me go. I wanted to be his prisoner. I wanted to be the woman he turned to in order to find that pleasure.

I wanted to be his outlet, because in the end that’s who and what he was to me. I knew things wouldn’t be the same without him in my life, giving me that beautiful torment, that painful pleasure. But it was the maid, her focus on the ground, her hair in a severe bun. She set a tray on the end of the bed, not speaking to me, and turned to leave. The door had only been shut for a moment or two before there was another knock. I pushed myself up on the bed and brought the sheet to my chin. I was naked, my body pleasantly sore, my inner thighs sticky from Cameron’s release just last night. There was another knock, and then I finally called out for them to enter. Damien pushed the door open, his focus trained on my face before he glanced down at the ground. “Cameron has business to attend to, but he instructed me to inform you that after breakfast, and once you’re dressed, I’ll take you wherever you want to go.” God, my throat was so dry, and this anxiety started to consume me, pulling me further under, making me feel uncomfortable. “I won’t see him before I leave?” I hated that I felt so small, so vulnerable right now. I loathed the fact that Cameron made me feel like this and was either too afraid or too much of a bastard to face me himself. I knew I wasn’t hiding my emotions well, knew I was glaring. But Damien, being the stone statue he was, said nothing. “I’ll be downstairs waiting when you’re ready.” He looked at me, and if he was the type of man to show any emotion, I might have thought he felt sorry for me. Yeah, I felt sorry for me too. I’d let my emotions get the best of me, allowed them to hold on tight and not let go. And then he left me alone, and I sat there staring at the tray of food. I would not let this control me. I couldn’t, because if I did, there would be no one there to help me out of the hole when it was all said and done.

I sat alone in the back of the car, the scent of leather filling my head, but there was also the slight aroma of the cologne Cameron wore. I hadn’t seen him when I left the room and met Damien downstairs, but then again, I hadn’t expected to. He was a coward, if a killer could be one. He’d fucked me last night, even held me as I fell asleep, but come morning he’d been gone. He hadn’t even given me the decency or respect to say good-bye. We entered the city and I stared out the window, watching the buildings pass by, seeing the people oblivious to anything that wasn’t right in front of them. I assumed Damien was taking me back to the apartment building, but I didn’t want to go there. “Stop,” I said loudly enough I was sure Damien heard. “Pull in here.” He didn’t question me, just pulled into the driveway and found a parking spot. For a second I stared at the run-down motel, watching the few people loiter on the top balcony, their cigarettes hanging from their mouths, their hair and clothes greasy. I was sure drug deals, even some prostitution went on here. Before I could get out, Damien was climbing out of the car and opening the back door for me. I was thankful he kept his mouth shut, didn’t hassle me on the shithole place I wanted to be dropped off at. But the little I had was at the apartment, a place I didn’t want to go back to, but would probably end up having to in order to at least survive until the next day. “This is for you.” Damien handed me a small black bag. “Inside you’ll find a few changes of clothes from your stay at the house, some money to allow you to leave the city, and this.” He gave me a small slip of paper. A number was written on it, and I wondered if it

was Cameron’s or Damien’s. I didn’t ask. “You’re free, safe, and have enough money in that bag to start a life someplace else, someplace less shitty.” I stared at the number, listening to Damien’s voice, thinking about Cameron. “He didn’t want to say good-bye to me,” I found myself saying, not sure if I was asking myself or Damien. “He had business to attend to.” I glanced up at Damien then. I knew I was just a payment, a debt owed because Cameron had helped me, solved my problem. It was what it was, although I hated the fact I couldn’t see him. I fucking hated the fact I found myself falling for my dark protector, the man willing to kill to make sure I was okay. “If you’re in trouble, you call that number and someone will be there.” Instead of saying something, making a fool out of myself, I just nodded. I took a step back, watched Damien get into the car, and as he drove away I couldn’t help but take in a stuttering breath. I realized in that moment that before Cameron I’d just been surviving. With him I’d been living. But he’d made his point clear, stayed away, took from me what he wanted, and because of my need to survive, to be a fighter, I turned away from the disappearing car, faced the motel, and tried to think about the future. I wouldn’t lie…it looked pretty damn dark.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE WEEK LATER

I WANTED to think that the dark SUVs I’d seen were Cameron looking out for me, hiding inside, watching me, unable to just ignore what we’d shared for those fourteen days. But I wasn’t such a fool to think I meant more than a warm hole to relieve himself in. No, it was more than that. I was his, only his. He made that clear at the party, when he touched me, stroked me from the inside out. He told me as much when he whispered filthy words in my ear as he thrust deep and hard into my body. I’d found myself back at the shitty apartment, packing up what little I had owned. There wasn’t much I wanted to take with me, nothing of great value or importance. But for this last week I’d been trying to push forward, to forget about everything and anything that had to do with Cameron, with my stay in his home. I couldn’t shake him, couldn’t get rid of the image of him, of the memory of how he felt when he touched me. I shoved the last piece of clothing into my backpack, stepped back, and stared at it on my bed. The small black bag Damien had given me before he left sat beside it, the money and phone number within it. Truth was I’d hoped Cameron would come for me, would demand I go with him, stay with him…never leave. And I wouldn’t have. I wanted him, desired that free feeling I had, that moment of bliss where I wasn’t wondering where I was going, where I was headed. Truth was I didn’t know where I was going, not even now, not even with a bag full of money and an empty road ahead of me. I heard the honk of the taxi I’d called downstairs waiting for me, and I grabbed my things and headed outside. But as I stood there, staring at the idling yellow car, the rust around the edges dark, almost like blood under the setting sun, the worry and pain claimed me. I rubbed at my chest, the idea of leaving, of not telling Cameron what I wanted, who I wanted, wearing down on me so heavily I couldn’t even breathe. “You coming or what?” the taxi driver shouted out the open passenger window. I took a step toward it, but froze, finding myself shaking my head. I couldn’t leave without at least telling Cameron how I felt, how he made me feel. “No,” I whispered, but when I heard the driver curse, I knew he’d heard me just fine. He sped off, his tires screeching out, the name he’d called me right before he took off ringing in my head. I grabbed the cheap pay-for-minutes phone out of my backpack, took the slip of paper out as well, and stared at both of them. I knew that I should have just left, said good-bye to those two weeks, to the shit life I’d allowed myself to live. But I was still here

and wanting to be truthful for once in my life. If he wanted me, wouldn’t he have stayed, made me be with him? If he craved me the way I do him, wouldn’t he have come for me by now? Maybe he wants nothing to do with me. Was I just a convenience, a person to find his pleasure in? Or could he be doing this, staying away, to protect me? It was that latter thought, the little nagging in the back of my head, that had me dialing the number Damien had given me. I stood there, feeling cold all of a sudden, nervous, my hands shaking, my breath coming out hard and fast. And when the ringing stopped, I swore my heart did too. “I need Cameron,” I said, not sure what the future held in me making this decision, but wanting to find out either way. I needed to.

I stayed in front of my apartment building, the man on the other end not a voice I recognized. But he’d told me to stay put, that they knew where I was, and someone would come here to pick me up. I didn’t exactly know what my problem was, and for all I knew they assumed it was bad if I was calling them. But I’d have to be honest, tell them there was no “problem,” not in the sense they were probably thinking. I had to see Cameron again, even if this was the last, the only time. I had to admit my feelings, that I felt lost without him, that being his, letting him consume me in the way he had, was what I needed in my life. I wanted to think that I was prepared if he pushed me

aside, that he might cut me deep with his words, but truth was I probably wasn’t. It had been ten minutes since I’d made the call, and I saw a dark SUV turn the corner and come my way. My heart raced at the sight of it, and I knew my anticipation and nervousness might have been considered fear by looking at me. The vehicle came to a stop beside the curb in front of me, and the driver’s side door opened. I watched Damien come around, his focus intense on me. I also noticed he kept scanning the area. He opened the back door for me, and I saw long, muscular legs covered in expensive material come into view. Cameron. I climbed into the back of the SUV, the door shutting behind me, my eyes needing to adjust to the change in light. And when they did I stared at Cameron, who sat beside me. He stared at me, his dark gaze locked on me, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. “Take us to the property, Damien,” Cameron said without breaking his focus on me. The car started moving, and I settled back. I didn’t know what property he was referring to, but I didn’t really want to do this with an audience. It was me who ended up breaking the eye contact and looking out the window. I don’t know how long we drove for, but it was done in silence, the air thick, the temperature hot. Maybe twenty minutes or so later we finally pulled onto a dirt road, staying on that for another ten minutes, and then stopping. The headlights illuminated the dilapidated house that stood in the distance, trees sporadically around the open property. “Where are we?” When he didn’t respond, I glanced at him. “A piece of property I own. I come out here to meet with less than superior clients at times. I need this for privacy.” Yeah, I could see that. It was deserted, out in the middle of nowhere, and I had to assume if someone needed to use a gun, there would be no one around to hear it. “You said you’re in trouble.” He didn’t phrase it like a question. I glanced at Damien on instinct, because truthfully I wanted this to be a private conversation between Cameron and me. “Give us a moment alone, Damien,” Cameron finally said, but he was looking at me again. A second later Damien was out of the car. Cameron lifted an eyebrow, clearly waiting for me to speak. “I’m not in trouble.” I looked down at my hands. They were in my lap, and I realized I was nervously picking at my shirt. I looked back at him again. “At least not in the way you are probably assuming.” “I know,” he said, and a part of me wasn’t really shocked he knew that. Cameron pretty much knew everything. “You knew?” I found myself asking. The look he gave me was indifferent. “You think I didn’t know what you were doing, where you were, or if you were safe?”

I shifted, feeling the weight of his gaze on me, knowing he could read me with just a look. “I knew, Sofia.” I twisted my hands together, swallowing roughly. “I assumed you didn’t care.” This was really not how I’d seen this conversation going. For a second we didn’t speak, but everything seemed so loud, so intense. “Why didn’t you say good-bye? Why didn’t you see me before I left?” I might as well lay it all out, because that was the whole reason I’d called him. “Did I mean nothing to you?” My voice was whisper soft, my emotions threatening to come forth. I wouldn’t let them though. I wouldn’t let them control me, wouldn’t let Cameron see them. He looked away from me, out the window, and for long seconds stayed like that. I wanted to say something, anything, but my mouth was suddenly dry, and the words didn’t want to form. “I wanted to see you,” he finally said, breaking that thick silence and making my ears ring with awareness. “But watching you leave was too hard. If I’d been there, seeing you get into that car, I’d have pulled you away and demanded you stay.” He looked at me then. My heart was beating so hard it hurt. “I wanted to keep you as mine, to have you close, care for you. But even a bastard like me knows my world is too toxic for you, Sofia.” Even though his words held so much meaning, he kept his cool composure. “You saw where I came from, where my life was,” I whispered. He reached out, and for a second I thought he’d pull me close, say fuck it all, and tell me I was his. Instead he pushed a strand of my hair away, his finger brushing along my cheek, a shiver working its way through my body. “All the materialistic things are easy to give you, Sofia. It’s the happily ever after I can’t offer.” I shifted to face him fully. “I don’t want a happily ever after.” I shook my head. “I don’t want the fairy tale.” “Tell me what it is you want, what I can give you.” He shifted slightly too, his big body facing me now. “Because mayhem and bloodshed rule my world.” He was the one to slowly shake his head now. “As much as I want you chained to my side, only mine, I can’t be a motherfucker and say that’s what’s right for you, safe for you.” He held my gaze with his own, that focus speaking so loudly. Seconds ticked by, and I wanted to tell him so much more, explain how I felt, what he did to me. “I want to keep you safe from my world…from me, Sofia.” I reached out to him, not stopping myself, not able to help myself. “Don’t you see, it’s your world that I want? I need everything and anything that makes up Cameron Ashton. It’s your darkness that calls to me, that makes me feel alive, makes me yearn for more.” I was crying now, and Cameron reached out to smooth his thumb over my cheek, collecting the tear. He brought it to his mouth and sucked the droplet off, focusing on me. Always on me. “You make me cry because I’m happy.” I finally broke up the silence. “I don’t think I’ve ever tasted your tears when you’ve been happy,” he said softly. He had,

even if he didn’t realize it. “You make me happy,” I said honestly, not about to deny how I felt anymore. I wasn’t going to lie, wasn’t going to hide. “And being without you and not feeling that passion, darkness…freedom, is not something I want to experience, Cameron.” I braced myself for the rejection, because even if he did want me, he was a strong-willed man. But before I could say something else, maybe repeat how much he meant to me, how much I needed him in my life, he had me pulled onto his lap. His arms were around me, holding me painfully tight. “You’re not afraid, not terrified of the man I am, the corruption I’ll smother you with?” I rested my head on his shoulder, hearing his breath move along my ear, smelling the manly scent of him that surrounded me, and wanting nothing more than to stay in this moment forever. “Would you have come for me?” I didn’t know if I wanted to know the answer. He stroked my back, running his hands up and down, soothing me, making me feel whole. “It was hard not making you stay with me, but for once in my life I tried to be the good guy. I tried to let you go free.” He pulled me back and looked into my face. “But honestly, yes, I would have.” He cupped the side of my face, the heat from his body like fire on my skin. “I would have crushed anyone and made a bridge out of their bodies just to get to you.” My heart stuttered in my chest. “You’re sure you want this? Because if so I’m really not fucking letting go.” For the first time in my life I wasn’t afraid of anything. “I’m sure.” He crushed me to him, and I let that darkness fill me, match my own, grab on to it and not let go.



EPILOGUE

LIFE HAS a funny way of working out, of moving forward when you think it has stopped, stuck in the past. I hadn’t known what life was like, not truly, not fully, until Cameron opened me up, saw inside, let me see who I really was. Maybe I would have found out what I liked, how I wanted to spread my wings and fly, experience life in my own way, sooner or later. Maybe I didn’t need a man who shared the same darkness I did to know I wasn’t broken, wasn’t ruined. Maybe it took a man who was just as scuffed up as me to know I wasn’t alone. Even as a year had passed, my life revolving on my terms, on my time, I still felt like that lost girl. And when I saw Cameron, felt his hands on me, heard the words of his possession, of his dark love, then I felt alive. I wasn’t a victim, not unless I made myself one. Never again. I sat behind Cameron’s desk at the estate, going over the club paperwork, the finances, the employment history. I was in charge of helping Damien hire on new staff, vetting them out, making sure they could be trusted, even if they’d just be delivering drinks to customers. It was what I wanted to do, be a part of something bigger. It might not be the most prestigious job, a path I saw myself doing, but it allowed me to be near the man I loved, and earn my own money—even if Cameron insisted on taking care of me in all ways. The sound of the door opening had me glancing up. Damien stood in the doorway, his hands behind him, his body ramrod straight. “He’s here.” Just then my cell rang, and I picked it up and saw Cameron’s number flash along the screen. As if on instinct my body warmed, became soft, and everything in me was alive with awareness…anticipation. “You’re ready, baby?” His deep voice pierced right through me, and I glanced at Damien, feeling my face heat, my body reacting to the sound of Cameron’s voice. “Yes.” I disconnected the call, stood, and smoothed my hands down the evening gown Cameron had sent to the house for me to wear. I turned and faced the window, seeing the gleam of his black Mercedes coming up the drive, the sun glinting off the exterior, the

windows tinted so I wasn’t able to see him. He was taking me out, and although Cameron never did anything normal, and this wouldn’t be a dinner and chick-flick kind of night, he made sure each and every second we spent together was intimate and special. At least that’s how he made me feel. I left the room when the Mercedes came to a stop. I felt Damien follow behind, his big body always a constant. Over the last year, and honestly well before I was even in this situation, in this relationship with Cameron, Damien had always been there. He was the silent enforcer, the man who looked after me, made sure Cameron had his back watched at all times. He was a part of us in his own way, and the truth was if he wasn’t around, I would feel this loss. It was strange, but that was my world now. I opened the front door and stepped outside, the sun already set, the moon high, and the lights of the estate in full bloom. My heart started beating even harder, even faster. Damien was already moving toward the back of the Mercedes, and when he opened the door and Cameron stepped out, that puzzle piece fit right back in place inside of me. For a second Cameron and Damien stood by the car and spoke softly. I didn’t need to know what they said, didn’t need to wonder if there was shady back-alley shit going down. This was the life I’d agreed to, the life I wanted to have for my own. Cameron was the man I wanted by my side. “Leave us,” Cameron said to Damien, and also to the driver, who I hadn’t noticed get out of the car until now. When it was just Cameron and me, the familiar heat I felt with Cameron filled me. “Come here,” he commanded, his voice smooth yet hard. I moved toward him, and once I was close enough he could reach out and touch me, he did just that. I was in Cameron’s arms seconds later, the heels I wore not even having me come up to his chin. He was strong where I was fragile. He was masculine where I was feminine. He was the vast openness where I was the darkness. He swallowed me whole without even trying, without even needing to. “I’ve rented out the theater. It’ll be us. Only us.” “Just the way you like it,” I said and tipped my head back to look at him. He didn’t smile, didn’t really show me any emotion, but he didn’t need to. The way he looked at me, that possession in his eyes, told me all I needed to know. I was his world. “I like to keep you all to myself. Always.” He held me tighter. Cameron would never be called sweet or gentle, not in the traditional sense. But that’s not why I loved him, not why I came back and stayed with him. I did so because he gave me what I needed, craved. And I gave him what he needed. Before Cameron I was a bird with clipped wings, living in a rusted cage, the door locked, the key thrown away. But now I flew high, experienced the world, let my wings spread out, and the wind rush over me. “What do you see when you look at me?” I asked, staring into his eyes, seeing that darkness focused on me. With his hands on my face, his body pressed tightly to mine, I felt like I’d never fall.

“Vastness,” he said softly. “You’re my ocean, Sofia. I can’t see anything else but you.”

BONUS EPILOGUE TWO YEARS LATER: CAMERON

For two years I’d kept Sofia as mine, made sure she was protected, the darkness I harbored inside making sure she was safe. The sweet sounds coming from the other room had me moving closer, my heart racing, my thoughts turbulent. The type of man I was—am—ensured that I never saw myself having a woman, a wife or mother of my child. But over the last couple of years I’d gotten all of that and more. I was still a hardcore motherfucker, dealt with illegal holdings, made sure that anyone who thought to cross me knew exactly the wrath I’d inflict on them. But with Sofia and the innocent child she’d given me, I thought I would have softened, bended to the life that a motherfucker like me didn’t deserve to have. But I had become even more ruthless, even more dangerous. They were my life, and keeping them safe and happy was my priority. I stopped in the doorway of the nursery, the baby pink and white décor so soft and unlike the possessions I had in this home. It was the one ray of light in this barren structure, save for the woman who held my heart above all others. I could see the lights shining outside, the bodyguards patrolling the grounds. They were here twenty-four-seven, always ensuring no one came onto the property. I turned my attention back to Sofia, who held our three-month-old daughter. For long minutes, all I did was watch them, knowing that even a bastard like me could be granted the gift of happiness. Sofia hummed to Sasha, and after a few seconds our daughter started to sleep. She held the baby for long minutes after that, running her fingers through the thick tuft of dark hair atop her head, down the bridge of her tiny nose, and tracing her little pink lips. I stood there until Sofia put the baby down in the crib, stared down at the little person we’d created, and finally turned toward me. She seemed surprised to see me standing there, but the smile she gave me lit up the entire fucking room. “Come here,” I said softly, but the harshness in my voice was clear. I was hard for my woman, and even though I should have turned away and let her be, let her body heal from the last raw, hard fucking I’d given her just the night before, I needed her now. She came to me instantly and I held her close, my hand on the roundness of her ass, my other palm cupping the back of her head. I kept her close as I stared at the crib where our child slept.

Sasha hadn’t been planned, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a blessing or wanted. I couldn’t even picture my darkened, hardened life without her in it. Before my daughter was born, Sofia was what made my world bright. Now that the baby was here it was both of my girls that made me want to be a better man, even if I never would be. I closed my eyes and inhaled the sweet, intoxicating scent of Sofia. My dick got hard, digging into her belly, demanding to be buried deep in her pretty, tight cunt. “I want you,” she said and pulled back to look up into my face. I ground my cock into her belly, loving the little sound she made. We left the nursery and went into our bedroom. She moved over to the bed, stripped without me prompting her, and stood there waiting for me to devour her. I let my gaze slide down her body, loving the curves she’d gotten after giving birth. She was gorgeous and mine, and my handprints would look beautiful on her pale flesh. I kept moving my gaze down until I reached her pussy, free of any hair, shaved because I wanted her smooth for when I had my mouth on her. Sofia was mine, and every part of her body belonged to me. I showed her every day how true that was, and would never stop showing her until I took my last breath. Her breathing was changing slightly, increasing, becoming harder, faster with her arousal. Her breasts rose and fell, her nipples hard, the tips a dusky rose. “How wet are you for me?” I said on a low, deep voice, and felt my own desire rising higher. “So wet.” “Then get on the bed and spread wide for me, show me how primed you are for my cock.” She got on the bed, her feet flat on the mattress, her pussy on clear display. I got undressed and immediately grabbed my cock. I stroked myself from root to tip, felt the pre-cum start to form, and used it for lubrication. I moved closer to her and stopped when I reached the edge of the bed. For long seconds all I did was stare at her as I masturbated, gave her a little show so she could see exactly how worked up I was, how much I wanted her. Her cunt was red and swollen, and so fucking wet for me. My dick would slide right in, spread her wide, stretch her good. “Spread your legs even wider for me, Sofia.” She made a small noise, and my dick hardened even more. I didn’t bother stopping myself from getting on my knees between her splayed thighs and slipping my fingers through her folds, coating the digits with her cream. I then lifted them to my mouth and sucked them clean as she watched me. I was starved for her in every way imaginable. And then I had my face buried between her legs. I licked and sucked, swallowed her arousal, and growled for more. The moans that came from her fueled my dark desire. I forced myself to pull away from her pretty pussy, but had a finger lodged in her tight, wet and hot body a second later. I pumped that finger in and out of her and then added another one. I scissored the digits, stretching her good and hard, and she moaned for me, squirming under my touch. I needed this, needed her in all ways.

“You’re mine.” I couldn’t control myself any longer. I removed my fingers from her body, took her chin in a firm hold, and kissed her hard, making her taste herself on my lips and tongue. “I need you now,” she begged, pleading for more. She was mine, and I might own her body, but she owned every single fucking part of me. I positioned myself so my cockhead was at her pussy hole and slid in without waiting. I had a firm hold on her waist, and knew I would leave bruises on her creamy flesh. But I needed to see those marks. The feeling of pushing into her, feeling her clench around my cock and her moaning out my name, nearly had me coming right then and there. My balls drew up tight from my release rising to the surface. “Give it all to me.” She mewled from the pleasure. The air left me harshly when she squeezed her pussy muscles around me. “You feel so fucking good.” I moved in and out of her hard and fiercely, picking up my pace, slamming my hips against hers. I leaned back and watched as my cock tunneled in and out of her slick, soaked pussy. I was going to come, but first I wanted her getting off. I started pumping in and out of her faster, and moved my hand between us, rubbing my thumb along her clit. “Come for me, Sofia.” And then I felt the first ripple of her orgasm move along my shaft. “Oh. God, yes,” she cried out long and hard. This was what I wanted, her sweet surrender. And as she came for me I let myself go over the edge right along with her. The groan that came from me was harsh, guttural. I filled her up, marking her and claiming every fucking part of her. Only when my pleasure dimmed did I pull out of her and collapse on the bed beside her. Sofia breathed out heavily and I pulled her close to me, our bodies sweaty, sated. I still had darkness inside of me, but it was one that Sofia owned. She was the only one that could tame me. “I love you,” Sofia said softly, and I felt this low growl leave me, contentment and happiness filling my blackened heart. “I love you, too, so fucking much it consumes me.” I might never be a knight in white armor for her, sweeping in and destroying the bad guy, but I could be the fucking devil who took care of any motherfucker who crossed her. I could still give her that happily ever after, even if it was by the light of the moon instead of the brightness of the sun.

BUY ME, SIR JADE WEST

This one is dedicated to a flash of inspiration on a cold January afternoon whilst bingeing on Season One of Travelers. And – even more importantly – bingeing on Eric McCormack.

PROLOGUE

MELISSA

I GUESS it was desperation that compelled me to stalk a man as powerful as Alexander Henley. That’s what losing your parents in a late-night hit and run when you’re barely eighteen does for you. It makes you desperate. Not for the college life that trickles down the drain in the aftermath. And not for the stars you were reaching for in your dreams of becoming a criminal lawyer one day. Not even for a let-up in the despair that losing your whole world plunges you into – that soulcrushing pain at knowing you’ll never ever see them again. It makes you desperate to get your shit together for the baby you’re now responsible for. The little boy that is now your everything. That’s why I took the cleaning position at Henley Grosvenor Legal in the first place, to provide for my baby brother. And that’s why I’m here now, in a suite at Delaney’s Spa Resort, with twenty-five grand stuffed in my handbag, and Alexander Henley’s beautiful cock in my ass… I guess I’d better start from the beginning.

CHAPTER ONE

THREE MONTHS earlier

I’M LATE. I’m late. I’m fucking late. Tube strike. Fucking typical on day one of my new job. My reflection looks horrible as I race through the mirrored glass entrance. I’d hoped that cleaning for a firm as prestigious as Henley Grosvenor would have meant something a little more stylish than the scratchy baseball cap and hairnet they mailed out to me. More stylish than the green and white striped sack of crap apron I have to wear over a blouse and starchy polyester skirt, too. But beggars can’t be choosers. “Cleaning induction,” I tell the pristine receptionist. I pull the crumpled instructions from my pocket as I catch my breath, and she glares at the dishevelled state of me. She thinks I’m shit. It’s written all over her face. “Fifth floor,” she tells me. “You’re late.” Like my burning cheeks don’t make it clear I’m aware of that. It feels like a walk of shame, pacing through marble pillars in such a shitty uniform. A badge of minimum wage nobody amongst the tailored suits. I pick up pace as I see the elevator is already open, rushing through the plush seating area as my heart pounds in my chest. It’s packed already, rammed full of legal staff with their morning papers and Starbucks, and so many of them are staring at me, so many of them see me coming and make no move whatsoever to hold the doors. Until him. My heart stutters in recognition, breath hitching as he puts out a hand and stops the doors for me. I clatter in and ease myself tight into the corner, and I want to say thanks so bad, but I don’t. I can’t. He doesn’t meet my eyes, or even really glance in my direction. The doors close and he stares straight ahead as the woman at his side talks him through his morning schedule. Her voice is nasal and whiny, and she over pronounces her words. Misterrr Cal-der, ten-aaay-

emmm. Drunk dri-ving. I press the button for floor five, one of the only levels not illuminated. Figures. And then I look at him, trying not to make it obvious. Alexander James Henley. Jnr. The man I’ve been dreaming about for four years straight. It must be hard having Jnr. after your name your whole life, but I guess that’s what happens when you take over an empire from your larger-than-life, legal legend of a father. He looks just like I remember, and he smells like it too. Woody, like embers. Spicy, like oriental incense. Black suit, white shirt, black tie. His hair is the same, as dark as his suit. His eyes, too, only now he’s got the tiniest lines around the corners. They suit him. He isn’t smiling, not even a bit. His perfect jaw looks so stern and serious, his skin flawless apart from the tiny birthmark he has on his right cheek. My fantasies of a sizzling moment of recognition shrivel and die. He doesn’t remember me, and why would he? I was just a dumb kid when he bummed me a cigarette outside my school gates. He saw hundreds of kids that day, a sea of us packed into the school hall to witness his motivational speech about the legal profession. Corporations in the Community, they called it. Some government scheme or other. I’d been late that morning, just as I’m late today. Too late to catch morning registration, so I’d stopped outside to roll myself a sneaky cigarette before facing the music. My tin was empty apart from the dregs. Dust and a couple of meagre tobacco flakes, barely enough to make even the skinniest roll-up, and there he’d been, propped against the wall in his tailored suit, lighting up a cigarette of his own before he went inside. He’d watched me struggle with my excuse for a roll-up, and then he’d held out his cigarette packet. Insignia. Scrawly font on a beautiful black box. So much more beautiful than the cheap cigarettes the kids at school smoked. “Thanks,” I’d said. He’d sparked up his lighter for me and cupped his hand around the end of the cigarette, and I’d leaned in, trying my best not to look like an idiot as my stomach churned and my heart raced. I’d never smelled success before, but he reeked of it. “You could get arrested for this, you know.” I’d grinned after taking a drag. “Supplying cigarettes to a minor.” He laughed the kind of confident laugh that made my heart race even more. “They could try.” I didn’t know he was one of the country’s top criminal lawyers back then. Didn’t know his name was Alexander James Henley Jnr. and he employed over five hundred legal staff at his swanky London law firm. I had no idea at all that the papers called him the puppet master, or that I’d come to know

he has a penchant for asphyxiation games and brutal fucking. He’d just been a posh guy in a suit, until he’d smiled at me. And that smile was enough for me to gift my heart to a man I’d probably never see again. The elevator pings on the fifth floor, and I have to squeeze through the throng of suited bodies to step out. My elbow brushes Alexander’s arm, and for the tiniest moment he smiles. And then he’s gone. The doors close and take him away, and even though I’m late, I watch the floors creep up on the display. Six, seven, eight, right up the way to… eighteen. It thrills me to know he’s in the same building, just like I knew it would. After all, that’s why I took the job here, at the opposite end of the city. They’d asked at the interview, why us, so far away from your home address, and I’d given them my polished spiel about how much respect I have for Mr Henley’s work, and that seemed to clinch it. Phase one complete. I’m in, and I’ve seen him. Actually seen him already. I head off to find my induction with a smile on my face.

I’M one of ten cleaners starting today. We all match. A roomful of green and white striped minions that they assume need educating on how to use a mop properly. I imagine that’s what we are to them, nothing but cheap grunts, incapable of doing anything more with our lives. “We pride ourselves on our professional standards,” our new line manager tells us. “Everything must be perfect. Always perfect.” My fantasy of being assigned to Mr Henley Jnr’s office gets a reality check as they divide us into pairs. Canteen kitchen, that’s where I’m assigned. Scrubbing grease and cooking oil, taking out the food waste and disinfecting the main employee toilets along the corridor. Toilets that I doubt Alexander Henley ever uses. I’m paired up with a girl called Sonya, and we head up towards floor seven. I can see she’s pretty, even under her shitty uniform. Her skin is rich and dark, and her eyes are burnt umber – the exact same shade as one of the wax crayons I had as a kid. She’s blessed with the thickest lashes I’ve ever seen, and her hair is glossy even through her hairnet. Her braids are twisted into a bun, resting on her collar like a ball of coiled rope. “What do you think, hon?” she asks. “Quite a ball breaker, our new manager, ain’t she?” I shrug. “Seems ok.” She rolls her eyes. “She gave me a load of abuse for using the escalator earlier. Seemingly it’s forbidden for us lowly cleaning staff to use them.”

“Forbidden?” “An eyesore apparently. They don’t want the likes of us on display, I s’pose.” I’m tempted to tell her that Alexander Henley himself held the door for me this morning, but decide against it. “So, we have to walk up seven flights of stairs every day?” “Sure do. Just be glad we’re not on the top floor, hey? Although I doubt we’d ever get up that far if we wanted to. That’s where Mr Henley works.” The thought gives me shivers. We step aside as another pair of cleaners come racing down with an industrial floor polisher, but Sonya keeps on talking. “Apparently not even his swanky clients go up there, he meets them lower down. That’s what I heard, anyway.” She sighs. “I think I saw him this morning, heading up from underground parking. Just for a second though.” “You did?” “I mean, you can’t miss him, right? He’s gorgeous on an epic scale.” I smile. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.” She nudges me with her elbow. “Saving grace of working in this place. What I wouldn’t give to be Mr Henley’s personal scrubber, eh?” I push open the doors at the rear of the canteen. “Maybe we could do it, get ourselves promoted up there.” She laughs. “Up to floor eighteen? Yeah, right.” “I’m serious,” I tell her. “Why not?” She locates the supplies cupboard we’ve been directed to and examines our stash. “Because… well… I dunno.” She shrugs. “Because I guess everyone in this place wants to work on the eighteenth floor. I’d probably sniff his seat if I got a shot in there, then rub one off on his posh-boy desk. Oh, oh… Alexander! Yes! Your mahogany feels divine!” She looks at me and her eyes twinkle. And then she gives a sniff to demonstrate, and it’s funny, it’s really funny, and it makes me laugh. I think I’m going to like Sonya a lot. “Everyone calls me Lissa,” I tell her and hold out a hand. “Everyone calls me Sonnie,” she says and shakes it. She hands me a bottle of de-greaser and a fresh scrubbing sponge from the pack, and arms herself with an industrial-sized vat of cream cleaner. “Just my fucking luck to get the shitty floor,” she groans. “They fired the last two. Thankless fucking task, the canteen, so they say.” A rush of horror sweeps through my gut. “Fired? How do you know that?” She taps her nose. “I love knowing what’s what. Made friends with one of the girls who cleans the IT suite. She told me. Said she used to work this floor, too, until she got promoted. Said she had to work her fucking sweet ass off to get out of this crappy gig. Rather sell a kidney than come back here, she said.”

“Great…” “Yep. Life’s fucking rosy. Hope we last the month out at least, I got rent to pay.” Me too, I tell her. I’ve got a little brother to take care of, I tell her, then take a moment to pull out my phone from my apron and show her my screensaver. “His name’s Joseph.” “Aww, he’s a cutie, hon. Got your eyes.” “From our dad.” I take the handset and stare at my little brother. We really do share the same eyes. Big and blue, and cheeky. He has the same pasty skin as me, and the same wisp of mousy hair. Not the dimples, though, he got those from our mum. I try not to think about it, not now. She’s weighing up whether to ask, I know it. I save her the anguish, giving her the clipped spiel about how my parents died in a hit and run last Spring. “Shit, I’m so sorry,” she says, and she is, her eyes are kind. “You having to pay for childcare? That crap gets expensive.” I shake my head. “I have a friend, Dean. He’s cool. He helps out. I’m lucky.” Lucky. That’s a joke. “A friend friend?” she asks, and her eyes twinkle. I smile. “No. Just a friend. Definitely platonic.” He is as well. I’ve never seen him that way. Never seen anyone that way, apart from Alexander Henley. Suited me just fine holding onto my V-status anyway. Getting enough A-grades to one day be his peer was the only thing I was focused on. I shove my phone back out of view, and Sonnie’s staring at me strangely, as though she’s wondering whether she’s going to divulge some more insider info or not. I hope she does. “Keep a secret, right?” I nod, and she hands me her own handset. Two beautiful little girls stare back at me, their smiles the sweetest thing. “I got two little ones,” she says. “But don’t say nothin’. Didn’t mention it at the interview, was worried they wouldn’t take me, single mum and all that, iffy childcare arrangements.” “They took me.” She smiles. “Guess you’re braver than me for risking it.” Braver or too desperate to care. I shrug. “Having responsibilities doesn’t stop either of us scrubbing their ovens just as well as the next candidate, does it?” “Better,” she says. “We’ll be better. Coz we need to be. Mouths to feed.” She isn’t wrong there.

She tips her head at me, and her smile is conspiratorial. “What say we give it a shot?” she asks. “Show ’em that us little minions from floor seven got what it takes to get out of this gig. We could do it, have this place cleaner than they’ve ever seen it. Clean enough to eat your lunch from their swanky toilet bowls. That’ll show ’em.” “You mean go for promotion? Off this floor?” She nods. “Yeah, off this floor. All the way up to floor eighteen, that’s where I’m thinking. Hell, I ain’t been one of life’s winners, not up to now, but ain’t much I don’t know about cleaning.” I grin. “Floor eighteen? For seat sniffing and rubbing one off on Alexander Henley’s desk?” She laughs. “Hell to the yes.” “You’ve got yourself a deal, partner,” I say.

MY FEET ACHE like a bastard when I kick off my shoes in the apartment doorway. That’s what you get for buying budget footwear. Blisters and anguish. Dean’s voice is only just audible over the cartoon theme song sounding from the living room. “Lissa’s home, yes she is. Let’s go see your poor tired sis.” My heart swells to bursting as Dean steps into the hallway and passes the smiling little guy into my arms. Ignorance is bliss. It’s the best feeling, being home. Even better than smelling Alexander Henley. “Hey, little man!” Joseph smiles, but is clearly still far more interested in the cartoons than me. Tears prick at the relief that he hasn’t been crying all day, but it doesn’t stop the resurfacing of the guilt I feel. The first day away from him was always going to be tough ride. I don’t really want to be doing this – palming him off on Dean every time I have a shift to work. I don’t want to palm him off at all, in fact, but the flip side is so much worse. A lifetime of benefit handouts and few prospects. That isn’t the life I want to introduce Joe to. It isn’t the life our parents would have wanted for either of us. I drop him back on his beanbag and he stares at the cartoon dogs on screen. “So?” Dean prompts. “How was day one?” I head on through to the kitchen, and he follows me, grabbing two mugs from the side while I switch on the kettle. “Hard. Long. Tiring.” I pause. “Shit.” “Shit? Really?” I shake my head. “Nah, it’s not all that bad. I met someone. Sonnie. She seems nice.” “A friend already?” I nod, and then I smile. “And I saw him.” “And did seeing his criminal-aiding ass in the flesh again cure the infatuation?”

I shake my head. “Not exactly…” I want to tell him so much. I want to tell him that Alexander Henley smells just as good as I remember. I want to tell him the birthmark on Alexander Henley’s cheek is a perfect little circle, and his eyes have the faintest little lines in the corners, and that’s new. Newer than four years, new. I want to tell him that I broke the rules and took the main elevator, and even though that’s strictly forbidden, he still held the door for me. Dean stares, waiting for more, and I realise I’m grinning. Mute. “He didn’t recognise me,” I admit. “But he wasn’t ever going to, was he?” “Nobody would recognise you in that shitty uniform, Lissa. It’s God fucking awful.” “Even so, it was years ago. He bummed me one cigarette, I’m sure he barely even remembers the school, let alone me.” “Just don’t get arrested for stalking,” Dean says. “It’s not as if they don’t know how to prosecute.” He’s joking, but not really. He knows all about my stalker tendencies. He’s been an accomplice to most of them. But not this time. This time he’s got to look after Joe while I go scrubbing toilets for money. “So, what’s the plan?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you haven’t got one. You always have a plan.” “I’m going to get to the eighteenth floor,” I say. “That’s where he is.” “And then what? Hope he likes stripy caps and polyester?” I shake my head, and it seems funny again. It all seems funny again. I throw my crappy cap at Dean’s head. “And then I’m going to sniff his seat.” He catches it easily. “I’m not even sure you’re joking,” he says. I shrug. Smile. Make our tea, but say nothing. Because, truth be told, I’m not even sure I’m joking myself.

CHAPTER TWO

ALEXANDER

BRENDA, my assistant, has a voice that makes my ears bleed. I’ve pondered it a great deal during idle minutes, and the closest comparison I’ve so far drawn is that of a poorly tuned trumpet, played through the nose. It would be comedy, if she weren’t so thoroughly fucking prissy with it. It would kill me to hear her squeal my name in the bedroom, and since my personal assistant is the very last person I want in my bedroom, that is fortunate. And quite possibly one of the main reasons I decided to hire her in the first place. That and the fact she’s really fucking good at what she does. Mr Austin is here to see you. I’m sure her voice sounds even worse through the internal telephone system, as though some of the depth of tone is lost in transmission. Believe me, she finds me as unbearable as I find her. But we tolerate each other. A courteous professional disdain that gets us both through the working day. I think it suits us both that way. “I’ll be down. Get him a coffee.” Yes, Mr Henley, sir. Mr Austin is an arrogant, weasel-faced prick, and I’ve already seen more than enough of him this week. Another weekend late-night call, another visit to his local police station to bail him out when I should be busy spending money, not earning it. Mr Austin is CEO at Lux Air, the pompous private jet firm, and believes owning an airline gives him special privileges. Mr Austin believes he can drive his sports car while under the influence of alcohol at over double the speed limit through residential areas, without giving a shit for any lesser mortals who may share the same road space as him. Mr Austin also believes I can get him off the hook every time, just so long as he pays me enough money.

He’s right. Like I said, he’s an arrogant prick, but so am I. And so we go again. The firm handshake, the pat of his hand on my arm, the warm, fake, professional smile. The same old routine as he bleats about how thankful he is that I came to his rescue last night, how it wasn’t his fault. They’ve set him up, again. Jealous assholes. Barely even a double shot of whisky. I take the same old notes and nod in the same old places. And then I do what I always do. “I’ll deal with it,” I say. “Good man,” he replies, just like always. And just like always, I deal with it. This business is as much about connections as it is about the law. It’s about saying the right things to the right people, with the right air of confidence. That and knowing all those tiny little loopholes that infuriate the prosecution every fucking time. They hate me more than Brenda does, just as much as they hated my father before me. But that’s okay. You know what they say. You’re no one unless somebody hates you. And judging by those rules, I really am someone. Just ask my ex-wife. Today is like any other day at the office. An endless carousel of the same old faces making the same old fuckups. Mr Austin, and then Mr Rand, the oil tycoon with a penchant for picking up women on street corners. Mr Kingsley, the dot com boomer who does far too many drugs and gets into scrapes with the law far too often for sanity. Some court paperwork, and a crappy board meeting that sees me staring numbly at my officially retired father for an hour across the boardroom table, and I’m done. Once upon a time, before life – divorce – turned me into the cynical, jaded asshole I am today, getting people off the hook was all the exhilaration I needed. The rush of a serious court case, the heated negotiations behind the scenes, the high-end networking, and the money, always so much money. I loved it. All of it. But these days it’s not enough. I’m barely out of the office foyer when I pull my second phone from my inside pocket. It’s identical to my work handset in virtually every way, except this is an unregistered pay-asyou-go, topped up using cash only, and never in the same location twice. My fingers feel clammy as I unlock the screen. I scroll through my previous messages, the ones that I should have deleted minutes after bidding is closed, as per the rules. I used to follow them. I used to be careful, guarded. Sensible. This week’s offer is still in my inbox. Britney Jane. 26. Brunette. 5’10. Athletic. D-cup tits.

The pretty girl stares out from the handset, lips pouted like a cheap porn star, legs spread to show the pretty pink slit of her pussy. She’s had surgery, that cunt is far too perfect to be natural. I hate perfect, but that isn’t why I haven’t placed a bid on Britney Jane. The list of ticked boxes beneath her photo show her as far too vanilla to warrant any kind of investment. Far too vanilla for me. I scroll back through the listings. Candice. 21. Natural blonde. 5’2. Curvy. C-cup tits. She’d been worth every penny and then some. The girl had very few hard limits listed under her photograph, and she’d been telling the truth. Believe me, I know. I pushed her on all of them. I arrive at my car, and my mouth is dry and my jaw feels tight, waiting for the thrill that zips up my spine whenever a fresh listing appears, like an addict craving a hit. It’s about time I went cold turkey for a few months, logged out of the network and weaned myself back to a state of mind closer to equilibrium. But the thought is unwelcome, the prospect one of nausea. I need this. Need. That’s the downward spiral before me. The cycle of dependence and escapism that leads me down the rabbit hole. The same cycle I see every day in my office, rich men taking ever greater risks to get their rocks off, chasing the elusive thrill that comes from the shadier side of wealth. Gambling. Drugs. Fast cars. I’ve seen billionaires shoplift costume jewellery just for the rush of it. I’ve seen calm, responsible fathers snort a gram of coke from a hooker’s tits and take them out for a joyride through leafy London suburbs. I’ve seen men with beautiful wives at home, hovering outside public urinals for the chance to shove their dick in some seedy guy’s asshole before teatime. I’ve seen it all, and I’ve excused it all, and somehow, somewhere along the line I became caught in the same rancid headlights. I don’t do drugs. I don’t drive my cars at excessive speed. I don’t visit bars and drink myself into oblivion. I don’t even smoke expensive cigars. I do sex. Dirty, filthy, brutal sex. I should sign up for some anonymous self-help group. Go along to some grotty community centre in the dregs of London for a Styrofoam mug of cheap coffee, and the pleasure of perching myself on one of their grimy plastic chairs as I psyche myself up to say it.

My name is Alexander, and I am a sex addict. I’d get a round of applause, and then I’d have to tear up, eat a biscuit, and tell them all how good it felt to face down my own demons. I have no intention of doing any of those things. I remember the glorious pained grunts as Candice took my cock dry. I remember the soft flesh of her hips yielding to my grip as I held tight and pushed in all the fucking way. I remember the way her pretty tits bounced, her big nipples so fucking ripe for my mouth. I remember the way she wriggled and squirmed with my hands around her throat. Paying Candice was a delight. Money well spent. But I think I’ll go with Elena this evening. I haven’t seen Elena in a while. I slip into my Mercedes and fire off a text message before I start up the engine. Elena. Tonight. Nine thirty. Sent. I wait. The handset vibrates in my hand as the message icon flashes. Room sixteen. Harley’s tavern. Your name is Ted Brown. I’m smiling the first genuine smile of the day as I pull out of the car park. MELISSA It takes us three weeks of back-breaking effort to get a compliment, let alone a promotion. Another two weeks on top of that to get a regular smile from our line manager at the start of shift. Week seven of scrubbing steel and grouting and toilet bowls until our hands are blotchy, and both Sonnie and I are questioning just how sound our ambitious little scheme is turning out to be. She drops her sponge in the canteen sink and shoots me a look of pure apathy. “Whose idea was this?” “Yours.” I smile as I wipe down the air conditioning vent. “And mine. Alexander Henley’s seat, remember?” She takes a deep breath. “Mmm, I hope it smells half as good as I imagine.” “Oh, it will,” I say. “He smells incredible.” “And there she goes… never quits with the bragging…” Sonnie’s laugh makes me laugh too. “Tell me about it again, hon. I need the motivation.” I clear my throat. “It was a day like any other day… rushing my way through the back alleys to school, knowing I’m late for registration again…”

“Yeah, yeah,” she prompts. “I got this bit. Late, sneaky cigarette, dregs of tobacco in your crappy tin, yada yada. I want the bit about him.” “You have no patience.” I laugh. “He smells musky, deep… rich, like the orient… his eyes are dark… like…” “Midnight…” “Midnight in winter…” She’s already laughing. “Boy, we got it bad.” “Yes. Yes, we do.” “Imagine it,” she says, and her eyes glint with that goofy sparkle that takes over every time she floats away into fantasy. “Being with a man like him. A man who has everything. Imagine waking up in the morning and being Mrs Alexander Henley. He has it all, right? The real deal, the full package. Mr perfect, living the dream…” “Living the dream,” I repeat. She picks up her sponge. “I guess we’ll just have to make do with sniffing his seat.” I wipe the damp from my forehead. “Yeah, well, you’d better get scrubbing. We’re quite some way from the eighteenth floor.” “Amen to that,” she says, and gets to work.

WE’RE ABOUT to check out for the day when we’re accosted in the cleaning corridor on floor five. “A word, girls, please,” our line manager says, and beckons us inside her office. Sonnie looks at me, and I look back, and I’m not sure whether I should be worried or excited. Worried definitely wins out. We step on through and I close the door behind us, hoping that’s the right etiquette. Janet. Our line manager’s name is Janet, but should I call her Miss Yorkley? Janet or Yorkley? “Sit,” she says, and I hope I don’t have to choose. We sit. My hands are in my lap. My heel tapping. I really want this job. Need this job. For Joseph, and for me. For my shot at smelling Alexander Henley’s seat. For my shot at smelling Alexander Henley himself. Please God. “What’s your secret?” Janet Yorkley asks. Sonnie looks at me, and I guess I have to answer for us both. “Sorry?” “Your secret.” She raises an eyebrow. “You must have one. Canteen’s never looked so good, so they tell me, and our staff survey showed the floor-seven toilets as ten out of ten for cleanliness. We never have ten out of ten, for anything. These people just cannot be pleased.” She leans forward. “But you’ve managed it, two newbies in the crappiest floor of

this building, and you’re the ones who got us a perfect score. So, what’s your secret?” “We, um… we work hard…” I begin. “No shit,” she says, and there’s a smile on her face I haven’t seen before. I dare to smile back, but I don’t think she sees, because Sonnie is leaning forward in her seat, and rolling back the cuffs on her crappy blouse. “This,” she says. “This here, this is what gets those toilets clean.” Sonnie’s hands are rough. Her skin blotchy and tired. Janet stares at her, and I wonder if she’s made the wrong move. “You should use the standard issue gloves,” she says. “Health and safety. It’s in your induction booklet.” “Health and safety don’t get them cubicles shining, Janet. Ain’t nobody got time for that.” I nod. Because I think I should. “We do what it takes. Everything must be perfect, just like you said in our induction.” “I know what I said.” She sighs. “But this is a cleaning job. I can’t say there’s many of your ilk in this building that give much, if any, consideration to perfect. They just do what needs doing and watch the clock until they can leave.” The thought is in my head. Just like that. I guess they just don’t want to smell Mr Henley bad enough. Sonnie nudges my foot with hers and I know she’s thinking it too. “Thanks,” I say to Janet. “For the recognition. It means a lot.” She laughs, just a little. “I didn’t get you in here for the recognition, Miss Martin. I got you in here to give you a promotion.” Promotion. I can’t stop the grin. “You mean we’re off floor seven?” “You’re too good for floor seven,” she says. “None of the senior executives use the canteen anyway. It’s for the juniors and the admin staff.” Sonnie’s eyes are nearly as wide as her smile. “So, where are we…” Floor eighteen, floor eighteen, floor eighteen. I daren’t hope. “Floor sixteen,” Janet says. “Senior conference suites. Where the top executives really will see your magnificent handiwork, so make sure you get it right.” I nod. Sonnie nods. I try my best not to feel disappointed. “Thank you,” I say. “We won’t let you down.” “You’d best not.” She stands and gestures that we’re free to leave. “Because Mr Henley conducts his meetings there, and if there’s one thing you need to know about Mr Henley, it’s that he demands perfection. And you’d better deliver.” There’s a bloom in my chest. A hope. The faintest, most beautiful little flicker of hope. If it’s perfection Alexander Henley demands, then I’ll deliver.

I’ll deliver anything he wants.

CHAPTER THREE

MELISSA

DEAN JOKES that we need champagne, not the chipped mugs of coffee we clink in my tiny cramped kitchen. He tells me he’s happy for me, that it’s a job well done, says that maybe they’ll give me a pay rise big enough to make up for the extra bazillion stairs I’ll be climbing up every day to get to floor sixteen. He looks good today, his cropped hair a dark shadow, his brows heavy over bright blue eyes. A tight white tee under a loose checked shirt. Torn jeans and bare feet. Bare feet always look good on a man. It’s when Dean says he’s happy for me for the tenth time that I know something’s up. It’s in his smile. Tense. More like a grimace as he raises his mug. Again. I put mine down on the draining board. “What is it?” He shrugs and the smile doesn’t even flinch. “What’s what?” I poke my head through to the living room to check Joe’s still playing with his picture book, and then I fold my arms. “Don’t give me that. You look like you’re trying to hold in the shits or something.” The smile eases up. “It’s nothing, I’m just…” “Just what?” He passes his mug from hand to hand, back and forth. “I just thought the novelty would have worn off by now. Plenty of places closer, Lissa. Plenty of places more flexible. Better pay, too.” His eyebrows pit as he stares at my filthy apron. “Without a crappy uniform.” “There aren’t…” I begin, but he shakes his head. “Don’t give me that. How long do you spend on the Tube every morning? Half hour? Three quarters?” “I don’t notice… it’s not so bad…”

His eyes are so big and so genuine. “What you gonna do, Lissa? Floor sixteen this week, then what? What happens when you do make it to his office?” When. Not if. I resist the urge to smile. “Then I sniff his seat.” I try to make light of it, but he doesn’t laugh. “Don’t pretend this thing is a joke to you.” A horrible tickle in my belly. More like a scratch. Desperation. “It is a joke.” I laugh. “Me and Sonnie, we both say…” “Like she’s serious. Like she’s you.” I hate the way he says it. I choke back the fake giggle and ease the door closed until I can only just see Joe through the gap. “I know this is hard on you, I know it asks a lot, you being here, all the time. You shouldn’t have to, I know that… and if it’s too much…” “If it’s too much then what?” His eyes are right on mine. I don’t have an answer and he knows it. He sighs, and I feel like shit. “This isn’t about Joe. I love having Joe. I love helping out. I can start up college again next year, like we said.” I clutch at straws. “I could pay you, maybe… if they do give me that extra money… or a babysitter… so you can go back…” He looks stung. “Like it’s about money.” “But it could be…” “Stop.” He holds up a hand. “Just stop doing this.” “Doing what?” I flick the kettle back on. “Deflecting.” He has to tip the jar to scoop the last of the coffee granules into our mugs. Dregs. Story of my life – credit card debt from funeral expenses don’t leave much of a budget for anything else. “This thing with Alexander Henley,” he continues. “It’s not… healthy…” Like anything about my life is healthy. I don’t say it. “I know what I’m doing,” I tell him. “It’s just fun. Something to dream about. And I’m planning on working my way up, maybe be a team leader one day… maybe even an admin junior… and then who knows…” “Right?” “Right,” I lie. “And you aren’t gonna do anything? Not when you get there? Not when you’re close enough that his seat really is there for the sniffing?” I take my coffee black, saving the milk for Joe’s cereal in the morning. “Anything like what?” Dean takes his black too. “Like stalking him. Like following the guy around until he catches on to you, and fires you, or sues you, or worse.”

“Worse?” The thought makes me smile. “What on earth could be worse than being fired or sued?” “I’m being serious, Lissa!” His raised voice takes me aback, and I check the door for Joe. He’s still flipping those picture book pages, smiling to himself, lost in his own little world like I used to be. When I turn back, Dean’s pulled his phone from his pocket and he’s flipping across the screen, flipping through images I recognise from my own Google searches. He turns the handset in my direction, and my stomach flips but I don’t look away. I don’t need to. I’ve already seen it. Already read everything there is to read on Alexander Henley Jnr. “I did some digging,” he tells me, “while Joe had his nap this afternoon.” My cheeks burn as I check out the headline on screen. The legal Puppet Master pulling the strings of the dirty elite. Just who is Alexander James Henley Jnr? I can’t see the rest of the text, he pulls his phone away too quickly. Like hell it was just this afternoon. I didn’t find that crap, and I searched hard. Really hard. Dean’s eyes are fierce. “There’s a woman here, or there was before she retracted her comments. Said he paid her. Said he’s dangerous. That she was afraid for her life.” I roll my eyes. “Tabloid gossip, I’m sure. Sour grapes, maybe.” “And if it’s not? There’s plenty of stories, Lissa, if you dig hard enough. All retracted. All hushed up soon after. What if he is dangerous? Who knows what a guy like that’s into? He’s not like us. He’s not from our world.” “So, you thought you’d better fill me in now I’m up nine floors?” I shrug, sip my coffee. “I’ll probably never even get vaguely close enough to find out what he’s really into. As if a man like him is ever going to be into a little scrubber like me. Christ, Dean, are you blind?” I wonder how long he’s been looking up Alexander Henley. I wonder whether he sees the beauty that I see. I wonder if he’s saved a picture. Maybe several. I wonder if he knows quite which way he swings yet, and if he’s still masturbating over gay porn when he thinks I’m asleep through the wall. I wonder if he’s masturbated over Alexander Henley. The idea of a stash of photos makes me jealous. My phone has a cracked screen and barely any storage. “That’s the thing,” he says. “I think you are gonna find out what he’s into. And I don’t

think you’ll stop ’til you find out.” I groan. “That polyester stripes don’t really turn him on, Dean, that’s what I’m gonna find out. That guys like Alexander Henley don’t date girls like me. That I’m not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough for a man like him. That’s what I’ll find out.” He holds up his hands. “I don’t think that, not any of that. And you shouldn’t either.” “Yeah, well he will. Probably.” That scratch scratch in my belly. The scratch scratch that seeing the job advertised in the paper managed to take away. A Saaaaa, and then a Dee deee from the living room, and I push the door open. Joe is up on his feet, a big smile on his face as he claps his hands, picture book finished. Dean sighs, and then he smiles, and I know it’ll be alright. I know he’ll never make me give up on my dreams, not while this little guy is depending on me to get us through this mess. He grabs my elbow before I go to scoop up my Joe, and his voice is just a whisper, right in my ear. “Henley won’t think that, I promise you. Not about you, Lissa.” I could kiss him. Kiss him for the way he’s looking at me, as though I’m still the girl with straight-As and a big future ahead of her. “Thanks,” I say. “It’s the truth,” he whispers. “And that’s what worries me shitless. That it’s gonna be you who ends up hurt, and broken and retracting your comments when you make it a whole lot further than floor eighteen. Because you will. You will make it.” Hope. It’s a beautiful feeling. I shouldn’t smile, not when he’s so worried, so I pretend it’s all for Joe, and choo-choo trains, and the cruddy second-hand trainset I picked up with my first month’s wages. He deserves so much more than this. And I’m going to get it for him. If Dean really pushed me, I’d tell him I really don’t have a plan beyond floor eighteen, and I wouldn’t be lying, not technically. The plan post being up close to the area Alexander Henley spends most of his working life is hazy. More a feeling. A feeling that I’ll know what to do when the time comes. Doors opening into darkened corridors, and more doors, deeper and deeper. Like the detective novels I used to pick up from the charity shop as a kid, there were always so many breadcrumbs, a trail unfolding as you flipped the pages, and then BAM, at the end it would all come together, a sense of satisfaction as the whole picture came into view. That’s how I feel right now. Like I’m at the beginning of something, armed with nothing but that sense of knowing. Maybe it’ll be a late night. Mr Henley working late as I stumble into his office, and there’ll be a meeting of eyes, a simmering recognition in the darkened room, just him and me, and maybe I’ll tell him, tell him I’m the girl he bummed the cigarette to, the girl who

was late. Maybe he’ll remember. Maybe he’ll invite me to sit down and ask me all about my life, and I’ll pull the crappy cap from my head and shake my hair loose from my hairnet, and he’ll see something in me. Something. Something he wants. I’m such a fool. Even the thought makes me laugh as I whizz Joe’s crappy train around the track and make the noises. I’m pretty sure that’s not how a run-in with Alexander James Henley, the puppet master, is going to go down. Maybe sniffing his seat and laughing about it with Sonnie will be the end of it, nothing but a crazy fixation until I find a way up and off this crappy rung on the life ladder. Before some asshole going thirty over the speed limit ploughed into my parents I was a girl on a mission. Determined to qualify as a criminal lawyer and run into the man who’d stolen my heart over an Insignia cigarette. It was supposed to be one hell of a different story to the way this one’s panning out. See, we’re from here, Joe and me. From this shitty rundown part of town. My parents too, and their parents before them. Mum and Dad worked shitty jobs they hated, struggling to make ends meet for me and Joseph. They never moaned, not once, not ever. But I was going to be different. I told them so, and they believed me. Lissa’s going to be a swanky lawyer, they’d say. Not like us. But I am like them. They kept on going, day after day, working hard, just like I’ll keep going, just like I’ll keep on working hard. They wanted so much better for me. For both of us. Our Lissa would run through a wall if there was something she wanted on the other side. She’ll never give up. She’s that kind of kid. I heard Mum say that once, to Mrs Manning who lived across the hallway. She was right. I wanted to step up after the accident. Wanted to hold the pieces together for Joseph, quitting my own A-Levels and taking on my parents’ rent. I wanted to do all of this, and I did. I want Alexander Henley, and I’ll have him, too. I just don’t know exactly how. Yet.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALEXANDER

IT’S days like these I wish I still smoked more than one a day. Another last-minute fucking plea bargain as my client wrung his shaky hands in the corridor outside, and Cyril Westerton, prosecution lawyer, flapped his saggy jaw and told me my proposal was preposterous. An outrage. Nothing’s fucking preposterous as far as I’m concerned. The guy’s a joke, heading for nothing but retirement and a shitty gold watch, looking for one last case to put his name in lights. Well, it won’t be this one. Not today. It’ll never be one of mine. It’s all but signed and sealed. A tap on the wrist for my client, some damages for the victim – some cheap hooker from Soho who took his cash then filmed him getting rough with her on hidden camera. He swore she begged him for it, told him it got her off. As it turns out, I believed him. Not that that matters. My digging proved me right, at least. Bill Catterson isn’t the first guy the bitch tried to stitch up, but he will be the last. I’ve ruined her. Dug up the dregs on her seedy life, on the money she blackmailed from rich guys who can’t keep their dicks in their pants, on the games she plays, on her secret coke habit. On the fact she collects more STDs than I collect gemstones, and I collect a lot of fucking gemstones. Childhood habit – an increasingly expensive one. My client, Bill Catterson, is a sad loser whose wife now hates his guts worse than she did before. Once upon a time I’d have had some sympathy for the guy, but now I feel nothing but disgust. Maybe a sliver of pity. He knows he’s worthless today. The same as he knows he’s riddled with genital nasties, and I suspect the guy will most likely never regain enough testosterone to get his tiny little dick up ever again. It is tiny. I saw the fucking video. Hazard of the fucking job.

Anyway, the guy’s broken. But he’s not in prison. Not even close. Jacqueline Catterson flashes me a smile, but her eyes are like spitting coals as we leave court. An air kiss and a thank you, Alexander, despite the fact we’ve never once been on first name terms, and she’s off in a plume of Dior, with her wimp of a husband trailing behind her. His farewell handshake is as weak as the rest of him. His hand is clammy, and I hate that. I fucking hate sweaty palms. I wait until he’s out of sight before I tug a handkerchief from my inside pocket. Be fucking damned if I’m wiping that guy’s grimy body fluids on my suit. I’m waiting for my driver when I catch sight of an even bigger loser, and now I really am craving a fucking cigarette. They say nicotine cravings peak three to five days after quitting. Bull-fucking-shit. Two years and counting, and I still think about lighting up at least twenty times a day. The tabloid journalist piece of shit, known only to himself as Ronald the digger Robertson – a legend in his own tiny mind – closes the distance, trailing his goofy photographer behind him as he sidles up the street, deliberately lighting up and offering me one when I’m close enough to get a waft. Wanker. His cigarettes are cheap, like him. Cheaper than him, and that’s saying something. I tap my watch. “Tardiness, Ronald, it’s not very becoming of those in the fast lane of investigative journalism to be late.” “Been out the back with Miss Whiplash. Poor form, Henley. She’s got little kids, you know, currently in care of Social Services now they’ve been tipped off about her unfortunate addiction. How the fuck do you sleep at night?” I don’t sleep at night, but I smile a triumphant smile nonetheless and offer him a wave of the hand. “No fucking comment, Robertson. Why don’t you move along to someone who has a modicum of respect for your opinion? I’m sure you’ve got reality TV wannabes tripping over themselves to flash their tits in exchange for a centre spread.” His beady eyes flash with hate, and it fills me with fucking joy. That’s how the loser started, interviewing nobodies about their five minutes of fame, only now he’s turned serious. Criminal investigative journalism, but Christ he stinks. “Think she’s gonna divorce him now?” he asks. “I heard she’s leaving town for her sister’s place.” That’s bullshit speculation. Jacqueline Catterson loves her husband’s money much more than she hates him, but I’ll never tell Robertson that. I’ll never tell Robertson anything. Not purely down to client confidentiality, which I am thoroughly bound by, but because I can’t stand the fucking cunt. “That’s the most sophisticated question in your repertoire?” “Just getting started, one off the cuff.” He flips out a grubby little notepad, but I’m done. My driver pulls up at the kerb, and I turn away as the camera flashes, obscuring my face

as I clamber into the backseat of the shiny black hulk of Mercedes. I see her as we pull away, Miss Whiplash, real name Wendy Brown, her eyes puffy from the bad news as she teeters down the court steps in a pair of cherry-red hooker heels which really don’t match the cream cardigan she’s dug out for the occasion. He’s right about her kids. Packed off to Social Services. If my conscience hadn’t long been hammered into oblivion, maybe I’d care. Maybe I’d even feel sorry. But I’ve done worse. A lot worse. I know how it feels to lose your fucking kids, but life goes on. Same shit, different day. Only Wendy Brown has a chance of getting hers back, a couple of months clean and some supervised visits, and they’ll be back home, watching daytime TV while their mother fucks men for money in the room next door. Poor fucking sods. But that’s the world we live in. The world all around us, around every shadowy corner. The world that speared me and left me for dead under the heel of Ronald journalist scum Robertson himself, but we don’t talk about that. Not since my father paid him almost seven figures to keep my face out of his shitty paper. The city passes by the window and I’m glad of the tinted glass. Glad that nobody can see me scrub my hands with antibacterial gel, as though that stands a chance of getting Bill Catterson’s grime off me. But it won’t. Bill Catterson’s grime is in me, along with all the others – all the other slimy cunts I’ve been paid obscenely well to divert justice for. I’m full of them. Every backhanded deal, every character assassination I’ve undertaken in their name, every loophole in the law I’ve exploited to keep their records clean. I pull out the phone from my inside pocket. If I’m going to feel dirty it’ll be on my own fucking terms. I think it’ll be a Candice evening tonight. MELISSA

FLOOR SIXTEEN IS BEAUTIFUL. Glass and chrome and thick carpet that your shoes sink into. My entire apartment could fit inside one of the executive toilet blocks up here, and it makes my heart pang a little, the contrast – my life and theirs. I wonder if they realise how lucky they are, in their smart suits and their trendy hair, kicking back during meetings, unaware that I’m waiting, watching, hovering to swoop in like a thief in the night and clean up their mess when they’re done.

Discreet. That’s what Janet Yorkley told us. You have to be discreet. We really are an embarrassment, that’s obvious. We aren’t allowed to walk along the main corridors in office hours, rushing along the service passages behind the scenes, hiding out in alcoves in fear of being spotted by those so much more important than us. Floor sixteen has greater advantages than those obvious ones. The staffroom behind meeting suite seven is the hub of the higher floors, and it’s in there that we first met Cindy Harris, Mr Henley’s personal cleaner. She does his office – right at the back of the eighteenth floor – and more than that, so much more that it gives me shivers, she cleans his home. His actual home. She loads his dishwasher, and stocks his fridge, and collects his suits from the dry cleaners on the way. And she changes his sheets. His bedsheets. Takes his dirty laundry from the hamper, washes and presses it and folds it neatly back in his dressing room. Sonnie’s face was a picture when she told us. She mouthed me a sweet Jesus and wiped her brow, and I knew then that the goalposts were moving. Floor eighteen is no longer our final destination. We’re heading for Alexander Henley’s bedroom, and it won’t be his seat we’ll be sniffing. Call it fate, or another breadcrumb in the tatty novel that is my life, but we got a flash of good fortune at the end of our third post-promotion week. Cindy likes us, and that’s lucky as hell, because we’re the first to hear her news, before it’s official, before she’s even told Janet Yorkley. Her husband’s taken a new job posting, in Canada, and with it will come her two-month notice period, tops. Two months for Janet Yorkley to select a replacement for Mr Henley’s personal scrubber, two months to prove that we’re the team for the job. Providing there is a team for the job, of course. The thought of going head to head with Sonnie for the new position makes my heart race, and not in a good way. Hell, we’ll toss a coin for it if it comes to it, that’s what Sonnie says, but we both know it won’t come down to that. It’ll be Janet Yorkley’s call as to who washes Alexander Henley’s boxers, and that knowledge drives us on that bit harder, like women possessed, scrubbing our assigned areas like competition athletes and hoping we’ve got the edge. Even over each other, although we’d never say it. Cindy figures we’ll get it, one of us if not both, she tells us so. She runs us through the opposition when we catch her on a break, and points out all the reasons they’ll never get promoted over us. Takes cigarette breaks, and nobody will ever be allowed a cigarette break around Mr Henley’s property. Broke a company branded paperweight in meeting suite five last summer.

Four individual sick days this last quarter. That leaves us, she says. It’s bound to be one of us. Both of us. Who knows? That’s when she decides to run us through the ropes. Just in case. I listen in awe at the end of our Friday shift, soaking in every single word as she tells us all about the inside of Alexander Henley’s home, the inside of Alexander Henley’s world. Alexander Henley collects gemstones. Rare ones that she has to polish with a special cloth. He keeps them in a dedicated room on the top floor of his Kensington town house, in special cabinets with combination locks. She knows the codes by heart, even though he changes them every month like clockwork. Alexander Henley has more suits than she’s managed to count, but they’re all black, and so are his ties. Every. Single. One. Alexander Henley finishes every evening with a single shot of whisky from an expensive crystal tumbler. He smokes one cigarette, by an open window in his entrance hallway and leaves the ash in an antique inkwell she has to polish to gleaming every afternoon. Alexander Henley only ever uses the same one set of cutlery, and would rather take it from the dishwasher than choose a fresh set from the cutlery drawer. He listens to dreary melancholic blues to wake up in the morning. Sometimes it’s still playing when she gets there. She hates it, but I know I’ll just love it, like I love everything else about him. My heart tickled when she told us about the framed photographs of his children, and how they have to be facing just so on his mantelpiece. She told us that they’re gone, to Hampshire with his ex-wife and her new boyfriend, some football coach named Terry. Maybe the biggest surprise of all came when she told us he has a dog. Brutus. I can’t imagine Alexander having a dog, and I don’t know why, it just seems so… human. Not much seems human about Alexander Henley. She shook her head when she gave us the warning, beckoned us in close, as though she was spilling state secrets. “Brutus is a beast,” she said. “You’ll have to win his trust or he’ll take your hand off, and you don’t want that. The last thing you want to be doing is bleeding over Mr Henley’s cream carpets.” We’d oohed and aahed as she told us about his favourite treats, these weird dried fish sticks she has to pick up from the vets in the middle of Kensington. “Never run short,” she told us. “Friendship is unsteady with that dog, and you’ll never get him out for his afternoon walk if you don’t have those to bribe him with.” It turns out that’s another of Cindy’s duties. The afternoon walk, and apparently she’s gone through three different aprons after Brutus has tried to tug them off her halfway around the block. “Why is he so mean?” I asked, and she’d sighed and shrugged.

“Rescue, I think, after his wife left. Guess he was lonely.” I can’t imagine that, either. He always seems so… composed. “Just remember,” she told us, “Mr Henley notices everything. Every. Thing. Make sure you get it right, or you’ll be out of there before your feet hit the floor.” We nodded. Nodded some more. Made little notes for later. Made notes to give us the edge. And so we make a pact, Sonnie and me, at the end of another long week as we hobble down the bazillion steps to the ground floor. No hard feelings, that’s what we promise. “May the best scrubber win,” she says, and holds out her hand before we part ways on the street. And I shake it, I shake it and smile, and wish her good luck, even though I know it won’t be going her way. Because there’s no way on earth I’m going to let her win this one. Alexander Henley’s dirty boxers will be all mine.

CHAPTER FIVE

ALEXANDER

MOST ADDICTS WON’T ACCEPT they’re addicted. That’s a fact. Not a fact I read in some shitty self-help book, either. It’s something I see every day, every time I have to pluck the same old assholes from the jaws of a custodial sentence. That’s the other thing about money – it grants the privilege of eternal self-delusion. My clients aren’t addicts, they’re professionals with hobbies. No client has ever looked me dead in the eye and admitted they’ve got a problem, not even in the cold light of day with their back against the wall and their freedom well and truly in my hands. There’s always a million excuses. A set-up, burning the candle at both ends, living life to the max, and, of course, the best one – they went a little overboard. That’s what they call snorting drugs all weekend and setting fire to your five-star hotel suite – going a little overboard. Addicts. I’m surrounded by them. I am one. Porn, webcam girls, escorts… a constant itch I can’t scratch. A tick behind my eyes. A nausea… a need. But there’s no self-delusion where I’m concerned. I know exactly what I am. I know exactly where I’ve come from, too. It was neither selflessness nor an amiable disposition that saw me agreeing with every single one of Claire’s custody demands when she loaded up our boys and a couple of token houseplants and took off to Hampshire in her – my – new plate Range Rover. I could have fought her, and I could have won. Hired myself a nanny, or checked the boys into full-boarding at their private school and fought her every step of the way until she was too tired to fight me anymore. She’d run out of both money and stamina long before I ever would. But I didn’t fight her. Not because I didn’t give a shit about losing my boys – believe me, I gave plenty of fucking shits – but because of the final seething line Claire delivered as she

slammed the door on our life and me along with it. You’re just like your father, Alex. Just like your filthy fucking father! I’d poured myself a whisky as the Range’s tyres screeched down our driveway. Thought about it as I smoked a cigarette, and thought about it some more as I smoked my way through another, and another after that, until the whisky bottle was all but empty and my tie was loose around my neck, and no matter how hard I thought about it there was only one verdict. Every piece of evidence stacked up against me. Guilty as charged. My sentence was the realisation that I love my boys even more than I despise my father. And that’s exactly the reason I only see them once a week on a Sunday. It’s better that way. For them, not me. Definitely not for me. It’s a shitty day today, the kind of light drizzle that makes the world look miserable as sin. I head away from London, with the headlights on low-beam in the dull afternoon, listening to nothing but the rhythmic thump of the wipers and Brutus panting in the passenger seat. Claire hates it when I bring the dog. She trusts him less than she trusts me. Under normal circumstances, I’d say she was right. The animal has a foul temper and his social skills skirt closer to nil even than mine. But Brutus loves our boys, just as I love them. Maybe because I love them. And they love him back, in spite of his mean eyes, and his truly monstrous overbite and the fact that his breath stinks worse than Bill Catterson’s diseased little prick. They see right through all of it, and love him all the same. I hope that’s how they feel about me, too. Adults rarely give kids credit for all that much. My parents certainly didn’t when I was growing up. They thought I’d buy into the paper-thin smiles, and the hushed voices, and the bristling niceties they put on for appearance’s sake, as though I was too young, too naive, too fucking ignorant to pick up on the hatred simmering under the surface in our household. As though I couldn’t possibly see through their bullshit veneer enough to know they couldn’t stand the sight of one another. I’ve never wanted to patronise my own boys like that, so I don’t. When Thomas and Matthew asked me why their mother didn’t love me anymore I told them the truth. Because I’m an asshole. Because I’m incapable of plastering a fake smile on my face for the sake of keeping the peace. Because I can’t leave my work at the office. Because I don’t love her and she knows it, she’s always known it. And they’d listened, and shrugged and nodded, and Matthew – being a couple of years

younger than his brother – had shed a a few quiet tears, and that was that. They’d settled in Hampshire, with Claire’s parents up the road, and every Sunday afternoon they’d be waiting for our allotted time together. Despite the crappy weather I’m excited today. Rugby tickets, England vs Wales, the best seats in the house for the game next month. I can’t wait to see their faces. They love rugby, Thomas especially. His games tutor tells me he’s good for ten years old. Broad and strong and resilient, fast too. He doesn’t quit, that’s what I’m told, no matter how tough it gets, Thomas will always dive headfirst into the scrum and come up trumps. He’s a winner. Just like me. Matthew, well, he’s much more like his mother. I pull onto the driveway, parking up right in front of the door to make an entrance, and the curtain in the main living room twitches just like always. Claire never comes outside to greet me. I’ll occasionally catch a flash of tight blonde curls, or a hint of a scowl as she shoots me daggers from behind the window, but she never graces me with the courtesy of a sneer to my face. Today, it appears, is different. I see her as the door opens, easing aside for the boys as they come charging out. I register the difference in a heartbeat, the change in her willowy curves, the Empire line dress. The way she’s standing, one hand idly on her belly, rocking back on her heels as though she’s a few months further along than she really is. I’d say three months tops. I get out of the car just in time for the boys to slam right into me, warm arms squeezing me tight as Brutus barks his greeting at them from the passenger seat. Dad! Dad! I came top in the History test, Dad! Terry took us bowling, Dad, and I won a trophy, Dad! We both did! Their happy voices are one of my most favourite sounds on earth. My other favourite sounds aren’t suitable for polite conversation. Terry wraps an arm around my ex-wife’s shoulders, making a right old fucking show of it. It all seems a bit primitive to me – his male-ego need to paw at something in order to demonstrate ownership. I don’t need to drape myself over a woman to show she belongs to me. It’s all in the eyes. In hers, in mine. If a woman truly belongs to you it’s written all over her. She smells of it. It’s in her smile. In the flutter of her lashes. In the way her body pulls towards yours, like a magnet. A charge. Claire was like that with me once upon a time. Now she’s gripped awkwardly under Terry’s arm while he shows off like a cockerel in a

coop. The boys stay attached to me as I head towards the woman who used to wear my ring on her finger. My hand is already extended, and Terry takes it, squeezes overly hard, and I wonder again just what he’s lacking down below to require such a macho shake. Claire doesn’t take my hand. “We need to talk,” she tells me. “Later.” I don’t hide the glance at her belly. “News, I gather. I don’t need it spelling out.” She shifts her weight onto her hip. “Not that, Alexander. About the boys. It’s important.” I ruffle their hair and resist the urge to flip her the finger. Her prickly tone infuriates me, trying to stab little holes in the few measly hours I get with them every weekend. “Fine,” I tell her. “Later.” I smile my fake professional smile. “Terry.” He nods. “Alexander.” I step away before they take up any more of my precious fucking time.

I TAKE the boys for dinner at a tasteless burger joint just off the A3 they’ve insisted on frequenting every Sunday these past few months. The coffee is bitter and thoroughly disgusting, and the burgers taste too cheap to be edible, but the boys love it here. Terry takes them, apparently. Good for fucking Terry. I wrap my godawful excuse for a meal in a napkin when they aren’t looking. Brutus will get considerably more enjoyment from it than I will. I wait until the boys have wolfed down their fries and shakes before I pull the tickets from my jacket pocket. I’ve been waiting all week for this, for the sweet wash of happiness I’ll feel when their eyes light up in recognition. I have the seats marked out on a map of the stadium on my phone, a 360 degree view of the ground so they’ll know exactly what we’re heading for. I slap the tickets down in front of them with a flourish, and my heart is thumping. Joy. It feels quite alien these days. “I’ve booked us the very best seats,” I tell them. “Right at the front. We’ll see everything, and after the game I’ve got us backstage passes. We’ll meet the players, get you some photos.” I’m smiling, and they’re staring, and I’m waiting for the moment, the moment when their faces light up. But it doesn’t come. Their smiles are weak and fucking awkward, and it stabs at me, right in the fucking gut. “What?” I ask, and there’s a brutality to my tone that I didn’t intend. I take a breath.

It’s Thomas who spits it out. “It’s the twenty-second…” “Yes. Four weeks today.” “But we’re…” He looks down at the table. “We’re going to the football… with Terry… we were going to tell you today… Terry said to wait, until he definitely had tickets, said maybe you could come on Saturday instead, or–” “Or what?” He doesn’t want to say it, and I feel like an asshole for pushing when I know what’s coming. “Or what, Thomas? What did Terry say?” It’s Matthew that answers, his eyes so big and innocent. “He said maybe you could miss a week, for the football. He said maybe you wouldn’t mind.” Cunt. Terry is a fucking cunt. “I didn’t realise you boys liked football. Rugby’s your game, no?” Thomas doesn’t answer, but Matthew shakes his head. “We like football now, Dad. Thomas says football’s better. Cooler, isn’t it, Thomas?” Thomas looks fucking mortified. “Well?” I prompt. “Is football cool now? Cooler than rugby?” Thomas shrugs. “They’re both good. But we support Portsmouth now, like Terry. It’s his team. He got us shirts.” I feel the tick at my temples. The sour taste of rejection. “I see,” I say, and pull the tickets back to my side of the table. “Sorry, Dad,” Thomas says, and he is sorry. I wish he wasn’t. I wish he’d look me straight in the eye and admit he thinks rugby fucking stinks now and he’d much rather eat shitty burgers with Terry than me. “Sorry, Dad,” Matthew says. I choke down my disappointment. “Some other time, then. When the games don’t clash.” They nod. Matthew slurps the remnants of his shake. Thomas folds his napkin into little triangles. It’s really fucking awkward, all of it. This shitty place. This shitty weekend arrangement. This shitty situation with their cool new dad. “Are you angry?” Thomas asks, and it makes me smile. Direct. I like that. “Disappointed,” I tell him. “Not angry.” I have no intention of forcing their priorities into an order I approve of, that’s not in my make-up. The boys gather up their burger boxes and put their coats back on, and I guess we’re done

here. Allotted time counting down to zero. “Let’s go and give Brutus his burger,” I say.

ONCE THE NEW football thing is out in the open, the boys can’t get enough of it. I hear all about it on the drive back – the Portsmouth team, their cruddy uniform, their goalscoring history. I try to care, but all I feel is the unholy rage in my stomach. The desire to tell Terry exactly what I think of his ill-considered loyalty test. And I do tell him, just as soon as I’ve stepped over their twee little threshold and Claire’s sent the boys to their rooms. “Classy move,” I comment, “booking up a football match on my day with the boys.” He acts the innocent, all flustered as he tells me he didn’t know I had plans, thought one weekend wouldn’t matter. “Every weekend matters,” I assure him. “I’ll give you the money,” he blusters, “for the tickets.” Like I want his fucking money. He’s living in the house I pay for, driving the fucking car I pay for, standing on the fucking carpet my money paid to have fitted, and he has the fucking audacity to offer me a refund on the day he’s stolen from me. Cunt! Claire clears her throat and puts a hand on his arm. She’s nervous and it’s not about the fucking game. “We need to talk,” she tells me. “Terry and I, we, um, have plans…” “I can see that.” I raise an eyebrow. “I imagine the new addition was planned too.” “The boys wanted a younger brother or sister. Tyler, too.” Tyler. Terry’s drop-out teenage son has the perfect name for his flunky personality. “I’m glad they’re getting what they want.” “They want us to be a proper family,” Claire says, and it pangs. A proper family. One without me in it. “They’re close to Tyler now, and Thomas, well, he wants to be like his cool older stepbrother, wants to go to a regular school like he does, so we thought… next term… we thought we’d move the boys into Grange High. It’s close, and the results are good…” I’m shaking my head before she’s even finished, my brows heavy and my jaw gritted. “The answer’s fucking no. The boys stay in Oxton, end of discussion.” Her cheeks flush pink, her veneer slipping away in a heartbeat. “It’s not end of discussion, Alexander. They live with me. It’s my call.”

“No,” I tell her. “It isn’t.” She sighs. “They want to be normal kids, Alex. They want to hang out with regular people, not with the stuck-up little toffs at private school.” “Fantastic. They can cast aside their future employability for the sake of fitting in with the regular kids. I’m sure they’ll be very happy to end up working in that shitty burger joint they insist on dragging me to.” Her eyes are on fire. “Alexander.” I haven’t missed that condescending fucking tone. As though she’s some permanently aggrieved little fishwife, and I’m the big bad cunt of an ex-husband. Although maybe that bit’s true. “They’re not going to state school,” I tell her, “and that’s the fucking end of it. If you wish to send your offspring through a second-rate education system, you be my guest, but my boys are not going to a shitty fucking state school.” Terry shakes his head, and I shoot him a glare that tells him to keep his fucking mouth shut. “I’ve already booked them into Grange High,” she tells me. “They’ve been on an official induction visit. I’ve already cancelled their places at Oxton.” “Then you’ll have to un-fucking-cancel them, won’t you?” “No,” she says. “I won’t.” I smile a horrible smile. “I could take you to court. Enforce my terms. I could move you into a grotty little terrace somewhere, see how you really enjoy slumming it with the regular folk.” She laughs. “As if you would.” “Don’t try me.” “Don’t try me!” she hisses. “Your filthy fucking father can’t keep bailing you out forever, Alexander, one day one of those women are going to talk. Maybe they’ll talk to me, hey? Maybe I’ll be able to get them to testify how much of a dirty fucking pervert you are? Maybe I should give that asshole journalist a call and let him know I’ve got a story for him. I’ve still got screenshots you know, still got logs of your seedy fucking browsing history.” “Which will mean fuck all in a custody battle,” I sneer. “Not to your father it won’t. Not when he realises his company name is being dragged through the tabloids.” I take a step forward, and Terry’s arm is around her shoulders again, his face white as a pissing sheet. “Don’t push me, Claire.” She knows I’m serious, my eyes digging into hers, my breath shallow and angry, right on the edge of composure. She says nothing, just stares with a holier-than-thou expression on her face, and I’m done

here, I’m done with their shit. I’m through the front door and halfway back to the Merc by the time she speaks again, and her voice is a shrill little wail, an attempt at intimidation that falls pathetically short of the mark. “They’re going to Grange High, Alexander! Whether you like it or not!” My tyres churn up her pretty pink gravel on my way out.

CHAPTER SIX

MELISSA

SONNIE’S BOUGHT herself some non-standard cleaning cloths. I’ve seen them advertised on TV, extra strong for extra shine. She doesn’t mention it, but I see them when I look in on her wiping down the glass table in suite four. I’m hurt for a moment that Sonnie would be so out to win, but it’s for the best. Definitely. It means I can whoop her ass without any guilt. Being here, among the corporate glamour of floor sixteen, has only fanned the flames. Yesterday afternoon I was stuck in an alcove between suites seven and eight, and I managed to stare at him through the glass for ten minutes straight. He doesn’t smile much, not that I’ve seen. Not with colleagues, nor with clients. He doesn’t smile when he’s on the phone, or even when an assistant drops a Starbucks in between meetings. His face always has this constant sternness about it – his eyes steely, his mouth so perfectly impassive. Perfectly perfect. Being this close to him is doing nothing whatsoever to ease my obsession. My heart thumps every time I step foot into the executive suites, knowing he might be there, just around the corner, near enough to study, far enough removed that he has no idea I even exist. I think about him in bed at night, when Joe is asleep in the room next door. I think about him every morning on the underground, wondering if today’s the day I’ll run into him late at the office. I think about him all the time. And it’s not just me and Sonnie that are suffering the Henley effect. I checked Dean’s phone when he was in the shower last night. I wasn’t even snooping, it was right there, flashing on the coffee table. I only picked it up to stop it bleeping. I didn’t expect to find his gallery app open, and didn’t expect to find five saved pictures of the gorgeous Alexander Henley staring back at me. Dean says he’s dangerous, just like the internet claims, and maybe he’s right. Maybe the man they call Puppet Master is dangerous. Maybe he’s involved with things I could never

imagine, but that doesn’t stop me playing with myself when I think of all the dark, dirty secrets those steely eyes might be hiding. In fact, it’s the opposite. Juicy gossip about the skeletons in his closet turns me on all the more. Fucked up, but true. I just want… more… everything… I just want… him. And I’m pretty sure Dean’s jerking off over him too. Hot older guy syndrome – I guess it’s an affliction we both suffer from. That’s why Dean ended up on my sofa in the first place – a not-so-secret crush on our History teacher at school, Mr Patterson. Dean was just a kid, and he didn’t like to talk about it, especially not after his dad cottoned on and beat the shit out of him at regular intervals from that day forward. Street fighting, that’s what everyone blamed it on, even Dean himself, no matter how many times I asked. But I knew, even if nobody else would believe me. I’ve always known his dad’s a homophobic piece of shit. So, when Dean arrived on my doorstep earlier this summer with a case full of clothes and the declaration he was going to stay awhile so I could get myself back on my feet I welcomed him in with open arms. He stepped on in and said nothing about his cut lip, or his swollen cheek, or the fact he was walking with a limp, and hasn’t said a word about it since. He doesn’t talk about his family, or the way they call him a filthy little queer. He doesn’t talk about the men I know he wants, or the gay porn he jerks off to and thinks I don’t know about. I do wish he’d talk about Alexander Henley, for him as much as me. Maybe one day. But today is all about scoring my way into Alexander Henley’s bedroom, even if it’s only to wash his sheets. Sonnie might have her super-duper cleaning cloths, but I’ve got something she doesn’t have. Absolute determination, with a side helping of crazy. I’m definitely on the side of crazy today, fizzing with the prospect of stepping foot inside that Kensington house and seeing it all for myself – all his little habits, all his ways, in his most private surroundings. I want to walk barefoot across his plush carpets, strip naked and wrap myself in his bedsheets and breathe him in, so near but so far. I want to be the one to hang his suits up and load his dishwasher and walk his lovely dog. I want to be able to pretend… I’m already pretending. Pretending I’m already close as I sneak through the service passage to meeting suite ten. I’ve seen the roster. I know he was in there just over an hour ago. I’ll be wiping his fingerprints from the glass table top, polishing up the chair he’s been sitting in. A ghost behind him, following him, adoring him. Stalking him, Dean would say. He’s not so far wrong, I guess. The room is supposed to be long empty, that’s what the roster says. I’m loaded up with cleaning products and committed to my entry as I shoulder open the door and step inside.

The lights are dim, the London skyline bright through the floor to ceiling windows. I don’t see his silhouette until my feet are already on the carpet, the door swooshing shut behind me. Oh fuck. Alexander Henley has his ear pressed to his mobile phone, his voice angry and curt as he barks out orders to the person on the other end. I back into the door, heart pounding, mouth paper dry at the thought of the disciplinary I’m bound to be getting for this. Discreet. You must be discreet. I’ve really fucked up. My dream of promotion shrivels and dies in the air between us as Mr Henley himself turns to face me. He steps forward, and the glow of a spotlight catches his forehead, his brows so pitted as he squints to make me out in the shadows. I lower my head, and for once I’m grateful for my stupid cap. I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t want him to see me. So much for the late-night office fantasy. “Hold,” he says to the handset, and he’s heading my way. I’m doomed, a rabbit in headlights, unable to bolt and run because that would be too rude, unable to stay because Janet Yorkley will throw a fit at me when she hears about this. The panic thrums, my mind spinning through my options. Maybe I should beg him to forgive my error. Beg him to turn a blind eye and not let Janet know what a fuckup I made. Maybe I should beg full stop. I’d beg for anything from him. I shrink into the door, my cap low and shoulders hunched, as though being small is going to save me. But weirdly, as my breath comes out ragged and my knees feel all weird and wobbly, it does. He stops. Stares. I feel his eyes burning as mine stare at the handset lolling in his hand, the call still active. His hands are big. Long fingers. I can’t raise my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr Henley, sir,” I whisper, clutching my armful of products like a shield. “I thought… it said the room would be…” “Empty,” he finishes. “Yes. I’ll be out of your way shortly.” The handset rises to his ear and my eyes follow, and he gestures me forward, gestures I can carry on about my business. His laptop is still open on the table, but he indicates I can clear it to the side. His coffee cup, too. My skin prickles. My eyes meeting his for just a moment as I dither and dawdle, and I

must look petrified because he smiles. He smiles. Just for a heartbeat. And then he’s barking at the person on the other end again, pacing back to the windows. My fingers are shaky as I unload my supplies onto one of the chairs. The polish makes a hiss as I spray, too loud for the room, and I see him turn again, staring as he paces. I can’t look at him, I daren’t. I give it my best as I scrub and buff, stretching over the expanse of glass, my arms tense with effort. I lift his laptop so gently, taking care not to look at his inbox on screen. I lift his coffee cup and buff underneath, wipe down the seat he’s been sitting in, then rebuff the table until my reflection is crisp and clear and I can even see my terrified eyes. I see him, too. I see him watching me in the glass. Shivers. It gives me shivers. I don’t stop working. I daren’t stop working. I’m like a whirling dervish as I polish and wipe down the side cabinets, the corporate pictures on the wall, the leaves of the ornamental plants in the corners. I empty the wastepaper bin and make sure the new liner is perfectly even. I run a cloth along the skirting to catch any dust. I’m wiping down the radiator cover as he hangs up the phone, and there’s a lump in my throat, filled with apologies, a hundred words to stop him telling Janet Yorkley to fire my sorry ass. I don’t say a single one of them. He clears away his laptop. I watch him from the corner of my eye, and I see that he’s careful, picking up his things without touching the table, being so careful with his fingers. I don’t know why it surprises me so much, but it does. He reaches under the table for his briefcase, and he pushes his chair in all the way when he’s done. And then he heads for the door. The thought of him leaving makes my chest pang, and I turn my head, bold for just a single moment. He’s looking at me, his elbow already through the open door. “Goodnight,” he says. My voice is squeaky. Pathetic. “Goodnight, Mr Henley, sir.” He smiles. Again. He smiles at me. And then he’s gone.

ALEXANDER

THERE ARE myriad corporate species in this building, and almost all of them exist outside of my awareness. The pools of secretaries, the receptionists, the kitchen staff, the trainees. The cleaners. It occurs to me that I’ve existed in this space for more years than I care to remember, and yet not once have I ever seen a cleaner going about their business. Not until last night. Corporate efficiency – that’s what my father would call it. The great divide between the lowly minions who clean up our shit, and ourselves, the untouchable lords at the top. Like I said, my father is a prick. So what that I saw a cleaner? Some girl in a shitty uniform going about her working life, just happening to collide with my space at the same time I’m inhabiting it – who cares? What makes it so memorable, I decide as I examine it this morning, is the fact that I spend my recreational time paying an obscene amount of money to women who’ll do my bidding. Women who are there purely to give me what I want. Whatever I want. And yet not one of them has ever made me feel as powerful as that scared little creature made me feel last night. I’m so sorry, Mr Henley, sir. I wish I could recall her voice more accurately. The hunch of her shoulders as she recoiled from my stare. The dip of her head, the jitters almost unperceivable, like a ghost of a scent on the air. Mr Henley, sir. The women I pay never use my real name. I’m Ted, or Bill, or Vladimir, or whichever poxy name I fancy for the evening. I could be Henry VIII for all they give a shit. Mr Henley, sir. It’s been a long time since someone called me that and really meant it. My assistant Brenda never means it. She says it with as much of a sneer as she dares without landing herself out of a job. The cleaner was just a ghost in the machine, I didn’t even see her face, not under the stupid hat I assume we make them wear. Her face doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. And it doesn’t. Aside from the fact that her meek little apology gave me a hard on, the girl cleaned with more dedication than I’ve ever put into anything.

I wasn’t just hard, I was fucking impressed. I call up my corporate extension list, wade through the reams of names I’ve never had any reason to take notice of. Janet Yorkley – Cleaning Services Manager. I buzz Brenda and tell her I want to see this Janet, and not ten minutes later the woman is outside my door with red cheeks and an expression nothing short of terrified. I beckon her in and point to an empty chair on the opposite side of the boardroom table. The same boardroom table. I hold up a hand as she makes to pull herself in. “Don’t. Touch,” I say, pointing at the glass. It’s still perfect, pristine, untouched. I don’t want Janet Yorkley’s grubby prints on it. I tell her so. I tell her that’s exactly what she’s here to observe. “I want you to look,” I tell her. “At the glass. Tell me what you can see.” The woman has no idea what I’m talking about, her breath still ragged from the ascent. Lord fucking knows why she didn’t take the elevator. “Look at what, Mr Henley, sir? I don’t understand.” Her voice is nervous, but it does nothing for my dick. It’s gravelly, hoarse. Too confident. “The glass,” I say. “It’s perfectly clear. Perfectly. Not a single smear. Not a print. Not one.” She puffs up her chest like a proud little peacock. “Thank you, sir, our cleaning staff are dedicated to the very highest levels of…” I shush her with a shake of my head. “Yes, yes, Janet. I don’t need the brochure spiel, and this isn’t an award ceremony.” Her mouth slaps shut, a little bit like a toad’s. “There was a girl here last night. A cleaner,” I continue. Her eyebrows go so fucking high. “You saw one of our cleaners?” “Yes, Janet, I saw one of your cleaners. In here. Last night. I was talking, and she was…” Janet Yorkley looks mortified. She holds out her hands, dithering in the air so as not to spoil the cleanliness of the table I just pointed out to her, and she’s waffling apologies, assurances that it won’t happen again, that the cleaner in question will be demoted. Fired. Dismissed immediately. I tell her the table is perfectly fucking clean and she wants to fire the girl. Imbecile. I can’t fucking stand imbeciles. The woman isn’t listening to a fucking word I’m saying, and I hate that. I think it’s probably my biggest hate – people who won’t shut their trappy fucking pie hole long enough to just fucking listen. “I don’t want her fired,” I tell her, and my voice is irritated as sin. “I want her promoted.”

“Promoted?” Her eyes are like golf balls. “You wish to have her promoted?! The girl you saw? But she’s in breach of–” “Yes, Janet, I wish to have her promoted. To my house. To my office. To anywhere I’ll get the best personal use of her talent.” Janet Yorkley bores me. I can practically hear her brain clunking around her skull. “To my house, Janet. Do you understand? I have an extensive collection of gemstones. My tumblers are Dalton Crystal. My dining table is antique walnut. I want that girl to clean it. All of it.” She nods. Her brain chugs around some more. “She moved my laptop and she didn’t even look at the screen. Not even a glance. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find someone who cares so little for corporate snooping?” It’s a rhetorical question, but she goes to answer it anyway. “We value discretion, in our induction we vet our candidates for–” I wave her quiet. “My old cleaner is leaving us, yes? I got a memo, did I not?” “Your assistant… I sent it to…” “I see all my assistant’s correspondence, Janet.” “At the end of the month… Cindy’s moving away…” Like I give two fucks who Cindy is or what she’s doing. “That girl will be my new cleaner,” I tell her. “Make it so.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

MELISSA

WHEN WE’RE SUMMONED into Janet’s office at the end of our next shift I hope it’s only me who’s going down for my fuck-up, and not poor Sonnie too. The apology is already on my tongue since I’ve been rehearsing it all afternoon. I wonder if she’ll let me off with just a slap on the wrist. Show mercy over one stupid moment of carelessness. I don’t get the impression they give many second chances in this place, and I’m petrified, now more than ever, because I was so close to him, just him and me, and he spoke to me, smiled at me… just for one moment… but it’s a start… it’s– “Sit,” Janet snaps, and I sit. So does Sonnie. “You girls know why you’re in here, I’m sure.” Sonnie looks blank, shaking her head a little, and I feel so guilty. I should’ve said something earlier, at least she could’ve prepared for the shit storm. I blurt it out, just to get it over with. “I’m really, really sorry. It was a mistake. It was dark, the roster said the room was empty…” Sonnie’s eyes are so wide. I wish the ground would swallow me up. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I should’ve looked, should’ve checked, I was carrying things and I didn’t think…” Janet looks seriously unimpressed, her mouth so tight and mean. “I’d dismiss you for this,” she tells me. “Discretion is one of our highest priorities, Miss Martin, especially where Mr Henley is concerned.” I’m nodding, and Sonnie is staring right at me as the realisation dawns. “You walked in on Mr Henley?! This ain’t got nothing to do with me, Janet. Uh uh. No.” “It’s got nothing to do with Sonnie,” I reiterate. “She doesn’t even know about it.” Janet nods. “As I said, I’d dismiss you for this. Luckily for you, Mr Henley has other plans.” She shuffles a load of papers and taps them on the desk as I gawp. She pulls out what

looks like a pass on a lanyard from her top drawer, and a set of keys from a box she has to unlock with a special code. “Other plans?” Sonnie prompts, and my heart is pounding. Janet shrugs at Sonnie. “I was going to promote you, Miss Webber, but the decision was made for me. Miss Martin is going to be taking over from Cindy Harris as Mr Henley’s personal cleaner.” “Me?!” I gasp. “But I–” “You,” Janet says. “Just as well you’re an exceptionally thorough polisher, Miss Martin, otherwise you’d be out on your ear.” “I don’t understand…” I start, and Janet rolls her eyes at me. “You impressed him. Lord knows why after you bulldozed in on him like an incompetent ass.” Sonnie hides her disappointment well. “Congratulations, honey,” she says. I hate myself for Sonnie, but I adore Alexander Henley right now, even more than I did before. “Thanks,” I say. “You should really have the position, you’re miles better than me,” I offer, and Sonnie nods. So does Janet. “Guess it was your lucky day.” Sonnie smiles and shrugs, and I feel even worse, because she’s so nice, and competent, unlike me. “You’ll be taking floor eighteen, Miss Webber,” Janet says. Thank God for small mercies. At least she’ll still get to sniff his seat. But I don’t think I’ll win any favours by pointing that out to her. Janet hands over the paperwork, the lanyard and the keys. I take them so gently. The Holy Grail. His actual house keys, the real thing. “Cindy will need to show you the ropes,” she says. “You’ll be shadowing her for the next few days, and then she’ll be moving on.” I thought we had weeks before Cindy left, but apparently Janet has other plans. Or maybe Mr Henley does. I stop right there. Mr Henley liked my polishing. That’s all. A lucky day, just like Sonnie said. We’re dismissed before I can say anything else, and I’m burning up, feeling quite sick as Sonnie and I make our way downstairs. “I’m sorry,” I tell her. “I thought she’d fire me. I had no idea.” “Ah well.” She shrugs. “Guess the best scrubber won in the end.” But they didn’t. She smiles anyway. “I expect a full report, by the way. I want to know everything, like what his sheets smell like, if his toilet has skids in it, if he uses a sock to jerk off. Everything.”

I laugh. “Everything,” I repeat. “You know it.” She slaps my arm as we reach the exit. “I’m actually glad you won,” she tells me. “I’m pretty hot on the guy, but you… well… you’re a whole load more batshit than I am.” I laugh again. “You got that right.” “We did it together,” she says. “Remember that. We put our minds to it and we did it. You just keep on doing it.” In my mind’s eye, I see myself scrubbing his toilet. See myself sorting his dirty laundry. See myself using his toothbrush. See myself rolling naked on his bed. See myself… Sonnie grabs hold of my hands. “Girl, I have something for you.” She leans in really close, her mouth right to my ear. “Ask Cindy about Harley’s Tavern. You want your man, you gotta get in there. Whatever it takes. You got it? You ask Cindy, she’ll tell you, but don’t say it came from me, alright? Janet told her I was likely getting the job, she filled me in on a few things…” She winks. “Private things. Private Henleyrelated things.” She’s already on her way before I can ask any questions, so I blurt out the obvious one. “What’s Harley’s Tavern?!” She freezes, spins back to face me and flaps her arms around like I’m being a clumsy idiot all over again. “Jeez, girl, you gonna have to learn to button it if you want to keep this gig!” “Okay,” I say quietly, “tell me more. What private things?” She taps her nose, gives me a wink, “You’ll see.”

HARLEY’S TAVERN is an old style pub north of the city. Dean looks it up on his phone for me while I make us a hot drink. “What’s so special about the place?” he asks. “Looks pretty regular to me.” “I have literally no idea, Sonnie said to ask Cindy.” “Henley’s old cleaner?” I nod. “Maybe he takes his chicks there before he offs them.” He laughs, but I don’t. He holds my new keys up to the light. “Looks like he’s got some helluva lot of security going on.” I stir my coffee, bouncing Joe on my hip as he sings wheels on the bus. “You’d hope so. I’m sure he’s got plenty worth stealing.” “And plenty of secrets worth hiding.” He smiles. “Well done, Lissa. You did it. I knew you would.” “I got lucky.” He shrugs. “Wasn’t luck that polished that table up. Wasn’t luck that got you promoted up

there in the first place.” “Was luck that he cared enough not to fire my idiot ass.” The paperwork is still sitting on the worktop, detailing both my pay rise and the insanely intimidating non-disclosure agreement. Dean sifts through it. “This is pretty hardcore.” “He’s pretty hardcore.” “Dangerous, like I said. This stuff is like a military secrets act.” “He’s a lawyer.” “With a lot to hide from the sounds of it, I’m not talking client confidentiality either.” I pull a funny face at Joe and he laughs, and then he wants down to watch some clowns singing songs on the TV in the living room. “Maybe it’s all the dead bodies.” I smile. “Bodies, or snuff porn, or maybe a black magic temple in the cellar.” “I’m being serious.” So am I. I hope I’m going to find kinky sex toys and cock selfies rather than a couple of corpses, but Dean’s got me pretty psyched up about those online stories. Maybe I’m his next victim… hopefully not to bury me under his patio, but maybe he wants me in his house to humiliate me and turn me into his dirty little sex slave. The thought makes me grin and prickle at the same time, and Dean scowls at me. “You’re gonna get yourself into a whole world of trouble with him, Lissa, you know that, right?” I’m counting on it. ALEXANDER

HARLEY’S TAVERN is a dingy little pub out past the M25 towards Harlow. A nothing place, that’s how it looks. That’s why Claude uses it more often than not as his venue of choice. I take the Mercedes down into the underground car park, and pull in next to his sparkling BMW. Harley’s Tavern looks like a dive to the casual observer, just another spit and sawdust local showing football on the big screen at the weekends. I wouldn’t be seen dead here under normal circumstances, but venture upstairs and it’s a whole different story. I’ve called this meeting. I haven’t seen Claude in months, not since he schmoozed it up at the same charity ball I was at last summer and shot me a few too many overfamiliar glances across the crowd. I generally prefer distance in our business communications, but my requirements are… changing.

He meets me by the entrance to the rear hall, the same slick grin on his face he always wears for business. His handshake is firm and not at all clammy. “Alexander, it’s been a while. I’ve booked us the bridal suite.” He laughs and slaps my back. This kind of boys’ club camaraderie normally gets my hackles up, but I need Claude, so I let it lie. Every fucking time. Need. It’s a fucking disgusting word. He leads us upstairs and slides his card into the lock. Memories of Candice hammer my senses. Her pretty ass spread wide for me last week, her groans as I opened her up all the way. She stretched so willingly that girl. But she gave me nothing. Tense calves. A grimace. Moans that were borderline over-acting. She gave me fuck all. They’re always there for the money, and why wouldn’t they be? I’m no fucking idiot, but cash-hungry girls going through the motions are no longer enough. I want more than a couple of ticked boxes showing their hard limits. I want more than a little slut on her knees pretending she’s loving everything I’m loving. I want real. And that’s what I tell Claude in no uncertain terms. He offers me a whisky and I wave it aside as usual. He pours himself a healthy measure and takes a seat on the leather chaise longue. I pace, back and forth by the four poster, sifting through memories of all the times I’ve been in this room, all the women I’ve paid to tie to its posts and fuck until I’m sated and they’re considerably better off financially. “The girls like it,” he tells me. “Candice, well, she asks for you, often. I think she’s got a real thing for you.” “Because I tip,” I snap. “You know it and I know it.” He shakes his head. “She’s a dirty girl, believe me. She was a star in the test run. She wants it one hundred percent. She wants you one hundred percent.” “I’ve no doubt she gets her thrills, Claude, but she’s not really exposed. She doesn’t let go. She isn’t…” His eyes glint like the black obsidian in my collection at home. “Isn’t what, Henley? Isn’t scared? Is that what you want? A girl who’s scared of you? Some little slip of a thing who’ll make you feel like your balls are made of fucking steel?” He takes a sip of whisky. “Is that what you’re after? Power? Real power? I’m sure I can deliver, just tell me how far you want to go.” I shoot him a glare. “I’m not a total fucking psychopath.” I hate that he knows me. I hate that he knows what I like. Most of all, I hate the way he judges me without even realising he’s fucking judging me.

He shrugs. “None of my business what gets you off, Henley. You just tell me what you want, I’ll find it.” He sighs. “Why the sudden dissatisfaction? You liked Candice last week, Elena, too. And Kimberly. You told me you liked Kimberly. You gave her two grand in tips last month, she told me.” I did like Kimberly. Did. “I’m tired of Kimberly,” I tell him. “Kimberly uses the first chance she gets to take it doggy style and get the kinky shit over with. Kimberly gets off that way, that’s her priority. I gave her two grand in tips last month because she pushed her limits. That’s all. She bolted like a smacked fucking horse afterwards.” He laughs. “Sure. She’s not hardcore enough. So you want fresh meat. I got it.” He grabs some papers from his briefcase. “For your perusal, off the books. First choice.” “Like every single thing you do isn’t off the books.” I take them from him, sit myself on the bed to have a look. Girls. Five of them. Early twenties, pretty, spread pussies, perfectly filthy smiles. Keen. Perfect. All of them perfect. An array of checked boxes under their pictures. Limits, so many limits. I drop the pile at my side. “None of them.” “That little Lulabelle is a real treat. She’ll be right up your alley, I promise. I can do you a deal. I’ll call her in this weekend, on the house, try before you buy.” But I don’t want Lulabelle, with her pouty lips and her perfectly perky tits. She looks like she’d be a squealer. She’d probably break glass. “What’s wrong with Lulabelle?” Claude asks again. “She’s perfect.” Exactly. I don’t say that. I don’t want to share any more of my kinks with Claude than absolutely necessary. The slimy cunt already knows enough to turn my stomach. “I said none of them.” Claude looks nonplussed. “Sure, well, your father showed interest. I guess I’ll pass her on to him.” My finger jabs through the air before I can stop it. “Don’t mention my fucking father, Claude. You know the fucking rules.” He holds his hands up. “Just saying. I’ll pass them on, if you’re sure.” “And you also just said this selection was just for me, off the books.” He shrugs. “Me and your old man go back a long way, as you well know.” It makes me cringe, the whole fucking lot of it. Pandering to this seedy little back-alley business for safety, because my own tried and tested methods of scoring hook-ups landed me in the jaws of Ronald fucking Robertson and his fucking shit stain of a newspaper. I grit my jaw. Breathe slowly. Calmly.

“Find me what I’m looking for, Claude. Send the others to whoever you want, I have no interest.” “You get first refusal, you know that…” I laugh, because it’s like a black comedy, this whole sordid affair. I’m watching my own train wreck unfold, tumbling down my own perverted rabbit hole. “First refusal in an open auction. Sure I do.” “You know what I mean, Henley. First refusal over some of my other clients…” Clients. He means my disgusting excuse of a father and his vile little network of associates. The man who bailed me out with company cash and insisted I use his more secure outlets for my needs. The one condition: we never cross purchases. Quite frankly I have no fucking interest in touching any woman my father has been within a five-mile radius of. I’d rather hack my dick off with a rusty knife. I’d rather not be in a five-mile radius of him either for that matter, but I have no such joy keeping the old cunt out of my boardroom. I wish I didn’t know what the grim old bastard gets up to at all, but the memory is emblazoned in my psyche for all time. The wonders of teenage curiosity. I wish I could bleach the knowledge from my brain. Believe me, I’ve tried. My therapists made these pricey little sexcapades look like small change. “Get me what I’m looking for, Claude. Something real. Someone with no ticks in the boxes. Someone who’ll fucking fit.” He laughs. “Sounds to me like you want a girlfriend, Henley, not a hooker. That isn’t my game.” The idea of a girlfriend is laughable. My heart shrivelled up and died a long time ago. He stands and holds out his hand. “Leave it with me.” I shake it without smiling, then offer him back his paperwork. He doesn’t take it. “Think on them, I have other copies.” I’m sure he fucking does. “I don’t need to think on them.” “Humour me, then.” His grin is bright and professional, as though he’s trying to sell me a fucking timeshare. I fold the papers and slip them into my inside pocket, to humour the sonofabitch. “I’ll be in touch,” he says. I don’t say goodbye on my way out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

ALEXANDER

LIFE WASN’T ALWAYS like this for me. A sugar-coated veneer of normality once held the power to keep my darker impulses at bay. Once. Getting married was easy, I just had to pretend to be everything I wasn’t. Getting divorced was easier, I just had to stop pretending. I never wanted Claire. I wanted her sister. We met at a fundraiser for the Para-Olympics. Claire’s sister is a double-amputee swimmer, and one of the most vivacious people I’ve ever met. She was in an accident. One of those wrong place at the wrong time affairs that dealt her a shitty hand. She lost both her legs below the knee, chewed up under a Transit van travelling far too fast on a blind bend. People grimace when she tells the story. Give it all the oohs and aahs and you poor, poor soul. But she didn’t want any of that. Didn’t need their sympathy. Just as the pressure in the earth forms mere rock into the most glorious crystals, her accident transformed her into something incredible, someone who came back stronger and all the more beautiful for her adversity. I love people like that. Unfortunately, I see very few of them. Which is why I wanted to propose to Emily Caldwell on the spot. Just like that. In front of a crowd of people at some snooty fundraiser. In front of my grotesque father and my vile excuse for a mother. Just as well I was introduced to Emily Caldwell’s fiancé before I could do anything ridiculous. I was introduced to Emily Caldwell’s sister shortly afterwards. I think it was the tux that first snared Claire. Then it was the cool million my company donated to some Sports Relief gig as the champagne flowed.

Charity. I despise the way it brings out the self-righteous in people. Far more effective than the confession box at church, because it involves no self-searching, no confrontation of the terrible things people do to further themselves. Give a million to some poor unfortunates and let the world know about it. Go out and fuck over those same unfortunates for some cold hard profit on your next dividend statement and nobody bats an eyelid. Smile for the media as you hold the cheque and the world tells you how generous you are. How wonderful you are. What a great example you are. When I give personally to charity – and believe me, I give a lot – I give anonymously. Totally anonymously. I don’t want credit. I don’t want salvation. I don’t want my pearly whites all over some fundraiser on prime time TV. I don’t want to impress some smiling Miss Perfect like Claire on the back of my generosity. I don’t want to impress anyone. I rarely impress myself. Brutus, at least, is pleased to see me when I get home this evening. He’s not a particularly expressive beast, just a meeting of the eyes and a wag of the tail, and we both know he’s glad I’m back. That does me just fine. I get him his dinner, then pull Claude’s shitty offerings from my pocket and dump the paperwork on the side. I grab myself some sushi to get food out of the way, and hit the treadmill downstairs for thirty to raise my serotonin levels. I take out my case notes, prepare for another crappy day in court, getting my clients a retrospective free pass to do whatever they feel like. I’m doing just fine when my phone rings. My other phone. I don’t answer, just stare numbly at the incoming call. It stops flashing, and the ping of a message comes through. I open it. Lulabelle. I’m taking her. I reply instantly. I don’t fucking want her. Another ping. Claude says you’re turning your nose up at his merchandise. That’s bad form, boy. Very bad form. I don’t reply to that one, and another comes through. We use Claude. No alternatives acceptable. As if I’m interested in another fucking supplier. I go back to my case notes. The phone flashes. He’s starting up the auctions again, for brand new merchandise. I reply. And?

No more first refusal. We bid fair and square. I want my old meat in some fresh young meat. My reply is instant. You disgust me. His comes straight back. You disgust yourself, boy. I’m just the scapegoat. Boy. I turned forty-four last spring, and the old prick still insists on calling me boy. I can hear his voice say it. A hiss and a jab of the finger. You disgust yourself. He’s right about that. Not for what I do with women. Not for buying sex as a service because I can’t bear the thought of anyone coming close to me ever again. Not for liking to choke off some pretty girl’s breath as she squirms around, spluttering as I drive my cock into her tight little asshole. Not for treating them like I own them. I do own them. I’ve paid generously for the privilege and they know exactly that they’re signing up for. Exactly. I disgust myself because of the things I’ve done. The people I’ve destroyed. The money I’ve taken. The cunts I’ve protected from justice. The people I’ve destroyed. I’ve destroyed. Not Henley Grosvenor in our ivory tower with our poncey graphite and mauve letterheads. Me. Face to face, eye to eye, destroying innocents in the courtroom. Taking away their justice behind the scenes. Taking away their rights, their validation, their fight. Their soul. Claire once asked me, a long time ago, why I don’t just quit. Claire’s a fucking imbecile. You don’t just quit when you’re in as deep as I’m in. When you know the things that I know. When you’re in tight with the people I associate with, that my father associated with before me. My father’s client list makes mine look like a fucking children’s party. That’s the closest I’ve come to getting out. I’m a long fucking way from getting out. There is only this. This.

More. Of. This. My case notes blur into nothing. The curtains parting and showing me the bleakness beyond. The pointlessness. The complete and utter pointlessness of my existence. My heart stutters, my gut twisting as my mind closes down. Pointlessness. Everything is meaningless. Empty. My life is empty. Brutus stares at me as I get to my feet. My steps are light on the stairs, my tie still perfectly knotted as I stare at my haunted face in the bathroom mirror. I clear my throat as I ease open the cabinet door. A row of bottles, perfectly lined up. Prescription painkillers, easily enough to end it all, all lined up, just waiting for me. My heart beats quickly. My mouth is dry as a bone. I draw myself a tumbler of water. Pick up one of those pill bottles and shake its contents. Empty. My life is empty. I picture my boys’ faces as they told me they were going to the game with Terry. Claire’s twisted expression as she screamed You’re just like your filthy fucking father. I picture my filthy fucking father. I can feel Bill Catterson’s clammy handshake. Ronald Robertson’s tabloid sleazy grin as he stares at me. I picture Vivian Rachel Farr. The hate in her parents’ eyes as they screamed at me outside the courtroom on Lionshall Lane over a decade ago. I shake that pill bottle. It’s not that I want to commit suicide. It’s really not that dramatic. There isn’t any wailing, or panic, or crushing sense of misery. It’s not any of those things that ensure I have a stock of medication on hand to end it all at any time of my choosing. It’s the nothingness. The pointlessness. The exertion it requires to get through day after pointless day, knowing tomorrow is going to be more of today, and the next day is going to be more of that. On and on and fucking on. For nothing. For no one. Although that’s not strictly true.

I hear Brutus on the tiles. His panting breath. He has such rancid breath. The thought makes me smile. I take a breath of my own. Brutus was the most hopeless, desperate animal they had at the shelter. That’s what I wanted, and that’s why I took him. Vicious. Untrainable. Unlovable. Haunted. Scarred. Ugly. Miserable. Hopeless. And less than twenty-four hours from euthanasia when I loaded him into the Merc and brought him home with me. We’re a good pair. Vicious. Haunted. Hopeless. He grunts at me as if he knows it. I put those pills back in the cabinet and take a shower. I jerk myself off to brutal pornography in my dressing gown. I think about burying my dick in another man’s asshole as I finally come, ignoring the sickness in my stomach, ignoring the memory of that public urinal all those years ago. I let Brutus out for his late night shit. Give him a fish stick as a reward for basic bodily functioning. And then I go to fucking bed.

CHAPTER NINE

MELISSA

I’M RATTLING with nerves as Cindy and I take the tube across the city. I’ve officially signed my life away to whatever non-disclosure criteria Henley Grosvenor insisted upon. I didn’t even read it, not completely, just signed my name in the box and landed it back on Janet’s desk first thing this morning, much to Dean’s despair. Cindy is quiet on the crowded carriage, and I bite my tongue, holding back the stream of questions zipping through my mind. We get off at Kensington and Cindy hands me the company expenses credit card outside the vets. She shows me the exact treats for Brutus inside, some gross dried-up fish things that barely look edible, even for a dog. “Always these,” she tells me. “Never walk through that door without them. Seriously, that nasty little shit will take a bite out of you.” “I guess he’s a guard dog,” I comment, handing the card to the woman behind the counter. Cindy hands me a little black book and flips to a page partway in. The company credit card pin is written amongst a load of random numbers. “Guard dog my ass. The thing’s a menace.” I hold back judgement until I meet him for myself. Mr Henley’s house is an impressive white building on a leafy corner. The garden is neat but plain, ornamental hedgerows and wood-chipped flower beds. The front door is thick and black, standing at the top of some fancy white-tiled steps. I’m full of butterflies as Cindy talks me through the set of keys, turning one at the bottom before adding a second key to the top. She pauses before opening the door. “You don’t have long to disable the alarm,” she tells me. “The number’s in the book.” I flip through the pages. “Seven seven six, three four five nine.” “That’s it. Keypad’s under the stairs, to the right. Brutus is always in the conservatory, you’ve got time to sort out the alarm without him causing problems.” “Got it,” I say, and she opens the door. The countdown bleep of the alarm sounds right through the house, and I make a dash for

it, heading to the little white door under the stairs and searching inside. There are coats in here. They smell of him. Him. Butterflies. So many butterflies in my belly. Seven seven six, three four five nine. I sigh in relief as the alarm goes silent, and turn to find Cindy smiling at me. “It’ll become second nature after a while. Everything about Mr Henley becomes second nature after a while.” I can’t believe I’m really here, standing inside his house. His actual house, where he eats and sleeps and showers. I spin on the spot, trying to memorise it all, every little detail – the red-tiled floor, the leafy plant at the bottom of the stairs, the wrought iron balustrade climbing to the upstairs landing. There’s a table by a low window, on it sits his bottle of whisky, and next to that is a single glass tumbler, and the antique inkwell Cindy told me about. I feel heady at the sight of the Insignia cigarette packet. And then there is Brutus. His growl is absolutely terrifying, a horrible low snarl behind me. The hairs on my arms stand on end, and I take a breath before I face him, turning slowly towards what looks to be the kitchen doorway. “Don’t walk away from him,” Cindy hisses. “Hold your ground.” Easier said than done. Brutus really is a brute. He’s big and black, some kind of Rottweiler cross from the looks. But shaggier. Meaner. If that’s possible. He’s got a big scar under his right eye, and his lips are curled back, showing some monster teeth. “Hey, boy,” I say, and he growls all the louder. I’m relieved when Cindy comes to my side, and she talks to him like a baby, as though she’s not scared, even though she’s as white as I must be. “Fish sticks,” she whispers. “Give him a fish stick.” I fish in my handbag for the packet, and his ears twitch at the rustle. I pull out the treats, tear into them with shaky fingers. “Throw one,” she says, but it’s not my game plan. I’m in. Totally. All or nothing. Come on, boy. Let’s be friends, right? Please let’s be friends. I step forward and drop to my knees and Cindy grabs my shoulder, curses that I’ve got a fucking death wish, but I shake her off. Edge closer. A stinky dried up fish treat in my outstretched fingers. “Hey, Brutus. Do you want this?” He’s still growling, and I’m totally shitting it, but I force that down and take a breath. “Hey, Brutus. Good boy. Come on.” “You’re fucking batshit,” Cindy tells me.

Yes. Yes, I am. A flash of panic as Brutus comes toward me, and it takes every bit of steel not to get to my feet and bail a retreat. He sniffs the treat in my fingers, his face so close to mine. And his breath stinks. It really stinks. Enough to make me splutter. “Geez, boy, you’re quite a honker.” I dare to laugh, smiling with my face in his, that gross bit of fish wedged between us like a peace offering. It feels like that dog is staring right into my soul, his big dark eyes so cold and mean. I feel like he can see everything, and that’s good, because there’s no way he’ll be able to look inside me and not see how much I want to be his friend. I really want to be his friend. Because I love his owner. I love his owner so much it takes my breath. And I’ve worked so hard to get here, given everything to get here. “It’s for you,” I whisper. “Come on, Brutus, take the yummy treat.” Cindy gasps as he actually does take it. He takes it gently, right from my fingertips, then sits back on his haunches and crunches it with a big slobbery gnashing of teeth. I get to my feet slowly, very slowly, but he doesn’t seem that interested, just finishes up his treat and drops to lay on the floor with his head on his paws. “Fuck me,” Cindy says. “Do you moonlight as Cesar fucking Millan or something?” I shake my head. “I just want him to like me.” “No shit. You could’ve got your face bitten off.” But I didn’t. The relief feels amazing. “So,” I say, before my confidence burst fades. “Tell me everything about Mr Henley.” She smiles. “Everything?” I nod. “Everything.” “I’ll talk as we work,” she says, gesturing to the kitchen.

I WIPE down Mr Henley’s gorgeous granite worktops as Cindy cleans out the inkwell. One solitary cigarette butt. That’s all there is. “He really is magnificent,” she says. “If you get to see the corporate suite reception on floor ten, you’ll see all his legal awards lining the main corridor, Mr Henley senior’s, too.” “He’s the best,” I say, “I mean, I know that. I wanted to be a criminal lawyer myself.” She raises her eyebrows. “Shit. What happened?” I shrug it off. “Life.” She shrugs back. “Cool beans. Anyway, he’s incredible. He’s smart, observant, totally demanding of perfection. For real make sure you do a good job in here, because if there’s

so much as a fingerprint on a candlestick he’ll notice it. Well, he would have done.” “Would have?” I slow down my scrubbing to look at her, and she’s dithering, weighing me up. “Please,” I say. “I need to know this stuff.” Her eyes are so pointed. “Everything?” “Yeah, everything. I want to know everything.” She stops cleaning and I do too. “I’ve been doing this nearly four years, and it was a whole different gig when I started, believe me. The kids were here then, and Claire, his wife. She was nice, the kids were cool, it wasn’t this stealth operation we have now, I’d knock on the door and she’d let me in, and we’d have a coffee sometimes while I was working.” “And then the divorce?” “Yeah, she took the kids.” “Why?” She grins. “You’re hot on him. I know. Sonnie told me, like it needed pointing out. It’s written all over you.” I’m so embarrassed I feel sick, so far from professional that I wish the ground would open up. “Sorry, I just…” She shrugs. “He’s beautiful. Talented. Smart. Driven. I get it.” “You do?” Of course she does. “Yeah, I get it, but if you’ve got any sense in that pretty head of yours you’ll steer well clear of him. The guy’s damaged. Broken.” “Broken?” The thought seems ridiculous. Alexander Henley seems anything but broken. He’s the most together person I’ve ever laid eyes on. “He used to be careful,” she says. “He still is. His passwords and security codes change monthly, like I said. He’s got a shredder in his study, and that gets plenty of action, but he’s not…” “Not what?” She pauses. “Not like he used to be. It’s like he’s careless on purpose, leaving loose ends hanging, like he wants to be caught somehow.” My heart is thumping. “Caught doing what?” She laughs. “Jeez, girl. Sonnie really did keep her mouth shut, kudos to that one.” I just gawp. Mute. She sighs. “Mr Henley has some issues. Not just the weird little habits he has like only using one set of cutlery, and smoking one cigarette before bed, none of that crap. The guy likes… pornography.” I smile. “A lot,” she adds. “He used to lock everything down. You’d never even get into his TV

without a twenty digit passcode. Now he doesn’t care, let’s it all hang out, his browsing history sometimes still glaring on screen when I come in in the morning.” “So he likes porn.” I shrug it off. “Show me a guy who doesn’t.” “Not like this. You’ll see, that’s all I’m saying.” I want to ask her more, but she goes back to cleaning. I squirt some cream cleaner into his Belfast sink. “Ok, so he likes pornography. Anything else I should know?” “He has cases full of sex toys in his dressing room, all lined up ready to go.” “Ready to go where?” “It’s none of our business. I’m just telling you so they don’t shock you too much. Some of them are… yeah, you’ll see.” I decide to chance my luck. “Harley’s Tavern,” I say. “What is it?” She smirks. “Maybe not so much kudos for Sonnie’s big mouth after all.” “She told me to ask you.” “Seriously, you don’t want to be getting any ideas.” But I’m getting plenty. Ideas of dashing into the TV room and scrolling through that browsing history, rushing upstairs and looking through all those toys. Rolling naked in his bedsheets and waiting for him to come home, and then begging him, begging him to– “Harley’s Tavern is a venue for upmarket room hire. The kind of room hire you rent by the hour, no questions asked. He buys women and takes them there,” she says. “Fuck knows why, the guy could pick up whoever he wanted.” It really wasn’t what I was expecting. The idea seems absurd. “He pays? For sex?!” “Pays a lot of money for a lot of sex from what I can make of it. This isn’t any vanilla shit, either. You’ll see soon enough, just like I’ve seen. Pictures on his laptop, when it hasn’t shut down properly. His bedside drawer has… paperwork… pictures of some of these women… what they’ll do…” “What will they do?” My eyes feel like saucers. She sighs, then digs in the front pocket of her apron. “I gathered these up when we walked in, right before you saw them. See, this kind of shit, this careless shit, this is new. Six months max.” She hands over some folded paperwork. I hold my breath while I open it. Five girls. Pretty girls. Really pretty girls. My poor heart pangs. There’s a load of checked boxes underneath. Hard limits, the text says. Anal. BDSM. Pain. Watersports. DP. Fisting. Multiple partners. Jeez.

There really are skeletons in the closet. I’m tingling all over, and I shouldn’t be. I really shouldn’t be, but I can’t stop. “He keeps the ones with fewer ticks in the boxes, just so you know.” Cindy holds out her hand. I give her the paperwork and she shoves it back into her apron. I still absolutely can’t imagine it, Mr Henley paying for sex. I mean he’s… gorgeous. Perfect. I tell Cindy so and she laughs, shakes her head. “He’s gorgeous, alright. Gorgeous and talented and sharp as fuck. But he’s broken, just like I said. The guy has some serious issues. His wife told me.” “His wife told you?!” Cindy looks really pleased with herself. “Bits and pieces. I’m only telling you so you know what you’re walking into. You signed some pretty hardcore non-disclosure shit, don’t even think about blabbing this around.” “I wouldn’t,” I tell her, and I’m not lying. “I’ve said enough. The rest you’ll pick up for yourself.” She heads for the utility room and drags out a vacuum, and I feel bereft, desperate to crawl inside her mind and soak up every single thing she knows about Alexander Henley. “You don’t seem put off any,” she comments, and I realise I’m still gawping at her. “The guy has kinks… that’s ok.” “The guy has more than kinks. The guy’s seriously messed up.” Skeletons in the closet. The adrenaline is pumping, excitement fizzing, and I shouldn’t be like this. I really, really shouldn’t be. Because I’m just a silly cleaner who managed to bag a promotion, not one of these girls, I don’t know anything, I’ve never done anything. But I want to. I want him, if I’m being paid for it or not. “Seriously,” Cindy says. “Stay away from him. He’s bad news. I mean it’s pretty tragic, losing his kids and all that, but he’s… dark…” “Damaged…” I repeat. “Yeah, all fucked up.” She sighs. “Such a shame, the guy is fucking gorgeous and fucking loaded. Guess he had to have some pretty major flaws to balance all that out, right?” I’m not interested in loaded. I’m not even interested in gorgeous right now. I’m interested in all fucked up. Damaged and dark. Broken. Like me. But I don’t pay for kinky sex in some weird pub on the outskirts of London. I don’t have a closet full of sex toys and a browsing history bad enough to come with a warning.

And those girls on the pictures are so pretty… so perfect… And I’m so… not. Cindy groans. “Sonnie said you wouldn’t give a shit about my warning. I guess she was right.” I stare blankly. “What do you mean?” She eyeballs Brutus as he comes into the room, edges around the island to keep him at safe distance. “I mean that you’re already thinking about it, how to get to Harley’s Tavern. How to be one of those girls.” Even the thought jabs me in the ribs, because I’m not one of them. I couldn’t be one of them if I tried. I laugh it off, but my voice sounds pained. I tell her I could never be one of them. They’re beautiful, with great hair, and perfect makeup, and manicured nails and… other bits. I feel a billion miles away from that in my crappy uniform, without so much a drop of foundation on my face. She closes the distance and pulls the cap from my head before I can blink. She yanks my hairnet loose and tousles my hair, then tips her head and pulls a face. “You could be one of them, if you tried.” I shake my head, cheeks burning, and gather my hair back up. “You’re being kind.” “I’m being honest. You could be one of them, but you’d need your head examined if you went in for that crazy shit.” The thought pricks. Hope. It’s both beautiful and dangerous. Like Alexander Henley himself. “So what? I just rock on up at that tavern and put myself up for sale?” She laughs and I fold my arms. “What?” I flinch as Brutus grumbles in the doorway, but he settles just fine. “You think you just roll on up with your pussy on show and hope Alexander Henley turns up for a good time? That really isn’t how it works, honey.” “So how does it work? Do you know?” She grins at me, and then she tuts. “You really are batshit. Sonnie told me you would be.” “Sonnie knows me pretty well.” “Yeah, and I know Mr Henley pretty well for someone who’s never officially met the guy. And you will too.” She vacuums before she says anything else, being careful not to venture too near the resting Brutus. I finish up the sink, wondering, thinking. Hoping. One day in his place and I’m already going insane. More insane.

Christ help me. Sex toys, and prostitutes and hardcore pornography. I haven’t even seen his bedroom yet and I’m tumbling in deep. Cindy finishes up and I squeeze out my sponge. “Sonnie says you’ll find a way to get to Harley’s Tavern whether I help you or not. She says it’s only a matter of time. That once you set foot in this place you’d be on some crazy mission. I may as well set you straight, she said.” “Sonnie’s probably right,” I admit, holding her stare. “Is that why you’re here? To get close to Alexander?” Alexander. I can’t imagine being as close to him as she has for four years, and never even exchanging a simple hello. The thought is unbearable. The torture of being so near and still so far. I decide to be honest, and why not? She’s leaving in a few days, and she can help me, save me a bit of time that I’d otherwise spend finding all this crap out for myself. “I’m here because I always wanted to get close to him. This cleaning job was my best shot. My only shot. I met him when I was at school, he did a presentation. I wanted to be a lawyer.” She nods. “That’s some kinda crush. You have real balls spelling that out for me. I admire that.” “So tell me,” I push. “Tell me how I’d get to Harley’s Tavern. Tell me how I’d get a shot, presuming I could be… good enough…” “You really want to know how to line yourself up as Alexander Henley’s next hooker? For fucking real?” “Please.” She smiles. “I’ll point you in the right direction on one condition.” “What’s that?” She unplugs the vacuum. “On the condition you look through his browsing history first.” I nod. “And if that doesn’t put me off?” “If that doesn’t put you off, you’re even crazier than Sonnie says you are.” I picture Sonnie saying it and it makes me grin. “I might well be crazier than Sonnie said I am. A whole load crazier…” “We’ll find out,” she says. “The TV room is through here.”

CHAPTER TEN

ALEXANDER

I DIDN’T CHEAT on my wife. Not once in the entire decade we were married. That may well surprise some, including her, but it’s true. I took my marriage vows seriously, for better or worse, and with that came… sacrifices. Sacrifices I was prepared to make for the sake of having a family. A real family – not the pathetic excuse for one I’d known growing up. Just how many sacrifices I’d have to make didn’t become entirely apparent until after the rings were exchanged, when Claire dropped the bombshell I imagine so many newlyweds are unexpectedly burnt by. But I thought you’d change… I thought things would be different, now we’re… married. My wife Claire was a lot less keen on a rough anal pounding once that band of gold was on her finger. She no longer felt the urge to sidle up to me at social events and let me know how keen she was for later. My wife Claire turned her nose up at my dirtier sexual advances. Can’t we just do it like normal people, Alex? I’m too tired for all that tonight, Alex. Can you be quick, Alex? I’ve got a headache, Alex. And then we had our two beautiful boys. Not now, Alex. Not that, Alex. Why do you have to be such a fucking pervert, Alex? I had some choice answers for that question, but I digress. My point is, I understand restraint. I’m capable of restraint. Or I was. I’m determined I shall be again, which is why I walk into my office on Monday morning with a steely determination to plough myself into my caseload, and why my other phone is still at home on my bedside cabinet.

I’m done with Claude. I’m done with paying for dirty sex. I’m certainly done with this grotesque bargaining-waltz I’m obliged to perform for the sake of sharing the same escort agency as my grubby shit-stain of a father. Cold turkey. It’s the only fucking way. And so it begins. I tell Brenda she has free rein of my diary and focus back on my client list like a rookie with a point to prove all over again. I organise catch-ups with my key networking associates, reinforcing once again why the industry not-so-affectionately labelled me the Puppet Master, and I give my clients my absolute undivided attention. I manage to get three driving offences thrown out of court in the first three days, and convince the local authorities that prosecuting Mr Rand for cannabis possession is a waste of both their resources and mine. I scope out upcoming matches for Portsmouth football club, swallowing down both my pride and my own preference for rugby to ensure I give my boys a good time on our Sundays, and then order them a couple of shirts to be delivered to Claire before I’ll see them next. I manage three days without jerking off to porn. Three nights of lying in bed at night, wide awake with a raging hard on I refuse to fucking finish. Day four since shooting my load and I’m irritable and foul-tempered, desperate to empty myself inside some dirty little bitch’s asshole and find some fucking relief. That’s why I finally switch on the other phone. Not to go crawling back to Claude and his seedy new meat auctions. I don’t go in for the new meat – virgins don’t hold any special interest for me. Not only do they not have a fucking clue what they’re doing, they also have no fucking clue what I’m doing. I’m not in the market for fucking up some naïve little plaything, staring at me doe-eyed, in blissful ignorance as to what exactly she’s signed up for. No. I switch on my other phone to re-engage with my other pastime. The only thing that’s ever been a semi-effective balm to soothe my self-loathing. It’s a band-aid on a bullet wound, but hell, I need something. Something more than this. I call the number as soon as I’m safely back through my front door. My cock is so fucking hard it actually hurts, my balls tight and aching, my temples pounding for relief. It’s Annabel who answers on the third ring, and the warmth in her tone takes me aback. “Ted! I was only talking about you yesterday! We’ve missed you.” I utter a load of bullshit apologies, tell her how I’ve been so busy, travelling across the country selling stationery, a lie I made up on the spot eighteen months ago and have upheld ever since. A conference, I tell her. No rest for the wicked, trying to plug my wares to hit targets. Boss is a ball-breaking wanker, blah, blah.

She tells me she understands. Tells me they hope I can come back soon. I clear my throat and check my diary, and then I commit to coming back real soon. “Tomorrow?!” she asks. “Wow, that’s great! We could really do with the help. Stacie’s son is sick, we’ve barely had enough hands to get the food prepped. You know what Fridays are like, Ted, always a nightmare.” I tell her I’ll be there. Right on time. And I will be. I hang up and then feel a flash of concern. It’s been months since I last put on my incognito jeans and baseball cap, and I haven’t seen them since, which wouldn’t be any reason for alarm should I not have a new cleaner, and should new members of staff not inevitably feel the need to deviate from just about everything their predecessors did. I head upstairs to search through my dressing room, and the crisis is averted as I find the clothes I’m looking for in the odds and sods clothes drawer. I’d say I’d almost forgotten I have a new cleaner, but that would be a lie. There’s no way I could forget about the new cleaner, because the place looks impressively immaculate when I step through the door every evening. The old cleaner was good, but the new cleaner is something else, just as I’d hoped she would be. The new cleaner turns the corner of my bed sheets back. An odd little touch that makes the bed all the more inviting, even if I still can’t get to sleep at night. The new cleaner must have noticed the empty vases in the living room – the ones Claire used to fill – and has taken it upon herself to fill them with fresh white orchids to match the decor. It’s surprising both how much I appreciate them, and how much difference they make to the room. The new cleaner is getting my eggs from a different supplier, and I’ve had two doubleyolkers for breakfast this week. It turns out that the new cleaner is also the reason I jerk myself off in bed on night four without using pornography. She’s the reason I shoot my load without any thought for some seedy guy’s asshole, and the reason I don’t feel the need to scrub my hands clean afterwards. The new cleaner is the reason I abstain from looking at Claude’s string of messages, although that makes no rational sense whatsoever. I’ve never even properly seen her face, but she’s there. A hazy figure at the edge of my consciousness, almost ethereal as I picture the meek little picture she cut as she shrunk away from me, the tenderness of her apology just a whisper in my memory. I’m certain my sex-starved mind is distorting things – shrinking her stature and making her voice all the more reverent. The desperate fantasies of a man battling his demons, turning some poor little slip of a girl into a glowing figure of hope in my unconsciousness. I smile at my own ridiculousness, my fingers still sticky with cum.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

MELISSA

I HAD three days shadowing Cindy to drag every little scrap of information out of her. She’d tut and shake her head, giving me a look that made me feel even crazier than I felt already, but then she’d spill the beans anyway. I guess she owed it to me after I sat and happily watched her scroll through the last four weeks of Alexander Henley’s porn browsing history. She wasn’t lying, the stuff was… brutal. Not handcuffs and riding whips type brutal like I was expecting. The stuff Alexander Henley watches is not nearly so… I dunno… theatrical. His porn tastes are dark and animalistic – grunts and pounding flesh and sweat, sometimes one on one, sometimes several men on one woman as she’s pushed and pulled and thrown around, fucked raw by big dicks in every hole. Many dicks in every hole. So many positions, so many settings – some gross and grimy, and some crazily plush, some with tiny little women and some with much bigger women. Sometimes they spit on her, and sometimes they slap her about, and sometimes they even… pee on her… but not all the time… I wanted the ground to swallow me up as Cindy stared at me staring at a woman getting peed on on Alexander Henley’s giant TV screen, but it didn’t. I had to sit through it, all twenty minutes of that particular video. When she asked me what I thought, I told her I still wanted to know how to get to Harley’s Tavern. She told me I was definitely batshit if I could be even slightly interested in that crap. I’m interested in all of it, because I’m interested in all of him. I watched it as though it was one of those prize-winning memory games they show on TV, where you have to memorise every single item for recall, because to really stand a chance with Alexander Henley I need to stand a chance of knowing exactly who Alexander Henley is. And exactly what Alexander Henley likes. Those videos showed me three constants:

The first being that these women get fucked until they are utterly exhausted. Until they’re nothing but a broken, sweaty, whimpering, cum-splattered mess at the end. The second being that these women are always like puppets, doing exactly as they’re told without hesitation. There’s this obedience to them that I can’t really put into words, I just felt it. I felt it everywhere. And lastly, on every single video without fail, these women get… strangled. Handsaround-the-throat until they choke. Like properly choke. Sometimes they fight, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they have these glassy eyes without any fight in them at all, and sometimes they cry. Sometimes they even smile. Sometimes they cry as they smile. It made me hurt inside. A weird, tender kind of hurt. The kind of hurt I’ve tried to close away since the night my life was taken away from me. But this time it was different, this time it was… beautiful… Peaceful. I can’t even begin to explain how fucked up I must be to feel like this. You can’t understand until you’re in these shoes. Not unless you’ve lost everything. Not unless every day is a fight you’re not sure you want to be fighting. Not unless there is one single dream in life you’re grasping onto with every tiny part of your broken soul, not unless laying yourself before him and offering up your everything is the only destination at the end of a really painful road. Cindy told me she’s pretty sure Mr Henley is into it in real life, asphyxiation. She told me this shit is dangerous and fucked up, and if there was any truth in the things his wife told her that I’d be crazy to risk finding out. I’m crazy, alright. I didn’t tell Cindy that Mr Henley’s browsing history made me burn up. Made me flush hot and cold and shiver all over. I didn’t tell her that I had to clench my thighs all the way through, unsure whether I wanted to faint or play with myself right then and there. I didn’t tell her he is my final destination. The thing that keeps my soul alive enough to care for Joseph and keep on breathing. My breaths are borrowed. Loving him gives them to me. Loving him keeps me hoping. He can take them away. Literally if he wants. I guess I passed her craziness test anyway, because Cindy put the TV back to standby and carried on with the rest of her tour. A tour which ended in Mr Henley’s actual bedroom, and Mr Henley’s cases full of sex toys. She wasn’t lying about those either. Some of those toys could never be used, at least I don’t think so, you’d have to be… loose… to take some of them. Like real loose. Maybe I’m not the best judge since I’ve never done any of it before, but I know enough to know what might fit and what might not.

I told Cindy that and she laughed and said I should scroll further back through his browser history and I might change my mind on that. We’d cleaned the whole house before she finally beckoned me over to Mr Henley’s bedside table. I held my breath as she eased open the top drawer, peeking inside as she so carefully flipped through some paperwork and pulled out a business card. “This is your gateway to Harley’s Tavern,” she told me. The card looked innocent enough. I turned it over in shaky fingers, looking for more, but if there was any meaning it was lost on me. Claude Finch, senior auctioneer. Finch Hamilton. The address listed one of those posh auction houses in Chelsea. “That’s who hooks him up,” she said. “How do you know that?” “He has a private email address, some random account under the name Ted Brown. It was open on his screen one day, there were loads of emails there from CF. Emails showing women with all the usual tick-boxes underneath.” “So you don’t know it’s definitely this Claude guy?” She rolled her eyes. “CF. In the bedside drawer with all the dodgy paperwork. He’s an auctioneer.” “Yeah, but…” “No buts,” she said. “It’s him.” “And if it’s not?” She shrugs. “Pretend you dialled the wrong number.” The idea of actually calling this guy launched my heart into my throat. I wrote his number in my little notepad and slipped that business card straight back into the drawer, exactly as it had been. “I’m glad I’m not going to be around to see what a whirlwind of shit you get yourself into,” she said. And so am I. For all the insight and tips I got from Cindy during our handover, I’ve never been as excited as the moment she hands me her work mobile, loaded up with Mr Henley’s realtime schedule, and finally says her goodbyes. I feel the craziest rush of freedom, this weird naughtiness at the thought that it’s just me in his space now, me on my own, free to rummage and root through his life as much as I like. It takes me two days without her to pluck up the courage to strip naked in his bedroom and slip between his bedsheets. My heart is thumping, right between my legs, my thighs all clammy and jittery as the cotton brushes my skin. I press my nose into his pillow and breathe him in, and I can smell him there, that same deep scent, gorgeous enough that I

never want to breathe normal air ever again. I play with myself in his bed on my third day alone. And again on my fourth. I drink out of his whisky tumbler and put my lips around the cigarette butt in the inkwell. I run my fingers around his toilet seat, knowing his bare ass has been right there. I put on his worn shirt from the laundry hamper, wrap his tie around my neck and imagine him choking me with it as he takes my virginity. I smell his boxers. I smell his bedsheets where his cock must’ve been. I put his toothbrush in my mouth, and my reflection in his bathroom cabinet makes me feel so sick, so out of control that it takes my breath. So I stop. Stop doing this crazy shit and focus on something more practical – on finding out everything I need to know to be close to him for real. I clean and snoop in tandem, working so hard I get blisters on my fingers. I buy some big white orchids for the empty vases in his living room just because it looks so cold and bare, and just hope my streak of initiative doesn’t get me fired. I gain the confidence of Brutus as best I can, and by the end of the week I’m sure I see him wag his tail when I open the door, just one sweep, but it’s enough to give me hope that we really can be friends. Friday evening comes around so ridiculously quickly. I turn down his bed, just so, and take a lingering look at the room before I leave. I say goodbye to Brutus on my way out and check the orchids have enough water to survive until Monday. And then I wait. I linger just down the street, pressed in the shadow of an ornamental hedgerow with a decent view of his front door, the work handset in my hand as his schedule switches from court to clear and the sky turns dark overhead. I wait for almost an hour until he shows, and it’s worth every second to see his car pull onto the driveway. I’d have waited an hour all over again just to watch him climb his front steps and unlock the door I cleaned so thoroughly this afternoon. I watch the lights come on, imagine him walking from room to room. Imagine the pad of paws as Brutus follows his master around the place. Imagine the scent of orchids in the air. Imagine the scent of Alexander Henley with my nose nuzzled into his neck. I’m about to leave for home, really I am. I’m tired and sated and ready for real life. Ready to cuddle with Joseph on the sofa and get him bathed for bed. Ready to drink coffee with Dean and tell him all about my latest adventures at Henley’s palace. I’ve turned on my heel and taken a step in the direction of the underground when I hear the familiar thud of that heavy front door closing. I hold my breath as he locks up behind him, and my eyes are wide, because I can’t believe it. It can’t be.

But it is. Alexander Henley, whose dressing room consists almost entirely of tailored black suits and ties, is wearing a baseball cap, jeans and a scuffed old coat that’s seen better days. I dip behind a parked car, crouching in the darkness as he passes. My skin prickles. All of me prickles. And I follow him. Because wherever he’s going, I’m now on a mission to get there too.

CHAPTER TWELVE

ALEXANDER

I HATE TAKING THE UNDERGROUND. It reminds me exactly why I have a driver. It’s a strange phenomenon that when I’m dressed to be incognito I feel more noticeable than ever. The discomfort is palpable this evening. I feel observed. As though every pair of eyes on this carriage are boring into me. Staring. They aren’t, of course. A simple three-sixty makes it obvious I’m just a guy amongst a regular crowd going about their business. Just good old Ted Brown heading across town to do his bit for the community. Maybe I can add paranoia to my list of sexual-abstinence side effects. I didn’t pick some random homeless charity to absolve me of my self-loathing. The decision to volunteer at New Start, at the Brickwood branch, was an accidental choice, made for me one Friday evening after too much whisky. The tube station is the same grimy shithole it was a few months back. I head up to the street amongst the stream of people disembarking, being careful not to dirty my hands on the filthy handrail. Vivian Rachel Farr, the girl who haunts my dreams, died on the streets here. A heroin overdose. They found her body in an alleyway I’ll have to walk past this evening, a note for her parents written on a greasy old fish and chip paper in her pocket. That’s before I managed to get her rapist an acquittal six months later, and before her parents screamed in my face on the court steps, their haunted faces burned into my memory for all time. Annabel Pilcher found my drunken ass in the very same alleyway Vivian took her last breath. She smiled down on me as though I was one of life’s unfortunates – just as Vivian had been – and offered me a mug of hot soup. Enough to sober up my sorry ass. Sober me up it did. Permanently.

If Annabel Pilcher had been on hand with a mug of hot soup when Vivian was facing her final dark night, then maybe she’d have made it through. Taken a sip of watery tomato goodness and lived to see another day. Just as I did. Unfortunately New Start was just a fledgling community effort back then, struggling for both the funding and manpower to make a difference. In me they found both an anonymous donor – generous enough to finance the opening of three branches across the East End – and good old Ted Brown, on hand every Friday evening to help cook up meals in their community kitchen and offer them out on the cold London streets. I was worried they’d have put two and two together by now. Ideas for expansion tossed around over cook-up time invariably led to yet another anonymous donation. As if by magic. By miracle. Our angel has answered our prayers again, Ted! We’ve got to secure another kitchen, Ted! Our donor came through again! It doesn’t mean I can sleep at night. There isn’t any donation great enough to secure that pleasure. But it enables me to face my reflection in the bathroom mirror every morning, and as far as I’m concerned that privilege is priceless. People always pull a sympathetic face then they talk about the homeless. Poor souls. So awful. They’ll throw a pitiful glance along with their loose change at a beggar on the street, then head on into a boutique coffee shop for a huge latte with their conscience squeaky clean. I’ve pondered this a lot, the disconnect between surface level social-driven empathy and the kind of genuine desire to help the world that people like Annabel Pilcher are consumed by. I’m not a good man and I know it. I’m fully aware of my distinct lack of moral fibre. I don’t pretend to myself that I’m anything other than a self-serving, ethically-corrupt sonofabitch. It’s the people in the middle that add most to the social apathy in our world. The people who share the horror stories with a simple click of a social media button, thank their lucky stars they’re one of the ok ones, and move along. They wouldn’t be homeless, because they don’t make bad life choices. They wouldn’t be a drug addict because they have the will power to just say No. Poor unfortunates. So sad. But it couldn’t be them. Oh no. Except it could. It could be any of us. Born under different circumstances, tried by life pressures greater than we could comprehend. A few badly dealt cards from life, and that could be any one of us, huddling in an alleyway at night, injecting poor quality drugs just for a break from the mental torment. I get that. I feel that.

Most of the time these days I’m just relieved I feel something. Annabel has a big genuine smile for Ted Brown this evening. She wraps me in warm arms and her hair smells of cheap soap. The press of her body to mine always feels alien and leaves me feeling strangely emotional. I experience the simultaneous urge to push her away but hold her for longer. “Ted!” Her voice is muffled by my coat. She squeezes me and then lets go. “So nice to see you!” “Nice to be back,” I tell her, and I’m not even lying. Frank and Mary are already chopping vegetables. They smile and wave as I hang my coat up, and I say hello as I pass them on my way to the sink. I scrub my hands with their basic essentials anti-bacterial soap and take up position at the hob. Annabel unpacks the Styrofoam cups and we get to work. I’m not much of a chef. I choose my own meals based on simple acquired tastes and nutritional value, not from any desire for culinary expression. Nobody on the street cares whether I have a five star rating on food genius though. “How have you been, Ted?” Frank calls. His eyes are kind and well-meaning, but I hate small talk at the best of times, not least when I’m lying through my teeth – which is a lot of the time. “Same old, Frank.” He shakes his head. “You wanna tell that boss of yours to get stuffed. Works you too hard.” “Bosses, eh? All the bloody same.” He nods. “Profit, profit, profit.” Frank starts up his trademark rant on how it should be people not profit, and my cover is safe for another week. He’s a union type, campaigning for justice and fair treatment for all. He doesn’t just do Friday night soup kitchen, he does all three branches and he works like a trooper. Works and talks. He talks a lot. That’s the thing about people. Most prefer talking to listening. Set someone off on their own little monologue and nod in the right places, and you’ll have a friend for life. These people think they know me. They’d call me a friend, and yet they don’t know anything much about Ted Brown. They don’t know where he lives, or which company he works for. They know he’s in his forties, has a couple of kids but no significant other. They know he makes an average soup at best, but they don’t seem to care about that. The thought makes me smile, and Annabel smiles back. “It’s gonna be a cold one tonight,” she says.

I nod. Agree. Freezing. The irony is that the street is the only place I ever truly feel warm. MELISSA

CINDY DIDN’T KNOW everything of note about Alexander Henley. She didn’t tell me about his Friday night moonlighting at a soup kitchen for the homeless. She didn’t tell me that Alexander Henley wanders around the streets with a cap down low to cover his eyes, handing out hot drinks to people with nothing when he could be drinking champagne in some posh cocktail bar somewhere. This blatant oversight is what renews my vigour to find out everything about Alexander Henley. Everything. Every. Little. Thing. Dean doesn’t think an evening volunteering for charity makes any difference. He maintains I’m in too deep, that the man whose house has become my own fantasy playground is just as dangerous as the internet rumours make him sound. He doesn’t know about the escorts. I didn’t tell him that bit. Not yet. He hasn’t admitted to me that he’s got photos on his phone, so I feel ok about withholding the truth, just for a while. Just until I’m certain of my next move. Brutus barely even growls this morning. He pads through to the entrance hallway as I disable the alarm, stares at me with mean eyes, but doesn’t make any move to see me off his property. Progress. It usually takes at least twenty minutes for him to stop growling at me, fish treats or no, even if I do get a little happy swish from his tail. I’ve got fresh orchids as well as fish treats, and some outdoor-reared bacon that I charged to the expenses credit card. My last impromptu food change seemed to be a win. Mr Henley now has two eggs every morning rather than just the one he had before. Maybe Mr Henley likes smoked outdoor-reared bacon too. We’ll see. I can’t stop beaming as I realise he’s topped up the water in the vases. He likes the orchids. I change them for fresh, even though they’re barely wilting, and I wrap up the old ones. I’ll take them home until they’re long dead, a piece of this place in mine. Yes, I like that.

I clean fast but thoroughly, taking just a moment to smell the scent on his clothes before I do his laundry. His Friday night clothes are right in the middle of the hamper, clearly stashed amongst the pile of shirts, as though that will camouflage them. I have a sniff of those, too. The worn denim shirt smells of vegetables, but I can still smell him, that spicy smell. It’s enough to make my tummy flutter. And thinking of spice, I clean out his kitchen cupboard today, making a note of the opened spice jars amongst the sealed ones. He likes paprika. Paprika and… chilli. Turmeric too. And then I head upstairs, to the storage room at the far end of the landing. Cindy said we don’t clean in there. She shrugged when I asked her what was inside and told me nothing of note. Boring paperwork, she said, and yawned at me. I no longer trust Cindy’s idea of nothing of note, so I step on inside and survey the boxes. Paperwork. Lots of paperwork. She’s right about that. But there’s more. A floral crockery set that I can’t ever imagine him using. An old games console with about a billion boxed up cartridges. I can’t imagine him using those either. The next box takes my breath. Boys’ toys. An old stuffed rabbit. Some scribbles on coloured art paper. An old punctured rugby ball from a few years back. His kids. It feels so sad to see their things in here, all boxed up. The boys staring out from the mantelpiece look happy and confident, full of life as they smile for the camera. I wonder how much he sees them. Cindy said not much. She said they’re over in Hampshire with his ex-wife and her new boyfriend. I seal the box back up and move along to the next. His wedding album. It makes my heart pound, and I can barely look. I turn the page just once, to see them smiling on a lawn somewhere, his hand in hers as she smiles up at him. Blonde hair with a natural curl. Blue eyes. Pretty. The people to the side of him must be his parents. His mum looks… stern. Her hat is this crazy big thing with feathers and roses on, and her smile is so obviously false. Alexander Henley looks like his dad, but I knew that before I saw this photo. I knew a lot about his dad from browsing the internet. His dad is one of the greatest legal legends of all time. They quote him in text books. I know, I had them. Before… Anyway. I seal that box right back up again and move along. The next looks older, much older.

And I hit the jackpot. At least it feels that way. Like peeping into someone’s soul. Alexander Henley’s old school books. Several old reports writing home to tell them how exceptional a student he is. How serious. How dedicated. How talented. There’s an old clipping of him in a rowing team, his hair longer, with a hint of curls. Some postcards with no writing on the back. Egypt. New York. Sydney. And then, in the bottom, an old packet of condoms with one left in there. A dirty magazine that looks thumbed. And… Pictures of a blonde woman in a zebra print dress. Debbie Harry, I think. Her blonde bob blowing in the wind as she poses. There are loads of these, pictures of her, clippings from magazines, and a couple of old CDs. It makes me smile to think of a young Mr Henley, cutting out pictures of his crush. One is particularly tattered, with the sticky tape still on the corners from being on a wall. She looks so innocent in this one, eyes wide for the camera, in a pale pink dress with lipstick to match, her hair messy and at odds with her outfit. He liked this one. He liked her. He likes blondes. My hair is mousy. A nothing colour that’s never really bothered me one way or another. I could be blonde. I forget about that for now and move along to the last box. More paperwork, but this one has been packaged more carefully. I have to lift the lid slowly so as not to damage the tape on the sides. Divorce paperwork. It gives me flutters. The decree absolute is right on the top. Eighteen months old. And underneath is a file of… correspondence… settlement figures that take my breath. Emails back and forth. C.Henley to A.Henley. Unreasonable conduct. I shouldn’t look, but I do. Of course I do. It leaves me under no illusion that the divorce was in any way amicable. Her emails are vicious and persistent, accusing him of sleeping with other women, so many other women, having perverted interests… and… My eyes widen. …fucking men.

…wanting men. Disturbed by childhood abuse, the text says, and a reply from him denying that. Strongly. But he doesn’t deny the other. He doesn’t deny fucking men, just denies that he fucked any other asshole in all the time they were married. She tells him that’s bullshit. That she found the emails from other men. The videos they sent him. The chat logs from the bareback forum he’d been logging into from their office computer. Shit. I close the box up tight and put it right back on the shelf where it belongs. And I’m thrumming, tingling, filled with… nerves… and excitement. Because I’m close. So much closer than I ever dreamed. And my head is spinning, full of ideas I’m not yet aware of, just the beginnings of something… crazy… Something really crazy. Something… Big.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

MELISSA AND SO IT BEGINS. The goalposts move from playing with myself in Alexander Henley’s dirty sheets, to playing with him in them. After the accident I couldn’t imagine myself ever making plans again, ever using my brain again, not properly. I was living for Joseph and that was fine. I didn’t want anything else. I couldn’t do anything else. My dreams of being a lawyer were crushed into oblivion. But not my dreams of Alexander Henley. The fantasy of a life in the arms of the man I’ve been fascinated by for all those years held strong. And now here I am. So close. So very close. I’ll be a whole lot closer if I manage to pull off my crazy scheme. It is crazy. It’s so crazy I should probably never speak it out loud, not to Dean and not even to myself. But I’ll have to, because I’ll need his help. I drop into an internet cafe on my way home, and the soup kitchen location I followed Mr Henley to is easy to pinpoint. New Start. A charity-funded initiative with three branches across the city. Newtown Lane on a Monday. A place called Eastspring on a Wednesday. And Brickwood, where he went, on a Friday. I call Eastspring in my finest telephone voice and tell them my name is… Amy… and I’m… looking to volunteer… on a Wednesday… this Wednesday… The guy’s name is Frank and he seems really nice. He tells me they’d love to have me, Amy, and I should head on down for seven o’clock sharp, with some warm clothes and a

smile and that’s all I’d need. But it isn’t all I need. I pick up some hair dye and bleach at the local chemist when I get off the underground, and dig out my makeup bag once Joseph is bathed and in bed. Dean watches me sorting through my old lipsticks until I find a light pink, and the expression on his face lets me know he’s expecting an explanation. “It’s nothing to worry about…” I begin as he hands me a coffee. “If it’s to do with Henley it’s plenty to worry about.” I ask him for his help with the hair dye, just so I won’t have to see his face when I explain myself. He gloves up with an expression of impending doom, and the silence is heavy as I sit in the chair, an old towel slung around my shoulders. When he’s safely out of my eyeline, I confess in one long monologue that I’ve discovered Alexander Henley uses escorts, about the paperwork in his drawer, about the porn I’ve seen on his browsing history, but I don’t stop there, rattling off all the things I’ve seen and all the things I’ve learned. Big things, small things. Any things. I tell him I’m going to volunteer at Eastspring, and then, when the time is right, I’ll transfer to Brickwood, I’ll run into Mr Henley and I’ll introduce myself as someone other than his cleaner, and it’ll be great… it’ll be just fine… I take a breath. A long breath. “What do you mean, it’ll be fine? Are you …” I twist in my chair and I don’t need to say anything as my eyes meet his. His widen, the bottle of dye paused in mid-air as he realises what I’m really planning. “No,” he says. “No fucking way, Lissa. Just no.” “For Joseph,” I tell him. “I have to get him out of here, Dean. He’s only got me, and this place, and it’s not enough. Being a cleaner’s not enough. He needs more.” “He has me, too,” Dean snaps. “And he’d rather you were poor than dead.” Dead. The word hits hard. I take a another breath. Compose myself. “I saw the guy’s card. Some swanky auctioneer from Chelsea. They don’t kill people, Dean, that’s crazy. They just pay them… for sex…” “And you’ve never had sex. You’ve never been an escort. You’ve no fucking idea what these people are into, Lissa, swanky or not.” “I want Alexander Henley. Being paid for it is…” “Insane, Lissa. It’s fucking insane!”

“My only shot…” I close my eyes. “I’ll put the money in a trust fund, for Joe, if they’ll even have me on their books, that is. All of it, every penny, and I’ll keep working… keep cleaning… I won’t get carried away… I won’t…” His hands land on my shoulders, and he squeezes so hard, as though he’s trying to squeeze some sense into me. He can’t. I’m a lost cause. I know that much. “For fuck’s sake, Lissa. What if it’s not even him? You even thought about that? What if it’s not Henley who rocks up in some seedy hotel room somewhere, but some slimy random. Some creepy old guy who’s paid to be your fucking first?” The thought chills me, but it’s nothing I haven’t considered myself. I gesture to the bottle of hair dye, and he resumes the application with a sigh. “I’m doing everything I can to make sure it is him who rocks up. He likes blondes. He had a crush on Debbie Harry when he was young, I’ve seen the pictures in a box of his old things and…” “Oh, well that’s just brilliant, then. Dress up a bit like Debbie Harry and I’m sure it’ll be him who shows. Have you lost your fucking mind? Do you have any idea how fucking crazy you sound?” I shrug, because it does sound crazy, and I lost my fucking mind a long time ago, before I ever got close to Henley’s bedroom. But there’s hope. Just a bit. And that’s enough. Money for Joe and hope for me. It’s as good as it gets right now. He takes off the plastic gloves and moves away from me, staring out the window at the shitty street below with an expression like death. I slip on the gloves without a word and apply the rest of the dye. “I need to do this…” I tell him. “You really fucking don’t,” he snaps. “You could do back to college, study like before.” I shake my head. “I can’t and you know it. Not with Joe, and my head is… fried… I just can’t…” “Your head is full of that fucking asshole of a man.” “Better that than the alternative. If I stop, Dean, even for just one second. If I stop… hoping… if I stop dreaming… then I won’t get up, I won’t be able to breathe.” He sighs, and his eyes are softer when they land back on mine. “Don’t say that, Lissa. You’ve got Joe, you’ve got me.” “And I love both of you, but I have to do this. Please don’t stop me doing this…” He groans. “Like I could if I wanted to.” And I’ve got him. I know I’ve got him.

The victory doesn’t feel great. I apply the last squirt of dye and wrap my hair in the plastic cap. “I’m sure they pay well, I mean it’s Chelsea, right? I’ll earn enough to make sure Joe’s ok. And us, we’ll be ok, too. I can get a babysitter and you can go back to college… you can have a life, too.” “Please don’t pretend this is for me.” So I don’t. I don’t pretend anything. I stop speaking, sitting quietly as the dye matures. “Is there anything I could say to change your mind?” his voice is quiet. Heavy. “No.” He exhales a long breath. Shakes his head. “Fine,” he says. “In that case, how can I help?” ALEXANDER

I’M in relatively good spirits for an average Tuesday morning. I put that down to the smell of fresh orchids. That and a hearty breakfast. Bacon and eggs on a nice thick slice of wholemeal. The breakfast of champions – as long as those champions aren’t overly concerned about their waistline. Nothing a good session on the treadmill can’t remedy. I tell myself there are a variety of factors contributing to my good morning, but there’s no illusion. That’s why I left a simple note this morning. Thank you. And then the afterthought. A radical impulse. Please help yourself to breakfast. It pleases me to think that maybe she’ll take me up on my offer. Maybe she’s sitting at my kitchen island right this minute, listening to the radio as she eats, enjoying the space considerably more than I have these past few years. It’s not her cleaning standards that inspired the note, nor is it any one individual change she’s made to my space and routine. It’s her thoughtfulness. Her thoughtfulness creates the illusion my house is a home again. That illusion is priceless. I’m thinking about her mysterious presence all the way through my early client meetings. Wondering if the note made her smile. If she’ll leave one in return. I wonder what her handwriting is like. What her smile is like. Whether she licks her fingers clean after she’s eaten. I wonder what her name is.

I force myself not to look it up. “Christ, man. And I really have to go on this ridiculous fucking speed awareness course?!” Mr Calder’s voice disturbs my equilibrium. “As if I haven’t got better things to do with my fucking time.” His face is piggy and infuriating, his bluster doing its best to ruin my happy vibe. Ungrateful prick. I’ve got better things to do with my time than bail him out of his stupid fucking mistakes, but I’m not sitting in his office moaning about a perfectly commendable outcome. “Unless you want to take your chances in court. We could call your mistress in as a witness, I’m sure she’d be able to tell them you weren’t all that drunk while she sucked you off at twenty miles an hour over the speed limit.” I smile sarcastically. “Take the fucking speed awareness course. You’re fucking welcome, Andrew.” His mouth flaps open, and then he thinks better of a smart comeback. He rises to his feet as I do, shakes my hand with a nod. “Thanks, Henley. Much appreciated. I’ll get my secretary to book it in.” “You do that.” And stop drinking and driving like a fucking imbecile. I don’t smile. He doesn’t linger. The door swings on its hinges as he leaves, and his silhouette is replaced by an even bigger cunt. Just what I fucking need. “Let’s talk.” My father closes the meeting room door behind him. He’s wearing a red tie today. I fucking hate the colour. “Let’s not.” I don’t even attempt to hide my disdain as he takes a seat opposite me. “People are talking about you.” “Which fucking people?” He laughs. “Ok, so I’m talking.” “Talk all you want, I have no intention of listening.” His eyes turn dark. “What in the name of holy fuck is wrong with you? Turning your nose up at Claude, ignoring your messages.” “Ignoring your messages.” “This silliness ends now. Claude’s offered you a free sample. You will take it.” “I’m not interested in Claude’s free fucking sample. I’m done.” “Like hell you’re done,” he sneers. “You don’t know how to be done.” “Speak for yourself, old man. I’m doing just fine.” I bristle with false confidence, my arms folded tight.

He pulls an envelope from his inside pocket and slides it across the table. “A gift. Take it. Enjoy it. I hate to worry about you, Alexander. You know how it makes me uncomfortable to worry. I may have to keep a closer eye on things…” His threats mean nothing to me. “Are you quite fucking done? I have work to do.” His eyes are steely but so are mine. “For now.” “Good.” I get to my feet. Again. “Next time you want to talk, book a fucking appointment.” “This is my office,” he snaps. “Don’t you forget it.” “Retired. Don’t you forget it.” We stare each other down for long seconds. “Your mother misses you.” “That’s a shame.” “She misses the boys.” “I’ll pass on her regards.” He shakes his head. “You’re such a belligerent prick, Alexander.” “We both know where I learned it from.” “We both know where you learned a lot of things, boy. Call Claude. I don’t expect to have to come here again.” “That would be nice.” I gesture to the door. “Close it on your way out.” It slams with a thump that shakes the glass surround. His frustration makes me smile. I put his envelope straight through the shedder unopened. MELISSA

I HARDLY RECOGNISED myself in the mirror this morning. The bleach worked its magic, and the dye took well on top, and there I was, a new blonde version of me. I’ve never been blonde before. It looks strange, alien. Not that you’d ever know the difference under a hairnet and stupid cap. Dean helped me cut my hair shorter, armed with nothing but a pair of general purpose scissors my mum used to use to open stubborn food packets. My new long bob looks pretty good for a home-done effort. A few random snips to vary the length and the look is definitely a little Debbie-Harryesque. Even Dean agreed. I slapped on some pink lipstick and ruffled my freshly dried hair, and he called up a couple of old pictures of her on the internet and said he thinks I’ll pass. Charging up and down a billion stairs every day these past few months has helped my physique. My legs are more toned than they’ve ever been, and although I’m far from the

perfect women pictured in the bedroom drawer, I think I look alright. If it’s not enough, it’s not enough, but I don’t want to dwell on that. I’m lucky that I have a similar jawline to Debbie. High cheekbones and big eyes. My nose is a little bit pointier than hers, but I can compensate for that with similar makeup. There’s a lot more to my plan than a makeover though, which is why I’ve borrowed Dean’s phone today. He has a much better camera, and I’ll need to take a fair number of shots. The codes for the gemstone cabinet are in the little black book Cindy gave me. I have the special buffing cloth in my apron pocket, inputting the numbers so carefully to make sure the cabinet doesn’t autolock me out of there. It opens with a click, and I get to work, snapping pictures as I go. I make sure all the names are in focus, a clear enough picture of the gemstones that I’ll be able to look them back up at home and memorise them. Alexandrite. Poudretteite. Topaz. Red diamond. Benitoite. Musgravite. Bismuth. I’ll never be able to afford anything like these, so I hope he’s interested in more mundane specimens as well as these weird little rocks. It just has to be a common interest. A convincing one. I close up the cabinet when I’m done, and then I photograph his music collection. He doesn’t have many CDs on the shelf, and most of them are by the same band. A blues outfit called Kings and Castles. I check out the listing on the back, and I’m pretty sure the one song – Casual Observer – is his dreary morning wake-up soundtrack. I like it, just like I thought I would. I venture down to the kitchen last thing today, my heart calming now I’ve got my illicit practicalities out of the way. His plate is on the island, the dirty cutlery arranged so nearly on top. The sight of the pan on the hob makes me smile. Bacon fat. He had the bacon. I’ve loaded it into the dishwasher by the time I notice the piece of paper propped against the fruit bowl. My stomach flips, because it can’t be. It really can’t be. But it is. A perfect scrawl, so beautifully penned on fine grain paper. Thank you. Please help yourself to breakfast. To me?! My fingers are shaky as I run them over the text. He wrote it for me. For me. For the bacon. He liked the bacon. I smile so hard my cheeks hurt, and I’m not hungry, not in the slightest, but his offer is too

generous to ignore. I don’t want to ignore him. I couldn’t ever do that. I take the pan back from the dishwasher and fry myself up some bacon, cut myself a thin slice of bread and add a single egg to the pan. It gets the attention of a grumbling Brutus, who flops down at my feet as I try to manoeuvre. I guess he wants some bacon too. It’s the strangest feeling, eating breakfast at Alexander Henley’s kitchen island. My feet tap against the base of the bar stool, nervous even though I’m the only one here. The bacon tastes better than any bacon I’ve ever had before. Brutus seems to agree with me. He takes the rind in one greedy swallow. I clear down the sides thoroughly, then stand with a cheap biro in my hand, wondering what on earth I should write in reply. I tear a page from my notebook, because I want to take his home with me, and I try for my very best handwriting, even though my hand is trembling. Thank you very much, Mr Henley, sir. I don’t sign my name. Because why would I? I’m just a nobody. I prop it up against the fruit bowl, right where his had been, and then I do it. I just do it. I input Claude’s number into Dean’s handset, and take a swig of water before I press to call. Three rings and all I can feel is my own thumping heart. I’m ready for it to go to voicemail, half hoping it goes to voicemail. But it doesn’t. “Claude Finch.” I clear my throat. “Mr Finch? I’m sorry to call so randomly, it’s just I’m… I’m looking to sell something… and I was hoping you could… help…” I hear him rustling through paperwork. “If you could call the main sales line, I’m sure they’ll be able to take your details.” My throat is so dry. “I was hoping maybe you’d be… the right person…” “That depends. What kind of item are you looking to sell?” My voice is so weak. Such a whisper. “Well, I’m… I’m looking to sell… me…” A pause. Such a long pause. I feel the panic rising. “Where did you get this number?” “I, um… a friend…” “What kind of a friend?” “A female friend… she said I should…”

“This isn’t for discussion on the telephone,” he snaps. “Please forward a photo of the item to this email address.” He rattles off a series of letters and numbers that I scrabble to write down. I read it back and he grunts, and then he hangs up. I feel so wired I can’t keep still. Pacing up and down Mr Henley’s kitchen as I open the random email account Dean set up for me and attach the photo in my best underwear he took last night. The nerves take over as soon as it’s been sent, and the pressure builds to breaking, my whole plan resting on a random guy and his reaction to one semi-slutty photo. I feel like I’ve bared my whole soul for nothing, like he’ll laugh at me, tell me of course I’m not good enough, I’m not of the calibre they’re looking for. I’m getting ready to take Brutus for his walk when the handset vibrates in my apron pocket. 1 new email. The sender is CF. I can hardly bring myself to open it. Bring the item along to the saleroom with a copy of your ID. There’s a date and time listed underneath. I’m so excited I nearly pee myself on Alexander Henley’s freshly mopped floor.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ALEXANDER

BRUTUS AND PORNOGRAPHY are usually my only two incentives for stepping foot through my front door every evening. Tonight I have a third. A most ridiculous third. I drop my keys on my smoking table and deactivate the alarm, and then I head straight through to the kitchen, which of course is immaculate, without so much of a clue as to whether someone sat and ate bacon in my absence this morning. I open the fridge, and a glance at the packet of bacon thrills me. Two slices missing. An egg, too. It makes me smile, which is unusual. My muscles feel tight and out of practice. My note is missing, and in its stead, propped so neatly against the fruit bowl, is a torn scrap of notebook paper. Thank you very much, Mr Henley, sir. Shit. My cock aches, hardening at the memory of her nervous apology at the office. Her script is flowery, a tiny circle over the i in sir. The letters are evenly spaced, the curves drawn with effort. She cared how it looked. I imagine her gripping her pen, the precise flow of her fingers. I should stop this silliness before it starts, accept my interest as nothing more than the idle fantasy of a desperate mind, but of course, I can’t do that. My cupboards are embarrassingly barren, and for the first time in months I take a detour from my usual dog-walking route, looping Brutus’ lead over a post outside the late-night store while I nip inside and grab a handbasket. I run through the things I like. Some organic muesli and some fresh peaches. A pot of luxury Greek yoghurt that I think Claire bought me once when we were on some weird

health kick. Dark chocolate with orange segments, the most expensive on the shelf. I’m losing my fucking mind and I know it as I check out. Selling out my sanity for some grandiose illusion that a moment with a terrified cleaner in a dark office meant something. That the note in my pocket is anything other than a kind young girl being polite to her employer. Brutus sniffs the shopping bag as I retrieve his lead, and it amuses me to think the grumpy old beast knows so much more about the mystery woman than I do. What’s surprising in itself is that the teething period with a new member of staff in the house has been surprisingly dog-issue free. I was expecting at least one emergency call out as she’d found herself trapped in a room with a growling Brutus on the other side of the door. But no. Nothing. Maybe he likes her. I trust his judgement as much as I trust my own. We’re two peas in a very cynical pod, him and I, and yet he’s accepted an intruder without spilling any of their blood over the carpet. “What do you think, boy?” I ask him as we walk. “Is she nice?” His ears prick at the sound of my voice, his tongue lolling as we pace the final stretch back to home turf. “Let’s see if she likes a bit of muesli in the morning, shall we?” Brutus pads through to the kitchen as we head inside, as though he knows. He parks his stinky arse on the tiles and stares up at me as I unpack the shopping. I take one of Claire’s flouncy old serving trays from the bottom cupboard and arrange a display on the kitchen island. Muesli and a fresh peach, one of my finest china cereal bowls and a silver spoon from the cutlery drawer. And the chocolate. Of course the chocolate. I take a fresh piece of paper from my writing pad and pen her another note. Your bacon was a superb suggestion. Here’s one of mine. Muesli with chopped peach. A generous spoon of Greek yoghurt (fridge) covered with a fine grating of dark chocolate. Let me know your thoughts. Regards, AH. I fold the note on the tray and head up to bed before I can think better of it. MELISSA

DEAN and I shopped on the internet last night, looking for cheap second-hand designer bargains to carry off the illusion that I’m a high-class woman worthy of high-class clients. I’ve spent the final scraps of my wages on this crazy quest, but I’ve got a few outfits on their way which look as though they’ll do the job for me. A slinky pink gown with a killer

split, some sparkly heels, a faded pair of designer jeans and a trendy cami-top. A fitted jacket was the most extravagant of my purchases, but the weather is shitty at this time of year, and I’ll need it unless I want to freeze my tits off on the way to meet CF at his swanky sale room. My appointment is on Friday at eight p.m. In the interim I have my new gig at the soup kitchen this evening, and I have to pull that off, too. My trial run in my new identity. Dean helped me concoct the perfect cover story. A girl named Amy Randall, aged twentyone, older sister of Dean’s friend Sammy that we used to go to school with. It’s her details that Dean messaged over to a dodgy contact lower down on the estate last night. He says they owe him a favour, so last night he disappeared with one of my passport photos and came back with the promise they’ll deliver a convincing fake ID in time for my Friday meet up. I hope he’s right. It feels weird to steal someone else’s identity, especially someone I vaguely know. But I need any background checks to hold true. My fake address is Amy Randall’s real address, my fake date of birth is her real one, stolen from Facebook along with every other scrap of info we could find on there. Her social media is locked down pretty tight, just a photo of her cat as a profile picture to anything other than friends. I hope it’ll be enough to hold my cover. Leaving Dean in charge of Joe for so much of the working week makes me feel guilty, but I try not to dwell too hard on that, just focus on the time we do have and keep on pushing for the better future I have planned for him. For us. He doesn’t seem to care, just as long as he has someone to play choo-choo trains and make his dinner just so. Dean’s doing a sterling job on both fronts. Dean’s also doing a sterling job of hiding his attraction to Alexander Henley. There’s still no mention of the pictures on his phone, still nothing more than fear that the guy is some kind of crazy psychopath out to spill virgin blood. Maybe if I pull this off… maybe if he sees that I lived through a night with Alexander Henley and managed to walk back through the door as right as rain. If I walk back through the door as right as rain. If I get a night with Alexander Henley at all. Brutus doesn’t growl at me this morning. I swear he could be smiling, his tongue flopping out the side, eyes bright, and my heart blooms at the triumph. I give him a fish treat without even thinking about his scary teeth, and he settles down nicely on his big cushion once he’s chomped it into nothing. I’m getting used to the routine here. Polishing the table and washing out the whisky tumbler. Cleaning out the inkwell and shining it up to perfection.

The dusting and the vacuuming, and the gorgeous scent of Mr Henley on his dirty laundry. The sad music of his alarm clock still playing more mornings than not. There’s no pan on the hob this morning, and I’m a little disappointed until I notice the tray on the island. At first I think it’s his dirty breakfast bowl, but his is in the sink, already soaking. Muesli and peach, and some fancy looking dark chocolate, and a note. A NOTE! My throat is so dry I can barely swallow. Your bacon was a superb suggestion. Here’s one of mine. Muesli with chopped peach. A generous spoon of Greek yoghurt (fridge) covered with a fine grating of dark chocolate. Let me know your thoughts. Regards, AH. I have to read it through at least five times before it really sinks in. He wants me to eat breakfast. His breakfast. I have no idea why, and my mind spins, trying to work out if this is some kind of weird test to try my professionalism. To eat the muesli or not to eat the muesli? Of course I have to eat the muesli. I want to eat the muesli. I want to eat the whole damn lot and lick the bowl clean. I follow his instructions exactly, chopping up the peach into neat chunks and adding it to the bowl along with the cereal. A dollop of yoghurt from the fridge, and I find the grater, unwrap the chocolate so carefully to use just a little. My heart is a fluttery mess as I spoon up the first mouthful, my eyes still fixed on that note, looking for hidden meaning. AH. His note says he wants my thoughts. Like my opinion matters. Why does my opinion matter to him? Why does he even care? I’d have lied about the breakfast even if it tasted like crap, but it doesn’t. It tastes delicious. The perfect mix of tart and creamy, a mix of tastes that blend into this yummy goodness. I feel young again, excited like when Mum let me have the lump of cream from the top of the milk bottle on my cereals in the morning. A real treat. I haven’t really eaten breakfast… not since they… Not since we used to eat together in the morning, all of us crammed in the kitchen with our cereal bowls in our hands, bickering and laughing before we went our separate ways.

A normal family. A happy family. And now it’s all gone. No. That’s not true. Joe’s not all gone, and I’m not all gone, and while there are still two of us we’re still family. Just a much smaller one now. But not as small as Alexander Henley’s, just him and Brutus in this huge place, eating alone. I have no idea what to reply to him. No idea how to sound like a gushing food critic, so I don’t try. Peach, muesli, yoghurt and chocolate are a delicious combination. Thank you so much, Mr Henley, sir. Warmest regards, Your cleaner. I look at the note. Read it back to myself. Your cleaner sounds so dull. So cold. I add an MM to the bottom, and hope that’s not too unprofessional. AH and MM. MH. In my dreams. I smile to myself, wrap the rest of the chocolate up neatly and put it in the fridge. I clear the muesli away into one of the cupboards and get rid of my peach stone, wiping the side down as though I’ve never been here. And then I take Brutus out. Today’s the first time I don’t have to tug him over the threshold. I think he may actually like me.

IT’S a rush to get home and change before heading out to my New Start meeting. My heart is in my mouth as I plaster a smile on my face and push my way between the swing doors. Amy Randall, Amy Randall, Amy Randall. “Hi, I’m Amy,” I tell the gathered volunteers, and one of them steps forward with his hand outstretched. His smile is big and bright. “Frank Peterson,” he says. “We spoke on the phone. Really pleased to have you here, we can always use another pair of hands.” I tell him I’m really pleased to be here, too. That I hope I can be of use. I’m lucky, because this place is so busy and understaffed that they barely have time to ask me any questions about my fake life. I smile and muck in as best I can, chopping up

vegetables for soup and stirring the big steel pans. It’s hard work, but good work. The people here are full of smiles and effort. There’s a genuine sense of community that I haven’t felt for a long time, not since I was part of an estate clean-up team back at school in the summer holidays. It feels a lifetime away. It doesn’t take much time before I’ve forgotten all about being here on a mission, and instead believe I really am part of the team, just doing my bit, the same as they are. It becomes a lot more real when we load up the trays with soup mugs and venture out onto the street. It’s bitter cold out, even with my mum’s old fluffy scarf up around my ears. My fingers feel numb as I hand out food to the people who need it, and I get it, I get why Alexander Henley goes so far out of his way to do this. These people, the ones with nothing to their name and every reason to be bitter, are some of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life. They take everything with thanks, and ask me about my day with genuine interest, like they haven’t got better things to worry about than my cruddy life away from here. Frank knows everyone, literally every single person that comes up to us. I follow him as he makes conversation. He asks one guy about his bad leg, and some poor old woman about her grandkid’s birthday last weekend. She tears up as she tells him she got to spend time with him at the foster shelter, and I tear up too, because there is something so real and so raw about this place and these people, something so sad and so warm all at once. I’m so homesick for my old life that I have to fight the urge to curl into a ball and never get back up. I twist my cold fingers in the tassels of mum’s scarf and push the pain back inside, dishing out those hot soups to those less fortunate than I am and counting my limited blessings. At least Joe and I have a roof over our heads. It may take every penny I earn to run the place and keep it that way, but Joe always has food in his belly and warm cuddles at night. Maybe that’s why Mr Henley comes here, to feel gratitude for his lot in life. Who knows. I guess Frank does, because on the way back to the kitchen he tells me how he works at all three branches, how once he started this work he couldn’t just walk away at the end of the evening. Looking after people on the street is everything to Frank. His volunteers are like a second family to him, he says, and so are the people out there in the cold. I wonder if Mr Henley is like second family to him. The thought feels weird. I help him pack away, even after everyone else has gone, and he’s turning off the lights for the evening when he asks if I’ll be back next week. I tell him I’ll definitely be back next week, and every week after that if he’ll have me. He calls me Amy and I smile like it’s the most normal thing in the world. The weirdest thing about all this?

On my way back to the underground I realise I’d be back next week regardless, Mr Henley or no.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ALEXANDER MM. Maybe she’s a Margaret or a Millicent or Mollie. A Mary, or a Maddie, or something trendy like a Miley. Mary Moore. Miley Montgomery. Margaret Mackenzie. I could just look her up on my employee database, of course. A few keystrokes and I’d have every M name on our books at my fingertips. But I don’t. There is something so ethereal about this girl’s presence in my home. One wrong move could blow that sweet illusion away. At the other extreme, knowing her actual name might give me dangerous options, so I force myself to remain ignorant. I name her Molly May instead. I like that. Sweet Molly May. Molly May enjoyed her breakfast, her note told me so. This morning I didn’t leave another, just made sure there was an empty bowl and spoon on the tray on the island, trusting she’ll know what it’s there for. I’m disappointed to find nothing in its stead when I return. No sure way of knowing if Molly May ate her fill or simply put the empty bowl back in the cupboard. I tell myself it’s done, our ridiculous little note exchange nothing more than a passing fancy. She’s most likely relieved, free to carry out her daily tasks without having to concern herself with looping her letters just so for her fool of an employer. Despite my rational mind telling me it doesn’t matter shit whether my cleaner left me a stupid little thank you note or not, there’s definitely a pang of frustration in my gut.

It’s annoying. Distinctly annoying. I console myself with the pornography I’ve committed to avoid, then finish myself off to the fantasy of little Molly May with my hands around her throat, retching streams of saliva all over her stripy uniform. It’s the best orgasm I’ve had in months, and that’s distinctly annoying too. MELISSA THE NOTES STOP. I try to shrug it off and pretend it doesn’t matter. I’m sure it doesn’t matter, not to him. He was just a powerful man taking a moment to make his lowly cleaner feel comfortable. The disappointment only makes my plan all the more important, because now I’ve had a taste, just the tiniest little taste of how good it feels to be known by Alexander Henley, I can’t bear to let that go. So here I am, trying to hide my bellyful of nerves behind a calm smile as I teeter on my new-old heels through the centre of Chelsea en route to meet CF. It’s dark, and I’m glad. It already feels like everyone is staring at me, like they know I’m an outsider, that I don’t belong around these parts, with my second-hand gown and the jacket that needed stitches on the inside seam. I have to take a minute to calm my breathing when the posh signage for Finch Hamilton auctioneers comes into view. The main entrance claims it’s closed for the day, but there’s a little light shining above the posh oak reception desk I spy through the window. The door is locked when I try it, so I press the intercom. “Side entrance,” a voice barks, and it’s him, CF, I recognise him from my first phone call. The side entrance is dark, and I’m slow on my heels. The door is already open when I reach it, and Claude Finch is a huge shadow beyond, big and broad and dressed in a pinstripe suit. He beckons me in, then locks it. He slips the keys into his inside pocket, and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. He’s older than I expect, a silver fox with a slick moustache. He looks as though he should be wearing a monocle. “I’m Amy,” I lie, keeping my smile confident and hoping he doesn’t realise my legs are wobbly. “Alright, Amy,” he says, “come on through.” He points to a door at the back of the corridor, and I walk on ahead of him. I feel his eyes on me, know he’s hanging back to check out my ass in this slinky dress.

Judging me. He’s definitely judging me. It feels grimy, but I don’t care. I just want to be good enough. His office smells of old leather, his desk covered in guides to antiques and reams of paperwork. The seat he offers me squeaks as I lower myself into it. He stares at me from across the desk, opening his hands to offer me the floor. I feel so small. So pathetic. “I want to… I’m hoping to…” “Sell yourself,” he says. “Yes. I have buyers.” Buyers. My nerves jangle. I can’t speak. I don’t know what to say. Claude sighs and I feel like I’ve already failed. “So, tell me, Amy, have you ever offered your services for sale before? My clients have… particular tastes. We are a niche agency.” I shake my head. “No. I’m, um…” I can’t find the words, and I wonder if I should say them at all, because he might not want me if I’m inexperienced. He might tell me to come back when I’ve sucked a few dicks and know what the fuck I’m doing. Maybe he’ll offer me his, and I don’t want it. I really don’t want it. “You’re what?” he prompts, and he’s impatient. The kind of guy that wants it straight or he’ll chuck you out on your ass. “I’m a virgin,” I tell him. “But I can learn… I’m a fast learner…” His eyes widen, and I’m petrified he’s going to tell me to fuck off out of here. “A virgin? A genuine, honest-to-God, un-fucking-touched virgin?” I nod. “Yeah. But I…” “A medical will have to confirm.” I nod again. “Sure.” The biggest smile creeps across Claude Finch’s face, and it’s scarier than the scowl he was wearing before. “You want me to put your sweet little cherry on the market? First time goes to the highest bidder? I hope you’re not playing games with me, sweetheart.” No. I want my sweet little cherry to go to Alexander Henley. I can’t say that, so I smile instead. “Yes. That’s what I want. Please.” He laughs. “Alright then, Miss…” “Randall,” I lie. “Amy Randall.” “And you brought ID with you, Miss Amy Randall?” I dig my fake passport from my clutch bag, hoping beyond hope Dean’s dodgy friend delivered a decent forgery. Claude nods as he looks it over, and then he slams it onto the photocopier at his side. “For my records,” he says. He taps away on his keyboard, and I wish I could see his screen. He

pulls a face. “Good, good. I see you have a good credit rating, Miss Randall. We like that. We don’t take… desperates.” I keep smiling, my foot tapping in mid-air as he leans down to a desk drawer. I hear the rattle of keys, and my breath hitches as he presents me with a questionnaire. I lean to take it but I can’t stop staring at the camera in his hand, some high end digital thing. It lights up as he angles it towards me. “Are you, um… is that for pictures of me?” “Video. Call it a brochure. Just fill in the questionnaire first so I know how to catalogue you.” Catalogue me. I recognise the tick boxes on the form. I’ve seen them listed under the girls’ photographs in Mr Henley’s beside drawer. I remember Cindy’s words. He keeps the ones with fewer ticks, just so you know. I hand the form back untouched. He looks at me like I’m a total idiot. “No, sweetheart, you have to fill those in. Check the ones you definitely won’t do. Err on the side of caution.” “I have,” I tell him. He laughs. “Amy, sweetheart, if there’s any terms you don’t understand you have to ask. Believe me, you’ll want to know what you’re signing up for.” I shake my head. “I understand them all, and I’m done. I don’t want to tick any boxes, thank you.” His expression is strange, a weird mixture of bemused and excited, his eyes glinting in the glow of his banker’s lamp. “Miss Randall, I’m going to be frank here, my clients have extreme tastes, some of these men will be looking for these services, and they’ll expect you to deliver.” I tip my head. “Will any of your clients kill me, Mr Finch? That’s all I really need to know.” He scoffs at me. “Good God, no. What kind of agency do you take this for? If you’ve got some kind of fucked up suicide wish, this really isn’t the place.” I laugh, because this is crazy. This whole thing is insane. “No,” I tell him. “I mean if I’m walking out of there alive, then I’m good. I don’t care what else they want to… pay me for…” He raises an eyebrow. “You’re willing to say that in your introduction video? That you’re hard-limit free?” I nod. “Sure, if that’s what you… want me to do.” He’s really excited now, and I know it, trying to hide his grin under a steely nonchalance, but it’s too obvious. He’s practically slavering.

“Well then, Miss Randall.” He points to a chaise longue at the back of the office. “You’d better make yourself comfortable.”

CLAUDE FLICKS on a table lamp at the side of me and I sit in the glow, perched awkwardly on the edge of his chaise longue while he fumbles around with the settings on his camera. I’m still not really sure what he wants from me, and it’s all I can do to breathe, in and out, holding onto the single little thread of composure keeping me from freaking out. “Take your jacket off, please.” I shrug it from my shoulders and he takes it from me. He hangs it on a coat stand. “And your dress.” My eyes must look like saucers, because he shakes his head. “No need for shyness, Amy, believe me, the real experience will be considerably more intimate.” I have to stand to shimmy my dress up and over my head, and I’m glad I chose my very best underwear. I’m in pink lace, a cheap but pretty set I bought from the discount store on our estate. The bra is slightly too small, but I guess that’s ok, because Claude’s staring at the spill of flesh over the top of the cups, and he looks pleased as Punch. “I need you to be yourself,” he tells me, and I nearly laugh out loud. Like anyone could be themselves in this place, bared in skimpy underwear while some random old guy pulls out a video camera. “Just relax, we have time to do a few takes if necessary.” He pulls up a stool real close, his camera in his hand as he angles it for a decent view. “We really need to do this?” I ask, although I’m sure it’s a pointless question. “It’s imperative we offer video for our auctions. It makes our buyers more invested.” I wonder if he jerks himself off to them afterwards, then force the idea away. “Lay back,” he tells me, “make yourself comfortable.” I do as he asks, leaning back on my elbows. I flinch as he lands a hand on my knee, taking a breath as he eases my legs open. “That’s good,” he says. “I’ll be doing this as an interview, so answer honestly, and do exactly what I ask.” I nod, and he clears his throat. “Our auction lot four of the evening is Amy, a rare specimen indeed. Amy, tell our bidders of your sexual history.” My voice is so quiet. “I’m a… I’m a um… a virgin…” I stare up at the camera, and the light is on me, it obscures Claude’s face, and I’m glad. I close my eyes, and in that moment I forget I’m here, in this place with a man who plans to sell me like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I pretend I’m in front of Mr Henley, imagine him watching this video later, imagine him bidding on me. I take a breath.

“And you’re twenty-one?” I nod. “Yes.” “Tell me, Amy, what are your hard limits?” This is my moment, and I know it. I imagine Mr Henley’s stern expression, the way he’ll be watching this video, the way he’ll be wondering if I’m worth bidding on. “None,” I tell the camera, and I make sure I’m looking right at it. “I have no hard limits. I’ll do… anything…” “No hard limits, you’re sure about this?” I force a smile and nod and in my head I’m looking at Mr Henley as he stares down on me like he did when I barged into his meeting room. “I’m sure.” Claude’s voice grows softer, and my skin prickles, my breath evening out. “One of our fine bidders is going to win you, Amy, is that what you want? You want one of our fine gentleman purveyors to take your virginity?” “Yes.” “And you want to fulfil their every fantasy, yes?” I picture Alexander Henley’s hands around my throat. How it will feel. “Yes.” “Are you a dirty girl, Amy? Show our buyers what a dirty girl you are. Show them what feels good.” Panic. I feel it snaking around my belly. But there’s something else, something that makes me feel so… hot. Him. Claude’s voice sounds so far away. “Let our buyers see you, Amy. Take off that pretty little bra.” My fingers just do it. They fumble with the catch at the back and let the bra fall loose. My tits aren’t really that impressive, so I push them together to make them look bigger, and my nipples are hard as I thumb them. “Has a man ever touched those sweet tits, Amy?” I shake my head. “No.” “How about your tight little pussy? Have you ever had a man touch you there?” I shake my head again. “No.” I know what he’s going to say before he says it, so I take a breath and spread my legs for the camera, knowing full well he’s going to be focusing in on my little lace knickers. I shaved. Everywhere. I’m so glad I did. “That’s good,” Claude tells me and I wonder if he’s hard. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

Me. Show me. It’s not him I think about as I slip my hand between my legs, rubbing my clit through the lace of my knickers. I shift my hips and my thighs fall open, my heart pounding as I focus on how much I want this. How much I want Alexander Henley to see me like this. I imagine myself in his bed, the scent of him on his sheets, the way I came over and over as I thought of his body against mine. I can do this. I close my eyes, and I’m with him. His dark eyes so stern and his jaw so tense as he tells me what he wants from me. What he needs from me. I tip my head back and my fingers move faster, circling my clit in quick little motions, my back arching as I bring my knees up. “Take them off,” Claude tells me, and his voice is croaky. I hook my fingers into my knickers and wriggle them down, letting them slide from my feet. They catch on my sparkly heels for just a second before they drop to the floor. “Very nice,” Claude says. “Show me.” My fingers spread my pussy lips, and I hope I’ve got it right. He moves the camera closer, and I guess I’m doing ok. “Wider please,” he says, and in my mind it’s Alexander Henley doing the ordering. I hitch my thighs wider still and I pull my lips apart so hard it hurts. The camera moves so close between my legs, “Nice,” he says, “clench for me, Amy.” My pussy pulses with heat at his words and I clench for him. I hear him swallow. Hear him licking his lips. My God. “Beautiful,” he says, pulling the camera away and focusing on my face. My legs are shaky and my breaths come out shallow, but I keep Mr Henley’s image close in my mind. “The man who will take your virginity, Amy, tell me what else you would like him to do to you. Tell me what turns you on, Amy.” I know exactly what I need to do. “This,” I say and let go of my tingling pussy, trailing my hands up my stomach and over my tits, and then I wrap my fingers around my throat and squeeze just a little, pretending its him, pretending it’s him watching me right now, and it works, my clit is fluttery and the muscles in my belly are tight. I stare at the camera, the glaring light. I can hear him breathing. Heavy breathing. “Come for me,” he says. My own breaths are ragged. So hot. So scared as my trembling hands leave my throat and I’m hitching my legs, my heels scrabbling against the fabric of the chaise longue, but I don’t care as I touch my aching clit. Don’t care as I rub like crazy.

Don’t care as I hiss and my eyes burn at the camera. Don’t care as I feel myself losing control. When I come it’s a rush and a shudder, my thighs clenching around the fingers on my clit. A little murmur that I stifle with my hand, and my head lolls back, waves of white rolling through me. And then it stops. It all stops. A shivery rush as I realise I’m naked, naked and exposed, and that my stupid heels are digging into Claude’s posh furniture. “I’m so sorry,” I whimper as I scrabble to change position. “My heels! I should’ve been more careful… I’m so sorry…” But Claude doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t say a word as I look up at him with wide eyes, and then I hear the click as he turns the camera off. He adjusts his trousers, and suddenly I feel sick. “Can I get dressed now?” I’m already yanking up my knickers as I ask him. He hands me my bra, and tosses me my dress from behind him. I get dressed as quickly as I can, and then I sit, my knees tight together as I wait for his verdict. He stares at the camera screen as I stare at him, nodding his head with a smirk. “Very good,” he says. My hands are twitchy, I have to clasp them in my lap. “What happens now?” “We work out the fine print,” he says. ALEXANDER

ONCE I’VE SHOT my load over my faceless cleaner I can’t fucking stop. A day of shitty client meetings with a constant fucking semi, and not even my stint in the soup kitchen can ease the fucking cravings. I watch porn until I my eyes are bleary, trying to come over any fucking thing other than the thought of choking her in her uniform, but it doesn’t work. Nothing fucking works. My cock is sore and aching from my constant jerking, and yet nothing will tip me over the fucking edge. In desperation I try a different search, one that makes my gut lurch. Gay bareback rough. Christ, what have I fucking become?

I’m minutes away from accepting defeat and checking out Claude’s listings just to regain some fucking sanity when the guy on screen takes a big fat cock in dry, his face a grimace as it ploughs all the way to the balls. And I come. Thank fuck, I fucking come. I’m a wreck. My thighs tense and straining, my temples pounding as I gather my breath. This has to stop. I’ve got to stop. I take as hot a shower as I can stand, scrubbing myself down as though body wash has any chance of cleaning away my own disgust. I browse my regular dealers for current listings of rare gemstones, and spend twenty-five grand without even thinking about it. I take Brutus out after midnight and barely notice the rain. I smoke three cigarettes this evening instead of one. And then, when I finally slip between my perfectly folded back sheets, I find I’m fucking hard again. I tell myself it’s just one more time. Just once more that I’ll allow myself to jerk off over that poor little oblivious cleaner. But I’ve come twice more already by the time I finally get some fucking sleep. MELISSA

I TRY to remember everything as I prepare to tell Dean what happened with Claude. It’s late by the time we have a coffee and I’ve checked in on Joe. He’s fast asleep, none the wiser of my crazy mission, thank God. Sweet dreams, little one. I kiss his head before I head out to face the music. Dean looks terrible, pacing around the living room with his hands behind his head. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “Seriously, Dean, I’m fine.” “For now,” he says. I feel better for meeting Claude, as weird as that sounds. He didn’t seem to think I’d be walking into a snuff movie, and if that’s really what he has planned for me then he’s a damn good liar. Before I left he presented me with a ream of paperwork that made the NDA I signed before cleaning Mr Henley’s house look like a love note. Why would he bother if I wasn’t going to make it out of there?

I glanced over it at best, then signed Amy’s name at the bottom. What does it really matter what it said? It’ll either be Mr Henley that wins me or it won’t. An epic win or an epic lose. At least the twenty grand in Joe’s trust fund will go some way to softening the blow. That’s how much I’m getting. Twenty grand for one night. Claude asked me what my expectations were, said he could offer me a figure right there and then if I didn’t want to risk losing out at auction. I accepted his first suggestion, before he changed his mind. I’ve never seen anything like twenty grand, I’ve no idea what that kind of cash would even look like. But I’ll find out. He says the client will pay me in the hotel room, assures me they will be good for it. There are rules, of course. I’m not to count it until I’ve left. I’m not to talk about money. I’m not to swap any personal details with the client whatsoever. When the successful bid has been accepted I’ll be notified of the appointment. I’ll be sent the venue details, and I’ll be booked into a hotel room for the evening. My buyer will decide how they want me dressed and an outfit will be waiting for me in the hotel room wardrobe. I’m to be shaved as per the client’s preference. I’m to wear makeup in line with the client’s preference. I’m to do everything in line with the client’s preference. In the interim I’ll have to undergo a medical at a private Harley Street clinic, and although it usually takes a few months for a satisfactory screening, Claude says mine will be cleared in days, what with me being a virgin and all. My bloods should be whistle clean, he said. Dean listens as I tell him all this, shaking his head all the while. The only details I leave out are the buyer options Claude wanted me to agree to. A boob job and a labiaplasty should the client require it, at their expense. Apparently there will be a bonus expenses payment for that. A bonus payment should I leave the appointment with any marks which last longer than a fortnight, too. I said I’ll have to get back to him on the whole boob-labia stuff. I’m really not sure I want to undergo surgery for this craziness. I mean there’s Joe to consider… and work… my actual work… What if it isn’t Mr Henley who wins the auction, and I have to leave my job for the sake of surgery that some other man thinks I need. I mean there’s the money… but… I can’t bear the thought of walking away from Mr Henley’s house… I daren’t even think about that, so I don’t, just assure Dean again that this is all going to be fine and I’m cool with everything, really cool with everything.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he snaps. “This is all fucking crazy.” I can’t really argue with that, so I don’t. My auction will happen in just under a week, all being well. A Friday evening to leave the weekend clear. That’s standard practice, Claude says. Until then I’ll wait. Wait and dream.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

ALEXANDER

IT’S great to see my boys on Sunday afternoon. They’re wearing the new shirts I sent them, full of smiles at the prospect we can share this new football craze of theirs. I play along, pretending to the best of my abilities that I’m as excited as they are by the upcoming fixtures, and it leaves me with no uncertainty that they’re changing. Rugby is old news, and no matter how much I try to fight it, it’s only a matter of time before I become old news too. Football, and Hampshire, their cool older step-brother and new younger sibling on the way. And Terry. Cool dad Terry. This is their life now, and I’m… well, I’m still the same old workaholic they knew in London. I’m pained as I make the drive back to the city, as though the final shreds of my soul are bleeding out through the cracks. It’s been a long time coming. My fingers feel dirty as they grip the steering wheel. The kind of grime no antibacterial gel can scrub away. I’ve spent my entire adult life pulling the strings of those around me, as my father did. Still does. Clients, judges, juries, boys’ club fraternity members. The women I pay to serve me. The women I don’t. The people whose fate rests in these filthy hands and what I choose to do with them. People may despise me for the outcomes I manipulate in order to fulfil my legal duty, but they respect my ability to deliver. People do what I tell them because the alternative is unfavourable. Plenty fear me, but not a single person who has truly known me has ever come out the other side loving me. Sad but true. My boys still have that obligatory affection for their father that all young children have

before they learn better. My boys will learn better as they get older, just as I did. I’m feeling it already. My word is no longer God. My idea of fun is no longer their absolute benchmark for a good time. Brutus stares out of the passenger window for the entire journey, giving occasional grumbles as though he’s sorry to leave them behind too. I’m probably reading too much into it. Seeing things that aren’t really there. I’ve got into a habit of that lately. It’s another sad truth that having the house feel like more of a home is beginning to highlight the fact it really isn’t one. There’s a sadness around the scent of fresh orchids tonight as I walk in through the door. Their delicate floral radiance unable to counteract the knowledge that someone was paid to put them here. Paid to turn my bedsheets down and stock up my kitchen with necessities – as nice as they may be. And yet there is still a fragile spark of hope in me. It’s dangerous. Dangerous to feel touched by someone’s consideration. Dangerous to want more of it. “What’s she like, boy?” I ask Brutus as I eat yoghurt straight from the tub. He stares at me, angling for whatever I’m having. “Is she nice? Pretty?” His lolling tongue tells me nothing other than he wants yoghurt too, and it’s grotesquely adorable enough to let him lick the remnants from the pot. I guess I’ll have to find out for myself what she’s like. MELISSA

I’VE BEEN POKED and prodded and jabbed with needles at some expensive clinic in Harley Street, all paid for, no questions asked. They said nothing about my general state of health, making no comment whatsoever as they weighed me, and took my height, and checked in my eyes and ears, and… everywhere else… They asked me about my menstrual cycle and informed me I’d been listed to receive a contraceptive injection. I let them jab me in the ass with it without argument. I’m just glad it’s over as I race across town to finish up at Mr Henley’s house after lunch. I’m rarely out at this time of day, normally up to my elbows in scrubbing and polishing.

That or playing with myself in his bed, although I’m trying to do less of that now. Trying. My work handset shows me he’s in court all day today, and my internet search this weekend told me he’s got some big case going on. They showed a picture of him leaving the courtroom, steely and immaculate as his client – some rich oil tycoon – trailed behind. I wish I still had the dream of being a lawyer ahead of me. I wish it was me in an expensive suit representing clients in court, the excitement of the trial, the hushed negotiations behind the scenes. Maybe one day I’ll be able to live the excitement through him, maybe he’ll confide in me as we lie in bed at night, asking my opinion as he whispers client secrets in my ear. Or maybe I’ll end up trapped in a hotel room with some random guy who wants to fuck me up in exchange for twenty grand. There’s a sweet little street market open in Kensington as I head back to the house. I feel ok about glancing at the stalls today, feeling more presentable with my crappy uniform stuffed out of sight in my shoulder bag. The clothes and jewellery are so out of my price range it’s not even worth a thought, but there’s a boutique cupcake stand at the far end, and I can’t resist a quick look. That’s when I see it. A dark chocolate and orange swirled muffin with a vanilla yoghurt fondant. I think of him. Of course I think of him. I don’t care that it’s unprofessional as I root in my handbag for my purse. I leave it on the island as I finish up for the day, looking so pretty with its deep purple cupcake case. I make sure it looks inviting, placing it just so on a cute little stand I found in the cupboard, and cover it up with a clear glass bowl that I guess someone used to use for baking. I hope I’m not totally overstepping my boundaries, hoping he’ll forgive me rooting around his kitchen to leave him a gift. My throat is dry as I tear out a piece of paper from my notebook, my fingers shaking as I find the right words. Dear Mr Henley, I saw this and thought of you. I hope it’s even half as nice as your breakfast recipe. Thank you for being so generous with your muesli. MM. I’m convinced I’ve made a professional faux pas as soon as I am back on the underground, but my calendar tells me it’s too late to undo my mistake even if I wanted to. ALEXANDER

I DON’T BOTHER HEADING BACK to the office after court today. My driver picks me up as soon as I’m done, which is just as well since I narrowly avoid a pointlessly antagonistic run-in with Ronald bastard Robertson on the steps outside. I’ve got no time for his crap. Nor have I any time for the congratulatory calls my father attempted several times today after the quarterly board report showed we’re twelve percent up on last year’s turnover. It would have meant something once. All of this meant something once. Winning meant everything to me. My head’s fried with the whole sorry lot of it as I step through the front door, dropping the keys on the smoking table and giving Brutus a pat on the head as I make my way through to the kitchen for a glass of water. I’m not expecting it. Not in the slightest. The bacon was a thoughtful professional gesture, but the cupcake waiting for me on the cake stand is something entirely different. I stare at it as though it’s some kind of optical illusion, as though it may disappear in a puff of smoke and leave me gawping like a fool. I read the note before I dare touch it. Dear Mr Henley, I saw this and thought of you. I hope it’s even half as nice as your breakfast recipe. Thank you for being so generous with your muesli. MM. She saw this and thought of me. The strangest stabbing feeling in my ribs. A beautiful revulsion. A beautiful pain. Thought of me. I can’t remember the last time someone thought of me. I can’t remember the last time I received a gift that wasn’t a branded fountain pen. I lift the bowl so carefully to uncover the cake. Dark chocolate and orange. I smile. Of course. Brutus grumbles as I tease down the cake paper, but he can grumble on. “You’re allergic,” I tell him, and he cocks his head. “And you can go fuck yourself, boy, this is all for me.”

Sinking my teeth into that muffin is the greatest culinary pleasure I’ve ever experienced. Not because I have a particularly sweet tooth, and not because I’m even particularly hungry, but because it’s such a thoughtful gift. A vanilla filling. Thick, like creamy yoghurt. My smile grows wider. She thought of me. MELISSA

AN EMAIL from Claude tells me my medical was satisfactory. I’ll be up for auction on Friday evening. I wonder how it works, trying to shake off the horrible little fear that Alexander Henley won’t even be there to bid. He’ll be out on the streets, dishing out hot meals, nowhere near the Chelsea saleroom. But Claude would know that, there must be… early bids, remote bids… I’m not sure how it even works, but I’m sure it does. I breathe. I’m definitely sure it does. There’s a breakthrough today as I step through the door. Brutus comes padding up before I’ve even deactivated the alarm, and his tail is wagging. It’s actually wagging. I dare to ruffle his ears as I grab him a fish stick and he doesn’t even flinch. He likes me. For real, he likes me. And so does someone else. The sob chokes as soon as I see it, a crazy sense of excitement zipping through me at the sight of a plate on the kitchen island. It’s a cookie. Chocolate chip and topped with pink icing. Thank you it says in iced yellow letters. There’s a note, but it takes me a few moments to calm down enough to read it. MM, Touched, genuinely. I saw this and thought of you. With my thanks, AH. It’s the greatest cookie I’ve ever eaten in my life.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

ALEXANDER EVERY EVENING I RECEIVE A GIFT. A cake, a fresh pineapple, a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice from the health-food deli two streets down. Every morning I leave one in its stead. A Belgian truffle, a tub of candyfloss, a selection of vintage cheese. Finally, on Friday morning, I leave her a bottle of wine. It’s an expensive one, thoroughly extravagant. Ridiculously extravagant. I write her a note along with it telling her to enjoy her weekend. It’s the craziest phenomenon, how this little gift exchange brightens my disposition. I’ve been excited when I walk in through the door at night, smiling as I set out her daily surprise on the kitchen island before leaving for work. So it’s no surprise that I’m feeling the disappointment now the weekend looms, knowing the house is about to turn cold again. My Friday morning is a ballache of client meetings, followed by an afternoon that proves to be a fucking pain in the ass to boot. Board meeting. My disgusting father nodding at me across the meeting room table. He accosts me as everyone leaves, insisting I stay behind as I stare pointedly at the clock on the far wall. I’m supposed to be meeting Mr Rand at his office in forty minutes for a Friday night celebratory social. I hate those at the best of times, but right now it feels pretty damn inviting. “What?” I snap. “I’ve got places to be.” His smile is sickening. “Yes, so do I. Auction, yes?” I stare blankly. “Auction?” And then it dawns. Claude’s seedy fucking new meat offering. My cock twitches instinctively at the thought of getting some fucking snatch, but I don’t care today. I don’t care at all.

“Have you seen the lots?” my father asks, and his eyes sparkle with delight. It sickens me. I tell him so. “Get off your fucking high-horse, boy. We both know you’ll only last so long.” “We’ll see about that.” He laughs. “Yes, we will. It’s at eight. Don’t be late.” I hate the way he has such little respect for my resolve. I hate the way he has such little respect for me. “A bit old for little girls aren’t you, old man?” “I do just fine, thanks for your concern.” He leans in close and it makes my skin crawl. “Nothing a few little blue pills can’t remedy. I can hook you up, if you like?” I shunt past him without the grace of a response, and my heart is thumping, hands so clammy I repulse myself. I wipe them down as I head to the car, and my breath is shallow, raspy. Panic. I’m on the edge of a fucking panic attack. It amuses me so much I stop to laugh. A fucking panic attack. I haven’t had a panic attack since Geoffrey Rogers smashed a cricket ball into my temple and I thought he’d smashed my skull in. I was twelve. It won’t ease off as I get into the car, not even after a minute of staring blankly through the windscreen and breathing in to seven out to eleven. I call Brenda, she answers in two rings. “Mr Henley?” I tell her I’ve changed my plans. Tell her to inform Mr Rand that we’ll have to reschedule. I give her no time to drill down into detail, just hang up and scroll through my weekly schedule. I’m marked out as busy for at least another ninety minutes, time enough to get home before rush hour. Which means… And I get it. I get the panic attack. I get the urgency of having to cancel Mr Rand’s silly fucking social. I’m officially losing my fucking mind as I put the car into reverse and get the fuck out of there. MELISSA

I’M ABSOLUTELY CRAPPING myself knowing that tonight’s the night my fate will be decided. I’ve made preparations, spending a chunk of my latest wages on setting up life insurance and writing out one of those stupid standard legal templates to set up a will naming Dean as Joseph’s legal guardian should I… Well, just should I… I don’t want to think about that. Mr Henley has left me a bottle of wine, I choose to think about that instead. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish I could leave him a note telling him that my name is Melissa Martin and I’ve loved him since I was fourteen. I wish I could tell him that it was my dream to be like him, and I’m sorry we had to meet this way, but to give me a chance, just one little chance to introduce myself. I wish I could tell him that being in his house is the greatest honour, and I’d give anything just to share breakfast with him, just once in person. But I don’t. I can’t. Because tonight Mr Henley will be seeing my face on some seedy auction screen. Tonight Mr Henley will be seeing my spread pussy and my sparkly heels, and listening to all the things I said to Claude last week. I’m just Mr Henley’s cleaner, and Mr Henley is a kind employer. I don’t want Mr Henley to be a kind employer, I want him to be the man who takes my virginity. And that’s why I can’t take the bottle of wine from him. It’s vintage. Expensive. It’s too much for a lowly little cleaner like me, and I don’t want to drink it without him. My note is simple this evening. Dear Mr Henley, You are too generous. Thank you, but please enjoy the bottle yourself. MM. I hug Brutus without even thinking about it as I prepare to leave and he stiffens but doesn’t growl at me. I slip him an extra fish treat and ask him to wish me luck. My Henley’s calendar shows some work social thing, but I want to get across the city in time to avoid rush hour. I want to cuddle my baby brother and forget my body is about to be bid on by a roomful of strangers.

And then I shall wait for the verdict. Terrified. I close the door behind me and step into the cool twilight, bracing myself against the chill. The street is quiet and I smile as I realise I really have missed the rush hour. In half an hour I’ll be snuggling up with Joe on the sofa playing choo-choo trains as Dean puts the kettle on. The glow of headlights behind me makes a long shadow of my silhouette, and then they swing away onto a driveway. And I know. I just know. I stop. Wait. I dare to glance back over my shoulder in time to see Mr Henley step out of his Mercedes. I’m too far away to see him clearly, but I want so desperately to watch him make his way inside. I take a couple of small steps back towards his house, close enough that I see he swings the door open quickly, with an urgency that hitches my breath. This is risky. Too risky. I’ve resumed walking when I hear the thump of his front door for a second time. The hairs on my arms stand up, my throat tight and scratchy as I pick up my pace. Please don’t see me like this, please don’t. I stop dead as I hear him call after me. ALEXANDER

SHE’S NOT HERE, but the alarm is still running through its activation cycle, so she’s close. Really fucking close. I just want to see her. I want to look her in the eye and thank her for her gifts. I want to tell her she’s doing a great job. I want to ask what her name is. I want to ask her her life story. I want to know her. The door slams behind me as I dash back into the street, and I know I’m acting like a crazy. I know I’m out of my fucking mind. And there she is, a tiny figure in stripy green walking away towards the underground.

“Hey!” I shout, and I feel like such a fool. “Miss Moll…” Fuck. That’s not her fucking name. Fuck. What the fuck do I fucking shout? She stops. And I’m scrabbling for words, pacing towards her without a fucking care for how deranged I look. What the fuck do I say? Hey, Miss fucking cleaner? Hey, MM. Come and say hi to your idiot fucking boss. I’m trying to find the right fucking words, trying to get this crazy fucking impulse under control and not appear like an absolute fucking crazy when she keeps on walking. She hears me and she keeps on walking. It fucking floors me. I stare in horror as some poor freaked-out little employee makes a dash for it, and I know I’m way out of line. So out of line I can’t do anything other than stumble back to my front door. Jesus Christ. My head spins. I’m a head case, a fucking lunatic. My fingers fumble with the door handle and I barge back through to safety on the other side. I head straight through to the kitchen to splash myself with cold water, and that’s when I see the bottle of wine still on the island. I tear into the note. Dear Mr Henley, You are too generous. Thank you, but please enjoy the bottle yourself. MM. I laugh a bitter laugh. Of course. She doesn’t want the wine. She doesn’t want to fucking know me. She’s just a woman doing her job, and I’m a fucking imbecile. An imbecile who’s too much of a fucking addict to think straight. This cold turkey is

sending me fucking nuts. It has to stop. Right fucking now. I fire off an email to the New Start volunteers, telling them poor Ted can’t be there tonight. And then I call up Claude’s messages. It’s time to put a stop to this craziness.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MELISSA

WALKING AWAY from him breaks my heart. I feel it shatter into pieces, my belly churning as I rush down to the underground and away from there. I want nothing more than to change my mind, turn on my heel and batter his front door down, apologise for my rudeness and beg his forgiveness. But I can’t. Because in a couple of hours’ time he’ll be seeing my naked body on a screen somewhere, if he hasn’t seen it already. I’m all in, committed to staying the course, committed to whoever wins this auction tonight. Please God, let it be him who buys me. Please God, let him show mercy on his rude cleaner and let her keep her job. My cuddles with Joseph soothe my heart enough to breathe through the panic. Dean makes me a coffee and joins us on the living room floor, resting his head on my shoulder without words, knowing just as well as I do that my fate is about to be decided somewhere across the city. I’m glad he’s my best friend, my constant in this craziness. We put Joseph to bed together after dinner, and I slump down exhausted on the sofa, beyond hope that my mastermind plan is going to work out well. I snuggle up to Dean and he puts his arm around my shoulders. There’s a difference in him, an acceptance. I guess he’s as exhausted as I am. And that’s when he says it, just a whisper in the darkness. “I get it,” he says. “I get why you’re doing it. You’ve been through so much, lost so much.” “I’m scared,” I admit, and he sighs.

“If it’s not him, you get out of there, fuck the money.” I nod, but I know it’s not going to be that simple. There’s no way it will be that simple. You don’t just walk away from crap like this, not from people like this. “Would you do it,” I ask, “for twenty grand?” His breath is on my hair. “Henley?” I nod, and feel him smile. “Hell, Lissa, I’d probably do Henley for free.” ALEXANDER

I’M CONTEMPLATING Candice or maybe Elena. Maybe even that perfect little slut Britney Jane if she’s available. It doesn’t really matter, I just need to pound my cock into some tight little pussy and wrap my fingers around her throat. I’ve got a backlog of messages from Claude, some new girls, some older offerings whose exclusivity agreements have expired. None of them interest me in the slightest. I sigh and check out the auction listings. Five pieces of hot new pussy ready to go to the highest bidder. A pretty dark-haired girl with blue eyes, nice, but literally every single fucking box has a tick in it. A chubby little redhead with a cute smile, she’s a definite maybe, but the app tells me there have been ten pre-interest bids on her already, and she won’t do anal. Fuck that. A natural blonde with ridiculously unnatural tits. No. Definitely not. A girl who’s going for the sexy librarian look but failing miserably. She’s no fucking librarian. No fucking way. And the final listing. The hot piece of the evening. A certified virgin with hundred grand reserve, Jesus Christ. I click on the link and up comes her image. It stops my fucking heart. She’s young, maybe early twenties, big pretty eyes staring up at the camera. She’s in pink underwear that doesn’t fit very well, a soft innocence on her face that belies her surroundings. Her light blonde hair is cut in a jagged style, her body petite and pale. Like Debbie Harry. She looks like a young Debbie Harry.

My cock twitches and I’m smiling. I’m a teenager again, jerking myself crazy over the tatty posters on my bedroom wall. Fuck knows how many times I’ve come thinking about fucking that woman. I’ve still got the posters somewhere, folded up in a storage box for prosperity. And here she is, a good enough replica that my cock’s already pulsing. I need this. I really fucking need this, virgin or not. I call Claude and he answers after a single ring. “I was wondering when you’d grace me with your voice,” he laughs. I’m not in the mood for jokes. “I want the virgin,” I tell him. “How much? I’ll get it transferred.” He ums and ahhs, acting like he’s in a real fucking corner. “No can do, I’ve got preinterest. A lot of pre-interest.” “Fuck the pre-interest,” I snap. “Just give me a fucking price, don’t be a prick.” “Bidding starts at eight,” he says. “I’ll see you there.” I haven’t got time to argue before the cunt hangs up. I curse the fuck out of him and then I check my watch. Twenty fucking minutes to get to fucking Chelsea. I grab my fucking coat.

I PULL into Claude’s bastard saleroom car park, piling out of the car with a haste that revolts me. A doorman lets me in when I rap on the front entrance, then locks up behind me. “Mr Henley, sir.” I wave him away and pace on through to the back. Everyone is already assembled, at least fifteen men from my social circle with their crappy bidding cards in the air for the librarian girl. Fifty grand she’s going for. They are welcome to her. I ease myself into the back of the room, hoping that nobody gives me a second glance, but old man Kennedy, one of the senior players at the House of Lords, clocks me in the corner of his vision. A nudge to his associate and a smile in my direction, and the whole room is alive with whispers. My father turns his head, and the grin on his face makes me sick to the stomach. He heads in my direction and I bristle when he clamps a hand on my shoulder. “Good call, boy, I knew you’d make it. You here for the librarian, nice piece of pussy, isn’t she?”

“I’m not here for the librarian,” I sneer, and his eyes light up. “Of course, Blondie, yes.” He tips his head. “You’ll be going up against your old man, Alexander. I’ve got my eye on that one.” The idea makes me seethe. “Back off,” I hiss. “I get first choice, remember?” He shakes his head. “Not this time, boy. Not when there’s a pretty pink hymen on offer.” He laughs and slaps my back. “May the best man win.” There’s no best about it. I try to shrug off the disgust as he heads back through the crowd. I’m about to walk away on principle, fuck this whole fucking spectacle, but the hammer comes down at sixty-five grand on the brunette, and the next lot flashes up on screen. Amy. Twenty-one. Virgin. No limits. I have to look twice at the screen to make sure, but it’s right, Claude confirms it in his summary. No limits, not a single one. My throat is bone dry as they play her intro video, and I know the girl shouldn’t be here, she’s too innocent, much too innocent. The nervous sparkle in her eyes, her shy smile. I can barely look, but I can’t turn away. She’s absolutely fucking beautiful. She tells the camera she has no limits, none at all. She tells the camera she’s a virgin. She tells the camera she wants this. Claude zooms right in on her untouched pussy like the seedy cunt that he is, and she’s perfectly imperfect, her pussy lips puffy and uneven. Her tits aren’t perfect either, natural and fleshy with tight little pink nipples. There’s an intimacy about her that makes me uncomfortable as I watch her play with herself on screen, as though she’s staring right into me, right through me. I have to swallow a weird lump in my throat as she wraps her fingers around her throat and tells Claude that’s what she likes, and I nearly come in my fucking pants, right then and there in this disgusting fucking place with these disgusting fucking people. The bidding starts before I’ve even regained my fucking clarity. One hundred grand. One twenty. One two five. My father comes in at one fifty. I head him off at two hundred grand, my eyes meeting his and hoping my stare burns him

to fucking death. He nods. Two twenty. Two fucking fifty, I say. Another bidder, some idiot who can’t see what’s going down here. Two sixty. Three hundred grand, my father says. And let that be a fucking end to it. But no, no fucking way. “Three twenty,” I say to Claude. My father tips his head. “This girl, she’ll have a tit job, yes? And get those dangling fucking pussy flaps trimmed off?” I could kill the sonofabitch with my bare hands as Claude responds in the affirmative. “Buyer’s expense, of course.” My father nods. “Three fifty.” “Four hundred,” I counter. Claude’s eyes widen, a greedy smile on his face as the room murmurs. It’s safe to say everyone else is out of the running. “Four-fucking-twenty!” my father shouts. “Don’t be a fucking fool, boy!” But I am a fucking fool, a fucking fool with a raging hard on in my fucking trousers and an unstoppable desire to block his chances of ever laying a finger on that poor girl. “Five hundred grand!” I snap. The room goes silent. Dead silent. Claude’s gavel hangs paused in the air. My father shrugs, laughs to the crowd. “He used to have a crush on Debbie Harry, silly little teenage thing.” The rooms laughs with him, but I don’t care. I’m past fucking caring. “Five hundred grand,” Claude says. “Any further bids?” Once, twice, three fucking times, and the gavel comes down with a bang that makes my heart soar.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ALEXANDER

I’VE PAID a cool half a million for one night with some little blonde slip of a girl who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s signed up for. I think my fixation with the cleaner was less insane than the craziness I’m involved with now, but that doesn’t matter. My heart soars, and it’s a welcome rush. It would have been worth it just to win the standoff with my cunting father, but there’s more to it than that. Amy. She excites me. The prospect of pushing her limits excites me. It’s base, and thoroughly immoral, the intent to corrupt something so innocent, but this is not a charity endeavour. I’m going to take my money’s worth. The only saving grace is that she’ll spend her first time with me and not my father. She’s dodged a bullet there, one she’ll never be aware of. I fill in the specification form as soon as I’m home, listing my preferences for tomorrow evening. My criteria is easy. Simple. Wear whatever she likes. No preferences on makeup, or waxing, or what kind of scent she has on. I want her, as her, exactly as she is. Claude’s message tells me he’ll confirm ASAP, within the hour. Good. I’ll be waiting. MELISSA

BOTH DEAN and I jump to attention as the email alert sounds on his phone. I can’t look. I really can’t look. I ask him to read it for me, perched on the edge of the sofa with my heart in my hands. His fingers are shaking as he calls it up, his voice croaky. “Tomorrow night.” I can feel my heartbeat in my temples. Tomorrow. I really didn’t think it would be so soon. “Does it say anything else?” “An instruction box with client preferences.” “And?” My eyes feel like dinner plates. “And it says none.” “None?” He turns the screen and I scour the text. He’s right, it says none. “So I wear what I like?” “I guess so.” Guess. I can’t believe we’re guessing over something like this. “What do you want me to do?” he asks. “Reply or… it’s not too late to change your mind…” I take the handset from him. Click the button to confirm my availability. “I guess I’ll hear more before then.” “Before you rock up to fuck some random in a hotel room somewhere? You’d fucking hope so, Lissa.” I nod. He’s right. The confirmation goes through, and I wait. It’s all I can do. ALEXANDER SHE’S AVAILABLE. I scan Claude’s suggestion. Harley’s Tavern. 8pm. But no. Not this time. I’ve used Harley’s so many times over the past couple of years, but this is different. I don’t want to take her first time in a place I’ve been so many others’ every time.

No, I reply. Book Delaney’s spa. Reckless. Close to home. But I’m feeling it, dancing on the edge. I’m not sure I care about falling off. A ping straight back. That’ll be extra. Cunt. Like I haven’t paid enough already. Fine. Let me know it’s confirmed. Another message. This purchase also comes with compulsory five percent cash tip on the night. It’s in the small print. Sure it is. My fingers jab the handset as I type out my response. Just fucking book it. I toss my handset to the side. MELISSA

ANOTHER EMAIL. I feel heady as I stare at the screen, weirded out by how surreal this is. I’m expecting Harley’s Tavern, of course. I’ve already looked it up again on Dean’s phone. I’ve scoped out the route on the underground, know just how to get there. But no. Delaney’s Spa Resort. Kensington Gardens. I’m shaking so bad. “It’s not Harley’s,” I tell Dean, and his eyes widen. “Is that good or bad?” “I don’t know. But it’s Kensington…” He looks as stressed as I do. “That’s gotta be good, right? Close to his house…” I shrug. “I really don’t know.” I scroll further down. You’re booked into room 216. Your client will be waiting in suite 12 at 8 sharp. Dress to impress. Ok. I breathe. Room 216. I guess I check in as Amy Randall. Cool. I’ve got that.

A couple more lines of text reinforcing the earlier rules about money, not talking about it, not counting it. And then finally, one final little line. Your client is Ted. I remember Cindy’s voice, so clearly. He has a private email address, some random account under the name Ted Brown. It was open on his screen one day… A breath. A gasp. Surely… surely it has to be… A moment of staring at Dean in crazy, mute shock. And then I dance around my living room.

I BARELY SLEEP A WINK, but I feel ok for it, running on adrenaline and more than a bit of excitement. Dean holds up a picture on his phone as I feed Joe his breakfast cereals. I stare at the metallic crystal and take a breath. “Native bismuth is known to be found in Australia, Bolivia, and China.” Dean nods. “Good.” He holds up another. “Moldavite, found in the Czech Republic. Known as the Holy Grail stone.” “You got it.” I’ve only got one final job on my list today. We take Joe to the park to feed the pigeons on the way, and I soak up the sunshine, realising all over again that tomorrow I will be twenty grand better off, and not a virgin anymore. Ted. I pray to God it’s really him. Really, really him. I wish I had a bigger budget as I step inside the New Age shop on the corner of Barrow Street. I pick out a couple of nice looking stones. A sparkling amethyst and a tiny little lump of garnet. A green banded malachite. And an angel hair quartz, its sides so smooth. I roll it in my palm. This one. This is the main event. Dean takes it from me and holds it up to the light. “Nice.” I smile. “Angel hair, for good luck.” “You’ll want it.” He nudges me, then hoists Joe up on his hip.

I pay for my crystals and a little velvet pouch to put them in. ALEXANDER

I COUNT twenty-five grand from my safe in used bank notes. I put the envelope in the case with my sex toys. And then I choose my suit for the evening. It’s an easy choice. Black, white, black. I polish my shoes to a mirror shine. I shower and shave. I get dressed. I choose my finest cufflinks. I let Brutus out for his final crap of the evening. And then I go. MELISSA

MY CHOICE of dress was easy. I only have one that’s anything like suitable. My sparkly heels clack loudly on the marble floor of Delaney’s Spa Resort. I’m early, a good hour ahead of schedule. I paste on my brightest smile as I head up to the reception desk, and I must look ok, because the woman behind the counter smiles right back. “Amy Randall,” I tell her. “Room 216.” She taps on her keyboard, then scans a keycard. “Welcome, Miss Randall. Your room is on the second floor. Do you need a porter for your bags?” I don’t have any bags. I feel myself burning up. “No, no need,” I bluster. “They’re not arriving until later.” She hands my card over. “Enjoy your stay.” I can’t hide my shaking fingers as I take it from her.

MY ROOM IS INCREDIBLE, huge and cream and modern. The lighting is low and sensual, the bed the biggest I’ve ever seen. But I’m nervous. Too nervous to enjoy it.

I pace back and forth in my stupid heels, sipping water from the complimentary bottle in the minibar. Forty minutes. Thirty-five. Twenty. Fifteen. I check my makeup. Reapply my pale pink lipstick and fluff up my hair. I check Dean’s phone is on silent and screen-locked. I check I have my crystals and fake ID in my clutch bag. I adjust my tits in the stupid lacy bra I wore for my video. Five minutes. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I turn off the lights on the way out. And I head up to the top floor.

THE CORRIDOR IS EMPTY, the thick burgundy carpet soft under my heels as I head to the mahogany door at the far end. Suite twelve. Its gold lettering looks so regal. My belly is a twisted knot of butterflies. Moment of truth. I tap gently. Once, twice. And then I breathe. Please, God. Please, please. The door opens so slowly and I see the cream carpet first. I don’t even know I’m looking at the floor until I clock the freshly shined shoes, the tailored trousers. The shirt I pressed yesterday before I left. The tie I hung on the inside of the closet. He’s immaculate. Perfect. I look up at the face I’ve been dreaming of, and I have to check myself, squeezing the clutch bag in my hands as though this whole thing is going to vanish into a cloud of dust. His eyes are dark, his jaw tense as he steps aside to let me in. “Amy,” he says, and I can’t stop staring, not as I brush past him and step into the room, my eyes wide open and fixed on his. The door clicks shut.

“Hi,” I say, and it sounds so lame. I drag my eyes away to take in the room, and it’s amazing. Everything is amazing. The lighting is low and warm, and there’s champagne in ice on the dresser. I don’t know what to do, so I do nothing, just balance on my stupid heels, shying away as he steps by so close. I’m gripped by this terrible impulse, this crazy urge to gabble it all out, the whole thing, tell him who I really am, and how much I wanted this. I want to… I really want to… “Champagne?” he asks, and I nod. “Please.” He pours me a glass and my fingers touch his for just a moment, just like they did when he offered me his cigarette packet all those years ago. There’s a weird lump in my throat I can’t swallow down, not even with a mouthful of champagne. He doesn’t take a glass for himself. He stands still and easy, his gaze piercing. Judging. I realise in that one shuddery moment that he doesn’t know me, and I know it’s crazy that somewhere deep down I felt like he would. His stare is cold and unfamiliar, his face stern and guarded. Dangerous. “I don’t enjoy small talk,” he tells me. I nod. “Sure.” “You specified you had no hard limits. Is that true?” My belly lurches. “Yes…” I sip my champagne and try to ignore the disappointment inside. The horrible little spark of disillusionment. I’m not the woman he left a thank you cookie for. I’m not the woman who ate muesli in his kitchen. I’m not the woman he chased down the street last night. I’m not even the schoolgirl he shared a cigarette with outside the school gates. I’m a prostitute. I’m a hooker who’s staring at the man she wants more than any other dream she’s ever had, staring him right in his cold eyes and wishing hers weren’t welling up. “Are you ok, Amy?” His question is demanding, his tone is brusque. “I’m fine, thanks.” I don’t sound fine and I know it, my voice is thick with stupid tears that threaten to spill, and my legs are all shaky and pathetic. “Do you want a moment?” He gestures to an armchair by the dresser. I perch myself in the seat with my knees together, cursing myself for how ridiculously

wrong this is going. He looks unimpressed, reaching down into the minibar and pulling out a bottle of mineral water. He fills a tumbler and swaps it for the champagne in my hand. “Amy, I’m going to ask you a question, and I need you to answer me honestly.” He rests on the arm of the chair opposite and his tone is so curt. Oh shit. I nod, gulp down some water. “Do you want to call this off? The door is right there, one chance only.” He tips his head to the exit, and I feel myself pale. “No!” I insist. “No, that’s not what I want. Please. I’m just…” “A virgin who’s sold her first time to a stranger, yes.” His words hurt, a wash of indignation at the thought he assumes I’m so cheap. But why wouldn’t he? “That isn’t… it…” I say. “I, um… I want this.” He smiles for just a second. “Amy, darling, you don’t know what this is, I can assure you.” I’m losing him. I can feel my dreams unravelling and slipping away. And I can’t let them. I can’t let that happen. I get to my feet, relieved to find my legs toughen up enough to hold me steady. I pace straight up to him, close enough that the gorgeous scent I know so well hits me in the temples, and I keep my eyes dead on his as I pluck the champagne flute from his fingers and raise it to my mouth. He nods, ever so slightly. I’m close enough to see the fine lines around his eyes. The faint shadow of stubble on his jaw. The tiny birthmark on his right cheek. “I have no hard limits,” I say. “I didn’t lie.” He stares right through me. “Is that so?” “Yes. I’ll do anything you want.” “Anything I want?” His eyes are cold, and it hurts, but I’m excited. A flicker between my thighs that wants to throw myself on the floor at his feet and beg him to take me. Beg him to do it all, every dirty thing he’s ever dreamed of. “Anything,” I whisper. “Fine,” he says. “Then let’s do anything I want.” He takes the glass from my fingers and the clutch bag from my shoulder. He places them both on the dresser and takes me by the hand. My fingers clasp his as he pulls me through to the bathroom and flicks on the light. It’s a harsh contrast to the softness of the bedroom, my eyes blink as I adjust.

His hand pulls from mine and lands on my shoulder, firm as he demands I drop to my knees. He points to a spot at the side of the toilet, and I shuffle along until he positions himself before me, his hand on my head. “Anything, Amy, are you sure?” “Positive,” I tell him. He unbuckles his belt and steps closer, and my heart jumps. He takes out his cock, and it’s bigger than I expected, much bigger than I pictured. He’s already hard, the head of him swollen dark. He takes a handful of hair and tips my head back, but my eyes are still on his cock, watching his hand move back and forth. Transfixed. I’m transfixed. I want to touch him so bad but I’m scared. Scared I’ll do it wrong. “Look at me,” he says, and I do. I do look at him, staring up into eyes that show no emotion whatsoever, even though my heart is spilling out through mine. “I’m going to piss in your mouth and you’re going to swallow every drop, do you understand me?” My poor heart hammers. “Yes.” I clench my thighs, and even though this isn’t what I planned, isn’t for a second what I dreamed of, I still want this. I still want him. Still want everything. “I understand,” I say. “Open your mouth. Nice and wide.” I open my mouth nice and wide. Position myself right under his cock, my tongue out and waiting, my eyes on his, even though I’m so scared I could be sick, even though my nerves are jangling and my clit is going crazy between my legs. I whimper as he presses the head of his cock to my bottom lip, but I don’t pull away, not even for a heartbeat. I take a breath, and grip his thighs to keep me steady. “If you spill a single drop I’m going to make you lick it from the floor.” I stick my tongue out further ready to catch the flow. “Are you ready?” I nod, just a tiny tip of the head. “Drink it all down like a good girl.” I keep my eyes on his. I’m ready. I’m really ready. My fingers squeeze his thighs, my eyes wide open. Do it. Just do it.

“Very good,” he says. He turns away from me and aims the stream for the toilet. I gawk in shock, watching that stream of piss as it lands innocently in the bowl. “Did I do something wrong?” My voice is so pathetic. “Not at all,” he says, and shakes himself off. He fastens his trousers and flushes the chain, then lathers his hands in the sink and dries them off. “It infuriates me when people bluff.” “But I wasn’t bluffing…” I tell him. “Yes,” he says. “I know.” “Then what?” I begin, but he cuts me off, taking hold of my elbow to lift me to my feet. “It was a test,” he tells me. “You passed.” “I passed?!” He smiles and it’s beautiful. “Yes, Amy. You passed.” I really don’t think I should say thanks, so I don’t. “Don’t you want to… do that?” He smirks. “Lord, no. What the hell do you take me for?” He steps back into the bedroom. “You haven’t even finished your champagne yet.” He gestures to the bottle still chilling. “Anyway, piss play isn’t really my thing.” “It’s not?” I think of all the porn I’ve seen at his house. All the times I’ve watched men pee all over women on screen. “No. It’s not.” I follow him out. “So, um… what now?” I ask, and I realise my breath is steadier. My nerves evening out. “We start over,” he tells me. “You can call me Ted.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

ALEXANDER

IT WAS a cunty move and I know it, but the girl was a wreck when she walked in through that door, barely able to string a sentence together. Nerves and fear. An unpleasant combination at the best of times, not least when you’re about to give your cherry to some random in a hotel room, I imagine. As it turns out, Amy has steel behind those big doe eyes. She’s more beautiful in the flesh than she was on Claude’s seedy video. She’s unsteady on her heels, which indicates she doesn’t walk on them often, and she keeps fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, as though she’s not sure it fits properly. It fits perfectly. The light pink of the fabric highlights every slope and curve of her body. The pale flesh of her cleavage showing nicely, without being slutty. I take a seat on the edge of the bed and pat the spot at my side for her to join me. She sits down close, much closer than I expected, and I’m pleased my asshole of an initiation hasn’t sent her running. She’s far from running. She looks strangely euphoric, shy but transfixed as she looks at me. Stares at me. The girl has been staring at me since she came in through the door. “This is quite a way to spend your first time,” I comment. “I want this…” she begins, but I wave my hand. “We’re past that,” I say. “I apologise if I scared you.” I make sure my eyes are on hers when I deliver the next statement. “But I’m likely to do it again, and next time won’t be a test. My interests are… extreme.” Her eyes are incredible, thick eyelashes that I want to feel flutter against my skin, even though I rarely go in for contact that personal. “Will they kill me… these interests?” she asks, and the question is serious, delivered so matter of factly that it takes my breath.

“No,” I tell her. “Of course not.” She smiles. Her smile is beautiful. “Then I don’t care,” she says. “I don’t care what you do to me.” She can’t be serious, shouldn’t be serious, but she is. There’s a simple honesty in the way she angles her body towards mine. A calmness in her breath that I feel against my cheek. I’ve paid a lot of money for this girl, but honestly, I’d have paid double for the experience I’m having right now. I’ve needed this, craved this, someone like her. Someone real. She feels so real to me. I can barely believe this is happening. “Is there anything you want to tell me?” I ask. “Anything you want me to know? About you, about what you like?” She shakes her head. “No. Just please don’t… hold back… I want it to be good… for you…” Her words go straight to my cock. The soft tone of her voice brings out the demons, and it’s been too long. Too long to keep control. I should tell her to leave. Send this sweet girl away to a far more fulfilling experience with someone who isn’t a filthy cunt. “Please…” she whispers, as though she can read my mind. “I really want this…” And I believe her. I believe her when she leans in so slowly, her eyes open as she dares to guide her lips towards mine. “I’m going to be rough,” I warn her. “I don’t care…” she says. And neither do I. I kiss her, her soft lips so sweet as they press to mine. She opens her mouth without hesitation, her tongue yielding as she murmurs. I take a handful of hair and hold her tight, and her hand comes to my wrist, her fingers so light against my skin. She kisses me back, her tongue circling mine as though she really wants me, her breath quickening as she edges closer. I break the contact long enough to tug her dress up around her waist. She picks up where I’ve left off, hitching it up and over her tits, then tossing it free over her head. She’s wearing the same bra and knickers from the video, the underwire digging into the flesh at the side of her tits. Much too small. I press a hand to her ribs and guide her backwards, and she falls so easily, reclining back onto the bed and bringing up her knees. I unfasten the buckles of her sparkly heels, and pull them free.

She has perfect ankles. Perfect little toes. I shunt her further up until she reaches for a pillow and places it under her head. I watch the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes. I watch the damp patch on her knickers as she spreads her legs for me. She wants me. Fuck knows why, but she does. MELISSA

HE DRAPES his jacket over the armchair and tugs the tie loose from his neck. I’ve pulled that same tie taut around my own neck and pretended it was him. My pussy flutters. I’m not scared. Not anymore. I love the way he kisses. I love the taste of him. I love his breath on my face. I love the way his fingers feel in my hair. I love the way he looks so dangerous right now. He does look dangerous. His eyes dark and wild and his jaw so tight. He unbuttons his shirt and takes out his cufflinks. I lift myself on my elbows for a clear sight of him, and he’s everything I dreamed. His chest is toned without being bulging muscle, a smattering of dark hair leading down to his bellybutton. He takes off his belt and his eyes don’t leave mine. “Let me see you,” he says. I slip my fingers around my back, unclasping my bra without hesitation and tossing it away to the side. He drops his trousers, and his cock looks even bigger than it did in the bathroom, jutting up towards his belly as he leans forward and takes hold of my knickers. I squirm to help him, and he yanks them down and off, then spreads my legs to stare at my pussy. I feel so exposed. Crazy exposed. I can’t believe this is happening as he climbs onto the bed alongside me. I reach out to touch him and his skin burns my fingers; I can’t stop grinning. His thumbs brush my nipples and it makes me moan. His lips land on mine and I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer.

I’m a wriggling mess underneath him, his chest pressed to mine as my legs hook around his. His tongue is fierce and deep, the ridge of his cock grinds against my belly. I want him inside me. I want him to do it. I try to position myself, spreading my legs nice and wide. But he won’t. He won’t do it. He breaks the kiss. “No,” he says. “Not like this. Not yet.” Not yet. My breathing is heavy, my senses reeling as he frees himself from my grip and lowers his mouth. His tongue flicks around my nipple, and then he sucks. He sucks me. Oh fuck, he sucks me so hard. His hand trails down my belly and slips between my thighs, and I’m wet. I can hear how wet I am as he strokes his fingers around my clit. He presses hard. It aches and tingles. His thumb rubs me as he sucks on my tit, and I’m delirious, my fingers in his hair, begging for more. Begging. Oh fuck, I’m begging. I look down at him sucking my nipple, and his eyes are staring right back at me. Oh fuck. Oh please. His tongue flicks, his thumb circles, and I can’t stand it. I can’t. I really can’t. It takes me by surprise when I come under his fingers. A rush of breath and a squeak, and I worry I’m going to pee myself as I shudder and jerk and thrash my feet around the bed. My nipple plops from his mouth and he sucks his fingers instead, and then he slips them into my mouth. “Taste,” he says, so I do. I suck and suck until he tells me to stop, and then he brushes a thumb across my puffy lips. “Hold your knees,” he orders, and I hitch them up to my chest. I bite my lip as his fingers spread my pussy, groaning as his tongue digs its way inside. “Virgin pussy,” he says. “You are a fucking delight.” “Take me,” I hiss. “Please. Please… Mr, Sir… Take me…” His eyes darken, and I know he likes it. I know he likes me to beg.

I beckon him up with my arms outstretched, but he doesn’t come. Instead he yanks me sideways and flips me, pinning me on my front with my eyes fixed on his in the mirrored wardrobe. “I want you to see this,” he says, and I nod. “This is going to be rough.” I nod again. His knees part mine. His fist in my hair tugs my head back. He lowers himself behind me and I feel his cock pressing against my pussy. I didn’t think I’d lose my virginity this way, not on my front, with Mr Henley at my rear about to fuck me like a bitch in heat. It’s supposed to be deeper this way… much deeper… “Look at me,” he says, and I do. “This will hurt,” he says. And it does. It does hurt. I cry out as he pushes in. A burn and a tear, and it feels hot, and deep. It hurts so bad it takes my breath, and my eyes well up. He grunts as he pushes deeper. So deep. I feel so full. Full of him. I stare at him in the mirror. His big hands gripping my hips. His skin pressed tight against mine. His dark eyes staring back at me, the slightest hint of a smile on his beautiful lips. “That’s it,” he whispers. “That’s all the way.” Even though it hurts, I clench to feel him. He grunts. I clench again and it makes me moan. “Fuck,” he growls, and I want it. I want him to fuck me. I want it to hurt. I want to know I’m his. “Do it,” I hiss. “Please, sir, fuck me…”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ALEXANDER

THE GIRL’S pussy is a fucking dream. I stay still as a fucking statue, catching my breath with my dick buried to the hilt inside that beautiful little slit. She clenches and my balls tighten, ready to fucking blow. “Do it,” she hisses. “Please, sir, fuck me…” Her eyes are hooded and hazy, fixed on mine in our reflection. Her pretty little tits move with her breath, her hair soft in my grip. If she thinks I’m going to fuck her hard and fast to get this over with, she’s mistaken. Very fucking mistaken. But I don’t think that’s what she’s angling for. The want in her eyes is all real. She whimpers as I slowly pull out, sucks in breath as I ease myself inside her a second time, and I tug her hair, arching her back until her pale throat is exposed in the mirror. Her eyelashes flutter, and she turns her head as far as I’ll allow, angling her face to mine as I lower myself to pin her. I feel her soft moans against my cheek, and her lips press to my skin, a gentle kiss that makes my stomach lurch. Like a rollercoaster. A fucking rollercoaster. I let go of her hair and wrap my fingers around her pretty throat. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shy away as I squeeze just enough that she’ll feel the pressure. “Please…” Her breath is a whisper, her open lips brushing my cheek. I kiss her. A crash of my mouth against hers, deep and hard as her tongue comes forward to meet mine. She shivers. Moans for me. And it’s strange. Insane how my heart aches in my chest.

Insane how real this feels. Insane how much affection I feel in this stranger’s kiss, in the way her body yields to mine, the way she grinds her hips to meet my thrusts, even though it must hurt like hell. I hitch up on my knees for more momentum, and she yelps but she’s smiling. I kiss her temple and breathe into her hair, and my fingers squeeze tighter around her throat, holding firm as I pick up speed, opening that tight little pussy to take me. And then I stop. Stop before it’s too late. I pull out, my dick throbbing as her pussy fights my exit. I flip her. She rolls so easily onto her back, her arms snaking around my neck as I lower myself on top. Her feet glide up my calves and hook around my thighs, her eyes staring right into mine, her smile so gentle. As though she loves me. And I’m lost, taken beyond my control, beyond any scrap of reason in my jaded fucking mind. I’ve barely composed myself before my cock demands back in. One push and I’m all the way inside her, propped on my elbows with this beautiful girl’s eyes sinking deep into mine, and I can’t stop kissing her. Can’t stop myself slowing down to savour every crazy fucking second of this madness. Her hands slide down my back, her fingertips gripping, teasing, feeling me. Her legs wrap around my waist and squeeze, urging me deeper, and there’s no whimpering, no murmur of pain as I take her harder. Take her faster. Take every fucking thing from that gorgeous little pussy. I’m getting close, my breath frantic as my heart pounds, and I can’t fight the urges. I don’t want to fight them. “Trust me.” My voice is a rasp. A desperate rasp. And she nods. She fucking nods. “Don’t fight,” I insist. “I won’t,” she whispers. And she doesn’t. Not when I pin my weight on one elbow, not when my hand slides around her throat and grips tight. Her eyes are just inches from mine, my breath on her face as hers stops. “Trust me,” I repeat. Her chest strains, her mouth open as she struggles to take a breath, but she doesn’t stop me, not even as she gasps for breath, over and over, she makes no move to stop me whatsoever. And fuck, how I fucking fuck her. I fuck her like a man fucking possessed, her body shunting under me as I keep my grip tight around her pretty neck.

She splutters, her eyes flashing involuntary panic, squirming just a little as she strains for breath that won’t come. I kiss her. Plunging my tongue inside her breathless mouth as she chokes for me. She should fight, but she doesn’t. Her hands grip my shoulders, her fingers digging in so tight, and I know she’s struggling against the panic, struggling to let this be. Her eyes are scared and raw, welling up with tears as she battles the urge to wrestle her way free. And it’s beautiful. It’s fucking beautiful. I wait. Steady. So fucking steady. I feel her going there, watch her so intently as she calms. She smiles as she reaches the other side of panic, the quiet place I know so well. “Trust me,” I breathe, and she blinks. The tears flow. I know she feels herself slipping, I know the pull of the void. Her fingers loosen their grip on my shoulders. Her eyes flutter, holding onto mine. And then, in those final moments of consciousness, she strokes my face. Her thumb sweeps my cheekbone with a tenderness that defies reason, defies everything. I count down from five, savouring the way she’s slipping away from me. And then I let her go. She comes back in a heartbeat, gulping in a long rasp of air as her eyes come back to focus. I’m still inside her as she splutters, still inside her as she turns her head to the side and coughs and gasps and gulps until her breathing returns to normal. I stroke the hair from her forehead, then tip her face to mine. “Ok?” I ask. The girl underneath me smiles, and then she giggles. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “Do it again,” she says. MELISSA

I WANT to die in his arms. I want his eyes to be the last thing I see. His beautiful voice the last thing I ever hear. But not tonight. I’m euphoric, giddy as my breath returns to normal, and he smiles at me. He actually smiles.

I don’t think he realises he’s doing it, the lines at his eyes crinkling as he brushes the hair from my forehead. “Ok?” he asks. I smile back, because I am. I really am ok. Better than ok. I giggle because this is crazy. This shouldn’t be good, but it is. It’s so good I can’t stop grinning. “Do it again,” I say. He’s still inside me, and I love how it feels. I love how all of this feels. “Soon,” he tells me, and then he kisses me. I love how he kisses me. I love how he breathes into my mouth as he pushes in deep. I love the way I’ve made him so horny. I’ve definitely made him horny. It’s different when he fucks me this time, frantic and desperate, his skin clammy under my fingers as I hold his face to mine. “Please…” I ask, and I don’t know what I’m asking for. He does, because he gives it to me. Deep thrusts that make me cry out noises that don’t sound like me. I hold him so tight, my lips on his as he shudders and moans, and he’s so close, his eyes right in mine, as I feel him lose control. He tenses. Grunts. And I feel it. I feel him come. I made him come. It’s only when he stops that I realise how sore I am. How tender my pussy feels. It’s only when he pulls away and pulls me up with him that I realise I’ve bled over the perfect white bedding. Horror. I’m so horrified I try to wipe it away with my fingers, but the pink stain just smears worse. “I’m so sorry…” I tell him. “I’m really, really sorry, sir.” My eyes are wide and scared as they meet his, because I don’t want him to be angry. I don’t want to disappoint him. But he’s not angry. His eyes are dark, but they’re not angry at all. He stares so weirdly, and my heart races, because I think he knows. I think he knows who I really am. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he tells me. But he’s still staring. Still thinking.

I’m burning up. My cheeks on fire as I bluster a smile. “I’d better get, um, cleaned up a little…” I say, and head for the bathroom. ALEXANDER “I’M REALLY, REALLY SORRY, SIR.” I can’t stop staring at her, can’t tear my eyes away from the sweet panic in hers. The hunch of her shoulders as she frantically tries to wipe her blood from the sheets. As if I give a fuck about the sheets. She’s beautiful. Too much of a delight to be real. So it can’t be real. She can’t be real. She tells me she’d better get cleaned up a little, and I watch her retreat to the bathroom. She smiles before she closes the door behind her, and it makes me smirk to myself to think of her dithery fingers wiping herself clean. I plan to head in after her, but I need a moment. I’ve already clocked her bag on the dresser, and I’m straight over before she can catch me in the act. I make sure the door is still closed before I undo the clasp and take a look inside. A purse, which I don’t open. A phone with a locked screen, an older handset, nothing special. A lipstick, a hairbrush. A little velvet bag, some chewing gum, and finally, slipped into the hidden pocket, her passport. I flip it open quickly. Amy Leigh Randall. Age twenty-one, just as she said on the video. I note her address. East End, but not in too bad an area. Her photo looks older. Her hair is longer and light brown, her face glowing natural with barely any makeup. I shove it back in her bag. Amy Leigh Randall. It’s not a name I recognise. Not one that’s ever crossed my path before – I’m good with names. I smile to myself. Her familiarity must be a welcome illusion, my mind playing tricks on me. A lucky find. Fate some may say, although I don’t go in for that shit. I guess Claude just came through this time. I’ll forgive him the extra charges after all. This was the best half a million I’ve ever spent. I turn the bathroom door handle.

MELISSA

ALEXANDER HENLEY IS in the room next door. I can’t believe this is happening to me. I can’t believe this is real. I’m still bleeding, but it’s not so bad. It’s pale now, and mixed with… him… his cum… and I didn’t think it would be possible to want him any more than I did before tonight, but I do. I want him more than ever. I never want this to end. I touch my neck, run my fingers where his held me tight, and I smile. I feel so alive. Never more alive than I did when I felt myself slipping away. Scary, and exciting, my heart pounding in my chest as he choked off my air, and then… peace. Calm. A blackness creeping in. My ears ringing. And him. I hope this isn’t it. I hope we’re not done already. I’m wiping myself for the final time when the door opens. I clench my thighs when he walks in, and he sees me. He sees and he tips his head. “Feeling ok?” he asks. “Yes, thank you,” I tell him. “I feel great.” I get to my wobbly feet and flush the toilet, so aware of how naked I am under the hard lighting. He watches everything. The way I soap my hands in the sink. The way I shake them, then dry them on the hand towel. I watch him right back in the mirror, burning everything to memory. The broad strength of his shoulders. His dark nipples on his toned chest. The trail of hair over his belly, to his cock. His cock is still hard. I’m pretty sure that means we’re not done already. I fluff up my hair before I turn to face him, trying to strike my most confident pose, even though I don’t feel confident at all. My skin prickles as he steps closer, tipping up my chin to examine my throat. “No marks,” he says. “Good.” I wouldn’t care if there were. I wish I could find the words to say that without sounding like an idiot. His hands rest on my shoulders, and I realise how big he is compared to me. “You must be thirsty,” he says.

I nod. “A little.” It makes him smile, and it’s only fleeting but it’s addictive. I love to see him smile. “Come,” he says, and takes his hands from me. “Champagne.” I follow him back through to the bedroom, hoping I’m not still dripping pink. He tops up my glass and hands it to me, and he toasts me with my glass of mineral water from earlier. “To your first time, Amy.” “To my first time, sir.” He clinks my glass, and I drink down the bubbles. It’s good. The champagne is really good. I tell him so. He examines the bottle. “You like? I’m not much for champagne myself.” He reads out the name on the bottle, some posh French word. I shrug. “I’m not really much of a drinker… especially not the good stuff. I normally stick to juice. Less of a hangover.” He nods. “Indeed. I’m of the same mind myself.” Mr Henley takes a seat in one of the armchairs by the dresser, as though sitting naked in a hotel room is the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is to him. He gestures to the chair opposite him, and I sit, wondering what he’s thinking. Wondering where this is going. “What brings you here, to a stranger’s bedroom, Amy?” I smile. “I didn’t think you enjoyed small talk.” He tips his head. “I don’t, but I’ll make an exception now we’re… acquainted.” I shrug. “Not much to tell. I thought it was about time. I thought the money would be… useful.” I meet his eyes. “I didn’t want to be a virgin anymore. I thought this would be… memorable.” “And is it?” “Memorable?” I feel the grin creep across my lips. “Oh, yes.” “And what now?” “I hope we do it again,” I tell him honestly. “The night is young, right?” His dark eyes twinkle. “Yes. The night is young.” “And what about you, Ted?” I ask. “What brings you here?” “A bad divorce and peculiar interests,” he tells me. “That and a sixty-hour working week, plus the added bonus of finding almost every human being I come across thoroughly intolerable.” I nod. Smile. “Yep, I guess that’ll bring you here. I hope I’m not too… intolerable…” “Not at all,” he tells me. “So far you’ve been thoroughly entertaining.”

“So far so good.” I laugh. “So far so very good.” He takes a sip of water. “Are you at college? Studying?” I shake my head. “No. I wanted to be a lawyer, but I, um… it didn’t work out. Maybe sometime soon, though.” “A lawyer?” I practice my poker face. “Criminal, yeah. I’d love to be a criminal lawyer.” He smirks. “I’d rethink that if I were you. It’s really not all that glamorous.” I let my eyes widen. “You’re a lawyer?” “I’m Ted Brown,” he tells me, as though it’s an inside joke. “I sell stationery.” “And what else does Mr Brown do besides sell stationery?” He laughs a little. “Mr Brown strives towards world peace, and fucks pretty little virgin girls in expensive hotel rooms.” I laugh along with him. “Then I guess Mr Brown is very good at selling stationery.” I gesture to our surroundings. “He must be.” “Mr Brown is very good at a lot of things.” His eyes are dark again. I take a breath. “I don’t doubt it.” He opens the dresser drawer. My heart thumps as he pulls out a briefcase, one of the ones I know so well. He unclips the catches and I see the set of sex toys I’ve been thinking about non-stop since I found them in his bedroom. He hands me an envelope. A thick envelope. “This gets the practicalities out of the way,” he says, then lowers himself back in his seat. I nod. “Thank you.” I realise this could be my moment. Maybe my only moment. I take my handbag from the side and make a mountain of pulling my things out to fit the envelope snugly. I act like I’m clumsy, juggling my lipstick and purse in my splayed fingers as I slip it inside. And then I let the little velvet bag tumble. I watch it fall, watch it bounce on the carpet between us, then scrabble for it as he does, making sure I’m a couple of seconds too late. “Phew,” I breathe as he hands it back. I jangle the bag. “Thank you. I really don’t want to lose these.” He takes the bait. “These?” I shove everything else away in my bag. “You’ll think it’s silly,” I tell him. “Silly?” He raises an eyebrow. “If that’s a bag of white powder, then maybe so, yes.” I laugh. Then I tip the crystals out into my palm. His poker face is good, but his jaw tightens. “I keep them for luck,” I tell him. “Stupid maybe, but I love them.” I hold the little red

stone up to the light. “This is garnet.” “From Rajasthan, I imagine,” he says. He takes it from my fingers. “They mine most of the gemstone grade quality there.” My belly flutters. “You know about crystals?” He holds out his hand and I offer him another, the green one. “Malachite,” he tells me. “They have the most incredible vase made out of malachite at the Hermitage Museum in St Petersburg. It’s really very impressive.” “Have you been?” “Yes,” he says, and reaches for another. I give him the amethyst. “Very pretty. I have an extraordinary piece from Siberia. It’s the very deepest purple. Stunning.” “You collect them? Really?” “You could say that.” His eyes meet mine. “What a coincidence.” I shrug it off. “Oh, I’m not a collector. I don’t really have the funds. I just love them.” “Love them enough to carry them in your handbag.” He smirks. “I may collect them, but I don’t carry them around in my pockets, so I think you win.” I smirk right back at him. “I may carry them around in my bag, but I don’t have an amethyst from Siberia. I think you win, Mr Brown, sir.” He tips his head, stares at the palm I’ve been so carefully rolling my quartz in. “And that one?” “Oh this one?” I meet his eyes, determined to make him see what I want him to see. “This one’s special. It’s my favourite. I carry it with me, all the time.” I laugh. “Normally in my hand like an idiot. It’s like my lucky charm.” He holds out his. “May I?” I hand it over gladly. My heart thumps as he holds it up to the light. “Rutilated quartz.” “Angel hair, yeah.” He squints as he stares inside, and he looks so serious. “This is a very nice specimen.” “Thanks.” I will him to hold it in his palm like I did, will him to roll it in his fingers. Will him to like it. He does roll it in his fingers. He really does. “I can see why it’s your favourite.” “Nice, isn’t it?” “Very nice. I don’t have one. I’ll have to put it on my list.” I act surprised, even though I know his collection by heart. “You don’t?” “No. I’ve not yet had a specimen come up that I liked.” I shrug. “Guess I got lucky with mine.” I hold out my palm, and he places the stone back in it, but my fingers grasp his before he pulls away and flip his hand over. I don’t let go, not for a long moment. “Keep it,” I tell him. “To remember me by.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Oh no, I couldn’t.” “Please,” I insist. “I have more, at home. Maybe it’ll bring you luck too.” I’m sure he’s going to protest. His eyes burn mine, but my smile is easy. “Please, Mr Brown. I’d like you to have it. A memento.” Mr Henley smiles. A proper smile this time. It lights up his eyes. He grips the stone between his fingers and examines it some more. “Maybe I’ll have to take to carrying one around in my pocket after all,” he says. “For luck.” I raise my glass. “For luck.” When he holds it up to the light for a second time I feel it in my tummy. Mission accomplished. I down the rest of my champagne. ALEXANDER EXTRAORDINARY. I run my thumb over the cold smoothness of the quartz, staring unapologetically at the delightful creature whose cherry I just popped. I shouldn’t take her lucky crystal. I should thank her for her generosity and hand it back, but I don’t want to. It’s so smooth in my palm, so pretty under the light. Not rare, or expensive, or even high grade. It’s just a plain old tumbled-quartz gemstone from any old hippie shop in town, and yet I’ve not wanted a crystal as much as I’ve wanted this one for a long, long time. I’ve not wanted a pussy as much as I’ve wanted this one for a long, long time either. Her eyelashes flutter as she catches my gaze, her breath quickening as she registers my intent. She places her empty glass so gently on the dresser, then drops her other crystals back in her handbag. My case is still open, my collection of toys in full view, and I feel like a cunt as she looks over them. I feel like a cunt for bringing them here to this girl’s very first time. She makes light of it. “That’s an, um, interesting collection…” I bluster it away, make to close it and take it out of view like it’s nothing, but her hand lands on my wrist and squeezes. She’s close. Her eyes big and transfixed. Her breath shallow. “Show me,” she whispers. “Please.” “You’ve done enough,” I assure her. “I paid for your virginity and I took it.” She shakes her head. “You paid for more than that.” “And I’ve already got my money’s worth.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Really,

Amy, you don’t need to do this.” She shifts her weight onto her hip, and her eyes are hooded as she takes my hand and places it on her breast. “Please…” she whispers. Her nipple is hard against my palm, she leans into me as I squeeze her, wrapping her arms around my shoulders as I pinch that beautiful pink little bud between my fingers. “I want to see everything,” she whispers. “Everything?” She nods. “You brought that stuff here for a reason, right?” “Peculiar tastes, like I said. You’ve already sampled some of them.” “So show me the others.” She murmurs as I palm her sweet little breast, pressing her hips to mine and pinning my cock to her soft belly. “On the bed,” I tell her, and she lets me go. Her smile is beautiful as she climbs up and waits for me. I slip the crystal safely into my jacket pocket before I join her.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

MELISSA

I WATCH him as he slips the crystal into his jacket pocket, and my heart swells. He likes it. He really likes it. And my body really likes him. My skin is shivery and sensitive, my belly a knot of butterflies as he heads over with the case in his hands. It pains me that he believes I’m here for money, but that doesn’t seem to bother him, doesn’t stop his eyes burning into mine as he climbs up onto the bed beside me. I inch towards him, desperate for contact, and he runs his fingers down my ribs. They tickle my belly on their way between my thighs. I open wide for him. “Are you sore?” “Not too much.” I flinch as he slides two fingers inside. “I think that sweet little cunt’s had enough this evening.” The disappointment pangs. “But I’m fine…” I insist. He dangles a string of purple beads over my face. “No need to worry, Amy, I have many interests. Pussy is just one of them.” He trails the beads down my body and the bumps tease my nipples. “I need you to hold your knees up for me, nice and high.” I do as he asks without hesitation, and he lowers himself down the bed. I’m nervous. My mouth dry as he taps the beads against my pussy. They’re rubbery, heavier than they felt on the rest of me. His fingers splay my pussy and I suck in breath, hoping I’m not still bleeding. I gasp as his tongue flicks against my clit, moan as he sweeps all the way down. He digs inside, and then he sucks. He sucks my pussy and it feels so good my feet twitch. And then he licks my ass, circling his tongue and it makes me squirm, makes me quiver as the tip pushes inside. “Take a breath,” he tells me, and I do. I hear him spit on his fingers, craning my neck to see. His dark eyes are fixed between my

legs, a look of concentration as he pushes one long finger inside. It’s uncomfortable but nice and I can’t think straight, can’t tear my eyes from the way he’s staring at me. “I think your sweet little virgin ass may be even tighter than your pussy.” His voice is deep velvet, his words sound so dirty. “We’ll find out.” He wriggles his finger and I moan and throw my head back. He slides it in and out and I’m his forever. “That’s so nice…” I whisper, and it is. It’s really nice, even though it feels like I might need to go back to the bathroom. I feel raw and open as he takes his finger away. I smile as I hear him spit again. It lands right on my asshole and my pussy tingles in response. I couldn’t imagine a man like Alexander Henley spitting before tonight, but I love it. I really love how dirty he is. The first bead is small, I feel the ridge sink in, and the next after. The third feels bigger, a bit of resistance before my ass lets it in. I hold my knees, grit my teeth as he pushes the next inside. “Good girl,” he says. “Relax.” I try. I try really hard. “And easy does it,” he says as he pushes hard on the next. I grunt as it plops in. He follows it up with another and it makes me hiss. “That’s good,” he tells me. “And again.” This one burns and fills me up. My toes curl. “Last one,” he whispers, and his thumb strokes over my clit. I clench my ass around the beads, and he likes that, I hear him moan as his tongue digs around the spot. It’s still there when I feel the final bead against my ass. It’s tight. So tight. “Yes…” I hiss, and he pushes it in. “You know what pleases me as much as filling up someone’s ass?” he asks, and I’m sure he doesn’t want an answer, but I meet his eyes anyway. “Emptying it again,” he tells me, and then he yanks on the end. The beads tug out in one long bumpy motion. I arch my back, my knees dithering in mid-air as I groan. My breath is ragged, embarrassment burning at the sure belief I’ve just added worse stains to the ones I made earlier. I hitch myself onto my elbows to see, but if I really have made a mess he doesn’t care. He lines the beads back up at my clenched ass, tells me to lie down as he does it again. They go in easier this time. They come out harder. In and out. Burning. Filling me up.

I’m a grunting, wriggling mess, unable to control my spasming asshole. I’m not prepared when he slides two fingers in, completely at his mercy when he circles them deep inside. “Tight,” he says. “Beautifully tight, but we’ll remedy that.” “Please…” He laughs so quietly. “I think we’ve found ourselves a dirty little girl.” He pulls something else from the case, but I don’t see it. It’s between my legs before I can tell what it is. I feel it, though. Feel the hard ridge of it pushing inside. “Don’t fight it,” he tells me. I won’t. I won’t fight it. I hold my knees high and spread wide, smiling down at him as his eyes scorch mine. The cry from my mouth as he shunts it in surprises me, and that makes me giggle. He taps the base of whatever it is and it makes a funny slapping noise. I feel the vibrations right the way through me. “A pretty little plug for a pretty little asshole,” he says. “Now we just need to give it a while.” “A while?” I ask. “A little while and that little hole of yours is going to be begging for cock.” He smirks, and my tummy flutters. “Let’s see what other delights we can discover.” I’m still holding my knees as he comes to my side. Still holding them high as he tilts my face to his and flicks his tongue across my lips. He pulls away as my mouth opens for him. “You’re a dirty little thing,” he rasps. “Open wide.” I open wide and he slides two fingers right to the back of my throat. I retch but he pushes them deeper. “Swallow,” he says, but I can’t. I retch again and he pulls them out, complete with a long string of spit. My ass tightens and whatever’s in there makes me tingle. “Sorry, sir,” I splutter. “No need for apologies,” he says, and his fingers are ready again. I open my mouth without being asked, fight the urge to cough as his fingers push right back there. “Suck,” he whispers. “Suck and swallow.” I suck. I suck as hard as I can, and he likes that, he presses his hard cock against my hip. “Swallow,” he insists, and I do. I swallow and his fingers are right there. It makes my eyes water. And then I retch again, harder this time. My mouth fills up with spit, so wet as he pulls his fingers free. He kisses me before I’ve caught my breath, his tongue pushing deep as I splutter, and the kiss is wet, it’s so wet. “Now for my next trick,” he whispers. “Time to fuck that pretty little virgin throat.” He shunts up the bed and rolls me towards him. His cock slaps against my cheek, and he

takes my hair, angling me just right for his cock to press against my lips. I open right up, stick my tongue out as he pushes inside. His cock tastes beautiful, so musky I just want to suck on it hard. The head strains my jaw as it pushes past my teeth. He moves, fast, and I’m like a ragdoll, gagging and choking as he fucks my face. My eyes are streaming, my hands gripping my knees so tight to my chest. “That’s right,” he growls. “Don’t fight it.” I won’t fight it, not ever. I grunt around his dick as his fingers find my clit, and he rubs me so hard, so fast, making me gurgle wet noises. I let myself go for him, giving him my throat like the dirty girl he wants me to be. The dirty girl he needs. I open my eyes wide, caring little for the tears rolling down my face. He looks divine from this angle, the shadow of stubble on his jaw, the crease of his throat as he stares down at me. “Fuck,” he growls. “Your tight little throat is going to empty me.” His fingers make me buck, make me squirm, make me clench around that hard toy in my asshole. There’s a warmth as he groans and thrusts deep, a saltiness at the back of my throat as he comes in my mouth. I fight the urge to retch with everything I’ve got, and that’s good, because he’s watching, he watches like a hawk as he pulls free. “Swallow,” he says, and I do. I must look a mess underneath him, still squirming against his fingers as he pinches at my clit. My hair feels sticky, my skin clammy, my breath wild as I look up at the man who obsesses me. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. He takes his time, staring down at me as his fingers work. He’s steady, concentrated, his movements so skilled as my breathing quickens. “That’s good,” he encourages. “Good girl.” I can smell him, his thigh pressed to my cheek, the scent of him so close. I can still taste him. “I… I’m gonna…” “I know,” he says, and quickens his fingers. And I do. I tip over the edge with my head lolling in his lap and my eyes open wide. I come hard. So hard I thrash my legs, all thought of holding my knees forgotten as I ride the waves. I’m still riding the waves as he pulls the thing from my ass and slips three fingers inside. “Nice and ready,” he whispers, and his body guides mine, rolls with me as he eases me

onto my front and bears down on top of me. His thighs part mine, and I feel his cock stiffening as he presses it to my asshole. “We’re going to take this slow.” His breath is on my ear. “Nice and slow.” I feel the head plop in, and he grunts. He pushes forward and my ass takes him. I clench tight around his shaft just to hear him groan. “Fuck me,” I hiss. “Please, sir. Please fuck me.” And he does. Slowly. So fucking slowly. My ass feels slack and hungry and so nice as his cock burns inside. “Final act,” he whispers, and it pains, the thought pains. I twist my face to his and his mouth is waiting. I kiss him like I love him because I do. He kisses me back like he knows and it’s so wonderful I could cry. And then his hand clasps around my throat. I slide my arms behind me and lay my palms flat against his thighs. His grip on my throat takes my weight and my air with it. I’m not scared, even if my body is. Even if my heart panics and races. Even if my lungs cry for breath. I focus on the heat of his cock inside my ass. Focus on how deep he feels, how loose he’s making me. How much I want him. I give Alexander Henley my breath. He takes it with his lips pressed to my cheek. “Beautiful girl,” he whispers, and I wish I could tell him how my heart feels. My body knows what to do when he loosens his grip. He gives me air. One, two, three long gulps before he takes it away again. Over and over, breathing and choking, breathing and choking. I could do this forever. ALEXANDER

I KEEP her in the half light, coasting on just enough air to maintain consciousness. I love the way her throat gurgles. I love the way she doesn’t fight when it does. I love the way her ass loosens up for me, and I love the way my cock slides all the way in.

This must be hurting. I know she’s going to struggle to walk tomorrow. I love the way she doesn’t care. One load left and I’ll have taken my fill. Her sweet little asshole does its best to milk me dry, but I don’t want this to end. Her eyes are so blue as they stare into mine. They tell me she’s all in. It’s more than I can resist. I’m going to come in her ass and I’m powerless to stop myself. If I wasn’t paying her I’d play with her sweet little body all night. I’d suck her clit until she couldn’t take any more, and then I’d shower her, towel her dry and do it all over again. But I am paying her. She’s here because of the cash in her handbag, and her portion of the insanely generous half a million Claude will be depositing into her bank account. I let her breathe. Press my cheek to hers as her breathing returns to normal, my cock still gliding in and out, my balls on the verge of blowing. I shudder as they go. The ripples rush right through me, pumping my seed into her perfect asshole, my cock still twitching as I come down. She groans as I pull out all the way. Groans again as I move away from her. Her eyes follow me as I head to the bathroom. I take a piss and freshen up, and she’s still staring at the doorway when I return. I smile as I pick up my shirt, and she shifts on the bed, winces as she moves to the edge. My heart pangs with the urge to kiss her. It’s so laughable it turns my stomach. “So, um… what now?” she asks. “You’re free to go,” I tell her. “Okay,” she says, and if I didn’t know better I’d swear she sounded disappointed. The idea is ridiculous. She’s going to walk away from this experience with enough money to set her up for the next ten years and there’s nothing I can do about the fact I’ll most likely never see her again. My sweet Amy will likely take the bonus twenty-five grand in her handbag and buy herself a stiff drink in the all-night bar downstairs. I only wish I could join her, but that’s not what I’ve paid her for. “Was I, um… okay?” she asks. “You were more than okay. You were excellent.” Her smile is hollow. “Thanks.” “Thank you, Amy.” “You’re welcome, sir. I, um… I really enjoyed it.” Polite. I like that.

I button up my shirt and she gets to her feet. She gathers up her knickers, bra and dress from the floor and retreats to the bathroom. I don’t follow her. I’m fully dressed when she returns, and so is she. The tension is palpable, her fingers twisting in front of her as she struggles for the right words. “Your room is booked all night,” I say. “You could stay if you wanted.” I put the toys back in the case and clasp it shut. “Or you can stay here, if you prefer. I believe this suite is better.” “I need to get home,” she says. “Yes,” I tell her. “So do I.” I hate goodbyes. The emotional awkwardness disturbs me. I’ve normally made an exit by this point already, disappearing into the night with nothing but a curt thank you. I take a step forward, and the sweet girl that she is closes the distance. She presses her tiny body flat to mine and wraps her arms around my neck. I hate the way it makes me feel. Hate the way my heart quickens and that fucking lump comes up in my throat. I stiffen and she feels it. She pulls away. “Thank you for everything,” she says. Money. Thank you for the money. That’s what she means. “Take your time, they do excellent room service here if you’re hungry.” I lift my case and head for the door, cursing myself that I didn’t take one last taste of her pretty mouth before I was done. I stop before I turn the handle, take a moment to soak her in as she buckles up her sparkly heels. “Get yourself into a decent law school,” I tell her. “There are plenty of firms who’d give you a shot with a decent degree under your belt.” I fight the urge to tell her that I own one of them. She nods. “Maybe one day. I hope.” “Goodbye, Amy.” “Goodbye, Mr Brown, sir.” I close the door behind me. MELISSA

MY FINGERS ARE shaky as I call a taxi from Dean’s phone. I head through reception quickly, taking just a moment to leave my key card on the counter. I don’t say a word all the way home, just stare out of the window, unsure whether I want to laugh or cry.

He was everything I dreamed and more, and then he was gone. My heart breaks at the thought I’ll never see him again, yet it soars at the knowledge I had him. I can still feel him, everywhere. My body is fucked raw, battered and bruised, but I feel amazing. I’d do it all over again right now. Dean looks out through the window as I step out of the taxi. He’s already in the doorway when I climb the communal stairs to the landing. He lets me through the door before he speaks, but as soon as I’m inside he’s one long stream of questions. Am I okay? Did he hurt me? Did he pay me? What was he like? I pour myself a glass of water and drink it down in one before I answer, and then I take the huge stuffed envelope from my handbag. His eyes are like dinner plates. “No fucking way.” I nod. “Yes way.” “Have you counted it?” I shake my head. “You can.” He takes it from me and I smile as he dashes through to the living room. He clears the coffee table and tips out the notes. Jesus Christ, no wonder my handbag was so heavy on my lap in the taxi. He flicks through one bundle. “These are thousands.” I watch as he stacks them up. “Twenty-five. Shit, Lissa, he’s given you twenty-five fucking grand.” My heart pounds. “But that’s too much.” “There’s twenty-five here,” he says. “Count for yourself. Fuck.” But I don’t want to. I don’t want this to be about the money, even though it is. I’m going to treat Joseph to a brand new trainset, and maybe a nice meal or two for the three of us, clear my credit card of the excess, and then I’m going to deposit the rest in Joe’s trust fund. “What is it?” Dean asks, and I shrug. “Did he hurt you?” I wince as I take a seat beside him, but it’s not that. I tell him I’m fine. “Then what?” He holds up a bundle of notes. “Lissa, you just earned twenty-five fucking grand.” “I would’ve done it for free.” He squeezes my elbow. “But you didn’t. You got so much money. You could quit the cleaning, go back to college…” I smile. “I’m not going to give up the cleaning. This is all for Joe.” He nods. “Sure. So it’s for Joe’s trust fund, that’s still good, right?”

It is good. It’s really good. I force this silly mood away. I’m pining before the night’s even over, and it’s stupid, it’s really stupid. Dean clocks the change in me. He turns to face me and his eyes are wide and curious. “So what’s he like?” The grin comes from nowhere. “He’s amazing.” “No danger of going off the guy then.” He pauses. “Spill. What did he do?” My cheeks burn at the memory. “Gory details?” “Hell yeah.” He grins. “Gory details.” I give him gory details. I give him every detail. Every single little squirmy one of them. He hardly looks away as I recount the whole lot of it, and he’s shifting in his seat, clearing his throat when I talk about how rough he was, how hard he fucked me. How he took my asshole and made it feel so good. “Shit,” he says finally. “You really earned your fucking money.” “I’d do it for free.” I smile. “And you would, too.” He shrugs. “Don’t know about that,” he says. But I do. I’m absolutely positive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ALEXANDER

I KEEP that tumbled stone in my pocket right through my Sunday afternoon with the boys. I roll it in my fingers while they eat their shitty burgers. I grip it tight in my palm as I hug them goodbye. And I grip it tight all the way home. I tell myself I’ll put the stone in the cabinet with the rest of my collection, but it’s on my nightstand when I slip into bed, and back in my pocket in time to leave for work in the morning. Amy Leigh Randall. Brooklyn Road, EC1. I have a good memory for detail. I hold it up to the window in my office. Examine every little inclusion. Angel hair. Blonde strands, like hers. I remember how she smelled. How her eyelashes fluttered. How her tight little pussy gripped me so perfectly and sucked me dry. And then I talk some sense into myself. I shove it away in my desk drawer amongst my gifted fountain pens, just another useless gift that means nothing whatsoever. So she likes crystals? Big fucking deal. A lot of people like crystals. She probably thinks they transmit some ethereal energy from Heaven above. She probably rests a piece of malachite on her forehead and chants some zen bullshit to ward of headaches, leaving her little bag of stones under the light of the full moon to charge up their juju. I don’t have time for mumbo fucking jumbo. I take my meetings. I scan through reams of court paperwork. I threaten people with the full weight of the legal power invested in me, calling in shitty back-hand favours behind the scenes to ensure a favourable outcome for my asshole clients. Just another week of the same old grind with the same old people lying through their teeth about the same old things, as though I haven’t heard every excuse for piss poor behaviour a thousand times before.

Sweet little Amy should sit in my seat for a week – that would be ample enough opportunity to rethink her career goals. Maybe a week in my shoes would make the prospect of selling me her pussy on an ongoing basis a more preferable option. I’ve been thinking about it, of course – contemplating the likelihood of a repeat performance. I’m not one for holding my breath, having paid her enough money to set her up for the long haul, and I’m certainly not one to expose myself to the embarrassment of a thanks but no thanks. No. If she wants to barter a deal then Claude will be in touch. That’s his job – just a standard middle-man peddling pussy for sale. But when he calls me from his off the record mobile on Friday evening, catching me on my way across town to cook up soup with that pissing gemstone of hers right back in my pocket, the rush in my chest is anything but fucking standard. MELISSA

ALMOST A WEEK, that’s how long it took for me to hear a peep from Claude Finch. I figured I’d been substandard, that maybe Mr Henley had reported back I really wasn’t as good as the other women on offer. I’d told myself that was okay, that at least I’d had him, even just once, but I’d been fooling myself. Being back in his house Monday morning was nothing but beautiful torture, deep breaths against his pillow nothing but fuel to my despair. The notes stopped. The gifts stopped. Everything stopped. I smiled thinly as I dished up meals for the homeless on Wednesday evening, and faked my laughter while I played with Joseph at dinner time. I even tried my best to hide my despair from Dean, settling down for coffee and TV at night with a shrug of the shoulders in answer to every question he asked about my day. And then it had come – a call from number unknown on Dean’s phone on Thursday evening. Someone asking for Amy, and there he was, Claude Finch, his voice clipped and professional, asking whether I’d be interested in relisting my item for general sale. My reply was instant enough that Dean raised his eyebrows across the room. Yes, please. Yes! And so I’d trekked across the city on Friday lunchtime to renegotiate the small print. I used the main entrance this time, and there was no lamplight in his back office, no video cameras demanding a performance, just Claude in his pinstripe suit, asking me to sign

more paperwork. I didn’t even think to ask about money. The only question out of my mouth was whether I’d be assigned to Mr Brown again. Mr Brown will get first refusal, Claude told me. Standard practice. I’d nodded. Smiled. Tried to keep my cool, even though my knees were knocking under the desk. Three grand an evening, that’s what Claude offered, and I’d stared mute, trying to gather my dropped jaw from the floor. The money was insane – dwarfing my monthly cleaning salary in just one evening, so much for a poker face – the overwhelm was written all over me. “Yes. Thank you!” My words tumbled out before Claude could rethink his offer. “I’ll be in touch with Mr Brown. Please keep your weekends clear, he prefers a Saturday evening.” And so I waited. I scrubbed his kitchen until my fingers were sore. Pressed his clothes to perfection and hung them so neatly in his dressing room. I took Brutus on an extra-long walk and gave him an extra fish treat. I replenished the orchids before I left for the weekend. And then I went home to Joe and Dean. ALEXANDER

“I’VE HAD A LOT OF INTEREST,” Claude tells me with greedy eyes. The man is like a pig in shit, leaning back in his chair with a grin on his face as he tells me he’s contemplating another auction for Amy’s next appearance. “Fuck the fucking auction,” I snap. The very fact I’m in his fucking saleroom at close to midnight on a Friday evening – dressed in fucking denim in my haste to get this shit negotiated – tells him everything he needs to know. The slimy cunt has me over a barrel, and we both know it. He offers me a whisky from his desk drawer. I wave it away. “Exclusivity is going to cost.” My stare is ice-cold, practiced and pointed from years in court. “Don’t dick me about, Claude. I’m open to negotiation.” “Twenty grand,” he tells me. “Twenty grand a session, exclusivity assured for a six-month initial term.” I laugh out loud. “Twenty fucking grand a session? I could hire Elena ten times over.”

“And Elena is average stock,” he tells me. “We both know it.” “That’s not quite what you said when you presented her.” He shrugs. “Elena is Elena, Candice is Candice. Amy is…” “No longer a fucking virgin,” I finish. “In demand,” he tells me. “I’ve had five enquiries already this week.” I’d normally call the cunt’s bluff, but not this time. This time I’m worried the prick is serious. “Ten grand,” I tell him, because I’d lose all self-respect by accepting his first offer. “Fifteen,” he says. “And that’s generous. An extra twenty-percent cash tip on the night, compulsory.” If looks could kill he’d be dead already. “Twenty fucking percent? It was a five percent compulsory cash tip last time.” “It is what it is.” His eyes are so fucking smug. “If you don’t like it…” I should walk. The number one rule of negotiation, never be afraid to walk away, never accept the weaker position. But I don’t. I don’t fucking walk. “And how much does she make from this? Amy?” He laughs as though the question is absurd. “Seventy percent as standard. One hundred percent of her cash tip, of course.” “Of course.” I contemplate the prospect of signing away the best part of twenty grand to sweet little Amy every weekend, contemplate how likely she is to stay a six-month course. But it’s pointless. My heart is already pounding in my temples, frantic beneath the surface of my poker face. “Fine,” I tell him. “Delaney’s. Weekly. Right through until breakfast, at my pleasure.” He holds out a hand. “I’ll set it up.” It makes me cringe to shake it. “Six-month term, Claude. Don’t fuck me about.” He nods. “It’s done.” MELISSA

I CAN HARDLY BREATHE when the email pings. Dean calls up the message and clears his throat. “Well?” I quiz. I try to read his face, but he’s still scanning the screen. He smiles at me. “It’s good. Really fucking good.”

My heart thumps as I leap from my seat and join him on the sofa. I grab the handset from him, my eyes hungry for detail. Six month exclusivity. Weekly schedule. Saturdays from eight at Delaney’s Spa Resort. Small print about referring to the original sale paperwork, more small print about accepting absolute exclusivity as a condition of sale. And then finally, the piece of information I’ve been waiting for. Your client is Ted Brown. A click box to confirm the agreement. I click without hesitation. Dean stares at me. “You really want to sign up to this shit for six months?” “You’re kidding, right? I’d sign up for sixty years.” He shakes his head. “I’m being serious, Lissa. Who knows what crap can happen in six months?” My belly flutters at the thought. A lot. A lot can happen in six months. I’m counting on it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

ALEXANDER

I SPEND my entire working life facing people down without so much as breaking a sweat. I never lose a stare-off, haven’t done in all my years in the courtroom. I don’t do nervous. I’ve never done nervous. But tonight, as I check the knot of my tie is positioned just fucking so, I’m definitely feeling a shiver of trepidation. I don’t know why this one night is even registering on my radar. It should be nothing more than a dirty little fuckfest, no different to any other time I’ve reached in my pocket and paid generously for the experience I want. But her lucky stone is in my trouser pocket. Her pretty eyes are in my head. The promise of a second round on her tight little cunt has my dick standing to attention before I’ve even fastened up my cufflinks. I feel the ridiculous urge to buy her something. A beautiful bouquet of orchids like the ones downstairs. Belgian chocolates maybe. But cliché gifts seem cheap and unoriginal, and a girl like Amy is anything but cheap and unoriginal. I have a half a million shaped dent in my bank account to prove it. I take a bundle of notes from my safe and slip them into my jacket pocket, Claude’s ridiculous compulsory tip sorted. There’s a niggle in my gut as I say goodbye to Brutus, and that niggle won’t let me cross the threshold. I already know what I’m going for as I head upstairs. I input the code to my cabinet and my eyes sweep immediately to the second shelf down. A polished fire opal, its colours so glorious in the light. This stone transfixed me, captured my eye at an auction in Dubai almost a decade ago. I had to have it, at any cost. I paid well over the fucking odds for it, but I didn’t care. I felt nothing but relief as that gavel came down. It’s a fitting gift.

I wrap it in a burgundy silk handkerchief, slipping it into my pocket along with the cash. The niggle in my gut is gone when I face my front door for the second time. But not the nerves. The nerves are still right fucking there. MELISSA

I HAD to buy a dress today. I chose a pretty red number that fits tight at the bust and flares over my hips. Dean approved in the store this morning, and even Joe clapped. A definite win. And so was the red lipstick to match. I picked up the shoes and handbag at a discount store on the way back home, and they may have been bought on a budget, but I feel just fine as I head on through Delaney’s reception with a smile on my face. Round two. I’m really going in for round two. I’ve had a smile on my face all day, and I’m happy. Lighter than I’ve felt since… just since. It feels so strange to feel this light inside. I count down the minutes in my assigned room on the first floor, my eyes twinkling through my last second mirror check, and then I’m up and away, heart pumping as I make the ascent to the top floor. Mr Brown in suite seven tonight – Claude’s confirmation email told me so. I count down the doors. Ten, nine, eight. Seven. Door number seven is in an alcove on its own. It swings open as soon as I knock, and I’m not looking at the floor today. My eyes meet his in a heartbeat, my smile bright as he stands aside to let me in. “Amy,” he says. Black suit, white shirt, black tie. A ghost of stubble. “Hi,” I say, and the flutters in my tummy are too much. I take a breath. “You look considerably more at ease this evening,” he says, and there’s a smile there, just a hint. I can’t stop staring as he crosses the room. “Champagne?” He pulls the bottle from an ice bucket before I’ve answered, pouring me a glass even as I’m nodding.

“Please.” I notice the case on the bedside table. I notice how his scent lingers in the air between us. I notice the way he’s looking at me, as though he’s a cat about to pounce. It’s familiar here, the layout of this suite is similar to the one previous. Virtually identical. I drop my handbag on the dresser. He already has a tumbler of water. “Cheers,” he says, and I raise my champagne. “What are we toasting?” “A long and mutually beneficial working relationship,” he tells me. Long. “To us,” I say simply, and his jaw tightens. He closes the distance to clink my glass, and stays there, his body so close to mine. The scent of him makes me heady, and so do the bubbles on my tongue. I want to kiss him, but I don’t know how. I want to slip my hands inside his jacket and hold him close. I want to feel the hardness of him against my belly. But I stand still. Waiting. Wanting. “I’m assured you’ve accepted a six-month exclusivity term,” he says. His voice is super professional. Guarded. “Yes.” “I trust you read the small print?” I attempt to recall the bits I noted, but my mind is fuzzy. Excitement and nerves aren’t the greatest recipe for flawless recall. I tell him so with a smile, and hope that excuses my ignorance. “Excitement?” He seems taken aback, even though his gaze is steady and his jaw is firm. It’s just something in his eyes, something I can’t put my finger on. My cheeks are burning, and I don’t know what to say. I don’t have a smart quip to hand, or some sexy one-liner that makes me sound like a sex goddess. I don’t have anything to offer him but the honest truth, which is such a joke in itself given the route I’ve taken to get into his bed in the first place. My eyes are on his, my throat dry as I cough up my answer. I hope he can’t see my pink cheeks under my foundation. “I, um… I wanted to see you again.” No. That’s not the truth. Not anywhere near. I love you. I’ve always loved you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m Melissa Martin, the girl who bought you a cupcake. The girl who ironed the shirt you’re wearing. The girl you bummed a cigarette to outside my school gates.

He reads people for a living, and I know it. I can feel how he’s reading me right now. His eyes are dark and fierce, the steel of his jaw just as intimidating as it was in the meeting room weeks ago. My confidence deflates, my breath unsteady as I dip my head. I’m back to staring at his feet, the mirror shine of his brogues so stark against the cream carpet. I feel the heat of him. I feel his breath on my hair. And then his fingers are under my chin, tipping my face to his. “Flattery is unnecessary.” My eyes widen. “But… it’s not…” His stare could cut me in half and leave me bleeding on the floor. I want him to kiss me. I want him to wrap his fingers around my throat and take away my ability to speak any more stupid words. But he doesn’t. He reaches inside his jacket and pulls out an envelope. “I like to get the practicalities out of the way first,” he says, and I feel weirdly sad as I take the money from him. Feel strangely deflated as I thank him and drop the bundle in my handbag. He finishes up his water as I clasp it shut. “I hope you weren’t too inconvenienced in the aftermath,” he says. “Tender,” I admit. “But it was no problem.” “Good to hear.” He clears his throat. “In other practicalities, you’ll be staying until morning. We’ll meet at this time every weekend.” “Okay.” “If you’ve revised your hard limits after our last encounter, now is the time to air them.” I shake my head. “No revisions.” He doesn’t understand me, and I know it. I can see his mind whirring behind those dark eyes, digging and reasoning and trying to fit my pieces together. I feel it. I feel him. But he won’t. He can’t. He’s trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. Without any of them. “You’re quite extraordinary,” he tells me, and I feel that, too. “So are you, Mr Brown.” I can hardly breathe. I can hardly think. I can hardly do anything but yield to the way my body feels when he’s near. I watch his throat as he swallows. I watch his mouth as he takes the breath I’m craving. My body moves as his does, my tummy fluttering as we meet in the space between us, and my hands really do slip inside his jacket, my mouth already open for his as he lowers his face to mine. I’d burn all the cash in my handbag for one single moment like this.

I’d give him everything I owned just for one breath of his breath. And I think he knows, somewhere deep inside. I think he knows this isn’t Amy Randall, some random girl being paid for sex with a stranger. I think he knows he knows me, because he groans when his fingers twist in my hair, and I feel his heartbeat against my shoulder. It’s fast, it’s really fast. Nearly as fast as mine. He tugs my dress up and over my head, and unclips my bra and drops it loose. His fingers hook inside my knickers and shimmy them down my hips, until there’s only me, naked in discount shoes. He parts my thigh with his, and the fabric of his trousers is so soft against my pussy. He hitches my ass and holds me tight, and I rock against him, loving the swell of his crotch against my belly. I wrap my arms around his shoulders for leverage, and he takes my weight, grinds against me until I’m panting into his mouth, my eyes hazy and unfocused as he urges me faster. I’m going to come in his arms before he’s even taken his jacket off, and he wants it, I know he wants it. “Horny girl,” he breathes, and I shudder. My clit grinds against his thigh. My chest presses to his as I suck his tongue into my mouth. I lose my mind as I tip over the edge, squirming against him without a scrap of reservation as I moan like the whore I technically am. And when I stop, he doesn’t. He doesn’t let me go as I breathe ragged breaths into his mouth. He doesn’t let up his grip on my ass as he walks me backwards to the bed and lowers himself on top. His tie falls between my tits and tickles me. The lapels of his jacket are smooth under my fingers. “You like the suit,” he comments, and I nod. “I love the suit,” I tell him, and I guess that’s why he stays in it. I guess that’s why he unbuckles his belt and pulls his cock free with his clothed flesh against my nakedness. I groan as he pushes inside, but my pussy is ready for him this time. I grunt with discomfort at the stretch, but he’s hard and fast, shunting deep as my thighs part to take him. “Fuck me,” I hiss. And he does. He fucks me so hard I bite his shoulder to quell the grunts, his ear against mine as he takes me. I take his ass in my hands and urge him deeper, even though it fucking hurts, and I can hear the noises my pussy is making, the wet slaps as he pounds my flesh. “This is insane,” he growls, and it makes me smile. He has no idea.

“I love it,” I whisper, and he lifts his face to search my eyes. I hold him, one hand in his hair as my thumb brushes his jaw, and there’s nothing I can do to hide how much I want him. Nothing in the world I could do to play this cool. So I don’t. I kiss him. Hard. He shudders. I stroke his face and he groans. I wrap my legs around his waist and roll my hips to take him deeper, and I’m groaning too. He comes with his forehead pressed to mine. “Fuck!” he says with a grunt and his eyes closed tight. He’s tense as he explodes, his whole body taut as his heart races through his shirt. And then he collapses. I love taking the weight of him, love the way he crushes me into the sheets. I listen to him breathe, my fingertips teasing the back of his neck as he calms. When he meets my eyes his are no longer cold. “I have a gift for you,” he says. ALEXANDER

I FEEL COMPLETELY FUCKING unhinged as I prise myself from her arms. I feel like I’ve just been inside Amy’s fucking soul, not just her pussy. She’s either the best hooker in the world, or the worst – either playing a straight up scam with world-class stealth, or falling in deep with the man who popped her cherry. I’m not sure which I’m most afraid of, and I’m no longer nervous. I’m fucking petrified. And yet I can’t fucking stop. Her smile is gentle. Her fingers brush my arm as she rolls to face me. “A gift?” She’s still breathless. Her lips are puffy from kissing so hard. I prop myself on my elbow before I can think better of it, dipping straight into my inside pocket for the fire opal. Her eyes widen as she catches sight of the handkerchief and she gasps when I tumble the gemstone free. It lands on the bed between us, and her fingers dither halfway, her mouth open. “But this isn’t…” she starts. “This can’t be…” “A gift,” I tell her, and press it into her open hand. “A lucky stone to replace yours.”

“Fire opal,” she whispers, and my heart starts pounding again. “It’s too much…” I hate those words. I hate the way they make me feel. Over-generous. In too deep. Rebuked. Like leaving vintage wine on a kitchen island and finding a thanks but no thanks note when you get home. “Do you like it?” I ask, and my tone is harsher than I intended. I register the shock on her face. “It’s beautiful,” she tells me. She runs her thumb over the smooth face, back and forth. “Don’t offend me. I want you to have it.” And I do fucking want her to have it. I want her to carry a piece of me with her, in her handbag, everywhere she goes. I want her to carry that ridiculously priced gem around every day, checking just to make sure it’s still with her. The likelihood is that it will never stay in her handbag, and I know it. She’ll probably shove it on a windowsill somewhere, maybe in a drawer for safekeeping. Maybe she’ll even sell it on to a raw stones specialist. Maybe I’ll find it listed at my next specialist auction. But none of that matters. What matters is the way she’s looking at me. The shock in her eyes as she realises I’m being serious, that this beautiful stone really is for her. “One of your collection?” “Yes.” “Is this your favourite?” she asks, and I know I’m definitely fucking insane when I answer her. “One of them.” “Thank you. I’ll treasure it,” she says, and then she smiles. My emotional discomfort eases the moment I see the pleasure in her eyes. She loves it just as much as I do, maybe even more. She tips it to the light and the red inclusions sparkle. She sighs a happy sigh. “It’s lucky,” she tells me. Her contentment makes me smile. “How do you know?” She stares me right in the eye as she answers, and I was right. Her fucking soul is swallowing mine whole.

“Because it’s from you,” she says.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

MELISSA

I CAN’T STOP STARING at the opal. I was expecting months of hard work, months of giving my best just to feel him kiss me and mean it. I was expecting the angel hair quartz to be nothing more than an ice-breaker, a token hint that we have something in common. I wasn’t expecting to be lying at his side with one of his prized collection gripped in my fingers a week later. I’ve seen this stone. Three across, two shelves down. I polished its little plinth last Tuesday. I feel bold with this treasure in my hand. I feel like anything is possible. It really is lucky, I know it is. And so am I. “I love the suit,” I tell him. “But I’d love you more out of it, please.” My voice is a whisper tinged with desperation as I reach for his tie. I pull it loose, and he kisses me as I push his jacket from his shoulders. My fingers fumble with his shirt buttons, the opal still gripped in my palm as I sweep my hand over his chest. He is beautiful. He is everything. My breath is shallow as he pushes me onto my back and kicks his trousers off. Skin on skin feels divine, his cock hard against my thigh as he lowers his mouth to my nipple. I stare at his mouth as he flicks his tongue, and it takes me by surprise as his fingers find my clit. “You’re going to come for me until you’re exhausted,” he tells me, and I moan for him. His fingers sink inside, and I feel a pressure as he moves them. “Until you’re exhausted,” he repeats and I nod. His fingers are fast and deep, the pressure inside grows intense, building higher and higher until I can’t keep still. My legs wriggle and my ass bucks from the bed, my throat making

stupid groans as I grab at the sheets. His arm pistons. I can hear how wet I am. “Nice and wide,” he whispers, and I spread my legs for him as wide as they’ll go, not caring that I look like a frog. Not caring that my hair is sticking to my clammy forehead, or that I’m probably wearing more red lipstick on my chin than my mouth. He kisses my belly as he lowers himself down the bed, and his arms wrap around my thighs and pull my pussy to his mouth. He sucks. He sucks right on my tender clit with his fingers inside me, and it’s too much. I grip his hair as I come, and he likes it, he growls at me and sucks harder. I wrap my legs around his shoulders and pin him tight, and he likes that too. He slides a finger into my ass as I buck for him, and I cry out over and over. I worry as I catch my breath, worry that tonight should be about his pleasure, not mine. But his cock is so big as he gets up to retrieve his case, his eyes hungry as he unclasps it on the bed and takes out a massager. He plugs it in behind the nightstand. “Until you’re exhausted,” he says again, and turns it on. The big purple head of it buzzes. He trails it across my tits and it vibrates all the way through me. It tickles my belly on the way down, and I’m already crazy when it reaches my clit, already hissing as I know what’s coming. He lies at my side, my thigh sandwiched between his, his cock at my hip as he presses the massager tight against me. He nuzzles my neck, and his mouth is at my ear, his breath warm and raspy. “I want to know what turns you on,” he tells me. “You’re going to tell me.” “This…” I whisper, and he nips my ear. “I want to know what you think about when you play with yourself.” “You,” I tell him, and he nips me again. “Don’t lie to me, Amy,” he growls, but I’m not. I tell him so. He turns my face to his, and I tell him again. “You. I play with myself and I think about you.” “That’s…” “Crazy,” I tell him, and I don’t care. “I know. But it’s true. And I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.” He looks torn, and I hate that. I hate the way he’s fighting what he already knows. “Why me?” he asks, and flicks up the speed of the massager. It makes me squirm. “Because…” I begin, and I don’t know how to answer. “Why?” he repeats.

But he’s too late, because I’m already tumbling, already riding the wave, my body a clammy wreck against his. He doesn’t take the massager away, not even when I’m wriggling at the contact. “You play with yourself and you think of me, why?” “Because… because you’re… everything…” I breathe, and it’s such a stupid thing to say. He stares down so hard on me. “Last weekend… when you took me… it was everything… you took everything…” He blinks, and I think I’ve got away with it. “You… when you choked me… it felt so good…” I tell him. That gets a reaction. I feel his cock twitch against my hip. “And I want more… I want so much more… it’s not just… about the money…” “Why are you here?” he growls, and his lips press to the corner of mine. “Because… of you…” I hiss. “Only you…” “And what if it wasn’t me who’d bought your exclusivity?” “I wouldn’t be here…” I don’t know if he believes me. I hope he does. “You don’t even know me,” he says. I meet his eyes. “I feel you,” I whisper, and I’m going all in. My clit is sending me insane. “And I think… I hope… I hope you feel it, too… because it’s crazy… but it’s true… I feel you…” The only sound above the massager is my own raspy breath. He’s silent. And I can hardly look at him, can hardly face the rejection I know is coming. Only it doesn’t. “I think about you,” he tells me. “So I guess we’re both fucking crazy.” He breathes against my lips. “I’m dangerous,” he rasps. “My tastes are dangerous. You shouldn’t be here.” My eyes bore into his. “Do it,” I tell him. “Please… do it.” He pauses for just a second, long enough to press his lips to mine. And then he closes his fingers around my throat. ALEXANDER

I’M ALWAYS CONTROLLED. Steady. But when I clasp my fingers around her pretty throat this time, I’m neither. My left hand is clumsy. My weight is precarious on my elbow as I cut off her air.

I keep the bodywand to her swollen little bud, piling on the pressure as she squirms and splutters and shivers for me. The girl is fucking crazy. And so am I. I feel the strain of her throat and it makes my balls tighten. Her airless mouth makes my cock twitch, and I want to fuck it. I really want to fuck it. But not yet. Her eyes are watery pools as I rise to sitting, and I have a great vantage point from here, staring down on her as she grips her thighs to stop herself fighting. I wait until the last moment, until I feel her slipping into unconsciousness, and then I let her take one long gulp before I hitch onto my knees and plough my dick straight into her open mouth. She retches. I feel her throat constrict, and I love it. I fucking love it. She’s wriggling under the massager as I shove my cock down her throat. I love the way it bulges for me. I run my fingers over her neck and I feel myself in there. “You’re everything… you took everything….” Her words have fucking addled me. I’m riding the crazy train all the fucking way. I ride her fucking throat with fucking everything. I wait until she’s coming under the massager, her whole body fucking wired before I let myself shoot my load. She coughs as I pull out, and my cum splatters down her chin, creamy white mixing with smeared lipstick. She looks fucking beautiful. I scoop it back into her mouth with my thumb. “Another gift,” I tell her, and she swallows. She swallows every drop and then she smiles. I turn off the massager and she sighs in relief. She flinches as I brush my thumb over her swollen clit, but she doesn’t stop me. I’m getting the impression she’ll never stop me, no matter what I do. The prospect that I’m going to find out fills me with fear and awe in equal measure.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

MELISSA

THE SUN IS RISING through the crack in the drapes as Alexander Henley comes in my ass for the final time this evening. I’m exhausted, and he must be too. His chest heaves against my back as he recovers. My ass is on fire. My clit is swollen and aching. My throat is raspy and raw. He must be done. We must be done. I’m disappointed, even though my body is absolutely spent. Beyond spent. We don’t move, either of us, just stay entangled with his cock pulsing against my sore asshole. I wonder if he’ll want me to leave now. If he’ll get up and leave like last time with nothing but a parting goodbye, but when he lifts himself from my body he pulls me with him. I move so easily, his chest still hot against my back as he rests his chin on my head. His arms wrap around my waist, and he holds me. Alexander Henley actually holds me. “Fuck,” he says, and I can tell he’s smiling. It takes me by surprise, and I giggle. “That was… intense…” I hold up the opal to the morning light. “Lucky,” like I said. “Lucky?” I nod. “You’re putting a good anal pounding down to a lucky crystal, are you? Tell me how lucky you think it is when you’re limping through the foyer later.” Later. He realises what he’s said, I’m sure of it, because he reaches for the remote control on the nightstand and flicks on the TV clock. It’s gone six in the morning.

“You must be tired,” I tell him. “I don’t sleep.” “You don’t?” “Not easily.” I turn over to face him. “Not even in a comfy bed at a swanky spa resort?” “Not even in a comfy bed at a swanky spa resort.” His eyes are so tired. “But you could.” My tummy flips. “Here?” “If you would like.” I’m stupidly nervous given that he just spent the whole night in every single part of me. “And you? Will you stay too?” He takes a breath. “I have to get home.” “Okay,” I say, and I can’t hide the disappointment. I don’t want to. He looks as though he’s going to add something, so I wait quietly, giving the pause he needs. It works. I can’t believe it works, but it does. “I’ve got a dog,” he tells me, and my heart jumps at the fact Ted Brown told me something real about Alexander Henley. He stares right through me. “But I could stay awhile. Until you get to sleep.” I smile so bright. “I’d like that.” He shunts enough to pull back the bedcovers and I slip inside. He fluffs up the pillows and rolls to face me. “I don’t sleep,” he says again, “but don’t let that stop you.” But he does sleep. I know that because I’m still watching him through pretend-closed eyes as his close for real. ALEXANDER

IT’S GONE ten when I get home to poor Brutus. A cunty move that takes me completely by surprise. I wasn’t lying – I don’t sleep. Only I did fucking sleep. I slept like a fucking log for four fucking hours straight, tangled in the limbs of a stranger with her pretty face against my shoulder, as though I was in the arms of a fucking angel. Yes, it’s that fucking ridiculous. I feel grimy in yesterday’s suit, my shirt crumpled to fuck and my hair fresh from fucking bed in my haste to get back for him.

My grumpy black beast pads nonchalantly through from the conservatory as though he’s hardly noticed I’ve gone as I deactivate the alarm. I love how he plays it cool. He’s left me a couple of parcels by the back door, and looks surprisingly pleased with himself as I busy myself cleaning up. “I’m a prick,” I tell him. “I fell asleep. Who’d have fucking thought it, hey?” I ruffle his ears when I’m done. “A dick move, boy. It won’t happen again.” He grunts as though he understands me, and I think all is forgiven as I dish up his breakfast. I’ll have to be more fucking careful next time. Oversleeping. Racing through spa foyers like a dirty stop-out on my way home. Sharing a bed. None of this is me. Not even close. But I feel strangely sated. More relaxed than I can remember in years. My balls are well and truly fucking empty, my cock sleeping the dead kind of sleep that fucking all night long gifts to you, and my mind is quiet. Free. I slump down in the armchair I haven’t enjoyed for an age, breathing in the scent of orchids, and I feel fucking amazing. I could sleep again, right here right now, with a smile on my face and the smell of Amy’s gorgeous pussy still on my fingers, but Brutus has other plans. He nudges my elbow, glaring up at me with his overbite in full gruesome splendour. “You want out?” I ask, and he gruffs at me. Yes, he wants fucking out. No rest for the wicked, but that’s okay. I can live with that. I grab his leash. MELISSA

JOE CALLS Saa at me happily when I step in through the front door, bouncing along to his favourite TV show as Dean tries to give him lunch. Dean doesn’t look quite so impressed. He drops Joe’s little train fork in the bowl. “Jeez,” he snaps. “Where the hell have you been?” He’s worried, of course he is, and he has every right to be. I tell him so. And then I tell him how I slept in Alexander Henley’s arms and he slept too. I tell him how he smiled at me as he left this morning, taking a moment to kiss my lips before he shot out through the door in a cloud of expletives.

“You could’ve phoned!” he tells me, but I couldn’t have. How could I? How could I have possibly explained a call to a male friend at home taking care of my baby brother? I explain my logic and Dean shrugs. “So what are you gonna tell him?” I stare blankly. “What do you mean?” “You are gonna have to tell him something, Lissa, You can’t keep this act up forever.” “Just for six months…” I say, and I realise how stupid that sounds. I don’t need Dean to spell out the obvious, but he does it anyway. “Six months is a long time. One day you hardly know the guy, the next he’s sleeping next to you, signing up to pay you crazy cash every weekend for half a year straight. This is crazy, Lissa. It can’t work. You have to tell him.” “Tell him what?” He shrugs. “The truth?” I laugh out loud. “That’s crazy.” “No,” he says. “This is crazy. He’s gonna find out, sooner or later. He’s gonna find out and he’s gonna be pissed. Fess up now, get it over with.” My stomach lurches. “He wouldn’t want to know me… not if he knew…” He shrugs again. “You don’t know that. Guy seems pretty keen to me.” But I do know that. Of course I know it. I feel Dean’s glare. “Stop it now,” he says. “Before you get in too deep to get out. I’m serious, Lissa, this ain’t gonna end well, not unless you fess up and iron this crap out before it gets out of hand.” I’m already in too deep to get out, and my face says it all. He shakes his head. “This is so messed up,” he says, and I don’t argue. I couldn’t argue. So I don’t. I get him to count my money instead. ALEXANDER

I ORDER Brenda to summon Janet Yorkley to my office first thing on Monday morning. She’s dithery as she presents herself at my door. I wave her in, and silence her as she starts gabbling on about how she hopes the new cleaner is doing a good job. “The new cleaner is fine,” I tell her. “She’s excellent, in fact.” Her relief is palpable. I don’t give her chance to enjoy it. “Which is exactly why I want to increase her hours. I need her on a Sunday morning. Early. My dog needs walking.”

“A Sunday morning?” she asks. I hate having to repeat myself, so I don’t. “I may be in, or I may not, but that’s irrelevant. I need her to let herself in before seven regardless, feed him and take him out. She should be done before nine.” Janet nods. “I’ll arrange it, Mr Henley. I’m sure Melissa will be pleased to assist.” Melissa. Her name zips right up my spine. “Advise Melissa to be careful of dog presents in the conservatory. He may well have had a long evening.” “I’ll let her know,” she says. She plasters on a fake smile as I dismiss her, being so careful to close my door quietly on the way out. Melissa. Not a Molly May after all. Not even close. It would have been handy to know this before I attempted to chase her down my fucking street a few weeks back, but none of that matters now. I have other interests to keep me occupied. MELISSA

I FEEL sick as I head for Janet Yorkley’s office, freshly summoned via my work phone before I’d even finished clearing Mr Henley’s breakfast things away. She calls me inside as soon as I tap on her office door, and the sickness eases off just a little. She’s smiling. That’s got to be good, right? She tells me to take a seat and I do. “Excellent news,” she says. “Mr Henley has expressed his approval of your cleaning standards. Very well done. His praise doesn’t come easily.” I feel like such a fraud as I grin back at her, as though she’ll see straight through me and realise I’ve been up to no good. As though she’ll know I’m overstepping every boundary in my employee handbook and then some. “Thanks, I’ve been working really hard.” “I don’t doubt it,” she says. “And you’ll be working harder from this week onwards.” I stare blankly and she keeps on smiling. “Mr Henley would like to increase your hours. You’ll be taking his dog out on a Sunday morning before seven. You should be done by nine.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. “Sunday morning?” She nods. “He advised he may be in, or he may not be, but not to let that deter you. Of course, we prefer discreet, always,” she waffles on and on as I struggle to form words. Finally, she stops. Waits for a response. “But I, um… Sunday?” She groans. “Yes, Miss Martin. Sunday. Every Sunday, seven a.m. at the latest.” I can’t even begin to hide the horror. “But I can’t! I really can’t… not on a Sunday…” Her eyes turn cold in a heartbeat. “What do you mean you can’t? We don’t do can’t, Melissa, not where Mr Henley is concerned.” “But Joe…” I bleat. “My brother… he needs me… I said at interview…” “Your responsibilities wouldn’t be a problem. That’s what you said at interview.” And she’s right, I did. “I really can’t,” I tell her, even though it pains. “There’s no way I can do a Sunday, really there isn’t. I’d love to, really I would, but I can’t…” She raises a hand. “You want me to tell that to Mr Henley, do you? That you just can’t?” My mind spins. He wants a cleaner on Sunday morning because… “I can’t,” I repeat. “I’m really sorry, Janet, but I can’t.” The stand-off takes forever. My fingers fidget under the desk, contemplating the inevitable, contemplating having to walk away from this. But I can’t do that either. I really can’t. “This is worth losing your position over, is it?” she snaps. “Plenty of our staff would love to work in Mr Henley’s house. It’s a privilege.” “I’m lucky,” I say. “I know it, but I just can’t.” It doesn’t matter how many times I say it, her eyes are still piercing. Still angry. I lay it on the line, because I can’t see any other option. “I’ll resign,” I say. “I’m sorry to let you down.” Her mouth opens. “Resign?” I nod. “Please send my apologies to Mr Henley.” There’s a tickle of relief under the disappointment once the words are out there. Maybe I’ll never have to tell him, maybe he’ll never know who I really am. It’s clutching at straws, but straws feel pretty good under the circumstances. “Shall I leave my uniform?” I ask, ready to pull the cap from my head. It would be more than a tickle of relief to ditch this crappy outfit. Now it’s Janet struggling for words. “Let’s not be hasty,” she says, and then she tuts at me

like I’m a naughty child. “I’m disappointed, Melissa, but under the circumstances maybe someone else can take the Sunday shift.” My heart pounds as she picks up her telephone extension. “I need Miss Webber down here, quickly please.” I wait in silence. Janet does too. When Sonnie enters the room she looks just as worried as I was. She takes a seat at my side nervously, clearly trying to work out what the hell she’s done wrong. “An opportunity has come up,” Janet tells her. “We need you to clean Mr Henley’s house on a Sunday morning. You’ll be taking his dog out in particular. You’re available, yes?” Sonnie looks as horrified as I did. “But isn’t that Lissa’s job?” I hope my eyes tell her how sorry I am. I know she has little kids at home. I know she didn’t mention it at interview. “Miss Martin is unavailable,” Janet says, and I feel like an asshole. “Please don’t tell me you are too.” I’m waiting for it, the stream of excuses as Sonnie tries to get out of it, but she doesn’t. Although she looks stressed as hell she plasters a bright smile on her face. “I’ll do it,” she says. “Hell, I’m always up for a promotion.” “Then it’s done,” Janet tells us. “I’ll find a stand in for your duties this week, Miss Webber. You’ll be shadowing Miss Martin in preparation for the weekend.” I smile. Sonnie smiles. Janet smiles too. I’m a long way away from her office by the time I breathe easily again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

MELISSA

“WHOA,” Sonnie says. “This is some pad.” I swell with pride as I lead the way to Mr Henley’s front door. Stupid, I know. I hand her a piece of paper with the alarm code written down. “The keypad is under the stairs, you have to be quick.” “I’ll be like lightning.” She nudges me with her elbow as I sort through the keys. “Look at us little scrubbers from floor seven, making it all the way to Mr Henley’s place. Did you really do it? Sniff his underpants?” “Course I do. I wear them on my head while I’m scrubbing.” I shoot her a goofy smile, and she laughs as I turn the key in the lock. “You have to be careful of Brutus,” I tell her. “Never come here without fish treats. I’ll give you a pack.” “Cindy warned me already. Said he’s a monster.” I feel strangely protective. “He’s not a monster. He’s just… misunderstood.” “Like his master, eh? Up to no good sticking his dick in hooker pussy.” She grins. “I know Cindy told you. Said you looked damn like you were gonna get yourself down there to Harley’s tavern yourself.” “She told me a lot of things,” I say, and my cheeks burn as we step inside. Sonnie really does make a dash for it, scooting through the hallway in her bid to deactivate the countdown timer. I’d forgotten how efficient she is. The alarm stops beeping and she takes a look around the place, jaw open. “Yep, just as I thought. Swanky as hell.” She hasn’t seen anything yet. And she hasn’t seen Brutus yet, either. He takes her by surprise, his growl crazily intimidating as he checks out the intruder in his house. It’s a sound I haven’t heard in a while, and I’m dithery as I rustle for the treats in my apron pocket. I toss them to her.

My heart is thumping as she catches them, and she’s even more dithery than I was. Shit. “Hey boy, good boy,” she flusters, but he isn’t having any of it. He stalks her with his teeth bared, and she backs away before I can tell her not to. It’s a mistake. He launches himself in her direction, and she tears off with a shriek, heading right back out the front door as he throws himself against the other side. “Brutus!” I call, but he isn’t listening. “Shit, Brutus, no!” I shout, but he’s still clawing at the woodwork as she grips the handle tight on the other side. “Help!” she calls, and my actions are automatic. I just do it. I put on my bravest voice, just like I heard on that dog whisperer show, and head over calmly to take hold of his collar. “Stop!” I tell him. “No!” He’s still growling as he turns his head, teeth still bared as he clocks my expression. “Brutus! No!” I’m sure he’s going to bite me, positive I really will be fired for spilling blood over cream carpets, but the fight in his eyes simmers down, and he grumbles, groans a bit before sitting his ass down on the floor. “Christ, Lissa. Is it safe? Are you still alive in there?” I tug Brutus away from the door. “Stay,” I tell him, and hope he knows that word. I ease it open just a crack and Sonnie’s terrified eyes greet me on the other side. “Sorry about him,” I say. “He takes a while to get used to new people.” She’s shaking as she eases herself back through the doorway. “Ain’t you who’s got to be sorry, hon. He ain’t your monster.” A tiny pang in my stomach, and I realise why I’ve been feeling so off since we set off from the office earlier. Reality. The burst bubble that comes with realising I really am just a cleaner and this isn’t my house, or my dog, or my life. Brutus isn’t my monster, and neither is Alexander Henley. Not even if I wash his underwear and smell his sheets. Or take his beautiful cock in my ass all night long. Alexander Henley doesn’t even know my name. Sonnie flinches as Brutus drops to the floor, but he’s not doing anything other than giving her the eye. “How’d you get him to like you so much?” I shrug. “Persistence and fish treats.” And love. The addition shoots through my mind, and it gives me a shiver. That’s the key, when it really comes down to it. It’s all about love. All about putting your heart on the line for someone and trusting they’ll see right through to your soul. Like Brutus did with me when

I offered him the first fish treat from my fingers and stared him right in the eye. “Persistence and fish treats,” she repeats, and takes a breath. She pulls one from the packet and tosses it between his paws. “There you go, boy. Nice fishy snack. Nom nom.” Brutus nudges it with his muzzle, sniffs but doesn’t bite. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want her. I shrug. “Early days,” I say. “He’ll get used to you. Just give it some time.” But I hope he doesn’t. I hope they can never send another cleaner in here ever again. Because I belong here now. Only me.

SONNIE IS EXCITED AGAIN ONCE the Brutus commotion has died down. She snoops around the kitchen, just as I did first time in here, and she comments on the contents of his fridge, all the things I buy him. She comments on everything, and as much as I love her, I really don’t enjoy the feeling of sharing. “Cindy told me about his porn habits,” she says as we enter the living room. “You gonna show me what he’s into?” I tell her she’s welcome to look, just as I was, and she flicks on the screen with twinkling eyes. But there’s barely anything there. Gem auctions. He’s been viewing a lot of gem auctions and very little else. The revelation makes me tingle. Sonnie groans. “I was expecting so much more. Cindy’s such a bullshitter, she really egged this up.” I don’t say anything as she flicks the monitor back off again. “Anything else tasty?” I shrug. “His laundry basket?” She finishes polishing the mantelpiece and I have to rearrange the pictures of his kids just so. “His bedroom.” She grins. “I wanna see where he sleeps.” I show her where he sleeps, and she dips her head to his pillow and breathes him in. I try to ignore the pang of intrusion, because it’s stupid. “Yum,” she says. “Midnight in winter, that’s what he smells like.” It makes me smile. “He smells amazing.”

She reaches inside the laundry hamper, and my face is on fire as she pulls out his crumpled shirt from Saturday night. And then his trousers. My heart races as she lifts them to her nose and takes a decent whiff. And then she grimaces. Her eyes screw shut as her nose wrinkles. She fake retches. Wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “Hell almighty! Someone got laid this weekend. I can smell pussy all over them.” And she can. Of course she can. I came all over them with his thigh pressed right to my clit. “Ain’t gonna be sniffing none of that again,” she says and throws them back in the hamper, and even though my face is burning up, I laugh. I can’t stop laughing. And when Sonnie laughs, I laugh harder. I laugh until my eyes are watering with the craziness of it all. With the crazy urge to tell her it was me. That I’m the one who came all over Mr Henley’s thigh on Saturday night. But I don’t. Of course I don’t. “I missed your laugh,” she tells me with a giggle. And I’ve missed hers, too. ALEXANDER

I BELIEVED a six-month exclusivity arrangement would be more than enough. That a once-weekly session with Amy’s tight little body would be enough to keep the cravings at bay. But it’s not enough. I’d be happy to write this insanity off as pure addiction running wild, but if that were truly the case I’d be happy to stave away the beast with porn or webcam girls, or even a cheaper rut with Elena or Candice in the interim. But I’m not happy with any of those options. There is only her. Only her tight little cunt and those big blue eyes. Only the way she takes whatever I give her. As I cruise through my workday with a distinctly sunnier disposition than the one I’ve come to know, I wonder whether I’m teetering on the edge of some kind of mental breakdown. Yet, I’ve been there before and it wasn’t like this. I’ve stared into the abyss of meaningless compulsive paid-for sex and come out the other side unscathed, time after time, and this isn’t that.

This feels different. She feels different. Different enough that I message Claude on Wednesday morning and order him to book both Delaney’s and Amy for this very same evening. Looming mental breakdown or no, I’ll be having that girl’s pussy tonight.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

MELISSA

EVEN DEAN CAN’T HIDE how impressed he is when I tell him I’m on again for this evening. He makes me dinner as I search through my wardrobe, scouting for something vaguely suitable that Mr Henley hasn’t seen me in already. It’s no good. I’ve got nothing super dressy other than the red and pink I bought especially, and so it’s done. A choice taken out of my hands. I’m going to have to go as myself this evening. I hope that the floral patterned tunic dress is enough. It’s not fitted or fancy, but it’s pretty. At least I think so. I give Joe his bath before I leave, playing with his floating boat toys amongst all the bubbles and lather. He laughs as one capsizes and it makes me laugh too. I love how he smiles. I love how his eyes sparkle. I love how happy he is. I tell Dean so once I’ve settled Joe into bed. Tell him how grateful I am here’s here to support me. How great he is with Joe. He nods. “I love the little guy,” he says, and I believe him. It’s written all over his face. I gulp down my pasta and finish up my makeup, and I have no time to take the underground across town this evening, so I take a cab. I have to call Frank at New Start on the way across town, apologising so hard that I won’t be able to help out this evening. But as it turns out it’s a major win of monster proportions, a stroke of lucky fortune much earlier than I’d intended it to happen. “Not to worry,” Frank tells me. “These things happen. It’s a longshot, but we have a team running at Brickwood on Friday if you fancied stopping by.” He’s already backtracking as I answer. Already telling me that I shouldn’t feel pressured. “I’d love to,” I say. “Friday works.” I take directions like I’ll need them, confirm the times as though I don’t have a clue what they are.

He tells me he’s looking forward to it, that he can’t wait to introduce me to the Brickwood team. My heart races with it all. I just hope it’s not too soon. It could be way too soon. I push that worry away as the cab pulls into Delaney’s. I’m early, but only by ten minutes tops. Barely enough time to check into my own room and head up to Mr Henley in time. But it turns out that doesn’t matter. I’m paying the driver before I see him. Giving my thanks as I catch Mr Henley from the corner of my eye. He’s waiting. Watching. Making no secret of the fact that he’s staring as he waits for the car to pull away. I gesture to my outfit before I’ve even said hello. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was in a rush. Little warning. I, um…” He looks me up and down. “No apology necessary,” he says, “I like it.” The smile at the corner of his mouth makes it clear I’ve passed the wardrobe test. I take a breath. “Hi,” I say. “Good evening, Amy,” he says. And screw etiquette, because damn if I know how a paid-for escort is supposed to act in public. I close the distance and wrap my arms around his neck, and he smells absolutely gorgeous as I press my lips to his cheek. I pull away but he doesn’t. His hand rests on my back as he opens the door for me, and stays on my back all the way to reception. I watch his handwriting as he checks in, love the way he flourishes his fake signature with a flick of his wrist. I’m not expecting the receptionist to recognise me, not dressed like this, but she does. “Will you be checking in too, Miss Randall?” she asks with one of those super professional smiles which always make me nervous. Mr Henley looks at me, and it must be obvious I don’t know what to answer, because he does it for me. “Miss Randall will be staying with me,” he says, and she nods. “Enjoy your stay.” His smile is all for me as he answers. “We will, thank you.” It’s so strange stepping into the elevator with him. So strange to be staring up at him in just the same way I did at Grosvenor Henley in my stupid uniform on day one. “I’m glad you could make it at such short notice,” he tells me.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” I reply. I take a breath as we step out onto the top floor corridor, and my hand brushes his as we head over to suite twelve at the far end. He takes it, his fingers possessive as they land on mine. His grip is firm. Demanding. “I have an early start,” he tells me as we get to the door. He slides the key card into the lock. “I must be out of here by six.” “Six,” I say, and I can’t stop smiling. It’s later than I thought, longer than I thought. He closes the door behind us, and he’s still so close. His hands land on my waist as he walks me backwards into the room. His fingers trail up my spine as I raise my face to his. “I’m not in the habit of mid-week appointments,” he tells me. “I have to be focused. My job is demanding.” “Selling stationery,” I whisper with a smile. “Yes.” His breath is warm against my lips. “I lied,” he tells me. “I’ve never been a salesman in my life.” And it’s right there, the urge to tell him I lied too. But the urge leaves the moment his mouth lands on mine. Fades to nothing as his hands tangle in my hair and hold me firm. “I’ve been thinking of you,” I whisper between kisses. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” His hands land under my ass, and he hitches me, lifts me up and onto the dresser where it’s so easy for my legs to wrap around his waist. I tug his tie loose and drag it free, and my fingers are so much more certain this time as they work their way down his shirt buttons. He breaks the kiss enough to reach inside his suit jacket, and I know he’s going for the cash, practicalities first. But I don’t want him to. I don’t want to pull away and put that money in my bag. I don’t want to cheapen this. I push his shirt and jacket from his shoulders in one motion, and he doesn’t fight me, just lets them slip to the floor. His body is divine. His skin so firm under my fingers, the tickle of hair so perfect against my palm. I kiss his neck, and he tastes as good as he smells. I feel his groan as my lips press to his Adam’s apple, and his stubble tickles my cheek as I sweep to his ear. “I’m crazy about this,” I whisper, and he stiffens in my arms. “I’m crazy about you.” “You don’t know me,” he says, and reaches for my chin. He brushes his thumb over my mouth as he stares right through me. “You don’t even know my name.” Touché. “And you don’t know me,” I admit. “But what’s in a name?” His eyes are so dark. So serious. “Amy Leigh Randall,” he says. “Thirty-four Brooklyn Road, EC1. Twenty-one years old.

Two younger sisters, Gemma and Belle. Your mother is a nurse, works at Saint Richmond General.” My mother is dead. My stomach lurches. My shock is all genuine. He brushes my cheek as he continues. “One credit card with zero balance. No driving offences. No criminal record.” “But how do you…” “You studied business and management,” he tells me. “But you dropped out last spring to take a position as a cattery assistant. I guess you like cats more than you like law, Miss Randall.” “But I…” I have no words. I don’t even like cats. I like dogs. His dog. “I searched through your bag,” he admits. “I wanted to know who you were.” “You searched through more than my bag,” I whisper, and he nods. “In my line of work I have to be… thorough…” He pauses. “I understand if you wish to leave, Amy.” But I don’t. I’ve never been further from walking away from him in my life. “You didn’t have to tell me…” I breathe. “I wouldn’t have…” “Known?” He isn’t smiling. He’s stern and serious, and so beautiful he takes my breath. “No, you wouldn’t have known. But you do now.” I unbuckle his belt. “Why did you want to know me?” He grunts as I slip my hand around his cock. I work him fast, hoping I’m doing this right. Hoping he likes this. He rocks his hips, shunts into my grip, and he’s so hard. His cock throbs against my fingers. “Why did you want to know me, Mr Brown?” I ask him. My voice is so soft, barely more than a hiss. He tugs the neck of my tunic down enough to see my white lace bra. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, and it sounds pained. “Because this is sending me fucking insane.” Oh fuck, how I smile. I work his gorgeous dick in my fingers and the dresser bashes against the wall with a thud, thud, thud as he thrusts back at me, and I smile. I smile at him. “My name’s not Ted fucking Brown, either,” he tells me. “It’s Alexander.” “Alexander.” It feels so good to say it.

He pinches my nipples through my bra, and the sparks are electric. “Fuck me, Alexander,” I hiss. “Please God, fuck me.” ALEXANDER

THIS GIRL. This fucking girl is sending me out of my mind. I practically tear her dress over her head, shunting her against me as the fabric drags from under her ass. I have her bra off in a heartbeat, my mouth hungry for those sweet rosy nipples. I love the way her dainty fingers tangle in my hair. I love the way she moans for me and her legs grip me tight. She wriggles as I tug at her knickers, and she’s soaking wet when I slip my fingers between her thighs. Two straight in, my thumb rolling around her clit as she tilts her hips for me. I drop to my knees and her thighs scissor my head as my tongue laps at her. Her pussy is heaven. The way she squirms is religion enough for me. I grab her thighs and lift them, tip her back on the dresser with her legs spread wide. She spreads her pretty pink cunt for me without being asked, and it’s so easy to suck that sweet little bud, so easy to make her beg for more, for harder. For everything. Three fingers and she gasps. A fourth, in her tight little asshole, and she cries out. She wants cock. The hunger is in her eyes, her teeth gritted and feral as she hisses my name. My real name. I haven’t heard anyone scream my real name in far too long. I haven’t known anyone in far too long. It’s dangerous. Everything about this is dangerous. But I don’t care. She’s ready as I get to my feet, her pussy taking my cock in one thrust. She arches her back and I palm her beautiful tits, and it’s too inviting. She groans for me as I wrap my fingers around her throat. “Yes…” she whispers, and I tighten my grip as I fuck her, her throat straining with every stroke. Her whole body tenses as I angle my hips for the spot, her eyes screwing shut as I fuck her deep. I let her breathe. Once, twice, three times, before I take her air all over again, and my balls are tight and desperate, my own breath ragged as she goes without. I’ve only got a short window, but my own fuse is about to blow. I keep my eyes fixed on hers, soaking in the change in her pallor as her chest heaves. I’m going to make her come without breath. I’m going to take her body to the edge

without sound, without voice, in that hazy light of unconsciousness where there is only me. Her hands grip my wrist but don’t push me away. Her eyes wide as the pull of orgasm takes a grip of its own. Her pussy clenches around my cock, her hips bucking for more even as she struggles for air. She shudders. Squirms. I feel everything. Every tiny undulation as she comes for me. Every tremor as her body milks me dry. I’m over the edge as I let her go, my cock pulsing deep inside her, my exhaled breath the first she takes into her lungs. She coughs. Rasps. Her chest heaving under mine as I press my lips to her forehead. I don’t want to pull out of her. I never want to pull out of her. Her eyes come back into focus, her fingers a ghost against my cheek as she calms. “Alexander…” she whispers, and my name is magic from her lips. I hold her to me, cradling her head as I pull her up to sitting, and her legs squeeze me hard, her arms wrapping around my shoulders as though she never wants to let go. She amazes me. Her trust in me amazes me. “Does it scare you?” I ask her, and my voice is more unsure than I’m unaccustomed to. She shakes her head. “No.” I smooth her hair, my gaze not letting up as I search her face for more. “No?” Her eyes are so big. So vulnerable. “You said you wouldn’t kill me.” She smiles so gently. “I trust you.” And I trust her. I trust the way she looks at me. I trust the way she wants me. I trust the way she trusts me. Even if I don’t quite trust myself. MELISSA

MY HEART PANGS with all the lies I’ve already told.

I feel them in my stomach, twisting around. But I can’t. I can’t risk it. That seems crazy, even to me, given that I trust him to choke me until I see stars. I trust him with my life, but not my name. Yeah, that’s crazy. “I love the name Alexander,” I tell him as he pours me champagne. “Thank you,” he says. “I’m glad you approve.” “You look like an Alexander.” “And you look like a sweet little peach.” His eyes twinkle as he hands me the glass. My hair must be a mess, my makeup all but destroyed as I cross my legs in the armchair, caring little for how on display I am. I can still feel him inside me. I can still feel the throb of where he’s been. My throat is scratchy and it welcomes the champagne bubbles. My clit aches for more of his mouth. He recovers his jacket and drapes it over his chair, reaching into his pocket for another envelope to add to my collection. I tell myself it’s all for Joe as I thank him, picture the figure rising in his savings account as I slip it into my handbag. “Why cats?” he asks as he takes a seat opposite me. He looks more relaxed than usual, his cock hard but unassuming, still wet from me as it lays against his belly. His ankle rests on his knee, sprawling more contentedly than I’ve known him. The hair is dark on his calves. I resist the urge to stroke them. “I like animals,” I tell him, careful to avoid lying any more than necessary. “Cats, dogs… hamsters…” “Cats or law. I guess cats won.” “For now,” I say. “Sometimes it’s doing what you need to, in order to do what you want to, right?” He looks so thoughtfully. “I’ll let you know when I end up doing what I want to. Maybe someday.” “You don’t like what you do?” It takes me aback enough that I drink more champagne to hide my surprise. “No. I don’t like what I do.” “But it buys you gemstones, right?” He smiles. I love how he smiles. “And you, Amy. It buys me you.”

I want to tell him I’d be here without the money, but the words won’t come. He pats his thigh and beckons me over. I finish up my champagne and place my glass on the dresser as I go to him. It’s so easy to lower myself onto his lap, so warm as he wraps his arms around my waist and lands a kiss on my shoulder. I relax against him, my head reclining so snug against his collarbone, and he hitches me, positions his cock just right as he lets me drop. “You have a beautiful pussy,” he whispers. “You have a beautiful cock,” I tell him, and he laughs. “Mine’s the only one you’ve known.” “The only one I want to know.” I’m giggling but it’s not funny. The way he breathes into my ear and holds me so tight isn’t funny. It’s bliss. Pure bliss. “Show me what feels good,” he says, and I do. I move slowly, carefully, up and down on his gorgeous dick as he stays still. My breath quickens as I angle myself forward, the pressure too good to bear. His fingers dance up my spine and it’s heaven. They tangle in my hair and I want to tell him I love him. I love this. I surprise myself with what I want. I’m in shock as I lift myself enough to press his cock against my ass. “Fuck,” he rasps, and takes my hips. “Steady,” he tells me, and I am steady. I’m really steady. It burns an amazing burn as I ease down, and the stretch is incredible. I grit my teeth to take the whole length of him, and his thighs are tense as he sinks in all the way. “Dirty girl,” he grunts as I start moving, and I like that. His cock in my ass drives me crazy, even through the burn. I rub my clit as I ride him, and I could come like this so easily, with my tits bouncing and my ass slapping against his lap. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he growls, and it gives me shivers, like someone just walked over my grave. The death of me. It’s raw. Everything about death makes life so raw. I’m glad I’m grunting. Relieved I’m gasping and moaning through the urge to tell him he’s been the life of me. He thrusts back at me, flesh slapping flesh, and I fold forward, my hands balancing on his knees as he takes my weight. “Give it to me,” I hiss. “Please, Alexander, give it to me.” His arms wrap around my waist as he rises to his feet, his cock buried deep in my ass as he moves us to the bed. I fall forward onto soft bedsheets, and his grip is on the back of my neck, pinning me

down as he fucks me. Hard. I cry out, my ass on beautiful fire as he thrusts. “Don’t come…” I moan. “Please don’t come… not yet…” “I won’t,” he grunts. And he doesn’t. He fucks me until I’m a sweaty mess. Until my ass is slack and aching. He fucks me until I don’t know my own name anymore. I couldn’t even tell him if I wanted to. And finally, when he does fill me up with the perfect seed of him, my lips swollen from his kisses and my clit so tender it hurts, it’s all I can do to get to my feet when he’s done. He reaches for his jacket and shrugs it on, and I have no idea what he’s doing until he’s eased my arms into his discarded shirt and buttoned me up. He moves to the window and pulls back the drapes, swings it open wide on its hinges before he grabs a miniature whisky from the minibar. He pours one for himself and opens another for me. My nose wrinkles as I take a sniff. “A routine of mine,” he tells me. “A whisky before bed.” I smile. “I can do that.” My heart flutters as he pulls out his Insignia cigarette packet. My stomach tickles as he offers me one. He flicks the lighter and holds the flame for me, and I hope I don’t cough and splutter since it’s been so long. “Whisky and a cigarette,” he says before lighting his own. “Two little vices before bedtime.” We stare at each other in silence, blowing smoke out through the open window as the first hint of dawn bleeds onto the horizon. And then we go to bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

MELISSA

I’M ON BORROWED TIME, playing this crazy game with an even crazier prize at the end of it. Double or bust. I’m dancing with disaster with every lie I tell, digging myself deeper with every step I take. Turning up at his house to meet Sonnie without my uniform on Thursday morning, bedheaded and bleary-eyed as she grilled me on who I’d spent my night with. She told me she wouldn’t snitch to Janet Yorkley about my non-standard work attire, and I know she wouldn’t. It pained me to shrug off her questions about my mystery man, made me feel queasy when we reached Mr Henley’s bedroom and found his bed still perfectly made from the day before. How she’d grinned. “Seems Mr Henley got himself lucky last night, too. I wonder who the lucky cow was.” I could’ve told her and I know it. I could have confessed it all and trusted her to keep my secrets. But I didn’t. Because as fucked up as it seems, I don’t want to betray him any more than I already have by telling someone else before him. And so here I am, heading across to Brickwood with another working week completed. Ready to serve up soup and sandwiches and looking forward to my Saturday with Joe and Dean. Maybe he won’t even be there. I don’t know for sure Alexander turns up here every week, but my question is answered the moment I step in through the door and find him already at work at their industrial hob, a dark cap pulled down over his forehead.

I’d recognise him a mile off, even in crappy denim. It takes every scrap of nerves not to bail and run, but I couldn’t anyway. Frank is already heading in my direction, already calling out my name and telling me how pleased he is I could make it. He wraps his arm around my shoulder as though we’re old friends, and leads me through the kitchen introducing me to strangers. Annabel, Mary, Christine. All nice. All smiling. All welcoming and happy to have me here. And then, finally, he introduces me to Ted. Ted turns to face me so slowly, as though being social is nothing but a headache. He holds out a hand before he’s even seen my face, and he tenses as I take it, his eyes shooting to mine in a heartbeat. “Ted, this is Amy,” Frank says. “Amy, this is Ted.” This was a mistake. I see it in his eyes. They burn dark. His jaw fierce. “Amy,” he says and I burn up so hot I feel faint. “Ted,” I say and the word feels like glass in my throat. Frank whisks me away to the vegetable station, and it’s all I can do to stare back over my shoulder as Alexander’s eyes eat me up. “I’m sorry,” I mouth, but he looks away. ALEXANDER

MY MIND SPINS. Slurps around in a fucking mess as I stir the shit out of the soup pot. I have no fucking idea why she’s here, so far away from her fucking house. I hand the stirrer to Annabel and stalk Frank right out into the storeroom, and I’ve grabbed his arm before I can stop myself. His eyes widen as he spins to face me. “Amy,” I say. “How do you know her? What’s she doing here?” He looks so fucking shocked, his mouth flapping like I’m a fucking lunatic. And I am. I am a fucking lunatic. “Eastspring,” he says. “She volunteers at Eastspring.” “Eastspring?” He nods. “Yeah, Eastspring. But she couldn’t make Wednesday night, said something came up. I suggested she come here instead.” He pauses. “You know her?”

I’m out of control. My paranoia tumbles down as I realise what a fucking fuckup I am. “We’ve crossed paths.” He smiles. Poor sod has no fucking idea. “Ah yes, the volunteering circuit is a small place. She’s been a godsend at Eastspring, works like a trooper.” It’s innocent. Frank’s easy to read, an open book if ever there fucking was one. A ridiculous coincidence, but one that has my heart racing. “It’s nice of her to change venues,” I say. “She’s a good one,” he tells me. “Sweet girl, very kind.” “Yes,” I agree. “Very kind.” He slaps my arm. “Maybe she’ll do both venues, we can hope, right?” But she won’t be doing both venues, even if our anonymous donor has to cough up the cash for a paid member of staff in her stead. Her Wednesday nights belong to me now, even if she doesn’t know it yet. I feel like an asshole as I head back through to the kitchen. Amy looks terrified, staring over with scared eyes as I resume my station at the hob. “I’m sorry,” she mouths again and I feel like such a cunt. I shrug, and then I smile. She breathes in relief and pretends to wipe her brow, and she’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful in her dress-down clothes. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt under a fitted jacket. “We’ll talk later,” I mouth and she nods. I stir the fucking soup with a hard on until it’s time to fucking go. MELISSA

HE’S good on the streets. He doesn’t say much, but he’s genuine. There isn’t a hint of snobbery as he hands out hot meals. There isn’t any smug selfsatisfaction in the way he works so hard. I feel humbled. I feel a fraud. But I’m not a fraud, not entirely. I really do like it here.

I love the way the people are so kind. I love the way the people on the streets communicate from the heart, without any stupid sense of importance. I love the way it feels to help people and have them appreciate it, genuinely appreciate it. It’s late by the time we wipe down the counters back at the kitchen, stacking up all the trays ready for next week. I get ready to leave with no assumptions, ready to make a sharp exit if Alexander seems uncomfortable. He takes my arm as we get outside, angling me in a different direction to the others as we all say our goodbyes. I wait until they’re out of earshot before I speak, and I can’t help myself, the apologies come tumbling out of my mouth before I’ve even properly said hello. “I’m so sorry! I had no idea! Frank said come, because of Wednesday… and I wouldn’t have thought…” He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry. My work makes me suspicious. It was unexpected, it’s as simple as that.” “I won’t come back,” I say. “I’ll tell Frank I can’t make it…” His eyes are piercing. “Why would you do that?” I shrug, and I feel like shit for doing this. The whole thing feels like a bad idea going horribly wrong. It probably is. I can practically hear Dean’s warning blaring in my head. “Because of you… because I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable…” “You think I’m uncomfortable?” My eyes meet his, and I hate how they feel watery. “Aren’t you?” “No,” he says. I’m sure I don’t look convinced and he sighs. “Amy, it was a shock. I’m allowed to be shocked, aren’t I? You must be shocked too. This is… unusual.” “London’s a small place,” I lie. “So it appears.” He takes his hands from his jacket pockets and sighs again. “Please let’s just start over.” He takes my hand and places something in my palm, and I know what it is straight away. “You really carry it?” I say as I hold the stone up to the streetlight. “It’s lucky,” he says. I smile. “How do you know that?” “Because you told me.” I wish his cap didn’t hide so much of his face. “I guess there must be something in all this hocus pocus,” he adds, “because it brought

you here.” “And that’s lucky?” His smile tickles my tummy. “I like to think so.” I hand him back the quartz and reach in my jeans pocket for the fire opal. I can’t believe I’m doing this as I present it in my palm. “It’s lucky,” I tell him. “It brought me here.” We stare at each other for an age. I don’t move, and neither does he, trapped in no man’s land on this grubby street corner with nobody else around. “I should get going,” I bluff, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Yes,” he says. “You will.” I’ve only taken two steps towards the underground before he calls me, and his voice gives me tingles all over. “Do you have somewhere to be?” he asks as I turn around. I shake my head. Another lie. He looks as though he’s struggling. Looks like a sailor lost at sea. I wait. Give him space. It works, just as I know it will. “My gemstone collection,” he says. “I could show you, if you like.” “Now?” I ask, and my heart races. I feel it right through me. “If you have time.” I smile, and I go to him. I link my arm through his, and rest my cheek against the scratchy denim of his shoulder and he doesn’t pull away. I love how he doesn’t pull away. “All the time in the world,” I say.

CHAPTER THIRTY

ALEXANDER

AS I STAND with Amy’s arm through mine on that street corner, I’m not just waiting for the cab I just ordered, I’m waiting for my common sense to come piling back in to tell me this is a fucking stupid idea. She doesn’t even ask where we’re headed as the taxi arrives, just piles herself into the backseat and shuffles along to make room for me. She doesn’t even move fully to the other side – her body stays pressed to my side, her thigh tight against mine as she buckles herself in. It’s a comfortable silence. Strangely comfortable. Resting my hand on her knee feels like the most natural thing in the world, even though it shouldn’t be. I’ve no idea why I feel like I’ve known her my whole fucking life, but I like it. I like it too fucking much to stop. I pay the driver as we arrive outside mine, and if she’s shocked by the grandeur of the place she doesn’t show it. I take her hand as we head to the front door, and turn to face her as I slip my key into the lock. “My dog is… difficult,” I tell her. “He really doesn’t like strangers.” “Don’t worry,” she says. “I’m good with dogs.” I want to apologise for him in advance and tell her the dismal story of his existence before I saved him from death row, just so she’ll give him a chance, but she’s already shivering from our evening in the cold. “He’ll be aggressive,” I tell her. “But don’t worry, I promise I won’t let him hurt you.” “It’s okay,” she says. “I’m not scared.” But she will be. I know full well she will be. I open the door and head on through to deactivate the alarm. She looks so dainty in my hallway as I get the lights. I can’t stop staring as her eyes soak the place in.

I’m still staring as Brutus comes charging through, and he’s so much fucking faster than usual. He’s a dog who stalks from a distance, growls like a fucking demon before he attacks, but not tonight. I lunge but I miss him, I yell his name and tell him to come fucking back, but he ignores me completely. My blood runs cold as I charge down the hallway, and I’m shouting at her not to run, please don’t fucking run. But she doesn’t. She drops to her knees and the horror hits me in the gut. She holds out her arms for him and I swear he’s going to tear her pretty throat open. But he doesn’t. He fucking doesn’t. His tail is thumping as he skids to a halt, his tongue lolling out as she coo coos in his face and scratches his ears. And I stare. Mute. Fucking astounded. “What’s his name?” she asks. It takes me a moment to find my tongue. “Brutus.” “Brutus!” she says, and his tail thumps harder. “He’s lovely.” “He’s not usually,” I tell her. “Rescue?” she asks, and I nod. “He’s lucky you found him.” “I’m the lucky one. He’s great when you get to know him.” He’s still staring up at her like a sappy poodle when she gets to her feet, and I can’t believe it. I can’t fucking believe it. “You have a beautiful house,” she says and I thank her. “And a beautiful dog,” she adds, and I think she really believes it, even though he’s hardly going to win a beauty pageant any time soon. Maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe she sees through all that. I shouldn’t even be hoping, but I am. I shouldn’t be this invested in some pretty girl who moonlights as a prostitute, but I am. “Are you going to give me a tour?” she asks and I come to my senses enough to stop fucking gawping at her. I lead her through to the kitchen and ask if she’d like a drink, and she sits herself at my island with her cute little feet tapping against the stool. Brutus plops himself down at her side, his head on his paws like she’s part of the furniture. Un-fucking-real. “A coffee would be divine,” she says, and I ditch my stupid incognito cap and get to work putting the beans in the machine, trying to work out if I’ve had a woman in this place since Claire. I haven’t. I’m still making the drinks when Brutus gets to his feet. He needs a piss, I know it as soon

as he barks, but it’s not me he’s asking. He’s barking at her, as though she’ll know what the fuck he’s asking for. But she does. She slips from the stool and heads for the back door like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “He wants to go out, right?” she asks, and I nod. “Please.” She catches me watching and tips her head. “What? What is it?” “Milk?” She nods. “Please. Two sugars.” She smiles. “You weren’t wondering if I take milk, were you?” I hand her a mug without saying a word, but she won’t let it up. “What?” she says, and giggles. “You’re making me nervous.” I look about the room, look anywhere. “Just this,” I tell her. “This is strange. Brutus is strange.” “Dogs can tell who their kind of people are,” she says. “So it seems.” “I’m glad he likes me.” She smiles. I have a niggle in my gut I can’t place. It feels tender – as though the tiniest green shoot is poking its fragile form up through charred soil. It’s not entirely pleasant. Brutus pads nonchalantly back inside and I wonder what the hell he’s thinking as his eyes meet mine. His eyes say nothing other than he loves our new guest, and I trust him. I trust his judgement as much as my own. I force that niggle aside. Force myself to go along with this insanity, because why not? What else is there to do? How could I possibly walk away from this? Amy locks the back door without being asked. I watch her drink her coffee and enjoy the way the colour comes back to her cheeks. “It was cold out there,” she says. “But worth it. I love working with the homeless. It makes you so grateful for what you have, right? I’m just glad I can do something to help, even if it’s just a little.” “I fell into it,” I admit and her eyebrows lift. “Fell into it?” But I don’t want to expand on that. Not today. Maybe not ever.

I finish up my drink and she follows my lead. “I’ll give you the tour,” I say. She holds out her hand and I take it. MELISSA

THIS IS SO much harder than I thought. My heart is pounding despite my easy smile, so worried I’m going to give the game away with some silly oversight. Like knowing the way his dog barks. Knowing where his bathrooms are. Knowing the names of his kids when he unavoidably points out their pictures on the mantelpiece. I ask about them as though I don’t know. “Thomas and Matthew,” he says. “They live with their mother in Hampshire.” “That must be hard.” “Very,” he admits, and I see a flash of pain in his eyes. “But it’s for the best. They’re thriving. Happy.” “They must love the dog,” I say, and that makes him smile. “They do, yes. And he loves them.” He lifts one of the photos as though he’s looking at it new. “My ex-wife isn’t quite so fond of him.” I don’t think it’s my place to ask about his divorce, so I don’t. The pressure of acting ignorant is building up behind my eyes, but I don’t show it. I keep my questions light and vague, oohing and ahhing over the place as though I’m seeing it all for the first time. “I love the smell of orchids,” I say, and a shiver zips up my spine as he angles one to my face for a sniff. “My cleaner gets them,” he admits. “She’s excellent. They’re a nice touch.” She’s excellent. My smile feels ridiculously bright on my face, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I don’t know if I can really go through with this phase of my master plan, not now it feels so personal in here. Not now I feel so… overwhelmed. As we step past the entertainment unit I’m forced to make my decision. I make it in a heartbeat. I spin so quickly towards his selection of CDs, my expression one of pure fake-shock as I pull out an album from the pile. “Oh my God! You like Kings and Castles?!”

My fake-shock has nothing on the surprise on his face. “You know them?” “Do I know them?! Hell yeah, they’re my all-time favourite band!” I hate this even as I’m doing it. Hate the shock in his eyes. Hate the fact I feel so obliged to perform like a circus monkey to make him fall in love me. “That’s extraordinary,” he says. “Hardly anyone knows they exist.” “Crazy, right? I’m always saying it. I mean take Casual Observer, that song is my all-time favourite. How it doesn’t get more radio airplay I have no idea. Criminal, don’t you think?” “Criminal, yes.” He stares right through me. “That’s my favourite too, actually.” I put a hand on my heart. “Wow. What are the odds?” “Slim,” he tells me, and he’s not kidding. I rattle off my imaginary history with the band, how my dad loved them, how I knew the singer dedicated a song to his dying grandmother, how I think their first album is seriously underrated, and how terrible the first mainstream music journalist who tore them to shreds in his column was for destroying their chances before they’d really started. He listens. He nods. I tell him how I love the lyrics in Casual Observer. How deep they are. How well they capture the loneliness of being surrounded by people and yet feeling so utterly misunderstood. So alone. He’s barely even nodding now. Just staring. His eyes piercing and raw. “Sorry,” I tell him. “I get a little carried away. I just love them so much.” “That’s ok,” he replies. “I do, too.” I slide the CD back in the collection and hold out my hand for the rest of the magical mystery tour. He shows me his office, and the conservatory, and the dining room he barely uses. He tells me he has a bit of a gym set up downstairs, but doesn’t take me down there. I comment on the little things, the innocuous things, being so careful and considered. And fake. I’ve never felt so fake in my entire life. My heart is in my throat by the time the downstairs tour is finished, choked up with guilt and the crazy desire to tell him I’ve already been here. That I really do like Kings and Castles, but it’s because of him. Because I heard them here. To tell him that I already know him. But he’s no longer awkward or guarded, not like he was when I first pulled out that CD. He looks relaxed, even excited now the shock has left his beautiful face. And I don’t want to risk it. I can’t risk it.

He takes my hand at the bottom of the stairs, and all thought of a confession zips out of my mind. “Let me show you my collection,” he says. ALEXANDER

KINGS AND CASTLES. They have a hardcore following, but to say it’s on the small side would be generous. Barely anyone even knows they exist. But Amy does. I’m not sure this shit could get any more fucking weird if it tried. I’m no bloody sap. I don’t believe in happy ever afters, or soulmates, or twin flames or any of that other mumbo jumbo shit they use to sell dating site memberships and Valentine’s Day cards. I don’t believe in anything other than two people deciding they can tolerate each other enough to make it through life in the same building, with maybe a bit of mutual affection along the way. And sex. I believe in sex. My heart is racing ten to the fucking dozen. My throat feels dry as I lead this girl upstairs, and there’s a tickle in my gut driving me insane. A tickle that daren’t hope. That would be insane to even fucking hope this crazy connection between us could mean something. Yet she feels so fucking real. The soul in her eyes is so fucking real. The way she wants me feels too insanely right to be wrong. I’m terrified how much I fucking want this. I lead her straight through to the crystal room and flick on the light. Nobody has ever seen my collection, nobody that would give a shit about it anyway. Barely anyone finds these wonders of the natural world as beautiful as I find them. But Amy does. Her eyes widen as I input the cabinet code, she gasps as the light hits the gemstones and makes them sparkle in all their glory. “My God,” she whispers. “This is insanely awesome.” I stare at her as she surveys my collection open-mouthed, and I’ve misjudged her by thinking of her as a new-age hippy type. Of course I have. Nothing about this girl any longer surprises me. “You have poudretteite! I’ve wanted to see one in the flesh for years! I read about it when

I was a kid, how they found it in Mont St. Hilaire!” Her fingers dither in the air. “And musgravite! From the Musgrave Ranges in Australia! This is crazy!” Yes. Yes it is. I listen to her in awe. Her knowledge of rare gemstones is incredible, better even than some of the hardcore collectors I go up against in auctions, those trigger happy types who take the listing details as gospel and care nothing for the actual stones themselves. “You can touch them,” I tell her, and she gasps. “I couldn’t!” I take out the musgravite and place it in her hand, and her fingers are trembling. I’m taken aback to find that mine are too. “I had no idea you were so…” I begin, and I struggle to find the words without sounding like a condescending cunt. She giggles. “Serious? It’s alright. I have a couple of cheap stones in a little velvet bag. It hardly reeks of sophistication.” I feel like an asshole, but she looks at me like I’m the greatest man alive. “You amaze me,” I tell her, and she takes a breath. “You amaze me, too,” she whispers, and then she giggles some more. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe any of this.” Neither can I. I can hardly breathe. Hardly think. Hardly fucking speak as I watch that girl hold the musgravite up to the light. She puts it back so gently on its display stand, and her fingers drift down to the empty space where the fire opal once rested. “It was one of your favourites,” she says as she runs a finger over the plinth. “I have a new favourite,” I tell her, and take the quartz from my pocket. I place it on the plinth and even though it looks so thoroughly out of place amongst the others, I love it more than any of them. Her cheeks flush pink. “You need a new display card.” “You can write me one,” I tell her, and dig around on the shelf for a piece of card. I present her with a fountain pen and wait for her to fill in the details, but she hovers. Dithers. “My handwriting will be messy,” she says. “You should really print one.” But I don’t want a printed one. I want her to pen it by hand. I tell her so. “Your handwriting will be neater,” she protests, but I shake my head. “Please, Amy.”

Her fingers are still shaking as she writes out the description. It’s hardly what I was expecting. No weight, or mining location. No crazy new age properties. Instead there is a simple description. Angel Hair Quartz. From me to you, Alexander, with love. With love. She seems embarrassed as soon as she’s written it, placing it front of the empty plinth with a shrug. I can’t stop myself as my hand reaches for hers, can’t fight the urge as I pull her into my arms. She comes so willingly, and I feel her heart beating through my shirt. “Stay tonight,” I whisper. Her eyes are unsure. “But I, I didn’t… I didn’t come here for that… that isn’t why I came here…” Another asshole move. I feel like a dick as I squeeze her shoulders. “Fuck, Amy. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… That isn’t why I invited you.” I press my forehead to hers. “I’d pay, of course, I don’t expect this to be…” She shakes her head, her forehead brushing mine. “That’s not what I mean. It’s not the money… I just didn’t want you to think I was… angling…” And I don’t want her to think I was angling either. I press my lips to hers. “We’re dancing a merry dance. Getting our wires all tangled up,” I tell her. She nods. “Let’s start over?” “Please.” She smiles a beautiful smile and breathes out a sigh. “I’d love to stay. Please. If you’ll have me, and it’s not about the money…” “What is it about?” I ask her, and my voice sounds strangely uncertain. “You know what it’s about,” she whispers, and her eyes stare right into my soul. “This is… crazy… I’ve never felt like this…” I’d tell her I was feeling it too if she’d let me, but her mouth presses to mine and finds me desperate. She tastes of everything I ever wanted.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

MELISSA

I WISH the want I feel in his kisses was all for me and not for the crazy illusion I’ve spun, but I can’t stop. I can’t stop this. He smells of hard work and spicy tomato soup. He tastes like every dream I ever had. It’s weird undressing him from tattered denim. It’s weird to feel the ridges of his chest under a plain black t-shirt. He tugs my top over my head and unbuttons my jeans, and I step out of them as we leave the crystal room. The thick carpet on his landing is so familiar under my toes. He kisses me again as he opens his bedroom door, and I have to pull away to comment on how beautiful it is in here. He shushes me with his mouth, and his hands are on my face, in my hair, all over me. My bra falls away, and my knickers slip down my thighs as I fumble with his belt. Skin on skin as he lifts me into his arms, and my legs wrap him tight as he kicks off his jeans and boxers on the way to his bed. It’s bliss as he lowers me onto the sheets I made up so nicely this morning. It’s a dream to be here with him. His mouth sends me crazy as he kisses my neck. The ridge of his cock rubs against my needy clit and makes me squirm. I’m desperate as I grip his ass, already way past the point of no return as he thrusts his hips and spears me in one and I cry out, tell him how amazing he is, how amazing it feels. I’m prepared for his fingers when they land on my throat. I’m prepared for the darkness in his eyes as they bore into mine. But this time he doesn’t take my air. His grip is firm but not restrictive, and I breathe freely, quick gasps of air against his lips.

“Do it…” I whisper. But he doesn’t. I cry out as he changes position. He rolls me onto my side and presses himself to my back, his legs hooking mine as his cock slides in from behind and I cry out all over again. His breath is hot on my neck as he wraps an arm around to take me in a chokehold. The pressure is divine. The heat gives me perfect shudders. And here, wrapped up so tight in his grip, my chin pressed tight to the crook of his elbow, I find peace. His free hand finds my clit and he starts fucking me. I’m panting like crazy as his thrusts match the rhythm of his fingers. “You never did tell me what really turns you on,” he whispers. “This,” I groan. He asks me again as he rolls my clit between his fingers. “You,” I hiss. “Fuck, Alexander, It’s you I want. You’re the only thing I want.” I don’t think I’d be getting away with such vague answers if he wasn’t already close to the edge. He holds back until my body trembles for him, controls his urges until I’m already crying his name, and then he joins me there, cursing through gritted teeth as he fills me up. I’m still panting as he pulls away, my arms are reaching for him as he stalks across to his dressing room and grabs one of his sex toy cases. “You’re going to tell me what turns you on,” he says as he plugs in the massager. “You’re going to tell me everything.” Everything. Sudden paranoia burns at my face. I look away, head down. The buzz against my throbbing clit makes me groan, but I’m rocking for him, easing my hips up to take more. “What turns you on, Amy?” His tone is so dark, so dirty. “You,” I whisper, and he flicks up the speed on the massager. “Fuck,” I hiss. “I like… I like it when you’re rough… I like it when you’re in my ass…” I cry out as he sucks his finger and pushes it right in there. “What else?” “I love… I love it when you choke me… I love how it feels…” “How does it feel?” I can’t stop the smile. “Like I can’t take it… and then like I can… I float… and it’s amazing… it’s beautiful to see the stars… to see you…” “And you’re not scared?” I shake my head. “No…”

I’m going to come so hard. I feel it from my clit to my toes. “What else?” I’m sweating. I can taste it on my lips. “Amy, what else turns you on? What do you think about when you’re alone?” I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to say this. I’m already in way too deep. I murmur that he’s everything. That I want everything he wants. He pushes another finger in my ass and I’m on fire. I can’t hold back the words. Can’t hold back the thoughts I’ve had in bed at night. The thoughts about that divorce paperwork. The thoughts about the filthy things he likes. I can’t hold back the thoughts about him and Dean. “I want to see you…” I whisper. “Oh God…” “See me what?” He moves so quickly. Pinning himself on top with his cock poised against my open lips. He’s so hard. I can taste the wetness on his tip. “See me do what, Amy?” He pushes into my mouth until I gag, and then he pulls right out again. My clit sparks like fucking crazy. His balls are heavy on my forehead. He smells incredible. His voice is raspy. “I have very few hard limits. You just have to fucking tell me.” And I do. My confession is nothing but a whisper choked in the air. “I want… I want to see you… with another man.” He comes in my mouth with the words still hanging in the air. He comes with a grunt that sounds feral, spurting to the back of my throat without warning as I gag on my own orgasm. I’m a mess. Wriggling and squirming and gurgling his name as my legs thrash the bed. And when I’m done I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. My breath feels like fire in my chest. He unplugs the massager without a word, and my endorphins shrivel away. Fuck. I’ve fucked this up. I tell him I shouldn’t have said that. That it’s no big deal, just a crazy fantasy. I tell him it’s stupid. That my stupid mouth was running away with me.

But when he talks, he talks right over me. “How the hell did you know?” ALEXANDER

MY QUESTION LEAVES HER OPEN-MOUTHED. Her eyes wide and fluttery. “How did I know what?” My heart is pounding hard, my breaths ragged from the spontaneous eruption of my fucking balls. She rises to sitting. “What? What do I know?” My gut is in fucking knots, as though I’ve been exposed raw. Guilty pleasures are so fucking guilty. I spit it out. “How the hell did you know I want men?” “You do?!” Her cheeks flush pink. “I, um… I didn’t…” If she’s a liar, she’s a fucking good one. She looks mortified. “Shit, Alexander! You asked and I answered. It’s just a stupid fantasy. I didn’t think you’d… I wasn’t even going to say anything…” And she wouldn’t have. It took a fucking bodywand on high speed and two thick fingers in her asshole to unravel her enough to confess. “I haven’t done it for a long time,” I tell her. “Since before I was married.” “It’s really none of my business, you don’t have to tell me…” But I want to. Because if this is real… if she really… I rub my temples. “I struggle with this. With this… interest.” “You feel bad about wanting sex with other men?” Her question is so innocuous, so unassuming, and it makes me feel like a fucking douche for my hang-ups. “I have my fucking father to thank for that,” I admit. “And my judgemental fucking bitch of an ex-wife.” “You don’t have to talk about it…” “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it.” I hate the way my voice snaps. “I’m just not used to talking. I’m not used to…” My arms gesture to nothing. “This. Any of this.” “It’s just a silly fantasy.” Her voice is so calm. “It’s not a big deal. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.” But I can’t deny the truth to myself. I love how uncomfortable she makes me feel. I love how on edge this is making me, how

fucking desperate I feel inside. I love the glimmer of hope in the darkness. And I love that I hope this is something. I feel like a fucking fool for it, but I do. I relax onto the bed, my head propped on my elbow. “Tell me about your fantasy.” She mirrors my position, her eyes so hungry for mine. “I’m not sure I should…” “Tell me,” I insist, and she shrugs. “I think about you fucking another guy. I think about watching. I think about your cock in another guy’s ass, I think about you… being rough… I think about you, um… choking him… like you choke me.” She pauses. “I think about watching you kiss another guy. I think about you with his cum in your mouth. I think about how it would make me feel…” My mouth is bone fucking dry. “How would it make you feel?” She gasps, and this is real. The truth of it prickles my fucking skin as she slips her fingers between her thighs. “It makes me come… when I think about it…” My words are parched. “Show me…” And she fucking does. She circles that tender fucking clit with her little fingers until she squirms. “Oh God,” she whispers. “Oh fuck, I want to see you fuck someone so hard…” “You want to see my cock in another guy’s dirty fucking asshole?” My cock twitches. I can’t hide how fucking hard I am. She screws her eyes closed. “Yes. Oh God, yes…” I can’t stop myself wrapping my hand around my dick. “You want to see me pound some other guy’s filthy fucking hole?” She groans. “Please, oh fuck… fuck…” “And what would you be doing?” Her eyes are so hooded when they meet mine. “Watch… I want to watch… I want to see everything…” “Just watch?” Her voice is fragile. Timid. “I don’t know…” “I’m rough,” I grunt. “When I fuck like that… it’s rough…” She moans, and her fingers are fucking frantic between her legs. “Fuck, Alexander, I want that… I really want to see that…” I can’t come again so soon, it’s fucking insane, but my balls are aching all fucking over again, my cock jerking like a fucking fish in my palm. She braces herself against me, her fingers tight on my shoulder. “I come every time I think about you with another man…” And so do I.

It hurts when I shoot my load against her belly. My dick is raw and pulsing, my balls pained as they fucking blow. I stare dumbly as she drags my cum down between her thighs and rubs my creamy fucking seed around her clit. Her eyes have a filthiness in them I’ve never seen. I’m open-mouthed as she takes hold of my hair and urges me down between her legs. “Please,” she whispers. “Oh God, Alexander… please…” She wants me to lick myself from her fucking pussy. She wants to see me with my own fucking cum in my mouth. My heart is fucking frantic. The girl is sending me fucking insane. I know right now I’m doomed, snared by this beautiful fucking creature in my fucking bed. So I do it. I lick my lick every drop of cum from her fucking pussy, and I open wide to show her. My dirty fucking secrets are right there for her to see, my eyes fucking desperate as I let my own fucking cum dribble from my filthy fucking mouth. She comes. Hard. My fingers dance with hers around her sopping clit, and her mouth is open for mine as she rides the fucking wave. She drags me to her and she feels as desperate as I do. I’ve never wanted anything as I want to please this fucking girl. I’ll do fucking anything to please this fucking girl. She moans around my tongue, sucking the taste of me. She tips my head back and her eyes are hooded once again as she waits for me to swallow. I swallow and she smiles. Her smile is everything. I wait until our calming breath is the only thing between us. The words burn as they come out. “I’ll do it,” I tell her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

MELISSA

IT FEELS grubby to take his money in the morning, but he insists. He hands me the envelope when I’m finishing up my muesli and won’t hear any of my protests. “How is it?” he asks as I scoop up the final dregs of milk from the bowl, and I have to smile another stupidly-ignorant smile. “Delicious. I love how the peaches taste with the chocolate. It’s so unusual.” He seems to like that. “One of my silly little specialities. I’m not much of a chef.” I tell him I disagree, but he laughs it off. His laugh is divine. He asks my plans for the day and it catches me off guard. My heart pangs at the thought of Joe waiting at home. Alexander looks a little disappointed as I tell him I’ll have to leave soon. I wish I could invite him to come along and hang out with us, maybe push Joe on the swings awhile. Maybe one day. “I’ll see you later, yes?” he checks, and I nod. “Of course. Delaney’s at eight.” He shakes his head. “No need for Delaney’s. I think we’ve well and truly crossed professional boundaries, don’t you?” I know this is a triumph. Waking up in his bed with him was the most amazing feeling. “I’ll come back here, then? At eight?” I’m so happy I could cry. “Whenever you’re ready.” I nod. Thank him again for the money and the breakfast. Thank him for everything. I hug Brutus goodbye, and kiss Alexander right on the mouth in the doorway without holding back.

There’s nothing left to hold back. ALEXANDER

I WIRE the rest of Amy’s money to Claude’s offshore account and let him know about my impromptu evening by email. I tell him I’ll no longer be needing Delaney’s while I’m at it. His reply comes through instantly. No venue? No venue, I confirm. I’ll take it from here, I confirm. You exchanged personal information? I don’t bother replying to that one. It’s none of the cunt’s fucking business what I’ve exchanged with her. Having the girl in my home was the final straw for me. The final scrap of my restraint has shrivelled and died. For better or fucking worse I’m all in with this insanity. I browse upcoming music events after I’ve walked Brutus, but there’s nothing that takes my interest. I haven’t felt alive in so long. This surge of life is addictive. It makes me believe anything is possible. Anything. That’s why I fire an email off to the Kings and Castles management team. That’s why I ask them why their current gig listings are empty on their website. It takes a few hours to get a response, but when it arrives it’s very forthcoming. That’s what an email signature like mine gets you. That’s what being a lawyer gets you full stop in fact, even if your email has nothing to do with the fucking law whatsoever. They tell me the band are recording a new album. They tell me there will be no upcoming gigs for at least six months. I call the mobile number listed, and a shy woman answers. “It’s Alexander Henley,” I tell her. “I just emailed.” “Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry about the schedule, but if you check back in six months…” “I’ve no interest in checking back in six months,” I say, and I have my calendar open in front of me. “I want them to perform next week.” “But that’s… impossible…” “Five hundred grand,” I tell her, and her gasp of breath tells her I’ve gone in way too high, but I don’t fucking care. “Five hundred thousand? To play next week?!” I hear the frantic tapping of keys and

imagine her looking me up from my email details. “I’ll transfer the funds on confirmation.” “I’d need to make some calls…” “I’ll be waiting,” I tell her. She calls me back in fifteen, and by then I’ve already confirmed a venue. An intimate little gig in Charing Cross road. The venue also cost me a pretty penny, but I don’t care about that either. I’m used to Brenda organising my entire life for me, but not this time. I’m glad I’m handling this one for myself. The thrill is exhilarating. I’m surprised I haven’t done this before, but Claire hated this band. She hated pretty much everything I loved. “I’ve pulled some strings,” the woman on the phone tells me. Her words make me smile. I give her the venue details and she writes them down. I ask her for their bank details and she reads them out twice. I ask for an official invoice which she assures will arrive in my inbox in less than five minutes. It takes four exactly. I wire the funds with a smile on my face, and it takes all of my reserve not to head right on over to Amy’s house to spill the crazy fucking news. But I don’t. The surprise will be the sweetest. MELISSA

MY HEART FEELS full to bursting as I lift Joe into the baby swing. His sweet laughter tickles me, his little bobble hat swaying in the breeze. Dean has a quiet smile on his face as he watches us, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets against the chill. I try not to stare at him, but I can’t help it. I try not to wonder what will happen if he agrees to my crazy scheme, but I can’t help myself. I try not to imagine him taking Alexander’s beautiful cock in his ass. The idea makes me lurch like a rollercoaster. I don’t know whether I can ask him. I don’t know whether doing something like that would be too weird to ever come back from. But he wants Alexander. I know he does. I know he thinks about it.

I know he’d be the perfect set-up. I know he’d enjoy it like I enjoy it. I know he’d know what to expect and not go screaming for the hills as soon as that grip landed firm around his throat. “You’re quiet,” he says as we head away from the park. “Am I?” He smiles. “Yeah, Lissa, you really are. All Henley’d up, I guess.” “Something like that.” We buy a pot of bubbles on the walk back, and Joe claps his hands as they float all around. He’s happy. He’s really happy. And I am too. “You out again tonight?” Dean asks as he pours us a coffee back home. I nod. “It’s Saturday. My usual night.” “What about Wednesday? Is that a usual night now as well?” I don’t know, I tell him. Because I don’t. “And Fridays?” I don’t know that, either. “It’s great money,” I say. “Crazy money.” “So quit the day job.” I feel the niggle in my belly. “Maybe soon.” “Maybe right now, before he puts two and two together and this whole mess puts you on your ass.” He’s got a point and I know it. “Soon,” I repeat. “Maybe.” He lets it drop. The pressure to confess my crazy scheme is right behind my eyes. But I can’t. Not with Joe chomping happily on apple slices in the room next door. I feel guilty all over again, but this time it’s not for Alexander. It’s for the shit I’m going to try to drag Dean into. It’s for the crazy way I’ve been thinking about him. “Do whatever you have to do,” he tells me when I’m all dressed up and ready to go. “Whatever it is, just go all in and get it done. You’ve got to, Lissa. You’ve got to make this real or walk away, for all of us, not least for you.” My heart thumps. “I know,” I tell him, and I do know.

I’m close enough to taste it. Close enough to feel my dreams at my fingertips. I just need him to help me with the last final hurdle. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I say. “We’ll have an us night tomorrow. Wine, takeout…” “Sounds good to me.” “We need to talk,” I tell him, and his eyes are so suspicious. They should be. He knows me too well. “Talk about what?” “Alexander Henley stuff,” I say as I head for the door. “And stuff about us, too. I’ll tell you all tomorrow, I promise.” I kiss Joe on the way out, and dash off for Kensington before Dean can grill me for details. ALEXANDER

MY ATTEMPT at homemade paella is quite abysmal, but Amy doesn’t seem to mind. Her eyes sparkle across the dining table as I top up her wine, and I’m itching to tell her about my grandiose gesture for next weekend. I keep a poker face regardless. A full stomach does nothing to quell her libido. She’s tearing my shirt from my chest before we’ve even cleared the plates. I fuck her all the way through my house. I push her to her knees in my hallway and ram my cock right down her pretty throat. Her lips are still glistening with my cum as I finger fuck her asshole over my kitchen island. She’s perfectly ready for my cock as I take her tight cunt over my coffee table. I fuck her again as we’re washing up for bed. She braces herself on the wash basin as I choke her until her legs are weak. Her eyes are stark in the medicine cabinet reflection. Her skin looks so pale as I take her to edge. I have to support her weight as she comes with my thumb against her clit. She’s still loose and limp as I carry her through to the bedroom like a perfect little doll. And there she rests – her head snug in the crook of my shoulder as she drifts off to sleep. I browse gay hook-up sites on my phone until sleep finds me too.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

ALEXANDER

THE USUAL UNDERTONE of desolation is absent as I make the drive across to Hampshire on Sunday afternoon. Even Brutus seems to grin at me, his overbite looking especially slobbery as he pants in the passenger seat. I think he liked having Amy in our house again last night. Having a new cleaner in the house first thing this morning, not so much. “You’ve got to stop doing that shit,” I tell him, as though he stands a hope in hell of understanding. “You’ll get us into trouble one day, boy.” Having to rescue a damsel in distress from behind your kitchen doorway at seven a.m. – dressed in nothing but your bathrobe – raises the heartrate somewhat. Brutus still looks thoroughly pleased with himself. At least our sweet Amy slept through the fracas. My sweet Amy slept like an angel. An angel with a sore fucking asshole. I can’t fight the smirk. I’m enjoying the sensation of waking up in my own bed with her tight little body next to mine. I’m enjoying her gentle laughter. I’m enjoying the way she wants me. I’m enjoying everything. And I’m going to enjoy seeing my boys, too. They’re already waiting when I pull up on Claire’s driveway. They rush though the front door as their mother paces out after them, but even the scowl on her miserable face can’t dent my mood. I give the boys a hug and tell them to pile on in to see Brutus, and Claire waits until they’re safely in the Merc before she launches into her monologue about state school being the right option for the boys, and have I thought any more about my silly position on the whole thing. I tell her no – in no uncertain terms – and she shakes her head.

“You’re unbelievable, Alex. You need to think of the boys.” My response is instant. I am thinking of the fucking boys. “They are moving schools!” she blusters. I hold my ground. They’re not moving fucking schools without my say so and she fucking knows it. I’d strip her of her lavish lifestyle in a heartbeat, fight her through the courts with a legal prowess far more intimidating than she’ll ever have access to. She’d be a fool to fight me head-on and she knows that, too. “You’re a stubborn bastard,” she says, and I nod. “Think what you want, Claire. The boys need a decent education.” “Like you had? So they can turn out like you?!” I don’t grace her with an answer to that one. I’m already heading back to the car, fighting to keep hold of my sunny disposition long enough to smile through crappy burgers and too much football lingo. “Ask them what they want!” she calls after me. “At least ask the boys what they want!” So I do. I ask them as soon as we’ve taken a seat with our offal-based meat products. “Your mother tells me you want to change schools,” I say. “Is that true?” Matthew nods his head with a smile, blissfully oblivious of any potential tension. Thomas not so much. His eyes leave mine and stare at the table top, burger discarded. “Well, Thomas? Is it true? Do you want to change schools?” He shrugs. It isn’t like him to avoid a direct question, and since he is avoiding the question this really isn’t the right place to push it, not amongst the screaming toddlers and the families out for a cheap bite to eat. I change the topic of conversation, focusing instead on Portsmouth’s goal-scoring record this season, and that works well to lighten the mood. “I’m going to play for Portsmouth,” Thomas tells me. “Terry says I’m really good.” “He does, does he?” My boy nods, and even though Terry’s fucking name makes my insides grimace, I’m undeniably proud. “That’s good,” I say. “Well done.” It’s Matthew who drops the next shitty bombshell. The poor kid has no idea. “We’re going training!” he gushes. “Terry’s going to put us in kids’ club!” “Excellent,” I lie. “And what does kids’ club involve?” Thomas tells him to shut his stupid little mouth, and I’m taken aback by the venom in his

tone. “Enough of that,” I snap. “Let your brother speak.” But Matthew doesn’t want to speak. Not now. His lip trembles as he holds back tears, and he looks so young sitting there. I’d forgotten how young he is. Thomas folds his arms. “It’s on a Sunday. You won’t let us go anyway.” “Won’t let you go?” He shakes his head. “Mum said there’s no point even asking. She said you’ll never say yes.” My throat dries. “Never say yes to you training on a Sunday afternoon?” They both nod, and it smacks me right in the gut. I could retch my fucking French fries all over the fucking table. “That’s what you want, is it? You want to go training?” Thomas shrugs, but Matthew is still too young to understand etiquette. He nods so innocently, and I really do think I’m going to vomit up my fucking dinner. “We won’t go,” Thomas says. “We see you on a Sunday afternoon.” But they want to. I can see it all over them. I wrap up my burger and clear my throat. “If you want to go training with Terry on a Sunday afternoon, you should go.” Their eyes widen. “But that’s your day…” Thomas tells me, like I’m not perfectly fucking aware of that. Forcing a smile is so fucking hard. “We’ll make other time,” I say, even though I know it’s probably a fucking lie. “Maybe Saturdays, or holidays. Maybe even weeknights when the evenings get longer again.” Matthew punches the air. He hollers out a YES that gets the family to our right turning their heads, and I know it’s signed and sealed already. “What about you?” Thomas asks, and I have to pretend I’m choking on a gherkin. “I’ll be around,” I say. “I’m your dad, right?” They nod. That’s right, I’m their fucking dad. Even if they have a new one now. Even if Terry steals my Sundays, and takes them out of the school I chose for them, and gives them another cool sibling to add to their dinner table. Even if it doesn’t fucking feel like I’m their dad. Even if it never feels like it again. I still am. I still am their fucking dad.

“Drink up,” I say. “We’ll take Brutus for a walk.” They drink up. My fingers are shaking as I pick up my uneaten burger for the dog. My throat is scratchy as I dump the empty wrappers in the bin on the way out. I park up at the meadow a couple of streets down from Claire’s, and Brutus piles out happily, wagging his tail as Thomas clips on his leash. We walk in silence, lapping that meadow three times before I can bring myself to speak. “Tell me about school,” I say. “What do you want to do?” Thomas looks up at me, and I keep my expression as neutral as I can. “You can tell me,” I say. So he does. My boy tells me how he hates the school I picked for him. How he hates the other kids, and thinks the teachers are stuck up and boring. He tells me how he feels sick to his stomach every time he has to go there. How the other boys call him a common little freak because he likes football now and not rugby. He tells me how they call him a little gay boy because he doesn’t scrum like he used to. I’m sure there’s no blood left in my face as I land a hand on his shoulder and ask him why the hell he didn’t tell me this before. And now it’s Thomas who has the trembling lip, wiping tears away on the back of his sleeve before they have chance to spill. “Because… because I didn’t want…” “Didn’t want what?” It breaks my heart when his face crumples, and in some deep part of me I’m relieved to find I still have one. “I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.” And now Matthew is crying too. My two boys stand and cry in front of me and I feel nothing but a cunt. It’s so easy to pull them into my arms, so easy to breathe into their hair so they don’t see I’m right on the fucking edge myself. “I’ll never be ashamed of you,” I tell them. “Not ever. No matter what. Do you understand me?” I have to pull away long enough to check their faces. “Boys, do you understand me?” They nod.

I can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe I have to say this. Most of all I can’t believe Claire is going to get her fucking way, but that doesn’t matter now. Only the boys matter. “I’ll let the school know in the morning,” I say. “You can switch over next term.”

I HAVE to pull over into a layby off the A3 to vomit on the way home. MELISSA

DEAN and I have finished up half a bottle of wine before I’m brave enough to broach the subject. He shifts in his seat as I turn to face him, knowing full well I’m about to rope him into something shady. “No,” he says, just like that. “Whatever it is, no.” “You don’t even…” He shakes his head. “It involves Henley, right? Some crazy plan? Another crazy plan?” “Well, maybe… but it’s not…” “Forget it, Lissa.” We sit in silence. He tops up our wine and takes a forkful of noodles from his takeout tub. “You want him, right?” I ask, and he stops chewing. “You said you’d do him for free. I’m saying you don’t need to. I’m saying fifty-fifty, maybe just once if you want… but just think about it…” “Are you fucking nuts?” I shake my head. “I’m serious, Dean. He wants men. He told me.” “He fucking told you?” “Yes.” He swallows. “No.” “No?” “No, Lissa. This shit is way too fucking much.” “He wants men. And if I give it to him… if I like it too…” “If you give it to him then what?” he snaps. “Have you even listened to yourself? Crystals and music, whatever, but this is…” “Crazy, right?” I finish. “Maybe it’s crazy, yeah. But maybe it’ll be the ace in my deck,

maybe it’ll be the thing that makes him really fall in love with me.” He looks at me as though I’ve suddenly grown an extra head. “Jesus wept, Lissa. Have you heard yourself?” My stomach is in knots as I look at him. “I don’t want it to be some random,” I tell him. “I don’t want to hook up with some random guy who doesn’t know what he’ll be… getting into…” “Being choked half to death you mean? Sure, it might be a tough fucking sell, Lissa. No shit.” I sip my wine. “Forget it, then.” “I already have,” he says, but he’s lying. His eyes are wide and angry, but he shifts in his seat and crosses his legs, and I know. I just know. “You want him. I know you do.” “Not like that, I don’t.” “But you do, don’t you? You can’t stop thinking about him either.” “That’s bullshit!” he snaps, but it’s not. I remember his face when I told him all the gory details. The way he swallowed when I told him how Alexander chokes me to the brink. How it made me feel. How Alexander makes me feel… “The guy’s fucked up,” he says. “But you want him.” “I want a lot of things…” “Fifty-fifty,” I say. “One night. You get to have him.” “And what the fuck will you be doing?” His jaw is so tight. “Watching,” I say. “Just watching, Dean. It’s not like we… I won’t be…” He shakes his head. “Don’t even talk about it. I’m gay, Lissa, I just can’t even.” It’s the first time he’s said it out loud. His words hang in the air as I take a breath. “You already knew.” He shrugs. “It’s not news.” “No,” I say. “It’s not news.” I swirl the wine in my glass. “I mean it. I wouldn’t be… involved. It’s about Alexander, and you.” “There is no Alexander and me,” he snaps. “I’ve never even met the guy.” “But you could…” He gets to his feet. I know he’s considering it when he begins pacing. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is. I give him space. I’m finding that works pretty well lately.

“How would you even swing it? What you gonna say? Hey, Mr Henley, this is Dean, my best fucking friend. He looks after my brother for me while I’m out playing hooker.” His words cut, but I don’t say a thing. “Hey, Mr Henley, this is Dean. He’s a sad little virgin guy who jerks off to your picture every fucking night and thinks about taking it in the ass. Is that what you’re gonna fucking say, Lissa?” I can’t keep my silence. “You’re a virgin?!” He groans. “Don’t act so surprised. You were a fucking virgin a few weeks ago.” I feel my shot. It’s a whisper on the wind. A glimmer of a chance. “I was a virgin until him. And he was the best experience of my life. He was everything.” I’m being honest. My smile is all real as I remember how he took me, how he made it feel so good. “Fine, if you don’t want to do it for me, do it for yourself.” “For me?!” “Yeah,” I say. “For you. Do it because you want him. Do it because he’s everything. Do it because he’ll be the most amazing experience you’ll ever have.” “With you there cheerleading from the sidelines?” “You’ll forget I’m even there, I promise.” “You promise?!” His laugh sounds as crazy as I feel. I finish up my wine. “I need to go to bed. I have work tomorrow.” “I’m not doing it,” he says. His voice sounds a lot more certain than he looks, but I’ve said my piece. I’ve said it all. “I’ll find someone else,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about it. If you don’t want him, I’ll find someone who does.” “Some fucking random?!” “I guess so.” He shakes his head. “Just quit your job. Tell him you got off on the wrong foot, he may never know, not if you give him your real name and pretend it was a false alias.” “He knows Amy is a real person. He looked her up.” I hate the way his eyes bore into me. “He looked her up?!” “Yeah. I had no idea he would.” He rubs his temples. “She knows me. She knows you. What the hell if he turns up at her door? What the fuck do we do then?” It’s nothing I haven’t thought about myself. Nothing that hasn’t niggled me at night before I fall asleep. “I’ll tell him,” I say. “I’ll quit cleaning and I’ll tell him my real name, just as soon as he’s fucked another man. I’ll tell him the very next week.”

He laughs a cynical laugh. “I will!” I insist. “I’ll tell him. I just need this final piece of the puzzle! This one last thing!” “Gay sex?!” I nod. “So he knows I’m all in. With everything.” “Fucking hell,” he hisses. “This is so fucking fucked up!” I don’t argue with him. I squeeze his arm as I head for bed. My fingers link his and tug before I reach the door. “Forget I said anything,” I tell him. “It’s cool.” He doesn’t say a word as I close the door behind me. I hear him pace around the place as I climb into bed. I hear him clear up the wine glasses a few minutes later. And then nothing. Silence.

I’M HALF ASLEEP when the tap on my door comes. The clock says half three a.m. He eases the door open, and I feel the weight of him on the bottom of my bed. I’m reaching for my nightlight when he tells me to stop. “What is it?” I ask. “Are you okay?” I can’t see him nod. I can only hear him breathe. “You’ll just be watching? No like… touching or…” “Of course no touching. This is just… him… with a guy…” “Fifty-fifty?” “You can have the whole three grand if you want it.” I’m not tired at all as I wait in the darkness. Sleep has well and truly given up the ghost as I wait for Dean to spit out whatever he’s thinking. “I’ll do it,” he whispers. “Just once. So you don’t need to… find someone.” I lunge for him, but he holds me back before I can hug him. “Wait!” he snaps. “There are conditions!” My heart pounds as I wait for them. “If I let him fuck me, you quit cleaning afterwards. No fucking about, Lissa. If the guy

fucks my ass to make your crazy fucking plan work out for you, you quit and you tell him your real name. You make this real, or you walk away.” My mouth is so dry. “Okay.” “Okay?” I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, that’s a deal. He fucks you, I quit my cleaning job.” “And you tell him your real name?” I pause for just a heartbeat. “Yeah.” He sighs. “I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this.” And neither can I. He gets to his feet, and heads for the door, and I still can’t believe it. I still have to hear the words. “You’re saying you’ll let him fuck you? You’re saying you’ll do it? For me?” “No,” he says before he closes the door. “I’m saying I’ll do it for me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ALEXANDER

I CONFIRM first thing Monday morning that the boys will be changing schools. Brenda draws up the letters I dictate to her, and I sign them off with a shaky hand before she faxes them through to their headmaster. I send Claire an email telling her it’s done, and also telling her the boys are free to attend Terry’s shitty kids’ club on a Sunday afternoon. My whole world is spinning on its fucking axis. My mouth is parched no matter how many Americanos Brenda brings me from the coffee shop next door. I’m listless in my client meetings and I’m clumsy with the board report amendments that need my bastard input. I hate how out of control I feel. I hate the wriggling worm of vulnerability in my gut. I hate how painful it feels to find my heart still beating. I’m staring into the abyss today, but whereas I normally rely on Brutus to be my sobering factor, I now have another anchor in the storm. The insanity with Amy is the only thing keeping me actually sane. The Puppet Master title the industry slapped on my head over a decade ago suits me well, but not as well as it did, and not anywhere near as well as it suits my slimy fucking father. His grubby fingers are in everything, twisting everything. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when he blasts his way into my office before lunch. It shouldn’t come as a surprise when he slaps a copy of the paperwork Brenda faxed across to the school onto my desk. “What the fucking hell is this, boy? Have you lost your fucking mind?!” It takes all of my restraint not to reply in the affirmative. “The boys are changing schools,” I say. “I’ve discussed it with Claire, I’ve discussed it with them.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” His eyes are angry and wired. Just as they were all those years ago in the public toilets. Just as they’ve been so many times since, when I haven’t played into his filthy fucking hands at every opportunity. “It’s none of your cunting business, old man,” I tell him. “Oh, but it fucking is,” he hisses. “Those boys are next in line to the family business. My fucking business.” I laugh in his face. And there, amongst the laughter, is the simple truth I’ve been avoiding my whole fucking life. The truth of the peace I’ve granted my boys, even though they don’t realise it yet. I want out. “You’ll have to find another puppet to train in my stead. Thomas wants to be a footballer, and Matthew… well, Matthew doesn’t have the disposition for this shit. I see him as an artist maybe, or a celebrity chef. Maybe even a flower arranger.” “Don’t test my fucking patience, boy.” My father’s disgust is actually etched into his features. A lifetime of scowling carved into stone under spiteful eyes. “You’ll withdraw your instruction with immediate effect. I’ll handle Claire and her lunatic educational preferences.” “I won’t,” I say, “And you certainly won’t be doing fucking anything about Claire.” The thump of his fist on wood makes my pens rattle. “Be careful, boy. Be very fucking careful.” I don’t even blink. “We’re done here.” It’s in my eyes and I know it. I know he sees every single flicker of hatred I have for him, and this shitty fucking business, and the way I’ve lived my seedy fucking life. “We’re not done,” he seethes. “Not even fucking close.” “I’m done,” I tell him, and I hate my beating heart. “I’m done with bailing out cunts and crooks.” “What the–” “I’m done with shaking hands with addicts, and fraudsters, incompetent fuckwits with more money than sense.” “Don’t–” “I’m done with rapists and murderers, I’m done with people hiding behind expensive suits. And I’m fucking done with you.” “YOU’RE NOT FUCKING DONE!” he roars. I laugh, because he looks even more unhinged than I feel. “Oh, but I am,” I say. “I’m going to off my caseload onto Hugh Lister. He’s doing well. A

rising star in your delightful organisation. I’m sure he’ll be able to handle it.” His finger is white when he jabs it in my direction. “You don’t walk away from clients like yours, boy. And you can’t walk away from clients like mine.” My gut twists. “I haven’t had anything to do with clients like yours for fucking years.” “That doesn’t fucking matter,” he says. “You know things. Things that make you a fucking liability if you stop toeing the fucking line.” “Don’t threaten me.” My eyes are like steel. His are like stone. “I couldn’t keep you safe, boy.” “You wouldn’t try,” I say. He doesn’t even attempt to deny it. “What in the name of holy fucking Christ is going on with you?” he asks, and he’s searching. Digging. I hate the way it makes me shiver. I force bravado. “I’m thinking I might take on some legal aid cases. Represent the good guys for a change. Who’d have thought?” My laugh comes out twisted. His pupils are like pinpricks. “Something happened to you, boy. What the fuck is it?” “Something happened to me a long fucking time ago and you fucking know it. You were there.” His smile is grotesque. “You liked it, boy. You moaned like a little fucking sissy bitch as you shot your load over that piss-stained wall.” “Get out of my office, you disgusting old cunt.” We stand-off. Eye to eye. Scowl to fucking scowl. Hate. So much fucking hate. So much fucking disgust. He shoves the paperwork in my direction before he steps away. “Retract your fucking statement to the school, boy.” “Get the fuck out of my office,” I repeat. He stops in the doorway, and his expression gives me the chills. “I’m going to find out what in the name of Christ is going on with you, and then I’ll put a fucking end to it. I promise you that.” Or put an end to me. A chill rips up my spine.

And it’s there. It’s always been right there. The faces of my demons aren’t those of porn stars, or rent boys, or drinking enough whisky to blackout into oblivion. My demons all look like my fucking father. And so do fucking I. I hold my expression for a long minute after my door closes behind him, and then I rip up his fucking paperwork. MELISSA I’M NERVOUS. Of course I’m nervous. I’m dancing a stupid crazy dance, right on the edge of a cliff, and now I’m pulling Dean along with me. I only have a short window and I’m well aware of it. I feel the clock counting down to zero on all my stupid lies. I heard Sonnie downstairs at Alexander’s on Sunday morning. I pretended to be asleep with my heart in my throat, praying to God he didn’t call me down there. But one day he will. One day I’ll run out of luck, and no amount of gemstone trivia is going to bail me out. Dean has his conditions and I’ll keep them. I’ll hand in my resignation just as soon as my plan reaches its final destination. And in the meantime I dance the crazy dance. Mr Henley seems strange on Wednesday evening. He’s quiet as he takes me. Quiet as he kisses me after. Quiet as he holds me. “Are you alright?” I ask in the darkness. He takes a breath before he answers. “Nothing for you to worry about.” “Okay,” I say, and squeeze his fingers a little bit tighter. I wonder if he’s growing tired of me already. I wonder if he’s getting sick of paying so much money to have me here. It only makes me more determined to see this craziness through. To be the woman his ex-wife wasn’t.

To be the woman he will fall in love with. He’s all I want. That’s all I want. But Mr Henley is quieter still on Friday night at the soup kitchen. He looks so brooding as he stirs the pot, and he doesn’t smile on the streets, not even once. I hate it. I hate feeling so insecure after things were going so well. I hate not knowing what’s going on with him. I tell him so in a roundabout way as we take a cab back to his. “I’m sorry,” I add straight after. “It’s none of my business. I just… care.” He takes my fingers in his. “You’re better off out of it,” he tells me. His tone gives me shivers. “But I want to be in it,” I whisper. “I want to be with you.” He doesn’t even reply to that. It only makes me more determined than ever. I send a confirmation text to Mrs Stanley’s daughter Helen when he’s letting Brutus out for his final poop of the evening, telling her we’ll be on for a few hours of babysitting tomorrow night. I hate the niggle in my belly. I hate the thought of leaving Joe with a stranger, even though she’s not one. But it’ll just be for one night, and he knows Helen. He knew her before… She’ll be fine, and he’ll be asleep anyway. He’s good at sleeping right through. Mr Henley holds me tighter than ever as I drift off to sleep tonight, and I don’t understand it. I don’t understand any of it. I wish I could tell him that I love him. That I’m right by his side, whatever he’s facing, whatever this… is… But not yet. Soon. But not yet.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

ALEXANDER

I’M NOT GOING to let this shit with my father ruin the evening I have planned for Amy. Nor ruin it for me, either. I shake off my mood as I get ready. I practice my smile in the mirror, making sure I can pull this off without a hint of exhausted paranoia in my eyes. My father’s not a man of false promises. The old cunt is a lot of things, but a bluffer isn’t one of them. There’s every chance I’m going to pay the ultimate price for leaving this business. But that’s not for tonight. Tonight is about Amy. I position the knot of my tie just fucking so. I fasten my cufflinks with a smile for Brutus. I’ve just let him out for a piss when she knocks at the door. She looks incredible in black. Her dress sparkles like the finest grade diamonds, and so do her eyes. “Claude’s message said dress to impress,” she tells me, and does me a twirl on her way in. “Will I do?” My throat feels scratchy as I look her over. Her shoes shimmer to match her dress. Her makeup is perfectly natural. “You look beautiful, Amy.” She runs a finger down my tie and it makes me shiver. “So do you.” She gives Brutus a scratch behind the ears. “Where are we going?” “You’ll see.” “A surprise?” “Yes. A big one, I hope.”

We’ve barely any time before the cab pulls up, and that suits me just fine, because any longer standing with this beautiful creature in my hallway would render me incapable of leaving this house without taking her upstairs with me first. I set the alarm on the way out. I check the street before I join Amy in the taxi. I feel ghosts on my shoulder, waiting for me, but I brush them off as I take her hand in the backseat. “Are you okay?” she asks me, and I’m glad the cab is too dark to see her eyes. “I am now.” “I’m going to have an amazing evening,” she says. “You don’t even know where we’re going yet.” “I don’t need to.” She rests her head on my shoulder and I close my eyes. Savour this moment. Savour every moment. Charing Cross Road is heaving when the cab drops us, but the venue I’ve booked is totally deserted. She stares around in bewilderment as I stroll up to the bar. “This is… quiet…” “It’s by design, Amy.” “It is?” I smile as I order champagne from the solitary barman, and she raises her eyebrows as I take one for myself. “A one-off,” I say. “A celebration.” She raises her glass. “A celebration of what?” “Life,” I tell her. Her eyes flash with pain, and I wonder why the word hurts her so badly. It’s so stark to me in this one moment – how little I know about this woman. How little I know about her life. But she is life. She’s everything. And she’s also a fucking mind reader. “You are life,” she whispers and clinks my glass. “I’m quitting my job,” I tell her, just like that. “I think it’s about time I lived a little.” I laugh at my own sick little joke. Her eyes are like dinner plates. “You’re quitting?” “I’m a lawyer,” I tell her, like she hasn’t pieced two and two together already. “I spend my life enabling very rich people to do whatever the hell they fucking want. Destroy whoever

the fuck they want. But not anymore.” She dithers as she sips her champagne. “And you can just… resign? These very rich people won’t want you to leave, right?” “How is your drink?” She nods. “Really good.” I finish up mine, and the bubbles taste fucking divine. “It’s time for the show,” I tell her, and take her hand. MELISSA

I’M SCARED and I don’t know why. I don’t really understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad. I know it’s really bad. I also know for sure that I was wrong about Alexander Henley. I was wrong about everything. I thought I knew every single thing there was to know about this man, but I was a fool. Because I know things. Stupid little things. Tiny pieces of shattered mirror I’ve been fitting together as I go. But the mirror doesn’t make the man. The man is right here at my side, and he’s not a collection of things. He’s not his interests, or his divorce paperwork, or the smell on his bedsheets. He’s not the man they call the puppet master. He’s not the lawyer who loves his job the way I always assumed he’d love it. And I’m pretty sure he’s a man who can’t just walk away. I’m sure you can’t just walk away from those kind of people. My heart is in my mouth as I follow him through to the back room, and the venue is still empty here. A roomful of empty tables, and only one of them has a candle on it, the one right in the middle with the very best view of the stage. I can’t make out the huddle of people setting up, not without the spotlights, but I recognise the opening notes the moment they ring out. I’ve heard this album so many times. On the underground on the way to Kensington and back again. At night in bed while I’m thinking of him. He squeezes my hand. “I had to pull some strings for this,” he whispers. “Just as well they call me the Puppet Master.” I feign ignorance, but he’s not even looking at me, he’s looking at them. “The Puppet

Master?” “Yes.” “Why do they call you that?” “Because my dirty hands pull everyone’s strings.” I don’t know what to say to that, so I squeeze that dirty hand of his and he squeezes mine right back. I love his dirty hands. I love him. He pulls out my seat for me and takes the one at my side. His thigh presses to mine under the table, and his dirty hand is on my knee. “This is really just for us?” I ask him, and he smiles. “For you,” he says. “For me?” “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who loves this band as much as I do,” he tells me, and I feel rotten inside. My belly is full of worms. “I do love them,” I say, and it’s not actually a lie. Not anymore. I know that for certain when they start up the set. I feel every note in my heart. I feel the sadness in the lyrics. I feel how beautiful this is. Everything is beautiful. But nothing is so beautiful as Alexander Henley. I watch him as he stares at the stage, and his mouth is open just a little, his eyes wide as he takes it all in. His foot taps along to the beat and mine taps with it, and his eyes are so happy I could cry. So I do. I do cry. I cry for the beautiful sadness in the music. I cry for all the lies I’ve told. I cry for my lost dreams and the parents I’d give my life for, just to see them one more time. I cry for the way I love Alexander Henley. I cry happy tears for the way I get to hold him at night. I’m wiping them from my cheeks when I feel his eyes on mine. “What is it?” he whispers as Kings and Castles start up their next song. “This,” I tell him. “It’s perfect.” “Yes.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Yes, it is.”

I know Dean is waiting for my text with the venue location, but I can’t give him this one. I know Dean is hanging around the city for my instructions to head on in to wherever we are and give Alexander the eye. I want to text him and tell him to go home to Joe, to tell him this was all a mistake and I’m going to tell Alexander my real name before the night is out, because I’m done with all the lies and the stupid games. I want this to be real. More than anything in the world I want this to be real. I’m staring at Alexander’s beautiful dark eyes as the opening bars of Casual Observer ring out from the stage. I’m smiling as he smiles, ready for his arms as he pulls me close. And it is real. This is real. The way my heart beats against his is real. The love I see in his smile, that’s all real too. I sing the words as he does, and this song is all about feeling like an outsider in a crowded world, which is funny, because the world is empty tonight. It’s just him and me, and I’ve never felt less of an outsider than I do right now. “This was worth every penny,” he whispers as the song finishes up. “I’d have paid ten times over to see you so happy.” And that’s why I don’t a send a cancellation text Dean after all. That’s why I keep my shit together enough to ride this crazy train right to the end of the line. Because as much as it scares the crap out of me to take this so insanely far, it’ll be worth every panicked heartbeat to give Alexander Henley exactly what he wants. Even if Alexander Henley thinks he’s doing it all for me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ALEXANDER

AMY IS GLOWING as we give our thanks to the band after the set. She tells them how much she loves them, eyes twinkling as she relays all the same stories she told me. I love listening to them. I love listening to her. If I was a man who believed in mumbo jumbo, I’d say she and I stood as indisputable evidence that soulmates really do exist. That there really is fate at play behind the chaos of life. That chance encounters are sometimes nothing less than little miracles. She feels like a miracle to me. But I’m not, so this is simply an extraordinarily perfect set of coincidences. It doesn’t make it any less beautiful. Amy can’t hide her disappointment as I suggest we cab it home for the rest of the evening. It surprises me when she takes my hand and implores we stay out awhile. Suggests we live a little. I’m happy to indulge her. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out amidst the general populous on a Saturday night. There’s a thrum in the air as we step into a busy little tavern just down the road from the venue. Amy orders a wine as I contemplate my options. I should go for a mineral water, but she squeezes my arm before I can. “Live a little, right?” she calls over the humdrum, and she’s right. I really should live a little. So I do. I order the finest whisky they have, then trail happily behind my sparkling Amy as she leads us to an empty table in the corner. The humdrum pales for me the moment she disappears to the bathroom. Tonight isn’t about London, or having a few drinks in spite of my own self-imposed abstinence. It’s not

even about our private performance from the world’s greatest band. Tonight is all about her and this insane connection we share. The insane connection that has me hoping I can navigate this terrible fucking mess of my life and come out the other side unscathed. With her. I want to come out the other side with her. I tell her so when she returns. My voice is just a ghost in her ear. The hand I’ve placed against her spine registers her intake of breath when I say the words. “Come away with me.” “Come away with you where?” “Wherever I have to go,” I answer, and her eyes flash with fear. I really shouldn’t have said anything. That’s champagne and whisky for you. “Where will you have to go?!” I shrug. “Out of the city, certainly. Out of the country, maybe.” “What about your boys?” My gut twists. “My boys have a new life now. A better life.” I take a breath. “I’ll be at the end of the phone whenever they need me. I’ll arrange transport whenever they want to come.” Her stare is uncertain. “You want me to come with you? Like… with you? Is this…” “You know what this is,” I tell her. “Unless I’m very, very much mistaken, we both do.” She shakes her head. “You’re not. I’m just… surprised…” “You’re surprised?” “Yeah. I just… I thought I must just be a… because you pay me and I don’t…” I kiss her temple. “I’ve paid for a lot of sex in the past few years, but I can assure this is the first time I’ve ever paid half a million to take a girl to see her favourite band.” She doesn’t have any words, just the hugest blue eyes. And I laugh. It feels so fucking good to laugh. She laughs too. She laughs the delicious kind of laugh of someone high on life. “Just as well we have the same favourite band,” she says. Her eyes sparkle as the laughter fades, and her hand snakes up my thigh under the table. “Let’s finish the night with a bang,” she whispers. “It’s a night for favourites, right? How about we look for another?” “Another what?” “Another fantasy to fulfil,” she tells me, and my cock twitches. I know what she’s angling for. I know exactly what filthy thoughts are flitting behind those innocent eyes.

I know full well the meaning of the fucking pang in my gut, too. Maybe it won’t feel the same with her there. Maybe she will really make it… different. “You want me to fuck another man?” My voice is just breath in her ear, but she shudders. “Yes,” she whispers. “Please… if that’s what you… if you want to as well…” I hate how much I want to, but that’s nothing new. “I could make some calls,” I tell her. “Maybe Claude can hook me up at short notice.” Her eyes sparkle. “Or I could go and have a word with the guy who’s been staring at you from the bar for the last twenty minutes straight.” I scan the crowd, suddenly well aware that I’ve been totally oblivious to every other person in this building. And there he is. He’s young. Way too fucking young. Short cropped hair and piercing eyes. Casual, but not too casual. Jeans and a shirt. He doesn’t look away when I meet his eyes. “You like him?” I ask her and she nods. “He’s cute, right?” “Cute for me or cute for you?” She squeezes my thigh. “You’re the only man I’m interested in.” I raise an eyebrow. “Is that so?” She nods. “That’s so.” I hold the guy’s stare until he looks away with a smile. Yeah, he’s fucking up for it. “He’s young,” I say. “Legal though. I saw them take his ID at the bar.” She’s an observant little minx. Law school really would suit her well. “You want me to go ask him?” She’s smiling, squirming in her seat, and this is a whole new side of her, one that makes my balls fucking tighten. I shake my head. “I’ll handle it.” She looks taken aback. I raise an eyebrow. “You think I’ve never propositioned a guy before?” She squeezes aside to let me pass, and I angle her face up to mine for a kiss as I go. My eyes meet his as I leave her, and seeing me with Amy does little to dent his interest. So far so fucking good. He clears a spot at the bar for me as I make my way over, and he’s taller than I expect up close. He smells fresh. He smells like he wants my cock in his ass.

“I’m Dean,” he says. I take out a twenty from my wallet to pay for his drink. “The name’s Ted,” I say. MELISSA

I CAN HARDLY WATCH. My knees are shaking under the table as Alexander pays for Dean’s drink at the bar. My heart is a panicked mess as they talk. I force a smile as Alexander looks in my direction. His mouth is by Dean’s ear, and I wish to God I knew what he was saying. I also wish Dean and I had sorted out a bail-out word, because I’d be so close to using it right now. So close to blowing this whole crazy thing off. Downing my wine doesn’t make the nerves any easier. I can hardly sit still as Alexander brings me another and brings Dean along with him. “Amy, this is Dean,” he tells me, and I’m sure my smile is fake enough to cringe as I say hello. “Dean’s coming back with us,” Alexander tells me, and my stomach drops through the floor. I grip his hand under the table and he runs a thumb across my knuckles. My silly fantasies about this evening were ridiculous, I know that now. This is Dean. My friend Dean. Pretending to be some random in some London pub in order to take Alexander’s dick up his ass. But he doesn’t need to, because Alexander said all he needed to say already. He’s asked me to go away with him, and I’m still reeling. I need a way out of this hole I’m in, not a sure way of digging it all the deeper. I’m digging it way too deep. It’s in Dean’s eyes as he stares at Alexander. It’s in the way I know he must be so nervous. The way I know he must be as terrified as I am of blowing our cover. “We should drink up,” Alexander says and my heart pounds. Dean drinks up, downs his beer in one. I have to take mine back in three long swigs, and my legs feel bandy as Alexander takes my hand and leads me out of this place. I can barely speak as we leave the pub with Dean in tow. Alexander pulls me into the doorway of the very first hotel we pass. It’s nothing special, nothing like Delaney’s, and that makes it seem so much more real somehow. Three of us in some regular hotel room, where the man I adore is going to pound my best friend’s ass.

I can’t believe I set this up. I can’t believe this is really happening. “I’ll get us a room,” Alexander says, and I’m left with Dean as he heads on in. “You can go,” I hiss. “This was a crazy idea, I’m sorry.” “Too fucking late for that,” Dean hisses back. “It’s gonna look real fucking suss if I suddenly make a fucking dash for it.” Alexander beckons us inside and I take a breath. “You want to do this?” I ask before we go. Dean looks at Alexander and his eyes darken. “Yeah, I wanna do this.” Fuck. “He’s rough,” I say, like he doesn’t know that already, but he isn’t even listening, he’s already swinging the door open. I feel like a prostitute all over again as we head up to the second floor. I pretend it’s taking the stairs in my heels that leaves me breathless, but that’s not the half of it. I’m on the edge of panic. My ears are ringing and my head feels light as Alexander finds our room and opens the door. Dean brushes past him on the way in, and Alexander grabs my arm before I can join him. “Are you alright?” I nod. Smile. “Sure.” “Don’t want to call this off?” I look into the hotel room and Dean’s already perched on the bed. He wants this. They both do. I shake my head. “No,” I say. “I don’t want to call this off.” He closes the door behind us, and the click of the lock sends shivers down my spine. ALEXANDER

MY DELICIOUS LITTLE Amy has underestimated me. That’s no real surprise, she simply has no comprehension of how astute I have to be in my line of work. My entire career has hinged on my ability to read people – the things they don’t want to tell me, the subtle little inferences of their body language, the little facts between their lines. I wasn’t sure, not until we left the tavern. I couldn’t call it for certain until I watched them outside as I went to book us a room.

Dean, whatever his real name is, is no stranger to my beautiful Amy. They’ve met before. I’d venture as far as to say they’re pretty well acquainted. Which leaves me with a dilemma – to call them out and put an end to this dance, or push them as far as they’ll go to maintain their cover. They don’t call me the puppet master without good reason. I keep my mouth firmly shut as I lock that hotel room door behind me. The minibar is a poor show compared to the one at Delaney’s. A couple of standard bottled spirits, some mineral water and some single glass-sized bottles of wine. I pour a glass each for the two of them, and revert to mineral water. “Amy has a fantasy,” I begin. “She wants to see me fuck another man, as I’m sure you’ve well gathered by now.” Dean nods, takes his wine with a thanks. Amy flashes me a smile that’s way too bright, then perches herself on the bed alongside him. Their shoulders are tense and rigid, the space between them a whole gulf of fucking awkwardness. “The thing is,” I say to the pair of them. “I’ve a fantasy of my own.” Oh the sweet delight as their eyes widen. “A fantasy?” Amy asks. I nod. “I hope we can all get what we’re looking for from this evening.” I take a sip of water and neither of them says a word. It’s Dean I hone in on first, I shoot him a smile that conveys nothing but that of a friendly stranger looking to get his rocks off. “I want you to fuck my girlfriend,” I tell him. Amy squirms so hard she splashes wine onto her dress. “You didn’t say…” she begins but I shrug to cut her off. “Another surprise,” I tell her. “I wanted it to be a surprise.” My laugh is low and loaded. “After all, you chose him.” “But I…” I close the distance and tip her face to mine. “I’ll fuck a stranger for you, you’ll fuck a stranger for me. I think that’s a fair exchange.” Her pretty eyes are full of horror. “He’s cute, right?” I mimic. “You said so yourself.” “But I wasn’t…” I turn my attention to the guy whose ass I’m going to pound. “You want both of us, of course. That’s why you came here.” The kid is out of his depth. He doesn’t know where to fucking look. “I’m, uh… I thought this was a guy thing…”

“Oh, it will be,” I tell him. “Just as soon I’ve watched you fuck Amy.” I slap his shoulder. “I was her very first, you know. Offering her the experience of another man’s cock is the very least I can do. Variety is the spice of life, don’t they say?” Amy leans towards me, reaches out a hand for mine. “I don’t need another man,” she says. “This is all about you.” I drop to my knees to meet her eye to eye. “Indulge me. Call it another of my guilty pleasures.” She can barely swallow. She looks petrified. “No hard limits, remember?” I prompt, and I feel like an utter cunt, but I don’t care. The look of pain in her eyes as she realises she’s still technically on the clock almost makes me change my mind. Almost. I turn to Dean. “She’s got a gorgeous pussy, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the experience.” “I’m gay,” he says, as though that matters shit to me right now. I shrug. “I’m sure we’ll be able to get you hard. Don’t worry about a thing.” But he is worried. He’s so fucking worried that their pathetic little front shrivels to nothing. They stare at each other in horror, and the cards are all stacked. I’m going to push this as far as it’ll fucking go. “Don’t be shy,” I tell them. “We’re all strangers here. Just one crazy night, for the memories.” I tug my tie loose and drape it over a chair, my jacket too. I carefully unfasten my cufflinks and roll my sleeves up as though I’m preparing for hard labour, and Dean’s eyes widen, wondering what the fuck I’m planning. “He’s gay,” Amy blusters. “We should find someone who isn’t… for me… if that’s what you want…” I shake my head. “Right here, right now,” I insist. “I’ll give him a helping hand to get him nice and hard for you.” She visibly flinches, and so does he. “Is something wrong?” I ask. “You two seem… awkward.” Amy tells me she’s good, so does Dean, and their fate is sealed. I finish up my mineral water and take a seat on the bed between them. I pull them back by their shoulders, urging them to recline alongside me while I unbutton my shirt. You could cut the tension with a fucking knife. I kiss Amy first. I kiss her so hard she squeaks into my mouth. I palm her pretty tits and tweak her nipple until she moans, and then my hand moves across to Dean. I slide my fingers up his thigh until I feel the bulge of his groin. I grip him through the denim, my tongue still deep in Amy’s mouth as I feel him stiffen. His breath is ragged as I break away from Amy and land my mouth on his. He’s hard as I

rub his dick through his jeans, and so am I. “Have you ever been with a man before?” I ask him, and he shakes his head. I thought as much. “How about a girl? Have you ever been with a girl?” He shakes his head again. I suck his bottom lip until he groans, making light work of his shirt buttons. His bare chest is firm and smooth, he shivers as I pinch his nipple. “You’re going to fuck my girlfriend,” I grunt as I unbuckle his belt. I pop the button and tug his cock free. He pulses in my grip. “That’s it,” I tell him. “Nice and fucking hard for me.” I can hear Amy’s shallow breathing. I can imagine her open mouth. I reach for her without breaking free from Dean. My tongue is soft and wet across his lips, dipping inside as he moans for me. I jerk his fucking cock as I switch to kiss Amy. I yank down her dress to expose those ripe little tits knowing full well she’s probably beside herself at the thought I’m going to make her go through with this. It doesn’t make me stop. I’m still jerking Dean’s cock as I take Amy by the hair and guide her face to his. She murmurs under her breath, her mouth closed tight. “Kiss him,” I tell her. He grunts as I squeeze his dick. Their lips touch but stay closed and Amy’s sweet face is little more than a grimace. “Fucking kiss him,” I tell her, and I feel a perverted thrill as she does. It’s a crappy fucking effort. Nothing but a flicker of tongues, like two clumsy fucking teens. I take his hand and place it square on her tit. I hold him firm as he tries to tug away. “You’re going to fuck each other,” I tell them, and my voice is so fucking sharp. They are statue still, Dean’s hand rigid on her fucking tit as I pull her skirt up. I order her to take her knickers down. Her fingers are shaking as she obeys me. I love how she fucking obeys me. I slide my fingers between her thighs and rub at her clit, and she squeaks and wriggles but doesn’t stop me. I’m sandwiched between pussy and dick and I work them both. My own cock is pulsing, straining in my fucking pants as I watch Amy twist her tongue with his. Her pussy takes two of my fingers nice and easy, she gasps as I hook them deep, and Dean is squirming in my grip, his dick nice and fucking swollen as he bucks his hips for more. “Lie down,” I say to Amy, and she does. I wrestle her dress up and over her head, and Dean won’t even look at her nakedness.

“You’re going to fuck that sweet little cunt,” I tell him and he winces. Amy has her eyes closed until I force her face to mine. “Ask him to fuck you,” I whisper. “But I…” “Ask him to fucking fuck you,” I repeat, and she shudders. “Unless you want to revise your hard limits,” I add. “Unless you want to tell me you’ve changed your mind?” She thinks about it. I know she’s thinking about it. I see it all over her face. “Have you changed your mind, Amy? Is there something you want to tell me?” I take Dean’s arm and urge him towards her. He moves slowly. So fucking slowly. “Well?” I ask Amy again. “Is there something you want to say to me, or not?” She tries so hard to hide the truth. It’s almost pitiful. Her voice is just a croak when she answers me, and I admire her bravado. “No,” she says. “No hard limits.” “Then ask him to fuck you.” Dean positions himself on top of her, his arms rigid as they support his weight. His cock is still nice and fucking hard. He grunts as I take it in hand and rub it against Amy’s smooth little mound. I rub him in her wetness and she wriggles. “Ask him to fuck you,” I repeat again, and there’s a sickness in my gut. A perverse sense of satisfaction as she bleats out the words I’ve been demanding. “Please fuck me,” she says. “Please, Dean, please fuck me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

MELISSA

MY HEART IS POUNDING SO FAST I feel sick. I feel Dean’s dick against me and I hate myself for doing this. I hate myself for taking things this far. I know Dean’s cursing himself for ever agreeing to be a part of this train wreck, but he’s hard in Alexander’s grip and he’s in too deep to stop. Alexander Henley isn’t a man you feel like you can argue with. I’d forgotten this side of him. I’d forgotten the side that forced me to my knees and ordered me to drink his piss in Delaney’s. I’d forgotten how demanding he is. And he is. His eyes are dark and fierce, his jaw gritted as he rubs Dean’s cock against my clit and makes me squirm. “I know that feels fucking good,” he tells me. “Don’t fight it.” It does feel good. I hate how good it feels. I hate how things will never be the same between Dean and me ever again, even now, even if I really did call time out and tell Alexander I’d made a stupid mistake. I spread my legs and turn my face to the side, focusing on nothing but Alexander. This is just sex. It doesn’t have to mean anything. But it means everything, because it’s Dean. It’s Dean. Oh fuck. It’s Dean. I hear the wetness between my legs, and Dean’s raspy breath as Alexander keeps on rubbing. Dean’s cock is hard against my clit, and the rhythm is too much. I can’t stop wriggling. I can’t fight the urge to buck my hips and take him inside me. I’m going to come with my best friend’s cock against my clit and there’s nothing I can do about it. Not unless I want to scream time out.

But I’ll never scream time out to Alexander Henley. Never. I grit my teeth. “Fuck me,” I say to Dean and he tenses. “Just fuck me.” He groans, and I feel like a crazy bitch. I tilt my hips to take him and pray he knows this is just one crazy night and it’s all my fault. His cock nudges my entrance but he doesn’t push inside. He’s straining. Fighting. “Do it,” I whisper. “Fuck me.” Alexander nips at Dean’s ear. “Tell me you want her tight little pussy.” Dean doesn’t say a word. I hook my legs around his thighs, even though it makes me die inside. I urge him on, even though neither of us wanted this. “Fuck her,” Alexander says again, and Dean buckles. “Alright,” he grunts. “I’ll fuck her. I’ll fucking fuck her.” I’m braced for it. Heart in my mouth as I prepare for the thrust. But it never comes. Alexander pulls Dean’s cock away before he can push inside me. He shunts him by the shoulder until Dean rolls onto his side, panting against my cheek. My eyes are open wide as I search Alexander’s. “What?” I say. “I was going to… I thought you wanted me to…” His eyes are dark and distant. They give me shivers. “You’re not going to fuck Dean,” he tells me, and my mind is spinning. “But…” He smirks as he pulls me towards him, kisses my mouth as he climbs over me. “You’re not going to fuck Dean,” he says to me again. “But I am.” I flinch as he yanks Dean’s arms behind his back and slams him hard on his front. I flinch again as he tears Dean’s jeans from his ass. “You want cock,” he snarls, and Dean groans for him. “You’re going to get fucking cock. I’m going to fuck you until your ass fucking bleeds for me.” I can hardly breathe. I can hardly think. My pussy clenches as Alexander spreads Dean’s ass cheeks and lands a gob of spit right on target. I hate how it flutters as he pushes his finger all the way in. Dean cries out as Alexander pushes in another. Alexander fucks him hard, two fingers ploughing deep, and Dean looks so vulnerable as he squirms.

I’m open-mouthed as the man I love looks in my direction. “Play with yourself,” he barks. “You fucking wanted this. Show me that horny little cunt.” Oh God, I do it. I spread my legs for him and rub my fingers around my clit, and I hate how excited I am. Hate how desperate I am to see him fuck Dean’s ass. He positions himself, his weight heavy on Dean’s back as he slides his cock around Dean’s hole. “I like it fucking rough,” he snarls, and shoves the head inside. Dean cries out. He cries out again as Alexander thrusts all the way in. It’s brutal. It’s really brutal. My fingers feel dirty as I rub at my clit. Alexander fucks Dean hard enough that Dean’s face is a grimace. The bed creaks under us, the headboard thumping against the wall as he goes. “Your tight little ass is going to milk me fucking dry,” Alexander hisses and Dean moans for him. “Take it. Just fucking take it.” Dean does take it. He groans but he doesn’t protest, his asshole takes everything Alexander gives him. I already know what’s coming as Alexander snakes his arm around Dean’s throat. He holds firm, Dean’s neck straining against the chokehold, his eyes wide as he realises his air’s been cut. He wriggles, gasping for breath, and Alexander punishes his asshole for his efforts. I hear his balls slapping Dean’s skin. I hear Alexander’s strained breath as he pounds Dean’s poor virgin ass like a man possessed. And I love it. Oh God help me, I love it. I hate that I love it. I hate that I love the sight of Alexander’s dick in my best friend’s ass, but I do. My clit is throbbing and my breath is fast. I’m past caring about how disgusting this is, I just want it. Alexander stares at me and I stare right back, and I fuck myself with my fingers. I fuck myself as he watches me, and I love it. Dean gurgles and Alexander grunts. Dean’s eyes bulge wide as Alexander tightens his grip. It must hurt. It has to. It must burn like hell, and I can’t believe it when Dean starts bouncing back at him. When Dean’s hips beg for more. “I’m going to come in your dirty fucking asshole,” Alexander hisses. “And Amy is going

to lick you fucking clean.” I can’t control my breathing. Alexander eases them to the side just enough to reach for Dean’s dick, and he’s using the choke hold as leverage, fucking his ass hard enough that Dean’s cock jerks in his palm. I don’t know which one of us is going to come first. Dean’s dick is twitching in Alexander’s hand, and Alexander’s thrusts are becoming desperate, and I’m rubbing my clit hard enough that I’m shaking. “Come here,” he calls, and I go there. I’m still playing with my clit as I wriggle across the bed to him. I kiss him as he’s fucking Dean’s ass. He sucks my tongue and I know he’s on the edge, I can feel it in his breath. “You’re going to take his cum in your mouth,” he grunts. “Spill a fucking drop and I’m going to make you lick it from the fucking sheets.” I cry out as my clit sparks, and I move. Quickly. I shunt down the bed and position my mouth by Alexander’s jerking hand, and I’m ready. Mouth open wide to do as I’m told. The disgusted part of me feels so far away. My clit is all there is. “Now,” Alexander snarls and I rub myself so frantically as Dean’s cum spurts in my mouth. I fight the urge to retch as it hits the back of my throat, and it’s too much when I hear Alexander grunt and come himself. I ride the waves with my best friend’s cum in my mouth, and it feels too good to care. The crazy train collides with the end of the track, and it feels wild and scary to be this unhinged. I hear Dean’s frantic gulps of air as Alexander lets him go. He coughs and splutters and groans as Alexander pulls his cock from his poor battered ass, and he won’t look at me. I’ve still got Dean’s cum in my mouth when Alexander tugs at my hair. I’m still fighting the urge to retch as he forces my face to Dean’s used ass. “No hard limits,” he hisses, and my stomach lurches. “Lick it up.” Dean’s asshole is glistening with Alexander’s cum. It dribbles down his ass crack like syrup. “Lick it up,” Alexander says again, and his eyes are fierce on mine. I won’t disappoint him. I never want to disappoint him. No matter what. I take a breath, I smile at him. And then I lick it up. Every last drop.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

MELISSA

I LOSE all sense of time in that hotel room. I lose all sense of myself as Alexander goes in for round two and rubs his cum-slick dick against Dean’s until they’re both hard again. I’m like a ghost of my old self as Alexander pins Dean on his back, hoists his legs up high and slides his cock right back inside Dean’s poor ass. Dean doesn’t grimace this time. His grunts are full of want, not pain. He kisses Alexander right back, like I’m not even there, and this is it, right here in front of me. The Alexander Henley effect. I play with myself because I want to this time, not because Alexander tells me to. It’s all for me as I rub my clit until I shudder and stifle my moans on the bedsheets so Dean won’t realise how disgusting I really am. I don’t think he’d notice anyway. His world is full of Alexander Henley. He doesn’t fight when the hand clamps around his throat, doesn’t struggle as he chokes for the man I love. He comes when Alexander does, spurting thick streams against Alexander’s stomach under the pressure of the thrusts. Dean’s eyes are glazed for a long time as he comes down. I feel so cold inside as he sobers up from this madness and realises what the fuck just went down. He tugs up his jeans as Alexander watches him, and I cringe as he makes his excuses, says he’s got to leave now. “Not so fast,” Alexander says and points at the smear on his stomach. My eyes are watering with the need to retch as Dean licks him clean. I look away as Dean takes Alexander’s dick into his mouth and sucks him until there’s nothing left to take. And then Alexander lets him go.

Dean barely even says goodbye, just limps from the room with his shirt still unbuttoned, shooting me a wild-eyed glance as he goes. I flinch as the door closes behind him, collapsing onto the bed as my mind spins with all this. Alexander pours me another wine and I take it with shaky fingers. I down it in one, even though it tastes rancid. “I guess Dean’s not one for small talk.” His voice is laced with black humour, and that gives me shivers too. “I guess not,” I whisper, and my cheeks are burning. I’m surprised when he pours himself another whisky. I’m itching to get out of here, desperate to be just about anywhere besides the place I almost took my best friend’s dick. “How do you know him?” Alexander asks, and I bolt upright. “What?” He smirks. “How do you know him? Don’t even think about lying to me, Amy.” His eyes are so dark. “I hate it when people lie to me.” My whole body is burning. The urge to crumble and confess everything is a dam waiting to burst, but I can’t. The quiet anger in his stare tells me that I can’t. I’m surprised my brain isn’t too addled to think my way out of this as I swim through my options. “It was supposed to be a surprise…” I tell him. “I’m sorry… I just…” “You paid him?” I shake my head, because I don’t think I could pull off that lie even if I wanted to. “We were friends at school. I know he… likes men…” “So you called him up and said Hey, Dean, how about taking my boyfriend’s cock in your ass this weekend? Is that how it went?” Boyfriend. “Something like that.” “And what the hell makes you think I can’t find a man for myself?” “That isn’t what I think!” He comes closer, my stomach lurches as he climbs onto the bed alongside me. “So, enlighten me, Amy. What do you think?” I shake my head as the tears prick. “I wanted to do it for you. You do so much for me… and I… I wanted to make you happy…” “Make me happy by setting up an old school pal to take my dick in his ass?” I shrug. “Oh God, Alexander, I don’t know! I wasn’t thinking straight! It was…”

“Stupid,” I tell her. “Reckless to think I wouldn’t fucking notice. Believe me, Amy, I notice everything.” But he doesn’t. I shiver at the thought of him ever finding out about all my lies. I shiver at the stupid idea I ever thought I could confess my real identity and still have him at the end of it. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, and I am. “Please forgive me.” “I’ve already forgiven you,” he says. “If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” The relief washes over me so hard my head spins. “Thank God,” I say, and my hand is to my heart as it begins to calm. It takes me by surprise when his fingers land on my throat, steals my breath as he flattens me to my back and brushes my lips with his. His voice is cold. Harsh. “I don’t like being played, Amy. Don’t ever fucking do it again.” “I won’t,” I whisper, and he kisses me. His fingers stay loose, and I keep breathing, even though my insides are burning up. “You played a dangerous game,” he tells me, and I could cry. He doesn’t know the half of it. He rolls onto his back with his arm under his head, and if he’s still angry he doesn’t show it. The room feels bitter cold now, and I know it’s probably just my own shock, but I pull the covers over myself and drape them over him too. He doesn’t pull away as I lay my head on his chest. I love listening to his heartbeat. It’s so much calmer than mine. “That could have gone badly,” he says, as if I don’t already know that. I nod anyway. “I’m sorry.” “We’re done with sorry. I’m trying tell you something.” It feels like heaven as his hand wraps around my waist under the covers. “I think you need to know.” My voice is so timid. “Need to know what?” “Why I have such a… reaction to wanting men.” “You don’t have to…” I begin, but he shakes his head. “Just listen,” he says, and I do. ALEXANDER

MY THROAT IS dry as I opt to tell this sad fucking tale. I can’t say it’s a pleasant confession. The last time I told this story it cost me my marriage – the final dying scraps of the sham it was anyway. I’d made a note to myself in the aftermath – never fucking talk about it. But I’m drawing a line through that now. “My parents are pieces of shit,” I tell her. “I used to feel sorry for my mother, putting up with all my father’s fucking crap all the time. The women, the late nights, the work meetings that ran on until the early hours most days. I thought she was naive. I thought she turned a blind eye to all his seedy outlets because she was scared of losing him. I thought that’s why she drank herself into oblivion every fucking evening before I’d even finished my dinner.” “But it wasn’t?” I shake my head. “She knew everything, she’d just rather keep quiet and stay in the fancy house with the glitz and glamour of being Mrs Henley Snr. than do something about all the lies.” She doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to continue. “I wondered where he went at night. I was a teenager living in a house full of lies and hushed whispers. I was at a school I hated, preparing to take over a family business that made my father bitterly fucking twisted, at least that’s what I thought. I thought that’s why he was always so fucking angry.” I take a breath. “You have to understand. My father is a legal icon, he’s one of the best lawyers this country’s ever seen. Walking in his footsteps was… hard. But I did it. I wanted to make him proud when I was too young to know better.” “I get it,” she says. “I wanted to make mine proud, too.” Wanted. I make a note of the tense for future reference. “I knew my father paid for sex. I’d see him at social events schmoozing with all the high class hookers on the scene. I’d see him take a feel whenever he thought nobody was watching. But I was always watching. I saw everything. I’d watch him with those beautiful women and I’d want them for myself. I wanted to be like him one day, taking whatever he wanted, doing whatever he wanted.” “With prostitutes?” I nod. “With women I could pay to do whatever pleased me. It was the power. I saw how my father used it, and I wanted to be the same.” She takes a breath against my chest. “That’s normal, right? Wanting to be like your dad?” I laugh. “Not quite. Not when I fully realised how far his depravity fucking went.” “What happened?” I fight the urge to grab another whisky. “I started following him. Spying.” I breathe. “It’s a dangerous hobby that, spying on someone. The tiny victories are… addictive. A little

snippet of insight here, uncovering some seedy little secret there. I felt so fucking clever. I felt like I was so fucking in control.” She tenses in my arms, as though she knows what’s coming. “I thought I knew everything about my father. I’d been snooping on him for well over a year, rooting through the paperwork in his study, going through his phone records, his emails, trying to fit together the shadowy pieces of his life.” I sigh. “I know it’s hard to understand, why someone would… do that. I know it’s hard to believe that someone would be so… desperate to please someone else that they’d take it so fucking far as to follow them across the fucking city to a public toilet in the East End, but I was all in by then. I wanted to know him. I wanted to please him. I wanted to be just fucking like him, even though he at least partly repulsed me.” Her breath is ragged but I keep on going. “I peered in through the door to the urinals, feeling so fucking pleased with myself for my stealth.” I smile. “But the cards always come tumbling down eventually. My luck ran out. It wasn’t my father who caught me, it was some big fucking ape of a guy who was piling on in for the fucking show. He grabbed me by the throat and dragged me inside, and slammed me up against the wall as a couple of others laughed.” “Oh God…” she breathes, and I kiss her head. “He said he’d got a young one. He thought it was hilarious. He told me I should have piped up if I wanted some dick in my ass, not skulked around the outside like a wimpy little queer.” “What did you…” “Nothing. My face was pressed against the wall and the guy’s weight pinned me tight.” I feel her shaking, and I realise I’ve got to tell her the fucking truth. The whole fucking truth. “I could’ve screamed. I could’ve fucking yelled the place down and kicked out or elbowed him and told him to get the fuck off me.” “You were scared…” she whispers. I shake my head. “It wasn’t fear. I was scared, of course I was fucking scared, but it wasn’t that that rooted me to the fucking spot. It was the fucking hard on in my pants. It was the stench of the wall, the stench of him, the way I wanted a part of whatever fucking seediness was going down there.” “You wanted it?” “Wanted it, didn’t want it… it’s a fine fucking line. My dick wanted it, my brain not so fucking much.” Her voice is a choked little squeak. “What did he do to you?” I smile. “You’ve seen what he did to me, I just did it to your poor little virgin friend back there. He pulled my fucking pants down and put me in a chokehold then rammed his fucking cock in my ass. Only he went in dry. I at least allowed your friend a little grace.”

“He choked you?” I nod. “Hard. He choked me hard. Fucked me hard, too.” She gasps, stiffens, and I know what she’s thinking. I know she thinks I was violated, which is true. I know she thinks this shit has fucked me up, which is also probably true, but that isn’t it. That isn’t why I’m telling her this. “He fucked me so hard the tears streamed down my fucking face, and I came for him. I shot my load in his hand, splattered the fucking wall with it.” “But you couldn’t not…” I laugh. “Oh believe me, Amy, I could. I fucking wanted it. I really wanted it. That fucking climax was one of the best I’ve ever fucking had. I shuffled out of there with my ass bleeding and my lungs on fire and my dick still wet with my fucking cum, and I loved it. I hated myself for loving it, even right there in the aftermath.” She shudders. “It’s ok… to be bisexual…” “I know it is,” I tell her. “It’s not that that bothers me. It’s the… seediness. The brutality. The fact that I came with my face pressed to a wall that stank of piss, with a man that stank of sweat, and I loved it. I felt so fucking ashamed.” “You had nothing to be ashamed of,” she tells me. “It was them.” I laugh again, and then I pull the covers back. Her eyes widen as she sees the state of my fucking dick. I’m hard enough to fucking blow. “It’s ok to be bisexual,” she whispers again. “My father knew,” I tell her. “He followed me outside and clipped me round the ear and told me never to fucking follow him again.” “He knew?!” “Of course he knew. He knew I was following him, too. The old cunt set it up. Nothing happens without my father’s say so. Nothing. He’s the fucking real puppet master. He pulls everyone’s fucking strings. And I’m just like him.” “I don’t think you are…” she whispers, and it’s so sweet. Her faith in me is so fucking sweet. I kiss her head. “It was the first real time he took me under his wing. He told me I should be on the other side of the fence next time, the side with all the power. He paid for hookers and brought me into his rancid network of rich clients, and taught me everything I needed to know about playing the system and enabling the rich to do whatever they fucking please as long as they’re willing to pay for it.” “You were just trying to please him…” “For a time. After that I was all in for myself.” I turn to face her, and her sadness for me is so beautiful. Beautiful but misplaced. “I’m a sex addict,” I tell her. “Or I was. I calmed it down when I got married, but it was always there, lurking behind the scenes. Claire wanted to know why I didn’t fuck her anymore like I used to. She asked what really turned me on, what she could do. It was a mistake to tell her the truth. She insisted I should have

therapy. Every time she looked at me, her eyes were full of pity and disgust.” I pause. “Maybe yours will be too.” She kisses me. She kissed me hard. She tangles her fingers in my hair and presses her body to mine, and my heart pounds in my chest. “You will never disgust me,” she whispers. “Never. I love you.” She loves me. The thought makes my stomach twist, but it’s beautiful. It’s everything. “I hate my father,” I tell her. “I hate everything he is. I hate everything he dragged me into, but mostly I hate myself for becoming just like him. But that’s going to change. I’m getting out.” She strokes my arm. “I’ll come with you,” she whispers. “Wherever you’re going, I’ll come with you.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Good,” I tell her, “because I’ll be going soon.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

MELISSA

I WOULD GIVE anything to tell Alexander who I really am, but I can’t. I’ve played him too much. I’ve lied too much. My dreams of open arms after a teary confession have shrivelled and died. He’s been so honest, and I’ve been such a fraud. I thought I knew everything, but I knew nothing. He’d never forgive me and I know it. I could die in his arms as he holds me in the aftermath of his confession. It kills me to know how close I am to having him. How close I am to making this real. I have to make it real. We lie in silence for a long time, just breathing. My hand rests on his hard cock but he makes no move to thrust against my touch and I make no move to bring him off. I wish we could stay here forever, but he moves as the light begins to glow through the window. “We should go home,” he says, and I move with him. Pull my dress on and tug my knickers up and take his hand when it’s offered. He calls a cab before we leave and I lean against him as we wait. The cards are tumbling down all around me and right now I’m numb to the whole thing. I only have one card left. One single card left and I’m intending to play it. I’ll hand in my notice tomorrow with immediate effect. I’ll say there’s a family emergency, I’ll say anything. I’ll confess to Alexander that I lied about my name and say I was worried for my brother. Worried people would find out I was a hooker. Maybe he’ll believe that. Maybe he’ll understand. Maybe he’ll never check his employee records, not since he’s leaving himself.

Maybe we’ll escape into the sunset. Maybe he’ll come to love Joe as I love him. It’s worth a shot. It’s the only one I have left. It’s morning when the cab pulls up at his. I’m ready for a few hours’ sleep in his comfy bed before heading home to face the music with Dean, but as Alexander turns his key in the lock the alarm doesn’t beep with the countdown. And I know. Of course I know. I freeze on the spot as he steps inside, tugging away from him at the horror that Sonnie’s already at work in there. I can’t. Oh God, I can’t. He’ll know. He’ll know as soon as she stares at me, even if she doesn’t say anything… even if she doesn’t blow my cover… “I have to go,” I tell him. He turns back. “Go?” “Right now,” I say. “I have something on this morning.” His eyes dig into mine, and there’s an insecurity there I’ve never seen before. “Look, Amy, if I said too much…” I shake my head. “No! It’s not that!” I hear Brutus padding through the hallway and I hear Sonnie’s voice calling him back, and I’m out of time. “I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s not that, I swear, but I have to go.” “Go where?” “I’ll see you on Wednesday,” I tell him. “I’ll be over at eight.” He’s still staring as I run from there. He takes two steps in my direction before I’m out of sight. I don’t stop running until I’m on the underground.

DEAN’S EYES are wild as he opens the door. “Did you tell him?” I shake my head and he groans. He pulls the living room door closed as Joe watches TV with his cereals. “What the fuck, Lissa?” he hisses. “You said you’d fucking tell him!” “I can’t!” I hiss back. “I just can’t! He’d never forgive me!”

“Then what?” he snaps. “My ass is fucking bleeding, Lissa, the man’s a fucking animal.” I lean against the wall, my heart pounding in my ears. “He wants me to go away with him, he’s quitting his job and moving away.” Dean’s face is a picture of horror. “Away with him? How can you go away with him? He doesn’t even know Joe exists!” “You think I don’t know that?!” I snap, and the tears are coming. I try to choke them back. “I’m going to resign tomorrow, I’ll tell him I lied about my name and hope he forgives me, I don’t need to say anything else, maybe he’ll never know.” “And what if he does know?” Dean’s eyes are like coals. “What if he finds out you fucking lied about everything? That even your fucking confession was a lie?” I shrug. My laugh is deranged through the tears. “Then it’s all fucked anyway.” I suck in a breath. “And so am I. I’m fucked without him, Dean. I can’t go on. I can’t.” He pulls me into his arms and I feel like the terrible crazy bitch I really am. I feel like hell. I feel like this is everything I deserve for lying so much and not giving a damn for the consequences. Not giving a damn about anything but getting into Alexander Henley’s bed. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I’m so sorry for what I made you do.” He breathes into my hair and he rocks me, and it makes me feel even worse to know he still cares, despite everything. “Fuck, Lissa,” he whispers. “You didn’t make me do anything. I’d have done it all myself.”

CHAPTER FORTY

ALEXANDER

I SHOULDN’T HAVE FUCKING SAID anything, but it’s done now. She couldn’t hide the panic in her eyes, the crazy tension in her limbs as she freaked out and ran from me. A couple of steps, that’s all I took, still fucking scarred from chasing that poor fucking cleaner down my street a few weeks back. I should’ve chased Amy harder. I should’ve dragged her inside and made her listen to me. I should’ve told her I loved her. Because I do. I do fucking love her. It’s not Melissa that’s cleaning my house this morning, it’s the girl from last week. She’s still petrified of Brutus, I hear it in her voice when she calls him, tells him to get his sorry ass back where she can see him. It makes me smile through the fucking panic. She looks horrified as I step into the kitchen. Her eyes are wild as she gushes out apologies. “Oh hell, Mr Henley, sir. I didn’t see you there, I swear. I’m sorry, oh drat, I’m so sorry.” I wave her apology away as I take a seat at the island. I feel exhausted as I give Brutus a pat, and I’m starving. I’m really fucking starving. “Can I get you a coffee?” the cleaner asks, and I’m about to say yes before I really look at her. The poor woman looks as exhausted as I am, working her ass off to clean up after me before seven on a fucking Sunday morning. “What’s your name?” I ask, and her eyes widen. “Sonya,” she says, “but everyone calls me Sonnie.” “Well then, Sonnie,” I say. “Why don’t you sit yourself down for five minutes and I’ll get

us both one.” She looks like she’s going to faint as she takes a stool. As though this is some kind of test. It isn’t. I put the beans in the machine with a smile. And then I ask her if she wants to join me for some muesli.

SONNIE IS A CHATTY SOUL. She tells me how my dog isn’t really so bad when you get to know him. She says Melissa told her so, and she was right. I still feel a rush at the name, a debt of gratitude for the fact that she provoked the tiny spark of hope in me. Without that spark of hope I’d never have met Amy. Without that spark of hope I wouldn’t be anywhere. “Tell me about Melissa,” I say, and Sonnie grins. “Lissa is all kinds of awesome, Mr Henley, sir. She’s damn sorry she couldn’t be here on a Sunday, what with her brother and all, but ain’t nobody gonna be keeping her from her Monday through Friday, that’s for sure.” “Her brother?” I ask, and Sonnie looks unsure. “You can tell me,” I say. “She’s been an excellent help to me, I should thank her.” “You haven’t met her yet?” I shake my head. “A few moments in a meeting room, that’s all. She buys me bacon and orchids. I appreciate it.” Sonnie’s grin is intoxicating. “Well, sir, she’d be damn happy to hear you say so. The girl thinks you’re class-A amazing.” “She does?” She nods. “Hell yeah.” She leans across the island. “Between us, she met you before. She wouldn’t say nothing, oh no, so I’m doing her a favour. Would make her year if you hung around one morning to give her your thanks.” I sip my coffee. “She met me before?” “Outside some school gates. You gave her one of your fancy cigarettes.” The flash of memory is so faint. “The girl with the sparkly tobacco tin?” She shrugs. “I don’t know about that, Mr Henley, sir. Depends how many schoolgirls you been giving your smokes to.” I laugh. “I don’t make a habit of it.” “Then I guess she’s the girl with the sparkly tobacco tin, sir,” she says. How extraordinary. I’d be taken aback if I wasn’t thoroughly versed already in the peculiarity of coincidence.

“You said she couldn’t be here because of her brother?” Sonnie looks so sad. “I shouldn’t say anything.” “Please,” I say. “If I can help her…” “Her parents died,” she tells me. “Poor soul was only just eighteen, back last spring. Takes care of her younger brother now, just a wee little soul he is. So much to take on for a youngster.” I feel a genuine pang of sympathy. “She lost both her parents?” “Hit and run,” Sonnie says. “Awful, truly awful. Guy who did it got off with it, too. Some fancy lawyer to thank for that most likely.” Her eyes widen in horror as she realises what she’s said. “Not like you, sir. Oh no, not like you are.” I wave her horror aside. “It’s fine,” I say. “Fancy lawyers have a lot to answer for. I know.” “Lissa wanted to be a lawyer herself,” she tells me. “Before the accident, you know. I think you inspired her back then at school. Your little talk got her all fired up.” I feel so sorry. I tell her so. I ask her if she thinks Lissa would be suited to a place on our training program and she claps her hands in glee. “She’d love that, sir! Oh hell, yes! That would make her whole lifetime!” I’ll set it up before I leave. It’s the very least I can do. After all, I won’t be needing a cleaner for this house anymore. The orchids would be well and truly wasted on this empty place, and so would Lissa. I wave Sonnie off as she leaves for the day and she thanks me for my muesli. And then I fire off an email to Claude asking him for a final settlement figure on Amy.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

ALEXANDER

I’M glad I’m going to be through dealing with Claude soon, because the cunt fucking infuriates me. Back and forth all Sunday afternoon, grilling me on why I’m requiring a settlement figure. I give him nothing. I tell him to quote me a figure and mind his fucking business. His one fucking million is a joke, but I wire the funds anyway, just to keep this fucking easy. After all, Amy will end up with most of it. I’m calm as I head into the office on Monday morning. My resolve is steely and my nerves are cold as ice. I prepare my official resignation for the board and begin assigning my clients to capable colleagues. I need to keep this under the radar until it’s too late. Until it’s too late for my father to action any fucking comeback before I’m out of here with Amy in tow. I’ve no time for him when he charges into my office. There’s not even a fucking board meeting on today and I tell him so. His eyes are like pinpricks as they feast on mine, and they remind me just how much I hate him. How desperate I am to spend the rest of my life as far away from the seedy cunt as possible. He slams a file onto my desk and jabs a finger in my direction. “I knew there was something going on with you, boy.” He laughs a terrible laugh. “I should’ve guessed it would be a pissing woman. Sweet tight cunt is to blame for most of men’s problems. Don’t I fucking know it.” “What the fuck are you talking about, old man?” I sneer. “Claude told me all about her.” He laughs and my blood runs cold. “I should’ve guessed it. Half a million for a piece of fine virgin snatch and it sends you all fucking doolally.” He shakes his head. “Now you’re after a settlement agreement for that same fucking pussy?

Willing to pay a whole fucking mill for it?” “Stay out of it,” I snap. “It’s none of your fucking business.” “Oh but it is,” he snarls. “Because she’s addled your fucking brain, boy. The woman’s playing you for a silly fucking fool.” “You know nothing about it,” I tell him, “and you definitely know nothing about her. Just get the fuck out of here.” “Amy Leigh Randall?” he asks, and my breath hitches. “Twenty-one years old, perfect bloodwork, lives in EC1 with her lovely parents and two delightful younger siblings, yes?” I don’t say a word as he flips open the file. He slams a photo of some random woman down in front of me. “This is Amy Leigh Randall,” he hisses. I stare at the stranger on the passport copy. “What the fuck–” I begin but he slams down another. And there’s my Amy. Her hair is mousy, as it was on the passport I snooped at in her bag. Her smile is bright and so are her eyes, and she looks so young. So sweet. “That’s Amy,” I hiss to my father, “as you well fucking know.” He shakes his head, and he’s victorious, just as he is in the courtroom. “No,” he says, and jabs a finger at my beautiful girl. “That’s Melissa Martin. Your fucking cleaner.” Oh how he laughs. He laughs as my poor spinning brain picks up the pieces. I stare dumb and it makes him laugh harder. “Oh good God, boy! Wise up, she fucking played you!” I can’t even think. I can’t. I stare at that fucking photo and my hands are shaking. “You’re wrong,” I say. “This is fucking ridiculous.” “Yes it is!” he snaps. “You’re fucking ridiculous, boy. You’ve been played by a fucking cleaner. By hired fucking help! I can’t believe you paid half a fucking million for that, she’d have done it for minimum wage.” He laughs again. My heart is pounding in my temples as the pieces all fall into place. And the picture is fucking hideous. It’s so hideous my stomach wants to turn inside out. But my father keeps the blows coming. “Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for the girl. Mother of Christ, this just gets better.” “This can’t be right,” I tell him. “You’re a fucking liar. You’ve always been a fucking liar.” He shakes his head. “No, boy. I’m not. I’ve never fucking lied to you. You lie to your fucking self. That’s the difference between you and I. That’s why I’ll always be the senior in this business until the day I fucking die. Because I have the fucking balls to own my

own fucking shadow, but you, you’d rather bleat on in therapy than fulfil your own fucking potential.” “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” I hiss. “And then I’m going to leave this fucking business, and you along with it.” “I’ve made it easy for you,” he says with a grin. “Melissa Martin is right downstairs for you. Meeting suite sixteen, where you met the wily cow in the first place, I believe.” MELISSA

I HATE BEING HERE, caged in meeting suite sixteen with its big glass walls in the heart of Alexander’s business domain. I shouldn’t be here. My resignation letter is already stuffed in my apron pocket, my legs shaky as I sit beside Sonnie, wondering what the hell we’re all doing in here, summoned at such short notice. “Health and safety in the workplace,” Janet begins up front. “As per the request of the management.” She looks as flummoxed as we do, and it scares me. This whole thing scares me. “Feels off to me,” Sonnie whispers, and shudders for effect. “Not like we don’t have this in the handbook. Maybe some silly cow fried herself on the vacuum cleaner or some shit.” I can hope. Oh God, how I hope. “I hope it doesn’t take long,” I whisper back. “Brutus needs his walk.” “He ain’t so bad, that mutt,” she says, and it makes me smile through the paranoia. “He’s a good boy,” I say. “His owner ain’t so bad, either.” She nudges me. “I saw him yesterday. Little bird might have told him about you.” Oh fuck how my stomach lurches. “You did what?” She can’t carry on. Janet calls the room to order and starts talking through her slide deck. I clutch the letter in my pocket, holding it like a talisman as I stare numbly at the screen. This will be my last time in this building, I swear it. I just need to get out of here unseen. Please God, let me get out of here unseen. It seems to take forever. Janet’s words blur into one, the screen fading into the background as my thoughts tumble and crash around my stomach. I’ll grab her when this is over, I’ll hand over my letter and make a dash away from here. And then I just have to wait until Wednesday. I’ll tell him my real name as soon as I’m through his door.

No more lies. Not ever. I manage to calm my breathing, counting in to seven, out to eleven as I fret in my seat. The clock keeps ticking. Fifteen minutes, twenty, twenty-five. The slide deck counts up to twenty-six, and we’re almost there when the room ripples. Slide twenty-three. Only two more to go. I don’t look around at first. Call it instinct. Call it paranoia in overdrive. It’s only when Sonnie nudges my elbow that I tear my eyes from the screen. “There he is,” she whispers. “Ain’t he mighty fine? Look quick, before you miss him.” The world stops turning. My breath stops coming. Just like that the cards collapse. They tumble from the sky, every single one, and my final ace is burning. My final ace is all gone. He’s staring right at me as I turn my head to the window. His father is at his side with a terrible smile on his face, and Alexander looks as horrified as I do. More horrified than I do. He shakes his head so slowly, his jaw gritted as he swallows, and his eyes. Oh God, his eyes. His eyes are full of pain. Pain and hate. Alexander Henley fucking hates me. And I fucking hate myself. His father gives me a wave, and he’s laughing. He’s actually laughing as he turns away and grabs Alexander by the elbow. Alexander doesn’t move for long seconds, just stares in disbelief as I stare right back. I don’t even hide the tears falling. I don’t care how many people are staring at me, or how Sonnie is squeezing my arm. “Sorry,” I mouth, “I’m sorry.” And that breaks the spell. He turns away with his father, then shrugs him off as the older man tries to speak. I get to my feet as the man I love stalks off down the corridor, and Janet shrieks as I make a run for it. “Miss Martin!” she screeches, but I don’t even slow down. “Alexander!” I call, but he doesn’t even look at me. He slams the door at the end of the corridor, and I’m all set to charge on after him, be damned with the consequences, but I can’t.

The hand on my shoulder is firm. Alexander Henley Senior’s grip is brutal. “We need a fucking word, Miss Martin,” he hisses. And I cry. Oh God, how I cry. ALEXANDER

I TAKE THE STAIRS, all sixteen fucking floors of them three at a time with my lungs on fire. I barge past some catering staff halfway down and don’t even apologise. I can’t speak. I don’t want to fucking speak. I don’t even want to be alive. The world spins as I pace through the lobby. My lungs scream for air as I barge through the main entrance doors. My lungs scream to be out of this fucking place. I stumble onto the street and straight into Mr Rand on his way in. He holds out a hand and I stare mute, as though I’m a fucking lunatic. Because I am. I am a fucking lunatic. “Are you alright, Henley?” Rand asks, and I brace myself on his shoulder, using him as leverage to walk on by. I stumble down the street with the wind whipping my tie, and the rain feels like acid against my cheeks. A cigarette. I need a fucking cigarette. I stumble into a tiny corner shop two streets down, and the assistant is wide-eyed as I bark out an order for anything. Sixty of fucking anything. And a lighter. Make that two fucking lighters. “Do you need some help?” she asks, and I know I must look like fucking death. “A doctor, or…” I hand over my credit card as she rings up my purchases. My voice sounds like a crazy man. “I’m fine,” I say. She nods politely as she hands over my cigarettes. I’ve torn into the first pack before I’m even out of there. I smoke it with my back to the wall and light up another straight after. I’ve been played by a fucking cleaner. My own fucking cleaner. Of course I’ve been fucking played.

The gemstones, the fucking band, the way Brutus was so fucking fond of her. Of course he was fucking fond of her. He fucking knew her. He saw her every fucking day. My hands ball into fists against the pain. Brown hair to blonde, as though she knew I liked blondes. As though she knew about my teenage fucking crush. As though she’d peered inside my fucking soul and not the tatty fucking memory box in the storage room. It takes me three cigarettes before I can trust my legs to take my weight. Three cigarettes before I feel like I can breathe without screaming my lungs raw. I hover in the street, contemplating going back to the office and tearing the little bitch a fucking new one. Scrap that. I should congratulate her fucking prowess and tell her she’d make a damn fucking fine lawyer. She can have my fucking job if she wants it. I laugh a bitter laugh as I picture her pretty face. Oh fuck, she was fucking good. Good enough that I actually believed she fucking loved me, which is a fucking joke in itself. Nobody who’s ever truly known me has ever come out the other side still loving me. I hail a cab to take me home. I’ve nothing to fucking say to her, and nothing to say to my fucking father, either. MELISSA

I’M STRIPPED of everything – my ID badge and my swipe card and Alexander Henley’s house keys. I’m even stripped of my stupid scratchy cap and apron. Mr Henley Snr. laughs as he finds the resignation letter in my apron pocket. “So close,” he says. “And to think you nearly got away with it.” He laughs again to himself. “Extraordinary. You’re wasted as a cleaner, most likely as a hooker, too. You should be a lawyer.” I have to cover my mouth to stop myself being sick. “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what would happen if you were foolish enough to contact my son,” he says. “Consider your employment well and truly terminated. Please

don’t insult me by asking your manager for a reference.” I can’t speak. I can’t say anything. His smile is a sneer. “Believe me, you don’t know anything about my boy. If you’ve any sense at all you’ll stay as far away as possible. He has a penchant for asphyxiation games, as I’m sure you well know. Something tells me you wouldn’t come out the other side of the next one.” I blink away tears, and I don’t care. I don’t care that I wouldn’t come out the other side of the next one. I really don’t. The life insurance would be more than enough for Dean to take care of Joseph. “Stay away from my fucking son,” Mr Henley Snr. hisses. “You’re fucking dead to him.” I don’t say a word as he marches me to the exit with a security guard at my side.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

ALEXANDER

I CALL out an emergency locksmith and barricade myself in tight. I smoke all my cigarettes and only venture out for more. I ignore all calls. I ignore the appointments on my calendar. I ignore all the messages from my cunt of a fucking father asking me when I’m going back to the fucking office. The pill bottles in the medicine cabinet scream my name, but I can’t abandon Brutus. His furry head on my lap is the only thing that keeps me breathing. It’s been forty-eight hours when I pull Melissa Martin’s little thank you notes from my kitchen drawer. I head upstairs with a cigarette in my mouth. The gemstone cabinet clicks open with the new code. I hold her scrawled gemstone identification card next to the note thanking me for muesli, and it’s right there. Right in front of my fucking face. She’s tried to disguise it, of course. The scrawl is more slanted on the gemstone card, but the loops of her letters are the same. It was right in front of my face the entire fucking time, I just chose not to see it. I didn’t want to see it. My heart pains as I see her lucky quartz. What a fucking bitch. What a total fucking bitch. I turn it over in my palm as I take the final drag of my cigarette, and then I throw it. Hard. Hard enough that it bounces off the fucking wall and disappears behind some shelving. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. When I start I can’t fucking stop. Thousands upon fucking thousands worth of rare gemstones meet the same fucking fate. I clear the shelves with frantic sweeps of my arm, launching them at the wall together with their pretty fucking plinths. I don’t give a fucking fuck. Not about any of it. I charge downstairs and stamp on my fucking Kings and Castles CDs, because the bitch has fucking ruined them for me. She’s ruined fucking everything for me.

The orchids are wilting in their fucking vase and I tear those up too. I hate how she was inside this fucking place. I hate how she was inside me. Inside my fucking head. I’ve never felt so fucking violated. Not by those cunts in the public toilet, and not by my filthy fucking father, either. And I want to tell her. I want to tell her what I fucking think of her. I want her to see who I really fucking am. Not the fucking sap she played like a fucking fool. The real fucking me. The one who paid a fucking million a couple of days ago for a permanent go on her pretty fucking snatch. I’m going to get my fucking money’s worth. My fingers are shaking as I type out a message to Claude. Amy. Tonight. Delaney’s. I wait for the reply. Are you fucking insane?! I don’t have time for this shit. I press to call. “Book it,” I snap. “Just fucking book it, you greedy fucking cunt.” “Jesus, Henley, calm the fuck down!” he bleats, and I laugh. I really fucking laugh. “My name’s Ted fucking Brown,” I say. MELISSA

DEAN DOESN’T KNOW what to do. He wanders around the place, taking care of Joseph and trying to take care of me along with him, but I’m a lost cause. It’s too painful to eat, so I don’t. It’s too painful to think, so I don’t. I lie in bed, cocooned in a smog of despair that won’t lift. My heart breaks a thousand times when I think of what I had and what I lost. I was so stupid. And selfish, and cruel, and reckless. I hurt him.

I’ll never forgive myself for how much I hurt him. I kiss Joseph at bedtime, and I hobble out to give him lunch, but the rest of the time I’m a zombie. I may as well be dead. “You need to eat, Lissa,” Dean tells me on Wednesday. “Please just eat something. Some soup, or…” I shake my head. “I can’t.” “But you have to! Please, Lissa, think of Joe.” His words make me cry, and he sighs. “Or don’t. Please, Lissa, just get some help. I can take you to the doctors or call someone out.” “Nobody can help me,” I tell him. “I don’t want to see anyone.” He doesn’t push it, and I go back to bed. I shout him to leave me alone when he taps on the door in the afternoon. I tell him I’ve got nothing to say. He comes in anyway, and chucks me his phone. “I shouldn’t even be fucking showing you,” he hisses. “But I can’t fucking bear to see you like this.” The message is blurry, I have to blink three times before it comes into focus. Delaney’s. 8 p.m. Your client is Ted Brown. I almost throw up. “You can’t go,” Dean says. “Not on your own. He’ll fucking kill you.” But I’m already up on my feet. “I’m going,” I tell him and he curses at me. “Did you not hear me? He’ll fucking kill you, Lissa. Call Helen, get her to babysit.” “I need to go alone,” I say. “No, you really fucking don’t.” But I do. I do need to go alone. I take a shower and throw my everyday clothes on. A worn cami and a pair of budget jeans. I don’t wear any makeup and I don’t spritz myself with designer perfume samples. I just go as me. I want him to know me. Me. I want him to stare into my eyes and see me staring back at him.

I want to hear him say my real name. But most of all I want to say sorry. I need to say sorry. Even if it’s the last thing I ever do.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

MELISSA

I DON’T bother checking into my own room at Delaney’s. I walk straight through reception and call the elevator. It takes me right up to the top floor, and I head for suite twelve with frantic steps. I’m not scared. My heart is already broken. I already hate myself for what I’ve done. My dreams are already in tatters. My breath is ragged as I reach the door, but I make no move to compose myself before I knock. He keeps me waiting this time, and I wonder if he’s right on the other side. I wonder if he’s having second thoughts. Tears spring to my eyes the very second he opens the door. Bittersweet relief floods through me. Black suit, white shirt, black tie. Dark eyes. Angry eyes. Hurt eyes. His hair is slick and his jaw is gritted. The fine lines around his eyes look etched in. He looks tired. Damaged. There’s a lump in my throat as I breathe him in for what might be the final time. I soak in the shadow of stubble on his jaw. The birthmark on his cheek. The heaviness of his brow. “Amy,” he says, and my heart stops. “Alexander,” I say, and he steps aside to let me pass. I flinch as the door slams behind me. “It’s Ted fucking Brown,” he snaps. I nod. “Ted,” I whisper.

There’s no champagne this evening. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out the envelope. “Let’s get the fucking practicalities out of the way first, shall we?” he spits. I shake my head. “I don’t want your money,” I tell him. “I’m not here for the money. I never have been.” “Is that so?” “Yes.” It was the wrong thing to say. He tears into the envelope with a fierceness that makes my legs tremble. He throws the notes at me in plumes of rage. They rain down on me, landing on the floor like leaves. “Pick it up!” he snaps. “Don’t be fucking shy. You want more?” He pulls out his wallet and empties it at my feet. I’ve never felt so cheap as I do when his loose change lands on my toes. “Why are you here?!” he seethes. “Are you that fucking greedy for more?!” “I don’t… it’s not about money…” I repeat, but he doesn’t care. “I’ve made you a fucking millionaire, isn’t that enough?! You want more?!” He takes off his watch and throws that at me too. I can’t stop the tears as his cufflinks bounce off my chest, and I don’t understand it. I’m not a millionaire. I’m not here for his money. “Pick it up!” he shouts, but I don’t move. He drops to his knees and gathers notes from the floor to throw in my face all over again, and I don’t even flinch. “Take it!” “I don’t want it,” I whisper. “I swear I don’t. I used the money for my brother, that’s all, to make sure he has enough for a good life.” “Oh he’ll have a good fucking life,” he barks as he gets to his feet. “He’ll have a whale of a fucking time with the six fucking figures I paid for you.” My eyes meet his, and I don’t get it. “Don’t play fucking dumb,” he snaps. “I know you get seventy fucking percent.” “I get what you give me,” I tell him. “I’d have taken whatever you gave me. I’d have taken nothing.” He sneers. “What I give you and the rest of the fucking money Claude wires to your fucking account, you mean?” But I don’t. I don’t mean that. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I tell him so and he rages all around me. He storms across the room and pours himself a whisky from the mini bar, and I just wait. “Enough of the lies,” he says and lights up a cigarette. “I’ve had fucking enough of it.” “I’m not lying,” I tell him. “You’re telling me Claude never fucking paid you?”

“You paid me.” “And Claude, yes?” I shake my head. “He said it would be cash… he said never to ask…” He still thinks I’m lying and I know. His eyes are hostile and suspicious as they stare into mine. I don’t blame him. “If you’re fucking lying to me…” he threatens. “I’m done with lying,” I tell him and my voice breaks. He sits down on the edge of the bed with his hands in his hair, and I so much want to touch him. It pains right through me to leave him be. “He didn’t pay you?” “No, never,” I say again. “Amy, if you’re lying…” My legs don’t want to hold me anymore. I’m exhausted and empty. I drop to my knees amongst the scattered money. The silence is heavy as neither of us speak another word. I don’t care. I only care that I’m with him, even though he hates me. He finishes up his cigarette and drops it into his empty tumbler. “He really didn’t pay you?” I shake my head. “I paid half a fucking million for your virginity and a five percent compulsory cash tip on top. You didn’t get it? What about the million I paid for your fucking settlement fee last Sunday? What about the ten fucking grand I paid twice a fucking week?” My jaw drops open. “You did what?!” “You didn’t get it? Not any of it?!” “I got twenty-five grand the first time, but it was more than enough. It was more money than I’ve ever seen. I get the envelopes. I get whatever you give me. And I don’t know anything about a settlement fee! I don’t know anything about a million pounds, I swear!” I stare numbly as he pulls out his phone. I watch him as he gets to his feet and presses it to his ear. “Amy’s fucking money,” he says. “Where the fuck is it?” I can’t hear the other end of the conversation and I don’t care. “What do you mean it’s fucking pending? What the fuck does pending mean?!” His eyes meet mine for a heartbeat, and his next words are for me. “Did you give the prick your bank details?” I shake my head.

He turns away. “You don’t even have her bank details you slimy fucking cunt. You thought her name was Amy Randall.” “I don’t care,” I say. “I don’t want it.” He silences me with a raised hand. “Transfer it to my fucking account,” he snarls. “I’ll make sure she fucking gets it. You have twenty-four fucking hours, Claude, or I’m pulling the fucking plug on your seedy fucking operation and I don’t care who I fucking take down with me. You can pass that little gem onto my fucking father.” He hangs up and tosses his phone onto the dresser. “You’ll get your money,” he says. “Please keep it,” I tell him. “Please, Alex- Ted. Please, Ted.” “You earned it.” “Being with you was the best thing that ever happened to me. You being my first was all I ever wanted.” “Shut up!” he snaps. But I can’t. “You’re everything I ever wanted. I lied because I wanted you. I lied because I thought it was the only way.” “You lied because you scoped my fucking house out and thought you’d rip me off for some fucking cash.” I cry-laugh, because it’s so far from the truth, so insanely far from the truth. “Why are you even here?” he snarls. And it’s my chance. Maybe my only one. “I came to say sorry,” I whisper, and the tears roll down my face. “I’m so sorry, Alexander. I never meant…” “You’re fucking sorry?!” I nod. “You’ll never know how sorry I am. You’ll never know how much I wanted you.” I can hardly see him for the tears. I wipe them away and choke them back. I wish I hadn’t. He looks so fucking pained. “You’ve said it,” he tells me. “So leave.” I shake my head. “Please don’t make me go.” “Go,” he snaps, but I can’t. I just can’t. “Get out of here, Amy. Fuck off.” “Please…” I breathe. “Please don’t…” “Please don’t what?! Don’t throw you out? Don’t fucking touch you? What?” “Don’t throw me out,” I whisper. “Get out or give me my fucking money’s worth.”

My eyes widen. “You mean…” “I mean get the fuck out of my fucking hotel room or give me what I fucking paid for. That’s why I called you here, Amy. To get my fucking money’s worth.” I drag myself to my feet and force back the tears. My eyes are on his as I pull my top off over my head and unclip my bra. I take off my jeans and my knickers with them, and I don’t care how exposed I am. I don’t care how angry he is, just as long as he lets me stay. “You’re fucking insane,” he tells me. And I am. I am insane. “You really want to fucking go there?” I nod. “Walk away.” “No.” “Jesus Christ, Amy. Just fucking go.” “I won’t,” I tell him. “Not unless you make me. I’ll never walk away unless you make me.” I half expect him to. I half expect him to turf me out into the corridor stark naked, but he doesn’t. His eyes are so cold as he gets to his feet. “On the bed,” he says, and I move for him. “On your fucking front,” he tells me, and I do as he asks. I hear him unbuckle his belt. I feel the heat of him as he comes near. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he hisses as his weight bears down. “I’m done with lying,” I whisper. “I do want this. I always want this. I want you.” “Tell me to stop,” he snarls, and I shake my head. “Never.” “Never?” “Never,” I say again. “We’ll fucking see about that,” he snaps, and I take a breath as he grabs my hair. He tugs hard and I don’t even flinch. It hurts so bad as he pushes inside me. I’m not ready but I don’t care. It’s everything just to take him. “You’re an excellent liar,” he tells me as he fucks me rough. “I believed every fucking lie you fed me. I believed you liked this.” “I love this. I loved everything.” I cry out as he slams in deep. His breath is in my ear and his fingers are rough in my hair, his body pounding mine with everything he’s got.

I take it all. I love it all. “I fell for you,” he snarls. “You took me for a fucking fool, but you’re the fucking fool for coming here, Amy. You’re the fucking fool now.” “I love you,” I whisper through the pain. “I’ve always loved you.” “How about taking my cock in your tight little asshole? Do you love that as well?” “Yes,” I breathe, and I know what’s coming. I can’t stop myself whimpering as he forces his way inside. It burns so bad, like my insides are on fire, but I don’t care. I grit my teeth and take him. I buck back at him even though it hurts like hell. “Tell me to stop,” he breathes. “No,” I tell him. “Never.” “Tell me you don’t like this. Tell me it fucking hurts.” I shake my head. “I do like this. I loved everything you ever showed me.” “Everything?” The word is a threat. It makes my heart pound. “Everything,” I insist, even though I know I’m playing with fire. “You liked it when I choked you half to fucking death, did you? That got you off, did it? Don’t fucking lie to me.” “I loved everything!” I cry. “I swear I loved everything! I wasn’t lying, not about that! I’d never lie about that!” I whimper as he pulls out of me. I gulp in breath as he flips me onto my back. My chest heaves as he tugs his belt from his waist. “Tell me you don’t want me to choke you,” he hisses and he wants me to say it, I know he does. But I can’t. I done with lying. “Say it, Amy.” “I loved all of it,” I tell him. “I swear.” “You’ll tap out,” he seethes. “Tap your fucking hand when you want to tell me the fucking truth.” My throat is already dry when he wraps the belt around my neck and links it through like a choke chain. The leather feels so different to his hand. I’m scared. I’m really scared but I don’t show it. I don’t want him to see.

“Tap your fucking hand,” he says again as he tugs on the end. I retch but my hands are balled into fists at my sides. I’m never going to tap out. Not ever. The moment I tap out, this will all be over. My chest fights for air that won’t come. My legs tremble with adrenaline as Alexander Henley pins me down and slides his cock back into my asshole. The burn in my ass pales into significance to the burn in my lungs. This isn’t like usual. I’m normally relaxed. I normally feel safe, even though I feel out of control. I normally slip beyond the fear so easily, but not today. Today it’s a battle not to tap my hand and wrench that belt from my neck. His eyes are on mine as he fucks me. Staring into him is the only thing that keeps me still. “Tap out,” he whispers, but I don’t. “Damn it, Amy, tap fucking out!” His breath is hot on my open mouth, but I don’t move. I don’t tap out. I wrap my legs around his waist to take more of him, and my hands loosen from fists to land on his shoulders. I keep them there. “You’ll tap out,” he hisses. “Fucking hell, Amy, you will tap out.” But I won’t. My ears start ringing as my head swims. It’s calmer now. Everything is so much calmer. His cock doesn’t hurt in my ass anymore. Nothing hurts. Everything feels amazing. I stop struggling for breath. I finally find peace. Dots dance across my vision and it’s okay here. I’m happy here. I brush my thumb across his cheek, but he feels so far away. Tap out, Amy. Fucking hell. He feels so far away. His eyes are the last thing I see before mine close.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

ALEXANDER

MY BLOOD IS on fucking fire as I pound her fucking ass. It’s a punishment fuck, pure as fucking sin. Raw and brutal and angry. So fucking angry. I hate the way I love being inside her. I hate the way my cock still craves this. My eyes bore into hers as I scream at her to tap the fuck out and get this over with. But she doesn’t. She fucking doesn’t. I tug the belt tighter around her pretty throat and she doesn’t even squirm. Her fingers brush my cheek and she smiles at me. It breaks my fucking heart all over again. Tap out. Everything in me is screaming at everything in her. Just tap the fuck out, you crazy fucking bitch. Stop lying to me. Her hands fall to the bedsheets as her eyes close. I stop thrusting the second her chest stops heaving. “Amy?” It’s a stupid question. Her head lolls limp, and she’s pale, like a fucking ghost. I yank that fucking belt free in a heartbeat. I tap her face and tell her she’s proved her point. Fuck, she’s proved her fucking point. I shake her shoulders and demand she fucking answer me. But she doesn’t. “Jesus, Amy,” I hiss. “Wake up. Christ, wake up.” My blood runs cold. “Amy!” I fight the panic. Force down the terror. “Please wake up. God fucking forgive me, Amy, please wake up.” Her eyes open wide as she gulps. They focus on mine as she splutters and gurgles.

She takes one long desperate breath and so do I. I’m shaking. Trembling as I pull her into my arms. Oh God, how I hold her. I smooth her hair with my heart pounding against hers. She’s dazed. Confused as she orientates herself. “Alexander?” she whispers and her breath is so fucking raw. “I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m so fucking sorry.” “I’m okay,” she rasps. “It’s okay.” But it’s not. This will never be fucking okay. I tell her so, and my voice is as raspy as hers. “I didn’t tap out,” she says. “I wasn’t lying. I’d never tap out.” I’m the biggest cunt in the fucking world. A bigger cunt than that asshole Claude or any one of my fucking clients. A bigger cunt than my filthy fucking father. I press my lips to her forehead and she sighs. Her body melts to mine as though she still cares, and it breaks me all over again. I wish it was me without breath. I wish it was me who’d choked in her arms. “Jesus, Amy, I thought you were gone,” I whisper, and my voice is lost in her hair. Her hand buries in mine. Her fingers are so gentle. “It’s Lissa,” she says. “Everyone calls me Lissa.” “Lissa,” I breathe, and I feel her smile. “You’ve no idea how much I’ve wanted to hear you say it,” she says, and I must be a fucking fool all over again, because I believe her. God fucking help me, I believe her. MELISSA

I THOUGHT STARING into Alexander Henley’s eyes as I slipped away was the most blissful thing in the world. But I was wrong. Staring into Alexander Henley’s eyes as I come back is the most blissful thing in the world. My chest feels dry and achy. Every breath makes me cough. Even so, it still pains when he pulls away. I’m reaching out for him as he heads for the mini bar. I pull him close as he comes back with a glass of water.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. I shake my head. “I’m the one who came here to say sorry.” The cold water feels so nice as I swallow. I drink it down in long sips and he takes the empty glass from me. The bed is so comfortable here, nearly as comfy as his. I curl into a ball and he lays at my side. I want to stay here forever. I’d give anything to make this ok. “Can you speak?” he asks and I nod. “It’s not so bad now.” I take a breath to illustrate and it’s not nearly so raspy as it was before. “Tell me everything,” he says. “I’m listening.” “You don’t have to,” I tell him. “I fucked up so bad.” “Yeah, well. We’ve both done things we’re not proud of. I nearly fucking killed you.” “You promised you wouldn’t kill me,” I whisper. “I believed you.” “Maybe you shouldn’t have.” “But you didn’t,” I say. “You didn’t kill me.” “By good fortune, Lissa, nothing more.” But I don’t believe him. I saw the relief in his eyes as I opened mine, and it wasn’t just panic. I saw through the panic. His eyes still cared about me. I don’t know where to start. I’m still thinking it through when he speaks. “Your friend Sonnie told me we met before. You were the girl with the sparkly tobacco tin.” My eyes meet his. “You remember?” “It had hearts on it,” he says. “Glittery hearts.” “I used to fantasise about you recognising me one day. But you didn’t.” “You were a kid,” he says. “I saw a million kids that week.” “But only one with a sparkly tobacco tin.” “You had darker hair,” he said. “I dyed it for you,” I tell him. “Because I saw those pictures of Debbie Harry in your storage room.” “I gathered as much.” I take a deep breath. It feels so good to breathe. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be. I

was going to be a lawyer, just like you. I was going to go to uni and become the very best, and then I was going to come for a job with you. I thought if we were colleagues… I thought if I could impress you…” “You planned that all those years ago?” I nod. “I worked hard for straight-As all the way through the rest of high school, all the way through college, too.” He squeezes my shoulder and I know then that Sonnie told him. I feel the tears welling up before I’ve even said another word. “My parents were out for their anniversary. Dad took Mum out to the place they met, a little Italian place they loved. I was babysitting for Joe. I told them to have a good time. They were really happy, Dad bought Mum orchids, they were her favourite.” “You don’t have to tell me this,” he says, but I want to. I want him to know everything. “It was a stupid rich kid who hit them, driving his dad’s car way over the speed limit. The police said he didn’t slow down, didn’t even see them.” “Did they prosecute?” I shake my head. “Rich lawyer, not enough evidence. Circumstantial, they said. He had a good college record.” “I’m sorry.” “I didn’t think I’d ever get up. I didn’t think I could go on living. But I have a little brother, Joseph. He wasn’t even twelve months old.” “You take care of him?” I nod. “I quit college and claimed benefits for a while, but I hated it. That isn’t what I want for Joe. My parents worked hard, I want him to see me work hard too. So my friend Dean sleeps on my sofa, he said he’d take care of Joe so I could find a job. I found yours, and I hoped… I hoped maybe… if I could just be close to you…” “You were close to me,” he hisses. “I bought you peaches and fucking chocolate. I left you fucking notes. A bottle of wine.” He sighs. “I chased you down the fucking street, Lissa. Why the fuck didn’t you stop for me? Why the fuck did you choose to lie instead?” I prop myself up on an elbow and my heart is racing. “I was your cleaner. I was a nobody. I am a nobody, and you’re… everything.” “I chased you down the fucking street, Melissa. Jesus Christ.” He’s angry again. His body is so rigid. I want to touch him but I don’t dare. “I was already in with Claude. I’d already filmed that slutty video. If I’d gone back when you called, if I’d introduced myself before you’d seen it and then you did…” “I wouldn’t have fucking seen it!” he hisses. “I’d already quit that shit. I was going cold fucking turkey, going fucking insane over a cleaner I’d never fucking met.” I didn’t know.

How it fucking hurts. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I thought if I could just… be someone… if I could love what you love… maybe you’d love me like I love you.” “So you lied? Snooped on me, and dug into all my fucking things, and then lied to me? Played me like a fucking fool?” “I’m not even nineteen. I was a cleaner taking care of her younger brother. I didn’t think you’d even look at me.” “But I did!” he snaps. “I fucking did!” He rolls away from me and it pains so much to face his back. “This is so fucked up,” he says. “I believed all of it, every fucking thing you said, and it was all just a fucking act.” “Was,” I tell him. “But it isn’t now. I am that person. I’m everything I pretended to be, I swear.” He laughs a horrible laugh. “Stop it.” “I love the things that you love. I love the gemstones and I love Kings and Castles. I loved that gig so much it made me cry, and it was all real.” “Please stop,” he says. “And I love Brutus. I love you.” “You don’t even fucking know me,” he snaps. “And I sure as hell don’t know you.” “That’s not true,” I whisper. “It was real. Everything I felt was real.” I don’t want to cry again but I can’t stop. “And everything you felt was real, too. I felt it. I felt you. I still do.” “Just fucking stop,” he snaps, but I can’t. “I was going to tell you last weekend, right after Dean. But you were so angry when you found out I knew him. I was scared that if I said anything you’d never speak to me again.” “Good job you averted that fucking crisis.” His sarcasm cuts. “I fucked up,” I say. “I just wanted to say sorry, that’s why I came here.” “And you said it.” I want to beg for forgiveness. I want to fall at his feet and beg him to give me another chance. But I don’t. I don’t deserve another chance. “I’m sorry about your parents,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to give up on college. I’ll make sure you get the money from Claude. I’ll take your bank details and pay it over myself. It can be a new start. Put yourself back through college.” He rolls to face me, but he feels so far away. “And what about you?” “I’m leaving,” he says and my heart shatters. “I meant what I said, I’m done with bailing rich cunts out every day of my life. I’m done with my father and his shitty fucking

business.” I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I wish I could come with you.” “Yeah, well, so do I,” he says, and gets up from the bed. “Maybe in a parallel universe. Maybe somewhere there’s a Melissa who turned around on the street that day.” “I hope so,” I cry. “I hope that other Melissa is so much happier than I am right now.” I crawl from the bed and reach for my handbag. I dig inside for his fire opal and offer it over to him. “You should have this back,” I say. “You don’t want it?” I have to catch a sob. “I love it,” I say. “But I lied to get it. It doesn’t belong to me.” “Keep it,” he says. I feel so defeated when I slip it back into my bag. He puts his belt back on and fastens himself up. He smooths down his tie in the mirror. We’re done here, and I wish I’d never started breathing again. He drops to his knees to gather up the money from the floor. He taps it into a pile on the dresser and leaves it there. He fastens up his watch and his cufflinks. “I’ll call you a cab,” he says. “Where do you need to go?” My stomach is nothing but pain as I give him my address. He calls me a cab and tells me it’ll be ten minutes, and then he lights up another cigarette. I’m crying quiet tears as I get dressed. I can’t bring myself to say goodbye, so I don’t. I stand in the middle of that hotel room looking at Alexander Henley for one last time, and he sees me. He holds out his cigarette packet. “For old times’ sake?” I take one and he holds a lighter to the end for me. It’s a perfectly awful end for us. It makes me smile a sad smile. “Go to college,” he says as he finishes his. Please don’t leave, my soul screams, but I don’t say a word. “Your cab should be here any minute,” he says. I nod, and then I break. I rush towards him for one last touch, and he’s rigid in my arms but I don’t care. I don’t care that his jaw is gritted tight as I kiss his cheek. I don’t care that he doesn’t hold me back. “It was real,” I whisper. “I was real.” “Goodbye, Melissa,” he says.

And I go. I leave his cash on the dresser, and my heart in that room behind me.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

ALEXANDER

SHE LEFT her cash on the dresser. I didn’t notice until too late. That cunt Claude will have some fucking questions to answer, and I’ll get her all she’s owed. I feel beaten as I head down to the reception and hand over my key card. I feel defeated as I call a cab of my own and wait outside. I wanted answers and I got them, but they don’t make me feel any better. Neither does her apology. Hope. Such a fragile thing. Such a ridiculous thing. I’d enjoyed it while it lasted. Hope teased me with a glimpse of another life, where I could love someone and they could love me back. A life where I wouldn’t have to be alone. I hate the thought of starting over without her. I hate the thought of running away from my shitty life with nobody to run for. I climb into the back of the cab and give the driver my address. And then I change my mind. I give him hers instead. Melissa Martin knows everything about me, and I still know virtually fuck all about her. She crawled inside my mind and died there, and I don’t even know her middle name. It’s still there, the anger. Still bubbling under the surface. I still feel violated. I don’t know what food’s inside her fridge, or which music she has on her playlist. I don’t know what colour her bedroom is, or whether she has any pets. I don’t know if she takes a bath or a shower in the morning.

I don’t know what she looked like on her old school photos. She knows fucking everything about me, and that smarts. It’s like an itch I can’t get fucking shot of, this insane desire to even the score. I almost change my mind as the cab pulls up outside her block. It’s a shithole. This whole area is a shithole. The entrance door is covered in graffiti and the stairwell stinks of piss. I don’t touch the handrail as I make my way up to her floor. My hands are in my pockets as I scope out where her flat is. It’s in a corner at the back of the top floor, number 21. I close my eyes as I knock, and it’s not really a knock at all, it’s a deafening thump. A whole fucking string of them. It’s Dean who answers. His eyes widen in horror as he clocks it’s me. I’m past him in a heartbeat, my eyes wild as they feast on everything in that place. “Where is she?” I snap, and he heads on through the living room. He taps on a door at the far end and she looks tiny and broken as she steps out. Her cheeks are blotchy and tearstreaked and her hair is a mess. Her eyes well up afresh as she sees me, and her bottom lip trembles. “Alexander?” she says as she dashes over. “What are you doing here?” Dean’s shoulder shunts mine as he passes. He takes a coat from the hook. “Don’t fucking hurt her,” he tells me. I have no intention of fucking hurting her. “I’ll be back in an hour,” he tells Melissa, and she nods. I wait until the door closes behind him. And then I walk right on past her. I start in her kitchen. I read all the little notes on her fucking pinboard. I flick through the cookbooks and tear through all the drawers. “What are you doing?” she asks, but makes no attempt to stop me. “You saw fucking everything of mine,” I snap. “You snooped in fucking everything. I’m showing you how it fucking feels to have your home invaded.” I know I’m a fucking lunatic, but I don’t care. There’s barely anything in her fridge. Some milk, and ham and fresh vegetables. A halfused block of cheese. I march through to the living room when I’m done in the kitchen. I tear through the display cabinet, digging through all the letters in the top drawer. I flick through family photos and Melissa points out her mum and dad, like it needed saying.

I look under the sofa and under the TV. I flick through her brother’s DVDs and her mum’s old exercise videos. I learn nothing other than she’s a girl living in her parents’ wake. Picking up the pieces of a shattered life. “Doesn’t feel so great when you’re not the one doing the fucking snooping, does it?” I snap, but she doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have many beauty products in the bathroom, just basic shampoo and conditioner and a kid’s bubble bath. She uses sanitary towels not tampons, and her toothbrush is pink. “Which is your bedroom?” I ask and she points to the door at the end of the hallway. “Tell me to leave,” I say, “or I’m going to tear your fucking room apart.” “Never,” she says. “I’ll never tell you to leave. I can’t even believe you’re here.” “Suit yourself,” I snap, and step on in. MELISSA

I CAN’T BELIEVE he’s really here. I don’t even dare to hope that this isn’t over. But he’s here. He’s here. He’s angry, and wound tight, and his eyes are wild and dark, but he’s here. I follow him into my bedroom and tell him to go ahead. I tell him to do whatever he wants. I’m not interested in secrets. I’d cut open my soul if I could, just to show him what’s inside. He stares at the old Debating Society certificates on my wall. He picks up the framed family photos on my dresser. He smells my old stuffed teddy bear and opens my wardrobe and tears through my clothes. There isn’t much in there, it doesn’t take long. It doesn’t take him long to rummage through my makeup box, either. The drawers under my desk are filled with old college books, he flicks through the legal ones and he swallows. “This really was your dream?” I nod. It’s all I can do. And then he sees it, my battered old chest of drawers on the far side of my bed. The one with all my crystals laid out on top, my Kings and Castles CD still open by the player. “You didn’t show me these,” he says as he picks up a piece of bloodstone. “I didn’t have them then,” I say, and I’m not lying. These additions were all for me.

He holds up the CD case. “Research?” I shake my head. “I only bought that last week, I wanted the physical copy.” “Fucking hell, Lissa,” he snaps. “You changed your whole fucking life for me.” I shake my head. “Only at the beginning. I thought I was playing…” My smile hurts. “It’s funny how pretending to be someone else can help you find out who you really are.” He stares at me. “You think this is who you really are now? Amy pissing Randall?” I shake my head. “I think she’s just the start. I was nothing after they died. I was nobody. Being Amy Randall was the best thing in the world.” It really was. Being her was everything I ever dreamed it would be. Loving him was everything I ever dreamed it would be. And more. So much more. “Knowing Amy Randall was the best thing in the world,” he says. He takes a seat on my bed and rubs his temples. “I should go.” “Please don’t.” His eyes burn into mine but I don’t look away. I’ll never look away. “Then you’d better put the kettle on,” he says. ALEXANDER

HER KITCHEN IS CRAMPED. She nudges me with her hip as she reaches for a clean mug, and I wonder how they ever fit three people in this place. I shouldn’t be here. My threats to Claude will be working their way back to my father if they haven’t reached him already. I have no interest in taking them back, which means my window of escape is limited. He’ll be gunning for me, and so will his associates. I shouldn’t be here, I should be planning my exit, packing up the things I want to take with me. But I still don’t want to leave her. Not even after everything she’s done. “I’ll be leaving London tomorrow night,” I tell her. “Any longer and the chances I’ll make it out reduce dramatically.” She tries to hide her fear as she stirs my coffee. It’s instant crap and it tastes bitter as shit, but I don’t care. “You think they’ll come after you?” she whispers.

“I know they’ll come after me. I’m far too much of a liability.” “So what then? You keep running?” I shake my head. “A few months under the radar and they’ll realise I’ve no interest in blowing their cover. I’ll slip down their target list.” “You’re sure?” No. I’m not sure. I’ve become far too fond of this hope novelty recently. “Would you still have come with me?” I ask her. “Knowing what you’re running from?” I nod. Her eyes hide nothing from me. “Yes,” she says. “So long as Joseph was safe.” Joseph. I had no idea he’d even existed. No idea she was holding so much together. A baby, a fulltime job, moonlighting with me three times a week. The soup kitchen. All of that with a side helping of crushing grief. At eighteen years old. She’s barely even an adult, and yet she’s one of the most mature women I’ve ever met. Figures, of course. That’s what responsibility does to you. Melissa Martin impresses me. Learning that comes as a surprise. Melissa Martin is made of steel. She must be to live through what she’s lived through. I remember her polishing that boardroom table all those weeks ago. I remember how impressed I’d been with her determination. With her grit. Her work ethic. I remember how transfixed I was by her quiet apology. The humbleness in her stance. I remember how touched I was by her kindness in my house. Her generosity with her cupcake gift for me. The orchids. The fact she cared. I thought I’d fallen in love with Amy Randall, but I’d only paid for Amy Randall because I was so hung up on Melissa Martin, even though she was faceless, even though she ran from me when I called. “You didn’t need to be Amy,” I tell her. “I already wanted Melissa.” I know my words pain her. She flinches as I say them. “Please don’t,” she whispers. “It hurts enough already. I can’t bear to think I lost it all in vain.” But she hasn’t.

She hasn’t lost it. As much as I want to hate her, I can’t. As much as I want to turn my back and leave her here, I can’t. I can’t run without her. I don’t want to run without her. If my father’s associates don’t put an end to me, I’ll put an end to myself. Today, or tomorrow, or further down the line when Brutus has long breathed his last breath. When the boys are all grown up and don’t even call anymore. When there is only me. She made me feel alive again, without her I’ll want to die again. It’s only a matter of time. I’m about to say it when a cry sounds through the wall. It jars my senses, just as it did all those years ago when my boys were so young. “Shit,” she says. “Joseph. He has nightmares sometimes.” “Go,” I say, but she’s already on her way. I wander through her living room as the cries continue. I hear her singing and she has such a beautiful voice. Such a sad voice. I wait ten minutes and the kid’s cries are still fraught. Fifteen minutes go by and I can’t hold back. It’s instinct. Parental instinct. The strength of it takes me aback. I knock on the door so gently. “Melissa?” “Come in,” she says over his sobs. I push the door open slowly, and there she is, rocking so gently with that sweet little thing in her arms. He looks like her. Even with his face all crumpled with tears, he looks like her. His little nightlight glows on the nightstand, and this must have been her parents’ room. Their bed is still made up neatly. A piece of floral fabric still pokes from the wardrobe doors. It must break her heart every day to come in here. I know, because my boys’ bedrooms broke mine, even though I still saw them every Sunday. I had to take them apart in the end. They’re magnolia now. Empty. “Matthew used to get night terrors,” I tell her. “I used to point out the stars. He liked that.”

She smiles. “You did?” I nod. “I think he still dreams of them,” she tells me. “I do, too. It hurts so bad when I wake up and find they’re not there.” She looks so tired. She looks fragile and willowy and lost. I hold out my arms. “Maybe I could try?” I offer, and she bounces him on her hip before she hands him over. “This is Alexander,” she whispers. “He’s very kind. He’s going to show you the stars. He showed me them, too.” That little boy’s eyes are so wide as they stare into mine. My heart is thumping as I take him. “Hi, Joseph,” I say. “I’m Alex.” “Alex?” Melissa whispers and I nod. “I like Alex.” So do I. I take that little boy through to the living room and pull back the curtains. The city glows orange, but you can just about see them, the little pinpricks of white in the sky. He forgets to cry as I point them out. His little hand grabs my finger as I gesture to the few constellations I can see. “Stars,” I say. “They’re magic.” I’m aware Lissa is at my back. I feel her eyes. “Can you count them?” I ask, and he laughs at me. His laugh is the sweetest sound. “You’re good with him,” Lissa whispers. The triumph thrills me. “I’ve had a lot of practice.” “More than me,” she says. “I’m still learning.” She’s doing a great job and I tell her so. “Dean does most of it,” she says, and I remember he still lives here. I remember he’s coming back soon. “Time for bed now,” I say to Joseph, and he’s happy to go back to Lissa when she takes him. I watch from the doorway as she settles him back down and sets his twinkle mobile playing. She eases the door closed when he’s asleep. “Thanks,” she says. “Sometimes it takes hours.” I don’t have hours. I don’t even have minutes.

Every breath takes me closer to disaster. So I say it. I have to. “Come with me,” I say. “Both of you.” Her eyes fill with tears. “But I can’t… you said you don’t even know me, and you don’t know Joe, and what about Dean? Dean’s been so good to us, and he has nobody. His parents are assholes.” I know that feeling. “Then I guess we get to know each other, Lissa. You, me, Joseph. Dean, too. We’ll all go. Fresh start.” She shakes her head, and it’s not a refusal it’s disbelief. She crumples to the floor and I head down there with her, and it feels so nice to be back in her arms. “It’ll be scary for the first few months,” I say. “We may need to keep moving.” “I don’t care,” she says. “We’ll go wherever you go, all of us.” I hear the key in the front door, and kiss Lissa’s forehead before Dean comes through. “I need to pack,” I say. “You do, too. Come over this afternoon when you’re ready. Pack as light as you can. We’ll leave from mine.” She nods. “We’ll be there.” And I know she will be. I’ll be waiting.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

ALEXANDER

I CAB it back to mine with my heart in my hands. Make or break. Life or death. And I’m excited. This rollercoaster isn’t done yet. We’ll leave under darkness, when anyone watching thinks I’m all tucked up for the evening. I’ll organise a hire car and get it delivered before midnight, and we’ll take off for somewhere far away. Anywhere. Maybe the coast. Brutus will like it there. So would Joseph, I’m sure. Brutus wags his tail as I step on in. I bolt the doors up tight and get to work. I sort through my paperwork and take the few pieces of documentation I need. I pack my photos and the few of my gemstones that made it through my rage unscathed. I choose my favourite suits from the sea of black in my wardrobe, and contemplate whether I’ll still be wearing them in a few months’ time. Choosing the things from my boys’ old bedrooms takes the longest. It’s a ladder into the loft job, rooting through boxes I’d packed in a hurry. Some finger paintings, and their first teddy bears and Matthew’s reward chart that I pulled down from the kitchen door. Two cases is all I need. My whole life packed in two cases. The second of them is mainly filled with the contents of my safe. My father tries to call at seven a.m. and again at eight and nine on the dot. He leaves a voicemail at eleven, but I don’t listen. It’s when I get a text from an unknown number that I know the rumour mill has started. Ronald bastard Robertson.

I wish I could give him the scoop before I go. One last confession of my father’s seedy business for his tabloid. He attempts to call me at lunchtime. Pings an email to my work address asking for a puppet master exclusive. I ignore that, too. There are only two things I have left to do. Order a hire car, and wait for Melissa. I get to work ordering the hire car. MELISSA

“WE’RE REALLY GONNA DO THIS?” Dean asks and I nod. “We’re really doing this.” He helps me with Joe’s things, packing them into one of Mum and Dad’s old suitcases as Joe tries to pull them back out again. It’s a slow process but a happy one. Dean hardly has anything for himself. One single rucksack stuffed with clothes and his phone charger. I hardly take any care with mine, just throw in the clothes fit for purpose and my crystals along with them. It’s when I get to my parents’ room that things become a bit harder. Photos and memories. Too many to pack. But I guess I can send for them when we’re settled. Months, Alexander said. “You’re sure he’s down with me coming?” Dean asks and I nod. “Yeah, I’m sure.” “And things won’t be… weird?” “Not if we don’t let them be. Fresh start, right? This place is so full of memories. Good and bad.” “A fresh start sounds real good.” he says. “For all of us.” Yes, it does. The cash is the last thing I pack, wedges of notes that I was waiting to deposit into Joseph’s account when I got the chance. It feels weird to pile it in amongst my clothes. I’ll give it back to Alexander. He can take care of it, for Joe. I hope he can take care of all of us.

I hope he lets me take care of him right back. Our things are piled up in the hallway when I call a cab. We’re out of breath when we’ve lugged it downstairs, but I fasten Joe in with a smile. “Wave goodbye to our old house,” I say and he does. He waves b-bye. “This is it then?” Dean asks as the car pulls away. “This is really it,” I say. ALEXANDER

MY HEART THUMPS when their cab pulls up outside the house. I tell Brutus to behave. Tell him to sit fucking down and be nice for once. I unbolt the front door with a smile, bounding out without thinking to help them inside with their cases, and a tap on my fucking shoulder nearly gives me a fucking heart attack. Ronald fucking Robertson outside my fucking house. His gormless photographer snaps a shot of us with the cases and I nearly knock his front teeth out. I send Melissa on in with Joe and wait till the boy is out of earshot. “Don’t you even fucking dare think of printing that,” I say. Ronald shrugs. “I think we can keep it out of the final draft if you’ll give me a few words about what’s going down? Family feud, right? Is it true you’re gonna expose your father’s gangland clients?” “Like fucking hell it is,” I say. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business.” He holds up his hands. “Just saying what I heard, Henley, that’s all. Can’t believe you’re getting a fucking conscience at your old age.” He laughs. I hate his fucking laugh. He gestures to my front door as Dean lugs the last of the cases inside. “That pretty little thing got anything to do with it?” “That pretty little thing is none of your fucking business, either.” I leave him at my gate where he belongs. “Give me a scoop!” he shouts. “Your side of the story!” “I have no fucking side of any story,” I say. “I’m fucking done!” I close the door behind me, and close the fucking curtains so the cunt can’t see inside. MELISSA

IT’S SO nice to be back in Alexander’s house. It’s so nice to wander around the rooms and smell his bedsheets for one last time. They won’t be his bedsheets in the new place, they’ll be ours. The thought makes me giddy. I show Dean around the place I’ve come to know so well, and he knows we’re just killing time, chasing away the nerves that are thrumming from Alexander even though he tries to hide them, but we play along anyway. Even Brutus is a good boy as we introduce him to Joe. He doesn’t even snarl at Dean either. It’s like he knows. Dogs know their own people, just as I said to Alexander, and Brutus knows us. He knows we’re all bound together, destined for pastures new. I can tell by the way he sniffs the cases, his tail thumping at the leash draped over the top, just waiting to go. “Are you sure we can trust the guy?” Dean asks as Alexander lets Brutus out into the garden. “I’d trust him with my life,” I say, and I would. I’d trust him with anything, even Joseph’s. “Alright,” he says. “This is some crazy ride.” It is, and I know it’s about to get even crazier. Good crazy. Just as soon as we’ve left the city behind. “The hire car arrives at ten,” Alexander tells us when he heads back in. “We should be safe to go then. We’ll have to be quick.” I nod. “We will be. We’ll make light work of it, the three of us.”

HE PACES as the evening draws in. He smiles but I know he’s edgy. I settle Joseph down on the plush cream sofa, and try to settle down with him, even though my nerves are on fire. Dean talks about everything, waffling on about inane crap to keep us all from fizzing over. His jittery fingers are the only tell that he’s not as calm as he makes out. But that’s okay. He’s doing a great job. Alexander sighs with relief when the knock comes at ten to ten. He tells me to hold Brutus back while he takes the keys from the driver and I do. I leave Dean with Joe in the living room and take tight hold of Brutus in the kitchen. I crouch to the floor along with him and hope he doesn’t drag me right out of there. “Be a good boy,” I say. “Please, Brutus, don’t be a dick.” But he is a dick.

I feel it in every fibre of him when Alexander heads to the front door. His snarl is vicious and his muscles are wound up tight, much tighter than I’ve ever seen him. Alexander looks back at me as he slides the bolts open. “Keep hold of him,” he says, and I nod. And I do. Even though it’s hard. Even though he’s pulling like a truck and I have to dig my heels into the floor to stop him tearing his way down the hallway. Even though he’s so savage he shows every single one of his teeth. “Calm down!” I hiss but he doesn’t listen. “Brutus, please,” I say, but he doesn’t want to know. He lurches forward and I shunt along with him, and I have to tug him back with all my strength as Alexander pulls the door open. I’m still tugging him back when the bang sounds.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

ALEXANDER I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN IT. I trust Brutus easily as much as I trust myself. I should have known it wasn’t mindless savagery that sent him fucking livid as I went for that door. And I should have known my father would never just chance me disappearing into the night. There’s no hire car outside when I open the door, just a man in black with his hood pulled down low. It’s not like Hollywood when I see the gun in his hands. There’s no heated showdown where he tells me how much my father wants me dead, or passes on some cryptic message. There’s just a bang. A bang and a flash. It feels like a punch. A punch right in my gut. Only it makes my ears ring. And everything slows down, just like it did when that cricket ball smashed my temple at twelve years old. The whole world slows down. I think I stumble before I fall. It feels like that. Melissa’s scream is so far away, and I wish I had the breath to tell her to stay back, but I don’t. I notice the tiny things in those slow seconds. The shock on the gunman’s face as my shirt pools with blood. The widening of his eyes as he looks past me into the hallway, his gun still smoking as Brutus charges him down. I’m waiting for a second shot that doesn’t come. It can’t.

Because Brutus is a savage beast when he needs to be. And in that one slow moment as I prepare to meet my end, I’m glad he is. I feel the heat of him as he lunges between me and the man at the door. I hear the crunch of his teeth as they sink into flesh and bone, and the bang as the gun unloads onto my doorstep. I’ve already fallen by the time the gunman screams. I don’t see Brutus tear his arm open and lock back on for more. I do see Melissa, though. Her blonde hair is like an angel’s under the ceiling light. Like the inclusions in her lucky crystal as she stares down at me and pulls my head into her lap. My hand is over my stomach. It feels as if I’ve been kicked. Only a kick isn’t wet and warm. A kick doesn’t feel like your life is slipping away from you. My life is definitely slipping away from me. I see it written in her pretty eyes. “Call an ambulance!” she screams, and it’s not at me. It’s so hard to raise my arm. So hard to brush her cheek with my thumb. Summoning my breath is the most painful thing I’ve ever done, but the most beautiful release I’ve ever felt. “I love you,” I say, and I wish I’d said it a lot sooner. I wish I’d have said it that day on the street when I chased her, even though I didn’t know her name. I wish I’d have told her when she turned up at my hotel room door last night, before I half killed her. I wish I’d have told her when I still had the strength to kiss her goodbye. But it’s perfect all the same. She’s perfect. And she was worth it. Worth dying for. Her fingers are gentle in mine. Her eyes streaming as she tells me I’m going to be fine, that an ambulance is on its way. She promised me she’d never lie again, but I think I can forgive her this one. I love the irony of this insane thing we call life. If I was a man who believed in mumbo jumbo, I’d say fate has a wicked sense of humour. But I’m not.

It’s just one of life’s peculiarities that leads me to this one hilariously ironic moment. The moment I face my end is the precise moment I least want to slip away. But I can’t stop. Even though Melissa screams my name and begs me to stay with her. Even though her hand crushes mine and the kiss from her pretty mouth reminds me of the myriad reasons I want to stay alive with her, I can’t stop my eyes from closing.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

MELISSA

ALEXANDER HENLEY, the man who is my everything, leaves me once in his hallway, just before the paramedics arrive, and again on the operating table before they stem the bleeding. I sit and wait in the corridor while they fight to save his life, and my hands are still bloody but I don’t want to wash them. I don’t want to wash him away from me. My tears are quiet but they don’t stop, not once in all the hours I wait for fate to show its hand. Dean only stays a little while before he takes Joseph back home to the bed we were leaving behind. He holds me tight and tells me it’s gonna be alright. He’ll hold on, he says. He’s not the kind of guy to back down from a fight. No fucking way, Lissa. I hope he’s right about that. Dean tells me he’ll pick up Brutus on the way home. He tells me he’ll keep him safe until Alexander is back. Brutus saved his life. I need Alexander to wake up just so I can tell him so. I want him to know that the dog whose life he saved from death row just saved him right back, and if that’s not fate, I don’t know what is. I just pray to God it’s fate that brings Alexander back to me. I recognise Claire Henley from their wedding photos as she rushes into the ward at just before midnight. Her eyes are wide and scared and her lips are pale even though she’s wearing lip gloss. “How is he?” she asks me, and I shrug. I don’t know. Not yet. I tell her so.

She takes a seat at my side. “The stubborn sonofabitch will pull through,” she tells me, and I stare at her face as a tear falls. “I should’ve known his filthy fucking father would be the end of him.” I don’t know what to say, so I don’t. “Are you his…” she begins, and I nod. “We were, um… moving away.” She sighs. “About bloody time he found something he really wanted.” She brushes a tear away. “I don’t know how I’m going to tell the boys, if he…” “He won’t,” I say. “He’s a stubborn sonofabitch, remember?” She smiles at me. “I heard that ugly mutt saved his life.” I smile back. “He’s not so ugly,” I say. “He’s great when you get to know him.” “I never really gave the thing a chance. He smells bad.” “There’s time.” “I hope so,” she tells me. “And I hope there’s time for you to meet my boys, too. They’d love to see their dad… happy.” So would I. I’d love to see him happy, far away from all this with his feet on the sand somewhere. We’re sitting in silence as a doctor heads out to us, he tugs the mask from his face and calls for “Mrs Henley,” but Claire gestures at me. “I think this is for you,” she says, and I get shakily to my feet. I can hardly breathe as I step forward. My knees are knocking as I wait for the verdict. But it’s good. It’s really good. He shows me a diagram of the bullet they took from the bottom of his lung. He lost a lot of blood, the doctor tells me, but I already know that. My hands don’t let me forget it. My head is dizzy with relief when he tells me he’s going to be just fine. That they stemmed the bleeding and fixed him back up, and he’ll be weak for a while, but he’ll live. He’ll live. They’re the most beautiful words I’ve ever heard, even more beautiful than I love you from Alexander’s perfect mouth. Even more beautiful than the first time he used my real name. I thank the doctor. I thank him over and over through my tears. And Claire is happy for me. She puts her arm around my shoulder at the happy news and squeezes tight. “I told you,” she said. “He’s a stubborn sonofabitch. You’ll find that out for yourself, don’t

you worry.” I’m not worried. I can hardly wait.

EPILOGUE

ALEXANDER

MAYBE I’M SLOWLY BECOMING a man who believes in mumbo jumbo. The dog I rescued from certain doom is the one who saved me from mine. The girl whose eyes I stared into as I thought she’d died in my arms, is the very girl who stares into mine as I really do die in hers less than twenty-four hours later. And what a twenty-four hours they turned out to be. But maybe the biggest irony of all is that it’s the same gormless photographer I told to fuck off a few hours earlier that captures the pictures needed to identify my shooter. It’s the story Ronald pissing Robertson runs in his shitty tabloid that sees the authorities locate my cunt of a hitman and take him in for questioning. Apparently his arm needed over thirty stitches. He’ll probably never regain the use of his fingers, which is just as well considering he needs them to pull the fucking trigger. I don’t think he’ll be pulling another one anytime soon. I assumed he’d get away with it, of course. After all, my father’s a better puppet master than I’ll ever be. But not this time. This time the puppet master chose the wrong puppet. This time he rushed the job and paid on the cheap. A fool’s error most certainly, and one that makes me smile every time I ponder it. I waited a long time for that filthy old bastard to ever make a mistake. The piece of shit he got to take a shot at me on my doorstep was an amateur at best. He was more than happy to blab the details of my father and all his cunting associates in exchange for a shorter sentence, and I was more than happy to fill in the blanks. That’s how I came to stand on the other side of the witness box for once in my life, watching my father tried for attempted murder. That’s how Melissa, Dean, Joe and I got taken into witness protection and shipped away to a nice little town on the Welsh coast a million miles from bloody anywhere.

And that’s how Melissa and I ended up as Mr Ted and Mrs Amy Brown. Just regular folk going about their regular business, with a regular kid and a dog, and my friendly nephew Danny hanging around. Melissa really did end up as a Mrs, too. I married her in hospital the very next day after my operation, just in case my father came back for round two. She bought me orchids for my room, and a cupcake too. And a crystal. The crystal. She fished out her lucky quartz from behind the shelving at mine and handed it right back as we said our vows. I’ll never throw it away again. I’ll never throw her away again, either. My boys are coming to visit next weekend. It’s been three months since my father was convicted, and I think the coast is as clear as it’ll ever be. I grind the beans for the coffee machine as Dean heads back from the beach with Joe. I watch them up the path as Brutus pads along behind, and I can’t stop smiling, knowing that my beautiful wife is due home any minute. From college. My beautiful wife Amy is studying law at college. She wants to be a lawyer one day, who’d have thought it? It seems not everything was for my benefit. Far from it. She wants to be a legal aid lawyer at that. Good deeds for those who can’t afford decent representation. I’m proud of her. And me? Well, I think I’m going to take it easy awhile. I’ve got a whole collection of gemstones to start over, and a wife who actually wants me at night. I’ve got a family in Joseph and Dean. I’ve got my boys heading over for football practice this weekend – I’ve even set them up a pitch in the garden. And I’ve got my vicious, unlovable, untrainable dog, who’s not nearly so vicious these days. That’s more than enough strings to keep me occupied.

And when it’s not, I choke my wife’s throat until she taps out, and she does tap out these days. When the nights draw in, and Joe’s tucked up quiet in bed, I fuck Dean’s tight little ass until he bleeds for me. And sometimes, occasionally, when I’m feeling particularly like my old cunt of a self, I’ll pretend I want to watch them fuck each other, just to check I can still make them squirm. They didn’t call me the puppet master for nothing.

THE END

BONUS EPILOGUE MELISSA

“Go, Mattie! Shoot! Shoot!” My arms are in the air as I cheer Matthew up the pitch we’ve marked out in the garden. I’m grinning as he avoids Dean’s last-minute effort to take the ball, and whooping loud when he takes the shot and hits right on target. “Goal! YES!” Brutus barks at my side, his tail thumping along as I celebrate. His hide chew is still clutched tight between his paws, his tongue lolling in the summer sun. I scratch behind his ear as I tally up the score. Alexander and Matthew have four goals to Thomas and Dean’s two. My heart swells with pride as I watch Joe’s efforts to chase after the action. He jumps up and down as though he scored the goal himself, and it’s so cute I could burst. He’s too young to know whose team he’s on, but that’s okay. Alexander gives my little brother a high-five too. “Good job, Joe!” he says. “Teamwork.” I think Joe is onto a good thing. He’s cheered in victory at every goal this morning, always on the winning team. I guess that’s the benefit of being the youngest – and he’s so clearly the youngest. Alexander’s boys are getting tall. I can’t help but notice again that they’re getting really good at football, too. I might not know much about the game, sure, but any fool can see how much they’ve come on over the past twelve months or so. I work out the months in my head. It really is definitely or so. We’ve been in Wales over eighteen months already. Wow. Soon it’ll be two years. But that’s obvious enough as I watch little Joe bounding up the pitch. He was barely more than a baby when we got here. I don’t imagine he remembers much of London, or our life back there. Or our parents, but I try not to dwell on that. Now isn’t the time for sadness. The sun is shining and the summer holiday from college is stretching ahead. Life is good. It’s really good. Being with Alexander Henley isn’t anything like I dreamed. Not at all. It’s better. He’s beaming as brightly as I am as he high-fives his youngest son and ruffles his hair. It makes my belly somersault with that pang of something crazy I keep getting lately. He

meets my eyes and gives me a wink, and there it is again. Somersaults and butterflies. Even now, after so much time together, I still have butterflies. He looks so different than he used to, Alexander. His suits have long been resigned to the back of the wardrobe, unless I convince him to dress up for old time’s sake. He’s looking super casual this morning in black jeans with well worn-knees and a short-sleeved polo shirt. He still looks amazing. He always looks amazing. As well as looking more casual these days, he smiles more and laughs louder. His dark hair has the finest smattering of grey at the temples and he’s not so cleanly shaven as he used to be. But that doesn’t matter when you spend your time writing articles for law journals from your home office in the middle of nowhere. That, and helping your girlfriend with her college work. I flash him the smile I save for him. He sees it and nods and those butterflies notch up another gear. Yeah, I sure do love all the things that have changed, but I especially love the things that haven’t. The way he looks at me as though he could eat me alive hasn’t changed one bit. And I hope it never does. His eyes are still locked on mine as the game resumes. I feel the burn on my cheeks even as he takes position by Matthew to defend their half of the garden. Thomas kicks off this time and passes a decent shot to Dean. I’m laughing as Dean makes a serious dash for it, and laughing louder as Alexander comes in for a much rougher tackle than necessary. They both go sprawling, and Thomas is up in arms. “Foul! Dad, that was a FOUL!” He looks across the garden at me. “Lissa, you’re referee! Give him a yellow card!” “Was not!” Matthew protests. “Dad tackled him fair!” Alexander brushes the grass from his knees once he’s back on his feet, but Dean’s really milking it, rolling around on his back and feigning injury. He shoots me big puppy dog eyes. “Yeah, ref! Foul!” he shouts. Alexander shoots Dean his best sneer. “Enough of the dramatics. I’ve given you a lot worse.” I snort laugh and try to stifle it. Everyone’s looking at me, and it’s funny enough that I really would give Alex a yellow card, just so he’d punish-fuck me later, but I can’t.

It comes over me so quickly. My hand is over my mouth before I can utter a single word. Shit. It’s this crazy sickness bug I’ve had for weeks. I’m still trying to laugh even as I hold my stomach and double over. I grip the arm of the bench as the world spins, trying to protest even as Alexander reaches my side. “Again?” he asks and his hand is on my back, rubbing circles that should be soothing but only make me retch harder. “It’ll pass in a second,” I manage to say, but this time I’m not so sure. “Half-time,” Alexander tells the others, and I guess Dean’s recovered just fine from his agonising football injury when he ushers the boys in for mid-game drinks and chocolate. Brutus takes his chew and goes padding off after them. I love how he loves the boys. You’d never know he used to be such a grump if you met him now. Alex waits until they’re all out of earshot, and I know what’s coming before he says it. “This isn’t a sickness bug, Melissa.” My eyes are watering from retching but I’m still clinging onto the desire to play this down as nothing. “It’s just a bug. That dodgy takeout.” Alex sighs. “That dodgy takeout was weeks ago. You’re either seriously fucking ill, or you’re-“ He doesn’t say it. I don’t say it, either. “It’s nothing,” I tell him as the queasiness passes a little. “Probably just the tail end of food poisoning.” “And what about the exhaustion? The two a.m quest into town for an onion bagel the other night?” That makes me smile afresh. “Sometimes a girl just fancies an onion bagel.” He laughs. “Not that much.” I know he’s right. It’s been keeping me awake at night, thinking. Wondering. Wondering if there is a third Alexander Henley jnr. growing in my belly. But I can’t… go there… I’m in my second year of a law degree. I have studying to do… so much studying… Plus, we have a great set up here. Alex’s boys are settled here with us at the weekends, and they get on really well with Joe and Dean. We’ve got a whole family thing going on, and it fits. It really fits. I don’t know what kinds of crazy a baby would add to the mix.

We were careful. I was careful. I take my pill every day, and did even on the days I was definitely ill with food poisoning, and those scary things girls always say about the pill not working if you’re sick, I figured those were just silly overblown facts. That the statistics must be super low, not even worth worrying about. Yet here I am, sick in the garden. Again. Craving onion bagels and falling asleep wherever I’m sitting come mid-afternoon. I know it just as well as Alex seems to – I’m either pregnant or seriously ill. I just don’t know if I want to face it yet. But he does. “It’s time,” he says. “No more stalling, Lissa. It’s time.” His tone is one that tells me he won’t stand me messing around. I breathe a sigh in resignation as I stand up straight. “Tomorrow morning.” “No,” he says. “Now. The boys will be enjoying half time with Dean. The test will take a few minutes tops. You have to pee on a stick, sweetheart, it’s not a marathon.” “But the morning is better,” I protest. “I read the instructions. It’s suitable for any time of the day. Plus, I bought a pack of two. You can do another in the morning if you need to.” I take a breath, meeting the eyes of the man I adore more than life itself. “What if it’s positive?” He smirks. “Then we ditch the rest of the storage boxes into the garage and I get painting the nursery.” I roll my eyes. “I’m being serious, Alex.” “So am I.” I take a seat on the bench and he drops down alongside me. His hand feels so warm when he takes mine, so firm and safe. “You said you wanted children of your own,” he says. “I do. It’s just timing. You’re relaxing, finally, after the court case crap with your dad, and Thomas and Mattie are settled, and so are Joe and Dean. Even Brutus likes the routine.” “And we’ll all adjust just fine.” “Nappies? Midnight changes? Crying through the night?” He smirks again. “I’ve been there before. So have you.” “I took care of my brother, I’m not his mum,” I say, even though he’s right, I have been there before. Under considerably more stressful circumstances too, even if I am at college now. “What about my course?” He looks thoughtful, but not concerned. “I’m only writing part time. Dean’s photography

course is part time. We’ll cope between us. Hell, Lissa, we’ve got enough to hire a whole fleet of nannies if we couldn’t cope.” He tips his head. “But we will cope. We’ll be just fine. More than fine.” I can’t hold back the smile. “I’d stay at college?” He raises an eyebrow. “You really think I’d expect you to abandon your studies because you had a baby? What century do you think I live in?” He points to the grey at his temple. “I may be ageing, Melissa Henley, but I am not a caveman, thank you very much.” His eyes twinkle and my heart does a weird stutter. He wants it. Oh my God. He really wants it. And I know we’ve talked about it, in one day terms, and I know he loves his boys and loves Joe, too. I know he’s an amazing dad. I know he’s great with kids. I just didn’t know he’d want this right here and know. I didn’t know he’d be so… “You’re amazing,” I speak aloud. “I hope you know how much I love you.” “You make it pretty clear.” His lips press to my cheekbone. It’s the most natural thing in the world to turn my face and meet his mouth with mine. “You’re distracting me,” he says between kisses. “Bathroom. Now.” But I can’t stop. I can’t stop kissing the man I love. I’m kissing him even as he pulls me to my feet and tangles his fingers in my hair. I’m kissing him as his hand comes to rest on my stomach so gently, as though he really wants it to be true. In that one moment, I’m ready. “I’m nervous,” I admit. “Petrified, I imagine,” he says. “But we’ll be great, whatever the outcome.” I smile, because I know we will. I twirl the rings on my wedding finger, a habit of mine. I guess it’s because I still struggle to believe it, that he’s really mine, for keeps. Forever. “Let’s do it,” I say. “Good girl,” he says, and sets off for the house with my hand still in his. The boys and Dean are happy enough chatting football around the kitchen table. Brutus is chewing his chew in the hall as we head right on upstairs. My heart is thumping like crazy as Alexander leads me through to our bedroom and takes one of the tests from his bedside drawer. He holds open the en-suite door for me, and my throat is dry as I step on inside. I get a whirlwind of crazy memories. Of the very first night I ever spent with him, when I was convinced he was going to piss in my mouth.

Of eating breakfast with him the first night I ever stayed at his. Of our first night here, in this place. Our first night in our new bed where he loved me all night long. I tug up my summer dress and pull down my knickers, sitting happily on the toilet while Alexander unboxes the test. He hands it to me with the stick thing ready to roll, then drops to his knees in front of me. Butterflies take flight all over again as he parts my knees and stares so intently at my pussy. It takes me a few seconds to overcome the nerves enough to pee, but when I start I move quickly, shoving that dipstick right into the flow and hoping I’m doing this right. “That’s it,” he says, and I keep going, mind spinning as I try to work out what I’m really most afraid of – the test being positive or negative. It’s a strange sensation to discover I’m most scared of it being negative. It’s a stranger sensation still to discover how much I really want that little blue line to show. I hand it over and he puts the cap back on the end. And we wait. Fuck, how we wait. Every second takes a lifetime. He rests his arms on my knees as we both stare down at that little window. And then the faintest blue line begins to show. My heart pounds in my temples. He’s smiling as he looks up at me. “I think you may need to let college know you’ll need a bit of flexibility with your classes. I’m sure they will accommodate.” “It’s really real?” I ask. He holds up the test, shaking it to prove it’s not a mirage. The line is really there. Pregnant. I’m really pregnant. “It’s really real, Melissa,” he says. “We’re having a baby.” My hand is over my mouth and tears are pricking my eyes, but I’m smiling. He lifts my summer dress higher over my belly and runs his fingers over my skin. “We’re having a baby,” he says again, and kisses the bump which isn’t there yet. I run my fingers through his hair. “We’re having a baby,” I say.

Fuck. We really are. His eyes speak a thousand words as he looks up at me, and all of them are happy. “I love you, Melissa Henley,” he tells me. “I can’t wait to meet our newest family member.” And neither can I. We’re having a baby. It’s crazy. But it’s crazy good. I pull him close and hold him tight. His heart thumps fast against mine and it makes me smile. When he kisses me I never want him to stop, and if it weren’t for the voices outside on the landing I don’t think he ever would. “Dad?! Half time’s over!” Matthew calls, and Joe’s sweet little voice chimes in after him. “Lissa! Half time’s over!” Alex’s forehead is pressed to mine as we hold back laughter. “When do we tell them?” I whisper. “Soon,” he whispers back. “But not today. We’ll think about how best to tell everyone, but right now this is our thing. Let’s enjoy the secret for just a little while.” I nod. Smile. Our secret. “Coming!” I shout to the boys. “You will be later, Mrs Henley,” Alex whispers, and it makes me blush. He pulls my knickers up before I can even reach for them, kisses my thigh before I get to my feet. “Second half,” I say. “I really should give you that yellow card.” He smirks. “Another kid will even up the teams at least, since you insist on being referee.” “Maybe we’ll produce a whole team eventually,” I joke, but he doesn’t laugh. “Maybe we will,” he says. And as I watch him play the second half with his boys, Joe and Dean, something tells me having a whole football team of Alexander Henley’s children really wouldn’t be that bad. It really wouldn’t be that bad at all.

THE END

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Johnny, my incredible editor, this one has been quite a ride, and I’ve loved every minute, as always. Thank you so much for pulling out all the stops for me. Letitia, you always do me proud with the cover. You are amazing! Thank you so much. Tracy, my awesome and tireless PA, I still love your face after two years, and I hope you still love mine. Thank you for all the hard work. To Louise and Leigh for reading my early copies. Your input is so appreciated! Michelle and Lesley, thank you so much as always. To my amazing reader group, you ladies (and gents) are all kinds of awesome! Thank you so much for your support and enthusiasm – and your patience with this one!

So many friends to thank! Lisa, Dom, Jo, Sue, Siobhan, James, Lauren, Tom and the lovely Maria… I’m so honoured to know you all. Thank you all for putting up with my incessant book-speak! Isabella and Demi, you changed my life, for real. I hope you know how much I love you for it. Isa, thanks for being here for the second time in row I hit publish. I hope you realise this is going to be a ‘thing’ from now on. You might just have to move in…

Jon, your support means everything, as always. My amazing family, I hope you know how important you are.

Bloggers and the amazing fellow authors who support me every day! Thank you so much! This community is incredible. I’m so honoured to be a part of it.

And of course, to my readers! Thank you for taking the time to read Buy Me, Sir. I hope you enjoyed the experience.

If you love Alexander Henley even half as much as I enjoyed writing him, I’ll be a very happy author indeed. ❤ x

DELICATE SCARS ALTA HENSLEY

To my sweet Ava and Kenna. Everything I do is for you. And to Mr. Hensley…my dream maker.

CHAPTER ONE

LOVE AT FIRST FUCKING SIGHT

QUINN

IS it possible to pick that one defining moment in life that fucked you up? I think it is fair to say that everyone in the world is messed up one way or the other. But can everyone look back on their life and pinpoint the exact minute it happened? I used to believe I wasn’t fucked up. I had absolutely no reason to be. I was actually one of the few people who could say I had a good childhood. Middle income family, parents who stayed married, average upbringing. Nothing there to fuck me up. Maybe I could say I was fucked up by Anthony Cruz when he tried to take my virginity at the age of fifteen, but it wasn’t like rape or anything. I thought I was ready but it still felt like he was taking it rather than me giving it. So, I screamed no, and luckily for me, he stopped. However, other than the fact that he lied and told everyone we had hot and wild sex, then dumped me right afterwards, I still wouldn’t say he fucked me up. My life was fairly easy growing up. I wouldn’t exactly say I was spoiled, but I never had to struggle. My parents paid for my car when I was sixteen, paid for my entire college education so I never had to get some lame part time job, and even helped pay my bills now so I could follow my dream of becoming a novelist. My sister had died recently, and although it ripped my soul out of my body and shredded my heart into a million pieces, I survived. It didn’t change the core of who I was, nor put me in the fucked up category. I was able to move on just like every other person in the world who has lost a loved one. I went on one day at a time. But the truth of the matter was life simply wasn’t a struggle for me. Call me one of the lucky ones, I guess. I WASN’T FUCKED UP… Until I met him. Axel Rye. Yes. He fucked me up. He really fucked me up.

THE DEAFENING CLUB music pulsated through my body, the bass pounding at my ears like a hammer. I made a mental note to try to describe the sensation when I wrote my book. One more thing to add to my ever-growing list of story notes. I wanted my readers to understand the power the music possessed. I wanted to somehow successfully describe how the sound waves actually woke every nerve in your body and caused each one to vibrate from your head to your toes. I wanted to explain in detail how each thump of the bass made your entire core hum in excitement. Recounting this club would definitely be a challenge. How could you possibly express the inside of a nightclub without sounding like a washed-up poet? I took off my apron at the end of my shift, desperate for a break. Standing on my feet for so many hours was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Bartending was no joke, and after working the job for one night, I felt bad for not tipping all my bartenders in the past way better than I did. My feet were killing me and that was with me wearing black balletslipper-like shoes, unlike all the five-inch heels the other women in the club wore. How they stood and balanced on the spikes, let alone danced, amazed me. The club was hot, sticky, crowded, and I really wanted to get some fresh air and maybe a small moment of silence. I scanned the room, looking for my friend Felicity again. She had promised to meet me at the club before my shift ended and at least be a familiar face amongst the crowd of complete strangers. The girl could socialize her way through anything. Selfish as fuck sometimes, but she had been my friend since sixth grade, and we just meshed somehow. She was wild; I was not. She was fun, while I bored even myself sometimes. She had helped me land this job, a job completely out of my element, bartending at one of the most popular clubs in Los Angeles. Felicity had also offered me a place to stay while I did the research needed to write my book on the seedy life of nightclubs, drugs, and all the glitz and glamour laced with gritty shadows. I had high hopes I’d get enough real life details to expand into a book, but didn’t know how much information I could really gather. My editor Harrison— if you could really call him an editor since he only free-lanced for beginners like me and was trying to break into the publishing world himself—had thought it would be a good idea for me to completely go undercover and immerse myself in the everyday life… or nightlife, as it were. He said I lived in a suburban dollhouse and had no idea what happened beyond the key-entry gates. And unless I wanted to write a cookbook or some sugary puppy love young adult romance, I had to branch out and expand my life experiences. I agreed the investigation might make my book more genuine and complex, and I did feel as if I was trapped in the white box of boring. I also didn’t want to just get the generic, canned answers from an interview. Or write about something I knew absolutely nothing about and risk the readers sensing my ignorance. I had never been a partier unless you counted the couple times I drank from a beer bong at a frat party. But for this book—especially since it would be my debut—I wanted to go deeper and really capture the heart behind it all. I wanted the truth, the feelings, the reality. Glancing at the clock, I saw that Felicity was over an hour late. Had my friend really flaked on me? Felicity had a habit of getting “lost,” but she wouldn’t just forget about me, or at least I hoped not. I had counted on her for a ride back to our apartment. Not wanting

to walk through the wall of sweaty bodies by myself, I decided to just stay put a little longer and wait for her. I took in some of the faces around me and wondered if I should mingle and make some friends. Yeah, like that was really going to happen. Being outgoing was not my strength, so I chose to sit and observe instead. A commotion got my attention, and I turned toward the front entrance to find a crowd gathered around a group of men who had just walked in. I stiffened, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. I swallowed the lump forming in the back of my throat, my heart leaping as I saw the man I wanted to get to know. He was the key to my success. Tall. Handsome. Tattoos in all the right places. Face hidden in darkness. The pictures I had seen, and all the media coverage I’d watched, did not do this man justice. A single picture could not capture the raw power and strength rippling through him. The control, the authority, the mystery. Axel Rye. I watched with interest. I’d been told this club—Wicked—was the place to be. I hadn’t heard of it before, not until Felicity raved about the place and the people who frequented the spot like Axel Rye. He was clearly in demand by just watching all the people turn his way the minute he walked in. My new boss at the club confirmed my belief that Axel Rye was the hot ticket when he had told me to always cater to Axel and his friends’ needs. Never say no to the man. I was told Axel provided something crucial to the nightclub and the partygoers—drugs. Trying to act cool, but feeling uneasy being in the same room with a known drug dealer, I looked around for Felicity again, feeling more than a little annoyed at still having to wait. I was completely out of my element and having serious doubts I could even do this… that I even wanted to do this. Who was I to think I could simply immerse myself in the scene and hang out with celebrities like Axel Rye… if you really could call him a celebrity? Although I guess in this scene he was—as fucked up as that was. Notoriety equaled fame, and Axel Rye was definitely notorious. A deep wave of laughter erupted directly behind me, and I turned to find the same group of men I’d seen walk in just moments earlier. A flock of women surrounded them, flirting, dancing, and having a good time. Axel Rye stood in the middle of it all. He looked different than when I last saw him on television. Granted, when I watched him on TV he was in a suit and tie being escorted out of a courthouse by his team of lawyers after just being found not guilty of all drug charges. I had watched in awe when his arrogant ass hopped in a black Escalade as if he was innocent as an angel. He was guilty. Everyone knew it. He just had the money to buy his way out of a jail sentence. Or his rich rock star daddy did. Axel Rye was the son of the famous singer Jamison Rye, and the word “rich” wasn’t a strong enough term to describe the wealth that family had. They were helicopters and yacht rich. Axel Rye—though everyone thought was cool as fuck— was nothing but a trust fund baby. He hadn’t worked a real job a day in his life, so the fact he sold drugs wasn’t out of need to feed his family, pay for medical bills or for any other

romanticized reason. No, he simply sold drugs because he wanted to and because he could. But God, he was fucking handsome as hell. And he was so close I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. I had researched the crap out of this guy, and even though he was a complete stranger, I did have an odd sense I knew him. I had stared at his face and read countless articles while brainstorming and outlining my book. As odd as it was, this man was no stranger to me. He was laughing when our eyes met, and I almost peed my pants from the huge weight in my stomach when I realized he caught me staring at him. His laugh stopped, and the smile on his face seemed to melt away slowly. He stood there frozen, his chiseled face almost demanding to be touched. The scar near his lower lip caught my eye. For a moment, I thought he might say something, but then I heard Felicity come up behind me. “Hey there,” she said, a bit winded. I snapped out of my groupie stare and watched as she wiggled her way to the bar and ordered a drink. “Crazy night! Sorry I’m so late.” “It’s okay. I was actually hoping to leave. It’s been a long night.” Acting as if she hadn’t heard me, she simply stared ahead until the bartender made and delivered her her drink. She grabbed her cocktail and spun around, taking in the dancing bodies around her. Bobbing her head to the music, she instantly fit in. “You do realize, Quinn, who that was staring at you, right?” Slightly embarrassed, I pretended to not comprehend. “No one was staring at me.” Felicity gasped. “That was Axel Rye! You two were staring at each other. The man was actually giving you the time of day. You guys had direct eye contact. I saw it!” “No, we weren’t,” I lied. I could hardly breathe now because of that brief moment, but I didn’t want to admit it. And the reality is that if Axel Rye was really staring at me, it was because I clearly was out of place. I was the square peg and he knew it. I was Waldo and he had simply spotted me. Nothing more. “Look at you! Say whatever you want, but I see it. You’ve been here one night and you’re already making headway. Leave it to you to find the most fucked up, yet sexiest man in this room. I knew you’d fit in just fine.” Felicity took a large swig of her drink. “Let’s go out there and show them what we got.” She grabbed me by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor before I could object. AXEL

I MADE my way to the VIP section of the club. My head pounded as the techno music pulsated in my ringing ears. My veins still burned from the dirty heroine I shot up last night. The only good that came from that fucked up incident was I made the decision I was done with H forever. Fuck that shit. I had lost too many friends to that drug, and I

definitely didn’t want to be some homeless junkie, fucking whatever dealer I could for a chance to share a disease-infested needle. Things in my life were spiraling out of control enough as it was, and I didn’t need to add heroine junkie to the list. No more needles. I wasn’t in the mood to be at Wicked or any club at all. It was the second time this week for this club, but the fourth time being out on a request by owner. Even the line of coke I snorted before entering the club wasn’t helping my mood of feeling forced like a god damned prisoner to be there. Request by owner meant I got paid for even walking through the doors. Treated like fucking royalty all because I walked on the dark side and played the sick game. I only mingled, shook hands and gave false hugs to strangers because I got paid to do it. I got paid a lot. Unlike my father who was famous for his music, I was famous for one thing: I was a drug dealer. Always having a constant supply of good shit caused me to be in high demand at every bar, club, and trendy restaurant in town. What once used to be very secretive, behind-closed-doors, and hush-hush had recently become very visible. There was no secret I dealt. After my last arrest and the media circus around my hearing, when it came to trendy drugs for the rich, the famous, and the cool kids, I was seen as the face of it. Media took hold of the idea, and the rest spiraled out of control. Being a bad boy was hot, and I was about as bad as they got right now. It was fucking nuts. I nodded to and acknowledged all the club-goers gazing my way. Some of the other guys I hung with were already doing shots, popping pills, snorting lines and beginning the party. I was high, but not nearly as high as they were. My entourage kept the energy to the extreme, the fun flowing, and the night alive until the wee hours. They earned every penny the nightclub paid them. Me, on the other hand… I had the charm. I had the reputation. And I had the name of Axel Rye. Rye was notorious. My charisma and lure worked its magic as usual tonight, although my smile was anything but genuine. The odd popularity had stopped making me uncomfortable a long time ago, especially among drunk women throwing themselves at me, but I would never get used to everyone wanting to buy drugs. The hunger in their veins made them beg for more, and they would pay whatever price I set for it. I had full control of them, like a demonic puppet master. They were all nothing but junkies in fancy clothes. I hated it. Although it was once nice to have instant notoriety the minute I walked into a room, now I resented having to always be the life of the party. I had the looks, the right aura, the status, and everyone wanted to be a part of it. I definitely could be an arrogant asshole. But somewhere along the line, that shit got old. My life was a damn sick joke, and I had no one to blame but myself. I never knew who truly wanted to be around me for me, and who just wanted the limelight or the access to cheap or even free drugs. I learned to trust nobody. Hell… I didn’t even trust myself. Lost in my thoughts and wanting a moment for myself, I made my way towards the dance floor. I hated to dance, but I didn’t really mind the music. Blocking out everyone around me, I closed my eyes and just leaned up against a pillar near the crush of swaying bodies but not among them, taking in the beat of the music. The heat of the room and the close proximity of bodies caused sweat to trickle down my back. I slightly bobbed my head to

the beat, enjoying the isolation the rhythm of the bass gave me. Being the son of a rock star, I grew up to appreciate the skill of a musician. It had always disappointed my father I never followed in his footsteps. Not that the bastard ever spent a minute trying to teach me how to play the guitar or sing a note. No, he was too busy touring the world and being the famous Jamison Rye. And my mother was too busy being a socialite to even remember she had a son. I had dabbled in being a DJ, and my name alone sold out any venue I spun at. Clubs all around the world wanted me. But the truth of the matter was, I sucked at it. I couldn’t compete with the DJs I actually respected and even called my friends. I was man enough to admit it just wasn’t my gig. Not to mention I made a hell of a lot more money selling for an hour than I did spinning for one. Someone brushed right past me, a little too close. Motherfucking groupie. They were all the same. Accidently knocking into me. Accidently getting my attention. All until I gave them the time of day, and then they purposely became an annoying gnat I wouldn’t be able to shake for the rest of the night. It always ended with them wanting to blow me for some drugs. Blow for some blow. Story of my life. Annoyed, I took a soothing breath when I realized the person who bumped into me was the same girl who’d caught my attention at the bar. I hadn’t seen her before—not that I recognized all the chicks in every nightclub. But this one stood out to me. She seemed different. She was gorgeous, but not in the fake—I’ve spent two hours on my make-up and hair—type of gorgeous like most of the women in Wicked. No, this girl was your typical girl-next-door-type of gal, clearly lost in a dark and dank place like this. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to knock into you. Did I hurt you?” By her awkward stance, and the embarrassment washing over her face, I could tell she really hadn’t meant to bump into me. She couldn’t even hold my gaze for more than a few moments before her gaze slid away. “No, I’m good.” I swiped at my hair that now lay limply against my forehead. I found it odd that I suddenly felt self-conscious about my appearance, but I didn’t want her to think I was a sweaty junkie lowlife. “You sure you’re okay?” the girl asked again. This time, she held my gaze, the concern showing in hers. I looked into her deep brown eyes for the first time—clear and not dilated like every other girl in the club—and my heart beat hard against my chest. The laser lights swirled behind the girl, casting her in full light one second and in a shadow the next. I smiled at her petite silhouette. Every time her face lit up, I noticed her eyes first. They were an amazing rich chocolate color, unlike anything I had ever seen. They matched perfectly with her dark brown hair that reflected all the colored lights around her. Thick, full eyelashes curved slightly at the end, providing the perfect frames for such a pair of beautiful eyes. She was a true beauty. The girl stared back at me as she stood there breathing hard. Her brown hair was up in a loose bun, except for a few strands that lightly rested on the sides of her face and forehead. It surprised me she didn’t seem fazed by my notoriety. Almost as if she didn’t know who I was, which would be impossible unless she lived

under a rock. You couldn’t go onto social media or turn on the television and not see my face plastered all over it. She acted genuinely sorry for knocking into me. It didn’t seem like she had done it intentionally, like the game so many others had played in the past. That game had gotten really old. “I’m fine,” I said, wishing I hadn’t done the coke. My head spun, and the lights swirling around her weren’t helping the situation. I was too high to have this conversation, but I really wanted to. But she was sober and I was not, which was always a recipe for disaster. “Good.” The girl tucked the loose hair behind her ear and turned to resume her dancing. She didn’t look back or ask anything else. She seemed impatient to be on her way. I watched in fascination as she seductively moved her hips to the music. With my heart pounding and the overpowering need to see her face again surging, to my own surprise, I tapped her on the shoulder and stammered, “So, I haven’t seen you here before.” Fuck! I was too high for this shit. I was sounding like a dumb ass. The girl turned and looked at me without responding. Maybe she hadn’t heard me. I hoped her lack of words weren’t just because she thought I was an idiot. Although I sounded like a fucking idiot. “I’m Axel, what’s your name?” Trying to keep my cool was as difficult as walking under water. “Quinn Sullivan.” All I could manage was a weak smile as I allowed the most alluring name I had ever heard to descend into my soul. High or not, I liked her name. It seemed to fit her perfectly. “Well, have a good night,” Quinn said, and danced off, fading into the crowd of bodies. She was leaving me, and I really didn’t have a choice but to let her. Why did I care? But I did. I did care. I reluctantly made my way back to the VIP section to join my friends as my thoughts went back to those brown eyes cloaked in black lashes. Quinn Sullivan and the enticing eyes. Yeah, I was fucking high.

CHAPTER TWO

KNIGHT IN FUCKED UP ARMOR

QUINN

I DANCED OFF, concentrating on trying to be as graceful as possible as I walked back to the bar where Felicity was ordering another drink. I had a feeling Axel was still watching me, and I would die of embarrassment if I fell or stumbled. My awkward nerves were out of control. How could I almost knock the man over? Of all people, it had to be the famous, and sexy as hell Axel Rye. I should’ve said more to him, but I’d been at a loss for words, and thoughts. All I could do was gawk at him like a crazed fan or druggy. I was positive he thought I did it on purpose. He probably expected for me to ask to buy some drugs or take a selfie with him to show off online. My knees had almost buckled when I realized who I had accidentally danced into. I had no business dancing. I seriously sucked ass at it, and all but appeared to be having a seizure on the dance floor. But leave it to me to dance into Axel Rye! I was so lame. I had researched all about the great Axel Rye and his drug-dealing clan. Felicity partied at the same hot spots as they did. She desperately wanted to be let into their popular social circle. I had never really grasped everything Felicity told me about Axel and his friends. She made them out to be movie star, drop-dead gorgeous, and after seeing them in person, I would have to agree. But the truth of the matter was what they did for a living was still against the law and wrong. How everyone looked up to them, and practically treated them as Gods surprised me. They were just drug dealers, though alluring ones at that. Axel Rye was too gorgeous for his own good. My heart thumped wildly as I tried my best not to look over my shoulder to see if he was staring at me. I really wished I weren’t so attracted to that man. But how could I not be? With his messy dark, chestnut brown hair, sexy, mysterious eyes, and lean, muscular body, Axel was a walking vision. The ink of his tattoos beckoned my curiosity. Everything about him teased my senses—his looks, his raspy baritone voice, his tantalizing, sultry scent. And God help me, I was attracted to the fact that he was a bad boy. I shouldn’t be, but I was fascinated by it. Making my way back to the bar, I looked over at the VIP section where Axel sat with a large group of men and women, most covered in tattoos, piercings, trendy clothes, and looking like the hippest stylist in LA had dressed them all. Axel and his friends seemed to glide in a lingering wave toward a group of girls. They had a mysticism in their actions. In the way they moved. Almost like vampires in a dark blockbuster movie. The women

waited, their eager smiles reminding me of teenyboppers at a boy band concert. Axel wore a tight black shirt that showed off his firm arms. Tattoos marked his entire exposed skin. His black pants clung to his body as if they were designed just for him. I had never seen a more seductive smile on a man. His masculine look screamed alpha. Rough, rugged, and at the same time, handsome. The scar by his mouth had an incredible draw, giving him a lure that pulled anyone in. I watched as one of the slinky-clad women practically lunged into Axel’s arms, smothering the man with her breasts, and then looked around nonchalantly to make sure everyone was watching. “Is that Axel’s girlfriend?” I asked Felicity as I leaned over to speak into her ear to be heard over the booming cadence. Felicity glanced over to where the woman hung off Axel and shook her head. “Only in her wildest dreams. That’s Jillian, one of the coke head sluts who clings to that group. She relentlessly tries to convince anyone who will listen that the two of them are a couple. Everyone knows Axel’s not interested in her. I’ve actually never seen Axel with a girlfriend. Not a playboy like you would expect though. He seems to keep to himself. Although, many would volunteer to fill that position in a heartbeat. Just look at him. Yummy.” Hopping off the stool, she said, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to the restroom.” Hating being alone for even a minute, I took a small sip of the drink I had been nursing and just watched. The group of men Axel hung with seemed so experienced and composed. They laughed and flirted, but still appeared powerful and dominating, even though it was obvious they were drinking and snorting white powder right off the table. They were cool, in a dark and fucked up way. And all I could do was almost knock the most desired person in the room down, and then fumble my way through a hopeless conversation. Even looking at them made me feel unworthy. Sitting at the bar watching the “cool kids” made me miss home, particularly holing up in my office writing. Maybe I shouldn’t have followed through with this crazy idea. Moving to LA and writing about something I knew absolutely nothing about. I wasn’t prepared to feel so inadequate. If Harrison hadn’t talked me into this, I would be home with a glass of wine and a laptop as my only friend. Boring, maybe, but secure. I always listened to that man since he meant the world to me. He had become far more than just my editor. We’d been through so much over the years, last year especially when the nightmare of my sister’s death almost destroyed me. Losing someone I had loved so dearly had left me leaning on my best friend Harrison as he stood by my side. I didn’t really mind being alone with my words and my stories, but I appreciated having a friend who truly got me. Harrison understood my sheltered ways. He understood my past, and would stand by my side as we walked into the future… hopefully promoting a bestselling book. If I didn’t fuck it all up, that is. When I decided to move to LA to work on this book idea, Harrison and I made a promise to keep in touch daily. I wanted to make sure he helped me stay on task and gave me the encouragement to do something completely out of my comfort zone. So far, since I had made the move, we talked and texted every day, and I had a rough outline on my story already under way. No matter how caught up I got in this partying lifestyle, and then afterward immersing myself in writing the book, I was determined to keep Harrison in my

life forever, both professionally and personally. This would be our project, and not just mine. My goal was to get the info needed and write an incredible story, with Harrison to help edit and polish it into perfection. He then would shop it and find a home for it since I was far from having a literary agent to do it for me. Harrison had a much better grasp of what needed to happen and who to contact than I did. I already had months’ worth of research, mostly candid interviews with men and women who did drugs, frequented the clubs every chance they had, and with people who worked it like the bartenders and security. Between those and all the social media research, I was close to reaching my goal. I could then get back to the way I preferred my life. Safe, sound, and predictable. Just the way I liked it. LA, this club, and Axel Rye were just stepping stones to a brighter future. If I could land anything with Axel Rye, I was golden. Maybe I was shooting too big. I had only bumped into the man, but if I could dig up anything at all, then my book was all but sold. My thoughts were interrupted when I felt the warmth from a sweaty body press up against me. I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I attempted to move away. A man with shortcropped hair, lacking a masculine bone in his pathetic frame, reached over to grab my hand. “You seem like you’re in a whole other world,” he flirted. “Just thinking. Getting ready to leave, actually.” He moved closer. “Do you want to go dance?” I shook my head, not the least bit interested. “No, like I said, I’m getting ready to leave.” “Do you want to leave together?” he asked. “I’m ready to get out of here, too. I have some good shit I scored earlier we can take back to my place.” My eyes narrowed, and I leaned back as far away as I could from him. I had no desire to break it to him easy anymore. “I’m not interested. And I don’t do drugs. Sorry.” The man leaned forward, and the stench of liquor on his breath overpowered my air space. “Well, then what are you doing in a place like this? Maybe you just need someone to show you what you’re missing.” He leaned in, and began putting his arms around my waist. Feeling violated and disgusted all at the same time, I pushed him away. “I told you I’m not interested!” Clearly annoyed, the man smirked and proceeded to move forward and force a hug. “Isn’t that why you came tonight? To not be alone? To have some fun?” “No. And even if I wanted to be with someone, it wouldn’t be you!” I struggled to undo the asshole’s hands that clasped behind my waist. And then, suddenly, the man was yanked off me. It took me a moment to understand what just happened before I realized someone had shoved him out of the way. To my surprise, my rescuer was Axel Rye. What the fuck? Was this really happening? “Get the hell away from her,” Axel demanded, his eyes dark with fury.

The man’s face went pale as he looked around to see who was watching. “Just a misunderstanding, dude.” He quickly backed away and disappeared into the crowd without protest. Axel turned to face me. I stood there wide-eyed and embarrassed by the commotion the incident had caused. “Are you okay?” A few people noticed the scuffle and slowed as they walked by, but the disruption was not enough to call the attention of security. Thank God. The stares made me want to crawl off into a hole. I hated being the center of attention, especially negative attention. The entire night had just been one fuck up after another, and once again, I looked like an immature and stupid girl in front of the coolest man in the room. I nodded. “Yes, thank you for being my knight in shining armor.” I attempted to smile and wash away the fear. I was embarrassed to have so much attentiveness shown to me by Axel. I also hoped my boss wouldn’t get wind of this. Off duty or not, I didn’t think he’d be too happy about it. It would just be my luck to be fired in front of Axel to really add to my shame. He chuckled. “I’ve never been called that before. More like a knight in fucked up armor.” He took a minute to glance back at his buddies before staring at me. “But you are welcome.” An awkward silence sat between us. But everything about me felt pretty damn awkward. “I feel bad for getting you involved. You didn’t have to do that. He was just being a little too forward. I could’ve handled it.” I craned my neck, looking for Felicity who had disappeared and missed the whole incident. I was trying my best to play it cool, even though I felt anything but. “I’m sure you could’ve. I just don’t like seeing men treat women like that. Women deserve respect. Sometimes in places like this, men can forget that simple fact.” I nodded, shrugged, and started toward the restrooms. I needed to get out of there fast before my failed attempt at small talk made me look like even more of an idiot. “I need to find my friend. I really do appreciate your help.” Axel followed beside me, walking close. My heart skipped when our hands touched for a mere moment. I tried to refocus my attention on finding Felicity and heading home. The night was long overdue to come to an end. “Let me help you find her.” I noticed all the people in the VIP section now stared at us, especially Jillian. Axel seemed oblivious to the group. His eyes were fixed on me now. “No, it’s all right. Really. I thank you for helping, but I don’t want to keep you.” Axel reached out and softly placed his hand on my arm. The touch sent a shiver through my body. “If you are sure…” He paused and smiled. “I really hope to see you around.” I nodded, never looking Axel in the eye for longer than a moment. I worried I would say or do something stupid. “Thanks again for helping back there. I really appreciate it.”

AXEL

I COULDN’T HELP but stare at Quinn’s eyes. No way was I letting her slip away. This could be my only shot, and I would kick myself if I let her walk away and then never saw her again. From her appearance and her overall vibe, she didn’t seem like a club goer and this night was different for her and completely out of her norm. It was likely I would never see her again unless I did something about it. I don’t know what it was, but something about this woman made me feel the need to be near her. I grabbed her hand as she turned away from me. It was soft and small, her fingers intertwining with my own. My heart pounded as she turned towards me. I tried focusing on something other than her eyes but found it impossible. She had the power to captivate with one simple look, sobering me with her stare. “Would you like to go and hang out tomorrow night? I need to show up at another club called Gaslight, and if you and your friend want to come, I would love to have you come along. It’s an invite-only party, but I’ll add you two to the list.” I was sweating, nerves a foreign sensation for me. Maybe it was the coke, though deep down I knew my anxieties had nothing to do with what I snorted up my nose. “It’s pretty hard-core, though. So I hope that doesn’t bother you.” Quinn studied me for a moment, and then her voice cracked as she answered. “I can’t. I’m working.” “Where do you work? Until what time?” “I work here until eleven.” I smiled, loving what I heard. She must be a new hire. “You work here, huh? Well, I guess I’m going to see a lot more of you. I’m at this club a lot. What about after your shift? I don’t usually show up at the other place until midnight, anyway.” “Okay, I’m sure Felicity would love it, too.” Quinn broke her hand free from mine. “I really need to go, though. So, I’ll see you tomorrow. Gaslight right?” I nodded. “Yes, Gaslight. I will put you and…” “Felicity Dexter.” “Okay, I will put your names on the list and see you there,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. She nibbled her lip for a brief moment as if she were contemplating saying something, but then she nodded and left. I stood staring after her as she walked away. Why did I feel like a love-struck schoolboy? Then it dawned on me. I hadn’t actually asked a girl out in a very long time. I’d always just hooked up with someone at a bar or club since all of them sought my attention. I never had the desire to ask anyone out… until I met Quinn.

CHAPTER THREE

DRINK FROM THE FUCKED UP BOTTLE

QUINN

I SAT IN THE KITCHEN, watching the phone, willing it to ring. I needed to talk to Harrison in the worst way. I’d already left a few texts and messages for him, and he still hadn’t called me back. I tried to work on the initial outline of my story to keep my mind busy but couldn’t focus long enough to even write a few words. Not to mention I found describing a club next to impossible. All my attempts kept sounding like some paranormal novel in an underground coven. I glanced at the clock as I typed the word “drug” again. Wishing I could come up with a different word, I realized I’d hit my writing wall for the day. I jumped when the phone rang, grabbing it as fast as I could. “Hey, Harrison.” “It’s good to hear your voice. How was your first day of work last night?” “I’ve been dying to talk to you. You’re never gonna guess what happened.” “What? You sound really happy.” I took a sip of my coffee before speaking. “I met Axel Rye last night. Not in the most glamorous of ways, but I met him.” “Axel Rye? The drug dealer?” “I think we can say he is more than just a drug dealer, but yes. He wants me to hang out after work with him. He invited me to some exclusive club. I feel like I got the in already!” I continued to explain the details of the night, barely pausing to take a breath. I was more excited than I’d realized. “What if I actually get enough from him for my book? Can you imagine? An instant book deal right?” “For sure.” Harrison asked, “You gonna go tonight?” “I’m not sure. I know I should for the book, but I’m scared shitless. To be honest, I feel so stupid around him and that entire crowd. They’re completely above me. But I also know if I want to truly get the meat for my book… I guess I have to. But I’m not sure if I’m ready to dive in so quickly.” “Are you kidding me, Quinn? Shut up. This is your chance to have some fun out there and make some friends. This is also your chance to get the information you really need to

make your story genuine. Not to mention Felicity will kill you if you say no. Stop living in your white, boring box. Axel Rye invited you, which is something most people would die for. So, you don’t say no just because you are scared.” I smiled. Harrison was so good for me. He was forever my built-in cheerleader. He always had a way of making me feel good about myself and gave me the self-confidence I knew I lacked. “You don’t understand. I’ve seen the women he hangs out with. They’re so mysterious and sensual and… urban looking. Their style is their own. I honestly worry I’ll look like a Plain Jane compared to them.” I stood up with the phone against my ear, then walked over and stood in front of the mirror. No tattoos, no piercings, nothing original about me. I looked at my less-thanexciting clothes and grimaced. Although I couldn’t picture myself all tattooed and pierced, either. “Who cares? Let me tell you something, Quinn. You need to stop thinking so little of yourself. I can guarantee you this group of women would die for your natural beauty. Axel asked you out for a reason. Stop knocking yourself down.” “I know. You’re right.” Hearing Harrison’s advice caused me to miss him even more. “You need to promise me something,” he said. I hesitated. “What?” “You’ll have a good time while you’re out there. Don’t limit yourself because you’re scared or lack the confidence. Step out of your introverted self and live a little. And don’t forget to take mental notes. You’ll have your story sooner than you think.” “Okay, I’ll try. But you’re asking a lot. PJ bottoms, a glass of cheap chardonnay, and reality TV sounds pretty good right now.” “Quinn, I swear. Now, go get yourself ready, don’t just put on black for the sake of it or so you can blend in, and have a good time. Let loose a bit.” AXEL

WE’D JUST LEFT the restaurant, which was our first request by owner for the night, and we were all in good spirits as we rode in the limo to the club. Knox opened a bottle of Jack and began to pour everyone a drink, while Teddy started cutting lines on a mirror. I tried not to groan. As much as I was trying to have a good time, I was tired and not really in the mood for partying. I’d never admit it to anyone, but the only reason I went at all tonight was for the possibility of seeing Quinn. She had been on my mind ever since last night. Hell, “consuming my thoughts” would be a better way to describe it. The line outside the nightclub always made me feel odd. All these people patiently waited to get inside, when my crew and I would just waltz up to the door and be escorted in the minute we arrived. I knew it was all part of the scene and nightlife, but it made me feel arrogant. I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat, feeling my palms sweat against

my whiskey glass. As we parked, everyone took turns snorting their lines and then began to move toward the limo door. “Hold on, give me a sec,” I said as I wiped at my nose after taking my line. I downed the whiskey as quickly as I could. I needed some artificial courage to kick in before I faced the night. “Just bring the bottle with you,” Teddy said, sniffing hard, and wiping away the residue of the coke beneath his nose. “I’m ready to get my party on.” I turned to Knox, who checked his image in the mirror one last time. His eyes were wide as saucers and blood shot, but I knew he didn’t give a fuck less. Hell, I knew I looked the same, and just hoped Quinn didn’t notice or, at the very least, care. I took another long swig of booze to help ease the flips going on inside my stomach. “All right, I’m ready.” It wasn’t the appearance that made me nervous, walking by all the club goers, or the fact that I had enough drugs on me to sell that could lock me up for the rest of my life, but rather who may be inside. The girl stole all my game. Teddy reached for the door and put his classic meet-and-greet smile on. “Let’s do this.” Knox and I laughed which sounded deep and distorted as the drugs kicked in and numbed my soul. I grabbed what was left of the Jack and followed him into the club. QUINN

“THEY HAVE VIEWING ROOMS HERE,” Felicity informed me as she excitedly pulled me through the crowded club. “Viewing rooms? What do you mean?” “There are rooms where BDSM sex acts are going on. This will be great for your research! Talk about dark and gritty.” My heart skipped. “Wait. You want to go watch people have… sex? What’s BDSM?” Felicity continued to tug my resistant weight past dancing bodies. “Exactly! And you’ll soon see.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a little plastic baggie. Inside were tiny little pink pills. “Here, take one of these. It will help you loosen up. You look like you are about to have a panic attack any minute.” I shook my head. “No, thanks. I don’t do drugs.” “I know.” “What is it?” “Just take it.” She put the pill to my mouth and pressed lightly. I could have turned my head, or resisted. I could have held my ground and refused to take the drug. But deep down, I didn’t want to. I did want to loosen up. And I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of seeing Axel again, so maybe this would help. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself again, and maybe

this magic little pink pill could instantly turn me into one of the cool kids. It was worth a shot. I opened my mouth and allowed Felicity to place the pill on my tongue. It tasted bitter, so I swallowed it as fast as I could. For a split second, I pictured how Alice in Wonderland drank from the bottle and could relate to the darkness of her tale. God that fairytale was really messed up. I only hoped I wouldn’t be seeing a white rabbit running by me once the drug kicked in. “Let’s get a drink, and go watch some scenes get acted out. You’re going to love it,” Felicity said, tugging on my hand. “The bar is crowded. It’s going to take forever to get something.” Maybe it took forever to get our drink. I don’t know. Everything seemed like a blur, I was losing sense of time, and I still didn’t see Axel. Walking into the viewing room, I could smell the arousal. I could almost taste the sexual need of the raven-haired beauty splayed naked across the makeshift bed. Her ebony curls concealed parts of her breasts, allowing her hard nipples to peek between her cascading hair. Her pale body glistened in the colored club lights that swirled around her as she writhed in want. Oh shit, the drugs were kicking in. I felt lightheaded, hot, weak. The lights seemed to spread out in long lines. My ears felt as if they were clogged. My heart beat fast. Shit. I was on drugs. I was going to be like one of those characters in a Lifetime movie and die at a club. Shit. I was going to die at a BDSM club and I didn’t even know what that was! Shit. Why did it feel like I was speaking my thoughts? As if Felicity knew I was on the verge of calling 911 and telling them I was about to overdose, she whispered in my ear, “You’re fine. It’s just kicking in. Give it a minute, and it will even out. Just watch the scene and relax.” I nodded, and swallowed hard. A warmth oozed through me slowly, and I didn’t exactly mind how I felt. I felt gooey but I liked it. I decided to do as Felicity instructed and I watched. A gradual hush worked through the crowd as the bass music still pounded from the main room. I positioned myself near the exit so I could observe, but flee if it ended up being too intense. I watched in amazement as a man with a scarlet-red scarf around his neck walked into the room. He was obviously the person people wanted to see, the man who would act out the scene. He closed his eyes as if taking in the energy, the smell, the passion rushing through the audience’s veins. It was almost as if I knew this man could feel our desire, hear each breath we took, and taste the anticipation of the show to come. His dominance almost took my breath away. Or was it the fucking drugs? Shit. I was high.

His dark brown hair rested slightly below his ears: his pale skin and ominous appearance gave him an aura that intrigued me. I watched the black jacket he wore sway as his body moved. The tight, black pants clung to his muscled thighs. His button-down white shirt revealed enough of his chest to make me and every audience member’s mouth water in anticipation of glimpsing more. Watching his performance pulled at every sensation in my body. I wanted to run away, close my eyes, or do anything but stand in that room. On the other hand, my curiosity about the taboo won over. “Master?” the woman on the bed questioned, her head lifting off the mattress to better view the man. “No. I’m here to prepare you for his return,” the man with the red scarf answered softly. “I want Master.” “You will have him.” The man moved to the bed. “Place your arms above your head,” he commanded. The dark-haired girl hesitated for a moment. Any doubt she may have had was overpowered by the seductive energy this man possessed. Her dark eyes twinkled with arousal as she gradually brought her hands over her head, laying her head down again. Her lips parted in desire, beckoning the man for the simplest of touches. She arched her back just enough to thrust out her hardened nipples, pleading for him to take them under his control. The man reached for each of her wrists, wrapped them with the red scarf from around his neck and tied them to the headboard of the bed. He then pulled two additional scarves from his pocket, grabbed each ankle and repeated the step of securing her to the bed. “Kiss me,” the woman begged as she gasped. I could see the moisture along the soft folds of the woman’s completely denuded pussy. She gyrated her hips in desperate need to be satisfied. I could only imagine how the woman felt. The sexual spell this room had on the spectators was all-powerful. It was an assumption, of course, but I could almost feel the craving, needing, longing, and desire that people felt as everyone watched. I could feel the pulsating between my own legs. Surprised by my feelings, I couldn’t look away. I hungered for more. The man slowly and seductively began to remove each item of his own clothing. Each movement of the man had the naked woman groaning for more. The girl’s exposed pussy delicately dripped in anticipation for what he had in store. “First rule is never command. You are not the one in charge.” The man straddled the raven beauty and pressed his hard cock against her. “Your Master is the one to give commands. Only your Master.” I leaned over to Felicity who stared with open eyes. “Is this BDSM?” “Shhh! Just watch.” The man lowered his mouth to the woman’s hardened nipple and began to suck. He sucked and nibbled while softly massaging the girl’s mound with the tip of his cock. He moved his mouth to the other nipple and continued to drive the girl to the edge of pleasure.

“More!” The girl begged as she flung her head in wild abandon. The man reached down to the girl’s pussy and briskly slapped the swollen folds. “I see you don’t understand you are not the one in control. Your Master will not tolerate being told what to do.” The man slapped the woman’s pussy once again, releasing a moan from her. “You obviously need to be trained before his arrival.” “Yes, please,” the dark-haired girl begged as she thrust her hips to meet the man’s cock with more force. What the hell was I watching? Was it the pill or was this shit real? Were people really doing this for all to see? The man reached for a satin bag on the floor beside the bed. He pulled out what appeared to be some sort of small silver clamps yet seeing that they were adorned with small emeralds had me confused. Before I could lean towards Felicity again to ask about them, the man’s intentions became clear. I gasped and swallowed hard, shocked and yet somehow liking the idea of having what passed as erotic jewelry placed on the most intimate of places. Still straddling the woman, the man grabbed one of her hardened nipples and very gently clasped the biting teeth. The woman let out a gasp as her back arched. I watched the slight grimace of pain on her face return to the sedated look of pleasure. The man bent down and softly placed his lips to the nude beauty’s mouth, giving a kiss as a reward for her ability to accept the jewelry. “Very good,” the man whispered between the kiss. He slowly lowered his lips to the other nipple and lightly licked along the surface. Grabbing the other clamp, the man tenderly applied it to her nipple, allowing it to join the other. I almost gasped as I took in the magnificent sight of the sexual woman writhing only a few feet away. The silver, the jewels, her breasts, and the beginning of her submission were breathtaking. I loved watching how the man had the power to dominate, the power to control, and the power to please. I was learning how one could demand another’s ecstasy. I briefly closed my eyes and slowly took in the aroma of the girl’s sex as the man lowered his mouth to the woman’s wanting pussy. Pressing his tongue lightly to skin bared but for the droplets of her arousal, he began to lick his way up and down the folds of the drippingwet mound. He danced his tongue in a circle around her clit, causing the girl’s moans to become more of a scream. The man pressed his finger past the entrance of her pussy, pulling out to reveal the wet heat of the girl’s passion. “That feels so good… so good,” the woman moaned. The man hooked his finger into the depths of the girl’s pussy and reached for the satin bag once again. He pulled out an item I instantly could name though it was nothing like I’d ever seen before. This was a clear glass dildo that had two leather straps lined with crystals attached. The man took the clear penis and rubbed it along the girl’s wet pussy, collecting her moisture. Ever so gently, he replaced his finger with the large dildo. Once he had the dildo snugly in her depths, he placed the straps around the girl’s thighs,

securing the toy in place. The woman gasped at the intrusion and began to gyrate her hips in desperation. “Fuck me. Make me come. I need to come!” Without pause, the man flipped the girl onto her stomach. “I warned you about issuing the commands.” He swatted the girl’s creamy white behind. “You are to submit, you are to accept, you are to surrender.” He spanked the girl’s ass again. “You are to do only as your Master, and those he deems fit, requests… nothing more.” He grabbed yet another item from the satin bag. Pulling out another phallus, yet this one had my brow furrowing. It was smaller than the dildo he’d seated inside her. And it wasn’t glass but appeared to be steel. I watched as he rubbed the emerald that decorated the base with the tip of his finger. Smaller diamonds circled the emerald, making it sparkle in the swirling lights of the club. I loved the intricate workmanship of this toy above all. Using the woman’s wetness from her pussy, I gasped again as the man lubricated the girl’s tight hole with his finger. In and out, slowly, he stretched the girl’s anus, so she would be able to accept the last of the jewelry. I assumed the Master would be pleased with the jeweled items chosen, as well as the frenzied state his submissive was in. “I want you to relax,” he ordered as he placed a soft kiss on the reddened ass of the woman. I watched in awe as the man pressed the steel plug past the tight ring of her ass. The woman moaned and bucked against the mattress as he continued to press it inside until only the jeweled base remained visible. The man rolled her over onto her back and took a moment to admire the jeweled beauty before him. He bent down and pressed his lips to the woman’s mouth one last time. “Very nice. You did very well. Your Master will be pleased.” Holy shit! I was fucking high. AXEL

WE WALKED to the front door, past the bouncer and the red rope. There were a lot more people than we’d expected. A fairly big-name DJ played at the venue tonight, so the promo was pretty large. We started making our way through the crowd. I had just begun to scan the place when I saw her. She stood by the doorway of one of the viewing rooms. She looked embarrassed and out of her element. I could see interest, and even a hint of arousal, but I also saw something different. I couldn’t put my finger on it. Quinn seemed out of place. I swallowed hard. Quinn’s long hair flowed more than halfway down her back. Her jeans hugged her body, and she wore a pair of worn leather boots. Her magenta-colored blouse clasped around her neck, backless except for the bottom part that clung securely around the small of her tantalizing back. Quinn Sullivan… was anyone more captivating? I put the rim of the Jack bottle to my mouth, taking another small swig. Originally I had

wanted to be careful not to drink too much, and wanted to stay clear of the blow for at least tonight. My friends, Teddy and Knox, would make up for me when it came to the cocktail and drug consumption. They always did. I wanted to make a good impression on Quinn. I found it hard enough to keep my senses intact around her as it was. But I fucked that up, and now I was already down the rabbit hole. I leaned into Knox’s ear to shout above the loud, booming music. “I’ll be back. There’s someone I need to go see.” Knox acknowledged me with a nod. “I’m going to go get a drink. You want one?” “I’m good, thanks.” I held up my bottle of Jack, still half full. Walking in Quinn’s direction, I recognized the short raven-haired girl holding a cocktail with Quinn as her friend from last night, Felicity. As I approached Quinn, I could feel my heart pick up tempo and my gut clench. Despite my efforts to quiet my nerves artificially, I felt completely on edge. It surprised the hell out of me. I prided myself on my confidence with the ladies. Control at all times dictated my demeanor. One look at this woman changed all of that. I walked around behind her and moved in closer. She smelled wonderful, giving off a gentle floral fragrance. Not suffocating or unbearable like some of the women’s perfume I was used to smelling. No stench of alcohol, no stale cigarette smoke, no sweaty-clubatmosphere-odor present. Everything about Quinn refreshed my senses. My old self had become stale, and she gave me a renewed awareness. I hungered to wrap my arms around her tiny frame and hold onto her like she belonged to me. Instead, against my will, I eased closer and talked in her ear. “Hey, I’m glad you decided to come.” Quinn spun around, nearly spilling her drink all over me. Her expression went immediately from startled, to embarrassed, to welcoming. Her smile beckoned like a lighthouse. “Yeah, I’m glad, too. What a great place. I had no idea it would be so crowded.” Her smile continued to draw me in. “Felicity was really excited when I told her we were invited. Thank you.” I couldn’t get over how stunning she looked. If I stared at her every day of my life, it would never be enough. The word “captivating” was created for this woman. “I had no idea your hair was so long. Last night you had it pulled up and… you have beautiful hair.” Quinn paused for a second. “Thank you.” I noticed she avoided eye contact again, reminding me of last night. Her eyelashes actually appeared to rest against her cheekbones, the blush rising underneath. I cast my eyes over her shoulder at the sex scene going on behind her and asked, “Are you liking what you see?” She instantly looked into my eyes and then back down at the ground, clearly embarrassed by the question. I had seen just enough of her eyes to see she was high, which for some odd reason was like a sucker punch to the gut. I didn’t want my perfect, innocent, Quinn Sullivan doing drugs like all the others. She had been sober last night, but tonight she wasn’t. “I uh, Felicity uh… I don’t normally…” But now I could see. This wasn’t normal

for her. It was obvious. It was easy to see the conversation made Quinn uncomfortable, and I was afraid she would want to run off. I had no intentions of letting her run away again. Not this time. I glanced at her glass. “What are you drinking?” She smiled timidly. “I have no idea.” “What? You don’t know what you’re drinking?” She laughed. “No clue. Felicity handed it to me. It’s good, though.” Quinn’s smile somehow had a calming effect on me. “Well, would you like another drink of ‘I have no idea’, or would you like to try ‘beats me?’ ” She laughed even louder. “Ooh, I love ‘beats me!’ That drink’s amazing.” I found her sense of humor refreshing, especially since she seemed so shy. The contrast only added to the hold this woman had on me. Whatever the magic was, I was spellbound. “Um, Axel,” she said, once again looking at the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m a little out of it right now. This is so not like me.” I nodded and put my hand softly on her arm. “It’s okay. I think everyone in this room is a little out of it.” I leaned in. “Are you feeling okay?” She looked up and gave another one of her captivating smiles. “I feel really good. Almost too good.” I chuckled. “Well good. Let me go get you that drink. I’ll be right back.” I quickly ordered the drink, never taking my eyes off of her. I was happy that the bartender served me instantly so I could return to her as quickly as possible. “Here you go.” Quinn reached for Felicity’s hand as the scene in the room had come to an end. “I haven’t introduced you yet. This is my friend, Felicity. I just moved out here a few days ago from San Francisco, and she’s been kind enough to let me stay with her.” I nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen Felicity around.” Felicity’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. “You have?” I nodded again. “Let’s just say you may have a secret admirer.” “What? Who?” Felicity reminded me of a little girl at Christmas. “Sorry. My lips are sealed.” I wasn’t about to tell her that Knox had been eyeing her for quite some time. He thought she was hot as fuck but hadn’t made his move yet. Quinn gave a playful wink as she took a small sip of her drink. Felicity looked as if she were about to speak when another girl who had just made her way to where they stood, pulled her away. I decided I had had enough of the Jack and placed the bottle on a table nearby. I watched Quinn intently. Her body was so small, but she looked so strong. Her perfect pout begged to be kissed… almost demanded. The demand was more powerful than any command a Dom in this club could issue. My loins constricted as I pictured me kissing her. Obsession

at its highest. “So, did you come here alone?” Quinn asked. I looked toward my friends in the center of the room. I had to. If I stared at her any longer, I feared I’d cause her to seek the next exit. I felt like a crazed stalker or something. “No, my friends are here somewhere, working the room, earning their money.” I turned back to Quinn. “Someone needs to earn our paycheck.” She sipped on her drink again. “What exactly is it you do?” Quinn held my gaze for a moment and then smiled, making my heart skip. “Do you really not know?” I asked. She blushed and looked down at the ground. “I guess I do.” She looked up into my eyes. “Do you like dealing drugs?” She cleared her throat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry. That was a stupid and nosey question. Like I said, my brain isn’t really working right now.” “It’s okay. And to answer your question—not really.” “You don’t like it?” I shrugged. “It pays the bills. It just really isn’t who I am.” She smiled again. “Who are you?” I stood there, enthralled with every word and every move Quinn made, wondering how I could answer her question, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Knox. “Hey, we’re going to take off.” I looked at Quinn. She seemed so small and delicate and incredibly vulnerable. Or I was just going to use that as my excuse for wanting to stay with her. “I’m going to stick around. Her friend left, and I don’t want to leave her alone.” Quinn smiled at me. “Go ahead, I’m fine.” “I’m not going to leave you here by yourself. I’ll stay with you until Felicity gets back.” Quinn grabbed my hand, and pulled me into the crowd of dancing bodies. “Come on, let’s go look for Felicity so you feel comfortable going with your friends.” She smiled softly at me, making my heart melt even more—if that was even possible. As we made our way across the dance floor, one of Jillian’s friends tried to stop me. “Hey, Axel, where’s Jillian? She was supposed to be here tonight. Didn’t she come here with you?” Her eyebrows arched, and she peered at Quinn. I kept walking, pretending not to hear. “Is Jillian your girlfriend?” I could feel Quinn try to let go of my hand but I only tightened the grip. I shook my head. “No, not at all.” We continued to make our way through the club, no sign of Felicity appearing. Knox caught up with us, looking a little irritated.

“Axel, come on. Let’s get out of here,” Knox insisted. Quinn still held my hand. I looked at her apologetically, and then turned to Knox. “Give me a sec. She needs to find her friend before I’m comfortable leaving.” Quinn smiled, finally looking deep into my eyes. “I’ll be fine. Go ahead. Don’t make your friends wait because of me.” It took all my willpower to not lean over and kiss her, but the last thing I wanted was for anything to happen tonight that would scare Quinn away. She seemed timid, and as much as I found it sexy as hell, I didn’t want to come off as too aggressive. “Oh, hey,” I said, addressing Knox. “This is Quinn. Quinn, this is my friend, Knox.” Quinn blushed slightly and said hello in a tentative voice. I knew Knox assumed she was just some girl I’d picked up at the club for a quick hookup. We all made our way to the exit, where Teddy stood with arms crossed, waiting. Quinn couldn’t find Felicity at all. She had tried to send her some texts, as well as calling her several times, with no response. Quinn frowned at her phone. “Something wrong?” I asked. “Can we leave? Do you mind taking me home?” “What about Felicity?” I asked. “I’ll send her a text letting her know I got a ride home. Felicity sometimes hooks up with a guy and forgets about who she came with.” Quinn shrugged. “I just don’t want to be here by myself. Can I get a ride with you?” I stared at her for a second, delighted to have more time with her. “That sounds like a good idea. You definitely shouldn’t be here alone… feeling a little off.” I gave her a playful wink. I finally let go of Quinn’s hand. I placed my palm on her lower back and escorted her out of the club to our awaiting limo. I helped her into the seat and sat down next to her, reaching for her hand immediately. Both Knox and Teddy studied my actions, no doubt shocked to see me give anyone affection, something I never did. They did… but not me. It was a definite change of pace having them leave the club empty handed, but with me having someone by my side. “Have the driver drop us off first,” Knox said, motioning toward Teddy. “Then you can take Quinn home.” I smiled, relieved Knox made it easy for me to have some alone time with Quinn. I wasn’t ready to say goodnight to her yet. I could always count on Knox to help a guy out.

CHAPTER FOUR

FUCKED UP RESUME

QUINN

LISTENING to the ringtone while I sat in the limo, heart pounding, I waited for Felicity to answer. The fresh air, and leaving the loud music of the club helped sober me up. I felt relaxed, and really good. But I no longer felt I was so high that I needed to crawl in a ball up against a wall. The edge was gone, and for that I was grateful. “Hello?” “Felicity?” “Quinn, I’ve been looking for you. Where are you? Are you okay?” “I’m with Axel. I couldn’t find you, so I decided to get a ride home with him. Are you on your way home?” “No, I met a friend and we’re going to go to another club. Do you need me to come get you? Do you want to come?” Felicity asked. “No, I’ll have Axel take me home.” “I can’t believe you are with Axel Rye! You’re living the dream, girl.” Her words made my heart beat even harder. I bit my lip. I decided to ignore the comment. “I’ll see you when you get home. Be safe.” “Is he right there next to you?” Felicity whispered, as if Axel might hear her. I giggled. “You have fun tonight.” “You have to hook up with him! And I want to hear all about it.” I laughed nervously, my face suddenly warm. “Felicity!” I whispered. “I’ll be fine. Bye.” “Let loose! Give it a shot; you might surprise yourself.” Yeah, the last time I listened to her and let loose, my body felt it was going to melt while I watched a man perform acts I never knew possible. My pulse sped up. Felicity didn’t help my already strained nerves. “I gotta go. Have a good night.” I hung up the phone, trying not to notice Axel watching me.

After dropping everyone off, Axel turned to me and smiled. That smile. It was unlike anything I had seen. It was soft, sensual, and alluring. I shifted in my seat, trying not to appear anxious, but I found it nearly impossible to control my nervous energy. Why was I having such a hard time breathing now? “Are you hungry?” Axel asked. I let out the breath I was holding and nodded. “Good, because I’m starving.” He leaned forward to the driver and muttered some instructions. We picked up some food at a small coffee shop and headed to the beach, eating along the way in the back seat. I hadn’t realized how hungry I truly was until I bit into my sandwich. Everything about the meal and the company was perfect. Axel had a way of making me feel warm, comforted, and relaxed. I ate more than I would normally and talked more about myself than I would ever do. I guarded my past, my present, and my future. I opened up to very few, and had found it was easier that way. It wasn’t like I had anything exciting to really open up about. My insecurities always had me thinking before that people were judging me for being so boring. I did, however, open up slightly to Axel. I felt comfortable enough to discuss my likes and dislikes. I had told him my favorite color, my favorite food, what music I liked, what movie last made me cry. It must have been that little pink pill, but I was talking a mile a minute. I took the last bite of my sandwich and leaned back against the leather of the limo seat. “I’m so full, I could explode!” Axel smiled warmly. “From the looks of it, you could add a few pounds to that frame of yours.” I blushed. “Yeah, I tend to skip meals. I get caught up in work and forget, I guess. I lose track of time.” When I’d write, hours would fly by. Axel raised an eyebrow. “Bartending?” Crap! I had almost given away that I was a writer. I just shrugged casually. “I needed the sandwich. I feel so much better. My brain seems to be coming back.” “What exactly did you take?” I knew I was blushing. I shouldn’t feel weird for doing drugs. Axel was a drug dealer for Christ’s sake, but I totally felt like he would judge me. “I don’t know. It was pink.” “A pink pill?” “Yes.” “You just took a pink pill and didn’t know what it was?” His eyes darkened, and he didn’t look as jovial as he had been before. “Felicity gave it to me.” I shrugged. “I trust her.” He nodded slowly and his expression seemed to soften. “Well you need to be careful with that shit. I didn’t sell it to her, so who knows where she got it. It could be dirty.”

I laughed. “As opposed to clean drugs? Are there such things? If she would have bought the pink pill from you, would it then be good for me?” He stopped for a moment and then let out a deep and hearty laugh. “Good point. Fine. Drugs are bad, little girl. Stay away!” We laughed until a silent calm washed over us as we both just looked at each other. Axel’s eyes were soft and gentle. He casually had one arm slung over the back of the seat, giving off a sense of comfort and a perception of ease. I realized we were both staring at each other, and I began to grow uneasy. “So where are we going?” I asked to change up the mood. Axel took a moment to continue to stare. “To one of my favorite places in the city. Believe it or not, the clubs are my least favorite part.” “What do you mean?” “They aren’t me.” I almost laughed. “You do realize you are Axel Rye, right? Your name alone represents these clubs.” Axel frowned. “I know, and I hate that.” I smiled softly and straightened my back. “Then why do you do it?” Axel’s face grew serious. “That’s a good question. I guess I’m searching.” I took a deep breath to attempt to soothe my nerves. “Searching?” Axel reached across the seat and lightly grabbed my hand. He didn’t say anything, but his soft touch made me feel calm and relaxed again. He gave a gentle squeeze before pulling his hand away. Axel and I sat in silence again. I noticed how easy it was for both of us to sit and be content in each other’s company. We both could stare into each other’s eyes, taking the time to observe. I liked how Axel’s eyes would light up when he smiled. I liked how he was confident enough not to look away. I liked how he had a way of holding my stare, demanding my eyes stay connected with his. I liked… well, I liked Axel. “So, tell me something about you. I feel you have the upper hand because you know so much about me. I feel like I haven’t stopped talking this whole drive.” This was my chance to start building my story. “I have no secrets. What would you like to ask?” “I can ask anything?” Axel smiled. “Yes, you can ask anything.” I took a moment to think of a good question. I wasn’t sure if I would get this opportunity to ask anything of my liking again. I also wanted to be careful not to come across as a reporter or something. “Okay, so why is a good-looking man, like you, not in a serious relationship?” I blushed at how forward I sounded but continued. “You have to give me honesty, nothing simple or

general.” Axel smirked. “So saying I haven’t met the right woman is considered general?” “Yes.” Axel took a moment to just stare into my eyes. His eyes narrowed a bit and his jaw tightened. “I’m darker than most.” I shook my head. “No, that was way too simple of an answer. And cliché. Of course the famous Axel Rye who sells drugs for a living is darker than most.” “I live in a world not cut out for the average person.” I shook my head again. “Nope, that was too general.” “I’m fucked up.” I pouted out my lip. “You can’t just give broad, elusive answers. Not fair!” Axel chuckled. “Okay, okay. You are pretty damn cute when you pout.” He took a deep breath and repositioned his body against the back seat. “Well, I think it is no secret I sell drugs. Actually, it’s more than that. I am known for selling drugs. I used to just be the rich kid of Jamison Rye, but I made a name for myself.” He paused and studied me intently for a moment before huffing with a smirk. “Some name.” “Why?” I asked in a soft voice. I wanted to know for more than just my book. “What made you decide to start selling drugs?” Axel thought for a moment. “I’m not sure how it happened really. I was a cocky kid with unlimited money, and power. For a teenager, being allowed in any club just because my last name was Rye was pretty cool. I hung with rock stars, actors, models, you name it. It started with me just providing my friends with drugs, and then I had the hook up.” He paused as if thinking. “It just sort of happened. Before I knew it, I was making major money and was in demand at every single club in LA.” “And then you got arrested?” I asked, careful not to have any judgment in my voice. “Yeah. I’m assuming you are talking about the latest stint. I got arrested many times before. But it was always a slap on the wrist or Daddy used his money and lawyers to get me off. But this last one was pretty scary. They were talking about serious jail time. Lucky for me, I had an excellent team of lawyers.” “Why do you still do it? Aren’t you scared of getting caught and going to jail again?” I asked. Axel shook his head. “No. The District Attorney ended up looking like a fool. And let’s just say that my lawyers, private investigators and fixers were able to dig up enough dirt on people to forever keep me out of jail.” He chuckled. “The sex scandals, the drugs, the dark side of people who are supposed to be the good guys is pretty fucked up. It’s like fucking mafia shit I’m talking about. And I can’t tell you how many people have bought from me. Needless to say, I’m off limits unless some powerful people want to go down with me.” He shrugged and looked disappointed. “I’m not proud that Daddy’s money bailed me out. Hell, I’m not proud that my fucking legacy is a bad boy drug dealer either. But it is what it is.”

I looked at Axel skeptically. “You say that like you are trapped. Like you don’t have a choice in the matter.” “What else am I going to do with my life? I dropped out of high school, and actually have no skills. I know one thing and that is the nightlife. I am a professional partier. How’s that for a fucked up resume?” “Are you happy?” He shook his head. “No, I’m over this shit. But like I said, what else is there? This is literally all I know. But I do like my friends, and it could be a hell of a lot worse. I could be working some blue-collar job I hate just as much, and be struggling every month just to pay the bills. I have a pretty good gig. I get paid a lot of money to party, pass out party favors, and make a trendy spot to appear even hotter. Many people would be grateful to be in my shoes, and I have to remind myself of that. This is who I am. I own it.” I just sat and stared at Axel while he spoke. He had such passion and conviction in his voice. He seemed so centered and focused. Everything about Axel screamed strength and stability. I had never heard someone be so open in admitting they sell drugs for a living. I had read articles about his court appearance and his history, but the information seemed so shallow compared to actually hearing it from Axel. I wasn’t appalled or shocked. I didn’t think he was a bad man, or criminal. I respected him for his ability to be honest and straightforward. Now, I had to figure out how to make my readers feel the same way. I had to capture this side of Axel Rye for the book, or I would be doing everyone a disservice. Axel stopped and stared at me. He furrowed his eyebrows and sat up straight against the seat. “What are you thinking?” I smiled and cleared my throat. “I think you live an interesting life. I like that you aren’t ashamed of it, and you wear who you are on full display. I admire that.” Did I? Or was I saying it for the sake of my undercover mission? This all would make a great book. Axel looked shocked. He leaned forward and asked, “You do? You don’t think I should be locked up for breaking the law every single night?” “Nope, it’s who you are. You aren’t forcing anyone to buy and take the drugs.” I blushed and shyly said, “Honestly, I’ve never taken drugs in my life until tonight.” Axel paused and looked slightly uncomfortable for the first time since I had met him. He fidgeted in his seat for a few moments before taking a deep breath to control his demeanor again. I watched in curiosity at his reaction. “I know this is going to sound hypocritical, but I really hope you stay away from the drugs,” Axel confessed. “It’s dangerous. I have seen so many people become addicted and ruin their lives. I guess you could say that I ruined their lives.” “Well you don’t have to worry about me. I’m just having a little fun and relaxing a bit. I’ve always been so straight laced. I like letting loose around you. Maybe you are making me into a bad girl.” I giggled and blushed the minute the words left my mouth. I was flirting, and I couldn’t help it. Axel smiled so big that wrinkles formed around the corners of his eyes and a slight dimple took shape in his cheek. “So you are a bad, bad girl heh?”

“Yes, yes, I think I am.” I continued to flirt. “But you are a bad, bad, boy.” For a moment, Axel and I stared deep into each other’s eyes again. I searched for some further explanation. I searched for some clarity as to why I felt so incredibly turned on by what he just confessed to. He was a bad boy drug dealer and I liked it. He sat on the wrong side of the law like an outlaw in some old western. It pulled me in. He sat on the other side of the limo refusing to break the stare. Feeling uncomfortable and a bit insecure at his intensity, I broke the stare first. I looked down at my hands and felt his glare burn my already red-hot skin. Taking a moment before looking back into Axel’s eyes, I asked, “So you have more money than you know what to do with, girls hanging on your every move, and are the son of rock star. Oh, and you just happen to sell drugs to every cool kid in town.” He laughed. “You just described me to a T. Quite the catch right? Women are just lining up to settle down and be in a long term relationship with me. Nothing says stability and retirement like marrying a drug dealer. I haven’t found someone who wants the same things: drugs, booze, flocks of groupies, media attention, legal issues, and vampire hours.” “I find it hard to believe that with the crowd you hang out with you haven’t met a woman who wants the same, or at least gets you.” Axel frowned. “Groupies. That’s all they are. They either want the fame, the free access to everywhere cool in town, or the free drugs. In most cases they want all of it.” Axel paused and looked directly into my eyes. “That’s definitely not what I want.” He let out a big sigh. “So did I do my part on the sharing game? Did I answer all your questions?” I nodded as his stare sent a chill down my spine. “Yes, you did. Thank you.” “Thank you for asking. No one has cared enough to ask.” After driving up a winding street to the top of a hill, the limo turned into a dead end and parked. The moon was bright, and the ocean went on as far as I could see. The view of the boats floating in the distance stole my breath. I stared out the window in amazement. This was the first time I’d gotten to really take in the city I now lived in. Axel reached for my hand and opened the door. “Follow me.” He got out of the limo, gently assisting me to do the same. I kept my hand in Axel’s as we walked to a stone wall. I could see the waves crashing onto the rocks below. We walked a little further to a space with benches and a grassy sitting area with flowers planted in brick flower beds. I took it all in with awe. I turned back to Axel. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered. “This is my favorite place.” “I can see why. It’s nice to see this side of LA. All I’ve seen really are the bar and clubs.” I stepped closer to the wall and gazed out into the black ocean. The lights on a couple of ships and some small boats shined brightly against the blackness of the water. It had rained earlier, so the ground was still wet, but the sky had mostly cleared. Axel walked up

behind me and placed his hands on top of the water-soaked stone, enclosing my body between his arms. His body heat against my back warmed my skin, contrasting to the nippy weather outside. Axel rested his chin on my shoulder next to my ear, taking a deep breath. Every move he made exuded confidence. He never hesitated or seemed unsure. I closed my eyes as my body tingled all over. Taking my own deep breath, I tried to quiet my escalating nerves. I found it unbelievable that I was here, doing this, with Axel… a man I felt as if I already knew. “I love the way you smell,” Axel murmured, his breath hot against my neck. “Thank you.” They were the only words I could squeak out. We stood there for a few minutes in silence, his breath searing against my soul. Finally, he spoke. “Can I ask you something?” The question and the intensity of the situation made me nervous. “Yes.” Axel tightened his arms around my body more. “Why do you seem so anxious around me? Do I make you uncomfortable?” I went stiff. I thought I had been doing so well keeping my emotions hidden. “I’m just not the best in new situations. I can be shy, I guess.” Even my explanation seemed anxious. I was making it worse. Axel placed his hands over my shaking ones on the wall. “There’s something about you that I really like, Quinn. Am I crazy, or do you feel the connection, too?” I squeezed my eyes shut for a second. Shit, I’m in this for the story. I didn’t want to tell Axel that. I didn’t want Axel to know. He would assume I was using him for a paycheck. And the reality was, that I was! His story was gold and my sure ticket to getting a publishing deal. I knew this. I had to stay focused, but my heart and body were at war with my mind. “I’m not sure what I’m feeling.” I felt confused. I had never been interested in a man like him. I liked normal. I liked safe. I liked everything opposite of Axel Rye. But for some reason I stood there in Axel’s arms, not stopping it. “I want to see where this takes us.” I braced myself, not knowing how he would feel about me after I confessed why I was really in LA, and why I was really trying to get close to him. Was I leading him on? Had I made Axel believe I was interested? The bigger question being… was I interested in Axel? I turned around, but he never let go of the wall, keeping me encircled in his hold. His eyes seemed darker somehow, sultry. He looked straight at me, waiting. “What do you mean?” My heart pounded. Overwhelming confusion clouded my brain. “Are you seeing anyone?” His eyes remained fixed on mine. I shook my head. “No.” “Good.” Axel smiled. “Then you’re free.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Free for what?” I could feel something; an intensity I’d never felt before from anyone. He stood so close to me, I could feel every breath he took. “To explore this connection.” He dropped his hands from the stone, and placed them around my waist. With my heart pounding against my chest, I swallowed hard, wondering if Axel could see how he affected me. “Can I kiss you?” he asked in a soft whisper. I nodded, unable to say a word. Axel didn’t hesitate and gently placed his lips against mine. They were soft and warm, softer than any kiss I had ever had. Axel explored my mouth slowly, with the most delicate touch. He tightened his grasp around my waist with one arm, and brought his other hand up to caress my cheek. With a velvet stroke, Axel’s hand wrapped around my neck, pulling the kiss even deeper. With Axel’s body pressed strong against mine, I was surprised to feel his broad chest up against my own. His tongue moved faster, with more passion, and with more need. I had never kissed liked this before. This kiss was new, exciting, tantalizing, and burned to my inner core. Never had I kissed with so much passion and sensuality. Never had I longed to explore beyond the kiss so much. Never had I imagined a kiss could pull out such strong emotions. It was too much. The passion grew, the breathing turned to pants, gasps turned to moans, and I panicked. I pulled away, burying my face into Axel’s hair. Caressing my back, Axel took a moment to soothe me before backing away slowly. He looked deep into my eyes. “Let’s go sit down.” We walked over to a wooden bench underneath a huge tree. We both sat, turning so we faced each other. Axel stared at me and smiled, highlighting the sexy scar near his lip. “You really are pretty, you know that?” He leaned forward and placed a very soft peck on my lips. “So, you said you’re from San Francisco. Why did you decide to move here?” I straightened up a little, suddenly feeling on edge. Talking about reality was popping the wonderful fairy-tale bubble I had been in. I didn’t want the moment to end. “I haven’t exactly moved here. It’s just temporary.” “Why is it only temporary?” I shrugged. “Just staying for a while to figure out my future… I guess.” I glanced at Axel, hoping we could move on to another subject. I wanted the bubble back. “How long do you plan on staying?” I looked out into the night sea and just shrugged again. “I’m not sure. Just playing it by ear.” Axel was silent for a moment. He examined me, eyes full of questions. “Is there anyone back home to return to?” he asked. “My sister died not that long ago, and that left me with a pretty broken family. My sister and I were raised by our parents who were only children, so I’ve always had a really small

family. Now, other than my parents who are sort of dealing with their dark crap, I just have some acquaintances and my really close friend Harrison. He’s the closest thing I have to a normal family right now. He’s been in my life for a long time. But we’ve never been anything more than friends, as crazy as that might sound. People find it hard to believe men and women can just be friends. It also helps that he’s gay.” I noticed how intently Axel watched me when I spoke, as if he didn’t want to miss a single word. “I don’t think it sounds crazy at all. I have women friends. Friendship doesn’t always have to involve sexuality.” Axel looked at me thoughtfully and put his arm around my waist. “Well, until you leave, I’d still like to explore this connection we have. That kiss only confirmed my feelings that you and I may have something.” I stared at him, speechless. Axel smiled. “Let’s not think of the future and you leaving anymore. Let’s focus on right now.” His lips were on mine again. I allowed myself to close my eyes and just take in the moment. I allowed the feelings of passion, desire, and need to rock my body. I didn’t fight the emotions with any doubt or confusion. I allowed the kiss to be just that. An amazing, affectionate, and life-altering kiss.

CHAPTER FIVE

FREAKED THE FUCK OUT

QUINN

I COULDN’T REMEMBER the last time I’d felt so alive. Soaking in the bath with the warm water blanketing my body, I thought of Axel as I lathered my skin. The feelings rushing through me scared me as much as they thrilled me. This was Axel, the famous Axel Rye that I’d heard so much about. This was a man known for selling drugs. This was a man who hadn’t left my thoughts since last night. My body quivered at the memory of the kiss. So gentle, yet so passion-filled. Axel’s lips and tongue were softer than any kiss before. His touch was more tender and sensitive. The kiss tantalized and seduced my very core. Never had I imagined kissing someone would stir up so much intensity. Confusion mixed with desire as I sat and fantasized of what was yet to come. The first thing I did last night when I got home was call Harrison. I had told him everything, not wanting to leave anything out, especially about the kissing. Harrison hadn’t been surprised at all that Axel was interested in me. He was happy I sounded so excited, but warned me to take it slow, although it already seemed we were in overdrive and I really had no control of the speed. Harrison had told me not to overthink everything and not make it more dramatic then it needed to be. Kissing did not make an instant future. Harrison always had a way of calming me down. I climbed out of the bath and dressed. After getting ready, I walked into the kitchen to find Felicity sitting at the table, eating her morning cereal and drinking coffee. “Where are you going so early?” she asked, looking shocked to find me already ready to go. My cheeks warmed. “Axel’s coming to get me.” I tried not to blush any more. Felicity’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Oh really?” I nodded, unable to hide the smile. I walked over to the coffee pot and poured myself a cup of coffee with Felicity staring in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re going out with Axel Rye again. Details, details!” She said his name almost in a sing-song-like tone. I sat down at the table across from her. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. The more I made out of this now, the harder it would be if this all turned out to be nothing or if I was

just another girl to Axel. A small amount of pain attacked my heart just thinking about it. But I knew it was a definite possibility. “Nothing much to say,” I said. “I’m trying not to overthink the whole thing. It is what it is.” Felicity rolled her eyes. “Please. Don’t give me that line of crap. I know you well enough to know when you’re withholding the full truth,” she said. “We hung out one night. There’s nothing to this.” “I’m telling you, there is. You’re in uncharted territory. Does he know you’re working on the book?” “No. I don’t see why that matters. We just hung out.” I could feel myself getting defensive. “I think you haven’t said anything because you’re interested in Axel, and you’re pretty sure he wouldn’t go for it.” She smiled. “I don’t blame you.” I shrugged and took a sip of coffee. “Well, like I said, this is no big deal—” “Yet,” Felicity interrupted. “We’ll see how quickly you guys get serious.” “What makes you so sure we’ll be getting serious? You yourself said he’s never had a girlfriend. And have you forgotten about his lifestyle? I can’t exactly get serious with a fucking drug dealer now can I?” It was almost a rhetorical question. I didn’t really want to hear the answer. Felicity made this too stressful. It was way too soon to start worrying about what Axel really wanted out of all of this. Felicity leaned back in the kitchen chair and crossed her legs. “We’ll see. Mark my words, you guys will be a full-blown couple soon. You’ll be fucking by the end of the week.” I almost choked on my coffee. “Felicity! Jesus!” “I’m just saying.” She laughed. AXEL

I PULLED up to the house and was getting out of the car when I saw Quinn come out the door. Immediately, I smiled like a silly schoolboy. She was having that continued effect on me. I couldn’t hide my excitement to see her. She was dressed casually, so different from all the other women I had ever been interested in. Everything about her seemed natural and pure. I liked the simplicity in her beauty. Her eyes were a brighter brown in the sunlight, so brown that I couldn’t take my gaze off them as she walked down the porch to the sidewalk. I rushed to meet her and took her hands in mine. I loved the feel of her soft and delicate hand intertwined with my more masculine one. I wanted to kiss her, but I worried it would be too forward and too quick if I kept kissing her all the time like I wanted to. Something about Quinn made me want to

take my time. My control, however, wasn’t strong enough to fight off the urge to at least hug her, so I did, closely, intimately. I almost moaned, feeling her hair tickle my face, breathing in everything about her. Grudgingly, I finally pulled away and let her go. I kept my hand still fastened to hers as I walked her to the car and opened the door for her. Once I started the car and drove off, I found it impossible to keep my hands off her. We made small talk, but every chance I got, I caressed her leg, her arm, her face. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she belonged to me. That I belonged to her. The connection and the bond pulled at me with a full-strength intensity. I couldn’t fight the urge to bring Quinn’s hand to my mouth and kiss it. I had no idea what was happening. This was unlike me to be so affectionate and so attentive. Could she possibly feel the same? I tried to control myself before I freaked her the fuck out by acting too intense, but I couldn’t help my actions. The only saving grace was it didn’t seem like Quinn minded, and at times, she even caressed my hand in return. She seemed to welcome my touch. I was excited to take her someplace quiet and private, somewhere different than the clubs and bars. I wanted to talk to her, get to know more about her, more about this woman who overpowered my entire being. I wanted to get closer. I wanted more. For the first time in my life, I wanted Quinn and only Quinn. It was fast, impulsive, and downright crazy, but I knew she was special, and I didn’t want to play around with the typical games. I knew it was risky acting too fast and pushing too much, but not riskier than denying the way I felt and letting her walk away. I had packed a picnic lunch and planned to take her to a grassy park area overlooking the city skyline. I hoped she enjoyed the place as much as I did. I smiled when I looked over at her gazing out the window, admiring the amazing views. “My God, this place is remarkable! You can see the entire city from here,” she gushed. I liked seeing her enthusiasm. No matter how many times I came up here, I always found it as awe-inspiring as the first time. I took a moment to admire the view before turning to her. The view didn’t measure up to the beauty sitting next to me. She truly was the most attractive woman I had ever seen. “I have a picnic for us. I thought we’d enjoy the peace and quiet.” Quinn’s eyes widened a bit, but she smiled and got out of the car. We laid out the blanket and put down the basket. We both sat in silence, taking in the scenery. The silence didn’t feel awkward at all, but rather calm and relaxing. Everything seemed so natural and comfortable that I couldn’t hold back any longer. I leaned in for a small but sensual kiss. A kiss that was soft and sweet, but passionate at the same time. Pressing her back gently, laying her down on the blanket, I propped myself up on my elbow next to her. I positioned her body closer to mine while my hand caressed her body over her clothes. Every touch slow, making sure I didn’t overstep. I nibbled her lower lip softly, then worked my way down to her neck and the tip of her ear. I tasted, I licked, I relished the delightful scent of Quinn. Everything about her intoxicated my senses. I ran my hand over her stomach and then down her outer thigh. I had never felt more aroused, nor had any other woman ever made me want to take it further so badly.

“Axel,” Quinn whispered, hoarsely. I moaned softly as I continued to kiss and suckle her neck, wishing now we were somewhere where we could get more intimate. There was no one around, but I wasn’t sure what Quinn’s thoughts were on sex in public. But fuck I wanted her so bad! “Axel.” I could feel how hard she was breathing and was excited to see that she possibly wanted the same. I kissed her with more fervor, dancing my tongue with hers. I kissed until our breaths united as one, merging a combined passion. Loving every moment, I pulled away so I could gaze into the depths of her eyes. Satisfied with the lust I saw swirling amongst the brown, I smiled. “You’re beautiful, Quinn.” I ran small circles with my fingertip on her stomach as I spoke. “Axel, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m… well, I’ve never been…” Quinn took a deep breath and looked away from my locked stare. “I don’t usually move this fast with men. I’m not the type that hooks up. I… fuck… I’m a virgin.” I stared at her blankly for a second, not sure how to respond. It felt as if the air had been knocked out of me. The idea of being Quinn’s first experience rattled every nerve in my body. Confusion mixed with shock kept all the words locked inside. I wasn’t sure what to say. Hell, I wasn’t even sure what I thought. When I didn’t respond immediately, Quinn sat up and pulled away from me. “Wait, hold on…” I reached for her. She turned to face me with tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve said something.” I reached for her hands, my head spinning. “I’m confused. Have I been reading you wrong this whole time? I would never pressure you into something against your will. I would never make you have sex until you were ready. I had no idea you were saving yourself.” She looked embarrassed and bit her bottom lip, not making eye contact. “No, you haven’t. I’ve been enjoying this. Enjoying you.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not waiting for marriage or anything like that.” “So, you aren’t saving yourself?” Quinn shook her head. “No. I just usually go really slow. And then by the time I feel I’m ready for sex, the relationship has already crumbled. I guess I wait too long.” She paused and reluctantly looked up to meet my eyes. “But with you… with you, I question my feelings about waiting. Maybe I’d like to try? I don’t know. I’m confused.” “I thought you were more experienced. I’ve never met a virgin, especially in the club scene—” “Felicity got me the job,” she interrupted. “And yes, I know we are a rare breed. A fucked up breed.” A tear escaped her eye. “I’m so sorry. I’m not leading you on, or messing with you. I swear. I’m just really god damn naïve. It’s embarrassing.” “It’s okay. Just relax.” I caressed her cheek, wiping away the tear. “I’m sorry I came on so strong. I should have been more of a gentleman. I hope I’m not scaring you away.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m the one who should. I want you. I do. But then, I’m freaking the fuck out too.” I put my arm around her and kissed her head. “We don’t have to figure this out overnight. Do you want to explore this? See where this goes? Take the time that is needed?” “Do you?” she asked softly. “Yes, very much.” “What if I’m just fucked up? What if I drag this out until it takes too long and you get tired of waiting? What if I overthink this shit like I did every other time?” I frowned against the soft hair of her head. I pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head again. “Do you want to stop what’s happening between us? Is this too much for you?” My body tensed as I waited for the answer. “No. I don’t want this to stop at all.” Quinn snuggled her head under my chin, wrapping her arms around my chest. “Can you be patient with me? Help me through all of this?” I squeezed her tight. “Yes, I can. I will.” She looked up at me and smiled. “All I know is, this feels right. You feel right.” I loved seeing her smile. “I agree. I’ll be here for you every step of the way. I want there to be an ‘us.’ But if this ever feels wrong—” “I can’t imagine that,” she interrupted again. “Then we’ll figure this out. We’ll make it work.” QUINN

I SAT ACROSS FROM AXEL, eating my sandwich and admiring every move he made. Even the way he ate was sexy. I still couldn’t believe how understanding he was about the whole virgin issue. He wasn’t acting like I was some freak of nature. His calm demeanor, sensitivity, and compassion caused me to care about him even more. I was falling for him, falling like I had never done before. The sound of my ringing phone interrupted my thoughts. “Oh, sorry,” I said as I scrambled to find my phone to dismiss the call. Axel shook his head, wiping off his mouth. “No worries. Go ahead and answer it.” I looked down at the caller ID. “It’s my friend, Harrison. I’ll just let it go to voicemail.” Axel shrugged. “Go ahead and talk to him.” He smiled. “He could be calling for something important. I don’t mind at all.” I felt my stomach stir. For some reason, I didn’t like the idea of talking to my editor in front of him. I knew Axel had no idea who Harrison really was, but it felt wrong. My head still spun from the conversation we’d just had and my feelings about Axel. I’d never been a liar in my life, and leading Axel to believe Harrison was only a friend was technically

lying. Although I could also reason with myself that I’d never actually said Harrison wasn’t an editor and I wasn’t a writer. I should tell Axel; it really wasn’t a big deal. I really should—but I couldn’t. I had already just dropped a bombshell. The virgin bombshell should be enough. One confession at a time. “No,” I said, a little too hastily. “I can call when I get home.” I leaned in and gave a quick peck to his lips. “I want to spend time with you. No interruptions.” “Come closer.” Axel opened his arms, smiling. “Let me hold you.” I moved into his embrace, cozying up to his warmth. “Quinn, I hope this doesn’t sound too insane, but I really like you.” He reached for one of my hands and started to kiss my fingertips, one at a time. “I know I just met you, but I feel like I could spend every day and every moment with you… if you’d let me.” I gazed up into his eyes, swallowing the lump in the back of my throat. My heart pounded and butterflies danced in my stomach. “I know what you mean,” I whispered. “I know you said you’re only going to be here a short while. And I know the fact that I live a pretty fucked up life is an issue. But I was hoping… I was hoping we could continue to spend time together.” “Really?” I giggled. I felt like I was a love-struck teenager. “Are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” I teased. I joked, but there was a wishful thinking element to my comment. Axel cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Well, yes. I mean, if the idea doesn’t scare you off.” He pulled me in closer. “I’m not good at stuff like this. There really is no easy way to broach this subject without sounding so cheesy. All I know is that I want you and me to be together… solely. At least while you’re here.” I sat in silence, overwhelmed by the realization that I was about to become the girlfriend of Axel Rye, the man I had come to secretly get information on for my book. My stomach did flips as I tried to take it all in. Could I have a boyfriend and a book deal? My emotions jumbled: I was happy, ecstatic, scared, shocked, and timid. I turned to him with a serious expression. “What if I can’t buy into this whole drug thing? I still haven’t wrapped my head around working in a club every night let alone dating someone who represents it. I mean, what do I tell my parents? What do I tell them about you? If you are my boyfriend, I sort of have to tell them about you.” Oh my God, I sounded like a little girl. I saw his eyes narrow while he looked at me skeptically. “Well, the fact of the matter is I am what I am. You have to be comfortable with that. One Google search and everyone will know—including your parents—what I do for a living. I don’t believe in keeping secrets.” He paused. “But why don’t we agree to not make this about defining. Let’s make this about two people who have feelings for each other, and take it from there.” He chuckled. “No need getting the parental figures involved on either end. Trust me, you do not want to meet mine.” “They can’t be that bad.” “Oh they are. Really bad. Dear old Dad is in Europe someplace banging girls half his age

while he tries to hold onto his youth. My mother… hell, I have no idea what she is up to. I haven’t spoken to either in a couple of years.” I tilted my head in confusion. “But your court case. Weren’t they there?” “Oh hell no. Are you kidding me? They didn’t want the shame to wreak havoc on their perfect little worlds.” He sighed. “Enough talk about my parents. That is the most I have thought about them in ages, and I feel I need to pop a Valium and pay for therapy sessions by just doing so.” “I’m sorry to bring it up. Nothing for killing the mood like talking about parents,” I said with a giggle. “I don’t mind. Some day we will have to deal with them. But not today. Today, I want to talk only about you and me and us.” “Us,” I mimicked. He nodded. “Us.” “And your lifestyle? Do I really fit in with that? You’re famous, and every woman at these hot spots would die to be with you. I’m not exactly the exciting girlfriend type. I may kill your vibe.” “It’s a job. I would never betray you because of a paycheck.” He was firm. “My friends will love you because you’re an amazing person. As for the fame, we’ll muddle through it. It’s a pain. I’m not going to lie. But I want you to be with me.” Grinning from ear to ear, I wrapped my arms around Axel’s neck. “I would love to be your girlfriend!” I kissed him and pulled away quickly. “I love it!” Axel stared at me, expressionless, for an instant. Then, as if he suddenly comprehended what I just agreed to, his grin matched mine. He put his hand behind my neck, pulling me closer, pressing my lips hard against his own. Our lips brushed and tested as we explored the growing connection between us. The touch of our lips was soft, unsure of what was to come. This kiss seemed as if our souls combined. I took in Axel’s breath, as he took in mine. We paused and took a moment to look into each other’s eyes. I could feel the kiss in the depths of my heart. I could feel the most wonderful moment of my life. Axel groaned. I muffled the sound and tangled my tongue with his, kissing him with all the passion that exploded from within, until I panted for more, until our bodies strained together and everything disappeared but the ravenous quest of our mouths. The hard, warm weight of Axel pressed against me, one hand slipping inside my loose blouse and behind me to trace the low curve of my spine, then ever so gently lower, to the top of my bottom, where his caress slid the material of my skirt in sinuous circles against my hypersensitive flesh. Panting, struggling for breath, I broke the kiss to stare into his perfect face. I had to touch him, to feel him. I spread my fingers over the rugged surface of his cheek, moving them down to the firmness of his moistened lips. Axel was the most handsome man I had ever seen. Not quite brave enough, suddenly, to meet his eyes, I leaned my forehead against his

throat, tugged the white shirt from his jeans and slipped my hand under its hem to find Axel’s firm abdomen and the softness of his bare skin. I felt a sense of triumph at the quiver of his stomach muscles and the near-silent sound of desperation that escaped his lips. Axel sucked in a breath as my touch moved around his waist to his spine, where I flattened my palm against the smoothness of his back and let my fingertips slip over every muscled hill and valley. With a moan, Axel jerked my hand from beneath his shirt and drew it to his lips, kissing each finger before he released a shaky sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, I love what you’re doing. But if we don’t stop…” “If we don’t stop…” I echoed in a haze, watching Axel’s lips move against my hand and wanting them on my mouth instead. “I’m going to take you right here. I have very little self-control.” That prospect didn’t sound half bad to me, but suddenly we heard voices and a dog barking, and the sound hovered all around us. The spell was broken. Embarrassment heated my cheeks, both from being more aggressive than I had ever been and from my public displays of affection. I would have had sex with Axel right then and there if it weren’t for the damn dog. Fuck being a virgin. “This isn’t like me at all. But there’s something about you—” “There’s something about us,” Axel interrupted softly. “Why don’t we take a break? I think I should probably take you home… for now. Otherwise it’s going to be pretty hard to respect that virgin card of yours.” The drive to Felicity’s apartment was quieter than I would have liked. I met Axel’s gaze several times during the drive. He had the most alluring eyes. With each look, the fire blazed between us. I reached over and touched his cheek. “Thank you,” I said. “For being understanding with me.” “I’ve never been good with this whole courting thing.” Axel blew out a breath, thrust his fingers through his disheveled hair, and cast me an enticing smile. “You make me feel… different. You make me want to be a better man.” He let out a low laugh. “Just don’t tell anyone that. I have a reputation.” At the front door of the apartment, I stopped and turned to face Axel. “I had a really nice time.” He gave an easy nod, his brown-eyed gaze scanning my face. “It was fun,” I added. “Well, not fun, exactly. More like… a million other physical sensations. I’ve never felt this way before. It’s so confusing, but in a good way. Does that make any sense?” Axel laughed and stepped closer to me, slid a hand beneath my hair, and pressed his lips to my forehead. When he spoke, his voice was a husky rumble that seared me to the bone. “I know exactly how you feel.” “I don’t want you to leave,” I admitted. I fiddled with the simple silver chain around his neck, staring at the satiny skin beneath it. “I have a feeling things are going to move

quickly between us.” “That’s completely up to you. I have the same feeling, but I don’t want to make you do anything you are uncomfortable with. Agreeing to fully give yourself to me is a huge step. I don’t take the matter lightly. When you do, is something I’m going to allow you to dictate. My libido may disagree, but I want this to be all you.” A faint smile tugged at my mouth, and I glanced up at Axel through my lashes. “How I feel right now… things are going to move quickly. My libido is in cahoots with yours.” “You better go inside,” Axel whispered intensely. “Before I change my mind about letting you have the control.” Filled with a feminine power I’d never experienced, I tugged him against me and caught his mouth in a long-lasting, blazing kiss. “Goodbye, Axel.”

CHAPTER SIX

ALL TO FUCKING SEE

QUINN

IT WAS ALMOST implausible to me what a whirlwind of emotions the past few days had been. Coming to terms with my feelings, my sexual desires, and my choice to be with Axel made my head spin. I had told Harrison everything that had happened, and that Axel and I were more than just friends or a means to a book deal. Although shocked at first, Harrison laughed and teased me about being in love. He warned me to take it slow and remain somewhat guarded, but also encouraged me to explore my feelings about the possibility of being in a relationship. He also had informed me that I was not allowed to give up on the book deal. That this was my life, my future, and I had a career to think about. A lustful encounter with Axel Rye was not worth giving up everything for. I almost jumped for joy when I heard my phone ring and saw Axel’s name on the screen. I answered it with a huge smile and tried to hide a squeal that threatened to escape my lips. This was ridiculous. Truly ridiculous. “Hi, Axel.” “Hey.” His voice sounded soft, seductive. “Sorry I’m calling so late. My night went later than I thought. I couldn’t stop thinking about us. I honestly don’t like being apart from you.” “I feel exactly the same.” I clutched the phone, as if it were his hand. Cheesy yes, but it’s still what I did. “I feel like I’m walking on air. I’m really happy.” I hoped I didn’t seem too honest, but I didn’t want to hold back how much I liked him. I sucked at game playing anyway. “I’m really happy, too,” he said. “It’s almost scary how happy I am right now.” I sat down on my bed. “I’m glad you called. I wanted to talk about your career.” “My career? Last I checked, I didn’t exactly have a career.” “Okay, maybe not a career exactly, but you’re famous. How’s it going to look if you’re dating someone? Won’t it cramp your style? Isn’t your playboy lifestyle part of what makes you cool?”

Axel laughed. “Cramp my style? No, it won’t, and I don’t care if it does.” “What about if it gets out that I’m just a boring girl next door? No fame, no glitz and glamour. You’re in demand at every club, bar, and big event. You don’t think it will make you look… fake?” Axel was silent for a moment. “I’m genuine. Everything I do is honest. I put myself out there. If people don’t like that, I really don’t care. I’m not going to change the way I act, the decisions I make, or my feelings for you, because of this bizarre notoriety. I’m not going to pretend I’m single because of an image I should uphold.” “I just don’t want to get in the way of what you do. I understand what you do for a living—” “It’s a job, and only a job. I’m not going to let it get in the way of us. Understood?” The truth was I wasn’t entirely sure I could handle this. I knew how other women, especially Jillian and Axel’s groupies, acted around Axel. The thought of watching other girls throw themselves all over him made me sick to my stomach. I took a calming breath. “Understood.” “In case there’s any doubt, I wasn’t planning on keeping you a secret. I’m going to be proud to have you on my arm.” I felt my pulse speed up. The reality of it all started to sink in. This was really happening. I was the girlfriend of the famous Axel Rye. “Okay. I just want you to know I’m not that needy girl. I can let you be in the spotlight but still be there when you’re all done.” “That’s not what I want,” he said. “If anyone is going to be that needy person, it’s going to be me. In case you haven’t noticed, I just can’t get enough of you.” Axel’s words sent a wave of warmth through my body. I felt the exact same way, although Axel didn’t seem frightened by it. I, on the other hand, was petrified. This seemed too good to be true. “You have to stop melting my heart,” I whispered. “Why?” Axel suddenly sounded serious. “I say what I feel, and I want you to always do the same. Don’t ever hold anything back. Honesty is all we have. We need to be free with what we feel.” “Okay.” I loved how Axel made me feel so open, and I wasn’t going to think about the book deal and let it ruin this moment. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. “Can I tell you what I’m feeling right now?” “Always.” I took a deep breath and nibbled at my bottom lip. “I want to be with you right now, and kiss you all over.” I heard Axel’s breath hitch. “You’re making it very hard for me not to hop in my car, pick you up, and keep you with me always.” I giggled. “Sweet dreams, Axel.”

“My dreams will be of you.” I held the phone to my heart for a while after we’d hung up and wondered how I could go another moment without Axel in my life. QUINN

TRUE TO HIS WORD, Axel didn’t keep our relationship a secret. As soon as he saw me at work, Axel was all over me. He walked behind the bar and wrapped his arms around my waist, kissing my neck. Axel obviously felt comfortable with his dominance and power. He knew he could pretty much do anything at this club, and he had no problem showing affection to me. Axel didn’t hold back a thing. He could hardly keep his hands off my body. “Axel, my boss isn’t going to like you behind here. I need to finish my shift before you get me fired.” “Your boss isn’t going to say a thing, and you know it.” I playfully tried to push him away. “You are so bad. Do rules not apply to you?” “I don’t like sharing you. I’m selfish. I want you all to myself,” Axel explained, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Is it quitting time yet?” “I thought you had a job to do? Aren’t you supposed to be mingling with all the club-goers and getting them to buy off you?” I inquired somewhat timidly. I hoped Axel enjoyed our flirtations as much as I did, but I did hate mentioning him dealing drugs. But I also knew it was part of his life and I needed to get used to it. “I’m mingling with the staff. Much more than I ever have before,” Axel declared, glancing up at me suggestively as he continued playing with my hand behind the bar. I couldn’t help but smile at that as I looked up from our restless hands to gaze at Axel flirtatiously. I felt a shudder run through me when I saw the predatory look in his eyes. “I should probably get back to work,” I said softly, reluctantly pulling my hand away from Axel’s. I needed to focus my attention back to pouring drinks before I slid under the counter out of view of others and did something decidedly inappropriate at work. “Aren’t you done yet?” Axel whined, and I half-expected him to start pouting like a little boy. An incredibly sexy little boy. “Soon,” I replied. Axel reached out and took my hand again, using his index finger to lightly trace patterns along my palm. “And then I’m all yours.” “Can’t you just clock out early?” Axel suggested, sticking out his lower lip petulantly. How was it possible for anyone to look so adorable and deliciously dangerous at the same time? “I can pay you and the club whatever amount. I just want you now.” He had a mischievous glint to his eye, and I simply could not deny him anything with how cute he looked.

“I guess I could clock out,” I conceded. “I’m not of much help right now, anyway.” For some reason, I found it impossible to say no to Axel. “Good,” Axel said, interrupting my wayward thoughts. “Because I want to introduce you to some more of my friends.” “I thought you wanted me all to yourself?” I asked in confusion. Axel followed me to the back room with a dominant presence, causing my heart to skip a beat. He slowly walked over to me and tugged me softly into his arms. He pulled away and placed a palm of his hand on each side of my face. Very closely, he examined my eyes. “I do,” Axel admitted, and I eyed him suspiciously as we walked to the timecard machine. “But I also want everyone to know you belong to me.” “Are you sure? You don’t have to do that,” I asked, nervously licking my lips as I clocked out and took off my apron. “Yes, I do,” he stated, reaching out to run his finger down the length of my arm. “I want everyone to know I’ve fallen hard.” “Fallen?” I asked anxiously. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine, effectively shutting me up. The kiss was chaste, less intimate than the gentle exploration of mouths we had exchanged the day before. Axel’s lips ruthlessly stroked my own, sending little jolts of pleasure through my body. I kissed him back, my lips parting slightly as I sighed in contentment. Kissing Axel Rye was quickly becoming a habit I had no intention of ever giving up. I moaned softly when I felt Axel’s tongue gently lapping at my lower lip, demanding entrance. Opening my mouth a bit wider, I eagerly anticipated the feel of Axel’s tongue slipping past my lips and into the warm confines of my mouth. But instead of deepening the kiss, Axel ended it. With one last gentle nip to my lower lip, he pulled back slightly, looking entirely too pleased with himself when I groaned in protest. “Yes. Fallen,” he answered, his voice taking on a seductive quality that made my stomach do a little flip flop. “Oh, yeah.” I sighed, grinning at him in satisfaction. “But just let the record show that technically, I’ve fallen harder.” “Sounds like someone has a bit of a competitive streak,” Axel teased, returning my smile. “I do. You should know that I never lose,” I replied confidently. I immensely enjoyed this little game and flirtation of ours. But I knew I needed to cool things down or I would demand for him to take me right then and there. But was that really a bad thing? Maybe not every girl’s dream was getting fucked and losing her virginity in the break room, but I was at the point of not caring anymore on how it happened. I was far past roses and soft words of endearment. Accepting his lifestyle still confused me. Even more so now that my feelings grew stronger by the moment, but one thing was very clear: I wanted Axel. “Well then, maybe I should give you a challenge.” Axel leered at me suggestively, leaning in for another kiss. I closed my eyes for a moment, searching my entire being for the courage for what I was

about to do. “Challenge accepted.” I paused. “I want this moment. I want this moment to feel you.” I tentatively pressed my palm to his chest. “I want this moment to taste you.” I lowered my hand to the bulge in Axel’s pants. “I want this moment to feel your cock between my lips.” I quickly undid his zipper and button releasing his thickness from his confines. For the first time in my life, I allowed my passion to rule over my mind. I couldn’t believe I’d actually said the word “cock” out loud. Something was changing in me. Something was awakening. Axel stood still, never making a move to stop me in my mission. I took this as a sign to continue on. I knelt down and softly placed his hardened cock on the base of my tongue and closed my lips tightly around him. Looking up into his eyes, I began to move my mouth up and down along his shaft. He never looked away. He never closed his eyes for a moment. He watched as I began my seduction. I tightened my lips, and worked my tongue in small circles along the entire length. His taste, his smell, and his delicious aura were everything I had imagined. Axel reached for my hair to stop me. “Quinn,” he moaned. I looked up into his eyes with his cock still in my mouth. I pulled it out enough to whisper, “Don’t, Axel. I’m not the innocent, naïve girl you see. I am a woman with desires, needs, and a hunger for you like nothing I could have imagined.” I lowered my mouth down to the base of his cock and slowly back to the tip. Removing his penis just enough to speak again, I rasped, “Let me pleasure you.” Axel closed his eyes and threw his head back in euphoric surrender. I knew I had won this battle. I smiled wickedly at my success and continued my quest to please him like he had never experienced before. I wanted to show all those groupies before me a thing or two. Suddenly the break-room door opened with a gust of loud music pouring in. A woman in a black dress and even blacker hair engulfing her pale face stood in the doorway. Dilated eyes were almost hidden by even darker circles underneath them. Scarlet lips worked their way into a smirk as she crossed her arms across her ample breasts. “Oh, don’t mind me. Please continue on,” she offered with the most seductive voice I had ever heard. Axel pulled away. “Jillian, what the fuck are you doing?” I scrambled to my feet in shock and embarrassment as Axel quickly adjusted his pants. “Well, obviously not nearly having as much fun as you. My, my, Axel. Just when I thought you were getting boring. Public play… I like. Care to share?” “Get out of here,” Axel demanded as he marched toward the door. The biting command stung me to the core. I had never heard Axel talk with such a demanding voice before. I had never seen Axel lose control of his temper like I saw now. Obviously, the woman had a negative effect on him. “Don’t get mad, Axel. Well, unless you want to spank my naughty bottom,” Jillian giggled as she seductively licked her lips. I stiffened my spine.

Axel moved with lightning speed until he glared down at Jillian’s small frame. “I said get out! I’m not in the mood for your fucked up junkie games.” Axel ushered Jillian out, slamming the door behind her, and turned to me. “I’m so sorry. When Jillian is high… well actually, that’s just Jillian. I’m sorry if she embarrassed you.” I forced a fake smile. “It’s okay.” “No, it’s not. But I don’t want to think about that crazy bitch anymore.” I looked into his deep eyes and said nothing. I met his gaze and allowed for him to truly see my embarrassment of being caught in such an intimate act. When it came to this man, I had no reason to hide my feelings. Axel pulled me into his arms harshly. He pressed my head to his chest with more force than I had ever experienced. “I won’t let it happen again. I’ll make sure I protect you from all the insanity of my life. I never want to be the cause of your heartache.” Without releasing his grip, he continued, “But I have to warn you that my image as this party bad boy tends to attract the mentally unstable people at times. I swear to you my loyalty, but being with me can be really hard on trust.” I pulled from his strong embrace. “I trust you, Axel. I know you’d never hurt me.” I smiled. “Weren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” I reminded him, leaning away from him as I grabbed my purse from the locker and prepared to leave. “Don’t I at least get a kiss to hold me off?” Axel teased. “Nope,” I replied casually, offering him a playful wink. “Why not?” he complained, his puppy dog eyes pleading with me to stay. Seductively, I wrapped my arms around Axel’s neck and moved my mouth until it was pressed up against his ear. “Because the next time you kiss me, I won’t want you to stop,” I whispered, feeling him shudder as my warm breath tickled his earlobe. And with that, I led Axel over to join his friends. Hanging out in the VIP section with an unlimited amount of booze and drugs was a whole new experience. Everyone watched and examined our every move. It was like being inside a fish bowl. The curiosity about this new girl with Axel caused quite the stir, although Axel didn’t seem affected by all the attention in the slightest. “Help yourself,” Teddy said to me as he passed a mirror with lines of white powder. He handed me a rolled up hundred dollar bill as if I had done this a million times. I hadn’t, and really had no idea what to do. I paused just enough for Knox to take the glass out of my hand. “Don’t mind if I do.” He put the rolled up bill to one nostril, closed the other nostril with his finger, and then snorted hard as he ran the rolled tube along the white line. I watched in fascination as he then sat up, leaned his head back and sniffed hard. His white line was completely gone. He then passed the mirror to me, with the rolled money. “Sorry, I skipped in line. All yours.” I took the mirror again, and the money and mimicked exactly as he did, not noticing—or trying not to notice—that Axel was watching me intently. I knew if I looked at Axel, I

would get nervous and mess it all up. I didn’t want to seem like a sweet, innocent girl from the burbs. I wanted to fit in with this crowd so bad. I wanted to prove to Axel that I could be like all of them. And just like that, I snorted coke. Or I assumed it was coke. Axel didn’t say anything, and acted as if nothing happened. He took the mirror from me and took his turn with another line. It was as simple as passing a bottle of water on a hot day. Completely normal in their world. He then leaned in and kissed me hard, wrapping his arm around me as we chatted with the group. We were undeniably a couple. We received a few dirty looks and heard whispered comments from Axel’s groupies, but if Axel noticed, he didn’t say a word. I had expected him to be somewhat tense or cautious in showing affection. But his blatant show of attention made it very clear to all that I was his girl. The way Axel acted and carried himself throughout the night made me fall for him even more… if that was even possible. Although Axel’s friends seemed surprised, they didn’t say much. Knox just smiled and made a point to include me in conversation. Teddy also did his part in welcoming me to the group. By the end of the night, it was out there for everyone to see. Axel and I were inseparable.

CHAPTER SEVEN

BEST FUCKING GIFT

QUINN

AFTER A FEW WEEKS, we had slipped into a comfortable routine. I would work behind the bar while Axel worked the room with his friends. We’d always meet afterwards to hang out there or at whatever club requested Axel to appear that night. We would then go grab something to eat and indulge in some much-needed alone time. I was becoming quite the night owl, and loving every minute of it. Drugs were becoming part of my nightly routine, but it was hard not to. Keeping up with the vampire hours, as Axel liked to call them, usually required a quick line, or a little pill. I didn’t mind really. I had Axel looking over me, and I felt safe and protected. I was letting loose as everyone once told me I needed to do. I was living life and as far outside my safe little white box as one could get. Everything between us was going perfectly, except for a couple of incidents with Jillian. She had made it a point to flirt with Axel as often as she got the chance. I had seen the displays, but chose to ignore it. Axel didn’t feed into it and, at times, seemed oblivious to Jillian throwing herself on him. The rest of the girls tossing their barely-clad bodies on him were even more pathetic. I found it annoying at times, but harmless. All that mattered at this point was that Axel and I were solid. I felt happier than I ever had, and I actually looked forward to the future, as uncertain as it was. Nothing could bring me down from the high I felt. Life with Axel was beyond anything I could have pictured. Happiness wasn’t a strong enough word. AXEL

I HAD a photo shoot for a new Indie magazine, a restaurant appearance, and then a bar’s grand opening to attend. I had agreed to meet Quinn afterwards at her work and pick her up at the end of her shift. All I wanted was to be alone with her and have some peace and quiet, but I still had a job—or jobs—to do. The night’s schedule was a true test in time management. I walked into the club with Teddy and Knox, looking around for Quinn. We had run

behind schedule, and I hoped I hadn’t kept her waiting for too long. I spotted Felicity first, and then I saw Quinn. There were a few guys talking to them, causing me to suddenly tense up. The feeling was ridiculous since I knew Quinn was mine, but seeing her talk to a man sent a sickening feeling to my gut. It was just another reason I was so over this club scene. This wasn’t what I wanted for Quinn. She deserved so much better. I walked straight to her and took her hand immediately, hating the jealousy that racked my body. Pulling her away from everyone, I kissed her. To my delight, she didn’t resist. She kissed me readily and with passion. “I’ve missed you.” She smiled against my kiss. I pulled back and stared at her, holding her tighter. “You’re beautiful. Walking into this club, I realized you are the most stunning woman in this room.” I kissed the top of her head. “But then that happens every time I walk into a room.” “There you go, melting my heart again.” She tilted her head sideways. Rising on her tiptoes, she whispered in my ear, “Do you want to get out of here, or do you think you need to stay for a while?” “I’m not getting paid to be here tonight. So, yes, I want to be alone with you.” I pulled her even closer. We barely made it to my car before we started caressing, kissing, driving each other crazy with each touch. The passion between us grew heavier and heavier every day that passed. I had been patient and tried to take things slow. I didn’t want to scare Quinn, or make her doubt her relationship with me. I was dying to take it to the next level, but wanted to leave that in her hands like I promised. On the surface, it appeared she felt comfortable with everything, but I knew she struggled with her sexual thoughts. The first time was a big deal and needed to be done right. I didn’t want it to be a “drunken or high naughty experiment.” If we were to make love, I wanted it to be just that: making love. And sadly, as much as I hated to admit it, we had been high a lot lately. When we got to my loft, Quinn sat down on the leather couch, gazing at the city lights out the bay window. Her hair, illuminated by the moonlight, captured my soul. I felt like the air had been knocked out of me. She almost appeared angelic. “I’ll get us some wine,” I offered as I walked to the kitchen to pour the glasses. “I really love your place. This view makes me never want to leave.” Quinn turned to watch me pour the wine. “You make me never want to leave.” I walked over to where she sat and handed her the glass. “Then don’t. I don’t want you to.” We both sat there in silence for a moment, taking in the words I had just spoken. Neither of us wanted to broach the subject lingering between us since we started dating. When was Quinn leaving? Would she still leave? Would she ever really give herself to me? Was it realistic to think she could? “Have I told you yet how incredibly beautiful you are tonight?” Quinn giggled. “You tell it to me all the time.” She leaned forward and kissed my parted lips, slipping her tongue gently into the warmth of my mouth.

I danced my tongue with hers, escalating the kiss to a higher level of need. My hands explored every inch of her, only to be rewarded by her following suit. I kissed her harder, suckling her tongue and lips. She moaned softly, driving my desire to an uncontrollable breaking point. Not being able to stop at just a kiss, as we had been doing up until now, I unbuttoned her blouse, one button at a time. Once I’d exposed her, I tenderly took Quinn’s breast into my mouth. My hand made its way slowly down Quinn’s body, caressing her stomach, gently and slowly. Taking my time, even though I wanted to rip her clothes off and ravish her body with fury. With a controlled hand, I lowered my fingertips to the button on her pants and undid it gracefully. My heart battered away uncontrollably as I passionately kissed her. Dipping my hand beneath the edge of her panties, I paused as she tensed. “Do you want me to stop?” Quinn simply shook her head. I continued to move my hand deeper beneath the fabric. When I felt the hot flesh against my fingertips, I couldn’t help but softly moan. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted someone before. Weeks of foreplay had truly tested my limits. I pulled my mouth away from the constant kissing to catch my breath, burying my face in the crook of Quinn’s neck. “God, I want you,” I groaned as I inhaled the delicate scent that drove me crazy. Quinn moved her hand cautiously over my chest, pausing for a moment, only to continue on. She slipped her hand beneath the cotton of my shirt, exploring along my burning flesh. Slowly, she slid her hand further down my torso, stopping at the edge of my pants. Quinn paused, appearing to hold her breath. I looked into her eyes. “Are you okay?” She spread her legs while nodding, causing my heart to skip. “Quinn” was the only word I could gasp, as I lowered her pants to gain better access. I pulled back to look into her smoldering eyes, knowing that if I kept going, I wouldn’t want to stop. “I want you so much. But if you’re not ready, I understand. I want this to be right for you.” I could barely catch my breath, my hunger unbearable. QUINN

I THREADED my fingers through Axel’s hair, tugging on his locks enough to bring our lips into full, open contact. Diving my tongue deep into his kiss, I moaned, “I want this. I want you.” Suddenly Axel stood up, his eyes dark and scorching with need. He met my gaze as he removed his clothing, never breaking the stare. Standing before me naked, he slowly bent down to kiss me once again. With slow and deliberate movements, Axel removed my clothes the remainder of the way.

I drew in a breath, my eyes still locked with Axel’s, almost frightened to look away. He caressed my face. “I’m falling in love with you, Quinn. I would never hurt you, and I don’t want to scare you.” He continued to stare while caressing my cheek with the most tender of touches. “But I want you to truly give yourself to me. I want this to be your first real experience of making love.” I broke the stare to gaze at Axel’s delicious body. His muscular chest, his body taut with animalistic need. I found my own body responding with a surge of desire. He was absolutely stunning, nude before me. “I’m falling in love with you, too.” My hands slipped down to his hips and drew him in even closer. “I want to give my virginity to you. I want you to show me how. Make me yours.” Axel leaned towards me to kiss me again, slipping his tongue past my lips and into my mouth. The hot breath caressed a fiery need in my core as a dark flame of passion burned between us. He wrapped me tighter in his arms, moving his lips to the side of my neck. I shivered as my body made closer contact with Axel’s nakedness. This was it… we were about to make love. I was about to be fully intimate and finally have sex. Feeling Axel’s chest pressed up against my own, so warm, so soft, made me want to melt into the embrace. I allowed my hands to drift experimentally to Axel’s cock. I caressed the smooth skin, feeling almost dizzy with the new sensual feelings pounding in me. Axel murmured his encouragement and approval, which strengthened my courage to continue. “You’re so hard,” I moaned as I pressed small kisses across his chest, while stroking his sex. Axel pressed his lips hard against mine, his kiss deep and full of passion. His tongue moved around mine with a wave of wild heat. I could feel his hardness pressing against me. I craved to get closer. I wanted to see and feel all of him. As if Axel read my mind, he swooped me up into his arms and carried me to his bedroom. He carried me to the bed and laid me back softly on the pillow. He kissed me gently and took a deep breath before speaking. “Is this what you want? Because Quinn, once we take this step, there is no turning back for us. You’ll be mine, completely.” I could barely speak. “Yes, Axel. I want you. I do.” He cupped my breast and slowly lowered his mouth to my nipple. He sucked hard and began to nibble his way back to my neck, and when he reached the soft and sensitive skin below my ear, he sank his teeth in. I moaned in pleasure, feeling the heat radiate from between my legs. “Oh, Axel!” “God, this feels so right.” My eyes were drawn to his cock as he kneeled before me. He was big and hard and absolutely stunning. I licked my lips imagining his cock pumping in and out of my mouth. He moved closer to the bed as I positioned my body to take him in my mouth. Axel grasped the back of my head and guided his cock past my lips. He groaned when I flicked

my tongue against the tip of his penis. I slid my mouth up and down his length, taking more of him each time. I circled my tongue around the tip, licking up the pre-cum. Slow and easy, I took him deeper. With a groan, Axel thrust his cock to the back of my throat. “Yes, Quinn, like that. Take all of me.” I used my hand to stroke the length of his shaft as my mouth worked the head. I increased the suction, pulling him deeper. He began to thrust against my mouth, driving himself deeper with each pumping motion of his hips. I could feel his body tense with each touch of my tongue, anticipating his fluid, but suddenly Axel pulled my head back to look deep into my eyes. “Jesus, you feel good.” He pushed me back onto the bed. “You know how to drive me crazy.” Axel paused and his gaze fell to my exposed pussy. “I love how your pussy is bare, so smooth. I want you to always keep it this way,” Axel lovingly commanded. He gradually slipped his fingers into the soft folds of my pussy, then to my clit. He began to move one finger in a circular motion. I moaned and lifted, arching toward him in a silent plea for more. Axel lowered his head, burying it between my thighs. I screamed out his name when his mouth suddenly covered my clit. He leisurely drew it into his mouth and moved his tongue in long sensual strokes. I tightened and twisted my body, fighting the wave of sensations overtaking me. “Relax, Quinn. Don’t fight it. It’s just you and me, forever.” I felt the growing pleasure build in my body. He spread my velvety folds further and plunged his tongue deep inside, moving it in and out in a rhythmic pattern. I was hot and wet and ready to burst. His fingers played around my moist entrance before moving between the cheeks of my ass. I tensed as his finger applied pressure to my tight, puckered rosebud. “Has anyone ever taken you here before?” Axel asked with a deep seductive voice. I shook my head and could barely whisper, “No.” Axel growled as he pressed his index finger past the tight ring. I bucked against him. The width of his finger invading my ass sent a sensation of pleasure and pain that had me on the verge of climax. He sank his finger in deeper while using his other hand to rub my clit. “I will, Quinn. Not tonight, but soon. I want to get you used to the feeling, and get you ready to accept me. I will have all of you. I will fuck this ass, just as I will fuck your pussy tonight,” Axel said before gently pumping his finger in and out of my tight entrance. Unexpectedly, Axel pulled away, and I felt him spread my legs further apart. Axel devoured my mouth in a breathless kiss as he pressed his bulging cock against my dripping wet pussy. Axel placed a hand on each side of my face, looking deep into my eyes. Never looking away, he slowly eased his hard cock into my welcoming pussy. There was a pop and I cried out, but I didn’t want him to stop. It hurt, but not so badly that it overcame my need for more.

He paused for a moment, giving me the time I needed to adjust to the sensation that he was inside of me. That I was no longer a virgin, and he had broken the barrier. When I kissed his neck, he took the cue I was ready for more, and began to gently move. I wanted it all. He thrust in and out, never taking his eyes away from mine. He was so deep, rocking forward, deeper than I thought possible. I could feel my sex clench around his cock. My inner muscles pulsated as I pressed into his every thrust. My heart thumped out of control. I gasped for breath as he began to press his cock deeper and faster. He slipped his hand behind my head, his fingers tangled in the strands and pulled. The sharp pain only added to my pleasure, pulling me towards orgasm. I felt a building of pleasure unlike anything I had known. This sensation was a far cry from masturbation. I dug my nails into Axel’s back, and I began to scream as my body reached the ultimate orgasm. It hurt so bad, yet it felt so good. Axel pressed deeper, harder, and faster, his cock possessing my depths. I felt his body tense and his breathing become ragged. His pace quickened, causing me to have another fiery sensation course through my body. I screamed out his name as his body stiffened and his warm release filled me. He settled his mouth over mine, kissing me slowly. I enjoyed his tenderness as we relaxed in the aftermath of the best sex I could ever imagine by far. Axel rolled to the side and let out a huge breath. “God! That was fucking amazing.” He put his arms around me and pulled me close so I could rest my head on his chest. “I have never experienced anything like that. You’re absolutely incredible. Thank you for giving me such a special gift.” He kissed the top of my head. “I love you, Quinn.” I closed my eyes. “I love you with all my heart, Axel.” And I fell asleep to the beating of his heart, no longer the woman I once was.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LOVE FUCKING SURPRISES

QUINN

I WOKE to the welcoming scent of freshly brewed coffee. My body was still delightfully sore in places I wasn’t aware were capable of ever being sore. Axel and I had spent hours making love into the night, neither of us able to get enough. Slowly rolling to my back and stretching my body, I smiled at the amazing memories flooding in. Checking the time on my phone on the bedside table, I was surprised to see I had slept so late. I quickly got out of bed, pulled on one of Axel’s t-shirts, and made my way into the kitchen. “Good morning, beautiful.” Axel walked over and placed a mug of coffee in my hands as he leaned down to brush a kiss on my forehead. “If you keep this up, you’re going to spoil me so much that you’ll never be able to get rid of me.” “Well, maybe that’s my plan.” He winked at me as he bent his head, bunched his fist into my messy locks, and took possession of my mouth. I moaned. Hunger fueled again. “I made plans for us today. You need to get showered and get ready. I thought we’d take a boat ride to Catalina Island. The views all around are absolutely beautiful, and there’s this terrific restaurant I’d love to take you to.” He gently brushed at my cheek with his knuckles. “One surprise after another with you,” I said as I sipped my coffee. “You deserve it. I want you to feel the love I have for you every single day.” He took a swig of his coffee from a large mug. “And I want you to know I love you during the day too. We can’t always only operate during the night or we might as well start drinking blood.” QUINN

MOTORING in a small boat on the Pacific Ocean, I sat mesmerized by the entire trip. I

couldn’t get over the scenery. Axel hadn’t lied when he said the island was beautiful. Surrounded by clear waters as far as the eye could see, sitting by the sexiest man, I was in heaven. With the gentle hum of the engine low enough not to interfere with our conversation, we reminisced about our childhoods. Several times along the way, Axel pointed at dolphins and even a whale surfacing from the depths of the water. Watching nature in its glory, I thought this truly was becoming the best date of my life. The sun’s reflection off the water made everything sparkle, and I couldn’t help but be enthralled by the beauty of it all. I’d lived in San Francisco practically my whole life and never once appreciated the ocean like I did now. Experiencing it for the first time with Axel made it even more special. Axel, leaning against the railing of the boat, wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into the shelter of his arms, lifting my chin to meet his gaze. “Watching your dark hair move in the wind is driving me insane. I’ve never seen such a beautiful woman in my life. You’re stunning, Quinn.” He placed a kiss on my forehead. Axel turned me in his arms so that I faced the ocean, keeping me tight to his body. “Thank you for coming up here with me. It means more to me than you know.” He placed kisses on the nape of my neck. He hesitated just a moment. “We’re almost there. Are you getting hungry?” he whispered in my ear. I stretched on my toes, turned my head to reach his mouth, and gave him a heat-searing kiss. “I am. Thank you so much for taking me here. It’s nice to step away from the nightlife of LA.” He grabbed my hand, intertwined his fingers with mine, and led me into the restaurant, where we were seated almost immediately. It helped that Axel knew the manager and was able to get a reservation on such short notice. He had told me on the trip up how much he enjoyed this particular restaurant and how he would come up as often as he could, even though it took several hours to get there between LA traffic and the boat ride. The restaurant itself had a quaint, cozy vibe with an old wood deck that wrapped around the entire building, the view was even more spectacular here than on the boat ride up. The place sat atop a hill overlooking the ocean. The setting sun cast rays that danced on the water. All of it took my breath away. Throughout our dinner, I found it hard to pull my gaze from the view. I had never visited such a magical place before. So many firsts with Axel. “So, what do you think? You’ve been awful quiet.” Axel’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “There are no words. You have all these hidden jewels in your back pocket. How did you find this place?” He smiled that sexy smile I loved so much as he reached across the table and gently stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. “Let’s go take a walk out on the balcony. The weather’s perfect. It’s not raining for a change.” “I’d love to.” Axel waved for the waiter. He ordered two glasses of red wine, paid the bill, then gently assisted me out of my seat before handing me my glass. Amazed at how perfect

everything felt with him, I placed my hand in his while we walked out to the deck. I inhaled the scent of the ocean as the heels of my shoes clapped against the aged wood. I absolutely loved the smell of salt water in the air. Facing out toward the water, I lifted my face to feel the gentle wind blow against my skin. Axel brushed up behind me, slipping an arm around my waist. “I told you it was beautiful up here,” he whispered as he nibbled where my ear met my neck. “It really is. I can’t even express how incredible this is.” “I’m glad you like it. I’ve never brought anyone else up here before, but I wanted you to share this place with me.” I turned in his arms, taking a sip of my wine. I tilted my head to look into his eyes. “Not anyone? I find that hard to believe with all the women you’ve been with. Surely at least one lucky woman got to be blessed with this special place.” “Just one,” he whispered. “And she’s wrapped tightly in my arms.” He pulled back, taking my chin between his thumb and finger. “And, just for the record, I haven’t been with as many women as you think.” I tried not to roll my eyes or laugh. I gently punched him in the chest. “I know who you are, Axel Rye. You don’t need to lie to try to seduce me.” “What are you trying to say? Do I have a bad reputation?” he asked with a wicked gleam in his eye. “The Great Axel Rye. Need I say more?” “You know, those words could get you into some serious trouble if you aren’t careful. You know what else The Great Axel Rye is known for?” “Are you threatening me, you bad boy?” I giggled. “I never threaten. I follow through on everything I say.” He leaned down and gently placed a kiss on my lips. “Can I ask you a question?” Axel nodded. “Anything.” I was dying to know the answer. “If you grew up in such a bad home life, and your parents weren’t your examples, and you never have had any other serious relationships, then how did you become so good at it? How did you learn to love? To show love in the way that you do?” He paused for moment as if he were trying to remember. “When I was about fifteen years old, I lived next door to this surfer and his wife. This man was so cool in my eyes. He worked some sort of construction by day, but whenever he got the chance, he surfed. His wife was gorgeous, and probably my first real crush.” Axel stopped and smiled. “I would look out my window at night and just watch them sit outside and talk. They always had a glass of wine or beer, and would sit under the stars and just laugh. They kissed, they cuddled, and they always appeared so happy. Their relationship seemed so perfect.” Axel’s smile melted away. “This was a huge contrast to my parents, who fought all the time if

they were even together.” Axel paused and kissed the top of my head. “Am I boring you?” I shook my head eagerly. “No, not at all. I love hearing about your past.” Axel took a deep breath before continuing on. “Anyway, this couple next door was everything my parents weren’t. It was nice to see… love. Well, one night I could see the neighbors in the kitchen fighting. I mean really fighting. My heart sank, because this perfect couple I loved spying on was just like everyone else. Just like my screwed up parents. And just as I was panicking that this perfect little world I spied on was about to crumble, I watched him reach out to her, kiss her on the forehead and whisper in her ear. He held her, and she held him back. He caressed her back as she clung to him, desperate for his love. No matter what, they had that. Love. I knew that I would someday have that. I wouldn’t settle for half ass. I wouldn’t settle until I was with someone I couldn’t keep my hands off, and she couldn’t keep hers off me. I wanted love that would be forever displayed. I guess I owe my old neighbors for all my mushiness.” “So you were a Peeping Tom growing up,” I teased. Axel started to laugh. “I guess you could say that.” We both laughed, enjoying this evening that belonged only to us. Nothing else seemed to matter at that point, and we were oblivious to all that surrounded us. Kissing, loving, growing together as a couple. This date captured my heart. “Do you want to know how many women I’ve woken up to the next morning, Quinn? How many women I’ve taken to my own special places? How many women I have obsessed about, how many I find myself thinking of nothing else but them? How many women I’ve trusted my heart with without planning to? One. The answer is only one.” “Sometimes I feel like I need to wake from this amazing dream that I’m having. You’re everything I ever wanted in a man, and why you’ve chosen me is confusing.” I paused, searching for the right words. “You could have any woman you want. Someone who truly understands you and your life.” “You are the woman I want.” “Why?” I asked quickly. “Why, what?” “Why me? Of all the women you could have, out of all the women who want you, why me?” Taking a deep breath, he pulled me deeper into his arms. “Because you’re the only woman who genuinely is interested in me. You seem to care about the man inside, and not just the exterior. I know it sounds ridiculous when I tell you how alone I’ve been, since I’m never physically alone, but lately I’ve been in a dark place. I have this vision of a traditional love. I want a connection and a bond with someone that can never be broken. I want to be able to look into my lover’s eyes and no longer feel the shadows seeping in.” Axel turned me so he stared directly into my eyes. “For the first time in my life, I feel normal. I feel a new reason to get up in the morning. It is you. You.” QUINN

I SUPPORTED the phone between my shoulder and ear as I made some breakfast. I couldn’t help but wake Harrison up early to tell him all that had happened. After coming home last night, I’d hardly slept. So many things overran my mind, leaving me lost in a fog. I had to talk to someone about it. Axel had wanted me to stay the night, but I decided it was best to come home and wrap my head around everything that happened. We had not only had sex, but we both had admitted to falling in love. Axel still wanted to see me today, so he was picking me up in an hour. Being apart for long seemed almost impossible for us both. I’d been on the phone with Harrison for a while now. He seemed to think my growing relationship with Axel was meant to be. Harrison was happy for me and happy that Axel had me in such high spirits. From everything I’d told Harrison so far about Axel, Harrison knew we were in love. Harrison even jokingly started referring to Axel as hubby. Then, unexpectedly, Harrison asked, “What does Axel think about the book you’re working on? Did he give you a list of rules you can or cannot write about?” I stopped and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to lie, but I didn’t want to confess my failure to reveal that secret. “Well…” I paused to figure out how to make it less of a lie. “Axel and I haven’t really talked about it too much.” That much was true. “Hmm,” Harrison said. “Maybe it’s better that way. He might be hesitant to fully open up to you. He may feel you are just using him.” I sighed with relief. As usual, Harrison and I saw things the same way. My reasoning on not clarifying things about my true profession to Axel held a little more rationale now. Although the feeling didn’t last long as Harrison continued on. “But maybe you do want to be honest. You don’t want to start things off by keeping things from him. But you don’t need to talk about it all the time. Last thing you want is for him to think you’re pumping him for information every time you two talk.” I hated the feeling of being deceitful. This shouldn’t be so complicated. But if I were honest with myself, I knew keeping this secret for so long would upset Axel. Things were so good I just didn’t want to rock the boat. Just as I finished cooking breakfast, Felicity walked into the kitchen. She had a big smile on her face. “Is that Axel?” she mouthed. I shook my head and mouthed back, “Harrison.” Felicity frowned and walked over to dish herself some eggs and bacon. She sat down facing me. I cut my conversation with Harrison short, telling him I needed to finish eating breakfast and getting ready. I’d finished getting ready for a while now, but I could tell Felicity wanted to talk. I watched her shake her head disapprovingly as I hung up. “You’re going to lose Axel because of this stupid book of yours,” she said. “Something tells me Axel doesn’t know everything about what you’re doing when you get back to San

Francisco.” The lump that had formed in my throat during my conversation with Harrison seemed to grow even bigger. “I know. I’m just not sure how to get out of this hole I sort of dug for myself.” “Listen, I understand you aren’t intending to bad-mouth or disparage him, but I don’t think Axel will be so understanding. He’s going to feel like you’re using him and faking your relationship all to get close. It’s going to look super shady.” I grimaced. “I’m not.” Felicity shook her head as she took a large bite of eggs. “You might know that, but Axel’s going to see this book as a threat. How much does he know about you, anyway?” I winced and looked down at my untouched breakfast. “He doesn’t know I write at all. I haven’t opened up about much.” Felicity’s eyes popped wide open as she almost choked on her food. “Please tell me you’re joking.” I shook my head. “You’re going to screw up a good thing. I hope this lie is worth it.” “I’m going to fix it.” I nibbled on my fingernail. “I’m just not sure how or when.” “The longer you wait, the worse this mess will be. You need to tell Axel.” Felicity stopped and seemed to ponder what she had just said. “Unless I’m reading too much into you and him? You like him, right?” I knew I was blushing. My face felt as if it had increased in heat by several degrees. “I do. I’m falling in love.” Felicity raised an eyebrow. “Love? Does Axel feel the same?” “He says he does. Last night we… well we…” “You guys had sex!” Felicity almost screamed. “Oh my god!” I blushed even more and tried not to giggle. “Yes, and it was amazing.” Felicity squealed in delight after I told her the details of my first time. She clapped her hands together, smiling in delight. “I knew you would end up in his bed. Who would have thought that you would be the girlfriend of the infamous Axel Rye?” “The whole idea really confuses me. I’m not sure I can deal with the drugs and the clubs forever.” “It won’t be easy.” Felicity grabbed the dishes and started to clean up. “Well, whatever you decide, I just want you to be happy. Be honest with yourself and follow your heart. Don’t let other voices and opinions get in the way of what you decide.”

CHAPTER NINE

FUCKING VANILLA WITH SPRINKLES

QUINN

AXEL and I headed to a new restaurant opening near downtown. I had started to accompany Axel on more and more paid appearances. The attention made me a little uncomfortable, but it was worth it if I could spend more time with him. Plus, being with Axel gave me a self-confidence I never had before. My introverted ways seemed to vanish when I was on Axel Rye’s arm. The place was crowded, and the media swarmed everywhere. I had taken a pill from Axel’s stash about an hour earlier, and I was feeling a bit edgy. It was some type of upper, but now I wondered if I needed a downer to help counter it. Axel hadn’t seemed too happy when I popped it in my mouth, but he hadn’t said anything either. I knew deep down it was bad to need drugs to help me cope with all the attention, but I was getting in the habit of it. It just worked. Axel, on the other hand, seemed to be doing drugs less, and barely drank. He hadn’t gone cold turkey or anything, but it did seem as if I was alone in using some nights. As bodies swarmed around us, Axel held me tight while posing for pictures before he grabbed me by the hand, leading me past the people and into the restaurant. “You don’t need to walk the red carpet? Do any more interviews?” I asked, completely surprised. I had started getting used to standing to the side while Axel played the part of a famous person, but was really relieved I didn’t have to do it tonight. “I’m doing my part,” he said. “I’m here and I’ve been photographed. I’m not really in the mood to do interviews.” He leaned in to place a soft kiss against my lips. “I just want to have a good meal with the most stunning woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. Nothing’s more important than you.” God the man was good with words. I couldn’t help blushing. Axel always made my heart skip a beat. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble for not doing your job. I don’t want to get in the way.” Axel pulled out a chair for me after the host led us to our table. “You are never in the way. Never. You actually make this all a hell of a lot more bearable for me. I hate this shit. You know that. I just worry all the time you are going to find this shit as old as I do and stop coming. I also don’t want you to think I’m ignoring you.”

“I can’t remember ever having someone make me feel so special before. I love how well you treat me.” He smiled at me softly. “Good, because that is what is important to me. I love you, Quinn. There’s no question about that.” My heart pounded against my chest and my breath caught. I could barely whisper, “I love you, too.” Axel reached across the table and took hold of my hand. “Those are powerful words.” “Yes, they are.” He squeezed my hand. “I promise I’ll do everything to make you actually feel those words every day.” I nodded and looked down at my hands. I took a deep breath. “Can I ask you something? Something has been bothering me lately.” He continued to hold my hand, softly caressing it with his thumb. “Of course. Always speak your mind.” “Why is Jillian always around you? Why is she always in the pictures with you?” Ugh. I was edgy from that damn pill, but it had been bothering me. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to bring it up. Axel exhaled, glancing away and then back at me. “I don’t know, Quinn,” he said. “I’ve hung out with her in the past, but she’s always made more out of it then it really was. She’s just part of the circle of friends.” I felt something inside me ignite. “Was she your girlfriend?” I tried so hard not to sound jealous. But I was. Even though I asked the question, I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to know the answer. “No,” he answered softly. “She was never my girlfriend. I never saw her that way.” “Did you ever sleep with her?” The minute the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I hadn’t intended to take the conversation this far, but the questions just kept coming. I saw Axel’s eyes widen for a second then go back to normal. He pulled my hand closer to him, gently. “Does it really matter?” My stomach leaped to my throat. My head spiraled. What had I expected? Why had I let myself fall for Axel in the first place? Jillian was just one woman. How many other women would I have to deal with from the past and the future? “So, she was never your girlfriend, you just slept with her? Is that what you’re planning on doing with me?” Axel’s eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. “Quinn, I just got done telling you I love you. Would I say those words if I was planning on just sleeping with you like some groupie?” I wouldn’t listen. All I could think of was the fact that Axel had slept with Jillian, and it made me ill. “Was she a good fuck?” My voice dripped with contempt.

“Quinn, you need to stop.” He pushed a glass of water my way and then reached for one of my hands again. “I think that pill is fucking with you a little. Just try to relax.” The lump in my throat had begun to suffocate me. The pill was fucking with me, but that wasn’t the only reason I was upset. I did everything I could not to cry. I tried pulling my hand away, but Axel tightened his grip. “So, are you still sleeping with her?” I swallowed hard. “Is it just part of your circle? No big deal?” “Quinn.” Axel’s voice was calm. “There is nothing going on with Jillian. There is nothing going on with anyone. You are the only one I’m with and the only one I want to be with. Take a big breath and relax.” He moved his chair so he sat next to me. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and tried giving me a kiss, but I turned my head away abruptly. “What do you want me to say?” That made the fire inside me blaze even brighter. I knew I acted ridiculously. Jealousy made a fool of me. But for some reason, I couldn’t fight back the emotion. I squirmed, trying to get away from Axel’s embrace, but my struggle was futile. I was no match for Axel’s strength and conviction. I stopped and looked him square in the eye. “I want the truth about you and Jillian.” “There was nothing between us,” he insisted. “Even if there had been something, why would I lie?” “Because maybe you still have feelings for her? Maybe deep down, you want an actual woman who is cool, famous, and who knows what the hell she’s doing.” “What?” Axel’s laughter irritated me. “No, sweetheart, the only feelings I have are for you. Only you. She’s got absolutely nothing on you, famous or not. And she isn’t really famous, her daddy is.” I stared at him, desperately wanting to believe the words spoken. But if I hurt this much now, only a few weeks into this relationship, how would I deal with anything worse? Being around Axel did something to my senses, my emotions, and to my heart. It scared me. I shook my head, blinking back the tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me. Maybe it’s the pill and I’m just fucked up.” I took a deep breath. “But this is too much for me to take.” He glared at me. “What the hell does that mean?” “I mean this is who you are. This is what your world has always been like. Who am I to think I can fit in to your life… your lifestyle? Things like this are going to keep happening, and I don’t think I can handle it. You’re famous and could have any woman you want. Women are begging to have even one night with you. I should’ve never agreed to—” “Don’t even say it.” He took my hand and put it to his chest. I could feel Axel’s heart beat

against my palm. “You’re scaring me. This sounds like you’re about to end things between us. I can’t believe you don’t see how much I’ve fallen in love with you.” I shook my head. “It’s too difficult, Axel. I thought I could do this… I wanted to do this, but I can’t. Try to put yourself in my place. Would you be able to deal with other men constantly hitting on me? I’m so confused. I don’t know what I was thinking coming into this. I let myself get caught up in all the infatuation and excitement.” Axel’s grip tightened on my shoulder as he pulled my to face him. He stared at me hard, glaring as he spoke through his teeth, “What exactly are you saying?” I looked down at my hands for a long moment, then finally looked back into Axel’s stare. My eyes glistened, but I didn’t cry. “My feelings for you are what have me so terrified,” I said. “If I didn’t love you so much, I wouldn’t be backing out now before it’s too late.” Axel stared at me in disbelief. “Backing out?” “I’m sorry,” I whispered, casting my eyes back down to the ground. My head pounded and my body demanded a stiff drink. “Stop, Quinn. I won’t let you back out now, or ever. I can’t. There’s no turning back for me. You need to understand that I love you. I love you!” He leaned over and kissed my forehead, then my cheeks and all around my mouth. “Axel,” I whispered. He continued to kiss my mouth, deepening the kiss further. “Axel.” I pulled away. “I love you, too. But that is what scares me to death. I don’t want my heart broken. You have the power to do so.” He moved a piece of hair behind my ear. “I won’t abuse that power. You have to have some faith in that.” He kissed me again, then held my face in his hands. “Trust that I will protect our love with everything I have.” A smile slowly lifted the corners of my lips. “You see how crazy you make me? Do you see how insane my jealousy just got? You really want a part of this insanity?” I giggled lightly. Axel smiled, rubbing his palm up and down my back. “I understand it. I know what I do for a living and who I am can be a lot for anyone to take. I also understand that you being with me is going to be an adjustment. I understand.” I wrapped my arms around Axel and leaned my head against his chest. “I’m scared. I’m confused. But I do know one thing. I’m in love.” QUINN

LYING NAKED on Axel’s chest, after another great sexual experience, I could hear his heart beat. I had never felt so content and so relaxed. I still had a lot of questions about

what he wanted and what he expected out of me. Not to mention that this was my chance to really get some solid material for my story. I had been with the man nonstop, and yet there was still so much mystery there. Yet, in all truth, I was more of one. He didn’t really know me or who I was. Writing was my passion, and he knew nothing of it. I took a deep breath. I desperately wanted this to work, and knew I should come completely clean with him. Tell him why I came to LA, tell him why I took the job in the club—I should tell him everything. But what if he thought my feelings for him were a sham? He could jump to the conclusion that I was using him. Was I using him? Maybe at first… but not now. Things were different now. They were so different. I hadn’t planned that I would actually fall in love with Axel Rye. That I would immerse myself truly into this lifestyle. Axel must have sensed all the doubt because he kissed me gently on the head and pulled me closer before speaking. “I can tell you are in deep thought. Stop worrying. Trust that I would fight with every breath I have to keep us this way.” “I trust you more than anyone. I’m just still wondering about your lifestyle, or I guess, our lifestyle. I grew up in a completely different world.” “I don’t think our worlds were that different.” He laughed. “Never mind. Yes, they were.” Axel soothed as he continued to stroke the full length of my back. “Tell me about your family. You never do.” “Not exciting is why. I was the typical middle American, middle income family. My parents never divorced, we had a dog and a cat, and we had family game nights. What you see on sitcoms was my family.” “Any siblings?” “A sister.” I let out a deep breath. “She died not that long ago. Car accident.” Axel tensed slightly. “I’m sorry. That must have been tough.” “It was. I’m okay. My parents aren’t really.” I shrugged. “Death is part of life. Hard. Really hard, but we have no choice but to move on, right?” Axel continued stroking my back and placed small kisses on my head. “You are such a positive and strong person to think that way.” “She would want me to live life. She wouldn’t want me to live my life in a dark hole. It would be a disgrace to her memory.” I smiled and patted his chest. “She would have loved you.” “Ha! I doubt it. I’m not exactly the type of guy you take home to the family to show off. They warn little, sweet girls like you about boys like me, remember?” “You are a catch! I’m sure there are plenty of fathers out there who would love for their daughters to hook up with a drug dealing, party boy,” I teased with a giggle. I stopped my laugh mid-way and added, “But seriously, Axel, people don’t know what they are missing with you. I honestly don’t know why you haven’t been tied down before. I’m never letting you go.” “It’s really hard for me to truly trust people. For many women, being with me is just about

partying and having a good time, and they aren’t willing to give their whole hearts to me. Not that I wanted any more from them. Life was always about getting high and fucking.” I stroked Axel’s stomach lightly. “I can’t help but worry that I am too boring for you. Too vanilla.” “I like vanilla. Maybe with a dash of sprinkles.” I smiled against his chest, extremely embarrassed about my next question. “Are you ever kinky? I just assumed you were kinky.” I paused for a moment before continuing on. “Actually, I don’t even really know what kinky is. Forgive my virgin ignorance.” I giggled out of discomfort. I was being such a nerd. He chuckled. “I hate to break it to you, babe, but your virgin days are over. But I definitely can school you on some kinky.” Axel rubbed my head, lightly lifting my hair off of my back. He slowly moved his finger down my back until it rested softly on my anus. He applied a little pressure but didn’t press in. My breath caught and I let out a soft sigh. He pressed his finger a little more. “How does this make you feel? Does it make you feel like a dirty girl?” I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know how I felt. Shit, this was kinky! All I could do was let out a small gasp every time his finger pushed a little further. “Quinn, answer me. How does my finger pressing here make you feel?” Axel softly demanded. I shook my head and pressed my face against his chest. I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know how to voice the mixture of emotions. I felt embarrassed to have his finger invading such a forbidden area. Part of me wanted to escape his sensual probing, but another part of me wanted to scream for more. As his finger inched its way deeper, I experienced a slight pinch and burn that set my whole body on fire. “Answer me,” Axel commanded in a much firmer tone. He thrust his finger deeper, punishing my silence. “Desire!” I whispered between my gasps. “Good. How does it make you feel mentally?” Axel asked while pressing his finger the remainder of the way into my ass. I shook my head again, hiding my blushing face against his chest. I didn’t know how to voice the emotion. Kinky? Controlled? Mastered? Whatever it was, it was like nothing I had ever experienced. The presence of his finger had such a grasp of my internal struggles. My wall crumbled more with every second his finger possessed me. I wanted to just release and let go. Allow the feelings to rush through me. And yet something in me kept trying to fight them away. “Quinn. Not answering me when I ask warrants discipline. Am I going to have to give you a spanking? Or maybe I should punish you like this.” Axel began to pump his finger in and out. His action was not sensual or seductive like before, but replaced with firm and direct thrusts. The pace resembled an aggressive ass fucking, but it was still a seductive

and an intimate act. I wanted to plead for more, and at the same time, I wanted to beg for him to stop. Axel pressed his finger to the hilt and used the force to push me even closer to his body. He pressed hard against my inner depths. My gasp turned to a moan. “I know this might be hard. Hard to let go and allow yourself to enjoy such a taboo act. I want you to relax and allow the sensation,” Axel coaxed. He kissed me lightly on the head as he slowly removed his finger, only to press it forward, past the tight ring, once more. “I’ll ask again. Does this make you feel dirty?” Without pause, I answered, “Yes. But I like it.” Yes, it did make me feel like a dirty, dirty girl. That was the only word that seemed to fit the rush of emotions coursing through me. I felt safe, protected, loved. I also felt seductive and nasty. But then the realization hit me. I felt sexy, womanly. And Axel was masculine and dominant. Everything felt so fucking hot, and so very right. He slowly removed his finger, leaving me with a sense of emptiness. He then swatted me on the ass twice before pulling me closer into his strong embrace. With his arms wrapped tightly around me, I closed my eyes and relished the dynamic Axel had created. “Are you all right, sweetheart? That was a pretty intense thing we just did,” Axel asked as he squeezed me even tighter. “A small taste of some kinky for you.” He chuckled lightly. I nodded my head. “I had no idea… I didn’t know.” I pulled away enough so I could look into his eyes. “Why have I never tried that before? It made me want you even more.” Axel smiled before softly kissing my lips. “I like the way you think.” Axel paused and took a moment to just look at me. “I need you to always trust that I have your and our best interests in mind. I will never abuse this.” “I trust you with my life, Axel. I’m scared, and I’m nervous. But I’m also excited for our future.” I gave a sinful smile and added, “And I like kinky.”

CHAPTER TEN

FUCKING WHACK JOB

AXEL

BY THE NEXT EVENING, everything returned to normal with Quinn. The drama from the night before seemed to have dissipated, but I knew the issue with Jillian would still be an ongoing problem unless I did something about it. So, when I saw Jillian standing by the bar where we all hung out that night, I figured it was as good a time as any to take care of this once and for all. Jillian’s eyes brightened, and she stood up anxiously when she saw me approach. “Hi, sexy.” She smiled seductively at me, tossing her hair back. “I haven’t seen you around without that little leech hanging on your arm all the time. It’s refreshing to see you alone for a change.” I clenched my teeth, trying to ignore the comment. “We need to talk.” “Of course. We have so much to catch up on. I’ve missed you.” “I know what you’re trying to do, Jillian. It needs to stop.” Her smile dissolved. “I don’t know what you mean.” “Yes, you do,” I snapped. “Stop acting like you and I have something.” She stared straight into my eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You purposely try to pose in every picture with me. Or you try to stand by me like we’re a couple at all the events.” My jaw tightened. “I’m tired of it.” She shifted her weight and avoided my eyes. “Is this you talking? Or your needy little girlfriend?” “It’s getting old.” “You never complained before.” “Well, things are different now.” I could see the rage in her eyes. Knowing how much she loved attention, I worried she would make a scene just for some added publicity. I heard the venom in Jillian’s words clearly. “You didn’t answer me. Is this your girlfriend being a jealous bitch?”

I wasn’t about to give her the pleasure. “To be honest, she’s never mentioned you. Believe it or not, the world doesn’t revolve around you, Jillian.” Jillian laughed, attempting to sound sarcastic, but failed. She slammed her drink on the bar, spilling the liquid all over. She glared at me, lip quivering. “You think I need you? If you haven’t noticed, I’m doing just fine on my own.” She lifted her arms and motioned at the bar around her. “I get invited to just as many of these gigs as you. And I have men begging for me to even give them the littlest time of day. And you aren’t the only dealer in town you know.” “I’m happy for you. It’s what you wanted to begin with. You’ve always been an attention whore.” “This is how you treat me, Axel? Have you forgotten everything we once shared?” Jillian screeched. She took a moment to regain her composure and smooth down her wild hair. “That short-lived relationship is over,” I replied, never releasing her from my glare. Jillian returned the stare with her bloodshot eyes. She was clearly coming off a high from the night before. “You want the fame. You want the connections I have and you damn well know it.” “No, I’m fucking over that shit.” Jillian casually crossed her arms against her chest and gave an alluring grin. “So you say. You are a damn junkie, Axel. Not just for the drugs but for the fame. Deny it all you want.” Jillian took a long pause as she scanned her eyes along the full length of my body. “You may be sexy as hell, but you are no better than a crack head begging for change on the street. You need me around.” My jaw locked, and I knew my expression grew fierce. “Jillian, you have a dark ass soul. You are so ugly on the inside that it’s starting to seep out your pores. I want nothing to do with you. Please face that fact.” “Face what? The fact that you will never find this fantasy of a perfect woman? You’re crazy to think that this no name suburban Barbie is the girl for you. We were good together, Axel. Power, control, ecstasy—our sexual need was always met… in all ways. Is this the life you want to leave for some unrealistic expectations? You want to run off and play house?” Jillian took a few steps closer toward me. “You can’t possibly think that bartender is the woman of your dreams? Unless your dream is to end up bald, fat, and stuck with two kids in a three-bedroom house that threatens to swallow you whole. You don’t want the misery of settling down and you know it.” I clenched my teeth, holding all my fury within. Her voice grated on my nerves. Jillian smiled. “She’s fascinated with your fame and your sexual reputation. The bad boy, drug dealing, son of a rock star.” Jillian released a soft but evil laugh. “She just wants to use you like every other fucking female in your life.” “What I do from now on is none of your concern. I’ve asked you to back off and leave me alone. I will not ask again.” “Go to hell, Axel!” She began to storm off. After only a few steps, she stopped and turned

around. “And don’t flatter yourself. You don’t have to worry about me speaking to you ever again.” “Thank you.” With that, Jillian spun around and walked away in a huff. All things considered, it had gone a lot better than I had hoped. I walked out of the bar feeling as if an enormous weight had been taken off my shoulders. I desperately hoped my problems with Jillian were over. AXEL

I LOOKED FORWARD to the photo shoot for a new, local social magazine. It was supposed to be a “What’s Hot in LA” type of rag. I hadn’t hung out with the guys alone in a while. I needed some good, quality bro time, and this gave us an opportunity to do so without the club lights and loud music. We took photos, laughed, and goofed around. Even though the shoot was technically work, we always made things fun. I had just finished the last shot with Knox and Teddy when I saw Jillian rush toward me, looking very determined. “Can I talk to you?” she asked. “What happened to you never talking to me again?” “Axel, this is serious.” I walked over to the makeup table to remove the pound of cosmetics on my face. “Go ahead.” “I mean alone.” She glanced at Knox and Teddy. They both turned to me as I shrugged. “We’ll be over here.” Knox pointed. They didn’t go too far, choosing to sit at a table nearby. “How dare you dismiss me just like that?” Jillian crossed her arms and stood in front of me, forcing me to stop. “As if I never meant anything to you.” I bit my tongue, not wanting any more drama, but I had Quinn to think about. “Jillian, I’m seeing someone now. I can’t be dealing with you.” I waved my hand up and down in front of me. “With all this craziness.” “She’s lying to you. She is trying to do and say whatever you want, just to get close to you. I heard she got the job at Wicked just so she could stalk you.” I laughed, though I didn’t find this conversation funny at all. “Trying to dig up dirt, I see. Don’t you have better things to do with your time?” “That’s what everyone is saying. I’m surprised you haven’t heard. She’s never bartended before. But she used her connections to get into Wicked knowing you were a regular. This has been her sick plan all along. People are talking about it. How a nobody from nowhere somehow lands with Axel Rye.” “I don’t pay attention to petty gossip.” I did everything I could to control my temper. I

didn’t like hearing Quinn talked about. “I don’t mean to hurt you, Axel. I just thought you should know.” The inflated attempt to sound sympathetic infuriated me. The blood curdling in my veins made me want to scream. I glared at her. “You could never hurt me, Jillian. I’d have to care about you for that. You know nothing about Quinn, so mind your own business.” Jillian shrugged. “She’s using you. She’s using you for your fame.” “Using me like you?” I asked. “There was something special between us. I didn’t use you.” “Bullshit!” I spat. “There was never an us, Jillian. And you know it. You made up all that crap to try to gain notoriety.” “I stood by you!” she screeched. “I was there every step of the way during your trial!” “Yeah,” he smirked, “signing autographs and posing for pictures the entire time. Not to mention feeding the press leaks about wherever I was.” “How dare you!” The tears welled up in Jillian’s eyes. I rolled my eyes and backed away. “Stop with the dramatics. Don’t play the abused victim card. You manipulated me far too many times. I see through you now.” I turned and began to walk toward Knox and Teddy. “You lusted after me, you asshole! We had sex, over and over again! We made love into the morning hours!” she yelled. “Don’t you remember that?” My stomach churned. I spun around and charged toward Jillian. I could see her eyes open wide in alarm, but Jillian stood her ground. I walked right up to her face and spoke through my teeth just loud enough for Jillian to hear, but my words were strong and cutting. “We never made love. We had sex: cold, meaningless sex. That’s what happens when I get high and you take advantage of the situation. You knew what you were doing. We had one fucked up mistake! You used me, you took advantage of me, and then you tried to play games with me. You are a fucking whack job. I’m done, Jillian. Stay the hell away from me.” With her mouth half open, she stared at me. “I hope your vanilla girlfriend makes you happy. Because when I’m done talking shit about you, your career will be over. I’m going to say that you are manipulating her and forcing her to take drugs. I’ll say you are actually abusing her. Sweet innocent girl turned to the dark side by Axel Rye. Now’s she a junkie and it’s all because of you. People won’t want their names tied to you. I’m going to make you look like an abusive ass, and no one wants that around. I’ll even say how you got me hooked, but I was too scared to say no to you because of how violent you got. How’s the public going to take hearing that you beat women?” “Blackmail won’t work either, Jillian. But nice try.” “Fuck off!” Jillian turned and hurried away, face red with fury.

I took a deep breath and walked back slowly toward my friends, ignoring the whispers and staring faces of everyone who had just witnessed the scene. I was sure it would show up in the tabloids within the hour. Teddy shook his head. “It’s about time you told that bitch off.” I nodded, still feeling a little shaky. I hadn’t intended to get in a fight. It wasn’t my style, but I couldn’t take another minute of her. I stood there, still reeling from what Jillian had threatened to do about Quinn. I didn’t want my friends to notice that Jillian had gotten to me, but I couldn’t even force a smile. Knox seemed concerned. “Are you okay?” I shook my head. “She said that Quinn is using me.” “Quinn? Is she?” Teddy asked. “She seems totally into you.” “You and her are a couple, right? Jillian’s a lying bitch,” Knox said. “Quinn’s lived a sheltered life before me. I think this whole fucked up fame thing is new to her,” I explained, still feeling slightly beaten by the fight. “But I don’t think she is with me because of the fame. I’m not even sure she really likes it.” I sighed. “She never did drugs before me, though. I fucking feel bad as fuck for that.” Teddy shook his head, eyes closed. “Ah, Axel. You shouldn’t have got her into that shit. You know how it turns out. Are you sure she isn’t with you now because of the drugs? You know how powerful that need gets.” I shook my head. “No, it’s not like that. It’s different between us. Quinn and I have fallen in love. It’s more than just drugs and partying.” Teddy paused before speaking. “I hope so. I like Quinn a lot, and she seems to make you happy. I just hope this doesn’t end up destroying your heart.” “And screw Jillian! Who cares what bullshit she comes up with?” Knox added. I eyed them both. My buddies had a way of always making me feel better. I could act as tough as I wanted, but deep down I needed their strength in my life. Feeling exhausted, the only thing I wanted right now was to be in Quinn’s arms. QUINN

AN EVENING at Axel’s home was exactly what I needed. I had fun at all the clubs and bars, but I really missed the peace and quiet. When Axel and I got to his place, he led me to the couch and threw his keys and phone down on the coffee table. “I’m dying for a drink.” He walked toward the kitchen. “Would you like a glass of wine?” “Yes, that sounds really nice.” He walked to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses out of the cupboard. The open floor plan of the loft allowed me to watch his every move. I loved watching the way Axel carried himself. He had a level of domination mixed with casualness that made every

action alluring. “How was your photo shoot?” I asked, still watching him as he opened the bottle of red wine. He shrugged. “The actual shoot was a lot of fun. I like doing things like that with Teddy and Knox.” He smirked. “Maybe that makes me an arrogant ass.” “But? I get the feeling you had a rough day.” He poured the wine into the glasses and walked back to the living room with one in each hand. He handed the wine to me before saying, “Jillian showed up.” I stared at him. The words stung. Axel sat down next to me and slouched back against the leather couch, placing both feet on the coffee table to relax. “I’d already talked to her last night when you were at work, telling her to back off and leave me alone. I called her out on the stupid games she’s been playing. I thought that would be the end of it,” he said. “But I should’ve known better. Jillian has to make a bigger deal out of everything.” I turned so I could search Axel’s eyes to see if there was more to the story. He took a sip of his wine slowly and then sighed. “She made a scene after the shoot.” “A scene?” “A classic Jillian move. She loves the limelight.” Axel hugged me tightly with a heavy sigh and pushed me back gently on the sofa. “Quinn, it’s nothing. I wouldn’t have even brought it up, but I didn’t want you to hear about it from someone else.” “What did she say?” He tried kissing me, but I pulled away. “Babe, let’s not do this again. Seriously, the only thing that matters is that I straightened things out, and she won’t be bothering you or me anymore.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, she’s taken up entirely too much of our energy as it is. I’m not going to let her antics get in the way of us. Jillian is out of our lives.” I stared at him for a moment, hoping he was right. “Okay.” Thankful the conversation hadn’t turned into another dreaded discussion like the night before, I moved forward and buried my face into his neck. I pressed myself against the warmth of Axel’s chest. I smiled and calmed a bit. Being this close to him made my heart do flips. I grabbed both glasses and placed them out of the way on the table. I moved forward so I was inches from his face and softly kissed him. I gasped as his mouth crushed passionately against mine, taking control over the kiss. I clung to his shoulders, pulling him closer. Opening my mouth to the smooth feel of his tongue, I ached to feel his bare skin against my own. Sitting back, I slowly unbuttoned my shirt, my eyes never leaving his as I shrugged it off my shoulders and tossed it aside. His fingers easily undid the front clasp of my bra, parting it to stare at my breasts for a long moment that had my nipples going rock hard even before he pulled it off and threw it after

my shirt. A shudder rippled through me as Axel pulled his shirt off as well and then reached to gently caress my breast. He continued to ravish my mouth as his hands explored every part of my now exposed chest. I moaned as a hot surge of hunger rushed through me. I joined in by running my hands across his chest, softly moaning as my fingers stroked his nipples. He pulled me closer than I thought possible. The heat between our bodies aflame, he groaned, “God, I want you. I need you.” Placing hot, wet kisses along my collarbone, Axel whispered, “I’ve wanted you all day. I’ve needed you. I hate being without you for even a second.” I clung to him, panting for air. The heat of the moment, the fervor between us, was almost too much. My mind spun and my body pulsated. “I’m taking you right here, right now. I can’t fight this any longer. I want the taste of you against my tongue.” I looked into his blazing eyes and nodded. “Yes… yes. I don’t want you to stop.” In an instant, I found myself lying beneath Axel on the soft leather of the couch, both of us completely nude. He kissed his way down my body inch by inch until his lips made contact with my yearning sex. I arched my back as he eased my legs further apart. Little by little, he began to place soft kisses along the inside of my thigh, gradually making his way to his ultimate target. I tensed as his tongue flicked the sensitive bud, causing me to moan in pleasure. A wavering burst of intensity slid into my stomach. He continued to suck and lick, pleasuring to my very core as he used his fingers to part the folds of my sex, heightening my bliss, bringing me closer to complete ecstasy. I tensed again. Wary of letting go completely, I tried to fight the wave of passion threatening to overcome my entire being. Having Axel in such an intimate position battled against my insecurities. He continued to circle his tongue along the outer edges of my moist entrance. With a thrust of his finger deep within my heat, Axel whispered, “It’s okay. Let go. You’re safe with me. Trust me.” His soothing words, mixed with his sensual ministrations, brought me over the edge. Light flashed, heat conquered, and hunger satisfied. I could do nothing but release a heavy gasp. With greedy need and a mischievous smile, I managed to roll Axel onto his back so I could trace a hungry trail down his body. I kissed, I licked, I tasted my way down to the hardness waiting between his legs. I moved my way lower and lower until the tip of my tongue touched the tip of his cock. With Axel’s hips rising to meet my seduction, he moaned. “I want to feel your mouth wrapped around me.” I followed his command and took his cock past my lips, and gently sucked, swirling my tongue in small circles as I took in the scent of Axel’s intoxicating desire. His groan, his

shudder, and the way his hands grabbed at my hair only drove my need to please even higher. I worked my lips up the slickened skin, then drove them back down in a rhythmic motion. I pushed myself to meet Axel’s demands. Licking lightly, I worked his body, intensifying his pleasure. Slowly up, then plunging back down, I worked until Axel’s control snapped. His breath hitched and his moan reverberated through his entire body as he climaxed in my mouth. The moment ebbed, satisfaction blanketing us both. He pulled me in close as I wrapped my arms around him and clung. I was his. I would always belong to Axel Rye. A knock on the door had us both jumping up and scurrying for our clothes. “Just a minute!” Axel called out. I quickly buttoned my shirt and pulled on my pants. “Were you expecting someone?” Axel pulled the last of his clothes on. He leaned over and placed a quick peck on my lips. “I’ll get rid of them.” Axel opened the door to Teddy and Knox standing with beer and hot wings in hand. “Are we interrupting something?” Knox chuckled. They both walked past Axel in the doorway and went straight to the kitchen. “Did you forget about the game tonight?” Teddy asked. “Ah, shit. I forgot.” Axel turned to look at me apologetically. I nodded and smiled. “It’s fine,” I mouthed to Axel. “Hi, Quinn. You look… glowing right now. It’s a good look for you.” Knox laughed, continuing the tease. I tried to fight back the blush threatening to conquer my face. I couldn’t help but laugh. “Hi, guys.” Teddy grinned. “If we are interrupting something, we can leave.” I stood up and walked to the kitchen. “No worries.” I opened the box of wings to see how many they had brought. “As long as you don’t mind me crashing your party.” Knox had already grabbed the remote from the table and was flipping through the channels. “Help yourself.” He looked back at Axel. “Come on, grab a beer and settle in. Tonight’s going to be a good game.” Axel glanced at the TV and then at me. “Are you sure?” he whispered. I winked at him and nodded. “It’ll be fun.” Axel and I grabbed some wings and made our way back to the couch. We settled down, snuggling close. I had never really been into sports before, but I tried to follow along as best I could. Though Axel didn’t make it easy, with all his continual kissing and groping. I pulled away giggling from Axel’s ear nibbling. “Axel, I’m trying to pay attention. You’re distracting me,” I said while I laughed. “Cut it out. You two are like a Hallmark card over there,” Teddy ribbed.

Before I could counter, my cell phone rang. I reached for my purse in a hurry. “Sorry, let me silence it.” “It’s fine, sweetheart. Go ahead and answer it,” Axel offered, placing a soft kiss on my cheek. I waited to answer the phone as I walked toward Axel’s bedroom so as not to disturb anyone. The men in the other room cheered loudly, and I started to cover my free ear to try to hear better, but by the time I got to the room, the call had already gone to voicemail. It was Harrison, reminding me that my first draft of the book was due. I had set a deadline for my own accountability and clearly was being anything but accountable. When I walked back into the living room so quickly, Axel’s eyebrow went up. “So quick? Who was that?” he asked casually. “I missed the call. It was Harrison.” Axel smiled and patted the empty space on the couch next to him. “What’s going on with him?” I bit my lip, cringing, thankful that Axel focused on the game at the moment. I had promised myself that the next time Axel asked about Harrison I’d admit that he was my editor and I was writing a book, but now didn’t quite seem like the right time. It shouldn’t be a big deal, and yet for some ridiculous reason, I couldn’t get the courage to confess. I walked over and sat down next to Axel again, picking up my glass of wine. Careful to not further the already growing lie, I thought carefully about my wording. “Harrison was just saying hi. I’ll call him later.” Axel’s eyes narrowed a little. “I don’t want to keep you from talking to him. I’m sure you really miss having him around.” “It’s no big deal.” “Okay, I’m just making sure.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close. “I like having you all to myself, anyway.” I was getting nervous about not admitting what I did for a living… or wanted to do for the rest of my life. I should be able to share one of my greatest passions and dreams with the man I love, and yet I was keeping it a dirty little secret. Axel should know how much I wanted to be an author. I hated how this was turning into a huge lie right before my eyes. I nodded my head in agreement and snuggled in closer. Knox eyed us. “You guys really are sick. You know that?” he teased. “So who’s Harrison?” I took a long drink of my wine and looked at Teddy and Knox. They were both eyeing me. “My best friend, from home.” “You should have him come up for a visit,” Teddy offered. “We won’t scare him away. Promise,” Knox added with a soft chuckle. He got up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing another beer. I sank in my seat. My nightmare of a lie was getting even worse. Now I was deceiving

Knox and Teddy in addition to Axel. “He’s in San Francisco,” Axel said, getting up for more wings. Teddy clapped his hands. “San Francisco, baby! Let’s go for a trip to see him! The club scene is hot there.” Axel laughed, sitting back down next to me. “Like you don’t party enough here. You don’t need San Francisco to corrupt you.” Teddy shrugged and took a swig of his beer. “Don’t ever say I didn’t try to help.” He smiled and winked at me. A fight broke out on the television that pulled everyone’s attention back toward the game. I was grateful for the interruption and the distraction from the conversation, but I sat next to Axel feeling defeated. Axel rubbed my back before asking, “What’s wrong? Are you tired?” I just shook my head and did everything I could to force a smile. I had allowed the whole Harrison thing to get completely out of control. I had misled everyone, and I couldn’t sugarcoat what I was doing. I was holding back, and that was just the same as a lie. I could lose Axel over this. My deceit could end our relationship. I needed to come clean… but I was scared.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

HALF-TRUTHS ARE STILL FUCKING LIES

QUINN

AFTER EVERYONE LEFT, an impulsive rush of courage hit me, and I suddenly wanted to come clean with the man I claimed to love and who also loved me. It was long overdue. “Axel?” He looked up in response. “I need to tell you something. And I really hope it doesn’t change how you feel about me.” Axel sat in silence, raising one eyebrow. “I haven’t been completely honest with you about what I did for a living in San Francisco.” I took a deep breath, suddenly wishing I hadn’t started this conversation. “I write. I write for several different magazines, and I do some other freelance writing gigs. But my main dream is that I also hope to have a book soon.” Axel’s expression turned skeptical. “Why haven’t you told me this? Aren’t you proud of being a writer? I’d think that would be something you would love to share.” “Harrison’s my editor.” “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you tell me this? What’s the big deal?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I felt the need to… lie.” Axel sat in silence, his eyes darkening. “You lied to me?” My heart stopped. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him. I sat in place, paralyzed in fear. Axel’s voice sounded so serious. God, was he going to break it off with me for lying? The devastation began to take over, and the tears that had threatened since I had decided to tell the truth fell freely. Axel rushed over and put his arms around her. “Why are you crying?” I tried to get the words out between sobs. “Please, Axel. I don’t want what you and I have to end. I love you.” He pulled away to look at me in surprise. “Why would you think we would be over? I love you, Quinn Sullivan. You need to understand that breaking up is never going to be an option for us. I might get mad. You might get mad. But ending what we have is not going

to happen. Are we clear?” I nodded. “Yes. I shouldn’t have hidden that part of me from you. I wanted to… I just didn’t.” Axel embraced me and rubbed his hands on my back. “It’s okay. We’re still learning about each other. I don’t like that you lied to me, but I wouldn’t leave you for something so stupid.” He gave me a warm smile. “I would love to hear about your writing. Maybe you’ll let me read some of it.” I realized he had no idea of the entire story, and didn’t assume I was working on a book that involved him. Looking at the man before me, I decided right then and there that I wouldn’t tell him, because I no longer planned to use his name. Maybe I’d still write about the LA nightlife, but I wouldn’t do it at Axel’s expense. QUINN

THE NEXT MORNING, I called Harrison early to inform him I wasn’t going to do the book on Axel Rye. If I were to write one at all, it would not involve him in the slightest. His name was off the table. Hopefully, Harrison would understand and agree with my choice. I’d just got done leaving a message on his voicemail when Felicity walked into the kitchen. “So, have you told Axel that you’re working on a book yet about him?” She walked to the fridge, pulling out a container of juice. Her question was becoming her morning routine. I looked down at my feet, and shook my head. “You should tell him already, Quinn,” she said. “Axel’s fallen for you. If you guys are really as strong as you keep saying you are, I’m sure he’ll understand.” “I know, I know,” I said. “I admitted to him last night that I’m a writer, and I even told him that Harrison is my editor. But I stopped there. He has no idea that I came here to write a book that involved him.” Felicity poured two glasses of orange juice. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, you need to come clean before it gets worse.” She sat down across from me. “Do you plan on writing a book that paints Axel in a bad light?” “No! I would never do that to him. There’s nothing negative to say.” “Well, it doesn’t look that way with how secretive you are being over something pretty stupid, which is why you need to stop with these games. Axel deserves better.” “I decided I’m leaving Axel’s name out of any book I write… if I even write one at this point. So it’s really a non issue now,” I defended, feeling my irritation grow. Felicity rolled her eyes. “So you think you don’t have to tell Axel the rest of the truth. Come on, Quinn. Don’t try to fool yourself.” I winced. She was right again. I knew that I owed Axel the entire truth. If the tables were

turned, I wouldn’t be okay with Axel withholding any information. I knew I needed to fess up. Half-truths were still fucking lies. But how could I do that? I also still had a book to write. Could I still write it without using Axel’s notoriety? Would it even sell without his name? Did I really have my heart in it at all? Harrison had already questioned me a few days ago if I really thought I could go back to San Francisco and leave Axel behind. I had assured him I could, and that was still the plan. But in my heart, I knew I would never be able to leave Axel. My life was spinning. “I’m going to tell Axel the truth. There is nothing to be ashamed of, and I have no plans of upsetting him. This book could give Axel the voice that’s been lacking in the media.” “If you truly believed that, then you would’ve already told him.” I saw the disapproval on Felicity’s face. “I know all of this. It’s that I’m scared. I don’t want to upset him. Things are going so well.” Felicity got up and grabbed a box of cereal as she spoke. “It’s time. I may not know everything about relationships, but I know that you keeping on this way will make you lose Axel.” QUINN

ALL DAY I got a strange vibe from Axel. Something just felt a bit off. My shame in keeping a secret had started to play with my mind, and the conversation I’d had with Felicity that morning didn’t help. I kept wondering if maybe Axel knew about my secret and just didn’t say anything. Maybe he was waiting to see how long it took for me to come clean. Maybe his crew had gotten wind of it. Especially since Harrison was already trying to shop the book, and it was about to blow up in my face. This lie made me sick to my stomach. After we finished having a quiet lunch at a café and got in his car, Axel leaned over and kissed me passionately, instantly putting my mind at ease. This wasn’t an act of a jealous or angry boyfriend. “That was nice,” I purred after the ravenous kiss. “I get the feeling that something is on your mind, though. You don’t seem yourself today.” “I have a surprise.” He smiled before leaning in and giving me another small peck on the cheek. My mind raced, searching for clues in Axel’s facial expression. Thankfully, it didn’t appear as if he knew anything about my deception. So, from this point on, it could be anything and I would be happy. “What? I love surprises!” I clapped my hands together like an excited little girl. “You’ll have to wait and see,” he said. “I want to take you there.” I squinted my eyes and pushed out my lips in a pout. “Fine.” I buckled my seatbelt. “But you’re driving me crazy.”

As soon as Axel parked the car in a large lot by a warehouse building, he turned the car off and leaned against his door to face me. “Where are we?” I tried hiding my anxiousness. “Okay, you know I get photographed a lot for my… profession… if you call it that.” I nodded. “Yeah?” “There’s a photo shoot inside that I have to do.” My eyes narrowed a bit. “And this is a surprise? Why didn’t you just tell me that you had to work?” “We both have to work.” I stared at him, clueless. “The photo shoot is for both of us. The magazine wants a spread of us as a couple.” I sat motionless, stunned by the idea. “I knew you’d be nervous. But trust me, okay?” Axel said while reaching for my hand. My eyes widened. My face burned as if on fire. “No way! I can’t do that. I’m not a model.” “I’m not a model, either.” He leaned over to kiss me. “But you’re beautiful, and I want you by my side. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Axel grazed his lips across mine. Grabbing my face with his hand so I had no choice but to stare into his eyes, he added, “I want the whole world to know that you’re mine.” “And if I say no?” I asked. “I won’t force you. I’ll go inside and cancel.” “You can’t just do it without me?” Axel kissed me again, meeting my eyes. “No, because this was meant for me to do with you. But the choice is yours.” I stiffened and nibbled on my bottom lip. “Okay, I’ll do it. But promise me that I won’t look like an idiot.” “You’ll be perfect.” My mind spun into overdrive. I had no idea how to pose for a picture. Did I smile, or look sexy, or try to pull off sultry? I tightened my jaw and stared out into nothing in front of me. My pulse beat so fast that I thought I might have a heart attack. “What’s wrong?” Axel asked. “Will people recognize me after this?” “Most likely. Is that going to be a problem?” “Well… uh… yeah, I kind of think it is.” I turned to stare at Axel. “I’m not sure I’m ready to be… well to be… openly dating…” “A drug dealer?”

I shook my head. “It’s not like that. It’s just that you have a lot of notoriety and well…” Axel looked crushed. “I guess I just thought that since you and I were…” Axel shook his head and reached to open the door. “Never mind, I’ll go cancel the shoot. It was stupid—” “Wait,” I interrupted. “You’re right. We are.” I reached for Axel’s hand. “I’d be honored to be by your side. Let’s go do this.” Axel tensed up. “What’s wrong?” He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I just get the feeling sometimes like you aren’t telling me everything. Like you’re holding back.” I stared at him for a moment. The door had opened. This was the time to just blurt it all out. Confess everything and hope to God that we could move on. This was the time… but the shoot. We had work to do. “Quinn? Are you keeping our relationship a secret from someone? I didn’t think about the fact that maybe you haven’t told everyone in your life about me when I scheduled the shoot. I guess I just assumed that everyone knew.” My eyes narrowed, not understanding at first. “What?” I shook my head violently. “No, no! I’m not keeping you secret at all. I swear.” Axel didn’t say anything. “What’s the matter?” I couldn’t read the expression on his face. “I just get the feeling sometimes that there’s more.” The door was opened even wider. Now. Now. I took a deep breath. A large enough breath to jump in the deep end. “Harrison,” I said. “Well, it’s not exactly what you think.” I hesitated, nerves racking my body. I watched Axel’s expression change slightly. “I think I know what’s going on.” “You do? I wondered if you did. I’m so sorry for keeping this from you.” “Why didn’t you tell Harrison that we are together? Do you think he’d have a problem with that? Do you think he will think I’m a bad influence?” The lump in my throat sunk to the depth of my stomach. I realized that Axel was completely off base. He had no idea the real truth about Harrison. I shook my head. “No, that’s not it. Harrison knows all about you and me. Well, I haven’t exactly gone into detail with him on how close we have become. But I’m pretty sure he can connect the dots.” I smiled. “You are after all, Axel Rye. You aren’t exactly known for your virginal ways.” Axel looked confused. “Then what? What’s going on?” Overwhelmed with guilt and fear, I sat motionless. Twisting my fingers together, I tried to drum up the courage to confess. I’d felt so many unfamiliar emotions since I’d met Axel, yet none compared to what I was feeling now. The fear of losing him made me realize just how important Axel was. If I were standing right now, the emotions would certainly bring me to my knees.

Axel kissed my temple softly. “Hey, whatever it is, can’t be that bad. You’re pale.” I looked down at my hands, picking at the loose skin around my cuticle. Every ounce of my courage dissipated by the second. There was no way I could let Axel out of my life now. The thought suffocated me, gripping my beating heart. I sat in the car feeling dazed. “Quinn, what’s going on? You’re scaring me.” I attempted to give a reassuring smile. “It’s no big deal. Silly really.” I reached out and patted Axel’s leg. “Let’s go get this shoot over with, and then I’ll tell you all about it.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

FUCK, FUCK, FUCK

AXEL

WALKING through the door of the photo shoot, I could feel the buzz of the room. The intensity of the energy almost seemed to knock me over with its power. This was a part of the whole celebrity craze that I really enjoyed. It was fun to get all dressed up and pose in cool and interesting positions, though I wouldn’t be caught dead telling anyone that. That little bit of knowledge would kill my bad boy image in a heartbeat. The backdrops always blew me away, and I always loved the photographers—I enjoyed fucking with them which always livened the mood. I hoped that Quinn enjoyed it as well. As usual, my heart raced at the sight of Quinn. I loved her natural beauty, but seeing her all glammed up was a surprising change. I bent down and kissed her in the makeup chair. It was supposed to be a reassuring hello kiss, but, unable to restrain myself, I kissed her passionately until the makeup artist cleared her throat. Quinn pulled away immediately, playfully pushing me to the side. “You’re going to mess up my lipstick.” “I can’t help it.” I smirked, pulling away with a sigh. “You’ve gone from the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen to the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.” “I hardly recognize myself.” I laughed, lacing my fingers into hers. “It’s amazing what they can do, but with you they had it easy.” The shoot went really smoothly. It was easier than most, and definitely more fun. Quinn was a natural. Every time I glanced at her, I would catch a smile or a twinkle of an eye. It appeared that Quinn enjoyed it just as much as I did. “Are you getting tired? Do you want me to ask for a break?” Quinn shook her head. “No. This is a lot of fun.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. It had been several hours, and she didn’t seem fatigued at all. With her focusing this much, the shoot was bound to be completed any minute. I decided to make the shoot a little more intimate and brought Quinn’s hand up to my lips and kissed it. I immediately forgot about the room full of people and the flashing cameras.

I put my arms around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re a real natural. I think you may have found your calling.” Quinn nodded in agreement. “I have. I’ve found my calling as your girlfriend. I’m enjoying this because I’m with you.” There were a lot more people than I expected in the studio when we finally wrapped up. Apparently, they had scheduled another shoot directly after ours. I knew the magazine was doing a full spread on the whole gang, so I wasn’t surprised when I saw other people showing up. I liked watching Quinn mingle with my friends. She seemed to blend in with the group effortlessly. They were becoming her friends, too. Selfishly, I hoped Quinn would create a whole new life here in LA and would decide to stay. The more friends she had, the better. This was a topic we hadn’t discussed, mainly because I was scared of what the outcome would be. The thought of Quinn leaving killed me. But I wouldn’t dwell on that right now and ruin a perfect day. Teddy came up from behind, laughing, and put his arm around my shoulder. “So what the fuck? You replace us for some lovey-dovey shots?” he teased. I shrugged. “What can I say? Do you blame me?” Teddy playfully shoved him. “One word. Pussy whipped.” Quinn came up to us and wrapped her arms around me. “That’s two words.” Knox walked up to the laughing group. “Holy hell, Quinn! You look amazing.” She blushed and snuggled closer to my side. “Thanks. It was fun, but I’m not sure if I’m cut out for all of this.” Even though everyone seemed to be in great spirits, I was ready to call it a day. I wanted to have some alone time with Quinn. “Well, our job is done. We’re gonna get out of here.” “What?” There was a note of disappointment in Knox’s tone. “Hang out for a while.” “Let’s get some drinks and show Quinn how a real photo shoot should happen,” Teddy added. He pulled out a bag of pills and passed it to Quinn. I intercepted and shook my head as I pushed it away. I didn’t want to be that boyfriend who controlled what she did, but her drug use—our drug use—was really starting to wear on me. I wanted us to slow down, if not stop all together. I still planned on having this talk with her, but was uncertain how to go about it. It was my fault she was doing drugs to begin with, so being the one to stop it seemed right, but at the same time it seemed damn hypocritical. I pulled Quinn closer to me by the waist and she leaned her head against me. “It’s been a long day. Quinn’s tired.” Quinn’s head shot up and she punched me playfully on the arm. “Hey, you can’t put this on me. I’m not tired.” I smiled. “Fine. I’m tired.” Quinn laughed, and I couldn’t help laugh with her. Her melodic giggle always melted my

insides. Teddy was right. I was pussy whipped. “Let me get our stuff and we can go,” she said as she kissed my cheek. Turning toward the guys she added, “I better get Axel to bed… he’s tired.” With a giggle, Quinn walked off. My perfect and jovial mood was soon cut short. “Hi, Axel.” The familiar voice I had grown to hate loomed behind me. I was quiet for a second, hoping she would go away. “Jillian.” Jillian walked around so she faced me directly. “It’s been a long time.” “What do you want?” I didn’t want to be mean, but the last thing I wanted was any unnecessary drama with Quinn. Even talking to Jillian encouraged her enough. “I’m not going to say I told you so, or try to make you feel worse, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just want you to know I’m here for you. I’ve always been here for you.” I sighed impatiently. I had no idea what she was talking about and didn’t even feel like asking. “Jillian, I’m not in the mood for your games. I’m done working right now, so I’m leaving.” “Axel, no matter what, we used to be friends. You’re still a friend in my eyes. I don’t know how Quinn could do that to you, but I know you were really blinded by her. So if you need someone to talk to now, I’ll always be someone you can count on.” She wasn’t making any sense. The possibility of her being high or drunk was a likely scenario, so I had no desire to continue the conversation. “Whatever. I’m going to go find Quinn.” I turned and walked away, leaving Jillian with Knox and Teddy. No sooner had I started to walk away that I heard Knox call after me. “Axel, can you come back here for a second?” Knox asked. “I’ve got to go.” “No fucking way!” I heard Teddy confronting Jillian. “You’re just trying to stir the shit.” “I’m not making this up. Go ahead and ask her. Ask Quinn for yourself,” Jillian defended. I walked back toward them, annoyed. “Ask Quinn what?” “Jillian says that Quinn is shopping a tell-all book,” Knox blurted out. “Jillian, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Get your facts straight before you start spreading rumors.” “Oh, so you’re aware that she’s writing a book? That she’s here to get insider information? To sell you out?” Jillian asked with a smirk. “Shut the fuck up, Jillian,” Teddy shouted. “You’re such a bitch.” “Fuck off, Teddy. I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m not the slut who’s using Axel for a big paycheck.” “What makes you say that?” I asked.

Knox piped in, “Just ignore her.” I was undaunted. “Well? Where did you get these facts?” I stood there smiling, arms crossed against my chest. A part of me enjoyed seeing how mad Jillian was getting. Jillian shrugged. “Whatever. I was just trying to be nice. Believe me or not, but if I were you, I’d ask that little lying fake yourself.” “Just leave us alone,” Teddy ordered. Jillian nodded toward the direction of Quinn, who was walking back toward the group. “She’s using you, Axel. Using you for all your connections and your name. She fucks you, whores herself out, and surprise, surprise, now she’s on a cover of a magazine. I bet she’ll use it for the cover of her new book. Maybe she’ll call the book I Fucked Axel Rye. You’re a fool if you thought this was about love.” I stood still, frozen by the biting words. I knew it couldn’t be, but Jillian’s words still hurt like hell. I took in what I’d just heard, then shook my head and viciously attacked. “There’s only one whore in this room, Jillian.” “Let’s just ask Quinn and end this shit right now,” Teddy interrupted. “Ask me what?” Quinn asked as she walked up and reached for my hand. This whole conversation was absurd. There was no way Quinn could secretly be using me. I trusted her. I just hoped that Quinn didn’t get upset by Jillian’s accusations. “Why don’t you tell everyone how you’re a deceiving, lying, filthy whore?” Jillian snapped. “Shut your mouth!” I yelled, a red haze of anger nearly blinding me. I didn’t like anyone talking to my girl like that. “What? What the hell is going on?” Quinn looked confused and stunned by the nasty claim. “Jillian, get your ass out of our faces before one of us removes you,” Knox yelled. Jillian took a couple of steps back. “Tell them all about the book. It seems your filthy, cock-licking mouth has been caught.” I lunged for Jillian only to have Knox step between us. “Get out of here, now!” My voice vibrated throughout the room. Fury coursed through my veins. Jillian spun on her heels in a huff to leave and then suddenly stopped. She turned and spoke over her shoulder. “I find it ironic, Axel, that you are the all-famous playboy, bad boy, and yet you’re taking it up the ass a lot lately. How’s the ass fucking feel?” She smirked and quickly glided away, leaving her path of destruction behind her. I turned toward Quinn and saw her startled eyes. I wanted to scoop her up in my arms and apologize for hours for having to witness that. Jillian was out of control. “I’m so sorry, Quinn. I’ll make sure that bitch never comes near us again.” I wrapped my arms around Quinn and felt her body tense. She didn’t return the embrace. “Axel, I’m sorry, I should’ve told you this a long time ago.”

My heart sank. A long time ago? Quinn’s beautiful smile and excited eyes had changed to a sullen expression. All I saw in them was fear… or was it guilt? It felt unreal, like some kind of nightmare. I searched her eyes for answers. Desperately searching for clarification. Reassurance that Jillian was full of shit. I searched for… hope. For a second, I thought I was going to be sick. My breath caught. This couldn’t be happening. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” Quinn started. “I’m a writer, you know that. I did come here to work on a book. But I swear I’m not using you… not now.” My ears rang. I stood there, heart hammering. I took a few steps back. “You told me you’re a writer. Tell me you aren’t shopping a book on me.” I stared at her, hoping I had heard wrong. “On the LA nightlife,” she said. “I meant to tell you from the very beginning, but we started to get close, and I didn’t want to lose you, and I…” Quinn’s words echoed against the walls of my ears. Every word was like a punch to the gut. I wanted to vomit. All this time, Quinn had been using me like everyone else always did. I shook my head in disbelief and backed away even further. “Axel, please.” Unshed tears rimmed Quinn’s eyes, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t comfort the woman I loved. I couldn’t reach out and dry the tears. I couldn’t give… love. Quinn stepped closer to me, attempting to reach for my hand. I recoiled, not wanting her to take another step. Teddy and Knox stood to the side, speechless. As the reality of it settled in, the shock and pain turned to anger. “So, did you get all the information you needed?” My voice shook with every word. “Plenty of material gathered through your escapade with me?” Quinn shook her head, tears coursing down her face. “Axel, please, you don’t understand. Let me—” “So, what the hell was I to you? I didn’t think you were using me. I honestly thought you loved me.” “I do love you! I lied, but I swear to you that everything between us was genuine. I’m a writer, but I never intended to write something negative. Please, let me explain.” “I trusted you, Quinn. I gave you my whole heart. I had no idea you would do this to me.” I stormed away, fighting back tears, vomit, and fury. I needed to flee fast. I didn’t want Quinn to see just how intensely she affected me. Those days were over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Quinn rushing toward me. I didn’t need to hear anymore. Whatever she had to say didn’t matter. It was all lies. Everything was a lie. “Axel,” she said. “Hear me out, please.” “There’s nothing to say, Quinn.” I stopped and glared. “Unless you can tell me you didn’t move here to write a book using my name. That you haven’t actually been lying to me on a daily basis. Can you say that, Quinn?” “It was my original intent. Yes. But that changed. I kept quiet at first about the fact

because I knew you all wouldn’t allow me in. Yes, I lied and I was stupid. But I was telling the truth when I told you that I loved you.” The words felt like a blow to my face. I spun around. “Don’t ever say those words to me again. I trusted you! I don’t trust many, but I thought I could with you!” Quinn tried to grab my hand, but I quickly pulled it away. “But I do!” I didn’t want to ask, but I had to know. “Did you use me for fame or for money? Did you like all the glitz and glamor or were you just waiting for the big pay out with your book? Well, whatever. Bravo. Job well done.” Quinn looked as if she had just been slapped. “Please don’t do this. Don’t be mean.” Tears threatened to escape my eyes. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! It was all I could do to not lose it and punch my fist through a wall. I had to leave before we made any more of a scene. I was humiliated enough. “Good bye, Quinn.” I nodded at my dumbfounded friends. “See you guys later.” I stormed out of the room without looking back. “Axel, please, don’t do this,” I could hear Quinn cry.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DON’T FUCKING GIVE UP

QUINN

“HE’S GOT this all wrong! I swear I haven’t been faking my feelings just because of this stupid book.” The tears streamed down my cheeks, no doubt dripping make-up all over my face. The only thing I cared about right now was fixing things with Axel. I pulled my phone out of my purse and started dialing Axel’s number frantically. “Give it a moment, Quinn,” Knox said as he walked up and grabbed the phone. I looked at him and started to sob, desperately trying to catch my breath. “But I have to. I’ve never seen Axel so mad.” Knox nodded. “I’ve never seen him like that, either. You broke his heart.” “That was fucked up, Quinn,” Teddy said. “Axel really loved you.” I took a deep breath attempting to regain composure. “I love Axel. This was a stupid lie that I let get out of hand. I swear to you I wasn’t using him. I’ve been nothing but honest about my feelings with him.” I reached for my phone. “I need to let Axel know that.” “Were you ever planning on telling him? If it was no big deal, then why the hell keep the secret?” Teddy asked, disgusted. Teddy walked away toward the photo set without waiting for an answer. I wanted to crumple in a ball and just cry. I had allowed this all to happen. “If you want my advice, just leave Axel alone for a while.” The disappointment in Knox’s eyes stabbed at my heart. He turned without saying goodbye and walked toward Teddy. I released another wave of tears, but quickly dried them up when I noticed Jillian staring with vindication all over her face. I wanted to walk over and knock it right off. That little bitch loved every second of this. The sad thing was that I looked a whole lot worse in people’s eyes than Jillian did. I turned and made my way outside so I could call a cab for a ride home. I broke down again as soon as I felt the cool air hit my face. Anger replaced my sadness. I was so angry at myself for letting such a stupid and insignificant thing get so out of control. This was ridiculous! I had lost Axel over something so stupid, and it was all my fault. All I had to do was tell the truth a long time ago.

Knox was probably right, I decided. Now was not the time to try to explain with Axel so upset. I’d wait until the morning to call him. I had nothing left in me to give anyway. I felt broken. But fuck it. I had to at least leave a text:

AXEL, please! You have to hear me out. I’m so sorry. Yes, I came to LA with the intent of using you. Yes, my plan was to write a book. But things changed. They changed. I love you so much. Please call me. Please. QUINN

GLAD TO BE home and away from the judging eyes, I reached for the glass of wine on the edge of the table and drank. I picked up the bottle of chardonnay and filled the empty glass, sloshing a bit on the floor. I stared at the darkness in front of me, allowing the tears to flow down my face. I took a healthy swig of the liquor, steeling myself for the truth. It was my fault. I lost Axel. I leaned back in my chair. “Fuck,” I muttered. I stared at my glass, berating myself for doing something so stupid. Glancing at the clock, I noticed it was past midnight. Time for bed, if it was even possible to fall asleep. Cradling the half empty bottle of wine under my arm, I flipped off the kitchen light, picked up the empty glass, and stumbled upstairs to my bedroom. Maybe one more text:

I LOVE YOU. I know you don’t feel that right now. But I do. I really, really do. Please forgive me. I WAITED FOR A RESPONSE.

PLEASE ANSWER ME. Don’t ignore me. I WAITED.

AXEL, please! You owe me at least a text. Tell me something. Tell me to fuck off. Anything!

I WAITED.

SO, is this over? Really over? If I don’t hear from you, I have no choice but to know it’s over. NO RESPONSE.

AFTER CLIMBING BENEATH THE COVERS, I poured myself one last glass, hoping it would bring on the desired narcotic effect. The sun was already coming up, but I needed at least a little sleep if I was going to be able to face the day. Leaning back against the pillows, I took a sip of the cool liquid, letting it soothe my palate. I swallowed, welcoming the warmth spreading in my chest, craving the oblivion that would erase the pain of losing Axel. Despair was the only thing left. Sleep would not come. Who was I fooling? I got out of bed and stumbled my way toward the kitchen. I needed to sober up and face reality. Trading booze for coffee was the only option. The high-pitched, ear-shattering ring of my phone had me reaching for it frantically. I held my breath, hoping it was Axel returning the messages and texts I had been leaving. I reached over and looked at my phone. It was Harrison. I had left several frantic messages for him as well. “Hello?” I stood at the kitchen sink, the cup of coffee in my hand, an ineffective antidote for my throbbing temples. “What’s going on? I couldn’t make out anything in your message. All I heard was crying.” Panic blanketed Harrison’s voice. Tears welled up in my eyes again. “I messed up, Harrison. I’ve lost Axel because I was a stupid fool.” The tears turned to loud, gasping sobs. “Calm down, take a deep breath,” he soothed. “What happened?” “I lied! I lied about this stupid book, and I kept it from him, and then it came to light in the worst way, and…” I blurted out the rest of the evening in a blabbering jumble of words, tears, sobs, and exhausted thoughts. There was silence on the other end, then a sigh. “I’m sure once Axel calms down, you’ll be able to explain,” he said. “But it doesn’t look good. That’s for sure.” I wiped at my eyes and blew my nose. I hoped he was right. The thought of being without Axel killed me. “It’ll be okay. You need to calm down, get some rest, and give it a little time. I’m sure he will forgive you.” “No, he won’t. He thinks I’ve been using him for this damn book! He thinks I did this all

for fame!” My declaration, louder than I’d intended, caused an icicle of pain in my skull. “Well, if you love him as much as I think you do, you’ll just have to try your hardest to convince him of that.” I took a deep, consoling breath as I watched Felicity walk into the kitchen. Word of what happened had clearly made it to Felicity. I knew she had a lecture coming, or an “I told you so.” I quickly ended my conversation with Harrison, promising I would keep him updated. I sat down and tried to give a weak smile. Faking my happiness to my good friend would be futile, but at least I would try. Felicity frowned. “You look like shit. I take it the rumors I heard are true?” “Can we not talk about it?” I sighed as I sipped on my much-needed cup of coffee. “I already know what you are going to say. Yes, I know. I fucked up.” “Not an option,” Felicity declared as she grabbed a mug. “Why didn’t you tell him?” I shrugged. “It’s over. I don’t see the point in discussing this any further. It is what it is.” “Bullshit.” Felicity actually looked angry. “I see how much you love him. Your heart has been ripped out of your chest. Don’t even try lying to me.” I grabbed a spoon and fiddled with it between my fingers. For the first time ever, Felicity made me uncomfortable. “Seriously, Quinn. I don’t understand why you have to be so damn stubborn. You love this guy. It’s obvious that you do. So why are you so determined to try to destroy it? Fight for him!” “It’s more complicated than just love. He feels betrayed.” She nodded in agreement. “As he should. But you can fix this.” “You didn’t see his face. It’s over now.” I took a drink before adding, “I’m not in the mood to hear a lecture. I’m letting you know that I’m leaving soon. I need to get back to San Francisco.” Felicity crossed her arms, leaned back in her chair, and glared in response. I shifted in my seat. “You look mad. Come on, Felicity. Don’t be mad at me.” Felicity continued to glare. “You knew I wasn’t planning on staying for long. I need to figure my life out and, well…” The silent glare from Felicity continued. “Stop staring at me like that! You’re making me feel bad.” Felicity took a deep breath before speaking. “This is typical Quinn.” I could feel my temper rising. “And what do you mean by that?” “You’re a coward. You’ve always had everything so easy in your life. So the minute it gets tough, you are just going to run back to Mommy and Daddy. Go back to the easy life. Nice and boring and safe.” Felicity had never sounded so blunt and harsh before.

My temper boiled over. “You have no idea what you’re talking about! Not everyone can have Happily Ever After. Not everyone can have exciting. We all don’t live in a fantasy world!” “My life isn’t always a fairytale. But I take chances in life. I take risks on love and life and hopefully will someday reap the rewards.” She leaned forward on the table with a scowl on her face. “You’re stronger than this. You have to stop living in your little, young, naïve world. You need to stand up and fight for what you want.” “Axel made his feelings clear. He won’t even speak to me or return any of my texts—” “Oh, stop that line of bull!” she interrupted. I loved Felicity with my whole heart, but I had the sudden urge to rip her hair out. The truth of the matter was, I knew she had a point, but I still fucking hated it. “Maybe you’re right,” I softly admitted. Felicity looked up from her coffee with a satisfied smirk on her face. I tried to swallow the ball forming in the back of my throat. “But it doesn’t really matter now. I messed up, I managed to push Axel away, whether I like it or not.” “I’m not so sure about that. I think all you have to do is be honest with yourself and honest with him. I think you could work it out if you really wanted to.” I shook my head and fought back the building tears. “How? I lied. I chased him away when all he wanted to do was love me. He has no idea how much I love him and want to share my life with him.” Felicity reached across the table and grabbed my hand. “Then, tell him that. Swallow your pride and be honest. He’s worth that.” I looked down at my lap in defeat. “I’m not sure that I can. I all but begged, and he completely rejected me. You should have seen his eyes. I fucked up big time, and I don’t think there is a way to turn this around. I’ve called him so much, that I am two steps from stalker crazy.” “Well, I’m here for you. Even if you are stalker crazy.” She gave a warm smile, which forced one out of me as well. Felicity was a good friend, always had been. But sitting here with her made me suddenly realize how much I loved her. It was comforting to know I had someone to lean on. Many people didn’t like Felicity Dexter, but I always saw the good. Right now, I saw even more. Wisdom. Felicity might be a tad spoiled, and definitely self-centered, but her larger-thanlife attitude pulled you in. She exuded confidence and spontaneity. And she’d always treated me with nothing but kindness and loving support. Her reputation was no secret. She was known for sleeping around and being sexually adventurous, but I suspected there was more to it than I knew. Regardless of her past, present, or future, she was my friend and always would be. She seemed to ponder my statement of defeat. “From the moment you met Axel, I saw the shadows in your eyes. Something has you scared, Quinn.” She reached across the table and gripped my hand. “You need to let go of your doubts. You have to believe you are

good enough. That he is actually in love with you,” she urged. “You have a really good thing.” I swallowed and looked away. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be me. I doubt everything. Why would a man like that want to be with me? He could have anyone he wants, so why me? I’m not like you. You are so confident, so outgoing, and so sure of yourself. I have to fake my way through every social gathering. I live a fucking lie every single day, so it’s only fitting I fucked up the love of my life by lying.” When I didn’t say a word, Felicity gently squeezed my hand. “I want so bad what you and Axel have. I look on with envy. Not because he’s the famous Axel Rye, but because I can see the love between you two. I know I put off the image that I’m some big slut,” Felicity began, her voice breaking on that last word. “And I guess maybe I am. It’s true—I do experiment a lot… with people. I just… I feel lonely, you know? Have you ever been surrounded by people, yet you feel so alone?” “Yes,” I whispered. Alone was not a foreign feeling for me. “That’s how I felt all my life,” she confessed. Her eyes darkened to a stormy gray. “My mother ran out on us when I was six, my father was a drug addict, my older brother was overcome with rage and still is. And then I met Marshall in high school, and I thought life would be different.” She gave a weak smile. “So I married him at eighteen. I had a husband, a man who claimed to love me, a man who said I was the most important thing in his life. But he lied. Marshall was always gone, off with his buddies and other women. He didn’t spend any time with me. We were newlyweds, and all he wanted to do was be with anyone else but me.” I sat in silence, stunned by the confession. I never knew Felicity had ever been married. “I was bored. And lonely.” She took a sip of her coffee. “And I cheated on him. Call me heartless if you want, but I was weak. I just wanted someone to love me and give me attention. I didn’t want to be alone. I’d been alone my whole life. After a very short marriage, we divorced.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I guess you could say I’ve been trying to find myself since. I’m just trying to find someone to love me… as broken as I may be.” I wanted to reach out and hug my friend, but remained still so she could continue. Felicity picked up her coffee cup. “So that’s it, my sordid tale. You think I’m confident, that I have no insecurities? That’s a lie. I’m still the same timid little girl who cried and never got enough love. I’m a cheater, a liar, and I use people to fill my empty void. I’m not always proud of that, but it’s my truth. And I’m lonely. Really, really, lonely.” Although I didn’t agree with Felicity’s decisions on how to deal with her loneliness, I couldn’t feel anything but admiration and respect for the woman. And I couldn’t judge her, any more than she judged me. “You’re lucky, Quinn. You don’t have to be alone,” she said softly, still clutching my hand. “Don’t give up on Axel.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

FOOLISH FUCKING FANTASY

AXEL

I LEANED my head back against the leather seat and closed my eyes, only half-listening to the booming music of the club. It had been a couple of weeks since I’d last seen Quinn. Still having to make a living, I had no choice but to make an appearance at the club where she worked. It wasn’t like I had anything to worry about. I had moved past Quinn. I had no choice. She had fucked me up bad. Bad. But I had no choice but to keep moving on. To do what I do. I sat there alone. Not that I couldn’t have found a willing partner to keep me company, but the idea held no appeal for me at all. After the heartbreak of Quinn, I was done with women for a while. Although the idea of meaningless sex to temporarily fill a void looked more tempting by the day. Nothing more, nothing less. I decided after Quinn crushed my heart that the whole “happily-ever-after” thing was just a foolish fantasy. My stare moved to the crowded bar at the other end of the club. I didn’t have to see Quinn to know she was there. Which was the reason I would avoid the bar at all costs. Plenty of people could stand between us, and I hoped I didn’t have to see Quinn ever again. The pain would be too much. I shrugged off the dark thoughts and leaned my head against the seat again, thankful for the crowd of people to provide a shield between the two of us. “Are you going to sulk all night?” Teddy asked as he sat next to me, handing me a beer. I shrugged. “Come on. You’re going to have to face her eventually. Avoiding the situation isn’t going to make it go away.” “It’s over. No need to dwell on it,” I replied as I took a large swig of the drink. “So, you don’t mind knowing that she’s over there working. I saw her.” I shrugged. “You’re going to lose her, man,” Teddy warned.

“I already did,” I replied. I took a large gulp of the beer in front of him to try to numb the pain in my heart that Teddy was dredging up again. The past two weeks had been absolute hell. “No, I mean if you don’t get off your stubborn ass, she’s going to take off and head back to San Francisco.” “She’s leaving? What do you mean?” “I mean, I heard she was leaving town unless you stop wallowing in your self-imposed misery and put an end to this breakup.” Panic sunk in at the thought of knowing Quinn would leave Los Angeles. “Have you forgotten that she used me? She doesn’t want me. She doesn’t love me. She wants what every other fucking person wants in this town. Fame or drugs.” Saying the words stung. “Ah, for Christ’s sake, you have got to be kidding me! You know damn well that she loves you.” Teddy placed cash for the tip on the table as new drinks arrived. “Let me tell you something about Quinn. She loves you, she’s hurting, and she’s scared. She’s also unsure what to do and won’t make the first move tonight. She knows you are here. But you all but slammed the door repeatedly in her face. Go up to her and make it right again. You are being a real asshole.” “It can’t be right. It’s fucked, and the only good that came out of this whole mess is she at least gets to be an author of a book… at my expense.” Teddy shook his head. “I don’t agree. She messed up. No doubt about that. But she gave you everything. She committed to you and everything you are. I truly believe she’d give up the book idea if it meant keeping you. But let’s face it, man. You aren’t doing a real good job at fighting for her.” I looked down at my beer for a few moments before answering, “I guess you’re right. I really fucked things up.” “You have to fight for what you want. You have to make her know that you will never just let her walk away. She needs to know you will always fight for the relationship.” Teddy shrugged. “That’s my advice at least, for what it’s worth.” I nodded as I contemplated what Teddy told me. “If you love her like you say you do, then you better get over there and convince her that you two are solid,” Teddy added. “I do love her. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.” “Wanted or want?” Teddy raised an eyebrow in question. I smirked back. “Want. I definitely want to spend the rest of my life with her. But then, I’m not sure if I can ever trust her again. I’m still so fucking pissed!” Teddy tilted his glass towards me and replied, “Well, I guess you better work through those feelings. She’s worth it, dude.” I frowned, sitting up straighter, intently trying not to act bothered. I should have known that to think being in the same room with Quinn wouldn’t bother me was dumb. Pain

stabbed at my heart, and sucker punched me in the gut. Switching my attention to the bar, my internal angst increased as I watched her frantically make drinks for the crowd. She seemed more frazzled than normal. No doubt she knew I was in the club. Quinn turned around enough so I could see her, the ends of her perfectly shaped mouth curled upward, and I felt like a steam engine had slammed straight into my soul. My gaze trailed over her heart-shaped face, her satin-smooth and rich honey-colored skin, her doeshaped eyes before settling back on her mouth. Lush, now only one corner curled up, lending her an innocent yet somehow slightly wicked look. It was the same mouth, the same look that had haunted my memories for the past few days. I missed her so much. No matter how hard I tried, I’d never be able to get her out of my mind. QUINN AXEL WAS IN THE CLUB. I closed my eyes briefly, my heartbeat ricocheting a staccato beat against my chest. It felt more powerful than the bass of the speakers only a few feet away. Tears burned the back of my eyes as I tried not to stare at the one man, and the only person, I’d ever loved. The same man who wanted nothing to do with me. I tried to swallow down the instant swell of emotions as I finished my shift. I was done for the night. In the past, I would have walked over to Axel and spent the rest of the night with him. But things had changed. “You don’t have a shot with him anymore. So you might as well leave.” I jumped at the venomous voice behind me. I turned around to see Jillian standing with her hands on her hips. She had rage in her eyes and looked like she planned to pounce. She was obviously high on something as well. “I’m not in the mood, Jillian. Leave me alone.” “You’re not welcome here. You intended on using Axel from the very beginning, didn’t you? You’re nothing but a lying slut,” Jillian spat. “This is none of your business.” I took a deep breath to calm my temper. I tried to see the situation through Jillian’s eyes. To Jillian, and everyone else, I was the villain. I had to remember that. “Listen, I didn’t mean to hurt Axel.” Jillian shoved her finger into my chest. “You are nobody. You don’t deserve Axel, and you sure as hell don’t deserve even the slightest bit of attention. I see your game.” Her comment stung. I no longer could contain my anger. I looked her straight in the eye. “No, Jillian, you are the whore. You will do anything, and I mean anything, for fame. You are nothing but a dirty, used-up woman who will never find happiness.” “You fucking bitch!” Jillian shrieked.

She charged at me and grabbed a chunk of my hair and rammed my head against the wall. I saw stars and my vision distorted, but I didn’t feel any real pain. I was stunned by the attack. Who was this crazy? She continued her assault by attempting to hit and punch my face. For the most part, I did a good job blocking her flailing hands. Everything happened so fast, and I was still stunned from having my head bashed against the wall; I wasn’t really sure what happened around me. I realized I needed to fight back. It wasn’t my style, but I had no choice. I reached for the back of her hair and grabbed an entire fistful. I yanked her head back as far as it could go without snapping her neck. “Listen, you fucked up whack job,” I yanked her hair even harder, “you stay away from me. You have been trying to fuck with me since the day I got with Axel. I’m over your fucking crazy!” I yanked Jillian’s head, causing her to release a scream of shock mixed with pain. I hated that I had to be so violent, but did I really have another option? The girl was insane. And the truth of the matter was I was fucked up. I was fucked up in so many ways that I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. This wasn’t the woman I was. I would have never been this… dark, mean, low, and fucked. Jillian’s scream caught everyone’s attention nearby. All eyes nearby now cast in our direction. I glanced over to where Axel sat. I felt instantly grateful the loud club music concealed what was going on. Axel had no idea what was happening. I released Jillian’s hair and returned her glare. She reached for her head and tried to rub out the sting. “You don’t know who you are messing with. I could have you fired for this. Hell, I could have you banned from every club in this town.” My rage exploded. “Do you think I fucking care? You have no power over me, because I don’t give a fuck about much right now. Stay the hell away from me or else.” I got right into Jillian’s face, challenging her to push me past my very fragile limit. I quickly glanced in the security guard’s direction. He was approaching the crowd, getting ready to break up the fight. He surprised me when he gave me a small nod of approval, letting me know he was on my side and backing my decision to give Jillian a taste of her own venom. Jillian leaned in and spat, “Fuck you! What are you going to do?” The woman really was insane. Hell… I was insane. I pulled my arm back, and, with as much force as I could muster, I brought my closed fist to the side of Jillian’s face. The punch caused her to stumble back against the wall behind her. I ignored the shooting pain working its way through my hand. “When you start something with me, you better damn sure be prepared to finish it.” I then grabbed her hair once again and rammed her head into the wall she was up against. “You stay away from me.” Jillian crumpled to the floor and looked up at me in disbelief. “Wait until I am done with

you!” she screamed. I took a deep, calming breath. I was out of control. “Do your best.” I turned as fast as I could, not being able to take her any longer. I should have walked away before and hated myself for my actions. I was just as fucked as she was. The fight was over, and even though I had lost control, I felt great. I was happy Axel didn’t witness my temper because I was sure it didn’t show me in the best light. But it was about time Jillian got taught a thing or two. And frankly, I had nothing left to lose. Who gives a fuck? Getting ready to leave, my eyes locked with Axel’s. For a long moment, we simply stared at one another, the days spent apart falling away as though they’d never happened. Axel’s face seemed to soften, giving me the courage to approach him. Maybe I was crazy, but I had to try. I had to talk and explain. I would apologize a thousand times if that’s what it took. I missed and loved Axel more than I thought possible. “Now’s not the time, Quinn,” Axel said, his voice barely heard over the music. “Axel…” My voice trailed away. “Can we talk? Please.” His face hardened, losing its momentary softness. “There’s nothing left to say. I’ve heard your apologies, your constant messages begging for forgiveness. I’m over it.” “I don’t know what to do to make this right! I love you, and…” Axel had already started shaking his head before I could finish speaking. I wiped away the tears from my cheeks, but I saw the uncertainty in Axel’s eyes before he looked away. I felt as though my entire world fell apart around me. I forced a smile shakily past the tears and nodded my head, finally accepting defeat. Axel was over me for good. Exhaling a long, shaky breath, fighting back the emotions, I shot out, “I didn’t realize our relationship was so delicate.” Tension in Axel’s jaw and the glistening of tears in his eyes indicated that I’d hit a nerve. I had managed to chip away at the wall Axel created around his heart. He stood up and advanced on me, not stopping until he stood so close I could smell the unique scent that seemed to belong to him alone. I closed my eyes, taking an involuntary deep breath, sparking the familiar desire that melted me and devastated me at the same time. My gaze dipped to Axel’s mouth—full, perfect, and inviting. What would he do if I kissed him? Would he push me away? Maybe it was worth the risk. My eyes trailed lower, down the line of his throat, to the simple V-neck black tee he wore beneath his jacket. His chest beckoned to be touched. “Don’t you dare turn this around on me,” he hissed only inches from my face. “I’m not the one who destroyed us. You are.” “Then let me fix us,” I pleaded.

“Fix us?” he asked, laughing harshly. “There’s no ‘us’ anymore. Our relationship isn’t just delicate, it’s scarred!” I decided to take a huge risk and brought my hand up to Axel’s face, trailing my fingers along the flush that stained his cheek, left behind from his anger. He jerked his head away angrily and his chin hitched up, but I saw the flare of emotion in his eyes before he jerked away from me. My face inches from his, I ran my gaze over Axel, watching the wall crumble even further. I didn’t want to stop. It was a temptation I couldn’t resist. I kissed him. The minute my mouth made contact with his, I released a low moan, my body reacting as though it had been an eternity since we last touched. I pressed closer against his body, forgetting we were in a busy nightclub. Axel didn’t just kiss me, he consumed me. His tongue stroked across the seam of my lips, demanding an entry I desperately wanted to give. In a rushed movement, he grabbed me by the hand and led me out the doors into the parking lot. Without saying a word, Axel grasped my butt and lifted me up, placing me on the hood of a car, before pulling my thighs apart and settling within my spread legs. When the velvet smoothness of his tongue stroked inside my mouth, I opened my mouth wider, meeting his tongue with my own in a hot, desperate dueling match. “Axel…” I whispered against his mouth when he broke the kiss, running his tongue over my lips. I moaned as his hand tunneled beneath my skirt, cupping my moistened panties. Axel’s hand slid under the fabric and stroked over my mound, dipping past my silken folds. Pressing past my entrance, he thrust his finger in and out without breaking the next passionate kiss. Feverish, I brought my hands to cup Axel’s erection, my eyes fluttering closed as his finger pumped deeper within. I couldn’t get close enough to him, couldn’t get enough of his kiss, enough of his finger pulling the passion from my body. God, I thought I had lost this. Lost the chance to make love to him ever again. My heart beat so fast I could barely catch my breath. I had Axel back. Axel was in my arms again. I wrapped my legs around his lean waist, my body on fire from his touch. I attacked Axel’s mouth with carnal ferocity, my tongue pushing past his lips to breach the cavern of his mouth. I released a ragged moan, one that came from deep within my soul, from my broken fucked up heart. I had missed Axel so much, his touch, his kisses, but more importantly… his love. With a low growl, he pushed away, turning his back to me, striding a short distance away, enough space to cool the heat between us. “Axel?” He kept his back to me, standing there in silence. Very slowly, he faced me. “At least it’s clear what you’ve always wanted. I guess I was a fool to think you were more than just a groupie.”

Axel’s statement felt like ice thrown on the heat of passion that had threatened to consume me only moments ago. I eased myself off the hood of the car, heat covering my entire body as I met his cold, emotionless stare. Fighting back the flood of tears, I desperately searched his eyes for explanation. The sudden need to escape—flee from this pain—made my heart pound even harder against my chest. “What are you talking about? Are you treating me like a groupie?” I could barely say the words. What I saw in Axel’s eyes now brought a pang to my heart. His anger reached out and nearly strangled my very being in its intensity. Anger for lying, for keeping my reason of moving here a secret, for not trusting in our love. Anger for destroying the relationship we had built in such a short time. “If you act like a groupie, you get treated like one. An emotionless hookup,” Axel stated quietly, his voice carefully matter-of-fact. “Axel, please don’t be cruel. It kills me—” “I’ve been used more times than I can count. People I think love me, or even like me, for me, are just using me for a connection. I had no idea you were doing that. I was blind!” he snapped, his words like a knife, carving into me. “It wasn’t like that. You have to know that,” I said, taking a step toward him before stopping, wiping at the streaming tears coursing down my face. “No matter what you now believe, I… I love you.” “Love me?” He laughed with venom. “You fucked with me,” he said, anger tightening his features. “You wanted the inside scoop on Axel Rye, son of the all mighty Jamison Rye. You lived the party scene and snorted my coke up your nose. And you fucked with me! Nothing different than all the other groupies of my life.” Fire burned in his eyes. Unable to stand seeing the pain in Axel’s eyes, I turned. My voice low, I said, “I was insecure. I was afraid that any wrong step I made would mean losing you. I didn’t have enough faith in us as a couple. I guess I didn’t have enough trust in you. I should have told you the truth. It was the stupidest thing I could have done.” I stopped, taking a deep breath as a sob choked me. “I—I was acting like a stupid love-struck child. I created drama that didn’t need to exist.” I stopped, my throat clogged with grief, blinking rapidly in an attempt to stop the tears burning my eyes. Afraid if I kept crying, I’d never be able to stop. I fought to keep it together, forcing myself to go on. “I’m sorry, Axel. I owed you the truth about what I do for a living and this stupid book. I just didn’t know what to do as the lie grew each time I let you believe otherwise,” I said, offering a helpless shake of my head. “I made it a bigger deal than it was.” I paused and drew in a breath. “And it was probably the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I paused before continuing. “I wasn’t using you. I wasn’t faking my desire to be with you. I wanted what you wanted, but I don’t expect you to believe me. I know I lost that trust. I’m so sorry.” I merely whispered my last words. As if a miracle just happened, Axel strode over to me, dragging me into his arms, holding

me close. “Quinn, didn’t you know how much I loved you?” he asked, pulling away enough to stare into my face. “That if you had just told me the truth, I would have understood? I wouldn’t have acted like an asshole. I would have trusted in our love. You were my world,” he said as he brushed his fingertips over my tear-stained cheeks, cupping my face with his palms. “Then forgive me,” I whispered. “I loved you. I pictured building a life with you. When you got caught in the lie, my entire world crumbled. All those dreams I had, they were dreams of us, places I wanted to go… with you.” Axel glared. “I wanted to be with you. Didn’t you know that?” I saw tenderness and hurt mingled in his eyes. I also saw lingering anger, an anger I deserved. “I’m sorry.” That was all I could verbalize right then. So many conflicting emotions coursed throughout my body that I felt almost crushed by the weight of them as I moved my hand slowly to Axel’s. Tears pooled in my eyes, burning them. But I willed myself to hold them back for once. “I know you are,” he finally whispered. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make this right with you,” I said, seeming to find my voice. “I want to earn back your trust. Do you want me to stop writing the book? I wasn’t going to use your name, but I will stop writing it altogether if you want.” Even though I made the offer, deep down I didn’t know if I would be able to follow through with that. I didn’t know how far Harrison had gone with it. Axel shook his head, his voice even as he spoke. “I don’t expect you to do that. I would never ask that of you.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes moving heavenward for a moment. “I guess I’ve known that you never really used me. Your intent at the beginning maybe was to, but I have to have faith in knowing you didn’t mean to hurt me—at least not once we fell in love. It was just a lie, but I know, deep down, that your heart has been in the right place.” “I know that none of this would have happened if I had just trusted that you would understand,” I murmured. “This shouldn’t have been an issue.” The tears I had held back finally gave way. “I embarrassed you in front of your friends.” Axel shook his head. “You don’t need to worry about them. They’ve seen a lot more drama than that.” “I don’t want them to ever doubt my love for you. I don’t want you to ever doubt my love, either.” “That’s a tough one,” he murmured in a voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear him. But I did, and the tears fell faster. “You cared about me once,” I said as I wiped at my moist face. “Maybe you could learn to care about me again—someday?” I sounded like a little girl desperate for affection and I hated it, but I needed Axel. I wanted Axel. Not just because he made me feel appreciated and cared for, but because when I was in his arms, I felt complete. And I loved Axel and hoped our love deserved another chance.

“I didn’t stop caring about you. I’ll always care about you and want what’s best for you.” “You are what is best for me.” Axel shook his head. “I wish I could say I one hundred percent believed that. Because you stole my heart the day I saw you in the club.” He smiled a bit. “But that was… like a dream, Quinn. We lived this fast and furious love affair that maybe was always bound to come crashing down.” “Don’t say that,” I pleaded. “Don’t give up on us. Please.” “I think I’m just facing reality.” “Do you love me enough to stay with me?” I asked as more tears slid down my face. “I love you. I have since I met you. The whole issue with this book and Harrison reminded me that you still have a life in San Francisco. You still plan on going back and building your career. As much as I want to be selfish and just take you in my arms, make love to you and promise you everything will be all right, I can’t. I know that long-distance relationships don’t work out.” “I decided long ago, long before this whole mess, that I was staying here… with you,” I cried. Axel looked moved by my admission and slowly pulled me close to his chest. I closed my eyes for a brief moment as I felt a whisper of a touch on my face as he began to dab at my tears with the pads of his warm, gentle fingertips. “I think you need to move back,” he said in a hushed voice as I opened my eyes and stared at him in shock. “I can’t do this.” In one swift motion, Axel turned around and walked back in the club without saying another word, leaving me standing there stunned. What the fuck just happened? We were so close. So close. And just as I was about to crumble to my knees and give up on everything, a sound from the depths of hell occurred.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

FUCKING JILLIAN

QUINN

“YOU DON’T KNOW who you fucking messed with!” I jumped at the wicked declaration suddenly right behind me. I turned around to see Jillian standing with a knife pointed in my direction. Her dilated eyes revealed an evil inside. Drugs, alcohol, hatred, and a weapon made a deadly mix. My heart stopped as Jillian charged. My head whipped back from the force of the blow. Blood shot from the corner of my mouth as Jillian’s knuckles made contact with my lower lip. The evil in her eyes shone in the dim light of the parking lot. The stench of her breath only added to the demon-like figure before me. Swiping my fingertips over my mouth, I struggled to my feet, but Jillian was suddenly on top of me, her fishnet-clad thighs straddling my chest, pinning me to the cold asphalt below. I tried not to focus on the crazed face looming over me. Her face showed a fury that made me realize she would indeed try to kill me. She was too far gone to stop in her attack. I had knocked the knife out of Jillian’s hand when she unexpectedly lunged at me. But the knife remained within my reach. If only I could stretch out my arm and— “Stop fighting me, bitch! I’m going to show you what happens when you mess with me. Do you know who I am? How dare you punch me in the club! You’ll pay for that now!” I blocked the pummel of hands, feeling Jillian’s skin beneath my nails as I clawed at her face. I let out a scream even though no one would hear. The music in the club was too loud. No one was there to save me. I had no choice but to save myself. Jillian grunted, beads of sweat dripping off her forehead. I could feel Jillian’s strength weakening. Hope washed over me. I could still fight her off. I just needed to outlast her power. Stamina and sobriety could save my life. Jillian was breathing hard, her scrawny body heaving from each jagged pant. She had me trapped on the cold ground, but I knew I had a chance to break free as Jillian’s energy faded. I struggled to draw air into my lungs, but Jillian’s weight on my stomach almost suffocated me. I couldn’t wrestle out from her hold, let alone take a breath. My own energy faded just as fast. I sucked in much-needed oxygen, refusing to look at Jillian’s

disgusting face only inches from my own as she continued to punch at my head. From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of silver. Her knife. I needed to reach her knife. Reach for the knife. I forced myself to be brave. I took a calming breath to steady my nerves. I breathed evenly through my nose, slowly counting to five. I could do this. I had to do this. I had to fight back, or Jillian would kill me. Before Jillian could react, my hand reached out, fingers connecting with the silver handle of the knife. When Jillian realized what I was doing, she lunged for the blade. But she wasn’t fast enough. Her eyes bulged in shock just as I stuck the blade into her upper arm. Jillian screamed as she glanced down at her bloody arm in horror. Her dark eyes flashed with rage as she knocked the knife out of my hand, sending it flying across the ground. Jillian grabbed a hold of my neck and squeezed with a renewed, superhuman strength. Struggling for air, I realized I was going to die by Jillian’s hand. I had missed my chance. AXEL

MY CHEST FELT heavy as I walked back into the club. The realization that Quinn had probably left by now made my throat tighten, but knowing I was the one who’d turned my back on her hurt even more. Go to her. Those three words repeated over and over again in my mind, screamed from my soul. I walked halfway to the VIP area when I finally couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to see if Quinn was still out there. Maybe she hadn’t left yet. Maybe I still had the chance to make things right. I needed to make it right. I threw open the back door and froze in place, panic rising in my body as I watched the scene before me. With a burst of rage, I charged toward Quinn. She lay flat on her back, with Jillian on top of her, choking the life right out of her. Suddenly Quinn snapped into a state of alertness, landing a nasty punch to Jillian’s jaw. Quinn reached to grab a jagged rock near her hand, crashing it down on the side of Jillian’s head. The blow sent her into unconsciousness and she collapsed on top of Quinn. The silence deafening, I surged toward Quinn. “God, Quinn! Are you okay?” I pulled her from under Jillian’s body. QUINN

THE SOUND of Axel’s voice brought tears to my eyes. He was here! Help… a

miracle… Axel was here. Almost instantly, my entire body began to shake. My breath came out in ragged gasps. Air. I needed air. Jillian was dead! I killed someone! I took another’s life! “I’m here, Quinn. Everything’s going to be okay.” I felt Axel’s hand on my forearm. Blinking with confusion, I looked down and saw that my bloody hand still gripped the rock. “I killed her! Oh my god!” Axel placed his hand on Jillian’s throat and checked for a pulse. “No. She’s alive.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. In a hurry, he explained the situation to dispatch and demanded they send the police and ambulance. “It’s okay, Quinn. You were defending yourself.” The soft reassurance of his voice soothed me. I loosened my grip on the rock and let it fall to the ground. “Are you all right?” he asked gruffly. I stared into his dark eyes for a long moment before finally whispering, “No.” And then I threw myself at him, needing his strength. I clung to him desperately as I sobbed for what felt like a lifetime. Weak from exhaustion, my body collapsed against his. The next thing I knew, I was in his arms, and he stroked my back with his big, warm hands. “It’s all right,” he said softly. “You’re all right now.” He pulled back slightly, remorse clouding his shadowed eyes. “I’m so sorry. I should have never left you.” Tears stung my eyes. “I’m sorry I put you in a situation that you felt you had to. I know you may never trust me again.” Axel’s features creased with remorse. “I left you, and you got attacked. It’s all my fault.” “You had no way of knowing.” Axel looked ready to argue, but a shout from behind put an end to the conversation. I turned to see two police officers immediately hurry toward Jillian’s unconscious form. “What happened?” the cop demanded, his steely eyes fixed on me and Axel. In a calm yet firm voice, Axel told the officers everything. When he finished, he glanced at me and smiled. It was a smile that let me know it truly would be all right. Everything would be fine… with Axel. After hours of answering questions and filling out paperwork, we were finally free to go. I felt relief when Jillian regained consciousness as the paramedics arrived. No matter what, I didn’t want to hurt her, and definitely didn’t want to kill her. The incident was the most terrifying experience of my life. I refused to press charges even though the police urged me to do so. At the end of the day, Jillian needed help. Not jail, but help with her demons, and definitely help with her addictions. Axel escorted me to the limo and gently assisted me inside. “Do you hurt? You have cuts and bruises.”

“A little, but I’ll be fine.” Axel watched me intently. His eyes shone with so much protectiveness. So much uncertainty. He reached out, cupping the right side of my face ever so gently in the palm of his hand. “We’re going to the hospital to get everything checked out.” “I’m fine. Please, I don’t want to go to the hospital. I have some cuts and bruises. That’s all. The paramedics already checked me out. Please.” Axel sighed. “Fine, but you’re staying with me tonight. Don’t even try arguing. I’m not asking, I’m telling.” I blinked back more tears and he leaned forward and slowly, reverently, pressed a kiss to my bruised cheek. He repeated the gesture, kissing my cut cheekbone, then the bridge of my bloody nose, the curve of my beaten jaw, my eyelid. Finally, he found my mouth and pressed his lips to mine. I started to cry as he pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. “I’m not going anywhere, Quinn. I will never leave your side again.” “Oh, god,” I said, my hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as I pulled him closer, almost as though I tried to merge my body with his. “You have no idea how afraid I was.” Axel nodded. “I’ll never let Jillian near you again.” I shook my head. “No. I don’t care about Jillian and that whole incident. It’s over. I was so scared of losing… you.” “Never again,” he whispered as he dropped a kiss onto my forehead. I leaned into him deeper. “You’ll forgive me?” I asked and rested my tear-stained face in the crook of Axel’s neck for a moment. His hand found my back and massaged it lightly in small circles for a long moment. “I can’t stand seeing you cry.” He leaned over and kissed my damp cheek. “I love you.” “Let’s go to your place and work things out. Let us start over, please. Let’s make us whole again,” I pleaded. “Forgive me and love me again.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

NO MORE FUCKS

AXEL

WITH UNCERTAINTY and nerves twisting my stomach, the night was an emotional blur. The entire ride to my place, was filled with relief to have Quinn sitting safely beside me, mixed with confusion and pain I couldn’t quite shake off. I didn’t know what to expect when we got home. My mind working in overdrive, I closed my eyes to try to clear my thoughts. Quinn reached for my hand, and the soft touch made my heart leap out of my chest. I didn’t want to face the woman I so desperately loved only to see betrayal. I couldn’t give her reassurance, so I gently pulled my hand free. Silence was the only thing I could offer. “Axel? I’d really like to show you something if I can.” I didn’t want to be dramatic and continue with my fury, call off the relationship, or do any other rash action that ran through my head. At the end of the day, I loved her completely. Seeing her hurt only intensified my feelings for her. She was everything I could ever dream of. I wanted to make this work. Quinn had already surrendered her love and given her entire heart. It was obvious. And she was sorry. That much was obvious. But could I trust her? She reached into her purse and pulled out a bunch of papers wrapped in a rubber band. “What is all that?” “I’ve been keeping these in my bag ever since… well ever since in hopes to show you why I do what I do. They’re all of the magazine and newspaper articles, and small essays I’ve ever written.” She pointed to her name on one of them, and then pointed to her name on another. “See that?” I read her written name, confused. “Your name?” “Yes, my name. Quinn Sullivan.” “I don’t understand.” “When I was a child, my grandmother always told me that I had a name that should be lit up in lights. I had a name worthy of a queen. She told me that with a name like Quinn Sullivan, I was destined for success.” She paused to take a deep breath. “Every time I

place my name on something I write, I feel like I am honoring my grandmother’s memory.” She took another deep breath and continued on. “There was not a lot of love in my home growing up. My parents weren’t affectionate and rarely offered praise. It wasn’t a bad childhood or anything. Just cold. But things were different with my grandmother. She made me feel like the most special person in the world. Her words and encouragement made me feel like I could do whatever I wanted. She actually made me believe I was destined for great things.” She paused as she wiped at a falling tear. “She made me promise to do something special with my life. She made me promise to make Quinn Sullivan a name not to be forgotten. She made me promise to shoot for my dreams, because with a name like mine, dreams would come to reality. It doesn’t excuse my lies…” I reached for Quinn’s hand and linked my fingers through hers. I offered a smile, finding it impossible to be angry at the woman before me. She squeezed her fingers tightly between mine, and a shiver of satisfaction went through me. The simplest touch confirmed that Quinn was the only woman I would ever need. Quinn was here… fighting. Confiding in me like she’d never done before. Deep down I’d hoped she would come to me, that the bond between us was as powerful as I believed. It had been weeks and I had tried my best to forget all about her, blocking the painful memories of her lies from my mind. But here she was, sitting before me with her face shadowed in the dim light of the passing streetlights. She was a woman of such beauty that she took my breath away. Her skin was smooth, golden—gorgeous even with the bruises and cuts. Her hair an enchanting brown, richer and deeper than any woman’s I’d seen. It fell over her delicate shoulders with a slight curl at the bottom. Her eyes were closed, her lashes lying thick and dark against her cheeks. I needed to see into her eyes… into her heart. But she kept them shut, her face saddened by her memories. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to her. It seemed like an eternity since I last touched her. I skimmed my fingertips along the edge of her swollen jaw. She gasped, but instead of pulling back, she leaned closer, her eyes fluttering open. “I know I don’t deserve you,” she murmured. “I wish I could do it all over…” I slid my thumb up over her chin and then across her bottom lip. On a shaky sigh, she parted her lips. She stared directly into my eyes. “Axel…” I leaned down and closed the distance between my mouth and hers. My hands still cupping her face, I tipped her chin up. Then I brushed my lips gently across hers in a whisper-soft kiss. “I’m sorry. I came here to get a story that could really make Quinn Sullivan a name people had heard of. I saw the possibility of a book deal, and I saw potential success. I came here, and I met you, for all the wrong reasons.” Quinn wiped at a falling tear. “But I swear to you, that somewhere along our path, everything changed. I fell in love. I gave you my entire heart. I gave you the entirety of my soul. Not because of a book, but because I truly fell in love with you.”

I nodded as the pain in my heart subsided. Quinn reached out unexpectedly and gripped her hand around my neck. In one swift movement, her mouth came down powerfully on mine, her tongue plunging past my lips as if she were claiming me, possessing me as hers. I clutched at her arms, deepening the kiss, leaving nothing but overwhelming love. Arousal sparked in my body as if Quinn had lit me on fire. I parted her lips with the force of my tongue, my hands desperately clinging to the fabric of her shirt. Our tongues danced together as electric currents rippled through my body, my cock hardening at the sensation of Quinn’s body pressing against mine, my mind spiraling out of control with the knowledge of the erotic gratification we could bring each other. She cleared her throat. “I will apologize every day if you’ll let me. Just don’t walk away.” I wiped at the tears streaming down her face. “I’ll never give up on us again.” The one thing that was clear was what I wanted, what I’d always wanted. I wanted her back. The only woman I’d ever truly loved. Being without her for even this short time made me realize that. The question was if I could trust her. Did I truly believe her about the book? I wondered if I deluded myself into thinking she wouldn’t use me now that we were in love. That things had changed since she first arrived. Her intentions were different. Was she really in love like she claimed? I couldn’t stop believing that we had this love at first sight: crazy love. A kind of love that no matter the insecurities or the anger, never lessened. There had been a time when it would have been impossible for me to admit to myself, much less say out loud, how much I was in love. But I could clearly see that I’d fallen hard—she was all I wanted. It hurt. It hurt badly to have Quinn lie to me. But I had to forgive in order to move on, and it did appear as if she felt truly sorry. I knew this was love. I felt it in every fiber of my being. I loved her. I always would. And I was sure that she loved me, too. But even as I thought it, doubts assailed me. This is what we needed to work out. This is what I needed to work out. As we walked into the loft, I glanced around, grateful I hadn’t left the place a mess. Immediately, nerves formed a tight knot in my stomach, my heartbeat slamming against my rib cage. I tossed my keys on the granite counter and immediately went to grab a bottle of red wine. “Can I pour you a glass of wine?” I asked as I popped the cork. “Yes, please.” At the sound of her voice, inches from my ear, I spun around to see Quinn leaning against the counter with a smile. With a thud, I dropped the bottle on the counter, grabbing her, hauling her close and covering her mouth with my own, running my hands all over Quinn’s body. With a soft moan and a light giggle, she broke away from the kiss, a frown creasing her forehead. “This is for real, right? My heart can’t take it if you compare me to a groupie again,” Quinn said, her voice cracking slightly. I shook my head, continuing to run my hands over her back. “I shouldn’t have said those things, or acted that way. I was mean and wrong. I was hurt, but that doesn’t excuse me

lashing out at you.” I stopped, shaking my head, closing my eyes briefly. “I know I hurt you, too.” “I thought I lost you,” she said, looking away briefly. “I don’t want our love to be delicate like you said. We’re strong enough to get through anything. Even if I did a horrible job of showing you that.” My heartbeat harsh in my chest, I looked into Quinn’s eyes. “Do you forgive me?” I asked, my eyes searching hers. I saw regret cloud her eyes before she turned away. I felt everything in my body freeze as I gazed at the woman I loved, attempting to read the emotions in her eyes, trying to determine their meaning. With tears releasing from her eyes, Quinn placed a hand on my arm. “Axel, please don’t apologize—” She broke off, swallowing hard. “I’ll never doubt your love for me… for us. I’ll always trust in you… as long as you can trust in me.” She stopped, wiping at her tears. “I love you. I always will.” Any other words were forgotten as I brought our mouths together. Quinn laughed around the kisses as I led her to the room and kicked the door to the bedroom open, bundled her in my arms, and with long strides, placed Quinn down onto the bed. “I want you,” I said. With a groan, I rapidly began to undress her, only to be rewarded with Quinn doing the same to me. “God, I want you, too,” she said, her voice breathless, as she frantically pulled at my pants. I felt my body burn in eager anticipation as I stared down at the vision of Quinn splayed out in front of me. I ran a finger down the line of her throat, down the midline of her body, before stopping at the juncture of her thighs. Locking my eyes on hers, I stroked a finger deep inside her, her walls clamping tight against my invasion. With a groan, I withdrew, my finger covered with Quinn’s sexual desire. I loved how good it was between us. She was always so responsive to my touch. I closed my eyes briefly, my desire growing thicker. “I’ve missed this,” I said with a groan, fighting the urge to spread Quinn’s legs and press my cock deep inside her willing warmth. But I wanted to take my time. Separating her pussy lips, I watched in heated fascination as she lost control. With every drag and pull of my finger, Quinn’s walls clenched and released in rhythmic pulses, her cream easing down and covering my hand. All control was lost. “I’ve got to taste you,” I said, spreading her legs farther apart. I tasted. I devoured. She was mine again.

QUINN

THE FIRST STROKE of Axel’s tongue against me had me rearing my body up and off the mattress, a cry tumbling from my lips. I moaned softly, my hands coming out to brace myself on the bed as Axel flicked his tongue over and around my clit, toying with me before surrounding my pleasure point completely within the warm cavern of his mouth. On and on it went, alternating between stabbing flicks of his tongue and long sweeping kisses, driving my passion to a whole new level. When Axel drew his tongue completely out and nibbled gently, an orgasm washed over me—gentle at first but then intense as it grew. His fingers slid into me, going deep, causing stars to flash behind my tightly closed lids as I came, crying out as the tremors rocked my entire body. Entirely wrung out, my body collapsed onto the mattress, my muscles weak “I’m not done with you yet,” Axel promised, his voice dark, as he began to sink into me. But before pressing inside me fully, he paused, his breath coming out coarsely. “Tell me you love me, Quinn. That you’ve never stopped.” I moaned, grinding my body against his, my face flushed with hunger. “I—I love you, Axel,” I cried when he inched farther inside me. He pressed his hand between us, finding my clit and working it as he delivered small, shallow thrusts. “Tell me you want me,” he demanded. “I want you!” At my admission, Axel slid all the way in. Grasping my ass, he lifted me and began to thrust. His fingers dug into my hips as he held onto me, alternating the thrusts between long and deep, and shallow and quick, angling my body along his for our mutual pleasure. I wrapped my legs around Axel’s waist, digging my heels into his back. “Faster,” I panted as his fingers scored deep into the globes of my bottom, his head thrown back, eyes shut. Soon our mutual groans echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls as his strokes became softer, easier, eventually subsiding. Sweat poured off our bodies. I opened my eyes and released a sigh, the afterglow of perfect lovemaking seeming to wash away any hurt of the past. I felt Axel’s hand feather across my breasts, and I smiled. “That was really nice,” I said, hissing slightly when Axel’s thumb ran over my overly sensitive nipple. Axel laughed, a thoroughly perfect sound. “I have something to ask you,” he said, as he grabbed a piece of my hair and played with it between his fingers. “Did you really mean it when you said you were planning on staying in LA?” “Yes. I can’t imagine my life without you. I decided—” My words were cut off when Axel surprised me by covering my mouth with his. I

succumbed instantly to the touch. Slowly, he drew away from me. He placed his hands on either side of my face. “I can’t imagine my life without you, either.” ***

QUINN

THE APARTMENT WAS SHROUDED in darkness when I finally awoke from the best sleep I had had in days. Eyes still adjusting to the lack of light, I peered at the digital alarm clock on Axel’s nightstand and was surprised to discover that it was almost three o’clock in the morning. The events of the past days had thoroughly worn me out. Sighing in contentment, I stretched my arms out above my head, still relishing the afterglow of the most amazing sex. The tension that had weighed me down had all but disappeared, replaced by a sense of serenity. Moving to get up from the bed, I realized Axel was nowhere to be found. I quickly padded out of the room toward the kitchen. Passing by the bathroom, the sound of running water grabbed my attention. Pushing open the door, I smiled at the sight of a very naked, and extremely handsome man drawing a bath. “Axel?” I asked curiously, stepping further into the room. His head whipped around at the sound of my voice, and my heart melted when Axel smiled at me sensually. “You’re not supposed to be awake yet,” he admonished me playfully, moving away from the claw-foot bathtub as he came to stand in front of me. “I wanted to let you get a bit more sleep before I woke you up for your surprise.” “My surprise?” I asked in confusion, looking past him at the rose petals floating atop the water’s surface. He had lined up bath oils and salts along the bathroom sink. He had a terrycloth robe folded neatly on top of the vanity and a glass of red wine sitting beside it. I glanced up at him in confusion. “What is all this?” “We’re celebrating a very special day today,” he said, as he reached out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. “Axel…” I sighed. I didn’t deserve all this. Not after the way I had treated him. I should be doing all the romantic gestures. “What day are we celebrating?” “The day you moved into my home,” Axel whispered, cupping my face in his hands as he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. When we parted, his hands traveled down my sides until both palms rested against my nude bottom. “What?” I squeaked, my voice catching in my throat as I pressed my naked body against his. “Did you just say—” “Shhh,” Axel silenced me, smiling as he kissed me gently again. “Just relax and enjoy

your bath while the water’s still hot. We’ll talk later, okay?” “Okay,” I agreed, offering him a reassuring smile as he moved past me and turned to leave the room. “Enjoy the bath,” he said with a smile, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway and closing the door behind him. Sighing in contentment, I carefully lowered myself into the tub. I hissed as the hot water enveloped my skin. Closing my eyes, I tried not to overthink the comment Axel had just made. It was almost cruel that I had to wait and see what he meant by that. Did he really want me to move in? I stepped out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, dressed in Axel’s soft robe. My stomach growled as I entered the kitchen and my nose was immediately assaulted by the sight of freshly sliced strawberries and the delicious aroma of freshly brewed coffee. “You look beautiful,” Axel commented, pulling out a chair and helping me take a seat in front of the lavishly decorated table. I giggled at how easily he could just walk around naked. He still hadn’t put a stitch of clothing on. “I can’t believe you’re doing all this. It’s too much.” “I told you that we’re celebrating a special day,” he insisted, leaning over the back of my chair to whisper in my ear. “This is the day you agree to move in with me.” His warm breath tickled my skin, causing a shiver to course through my body. I turned my head to face him, searching his eyes for clarity. “I’d love to,” I whispered, reaching out to stroke Axel’s cheek. “I don’t want to spend another night apart,” he said in a low voice, pressing his face into the palm of my hand as we gazed at each other with love in our eyes. We stayed like that for a while, both of us absorbing what we had just agreed to while trying to get a handle on our emotions. I brought Axel’s hand up to my lips, placing a gentle kiss as I offered him a warm smile. “I thought I lost you,” I said softly, fighting back the tears. “This is like a dream. I have you back.” “My heart has always been with you. But, Quinn,” Axel said, grabbing my chin in his hand and forcing me to meet his gaze. “No more secrets. You can tell me anything. You don’t hold back anything anymore.” “I promise,” I agreed, nodding my head with conviction. Leaning forward, he placed a gentle kiss against my lips. “I love you,” I declared, wrapping my arms around Axel’s waist. “And I’ll always love you,” Axel promised me sincerely, burying his face into my hair as I laid my head down against his chest. “And I swear to you that things are going to be different from now on. You and I together, forever.” “I like the sound of that,” I whispered, snuggling closer in Axel’s hold. He lifted me out of the chair and pulled me closer into his embrace. I wrapped my arms

around his neck, holding onto him as tightly as I would forever hold onto our love: a love that was anything but delicate and scarred. I suddenly needed Axel like I’d never needed him before. It didn’t help that he stood naked tempting me with his every move. I wanted intimacy, connection, and love. I wanted to please him once again completely. Without saying a single word, I kissed my way down his toned chest until I reached his large, erect cock. I stopped to stare at his manhood, never before finding a man as enticing. I pressed my lips to the tip of his cock, and gradually worked my tongue to the base. I picked up the pace, moving up and down while squeezing tight with my hand. I moaned as I scraped my teeth along the sides of his tightening cock. I moved my hand to his balls and began to sensually massage. He pumped his cock deeper and began to fuck my mouth with fury, removing all traces of sensuality. He grabbed me by the hair and raised my head up and down, driving towards orgasm. Suddenly he stopped and tried to pull away. I shook my head and murmured, “No, I want to taste you,” and continued to suck up and down his entire shaft. He moaned loudly. “Oh god, Quinn, I’m going to come!” I tightened my lips and moved my tongue with a quickened speed, driving him to climax with every flick of my tongue. I wanted him. I wanted his release. I could hear his breathing catch and felt his balls tighten beneath my massaging fingers. He drove his cock as deep as my mouth could take and released his hot seed in the back of my throat as he cried out my name. He lifted me abruptly and turned me on to my stomach on the kitchen floor. He lowered his hard body on top of mine and began to kiss and nibble the back of my neck. “You’re amazing.” He lowered his hand to the crease of my bottom and seductively stroked. “I want you here.” Axel stood, pulled me up and then lifted me in his arms. “What about breakfast?” “It can wait; I can’t,” he said, not even pausing as he carried me back to the bedroom, setting me gently on the bed and then went into the bathroom, returning with a bottle of lubricant and a phallus made of glass. My heart fluttered and my sex clenched. I felt nervous but highly aroused. I had been waiting for this day, and now seemed so right. I wanted to please him in every single way possible. Axel applied some lubricant to my anus and pressed his finger past the entrance to lubricate further. He pumped his finger in and out and then added a second finger. I struggled for breath as he spread his fingers apart so he could stretch me further. I panted and moaned with every movement. I pressed my ass to his fingers, desperate for more. Being on the edge of climax drove me crazy with lust. Axel removed his fingers, leaving me with an empty void. I could hear him placing lubrication on his cock and my mouth watered at the thought of him taking me in the most intimate of places. “I want you where no one else has been. I want you completely,” Axel gruffly said as he pressed his cock against my waiting entrance.

Very slowly, Axel moved his cock past my now slick and ready opening. Kissing my neck softly, he whispered his love to me as he pressed deeper. I had never felt something so intimate, so erotic, and so passionate. He continued on, spreading my tender hole. I whimpered as I felt the pain of his possession and instantly panicked. I suddenly wasn’t sure if I was ready. Axel paused so I could get accustomed to the feel. “Just relax, Quinn. You’re doing so well. I promise that you’re ready. I made sure you would be able to take me. You feel so tight, so hot. Press into me,” he coaxed. I pressed back as he directed and allowed his hardness to push in further. The intensity overwhelmed me, and Axel only added to it when he reached around and found my clit with his fingers. He rolled his finger around my swollen desire as he drove even deeper. I moaned in pleasure, as well as pain, and suddenly allowed the climax to take over. I bucked against him, driving him all the way into the depths of my body. I screamed as orgasmic pulses rushed through my forbidden channel. Axel continued to pump in and out. Suddenly I felt something else. I shuddered as the cold glass dildo slid into my pussy. The toy quickly warmed within the heat of my body. It was an incredible feeling as he thrust it in and out of my vagina as he continued to fuck my ass. Every thrust drove me higher. I felt so full, so possessed. I cried out his name as his cock and the toy moved in and out at a relentless pace. Wave after wave of incredible bliss rolled over me like a tsunami. “Axel!” I moaned. “Take all of me. You’re mine, Quinn. Mine,” Axel growled. Axel continued to press on harder and harder as I pleaded for more. All gentleness and slow easing was replaced with fever and crazed desire. He grabbed both sides of my ass and drove deeper. I loved the submissive feel. I loved being overcome in such a primal way. Axel sunk his hardness deeper than I thought possible and came as his body shook in completion. He moved his cock in and out a few more times in slow, sensual strokes. He then pulled out and rolled onto his back to catch his breath. I remained on my stomach, unable to move, gasping for air. Axel rubbed his hand up and down my back while I recovered from the most amazing sexual event of my life. Never could I have imagined something so powerful, so erotic. This was like no other sex. I felt closer to Axel than I ever had before. I was his, and I wanted nothing more. Finally, he broke the blissful silence first. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” “Oh, I’m better than all right. I never knew it would be like that.” “Are you sure? I was harder than I wanted to be. I lost control,” Axel said with worry in his voice. I simply smiled. He brushed some of the loose hair away from my face. “You’re everything.” He paused, and then kissed me on the forehead. “You are mine.” I silently nodded in response.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

GOODBYE TO THE DARK

QUINN

I WOKE up to the sound of Axel in the shower. I looked at the disheveled bed and smiled with the memory of the night before. It seemed like every time Axel and I had sex, it was better than the last. I would think I had the best sex of my life, only to feel that way the next time. “Absolutely amazing” would be an understatement. He was so attentive, so loving, and he demanded in bed in a way that only Axel could do. God, I loved this man. The water stopped, and shortly after the bathroom door opened. Axel had a towel wrapped around his waist. His muscular chest looked mouthwatering with the drops of water dripping down to his perfect abs. He looked happy with a huge Cheshire grin. He leaned against the doorframe and just gazed at me. “You’re gorgeous. You make me so happy, seeing you lying in my bed.” He made his way to the edge of the bed and bent down to place a kiss on my forehead. “Get up and get showered. I have a surprise today.” “A surprise, what?” “Get up and get ready and you’ll see,” he answered. He softly ran his fingers through my hair before simply stating, “I love you.” I tried to get ready as quickly as I could. I absolutely loved surprises. Obviously, he had something in mind to do today. The weather was lovely outside, so I was able to put on a nice summer dress. Axel loved when I wore dresses, stating it was because he had easier access. I smiled to myself, remembering how I had been nervous that I didn’t look “cool” or “hip” enough for him. I loved how Axel loved me for me. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror and felt pretty. Axel had a way of making me feel beautiful. Ever since being with him, my self-esteem had grown by leaps and bounds. He did wonders for my ego. He allowed me to feel confident about my womanly curves, comfortable with my natural beauty. Every part of my body now seemed sensual and desirable. I was a confident and elegant woman. I walked into the kitchen to find Axel finishing up the last details of the breakfast we had left unfinished only hours before. He had made a fruit salad and strawberry scones. He had already set the table complete with red roses in a vase in the center. The sliding glass door was open, letting in the warm, fresh air, and I could hear the birds chirping outside.

Everything seemed so romantic, so special, like a love story. “My, my, I never knew you could be so romantic. A girl could get used to this type of treatment,” I lovingly teased as I walked over to kiss him on the cheek. “You deserve nothing but the best.” He took a step back so he could take a full look at me. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. Look at you! I’ve never been so blown away by someone as I am with you.” I blushed and made my way to the table. Axel followed with the rest of breakfast and sat across from me. He raised a champagne glass filled with mimosa and silently toasted. I took a bite of the scone. “Mmmm, this is good! You’re quite the baker.” Axel laughed before he admitted, “It’s from a box.” “Well, I like it anyway. Thank you for going through so much effort. I love you for it.” “I love you, too, Quinn Sullivan.” He said my name with a huge smile on his face. He had such a boyish charm when he wanted to. We sat and ate in silence for a while, just enjoying being in each other’s presence and taking in the wonderful morning. The breakfast, the morning, and the man were perfect. Axel finally stood up and lifted me out of my chair and hugged me tight to his chest. “I’m so lucky to have you.” He lifted my chin so I looked into his eyes. “Get your shoes on, sweetheart. I have something to show you. Your surprise.” The whole way in the car I kept pestering Axel to tell me where we were going. He would simply smile and lightly pat my knee, not giving in to the onslaught of questions. We drove for quite some time along a beautiful curving road. The trees leaned over them from all sides. They created a tunnel, with the clear blue sky peeking between the leaves. I stared into the dense forest, taking the time to reflect. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of love and passion, but also scarred with intense darkness. Lost in such deep thought, it took me a moment to realize Axel had pulled over onto the side of the road. I turned to him, about to ask why he stopped, when I saw that he was staring straight ahead. His jovial mood was replaced with seriousness. I followed his gaze to a two-story wooden cabin overlooking a cliff. I stared out into the canyon below and took in the beauty. The view from where the cabin stood was magnificent. There was something magical about the setting behind the house. The trees looked so full of life. The small creek far below glistened, and the expanse of open air seemed all-powerful. “Who lives here? Who are we visiting?” I asked in confusion. “I’m not telling you yet. It’s a surprise,” Axel teased as he got out of the car and walked around to open my door. Axel reached for my hand and led me to the front porch without saying another word. When he reached the front door, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. Instead of knocking, he inserted the key and opened the door. Before I could protest, he softly pulled me inside. I looked around cautiously and noticed the cabin was completely empty.

I looked around again at the empty house and asked, “Why are we in a vacant cabin in the middle of nowhere?” Axel smiled and took both of my hands into his. “It’s ours. I bought it so we could have a place that is one hundred percent ours. Not my loft, but a brand new house—a home, our home—filled with only our memories.” Speechless, I just stood in place, stunned with the realization that I was inside our new home. “I hope you like it. I promise the only decision I make is the house, but you can decorate it however you choose. You can do whatever you want to make it ours. Do you like it?” Axel asked nervously. I wrapped my arms around Axel’s neck and looked into his eyes. “I love it! I love you! I love everything!” “Come on, let me show you around,” Axel said as he grabbed me by the hand to lead me through the house. He began by showing me all of the rooms. He walked into one room in particular, stopped, and faced me with a smile. “I was thinking about this room for your office. It has the best view of the canyon,” Axel suggested with a huge grin. I opened my mouth in shock. “What? My office? What do I need an office for?” “You’ll need a quiet place to concentrate while you work on your book. Really explaining my life won’t be an easy task,” Axel explained. “I told you I wasn’t going to write the book.” “And I’m telling you to. Your grandmother was right. Quinn Sullivan is too special of a name not to see it in print. And I think a biography may be a great way of closure for me. A way for me to walk away and never look back. My drug dealing days are over. I don’t want to walk back into another club for as long as I live. I want you to write my story.” “Oh, Axel. Are you sure?” “Yes. No more drugs. No more partying. No more nightlife. Those days are over. We start over completely.” I nodded. “I agree. Let’s start over. Let’s say goodbye to the dark.” He laughed and a twinkle lit up his eye. “No more vampire hours.” “No more vampire hours,” I agreed. “It might not be easy breaking away.” “But we will figure it out together.” He grabbed my hand and softly pulled me into an embrace. I could hear his heart beat against his chest. We stayed like that for a while. We took the time to just let everything sink in.

He turned me gently so I faced him. He lowered his lips, softly pressing them to mine. He pulled away and stared deep into my eyes. “I love you. I love you more than I imagined possible. When I’m with you, I feel a love stronger than I thought could exist. I finally found what I longed for. I found you,” Axel passionately declared. He stared at me for a few moments and then lowered himself onto one knee. He pulled a ring box from his pocket and placed the ring onto my finger in one fluid motion, I barely knew what was happening. “Quinn Sullivan, I love you more than anything, and I can’t imagine not having you in my life. Will you marry me?” I stood in disbelief for a few moments as I looked into Axel’s eyes. He remained kneeling, awaiting my answer. “Yes! Of course I’ll marry you! Oh, Axel, I love you so much!” He stood up and placed the most passionate kiss of my life on my lips. His tongue danced with mine, and our breaths intertwined. He held me so tight and with so much emotion, I could hardly breathe. “I swear I’ll make you happy. I swear I’ll make you the happiest wife there is,” he promised. I pulled away so I could admire the ring. It was gorgeous! A pink diamond with rubies circling the stone. “Axel, the ring is so pretty, and so feminine. You really didn’t need to—” Axel interrupted. “I want there to be no question in anyone’s mind that you are taken. You are mine!” “Yes, yes! I’m yours, forever. I promise I’ll be the best wife I can. I promise I’ll do everything to make you happy.” I paused to regain my composure. “Thank you for taking me here. It means the world that you would give us a home to call our own.” I looked at Axel through my tear-filled eyes. “Thank you for believing in me, and believing in us.” Axel held me close. “I’m finally done searching. I found the light in all the fucked up darkness my life once was…I found you… Quinn Sullivan.”

The End

BONUS EPILOGUE BECAUSE OF ONE FUCKING KISS

Quinn

The blush took over my entire body without warning. I looked away and tried to regain my composure. The notorious Axel Rye had a way of making me feel like a giddy little schoolgirl, and I hated it. But I did not hate him. No, my feelings were the polar opposite of hate, but just as powerful. Axel smirked. “I like the way you embarrass so easily.” I turned my head to look into Axel’s smiling eyes. The soft wrinkles at the edges gave his boyish charm a sense of maturity. He kept my stare locked within his for what seemed like an eternity. His gaze single handedly melted my heart. I oozed from the inside out. He had a power over my emotions that I was not used to allowing. His strength, his intoxicating dark demeanor, his aura just screamed out, Man. Without looking away, Axel slowly leaned in toward me, with his mouth only inches from mine. “I want to feel your lips on me.” He wasn’t asking permission, yet announcing his intent. So Axel Rye. So fucking Axel Rye. I looked down at his mouth and then back into his eyes and softly whispered, “I’d like that.” He placed a hand on each side of my head, and softly pressed his lips to mine. The touch sent tingles through my entire body. Never had a simple kiss given me such a powerful, intense reaction with anyone else. It was just a kiss, and yet so much more. The power this man had over me… His lips moved slowly along mine until his tongue lightly pressed past my lips. The warmth, and the wetness, increased the desire building inside my core. His fingers caressed my hair softly as his tongue continued to explore. A kiss, a high inducing kiss, was more than I could imagine. I could smell Axel, taste Axel, and feel Axel. I wanted more. I wanted the kiss to last forever—never wanting his lips to leave mine. “You feel so right,” Axel murmured between our entwined breaths. The sound of his voice, muffled by the kiss, provoked an involuntary gasp, revealing how

locked in his hold I had become. Never would I have thought I would feel so much power from a simple kiss. At that moment, the only thing I wanted was for him to never stop. His hands moved down my back, and he pulled me closer. My breasts pressed firmly to his rock hard chest with only thin layers of cotton between us. As our bodies merged, our kiss became more frenzied. Axel pressed his tongue deeper within my mouth. I responded by parting my lips wider and dancing my tongue with his. My breath mixed with his, my gasps swallowed by the kiss. The all consuming, most mind-blowing kiss. A kiss that I never knew could exist. With one single kiss, Axel Rye—a man I should have avoided—had captured my heart even more than it had already been possessed. Slowly pulling away, he looked deep into my eyes. His own glazed over as desire coursed across his face. He ran a single finger along my jawline and traced it along the edge of my needy lips. A small seductive smile formed as he leaned forward and kissed the tip of my nose. We both stared at each other for a few moments, scanning each other’s face, searching for a peek into our souls. “I don’t usually act like this. I don’t usually kiss… well, this is just not like me.” I felt the need to apologize, ashamed that I liked the kiss as much as I did. That deep down I didn’t want it to stop. “This isn’t me, either.” He smiled. “To actually enjoy and crave a simple kiss like that so much.” I took a deep breath before speaking. “So if this isn’t the way we are… Why do I want… more? This is fast, Axel. You and I both know it. Too fast.” Axel lowered his mouth to mine again. He kissed with more passion this time, and with more excitement than before. His mouth continued to claim mine as I could feel his desire building—my desire building. I inhaled at the sudden change but pulled him closer with my hands clinging desperately to his back. “I can’t explain this. I can’t explain why I want you so bad, so quickly. Tell me to stop and I will. Tell me no, and I will back away this second.” Axel paused from his onslaught of kisses to examine my face. I smiled at the look of concern mixed with passion on his face. “I want this, too. I don’t know why. I don’t know how it happened. All I do know is that I want to feel you inside of me.” “Quinn,” Axel moaned. He moved his mouth to my neck and started to place soft kisses, while his hand slowly worked its way under my shirt and bra. His palm cupped my breast, and I arched my back to meet his touch. His lips moved to my ear, and he lightly nipped. I could hear his ragged breathing and feel his body tense with pent up passion. I lowered my hand to his bulging erection pressed against his jeans. When my fingers made contact, Axel groaned in desire.

“Fuck! I want to be soft. I want to be gentle… but you are driving me crazy.” I undid his belt buckle, unbuttoned, and unzipped his pants in one fluid motion. “I don’t want soft. I don’t want gentle. I want you to take me, Axel Rye. Take me hard,” I demanded as I wrapped my hand around his throbbing cock. He grabbed and pushed me hard up against the wall. Reaching for my hands, guiding them above my head, holding them firm with one hand, his other ripped off my clothing. He yanked, he tugged, and he had me naked before I could even take my next breath. His lips pressed against mine with such force, such fierce command. I had never felt such strength, such domination. Axel moved his lips to my neck and began to kiss, suck and bite. With my arms still pinned above my head by his massive hand, I had no choice but to allow Axel to do as he wished. I felt the sting of his teeth on my neck and mewled, trying to not focus on the fact that I stood completely naked before him. He picked me up and carried me to his room before I could fully comprehend what was happening. I was in his arms, I could feel his muscled chest flex beneath me. I could hear his heavy breathing thick with desire. I could smell his intoxicating scent. My head spun; I was consumed with lust, drunk with passion. Before I could regain composure, he threw me down onto his bed. I saw him grab a black satin ribbon from a bedside table. He grabbed one hand and tied it to the bedpost, and then he did the same with the other. I had never been tied, never been defenseless. I tugged to see if I could escape, pulled to see if this was for real. With a mixture of fear and desire, I allowed myself to trust Axel, but at the same time, take delight in the sizzle of fear that coursed through my veins. I was helpless. There was nothing I could do to fight him off. I couldn’t stop what would happen next. And yet, even as my heart skipped, I loved the feeling. The complete abandon. Knowing he was now fully in control. He stood before me and took off all of his clothes in the same rush and fury that had landed me naked and tied to his bed. His ripped, tight body stood before me in all its glory. With hungry eyes, he stared down at my body stretched out on his bed and seductively smiled. “It’s about time I got you in my bed… the way I’ve always wanted you in my bed.” Axel reached for more ribbon, grabbed one of my legs, and tied one ankle to the bedpost and then secured the other, spreading me wide open. In mere moments, I found myself sprawled out on Axel’s bed, in Axel’s control. I tried to move, tried to test the strength of the bonds. A shiver ran down my spine when I couldn’t move. I was his. Yes, I was his. “Axel…” I moaned. He kissed one breast and then the other. He sucked each nipple, slightly nipping with his teeth. I gasped, I moaned. I had never been restricted before and not able to hold on to someone. The feeling of being defenseless was terrifying but electrifying at the same time. “Please. I want to hold you,” I begged. The need to touch his skin consumed me. Ignoring my plea, he continued his descent down my abdomen with kisses. He reached his

final destination, his lips caressing every ounce of flesh, licking my entire mound until I was desperate for more. I was dying to feel his tongue delve into me. I wanted to feel the invasion, the penetration. The man had a way to intensify every emotion and sensation in my body. I needed him. I hungered for him. I craved everything about him. Yet, I knew the ultimate power was his, and he would lead this delicious dance as he saw fit. “Axel!” I screamed when his tongue connected with my clit. A surge of sensation stole my breath. “I want you,” I pleaded as I tested the ties again. I was aching to touch, desperate to have some control back. My body frantically searched for release any way that I could as I shamelessly ground my pussy against his face and mouth. I needed to come. God, I hoped he’d make me come. But I needed more than his mouth. I needed his cock in me, and just as I was about to demand he fuck me, he moved away from my needy cunt and lowered his body on top of mine. I tried to reach for him. I tried to embrace his body. But the constraints of the ties held me in place. “Untie me,” I begged. He simply shook his head and slowly eased his way in between my legs. He captured my gaze and never released it as his cock spread me wide. He stared deep into my eyes, linking our souls, connecting our energy. He pressed deeper with every gasp from me as if my sounds of pleasure fueled the energy and desire inside of him. I moaned. He pressed on. I cried out. He fucked me harder. His own moans became my soundtrack to the most amazing sex of my life. Axel pressed deep within and suddenly stopped. Without either of our bodies moving, I could feel nothing more than Axel deep within me. Taking that moment of stillness did something to me. I felt a connection and closeness I hadn’t known possible. I looked into his eyes and just smiled. It began with just my lips, but staring into Axel’s face, I knew my pleasure was reflected in his eyes. “I’m yours,” I admitted freely. “I wanted nothing more than to hear those words.” “Untie me. Let me show you how much I’m yours. Let me prove how much I want to belong to you,” I whispered. Axel lightly touched his lips to mine, pulled his cock out of me, and then slowly untied one hand and then the other. He took his time to untie and after each bond was removed, he kissed and licked the reddened area to soothe the sting. I hadn’t realized how much I’d fought against the restraints until he did so. Once all the ties were removed, I crawled into Axel’s lap, pressed my lips to his neck, and

took the moment to just be held and feel protected. I enjoyed the soft, the calm… the love. I moved my lips to his and kissed him until I felt that our lips had melted together. His breath was mine, my breath was his. I felt his tongue lightly move along mine, his hands caressed, we embraced. Axel eased me onto my back and slowly rubbed his cock along my throbbing clit. The sensation sent an emotion through me that nearly brought tears to my eyes. I became whole, so complete. Having Axel so close to me felt… right. He moved the tip of his dick at a slow, and sensual pace. He caressed my hair and smiled softly while looking into my eyes. “I can’t do soft any longer. I need to fuck you hard before I explode,” Axel confessed. A growl worked its way past his lips as he grabbed me by the hips and in one hard thrust, drove himself deep within the warmth of my body. I wrapped my legs tighter around his back and thrust my hips to drive him even deeper. I moaned at the feeling of him spreading me, further inside me than I ever imagined possible. I craved more. I wanted him to drive in and out at a rapid speed. I felt like a sex-crazed vixen beneath Axel as he pumped in and out with a force and speed that brought an impending orgasm near. He grabbed me by the hair and pulled my lips to his again. He drove his tongue deep within my mouth, never letting go of his grip. He dominated me with the pull, with the thrust of his hips, and with the power he had over the building explosion of pleasure begging for release. “Let go for me. Let go, baby,” he demanded with a deep sensual voice. As if knowing I should never go against one of Axel’s commands, I let the climax take over. The fire worked its way from my toes all the way to my head. My moan became louder, louder until it became a scream. With the sound of my release ringing throughout the room, Axel pumped hard one last time, filling me with his seed. Claiming me. Marking me. Forever his. All because of one fucking kiss.

TRANS·FER·ENCE: A NOVEL AVA HARRISON

Dedicated To those who are looking to find the strength to conquer their fears.

trans·fer·ence: n. in psychotherapy and psychoanalysis, a client’s feelings for the therapist. May be used to understand the origins of the client’s emotional and psychological problems.

PROLOGUE

I’M HOLLOW. My pain is an open festering wound. Unbearable. I hear the words that are spoken but they have no meaning. They’re only words. They will never bring him back. Grief. Loss. Death. The pain inside me roars out in a silent scream. Like ice spreading through my veins and numbing me to the outside world. Sucking me under, until all is gone. My hands swipe away my stained tears. My breath becomes short gasps of air escaping. Cold sweat. Hammering heart. A distant hum. The beat of a bird’s wings. I need to leave. I can’t be here.

CHAPTER ONE

BEEP Beep Beep Through heavy eyelids, flashes of white light gleam in. It’s like living in a world of solitude. All alone, no connections, no expectations, no pain, no memories, and then suddenly everything rushes back. Sounds overwhelm me. Swish Swish Swish Hummmmmmm With careful precision I pry my eyes open, but I’m unnerved as the world around me comes alive. The sounds, once muffled, attack me like a passing freight train. They infiltrate every pore in my body, relentlessly. They are an unwelcome attack on my senses. A voice breaks through. “I think she’s waking up.” Beep Beep “That’s right, sweetie, open your eyes,” coos a soft, comforting voice. My blurry vision focuses and I’m facing two women dressed in purple scrubs. Where am I? A plain room that’s void of all emotion and warmth. Sterile. The walls are a dirty white, not quite cream, and the smell of disinfectant permeates the air. My mouth opens to speak, to ask them for some explanations but it’s too dry. I try to swallow however the thickness of the saliva pooling makes the action feel impossible. With wary movements, I press my fingers toward my lips, but even this small gesture is too much as pain radiates throughout my body. “You need something to drink. Let me grab you some water.” “Where …” It sounds as though I’m talking with a mouth full of marbles, so I try again but my words are jumbled and make no sense. The sound of the faucet running causes

even more liquid to collect. I watch in parched desperation as she slowly fills a pitcher and then grabs a cup and straw. “Where are you? You’re at Sinai-Grace Hospital. You were in an accident.” My heart rattles heavily at the new information. No wonder everything hurts. Even my skin burns. Finally, the nurse steps over to the bed, carefully fills a cup with water and then offers me the precious liquid. Thank you, God. The water feels like heaven against my tongue. “What … What happened?” “A car accident. You hit your head and were unresponsive. You’ve got quite a nasty gash on your left temple and on your cheek.” “An accident?” My eyes widen and the sharp bite of the bandage pulls against my skin. I wince in pain and then she gives me a small smile. “Can I see? Do you have a mirror?” I motion to my face and the shorter woman proceeds to leave the room. I turn my attention back to the remaining nurse, who is speaking. “Yes, you were brought in a little bit ago. I can’t tell you much more than that, but from what I hear, there’s nothing to fear. You’ll be okay.” The other nurse walks back in and approaches the bed, placing a mirror in my hand. Just as she had said, a bandage covers my forehead. My eyes are dull today. You can barely see the blue as my pupils are dilated. My once blonde hair is now matted and caked to my skin. I look skeletal and pale. “I notified the attendee that you’re awake, so he’ll come speak to you once he gets in,” she says before stepping out of the room. My gaze locks on the window, and I watch as the snow softly falls, drifting down the pane and leaving streaks of murky water. The familiar cage closes in all around me, robbing me of air. I’m afraid … And I’m not ready to face the truth. I’m not ready to face what’s happening to me. Hearing footsteps, I turn my attention back to the door and am met with a pair of soft brown eyes that I know so well. “Oh, my God,” Sydney cries as she steps into the room. Her face is blanched and her straight brown locks are now back to their curly form thanks to the snow. “You’re awake. Thank God. I was so scared.” She grabs my hand and it feels so warm wrapped around mine. I welcome the comfort, leaning closer to her to bask in the feeling of home she evokes. “What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?” Her brow lifts up in confusion. “How could I not be here? I got the phone call and I came at once.” Of course she’s here. She’s the type of friend who would always be there for me. That’s one of the things I love most about her: how fiercely loyal she is. We’ve only been friends for a short time, but with Sydney, time doesn’t matter. The moment we met at the office, I felt as if I had known her a lifetime.

When my father passed, his best friend Richard had stepped in, assuming a father figure role. After I told him I was uncertain what major I should declare, he volunteered to discuss my options. Richard also happened to own one of the leading marketing firms in the city. Together we decided a degree in marketing would be a great fit, and once I was done, he had a spot ready for me.

I HAD BEEN at my new job for all of one minute and I already loved it. The energy, sounds and excited voices booming through the hallways were everything I hoped for. As I stepped farther into the space, Richard lifted his head. His lips turned up in a giant smile and he strode over to me. Greeting me with a fatherly hug, he walked me over to a set of desks positioned in front of a giant window overlooking Park Avenue. “This will be your desk.” Richard pointed to the desk adjacent to where a pretty brunette worked. “And this is Sydney White. She’s on your team.” Her eyes were locked on Richard as he spoke and as if on cue her mouth split into a large smile, showcasing a mouth full of perfectly white teeth. “Get settled and then come to my office so I can go over some information with you.” He laid his hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring squeeze. “It’s good to have you here.” He gave me one last smile, then turned his back and walked down the hall. Sydney sighed. “Damn, that was a close call.” Her brow furrowed. “Are you okay? You look a little pale,” I asked her as she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone is behind her. “Is it Richard? Do you not like him?” “Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s really no biggie. I’ve just been spending a lot of time lately looking for a roommate instead of leads and I thought I was busted.” “Roommate?” “Yeah, my current one totally ditched me. She met some guy and skipped out. Didn’t even pay this month’s rent. Trying to find a roommate sucks.” She huffed as she threw her hands up in the air. “I wouldn’t know. I live with my mom.” “Shut up!” she exclaimed, making me laugh. This girl definitely had a flair for the dramatic. “How old are you?” “Twenty-two.” “You’re twenty-two and you’ve never had a roommate? Not even in college?” I shook my head and her eyes grew wide. “My college was close to home. I didn’t need to dorm. It’s pretty pathetic, actually,” I responded in a timid voice. “Move in with me.” My mouth flew open. “I’m not even joking. You have no idea what types of freaks I’m finding on this site. I mean, you seem like a cool girl … please. Unless you’re a serial killer or something, then I revoke the invitation.”

“I … I …” “Come on … You can’t live with your mom forever. Time to fly the nest.” She did have a point. “Um …” “Say you’ll think about it. Please,” she whined and I couldn’t help but nod in agreement as I stifled my laugh. I knew, right then and there, that not only would I move in with this crazy girl, but also it would be the best decision of my life. One week later we were roommates.

SHAKING my head to pull myself out of the memory from two years ago, I focus on Sydney and try to remember why I’m here. “What happened?” My brain feels cloudy. It’s as if the information is hovering above me but I just can’t reach it. “We were at the funeral. You remember being at the funeral, right?” Her eyes close, then reopen with unshed tears. The muscles in my chest tighten, gripping my heart to the point of pain. How could I forget? Richard is dead. My mentor, my boss, my father figure. The only father I know —knew. Closing my eyes, I think back to him. He was the one who was there for me through everything for years.

MY SMALL, fourteen-year-old body wracked with sobs as I pressed my head to my pillow. Tears poured from my eyes, wetting my long, tangled hair. In the faint distance the door creaked open, followed by footsteps padding on the wood floors. “Where’s your mom?” Richard asked as he walked into my room. Often he stopped by our apartment to check on me and my mom, always making sure we were okay. I peeked up at him, pushing my hair out of my eyes. “She’s sick.” My voice cracked as my chin trembled with my sobs. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” “She’s always sick. She doesn’t do anything but lay around in her bed,” I stuttered and he nodded with understanding. This was what my mom did. She said she was unwell and never left her room. Just cried all day and all night. But no doctor could ever find anything wrong, and that made her cry even more. “What happened? What did she miss?” “She didn’t miss anything, but you know how she is. There’s always something. What if she’s sick again? What if she won’t leave her room again for days?” Richard sat on the edge of the bed. I scooted closer until his arm draped against my shoulder and I let out a muffled cry. “I know I’m not your father but I think of you as my daughter. Tell me where you need me to be, and I’ll never let you down. I promise.”

Life was never easy with my mom, but Richard made it bearable. He never forgot his promise. He was always there.

I OPEN my eyes and meet Sydney’s stare. “When they pulled you out of the car, you wouldn’t wake up, so someone called for an ambulance and they brought you here.” She bites her lip. Sydney only does that when she’s nervous. “What? What aren’t you telling me?” My eyes narrow. “They tried to call your mom as your next of kin, but she refused to come in to the hospital, so they got in touch with me. Good thing we added each other as emergency contacts when you walked into that wall and had to have stitches.” She laughs, but it does nothing to soothe the pain growing inside me. No matter how much I tell myself not to expect much from my mom, that she’s “sick” and can’t help herself, it doesn’t lessen the ache in my heart. At the end of the day there isn’t anything wrong with her other than the fact that she’s a hypochondriac. One who, for the last eighteen years since my father’s death, has been too scared to live. She wouldn’t even go to Richard’s funeral and that felt like a slap in the face considering all he’s done for us. Shaking my head, I turn my attention back to Sydney. “Do they know what caused the accident?” Sydney’s nose crinkles and she puckers her lips as she peers around the room. The nurse is in the corner, but she’s rummaging through the cabinets looking for something and it appears she’s not paying attention to us. Satisfied with this, Sydney leans in closer. “They’re not really sure,” she whispers. “But … but they said you didn’t hit your brakes.” “I don’t understand?” My hand rises to my mouth, smothering a gasp. “Oh, my God, they think I did it on purpose?” “I know, sweetie, I know. But do you remember what happened? What made you crash?” “I honestly have no clue.” Her hand strokes my arm as I continue to sob. “I’m sure it will come back to you. You were really distraught when you fled the funeral.” I shake my head. “I can’t remember anything from the funeral. Is that normal?” “I don’t know, but they did say you had a concussion.” The nurse chooses that moment to make her way to the side of my bed with a blood pressure kit. “Excuse me, I was wondering if it’s normal for Eve to not remember anything from right before the car accident?” Sydney asks her. “It’s actually quite normal, dear. After a concussion, sometimes your memory will be a little spotty. It should come back as the swelling recedes.” She smiles down at me as she places the strap around my arm.

“Oh, thank God.” I hear the relief in Sydney’s voice and smile weakly at her. “Syd, did I say anything before I ran out?” “No, not really—” A man walks into the room before Sydney can continue. “Hello …” He looks at my chart, “Ms. Hamilton. I’m Dr. Levin. I’m glad to see you’re awake. I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?” “Yes.” Reluctantly I agree as my stomach clenches tightly against the idea of talking about myself. “And your friend?” He motions to Sydney, who is now perched on the foot of my bed. “She’s fine. You can speak in front of her.” Sydney and I have no secrets. We accept each other, faults and all. He looks back down at the tablet in his hand. “Have you ever had a concussion before?” “No.” His fingers tap lightly on the glass. “And how are you feeling right now? Dizzy? Lightheaded?” I shake my head no. “What were you feeling right before you crashed?” He lays the tablet down and pulls the stethoscope from around his neck. “I don’t really remember, but my heart has been racing quite a bit recently and I guess I’ve been feeling kind of dizzy, like I can’t breathe.” “How long have you had these symptoms?” Leaning forward, he places the cold metal against my skin. I start to breathe in deeply, then exhale my breath. “I guess maybe they started when Richard died.” “And you never experienced any of these symptoms before his death?” He pulls away from me and straightens my gown. “Not that I recall.” My memories are blurry, like a fading dream. I search through them, grasping at anything that will make sense of what happened. A strange clarity forms as I begin to remember feeling a cold sweat, the knots that formed in my muscles and so much more. “I actually kind of remember—” “What do you remember?” Sydney cuts in, her voice rising in surprise. A rush of images from the accident starts to play out in my mind. I recall every pain as the memories resurface. I NEEDED DISTANCE. I needed to escape this reality hovering all around me. My muscles constrict, alerting me to run. My heart would explode if I stayed. “Where are you going?” Sydney whispered as she reached out to stop me. I didn’t allow her to halt my progress.

I needed out of here. With shaky arms, I pushed open the door and a sharp gust of wind battered my frail body. Small pellets of water hit me as I stepped out into the cold winter air. The distance to the car stretched out in front of me. Chilled droplets of water clung to every inch of my sweat soaked skin. Rain and tears melded together. I tilted my head back and looked to the sky. If only the rain could wash away this moment. Transport me back to a time when everything was still right. But it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. Nothing could wash this pain away. Today was a day of sadness. Unsteady steps carried me to the zip car I rented to go to the cemetery. I flung the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. My body was chilled to the bone from the rain that coated my skin during my walk, but I did nothing to lessen the bite. I welcomed the pain. It reminded me of what I lost. Pulling out of the parking lot, I made my way back to the city. The farther away I got, the more air entered my lungs. My body was barely able to function in that room. Seeing the body … It was crippling. My vision blurred as new tears threatened to spill. In the distance, the glare from the opposing traffic shone and stung my eyes. Lights swirled in the distance as rain hit the windshield. I should have said good-bye. I owed it to him. No … I had to go. I couldn’t stay there. I couldn’t see that. A flash of light descended. The hiss of tires echoed in my ears. Then all sound faded away.

“I REMEMBER my arm going numb. I remember the flash of lights. I remember thinking I was having a heart attack. Oh, my God, do you think I had a heart attack?” The machine next to me beeps faster as panic kicks in and my heart rate accelerates considerably. The faces around me start to sway … “What’s happening? What’s wrong with me?”

“Ms. Hamilton, I need you to take a deep breath. Please, take a deep breath.” My brain feels as if it’s stuck in a vice being squeezed tight. My chest constricts. It’s too much. Black spots dance in my vision. Crushing … Suffocating … Thud, thud Thud, thud I gasp for air as the world shrinks around me. White noise drifts in. I’m being blanketed by it. Immersed in a storm. It envelops me … “OPEN YOUR EYES. IT’S OKAY.” A voice hums in the background. “You can do it,” the voice commands again. My eyes flutter open. “Wh-what?” I mumble, trying to get my bearings. “I’m … What’s happening to me?” “You’re okay. Inhale … now exhale.” Sharp lines etch away at the handsome stranger’s face as he studies me. He has the most mesmerizing pale blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Hypnotic eyes. They remind me of a cloudless sky on a summer day. I continue to survey him, trailing down to his lips then across his chiseled jaw. It’s dusted with the perfect five o’clock shadow. Lifting my chin to get a better look, his blue eyes pierce the distance between us and I realize I’m openly gawking at this stranger. Heat spreads through my body until it coils deep inside my belly. “Who … who are you?” “I’m Dr. Preston Montgomery. I’m one of the hospital psychologists.” “Therapist?” “Yes. Before the hospital is able to discharge you, they wanted me to talk to you. Are you okay to talk now?” No … I bow my head in agreement. “Okay, have you ever seen a therapist before?” “No,” I whisper, wishing we didn’t have to talk about this. “Do you often suffer from panic attacks, or is this something new?” His watchful stare sears me, and I feel restless under his scrutiny. His beautiful piercing blue eyes track my movements. They make my heart beat frantically in my chest. “New.”

We sit in silence. The only sound comes from a cart being pushed in the hallway. My eyes wander around the room until I’m forced to meet his inspection again. “To the best of your knowledge, have you ever suffered from anxiety or any of the other symptoms that presented themselves to you?” “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve always been a bit anxious, but I’ve never felt anything like that before. I honestly thought I was dying. What’s going on with me?” My mouth drops open as I feel a sharp pressure in my heart. It hammers violently against my chest. This time I’m for sure going to die. “Shh. Breathe … Breathe. One. Two. Three. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” Squeezing my eyes shut, I take in his words. Try to follow his prompts. Inhale … One. Two. Three. Exhale. “Wh-why is this hap-happening to me?” Tears pour down my face. I make no move to wipe them. My arm is lead, weighing me down. Breathe. I finally register the doctor’s voice as he answers me. “You’ve suffered a traumatic loss, and sometimes it’s too much for our minds and bodies to handle.” I don’t know what to say. I feel so stupid for freaking out. I want this to all to be over. “How do you feel right now?” His blue eyes are studying me closely. “My head hurts.” He chews his bottom lip. “Do you have any current medical problems?” he asks, continuing to scrutinize my answers. “Not that I know of.” I lower my head, needing a moment of silence, but it snaps back up when he continues to fire off more questions. “Are you currently receiving medical care for anything that I should be aware of, or are you taking any medications?” “Shouldn’t you have this in my file? The other doctor already asked me a bunch of questions.” There is more bite to my comment than I intend, but I don’t want to answer any more questions. “Unfortunately, the hospital computer filing system is experiencing some hiccups, so you’ll need to bear with me as I figure this out. I know that Dr. Levin is set to run a few tests.” He pulls out his phone. “He should be back in a moment to talk with you again.” I close my eyes and wish for all of this to end. I just want to put the whole accident behind me. “Okay.” “Do you remember what was going through your mind right before the accident?” My eyelids shut and I will myself to recall more details. Memories flash in my brain. “I

was thinking about my … my … I don’t even know what to call him.” My chin trembles. “I was crying and I got distracted. Then I looked up and saw the lights … But … but then it was too late. My foot got stuck in the mat. I tried to stop—” My voice breaks into a sob. Across the bed, Dr. Montgomery types on his iPad. I wonder what he’s writing. Does he think I did this on purpose? That it wasn’t an accident. That there’s something wrong with me? Does he believe me? Why would they send a psychologist in to speak with me? Can I ask? Dr. Levin enters the room, ripping me away from my thoughts. “Hello, Eve. Dr. Montgomery,” he says as the device is handed to him. His eyes narrow when he reads the notes on what must be my chart, and nods to Dr. Montgomery in agreement. Dr. Montgomery stands and reaches into his back suit pocket, then pulls out his wallet and removes a business card. “Eve, I want to give you my card. If you need me, please don’t hesitate to call and make an appointment. Anxiety and panic attacks can be serious and, if left untreated, can get worse. I think therapy can help you discover your triggers and help you find an appropriate way to manage and treat them.” His fingers brush against mine, and the soft pads cause my skin to pebble. “I really do hope you will call and make an appointment.” I’m not sure I’m ready for that. To actually face what’s haunting me.

HOURS PASS, I lie in bed tossing and turning, waiting for the doctor to return. When he finally does, I’m filled with relief and foreboding at the same time. Everything is fine. Only a mild concussion, and a request to follow up with a therapist. A therapist. Can I do that? Can I speak to someone? My hands grow clammy, and a tingling begins in my chest. With each moment that passes, the fear grows stronger and stronger. I don’t know if I can. I’m waiting for my discharge papers when Sydney walks into the room and peers over at me. “So now what?” she asks as she rubs the back of her neck. “We wait for me to be discharged.” I try to smile, but I doubt it reaches my eyes. “Are you going to talk to that therapist? Will you make an appointment with him?” Her left brow quirks up when I shake my head. “What? Why the hell not?” “Are you kidding me right now, Sydney? Did you see him? I would have to be all types of desperate to let a man that gorgeous see my crazy.” “Well, you better find someone else, then, and fast. You didn’t see yourself, Eve. You were basically catatonic. I have never been so scared in my life. You have to talk to someone. If not him, then someone else.” “Fine, I choose option two … someone else.” “Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind talking to him, seeing him, being over him, being under him.” She winks “He was pretty freaking gorgeous.”

I can’t help but laugh. Sydney makes things feel better, even if it’s short lived.

MUCH LATER IN THE DAY, I’m finally discharged from the hospital. Sydney stayed with me the whole time, holding my hand and reassuring me that everything would be okay. As we exit the hospital, she steps forward and hails a cab. Thank God for that, because I’m too physically and emotionally drained to lift my arms. I swear I could sleep for days. My entire body is weak and fragile. Our cab speeds off into the flow of traffic. It only takes a few minutes to arrive at our apartment building. Sydney pays the driver and we both step out. The sidewalk is crowded and I find myself having to avoid bumping into bystanders. My steps are slow and unsteady, and crossing the short distance to the lobby door feels like completing a marathon. The wind whips mercilessly against me, causing me to feel chills and tremors. Finally, we make it into the high-rise and into my apartment. I see a picture of Richard and me at my college graduation on the side table. Suddenly, I can’t breathe again. The walls close in as every muscle tightens in my chest, inflicting unbearable pain. Each beat of my heart is a thunderous pounding that threatens to be my last. My oxygen level dwindles to near nothingness as each pull of breath comes faster and faster. Why won’t it stop? The memories are so vivid, they play out as if it was only yesterday. THE DAY WAS FINALLY HERE. My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for her, searching for him. It was no small feat, getting my mother to come today. So with excitement, I looked out amongst the mass of smiling faces to find her. I finally did, but it wasn’t a look of pride I saw. Her eyes were void of emotion, a blank canvas. She fanned herself and checked her pulse against her neck. There she went again, feigning some imaginary illness. A deep-rooted sadness engulfed me. She couldn’t find it in her to pretend to be normal even for a day. My shoulders slumped forward. Richard’s gaze locked on mine. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. I understood what he was conveying to me all the way from across the room. Stand tall. Be proud. And with that, I smiled at him and felt satisfaction swell up within for what I had accomplished.

“HERE, DRINK THIS,” Sydney says while thrusting a glass in front of me. I take a swig, swallowing the water, but the room continues to spin as I breathe frantically. Sydney’s hand rubs circles on my back. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

My body rocks in place, the movements growing faster and faster as I wait for the impending calm that doesn’t come soon enough. “Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay.” I lean back and close my eyes. I don’t know how much time passes, but when I reopen them, I realize I’m back to normal. I’m calm. The fear is once again dormant, but the fuse is now lit. I feel it in every breath. The flame is slowly burning away, and it’s only a matter of time before I explode again. With slow movements, I turn my attention back to Sydney. Seated at the edge of the couch, her face is ashen as she nibbles on her bottom lip while she watches me. “Are you okay? Do I need to call the doctor?” “I’m okay. I promise I’m fine. I’m just tired. Really, really tired.” I slump back into the couch and sigh. “That’s totally understandable. You’ve been through so much in the last few days. I swear I’ve never seen anything like the attacks you’ve had today. You must be exhausted.” “I am,” I mumble as I force myself to answer her inquiry. As the words tumble out, my vision is blurry and it’s hard to focus on her. “Does anything else hurt? You look like you might puke.” “I kind of feel like I might.” “It’s probably the concussion. They said throwing up could be a side effect. Why don’t you lie down in your room and I’ll sit with you while you rest?” She stands and reaches her arm out to help me up. “You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.” I’m not sure I will be, but I don’t have the energy to tell her. “I don’t want to hear it. Between the concussion and your panic attacks, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone right now.” I nod, then walk into my room and lie on my bed. The bed dips with Sydney’s weight as I rest my eyes.

MY EYES FLUTTER open a few hours later. Sydney’s head snaps in my direction. Her eyes are red and swollen from lack of sleep. She rubs at them frantically and I notice moisture collect on her finger. Was she crying? Is this because of me? Or is there something else making her sad? “Are you okay?” I ask her and her back stiffens. “I will be.” “Is there something you want to talk about?” “Nah, I’m just tired.” “You do look exhausted. Did you sleep at all, Syd?” I groan out, my voice still laced with sleep.

She gives me a tight smile. “No, not really. How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Some Motrin?” “I can get it,” I say right before I yawn. “No. It’s okay. I’ll grab it.” She lifts from the bed and heads out to grab me some water. When she returns, I notice how sad she still looks. It makes every muscle inside me tighten, constricting my breathing to the point of pain, and a wave of guilt consumes me. The thought plagues me again. It’s an incessant voice in my head playing on repeat. Is this because of me? Or is it more? “I’m sorry, Syd. I hate that I’ve put you through such an ordeal these past couple of days. Are you okay?” “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. How are you? Do you want to talk about Richard’s death? You don’t talk about your family much, but maybe you would feel, I don’t know, more comfortable with me?” My eyes well with tears and I shake my head. “I can’t.” “I understand, I do, but don’t you think you should? You’re still grieving. Maybe it would help to talk about it.” “We’ll see.” “Please think about it.” “I promise I will,” I lied.

CHAPTER TWO PRESTON

EVERY WEEK I volunteer at Sinai-Grace, but I don’t keep regular hours. I’m just here as a free resource for the staff to use when they need a consult. It never gets easier. Sometimes I’m met with confusion, and sometimes anger, but the hardest is the sadness. Sadness can break a person. It can make a home inside you, slowly building a wall around your soul. At first, my job was part of a reparation I made to myself, then it quickly grew into something I loved. Helping people is what I was meant to do, but everything has changed. What became my passion is now, once again, a constant reminder of what I lost. Today was different, though. Today she was here. In my hospital. What were the chances? When our eyes met, it was as if my world fell off its axis. Disbelief, and then worry. What the fuck happened to her? Those icy blue eyes were once so dynamic. What happened to cause that much pain? I remember the first time I saw her. She stole the breath from my lungs. She was sitting at a table in the far corner of Paradise Diner looking out onto the street. She was beautiful. Serene. But what left me breathless was that she looked just like her. I remember thinking it was her … Sloane. But that wasn’t possible. And as much as I knew that, I still found myself gazing across the space that separated us. The similarities were uncanny. I stepped forward and her familiar features began to fade. Like an impressionist’s stroke on a canvas, up-close formed a new image. This image was vibrant and alive. This image was not the woman who haunted my waking thoughts, who taunted and tormented me. No. This woman was something else all together. A part of me wanted to cross the space that separated us. Wanted to speak to her. Wanted to discover everything about this girl who reminded me so much of a time before. But I didn’t. How could I? What would I even say? I almost fell over in shock today. It took every last piece of my soul to hold myself together as I watched her. There she was lying in a hospital bed, weak and frail. She reminded me of fresh fallen snow. She had fair skin, pale blond hair and icy blue eyes. Now I had a name … Eve

Hamilton. I don’t know why I handed her my card. I didn’t have to. I shouldn’t have. A referral would have been enough. But there was something in her eyes. Something I had seen before. A deep-rooted sadness I wanted—no, needed—to fix.

CHAPTER THREE EVE

THE LAST WEEK AND HALF, I’ve done nothing at all. I feel as if the world is closing in around me and there’s no light at the end of the tunnel. Heaviness sits on my chest. There’s a feeling of suffocating with every strangled breath I try to take. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t go on like this. Something has to give. I find myself staring down at Dr. Montgomery’s card and wondering what it would be like to sit in front of him and purge my soul. The card is starting to fray and bend from the countless times I’ve handled it. Should I call him? He seemed to know what he was talking about, but at the same time I’m not sure he would be the right fit for me. I’m not sure I want to look into his eyes and let him see my weaknesses. Since I’ve been home from the hospital, I’ve started having nightmares that leave me feeling hopeless and scared. Every night I pray for peace, but as sleep finds me, an array of images and smells and feelings so crisp attack me. They rip me from my bed night after night in sweat and tears. But I know the nightmares will always find me. I have no choice. This morning, after a dreadful night of tossing and turning, I’m woken from my haze by the sound of glass shattering. “Shit, shit, shit,” I hear as I pad down the hallway and into the kitchen. I find Sydney on the floor picking up pieces of my favorite coffee mug. I can’t help but laugh at the irony. Everything is falling to pieces. Why not my mug, too? She spins around at the sound of my laugh. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I was trying to make you a cup of coffee and I accidentally knocked it off the counter.” “Don’t worry about it.” I try to give her a reassuring smile. “Seriously, Syd. It’s only a mug.” Nodding she stands, placing the shards of ceramic into the garbage can and then heads over to the cabinet and grabs another coffee cup. “Want some?” “Sure, thank you,” I say as she pours the coffee.

“So, what do you have planned for today?” She pulls out the chair at the kitchen island and takes a seat. “I need to call my mom, see if she needs anything. That’s pretty much it.” Sydney’s lips set into a hard line. “I’ll be okay,” I try to reassure her, but she’s smart to worry about me. Talking to my mom is emotionally draining on a good day, and with my current condition, I’m not sure I can handle speaking to her. But I have to. I take one more sip and stand from the table, grab my phone and start to dial. She picks up on the first ring, as if she’s desperate for someone to hear her neurosis. “Eve,” she groans. “What’s wrong, Mom? Are you okay?” I know she’s not. She never is. Her hypochondria knows no bounds. It encompasses every breath she takes. “I’m dizzy and I can’t move. It’s as if my face is numb. I might be having a—” “You’re not, Mom.” “How do you know? I could be. My heart beat is slow—” “Did you take anything?” “Just my insulin.” And there it is. My mom doesn’t have diabetes. She has “selfdiagnosed” diabetes, and with enough money and a crooked doctor, she now has insulin to treat an ailment she’s never had. “I’m coming over right now.” I bite my lip and draw blood. The coppery taste coats my tongue as it swipes to wipe it. I’m not strong enough to deal with this now, but it falls on me regardless. I’m all she has. An hour later, I find myself on the Upper East Side in my mom’s apartment. My whole body is on edge. Richards’s apartment is in the same building, and a part of me feels empty knowing I can’t pop over to see him. I walk into my mom’s living room, but it’s empty, so I continue to the bedroom. It’s where I find her, half-dressed and disheveled. There’s make-up smudged against her face and her eyes are closed. “Mom, are you okay?” I rush to her side of the bed, grab her arm and check her pulse. She groans at the contact. “Cold,” she mutters. “Mom, can you open your eyes?” She does, but I see instantly that they aren’t focused and they look hazy. “Did you take anything else, Mom?” “N-Nothing.” “What did you take, Mom?” “Nothing,” she mumbles. “Just my insulin.” And with that I know her blood sugar is dangerously low. I dash out of the room and into the kitchen to grab some orange juice. When I’m back, with my help, she drinks. Within a few minutes, the color returns to her cheeks.

Taking insulin could kill my mom. When she takes it, her sugar level is never high enough for the quantity she takes. I want to scream, but I don’t. Instead, I get into bed and rock her to sleep. Reaching out my hand, I stroke her face, and she mutters unintelligible words. I don’t know what set my mom off today. All I know is today is worse than most. Normally, most of her ailments are fictional. They reside inside her brain and feed off the fear that lives there. But this time, she is actually psychically ill. She’s harder to deal with like this. On days like today there is no calming my mom. On days like today there is no asking questions or getting truths. On days like today I just have to treat the symptoms and pray it passes quickly. She lies peacefully in my arms and, for one moment, my heart tugs in my chest. This is so backwards. She should be holding me, comforting me, not the other way around. She should be the one doing the mothering.

I’M EXHAUSTED when I arrive back at my apartment. Every muscle in my body hurts. Heading into the living room, I submerge myself into the fluffy white couch that sits adjacent to the wall. It was our first purchase when we moved in together two years ago, and to this day it provides the sanctuary I always need after leaving my mom’s. Reclining back, I close my tired eyes. They burn from all the fallen tears I’ve shed in the last week. Like sandpaper scraping against the grain of wood, they remind me of all the defects in me I need to smooth out. “How did it go with your mom?” Sydney asks as she lazily strolls into the living room. “Not good.” I breathe out a choked groan as I run my hands through my hair and pull at my roots. “What’s going on?” “She’s sick.” My fingers tense in my lap. “This time she was dizzy.” Sydney knows what this means. Today it’s dizzy, last week it was a stomach ulcer, and the week before that a blood clot. I swallow with difficulty as the familiar anxiety weaves its way through my blood stream. “She’s having a reaction to her insulin. It’s making her weak and lethargic.” A silence surrounds us as she takes in what I’ve said. My stomach churns uncomfortably at the void. She has a puzzled look upon her face. “Insulin? For diabetes? Since when does she have diabetes?” “You know how it is. She’s had it for a few weeks now, but it’s not real, obviously. Like everything else, it’s in her head.” It’s a sad truth, but this is how it’s been for as long as I can remember. No doctor ever finds anything wrong. They only humor her with a false diagnosis. It breaks my heart, and I wish I could help her, but there is no helping someone like her. The scary part is that every day since Richard’s death, I understand her more and more as my own panic disables me.

“How can that be?” “With the right amount of money and pressure, a doctor will diagnose you with anything. In this case, her sugars are normal, but for her they’re “high,” so the doctor gives her insulin. Then she gets “sick” and a horribly vicious cycle starts.” “What can you do?” My eyes lock with Sydney’s. Her forehead is furrowed and I feel a stab of pain for putting that look there. “All I can do is be there for her and take care of her, I guess.” Her cheeks pinch in and little lines of worry appear on her brow. “I’m so sorry.” “Not your fault.” She gives me a tight smile and sits beside me on the couch. “I know it’s not my fault, but I care about you, so your pain is my pain.” “You have no idea how much that means to me. I know I’m not the easiest—” “Eve—” I hold up my hand. “No, Syd, let me finish. I never really had any friends. In high school, even in college, I always had to be there for my mom, and it didn’t lend well to fostering relationships with my peers. Sure, I had some friends, but eventually they got sick of me always canceling or leaving early. But you never care if I have to disappear for hours to check on her, or if I’m evasive or closed off, and I thank you for that. I know it can’t be easy being my friend, but I thank you for putting up with my endless pile of shit.” Sydney moves closer and pulls me into her arms. Her embrace is warm and comforting. My shoulders drop forward as I let some of the built-up tension be absorbed into this hug. “This isn’t a one-way street, babe. You’re there for me, too.” I pull back and look into her eyes. She smirks at me. “You help me pick out all my outfits for dates, and you deal with my endless crazy diets.” She laughs, lightening the sober mood lingering in the air. “Yes, totally the same.” I giggle back, joining her. Together we laugh until she stills, and every muscle in her face tightens as she grows more serious. “I love you, girl. No matter what,” she says and tears well in my eyes. “And even with everything you are going through, you’re still the strongest person I know.” “I don’t know about that.” “I don’t know many twenty-four-year-olds who are the sole caregiver to their mother. Even if she doesn’t need you all the time, I know her health wears on you. But every day, no matter how bad your own day was, you are still there for her when she needs you.” “Thanks.” Her words act like a balm. As if they are a magical elixir that mends my troubled soul. Even if it’s only temporary, I welcome the feeling.

THE SMELL HITS ME. Unmistakable, yet indescribable at the same time.

Coppery. Sweet. Pungent. It seeped through our house like mist on a hazy day. Blanketing the world around me. It filled my nostrils. Suffocated me with fear. “No!” My whole body flails as screams leave my mouth. Everything is closing in on me. Fear, stark and vivid, glitter behind my lids. Trying to escape the confines of my mind, my eyes flash open. A half-dressed Sydney rushes in. The door collides with the wall, causing the room to shake. “Are you okay? I only left you for a minute.” Am I okay? Am I okay? The words echo around the space. Jumping off the walls. Bouncing through my brain. But they have no meaning. Nothing has meaning. The only thing I understand is the feeling of the blood coating my skin. Blood. Wildly, my eyes dash around the room like a crazed animal clawing at myself. “Get it off! Get it off!” “Get what off?” She eyes me with confusion as I scrub my hands over my body, trying desperately to clean it off. “It’s everywhere! Don’t you see it?” I can feel it. Taste it. It’s everywhere. Controlling everything. “See what? I don’t see anything.” “The blood! The blood is everywhere!” My shrill voice echoes through the room as Sydney flips the light switch and the room floods with light, blinding me. “There’s no blood.” As my eyes adjust, I lift the blanket. There’s nothing there. “I saw it. I smelled it. I swear it was there!” I cry. “It was only a dream. You’re okay. Shh, you’re okay. Here, let me get you some water. I’ll be right back.” It was so real, but she’s right. There’s nothing here. But the tension still lingers in my bones. It still resides in my heart, in my mind. By the time she comes back, my tears have dried but I can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing something. That the dream was a piece of a puzzle, but I don’t know where the piece belongs. “Here.” She hands me the glass and I take a long gulp of the water. It cools my body, quenches my thirst, but it doesn’t stop the wave of apprehension sweeping through my body. “Do you need me to get you anything else?” “No. I’ll be fine. I promise.” She raises an eyebrow at me. I steady my breathing to

convince her I’ll be fine. Plastering on a reassuring smile, my head bobs up and down a few times. “Really, I’m okay. Please, go back to sleep. You don’t have to stay up and watch me. I’ll just watch some TV or read a book.” My voice sounds fake even to my own ears. She crawls out of my bed. “You sure?” A part of me wants to beg her to stay to comfort me, but instead, I bow my head. “Yeah.” I exhale. She eyes me one more time before turning around to leave the room. My life pre-accident seems so far away right now as my body shakes like a leaf falling from a tree. It’s as if I don’t even know who this person I’ve become is, but it reminds me of my mom. I need to snap out of it. Return to the version of me that I know. That makes sense. I haven’t been back to work since the funeral. Between Richard’s death and my head, no one is in a rush to have me return. But being alone all day is starting to wear on my sanity, so I need to go back. The only problem is, my body is psychically exhausted. I only have a few more days before I go back and I’m scared. I don’t think I’ll be able to function on this little sleep. I lie in my bed and pull out Pride and Prejudice. I always find comfort in Jane Austen’s words. Maybe that will take my mind off having to return to my real life in a few days. Maybe it will bring some semblance of normalcy.

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN MR. DARCY insulting Elizabeth and them falling into an all-consuming love only possible in stories, I must have fallen back to sleep. This time, no visions danced behind my eyes. There was no taste of fear so terrifying that I’m sure it will haunt me for days. Peace finally found me and although brief, I welcomed the reprieve. I wake with a new resolve this morning, and that is to start preparing for work. It’s inevitable that I must return. It’s been almost two weeks since I left the hospital, and I can’t hide forever. My two-week leave of absence is coming to an end, but the idea of all that I missed at work suddenly makes my head ache. I knead at my temples. No, I will not get a headache right now. I have too much to do. For the first time since Richard died, my appetite has returned. I can’t imagine how sickly skeletal I must appear to Sydney. When she’s around, I sense her studying me. The concern is evident in her eyes. Today my stomach rumbles and turns with the need to be satisfied. It needs strength and substance. Heading into the kitchen, I pull out cereal and milk, and sit down when my phone rings … Sydney. I’m not surprised; she checks in often to make sure I’m okay. “Hey,” I answer but it comes out muffled as I chew the corn flakes in my mouth. “Hi. What’s going on over there? You okay?” “I’m good, just eating.” I lay the spoon down and stand to grab some water. The faucet comes to life and I pour myself a glass from the cold stream. “How’s work? Anything I need to know?” “Nope, you’re on break. I’m not going to talk work with you,” she says in a stern voice

that makes me smile. “Oh shit, the other line is ringing. I’ll call you back.” I don’t even have time to say goodbye before I hear silence. Sitting back down with my now filled cup, I reach for my spoon when my cell phone rings again. My mouth splits into a smile. That was quick. When I peer down, I realize it’s a number I don’t recognize. Should I answer? Curiosity wins and my finger swipes the screen. “Hello?” “Is Eve Hamilton there?” The voice is unfamiliar and it puts me on edge. “Yes, this is she. Who’s calling?” My shoulders tense, the time going still as I wait. “Hi, this is Pamela calling from Milton Schwartz’s law office. He’s the attorney handling Richard Stone’s estate. Do you have a moment to speak?” “Yes. Sure. How can I help you?” “Mr. Schwartz would like to schedule a time to meet with you to discuss Mr. Stone’s estate. Would you be able to come in to our office tomorrow?” Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, the word rolls in my mind multiple times. Will I be able to meet him? Can I handle it? I’m scared of what he will tell me. But I don’t have a choice. I have to say yes. “Yes, I can meet Mr. Schwartz tomorrow.” “What time would be convenient for you, Miss. Hamilton?” “I can be there around noon. Would that work?” The sound of fingers tapping a keyboard can be heard through the phone. “Yes, Mr. Schwartz can see you then.” Pamela proceeds to rattle off the address, and once done, I hang up the phone, already dreading what tomorrow will bring.

WITH SLEEP-BLURRED EYES, I wake. The nightmares last night were the same as all the previous nights. I need to get help, but I’m scared. Sweat coats my upper lip and I find myself chewing on the inside of my cheek. My stomach clenches that I have to meet with Richard’s lawyer soon. A strange feeling of dread gnaws at me, as if ice is crawling through my veins. I try my best to plaster on a fake smile, to pretend I’m okay. Instead, I let the smile fall off my lips. You can’t lie to yourself. An hour later when I finally walk through the door to his office, I meet with an elderly man. He looks to be about sixty and he’s dressed in a crisp navy suit with a matching tie. “Hello, Ms. Hamilton. Please come in. Can I have my assistant Pamela get you something to drink? A coffee perhaps?” He smiles. It’s a fatherly smile and reminds me of Richard. “Hello, Mr. Schwartz. Please call me Eve, and yes, a cup of coffee would be lovely.” I’m exhausted from a rough night and my muscles are so tight that I’d welcome anything right now to keep my mind busy. I’m hoping a warm cup of coffee will do the trick.

“Okay, please take a seat and I’ll be right with you.” He motions to the chair, and I sit down across the desk from him. After he hangs up the phone with his assistant, he pulls out a file from his desk. While he sorts through the papers, his assistant enters the room and places a steaming hot mug in front of me. The warm fluid coats my throat and evokes heat to flow through my body. It helps to calm my nerves that are strung so tight I fear I might snap. “Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me today. I wanted to discuss Mr. Stone’s estate. Normally, I wouldn’t discuss this in absence of the rest of the beneficiaries, but when Richard drew up his will years ago, he gave me the authority to discuss all matters of the estate—including the company—with you first, especially since this concerns you.” “I’m not sure why the company would concern me.” “From my understanding, you are aware that The Stone Agency, although primarily owned and run by Mr. Stone, also had a silent investor.” “And this concerns me because?” “The silent investor is Laura Hamilton.” I almost drop my coffee cup as my hand shakes from the news. “My mother?” I straighten my spine, trying to compose myself in front of this virtual stranger. It doesn’t help. Instead, my knee bounces with nerves. “Yes, when your father passed, your mother invested some of his life insurance money in the business. It’s been quite a lucrative investment. You can find comfort that although your mother won’t work at the company, she and her medical bills will be taken care of for the rest of her life. There is a stipulation in the will, however, barring your mother’s mental condition. The will states that Michael Durand is to be left in charge of the company.” “Okay. That makes sense. Is there anything else I should know about?” Finding out my mom owns the company I work for is a bombshell. I wonder if there are any other big secrets lurking in those papers. The whole thought makes me break into a cold sweat. “Yes.” He pulls out a paper from the pile on his desk and hands it to me. It’s a deed. “The real reason I wanted to see you today is that you inherited Mr. Stone’s apartment.” My mouth drops open and I brace myself in my chair. “I got his apartment?” “Yes, he said that you were like a daughter to him. He talked about you very fondly.” “I can’t live there,” I blurt out, already feeling my chest muscles tightening at the thought of living in the same building as my mom. “I have to sell it.” “Are you sure?” he asks and I lift my hands to cover my face. “God, I don’t know.” “How about you think about it? If you choose to sell, I can find you a real estate firm to list it with.” “Thank you for all your help, Mr. Schwartz. I have a lot to think about and I’ll have a talk

to my mom regarding the business, too.” “I’ll be at the office finalizing some paperwork with Michael in the next few weeks, so we can touch base then. If you need anything in the meantime, here’s my card. Please feel free to call me with any questions, or if your mother needs anything.” “Thank you.” I stand and make my way to the door. In a daze, I walk the streets back to my apartment. The city passes in a rush of movement, but nothing is in focus. When would it get easier?

CHAPTER FOUR EVE

THE EARLY MORNING sun beams in through the drapes. It casts a shimmery light into my eyes, forcing me to wake. Checking the clock, I see it’s only seven in the morning. A part of me wants to close my eyes and hide for the whole day, but with going back to work tomorrow, I have a bunch of errands to run. I need to grab some groceries for myself, and some for Mom as well. The idea of dragging Sydney along is tempting, but in the end as I quietly pad down the hall to freshen up, I decide to let her sleep. I’m sure she’ll slumber the day away. She hasn’t been herself since the funeral, either. I feel as though it’s my fault. She also lost someone. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for her to want to grieve but feel she can’t because of me. I’ll let her sleep. Let her have her space to feel what she needs to feel. After a long shower to wash away my restless night, I grab a bite to eat and then head out for the day. First I hit the supermarket down the block from my apartment, stopping back home afterward to put my food away. Then, with Mom’s groceries in hand, I hop in a cab and head uptown to her place. The architecture and people rush by in a sea of color, and I get lost in my own thoughts of the impending conversation I intend to have with her. Today I need to confront my mom about her investment in The Stone Agency. I’m a little scared of what I will find today. There is never a certainty of the mood or ailment one will encounter when entering Laura Hamilton’s home. Nervously, my hands start to run through my hair, pulling gently at the roots as I enter her home and make my way into the kitchen. It’s a disaster. The pristine marble island has medicine sprawled across it. Pill bottles are open and spilled haphazardly across the surface. It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting any answers from her today. Throwing the bags of food down, I make haste to find my mom. The wind is knocked out of me when I find my mom. She’s thrown over the toilet dry heaving. Her whole body wracks with sobs as tears stream down her face. Kneeling down, I try to comfort her but it’s no use. Through hysterics, she mumbles words I can’t understand. It sounds like “my fault,” but I can’t be sure. “What happened?” I ask as she finally silences and takes a giant gulp of air. “Dying,” she mutters as my fingers run down her back, comforting and soothing her. “You’re not actually dying, Mom. But if you keep overmedicating, you just might.”

“I am. I really am.” She’s not, but in her state of mind, she will never understand that. She shivers violently as I pull her to standing and lead her to her bed. She rocks back and forth.

BY THE TIME six p.m. rolls around, I’m officially and utterly exhausted. Spending the afternoon taking care of my mom has me on edge. I want to go to bed, crawl under my covers and hide from the world. When she’s sick, she sucks the life out of me. As much as my bed beckons to me, the idea of another restless night has me itching for a nightcap. I’m not much of a drinker, but an anxious feeling lurks in my mind. The thoughts tell me my racing heart is having a heart attack, and I’m going crazy with my own impending doom. I’m becoming my mother. With a shaking hand I apply a fresh coat of lipstick and run a brush through my hair. I’m not necessarily feeling up to this, but the knowledge that it will drown out the fear lurking inside is enough to will myself to head out the door to grab a drink. The Corner Bar is located on the corner of Thirty-Third and Third, hence the name. It also happens to be right underneath our apartment building, which has been extremely convenient when trying to quiet the nightmares. I enter and take in the mixture of suits and college kids. The surroundings and ambiance are what I love most about this neighborhood. The healthy mix. I have lived here for a little over two years, and it has everything a recent college grad could want. Plus, when I moved here, I was leaving the bad memories behind. I instantly felt lighter being away from my mom’s latest ailment hanging above my head. After taking care of her for so long, I remember the excitement of having my first apartment like it was yesterday.

“YOU’RE HERE.” I walked into the apartment—my new apartment—and Sydney squealed. “I’m so excited. Here, let me show you your room. Then we can go grab some food.” “Lead the way.” I smiled broadly. I wanted to jump up and down too, but feared she’d think I was a nutcase. Together we walked a few steps through the living room and she pushed open a door. The room was completely vacant except for a bed sitting adjacent to a large window. “I know it’s small and the closet space sucks, but—” I stopped listening. “It’s perfect.” It didn’t matter how small the room was. This was my place. “Really?” “It’s more than perfect,” I exclaimed, and this time I allowed myself to be excited, too. “Yeah! Isn’t it great?” “The best.”

IT’S funny how fast things have changed in the last few years. Back then, I welcomed the night and sleeping in my new bed. Now, I fear what that sleep will bring. The irony isn’t lost on me. All the things I hate about my mom are starting to plague me as well. With a shake of my head, I follow the path of men in perfect three-piece suits to the bar. This will take the edge off. Drown the fear. Allow me peace. After spying an empty seat at the bar, I sit down. My phone vibrates in my purse, so I pull it out and see that a new text has come through. Sydney: Where are you? Me: Having a drink at The Corner Bar Sydney: I’ll be there in five. A cute bartender in his mid-twenties with shaggy blond hair gives me a wicked smirk. “What can I get for you, sweetheart?” he asks with a southern twang that’s just as cute as his appearance. “Shot of Patron,” I shout back over the loud music filling the air. A few seconds later, I’m snapped out of my wandering thoughts as a small glass hits the wood. “Twenty bucks.” I snap my gaze up to him. Did he just say twenty bucks? “For a shot of tequila?” His face splits into a wicked smile. “Yep.” “Better be the best damn tequila I’ve ever had.” With that he laughs. “Oh, it will be.” He smirks as I lift the glass to my mouth. I wink and swallow the fiery liquid. Cutie gives me a smile as he lifts his eyebrow. “Another?” “Keep them coming.” I smirk and a few seconds later, I’m lifting my second shot to my mouth. This one burns less than the first and makes my stomach feel warm. “Hey there, killer. Take it easy with the shots. How many have you had?” I peer over my shoulder to see Sydney standing behind me. Her brow is furrowed and her mouth is in a tight line. “Only two, but who’s counting?” “You should be. Tomorrow you’re going back to work, or did you forget that?” “I wish I could.” I wave my hand to get the attention of the bartender. “One more.” “Eve, you need to take it easy.” She steps in closer, placing her hand on my arm to try to usher me up. “I don’t want to,” I huff. “What’s going on with you?” Turning my head, I lift an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean? Can’t a girl go to a bar

and grab a drink?” “I have known you for two and a half years, lived with you pretty much just as long, and you’ve never been a big drinker. Sure, you have a cocktail here and there after work, but to go to the bar and throw back shots before bed—on a night when you have to work the next day, too? Well, that’s not like you at all. I mean, I get it, but still.” I close my eyes and a strangled moan escapes. “I just want to sleep, Syd. I went to see my mom again, and it was bad. She was really bad. On top of that, the idea of another sleepless night, or worse …” I stop myself from telling her I’m trying to drown out the voices and silence the dreams. She wouldn’t understand. She reaches out and takes my hand in hers. Her eyes are soft as if she hears the words I haven’t spoken. “Drinking won’t make the nightmares go away, babe. I think it’s time you reach out to someone.” “Maybe,” I whisper. I search out the bartender and lift my hand to signal I want another.

MY BODY FEELS LOOSE. There’s no tension anywhere. With each shot I take, the cute bartender becomes the “hot bartender.” Apparently, his name is Austin and his jokes get funnier and funnier until I’m hunched over into a fit of laughter. “Are you ready to come home?” Sydney asks from beside me. “Nope.” I giggle, eliciting a laugh from Austin. “I can’t just leave you here.” Her eyes narrow and I wink at her. “I’ll be fine. Austin will take care of me.” “That’s what I’m afraid of.” I laugh and Austin smirks. Sydney moves closer to me and whispers in my ear, “Are you sure?” “Totally. I’ll be fine. Go to bed.” WHERE THE FUCK AM I? The aching in my scull feels like a jackhammer is drilling away. My mouth is dry and my lips stick together as I pull them apart. It’s as though I’m choking on chalk. A grimy film coats my throat. Gross. I try to rub the sleep away, but instead come up with a handful of what’s collected on my chin. Maybe the tequila wasn’t such a great idea. However, it did work. With the booze seeping into my bloodstream, I passed out, even if it wasn’t in my own bed. It’s the first time in weeks I got a full night’s sleep. Sitting up, I survey myself. I’m fully dressed and alone in the bed. Thank God. This could have been bad. Not that I wouldn’t have enjoyed a night in the sack with Austin, but I’d hate to be so drunk that I didn’t remember it.

Stepping out of the room, I take a peek around his apartment. There he is, curled up on the couch, snoring away. I don’t even bother to say good-bye. It’s awkward enough without me calling attention to the fact I was a drunk lush last night. Shit, I hope I didn’t say anything dumb, or worse, make an ass of myself. Sydney and I might need to find another bar. Still sleeping, he grunts as if he’s about to wake. I take that as my cue to make a beeline out the door. New York is quite peaceful at six a.m., albeit still dark. The only sound is the soft hum of passing taxis. It reminds me of a sound machine you listen to at night. As I walk back to my apartment, my hangover starts to pass. The sounds and architecture distract me. Looking at the intricate nature of each building I pass is fascinating. Like fingerprints, no building is the same. Each is unique and beautiful in its own way. As I approach my street, I pick up my pace. Work isn’t for a few hours, and I don’t need to be there until nine, but I still need to shower and get ready. An hour later, I’m ready to go. Since I’ve missed so much work, I decide to go in early and get a jump on the day. I’ve fallen so far behind, I find myself running there to beat the morning rush. With labored breath, I swing the revolving door, and then dash to the elevator. It opens almost instantly. Everything inside me feels as if it’s begun to seize. Muscles twitch, eyes water, shoulders slump forward, I brace my shaking hands on the cold metal surface of the wall. I have to face my fears. Going back to a place that reminds me so much of my loss feels as if somebody picked and reopened a scab on my heart. I try to will the emotions away as I plaster a smile on my face and enter the suite. But my smile is an imposter. It lies. It says I’m okay. But I’m not. Every smile is a plea. Every smile is a prayer that they don’t see my pain. That they don’t see how much I’m hurting since Richard’s death. My heartbeat quickens. I’m okay. I’ll be okay … It’s odd being here. Everything is wrong. The soul of the company is gone, and while the people around me have moved on, I can’t ignore his absence. Richard wasn’t only a boss, he was for all intents and purposes the life of this company. Now with him gone, this place feels like a shell of what it used to be. It’s as if I need a road map to figure it out. Nothing has changed, per se, but everything is different. I make my way farther into the office space. A haze of sadness lingers over the few employees already here for the day. From the corner of my eye I notice them staring, scrutinizing, judging. They whisper and wonder where I’ve been. I want to crawl in a hole and hide. Instead, I square my shoulders and walk with purpose. I say good morning to them as I make my way to my desk, and hope they don’t see through my façade. For the next few hours, I get caught up on all the emails I’ve missed these past two weeks while I was on leave. Thankfully, Sydney stepped in and took some of my workload while I was away. Without her, I would never have made it this far after the funeral. As if my thoughts have conjured her, I see Sydney walking in and straight toward me. “Hey, are you okay? I didn’t see you this morning. What time did you come in? Did you …” She leans forward, closer to me. “Did you go home with that bartender?”

I groan. “Yes.” Her eyes widen, but I shake my head. “No, none of that.” I lift my hands to message my temples. “Are you hungover? Does your head hurt?” “I’m fine. It really doesn’t hurt anymore. Just a bit tender.” I set my hands back into my lap to prove that I’m okay. “Sorry if I scared you. I shouldn’t have stayed behind. I should have gone home with you.” I shiver from the memory of last night and how drunk I was, a small convulsion—hopefully not noticeable—but Sydney grimaces and I know she saw it. “I left there early. I tried not to wake you when I got home, and then came straight here.” I open another email and groan loudly. “God, I’m so far behind. Thank you. I’d be lost without you.” “If you need anything, I’m here. How are you, by the way? Are you okay being here?” Her voice is lowered, and I know she’s concerned about the inner office gossip that is sure to be circulating from my incident at the funeral. “I don’t know. I guess I’m okay.” Sydney leans in. “It’s okay to not be okay.” When I don’t respond, she reaches out to squeeze my hand. “I think you really need to see someone. You have the card the doctor in the ER gave you. Can you please consider calling him? It’s okay to ask for help. It’s hard to lose someone so close to you.” The memory of Richard makes my heart lurch in my chest. “I just don’t know if I can talk about it, and with Mom always needing me, I’m not sure I’ll have time, you know?” “You have to start putting yourself first. You’re the strongest person I know. Taking care of your mother, that’s not easy. Maybe now it’s time you find someone to help take care of you. It’s always been hard for you to let people in, to talk about her, but I think it’s time to try. I think this is for the best. No more excuses, Eve.” “It’s not that …” I shake my head. “What is it then?” I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. A sweat breaks out across my brow and my heartbeat picks up. A sharp pain radiates down my arm. I reach across my far shoulder and rub at the knot in my left shoulder blade. “Can we talk about this back at the apartment?” “Yeah, of course,” she whispers. Her face scrunches as she grimaces. “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Michael called a company meeting after lunch. Everyone is afraid we’re getting sacked.” Michael is now the executive vice president of the agency. If he’s calling a company meeting, it’s a big deal. She shrugs before she heads over to her desk that’s directly diagonal from mine. I pull out the latest project I’m working on and try to distract myself, but the wait is driving me mad. The walls feel as if they are closing in around me. I wish Richard was here.

I STRETCH my arms above my head and yawn. I’ve been sitting at this desk for hours. I consider drinking the cup of cold coffee on my desk, but I fear even that won’t do the trick. Glancing at the clock, I realize not only have I worked through lunch, but I’m also about to be late for the meeting. My heels click softly on the marble floor as I make my way to the conference room. Most of the staff, including Sydney, is already there when I enter the brightly lit room. Taking a seat beside her at the long Lucite table that spans the center of the room, I look out the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Park Avenue. Snow has started to fall again. Clumps of wet flakes cling to the surface of the nearby buildings, and I lose myself in the white haze. Muffled sounds reverberate through the room and I turn my attention back toward the center of the table. The atmosphere swiftly changes as Michael Durand walks into the room. Tension swirls in the air. The fear is palpable. “Good afternoon, and thank you all for being here. This will be a short meeting. I just want touch upon some rumors that have been floating around. No, we’re not closing,” he says abruptly. A rush of air is expelled from everyone in the room. “However, things will be changing. Over the next few weeks, the attorney will be going over Richard’s will as well as some other pressing business matters that I won’t go into today. I know this is vague and I wish I could give you more assurances, but unfortunately, this is all I have for you. In the interim, I will be in charge. As you are aware, Richard had a silent investor in the company, so until they decide who takes over as CEO, any questions can be directed to me.” When he finally stops speaking, his eyes flick over to me. Simultaneously all the eyes in the room follow his gaze. They all seem to narrow in suspicion, as if I know something. I do, but I won’t tell them that. After Michael leaves, the room erupts in a series of loud whispers. Sydney turns to me and I shrug. Someone grasps my shoulders from behind. My back stiffens as I turn to find Barry standing there. Where most everyone who works for The Stone Agency is a team player, Barry travels to the beat of his own drum. He’s reserved and prefers to work alone. We’ve never gotten along. “Hi,” Barry says. He doesn’t make eye contact with me. He never makes eye contact with anyone. “Do you know who’s taking over?” “Hello to you too, Barry.” His fingers start to tap at his leg. “He told you everything. You have to know something.” “Sorry, can’t help you.” His brow furrows at my words, but before he tries to press any further, I walk away. Until I speak to my mother, I don’t really know anything, but even if I did, I wouldn’t share it with this creep.

CHAPTER FIVE EVE

THIS WEEK SUCKED. Fear gripped me often, nightmares infiltrated my sleep, and my appetite dwindled. But today is Saturday. So today is a good day. Anything is better than the hell I suffered being back at the office. The rumor mill ran rampant at The Stone Agency, and work was so stressful, it was no feat at all to get Sydney to go out. She didn’t judge me on the copious amounts of alcohol I drank to help put me to bed. Work has been stressful for her too, so she happily drinks alongside me. After waking up at Austin’s apartment and doing the walk of shame last week, I tried to convince Sydney to find another bar to go to, but she said I needed to man up and get over it. That once I ripped the Band-Aid off and act normally, it would no longer be weird and that’s exactly what I did. Austin was cool about me sneaking off. He even bought us a round of shots to make light of the situation. After freshening up, my phone starts to ring. It’s my mom. I can’t deal with her now. I send her to voice mail, and then throw on nicer clothes. After I’m dressed, I make my way down the street to my favorite diner. With my concussion and then having to go back to work, I had completely skipped my weekly ritual. I’m hoping this little sense of normalcy will help aid me in allowing my life to return to ordinary. Paradise Diner is famous for their amazingly delicious chocolate chip waffles with extra yummy homemade whipped cream. Well, maybe not world famous, but in Murray Hill it was the only place to go. Just as I make it to the familiar door, my phone vibrates in my pocket and an unknown number appears on the screen. I shudder inwardly when I wonder who it could be, especially on a Saturday morning. It’s never a good thing when an unknown number calls me. “Hello.” “This is Sinai-Grace. Is this Eve Hamilton?” My quickening pulse pounds in my ears. “Yes, it is. What’s going on? Is it my mother?” Please say she’s okay. Please. “Your mother was brought in today from an adverse reaction to one of her medications.”

Guilt sweeps through me, filling my veins with despair. That’s why she called. She called me and I sent her to voicemail. “I’ll be right there.” I hang up the phone. I don’t even ask where she is, which room number. Is she even in a room? I just run. I run as fast as I can to help my mom. Dashing in the entrance of the hospital thirty minutes later, I head straight to the information desk. “My mother was brought in today,” I huff out on labored breath. “Name?” The attendant doesn’t even look up as she addresses me, her expression one of indifference. “Laura Hamilton.” Her fingers type away at the computer in front of me, and with each tap of the keyboard, the raw and primitive grief I had suppressed overwhelms me and makes it hard to stand. “She’s just now being moved into a room,” she answers, and I so desperately want to beg her to hurry and tell me the room number. Every second that goes by is a second I’m losing before I can make sure she’s okay. I’m frantic and desperate by the time the receptionist tells me where I can find her. Turning on my heel, I race down the corridor, then take the elevator up. My footsteps thunder down the hall until I find my mother’s room. When I finally step inside, my legs give way. She’s lying frail in the bed. Her skin is hollow, and her once dewy glow now looks dull and gray. I sit beside her bed and hold her tiny hand in mine. It’s all bone. Everything inside me freezes for a second. My mind and body are numb. Time stops as I watch her breathe. I silently thank God I didn’t lose her too. Lose her the way I lost my father. The way I lost Richard. She’s all I have left. She can’t leave me. Tears well in my eyes. It’s too much. This feeling is too much. My back tightens, my muscles cord and a soft hum sounds in my ear. The impending doom is all around me. I can see it. It’s lurching its ugly head, ready to strike. Air. I need air. The need to turn and run is all-encompassing, it sweeps over me, carrying my feet out the door and into the hallway. In my haste, I collide into something, causing a strangled gasp to escape as I drop to the floor. It feels as though I’m floating underwater, trying to break through the surface. White knuckles, uneven breathing, suffocating. Like a thick fog on a rainy day, it hovers above me, blinding me. It darkens the path in front of me until I can no longer see. I’m rooted in place, stuck. Each pull of oxygen burns, and my breathing comes out in ragged bursts.

Faster, faster, faster until I fear I might hyperventilate. Everything is closing in. The walls around me, the clothes on my back, everything is tightening to the point of pain. My chest constricts, as a radiating tingle shoots down my left arm. Where am I? What’s happening to me? My heart. Am I having a heart attack? I’m dying. “Are you okay?” A voice carries over through my haze. My eyes blink rapidly. “I’m going to need you to inhale, in through the nose … one, two, three. Very good, now out through the mouth exhale … one, two three.” I breathe in and out. His voice is steady as he speaks. “Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale …” My hands shake, and sweat coats my skin. His deep voice continues to soothe me. It lifts me from the darkness and into the light. As reality sets in, I realize I’m in the hospital, kneeling in the hallway outside my mother’s room. Peering down, I notice my hands are still shaking. Residual tremors from the attack. “Is she okay?” another voice asks. “She will be,” the deep voice declares. It’s absolute and I believe him. In, out, in, out. Still in a daze, I can feel the hand pulling me up, touching my back, guiding me. “Just breathe. You can do it. Only a few more steps.” His soothing voice instructs, calming me down. Making me follow his lead. When we reach our destination, a seat is pulled out and I’m ushered to sit down. I lift my head and my heart stops then lurches in my chest. Standing in front of me is the psychologist from the hospital—from this hospital. The doctor with eyes so blue, it feels you could get lost in them if you stare too long. Transfixed, I pull in a straggled breath and will myself to calm in front of him. My face turns down and away from his scrutiny. Why did it have to be him to find me? A burning sensation spreads against my cheeks. I wish I could disappear. I can’t look at him. I need to leave. “Look at me.” With slow movements, I lift my chin up. There is no judgment in his eyes, only concern. Air enters my body as I calm and take him in. I let out another breath. “Dr. Montgomery,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. He hears me, though, and gives me a nod as his trained eye continues to assess me. I

wonder if he remembers who I am. If he remembers that he treated me, or if this look of concern is natural for him due to his profession. “Yes?” He takes a seat across from me. A small line is present between his brows, making me wish I could hear his thoughts right now, because the way he stares at me is unnerving. “Do you remember me? I’m—” “I remember you.” He cuts me off with a firm voice, but I hear a slight hesitation. The expression on his face is one of general concern and it appears he is battling how to respond to me. “Are you feeling better? Are you all right?” His voice softens. “I’m okay.” I lurch forward. “My mother? Where’s my mother?” “She’s fine. Still sleeping.” With a strangled breath, I finally take in my surroundings. We’re sitting in a small room. A fluorescent light flickers above me, making my eyes squint. It’s plainly decorated, and appears to be a vacant patient room. “Why am I here?” “You were having a panic attack in the middle of the hallway, so I thought it would be prudent to move you somewhere more comfortable and private.” A silence stretches between us. He looks deep in thought and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. His eyes are soft. There’s something caring inside them, comforting. As if he can feel my pain and there is sympathy living inside the ocean of blue that shines brightly against the early morning light. With an exhale, he averts his gaze and lets out a breath. His posture becomes more distant, more formal. I bite down on my lip. It feels like an eternity waiting for him to speak. “Have you had more episodes since you left the hospital?” A burning flush spreads against my cheeks as I tuck my chin down. I feel so small right now. “There’s no need to be ashamed.” There’s softness in his voice that makes the tension building inside me begin to dissipate. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you started seeing a therapist?” “No,” I mutter under my breath. He looks as though he wants to say something, scold me for taking such little care of myself, but he refrains. “Do you still have my card?” “Yes,” I squeak. “Use it, Eve.” When I finally am able to get up and walk away, all I can do is shake my head. I don’t have words to voice how I feel right now. This man has rendered me speechless.

CHAPTER SIX PRESTON

I’VE BEEN SITTING in my office since she left, staring at the goddamn wall. It’s been hours since she fell apart in the corridor, and yet I’m still sitting here thinking of her. Her words, her tears, and the look in her eyes play on a constant loop. It takes me back to a previous time, when I had met similar eyes, similar feelings, and similar sadness. An unwelcome feeling I haven’t felt in a long time twists its way through my blood stream. A storm. Raging winds are bearing down and I fear I’ll be engulfed in the destruction. This feeling I hide from is a deep-seated guilt. A guilt I thought I had previously eradicated. But these feelings are misplaced. They don’t belong to her. No. They belong to someone else. To the one before. To the one I never helped. To the one I never saved. I need to walk away. Cut my ties and pray she never contacts me. Instead, my words betray my thoughts. I told her to contact me … again. Why did I do that? Because I’m a fool and was ill prepared to see her. When I bumped into her earlier, it was as though the universe was playing a sick joke on me. It had been weeks since she was here and she hadn’t called me yet. I was okay with that. I had come to terms with it. I was off the hook. I rest my head in my hands and pull at my roots until the point of pain. Fuck! Now it’s all shot to shit. Now I can’t bring myself to walk away. Why does she have to look so much like her? Is she my punishment? My penance …

CHAPTER SEVEN EVE

MY TEETH GNAW at my lower lip as I wait for my mom to wake. I pull my legs into my chest, wrap my arms around them protectively, and watch her. Was she always like this? Or was there a time when she was young and happy? Was it my father’s death that turned her into this? Is this my fate, too? Is Richard’s death my own catalyst? Am I destined to become her? I never understood my mother. It was easier to judge her than be compassionate towards her troubles, but the recent events have been eye opening. Now I know how fast the fear can take over. Reaching out, I take her hand in mine. What made you like this, Mom? It has to be more than simply my dad’s death. I wonder if she will ever tell me what haunts her. There is so much pain in her eyes. She refuses to talk about my father’s accident. She refuses to talk about anything. I have yet to voice my own fears, my own nightmares, so how can I fault her? How can I judge when I’m walking down the same dark and winding road? I can’t. My mind drifts to Dr. Montgomery and the way he almost implored that I speak to someone about the issues lingering inside me. There was something in his eyes that made me believe he was more invested than he let on. The circles hollowing his face spoke of sadness—a deep-rooted sorrow, and it made me want to find out about this man. Speak with this man. Learn anything about this man. A soft groan emanates through the room and pulls me from my thoughts. The muscles in my mother’s face twitch as her eyelids flutter. When they finally open, she stares up at me blankly, as if she’s trying to understand what she’s doing here. “Oh, thank God,” I cry out. Tears spill out through my eyes, rushing forward from my body like rain pouring down in torrents. I lie on her and weep until there are no more emotions left in my body. Until I purge it all and am so drained I can barely hold my own head up. But I do hold it up, and search her eyes for answers. Why are we here? Why is she doing this to herself? “What’s going on with you, Mom?” My words come out on a whisper and her pupils dilate. “Why are you doing this to yourself? You’re killing yourself.” “I’m not worth the tears,” she mutters. “If you knew, you wouldn’t cry.” And then her lids

shut. No answers, no clarification, no nothing. More confusion is all I get. Hours must pass, but I have no recollection. I’m so lost in my own grief and concern for her that when the nurse pops in to tell me it’s time to leave for the night, I finally peer up and notice through the window that the city is blanketed in darkness. The day has passed and my mom will be okay. Or at least today she will be okay. Who knows what the future will bring. With a soft kiss on the cheek, I leave her and head home. I don’t stop to talk to Sydney. I’m too tired and drained to deal with any questions she might have for me tonight. So instead, I head straight for the shower and wash off the grime that coats my skin. I’m spent, burned out, completely depleted. The pellets of warm water rejuvenate me, and although they cleanse me, they don’t wash away the sadness that still lingers beneath my skin. Once out of the shower, Sydney’s open door beckons me to enter and unload all that happened today, but as I peer inside I see her lying down and she appears to be sleeping. I don’t disturb her. Instead, I head into my own room and lie on my bed. Letting out all the oxygen in my lungs, I grab my book and try to distract myself from all the day brought. MY BODY LURCHES FORWARD. My sweat stained clothes cling to my frail limbs. That smell again. It’s everywhere. The smell lingers in the room as if I’m stuck in a nightmare. Copper. Always copper. The door slams against the wall, the sound ricocheting through the room. “Are you okay?” Sydney’s eyes glow in the dark of my room as she rushes to my bed. “I … I don’t know.” I wipe my damp cheek with the back of my hand and lean back into my pillow. The same dream. Always the same damn dream. “You were screaming so loudly—it was blood curdling. I was so scared. Was it a nightmare again?” “Yeah, but I … I can never remember the whole thing. Once I open my eyes it goes away. Just pieces and smells …” My whole body shakes with the fear of not knowing what is happening to me. “Shh, you’re okay,” she coos while rubbing my back. “That must have been an awful dream.” Her hand continues to run circles over my back as my breathing regulates. “I wish they would stop.” My shoulders sag in defeat. “Do you think this is because of Richard’s death?”

I turn my face so our eyes meet. “Honestly? I don’t know.” “Do you want to tell me about it? Anything at all that you can recall?” “I don’t know what there is to say. I can’t remember. It is always so vivid, but the moment I open my eyes I only remember the smell … and, I guess, the screaming.” “I’ve got to be honest, every day you get a little worse. Your screaming becomes worse and worse, and all last week at work … I could see you were having anxiety. Enough of this shit. You need to see someone. I think you need to call that shrink.” “I can’t go to him.” I cross my arms over my chest, lower my head and close my eyes. “Why the hell not?” I don’t answer. “What aren’t you telling me?” Tentatively, I lift my head and meet her stare. “Well, I bumped into him yesterday at the hospital with Mom,” I manage. “Wait, the hospital? What is your mom doing in the hospital?” She blinks. “Why am I only hearing about this now?” “I wasn’t up for talking about it last night, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t last night.” She studies me curiously, then her gaze lowers and I wonder if she’s hurt. “Okay …” She lets out air from her lungs, clearly upset that I withheld information from her. “It’s—” “Well, you need to go to someone else, then.” She glances back up, and this time two deep lines of worry appear between her eyes. “I don’t know anyone else.” I shudder inwardly at the thought of having to talk to anyone, especially him. “Listen, I’ll ask around, but if I can’t find anyone else, just call him.” I consider what she says and reluctantly nod. “Thanks, Syd.” My chin quivers. “It means a lot to me.” “Of course. You’re my best friend. Like I said, if I can’t find you a different doctor, you have to call him.” “Okay, got it. Thanks.” Sydney’s eyes dart to the clock, then back to me. “It’s almost six. Want to get up and go out for breakfast?” “You should go back to bed. No reason for us both to be up this early.” She smiles at me brightly. “I’m already wide awake. Might as well grab waffles. You know you want some.” I do want some. I let out an audible sigh and she laughs. “You twisted my arm.” I wink.

Hopping out of bed, I head for the bathroom to shower and make myself presentable. When we finally get to the diner, Sydney opens the door and a chime goes off as we enter. It’s busy. “Shit,” she says. “Guess we have to wait.” Usually neither of us comes this early in the morning, so we didn’t anticipate the wait. There’s a line right by the hostess booth and as I scan the room I don’t spot any open tables. A familiar scent wafts through the air. Confectioners sugar, coffee and the spicy flavor/scent of nutmeg. Without warning, my pulse picks up as I’m transported back in time to only a few weeks ago. To the last time I was here. Richard. I was here with him. His presence is all around me. His laugh filters through the space. “Hey kiddo.” He leaned in and gave me a warm hug and a soft kiss on my forehead. “Richard,” I exclaimed through a laugh. “I’m twenty-four. You can’t call me kiddo anymore.” “Sure I can. You will always be ‘kiddo’ to me.” He laughed this time and my mouth split into a huge smile as I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” “Plus, I’m not allowed to show nepotism at the office. This is the only time I get to call you that.” All I could do was shake my head at him. He was right. He couldn’t play favorites, and I imagined calling me nicknames in the office would be frowned upon by the rest of the staff. “I see you almost every day outside the office, too.” “That you do, but normally when we see each other it’s in an office or with your mother. You and I have haven’t had time to really talk since you got your promotion a month ago. So, how do you feel about being the point person now?” “It’s a transition. I still get nervous on the initial pitch, and it’s a bit hard taking lead on the clients, but I like it.” “Good. You really are a natural, you know.” His praise made me smile. “I don’t feel like a natural. It feels like I can barely remember what I’m supposed to say.” “You are, trust me. I have seen many account coordinators transition into account executive. Not everyone can handle the new responsibilities, but you have a knack for it. You’ll do perfect on your new pitch.” “How do you know?” “Because I have faith in you.” I let his words wash over me, they made me believe in myself. They gave me hope that I would succeed. “Thank you.”

“Enough about work. It’s Saturday. What do you have planned for the day?” “Sydney and I are going to the new restaurant that opened up in the meat packing district.” A small line formed in his forehead. It was almost unnoticeable but I saw it. I wondered what his problem with her was. She was a good friend to me and a fantastic worker. However, Richard always seems put off by her. One day I’d ask him what that was all about. But today was a good day. Mom was in a good place when I called, and I wouldn’t ruin my day by asking questions I might not like the answers to.

THAT WAS a little over four weeks ago. Two weeks later, Richard suffered cardiac arrest. I never did get to ask him. But I guess it no longer matters. These swirling thoughts have my hands becoming clammy and my vision blurring as my pulse picks up. I will myself to breathe. To not let the fear win. From out of nowhere, my hand becomes encased by Sydney’s warm grasp. She squeezes once, letting me know she has me. Lifting my head, our eyes meet. Hers are full of love and compassion. She mouths the word “breathe” and I do. I breathe and step forward as the sadness fades away and I’m back in the present.

CHAPTER EIGHT EVE

BEING BACK at work becomes even harder as the days pass. By the time I return home, I resort to drinking to cope with my days and keep the nightmares at bay. My terrors and anxiety have gotten worse, and I still haven’t called the number I know I need to call. I’m not sure what my hesitation is. I guess I’m hoping Sydney finds me someone else. Tonight I lie in bed sobbing. My bedroom door pushes open and I peer through swollen lids to find Sydney standing in the doorway. I don’t speak and neither does she. Her eyes are sunken in from worry as she gnaws at her upper lip. “This is enough already. You are falling apart and it’s breaking my heart. Earlier today I spoke to Natalie.” My mouth opens to object. Natalie works in the office with us. I can’t have her knowing that I’m falling apart at the seams. “Don’t worry. I didn’t tell Natalie it was you. I told her it was for my younger brother.” My tears dry as I consider this. It would make complete sense. Sydney’s brother is a notorious fuck-up in his senior year of some fancy prep school in the city. She’s always complaining about him getting expelled. “She gave me the number of her therapist, Dr. Cole. We’re calling him first thing on Monday morning and you’re going to see him, understand?” “Yes.” I sniffle. “Good.” Sydney is right. Dr. Montgomery is right. I need to speak to someone. I need to fix whatever is broken inside me. And I need to do it before it’s too late. Before I turn into her.

“ARE YOU NERVOUS?” Sydney asks.

Am I? Hell yeah, I am. It’s been a few days since she got me the number of the therapist, and when I did nothing with said number for two days, Sydney took it upon herself to call and get me an appointment. “Wouldn’t you be?” I grit out. “Wait, is this really the first time you have an actual appointment to see a therapist?” I nod. “So, even when you were young and your dad died, you never saw anyone?” “Nope.” “You would think they would have made you.” “Nope.” She furrows her brows at my one-word answer. A tense silence echoes through the room. “Do I really have to go?” I finally groan as I bury my head in my hands. “Girl … I love you, but yes, you do. You looked like a walking zombie today at work. If they were planning to sack anyone, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were the first to get the boot.” I pout my lip and roll my eyes. “Fine.” “Good girl,” she chides as she throws her coat on. “Where you going?” “I’m walking you.” My eyes widen. “What?” Sydney tries unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh. Her cheeks puff up until she finally fails and one escapes. “I’m walking you to your appointment.” Her lips twitch with amusement as she wraps a scarf around her neck. “What are you still doing lying there like a lump?” Despite the fact I have no desire to see Dr. Cole, I find myself getting up and putting on my coat. “Lead the way, bitch,” I mutter under my breath, eliciting another round of giggles from Sydney. Dr. Cole’s office is not at all what I expected. First off, it’s in Alphabet City. Secondly, it’s in the basement of a dingy building. Not that I need a fancy Park Avenue location, but this is kind of sketchy. Sydney chews on her lower lip as she steals a look at the building. “So …this looks—” “Like a dump?” I chime in. “I was going to say interesting. But yeah, it looks like a dump.” She grabs my arm. “Come on, we’ve come this far. No backing out now.” I follow her into the building and down the steps to the basement apartment. A chime goes off as we enter. When we step in, I know instantly this isn’t the right psychologist for me. The place is grimy and dirty. The sound of something shattering has us looking up. A man walks out dressed in wrinkled slacks and there’s a stain on his shirt. Not at all

professional-looking. Not like Dr. Montgomery. I can’t see someone like this. I wouldn’t feel comfortable telling him anything. “You must be, Eve,” he says. His eyes linger on me a second too long, making my back stiffen uncomfortably. “There seems to be a misunderstanding. I’m so sorry, but we have to go.” The words tumble out as I grab Sydney’s hand and usher her out the door. “Well, that was …” Sydney trails off, trying to articulate exactly what that was. “Very unprofessional, right?” “Yeah, totally. I’ll make a few more calls and see who else I can find. But first, let’s find the nearest subway and get the hell out of here.” She pulls me down the street. When we’re back in Murray Hill, we decide to walk down Third Avenue to find a place to eat dinner. Sydney taps away at her phone the entire meal. By the time we’re finished and returning to our apartment, she had two more psychologists with spots open for me.

THE NEXT FEW days are a whirlwind of appointments. It feels as if I’ve seen every therapist in the tri-state area … Well, maybe not every one. One was unprofessional, one was an ice queen, and one’s voice just rubbed me the wrong way. I couldn’t imagine seeing any of them. I couldn’t imagine being comfortable enough to divulge my life to these people. I could imagine each of them judging, criticizing, and in the end I knew none of them would make me feel safe. There was still one I hadn’t called and even I was starting to chastise myself for that. What was my holdup with calling him, anyway? Other than the fact he was handsome, there was nothing else stopping me. I couldn’t think of one reason I shouldn’t see him as my therapist. I was comfortable with him. He made me feel safe, and he was able to talk me out of a panic attack not once but two times. Both times he never judged me. He had compassion in his eyes and a genuine expression that promised he wanted to help me. The only holdup I could see was his looks, and that was starting to sound like a ridiculous reason even to me. So what if he’s good looking? His looks shouldn’t play a part in my treatment. There’s only one choice I can make in this situation … I’m calling him.

CHAPTER NINE EVE

I CALLED HIM. Well, I called Dr. Montgomery’s office. Despite my hesitation, deep in my bones something tells me he is the only one that can help with my panic attacks. After the last three psychologists I met with, I no longer trust anyone’s referral. Truth be told, he was the only one who made me feel comfortable. He made me feel safe. His simple breathing techniques have already alleviated the aching pain that presses on my chest when I feel I’m losing control. “So, what time is your appointment?” Sydney asks as she walks into my room. I’ve been standing here for at least ten minutes trying to decide what to wear. “Ten.” “Well, you better get ready, then.” A smile spreads across her features as she eyes my outfit. I look down and survey my attire. “What? You don’t think I can go like this?” I wave my hand down my body to emphasize my pajamas. “As beautiful as you are—and trust me, Eve, you are, I don’t think it’s appropriate to see your therapist for the first time in booty shorts and a see-through cami.” “Yeah, you might be right. Okay, I’ll get dressed. Want to meet after my appointment at Café Europa? We can grab a bite.” Pulling out a chambray shirt, I hold it up for her approval, and she shakes her head yes. “Why don’t you text me? I should be able to, but if not, you can fill me in on all the details when I get home later.” I roll my eyes and huff. “This will probably be a waste of time.” “Maybe not. You’ll never know until you try.” Her shoulders lift as she turns to leave, closing the door behind her. Once she’s out of the room, I strip down and put on a more appropriate outfit. I pair my chambray shirt with black leggings and black riding boots. When I’m fully dressed, I sit on the bed and close my eyes for a brief moment. Seeing him again has me on edge. I have

no idea what to expect. The questions play in my mind as my anxiety spikes. What will it be like to talk to him? Tell him about my nightmares? Can I do it? Will he judge me? He hasn’t yet. He’s only been kind. Caring. I breathe in deeply to calm the thoughts in my head. I can’t afford for them to drift. I need to be strong and not let my fear win.

MY CHIN CHATTERS from the frigid air as I stand on the corner and wait for the light to change. Cars rush by, but I see no empty cabs. I look down the street and then at my watch. There’s no time to wait, so I decide to walk the ten blocks. With every step I take, I feel the nervous energy within me build. Usually walking calms me, but today it doesn’t help at all. As I hurry up Park Avenue, I get lost in thought. My brain can’t wrap itself around the reason these nightmares have started, and I’m not even sure what’s triggering my recent panic attacks. I assume it has something to do with Richard, but at the same time I’m not sure. Scary thought. But as frightened as I am to find out, I’m more frightened to keep on living like this. I can’t become my mom. I can’t let my fear turn me into a woman who’s too scared to live her life. After ten minutes, I arrive at the address on the card. The building itself is intimidating and harsh. It towers high into the sky, the sun gleaming off the walls of tinted glass. With timid steps, I walk inside and immediately notice a broad Lucite desk in the center of the lobby. I head over and smile at the security guard for the building seated behind the surface, thankful he can’t see my hands shaking at my sides. I brighten my smile to hide my nerves. “I have an appointment with Dr. Montgomery.” “And you are?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me. “Eve Hamilton.” “Look toward the camera, please.” He motions to a small lens protruding from the desk. After the camera flashes once, I turn my attention back to him and he looks down at a screen built into his desktop and starts to type. “Please proceed to the elevator on the right-hand side of the lobby and press the button for the eighteenth floor,” he directs as he hands me my visitor pass. “Thank you.” I proceed to the elevator and press the button to Dr. Montgomery’s floor. Cheesy elevator music echoes through the air. As the elevator climbs, a pulsating knot forms in my belly. The idea of sitting across from this man and airing my dirty laundry is making me feel ill. I’m not sure I’ll be able to go through with this, but since I’ve come this far already, I

decide to take the plunge. My lungs expand with oxygen to calm myself. When the elevator reaches his floor, I step out and search for his office. Once inside, a middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk greets me. “I’m Eve Hamilton. I have an appointment with Dr. Montgomery.” “Yes, please take a seat. He should be with you in a few minutes. I’ll need to see a copy of your insurance card. Also, I have a few forms for you to fill out while you wait.” Her voice is monotone, as if she’s reciting a speech she has repeated countless times. I grab my wallet and hand her the card. Once she returns it, I take the stack of forms and sit down in an empty chair. I pull out my phone to text Sydney. Me: Hey, Syd. I’m here and everything’s fine so far. I’ll text you when I’m headed over to the restaurant. Syd: Good luck. Me: Thanks, I’ll need it. My eyes scan the paper in front of me. Seven pages. Seven freaking pages of questions. Starting off with the most mundane information, leading up to … I look a little farther down the form and I get to family history. My heart thuds in my chest. Can’t he just leave me in my denial and, you know, not make me answer these questions? I feel as though I’ll turn the page and there will be ink splat drawings for me to identify. Describe your personal strengths? What is this? Am I applying for a job? What are your coping styles? Should I write down drinking? Do you experience difficulty sleeping? I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. I peer farther down the list … Check. Check. Check. What isn’t my problem? Lord, I’m a mess. Do you belong to a particular religion or spiritual group? With that, I rise from my seat. I’m out of here. This is ridiculous. Just as I move toward the door, I hear a creak. Looking over my shoulder, my eyes widen as my gaze trails up the man standing in front of me. How is it that every time I see him he takes my breath away? I’ve never seen a more beautiful man. He is magnificent. But even that word doesn’t do him any justice. He’s tall. His strong, lean body towers over my frail one. This man, his presence … It’s imposing. As if he alone can make the world shift on its axis.

Dr. Montgomery narrows his eyes as he continues to stare. It’s unnerving and exhilarating at the same time. But with a shake of his head, the moment is lost. He pulls his shoulders back and walks toward me. “Hello, Eve.” My name rolls off his tongue like a smooth melody. One only the perfect baritone of his voice can sing. “Hi, Doctor,” I say faintly. His hand reaches out taking mine in his. “It’s good to see you again. But please, I know I’m your doctor, but you can call me Preston.” He pauses, almost as if he’s unsure. “If that makes you feel more comfortable.” What was I thinking, coming to see this man? I’m desperate to figure out my shit, but this guy … No. He’s too gorgeous. I need to see someone older—much, much, older. Maybe a man in his seventies who wears tiny wire-rimmed glasses. He gives me a little smile and I swear one thousand butterflies take flight in my belly. “If you would please follow me into my office.” His other arm stretches out toward the door adjacent to where we stand. It’s cracked open and pitch black inside. Ominous. “Um, okay.” My hand feels heavy still encased in his. My body won’t move, though. I’m cemented in place. Ready to dash. To bury my head in the sand and pretend I don’t need to be here. I look toward the exit and then back up at him and meet his gaze again. His full lips turn up into a comforting smile. “It will be okay. It doesn’t have to be awkward,” he whispers, but not one part of my shaking body believes him. Peering back to the door, I contemplate my options: walk away and let the fear take over, or follow this man. Our bodies are close for the few steps it takes to reach his office. He stops abruptly and I almost crash into him as he switches on the light. With wide eyes I look around the office and then at him. His presence fills the small space. He’s overpowering and my walls start to close in. How can I speak to someone who has me so unhinged at the mere sight of him? He sucks all the oxygen from the air just by standing here. My breathing becomes ragged as I cross farther into the room. With shallow pulls of air, I try to clear my head. I need to do this. I need to stop the nightmares and this is my only option, so I need to block out my want for this man. “Why don’t you have a seat on the couch?” he says as he walks over to the desk that sits along the far wall and grabs a notepad. I sit on the red velvet couch and look up to see him watching me as I settle myself. His eyes trail my every move as he gets comfortable in the chair across from the coffee table. Placing the pad on his lap, he reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. “Okay,” he says as if he’s collecting his thoughts. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for him to speak. With an audible sigh, I breathe through the panic that coils in my stomach, but my face grows hot and a sweat breaks out against my brow. “Just breathe,” he murmurs. “This will be easy. I promise. I’ll ask you some very simple

questions at first, and take notes about what you say so I can keep it fresh in my memory. Is that all right?” I bite my lip. “Yes, it’s okay.” “Oh, and please feel free to interrupt me at any time, and if you need to stop, we can do that, too.” I swallow hard and then nod. “So, let’s start off by talking a little bit about when your anxiety began, what brought you to the hospital, and a little about what brings you here today.” “Can’t we talk about something simpler?” A nervous laugh escapes me and the right side of his lips turns up at my answer. A small dimple forms in his cheek. “We could, but what fun would that be for our first appointment?” he jokes and my shoulders relax. “So, how are you today?” I tilt my head and I consider how to answer. “I’m okay. Tired. Didn’t sleep well,” I admit on a sigh. He nods. “I can understand that. Nervous about today?” “Yeah. A bit, I guess.” “Was there something else that kept you up?” My upper teeth bite my lower lip and I gnaw on the skin to the point of pain. He picks up his pen and jots a note on the pad of paper. His gaze lifts to mine. “Simpler?” He smiles. I nod. “Have you always lived in New York City?” “Um, yeah. I mean, I wasn’t born in the city, but we moved here when I was young,” I stumble out. “Oh, so then, where were you born?” He leans forward, laying his notebook down and studying me intently. “I’m from Long Island, originally.” “And do you work? Or are you still in school?” “I work in marketing at The Stone Agency. It’s a full service firm. We specialize in Fashion and Entertainment.” “Very interesting.” “Yeah, it’s okay.” I shrug with an over the top roll of the eye. I let a small smile form in my cheek and he lets out a laugh. “It does sound a bit boring. Being a therapist is much more interesting.” He winks, lightening the mood, and it works as my own giggle escapes and the once tight muscles in my shoulders uncoil. When my laughter stops, he repositions himself and straightens his back. “Ready for a tougher question?” he asks and I nod.

“Let’s discuss your first visit to the hospital. Is that okay?” The blue of his eyes sparkle at me. “I guess.” “In order for this to work, you have to trust me. Can you do that? Can you trust me?” “I’m not sure I can, but I’ll try. Well, as you already know I was in a car accident. Obviously, I was brought to the hospital.” I’m too embarrassed to tell him about all the panic attacks at home and the nightmares since then, so I grow silent and try to think of something else to say. In the background, I hear the ticking of the grandfather clock. Dr. Montgomery reaches across the side table and grabs a pair of glasses and puts them on. He adjusts them until they fall slightly down his nose, and then looks down to the paper in front of him. When he looks back up, I swear my heart stops. The look in his eyes, the sexy way he wears those glasses … He’s almost too perfect. He rests his hands on the arms of his chair as he studies me. “You okay? What’s going on?” I will myself to calm, and curse myself for being so blatantly affected by him. “Um, I’m just nervous. Scared. I’m kind of … I don’t know. Lost? I’m not sure what we’re supposed to talk about or how you’ll help me.” “These are all very common feelings to have toward therapy for the first time,” he assures me. “Well, that’s good to know. Happy to be somewhat normal,” I retort. There’s nothing normal about my panic when I think of divulging my nightmares and fears to this man. It was so much easier in the hospital when I thought I would never have to see him again. “Normal is just a definition we use to place ourselves in boxes, Eve. No normal here.” He winks and I’m surprisingly appreciative of the small gesture, because seeing him smile, makes me smile. “So, I think we should start from the beginning. I often find that’s where most problems stem from. No response is singular. It’s a cause and effect process from where it all began.” “I guess.” “How about you tell me a little about your family?” Instantly, my muscles tighten. Anytime Mom is a subject, I get a knot in my stomach. I love her, but being her primary caregiver at my age has been hard. “It’s just my mom and me.” I try to force a smile, but instead my lips tremble, giving me away. “Where is your father?” “He died in an accident when I was younger.” I want to melt away. Pretend I’m not here. Recede into the confines of my mind. “How old were you?” The blue of his eyes is soft and sincere. “Four,” I answer before I can stop myself.

“That must have been hard for you.” “To be honest, I don’t even remember him. Most of my memories are of my mother and me. And Richard, of course. I can’t remember if we spoke about him at the hospital. He was my father’s best friend.” I take a deep breath. “He was also my boss.” “So you knew Richard well?” “He basically raised me. It was his funeral I was leaving when I got into the accident.” A familiar feeling of dread tugs at my heart. Everything in my body tightens. Soon the back pains will present themselves. My chest will follow shortly. I frantically rub the muscle in my shoulder blade. “I’m so sorry for your loss. If you don’t mind me asking, how did he pass?” “He had a heart attack. By the time I … I found him …” I pull my hand from my back and press it to my mouth to hold back a sob. “I know this must be hard for you. I want you to take deep breaths. Can you do that?” I shrug. “What happened?” “I remember calling him but he didn’t answer. I needed to grab something from him for a work meeting. I was at my mom’s. He … he lived in the same building as her. When I got there, I found his body. I … I remember being in a haze, like my mind faded away and my basic instincts took over. I called nine-one-one. I even went back to my mother’s to tell her the news. I was grieving but I was functioning.” “So, when did you stop functioning? What happened?” I take a slow breath and will myself to not start hyperventilating. “When I saw his body again, in the casket. That’s when it happened. I must have been in denial before that moment. Because that’s when it finally hit me. Richard was dead.” My eyes flood with tears and I swipe them away. He picks up a pen and scribbles on his notepad. “Was this the first time you attended a funeral since your father’s death?” I nod. “I know you were very young when your father died, but do you remember anything?” “No.” He writes again on the pad and I want to lean over his arm and read what he’s observed. When he lays his pen down, his eyes lift and his gaze meets mine. “You said he was like a father figure. Was he in a relationship with your mother?” “Oh, Lord, no. She can barely function enough to brush her teeth. There was no place in her life for a boyfriend.” “And how is your relationship with her?” “Strained. Exhausting.” “Do you want to tell me a little about that?” “Do I have to tell you today?” Please say no. “No, you don’t.” Oh, thank God. Hearing I don’t have to divulge anything I don’t want to has all the muscles in my back loosening. “Is there something in particular you would feel

comfortable talking about today?” “I—No. Not really.” I laugh nervously. “How about we try to talk for a little bit longer? If it gets too much, we can stop.” “Okay,” I whisper. As the minutes pass, we talk about nothing in particular. Nothing as daunting as speaking of my mother or as heartbreaking as discussing Richard. We don’t talk of my father. We talk of simple, mundane topics. Topics that make me comfortable. Topics that make me smile. But eventually those topics run out and I notice Dr. Montgomery glance at his watch. Knowing our time is up leaves me with mixed emotions. As happy as I am to be done, a part of me will miss the comfort I felt having someone listen. Someone trained to give me the guidance and advice I so desperately need now that Richard is gone. This was good. Coming to him was the right decision. A small piece of the weight that has been resting on my shoulders is lifted. “You did a great job today. You did really well. The hardest step is coming in. You’ve got this.” He smiles and picks up a black leather journal from the side table. When I lift my hand for it, our fingers touch. The soft skin of his thumb brushes against mine and my cheeks heat as he hands it to me. “I have a little assignment for you.” “An assignment?” “Yes, I want you to keep this notebook. Journal how you’re feeling. If a panic attack starts to form, write down the triggers. No matter what you are thinking or how you feel, I want you to journal it, okay?” “Are you going to read it?” Please say no. Please! “I will ask you to tell me what you wrote so we can pinpoint your triggers, but no, I don’t have to read it.” I can work with that. As long as I know that I can pick and choose what I tell him. “Okay. I’ll do it.” “Great. Also, I’ll email you some techniques for when you feel an attack forming.” I laugh at his suggestion. “I’m just imagining the crazy new age junk you’re going to make me do.” “No, nothing like that.” His mouth begins to split into a grin, but before it forms he rights himself. Professional mask back on. No matter how small … I miss the grin already. “More like breathing techniques and visualization exercises. I’ll also send you information about a few support groups you can attend if you feel up to it. Believe it or not, there are many people who suffer from anxiety and grief. You might find it comforting to speak to others who have gone through it.” He stands and heads over to his desk. I watch as he scribbles on the back of a business card and lifts it up to me to take it. “And if you need me, I’m giving you my direct number. Please feel free to call me.” Having his number is dangerous. The idea of having him only a phone call away … I can

never use it. Once I do, I fear I’ll never want to stop. “I wouldn’t dream of doing that, Dr. Montgomery.” “You might not now, but the time might come when you will need it.” I pray he’s never right.

I TRY TEXTING Sydney as soon as I leave, but she doesn’t answer so I head home. “How was it?” she shouts from the living room as I shut the door. I drop my keys on the console table and head toward her voice. When I step into the living room, she drops the magazine she’s reading and leans forward, obviously waiting for me to spill. “Fine,” I mutter. “You have to give me more than that. Did you figure out what the nightmares are about?” “Syd, it was my first session,” I deadpan. “Do you really think we figured it out that quickly?” She frowns. “Well, what did you talk about, then?” “He asked about my job. I told him about my mom—” “You told him about your mom?” Her eyes look huge with shock. “Well, I told him it was just me and her, that’s all.” “Oh.” “It was weird, Syd. Telling someone my problems.” “Anything else?” I let out an audible groan. “Oh, my God, Sydney, I have barely shut the door and you’re already giving me the third degree.” I take a seat next to her on the couch. “I’m starved. Want to order in?” “Yeah, sure.” “What should we order?” I pull out my phone and start looking up delivery numbers saved on my phone. “Pizza?” “Pizza is fine. So, that’s all I’m getting? Weird?” “Yes. You know, like not knowing what to talk about or what to expect, weird.” “So, basically your session was like the first awkward get to know you date, right?” “That’s exactly what it was like.” And oh, was it ever. That awkward date in which you stare at the guy and think Lord, is he beautiful the whole time. Except it wasn’t a date. He’s my doctor, so these thoughts are not okay right now. “Speaking of first dates … Is he still as hot as before?” “Oh, my God, Syd! Leave me alone!” I laugh and throw a pillow at her.

She pretends to huff. “Fine, I’m going to take a quick shower.” “Okay, I’ll stay here and listen for the pizza.” She blows me an air kiss. “Thanks.” She starts out of the room, then looks over her shoulder and opens her mouth to say something but I stop her. “Go shower. You smell.” I laugh. Once she’s gone, I settle back into the couch and my thoughts drift back to my therapy session. God, I hope it helps. Reaching into my purse, I pull out the notebook and squint my eyes at it. Here goes nothing. Journal Entry I hate that I have to do this. Not sure what it will actually accomplish. Well, I haven’t had a panic attack since I received this journal a few hours ago. So instead, I’ll write about my first time. Oh, shit, that didn’t sound good. Thank God, Dr. Montgomery doesn’t have to read this. First attack. I had my first anxiety attack at Richard’s funeral. I have no idea where it came from. One minute I was there and the next I hyperventilated to the point of making myself crash. I remember little things. I remember my rapid heartbeat. I remember the cool sweat breaking out against my brow. I remember being lost in my thoughts. Then I remember nothing. Laying my notebook down, I look over the words I wrote. Jotting down my feelings is somewhat comforting. Like I own the feelings. They don’t own me. Dr. Montgomery is obviously more than just a pretty face. He knows what he’s talking about. Maybe weekly sessions with the doc won’t be so bad after all.

CHAPTER TEN PRESTON

WHAT THE FUCK am I doing? I shouldn’t be speaking to this girl, let alone treating her. I knew it was coming; I tried to prepare myself but nothing could prepare me for how it felt when she sat across the room from me. It was as if all the oxygen from my lungs was drained. I knew right then and there that this wasn’t fucking normal. The very second our gazes met, I knew I needed to tell her to leave. To go and never come back. She looked too much like Sloane and yet she was nothing like her. Every second she spoke, it became more apparent how different they were. Sloane was weak, but this girl … Eve Hamilton … She might not see it, but she is one of the strongest people I have ever met. Looking toward the window, it appears snow is collecting on the surface. Bleak and depressing. Although I can see the outside, it feels as if the walls of my office are closing in. Familiar weaknesses are resurfacing. I grit my teeth. These are the feelings this girl brings out in me. She makes me remember. She reminds me of all my failures, shortcomings, and faults, but most of all her simple presence reminds me of all I lost. The phone ringing on my desk pulls me from my inner turmoil. The Caller ID shows it’s my older brother. I wonder what he wants at this time of day. Usually he’s too busy to talk when he’s working. I pick up the phone but don’t even have time to speak before he utters one sentence that lands a punch in my gut. “I need you.” Fuck. “Why?” I answer. “What’s wrong?” “Oh, God, nothing like that.” He laughs through the line. “It’s our anniversary and I’ve been so busy at work, and, well, I forgot.” “Wow, you forgot your anniversary? That’s pretty low, even for you.” “You don’t need to remind me what a fuck up I am. But the good news is she’ll never know. I’ve been working all day to plan something. I just need your help.” “So what can I help you with?” “I’m surprising her with a trip next month.” “And?” “I need you to watch the kids. Can you?” He lets out a long sigh.

“Whatever you need. You know that.” “Yeah, I do. Thanks, Pres.” Hanging up the phone, all I can do is shake my head. I’m shocked that he forgot. That wasn’t like him at all, but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face knowing how hard he worked to right his wrong. Since Sloane, there’s been no one to make me feel that way. No one worth risking my heart for. Again. This kind of love gives me faith that maybe one day I’ll find someone worth risking it all for.

CHAPTER ELEVEN EVE

JOURNAL ENTRY Everything felt wrong. My heart was beating erratically in my chest. I had no control over it. No power over my body. My heart was seizing. I felt tears welling in my eyes. By the time I made it to the bathroom, my breathing had become shallow. Every time I imagined what I would say if I bumped into someone, I lost my words. My fear dried my mouth … cemented my tongue. All I could do was wait for the lingering effects of the attack to pass. I sit in the waiting area after a stressful day of work, watching the door for a sign of life. Will this ever get easier? It’s been one week. One week since I found the strength to walk into this building and figure out what is going on with me. One week since I welcomed Dr. Montgomery into my life. Unloaded my burdens and began to purge my soul. As the seconds pass and my thoughts continue to drift, I can’t help but wonder about my new psychologist. Who is this man? What makes him tick? When the familiar knots start to form, I shake the thoughts away. Just thinking of him and the beginning of our session ties me in knots. “Ms. Hamilton, the doctor will see you now.” I peer up at her and she points in the direction of his office. “He said to show yourself back.” With one hand tucked into my coat pocket, I make my way to Dr. Montgomery’s door and push it open. He’s just finishing up a call and motions to me to take a seat on the couch. “Okay, sweetie. Of course I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He has a smile on his face—one that doesn’t only touch his eyes, but also touches his soul. “Love you too.” Hearing those words leave his mouth has me feeling the strangest sort of feeling. Almost like jealousy, but it can’t be that. I don’t know this man well enough to be jealous. No, what I’m jealous of is that feeling. To have someone love you, to belong to someone, to have your soul attached to someone else’s. As he hangs up the phone, his eyes are still filled with a look I miss. Unconditional love. “Sorry about that. It’s my niece’s birthday today. Her party is this weekend.” His niece. The oxygen I didn’t know I was holding expels from my lungs. “Lucky girl to have an uncle like you.”

“I’m the lucky one.” The warmth of his smile echoes in his voice, and at that moment I see a different side of him. It makes me trust him further. It makes me like him even more. “So, how are you today?” “I’m okay. Work has been rough. Things with my mom have been tough. I guess everything has been hard,” I admit with a sigh. “How so?” I proceed to give him an update of everything that has happened since I was last here. For some reason, I leave out the nightmares. I’m just not ready to tackles those yet when I have so many other issues going on. He listens with undivided attention. Once I’m done, he sets his notebook down and peers up at me. “Let’s talk about Richard. Can you do that? Or do you need a minute?” I consider what he’s asking of me. “I can do it.” He lets out the breath he must have been holding as he waited for my answer, and then leans forward. “You said Richard was your father’s best friend. Was he always a part of your life?” “As far back as I can remember, it was Richard.” My heart thuds in my chest, but every time I feel myself falling, I concentrate on Dr. Montgomery’s broad shoulders that move slightly as he breathes and it anchors me. “How so?” “My mom … Well, let’s just say she didn’t handle Dad’s death well. Richard stepped up to help with me.” My voice is low. He cocked his head. “I’m going to need you to elaborate on your mother a bit.” A flash of grief rips through me. My mouth trembles as I speak. “She lost it. But this is the only way I know her. She’s always been this way to me. Does that make sense?” “It does. What was your mom like? Before your dad’s accident.” “People don’t really talk about that, but I saw pictures of my parents from before I was born and she looks like a totally different person. Her eyes were bright and she always had a smile. She was young, pretty. She looked carefree and in love.” “And that’s not the mother you know?” “Oh, God, no.” I shake my head vehemently. My mom has never been that mom to me. The tears I’ve been holding back force their way out at the thought. Dr. Montgomery’s hand reaches out. When he speaks, his hand encases mine. “Tell me about the mom you know.” He gives my palm a squeeze and I look down at our connected hands. His grasp is strong. It comforts me. It gives me the reassurance I need. Dr. Montgomery pulls away, and my body grows cold with the loss. I peer up at him and find his brow furrowed. “You can do it,” he encourages, while reclining back in his chair. With the new distance between us, I shift uncomfortably. Suddenly, I feel awkward. “My mom … My mom is a hypochondriac. For as long as I can remember, she’s been

popping pills for some imaginary ailment. She barely makes it out of bed half the time. She’s always ill. She doesn’t do anything for herself.” I let out a deep breath, my whole body shaking as I purge the memories from my mind. “She gave up driving because she wouldn’t get in a car. She wouldn’t leave our house, so we never went anywhere. That’s why we moved to the city. When Richard found out, he made us give up our house and move to the vacant apartment near his.” “That must have been hard for you.” “Maybe. As I said before, I don’t remember much from my childhood.” Sometimes I thank God for that. “What was she like once you moved to the city?” “Richard hired us a full-time caregiver who also cleaned the house. She took care of me, and she took care of Mom.” “What was her name?” “Sonia.” My throat feels as if it’s closing up. I loved Sonia. She cared for me. Loved me. She was a mom to me. “How long was Sonia with you?” Not long enough. “Almost ten years, and then one day she wasn’t.” “What happened?” She left me. “She had to go back to Brazil because her mother got sick. It was a little shy of my thirteenth birthday.” I still feel the pain from when she left. Sadness courses through my veins at the memory, like a caged animal threatening to break loose. A glossy sheen coats my skin. Every muscle feels tight, as if I’m cemented in place. “It’s okay. Breathe.” In. Out. In. Out. “She left right before my birthday. I remember because Mom was too “sick” to do anything special, but I could always count on Richard.” “What did he do?” “What didn’t he do? He was there for everything. As I said, Dad was his best friend. They grew up together. They were supposedly as close as brothers. When my father died, I became Richard’s surrogate daughter. Although he had been previously married, his wife never wanted children, and once they divorced he had no interest in remarrying, so mom and I were, for all intents and purpose, his family. He was the one with me when I broke my arm and had to go to the hospital, the one who came to the school for parent teacher meetings. He was the one who brought me medicine when I was sick, not Mom. She was too scared she’d catch something, so she stayed in the apartment, and if I was there she stayed in her room.” I clamp my lips together, but the sob breaks out anyway.

“I’m so sorry.” The blue of his gaze glistens with emotion, so sharp it sears me. “It was exhausting. It is exhausting.” “Do you need a minute?” I shake my head. I need to get this over with. To tell him everything, expel it. Then it will be done. “What is your relationship with her like now?” “She needs me all the time. My phone rings all day, every day. A new ailment. A new diagnosis. A new second opinion.” “So, basically you have become the mother?” “Yes.” “And who takes care of you?” “Richard did.” And with that, I let go. I let it all go. Every tear pours out with strangled breaths and a broken heart. The tears of a child who grew up too fast. The tears of an adult who lost too much.

CHAPTER TWELVE PRESTON

SHE’S BROKEN, and all I want to do is mend her. Each tear she sheds rips a little bit more of my already tattered soul. Hearing about her childhood is almost too much to bear. She’s lost, wandering alone in this world. I try to open my mouth to comfort her, but I remind myself I’m here to listen. Not to take her in my arms and hold her. But I want to. I want to tell her it will all be okay. That every bad thing that happened turned her into the amazing woman she is today. I don’t know her well, but I can already tell. She’s so much more than she lets on. So much more than she gives herself credit for. She’s strong and loyal, and she’s beautiful. Inside and out. I shouldn’t think these things. I shouldn’t look at her in this light, but I can’t help it. As she tells me her story, foreign feelings invade my bloodstream. What type of mother would abandon her child like that? What kind of mother forces her child to be the parent? Sadness, outrage, and disapproval flows through me. Judgment clouds all reason, making me a completely biased voice. I’m judging this woman I don’t even know. Condemning her. God, my head’s a mess. I can’t think things like this. I need to be impartial. But I’m so angry for her. I’m not objective and I shouldn’t continue to treat her. Hell, I’m not even sure I should be in the same room with her. It takes every bit of my energy to not reach out for her. Not to grab her in my arms, pull her into me and never let her go. To tell her she’ll be okay and I would protect her. But instead, I straighten my back and tighten my jaw. She might think I’m cold. I might seem stiff, but it’s the only way I know. It’s the only thing I can do to not comfort her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN EVE

I’M FREAKING TIRED. So tired I can barely make out the words I’m typing on my keyboard. Needing a pick-me-up, I head to the coffee room. Surprisingly, no one is in here, but I welcome the silence. As much I’ve always enjoyed the energy coursing through the office, my heart isn’t here anymore. These last few weeks, I’ve been coasting. Basically pretending to work as I attempt to keep my mind and emotions at bay. Thank God no one has asked what I’ve been up to because the answer would be nothing. I haven’t contacted any new leads. I haven’t called any of my clients. I’ve done nothing. As the Keurig roars to life and steam from the machine fills the air, a presence looms behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I see Barry standing close. I narrow my eyes at him. “Can I help you?” “Nope. Just grabbing coffee.” The heat of his body tells me he’s standing too close. “Barry? Do you mind giving me some space?” He shuffles a step, but he’s still too close. “So …” He leans in to speak and the closer he gets, the more I feel as if I’m being suffocated. “Did Richard ever tell you his partner’s name? Or better yet, has the lawyer for his estate contacted you?” Even though I do know, I’m hesitant to tell anyone. It was bad enough for me to be Richard’s favorite, but if the staff knew my mom was the silent owner, it would make working here even more complicated. I don’t owe Barry an answer. The silent partner is a non-entity. Apart from providing capital, she has no interest in becoming involved. “No, Barry. I don’t,” I manage, but the more we talk of Richard, the more my heart rate accelerates. Without saying another word, I jet down the hall and into the bathroom. Once there, I throw myself into a stall and dry heave into the toilet. This is bad. So fucking bad. I swear I’m dying. This can’t be normal. It can’t. Pulse racing. Heart pounding. Sweat and dry heaves. I’m having a heart attack. No. It’s just panic. Inhale. One. Two. Three.

Exhale. One. Two. Three. I can get through this. Think of the breathing techniques. It takes me sitting on the bathroom floor for an hour before I have the strength to get up and pretend to function. But eventually I get through.

THIS WILL BE my sixth session seeing Preston Montgomery as a patient. I can’t believe six weeks have passed since the first time I sat in his waiting room. The creak of wood causes my back to straighten. “Hi. Sorry, I’m running late today. How are you? It’s good to see you again.” He seems so relaxed and carefree. “I’m good.” I smile tightly, but I don’t think he senses my unease. He turns to his previous patient and says his good-bye before returning his attention to me. “Would you please see yourself to my office? I need to check my messages.” “Of course, no problem.” As he peers at me, something inside me stirs. A feeling I haven’t felt for a while— comfort. He sees me and understands me. It’s amazing. It’s all encompassing. His eyes blink rapidly and the moment is lost. Shaking my head, I make an effort to no longer gawk at him and head straight into his office. When he walks in a few minutes later, our eyes meet and a strange feeling lingers in the room. I find myself anxious as I wait for him to speak from across the coffee table. “Hi.” “Hey, Doc,” I say and he shakes his head at my moniker. “You seem in good sorts today.” “I am now, but I wasn’t before.” And it’s true. For weeks I’ve been off, but being here—it’s like sunshine after a stormy day. I want to bask in its rays. Feel the warmth on my face. “What happened?” “I had an awful panic attack at the office. But I’ve just been off in general. Like my chest is heavy all the time.” Except when you’re around. “Does that make sense?” “It does. Have you been practicing the breathing techniques?” “Here and there.” I look down at the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with him. I know he will see I haven’t been following his numerous suggestions. Only the ones about breathing. “That’s really good.” He either doesn’t notice how evasive I am or he’s giving me a pass. “And how has that been working for you?” He smiles and I know it’s the latter.

“It did calm me,” I admit on a sigh. “Not so much when I had the full blown attack in the office, but when I felt another one creeping up, I was able to pull away.” “So, you found the breathing helped you distance yourself from the fear?” “Yes.” “Okay, good.” He leans forward in his chair. “How about you tell me a little about what triggered your last attack?” “I was at work. A coworker was bombarding me with questions about the company. Most of my attacks happen at work, which, of course, is not ideal. I had one that was terrible this week. I felt like I was dying. Like I was having a heart attack right there in the office bathroom.” My eyes flutter closed as I shudder inwardly at the thought of every attack I’ve had at work. It’s debilitating. “Okay.” He pauses and I hear the sound of his pencil scribbling against the pad. “Tell me about your job. You said you work in marketing, but what are your daily activities?” Opening my eyes, I stare up at him. “It depends. I find leads, contact them, and then pitch them. I wine and dine them. If I land a client, I come up with a strategic marketing plan to fit their needs. That’s about it.” “I’m sure there’s a little bit more to it than that?” “Yeah, I guess, but I don’t want to bore you with the details.” “Can you talk to me about how you like working there?” “I used to love it, but it’s just not the same anymore,” I huff out. Suddenly, talking about work is suffocating. “How is it not the same?” It feels as if ice is spreading through my veins as I try to reel in my emotions. He nods to me with encouragement. I exhale and press through. “Go on, Eve, I’m here for you.” He reassures me. “I’m there because of Richard. He gave me the job. He trained me. He taught me the ins and outs. He encouraged me. I just can’t be there without him. It feels wrong.” Tears pool in my eyes and I think I might break down, but when I catch Dr. Montgomery’s eyes, there is so much compassion and understanding in them. They hold me together. They make me stronger. “I know this is difficult for you, but I think we are getting somewhere. Have you noted when this heaviness presents itself?” “I have.” “Would you like to share?” He smiles. “Not particularly.” I laugh. “But if I have to.” He purses his lips and I laugh some more as I reach for my notebook. “Fine.” I scan the pages, one after another. Note after note, until one thing becomes clear. I furrow my brow. “I see you found something. The common denominator?”

“From the look in your eyes, I believe you already know, doc.” “I do.” He looks at me with an expression full of understanding and something else, something I can’t put my finger on. I feel as if he wants to close the gap and reach for me, and then just as quickly it’s gone. “Go on.” I take a deep inhale then let out an audible breath. “Work. It’s almost always at work.” “Why do you think that is?” “If I knew the answer to that—” “I know you don’t, but that’s why we’re here. We’ll figure this out together.” “Can’t you just tell me?” “I can tell you my belief, but until you figure it out for yourself, you won’t learn. It’s like a plant. You drop a seed into the dirt, pour a little water, but in the end, the seed needs to learn how to grow by its self. All you can do is give it the tools it needs.” “Fine. Don’t tell me,” I huff out and he laughs again. It’s a beautiful sound. “Tell me some of the things Richard did for you in the office and outside the office. You told me he was always there for you in your personal life, and that at work he helped you with your training. What else did he do?” “He gave me encouragement.” “Does anyone else give you that?” “No.” He cast his eyes down and his jaw tightens. My answer seems to sadden and anger him at the same time. “So, now when you’re working, you no longer have reassurance that you are doing a good job?” My mouth drops open. Is that it? “What are you thinking?” “It’s more than the encouragement. It’s the approval, right? The acknowledgment?” He nods as I work it out. “And it’s because of what?” “Growing up, who gave you encouragement?” “No one. Well, no one but Richard.” “So, your belief in yourself is dependent on him?” “Yeah, I guess.” “And how do you feel now at work?” “Unmotivated. I have no idea what I’m doing. I can’t see the correct path for anything. It’s as if I can’t do it anymore. It’s as though I don’t know what I’m doing now without him there. God, I miss him so much.” “And what do you think Richard would say to that?” I close my eyes and hear his words in my head.

“He would say that notion was ridiculous. That I’m an amazing woman and I can succeed in whatever I put my mind to.” “So, here’s what I think. Richard was a father figure and a mentor for almost your whole life. I think the reason your panic attacks are mostly triggered at the office is because your need for approval was always fulfilled by him instead of your parents, and now his absence is a giant void that’s manifesting itself into anxiety.” I consider his words and they make so much sense. How had I not seen it? Was I so blinded by my grief that I couldn’t see what was so blatantly in front of me? He was my father, my mother … my mentor. “So what do I do?” I mumble. “You do what he would have advised. You take one day at a time. Every time you start to panic, when you start doubting your ability to do your job—when you’re questioning your decisions—you visualize Richard. You think of him and the lessons he implemented all your life. You remember his words. You replay them and you live them. He was your champion. Now you need to learn to be your own champion, Eve.” “I don’t know if I can.” “You can.” His voice is so assertive. So sure. “How do you know?” “Because I have faith in you.” Warmth spreads through me at his words. Familiar words Richard once said. They make me believe.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN EVE

3 WEEKS LATER … Journal entry Ever since we figured out why work was a trigger, the panic has lessened. It’s crazy how the techniques he was so adamant about using seem to work. The only thing that hasn’t gotten better is my nights. I still suffer from anxiety over the idea of sleeping. I’m not sure why I don’t tell him. Okay, that’s a lie. I’m too scared to acknowledge them. Afraid that finding the catalyst of them will break me and swallow me whole. Instead, every week I sit on the couch in front of him and pretend they never happened.

THE DESIRE TO sneak out of the apartment before Sydney wakes is encompassing. It’s been a long, grueling week, and I need a minute to myself. I want to go grab breakfast alone but I have to do the right thing and at least ask. “Syd? You want breakfast?” A groan emanates through the door separating us. I pop my head in. “Syd?” She’s still lying in her bed, and she’s submerged under the blanket. “Too early.” “It’s actually not.” “Why did we drink so much last night?” She buries her head under the pillow and I force back a laugh. “Because you said, and I quote, ‘Guys get cuter when we’re drunk.’ Is that a no to breakfast?” She doesn’t answer, so I assume the answer is no. “Text me if you want me to bring you back something,” I yell on my way out. Throwing on my coat and scarf, I head out into the winter air. The wind bites my skin. It causes my eyes to water. Bearing down against the elements, I push the door open to the diner and step inside. What the hell? What is he doing here? Standing in the corner is Dr. Montgomery, and he’s with two small children. I can’t let him see me.

Quickly, I attempt to turn around. Bumping into your therapist over waffles could definitely get awkward. “Eve?” His face blanches and he straightens his back. A strange look passes over his features. Maybe he’s shocked to see me, too. He’s dressed casually today. So casual I might not have recognized him if not for the mesmerizing eyes. He’s wearing a tight gray thermal, distressed jeans, and Chucks. It makes him appear younger than usual, but the fine lines along his forehead lead me to believe he’s in his mid-thirties. My eyes follow a path to survey him in his entirety. He’s tall and lean, and towers over my five foot four frame. His chocolate hair has streaks of blond as if it’s been sun kissed. It looks as though he recently ran his fingers through it because it has that perfectly tousled look to it. And his bone structure is striking. “Uncle Preston, Uncle Preston.” A little girl tugs on the hem of his shirt and brings me out of my haze. “Yes, sweetheart?” he coos at her, his lip tipping into the first genuine smile I have ever seen on his face. It’s a beautiful smile. A caring smile. One that says he adores this little girl and would do anything for her. A caring protector who would lay down his life for her happiness. It reminds me of the way Richard used to smile at me. It makes my heart lurch at the thought, but it also makes me want to get to know him better. It makes me want to get to know this side of him. “Who’s she?” she blurts out in a small voice and he lets out a laugh. “This is Eve, she’s a …” He pauses, his lips pinching together as he considers an appropriate title for me. “A friend.” “A girlfriend?” she teases and I feel my whole face flush. “No, Avery. She’s not a girlfriend.” “You’re really pretty. You should be his girlfriend,” she teases in her little squeaky voice and I wonder how old she is to have so much sass. “You look like Elsa. Are you Elsa?” I can’t help but stifle back a laugh. “No sweetie, I’m not.” “Oh.” She lets out a huff and turns around, no longer impressed by me. My lips part in a smile and I catch Dr. Montgomery suppressing his own smile as well. All of a sudden another face pops out from behind him. This time it’s a little boy. He looks to be the same age as the little girl, Avery. Their features are similar. Both have crystal blue eyes and small button noses. Their hair has the same golden brown color with streaks of blond. “Hi, and who is this?” I say looking straight at the little boy, still hiding behind his uncle’s leg. “This is Logan. Logan, can you say hi?” I see Dr. Montgomery gently embrace him, encouraging him, letting him know he’s there for him if he needs him. “When I was his age I was shy, too. He doesn’t have to say hi.” I turn my attention to the little boy. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable.” Trying to think of something to say to put him at ease, I notice his T-shirt has a familiar cartoon

on it. “Do you like Cars?” He gives me a timid nod. “I have seen the movie a million times.” His pupils enlarge at my words. He looks awestruck. “Hi, Eve,” he whispers out and a part of me melts. This child reminds me so much of me as a child. I want to hug him and tell him there is nothing to be scared of. From my peripheral vision, I see the doctor staring. His blue eyes pierce the distance separating us. They search my own as if trying to hear my thoughts. At first they are sharp and accessing, but as each second passes between us and Logan moves farther into the room, no longer hiding, they soften. They are kind and tender and say thank you. “Are you going to see the new one in the theater? It just came out,” I ask Logan and by this point he’s no longer hidden at all. Now he stands right beside me. A giant grin lines his face. His eyes are alive and dance with wonder as he turns and bounces with excitement. “Can we? Can we?” He tugs on his uncle’s coat, and with that Dr. Montgomery lets out a laugh. He looks gorgeous when he laughs. “Maybe after breakfast.” “That would be super fun. Do you have all the toys?” I turn my head back to Logan and reach out to have a look at his car. “I have every single toy. Uncle Preston got me a ton for my last birthday.” He reaches into his little pocket and pulls out car after car. “It was your birthday? How old are you?” I ask. “I’m five.” He stands proud. “You are? Wow. You’re so big.” Avery steps forward with her little hand on her hip. “I’m older.” Dr. Montgomery’s lip turns up as he shakes his head. “She’s five minutes older than Logan,” he clarifies. “I’m still older, Uncle Preston.” He places his arm around her and gives her a little squeeze, all while smirking. This is a totally different side to him, so unlike the stiff professional version I’m met with at my sessions. I like seeing this side. It makes him seem feasible. Like us sitting together at a table with his niece and nephew makes sense. I feel a tug on my shirt and I look down to see Logan standing directly beside me. “This one is from the first movie and this one is the bad guy.” The tiny features of his face grimace as he holds the mean car up to me. “I know. He’s really mean.” “Yeah, like my sister.” He laughs. I glance up and Dr. Montgomery’s watching me intently. His eyes shimmer, silently saying a million things. So many unspoken words behind them, words that I’m desperate to hear. His lips part in a half smile and then he peers back down to his nephew. At that moment the hostess walks over with three menus. “It was good seeing you,” Dr. Montgomery says to me as he ushers the kids away from

me. But Logan doesn’t move. Instead, he holds steadfast and pouts his lip. “Can she eat with us?” Logan asks him. “I don’t think so,” I say, but I wish I could. I’d do anything to be able to stay and spend more time with them. “Oh, come on, Uncle Preston. Please, please, please,” he whines, and Avery turns back toward us and starts to chime in with her own chant. A strange, faintly eager look flashes across his normally professional façade. An array of emotions plays out on his features, but the one that stands out the most is a plea … A plea to make this little boy and girl he obviously cares deeply for happy. I smile down at the tiny faces below me. “Of course I will.” I lift my gaze and I’m met with mesmerizing blue. He mouths a thank you and I give him a sincere smile in return. As we start walking toward a big booth, Avery and Logan are lost in an argument about his cars being cooler than her Barbie dolls. I feel a soft touch on my shoulder and turn to find Dr. Montgomery staring back at me. “Thank you, Eve. I know this isn’t how you planned to spend your day. Having you join us is against the rules—you being a patient and all—but these kids … they’re everything to me, and Logan’s going through a tough time right now. So, even though it’s wrong … Thank you.” The sadness in his stare is palpable. It breaks my heart into a million pieces. “What’s going on?” “He’s just really having a tough time in kindergarten. It’s hard for him to adjust. He’s not fitting in, and getting along with his peers has been a struggle. He’s shy, introverted and some of the kids have been teasing him. So to see him …” He pauses to inhale deeply and calm his emotions. “To see him so comfortable with you, it really means a lot.” “They’re really sweet kids. Having breakfast with you is a pleasure. You have nothing to worry about.” “Come on, they’re almost at the table.” Dr. Montgomery places his hand on the small of my back to let me lead the way. The contact causes my skin to prick with goose bumps. When the four of us arrive at the booth, I find myself sandwiched between the children and all I can do is laugh. “So, what’s everyone having?” I ask as I look from right to left at both kids. In unison they both answer, “Chocolate chip waffles.” “I see you’ve been here before.” Their little heads bob up and down. “We come here all the time with Uncle Preston,” Avery declares and I lift my gaze to catch my doctor’s eyes. “What will you have?” he inquires. “I’m having the same. What about you?” “Same. It’s my weekend staple.” Interesting. “That’s funny. I’ve been coming here for years and I’ve never seen you before.” Small lines etch away at his features and his pupils appear to grow larger, but he

quickly masks the change and smiles. “I’m usually here a bit earlier than this, but with the kids today …” The waitress comes over and he orders the famous chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream for all of us. When she steps away, I turn my attention back to Logan on my right hand side who is racing his cars across the table in front of me. “Who’s winning?” I ask. “Lightening McQueen,” he exclaims and the excitement in his little voice fills me with excitement, too. “Of course he is.” “So, do you guys live around here?” I’m looking at Logan when I ask this, but the truth is I’m secretly hoping for an answer from his uncle. The desire to know more about this man is all encompassing. “Not us,” Logan replies as he pushes the car back and forth, the little tires scratching at the wood of the table. “But Uncle Preston does.” I look up. “Where do you live?” He fidgets in his chair before answering. “Lexington and Thirty-Fifth.” “Oh? I’m on Thirty-Third and Third.” He nods but doesn’t reply. Instead, he reaches across the table for the rogue car that Logan has rolled his way and proceeds to enter the race. I watch him for a moment. I watch sun stream in through the window and blanket him with a glow. I watch the love that pours from him toward the kids. This is a man I want to know. A man I could be friends with. It’s the first time in a long time that I wish time would cease, but instead, it seems to pass faster than normal. There’s never a lull in the conversation between us. The kids tell us stories all about kindergarten and their friends and all the mischief they get themselves into. The waitress returns with our breakfast and the table is filled with sounds of food joy. I lift my fork and take another giant mouthful, this time scooping up extra cream. As I enjoy and savor the flavor, I hear a round of giggles echoing through the air. “What?” I lift my eyebrow and from across the table Dr. Montgomery leans forward. Time stands still as his hand reaches up. “You have a—” His finger wipes my lip and it causes my breath to hitch. Our eyes lock. The intensity of his stare sears me. Every ounce of oxygen leaves my body, but then his blue eyes widen in shock as he realizes what he’s done. His hand jerks back, as though burned. “You had something … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he stammers. “It’s okay.” I try and shake it off, but I still feel his finger on my skin. “That was funny. It looked like you had a mustache.” Logan laughs. Then Avery joins in and pretty soon the tension has dissipated as we all begin to laugh. Through our laughter, I

notice the waitress deliver the bill and I reach into my purse, but I’m met with Dr. Montgomery shaking his head at me from across the table. “My treat.” “Thank you, I had such a great time with you guys today.” Logan grabs my hand. His little fingers are sticky to the touch. “Do you want to go sledding with us?” he asks and I glance out the window. This morning when I left the apartment, I hadn’t noticed how perfect it was outside. But now sitting here, I see that it’s a beautiful winter day. The streets of Manhattan are blanketed with freshly fallen snow. It’s still clean and glistens into a beautiful crisp white. “You guys are going sledding?” My right eyebrow rises in question and Dr. Montgomery’s lips spread into a large grin. “It’s on the list of cool uncle duties.” “Oh, you’re the cool uncle?” “You bet.” “I can totally see that. So, sledding. That sounds like fun.” I can imagine him running with kids in Central Park, sled in tow. What I would do to see that. “Come. Please, please, please!” Avery chimes in with her own little pleas. Dr. Montgomery is deep in thought, but when our gaze catches, he exhales. “You could join us if you want?” His lips turn up. It’s a different smile and so unlike all the other smiles I’ve now seen from him today. It’s not the smirk, nor is it the mesmerizing one where his eyes twinkle. It’s not the one that he gives his niece and nephew either. No, this smile says he’s unsure. That he wants me to come, he just doesn’t want to blur the lines anymore than he already has. This smile makes me beam up at him. But then my lips purse because I can’t go. I need to check on my mom. “I can’t, guys.” Both kids pout. “I already have plans. I wish I could say yes, but unfortunately, I can’t. Maybe next time.” Please, God, let there be a next time. We all go awkwardly silent for a minute, the kids silently sulking. When the waitress returns with his change, we stand. “Can we see you again?” Logan says to me. “Of course. I would love that.” “It was good seeing you, and thank you for being so good with them,” Dr. Montgomery says. Both kids run up to give me a hug and as I hug them back I give them all a small smile and turn to leave. I’m off to my mom’s and they’re off to have a perfect day, one I wish I could have with them. I exit the restaurant and decide to walk the distance to my mother’s apartment. My feet slip into a slow, sluggish rhythm as I make my way down the sidewalk. I’m procrastinating. That much is obvious. There are a million things I would rather be doing than heading uptown to take care of my mother. One of them is sledding. I yearn to be

silly and normal and to enjoy myself. But instead, I find myself standing on the corner, waiting for the light to change. A knot is forming in my stomach from worrying what I will find when I arrive. No, I can’t let my brain go there right now, not after my wonderful morning. In place of the dreary thoughts looming over me, I think of the kids and Dr. Montgomery. Today I saw a different side of him, a playful side. I’m not sure that’s the kind of thing I should know about my doctor. I’m already attracted to him physically, and seeing him like this … It’s confusing. He’s not like this in his office. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to act now. A memory flashes before my eyes. His finger. The feel of his skin on mine as he slides away the cream that collected on my lip. Shit. This just got a whole lot more complicated.

AS I PEEL the clothes off my body hours later, my cell phone rings. I’m not sure who it could be, but I tense when I see it’s my mother. Panic sets in. I was with her earlier today. This can’t be good. “Hey, Mom. Are you okay?” “I’m dying.” Shit. “You’re not dying, Mom.” Nervously, I pace my room. This can’t be happening right now. I want to scream. “No, I am. This time for sure.” “Why do you think that?” “My head is killing me and I have this weird rash on my arms. I know it’s spreading. I can feel it.” “Can you, or is it in your mind?” “I resent that you think that way. Of course it’s not in my mind. I need you to take—” “Mom, I was there all afternoon and you were fine. I’m not coming back to your apartment to take you to the hospital over a headache.” “But it could be anything! I could have a tumor. It could be cancer. I could die. You have no idea. I could be dying,” she screams over the phone. My entire body is tense, as if I’m glass and one wrong word will send me crashing into a million pieces. “Okay, Mom. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” And just like that, I fall to pieces.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN EVE

SOFT KISSES FAN MY SKIN. They trace my collar to the hollow of my neck. My fingers thread in his hair. A soft, desperate moan escapes me. I want him so much. Right here, right now. He trails his hand downward. Tingles spread across my body, lower and lower until he’s teasing my entrance. “Preston.” I shoot forward. My breath is uneven and ragged. I try to gain my composure, but it’s virtually impossible as I’m brought back into the first dream I’ve had in weeks. I exhale a shallow breath. What the hell is going on with me? First, disturbing nightmares filled with blood, and now, sexual dreams about my therapist. I’m starting to think Preston—Dr. Montgomery—should give me a referral to a doctor who can medicate me. I’m obviously crazy. Needing an outlet for my pent up frustrations, I pick up my journal and start writing. JOURNAL ENTRY I thought of him all day. I dreamt of him all night. I dreamt of how his hands would feel while he rocked me. With every minute that passes, I wonder how his lips would taste. For some reason, I want to tell him everything, and I want him to hold me in his arms as I confess the demons that lurk inside. By the time I calm myself enough to look at the clock next to my bed, the damn thing starts blaring with upbeat tunes. It’s after six in the morning. When I enter the kitchen, I find Sydney already dressed for work. “Good morning, sunshine. Where were you yesterday?” she asks from her perch on a stool at the kitchen island. “After breakfast, which you were too hung-over to attend, I went to my mom’s. You were sleeping by the time I got home … or were you still sleeping?” “You know, if you had woken me I would have joined you for breakfast.”

“Um, I did try to wake you. We had a whole conversation, you don’t remember? How drunk were you?” I chide, but secretly I’m happy she was holed up in bed yesterday. My cheeks warm and a flush spreads across my body. “Why are you turning bright red? Did something happen?” “Um, no.” It’s no big deal, but I doubt she’d understand my schoolgirl crush. I have it completely under control. Nothing is happening. Nothing will happen. It’s completely innocent. Just because he unnerves me, comforts me and makes me feel stronger, doesn’t mean … Fuck. God, why does he have to be my therapist? Why did I have to see the other side of him? Why does he have to take my breath away? Fuck. I’m screwed. Yeah, no way can I tell Sydney anything.

MONDAY COMES before I know it. Then Tuesday. By the time Wednesday arrives, I’m ready for the week to be over. The clock on my desk says its only three p.m. Two more days to go. The phone rings on my desk and the light for my line rings. “The Stone Agency. This is Eve.” “Eve, it’s Michael.” “Hi, Michael. How can I help you?” “When you have a free minute, can you come to my office?” “Yes, of course. No problem.” What could he want to talk to me about? Maybe he’s noticed my lack of work, or maybe a client complained. Maybe he’s noticed my attacks? My heart pounds and my hands shake at my sides as I approach his door. When I walk into his office, he motions for me to close the door and take a seat. If my heart rams against my ribs any harder, it might pop out of my chest. He looks tired as he continues to study me for a few more minutes before he exhales. “How are you?” “I’m okay.” “I’ve been meaning to check on you. Richard would have wanted me to.” I recognize the remorse in his voice. My lips part slightly. “There is no obligation, Michael. It’s okay.” “I’m not sure you know this, but Richard and I were really close. I started working for him

straight out of college. Your father had just passed.” He bowed his head before looking back up. “He was hurting. He had lost his best friend. I understood his loss. I had lost my older brother to drugs. I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, I know how close you and Richard were. I know how much he loved you. You were for all intents and purposes his daughter, and if there is anything you ever need, I’m here for you. I’ll never be Richard. I wouldn’t try to fill his shoes. But I can be your friend when and if you need one. I would consider it a great honor to be a part of your life.” “Thank you, Michael. I’d like that.” His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle, aging him. We sit in silence for a moment and then he coughs, clearing his throat. “Oh, I forgot to mention earlier, but the lawyers are coming at the end of next week to go through the paperwork in regards to the company. Can you mark it on your calendar?” “Okay. Sure. No problem.” “Great, well, I’m sure you have much work to catch up on, so I’ll speak to you later.” If he only knew how much …

CHAPTER SIXTEEN EVE

PACING BACK and forth in my room, I’m debating whether I should pour myself a glass of wine. I shouldn’t. My drinking only puts a Band Aid on the issue … my damn nightmares. I’m just so goddamn scared to close my eyes without its security. My anxiety feels like an all-encompassing disease. It coils inside me like a venomous serpent. Its bitterness slowly infects me. Until one day it takes over everything. My hands start to sweat. My muscles start to tighten. Pure panic fills me fast. It feels as if every last breath has been extracted from my lungs. I grab at my arm, pressing my index finger to the pulse in my wrist. It beats erratically. Pain radiates down my left arm as all the muscles tense, and tears pour down my face. I grab my phone and call the number on Dr. Montgomery’s card. Ring. Inhale. Ring. Exhale. Rin— “Hello?” My body stiffens at the sound of his voice. I didn’t expect him to answer, and now that he has I don’t know what to say. “Hello, is anyone there?” “Dr. Montgomery?” “Eve, is that you?” “Yes,” I squeak. “Is everything okay?” “Yeah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you. I didn’t think you would answer.” “You’re not bothering me.” I let out a chocked sob.

“Shh, you’re okay. Shh,” he coos in the phone. “Take a deep breath in. Now exhale. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” “I’m scared,” I whimper. “What are you scared of?” “Everything.” “I’ve got you. I’m here, okay? Can you tell me what set you off tonight?” “I’m afraid to fall asleep.” It sounds so ridiculous, even to my own ears. But the fear is real. “How long has this been going on?” “I’m sure you’re busy. I’m okay now.” I evade his question. Calling him was a mistake. “Eve.” His voice is authoritative. “Please, speak to me.” I can’t help but concede. “I have nightmares.” Once I purge the words I purposely withheld for so long, it feels as if a small weight that I carry in my heart is lifted. “What are they about?” I let out an audible sigh. “I don’t know.” “You don’t remember your nightmares when you wake?” “Not really.” “Is there anything at all that sticks out?” “The smell of blood.” I hear the steady rhythm of his breathing through the line. “Do you want to meet me?” “Meet you?” I look at the clock. It’s after nine pm. “Yes, come to the diner.” He’s not asking me to meet him, he’s telling me, and something inside me stirs. The idea of seeing Dr. Montgomery again outside the office has my pulse racing, jumping out of my bed and searching for clothes. “Okay, give me thirty minutes,” I reply “See you then.” He hangs up, leaving me in a ball of nerves. Shit. I throw on a cute pair of leggings, an oversized button down, and my boots. Then I stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth, fix my hair and put on a light dusting of makeup. I want to appear as if I just rolled out of bed, not that I’m “trying.” Even though I am. I should probably find a new doctor, one who doesn’t have me running around like a crazy woman trying to look pretty for. But I can’t make myself do that. When I’m with him, I feel normal. I probably shouldn’t since I talk to him about my deep secrets and neuroses, but I do. Grabbing my pea coat, I make my way to the elevator and then down to the lobby and into the frigid air. It’s a cold blast that has my teeth chattering as I walk to the corner of Thirty-

Fifth and Third, but luck is on my side as it only takes me a few minutes to get there. Not seeing him, I step farther into the room and go to wait by the wall. After a few seconds, I sense a familiar presence beside me, and my heart hammers in my chest. “Eve.” Slowly, I turn my face up and I meet shimmering blue eyes. “Oh, hi. Have you been here long?” I ask. “No. Just got here. Ready to sit?” I nod and the hostess leads us to an empty table in the corner. After we sit, Dr. Montgomery cocks his head to the side. Surveying. “You okay?” “I’ve been better.” “Why didn’t you tell me you were having nightmares?” I was right. Before, he was hurt. Now, sitting across from him, it plays clearly over his features. His brows are knit, his teeth are biting his lower lip, but really it’s the eyes that give him away. They look hollow, sad, and concerned. “I was embarrassed.” My cheeks grow warm from the admission. “You never have to be embarrassed in front of me. I won’t judge you.” His statement is true. There isn’t an ounce of judgment in his voice. “Do you want to tell me about them now.” I shake my head. “I understand.” We sit in silence for a few seconds. The waitress comes over and he orders a milkshake and a burger. When she turns to me, I reply that I’ll only have water. “You have to get something.” Dr. Montgomery says as the waitress walks away. “I already ate dinner.” “So get dessert.” I’ll have you for dessert. Thank God he can’t hear the dirty thoughts playing through my mind. “It’s too late to eat dessert.” “It’s never too late for something sweet.” With that he smiles, and a part of me melts, right then and there at the table. His lips turn up a fraction and I blush. “Why are you eating so late?” I blurt out, trying to right my improper thoughts. “I went downtown to see a movie right after work.” “Really? That’s cool that you got to go out after work. I have too much to do this week, but on Friday, Corner Bar here I come.” “Yeah, normally I don’t go out during the work week, and on the weekends I go to Oak. But whenever a new foreign film comes out, I go to the afternoon or evening show on release day,” he admits and I can’t hold back the giggle that escapes. “Hey, are you making fun of me?” He pretends to pout. “Sorry, that just slipped out. I totally didn’t expect that. Once again, you caught me off

guard. Sledding, foreign films—you’re the most interesting person I know.” Did I just say that out loud? “So. Um. How did you get into watching them?” “So, I went to NYU. Well, at the time my girlfriend and I were both film majors. She loved foreign films, every time a new movie came out, we had a tradition to see it on opening day during the afternoon to avoid the crowds.” “And you still keep this tradition?” “Yeah.” “And does she?” “She’s dead.” My mouth drops open at this information. “Oh.” “A new film came out today so I went.” Running my hands through my hair, I try to come up with any response. “Okay, cool.” God, I’m lame. He tells me his ex-girlfriend is dead and all I can say is, “Okay, cool.” I study him for a minute. “Actually, you do seem like the type to watch foreign films.” “And what type is that?” “The deep, dark, and brooding type.” “Wait, do I really seem that way?” He grimaces. “Kind of. You’re pretty serious all the time.” He looks down at his hands on the table, then lifts his eyes to meet mine. His usual pale blues appear flat and lifeless. “I’m only that way with you.” His tone is low and he sounds apologetic. I don’t speak for a moment, trying to absorb what he just said. “Oh.” “I didn’t mean it like that.” Uncomfortable, I shuffle in my seat. “How did you mean it?” “You’re my patient. I have to act that way.” “But why? We’re just two people drinking coffee and having a conversation.” “No matter where we are, we’ll never be just friends having a cup of coffee.” “I-I don’t understand.” My voice rises louder than I intended and he peers around the room before leaning into the table and answering me in a whisper. “As your psychologist, there is a trust level we have to have. Our relationship is about you. If it starts to be about me, then lines have been crossed.” My chest hurts. I hate this. “I don’t think it’s that black and white.” “It has to be. This … Me eating with you … Even this is frowned upon.” “Then, why are you here?” He shakes his head and bites his lip. “I needed to see you. Make sure you were okay. I

guess I can’t stay away.” A muscle in his jaw twitches and I know he wants to say more but doesn’t. “I don’t want you to. I feel comfortable with you, and I don’t normally—” My voice shakes as my lips tremble. “You shouldn’t feel comfortable with me. Being friends … We’re asking for trouble.” “I don’t care, so why should you?” He looks down and lets out a sigh. His gaze lifts again. “It’s not me who cares. It’s the APA.” My eyebrow lifts in confusion. “The American Psychological Association. They care,” he clarifies. The thought rips me apart. I want to continue to argue that it’s okay, but I know he won’t concede. I don’t want to lose this, so I release an exhale and put on a fake smile. “So, tell me about this film,” I say, essentially changing the conversation. If this is all I get, I refuse to waste it talking about why we can’t be friends. Once we’re done and Dr. Montgomery pays the bill, we both get up to exit the restaurant. As we approach the door, he holds it open and allows me to exit first. When I pass through, he places his hand on the small of my back, and my body tenses as electric currents tingle from where he touches me. Reality starts to blend with this fantasy bubble of two friends having a late night bite together in the city. “My place is this way.” I gesture in the direction of my apartment. “I’m in the opposite direction, but I’ll walk you back.” He shifts his weight back and forth on the balls of his feet and I think he’s not ready to part ways, either. “You’re on ThirtyThird, right?” “Yeah, the high-rise on the corner. But you don’t have to.” “I want to.” He becomes quiet as his eyes roam over me. They’re beautiful. Were they always so clear? What the fuck is wrong with me? I need to get out of here. I need air and distance from this man who’s clouding my better judgment, because right now I don’t give a damn about the APA or whatever it’s called. All I want is to have him stare into my eyes and smile. “When you get home, I want you to practice your breathing and visualization. I would also suggest running a bath.” “Okay,” I squeak. The idea of him knowing I’ll be lying naked in a bath has my cheeks going warm. “Okay, great. I think that should really help tonight, but if it doesn’t you can call me, and we can talk through it before we meet on Friday.” Neither of us speaks the rest of the way to my apartment. When we get to my high rise, I turn to face him and accidently lose my footing. My body lurches forward. I’m about to collide with the cement when two strong arms catch me. He pulls me toward him and holds me in his arms.

Looking up, our eyes lock. I get lost in his mesmerizing blues, never wanting to leave the comfort of his strength, but then I see his cheeks pale and a curse pours from his lips. He presses his lids closed for a moment before reopening them and pulling away from me. I don’t know what to do or how to make the moment right, so I reach forward and my hand touches his. Gently … Softly … I hear his inhale of oxygen as the pads of my fingers press against his skin. “Thank you, Dr. Montgomery.” He exhales. “Please, call me Preston. After waffles, late night calls and saving you from falling. We can be on a first name basis.” He laughs to make light of the situation, but it makes my whole body warm. “Goodnight, Preston.” His name rolls off my tongue like a dirty secret. Like forbidden fruit. Like something I want to say over and over again but shouldn’t. “Goodnight, Eve.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN EVE

I DASH into the office on Friday morning with a minute to spare, but it wouldn’t matter if I were late. Most of the staff works from home anyway. The beauty of marketing is you can do it from anywhere, which has been great for me since the funeral and the start of my panic attacks. But unfortunately, with the new project I’m working on, I need to meet with Michael every day, so working from home isn’t an option. My eyes roam the room and I wonder if Sydney is here yet. She left the apartment early this morning and I didn’t see her. While I search for her, I notice Barry standing by the windows. When he sees me, his pupils grow and he moves in my direction. Not in the mood to deal with him, I look for an escape. With steady steps, I head to the break room and as if I conjured her, Sydney is by the Keurig. “Hey, you,” I say as I step into the room and reach for a mug. She peers over her shoulder and smiles at me. “What up? God, am I tired.” My stomach tightens. I wonder if she’s tired because I kept her up last night with my nightmares. Or worse yet, that I’ve been keeping her up for weeks with my nightmares. “Where were you this morning?” “Oh, I had to pick up a banner I ordered for a client.” The machine roars to life and she leans in closer to speak. “This new presentation is kicking my ass. What’s going on with you? I never see you anymore. You’re always off running around, and when you’re home, you’re holed up in your room. You doing okay? Did you get any sleep last night?” “I guess, kind of.” I smile through a yawn. “How’s therapy going, by the way? Figure anything out yet?” Her eyebrow rises and I laugh. “It’s not like that, Syd. I’m pretty sure it will take more than a handful of sessions and one phone call to fix me.” “A phone call? You didn’t tell me that?” Oops. “Did something happen?” Her eyes go round as each word she says raises an octave. “I kind of freaked out a few nights ago,” I mutter out, knowing full well she’ll want details and I’m too tired to give them right now.

“What do you mean?” “I had an attack.” A crease appears between her brows at my admission. “Why didn’t you come to me? I had no idea. I’m right down the hall.” “I know. I just feel like such a burden lately. My problems—” She lifts a hand. “Are my problems. We are more than just roommates, Eve. You’re my friend. You’re like a sister to me. You can tell me these things.” “I know. I just—” “Please, next time can you come to me? I want to be there for you.” “Okay.” I nod. “I really care about you, and I—” “I know, and I’m sorry. I promise.” I give her a small smile. “I have so much work to do today. Lunch?” “Sure.” “Sushi?” “Sounds perfect.” I head back to my desk. As I stare aimlessly at the papers in front of me, a restless feeling gnaws at me from the inside out. When will the pain go away?

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN PRESTON

TAP Tap Tap The pen in my hand drums against the surface of my desk. For the last two and half months, the highlight of every week is our sessions together. Where is she? Why isn’t she here yet? Glancing across the room to the clock on the wall I take in the time … She’s officially fifteen minutes late. I’m going to call her. My fingers scroll through the contacts until I reach her name and I press send. The phone goes straight to voicemail. Shit. I would be lying to myself if I didn’t admit I was nervous. After seeing her a few days ago, I know she’s been having a rough time, and the fact that she’s not here at her scheduled appointment isn’t like her. I want to make sure she’s okay, but other then calling what can I do? Nothing. So I’ll just have to wait. I’ll give her five more minutes. The time I’ve allotted has come and gone and her phone is still sending me to voicemail, so I decide to head out for the night. Eve was my last patient for the day and since she’s not here I’m going home. When I’m almost to my place, my stomach growls. Fuck. I have no food at home. What’s fast and won’t take too long? Pizza. I’ll just head over to Pizza 33 and grab a quick bite. I’ll be in and out in five minutes, then I can head home and go over my patient notes for the day. Walking down Third Avenue, I get to the corner and wait for the light to change so I can cross. With a slight turn of my head, I see the sign for The Corner Bar. Looks pretty empty for a Friday happy hour. My eyes squint as I peer inside and then I stop dead in my tracks. There she is. Standing at the near empty bar as clear as day. Why is she here when she’s supposed to be in my office? I watch as a young bartender hands her a shot and she takes a swig. She leans over the bar suggestively and my blood starts to boil. I head toward the door. A part of me wishes I were strong enough to keep walking, ignore what I see. But as the distance between the door and me gets closer, I know I’m only fooling myself. I need to go in. I have to. It’s as if a crazy beacon is going off alerting me that I have to, and for some reason I can’t will myself to not.

CHAPTER NINETEEN EVE

INSTEAD OF GOING HOME, I head straight to the bar under my building. I’m three tequila shots in when my eyes focus on the large window facing Third Avenue. I spot a man in a well-tailored suit. I can only see his profile, but he looks a lot like Dr. Montgomery. Lord, I must be drunk. No way is he here. I look back down at my empty glass and then back at the stranger, he’s nowhere to be found. Great, now I’m seeing shit, too. I let out a loud laugh. “What’s got you laughing?” Austin leans on the bar, his shaggy blond hair lying over his forehead. He combs it back and it showcases a pair of deep, warm brown eyes. They twinkle with mischief. I know I fled his apartment a few weeks ago, but he’s cute and a much better idea than daydreaming about Preston. I lean forward seductively as I answer his question. “Nothing.” The tequila is warming my body and I feel good. “Eve.” Turning around, I blink my eyes a few times. He’s here. What is he doing here? He seems larger than life towering over me. Overwhelming me. “It’s youuu … Preston.” “How many have you had?” “Just a few, but that can change.” I smirk. “What are you doing here?” “You missed your appointment today.” Wow, he sounds pissed. “Oh, shit. I totally forgot. Did you come here looking for me?” His eyes turn hooded. “No. Although I was worried about you.” My breath catches in my throat. He was worried. “Why?” “I know how you’ve been struggling, and then you didn’t show up today after work …” “So why are you here?” “Well, I was walking past the bar to grab takeout from Pizza 33, and lo and behold, who did I see through the window. Throwing back shots none the less.” His words now have a

little bite to them but as he stands there glaring down at me it’s impossible not to get lost in his blue eyes. “I guess I had a lot on my mind,” I mutter and his eyes soften. “It’s okay. I understand.” He raises his hand and runs it through his hair. He seems uncomfortable now, and I have liquid courage, so I step closer to him. Every cell of my body tingles with the proximity of my body to his. “It’s not. But I promise never to do it again.” I place my hand on his arm. His eyes narrow slightly as he takes a deep breath and lifts my hand off him. “Eve.” His voice is almost a whisper as his eyes lock on mine. For a moment I think his eyes mirror my want. “Another,” I shout across the bar at Austin, but he doesn’t hear me. “You should stop drinking. You’re drunk.” “I’m not drunk.” How dare he think he can come here and tell me what to do? This isn’t his office and he’s not in charge of me. “And if you’re not planning on having a drink with me, please leave and let me have fun with Austin over there.” I turn my back to him and wave Austin back over. “Eve.” His voice holds warning, but I don’t heed it. I lift up on my tiptoes and stick my butt out. Trying to be sexy, I lean over the bar, and with my luck, I lose my footing and stumble backwards instead. Out of nowhere, Preston’s arms reach around and catch me. My eyes meet his and his gaze sears me. The way he looks at me is almost predatory. “You’re going home.” He pulls a credit card out of his wallet and hands it to Austin. “Close out her tab, she’s leaving.” His jaw is clenched tight as he speaks, so I don’t argue. I just nod at Austin. Once the bill is paid, Preston ushers me out of the bar and we turn the corner to the entrance of my apartment building. He doesn’t speak. “This is me.” I point to the door right in front of us. I don’t want him to leave. “You’re drunk, I think—” “I’m not sure I’m interested in what you’re thinking,” I step closer, my hands resting on his chest. “That is, unless you’re thinking of coming up with me.” I meet his gaze. His eyes are dark against the black of the sky. His breathing quickens. His chest rises and falls with each inhale of air. He wants me. I can see it. A couple walks past us, forcing our bodies closer together. If I reach up, I can run my hands his through his hair. I wonder what it feels like? I wonder if it’s as soft as I imagine in my dreams. Slowly, as I study his features, I step to my tiptoes, and my body pivots forward. We are so close, too close. I can almost taste him.

I want to drink him in. I want him to devour me, consume me. He takes a step in, closing the distance. There’s something thrilling in the way he looks at me, at the way his gaze sears me. It makes me tremble. It makes me almost faint. The cadence of my heart picks up and warmth spreads through my body. Then it happens … Lips touch. Gasps and pants. Breathing each other in. With his mouth pressed against mine, I moan into his kiss. A forbidden kiss. A stolen kiss. With a sharp jerk, he steps back, turning his body away from me. A deep line mars his perfect face right between his brows. Embarrassment settles in when I realize he pulled away. I’m mortified. “I have to go,” he mutters more to himself than to me. His dazzling blues now seem lifeless and hollow. “Call my office to schedule an appointment.” No! I want to shout back. Look at me. Talk to me. But I don’t. Instead, without even a backward glance, I turn and walk into the building. He waits for me to enter, and then he leaves. Once he’s out of sight, I release a large exhale. I square my shoulders and walk right out the door and back to the bar. Austin is preparing a martini. When he lifts his head, our eyes lock and a wide grin spreads across his face. “Back so soon? Fight with the boyfriend?” His eyebrow raises and he purses his lips as though he caught me in something. I let out a bitter laugh. “He is not my boyfriend.” “Didn’t look that way to me.” He cocks his head and I just shake mine. “Trust me. He’s not.” I give him a dismissive wave of my hand, which elicits a chuckle from him. “Well, then, he wants you.” Maybe so, but not enough. He lifts his shoulder in a half shrug. “I’m a guy. I know this shit.” My eyes roll at that. “So, what can I get you, darling?” His cute twang brings a smirk to my face. “A shot.”

MY EYES ARE heavy as I make my way to my apartment and into bed. The last shot of

tequila is taking effect, but from across the room, I see the journal. Stumbling, I grasp it in my hand. JOURNAL ENTRY He kissed me and then he walked away. He left me there, standing on the sidewalk in a cloud of confusion. How can I face him again? I can’t. But then again, he kissed me. As mortified as I was, I was also right. He wants this, too. Once I’m done, I throw it across the floor. The sound echoes in my ears. Without taking off my clothes, I crawl into bed. The tequila coursing through my blood. I’m lulled to sleep reliving the kiss over and over again.

IT’S OFFICIAL, there’s a jackhammer in my scull. My whole body aches and I feel like shit. Remorse runs through me as last night plays out in my head. I wish I could wake up this morning and not remember what happened, or rather, what I instigated. But unfortunately, the memories are there, and they’re screaming at me. My stomach turns when I think of his rejection. How will I face him? I bury my head in my pillow and pretend it never happened. “Hey, sleepyhead.” I let out a groan at the sound of Sydney’s voice. “Hungover?” “No.” I reach for my pillow and place it over my head to block out the sound. “Well, you look hungover.” “I’m sick,” I mumble. I’m never leaving my bed and facing the world again. “What’s wrong?” Groaning again, I continue to hide and not answer. “Get out of there and look at me,” she scolds. “No.” “What are you? Five? Get your head out from that pillow and tell me what’s wrong.” “Sick.” “So, now you’re your mom?” Low blow. No way did she go there. I throw the pillow at her across the room, and it lands on the floor with a thump. Peeking up from the bed, I narrow my eyes at her. “Not cool.”

“It got you out, though.” She gives me a coy smile and I wish I had another pillow to throw at her head. “Seriously, though, what’s going on? You’ve never slept this late. Not even when you’re hungover.” I look her dead in the eyes. “I told you. I’m sick.” “You don’t look sick,” she retorts. “Saying you’re sick when you’re not is something you hate, so why don’t you man up and tell me what’s going on?” This is why I both love and hate Sydney. She always calls me on my bullshit. “Fine, I’m hiding. Okay? You happy now?” She nods and her lips tip up into a smile. “Kind of. What are you hiding from?” “Life.” “You need to be more specific.” “Preston—I mean Dr. Montgomery. I mean … I don’t know what I mean.” Her eyebrow rises. “I don’t get it. I feel like I’m missing some crucial info.” I bite my lip and conjure up the courage to tell her about my massive faux pas. “Um, I might have gotten drunk …” She waves her hand to get me to continue. “I might have gotten drunk and madeapassathim,” I rush out in one syllable before I chicken out. Her mouth drops open, her eyes wide. “Oh. What did he say?” “He kissed me. And then he pretty much ran away.” “He’s your therapist.” “Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious. Why do you think I’m hiding?” “You know what? Fuck it. You’re both adults, shit happens. Don’t beat yourself up over it. How are you planning on handling it from now on?” Her eyes soften as she sits on the end of the bed. “I don’t know. What do you think I should do?” “I can’t tell you what to do, but you’re making such great progress I’d hate for you to start over from scratch. Why don’t you clear the air?” “You don’t think I can just ignore it and pretend it never happened?” I don’t want to ignore it, but I know the truth and that he regrets it. “Yeah, no.” She breathes in and then lets out an exaggerated breath. “Maybe you should call his office and speak to him. If you show up to your next appointment feeling the way you do, it will be all kinds of awkward.” I shrug. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She stands and walks toward the door. “I’ll make us some greasy breakfast. Get your ass up and stop wallowing, you little wench.” I give her a little shake of my head and then I lie back down, considering what I should do. I grab my journal.

Journal Entry I’m a fuckup. Shit! What the fuck am I going to do? He’ll never want to see me again. I know it sounds crazy but he makes me feel. I’ve never had that with anyone before and it scares the life out of me. I used to laugh when I heard women talk like this but now I’m living it and it’s not so funny. He’s brought me such clarity in the last few weeks. I can’t risk losing him. Not for a passing crush, because that’s what this is. It’s only a crush. It’s only a crush. I tell myself this over and over again. As if I say it enough it will make it true. But I don’t believe it. And I’m afraid if I lose him, I’ll lose what I’ve gained. I’m afraid I’ll lose me. I pick up my phone and fire off a text. Me: I’m sorry. I’m not even sure what I’m sorry for. Missing the appointment, getting drunk, pushing my body to his, tempting him? After putting the phone down, I try to busy myself so I don’t check my phone. Eyeing the frame I bought the other week, I decide to put a picture of Richard and me in it and add it to the wall collage hanging above my desk. Where is my tape measure? It’s not in the desk drawer. It’s not under my bed? I head into Sydney’s room. “Hey, do you have a tape measure by any chance? My tape measure?” I smirk. “Actually,” she grimaces, “I think I do. Hmm, I think it’s in the closet in the very back. There should be a storage box. It might be up top, actually.” As I rummage through her closet, I spot a familiar shirt buried in a pile of clothes. My eyebrow rises as I look at it. Turning it over, I examine the cuff. Embroidered in red, I see a familiar monogram. RDS. Richard David Stone. Why is this in her closet? Why would she have his shirt unless … my breath leaves my body and I can feel the blood throbbing inside my veins. She has Richard’s shirt. “Where did you get this?” My words are sharp. Confusion, anger, and betrayal hang on every syllable. “Get what?” “This,” I lift the offending shirt up. The evidence of her lie. “What are you talking about?” She turns around to look at me and her face is guilt ridden. “This was Richard’s.” I bite out.

Silence. She doesn’t say anything and it infuriates me. “This shirt. This shirt was Richard’s. I should know. I bought it for his fiftieth birthday, three years ago.” “It happened before I knew you.” Her hands reach up. “Months before I knew you.” “Just say it.” I pace back and forth, my body not knowing what to do with the nervous energy coursing through me. “I slept with Richard. I had a fling with Richard.” Everything inside me seizes. A fling. A fling means more then once. “Before you started working at the company, we were at the company holiday party, and one thing led to another. We started sleeping together. No one knows.” “You were with Richard?” Were they in a relationship? “It was just sex.” Even though she speaks and I hear her words, it’s as if I don’t understand what she’s saying. None of this makes any sense. They were together more then once. How did I not know this? “You were with Richard. My Richard.” “It was before I knew you, and he broke it off with me when you moved in.” “He broke it off?” Her head bobs up and down. “Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t understand.” “I just couldn’t. What did you want me to say? Hi, move in with me but F.Y.I., I slept with our boss, who also happens to be your family friend. My relationship with Richard was purely physical. Just sex, no strings attached, no promises of devotion and happily ever afters.” “He was more than my family friend and you know it.” “When I asked you to be my roommate, I didn’t know that, and by the time I found out, it was too late. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. I’m sorry. I never meant to upset you but—” “But what? You lied to me.” “I never lied to you. I just omitted the truth.” “Well, that makes it so much better. You should’ve told me.” I run my hands through my hair. Outrage runs through me. “I have to go.” “Can we talk about this?” “There is nothing you can say right now that I want to listen to. As much as it repulses me that you slept with Richard—my Richard—it was before you knew me, so that I understand. What I can’t get over is that you never told me.” “How could I? God!” She groans, burying her head in her hands before looking up. “I was embarrassed. Don’t let this destroy our friendship, Eve. Please. You’re like a sister to me.”

“Yeah, I imagine you would be …” As the words come out of my mouth I realize what a hypocrite I’m being. She slept with her boss and I want my psychologist, but it doesn’t change the hurt I feel. I need to leave. I need to get out of here. I need air. Without looking back, I grab my coat and head out the door. I welcome the breeze that gently cools the flush on my cheeks. I don’t know where I’m going or what to do. Out of nowhere, the phone rings in my pocket and my whole body seizes when I see the name on the screen. Preston Montgomery. Shit. What do I do? Do I answer it? I have to. But what do I say? “Hi,” I answer, almost on a whisper. “Hello.” I want to apologize for my behavior and just hang up the phone. I can’t talk to him now. Not when I’m on the verge of losing it. Of falling apart. “I-I’m really sorry about last night,” I stammer. “Listen, what happened last night can never happen again.” An uneasy feeling passes through my body. You can’t risk losing him. Just agree and get off the phone. “Yes, I understand.” “I was wrong to do that. I don’t want to stop treating you, but if anything like that happens again I won’t be able to continue our sessions. You will have to find another psychologist.” His voice is cold, professional. This is not Preston. This is all Dr. Montgomery. I bite my lip and carefully choose my words, willing my voice not to give away my hurt. “I understand, and it won’t happen again. I promise.” “Okay. Then I will see you at your scheduled appointment this week.” His cold tone finally has me snapping and falling apart. I start to sob uncontrollably in the phone. “Eve, please don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” The sobs come out in heavy broken breaths. “Shh. It’s okay, you’re okay. Please calm down. Where are you?” “What?” “Where. Are. You?” His voice leaves no place for argument. “By my apartment.” “Meet me.” “But you just said—” “Forget what I said. None of that matters right now. Meet me.” “I can’t, I’m a mess.”

“I don’t care, and you could never be a mess. I’ll see you in ten minutes. I’m on ThirtyFifth between Park and Lexington. Number 115.” My brain and my heart are at war. I know I shouldn’t go, but there’s no one I want to speak to about this but Preston.

CHAPTER TWENTY PRESTON

WHAT AM I DOING? What the fuck am I doing? I just told my patient to meet me for the second time in a matter of days. Talk about crossing into completely unprofessional territory. But fuck, when I heard her crying she broke me. She’s cried before, but that was when she was just my patient. Ever since the day with the kids, I’m having a hard time distinguishing the woman who sits in front of me week after week from the woman at the diner. I knew she was strong. I knew she was caring. But the side I saw … She is special. The kind of special that makes you question everything you believe in or everything you thought you believed in before her. I know I’m doing something I shouldn’t, and in the past that would have mattered to me, but hearing how distraught she was … something inside of me snapped. This can’t wait until next week to get fixed. I can’t wait. I need to help her. I need to take her pain and make it mine. I need to see her now. So what am I doing? I’m now pacing my apartment thinking I might have made the biggest mistake of my professional life. I invited Eve Hamilton into my house, and by doing so I invited myself into her world, and worse … I invited her into mine. I take a swig of my scotch. The amber liquid coats my throat and burns, but I need it. I need to drown the voice inside me. The one telling me to call her back and say I’ll see her on Friday, but instead I throw back another shot. I need to see her and make sure she’s okay. Even if her presence consumes me. Even if seeing her destroys me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE EVE

AS I TAKE a step toward the large wooden door. It swings open. Preston is standing there. The moonlight peeps out from a cloud and bathes him in its glow. I suck in a breath. He’s beautiful, mesmerizing, consuming. I feel bare before him. Being here, standing at his door feels so right, yet wrong at the same time. “Are you okay?” he asks as I move closer to him and he ushers me inside. “No.” “Come in. Come on, I got you.” He takes my hand in his and I’m instantly warm. “I feel betrayed. They betrayed me,” I blurt out, and I can tell by the look in his eyes he has no clue what I’m talking about. “What happened?” “Richard and Sydney had sex,” I huff out on a sigh. “Can you please start from the beginning? So I can understand.” “I found a shirt I bought for Richard in her closet. I confronted her. Apparently they had a relationship. It happened before I started to work at the company, and it ended when I moved in with Syd, but neither of them told me. I mean for crying out loud. I always knew he was weird about me living with her, and she was always weird about him, but neither of them said anything.” “I understand why you’re angry. I really do. But I think if you sit for a minute and take a step back, you might see that this is not so black and white.” “What do you mean?” “I think right now you’re feeling blindsided by Richard. But since he’s not here to explain himself, you’re lashing out at Sydney because you’re hurt. You feel Richard betrayed you, but did he? Furthermore, did Sydney? They were both consenting adults, and Sydney didn’t know you. So, I believe your real problem is with him. You’re afraid the Richard you knew might not necessarily be the Richard everyone else knew. But you need to realize and accept that that’s okay. He didn’t love you any less because he had a clandestine relationship with her. He just put you in a bubble and as your “father,” he didn’t want you to see him as anything other than perfect. This isn’t really about Sydney at all.”

His words seep into my soul. He’s right. I know he’s right. I just wish Richard were here. I wish I could talk to him one more time. I wish I had a chance to say good-bye. My tears flow again and this time, Preston pulls me close to him on the couch. I turn my face toward his body and bury my head in the crook of his neck. Needing comfort, needing him to hold me. Needing more of him. He does. He holds me until every tear is expelled from my body. When I have no more tears left in me, I peer up. He’s looking at me in a way that makes my body quiver. That makes me want to close the tiny distance between us. Effortlessly I inch forward. “Eve,” he groans my name as if it pains him to say it. His hands gently sliding up my arm until he strokes my jaw. “We can’t do this.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes imploring me to heed his plea. “I know.” My lids close briefly as he presses his forehead to mine. A single touch that ignites a fire deep in my soul. “I can’t.” His voice is barely a whisper. I swallow back my emotions and separate our bodies. “It’s getting late. I should go.” For a moment I think he’ll object, tell me to stay, but instead, Preston makes his way to his feet and nods. “I think that would be smart.” “Goodnight, Dr. Montgomery.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO PRESTON

I’M AN ASSHOLE. A compete and utter asshole. When I held her, everything felt so right. Nothing has felt this right in years, not since Sloane. I didn’t want to let her go and I didn’t want to pull away. But I had to. I can’t be close to her. I shouldn’t feel the way I do. I’m her therapist and I’m not worthy of her time, her friendship, and I’m certainly not worthy of my title. Doctor of Fucking Psychology, my ass. I should be sanctioned. I should lose my license for the shit I just pulled. But there is something about this girl. The moment she’s around I lose all reason. I can’t see anything but her. I feel like I’m going mad. Trying not to watch her, trying not to kiss her. The only thing I can do is keep my guard up, but I swear trying to do that is driving me … mad. I won’t be able to help her if I continue to blur the lines, and I need to help her. I couldn’t help Sloane and I won’t make that mistake again, no matter how hard it is.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE EVE

MY EYES HURT. They burn. Jumping up, I head to the bathroom and peer into the mirror. They’re swollen. I’ll never be prepared for my meeting today. My pulse races. Adrenaline courses through my body. I’m going to be sick. I need a moment to collect myself. Great. Just when I think I’m getting back into the swing of things, everything goes to shit again. I thought I was done losing it in the office, but here I am, pacing the bathroom and I’m a fucking mess. There’s no way I can do this. I can’t possibly pitch this company. Every part of my body is screaming to push the door open and sprint down the hallway until I reach the exit. No. I have to do this. With a large audible sigh, I head back into the office and look over my notes on my computer. Then I grab my presentation papers. They feel heavy in my hands. I cannot do this. Not without Richard. I can’t even remember my proposal. All the words I’ve practiced and recited these last few months are gone. It’s as though my mind is completely blank. With each step I take, my heart rate accelerates. Think. Think. Think. I pull out my phone and look for the email Dr. Montgomery sent me a few weeks ago. Visualization techniques. Visualize. Breathe. Breathe. One. Two. Three. Visualize a better time, when you knew what you were supposed to do. Breathe—one, two, three … “Okay, from the top. Try to pitch me again.” Richard’s words ring through my ears. The

distant memory breaks apart any of the strength I was able to maintain. Tears well in my eyes. I’m lost. So fucking lost without him. I knew the path. It was clear. Now there’s nothing. Visualize! Richard is standing across from me. He holds the folder with my notes. “Start from the beginning. Clear and precise. Believe in yourself. If you do, no one will doubt you.” My pulse starts to regulate. With an inhale, I re-adjust my skirt, fix my top, and then make my way out the door.

IT’S two hours later and I nailed it. Not only did I land the client, but I’m already back at my desk starting research on the next project. As I browse the Internet for fresh ideas, I feel a presence hovering behind me. Peering over my shoulder, I see Barry standing over me. My initial instinct is to recoil. Scared of confrontation. But I’m not scared. Not anymore. I won’t allow myself to let the fear win. I know exactly why he’s standing beside me and I know exactly what he’s going to ask me, so why not answer? Why not end this annoyance now? I have been avoiding his question for weeks but I do know who the new owner is and I know he has nothing to fear for his job, so why am I hiding? I’m not. And I won’t. “Barry, the answer to the question I’m sure you’re about to ask me is my mom. My mom is the owner of this company. Your job is not at stake. You will not be fired.” There I said it. Now he can stop bothering me. Now he can go back to being the office creep, who ignores me. “I have work to do. So now, if you can please stop badgering me for answers, I’d appreciate it. Nothing bad will happen.” I turn my attention back to my computer and continue to type. But he’s still there hovering. My back gets stiff. “Yes?” I say turning back to him. His mouth hangs open. His eyes really stare at me, maybe for the first time ever. This is a different side of Barry and I don’t know what he wants. I lift my hands off the keyboard and pivot my whole body to face him. “Is there something else?” “I was—” He nibbles a little more on his lip. “I was wondering if you would have time to go over some of my ideas I have for the Femmes Fetale campaign. I pitched them and landed them … but I think I’m a bit out of my element.” My mouth drops. I’m completely taken aback. “What?” “Brainstorm,” he clarifies, still uneasy and biting his lip. “Can you help me?” “I don’t understand. I thought you hated me. You’re always so rude. Why would you want my help?” I feel as if I’m living in a parallel universe and I just can’t understand what’s happening. This man doesn’t speak to anyone. He’s like a one-man island. “I don’t hate you.” “But you’ve been harassing me for weeks.”

“I’m sorry.” “You’re sorry.” I pull at my hair. “I’m really confused right now.” “I guess I was just nervous and didn’t know how to approach you. I don’t really get along with people. They don’t understand me, so I tend to just work alone.” My eyebrow lifts. Is that it? Was I reading him wrong this whole time? I have a moment of clarity and then I get it. Barry wasn’t creepy. He was only like me. Unsure of himself. Scared. Yes, that was it, and I get it. I understand how hard it is to believe in yourself. To not feel comfortable in your own skin, and how that fear can manifest into something you have no control over. For me it’s panic. For him it’s social awkwardness. Either way it’s the same. It’s still two sides of the same coin. I smile up at him. To let him know I understand that putting himself out there must have been hard. “Okay. I’d love to help.” “Thank you.” He pauses. “We can meet during lunch one day,” he stutters out and with that, I let my smile turn up even more. “I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.”

WITH A LITTLE LESS THAN five minutes to spare, I make it to Preston’s high-rise office building. By the time the elevator reaches his floor, my whole body is trembling uncontrollably from the nerves of having to see him after the clusterfuck at his house. Just thinking of Preston and our nearing session has me in knots. I’m so confused by his behavior, but I need to continue seeing him because I’m still not able to sleep. Last night was horrible, and even the cocktail I had before bed didn’t do the trick. I finally did fall asleep, but it was a rough night. When I woke, my heart was thundering, a scream was tearing through my throat, and my hair was soaked from the night terror. I need to talk to Dr. Montgomery about the nightmares. The fear from last night still consumes and claws at me. I feel lost and emotionally drained. In a complete daze, I find myself sitting in the waiting room. It’s as if my feet carried me here, but my mind resides elsewhere. My gaze sweeps across the vacant room. I like the quiet. It allows me peace for a minute, and helps to shut off the distractions from everyday life. I let out a yawn. God, today was a long day. “Hi. Need some coffee?” I look up to find Preston looking down at me. I’m not sure how I missed him entering the room. “God, yes,” I press out. Every word feels pained today. “Well, then, let me get you a cup.” He gives me a small smile and it feels slightly awkward. As though he doesn’t know how to act with me anymore. That makes two of us,

because I’m so uncomfortable right now. I feel as if I might pass out from nerves. Being at his apartment made me feel close to him, but now it’s weird being here. “I just made a pot. Go have a seat in my office and I’ll bring some right away.” I walk into his office and take a seat in the center of the couch. A few minutes later, Preston sits across from me, placing two steaming hot mugs on the coffee table that separates us. He sits back and pulls out my file that’s on the table beside him. He scans the file before he returns it and takes a sip of his coffee. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “You seem off today.” Preston asks. “I am.” “Is it work?” “No, I’m just … I don’t know … ” I can’t speak. “Is this about what happened the other night?” “Yes.” He lifts his gaze to the ceiling and blows out his cheeks. The muscles in my stomach tighten into knots. I feel ill. When he finally meets my eyes, I notice a line has appeared between his brows. “I know we talked briefly on the phone about this, but when you came over we never touched upon it again. I do think we should talk about what happened in more detail.” “Can’t we just pretend it didn’t happen?” I groan and he shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to—” “It’s not just that. The lines have been blurred for a long time. I shouldn’t have invited you to my apartment.” “I was upset. You were doing your job.” I turn my head away from him and fidget with the material of the couch pillow. “Eve …” I don’t turn back. Just continue to tap at the pillow. “I wasn’t doing my job when I invited you over. I wasn’t treating you like a patient, and you weren’t treating me like your psychologist. It’s my fault these lines are blurred, but it’s not your fault. It’s called transference. Or in this case, because of the sexual nature of your feelings toward me, erotic transference. It’s very common for a patient to develop feelings for their therapist.” With that, I snap my head back to him and shake my head. “I … what?” “In psychotherapy, it’s classified as the unconscious redirection of feelings you associate for one person such as a parent to another, such as me, your therapist.” My mouth drops open as I pull in ragged breaths. “Basically, you’re replacing the emptiness in your life with me. I’m a figure you look up to. You’re replacing the void of losing the caring father, the person you gathered comfort from, with me. These feelings you have are normal, but I think we should talk about why you feel this way.” “Who are you, Freud?”

“It was actually Freud who came up with the theory.” “Of course it was,” I deadpan. “Listen, I was drunk. Then I was sad. It won’t happen again.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and then nods. Neither of us speaks, and my stomach drops with each passing minute that we sit silent. I rub at my eyes as I stifle a yawn. His eyes shoot up. “Tired? Didn’t sleep well again?” I shrug and he sighs. “What’s going on? Please. Talk to me.” “I’m still having nightmares,” I blurt out before I can second guess telling him. “Why didn’t you mention it earlier? Did something new happen that I should know about?” I take a deep breath, and then exhale it slowly. “No, just the same exact nightmare as the night I spoke to you.” “How long have these nightmares been occurring?” “Since Richard died.” His eyes widen at my admission. The look in them makes me sad. It’s as if he’s hurt by my not telling him. As though I betrayed him. And seeing it rips a hole in my chest. For some reason, I want to tell him everything now. He casts his eyes downward and breathes in slowly, “Can you tell me about these dreams?” “I have them all the time now. It’s as if the world is closing in. Sound fades, my vision becomes spotty, and I feel as though I’m hyperventilating. It’s like a nightmare where you’re running in the woods and you’re not sure who’s chasing you.” “What do you remember about them?” “Not much. They’re like a mirage. I can feel them. I can smell them. But just when I think I can touch them, they fade away into the haze of my mind.” “And what is it you feel?” “Scared. An unimaginable fear.” “And smell?” “Copper. Almost like blood.” “And you’ve never had these dreams before?” “Not that I remember.” He places his mug down and reaches for his note pad, quickly jotting down his thoughts. When he looks up, there is a new clarity in his eyes. “Sometimes these nightmares are actually repressed memories, fighting to find their way out. In a case such as that, I typically would suggest a referral to my colleague who uses hypnosis techniques to retrieve the repressed memories. Is that something you would be interested in discussing?” “No.” My answer comes out harsher than I intended, but he shakes his head with

understanding. “Okay, I understand. But if you change your mind, please let me know.” I stand and stroll to the window, peering out to the city below. A stream of sunlight peeks through the shades, blinding me. I squint and lift my hands to cover my eyes. A cloud must pass because the room that was only seconds ago bathed in white light is dark again and I no longer need to squint. When I turn back around, I notice Preston is watching me. He’s tense, his back upright, and a small line pinches between his brows. I have a desire to keep looking at him, to lose myself in the depths of his blues. He stands and makes his way over to where I am. He’s so close to me. His cologne infiltrates my senses—fresh and spicy, and an overwhelming need to bury my head in the crook of his neck and get lost in the smell weaves its way through me. It begs me to touch him, to feel his rough skin against my fingers. It’s overwhelming. Blinding. I can’t think. My hand reaches out of its own accord across the space that separates us. His eyes flutter shut, and I swear the air around us changes. The tips of my fingers hover above the scruff on his jaw— Boom! The sound of a car backfiring or a gunshot rings outs in the distance and I’m suddenly frozen in place. My vision starts to flash, a black haze takes over, and then an image appears behind my closed lids. An image of flesh. Of crimson streams. And brutal cries so sad they break my heart. My chest pounds erratically. The hum surrounds me. Engulfs me. Suffocates me. Two arms wrap around me. Pull me close. Whispers. Light flutters across my hair. “I’ve got you. I’m here. Breathe. Remember what I taught you. Inhale. Now count, one, two three, four, five, six, seven. Exhale.” The air in my lungs leaves in sudden gasps. “Slower. Slow. Inhale.” Part of me calms. The flutter in my chest weakens as I continue to follow Preston’s directions. As I regulate my breathing, I realize that I’m calm now. Preston calmed it all. He made everything better.

“You’re doing great.” His hands rub circles up my back as he lulls me into a peaceful state. Our breathing comes in tandem. Our bodies press close together. Goosebumps spread across my limbs and I lift my head to meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, the blue almost completely gone. His breath tickles my lips. “I have you.” I lean closer, allowing the air he expels to fan my lips. Kiss me. Please, God, let him kiss me. I’m so close I can almost taste him. His eyes sweep over me. His nostrils flare and his eyes dilate as he assesses me. I can see he wants me. Right now, in this room, he’s not looking at me as a doctor. He’s not looking at me as a patient. No. Right now, he’s looking at me like a man in lust. My eyes flutter shut and I close the distance. As my lips find his, my body moves backward. He breaks our connection. Pushes me away. I meet his gaze. His is now void. Closed off. The warmth is gone. The compassion no longer exists in his stare. He walks away and ushers me back to the couch. By the time we make it, my panic has lessened, but now I’m cold from the distance in his eyes. “Take a seat. I’ll get you something to drink. Do you want a cold compress?” he asks and I nod. My strength isn’t great enough to find words. When he returns, his detachment has grown. He won’t even make eye contact as he regains his seat across from me. It feels as if I’m being broken apart but I don’t speak, afraid of the outcome. “I am so sorry about what happened before. It is completely my fault that a line has been crossed.” “Nothing happened. It’s okay,” I stammer out. “It’s not okay. I crossed a line when I comforted you, and I think it would be best for your healing if I refer you to a colleague.” “No, you can’t do that,” I beg. “I can’t be your doctor anymore.” He won’t meet my eyes and it rips me to shreds. “But why?” Confusion and then anger coil in my stomach as he continues to hide. “Well, I …” “I understand,” I mutter and then his eyes finally meet mine. They look sad and drained. “No, you don’t, but please trust me. I think it will be for the best.” I need to leave. I need to go before the anxiety takes over. If I leave now, nothing has happened. “It’s my fault. I don’t need another doctor. I–I’ll put distance. It’s fine.” I stand and walk

toward the door. If I leave now, he can’t end things. He can’t abandon me. “Eve—” “I’ll see you later, Doc.” I shut the door behind me and dash down the hall. If I don’t hear him say it, it’s not real. Inhale … One, Two, Three. It’s not real.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR EVE

LYING on the couch a few days later, I hear the sound of the front door opening. Then I hear the click of Sydney’s heels as she walks into the living room. Placing my magazine down, I stare up at her. “Hi,” I mutter out beneath my breath as I sit down in the chair. I know I shouldn’t be mad at her. I know I need to get over it. “How was your afternoon?” she asks, gnawing on her lower lip. She’s nervous, unsure of how to act toward me. I need to forgive her. I need to tell her it’s all right. Preston is right. This is more than Sydney having sex with Richard. So much more. This is about him— Richard. I held him to unrealistic standards. In my mind he could do no wrong, and the realization that he was only a man, a human being who made mistakes is liberating. I need to forgive her, because this had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. My lips turn up. It’s a tight smile, but it’s all I have to offer right now. She knows we’ll be okay. I know we will, too. It will just take time. “You left work early. Is everything okay?” Her lips purse and she narrows her eyes in my direction. “Only a few minutes early. I figured I would grab my dry cleaning,” she says and I notice she’s carrying a stack of mail. “Anything important?” “Just the usual bills. Oh, here’s one addressed to you.” She leans over and hands me a large, rectangular business envelope. It’s non-descript and lightweight. I flip it around and check out the return address. Lord knows we get enough crap mail; no reason to open it if it’s not important. Bold lettering jumps off the back of the envelope. From the Office of Dr. Preston Montgomery. Shit. I tear at the seal until a folded paper sits heavily in my hands. The weight of it, though less than an ounce, feels heavy … ominous. I open it with shaky hands. My eyes burn and my heart thumps rapidly in my chest. What is this? What the fuck is this? Dear Eve Hamilton,

As you know, a good relationship between a psychologist and his or her patient is essential for quality medical care. Times arise when this relationship is no longer effective and the psychologist finds it necessary to request the patient select an alternative psychologist. This letter is to inform you that I am no longer willing to be your psychologist. My office will continue to direct your care for any emergencies that arise over the next thirty days. It is imperative that you select another psychologist and arrange with our office for your records to be transferred to their office. If you need a referral, it would be my pleasure to assist you. Sincerely, Dr. Preston Montgomery My emotions are like a storm. They batter me. Engulf me. They rip me apart. Anger coils in my blood. The destruction from his words is immeasurable. I knew this was coming, yet I made myself believe I could will it away. Apparently not. I need to see him. I need to talk to him. I need to understand. Now. I make my way to his office in a state of haze and fog. Nothing registers other than the pounding of my heart. Streets, avenues … it makes no difference. Muscle memory leads me there. The building looks ominous. Towering taller than the neighboring buildings, the floor to ceiling windows reflect the gleam trickling out from the cloudy skies. Once through the revolving door, I make my way to the security desk and flash my ID. With a brief nod, I’m allowed up. Step after step, my destination grows closer. A strange feeling weaves its way through me. What will I say to him? What will he say in return? Trepidation. Maybe confronting him is a bad idea? No. It must be done, and nothing but divine intervention will halt me now. I’ve made up my mind. Entering the office, I head straight for his door. “Ms. Hamilton,” the receptionist calls out but it’s too late, I’m already halfway down the hall. With a heavy push, the door opens, and then slams against the frame. The sound ricochets, slicing through the silence as I step, no barrel into the room. Once all the way inside, I close us in together. There he is. Mesmerizing me with his eyes. Captivating me with his stare. A man so imposing I no longer can remember why I’m here. He arises from his desk. His eyes are wide as he steps toward me. He’s noticeably tense. His back is upright and a small line pinches between his brows. When he’s only inches away, I raise my trembling hand.

It feels so heavy. The letter. “What is this?” I fling the paper in his face. “What. Is. This?” My words come out staccato as I repeat to wrap my brain around what’s happening. “It’s a formal letter terminating our professional relationship,” he replies. The words are spoken so matter of factly and they slice at me, causing a laceration to form inside my gut. “You can’t.” “I did.” His gaze is vacant and I take a step closer to study him, to understand why this is happening. “How can you do this to me? A letter. You sent a letter. What type of bastard are you? “ “It had to be done.” I move past him, walking to the far wall and bracing my arms on it. Tears pool in my eyes. He can’t leave me. He can’t abandon me. “You’re discarding me?” “I’m not discarding you. I just don’t think I’m the right doctor for you.” “H-How could you?” I stutter, the anger once harboring in my body recedes into panic. He steps forward and I step back. “Look at me,” he demands and I turn to face him. The expression reflected back at me makes my legs instinctively take a step back. “I think it’s for the best.” “Give me a reason. W-why are you leaving me?” More tears well and threaten to fall. “Is it because of what happened? I-I-told you I was sorry. Do you hate me? Is this why you’re throwing me out? Is this why you’re leaving me, too?” My dad, my mom, Richard … I can’t stand to lose him as well. “This has nothing to do with you, or your self-worth. This is completely my fault. It’s because of me, not you.” It feels as though every last breath has been extracted from my lungs. “No, it’s because we kissed. It’s because we spent time together outside of the office. I know you said it was wrong, but I like spending time with you. You make me feel as if everything will be okay.” His jaw clenches at my words. As if they pain him. “This is my fault. I ruin everything. I promise I’ll do better. I promise,” I plead as moisture slides down my cheeks. My pulse accelerates at the thought of not having him in my life. Of not talking to him. Of not seeing him. “No,” he affirms. “This isn’t your fault. I should have known better.” “Known better than what?” “This. This is all wrong. I can’t talk to you about this. This dependence on me. It’s not appropriate. This is—” “No. Preston, don’t you dare say it! Don’t you dare say it’s transference. It’s not that. My

feelings for you … I am not projecting my issues of abandonment from my childhood and my need for reassurance from an older figure. Damn it, you don’t know how I feel. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you.” His breath is ragged as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He opens then shuts his mouth, pulling at his roots until he finds his words. Swiping away an escaped tear, I stare at him. If this is transference, I don’t care. “I could—” “Enough.” My movements halt at the desperation in his voice. “What do you want me to say? You want me to say that every time you walk into my office, my world stops? That when you’re here, rather than helping you, I imagine what you would feel like beneath me? Do you want me to admit that all I see is you, and when I close my eyes you’re still there? That you’ve embedded yourself so far in my psyche that I’m the one who needs help, not you? Is that what you want to hear? “You want to hear that I think the universe is playing a sick joke on me? Yeah, that’s what you want to hear. That I have never felt this way before, and of course it’s my patient who makes me feel this. My fucking patient. The greatest temptation ever laid before me.” His voice bleeds with emotion. “Of all the fucking people … Eve.” He snatches the letter from my hand, my heart racing. “This is self-preservation.” It drops to the floor. He inhales deeply, his hand shoving his hair back from his face. I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to feel. All I can do is turn my back on him to gain some distance. My emotions teeter on the brink of eruption and I can’t let him see me crack. “I—” I can’t bear the torment in his eyes, and turn toward the wall. “God, all I want …” He steps up behind me, his lips tingling the sensitive skin where my neck meets my shoulder. “All I want is to taste you, savor you, but I can’t.” Feathery breaths send chills up my spine. “I was warned in graduate school this could happen. That one day a patient could walk in and knock me on my ass. Make me rethink everything I believed about myself. But what I feel surpasses all that. What I feel threatens everything I know, because this isn’t some hunger I need to quench. You’ve embedded yourself in my soul. And without you I would cease to be.” His lips hover against my skin. Taunting me. Tempting me. Teasing me. Each pull of oxygen through my lungs releases in ragged bursts. I need him. I need him so much I can barely breathe. I want to reach for him … but I can’t.

I want to touch him … but I don’t. He needs to be the one. “Touch me, Preston,” I groan. “Stop fighting it.” He reaches out. His fingers fan my rib cage as he pulls me into him and proceeds to spin me around. Our chests brush with each heave of our breaths. “What are you doing to me?” he mumbles as his heart hammers a familiar beat against mine. It screams of need and want. Of desperation and fear. “I don’t know.” And I don’t. I have no clue what I’m doing. I’m blind to everything but this man. “Tell me to stop.” His voice is husky. “Touch me.” “You don’t know what you’re asking.” “But I do.” Hunger courses through me. A new resolve. I have no care for consequences. All I’m concerned about is what I want, and what I want is for him to touch me. For him to kiss me. For him to want me. He stares at me with an expression that makes my whole body tremble. His emotions mirror my own. It’s unequivocal. It’s absolute. This man wants to consume me and I yearn to let him. “God damn it. I’m not supposed to feel this way.” The lights from the city trickle in through the window, illuminating his crystal blue eyes that are darkened with lust. “Feel what way?” I breathe, my chest heaving. “That I want you. That I need to touch you.” I step toward his voice. “So, touch me.” “I can’t.” His eyes dilate. A look passes through them that has my knees going weak. The hot intensity of his stare sets off an inferno inside me. “I’m not your patient anymore.” And those words break the dam. He crosses the invisible line that separates our bodies. He reaches out and makes feather-like contact with the skin of my jaw. I become lost in a heady trance. There’s a fervor growing inside me. It’s intoxicating. His hand travels the distance to the hollow of my neck. One touch and it’s over for me. Electricity quivers off the pads of his fingers as they trail down to the swell of my breast,

peeking out from my blouse. The only thing that matters is his touch. He leans in closer, inhaling me. I feel his breath against me, tickling my skin. “Eve.” It’s a warning. Tilting my head upward, our gazes lock as he traces the lace of my exposed bra. The look in his eyes penetrates me to the core. It has everything inside me halting. I need there to be no distance between us. This feeling is all consuming. I push to my tiptoes and our lips meet. It’s soft. A gentle touch. The warmth of his mouth is intoxicating as the kisses grow harder, more passionate. He nips, he sucks, it seems as if he’s pulling me in ten different directions. His movements are full of purpose, full of need. His hands grip my hips as he presses his body into mine. Snaking my arms around his neck, I deepen the kiss. The stroke of his tongue is fierce and possessive. Every cell in my body comes alive with this kiss. I’m lost in the kiss. I’m found in this kiss. He pushes me back into the wall and I let out a broken sigh as I collide with the surface. His arms tighten around my waist, pressing us so close together there’s no separation between us. Lifting up, I rub my core against him. The hard ridge of his length presses against me. My body shudders at the contact. The feel of him against me makes me forget anything and everything other than my hunger for him. Sensing my desire, Preston reaches around and lifts my legs to his hips. The movement pulls me in closer, making the friction more intense. He grinds into me. His arms that are still bracketed around me pull away as he separates my legs farther. The hand on the small of my back holds me steady. He drags his mouth from my lips and trails his lips down my throat. A moan escapes and I can’t suppress the shivers from the feel of his tongue sliding against my skin. Warm hands lift the hem of my shirt. Fingers stroke my spine, and then graze across the swell of my hip. My back arches. His tongue glides across the skin above my breast, and frantic hands pull away at my blouse. Opening, exposing me to him. As the air hits my nipples, they pebble and peak. Continuing his exploration, Preston trails circles across my nipple. His teeth graze the sensitive flesh. Pulling lightly. Nipping.

His hand slides down my body to the waistband of my pants. He pauses. The pressure of his hand is a reminder of what I want. Of what I desire. Pushing my body firmly into his, I let him know what I need. I need his hands on me. His fingers in me. He finds the button and undoes it. Wedges his hand between the thin material and my skin. The pads of his fingertips slowly work themselves further downward. Each inch they travel sends a wave of chills to flow through my body; each nerve ending is pricked alive. He pushes his hand lower and lower until I feel him trace the lace covering my most intimate spot. A whisper against my sensitive flesh. “Please,” I moan, rotating my hips to help alleviate the hunger growing inside me. The flimsy material that covers me moves aside and his fingers trace down the seam of my skin. The movements are so slow, every part of my body quivers with anticipation. “Dr. Montgomery, your next patient is here.” The receptionist’s voice slams through our lust filled haze. Preston’s head rears back at the same time he jerks back his hand. I lift my eyes to meet his stare. Regret. That’s what I see staring back at me, and it rips me to shreds. I’m pinned by his eyes. I know I won’t like what’s coming, but I can’t make myself pull away. He doesn’t answer her, but puts distance between us. Our breathing is shallow. Shock. I see it in his eyes for what he just did. They’re haunted and hollow. We both inhale and exhale. What the fuck am I still doing here? It feels as if my heart may break free from my chest, it’s beating so hard. Pulling away, I fix my skirt. “You have lipstick … ” He reaches out, and then catches himself. Our eyes lock in a moment that feels as if it will last a lifetime. There is so much remorse in his crystal blue eyes. It breaks me apart. Severs me. “I have to leave.” My voice is rough. My stomach crashes, and what’s left of my heart rips in two. Grabbing my coat from the back of the chair, I turn my back and head for the door. “Eve.” I look over my shoulder and meet his gaze. With all my strength, I hold back the tears threatening to expel. One lone drop escapes and trails down my cheek. “I’ll write you a referral.” His mask is back on. I don’t stop. I don’t say good-bye. I leave.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE EVE

I SIT AT MY DESK, slowly nursing the once hot coffee in front of me. The heat has fizzled away as I stare lifelessly out the office window. Gray skies pour ice-cold rain. It bears down, hitting the pavement below mercilessly. I wonder if you can hear the sound of the tiny droplets when they crash against the concrete? As if it matters what it sounds like. As if anything so mundane matters right now. I can’t concentrate on anything. Not when I’m lost in my own head. All I have done this morning is replay my moments with Preston. Over and over again. How can something that feels so right be so wrong? “Earth to Eve.” I lift my head and am met with Sydney’s large brown eyes. “Hey.” “Hey, are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m fine.” I say. It comes out dry and monotone. She grimaces at the tone. Things are still tense. Even though I’m not mad anymore and I’m working past it, it’s still a bit odd between us. “Listen, I know you’re still mad at me, but no matter what you think, I’m your best friend, and as your best friend you need to realize I wasn’t born yesterday. You got a letter, hauled ass out of the apartment and didn’t return for hours. Then you came home, slammed the door and blasted music. I woke up and you were already gone. Seems to me something happened and you don’t want to tell me. I understand I broke the trust. But I promise you, with everything I have, I won’t squander your trust again. Please let me in.” I let out a huff I didn’t realize I was holding. It’s time I let it go. I need to stop punishing her for a mistake she made long before she met me. It’s not fair to her that I’ve let it go this long. “Fine. You’re right and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten mad, and I do want to talk to you about what happened, but not here.” Standing, I grab her arm and usher us down the hall. We take a step into a more secluded alcove by the bathroom. “So, what’s going on?” she asks, her eyes huge.

“I got a letter from Preston.” “Preston?” She raises her eyebrow. “Dr. Montgomery.” I let out an audible sigh. “I had a mini breakdown after the drunk incident, and while he was comforting me, I might have tried to kiss him.” I scrunch my nose, waiting for her to erupt. “You tried to kiss him?” Her voice raises an octave. “Shh.” My eyes jet around the space. “Yes. I tried to kiss him, and, well, he told me I needed to find another doctor. I didn’t listen. I apologized and said I would see him the next week. Then I walked out.” “Why did you do that?” “I guess I figured if I avoided it and ignored it, he would change his mind.” “And did he?” “Um, no.” I look down at the marble floor. The idea of meeting her eyes right now is too much. “What aren’t you telling me?” With an exhale, I lift my eyes and meet her stare. Her eyes are narrowed and she has a small line forming between her brows. “He sent the letter,” I squeak out on a whisper. “What! What did it say?” she loud whispers. “God, Sydney. Can you keep it down? “No one can hear shit. Keep going,” she says as she rolls her hands to gesture me to tell my story. “He sent me a formal letter of termination of our doctor/patient relationship.” With that announcement, she covers her mouth with her hand in shock. “He basically fired me as his patient.” “Wow.” Silence descends. An awkward one, where she keeps opening and shutting her mouth in rapid succession. “So, that’s why you ran out last night?” I nod yes. “Then what happened?” “Basically, I barreled into his office, slamming doors and shit. Then I bawled him out.” “Oh, my God! You didn’t,” she dramatically shouts. “Sydney, can you pleeeese keep it down?” “Oh, sorry. What did he say then? Not to downplay this, but I think I need popcorn to listen to this story.” I slap my hand against my forehead. As much as I want to yell at her to stop joking, I smile. Because for the first time in a while I feel we’re back to us again. It feels good. “Okay, where was I? Oh, yes, I got heated. Then he got heated, and then … ” I stop. How can I say this out loud?

“I’m not getting any younger here,” she says in a snarky voice and I know she’s happy, as well. “Just tell me what happened. It can’t be that bad.” I raise a challenging eyebrow and then let it all out with a smug look on my face. “He pushed me against the wall and started making out with me.” Bam! Let the explosions begin. She leans against the wall without a word. Just leans there. If not for the tiny heave of her chest, I’d think she’s comatose. I’m a bit taken aback and shocked by her lack of reaction, but I know eventually she will gather her words and composure. I tap my left foot on the floor and wait. “He what!” I smack her arm playfully and shoot her a look that says “Shut the fuck up.” “Yes.” “He kissed you?” “Dry humped me against the wall would be more accurate, but yes …” My lips turn up in a smile. “Wow.” “Yep.” “So, how was it?” She smirks. “Amazing.” “That’s all I get?” “That’s all you get,” I deadpan. I couldn’t tell her this was the kiss to end all kisses. That his kiss ruined me for all other men. That his kiss left me breathless and desperate and begging for more. “What will you do now?” “What can I do? He doesn’t want to see me.” “Wait! What? What do you mean? And what about therapy? The nightmares. The panic attacks. You can’t stop seeing him.” “He freaked out and told me I had to go. He offered me a list of referrals.” “Okay, good,” she says and I pinch the bridge of my nose. “What?” Her eyebrow lifts. “I kind of forgot it at his office.” “What do you plan to do about that? Because if your answer is nothing, I’ll smack you upside the head.” “What do you expect me to do about it?” “I expect you to man up, head to his office and get it back.” I look down to the floor, playing with the hem of my skirt. Sydney takes a step closer to me. “It will be okay. You just need the referral list. In and out.” My eyes must bug out of my head at her choice of verbiage, because she busts out laughing.

“Grow up.” I roll my eyes and step away. “That’s it? No more gossip?” “I would have thought that was juicy enough for a lifetime.” “I don’t know about a lifetime. I’d say a week, maybe two.” She shrugs and I shake my head. I’m a few steps from the office door when I realize she’s no longer next to me. Turning back to where I was, I see she’s still standing there. “Come on, Sydney. Before you catch flies in that mouth.” She lets out a laugh and then rights herself. It’s good to have us back. “If you don’t hurry, we’ll be late to the meeting,” I say to her as I stand waiting for her to catch up. She doesn’t say anything but I know the previous conversation is far from over. Everyone on our team is already in the conference room when we make it back into the office. Grabbing my notepad from my desk, we jet inside and all eyes turn to us. I sit down and stare up at Michael, who is already going over the budgets and objectives for the rest of the week. We’re working on a campaign for a new fashion publication that’s set to launch in six months. Around the room everyone throws out random hashtags and concepts for an Instagram program we will kick off the beginning of the next week. It seems the office has returned to normal. The excited energy is back from before Richard’s death. This should make me happy. I know Richard would be pleased. Instead, it tightens my chest. Rubbing at the muscles there, I concentrate on what is being said. Breathing in and following Preston’s techniques helps keep the panic at bay. Every day that passes, the anxiety lessens when I’m in the office. I only wish the nightmares would stop, too. They’re so strange. They make absolutely no sense. I have never seen blood like I have in my nightmares. I have never felt fear like I do in my night terrors. As I rub the fatigue out of my eyes from another restless night, I know I need to follow Sydney’s advice and get the referral list from Preston. When I get back to my desk, I grab my cell phone and dial the number for his office. On the third ring the phone is answered. “Park Psychology. How may I help you?” A high-pitched voice answers. I know instantly I have never met this receptionist. Her breath comes through the phone in a ragged burst and sounds as though she’s just run a marathon. “May I please speak to Dr. Montgomery? This is Eve Hamilton calling. I wanted to get a referral from him.” “Ca-Can you hold on a minute? Let me see if he’s with a patient.” The phone drops and echoes on the desk. Then I hear the sound of her heels on the wood floors. A little laugh escapes me as I realize she forgot to put me on hold. I wonder if she’s new? A few seconds later, she returns out of breath again. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hamilton. He’s on a call, and will be on and off calls for the rest of the day. He said he will send a courier to you with the chart and referral list.” Courier? Wow. “No, that’s okay. If he can just leave the file with you, I have a lunch meeting in the area so I can stop by afterward. Say two p.m.?”

“Um, okay. I guess that’s okay. He has a patient then. I’ll just grab it from him before he goes in.” “Thank you.” Hanging up, I pinch the bridge of my nose. He won’t even speak to me. I shudder at the thought, then let out a deep sigh. It will be fine. Everything is fine. Don’t get upset. In. Out. In. Out. I turn back to my computer and start my search for stock images for the new Instagram campaign.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX EVE

PEOPLE SCURRY past me as I make my way uptown to my meeting. The sky is its usual shade of New York City gray. It’s dark and dingy and utterly ominous. I pull my coat tighter around my body. A skirt is not appropriate for this weather. Neither are the Louboutins I’m wearing as I walk the ten blocks to StreetSide Grill where I’m meeting Nicolette from Posh Life. We are meeting to go over and finalize the details for the #PerfectlyPoshLife campaign. When I enter the restaurant, my heart picks up until it’s pounding rhythmically in my chest. “Believe in yourself. If you do, no one will doubt you.” I straighten my posture and walk toward the hostess. “I’m meeting—” I start to say but I stop speaking as I notice a tall, lithe brunette waving at me. “I see her.” I smile and make my way to Nicolette. For the next forty-five minutes, I run over the ideas we pulled together to build hype for the launch. I gathered a group of the top trendsetters in the fashion industry to launch the hashtag as well as a living storyboard of what it means to live the #PerfectlyPoshLife. I knocked it out of the park. She loved the idea. What an amazing feeling to believe in myself and succeed because of it. Sure, I second guessed myself—but then I did it. I used Preston’s technique of remembering Richard, but now I see that I can do it and I didn’t need anyone’s help. I succeeded on my own merits. Preston would be proud— Preston. Looking down, I glance at my watch. 2:45. Lunch ran a little later than I anticipated, but once we started to talk, we couldn’t stop. The ideas just kept flowing. I debate whether to call before heading to his office. I said two o’clock, but I’m sure the forty-five minutes I’m late won’t be a big deal. I smile to myself and turn in the direction I need to go. When I see Preston’s large, ominous building spanning in front of me, my grin drops off my face. You can do this. As much as you want him to be your doctor, maybe he’s right. Maybe you need space from him. Stepping inside, I present my ID and head for the elevators. You would think after coming here for months, maybe just maybe they would let me pass, but alas, I need to present my ID every time. Once I make it to his floor, I’m met by an empty reception desk. I push open the door and look down the hall. I wonder if she’s in the bathroom? Maybe she left my file on her desk.

I scan the neatly organized surface but don’t see anything. Not wanting to rummage, I walk down the narrow hall to investigate whether someone who works here knows where she put it. As I pass Preston’s door, I expect to see it closed. Instead, I’m met with cerulean blue eyes staring up at me. “What are you doing here?” he says from his desk and I take a step into the room. “I needed to get my file. She told me to come.” “Who told you?” “Your receptionist.” He shakes his head and groans to himself. “Of course she did.” Then he pulls himself from his chair and stands, “I told her I would send a courier,” he mutters more to himself than to me. “I know, but I was in the area. I said I would pick it up.” “Did you do this to see me?” “No.” His eyes widen and I swallow. “Maybe.” “You can’t be here.” The muscles tightening in my neck tense as he watches me. His unwavering gaze has me on edge. “I needed—” “What did you need?” No more lies, or false truths. As easy as it was to have the files sent over, I chose to come here, and it’s time I lay my cards on the table and be honest. “To see you,” I admit on a sigh. “Why?” The mesmerizing blue of Preston’s eyes swallows me whole. They unnerve me as I step closer. A small frown line develops between his brows. “Because I can’t stand the idea that I never will again.” His gaze softens at my words. He takes a step toward me, and I move farther into the room. “I know this is wrong,” Preston says as he takes another step. “I know we have to stop.” Step. “But this feeling weaves through me every time I see you. It takes control of me. It’s like I can’t … I can’t stop myself.” Step. “I’m not your patient anymore.” I breathe out. One more step will place him directly in front of me. My chest heaves as I wait. “Semantics.” Step. His voice drips with heat. It sends shivers down my spine as he reaches out and pulls me toward him. “God dammit, I fucking want you but I can’t be with you. This shit is fucked up. I’m fucked up. You are … were my patient. There is a statute of limitations. Two years. There’s a reason they say a minimum of two years after terminating the doctor/patient relationship, and even then … Even then it’s frowned upon. This thing between us could do irrevocable damage to you. Statistics have shown—” I lift my hand, place my finger on the soft skin of his lips, and silence him as I shorten the length between us. “I don’t give a fuck about statistics. Don’t fucking care about any of it.” Lifting onto my tiptoes, I place my lips almost to his. Our mouths barely touch, but as the seconds pass

between us all I feel is the soft caress of his breath fanning over my lips. I could breathe him in. Inhale him. Consume him. Ours breaths mingle in a slow beat. One so hypnotic, I have been placed under his spell. Finally, he closes the remaining distance that separates us. He reaches for me, pulling me into his arms. Soft fingers turn my chin up. I soften my body into his as he hovers … almost touching His exhales caress my lips. “What do you want? What are you doing to me?” he mutters more to himself than to me. But I answer him breathlessly nonetheless. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” The real words I want to say won’t come out, so instead I answer the question with the only answer I have … I press my mouth to his. He responds eagerly, his lips spreading against mine, his tongue seeking entry until he’s kissing me with abandon. His hands cup my cheeks and our movements slow until we are left panting. “That kiss, did it feel fake? Did that feel like transference?” He doesn’t speak as I wrap my hands around his neck. “Does this?” I pull my body closer and grind up against him. “Does this feel like transference?” Our mouths crash together again. If it is at all possible, it’s even more frantic than before. This kiss is a fire. One that is sure to burn us, but neither of us cares. We can’t get enough. On a gasp, I realize I’m being lifted off the floor, carried a short distance, and then lowered onto the smooth top of his desk. My skirt lifts and I feel the cool surface against my exposed skin. I shudder and Preston pulls away and surveys me. A primal groan escapes his mouth as he takes in my now exposed garter. His normally blue eyes have grown dark and needy, almost black with heat. He reaches out and traces my swollen lips then passes a hand down my neck to the hollow of my chest. He continues a trail until he unbuttons each button on my blouse. Slowly. One. Two. Three. I shiver as he passes lightly over each breast, his fingertips stroking each pert nipple. He touches me, but it’s not enough. I need him inside me. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pull his body in toward me. His rock hard length presses against my core. He looks at me through hooded eyes as he pulls his hand away from my chest and tips me backward so my back hits the broad surface. Leaning down, he removes my legs from around his waist and traces up the exposed skin of my thigh. When he reaches my thong, he runs circles

over the sensitive flesh hidden beneath. Teasing me. Torturing me. “Please,” I moan. “What do you need?” He rubs a little harder. “Do you need me to touch you? Taste you? Or do you want me inside you?” A ragged moan leaves my mouth as I push up to apply more pressure. He nods in understanding, then drops down. Soft fingers pull at my thong. Remove it. Leave me bare. Soft lips touch my skin. Traveling at a punishingly slow pace, sure to drive me mad with need. Preston’s mouth kisses up higher. Inch by inch. Sucking. Nipping. Drawing it out, making me pant. When I think I can’t take much more, his hands cup me from beneath, lifting my pelvis to meet his mouth. Warm currents electrify my body. His arms are braced around my hips and pull me closer. His warm breath hits me where I need him most. Desperate. I’m desperate for him to touch me there. To feel his tongue lap at my sensitive skin. His fingers part me. One slips inside as his tongue swipes at my buddle of nerves. I lift my hips and he buries his face deeper into me. He licks with a ferocity I have never felt before. His fingers keep up the pace, matching the swipe of his tongue. A demanding rhythm. His assault drives me higher and higher. Faster and Faster. Until the ripple of sensations flood my senses. When I come down from my high, I find him staring down at me with hooded eyes. “God, you’re beautiful when you come undone.” Lifting to a seated position, I reach for his belt buckle. “What are you doing?” he says as I start to unzip his pants. “I want to taste you now.” “Jesus, we can’t do this here! We’re lucky Maggie hasn’t returned from lunch yet.” He looks toward the half open door to his office and then back to me. “Fuck it,” he groans out as he frees himself from the confines of his pants. “If I’m on borrowed time, I want to be

inside you.” Gripping his shaft, I guide him to where I need him. “I got you,” he whispers in my ear, sending a shiver to spread down my body. He settles between my hips. My heat pulsates around him as he dips just a bit inside. Teasing. A whimper escapes as he pushes deeper within, then withdraws. Then with one powerful thrust, he’s fully seated in me, stretching me open as my body tightly fits around him. This feels too good. As though our bodies are meant to be joined together. I wrap my arms around his shoulders. My nails grip at his skin. His movements increase. His body slams into me at a punishing pace. Like a man exorcising his lust for something he cannot have. Again, an all-encompassing bliss spreads through me. My whole body tenses with the need to release. With a final slam of Preston’s hips, I fall into a heavenly bliss. With one last shudder, he falls, too. As our breathing regulates, he lays panting on my chest. When we finally calm our breaths, he separates our bodies and stands. The haze of desire has left his eyes and something else is there that I can’t pinpoint. I straighten my own body and lift up to sit on the edge of the desk. Preston runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. We didn’t use a—” “I’m healthy and on the pill.” “Me too, but still. Shit. I can’t think when you’re around.” His brows knit together as he studies me. “You’re a dangerous temptation. You’re an addiction. One I fear I’ll never kick now that I’ve tasted you. Now that I’ve felt you.” His words are barely audible. “So don’t.” “We can’t be together. We shouldn’t. If this came out, I would be ruined. All my work at the hospital—” His blue eyes morph into swollen red-rimmed slits as he rubs them furiously. “But I’m not willing to stop.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN PRESTON

WHAT THE FUCK have I done? This girl renders me fucking blind. Hell, when she’s around I don’t know up from down. She clouds my judgment. But I’ve never had a choice. Not with her. There is no choice when Eve’s involved. Even now I can’t get her out of my mind. She just walked out the door and already I’m itching to call her back. I’m not done. Not nearly done. Sitting back in my chair, my eyes roam over my desk. The kiss … my mouth touching hers … One kiss, I’d told myself. What a lie that was. I knew the moment I kissed her that everything inside me would implode. But I kissed her anyway. And it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough. I’ll never forget how my tongue felt against her skin. How it felt as I licked the soft hollow of her neck. I can still taste her. I can still smell her. She lingers in my office like a sin. She’s my sin. Not my salvation. And I don’t give a damn.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT EVE

GLANCING DOWN AT MY WATCH, I see it’s after five p.m. Where did the afternoon go? Heat spreads across my face. I know exactly where it went. Preston. When I walk into my apartment, I hear water running in the kitchen. I hang my coat in the closet, then make my way inside and find Sydney filling a pot with water. “I’m making pasta. Want some wine?” “Sure. What’s the occasion?” “Well, for one, I hear you landed the Posh Life deal.” “And two?” “Well, it’s obvious you didn’t come back to work for a reason, and from the look of your clothes …” She looks me up and down and I notice that in my haste to get dressed, I forgot to button two of the buttons on my blouse. “I’m thinking you have some explaining to do.” I swallow and open the fridge to grab a bottle. “But first a glass of wine,” I say and she lifts her eyebrow. “Wow, that bad? Or by the looks of things that good?” “The best, but yeah. I’m royally fucked. Figuratively and literally.” I pop open the bottle, grab two glasses, and pour. I drink my glass so fast I barely taste it. “Wait, what?” Sydney places her hands on her hips as she taps her foot. When I don’t answer right away and then pour myself another glass, she gestures with her hands for me to hurry it along and talk. I can’t meet her eyes and confess what I’m about to, so instead I look down and pick a piece of lint from my skirt. “I slept with Preston,” I admit on a sigh and she slaps a hand over her mouth. “I would say I didn’t mean for it to happen, but that would be a lie.” “What happened?” I purse my lips at her and raise an eyebrow. “You know what I mean. How did it … Oh, just tell me everything.” Reaching over, I hand her a filled glass and take a seat at the island in the small kitchen. “So, right after the meeting, I went over there to get my referral list and file from the receptionist. Well, my meeting ran long and by the time I got there, the girl I was supposed to meet went for a late lunch. I went looking for someone to help me, and, well, I bumped into Preston. One thing led to another … ”

“And you fell on his penis. Got It.” Sarcasm drips off her words. “Sydney! God. Really?” “What? You know that’s how you made it sound.” “Fine. It was a little bit more elaborate than that. The moral of the story, we had sex … on his desk.” And with that she jumps up and down, sauce from the spoon she’s holding spraying across the room. “Shit,” she says, eyes wide at the mess. “Don’t worry about it. You cook, I’ll clean. It’s my fault, anyway.” Standing, I set my wine down, grab a rag from the counter, and get rid of the sauce splattered on the cabinets. When I’m done, I turn to find Sydney staring at me. “What?” I ask and she frowns. “Now what? He’s your doctor. It’s not like you can date him.” “Was my doctor,” I clarify, and then let out a deep breath. “But yeah, you’re right. We can’t be together.”

WHEN MY PHONE pings a few days later, I almost fall off my chair. Preston? I didn’t expect to hear from him so soon, or ever again. What does he want? Does he miss me? Preston: You left your referral list I shatter at his words, or lack thereof. I want him to miss me. I want him to beg to want to see me. For him to feel what I feel, but instead, it’s as though my soul is broken into thousands of glass shards, so small you can never piece them back together. My shoulders tip forward and I continue to walk. Normally this walk is too far for me to trek in this weather, but after Preston’s text I need the air. I need to be able to breathe. The air tastes bitter on my lips, or maybe that’s just my pain manifesting in all aspects of me. In. Out. In. Out. My gait is unusually short today. Each step a feat. But no matter how hard I try to abandon my funk, to look up at the world around me, to take in the beauty of the day, it doesn’t matter as my body continues to trudge along the pavement until I reach my mom’s apartment. “Mom, are you up?” She doesn’t answer as per usual, but I find her soon enough. The last rays of sunlight stream through the window illuminating her. She looks like an angel. Beautiful and fair, sitting up in her bed. There is a glow about her and for the first time in forever she seems lucid. Together. “Hi.” I step closer, assessing her before I get too excited that I finally have the chance to talk to her about some things. “You look good. How are you feeling?” “I have a headache.” She shifts in her bed, slouching her back. It’s as if a light switch was flipped. She’s a different person now. Is she always so lucid when I’m not around? Does she only do this to get my attention? Ignoring her comment, I take a seat alongside the bed

and glance at her. What is it about my presence that makes her act this way? “Mom, a few weeks ago I asked you about Richard’s company. Why did you invest your money in The Stone Agency?” “Do we have to do this now?” “I’d like to. I just don’t understand anything. You never talk about Dad. You won’t tell me about his accident. You don’t tell me why you invested. You’re my mom and I know nothing about you at all.” “It’s the past. Can’t you leave it in the past?” She closes her eyes and leans back onto the pillow behind her, essentially shutting me out again. “It’s not my past, Mom.” She opens her eyes. They’re no wider than a squint. “After your father passed, I wasn’t well enough to work. Richard gave me the opportunity to invest some of the insurance money in his startup company. It was a gamble but it paid off in the end.” “Why did you risk it?” “I owe everything to Richard. Everything. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know where we’d be.” She reclines again and I know she’s done with me. But at least I have one more piece of the puzzle, whatever the puzzle might be. Richard saved us. How I’m not sure, but I need to find out. Next time she seems better I’ll find out more. Once my mom’s breathing becomes shallow with sleep, I head back toward my apartment. When I’m only a block away, my phone rings. “Hey.” Preston’s voice is low and raspy. Just hearing it makes me forget all the sadness I felt on the walk to my mom’s. Instead, it makes my whole body warm. “Hi,” I breathe. “You left the referral list again.” “I know.” “Why didn’t you respond?” “There was nothing to say.” Neither of us speaks for a few minutes until I hear him swallow. “I can swing by tomorrow,” I say. He’s quiet for a second before responding. “That might not be the best idea after what happened last time.” I let out a chuckle and he follows suit. “Yeah, you might be right. Maybe we should meet somewhere else. Somewhere a bit more public?” I close my eyes and take a breath, then silently pray he doesn’t offer the courier service again. I want to see him. If only for a moment. “I have a patient tomorrow night. But I can stop by your building and leave it with the

doorman.” “Call me when you get there and I’ll grab it.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line and I wonder if the call disconnected. “I want to briefly go over the list with you.” “Yes, that makes sense. Okay, my next patient is here. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hanging up the phone, I swear I feel every muscle in my body loosen and then tighten again. I’m not ready to let him go. I’m not ready to move on.

ONE DAY LATER … I should still be at work. I should be finishing up the last of the details for the Posh Life launch. I definitely shouldn’t be home pacing my apartment. But here I am, in front of the mirror, reapplying my lip-gloss for the umpteenth time. Truth is, it’s already five p.m., but with the new project, this will be my first chance to prove myself as more than Richard’s family. Landing the project isn’t enough. Nailing the pitch isn’t enough. I need to knock it out of the park, but instead, my head is too distracted with what I’ll wear to see Preston. Black skirt and a silk blouse, black pumps. That way it appears as if I’m coming home from work. Finally, after what seems like forever, my phone pings with a new text. Preston: Downstairs in lobby. Me: Come up. I type before I can second-guess myself. I wonder what he will say. My heart leaps in my chest as I wait. In. Out. In. Out. The intercom buzzes. “Hello?” “Hello, Miss. Hamilton. I have a Preston Montgomery here to see you.” “Send him up.” When I swing the door open, my chest tightens. It’s only been a few days since his lips touched mine, but I’m hungry for him all over again. As my gaze reaches his, I know I’m not the only one affected by this pull. He still feels it. His breathing is shallow as he surveys me. It makes my pulse race. With one step, we are practically touching. So close that if I reach out, my hand would be on his. Desire pools in my belly. Lifting my hand, my fingertips connect with his jaw. A sharp inhale of breath echoes through the room. “No matter what’s wrong or right, or even if I can lose my license, I don’t fucking care.” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth and I’m afraid he might draw blood. Finally letting go, he speaks. “Go away with me.” There is finality in his voice. As though this is my one chance to be with him. “What?”

“I need time with you. I need to see you again before I let you go. I’m not ready for this to end.” I can hear him take a deep breath and in my head I hear the word he didn’t say … yet. “I know my job is on the line but maybe we can figure out a way to make it work.” I wonder if he hears his own lie or if he, like me, so desperately wants to believe that he’s still clinging to the hope of a chance. “But how? What if someone sees us?” “We’ll go somewhere. Just you and me.” He motions his hand between us. “I know it’s so wrong for me to ask but I’m aski—” “Yes.” “Yes?” His face contorts. Awe, fear, and then resignation cross over his face. This might be our only shot to be together again. “Yeah, one trip. One perfect trip and then …” I take a breath but don’t have the strength to say the rest of words I know will one day break my heart. “And then I’ll let you go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE PRESTON

THIS ISN’T A GOOD IDEA. We shouldn’t be going away. If the APA finds out, I can lose my license. Do I trust her enough to know she won’t tell? We’re asking for trouble. Or at least, I am. But like an addict, I need my next hit. What the hell am I doing? What the hell are we doing? Maybe it can work out … who am I kidding? Shit. I need to think straight but around her I can’t. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous. She’s everything I want and don’t deserve. I’m being selfish but I don’t care. I need to have her, even if only for a brief moment. I know the ramifications of my actions. But fuck. How can I not have her? Just once. Maybe twice. One taste. God, it’s wrong. I guess I’m a bigger asshole than I thought, but she’s pure temptation. Consequences be damned.

CHAPTER THIRTY EVE

I HURRY BACK to my apartment. I have to pack. Tomorrow we will be going somewhere after work. I’m not sure where, as Preston finalized the details. I don’t think one weekend will be enough, though I lied and agreed to it because the thought of not having this time with him makes me sick. The thought of not feeling his hands again is too much to bear. So I agreed and made a promise I know I can’t keep. “So, what are you going to do?” Sydney’s asks after I tell her Preston invited me away for the weekend. “Fuck him out of my system.” I laugh and she giggles, too. She thinks I’m joking. When I stop laughing and give her a serious look, she stops as well. “What do you mean?” “Since we can’t be together here, we’re going away. We’re going to get each other out of our systems.” She crosses her hands in front of her chest. “You think that’s a good idea?” “Nope.” “So why are you doing it?” “Because I can’t not.” She nods in understanding. “When do you leave?” I take a gulp of my wine before answering her question. “After work tomorrow.” “Where you going?” “No clue.” “I hope you know what you’re doing.” Me, too.

I’M a basket of pent up energy at work. Not only did I not sleep well, but I’m also super nervous about leaving with Preston today. Luckily for me, at least my anxiety at work is almost under control. I have become well versed in self-soothing techniques. That, and I’m popping homeopathic remedies like they’re candy. If only they made a drop for calming my subconscious mind when asleep.

To make matters worse, the lawyers are here again. Who knew settling someone’s affairs would take so long? That Richard left his shares of the company to my mother leads me to believe maybe he needed psychiatric help as well. I’ll never understand why he did it or why my mom had anything to do with anything, but as long as Michael has control of the show, I feel secure we’ll all continue to have jobs. After answering emails and basically fidgeting at my desk, I see Michael step out into the hallway and wave me into the conference room. With long strides, I make my way in and take a seat. “Thanks for joining us. I’ll be stepping out shortly, but I wanted to ask if your mom was okay?” His comment makes me narrow my eyes. “Yeah, sure. I mean, no different than always. Why do you ask?” “Well, Mr. Swartz has been trying to contact her to sign some papers in regard to the will and she hasn’t responded to his request. We wanted to make sure she was okay.” “From what she’s said on the phone and when I’ve seen her, yeah, but I can follow up with her next week if you want?” Normally I would go straight to my mom with this news and make sure she’s okay, but I’m tired of not living my own life and I need to stop enabling her. She needs to learn to be more self-sufficient. Finding out why she hasn’t answered the lawyers will have to wait. “That would be great. Thank you so much.” He stands and straightens his suit jacket. “I’ll leave you two.” I smile up at him, then turn my attention to the attorney. “Thank you, Ms. Hamilton, for taking your time to meet with me again. I wanted to discuss how you would like to proceed with the apartment. At the last meeting you said you didn’t wish to keep the property. I wanted to see if you had changed your mind, and if not, whether you’d like help selling it?” “I have thought about it and yes, I have no wish to keep it. As much as I love it, it’s too close to my mother.” I try to laugh. The idea of living so close to her again makes my whole body crawl. I love my mom, but she sucks the life out of me. “Okay, I can help you find a listing agent, and when the time comes, I can handle the closing with you.” “Thank you so much, Mr. Schwartz. If that was it, I do have to get back to work.” “Oh, yes, of course. I only have a few more papers to go over and then I’ll see myself out.” He’s already looking down and scribbling in his notepad. Once back at my desk, I type Manhattan realtors into my computer search engine. I’ve been putting this off for too long. It’s time to settle it.

IT’S OFFICIAL. By the time my desk clock says five, I’m bouncing off the walls. Sydney and I bolt out the door and head home. He should be there soon. My stomach is a ball of knots, as are my shoulders and the muscles in my back. Just as Sydney opens the door, my phone vibrates in my pocket and I jump to retrieve it. Sydney pads down the hallway and I head to my room and check my message.

Preston: I’m outside your building in the illegally parked Range Rover. Me: There in one minute. I grab the tiny carry-on bag I packed last night and make my way to leave. When I start walking to the door, I hear Sydney call my name. “Escaping without saying good-bye?” “He’s downstairs.” She nods. “Be safe, okay? And if you need me, no matter when, call.” “Okay.” She pulls me into a hug and then lets me go. I turn my back and head for the door. Biting my lip, I enter the elevator, and swallow hard as I make my descent. My heart rams in my chest with each step that brings me closer to the outside world, and by the time I see his parked car, I fear it might explode. Am I making the wrong decision? But then my world stops and my question is answered. No. I’m not. The late afternoon sun reflects in his eyes, twinkling crystals and sapphire specks dance across the distance. God, those eyes. He pulls me toward him. His mouth brushes over mine and my lips part on a gasp. Taking advantage of the opportunity, he deepens the kiss. His tongue fights mine in a frenzy of passion and desperation. Of hunger and need. As our mouths collide, it’s as if he’s fighting for ownership of me. To possess me. But what he doesn’t know is there’s no need. The moment I saw him, I was his. “I shouldn’t have done that in public, but when I look at you I lose all reason,” he mutters as he pulls away from me. “Here, get in the car before someone sees us.” He opens the door for me before slipping around to the driver side and getting in. “So, where to?” I ask as I fasten my seatbelt and he pulls away from the curb. “Ever been to Rhode Island?” A grin tugs at his lips. “Can’t say that I have.” “Good.” He smirks. “That’s it. That’s all you’re telling me?” “Yeah, it’s more fun this way.” I playfully swat at his arm and he gently encases my hand in his, then places our entwined hands on his lap. It’s an intimate gesture that makes me fall a bit more than I want. As we drive out of the city, my shoulders uncoil. The idea of spending a few days with Preston is exhilarating. Soft music plays throughout the interior of the car and I get lost in the skyline vanishing into the horizon the farther we get. We sit in comfortable silence. Preston’s fingers trace circles on my own as we continue to our destination. “How was work today?” He finally breaks the silence and I turn to him and smile. He looks away from the road for a brief second, his eyes soft. “It was okay.”

“Just okay?” “Well, I was a bit anxious to get away, so the day dragged. Then Richard’s attorney came to speak to me about the apartment.” “Have you decided what you want to do with it?” “I’m going to sell it.” His hand squeezes mine. “Other than that, the day was good. Just working on a new campaign I landed.” “That’s amazing.” “Thanks.” My lips split into a smile. It was pretty amazing. “What about you?” Although his face is forward and turned toward the road, I see his lips pucker. “You don’t have to tell me about your day if that makes you uncomfortable.” He nods and I can see him let out a big exhale. “How about you tell me something about your family.” “I can do that.” His lips tip up in a smirk. “What do you want to know?” “How about everything,” I blurt out, eliciting a hearty laugh from him. “Okay, everything. Hmm. Well, for starters, I’m one of three. I have an older brother named Jace, you already met his twins. Jace works at my father’s hedge fund, and then there is Madeline, my younger sister. She actually works in fashion. You would love her,” he says before he catches the implication and frowns. Getting to know her isn’t in the cards for us right now. He knows it and I know it. There’s too much for him to lose. After a brief silence, he shakes his head and appears to right his thoughts. “Where does she work?” “She’s the merchandising director for She.” I recognize the name instantly—She is a cutting edge fashion line that’s carried at all the high-end department stores and upscale boutiques in the city. “Are you close with your siblings?” “Yes, very. We speak on the phone almost daily and we try get together every week for dinner. Well, not this week. But typically.” “That’s so nice.” My voice betrays my emotions. I might see my mom every week, but we would never have what he has with his family. It just isn’t possible to get that from her. Needing to let my mind drift from my own dysfunctional family, I continue to drill him about his own. For the rest of the drive, we talk of everything and nothing. Mundane details that for most would seem unimportant, but for me, getting these tiny glimpses of the man who makes up Dr. Preston Montgomery is everything. I love hearing him talk about his parents. Married for thirty-seven years, they are still madly in love. And when he speaks of his siblings, it makes me smile from ear to ear. As we pull off the highway, I’m giddy with excitement. Two days alone with this man … I can’t wait.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE EVE

WE PULL down the long peninsula in Newport, Rhode Island. With a sharp inhale of breath, my mouth hangs open. Castle Hill Inn. It’s everything I’ve ever imagined perfection would be and more. Perched high up on the hill is a beautiful white-shingled mansion that overlooks the ocean. It’s one of the most magnificent homes I have ever seen. Preston pulls the car into the circular drive and we depart with the little luggage we have. The air is crisp, as most of the bitter winter has passed, making its way into spring. After checking in, we proceed to the quaint cottage set on the beach. Preston has secured a private residence for our weekend on the property. Before the door fully closes, he’s on me. Lifting me into his arms and sweeping me over to the giant canopy bed set in the center of the bedroom. Once I’m lying there, he lowers himself over me. I feel the pressure of his lips as my eyes shut with a moan. His mouth probes my own. His tongue tastes my tongue. In a haze, I feel his hands lifting at my blouse. He pulls away and I open my lids. He lifts my shirt above my head, then with slow, precise steps removes all my clothes. Lying on the bed naked, a shudder runs through my body as he undresses as well. His tall frame is long and lean. Each muscle well defined. This is the first time I’m seeing him naked. He’s perfect. Mesmerizing. He looks wild with lust and it lights me on fire. I want him to touch me, but he just stares down at me. Like a predator stalking his prey until he finally pounces. I position my legs further apart to allow him to cradle between them. When he aligns himself with my core, I lift my pelvis. Every part of my body quivers with anticipation. With need. My skin is a live wire. Ready to be set ablaze. He brushes against my entrance and a moan escapes me. He continues to tease me, running his length back and forth against my heat. Sweet torture. “Preston,” I cry out in a desperate plea. Our eyes lock. The blue of his irises is completely gone behind the black of his dilated pupils. He looks at me is as if he wants to devour every single inch of my body. Slowly, he pushes inside me. He cups my face and peers

into my eyes as he enters me inch by inch. The movement of his body stills, and with one swift lift of my hips, I close the space separating us until he is fully seated. Preston holds his body still until my muscles stretch to accommodate him, molding completely around him. “Please,” I moan, pleading with him to move. He silences my cries by covering my mouth with his and rotating his hips in a painfully slow circle. When I think I can take no more of his sweet torture, he retracts his body from mine and hovers again on the brink of entry. Then slams back in. Over and over again. Each time driving harder and harder. Deeper and deeper. He thrusts in slow strokes, in long ones. I welcome each pull and drag of his body. I cling to him, bracing my hands against his shoulders, my nails gripping and scratching across his sleek skin. He keeps me on the edge of my climax. Torturing me. With each move he makes, I hang on the precipice of bliss. Until I finally fall over the edge. Just as I return from my haze, I hear a fierce growl escape his mouth as he claims his own release. We lay panting, each of us needing to catch our breaths. Preston’s body is heavy on mine. His heart beats erratically against my own. They beat in tandem. As if we are one, and at the moment we still are. After a minute, he lifts up and places a soft kiss on my swollen lips. “That was amazing.” He kisses me again and I smile against his lips. He runs his tongue along the seam of my lips, and then pulls away. “Perfect,” I mutter. He removes his body from mine and rises from the bed. He crosses the room, and I feel as if I’m living in a wonderful dream—one I hope I never wake from. He returns wearing a robe, and in his hand is one for me. My lips spread at the gesture. “Thank you.” I stand from the bed, the sheet dropping away from my body. He sweeps his gaze across my naked form and I can see the desire in his eyes. “How is it possible I just had you and I already want more?” his voice is low and smooth, and makes my body shiver with desire. “I’m not sure, but if it makes you feel better, I feel the same way.” He gives me a lopsided smile and shakes his head. “Nope … Doesn’t help.” I walk to where he stands and wrap the robe around my body. “So, what do you want to do tonight? Do you want to go into town and grab dinner?”

“Truth?” “Always.” “I want to stay here with you … naked.” “Oh, thank God.” He laughs at my words and pulls me toward him. Sweeping me into his arms, he plants a soft kiss on my lips. “Want to order in room service?” he mumbles against my mouth.” “Mmm hmm.” My arms attempt to wrap around his neck but he pulls away before I can and I groan out in protest. “After dinner.” He walks over to the coffee table and grabs the room service menu. “Here, let’s take a look and I’ll call it up.” “Fine.” I pout, grabbing the menu and turning the page. “I’ll have the club sandwich.” “A girl after my own heart.” He smirks as he picks up the phone and dials. “Hi, yes. I would like to place an order for room service. Two club sandwiches, side of fries. Yes, that would be perfect. And a bottle of …” He stops talking and mouths to me, “Wine?” I nod. “Yes, and what bottle of Sauvignon Blanc do you recommend? Okay, yes. That would be perfect. Thank you.” He places the phone back down and turns to me. “We have thirty minutes to kill. How should we spend them?” His lips turn into the most wicked smile I have ever seen, and I swear I melt into a puddle in the middle of our cottage. “Shower.” I raise my brow suggestively. “I like the way you think.” Together we walk into the bathroom and into the shower. The hot water relaxes every part of my body as Preston lathers and soaps my body. Each pass of his hand causes my body to shiver, even under the heat. When he drops to his knees in front of me, I’m sure my own legs will give out. But they don’t. Well, at least not until his lips find me and he spreads me open and devours me. Under the water, he makes me quiver and quake once again.

AN HOUR LATER, and with our stomachs full, we find ourselves sitting in front of a roaring fire drinking wine. Night has fallen and the fire crackles in the dark room, casting a shadow over Preston’s face. Hooking my feet around the chair legs, I lean back and take of sip from my glass. Preston stares at me from across the coffee table. “It dawned on me that for as much time as we’ve spent together, I barely know anything about you,” I say as I lift the glass again to my mouth. “That’s not true. I told you about my family.” I let out a laugh at his statement. “Preston, that was today. You just told me that.” “Well, I couldn’t really tell you anything before … with me being your …” His forehead creases.

“I have an idea. How about for the rest of the weekend that subject is banned.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I hold up my hand. “No, really, Preston. I don’t want to waste my time with you arguing why we shouldn’t do this. We both know the ramifications of us being together, of us getting caught. There’s no need to discuss it further.” “Fair enough. What do you want to know?” “I have no clue. You can’t put a girl on the spot like that. What the heck am I supposed to ask, some dumb question like if you were stranded on a desert island, what would you take?” “I’d take my iPad. That way I have books, music and I can Skype.” His eyes glint with humor and I roll mine in return. “That’s cheating. And p.s., you wouldn’t have Wi-Fi on this island.” “You need to specify that kind of information before you ask the question,” he teases and I laugh. “I didn’t even ask the question.” “Touché. What about you? Barring no Wi-Fi in this version, what would you take?” “My collection of Jane Austen books.” “What? Not a vampire book, or one with a rich CEO?” He opens his eyes wide in a mockingly shocked expression. “Har har har. No, smart-ass, and it’s witch books I’m into. But if I was stranded on an island I wouldn’t bring them.” My laughter dies and I narrow an eye at him. This is my chance to discover everything I ever wanted to know about him. I can’t possibly waste it on stupid trivia type questions. But at the same time, if he’s opening up I don’t want to scare him off. Keep it simple, don’t get too deep. I grow silent for a minute as I try to think of something … anything. “Did you grow up in the city?” I finally ask. He lifts his head so our eyes lock. “I did. Born and raised.” “Where in the city?” “Upper east. I moved downtown for college, and then when I was in school getting my doctorate, I purchased my brownstone in Murray Hill.” “How do you like living there?” “It’s a bit young for my taste,” he says before he realizes. “I mean—” “It’s fine. I have to agree. I can’t imagine a … Wait. How old are you, anyway? Is it weird I don’t know this about you?” My hearts races as I realize just how much I don’t know and how much I’m dying to find out. “I’m thirty-four.” Ten years older than me. How am I just finding this out? But I guess in the grand scheme of things his age is the least of our problems. “A bit old to be going to the bars every night.” “Way too old to be doing that.” He chuckles.

“Did you ever? Like in college, were you a big partier?” “I was.” “What made you stop?” “When Sloane died, I stopped.” He leaves it at that, and I swallow at the revelation. I want to ask more, but I don’t dare. If he wanted to divulge, he would, and I know better than most never to push someone who’s not ready to open up. We watch the fire, neither of us speaking. Just enjoying the silence—a comfortable silence as if we’ve known each other our whole lives. The seconds pass, become minutes, and soon our glasses are empty. The wood has sizzled to small crackling embers. “I’m not a big drinker,” I say finally. His gaze sweeps over me and it’s as if he’s looking at me for the first time. “You could have fooled me,” he says as he raises an eyebrow in challenge. A genuine smile lines his face and he lets out a sigh and relaxes into the couch. “Believe it or not, I’m really not. With the way my mom is, I never know when I need to be on call. So typically, I stay sober. Since Richard’s death, I’ve been indulging far more than normal.” “That’s common. Everyone grieves in their own way.” I pucker my lips at him and then smirk. “Are you doctoring me right now?” His eyes widen and then he lets out a laugh. “Oops. Sometimes I just can’t turn it off.” “It’s okay. It’s one of the things I like about you.” “And what are the other things?” Preston sets his glass down and stands. He stalks over to me and sweeps my body into his arms, burying his lips in my neck and tickling the sensitive skin with his jaw. “Again?” I giggle as he places me on the bed and starts to pull my robe off. “If this is all I have, I plan to savor every second. I don’t want to waste a minute of our time together. I don’t want to waste a second.” And for the third time since we’ve been alone together at Castle Hill, he ravishes me fully and completely.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO EVE

THE SMELL WAS EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t escape it. I looked down to see my hands were shaking so badly as the thick crimson flowed through my small fingers. It clung and coated the surface. A high-pitched scream echoed through the room. I looked for the sound but then realized it came from me. Jolting forward, I clasp at my chest. My eyes won’t adjust to the darkness and I’m frantic to see. A wrecked sob tears through as I search for where I am. Tears pour from my eyes and through the dark haze of the night, light flitters in. “Shh.” Searching hands find me. They pull me forward and into his warm body. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.” “I’m not. I’m not okay,” I cry out, pulling my hands from his and touching all over my body, trying to find the origin of the blood. “What are you looking for?” Ragged breaths leave my lungs. Preston holds me and rocks me in his arms. As much as I try to pull away, he holds me tighter. “There’s nothing on you.” “I need to wipe it off,” I whisper in defeat. “There’s nothing there.” He lifts me his lap, and I curl into him. My whole body goes limp. I allow him to soothe me. Slowly, my pulse regulates and I take smaller pulls of oxygen. When I’m finally breathing normally, he lifts my jaw to look at him. His brows are knitted, and he looks sad as one finger reaches out and swipes at a tear that runs down my cheek. “What can I do?” he implores. “Just hold me.” “I can do that.” And he does. He holds me. He holds me until all the tears drain from my eyes. Until every last bit of panic has passed. His heart beats against my back and eventually it slows to a soft lull. Looking up, I see he’s fallen asleep with me in his arms. My heart is full. He takes care of me. Never have I felt so safe. Cared for. In his embrace the world stills, and it’s just him and me and nothing else matters. When I’m sure he’s fully asleep, I creep out of bed, moving quietly to not wake him. I grab my purse and pull out my notebook. Perching at the end of the bed, I sit and stare. Every move, every breath I take note of—recording them in my heart and memory to

always cherish. The feeling pulsing through me right now for this man is so concrete and absolute. I’m falling for him, and every moment I spend with him, my emotions become more complicated. Because this isn’t just sex. This isn’t something I can get out of my system. There is no removing Preston Montgomery from my system. He’s embedded so deeply inside me I fear I have no hope but to one day fall in love with this man.

LAST NIGHT I sat and watched Preston sleep, and somewhere between the inhale and exhale of his breath he pulled me against him and I drifted off to sleep. As my eyes flutter open, he looks across the bed at me. He’s studying me. “What?” “I’m watching you.” “Creepy much,” I groan, but in my head I’m laughing. Pot, meet kettle. “Stop looking at me. I probably look like a mess.” “You know what makes you so beautiful? That you don’t know how beautiful you are.” “I do not look beautiful right now.” “Baby, no matter what you do, you could never not be beautiful.” My eyes widen, first at his statement, then at the moniker. Both make me melt in equal measure. Warmth spreads across my cheeks. “Thanks.” “Come here.” His voice is husky. It makes me want to run to him, but first I have to brush my teeth. No matter how much I want him right now, making myself presentable is my number one priority. I move to leave the bed and two firm arms bracket themselves around my waist. “Hey.” “Where do you think you’re going?” Preston’s arms trail up from behind as his face buries in my neck. His breath fans my skin, and the feeling is incredible. It causes goose bumps to prickle my skin. Soft kisses first, and then his tongue licks with abandon. When he circles the back of my neck, my whole body shivers. As much as I need to get up from the bed, this man renders me completely useless as he drops kisses down the length of my spine. Before I know what’s happening, I’m flipped over to my back and Preston is hovering over me. He leans down and plants a series of kisses over my abdomen. His tongue traces a path down to my belly button, then to my pelvis … and across my hipbone. Small kisses. Soft nips.

“What is it about your skin?” he mutters into my body. All of a sudden, Preston lifts my legs to rest over his shoulders. He opens my body to him. His fingers press deep inside me in tempo with his masterful tongue. My breathing becomes erratic. I feel myself come apart as he feasts upon me. “That’s it, baby,” he mumbles against my body as I become lost in my pleasure and explode. When I come down from my high, he’s just staring at me. “What about you?” My lip lifts into a small smile. “That was for me.” A deliciously sexy smirk spreads against his face. Who is this man? He’s so different from the Preston I was falling for before. Lord, am I in trouble. Screwed, really. Because heaven knows I was not prepared to guard my heart against this Preston. This Preston owns me already and it’s only been one day. Together we shower. This time we’re in and out. No distractions. Preston was determined to not let me have my way with him, claiming I needed breakfast. After breakfast of our favorite—waffles—we find ourselves sitting in Adirondack chairs on the large sprawling lawn that appears to cascade down into the sea. The view is aweinspiring, as we have a panoramic view of the ocean below crashing upon the beach. “Are you cold?” Preston inquiries from beside me. My arms are pulled tightly around me, but inside my coat I’m not cold. Just comfortable. It’s been so long since I felt this peaceful that even if it were the dead of winter, I wouldn’t move. “I’m perfect.” He leans across the space separating our chairs and captures my lips. His are soft as they gently nudge my lips to part. I tremble in his mouth. It might only be one kiss, but I am lost, and if this is what lost feels like, I never want to be found. Our faces pull apart and our eyes lock. In his gaze I see the possibility of more, and the thought scares me. How am I supposed to let him go? How can I let someone go who makes me feel so much? He makes me feel beautiful. He makes me feel special. He makes me feel free. “You happy?” he asks. “Beyond.” I smile back. “Good, because this is only the beginning. I have a whole day planned for us.” He jumps up and reaches his hands out toward me. As I stretch mine out to him, a part of me wants to pull back. Freeze time. Once I get up, the end has started. Like tiny sand grains slowly spilling. The end is near. I decide that I won’t dwell on what the future brings. Instead, I plaster on the biggest smile in the world and vow that Preston will never see my inner thoughts. We walk in the direction of the main building, but instead of going inside, he asks for the keys to his car. Once inside, he grabs my hand in his and squeezes lightly.

“Since we never left the cottage last night, I thought it would be nice to see Newport.” “I would have been fine staying inside.” I bat my eyelids and he laughs. “I’m sure you would have.” “So, what’s there to do in Newport?” “Well, typically it’s more of a beach town, but I figured we would do a bit of sightseeing. Then we can grab lunch.” “Sounds like a great plan.” A few minutes later we pull into the quaint seaside town. Historic buildings line the streets and I can see how lovely it would be in the summer. Although the weather is losing much of its chill, it will still be months before Newport is in its full glory. Preston pulls the car into a parking spot, and then like a perfect gentleman, comes around to my side to help me out. My hair whips against my face as the ocean breeze picks up. I pull my light coat tighter around me as he rests an arm over my shoulder, bundling me to him. His heat radiates through the material, warming me instantly. With each store we pass, we peek inside, looking over the cute accessories and knickknacks Newport has to offer. Removing Preston’s arm from around me, I make my way to the opposite wall of a shop we’re investigating. My fingertips trail over glass apothecary jars on the shelf. I pick one up and study the image. When my eyes roam the room, I see Preston walk toward the register. He has something in his hand but I can’t see what it is. The sales woman is quick to wrap it, and charges his card by the time I make it over to him. When he turns around, the beginning of a smile tips the corner of his mouth when he sees me. Exiting the store, Preston grabs my hand and I turn towards him. “There’s a great little lunch restaurant down the block. Are you hungry yet?” he asks. “I can always eat.” Along the way we pop into a few more stores to shop, and all the while Preston continues to hold my hand—as if we’re couple on a romantic trip, and not a doctor and his patient stealing a moment in time. The caress of his soft fingers makes me want to believe the lie. Once we cross the street, I spot the restaurant, but before we step in I notice that right next door is a quaint little bookstore. It’s perfect. The outside of the building has a whimsical look to it. Painted mushrooms decorate the plate glass windows and giant flowers accent the front façade. “I need to go in there. There’s a book I’m dying to get.” I announce and together we walk into Book Time. Stepping inside, I’m transported into a faraway world. It’s a darling little store with Alice in Wonderland themed décor. It even has little tables for tea service. Pulling my hand from Preston’s, I head straight to the section that houses the Young Adult new releases. He follows a step behind. As I step forward to grab the book I came to purchase, so does Preston. My hand brushes against his, sending an electric shock through my body. His touch is intoxicating, enticing … primal.

His dazzling blue eyes meet mine, showing me he’s feeling the same connection and thinking the same thoughts as me. That I want to put my hand back on his. Touch him again. Relive that feeling when our hands and body connected. But we’re in a bookstore, so I calm my growing hunger by looking at the stack of books in front of us. “I didn’t know you read YA.” “YA?” “Young Adult. Obviously. I didn’t know you read young adult books.” He laughs at my silly comment. “I don’t, I just wanted to see the cover, I didn’t know you read YA?” He winks. “They’re the best!” I exclaim and a smile lines his face from my excitement. Butterflies fly in my stomach at the sight. That spark when our hands touched has rendered me useless—and apparently melted all the strength I have to keep my distance. He laughs again. This time it’s a boisterous laugh and it warms my heart. “Little old for flying witches, aren’t you?” “Um, no.” “Well, then, I guess we’re lucky they still have two copies, or I’d have to fight you for that one.” My eyes must bug out, because his face lights up with a huge grin. “Relax, I’m kidding, but if you say they’re the best, I’m going to buy one for my sister. She loved the vampire one.” His crystal blue eyes shimmer at me as he talks of his sister. He pulls the second copy from the shelf and takes mine from my hand. “Come on.” We head to the front counter and he hands the saleswoman our books. She smiles at us. “Will that be all, sir?” she asks as she scans the two copies. “Yes.” “That will be twenty ninety-nine.” I reach for my purse. “Nope. My treat.” My whole body turns to him, my eyes wide. “You can’t buy me a book.” “Sure I can.” “But—” He looks so serious—insistent. So I agree. “Okay.” I nod. He pays and we walk to the exit door. We arrive at the restaurant sometime later. It’s a darling little bistro, with only a few tables inside. Most are outside overlooking the boats in the marina. After the hostess hands us our menus, I lean over and smile at him. “So, what do you want?” I ask and a grin curls up the side of his face at my comment. “For lunch, Preston.” He winks this time and I just sigh. “Can’t take you anywhere, can

I?” “Fine, fine. I’ll have the tuna. What about you?” “Caesar salad.” “Well, that’s an interesting choice,” he says and I tip my eyebrow at him. “Meaning …” “Well, every time we eat, you manage to order the item with the most sugar or calories on the menu. I assumed you would get something a bit crazier than a salad.” “Hey. I eat stuff other than junk,” I whine and his smile broadens. “I do.” He lets out a laugh and I pin him with my eyes “I do.” “Okay, then. What’s your favorite food?” I fold my arms across my chest and let out a dramatic huff. “Fine, you’re right.” His lips part into a big grin at my response. “Not everything you like is junk. You do like me.” He smirks and I shake my head, but I can’t hide the giant grin lining my face. This Preston is playful, and a part of me wishes we could live in this fake world forever. Unfortunately, I know we’re on borrowed time. “I do like you.” I nod in agreement. “I like you too, probably more than I should. But when I’m with you, everything fits together. Everything makes sense.” We both grow quiet. “So, you obviously have been to Newport before. Do you come here a lot?” I say, essentially changing the subject. “Not anymore. Growing up in the city, my family had a house in the Hamptons where we spent our summers, but when I was older, my friends and I from high school spent a week in the summer here.” “So, you travel a lot?” “Honestly, not so much. Between my volunteer hours at the hospital and the private practice—” “Wait, you volunteer there?” “Oh, yeah. I though you knew that. I do a few hours a week volunteering with patients.” I sense there is more to the story than he is letting on but I don’t pry. “What about you? Did you travel?” “No, never.” “Because of your mom?” “Yeah.” He nods and it’s comforting to realize this man knows me and understands. “I always wanted to travel, but Mom always came down with something right before we were scheduled to go. As amazing as Richard was, his company was just taking off, so I never traveled. By the time I got to college, I concentrated on studying and graduating. So really, the only place I have ever been is nowhere.”

“Well, now you’ve been to Newport, Rhode Island.” “And it’s my favorite.” I don’t say that any place with Preston would be my favorite, but from the way his trained eyes assess me, I think he knows. “Where would you like to go? If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?” With you? Anywhere. “I love history and architecture, so I’d have to say anywhere in Europe. Being a huge Jane Austin fan, I would love to go to England.” “You would love it.” “You’ve been?” “When I was in college I was a theater major. So me and …” He pauses and swallows. “Sloane and I went to see the Globe Theater.” “Wow. That must have been amazing.” “It really was.” He looks as if he’s lost in a dream or a memory. With a shake of his head, he rights himself at the very same moment the waitress appears and takes our order. A little less than thirty minutes later, my plate is empty. After Preston pays the bill, he cocks his head to the right. “Now, what do you want to do?” “Go back to the hotel?” “Do you want to see the beach?” “No.” “The lighthouse?” “No.” “What do you want, Eve?” I tremble at the way he says my name. “You. Only you.” He looks down, his chest rising and falling with his rapid intake of breaths. “You have me,” he whispers so low I can barely hear him. For now.

WHEN I LOOK AT HIM, I lose all reason. I want him to devour me. Body, mind, and soul. And that’s exactly what he does the moment we enter our cottage. My body quivers as I wait. The anticipation of his touch is almost too much for me to bear. I’m intoxicated with desire. I rip off my clothes and stand naked before Preston. Taking slow steps, I make my way to him and run my hands down the soft T-shirt covering his

chest. When I make it to the hem, I lift it to expose his torso, and then pull at his belt, I work to free him, but he stops my hand. “Patience.” “I can’t. I need you,” I beg, but he shakes his head at me. “I want to take it slow. I want to savor every touch, every taste, every feel.” My brain wants to scream No, don’t savor it, because I know what that would mean, but I don’t say anything. My eyes will betray me. So I stand and stare and watch as Preston’s eyes sweep the length of me. His lips trail down my torso. When he reaches my breast, he captures my erect nipple into his mouth and nips and tugs at the peak with desire. Pulling away, he moves further down my body as my hands pull at his unruly hair. I need his lips. I need his mouth on mine. Sensing my urgency, he moves back up my body and kisses me. As our tongues tease one another, his hands continue to explore, parting my swollen flesh and sliding inside. I gasp at the sensation, panting heavily as his fingers pump in and out of me. When he pushes his digits up, my inner walls clench around him. My head thrashes back and forth as I reach my climax. Preston continues his ministrations until my orgasm crests and peaks, and then he removes his fingers and pushes me down onto the bed. I watch through hooded eyes as he undresses then crawls up my body and starts to tease my entrance with his hard length. “God,” he groans out as he inches himself in. “I want to burrow myself inside you. I want to be so deep, I don’t know where you end and I begin.” His movements are excruciatingly slow. My own body is so desperate for more that I push my center up to fully impale him inside my still quivering body. Wanting more. Needing more. “Fuck.” He pulls out. “So fucking good.” He slams back in. He keeps up the pace until once again we are both chasing the high. With a final thrust of his hips he plunges inside me and I welcome the bliss, falling over into an endless abyss of pleasure. Every muscle clenches around him until his body has no choice but to follow me. Together, we lay panting on the bed. My blond hair fans over his chest as our breathing regulates. The light seeps in through the windows, reminding me that it’s still daytime and we will be returning to reality tomorrow. “Anything else planned for the day? Or can I keep taking advantage of you?” I say into his chest as I alternate between speaking and kissing him. “As much as I would love to do this all day, I do want to take you to the lighthouse. Then we can have dinner.” “Fine.” I groan, kissing further down his torso. Just as I begin to run my tongue down the

carved V of his pelvis, he pulls me up. Bracketing his arms around me, he moves his mouth to mine. “Later. Come on, let’s get dressed,” he says and I give him a playful smirk. “Nope, none of that. You’re showering alone or we’ll never leave. Actually, forget the shower. I like the idea of you … dirty.” He grins. Burnt orange streaks the sky as the sun starts to set for the day. It casts a soft shimmer across the translucent blue of the water. With each pass of the wind, hints of pink burst through the clouds. It’s one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen, and witnessing it with Preston makes it even more meaningful. Preston’s gaze drifts to the horizon and his hand lightly squeezes mine. I wonder if he feels what I’m feeling. The wind teases my hair, making it flutter across my face as we climb closer to the lighthouse. Preston ventures closer and closer, the path giving way to nature. When my foot slips, he turns around and reaches for my hand to help me. As our hands meet he smiles down at me. It’s earth-shattering. God, he’s beautiful. But I can’t think these thoughts. If only we were two different people. If only this was allowed. Instead, it will fade into a memory of a once perfect time. It will become a chapter in a closed book. “You coming?” He laughs and I realize I was caught gawking at him. “Um, yeah. Can we go inside?” “No, unfortunately it’s not open to the public.” I feel as if I’m living in a fairy tale as we take a seat at a small picnic table and watch the last bits of sunlight dance against the sky. A shiver runs down my body as the wind picks up. Preston pulls me into him, and runs his hands up and down my back to warm me. We don’t speak for the remainder of the time we sit there. I know I can’t voice any words to reflect the emotions choking me. As beautiful as this moment is, as perfect as our time together has been, it’s bittersweet. When we arrive back at the cottage, I see that Preston has had a candlelight dinner prepared. Tiny teas lights flicker against the walls, and a bottle of champagne is waiting. Letting go of my hand, he walks over and pops open the bottle, then pours it into two waiting flutes. He employs careful precision to not spill, then hands me a glass. “To the most perfect weekend in my life,” he says and tears pool in my eyes. “Don’t cry.” My chin trembles and I force my lips to part in a smile. “I’m not.” He brushes his finger across my cheek and wipes away the moisture. “Would it be better for us to talk about it?” His eyes narrow with concern and I shake my head adamantly. “No.” I tilt my head into his hand and stare up into his cerulean eyes. The ones that have hypnotized me in the past, and I open my heart and allow them to put me under their trance once again. In that moment, I let myself fade into the fairy tale story you read with

a happily ever after. I wasn’t the patient and he wasn’t the doctor. We were merely two people falling in love. “Please, let’s just enjoy this time together.” He sets his glass on the table and lifts mine from my hands. He wraps his arms around me. I inhale his scent, and immerse myself in the comfort he brings me. With one whisper of a single kiss against my forehead, he pulls back and leads me to the table, and although I want to cry, I vow to enjoy every moment of this last night together. After dinner, he draws me toward him. Our mouths collide. We tell each other everything we can share with each sweep of our tongue. This kiss makes me believe my lie. His lips tell a tale of their own, and as our bodies join, I let myself go. I let myself become immersed in the imaginary pages of what we could have been.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE EVE

BITTERSWEET. That’s what this is. As we both pack our belongings, sadness hovers in the air. It lingers and bathes us. It’s all-encompassing and tangible. Choking us as the seconds pass. My own heart breaks a million times before we even leave the room. As I step outside, I turn back one final time to memorize each second we spent here together. If I could push reset, I would, but I can’t. So I hold my head high and walk with Preston to our car. The drive is silent. Neither of us dare speak. I watch out the window as the city comes into view. I want to ask if there’s a chance for us. Not now, but maybe in the future. He cares for me. I know it. It’s in every gesture. Every look. Every touch. But love me, or even care about me enough to risk his future? Well, that’s a question I don’t know the answer to. A question I’m not willing to risk. No, I won’t ask. I’ll bite my lip and not beg him to give me a chance. “Eve,” he says, his head turning slightly to see my eyes. “I bought you something.” He reaches for the bag on the back seat and hands it to me. “Should I open it now?” “No,” he says, but nothing more. He doesn’t need to. The implication is there, laced behind the pain etched in his voice. It’s a parting gift. There is no future here. These will be the last minutes spent in the bubble we created. I will leave it as it was meant to be. A stolen moment. One chapter of a book. My whole body hurts from the weight of emotion hanging above us. The tension is so high I might suffocate. Through the windshield, I see my apartment building. It looms in the distance, but as the seconds pass, the space separating the car from my home disintegrates until we are back where we started two days ago, his Range Rover parked in front of my building. Two days. A lifetime.

Everything between us has changed, yet it all stays the same. This is it. This is the end. I want to beg and plead. Tell him to never leave me. Tell him to risk it all for me. Tell him I’m falling in love with him. That he is everything I’ve ever hoped and dreamed about. Instead, as a lone tear drips down my face … I say good-bye. I want to crumble to my feet, but instead, I square my shoulders and hold my head high. Plenty of time later to fall apart. I will not let him see how badly I hurt. I know he’s hurting, too, but unfortunately, the timing isn’t right for us.

LATER THAT NIGHT, I lie in bed with his box in my hand. I need to open it, but do I dare? Once I do, it’s official. Mustering all the strength left in my body, I tear away at the paper. There is a note inside the box. Eve, I want you to have this. It will catch your nightmares and help you to the other side. Preston It’s a tiny gold dream catcher necklace, and with all that I have left, I fall to pieces on my bed. Sometime later, I hear a knock on my door, but I don’t answer. “Eve?” Silence. “Sweetie?” Sydney pops her head in through the crack of the door. I don’t bother to answer or even move from where I’m submerged under the heavy blanket. “Are you okay?” When I still don’t answer, the door creaks and her feet pad against the floor. The bed dips as she sits at the foot. “You’re worrying me. You’ve been in here since you came back from your trip. Do you want to talk about it?” I lift the blanket and look into her deep brown eyes. “Not much to tell,” I say under my breath and I hope she takes the hint … I don’t want to tell. Sometimes the most amazing moments are the ones we can’t talk about. That’s how it felt every time Preston was near. His proximity alone lit me on fire, and I won’t tell her that. I want to keep the memory to myself. I don’t want to share it with anyone. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what happened.” “Nothing happened, Syd. It was amazing. It was perfect. It was the best two days of my life. But that’s all it was. That’s all it will ever be—two days. Two fucking days is all I get.” Anger and sadness bleed from my words. “Want to know how I am? I’m a mess.” “You’re not a mess.” “I promise you, I am.” Her eyes meet mine and the air is tense. I plaster on a fake smile and gleam up at her. “This isn’t like you. Sure, you’ve had a tough go the last couple of months, but normally you’re the strongest person I know. Even after Richard, you managed to land one of the largest accounts the firm has ever seen. That’s not a small feat. If you can do that, you can get through a little breakup.”

“It’s not even a breakup.” I pout. “It is.” “How can we call it a breakup when he was never mine to break up from?” “A break then. After the shit you’ve been through, you’ll get through this break. “I know you’re right. I just wonder how much a person can take. Like my mom. What was the final straw for her?” “Have you ever thought to ask her?” I narrow my eyes at Sydney. “Every day. Every time I’m there I try to ask her questions but she’s too sick to answer anything. To be honest, I don’t even think she realizes her behavior isn’t normal.” “Maybe she needs a therapist. Know anyone?” she jokes and I shoot her the look of death. “Too soon?” I grimace at her. “Yeah. I think so.” She gives me big puppy dog eyes and I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, I’m going to hop in the shower. Do you want to go out for dinner or order in?” “I say we get Chinese and get drunk off food. A little MSG will make you feel better.” “Syd, I’m pretty sure that statement is actually reversed. I think they have banned MSG for being really bad for you.” “Tomato, tomaaatoe.” I snort at that and she giggles. Once dressed after my shower, I follow the smell of Chinese permeating the air. It leads me to the living room, where little white cartons are sitting on the coffee table. “Wine?,” Sydney screams through the walls of the kitchen. “Sure.” A few minutes later she comes out with two glasses filled to the rim with Pinot Grigio. I hope and pray this night with her will help drown my misery. Somehow I doubt anything will, but I smile anyway and try to forget.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR EVE

WEEKS PASS SLOWLY when you’re sad. They don’t ebb and flow like a passing tide. Rather, they are like quicksand, and the harder you attempt to pull away, the more stuck you become. It’s been one month since my trip with Preston and I’ve sworn to Sydney I’ll get out of my funk, but really I’m learning to fake it better. By Friday after work I can no longer pretend to smile. I have nothing left in me. I throw myself into work and organizing Richard’s estate. Today I’ve decide to take up the task of cleaning out his closet. Walking into Richard’s apartment wakes up all sorts of feelings. Sadness is laced with smiles. There were some great times here. There were also some not so great times, but the good outweigh the bad. I’m overcome with emotion. I blink away moisture, and the room comes into focus. It’s just like the last time. Except it’s different now … empty. A picture on the console table pops out at me. It’s the same picture I have in my apartment, the one from my graduation. Instantly a smile forms. Right after Richard died, I had the apartment professionally cleaned. Since the windows haven’t been opened in weeks the air is stale; bleach still wafts through the air. All the furniture has been sold through an estate sale, and all that remains to be done is to go through Richard’s personal belongings. With a deep inhale I set off for the master bedroom. Suits still hang in the closet. Shoes are still displayed along the wall. Goodwill. Or maybe a charity that helps men get back on their feet. I’ve heard of a few that train and dress the unemployed for interviews. Richard would like that. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Grabbing my phone, I make a note to look into companies that provide that service, then I set off to do my task. There’s a step stool in the back of the walk-in closet that Richard obviously used to store boxes on the top shelf. For twenty minutes, I rummage. There are bills and receipts in one box. The next box has old pictures. They make me smile as I take a few out and remember the better times. Every muscle starts to ache after two hours of sorting, and by the time I’m ready to give up for the day, I see one more box in the back corner. In order to grab it I have to climb to the highest step of the ladder and lean my whole body up and onto the shelf. My fingers are barely able to reach it, but as I stretch one more inch, I secure it in my hand.

It’s marked “Miscellaneous.” As I pull the box down and almost have it safely on the floor, it slips and it crashes, turning over on its side. Papers spread against the hardwood floors. Just my luck, now I have to go through everything. I hop down to clean up the floor. The first thing that becomes apparent is that some of these papers are actual legal documents. Some are contracts. There’s an operator’s agreement between my mom and Richard. LLC paperwork. Banking information. With a huff I pull the lid fully off and decide to see what else he has in here. There’s a picture of Richard and myself. A few small envelopes, nothing that seems too important. A book. I pick up the book and notice it’s a Jane Austen. It looks to match my mom’s old collection—the ones that sat in our library growing up. When I lift it to get a better look, a piece of paper falls out. I reach out and turn it over. My heart stops. An arctic chill runs up my spine. Every last bit of oxygen leaves my body. I’m stuck. My feet heavy like cement. What the hell is this? I see crimson. I crumble to the ground. I’m desperately gasping for air. I can’t breathe. I can’t stop the memories that flow into my brain. All at once consuming me with pain. There was blood on my hands. Get it off! Get it off! A rush of broken visions flashes in my mind. Take shape and tell me a story. My heart races in my ears and I can no longer hear anything. The vision of me is so clear, and I bite back a sob. I was small. So small. An innocent child. I sat on the floor, my doll in hand and I gently brushed her hair. In the distance I heard a sound. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was loud, like the fireworks we saw on the Fourth of July. It made my ears hurt and the walls shake. I hugged my doll to me tightly. Where was Mommy? Maybe she knew where the loud bang came from. The sound was scary. “Mommy?” She didn’t answer. My feet pressed against the cold wood floor as I peered out of the playroom. “Mommy?” Where did she go?

Maybe Daddy knew. A smile grew on my face and the fear I felt left my body. He always knew everything. Mommy always said he’d protect us from harm. The house was silent as I padded down the hallway toward the library. He often sat in there for hours. “Daddy?” My little hands pounded on the door, but he wouldn’t answer. Turning the knob, I peeked my head inside. “Daddy, are you in there? I can’t find Mommy,” I said as I flung the door open. “Daddy.” I couldn’t see him. Where was he? The room smelled funny, like he had blown out a candle. What was that smell? I walked in farther and from where I stood I could finally see him. “What are you doing there?” I walked to where I saw my dad. “What are you looking for on the floor? Did you drop something?” He was turned to face under the desk. “Daddy?” My foot slipped out from under me and I fell and hit the floor. My hands hit the wood first, then my stomach. “Ouch!” I yelped as I brought my hand forward to lift myself back off the floor. I slipped on something warm. It was thick against my fingers. It was all over my dress. My hands were red. Why were my hands red? Everything was red. Looking around me, I noticed I was sitting in a pool of red liquid. Red spread over the surface of my skin. Was this blood? Why was I bleeding? I shook my head. My heart rate sped up. I wasn’t bleeding. It wasn’t blood. It was … “Daddy!” I could barely call out to him. The blood was flowing from the back of his head. I tapped at his shoulder and fear spread throughout my body when he didn’t answer. “Why aren’t you answering me, Daddy. Daddy!” I shook him with all my might, and his head flopped forward. His open eyes stared at me. But he still didn’t answer. “Please, Daddy. Answer me.” Why wouldn’t he answer? “No!” I manage to scream. I press my palms against my eyes to force the memory out of my mind. “No. No. No. No.” I rock in place. A knot is lodged in my throat but I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

My father. Dead. I found him. It was a suicide. The blood. I run my hands down my shirt as I wipe away the memory, but there’s no point. The visions tear at my soul. I’m holding my father’s note. His last words. It grows heavy in my hand. The note that brings it all back. That makes me remember. A suicide note. With a shaky hand, I force myself to read his last words. I’m so sorry, Laura. My intentions were never to harm you. I don’t want to bring you pain. I don’t want you to be ashamed of what I’ve done. Sometimes I think this will pass. That I will get through this, and you’ll look at me like the husband you were once proud of. But now I know I have failed you too many times. I have failed our family. This is the only way out, the only way I can stop the pain I’m causing you. You were right. Everything you said was right. I failed you. I failed Eve. For that I’m truly and forever sorry. I hope you find the happiness you seek. This is the only way. I can’t stand the disappointment I see in your eyes. Please don’t be sad, for I’m not worthy of your tears. Please forgive me, and what I’ve done to us. This is the only way. I know how to make it all better now. Tell Eve that Daddy will always protect her. Tell her I love her. My hand shakes. A sob breaks lose. Everything trembles. My body collapses forward. Every tiny shred of remaining strength breaks. What is this? What the hell is this? I have no idea what’s going on. No clue, but I can’t move. I can’t think. The world is shutting down. The walls are closing in. It feels as if I’m drowning. Ice-cold liquid fills my veins as I realize my entire life is a lie. Everything I know is wrong. Nothing makes sense. Time stops. Everything ceases to be. Lying on the floor, I think of nothing but the betrayal. As the seconds turn to minutes and then hours, I realize I haven’t moved from my spot on the floor. Nothing will ever make sense again, but in truth, it all makes sense. Every vague answer. Every sidestep. All to avoid this. But she won’t avoid it any longer. I need to know everything and she will tell me. I have that right. I deserve to know. My anger fuels my body. I make my way out of Richard’s apartment and storm into hers. The hallway is quiet. No doubt she is curled up in her bed, hiding from the world. How nice it must be to hide from everything in your life. “Mom?” She doesn’t answer, and I step farther into the room. “Mom. I’m talking to you.”

“I’m not well. Can we speak after my nap?” “No. You will speak to me now!” With that her head rises from her pillow. “What is this about?” She seems more alert than normal, but when I lift the paper into her line of vision she flinches, and the look in her eye fades as she shrinks back into herself. “I’m dizzy. Can we talk about this later?” “No, Mom. I deserve answers. How could you not tell me? How could you keep this from me? How could Richard?” “I had to. We had to.” Her voice is so sad. She’s broken. “I–I don’t understand.” “I don’t even know where to start. I’m not sure I have the energy to tell it.” “Please, Mom,” I plead and she finally relents. “You were so young. We lived a good life. Your-your father was a good man. It was my fault. Everything is my fault.” She starts to sob uncontrollably. I don’t know how to help her. Her tears break out like a river. Never stopping. Always flowing. “I don’t understand.” “I said things. Bad things,” she whispers. “Mom, please. I think you owe it to me to tell me the full story. What happened? And no more saying you’re sick. No more hiding. No more lying.” “I told him he was a loser. That he wasn’t good enough for us. That if he couldn’t … he couldn’t provide for us we were better off without him.” “But how is that your fault?” She looks down. “What else did you say, Mom?” “I-I … Don’t make me say it.” “Please.” “I told him we’d be better off if he was dead. I didn’t mean it. Oh, God. Oh, God. It’s entirely my fault. Everything is my fault.” I crawl into bed with her. Hold her in my arms. Tears seep through my blouse. They’re coming from my own eyes. I cry and I cry until I have no tears left to shed. When they finally dry, I turn to her. “But why? Why did you lie to me?” “I can’t.” “You have to, Mom. For the first time since Dad died, put me first. I need to know everything. Tell me everything.” I wait for her to wipe her own tears and then she looks at me. There is so much sadness. So much remorse. “When we found you—” “We?” “Yes, Richard came over to discuss finances with your father. You see, we were bankrupt.

Your father was always a dreamer. One scheme after the other, each one riskier than the last. The bigger the risk—” “The bigger the reward.” I nod. “I had no idea we were financially destroyed until I overheard him begging Richard to come over and help him. I stormed into the room after he hung up the phone and he came clean. We had lost everything. When I found out, I flew off the handle, screaming and yelling at him. The last investment was a property in South America. The developer was supposed to build a hotel. He was assured it was a sure thing. When he first told me about his new project, I begged him not to do it, but the return on the investment was supposed to be incredible. He couldn’t say no. I’m so ashamed of myself. It’s my fault he did it. I didn’t hear the gunshot. I left you in the house with him. I needed air. I threatened to leave him, to take you. I-I …” She starts to tremble. “I didn’t … ” “Please, Mom,” I plead to hear the rest. To know about those fateful minutes before my dad took his own life. “When I pulled into the driveway, Richard was outside knocking. No one was home, he said. But I knew that wasn’t true. I left you with your dad. He was out of his mind when I left but I didn’t think. I didn’t. You were in your room watching a TV show, playing with a doll. I thought you’d be okay. I thought he would be okay. Oh, God … He could have hurt you. What kind of a mother leaves her child?” She swipes at her tears again. “When Richard said that, I knew something was wrong. The TV was still playing when we walked through the house, but you weren’t there. We found you, and you were covered in blood, lying on him. I don’t know how long you were like that. B-but you wouldn’t speak. You wouldn’t cry. You were catatonic.” “But why, if I found him, why did you tell me it was an accident? What are you leaving out? What are you not telling me?” “When we found you that way, we weren’t thinking straight, or at least I wasn’t. Richard brought us to my room. He took care of us. Th-then he called the cops. He didn’t tell me he took the note until much later. He knew we were in financial ruin, and with your father’s life insurance policy—although there was a stipulation allowing payout—he didn’t want to risk it. So, he took the note, and he said it was an accident. When you finally came out of your trance and started to speak again, it was as if you forgot. So we never told you.” “But there was no accident.” “No.” “And Dad killed himself.” “Because of me,” she says through sobs. I’m numb. I stand and walk toward the door. “You’re leaving me?” The walls are closing in. I have to leave. I can’t stay here. I need to get out. Get far from

this hell I’ve been thrust in. I know I will break, but not in front of her. “But I need you—” she cries out. I’m already out the door. It’s too much. My heart crashes in my chest. Too much information. It’s as if my heart has been ripped out. Too many lies. I’m not okay. My shoulders constrict. All my muscles have become corded. I place my hand on my shoulder blades and massage. Needles tingle down my arm. I move about uncomfortably. The panic is starting. Spreading through my veins like a poisonous venom suffocating me. It’s all in your head. It’s all in your head. You can control your own fear. Own it. Inhale. Exhale. In. Out. In. Out. My chest is still pounding. The truth has broken me. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking or how far my feet have carried me. I fall to the ground. The tears come heavier now. My broken soul bleeds out all over the streets of New York. I sob for everything I thought I knew. I sob for my dad, who felt so desperate that he had no other choice. I sob for the pain and guilt my mother carried inside her, and I cry for a decision Richard shouldn’t have had to make. From a haze, I lift my phone and reach out for help. For someone to help me. My fingers do the dialing. It rings and rings, but no one answers, and all I can do is sob harder. But then I hear a voice coming through the earpiece. “Eve?” But the sobs don’t stop. They only increase in tempo at the sound of the voice on the other side of the phone. “Shh. Please don’t cry. Are you hurt?” Still no words come out, only endless whimpers. “Please.” He pauses a beat. His breathing pulls me out of my haze.

“Where are you?” “I don’t know where I am,” I finally say. My voice is raspy from the strain. “Are you home?” “No.” “Are you out?” “Street.” “Okay, you’re doing really well. Tell me the street. What street are you on?” “I don’t know.” “Can you look up? Can you see anything?” “Thirty Seventh.” “Okay, do you know the avenue?” “Lexington. I have to go.” “Please, stay on the—” Without another word, I drop the call. I break. I fear I will pass out from the racing of my heart. Slumping down on the stoop of the apartment building, I let it all out. It hammers to the point of pain as my small hand touches the ice-cold pavement. A light sheen of sweat collects down my back. In the distance, through my fog, I hear my name. There he is. His gaze sears mine. “What are you doing here?” I mutter out, drained and hollow. “I needed to make sure you’re okay.” “So you found me?” “Of course, I found you.” “Are you here as my doctor or as my friend?” “What do you need me to be?” “Everything. I need you to be everything.” “Then that’s what I’ll be.” My shoulders shake on a sob. “I’ll be anything you need.” “Please hold me,” I plead. He nods and sits down on the stoop beside me. “Don’t let me go.” “Never.” He pulls me closer into his embrace. Cradles me. My body wracks with another wave of sobs. They won’t stop. They just keep coming. “What happened? What’s going on?” “I-I can’t. It’s too much.” He tilts my chin up, locking our eyes together. “Please.”

“It wasn’t an accident.” “What wasn’t an accident? I don’t understand.” “My dad … Not an accident.” With that, I slump forward, laying my head against his legs. He traces soft circles on my back. They comfort. They soothe. “Breathe. Inhale. One, two, three. Exhale. One, two three.” The air once restricted, flows back. He must feel it as he waits, trailing circles until I calm. “What do you mean it wasn’t an accident?” “I-I found a letter. He did it.” “Did what? What did he do?” “He took his own life,” I say. “He lost everything and took his own life. He left us on purpose. He left me on purpose,” I cry. “Why am I never enough?” Preston holds me. He holds my trembling body against his until I can’t cry anymore. Until no sobs leave my body. Until I’m numb. “Please don’t abandon me,” I whisper. “Shh. Shh. I have you.” “Please don’t leave me,” I cry out again. This time I raise my head to meet his stare. I have said so much more than words can say, but he understands every word. “Never.” He stands and lifts me to my feet, taking on my weight. “Where are we going?” “I’m taking you home.” With slow, steady steps, Preston guides me down Lexington until we get to Thirty-Fifth. I expect him to keep going, but instead he turns down the block and up to his brownstone where he fishes for his keys. “I thought …” “I didn’t want to leave you. I needed to make sure you were okay. So I brought you to my place.” “Thank you, Preston.” Together we walk into his apartment. He takes my coat and hangs it by the front door, then leads me to the living room. “Tell me what happened?” “It’s so hard to say. To understand.” He nods and takes my hand in his, squeezing with reassurance. “I was at Richard’s apartment, cleaning out his closet and I found a box. Inside were all types of personal belongings. The papers from my mother’s investment, the deed to the apartment that the company bought for us in the building. Then there was a book. A Jane Austen book. When I grabbed it, a letter fell out.” All the words dry up. They feel like chalk. In, out. In, out.

“I got you.” “He said he was sorry. He said my mom was right about him.” I take gulps of air. “Mom ttold him we were better off without him. He had lost everything, and she told him that.” He nods in understanding. “How could she say that? How could she tell him we were better off with him dead? It’s her fault.” “I know you’re angry right now. And it’s understandable for you to blame your mother. But your father was obviously going through something very emotional and not thinking rationally. He felt he had no other way out besides taking his own life. As much as you want to blame your mother, you can’t. From what you’ve told me about her, it’s obvious she blames herself enough. You need to forgive her.” “And him? How do I forgive him? How do I forgive the fact he didn’t love me enough to stay?” “You have to know it in your heart, that he truly felt he had no other option. He was in pain. Forgive him and love him despite his actions.” “I don’t know if I can.” “You can. And you will. You’re an amazing person, and if anyone can forgive, it’s you.” “How do you know that?” “Because I believe in you.” And again he says the words. The words I’m so desperate to hear. The words that I need to hear. “It will be the salve for your heartbreak. Forgive her. Forgive him.” “You speak as if you know.” “I do.” I quirk my eyebrow up at him. “No, this is about your loss. I don’t want to make it about mine.” “Or you just don’t trust me with that part of yourself.” “I do.” He lets out an exhale. “I told you when I was in college I had a girlfriend. We’d dated since high school. She was amazing, but there was another side to her, as well. I know she suffered from bipolar disorder now, but at the time, well, obviously I didn’t know. She was reckless and fun, but when she was off, it was bad …” His voice trails off. “She committed suicide our sophomore year.” “I’m so sorry. Is that why?” “Is that why I became a psychologist? Yes. I never saw the signs. If I only knew, I could have helped her get through her nightmares.” My eyes grow wide at his choice of words. My heart beats frantically in my chest. “Nightmares?” I whisper to myself, looking up at him, letting the piece of the puzzle fit together. “Oh, my God. All this time you’ve been so scared that what I had was transference, were you with me because … Am I a replacement? Am I some way for you to right your

wrongs?” Preston’s self-restraint snaps. He leans forward and cups my face, and before I know what’s happening, I find myself kissed with abandon. When we pull apart, his ragged breath tickles my lips. “How can you doubt me? How can you imagine this is anything other than what it is?” “And what is it? What is it you feel for me?” “Everything. I feel everything for you. You’re all I think about. You’re all I dream of. Every second I’m not with you is a second too long. Don’t you think this is killing me? Don’t you think I’m hurting, too?” And with that, our mouths collide and my lips part again. Tasting each other’s mouths, savoring each swipe of the tongue. The feel of his thumb running alone the curve of my jaw makes me open fully to him. He takes me in an all-consuming kiss. Strong arms pull me closer. They surround me, engulf me. They pin me to him. His touch is electrifying. Every inch of my skin burns to feel more. To experience more of this heady sensation. Preston eases back until our eyes lock. The feel of his breath tickles my lips. Our breathing mingles. Our mouths barely touch as we inhale each other. Steam puffs between us. I curl my arms around his neck as he lifts me into his arms and pads his way to the bedroom. Once in the room, he eases me onto the bed and lays another deep kiss before lifting off me. His icy blue eyes study me. He’s silent as he removes his clothes … and then removes mine. My body shakes and trembles from the emotion swirling around us. This is more than sex. This is more than comfort. He might not say it, but I see it in his eyes. This is two people falling in love. When he gets back on top of me, he presses tiny kisses to my neck, trailing them down to the hollow of my chest. His warm hands feel me. My body arches into his touch. To the feel of his fingers caressing each nipple. To the feel of him stroking them into hard peaks. The tip of his tongue circles them. One, then the other. He licks with careful precision until I’m writhing with pleasure.

I need more. So much more. “Please,” I beg and he answers my pleas by crawling up my body. A ragged gasp echoes through the room. His fingers are the catalyst for my frantic desire. His hand slips between us, aligning himself with my core. Urgency fills my blood. The need to feel him inside me is all I can think of. Greedily, I grab at his hard length, teasing my sensitive skin. He pushes forward, and when he enters me, he takes my breath away. My head falls back on the pillow, and my lids flutter shut as he takes me over and over again. With each push and pull, I lose myself more to the feeling. “Open your eyes. I want to see you. I want to see all of you.” As they flutter open again, I get lost in a sea of blue. The entire world drifts away. Through gasps and shudders, the connection is broken. Through trembles and sobs we hold each other. My body clamps around him. His hands dig deeper into my flesh as his whole body jerks inside me. Preston leans in and kisses the soft hollow of my neck, soft lips, tantalizing tongue. “I keep doing this, and I feel like I’m taking advantage of you. I want you, I want you more than you will ever know, but this was supposed to be about more than my pleasure. This was supposed to be about me helping you.” “You did. By being here. By opening up. By telling me your story. Every part of you that you gave me, helped me.” He looks away from me. “What is it, Preston?” He won’t look at me. “Just tell me.” “Eve.” “No, you don’t get to Eve me. Not after that. You know it meant something. You know it meant more. Can you see that?” “We still can’t be together. I’m your doctor.” “You’re not my doctor anymore.” “Semantics.” “How can you say that after everything? What we have, it means more than that. How can you push me away now? Are you scared? Is that it? Scared of what I could become? That I could be like her? Because of my father.” “I am scared. But not of that. I’m scared of everything else, all that we have done, and everything you’ve learned, it would be all for nothing if I do this. If we continue down this path. Even though you’re no longer my patient, that doesn’t mean I won’t get in trouble if we’re found out. I could still lose my license to practice. I wouldn’t be able to volunteer at the hospital anymore. I wouldn’t be able to help people. And to be honest after, what we just found out about your father, this is even a stronger case for transference. Between

losing Richard and now the repressed memory surfacing of your father, you could be unknowingly projecting your feelings of abandonment to me. You could be looking for an older figure to protect you and until you, know you’re not, that it’s not transference you’re feeling, we can’t.” “Please don’t let me go. You’re all I have.” “But that’s the problem. I can’t be your crutch. You need to learn to hold yourself up.” His words hang in the air. They steal the oxygen like a poisonous gas, slowly killing pieces of me. “So, now what?” I say, still lying in his arms. Our hearts still beat in tandem. “We go back to the way it was before.” “And how was that? “Me wishing every day that I could rewrite history, and that I never walked into the hospital for work that day.” I have wishes too, but mine I won’t speak … Say I’m enough. Sacrifice for me. Fight for me. Wait for me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE PRESTON

I HAVEN’T SEEN Eve for three weeks and I’m miserable. So fucking miserable that basically all I’ve done since I told her we couldn’t be together is work and be completely anti-social. I finally successfully pushed her away and severed our professional and personal relationship, and I should feel relief for it, but I don’t. Instead, she’s all I think about, day and night. I feel all the things I thought I would never feel again. All the things I tried to shut out all these years after I lost Sloane. But this is different. It’s so much worse, because the way I feel for her is so much more. With my glass of scotch in my hand, I flop my body on the couch. Just as I start to relax, my phone vibrates across the coffee table. I know who it will be. It’s going to be Jace. I peer down and low and behold, I’m right. It’s him. Since I haven’t been to the last three Sunday night dinners it’s no wonder he’s calling. Avoiding my family like the plague has obviously not gone unnoticed. “What,” I answer, not even pretending to hide my attitude. I’m not in the mood for a lecture about how Mom wants to see me again. That was last week’s call. I know already. “What the hell is up your ass?” Everything. “Nothing.” “Is this about that girl?” “She’s not “that” girl. She’s not some girl,” I blurt out before I realize what I’m saying. Shit. Now he’s going to ask questions. “Okay, spill. It’s time to tell me what the hell is going on with you?” “I met a girl.” I let out a deep ragged breath. “It’s more than that, though.” “I’m listening,” “She was my patient.” There I said it, the truth is finally out there. No more avoiding the truth. Now all I can do is brace for his response, for his judgment. “Fuck.” “Yep.” “So now what are you going to do?” There’s nothing in his voice but concern, and it make

my shoulders drop in relief. It’s bad enough losing Eve, but having Jace disapprove would have sucked right now. “I had to let her go.” “So what’s the problem?” “I want more,” I admit on a sigh. “Yeah, I can see how that could be a problem. I understand, but don’t you think some things are worth risking everything for? I don’t know who this girl is but if she’s the one Logan won’t stop talking about, I would say she’s worth it.” She is. “It’s not that easy.” “Why the hell not?” “Well other then the obvious, her being a former patient and all, there’s also the small problem of Sloane.” “What about her?” “Well maybe I’m suffering from counter-transference?” I whisper. I can still hear Eve’s words replaying in my head. Was this because of Sloane? Was Eve some sick sort of replacement? “I think it’s time you go back and start speaking to someone again. The fact that you’re even considering that, means you aren’t over what happened. I think this girl is special. I think that she might be worth risking it for, but you’ll never know until you face your issues about Sloane.” He’s right. I have to. When Sloan died, it left a stain on my soul, one that years later has still not left me. Sloane called the day she overdosed. I was mad at her, so I sent her to voicemail. She needed me and I didn’t answer. I should have seen the signs. I should have answered the phone. That decision still haunts me every day. And although I don’t believe my feelings for Eve are misguided, I still need to find out. I need to know, not just for me but for Eve as well.

THERAPISTS REALLY DO MAKE the worst patients. Sitting here waiting for Dr. Audrey Kenner to speak is agonizing. I’m ready to bolt out the door, when I finally see her pull out her notebook and turn to me. “Why are you here? You haven’t seen me in quite some time. Did something happen?” I consider what to say. I can’t tell her about Eve. Or at least I can’t divulge that she was a patient, so I come as close to the truth as I can without stepping over the edge. “I met a girl.” My teeth gnaw at my lip as I determine how to proceed. “She looks like Sloane and she’s been through a lot. She’s …troubled. I’m afraid my feelings might be misplaced.” “Do you think you are falling for her in an attempt to heal her, to fix her the way you weren’t able to fix Sloane?”

“I’m not sure.” “When did you start having these feelings for her?” “I always thought she was beautiful, but when I saw her, the real her, I knew she was more than a pretty face.” “And when was that?” “When she made my nephew smile.” “I think you just answered your own question, Preston.” I quirk my brow at her and wait for her to continue. “You didn’t fall for her because she was weak, you fell for her compassion, her strength, her resilience. When she was able to put her own sadness aside and put your nephew first.” She was right. Everything she said was right. This was more than Sloane. I fell for her … I’m in love with her. “I have to go.” I need to tell her. “Preston. I’d like to talk to you a little about Sloane now, actually. If you can give me a few more minutes, I’m a little concerned about this. It’s been years since you came to me and spoke about this. You became a therapist because of her, but at what point is it enough? At what point do you forgive yourself and stop punishing yourself for not seeing the signs? You were a kid. You were still in school. You weren’t a psychologist then, so how could you have known? How could you have saved her? It’s been years. You really have to stop punishing yourself and live your life. Be happy. She would have wanted that for you.” She’s right. I do. I know exactly how to do that. I need to allow myself to be happy.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX EVE

JOURNAL ENTRY Was he right? Am I projecting my feelings, my abandonment issues, my need for comfort with him. No, I don’t believe that. I won’t believe that. It might have started that way, but that doesn’t mean that’s what it is. It doesn’t matter where you start, it’s where you end up. Maybe the initial attraction started in the wrong place, but when your heart grows to love someone it doesn’t make it any less real. Right? This has been all I’ve been thinking about for the last three weeks. Even as time passes, I can’t stop wondering if he’s right. That this is how it started. I’m lying in bed when my phone rings. It’s late on a Friday night, Sydney is out, and I’m sulking in my room. Picking it up, I check the caller ID. Holy shit, it’s Preston. “Hello?” “Where are you? I need to speak to you.” My stomach bottoms out. Why is he so desperate to see me, to speak to me? Did something happen? “I’m home. Are you okay?” “I need to see you.” “Can you tell me what’s going on? You’re scaring me.” “I’m coming over. I’ll see you—” “No.” I cut him off. I hop out of bed and head out of the room. “I’ll come to you.” I hang up.

WHEN I KNOCK on the door, he flings it open. “What’s going on? Why were you so desperate—” He pulls me toward him and seizes my mouth with his. I push at his chest to separate us. “Stop it. What are you doing?” I pant, trying to catch my breath. “Did I lose you, Eve?” “What are you talking about? Why am I here? What did you need to say that was so

important?” “I needed to tell you I love you, that I don’t want to lose you. That I’ll give up everything to be with you. I lost you before. I’m not willing to lose you again.” “No, Preston.” I step to turn away. “Where are you going?” he asks as he pulls me closer. “I’m doing the right thing, I’m saving you from yourself right now.” “Fuck the right thing.” “But you said before you would be ruined.” “I know what I said, and I don’t give a shit. I need you. I need to touch you. I need to taste you. I need to feel the heaven I know your body encompasses. And most of all, I need to love you. There are not enough words to tell you how wrong I was. You’re not some girl. You’re not just a forbidden desire. Don’t you see what you are?” “No.” “God. You’re everything. We’re everything … Together. When I’m with you, everything is possible. I never thought I would meet somebody who would make me feel this way. After Sloane, relationships were not an option, but with you it’s so much more. With you, the possibilities are limitless. Love, breathe, smile, laugh … I can’t do these things without you, and I would never want to.” I want to cry, but mostly I want to forgive him and jump into his arm and never let him go. “Everything I said was wrong. Everything but I love you. Because no matter where we are or what we become, that love will always be right,” Preston declares. “But what about—” “I don’t give a damn about any of it. I’d walk out this door right now hand in hand with you if it meant you would be mine, that we’d be together.” “What about your career? What about your patients?” “You are my only concern. I don’t give a fuck if I lose my job, my practice. I don’t give a shit if I lose everything, as long as I don’t lose you. I have spent the last few months torturing myself to fight this feeling, and then I had you. If I thought it was bad before, now that I know what you’re like, I can’t give you up. I would rather give up my work. I would rather find something else to do. I could work for my—” “No. I can’t let you do that.” I cut him off. “You love helping people. It’s what gives you joy. I would never take that away from you. I won’t let you do that.” “Try to stop me. I love you, only you, forever you …” Preston’s lips find mine, his soft tongue delving inside my mouth. At first it’s soft, loving. But as the seconds pass, our mouths collide in a frenzy. Desperate. Passionate.

My arms wrap around his neck of their own accord. A primal and desperate need to intensify the kiss. I know it’s wrong. I know I need to leave but I allow myself to be swept away. I let myself believe one more time that this is just a dream and we can be happy together. He grins and pulls me closer. ”I love you.” A fingertip traces across my jaw. I wrap my hands in his disheveled hair. Kissing. We move together as if we are one being. I let go of any resistance or argument still seeking refuge in my body. Instead, I cling to him. He reaches for me, pulling me into his arms. Soft fingers turn my chin up. I soften my body into his as he hovers close, our lips almost touching. His breath caresses my lips. “Do you love me?” he asks through heavy pants. “Yes. I’m in love with you. It’s you … It’s always been you.” He is everything. My air, my soul. Taking a step back, my fingers trail along his shirt. One by one I unfasten each small button. Then I slide my hand down to the belt of his pants. The material hits the floor. The sound echoes as I wait for him to undress me. His hands find the hem of my dress and lift it up, and when he reaches my panties, he pulls it aside and swipes his finger against my core. Teasing. But his fingers don’t continue the ministrations. Instead, he lifts the material over my head, exposing my almost naked body to him. Blue eyes sweep across me. They dilate and flash with hunger. He groans as he pulls me closer. We are so close that I feel his heartbeat against my chest. “I need you.” Rough hands. Fingers unsnap my bra. “It’s been an eternity since I felt you against me, since I’ve been buried inside you.” My panties are next, leaving me completely bare to him. With a force I didn’t expect, he mutters out one more word and then his mouth descends. Claiming me. Owning me. I answer him with my own desperation, frenzied and hot. Desperate and needy for more. With one last sweep of the tongue our bodies separate on pants and gasps. Light as a feather, Preston lifts me up, cradling me until we reach his room. He covers his body with mine, letting me lead. Allowing me the control. My tongue jets out and licks at the seam of his lips. Then I pull back, nipping as I go. A moan of protest escapes him, but I just give him a coy smile as I press kisses down his neck and over his torso to the V of his abdomen. With each inch I travel, Preston’s breath becomes more ragged. Each pull of oxygen becomes harder to take in. When I reach my desired

destination, I find him hard and ready. My tongue sweeps against him, eliciting a string of curses and groans. “Fuck.” He pulls back, and I look at him through hooded eyes. “I need to be inside you.” Crawling back up his body, I align him with my core and then slowly sink down. A feeling of power weaves through me as I take him fully. Once he’s all the way seated, my hips begin to circle, and then I rock up and down. Nothing has ever felt this good. Flipping me onto my back, he thrusts in and out of my body. My nails scratch at his shoulders as I brace for each push and pull of his body. He slams in over and over again, moving his hips at a faster clip. Strong hands catch my chin. “Look at me.” We both climb toward release together. I’m breathless. Ragged bursts escape. Our movements become frantic. Grabbing. Thrusting. Panting. Gasps. He makes love to me like a desperate man. Like a starved man. Like a man trying to take possession of me. Like a man trying to own me. My body shivers and quakes as he pulls out and then enters me again. “I,” slam “Fucking love you.” slam “You’re mine.” He thrusts in deeper. “Do you understand? I don’t care how, but you’re mine.” At this moment, in this bed, I give myself to him fully. My body contracts and pulses around him, just as his whole body jerks with his own climax. “God,” he shouts out his release. “You belong to me. This connection will never break. You will always be mine.”

SOMETIMES, even though it will hurt beyond measure, you have to do the right thing. As I look at him from across the bed, I realize that’s what I need to do. As much as I see the future, as much as I can see myself in an all-consuming love with him; as much as I envision that together with him my panic attacks will fade and my nightmares will turn to dreams, I can’t do it. I can’t be with him. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m not the woman I should be yet, and he deserves that woman. I deserve to be that woman as well. I need to come to him complete, not broken parts of myself. I need to be strong. I need to prove to him that I can stand on my own two feet. That this isn’t transference. That I’m not in love with him because of some void I’m filling. Although my heart hurts to walk away, I know I have to. Not only for my growth, but also for his. He might not think he has counter transference, but a small part of him still thinks he does. We both need to find ourselves. When the time comes after I have grown, and if the feelings are still there, we can see what happens, but right now my priority is me, and he needs to make peace with his own

tragedy. With a trembling hand, I start to write. And when I’m done, my shaking fingers take the letter and tuck it into my journal. I wonder if this is where our story ends. Will this be my only gift to him? My journal. All of what’s in my heart. Turning around, I walk away. I can’t look back. I know if I do, I’ll never go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN PRESTON

ROLLING ACROSS THE BED, I reach out for Eve. To hold her body tight to me, to feel her warm body beneath me. As my hand searches her out, I come up with nothing and the spot is cold. My eyes fly open but I’m met with emptiness. Where is she? I start to get up from the bed to find her when everything inside me stills. There, siting next to my side of the bed is a journal. But it’s not my journal. It doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to her. I move swiftly to grab it. To understand why she left it here. And as I open it a piece of paper falls to the bed. Dear Preston, I have written and rewritten this letter, and the truth is I will never truly be able to tell you how hard it is for me to write it. In the last few months you have helped me learn so much about myself and have inspired me to find my happiness. You are my happiness, but to have you right now would be selfish and unfair to you. I love you. But what I have learned is that sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes it’s not nearly enough. Thank you for believing in me before I knew how to believe in myself. Please don’t forget me. One day I hope to be in your arms again, a healed woman. A complete woman. I won’t forget you, either. For as long as I live, I will love you. But now, I’m setting you free. Eve

SHE LEFT ME. She fucking left me. My heart pounds in my chest from the emotions raging inside me. Set me free? I’m not free. I’ll never be free, not when she owns my heart. Not when these words she’s written have ripped me into a million pieces. It feels as if there’s a wind whipping through my heart, pulling it apart and shredding it to pieces. The feelings drag me under until I fear I might never survive this storm. I lie back in my bed. Hours must pass as I let it all sink in. As I realize it wasn’t enough. I might have tried to give it all up for her, but it wasn’t enough. I was too late. I’m not able to comprehend what to do now. How do I move on from this? How do I let her go? Do I fight for her? Despite what she says, should I fight? But then my rational side kicks in.

She’s right. I know she’s right. I have to let her leave. She needs space to figure out who she is and to believe in herself. She needs to focus on rebuilding her relationship with her mom and forgiving her dad. Doesn’t mean it won’t break me apart every day for the time that separates us. I know it will. But I’m willing to risk it, because there is no question that I love her. Why do we fall in love with people we can’t have? Maybe I can’t have her today, but I have to have faith that maybe one day we’ll have a future. We are two pieces of a puzzle and eventually we will be put back together.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT EVE

I WOULD BE LYING if I didn’t admit to myself why I was walking past Thirty-Fifth Street. Sometimes I find myself walking past his street when I want to feel close to him, when I want to remember the lessons I learned when seeing him. Today, I need his strength. Today marks three months since I’ve seen him and I need to find the strength to get out of my funk and make a change. Every day since I got the referrals from Preston, I have stared at the names, but I haven’t found the strength to call them. I know I have to, but I put it off. Sydney thinks I’m holding off for some crazy notion that Preston will charge in and demand I change my mind. I know he won’t. He can’t. Deep down, he knows this is right. Today I walk down Park, and as usual I peer down the street. That’s when I see him. He’s across the street. Preston. The man I can’t get out of my head, and worse, the one I can’t get out of my heart. I squint my eyes to get a better look. He’s perched on the stoop. His head is bowed and fine lines paint his forehead. When he finally lifts his head, the look in his eyes haunts me. They speak of a deep-rooted pain that I could never imagine. I put that pain there, and I would do anything in my power to take it away, but it wouldn’t be fair to go to him now. Not when I’m still so screwed up and when we still can’t be together. No. Today isn’t the right time. But hopefully it soon will be, and I know what I have to do. Lifting my hand, my fingers find the necklace he gave me and I stroke it gently. It’s time I stop hiding. It’s time I face my nightmares and learn to forgive. Today is the day I make the change. I turn on my heel before he catches me looking and walk in the other direction, leaving a part of me on that corner with him, but vowing to find all the other pieces and put myself back together. I scan the intersection from right to left. There are a few choices I can make. Home to pretend my life isn’t happening and continue to hide in my bed, or send Sydney a text and finally start living again. Seeing Preston makes my heart hurt, but I also know he wouldn’t want me to be sad. So I pick up my phone and send a message to Sydney. Me: Bar? Sydney: Hell yes. Me: Ten minutes?

Sydney: DONE! The Corner Bar is packed as usual. From across the room, I see Sydney waving at me. My mouth spreads into a large smile. For the first time in a long time, I feel as if I might be okay. “What up, chica!” Sydney throws her arms around my neck and starts bouncing up and down “I’ve missed you.” “Syd, you do know we live together right? You see me every day. How can you miss me?” “Eve.” Her eyes narrow. “You have been in a funk for weeks. I wouldn’t call that living anywhere.” “You’re right. But I’m back now.” “Well, you know what that means?” “Tequila shots?” I flash her a megawatt smile and she starts to laugh. “A girl after my own heart.” Sydney turns to Austin. “Two shots of Patron, extra chilled,” she exclaims. He comes back and places the two chilled shots in front of us. “Celebrating something?” he winks. “No,” I say as Sydney says yes. I turn my attention back and quirk an eyebrow. “We are?” “Yep.” “And what, pray tell, are we celebrating?” “You, of course,” she replies. “I don’t understand.” “It’s good to have you back.” She smiles and I grab the shot and take a swig. “It’s good to be back.” I nod. It is. And tomorrow, first thing, I’ll call the names on the list. “What are you smiling about?” Sydney asks. “Nothing. Just happy, I guess.” And for the first time in a long time, I do feel happy. I feel hope. Because I know what I need to do and I’m going to do it. I’m going to stop running from my past. I’ll confront my fears and figure out me, and that is worth celebrating.

ONCE AGAIN I stand at the precipice of change, but this time instead of walking into Preston’s office, I find myself in a small room, waiting to see my new therapist. Her name is Dr. Beckett, and from the look of things, she will be nothing like Dr. Montgomery. Where he was upscale, this space is homey. Comfy couches line the walls of what seems to be an old parlor of a brownstone in the west village. It’s quaint and feels like home. With everything I’ve been through, I welcome it. Dr. Beckett wasn’t on the list Preston gave me. I needed a clean break. So I asked around the office, only this time I didn’t hide

that I’m having a hard time coping with Richard’s death and some other things in my life. Surprisingly, everyone was supportive. And now that they knew my mom had no interest in taking control, they reach out more and more. It isn’t only Sydney and myself for lunch anymore. Now Natalie comes along, and Barry too. After apologizing for harassing me, he really isn’t that bad. Today begins the next step in my journey. I’m not sure how this new story will end, but I hope eventually it leads me back to Preston. All I can do is take a deep breath and vow to conquer my fears and learn to forgive. The door creaks open and out walks a taller middle-aged woman. “Hello, Eve. I’m Dr. Beckett.” “Hi,” I say as I stand and extend my hand. “Are you ready?” She smiles and I nod. I am. I finally am.

AS MY SESSIONS with Dr. Beckett come and go, the weather turns from sweltering to brisk days. Orange and red bleed from the leaves and the air is crisp with fall fragrances. The weeks have turned into months. We talk about everything. Well, everything except Preston Montgomery. He’s one topic I won’t breach. I keep our time together tucked firmly in my own heart and memory. Right now the focus is on me. I’m working on forgiving Mom and Richard for lying to me. Richard’s omission of the truth has been easier for me to move past. He was in an unimaginable situation and made the only choice he thought he could. It’s taken me a long time to forgive Mom, and an even longer time to forgive my dad. Day by day and week by week, I get closer to forgiveness. Like Preston said, I’d never understand the pressure he was under. But little by little I move past the anger and open my heart to love. Today is a day to move forward. “Mom, are you decent? Are you dressed?” I say as I knock on the door. “Yes.” “I have someone here to talk to us. Can we come in?” “Um,” she mumbles through the door. I crack it open a little. “I’m a little dizzy.” “I know, Mom, but it will be fast. She just wants to talk to you. We want to talk to you together. Dr. Beckett thinks it will be good for us. I think so too. We can no longer let our future be dictated by our fear of the past. We need to move forward.” “Okay,” she croaks out. Dr. Beckett and I walk through the door and into the room. Mom is sitting on the bed. I had called previously and warned her that she should be dressed today. I’m happy to see she is in lounge pants and T-shirt. She’s even wearing a light dusting of makeup. She’s

trying, and that thought makes tears fill my eyes. We sit in the chairs situated along the window inside her room. She stays where she is. Dr. Beckett begins, and then we let my mom talk. For the first time in as long as I can remember, she tells me what it was like to be married to Dad. I sit with welled eyes as she relates stories she never shared before. Tears pour down my face at the idea that they were once in love. That my mom was once more then she is. It’s almost too much to take in, but as I do, something strange happens. I find myself laughing, smiling and forgiving. When Dr. Becket asks me if I have anything to say, I do. “Mom, it’s time you forgive yourself. It wasn’t your fault. Every year that passes, a bigger part of you dies. Your guilt has eaten away at you. It has to stop. Every day that we have is a gift. You need to keep living for Dad. You need to live for yourself. And for me. I need you to be my mother. I need to know you’re there.” She nods and we sit in silence. Eventually, I take her hand in mine and ask her softly if she can tell me how she met my father and she does. The stories encompass topics of all types, from hobbies they had to all the places they traveled. After the moisture on my face evaporates, it makes me happy to think of a better time. Hearing her stories reminds me a little of Preston. He’s the reason this is happening right now. He was the catalyst for me doing this. In order to go to him in the future, I need to heal my past. This is the first step—my mom and I forgiving ourselves. This won’t be an overnight success. It’ll take time before she can talk again about what happened that night. But I’m willing to try. I’m willing to wait.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE EVE

TEN MONTHS LATER … Stepping inside Paradise Diner, I prepare for the impending assault of memories. They wash over me like a tidal wave but I embrace them. Losing Richard. Meeting Preston … walking away, and then gaining my strength, it all led me here to this moment. Having spent the past ten months focusing on myself, I’m finally ready to face my fears … to face him. Every week that I’ve seen Dr. Beckett, I’ve grown stronger, and today I’m ready to confront the man I had to walk away from. I’ve come here with a purpose. It’s not by accident I’m here at the very place I know he frequents. We have unfinished business that I intend to resolve. Perhaps it isn’t fair that I’m ambushing him, but I need him to look at me and see that I’m better. As I wait, I peer toward the window and watch as people pass by. A young couple walks hand in hand, and my heart swells at the sight. Months ago seeing this might have hurt me, but not now. I’m ready for what they have. To live. To breath. To love. My lips part into a smile as I watch them fade into the horizon, a sigh escaping my mouth. The chime above the door rings and pulls me out of my thoughts. I don’t have to look to know who’s walked in. The air has shifted around me. I’ve imagined this moment so many times. Replayed how I would respond to seeing him again, but as often as I fantasized about this moment, I’m finding myself ill prepared for the emotions coursing through me. My eyes find him. God, he looks gorgeous. As if no time has passed. His shoulders are pulled back and he’s wearing a blue hoodie and jeans. I love him like this. I’m reminded of our trip together. The weekend I began to fall in love with him. A stolen moment where we were able to live in our bubble and just enjoy each other with no consequences. I want to run to him. I want to jump into his arms. Kiss him madly. Never let him go. I hold back the tears of joy that threaten to fall from my eyes.

He walks towards me, but hasn’t yet seen me. The closer he gets, the more I have to secure myself to the seat as to not make a fool of myself. Patience. You’ve waited this long. He twists his body speaking to someone behind him. As he turns back around, I get a peek at who he’s talking to and my heart stops. All of the oxygen leaves my body and an allencompassing sadness slithers its way inside me. He’s not alone. She’s tall and lithe. Long brown hair cascades down her back in waves. She’s beautiful. The woman says something which causes Preston to throw his head back and laugh in joyous abandon. He’s happy. Familiar ghosts are gnawing at me, the panic that wants to overtake my body consuming. It claws at me. Wanting desperately to take over and pull me into its wicked trance. I almost fall prey, but I’ve come too far. Instead I straighten my back and stand taller. You’re strong. You’re brave. You’re better. She mouths something to him then places her hand lovingly on his forearm, leaning up on tiptoes to place a tender kiss on his cheek … every last piece of me dies. I’m too late. He’s moved on. Everything in me says get the hell out of here, but I’m too late. Before I can make my escape, our gaze locks. Preston’s dark eyes go wide, his pupils taking up the entire circumference. Every muscle in his body seems to tense. Inhale. One. Two. Three. Exhale. One. Two. Three. Through my breathing, memories of everything I’ve learned since I met Preston flood my mind. My journey to forgiveness, overcoming my fears about life and myself. I will not falter. I will square my shoulders and hold my head high. I will remember to be strong, and not to let the sadness take over. At least not here … not where he can see me fall. He steps toward me. “Eve?” he says confused. Like he’s trying to gauge whether it’s really me he’s seeing. I close the distance between us, standing in front of them, my teeth gnawing viciously at inside of my cheek. “Hello, Preston.” I turn my head toward the brunette, smiling wide despite the very real need to cry. “Oh. Um, this is Heather. Heather this is Eve Hamilton,” he stutters. The awkwardness of

the situation only grows worse with his obvious discomfort. I extend my hand, hoping to alleviate the tension. “Nice to meet you, Heather.” “Nice to meet you too, Eve.” She smiles warmly at me. She’s sweet. “We were just grabbing breakfast,” he offers lamely. Heather moves closer to him. The way she’s staring at him makes every muscle in my body feel as if it’s being pulled tight. She’s in love with him. “Are you coming or going?” Preston asks, pulling me out of my haze. “Going.” I step aside. “I’m going.” He nods and opens his mouth to speak but stops himself. “Ready to sit, Preston?” Her hand rubs up his arm. She’s touching him, her hands are on him—I am barely masking the pain this is causing. Desperate to leave, I nod and begin to slowly retreat. I have to go. As strong as I am now, this is too much. Seeing him here. Seeing her with him is too much. I need to be alone. I need to feel this pain. “It was good seeing you, Eve.” I don’t miss the way his voice cracks when he says my name. I smile. It’s weak and fake, but it’s the only thing I can do to not fall apart right there in the middle of the restaurant. My eyes meet his one final time as a single tear I can no longer hold falls.

THREE DAYS LATER … “I saw Preston the other day, ” I say to Dr. Beckett as I lean forward hugging my knees to my chest. “He was with another woman.” She pauses what she’s writing, and looks up at me. The lines etched on her weathered face becoming more pronounced. “And how did that make you feel?” “It tore me in two. That day I arrived feeling on top of the world and ready to move forward. The ambush backfired in the cruelest of ways. It hurts to know that I lost him, but at least he looks happy and that makes me happy. The hardest part is that I have so much I need to say to him, and never had the chance. I couldn’t get past the hurt to just say it. The strength to pull him aside to talk was not there.” “I know it must feel hard and I’m sure you’re scared of what you will find out, but I do think you need closure. I think your next step is you reaching out to him, thanking him, and then you might be ready to move on.” “Okay.” My fragile heart doesn’t want to know if he’s moved on with Heather. From the

looks at the diner, he has. I can’t blame him. She was perfect in every way. How could I expect him to wait for me? It was unrealistic for me to think he wouldn’t. So much time has passed, and my feelings have never wavered. Unfortunately, I was too late. Regardless, I do agree I need to thank him for being instrumental to me finally finding peace with my mother and with myself. Once back at my apartment, my eyes are glued to the blank screen in front of me. I know I have to dial. I need to find the strength, swallow my pride and stuff my emotions as far down as I can. With a shaking hand, I type the one number I’ve avoided for so long. “Eve?” It’s him. His voice sends my heart soaring despite my every move to suppress it. “Hi,” I squeak. “Listen, I know this is long overdue but I needed to speak with you.” Silence fills the space between. My nerves are getting the better of me, so I rattle on. “I wanted to say thank you.” Still he says nothing. At this point I have nothing to lose, so I go on. “Meeting you, loving you … it was my saving grace.” I sigh. “No matter what happens, I need you to know.” I prepare to hang up as it appears he has nothing to offer, but finally he speaks. “Meet me. I need to talk to you.” My stomach tightens in nerves. “I don’t know if that’s smart. I don’t want to cause problems between you and Heather,” I whisper so that he doesn’t hear how my voice cracks. “Eve, we need to talk about that.” My heart hammers in my chest and I nod to myself, not that he can see me. “Is that a yes,” he says through the phone. “Yes.” I stutter. “Have you had dinner?” “Not yet.” “Okay, Paradise. Eight Thirty?” An hour and half to prepare to see him … Am I ready? Can I do this? Will I have the strength to hear whatever he has to say? I am. Good or bad it’s time I put this part to rest. “Okay.” The line goes dead.

I’M GOING to be late. Shit. With fast steps, I move through the crowded streets and to the corner. My skirt flies up as a cab whooshes by. I wonder what will happen. How everything will go down. As I wait for the light to change and the cars to pass, I look into the passing traffic. It isn’t so bad for a Tuesday evening, and walking in the crisp air is invigorating. New York City isn’t usually this chilly this time of year, but it seems spring is lingering in the air. This thought reminds me that we are only nine months away from the statue of limitation running out. I shake off the thought. No need to set myself up for more disappointment. In a rush, I step in the door.

A short line has formed in front of me, but when the crowd parts, I come face to face with all I was hoping for. All I’ve dreamed about. Preston. His lips part into a smile as he sees me. “Am I too late?” I whisper to myself. There’s no way he can hear me but the way his eyes pierce mine, I think … no, I believe he can. As I close the distance between us, it’s as though there is something tethering me to him, pulling me closer. “Am I late?” I blurt out, my heart beating erratically. “Nope, your timing is impeccable.” His words swallow me whole. Invade every crevice of my mind that still dares to dream. “I was scared I was too late.” The way he looks at me, I know he understands my meaning. “It’s never too late. It will never be too late.” “But what about—” “What about nothing. There was never anyone else. There is no one but you. The other day when you saw me with Heather, it meant nothing.” He extends a hand to me, his finger sweeping lightly against my jaw. “Jace was sick of me moping around, so he said I needed to date. Get out there again. Heather works in the hospital with me. She’s made her interest in me known for a long time, so I asked her out.” “She’s in love with you.” My head tips down to look at the floor. “I should know,” I mutter. “Yeah,” He takes a deep breath and my eyes snap back up. There’s so much emotion in his eyes but I can’t place it. “He said it would be good for me,” he repeats. “And was it?” “Yeah.” His voice dips low, it sends a wave of chills down my spine as I wait for him to continue. To seal my fate. “It was good because it made me realize there’s no one else for me but you.” My mouth trembles against his fingertips as all of my pent-up emotions come pouring out in fresh tears. He reaches up and collects the wetness. “I was so scared. I knew what I had to do, and I did it. But then I had to wait for it to be okay for us to be together. It felt so long, this time without you. I was so scared you’d moved on. That you forgot about me,” I stammer out. “How could I ever forget about you? Don’t you know by now that I love you?” He pulls me into his arms and buries his head in my neck. “I love you,” he whispers into my skin before he moves his head back and his mouth connects with mine, showing me just how much. “Okay, I get it,” I laugh into his lips. He pulls away and gives me a heart-stopping smirk. “I’m glad you’re finally starting to catch on.” He says with a wink. “God, I’ve missed you. It feels as if I’ve been everywhere and nowhere. Does that make sense?”

“More than you know. That’s how I’ve felt, too. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel. We only have to wait—” “I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to waste another minute not being with you.” I say. “Okay, so we won’t wait. We just have to be careful until the time passes, but are you sure you’re ready? As much as it would kill me to let you go again, you have to be sure.” “I swear, I’ve been to hell and back. But when I lost you, I found me. God, I had so much to learn, but knowing there was a chance for us … I fought. I hired a new therapist, not one from your list. She’s wonderful. She’s been working with me to not need approval. She’s been helping me to forgive, and she’s been working with Mom.” His eyes widen at my words. “Yeah, the three of us have been meeting. Dr. Beckett has been helping her to understand that it’s not her fault Dad took his life. She’s really come a long way.” Tears fill my eyes. “Last week, she came to the office with me. She’s leaving her house again. Do you know how amazing this is?” “I’m so happy for you.” He smiles. “You saved me, Preston.” “No. You saved you. I only gave you some of the tools you needed.” His arms wrap around me and he holds me in his arms. “I used to be scared, but now I’m controlling it. I’m learning new coping mechanisms and I’m building myself up one day at a time. I have more to learn, but I’m working on it. I’m not perfect, and I still have nightmares sometimes, but it’s okay, because no one’s perfect.” “To me, you’re perfect.” He runs his hand up my spine. “To me, you’re everything. You are beautiful inside and out.” I exhale the last bit of fear that still resided in my body. The fear that I had lost him.

EPILOGUE EVE

NINE MONTHS LATER … I watch out the window as the street previously blanketed in white starts to melt away. Spring is coming, breathing warm winds and change. Like a soft lullaby to my ears, each pass of the breeze against the glass pane speaks about the promise of a new beginning. A new beginning for us … finally. Warm arms slip around me and I lean back taking his embrace. “So now that we can finally be together, where do you want to go?” “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you.” And that’s the truth. The last nine months we have spent every free minute we could together, maybe not in public because we couldn’t be seen together. But we learned to make do. We’ve become quit creative in fun dates to take in Preston’s brownstone. We cook. We watch movies. We even have picnics in his living room and make love as often as possible. We have fallen further in love. Into an allconsuming love, the kind of love that stories are made of. He leans down and places a kiss on my exposed shoulder. “Now that you’re stuck with me, you promise you’ll love me in five years?” I ask and he doesn’t respond but I feel his mouth hovering over my sensitive skin. Kiss “In ten years?” Kiss “Fifteen years?” Kiss With that he spins me around and places his lips on mine, robbing me of my breath. “I’ll love you until forever and a day,” he mumbles against my mouth. “Don’t you understand by now? I want to kiss you till forever. I want to love you until forever, and when forever ends, I want to start all over again.” His voice touches places within me I had almost forgotten were there. It touches the place in my heart where dreams do happen. “Because I will never have my fill of you. Even eternity won’t be enough. I want to be the reason you smile today. I want to be the reason you smile every day.” He pauses and gently opens up his closed hand revealing a beautiful solitaire diamond.

Crystal blue eyes gaze back at me. They speak to my soul, to every facet that I am. In his eyes, I see a future. I see hope, and I see love. It doesn’t matter where we started. Or how many obstacles we’ll have to overcome. All that matters is where we’re going, and that we go there together. “Will you marry me? Will you give me all of your forevers?” “Yes,” I say through joyful tears that drip down my cheek. His arms encircle me as he sears me with his kiss. I have learned so much over the last two years. I’ve learned that I’m more than my past. I’m more than the nightmares that haunted me. I’m able to forgive and move forward and have a second chance. Life does provide a second chance. This is ours. The End

BONUS EPILOGUE

Lying in my bed, I can’t help but stare at the empty space next to me. God, I wish Preston was here. But he’s not, and he won’t be for a painfully long time. A strict rule issued by Sydney. Apparently, the bride and groom cannot spend the night together the day before the wedding. Seems like a ridiculous and jaded practice if you ask me. One only a single and evil friend would come up with. How can she possibly think this is a good idea? Preston looked so damn sexy tonight that I practically begged him to take me in the coat closet during our rehearsal dinner. But alas, there will be none of that. So instead, I close my eyes and picture how beautiful he’d look if he were standing before me. How his hands would feel if he was touching me. How his lips would feel if he was kissing me. A smile spreads over my face. Tomorrow we will finally be married and no one will ever separate us again, not even Sydney with her prehistoric traditions. Knock. A bang on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. Grabbing my robe, I walk to the door. “Yes?” “It’s me.” The sound of his husky voice is unexpected. A warm heat spreads through my body. What’s he doing here? I swing open the door— Preston’s lips are on mine. He kisses me with abandon before eventually pulling away and pacing around the room. Something is obviously bothering him. The muscles in my stomach tighten as a familiar panic weaves its way through my bloodstream. I close the door. “Preston, what’s going on?” Preston strides over to me in two steps and pulls me against him. “It’s not you, Eve. I’m just concerned about Jace.” A small line forms between his brows. “Do you think he’ll be okay?” I ask, knowing full well that after the sudden death of his wife, Jace might never be okay again. He pulls at his hair. “I hope so.” “Should we do something?” “There’s nothing we can do,” he answers, lifting my jaw with his hand. “But enough about my brother. I want to make love to my wife.”

“Future wife.” “Future wife,” he agrees. “But in less than 24 hours you will be all mine.” “I have been all yours since the moment I met you.” “Well, that’s not entirely true.” He grimaces. “Oh God, Preston, can we just stop talking already? Sydney is going to kill me if she knows you snuck into my room before the wedding. According to her, and I quote, you aren’t supposed to see him until you walk down the aisle.” I say in my best Sydney voice. “So please, can we stop talking so you kiss me again?” “It’s a good thing Sydney’s not here right now. I’m not she’d approve of what I’m about to do to you.” He winks. I bite my lip. “Promise?” Dropping my robe, all I’m left wearing is a black silk camisole. “Oh I promise,” he growls. With one fast move, Preston lifts the camisole off my body, leaving me with only a pair of black lace thongs. His hand pulls at the material until it shimmies down my thighs and falls to the floor. Now fully naked, Preston guides me toward the bed, laying me down in front of him. His gaze is predatory. His pupils dilated with desire. Warm hands reach out and spread my legs open. He swipes his tongue against his lips like I’m a feast laid out before him. Before I can even breathe, he starts to devour me. His tongue finds me hot and ready as he licks and sucks me like a starved man until I find myself hanging on by a small thread. His pace becomes so maddening that all I can do is grip the blanket to steady myself as I fall over the edge. When I finally return from my orgasmic high, he places one more kiss on my sensitive skin before climbing up my body. As his hard length teases my entrance, my body trembles with anticipation, growing reckless with need. His mouth finds mine, and in perfect synchronicity, he thrusts inside me. I part my lips on a gasp, and he takes full advantage, thrusting his tongue into my mouth to meet the tempo as he fucks me. Stretching me… Teasing me… Owning me. The pattern of his movement has every nerve ending in my body coming alive. I can barely find my breath as I feel myself start to come apart. Desperate for the release, I meet his thrust. I’m teetering on the edge, about to come apart when Preston halts his movements. A groan escapes my trembling body. But he continues to hold still. Every breath I exhale becomes choppier. My hips try to lift but he won’t let me move. He won’t let me put out the fire burning inside me. When I think we both can’t take anymore, he starts the pattern all over again. In… And out.

Still. In… And out. Still. In… A primal moan escapes my mouth as I chase and find my release. The sound fuels him as he picks up his pace, fucking me harder and faster than I ever thought possible. With one final push, he empties himself inside me. Together we cling to one another as our breaths regulate. With our bodies still connected and are limbs still entwined, he looks into my eyes, his blue iris penetrating my soul. “Forever …” he trails off, the one word speaking to every part of my being. “Forever.”

When the early morning sun peeks in through the drapes, I’m all alone in the bed. Preston must have snuck out in the middle of the night. A smile pulls across my face as memories of his late night visit replay in my mind. My cheeks warm and gentle laughter escapes my mouth. Sydney would give me hell if she knew. Good thing she won’t find out. Stretching my arms over my head, I ring out the last bit of sleep still harboring in my body. As I move to get out of the bed, I notice a small box sitting on the side table with a little-folded note underneath it. My Dearest Eve, As I sit here next to you while you sleep, I can’t believe how lucky and blessed I am. I never thought I would ever love again. I never thought I would ever feel so complete. But then you came into my life, and everything changed. I still remember the first time I saw you. How beautiful and serene you were. I didn’t think I would see you again, but luckily, fate had other plans. It’s been a long road to get here, but I would weather the storm over and over again just to have you by my side. I know I tell you this every day, but I love you. You are my heart, and you are my soul. I can’t wait to make you my wife. All my love, Preston

My vision fogs from the tears collecting in my eyes. With a swipe of my hand, I dry them and then open the box. Inside is the most beautiful pair of diamond and pearl earrings I have ever seen. I smile softly to myself while placing them in my ears. They are perfect. Now all I have to do is get up, shower and prepare for the biggest day of my life.

Two hours later, freshly showered and dressed only in a white silk robe, I find I’m no longer alone in my room. Sydney is there. Of course she is. She is officially the best maid of honor in the world. Every last detail so far has been perfection. From the flower arrangements to set up, Sydney took care of everything. I’m able to breathe today, and I will forever be grateful. “Morning,” Sydney greets me. “I hope you’re well rested.” The tone of her voice leads me to believe she is fishing to see if Preston came by last night. “I am,” I mumble out looking down to the floor, with that Sydney laughs. “I knew he’d never be able to resist.” She shrugs. “Okay, throw on some clothes so we can go and get your hair and makeup done. It’s time to get you ready for tonight.”

After being primped and primed, I slip into my dress. When I catch a glimpse in the mirror my breath leaves my body. I’m gorgeous. A dream. A fairytale. “Oh my god.” Sydney says from behind me and through the mirror I can see that her eyes are wide and start to glisten wit unshed tears. “You look beautiful.” “Thanks. I feel beautiful.” “Good, you deserve it. So, are you ready?” Sydney asks. “Never been more ready for anything in my life.” “I can’t imagine.” She smiles at me, and I know she understands. “Thank you for doing all this for me,” My voice cracks with emotion. “Don’t you dare cry,” Sydney says narrowing her eyes. “I won’t. I won’t. But seriously, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Without you and Preston …” I trail off. “Eve,” she says taking my hand in hers. “You would have been okay. I promise even with out us, you would have been fine. You are the strongest person I have ever met. You single-handed took care of your mother for years. Look at her.” At her words, I look at my mom who’s getting the final touches of her makeup done in the corner of the room. “When I first met you, this would never have been possible. She was a shell of a person. You were her lifeline her strength and now look. You helped heal her. You treated yourself. Sure there were a few bumps in the road.” A laugh escapes my mouth. “A few?” “Fine. A ton,” she laughs and I raise an eyebrow. “A shit ton. Better?” “Yes. Much better,” I giggle back and she winks. “Okay, where was I? The moral of the story is. You are amazing.”

“Oh, that was moral of the story? Seriously though. Thank you, Syd. You have done everything. You have handled the whole wedding, planning. Everything and I don’t think you will ever understand how grateful I am.” “You deserve it. And it was my pleasure. But enough of this sentimental stuff, if you smudge your makeup, she will kill you,” she says pointing to the makeup artist. “Or better yet she’ll just kill me.”

With each step, I walk into the future. With each step, any hesitation fades away. I’m finally getting everything I have ever hoped and dreamed of—love. Unconditional love. Heart pounding, soul-shattering love. Preston Montgomery. My future. Any nerves I might have had slip away. A calm falls over me as I step through the door of the building and into the warm summer air. Beginning the walk down the aisle, I reminisce about how far I have come. The last time I walked down this path to where the earth overlooks the sea, we weren’t supposed to be together. We had started down a path we couldn’t continue. I’d thought our moments were fleeting, but now I know it’s for eternity. Finally, I reach the clearing, and I see all I ever hoped for standing on the edge of the cliff under a canopy of flowers. Preston. My Preston. He looks at me with complete adoration as I make my way to where he stands. Sighs and gasps echo around me, but I don’t look at anyone but him. I can’t. I’m to lost in Preston. To lost in the knowledge that soon I will be his wife. Once standing in front of him, he takes me in his arms and kisses me as though he’s never kissed me before, as though I am his lifeline. And, in truth, that’s what we are to each other. We are each other’s oxygen. Air. We need each other to breathe. Words are spoken, but they fade away into the blue of his eyes into the conviction of his voice as he repeats his vows. Through tear-rimmed eyes, Preston takes my hand into his and promises to love and cherish me all the days of my life. His gaze is unwavering. His love is absolute. We are creating something beautiful here. A future.

NOTICE K. WEBSTER

To the intense man who noticed me, claimed me, and never let go. I love you, Matt.

My past has not defined me, destroyed me, deterred me; it has only strengthened me. – Steve Maraboli.

WARNING

Notice is an edgy, dark, and unusual romance. Extreme sexual themes and violence in certain scenes, which could trigger emotional distress, are found in this story. If you are sensitive to dark themes, then this story is not for you. If you aren’t into super obsessive stalkers, then this story is not for you.

PROLOGUE

HAWK February 24th, 1990 Eyes on the target. Always. I don’t have to watch my back because Bull has it. Always. Sniper and spotter. Two best friends since the seventh grade. “Target is heavily secured. On my command,” Gunny says in my earpiece. I blink but don’t move from my position. I’m ready to put the 7.26 by 51 mm bullet in the skull of the Crown Prince’s most trusted advisor, Ahmed Hakim. A man whose ties with Saddam Hussein are so thick you’d need a chainsaw to cut through them. My target is enemy number two under Hussein. A traitor to the Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia. On the United States’ and my own personal radar. But the fucker is always hiding behind a wall of men. Armed and dangerous men. Five times over the past week, I’ve had eyes on the coward but have been told to stand down. The shot has to hit and eliminate the desired target. Injuring him would be considered a failure. Hakim has to die. “That motherfucker hides behind the big guy every time. If we had the time, we could take out both. No sweat off my goddamn brow,” Bull murmurs. He chews on his gum but wisely remains quiet. The constant sound of his chewing is what helps keep me grounded. I can focus because of its consistent smack—a little trick we learned at the academy we both attended in high school. A year after graduation, and we still work better as a team than apart. Smack. Smack. Smack. I’m in position and have been for the past four and a half hours, long before people arrived for the ceremony where the Crown Prince is speaking. I’ve already established a good shooting position. Flat on my belly with my rifle pointed downrange at my target, I’m sighted in and ready to fire.

Smack. Smack. Smack. A cool breeze skitters across the back of my neck. Sweat is trickling down the side of my temple, but I don’t dare move. Instead, I’m calculating the wind not just up here from my position on the top of an abandoned building, but also where my target is. The wind causes the black hair of a teen girl sitting on one of the chairs on stage to lift. She’s not just any girl—she’s the sixteen-year-old daughter of the Crown Prince. Despite Hakim being a pussy who hides behind the security, his eyes never leave the Crown Prince’s daughter. Adara. Pretty, young, vulnerable. Hakim clearly cares for her, and that’s saying something for the selfish prick. Click. I make an adjustment to the windage turret. “Elevation?” Bull questions as if I’d forget. I never forget. I double check the elevation turret, but it’s where it needs to be. Bull doesn’t require an answer. He knows how we work. When I’m in position, I don’t speak. I don’t move. I hardly fucking breathe. Any movement could affect my shot. I’m the best goddamned sniper the Marine Corp has for a reason. Smack. Smack. Smack. The wind dies down, and I ignore the ache in my thighs. I have to piss but I’d just as soon take a leak in my pants before I moved. From my position on my belly with my legs spread apart to absorb the recoil of my shot, I always become uncomfortable. And yet, I still don’t move. Smack. Smack. Smack. My thighs tingle and my shoulders ache, but I tune it out. Focus. Smack. Smack. Smack. “Ceremony begins at thirteen hundred hours,” Gunny reminds us all. “Nobody blinks until I say they can.” The dig is at me. Gunny hates that I came straight from the academy and earned myself a Lance Corporal position despite being eighteen. I’ve since been promoted to an E-5 Sergeant at the young age of nineteen. I’m disciplined, hard-working, and an extremely skilled sniper thanks to Dad’s insistence I attend military school at Hargrave Military Academy since I was thirteen. Gunny can kiss my ass. My hold is firm on the pistol grip but my thumb is loose. Another drop of sweat rolls down my forehead and my heart does a patter as it nears my eyebrow. “Bull.” My word is yet a whisper, but he hears. Carefully, my best friend takes his finger and wipes the sweat away, so it doesn’t slide into my eye. He does it gently and makes sure not to touch my scope. Then, he’s back to staring at our target through his binoculars. I blink several times and run my mind through every position of my body. I make sure my rifle isn’t canted. My cheek is rested against the butt stock and my eye stares down the

scope to Hakim. Gunny grunts through the speaker. “Stand down, boys. We’re not going to get the shot. Hakim knows he’s being targeted.” Irritation flits through me. He always gives up when I know I can take the shot. I can kill Hakim. Gunny just needs to let me do it my way. My way goes against the morals and ethics of most normal men. I’m not normal. I haven’t been normal since I put a bullet through a quail when I was nine years old. As soon as the shot finished echoing through the woods and I had her body tossed in my bag, I’d heard a squawk. I had killed a mother. One tiny offspring hollered for food in a nearby nest. I knew. Deep down I knew I’d shot that baby’s mother. Something inside of me—despite my father’s cold upbringing— warmed and softened. I broke for that baby bird. But I could fix it. I could care for that bird. I’d gathered the tiny thing into my small fist and stroked its head with my thumb on my gloved hand. It squawked and squawked. And for the first time in ages, I grinned. “You hear me, Corporal?” Gunny barks. I blink away my past and focus on my present. My target. My goal. What’s right in front of me. “I can make the shot. Give me a chance,” I murmur, my heart thumping steadily in my chest. He utters out a string of curse words before conceding. “I’m giving you four minutes, Corporal.” My eyes are on Hakim, my target, but when he glances over at Adara, my heart rate quickens when she beams at him. Her smile is shy but wide. For him. A smile only a woman gives to her lover. Sixteen and fifty-seven. That math sucks. You dirty dog, Hakim. That smile proves my research was correct. While Gunny and the team were collecting intel on Hakim, I was doing my own recon. In our short amount of time, I learned a lot about little Adara. I’d suspected she and Hakim had some sort of romantic interest going on. Click.

Adjust. My sights have moved slightly to accommodate my target. A target that is clear. Easy. Focus. Smack. Smack. Smack. “Stand down, Corp—” Despite the suppressor on my rifle, the crack echoes off the buildings around me the moment I pull the trigger. Don’t breathe. Bull doesn’t dare engage, even though I’ve gone against direct orders. I blink once and watch the girl crumple to her knees clutching her chest. Wait? Chest? Shoulder. She should be clutching her shoulder. Turning off my mind, I focus on her lover. Hakim. He roars as he breaks free from the cover of his men to be near Adara. The moment I see his fat head, I take my shot. Crack. “Fuuuuuck,” Bull hisses from beside me. Gunny is screaming in my earpiece but he’s being ignored for the time being. Hakim falls on top of the girl’s unmoving body with a deadly head wound, causing blood to rush from his skull. Target eliminated. “You fucking killed the girl,” Bull gripes, but he’s already gathering our shit so we can bolt. I’m still in position to make sure Hakim doesn’t move despite the gaping hole in his head. “Hawk!” I blink away my daze and lift my stiffened body from my position. Fuck. RPG. I see it a second before it whizzes past me. The explosion is deafening. The pain is excruciating. My short life ends before it even began.

CHAPTER ONE VIOLET

PRESENT DAY Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. “You look busy, Letty,” Mr. Collins interrupts in a gruff tone. “I’ll just pop in and see if Grayson wants to grab lunch.” Violet. My perfectly manicured fingers, which were typing away on the keyboard, pause as I lift my gaze to the old man. His beady eyes flit over my silky white blouse to where my full breasts are barely encased in a buttoned-up blouse, slightly jiggling with movement. I purposefully still my body and bring my fingertips to my slender neck to touch the string of pearls my mother gave me long ago to distract him. The action hides my breasts from the leering old man, and he drags his gaze back to my face. I stiffen but force a polite smile to my lips. “Actually, he’s in a very important meeting,” I lie to him as I stand. “I’ll have him get back to you later, sir.” He seems mildly irritated, but I flash him a winning smile that’s more convincing than the first one. “You’re his favorite client, you know,” I tell him in a conspiratorial whisper. “I know he’d much rather be downing sushi and sake with you than having to hash out the purchase of that Japanese hotel from Mr. Adachi. Those two have spent so much time discussing it. I’ll be glad when they decide on a price, so that Mr. Maxwell can handle his less complicated business.” I make a simple motion of my hand to gesture at him. His white brows furrow together and he rounds his shoulders, as if the motions will make him taller. More formidable. Powerful. But at five foot ten, I tower over the much-shorter man, especially in my spiked heels that easily put me over six feet. With a huff, he shoots an unnerved glare at Grayson Maxwell’s door. “Tell him we can go out for celebratory drinks later in the week. I’ll accept his offer on my resort. Make sure he gets the message right away.” He storms off, and my false smile morphs into a genuine and triumphant one. With my chin lifted in the air, I strut over to the coffee machine in the kitchen. Mr. Maxwell likes his coffee a certain way. Two spoonsful of sugar and one scoop of creamer. And I don’t forget the sprinkle of cinnamon. I even squat slightly so I can eyeball how much sugar is rounded on the spoon before dumping it into the steaming liquid and then stirring. The run-in with Mr. Collins only solidifies what I already know. I’m damn good at my job.

After six years, I’m the best employee Maxwell Subsidiaries has. Not long ago I was just a fraction of my current self. A sliver of what could be. Back when Vaughn pulled my strings. Long before I cut loose from him and danced in my own show called life. The earlier smile fades at the thought of my ex-boyfriend, Vaughn. A dangerous man. Toxic and vile. I’d fallen hard for a man who tainted me in every way possible. It takes hindsight to realize how deep in his dirty world I’d sunk. I’m jolted from terrorizing memories of Vaughn when I hear male voices behind me. “This is the break room,” Clint from HR says. “We hardly ever come in here. Our assistants make our coffee. You’ll be assigned an assistant as well.” I jerk my head to see the new associate, a handsome male, taking in my appearance with a slight hunger in his eyes. “Ah, yes, Mr. Truman,” Clint tells him with a chuckle. “This is the owner’s assistant, Letty.” Violet. “Will she be my assistant as well?” Mr. Truman questions, hope flickering in his weasel eyes. I suppress a shudder and force a smile as I clutch the steaming mug of coffee. If he keeps staring at me like he’s undressing me with his eyes, I might have to accidentally dump this hot cup down the front of his slacks. “No, she belongs to Mr. Maxwell.” My heart ceases to beat at Clint’s choice of words. You belong to me. Vaughn’s favorite saying still haunts me seven years later. This time, the shudder ripples down my spine and the coffee sloshes in the mug, stinging my hand when it splashes over. Turning away from the pompous pricks, who are now laughing at my clumsiness, I snag a paper towel and clean the coffee spill from my flesh. It takes everything in me to keep my lips pressed in a firm line to avoid saying anything. Under my breath, though, I mutter, “I belong to no one.” When I reach Mr. Maxwell’s door, I visibly straighten my back and affix the same warm smile I’d used earlier for Mr. Collins before stepping into my boss’s office. Just like always, his scent hits me first. Strong. Rugged. Spicy. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy inhaling his unique smell. I swallow down my silliness and focus on not spilling any more hot liquid on my hand. Walking in stilettos while carrying coffee sometimes proves to be a challenge. Thankfully, it’s one I’ve mostly mastered. The office is masculine and overlooks the city. Grayson Maxwell sits in his desk chair with his back turned to the door. I can see the top of his messy espresso-colored hair but every other part of him is hidden by his chair. “Mr. Maxwell,” I say, a nervous wobble to my voice. I’m not sure why I get tongue-tied around this man. After six years, you’d think I’d be immune to how handsome he is and not act like a teenage girl every time. “I brought you some coffee.”

I’m just approaching his desk when he says in a warm tone, “Thank you.” My surprise catches me off guard, and I struggle with what to say. However, a genuine smile graces my lips, and I feel my cheeks heat. “You’re welcome, sir. I mean out of all the years I’ve worked here, I don’t think you’ve ever thanked me.” I let out a small, nervous laugh. “You’re an asset,” he says, his voice firm. This time, it’s my neck that’s on fire. I fidget with my pearls as I set the coffee down on his desk. “That’s so nice of you to say, sir. While I have your attention,” I start, my voice wobbling slightly. “Mr. Collins—” “Mr. Collins,” he says with a chuckle. “You have nothing to worry about.” I begin to speak when he swivels around in his chair, his phone pressed to his ear. Mr. Maxwell exudes power and strength. The solid muscles in his shoulders and upper arms stretch the suit fabric to its limit. He’s hot as hell—all chiseled jaw, scarred eyebrow, icy blue eyes, just-fucked hair, and scruffy five o’clock shadow. His full lips keep moving as he speaks—lips I’ve often fantasized about. An air of arrogance surrounds him. And, my God, does he smell good. He continues talking to who I now realize is Mr. Collins, and not me. I stumble back, horrified. I thought he was actually speaking to me. But then I remember that Grayson Maxwell doesn’t speak to me. Hell, he doesn’t even look at me. Just waves me away, as if me bringing him his obligatory ten o’clock coffee is a nuisance. Well, fuck him and fuck his stupid scheduled coffee. I storm away from his desk and can’t help but slam the door shut. The sound has several other employees jerking their shocked gazes to me. I give them a scathing glare before smoothing out my hair. I’ve had enough. Nobody here appreciates a damn thing I do. And I do everything. Hell, Mr. Maxwell wouldn’t be closing on one of his most annoying clients yet if it weren’t for my interfering. All it took was a little reverse psychology to have Mr. Collins begging to sell his resort. I did that. Not Grayson Maxwell. Me. Seven years ago, I could barely look at myself in the mirror. Much less waltz around a corporate office with my chin held high and confident in what I was doing. During the first year after Vaughn, I struggled to find myself. The job I landed at Maxwell was the beginning of that change. I evolved from the broken woman I was into someone strong and capable. I’ve put in my time. I have experience. This entire office runs like a welloiled machine because I see to it that it does.

Absolutely nobody recognizes any of this. I should have been the newest associate. Not weasel-eyed Truman. The kid looks fresh out of college—this is probably his first job. Yet, they’re probably paying him double what I make simply because he has a pair of balls between his muscular thighs. Fuck balls. Fuck the Boys’ Club. Fuck them all. “Where are you going?” Darlene, a woman old enough to be my mother calls out to me. She’s Jeff Barker’s assistant, who’s the CFO. “I’m going home,” I hiss over my shoulder. “I’m sick.” The lie feels easy on my tongue. I’ve never taken a sick day. Six years and not once have I called in sick. “But Mr. Maxwell has the board meeting at three. Who will serve refreshments?” she questions, her voice quivering because, heaven forbid, she have to prance around in that room full of monsters and wait on them hand and foot. I swallow down the rage threatening to consume me. I could run circles around Truman, and yet he’s the one with the cushy office. With the attention of the board. All I get is to ask them how they like their coffee. I’ve been here six years too long. “Violet,” Darlene whines, using my full name, probably in a half-assed attempt to soften me. “Please. You know I can’t do what you do. They’ll eat me alive.” Slowly, I turn around and pin her approaching frame with a fiery glare. “Why do I have to be thrown to the wolves every first Friday of the month?” Tears well in her eyes at my harsh tone. I’ve always been nice to her. We’ve even gone out to lunch on the rare occasion when both of our bosses have been out. I like Darlene. Her grandkids are cute, and I like watching her eyes light up when she talks about them. My misplaced anger at her simmers to a slow boil. I heave out a heavy breath and place my hands on my hips. “Fine,” I concede. “But I am taking an early lunch. I’ll be gone for a while too. Make sure you get Mr. Maxwell his one o’clock coffee.” Her head is nodding emphatically like a bobble head. “Of course. Enjoy your lunch, sweetie.” I give her a clipped nod before clacking my heels on the marbled floors toward the elevator. I’m going to finally give in and call back Slante Mortgages. Sean Slante has been trying to recruit me for months now. A part of me suspects it’s because he has a thing for long legs and brunettes. But a bigger part of me hopes it’s because my résumé is solid. His reason for wanting me there doesn’t matter. The pay is better and at least I’d have the ability to move up in the company. It isn’t antiquated. There is no glass ceiling I’d have to beat my fists on. I’m no longer Violet Simmons, a victim under Vaughn’s thumb. And soon I’ll no longer be just another pretty face who makes coffee at Maxwell

Subsidiaries. I’ll be a valued employee. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be cherished and noticed.

“LETTY,” Ralph Darden, one of the board members, calls out to me. “A refill, please. Not so much sugar this time,” he chides. He licks his lips as he shamelessly gawks at my breasts when I bend forward to grab his mug. When I jerk my gaze along the twelve faces in the room, each and every one of them is buried in their paperwork. Nobody notices Ralph’s sexual advances. I wonder if they’d notice if I smacked him upside his balding head. Just once I wish Mr. Maxwell would look up and notice. I’ve had countless fantasies of him rolling up his shirtsleeves and revealing his veiny forearms before landing a punch in Ralph’s face. It’s stupid. Laughable really. Nobody can save me but me. I proved that seven years ago with Vaughn. “Mad Max won’t rescue you, honey,” Ralph murmurs with a chuckle when he catches me staring blatantly at Mr. Maxwell. As much as the nickname for my boss irritates me, I know he’s right. That’s one of the eccentricities about Grayson Maxwell. He’s hyperfocused to a fault. When he’s working on a deal, he puts every ounce of his attention into it until it is solid and indestructible. It’s what makes him one of Forbes magazine’s most successful men in America. Ignoring Ralph, I make his coffee and set it down in front of him with a clonk. He gripes when it splashes over, but I start making my way over to Mr. Maxwell to check on his coffee. We’ve been in here for nearly two hours as they’ve been hashing out the Collins resort acquisition. As soon as this meeting is over, I’m going to force Grayson Maxwell to look me in the eyes as I slap my two weeks’ notice on his desk. A phone call to Sean Slante this morning turned into lunch where I finally accepted his offer. Sean is a fairly good-looking man, and in another life, I’d probably have gone after him. He’s the type of guy who’d make a good husband and father one day. Successful and handsome. Friendly and polite. His interest in me is obvious, but I want this job to be about my skills, not about anything else. I want to prove to myself that I have what it takes. That I am more than a nice rack and a pair of smooth legs. Thankfully, Sean seemed to have sensed my strictly professional demeanor because he quickly slipped into business mode. By the end of our lunch, I’d accepted a position as a sales associate at Slante Mortgages. It entailed a lot more pavement pounding than I was used to, but I was looking forward to the new challenge. “Excuse me,” a man murmurs as he grips my wrist. I’m jolted to the present as I glare down at none other than New Guy Truman. His weasel eyes rake over my chest, and he winks. Jesus, he’ll fit right the hell in around here. When I start to pull my arm from his grip, he tightens it, forcing me to let out a gasp. I wonder if I’ll have a bruise later.

“Let go of me,” I seethe, under my breath. Mr. Barker clears his throat and pushes his black-framed glasses down his nose to look over them at us. “Is there a problem?” Truman releases me and shrugs. “I take Splenda in my coffee, sugar.” My eyes flit over to Mr. Barker’s. He wears a frown on his face and darts his gaze between Truman and I, but when Mr. Maxwell begins speaking to him, he turns his attention back to our boss. Boss. Not for long. I almost laugh knowing today will be the last board meeting I’ll ever have to serve at. Next month, it will be Darlene, or some newbie, who’ll have to endure the sexist remarks and unwanted advances. It will be someone else who has to feel like they’ve been blasted back to the fifties when women were nothing more than an ornament on a successful man’s arm. Two weeks and I’m gone. So long, assholes.

CHAPTER TWO GRAYSON

“I CAN’T BELIEVE he caved. What do you think was the deciding factor?” Bull questions from across my desk. My best friend of thirty-two years sits with his dress shoes propped up on the edge of the solid mahogany surface, a suspicious glare on his face. For a moment, my focus is drawn to the side of his shoe. A scuff discolors the leather, and I wonder how he got it. It wasn’t there this morning. Shrugging, I draw my attention back down to the signed contract and away from his insignificant shoe. “I’m not sure. I’ve been wooing his ass for months. The prick liked dangling that carrot. I’d planned on taking him to a Knicks game, but before I could even tell him about the tickets, he called and said he wanted to sell.” I run my fingers through my dark hair and let out a sigh. “Feels too easy. I don’t like it.” He’s tense as fuck, so I know I’m not out of line here. “It’s airtight,” I mutter as I thumb through the contract. The wheels inside my head click and whir as all of the data flits through. Nothing stands out. But Collins gave in sooner than I anticipated for a reason. I want to know that reason. “Come in,” Bull hollers. I didn’t even hear anyone knock. He’s my eyes when I’m focused on the sole thing in front of me, whatever that may be. We’ve been this way since we were scrawny little thirteen-year-olds. I was blinded to everything around me by what was right in front of me even then, and he always had my back. My eyes narrow on the sales price. Fair. Not too high and not too low. Collins and Maxwell Subsidiaries both leave the sale feeling good. Nobody screwed the other. Just business. But that stubborn old fuck has been yanking my chain for months. Milking it for all he could. He knows I wanted that resort. Not because I wanted to plow it down and sell the land. Because I just wanted it. A beautiful New England high-end resort overlooking the glorious Atlantic. I’d stayed there on a business trip and fell in love. I’ve torn apart the owner’s financials, the land records, every single builder who contributed to the construction, the staff, the— Slap. I blink away my daze and dart my eyes over to my spotter. His eyes are widened and his

feet are no longer on my desk. Something is happening, but I’m so wrapped up in my head I don’t even realize it. This is why I need him. I’m vulnerable without him. Always have been. “Gray,” he bites out in a firm tone. “Miss Simmons is here to see you.” I frown at him before dragging my attention to the heavily breathing female standing in front of my desk. Her palm is flat against a piece of paper that she has pinned to the surface of my desk. My eyes travel up her nicely manicured nails, past her delicate wrist, along her slender arm that’s still visible despite the sheer white blouse she’s wearing. By the time my gaze is on her shoulder, I can’t help but skim across her pert breasts and then up her throat. A strand of old pearls hangs at the base of her neck. These aren’t the type of pearls you find at Tiffany’s or some other high-end shop. And they sure as hell aren’t cheap. These are an heirloom, probably passed down to her. Something my mother would have worn when she was herself. Something that would have belonged to her mother, grandmother, and greatgrandmother. The pearls are unique and— “I quit.” Her throat is bright red and her chest still heaves. I skim the rest of the way up, bypassing her feminine features, to meet the fiery, brown-eyed gaze of a woman. Miss Simmons, as Bull says. “What?” My brows furrow together in confusion. This woman, whom I don’t even know, is pissed at me. As if I’ve personally wronged her. I’m careful about the women I sleep with. I have certain requirements. Certain expectations. Not once has that ever come back to bite me in the ass. “You have my notice,” she snaps, her brown eyes narrowing at me. “Two weeks.” Her nostrils flare with anger, and the pieces begin to slot together. She works for me. I think. Why the hell didn’t she just take this nonsense to Clint in HR? “Gray,” Bull says in a calm tone, forcing me to drag my attention to him. “This is your assistant. Miss Simmons. She’s been bringing you coffee and doing other administrative tasks for you for six years.” “Unbelievable,” she huffs. Jerking my gaze back over to her, I take in her face more thoroughly this time. She’s pretty. Really pretty. High cheekbones dusted in a rouge color that may or not be dark because of her apparent rage. Intense brown eyes that hold a story locked tight behind them. A small upturned nose that fits her face perfectly. And the most succulent lips I’ve ever seen on a woman. Full. Slightly parted. Painted a color that reminds me of blood. Her silky brown hair has shimmering strands of gold in it. And every time she moves, they catch the light. She fucking sparkles. How did I not notice her until now? Bull leans forward and motions for me to look at him. I do. I always do. He knows how I get. And right now, all obsession over the Collins deal is swept to the side as something

pretty and shiny takes its place. “Focus.” His one word helps clear my mind. I stare him down as he pops a piece of gum in his mouth. Smack. Smack. Smack. “Hello,” Miss Simmons says in an exasperated tone, waving her hands to catch my attention. “In case you missed it, I won’t be here any longer to bring you your scheduled coffee. I won’t be here for the next board meeting where those old pricks get to paw all over me and say crude things. I will no longer be here to save you. If it weren’t for me,” she motions to the contract still in my fingers, “you’d still be having to take that disgusting old man out to dinners and for rounds of golf!” Click. Bull’s smacking is helping my focus. The pieces all connect. My constant haze lifts as it always does when I locate my target. Adjust. Focus. Her eyes and mine are locked again. She’s furious and I’m…curious. I want to know how her hair smells. I want to know how her voice sounds when I draw pleasure from her. I want to know how the curve of her ass feels with my cock pressed against it. “Mr. Barker,” she huffs and waves toward me while speaking to Bull. “Is there something wrong with him?” He chuckles. “Please, Letty. Call me Jeff. And yes, there’s a whole lot wrong with him.” I don’t tear my gaze from her but I can sense him smirking at me. Unwillingly, I break my stare from her and pick up her résumé. Letty? I don’t like the name Letty. The résumé reads Violet O. Simmons. Violet? I like the name Violet. “Violet,” I mutter and bore my eyes back into hers. Her withering stare falters a bit as her sexy mouth parts open. I want that mouth. I want to taste it and suck it. I want to fuck it, goddamn it. “Why don’t you take the weekend to think on it?” Bull interrupts as he stands. His hand takes her elbow, and she stiffens. As if his touch frightens her. Bull would never hurt a woman, but I don’t like the fear rippling from her. “Release her,” I growl. The words are low and threatening. Bull sends a shocked look at me but lets her go. The tension in her shoulders relaxes. If I weren’t paying attention to every single detail on her face, I’d have missed the flicker of

gratitude in her eyes. I’d have missed the relief. “There’s nothing to think about,” she tells us both, her chin lifting in a brave way. “I’m leaving in two weeks. You’ll need to hire someone who can do everything I do for this company. In fact, you’ll probably need to hire three people to replace me.” Bull lets out a grunt, but I find my mouth twisting up. A smile. Violet Simmons, my little quitter, made my lips do something they really hate fucking doing. And with it, I feel a strange tightness in my chest. I like the way it feels. The foreign ache that matches the one in my cock coupled with the goofy grin on my face has me feeling more alive than I’ve felt in a really long time. Oh, dear Violet. You’re not going anywhere. I’m still staring at her when she storms off toward the door. Her skirt is tight and hugs her curves in a way that leaves little to the imagination. Irritation flits through me that every other male in this building has probably been drooling over what’s been mine for six years. And my stupid one-track mind is just now seeing her for the first time. The door slams shut and it reminds me of earlier this morning. A door slammed. I’d been on the phone with Mr. Collins. She’d been upset then too. Don’t worry, Violet…I see you now. “Don’t.” I blink away the thoughts of her and glare at Bull. “What?” “Don’t do it. Let her go. That woman has been here for six years busting her ass for you, and you’re just now realizing she’s here. But it’s your dick that finally sees her. Call Elisha. She’ll take care of that nosy little dick of yours and you can get back to focusing on shit that matters. Like the Collins deal.” He takes his glasses off and scrubs his face as if this entire afternoon is exhausting him. And I’ve never felt so refreshed. I won’t be able to sleep until I’ve learned everything there is to know about Violet O. Simmons. “You’re right,” I lie as I gather the paperwork on my desk. “Let me finish going over some stuff. I’ll lock up tonight.” He narrows his gaze at me but doesn’t say a word in argument as he slips his glasses back on and stands. “Want to grab a beer later?” I nod and wave him off. I’m antsy. I want my best friend to leave me be so I can do a little research. Twenty long minutes later, I hear his keys jangling against the glass of the front doors of our floor as he leaves. I’m all alone. The first thing I do is flip open my laptop. Facebook is where you learn a whole lot about

a person. It takes a minute to find her, and when I do, I’m disappointed. She has it locked down. All I’m privy to is her name and her profile picture. Instead of her face, she has a picture of the ocean. Her cover photo is some vague quote. My past has not defined me, destroyed me, deterred me; it has only strengthened me. – Steve Maraboli. I’m dying to know what sort of things she posts, but it’s all fucking private. I can’t even tell how many friends she has. Does she have friends here at the office? Is Bull her friend? Another blossom of irritation surges in my chest. I’ve had this stunning woman strutting into my office several times a day and I have never paid one ounce of attention to her. Granted, I don’t know ninety percent of the people who work for me, but this feels different. This feels like an injustice. Like I’ve been duped. With a huff, I rise and stride out of my office. Her desk sits right outside my door. Everything is neat and in order. Pride swells inside me. My assistant isn’t messy or disorderly. She’s organized like me. Perhaps that is why she was chosen to work for me in the first place. Bull knows me better than I know myself. I don’t deal with the employees or HR. He does and is good at it. I sit in her stiff chair and let out a groan. The damn thing isn’t nearly as comfortable as my plush leather one. I’ve just sat down and my back already hurts. I make a mental note to order her a new one. Brown. Like the non-shiny parts of her hair. Everything has a place on her desk. A company coaster sits right beside her mouse. All of her pens and papers have been put away. Nothing except her phone and computer and the coaster adorn the desk. One corner is especially empty. I want to fill it. I will fill it. Inhaling, I almost crack another rare smile when I catch a whiff of her lingering scent. A hint of coffee mixed with her sweet floral perfume. I wonder how she would smell the exact moment she spritzes on her perfume and steps out of her bedroom. Would it be intense or faint? I will find out. Using an age-old trick, I lift her keyboard and am elated to find a sticky note with her passwords written on it. The same one for all of her logins. SurViV0r. It only takes a couple of moments to get logged on to her computer. All of her folders are arranged neatly. Her spreadsheets of my clients are all in a manner I approve of. She has many detailed notes from meetings. Meticulous logs of calls made to me and visitors who have come to see me. I also see where she’s run data on properties. Checked on sales prices and values. Run comparison analyses. The works. Aside from bringing me my coffee and fielding my calls, I’m not sure what she does for my company. Apparently, though, she does a lot for her own information. None of the data she collects goes anywhere except her spreadsheets. Skipping over to her email, I’m also pleased to see how neat and organized it is. All that sits in her inbox is an email from HR indicating they’ve also received a copy of her resignation. Ignoring the annoyance that someone else knows about her attempt to quit, I find a folder in her emails called: Ideas for the Idiot. I pop it open to find hundreds if not thousands of emails to me. I blink several times to

allow what I’m seeing to soak in. These emails are simply saved as drafts. She never sent them. Some are of her telling me off. Those make me crack another smile. Most, though, are of her making suggestions. Or providing analytical details on properties. A lot of her emails could have been really damn helpful. Why didn’t she send them? I press send on several of the emails that could be useful, especially the data for the Collins venture, before closing out her email and opening the Internet. Once I pull up Facebook, I type in SurViV0r. I’m immediately granted access to her account. The first place I click is her friends. I’m dying to know who she’s friends with here at my company. I scan through all thirty-six friends. None are Bull. None are Clint from HR. Other than that, I don’t know these people. I’m not her friend, though. That’s okay because I want to be more than friends. I will be more than friends with her. Scanning through her friend requests, I delete all the males who requested to be her friend. I don’t like those creepy fuckers. She doesn’t have any common friends with them. They’re probably just trying to weasel some nude pics out of her. Over my goddamned dead body. Once they’re deleted, I check her messages. Most are silly and lame. People sending her jokes or chain letter shit or funny memes. Her Facebook has no real substance to it. All of her posts are motivational memes and the occasional picture of the ocean. I make my mind up right then to take her to the ocean one day. I’m scanning through old pictures when a new message pops up. Sean Slante: Congrats again! I just wanted to let you know we’re looking forward to having you join the team. I’ve already ordered you a computer and Janine has put in an order for your nameplate. If you have any questions about the job, I’m open to meet up for coffee or even a beer. This weekend is pretty open. Hell, I could even see you tonight if you want to talk about how things went today when you put in your notice. You have my cell so just shoot me a text. Talk soon, Letty. By the time I finish reading the message, I’m blind with rage. I want to tell the fucker off. Tell him he’s not taking my assistant. That he’s an unprofessional twit to private message her. That she will not be having a fucking beer with him. Instead, I tamper down my fury and close out of everything. I’ll have to play my cards right. Just like acquisitions. I’ll put in my time. Analyze the details. Make smart moves. Violet O. Simmons is mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. T-minus fourteen days…

CHAPTER THREE VIOLET

I FEEL LIGHTER. Resolved. Like I should celebrate. And that’s the only reason I agreed to meet Sean Slante over at an Irish pub for a round of beers. He’ll be my new boss soon, and it’ll take some getting used to that he actually acknowledges me, knows my name, and recognizes me as an asset. Unlike him. My thoughts flit back to earlier. When I’d boldly slapped my notice on Grayson Maxwell’s desk. How, for the first time in six years, he’d looked at me. A shiver courses through me at that thought. His icy blue eyes were narrowed but curious. I felt as though he were peeling off my clothes with every second that passed. With just one look. It was unnerving and a tiny bit satisfying. I hope he liked what he saw. I hope he realized what an idiot he was for not noticing what a hard worker I was. The moment that I had his attention, though, it was strange. Too intense. Too much. Maybe it truly was a blessing that he’d not paid me any mind all these years. I think if he looked at me that way from the very beginning, my job would have been a whole helluva lot harder. I could have gotten lost in that gaze. Swallowing down my irritation, I scan the bar for Sean. He’s still not here yet. I nurse my beer and worry about my outfit. I didn’t want to wear work attire but I also didn’t want to appear too casual for my new boss. In the end, I’d settled on a black fitted dress and a pair of trendy matching ankle boots. My long legs are bare, unlike how I wear them to work, but I’m still maintaining some elegance. A part of me had leaned toward jeans but I’m still trying to make an impression, despite my accepting his offer. “Letty!” a deep voice booms. When I see Sean, I smile and slip out of the booth. He looks handsome in his dark jeans and powder blue, button-up shirt. The sleeves are rolled up and he’s gone without a tie. I let out a sigh of relief that I’m neither overdressed nor underdressed compared to him.

“Hi,” I greet and extend my arm. The friendly man bypasses my handshake and pulls me in for a hug. He smells nice, but I can’t tell if it’s because he truly does or the fact I haven’t been this close to a man in a long time. I give him a polite hug back. When he pulls away, he doesn’t release me at first. His lips are pulled up into a half smile. “I’m so glad you could meet up,” he tells me, his eyes flickering with concern. “I know Mad Max. He can be quite the pill sometimes. Was he okay with your resignation? Did the crazy old bastard throw his desk around?” Again with the Mad Max. I try not to feel defensive over the man who ignored me for six years. Sean is a nice guy. He’s not trying to be catty. If anything, he seems excited to have me, which is a huge change from what I’m used to. Pulling away, I slide from his grip and sit back down. Thankfully, he plops down across from me. His long legs brush against my own under the table. “He seemed surprised,” I admit before sipping my beer. “I don’t think it really sunk in. Probably won’t until I’m gone.” Sean smirks and waves over a waitress. Once she takes his order, he directs his green eyes back over to mine. “You’re just a number over there, Letty. At Slante, you’re a person. Everyone at my company is recognized for their hard work. I know you’ll fit right in.” A smile tugs at my lips. “Thank you for taking a chance on me. I know I’m not the most experienced person but I’m a quick learner.” He gives me a wink. “You’ll do fine. And if you ever have any trouble, you come see me. We’ll sort it out.” When he starts talking about a row of Brownstones he’s working on a loan for, something catches my gaze in the window. A shadowed figure leans against a wall between two buildings. It appears to be a masculine figure. He’s tall and broad-shouldered. The man simply stares straight at us. Sometimes my imagination plays tricks on me. Vaughn is in my nightmares so it’s only fitting he’s in my reality too. But I know he doesn’t know where I am. I’ve been careful. Besides, if it were Vaughn, he wouldn’t simply sit outside and watch me have a beer with another man. He’d come in here with guns literally blazing and accost me right in front of everyone. A shudder ripples through me. When I glance back outside, the figure is gone. Another figment. Always a figment. “Hey,” Sean says with a husky laugh, his knee brushing against mine under the table. “I think I lost you there.” I snap my attention to him. His eyebrows are pinched together as if he’s trying to figure me out. He’ll never figure out my messy head.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him with a forced chuckle. My hand pats his on the table. “It was a long, stressful day.” Mischief dances in his green eyes. “How about we resolve to have no more of those types of days? I have just the thing to get you on the right foot.” Just the thing turns out to be shots of tequila. And while I was hesitant at first to drink with my new boss, I immediately gave in when he gave me exaggerated puppy dog eyes. Sean is friendly and funny. I’ve been strutting along for so long with a stick up my ass that it’s nice to relax for once. By the third shot, I’m warm and giggly. Sean disappears to go to the restroom, and I check my phone. I’m not sure why but I’d hoped for some kind of “please don’t quit” message from the sexy Grayson Maxwell. Despite his apparent shock and annoyance of my resignation, he sure as hell hasn’t tried to get me to stay. “Miss me?” Sean questions with a chuckle when he comes sauntering back with more shots in his hands. He sidles into the booth beside me and pushes two shots toward me. “To new beginnings.” His grin is wide and flirty. “To new valuable employees.” I swat at him. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.” But I’m smiling. Truth is, it’s nice that he sees such potential in me. His arm stretches out behind me across the back of the booth, and he leans in. “I’m not. I knew it the moment I read your résumé. Now drink or I’ll consider it insubordination.” Laughing, I grab my shot and drain it down. “Good girl,” he teases and runs his fingers along the outside of my arm. I shiver and pick up the second shot. Once I drain that one, I look at him with a lifted brow. “Who says I’m good?” It’s been ages since I’ve been out with friends and done something as simple as joke around. Sean’s gaze darkens and he doesn’t respond. He sucks down both of his shots before slamming them back down on the table. “You’re trouble,” he says, his voice hoarse. Warmth surges through me. I’m happy. I am finally leaving a dead end job and running toward a future. After a lifetime of mistakes, I’m going to start making something of myself. “Thank you,” I tell him with a sigh and lean against him. I’m drunk now. The room is starting to swim. This was a bad idea. His fingers curl around my bicep. “You’re welcome.” Sean is warm. Approachable and nice. I wonder what it would be like to kiss someone like him. To straddle his firm hips and ride him right into an orgasm. My panties dampen at the thought of getting laid. It’s been years. Would he kiss me in that soul-consuming way Vaughn used to? Vaughn was bad for me. Would he touch me in all the right places like Vaughn did?

Vaughn ruined me. Would he fuck me like I belonged only to him until the end of time like Vaughn did? Vaughn was a psychopath. “Letty.” Sean’s hissed voice cuts through my confusing haze. I hate Vaughn, but imagining him while I touch myself is the only way I can get off. It’s humiliating. “You have to stop or I’ll come right here in my pants.” I jolt at his words and look down at my hand that’s rubbing his erection through his slacks. Horror threatens to suffocate me as I jerk my hand from him. “Oh my God,” I croak and start to pull from his grip. “I am so sorry.” “Hey,” he murmurs against my hair. “This is my fault. I should have fed you before I liquored you up. Please don’t think I’m some pervert.” Guilt infects me. He thinks he’s the pervert? I’m the one who was rubbing up on him like a dog in heat. “Do I still have the job?” I whisper. His chuckle once again warms me. “Of course.” My eyes close and I think of Vaughn. His blond hair that was long on top and shaved on the sides. The way it would flop into his eyes and stick to his temple when he’d fuck me. The man was terror and beauty molded into one perfectly horrifying package. “Letty…” The voice is all wrong. “I need to call you a cab. Right now. Or else…” A groan. “Or else I think we’re both going to regret this in the morning.” When I drag my eyes open, I realize I’m practically in Sean’s lap. My lips are pressed against his throat with my fingers tangled in his hair. He has a death grip on my ass. The erection poking into my thigh tells me he really wants me and is barely holding back. “Shit!” I groan and scramble out of his lap. “I…this…” “Cab,” he says huskily and climbs out of the booth. “God…you have no idea how hard it will be to put you in that car and watch you drive away with this raging problem.” He gestures to his cock through his jeans, and a giggle escapes me. This causes him to chuckle too. “Laugh it up, angel. Let’s go before we get ourselves kicked out of here.” I vaguely remember him slapping down a wad of cash and ushering me into a cab. Just when he’s helping me inside, I hear heavy footsteps. Then, a pop followed by a groan. The car door on the opposite side opens up, but I’m already blacking out. My address is hissed from a familiar voice beside me the moment the car door slams shut. The cab begins to move, but all I can think about are the strong fingers stroking through my hair. The rugged, masculine scent filling my nostrils.

“Shhh,” the voice whispers in a possessive way. “I have you now.” Who had me before? Better yet, who has me now? His gentle caresses send me right into a slumber without a care in the world. I have you now.

SOMETIMES LOVE ISN’T black or white. Sometimes love isn’t even in color. For me, love is red. Bloody, dripping, bright, and crimson. Violent. Messy but brilliant against my otherwise dull world. “Tell me you love me,” Vaughn murmurs, the slight stubble on his chin dragging along my lower belly. “Tell me.” When our eyes meet, his are bloodshot but not angry. No, right now, he’s in a rare mood. Contemplative and borderline sweet. Just Vaughn. Not the unhinged man he’s slowly evolved into. “I love you.” Because right now, I do love him. In this exact moment, it’s true. My love for Vaughn changes. Rises and sets like the sun based on his moods. When he’s warm and shining his bright smile upon me, I bask in all that’s him. But when he clouds himself from me and his features darken, my love flickers and dims. Sometimes my love fades away completely. “You know I wish it could be like this always,” he says in a whisper before kissing my hipbone. “I wish my life wasn’t fucked-up chaos.” Boy, do I wish that too. “You have me,” I tell him with a smile. My entire body is humming with energy. I want him, just like always. Even when he makes me hate him. I always want him. His grey-colored eyes turn to hard steel, causing a shiver of anxiety to skitter up my spine. “Of course I have you. I’ll always have you.” Not always. Not when you take away my last breath. That time is coming. As if to read my thoughts, he roughly parts my knees. I’m naked and wet and my body accommodates his. Like always. He pushes his thickness inside of me while gripping my thighs. The cold steel in his eyes softens just a bit as he regards my quivering frame. I’m shaking with equal parts desire and fear. The concoction that only Vaughn Brecks can mix up.

His mouth meets mine and his powerful body rubs against me with every thrust. I’m powerless with this man. He’s the wicked storm, and I’m nothing but a piece of debris swept up in him. I float in his wake, following him along his path of destruction. “Sweet Letty,” he murmurs against my mouth as his strong hand curls around the front of my throat. My heart rate quickens in my chest, but I don’t stop him. You don’t stop Vaughn. You simply let it happen. “You’re mine. Always mine. Nothing will ever change that.” His fingers dig into my pale flesh as he squeezes. My breath becomes lodged in my throat with nowhere to escape to. His soft lips hover over mine as he fucks me while squeezing the ever-loving hell out of my neck. Once upon a time, I fought him. And in those stories, I always lost. But when I don’t fight. When I give in to the darkness that swallows me whole. When I let Vaughn do whatever it is he wants to do. I’m free. My mind detaches from my body and drifts off to somewhere else. Someplace dark and warm. No confusing red. No color. Just muted grey and mine. “Letty.” When I come to, his grip is gone. His eyes flicker briefly with concern before he chases it away with satisfaction. He’s on his knees between my thighs and no longer inside me. Thick, warm cum coats my belly and runs down my side, wetting the bed below. I don’t remember him finishing. I certainly don’t remember coming. “Get dressed, Letty Spaghetti,” he chirps, melting me with one of his charming grins. “We have errands to run.” My melting quickly turns cold. I’m frozen. Errands. Errands mean trouble. Errands mean pain. “I’m not feeling so well,” I rasp out, my voice still hoarse from being choked unconscious. His glare is severe as he tosses me a pink scrap of spandex material. “It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. Make yourself pretty. You’re looking like a strung-out whore.” I wince at his words more than his tone. I look like a strung-out whore because he made me that way. If I were to look in the mirror right now, my pale, haunted face would stare back. My normally bright brown eyes would be dull from whatever pill he stuck on my tongue before he stripped me down earlier. Dark circles would ring my eyes from either lack of sleep or from one of Vaughn’s “lessons.” And my full lips would be chapped from overuse coupled with malnutrition. I’ve spent eleven months with this man and I can’t seem to pull my head out of the red fog that follows him long enough to straighten out my life. Not that he’d let me go anyway. His hand tangles in my hair, and I’m dragged out of the bed to my feet right in front of him. Even furious and impatient and on the border of psychotic rage, Vaughn is a glorious vision. He pins me in place with his piercing glare—a glare that promises pain and punishment and, one day, death. “I love you,” he seethes. I believe him. I truly do. “But right now, you’re pissing me off.” His free hand grabs my bruised and bare ass hauling me against his erection. “We have shit to do, so stop dragging your feet.” I try to nod at him, but his grip in my hair prevents me from doing so. A small yelp of surprise escapes me when he hauls me over to the end table beside the bed. He rummages

around until he finds what he’s looking for. Little happy pill. I can’t help but smile. “Good girl.” He grins back before shoving it into my mouth. I gag but swallow it down. Within minutes, I’m needy, and the dress he helps me put on is too much. Too clingy. Too scratchy. Too much. The urge to seek out pleasure consumes me. I claw at his chest and plead with him to fuck me again. His kiss is gentle but the way he cups me between my legs is not. “You’re going to get fucked,” he assures me with a cold growl. “I told you we had errands.” I can’t find the sadness that usually plagues me. No tears well in my eyes. I’m not even upset as he guides me out of his shitty house to his suped-up sports car that doesn’t fit well in the ghetto neighborhood. It’s the kind of car that should get jacked or broken into, but nobody touches it. Nobody touches anything that belongs to Vaughn Brecks unless he says they can. Unless they pay him whatever his asking price is. Otherwise, they won’t live to see another day. I’m blitzed out of my mind, squirming and begging the entire drive to wherever it is we’re going. He teases me with gentle caresses to my bare thigh and brief rubs against my clit where I’m naked under my dress. By the time we roll up to a high-end condo building, I’m dripping with need. “You ready to make us some money, sweetheart?” he questions, his grip tightening around my thigh. I’ll be bruised, but right now it feels good. Any touch feels good. “I thought I was yours only,” I pout through my haze. His face becomes murderous. “Of course you fucking are. This is just business, baby. You belong to me. Not this rich fucker who wants to get his dick wet because his fat wife won’t put out.” As terrible as they are, his words warm me. They warm me so much that I’m on fire by the time we enter the glitzy condo where the client awaits. Vaughn’s grip on my bicep is possessive, but he still hands me over to the man. Accepts a wad of bills and gives me a slight push toward the foreign man with the large stomach. I squint to try and figure out his nationality, but as soon as the door closes behind Vaughn, the man is on me. He paws at me like I’m the first Christmas present he’s ever received. And the shit Vaughn gave me has me buzzing with desire. I want to ride this ugly man with the black mustache and beady eyes. I want to grip his greasy hair and fuck him while I think of my boyfriend. Vaughn’s steely grey eyes are at the forefront of my mind as the man manages to push my dress up my hips and bend me over his expensive dining room table. He fumbles with his pants. Then I hear the familiar tear of a condom. Always condoms. At least Vaughn looks out for me. And then the man’s thin penis is inside me. He’s taking what doesn’t belong to him, and I don’t care. I let him because he feels good. His reverent touches running up my back. The way his hairy balls slap against my pussy. Nearly inaudible grunts from an unfamiliar man. I come. I shudder in ecstasy while thinking of Vaughn. I take the orgasm he wouldn’t let me have not an hour earlier.

God, how I love Vaughn. The man behind me claws at my hips as he groans with his own release, causing slices of reality to bleed inside of me. God, I have to get away from Vaughn.

CHAPTER FOUR GRAYSON

I STARE at her as she touches herself between her legs. Her moans cause my cock to twitch in my slacks, but I ignore it for now. For now, I’m concerned about her. How careless was she to go off and get drunk with that asshole, Slante. Christ, he was seconds away from fucking her against the goddamned cab had I not intervened when I did. Violet was wasted. Poor woman slept the entire way to her place, mumbling from time to time unintelligibly. I’d had the cabbie take us to her apartment building where I proceeded to carry her up three flights of stairs because the shitty elevator was broken. When I’d seen she had three locks engaged, fury bubbled up inside me. She shouldn’t be living in a piece-of-shit building. Not with what I pay her. After breaking into her computer, I took it upon myself to look at her file in Clint’s cabinet. I’m the CEO after all, so her personal file is my business if I say it is. Address. Age. Background. I found everything I needed, including her salary. Her salary was enough to where she didn’t have to live in a shit hole like this. I’ll figure out this little mystery. Find out where her money is going. Until then, though, I simply stare at her. Getting an unconscious woman undressed and under the covers is difficult, even for a fit and able man like myself. Her loose limbs and limp body made for a frustrating twenty minutes. Eventually, I got her naked. I peel away the covers and take another peek before I go hunting. Her perky tits have the sexiest bitable nipples right in the center of each one. Just looking at them has me nearly coming in my slacks. I’m going to feast on them one day. Not today. One day. Her stomach is flat and her hipbones are showing. The woman could stand to eat a little more. I make a mental note to deal with that problem as well. Her pussy is shaved smooth. The urge to push my finger inside of her is overwhelming, but I fist my hand and ignore the urge. I notice everything about her. Her smooth brown hair fanned out on the cream-colored pillow underneath her head. Those fuckable lips of hers are parted as she sleeps. Long, dark lashes rest on her pink cheeks.

I want to shake her shoulders and yell at her. To wake her up and explain to her how stupid she’s been. A woman who looks like her doesn’t need to go off with men she barely knows late at night. Men like Sean Slante could take advantage of her. A growl rumbles in my throat at the memory of him with his hands on her. I’d watched them through the window of the bar. Sure, he’d played the good guy, but I could see the desire in his eyes. I saw the way he gripped her ass as if it belonged to him. She does not belong to him. Violet lets out a moan before muttering a name. Vaughn. Who the fuck is Vaughn? Once again, I fist my hand to keep from grabbing her by the jaw and waking her up by telling her what a naïve woman she is. Stalking away so I don’t do exactly that, I begin to look through her drawers. Everything is neat and has a place. There isn’t one ounce of clutter. Just like her desk at the office. It makes me wonder what she’s hiding. People who are minimalists do so in order to hide something big about themselves. If they have everything in a place, then they don’t have to stress about their past or shortcomings slipping through the cracks amidst the mess. They are able to keep a careful watch on every detail in their lives by keeping it all under the lid where it belongs. I know this because I am this way. My home is immaculate. My business is organized. My entire life is flawless. The secrets I have stay neatly contained. But her secrets, I will uncover. Her secrets are mine. I want them. I fucking crave them. After an annoying search that turns up nothing, I sit at the foot of her bed. Her breathing is soft and measured. If I didn’t think she’d flip the fuck out, I’d kick off my shoes and lie down beside her. My luck, I’d fall asleep and she’d wake up to find me there. Accuse me of things I’m not. So I don’t lie down. I don’t take off my shoes. Instead, I think. Where do I hide my secrets? I have an old cedar chest that belonged to my mother. I’d taken it some twenty odd years ago when she first started losing her mind. Before she buried it in her insecurities. I’m not sure she even knows it’s gone. In that chest are my secrets. My past that has shaped and molded me. When I think about my past, it reminds me of someone. An error that will follow me for the rest of my life.

Adara. Her pretty brown eyes haunt me. Hell, I believe they’ll haunt me until the day I die. I deserve to be continually reminded of those eyes. I’d made a mistake. It was a mistake that had nearly cost me everything. It altered my life in so many ways, I can’t even begin to count them. I’m here, standing right now in this sparse bedroom with a sleeping angel unaware of my presence, because of Adara. With newfound purpose, I stalk over to her closet. Her suits are pressed and fairly expensive looking, but I know she’s not spending all of her money on clothes. They smell like her. Sweet and florally. Mine. I shove the thick coats out of the way and feel around behind the garments. Just like I’d imagined, I find a box. The shoebox, while much smaller than my cedar chest, holds answers about my Violet. I tug it free and bring it with me back into the room. Sitting back down at the foot of the bed, I remove the lid from the box and start rummaging around. Pictures, feminine hand-written notes, a hospital bracelet. The notes aren’t hers. I spent hours earlier at her desk and learned her handwriting. These notes are from someone who loves her. Love you, Letty. You’ll always be my Letty Spaghetti. Enjoy your lunch, baby girl. I realize that all of the notes must be from her mother. They’re all written on the same type of paper. The lined sheets with numbers at the top and the words “thank you” stamped on the back look like the type that waitresses use to take orders. I make note of the restaurant name imprinted at the top before pushing them to the side. The first picture I look at is of her and a woman who looks a lot like her. When I flip it over, I smile at the handwriting that I know is Violet’s. Me and Momma ‘04 She’s wearing a graduation gown and a smile I’ve never seen before. Brilliant and hopeful. Proud. Her mother’s smile is just as big. Just as beautiful. They make a lovely pair. Sadly, I wonder if her mother died. But then it makes me think of my own mother. Irritation seeps through me, and I shove the picture on the pile of notes. Most of the other pictures are of Violet doing things. Then, I find one single picture of her with a man. A flicker of hate ignites inside me. The man with the grey eyes and severe glare with his arm draped possessively around Violet is a threat. I sense it. I can almost fucking taste it. It sours my stomach, and with a growl, I shove everything back into the box. She stirs on the bed, but I put everything back into the closet where it belongs. When I re-emerge, she’s got her hand between her legs again. In her sleep, she touches herself and moans. There’s no rhyme or reason to her movements. Prowling over to her, I loom over her sleeping frame. I crave to push away her uncoordinated fingers and do the job for her. When she whimpers in frustration, I make a decision. I wrap my hand around her delicate wrist and help her along. Using her hand, I give her the speed she needs to reach her climax. Her cunt is probably hot against her fingertips. My dick thickens and

pushes against my boxers, begging for its own taste of her. Later. This is about her, not me. With measured movements, I continue my pace, guiding her own hand to push between her pussy lips and massage her throbbing clit. Those sexy whimpers of hers become moans. Louder and louder. Her body squirms and jolts in her sleep as I touch her. When she gasps once before shuddering, I know she’s found her release, even in her sleep. With another smile ghosting my lips—a smile only she can bring out of me—I allow myself the very thing I denied myself earlier. A simple taste. I draw her soaked fingers from her body to my lips. Smearing her juices all over my mouth, I grow impossibly harder with the need to push inside her gorgeous body. Instead, I suckle her fingers, removing every trace of her orgasm with my tongue. God, she smells decadent. I gently rest her hand back on her stomach before covering her back up with the blanket. Her essence on my lips lingers, and I inhale her alluring scent. One day soon, I’ll have my face buried between her thighs. I’ll feast upon her perfect cunt whenever I want. She’ll beg for it. I’ll reward her because she’s so fucking gorgeous and deserving. With a flick of my tongue, I slowly lick my bottom lip. She tastes like sin. Sweet, decadent sin. My cock aches to sink inside of her, but I ignore him for now. The morning sun is just starting to peek in through the blinds. It’s time I leave her be for a bit. I drop to my knees and then flatten myself against the drab carpet that reeks of renters and stale cigarettes. It takes some maneuvering, but I manage to slide myself under the bed. Once I’m comfortable, with my face pointed toward the closet, I relax. I close my eyes and sleep. And for the first time in months, I sleep really fucking well. See you soon, Violet.

CHAPTER FIVE VIOLET

I WAKE with a start and jolt upright in bed. The sun blinds me, causing me to groan before shielding my eyes from the bright rays. I’m slightly disoriented and severely hung over. Shame trickles down my spine as I begin to recall fuzzy events from last night. I’d all but dry humped Sean in a bar booth. Threw myself all over my future boss because I was high on memories of Vaughn and drunk off tequila. Because I haven’t been with a man in years, I craved his touch. The liquid courage was the catalyst for a night full of regrets. But as soon as I’d given in to my desires, they were snuffed out like a single candle in a windowless room. Sean deposited me into the cab and then… That’s where everything really went hazy. I can’t recall a single memory from that point on. Looking down, I cringe at finding that I’m naked. Panic climbs up my throat but I force it down quickly. Vaughn wasn’t here. It was all me. I’d undressed all by myself. A quick look around my room tells me that at least I didn’t tear my clothes off before fucking some random stranger either. There are no clues indicating I kept the party going last night. True to myself, even in a blacked-out state, I’d put my clothes away in the hamper. I’d put my shoes in the closet. The need to prove this overwhelms me, so I climb out of bed on wobbly feet. I grab the nightstand for support when the room spins around me. My pussy feels slightly raw. I must have touched myself in the middle of the night. One sniff of my fingertips tells me I’m correct on that assumption as well. At least I can always count on myself, even when I’m fucked up beyond memory. A quick peek in the hamper and closet tells me I’m not crazy. I did come home and undress as usual. With a sigh of relief, I take the longest shower known to man. My calves are sore and the rest of my body is achy due to my hangover from hell. My phone buzzes from my nightstand where I managed to remember to plug it in last night. Now freshly showered and dried off, with a towel wrapped around my wet hair, I walk naked over to the bedside. A chill ripples through me. The feeling of being watched by Vaughn has never really gone away. I blink it away to read my message. Apparently I’ve missed several. Sean: I had fun last night. Sorry if things got out of hand.

Sean: Let me make it up to you. Dinner tonight? I’m already shaking my head in disagreement. I refuse to spend another moment alone with Sean. I’m already horrified over my behavior last night. Sean: I wasn’t exactly a gentleman so don’t go blaming this on yourself. I chew on my lip and head back into the bathroom. Pulling my towel off and dropping it to the floor, I look at my reflection. Despite my stupidity last night, I still look like the woman I’d eventually shaped myself to be. I’m no longer her. The woman wrapped up in Vaughn’s twisted little world. I’m healthy and educated and successful. Breathe, Violet. He no longer has his hand around your throat. I spend the rest of the morning taking my time getting ready. Once my makeup is on and my hair is dried into sexy tresses, I spritz on my perfume and leave the bathroom on a hunt for some clothes. I get that eerie feeling once again of being watched as I enter my bedroom. The bedroom door is cracked. I squint to make sure nobody is peeking through. “Stop freaking out,” I chide myself. “He’s not here.” I still shiver as I root around in my closet for clothes. I’ll never be able to fully convince myself that Vaughn can’t find me. That I’m safe. I’ve taken precautions, but he’s a resourceful man. A click jolts me from my thoughts, and I scamper out of my closet. The bedroom door is now closed. Alarm slices through me. Yanking my robe from the bathroom hook, I quickly wrap it around me and tiptoe over to the door. Silence. I try not to breathe. Another soft click from the living room. “Shit,” I hiss as I engage the lock on my bedroom door. The gun I keep loaded under my mattress is still there when I look. I pull the heavy cold object into my grip and summon up the courage to escape my bedroom prison. My phone buzzes from the bathroom, but I ignore it. Quietly, I manage to check every part of my apartment from top to bottom. Nothing. My nerves are eating me alive this morning. I need protein and sugar and coffee. I need to snap out of it. I’m shaking my head at my stupidity when my gaze skims across my apartment to the front door. All three locks are disengaged. Blink. Blink. Blink. Confusion causes my blood to creep through my veins like molasses. I never forget to lock my doors. Never. Ever. Fucking never. With three leaps to the door, I snap all of the locks

into place before choking out a relieved sob. Someone was in my home. Vaughn. Tears threaten to spill, but I furiously blink them away. He won’t own me this time. The heavy gun in my palm wobbles as I imagine myself pointing it at him. A calm washes over me and my hand stills. If it comes between me and Vaughn, I’ll choose me. Every time. I compose myself and make my way back to the bathroom. I have another missed text on my phone. But this time it’s from an unknown number. Vaughn. Unknown: Meet me for breakfast. The hotel on 7th and Madison has a brilliant selection of muffins. Muffins? Me: Who is this? Unknown: It’s Gray, little quitter. Let me treat you. We both know I owe you. I have six years to make up for. Relief floods through me once I realize Vaughn doesn’t have my phone number. I went to great lengths to keep this number hidden from anyone I don’t want to have it. Me: I’m more of an omelet and French toast kind of gal. But, sadly for you, I’d rather eat alone. Despite my reply, I find myself rooting around in my closet for something to wear. I dress professionally for this man every single day, yet he has never once looked me in the eye. Not once has he spoken to me. Not one time has he appreciatively glanced over my outfit. Except yesterday. Yesterday he seemed to have realized what was in his face all along. And now he’s, what? Curious. One might even conclude that he feels bad. It makes me want to rub it in his face. Make him understand that I’m not something who can be looked over or forgotten. I am someone. Someone special and beautiful and worth knowing. Unknown: Dear Violet, you’ll never be alone as far as I’m concerned. Twenty minutes. I’ll be waiting. His words should alarm me, but right now, I’m attempting to suppress the good kind of shiver that is rocketing through me. Excitement courses through me. I want to dangle in front of him what he can’t have. What he was too blind to see all along. Since Vaughn, I’ve enjoyed any moment when I can make a man feel powerless in my presence. Because it wasn’t too long ago that the roles were grossly reversed. With a skip in my step, I start for a red dress but pause with my hand in the air. Red

reminds me of Vaughn. I skim over to a white sweater dress I bought for a date I never ended up going on. Because I’m feeling slightly bitchy, I slide the soft material down over my body sans bra. The nude lace thong is all that stands between my flesh and the cashmere. I find some thigh high boots that hit just below the bottom hem of the short dress. The look is sexy, but I’m also trying to be a little classy so I find a belt to go over the dress and a grey infinity scarf to halfway attempt to hide my bare breasts beneath the fabric. As soon as I step in front of the mirror, I know he won’t be able to help noticing me now. I’ll be on the radar of any man with a working dick. I look hot and I know it. Smirking, I grab my purse and a coat before leaving to meet my soon-to-be ex-boss. My gun fits in my purse and that’s right where it will stay until I make sure Vaughn is still just a figment of my imagination. T-minus thirteen days until I move on to my newest adventure. But until then, I’m going to make Grayson Maxwell regret letting me slip through his fingertips.

CHAPTER SIX GRAYSON

I SIT at my usual table wearing my usual scowl. Twenty minutes comes and goes. Then thirty. But, thank fuck, thirty-eight minutes after my text, she shows up at the hotel restaurant looking like she owns the damn place. Her hair is what I notice first outside the window as she exits the cab. The wind sweeps it up in a lover’s grip and the sun catches the gold in her mane. She fucking shines. Brilliant and beautiful. And mine. I run my tongue along my bottom lip and feel a smile ghosting up on one side. This woman revives dead parts of me. She makes me feel alive. Like smiles and excitement and the thrill of a chase. Her scent lingers on my lips, despite my brushing my teeth this morning, and I can’t help the groan that escapes me as I watch her strut toward the building. My cock is rock hard as I imagine peeling off her leather coat and peeking at what she’s hiding underneath. I’m already standing by the time she enters the restaurant. Her eyes light up when she sees me. I jerk my head to signal her in my direction. “Fancy seeing you here,” she says, her words breathless. I inhale her floral scent. Just like I promised myself I would, I got a good whiff of her as she exited her bathroom earlier. Even from my shitty position on her awful carpet, I could smell her. Her perfumed scent killed the disgust of the floor and instead replaced it with… her. I hadn’t wanted to leave her but my stomach—after not having eaten dinner in my quest for knowledge of her—had started to grumble. Loudly. I didn’t want her to find me sprawled out under her bed with a ten-inch boner. Plus, I needed to shower and change clothes. I stand to greet her as she approaches. “You look radiant,” I tell her, my voice low and husky. Radiant doesn’t even begin to describe how gorgeous she is. Her brown eyes narrow at my choice of words as she sheds her coat. The moment she slips it from her shoulders, my cock hardens. Her nipples are erect underneath her sweater. I can see the faint pink outline of them beneath the soft cashmere. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I hiss as I yank her chair back. “Where’s your damn bra?” She chuckles and it has a musical quality. “I don’t like wearing one with this dress. You can see it.” “I can see your tits, Violet,” I seethe as I sit across from her. My gaze sweeps over the

lingering late breakfast crowd, but thankfully nobody is paying either of us any mind. Her tits are safe from the leering eyes of the other patrons for now. “Those are choice words coming from my boss. Hmmm,” she bites out before sniffing the air. “Do I smell a sexual harassment suit?” Rolling my eyes, I hand her the menu in hopes she’ll cover her perfect tits from any onlookers. “If anyone is sexually harassing anyone, it’s you harassing me. I came here for breakfast. The show was free.” Our eyes meet and hers flicker with challenge. The defiant look in them has my cock engorged with blood and the need to push inside her is all I can think about. “What do you want, Mr. Maxwell?” she demands, her voice saccharine sweet. I stretch my leg out under the table, settling it between hers once I’ve pushed her ankles apart with my foot. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t try to move away. Just the thought of her thighs spread slightly open has my jaw clenching. I wonder if she’s wearing panties. My mouth is about to blurt out some shit that isn’t ready to come out. She’s not ready for what I have to say. So instead, I stare at her. Blatantly. I eyefuck her because clearly that’s what she wanted when she put that dress on. Her throat moves as she swallows and she shakily lifts the menu as if to hide those tits from me. With my finger, I push the menu back down to the table and then sweep my gaze over her gorgeous mounds. I linger my stare before licking my lips and then give her a smug smile. “W-What do you want?” she asks again, this time minus the hidden venom. My eyes sear into hers. “Isn’t it obvious what I want?” “I’ve made my decision and will start at Slante Mortgages in less than two weeks,” she mutters and picks up the water glass on her side of the table. She downs it in a few unladylike gulps. “I’m leaving your company.” As long as she doesn’t leave me. Once I have my sights set, I acquire my target. Violet O. Simmons isn’t going anywhere. “Sean Slante is a sleaze ball,” I grunt as I flick at the button on my sleeve of my dress shirt. Suddenly I’m fucking hot. And pissed. After I roll both sleeves up my forearms, I thread my fingers together over the table and look back up at her. Her brown eyes are staring at my arms. She swipes her pink tongue across her bottom lip before lifting her gaze. “So are you,” she challenges with a lifted brow. I smirk. “I’m not the one forgetting to wear parts of my wardrobe to meet my boss. Perhaps you’re the sleaze, Violet.” Anger surges through her and her nostrils flare. “Are you always such an asshole? I’m glad you ignored me until now to be quite honest.” Ignore isn’t the right word. I simply didn’t see her until yesterday. Now, she’s all I see.

The server interrupts our tense moment to take our order. When she can’t decide what to eat, I abruptly instruct the man to bring one of everything on the breakfast menu. Watching her neck heat to a perfect crimson color has another one of those rare grins tugging at my lips. “So not only are you a sleazy asshole but you’re also a chauvinist pig who orders for his date,” she snaps. “Got it.” I lift a brow. “Date?” This gets another blushing reaction from her. It also gets me a frustrated sigh. “You know what I mean.” “Actually, I don’t. Do you want this to be a date? Because if it were a date, I’d find a way to get you out of that dress later,” I tell her as I motion to her perfect tits on full display beneath the fabric. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Not a date. And you will not be seeing what’s under this dress.” Oh, but I already have, sweetheart. I let her win for now and change the subject. “Where does all your money go?” The smirk on her face is wiped right off. Fear flashes in her eyes briefly before she steels her gaze. “What are you talking about?” “I looked up your address.” And then I napped under your bed while you slept. “You live in the fucking ghetto.” Her lip curls up. “Did I seriously dress up on a Saturday morning for my soon-to-be exdickhead-boss to berate me about every single part of my life?” “Just answer the question. The rent on those places is like two hundred bucks a month or some shit. Scum lives there. Not…” I wave at her as if to imply exactly what I mean. Diamonds like her don’t belong in the rough. Diamonds like her need to be polished and cared for. Diamonds like her are meant to shine without fear of always getting dirty. “Not people like you.” She casts her gaze out the window. Her jaw flexes as she desperately clenches it closed as if to fight off emotion within her. A tear hastily snakes down her cheek but she discreetly wipes it away. With her eyes elsewhere, she responds, her voice ragged. “I like it there, okay? Can you drop it?” No. I can’t drop it. Not until I know why. “Are you hiding from someone?” I demand. She jerks her head to gape at me. “Why would you ask that?” Then, her nervous gaze flits across the restaurant. As if she’s looking for the very person she’s hiding from. I notice because it’s in my nature to notice these things. That and because I now notice everything about her.

“That building accepts rent in cash only. Month-to-month lease. The superintendent is a scummy asshole who doesn’t like to pay taxes. I know this because I called.” Of course I called. I attempted to pull more information from him. According to the raspy voice over the phone, he didn’t know shit about the snobby lady in three-twelve. “You’re a stalker,” she huffs. If she only knew. Before I can reply, the server comes back with several loaded plates. They all won’t fit on one table, so he drags another one over to us. For a good five minutes, Violet stabs at her food making sure to keep her mouth full, probably so that she doesn’t have to talk. When she swallows, I speak again. “Where is all your money going?” She glares at me. “This is none of your business. Thanks for breakfast, but I need to go.” Earlier, I rifled through her desk at home while she slept. I’d flipped through her bank statements. Tracked where her money went. During each pay period, she pulls out over a grand in cash. Twelve hundred dollars of her hard-earned money every two weeks. I know at least a few hundred of it goes to the scuzzy building she rents from. The rest…I need to find out. My eyes narrow as she stands and yanks her coat from the chair. I know where she’s going. To the farmer’s market near the office. Like clockwork. Her receipts show a purchase from there every Saturday. “Violet.” My voice is husky with regret. I don’t mean to upset her, but she’s a pretty puzzle I’ve just gotten my hands on. I want to put her together and see the picture she makes. “Mr. Max—” “Gray.” Her brown eyes harden as she shrugs her coat on. “Just let me be. Two weeks and I’ll be out of your hair. I’d appreciate it if things went back to normal. Back when you didn’t even know my name.” Guilt surges through me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been this way. I’m not like most men. I don’t do relationships. I don’t mingle and try to get along with people. Everything I do has purpose. Everything has reason. All of the other bullshit along the way is just complicated and messy. Highly unnecessary. But Violet? She’s necessary. For what? I’m not sure. All I know is that I need to know every detail about her. If I don’t unravel all of the parts of her, I’ll go fucking crazy. Usually, when I get hyper-focused, it’s on a project. A deal. An assignment. I analyze data and zero in on my target. I make shit happen. My focus has only ever been on a woman once before. And that was Adara. When I made it my mission to know her so that I could complete one of the most difficult assignments I’d faced in my life. I picked her apart. Studied her. Then I used her. But she wasn’t supposed to die.

My thoughts are dark and raging by the time I realize Violet is gone. I catch a glimpse of her shiny hair before she slips into her cab. An empty feeling settles in my gut. I feel an actual sense of loss without her shooting scathing glares at me. I’ll get her to warm up to me. She’ll see I only want what’s best for her. I wave at the server to bring the check and I pull out the extra key I swiped from one of her drawers. A key to her apartment. Today I’ll have a copy made and then put this one back before she notices. Then, I’ll be able to keep a close eye on her. My mind flits back to the way her naked body writhed with the need to orgasm when my phone buzzes. Bull: You’re too quiet. I don’t like it. Thanks for standing me up last night. I scrub at my face and let out a sigh. Me: Remember Adara? Bull: Is this a trick question? Of course I fucking remember Adara. She almost got your ass killed. Me: I have to know her. Bull: Violet is leaving in two weeks, man. You don’t have to know her. Just forget about her. Her sweet scent lingers in the air, and I’m already craving to see her again. Me: That’s impossible. You know this. Bull: Not saying I like it but I have your back. At least come to the house and have dinner with Sadie and I. Joshua misses his uncle. He’s trying to distract me. There’s no point. Me: Give the family my love. I’ll see you Monday. I have some work to do. Bull: Try not to get arrested. At this, I smirk. Me: Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had to bail me out. I’m still smirking but it quickly turns into a scowl. Bull has always had to look after me in some way. The day when shit went south with those Saudi Arabians, he saved my life and pulled my unconscious body to safety. My thoughts drift into the darkness.

“WANT TO WATCH MTV?” the peppy nurse questions. “Music videos all the time. Can you believe it? The hospital finally got cable. I’ve never had cable before so the only time I get to watch is while I’m at work.” I drag my gaze from the book I’m reading to glare at her. “I’m reading. Go away.” She laughs at me and strolls into the room anyway. Last nurse that came in, I had her close the blinds. This fucking woman yanks on the cord to allow the sun to stream in. I

squint against it and toss my book to the floor. “Close the goddamned blinds,” I snap. Nurse Fucking Annoying ignores me and flips through her chart, humming some semifamiliar song I’m sure she heard on her beloved MTV. “Looks like it’s time to change your dressings.” I wince because I fucking hate this. Not only is it painful as hell but it’s also a stark reminder of everything that went wrong. “Fine. But don’t be so damn eager.” “I do love to see a man howl in pain,” she teases. “But I’ll tamper it down just for you. Sound good, big boy?” I flip her off and bury my face into the pillow. But when I close my eyes, I think of her. Adara. Her wide, innocent brown eyes. The way she stood at the exact moment I pulled that trigger. She was supposed to stay seated. Everything revolved around her remaining in her seat. The wound would have hurt, but she’d have lived. It was meant to be a simple graze—a distraction. If only she’d have stayed in her goddamned chair. That one small variable was the catalyst for everything that went wrong. Nurse Fucking Annoying Giggling Sadist happily spends the next hour removing the soiled dressings on my back, buttocks, and legs. I black out a couple of times from the pain. When I come to, she ruffles my hair. “Need a little something for the pain, soldier?” I grunt and soon something cold enters my vein. At least Nurse Fucking Annoying Giggling Sadist puts me out of my misery for a couple of hours. But despite my druginduced haze, I can’t ever seem to shake the image of those brown eyes, belonging to the teen I so brutally shot. It was an error. I don’t make errors. But that day, I did. I’ll never make a mistake like that again.

CHAPTER SEVEN VIOLET

BEFORE HEADING to the farmer’s market, I stop by my apartment and change into something more comfortable. I’m still shaking with fury. How dare he suddenly become so damn nosy about my life! I’ve worked hard to keep certain things to myself. And now, I feel like he’s prying into something that needs to remain shut. If he pulls open the parts of my past I keep contained, I’ll lose my mind. I don’t want to remember the years I spent with Vaughn. I don’t want to recall how he went from possessive boyfriend, to monster, to my worst nightmare. I don’t want to think about the things he made me do. Things that still embarrass and horrify me. Things that would tear apart everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve if they ever got out. Hot, furious tears are spilling from my eyes. I hastily swipe them away as I leave to do my weekly shopping. Gray, my stupid boss, has grabbed my now normal life and given it a hard shake. I don’t like that he’s rattled some memories inside me that I prefer to keep hidden. In an effort to block his annoyingly handsome face from my mind, I think about my new job. I’m eager to learn something different. On the way to the market, I pass by the post office where my PO box is located. I check it but don’t find any correspondence. That both hurts me and relieves me. The last few cards I sent, I foolishly included my PO box address. I pull the sealed envelope that holds ten crisp one hundred dollar bills inside a funny card out of my purse and slip it into the outgoing box. Just once I’d like to receive a letter back. To be acknowledged. But that would invite problems. Problems I don’t need, no matter how much my heart aches. The walk to the market is cold. I doubt we’ll have snow, but it looks like a chilly rain is imminent. I’ll need to hurry with my shopping today. Normally, I spend several hours at the market as I take my time and enjoy the day. But today, I’m too wound up. My tension is like the cold wintery rain that will most likely hit before I make it back to my place. Whipping all around me and stressing me out. I grunt all the way back to my building with my haul. It’s times like these when I wish I had actual friends. People I could chat with and talk about my day. A girlfriend to groan to about my annoying boss, my terrible drunk night with my future boss, the fear my psycho ex will hunt me down, and all of the other awful

things in my life. Unfortunately, I don’t. The moment I feel the first drop of cold rain on my forehead, a shudder of defeat ripples through me. In this big bad world, I’m all alone. By nature, I’m not normally a crier. But today, I let it go. I sob as I run three long blocks through the soaking rain with my arms full of groceries. My teeth are chattering by the time I reach my building. Out front sits a shiny white Range Rover that seems to sparkle in the pouring rain. I suddenly wish I owned a car. I suddenly wish I lived somewhere with a garage, reliable heating, and tenants who aren’t drug dealers. I stomp through the puddles and seek refuge in the dilapidated building. Gray was right. I live in the ghetto. This place is all I can afford by the time I send away most of my wages. It’s sad. My entire life is just pathetic. Eventually, I make it up to the third floor but I’m exhausted and soaked to the bone. So when I see a familiar face, I’m too tired to fight. In some stupid way, I feel a sense of relief. “What are you doing here?” I mumble as I rummage through my purse for my keys. Gray frowns at me. He’s holding a folder tucked under one arm and a dripping umbrella in his other. The man still looks every bit as sexy as he did at breakfast. Too bad he’s such an asshole. “Can we talk a minute?” Letting out a sigh, I unlock my door and gesture for him to come in. My place instantly smells like him. Clean and masculine. A hint of cinnamon. Once inside, I make a beeline for the kitchen to drop my bags. He follows me into the small space making it seem even smaller with his imposing presence. “Let me unload those while you take a hot shower and change. You’re turning purple, Violet.” At his silly pun, he smiles. The man is ridiculously good looking and it makes me angry. I hate that I react so easily to him. My stupid heart patters away in my chest just from the way he looks at me. As if he’d like to lick away every droplet of the rain. I suppress a whine because that sounds a lot better than I want it to. “Thanks. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t steal anything,” I threaten. He chuckles as he starts unloading the bag. “I wouldn’t dare.” Eighteen minutes later, I’m dressed in a warm hoodie and a pair of yoga pants. My slippers cover my frozen toes and I’ve pulled my wet hair into a messy bun to keep it off my neck. When I enter the living room, Gray is sitting in the middle of the only piece of furniture I own as he sips on some coffee. He looks like he belongs here. Like this is his place. The thought irritates me. “Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” I grumble. He winks at me and points to a steaming mug on the coffee table. Swallowing down my irritation, I sit down next to the big man with the intense gaze and take his peace offering. The coffee tastes good. I’d expected it to be the way he likes it. One cream. Two sugars. A bit of cinnamon. But it’s the way I like it. Black with a hint of sugar.

“How did you know—” He cuts me off. “I need your help.” My brows shoot up. “This is work related?” His fingers run through his dark hair, messing up the gel, and a lock falls down over his eyebrow. It gives him a boyish quality, despite his age. I know he’s at least fifteen years older than me. Vaughn was much older too. I shudder at that thought. “I wanted you to take a look at this property. Tell me what you think,” he says, his voice gruff as he scratches at his jawline. I’m mesmerized by the way his long finger absently scrapes along the hair that’s just beginning to grow in there. He hands me the file, and I blink away my daze. “This is the Collins property. I thought you already acquired it yesterday.” He nods but his brows pinch together. “I did. It’s a resort a little up north. Do you think it was a good purchase?” I feel like this is a trick question. Or maybe he’s just toying with me. Either way, I don’t like how he suddenly feels the need to include me in on business. Maybe it’s about Mr. Collins. What if he’s here to gripe at me for pushing the old man into selling? “Sales price was fair for the market value,” I say slowly as I scan the documents. “It’s quite beautiful actually.” I stare at the picture of the ocean view. “Very beautiful,” he agrees. When I glance at him, his penetrating gaze is on me and not the picture. It sends a quiver of excitement rushing through me. I quickly scold myself internally and drag my eyes back to the file. “Everything looks fine to me. Looks to be a good investment.” He lets out a sigh that has me glancing at him again. “I agree. How did you learn all of this? You’re working as my assistant and yet you know all of these things. I was searching for a document and the IT department granted me access into your computer. You have so many emails…” Horror washes over me. And shame. As much as he pisses me off, I never intended for him to see my drafts in my inbox. Some of those emails I typed up were when I was angry. Not just at him but at the entire world. He always bore the brunt of my fury. Thankfully, I was smart enough to never send them. I never dreamed he’d ever read them. “I’m sorry—” I start, my voice but a whisper. I wonder if he’s come to tell me I can just quit without working my last two weeks. That stresses me out, considering I just mailed out my most recent paycheck—well most of it—back home. I’m sure Sean would let me start early, but I already feel humiliated by how I acted around him last night. “Don’t be. I know I’m difficult to understand and apparently difficult to work for.” He turns his sharp gaze on mine. I see the way his eyes dart over my face, inspecting every feature closely as if I’m on display under a microscope. It unnerves me, yet I find my body heat rising from his close inspection. “Tell me how you know these things, Violet.” I stiffen my back and let out a small sigh. “I’m perceptive. One of those watch-and-learn personalities. Also, I research a lot of things. If I’m interested, I try to learn more about it.

I even took some night classes. Most of them were business related. Some touched on the economy and investments. I can’t really say I learned it all from one place. It was more or less a culmination of many things.” His eyes are on my mouth as I speak. I like how focused on me he is but at the same time, I’m disgusted. Vaughn kept a close eye on me and I hated it. I sip my coffee, directing my attention to the window. The rain pours outside. I should send Gray out in it and hope he gets drenched for being such a prick earlier. As if in tune with my thoughts, he speaks. “I’m sorry about breakfast. I didn’t mean to pry…” “But?” There’s always a but. He scrubs his face and regards me with a vulnerability I’ve yet to see from the powerful Grayson Maxwell. “But I’m just so curious about you right now.” His honest answer has me regarding him with gentler eyes. I know I can be a cold, hard bitch sometimes. Maybe part of the reason I don’t have any friends is because I refuse to let anyone in. My walls are always erect and impenetrable. “I just don’t like talking about my past or my reason for doing things,” I admit as I set my mug down. He mimics my actions and gives me a crooked grin that sends a swarm of butterflies fluttering around in my stomach. “Can we start over? Can we be friends?” With him sitting in my living room, looking like he belongs, and turning on the charm, I feel some of my inner ice thawing. “I’ll only be around for two more weeks, Gray. Maybe being friends isn’t such a good idea. I’ll be gone before you know it, no longer in your hair.” His eyes darken and I notice a tick in his jaw. “There usually isn’t a timeline on friendship. Maybe I still want to be your friend, even after you leave.” I chew on my bottom lip for a minute contemplating his motives. There really is no hidden reason why he would want to be friends. I mean, maybe his definition of friendship leans toward the fuck buddies territory, but I can thwart his advances. He knows I’m leaving and hasn’t necessarily tried to prevent me from doing so. “Please.” His word isn’t a plea but more of an olive branch. “I’m afraid I would be a terrible friend,” I admit with an embarrassed smile. “I don’t have any because I never really wanted any.” He regards me, his eyes doing that strange thing he does now—ever since he seemed to snap out of Mad Max mode yesterday—where they skim over every part of my face as if he’s trying to memorize each freckle on my flesh. “I’m the worst friend you’ll ever know. Just ask Bull.” He winces at the name, which only makes me want to know why. “Who’s Bull?” “Jeff.” I crack a smile at the sheepish way Gray is behaving. Normally, I see the powerful,

arrogant, one-track minded madman who runs the company I work for. I’ve never seen other sides of him. Bashful and vulnerable. Playful and grinning. “What exactly do friends do?” I question, changing the subject. “We’re not sleeping together.” A beautiful smile curves his lips and his entire handsome face lights up like never before. Just one look at him like this has me chiding myself. Don’t lie to the sex god, honey. We both know you’re eventually going to let that man into your bed. His eyes narrow as they drop to my throat. The heat is painted on my skin—I can feel it. I clear my throat and tap the paper to distract him. “Have you been to the resort?” “Once before. The moment I settled into my suite with a glass of brandy and sat in the armchair that overlooked the chilly Atlantic, I knew I wanted it for myself.” His hand covers mine as he draws it away from the picture. He’s looking down at the stunning boutique resort, but I’m focused on the way his large hand lingers on mine. I swear my heart is thudding so loudly he can most certainly hear it. “Do you just take everything you want?” My words are meant to tease but they come out in an accusatory tone. He leans into me as his hand squeezes mine. Warm lips brush against the shell of my ear, and hot breath tickles me when he speaks. “Always. When I want something, I do whatever it takes to get it.” We’re not talking acquisitions anymore. Or maybe we are. “And what happens when you finally get it?” I can’t help but poke him a little more. He lets out a heavy exhalation that sends shivers of need coursing through me. If he asked me to get naked for him right now, I probably would. “I don’t let it go,” he says finally. He pulls away and takes the folder from me. I’m frozen in place, assuming he’s about to scoop my melted body up and take me into my room where he’ll spend hours ravishing me. I’m disappointed when he stands and clears his throat. My eyes drift to the large erection bulging in his slacks. “Are we done here?” I murmur before reluctantly pulling my gaze from his dick to meet his hardened glare. He runs those long fingers again through his now messy hair. I could think of a good use for those fingers… “For now. I’ll pick you up at seven for dinner.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he stalks toward the door. “Take a nap until then. You look exhausted.” I rise on shaky legs and follow after him. “Dinner? I thought we were just friends.” “Friends don’t eat dinner together?” he implores with an impish grin. I roll my eyes at him but I’m smiling too. “Last meal we had together went badly. You were an ass.”

His smile falls and a fierce stare finds me. His hand raises to cup my cheek. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. It won’t happen again. You just…” He drops his hand and looks off behind me toward the windows. “You just looked too damn pretty to be prancing around without a bra on for all those perverts to see.” His eyes snap to mine and fire flares in them. I’m definitely melting again under his glare. “Oh.” “Wear something casual. Jeans or something,” he says. “And a bra?” I taunt, my lips turning up to give him a wicked grin. His laugh is charming and it shaves years off his age. “Clothing is always optional when you’re around me. I may have to beat some motherfuckers down for looking but I’m not opposed to the idea, little quitter.” He’s already turning on his heel and pulling the door open. “Bye, Gray.” Hours ago I hated the very ground he walked on, and now, I don’t want him to leave. “Bye, Violet.”

CHAPTER EIGHT GRAYSON

THE DAY STARTED out shitty but having Violet bend to my requests earlier certainly made it better. I’d also successfully managed to return her key while she showered. She’s already softening toward me. Soon, she’ll soften beneath me as she takes every inch of my hardness. I can imagine her pouty lips begging. Please fuck me, Gray. Oh God… My eyes slam shut as my release spurts out in the shower against the slate-tiled wall. There was no way I’d be able to walk around with my cock at half-mast through dinner. I don’t like how my body responds as though I’m fifteen again and getting my dick wet for the first time. And yet, this is the most exhilarated I’ve felt in two decades. I quickly dress, attempting to keep it casual. Dark jeans and a pale grey cashmere sweater. I’d told her to wear jeans but I’d love to see her in a dress. To slide my rough palm up her smooth, bare silky thigh and— “Gray!” I’m jolted from the hot-as-hell vision by the soft feminine voice on the other side of my bedroom door. Guilt sluices through me. I’ve been hiding from one of the few people in my life who matters anymore. Lying to her. Telling her I’ve been inundated with work. Sauntering over to the door, I do my best to plaster on an easy smile. When I open it, I find the other part of my heart staring up at me with curious blue eyes. Kind, sweet, innocent. I’m everything to her. “Gwen.” The little sprite of a woman launches herself into my arms. She’s much shorter than me and only comes up to the top of my chest. Her wild chestnut hair has been somewhat tamed into a bun. Paint speckles her hair, and when she looks up at me, I see it’s on her freckled nose as well. “Work must have been a doozy. You never came home last night.” There’s a hint of accusation in her voice. Once again, the guilt floods through me. I pet her hair and shrug my shoulders. “Just unexpected was all. How did you fare last night?” She tugs away and plops down on the bed with a sigh. “It was lonely without you. I had to eat dinner alone. You know,” she grumbles. “A phone call would have been nice.” I keep my expression impassive. It’s hard to call when you’re hiding under a woman’s bed. “I lost track of time.” Mostly the truth.

Her eyes narrow as she searches for answers. We’ve been this way for as long as I remember. Me, dutifully caring for her but never letting her see past my own barriers. I’m the man of this house and I intend on keeping my weaknesses shielded from her. Always. “I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight and you know…” she trails off, her cheeks turning rosy. I know what she wants, but she won’t ask for it. She wants me to go there with her. I suppress the shudder that threatens to overcome me. Until she asks, I won’t offer. I don’t miss the love flashing in her eyes, pleading for me to give it to her. I cringe at the very thought. Absolutely disgusted. “I actually have plans,” I lie. “Work stuff.” When her bottom lip wobbles, I weaken. “What sort of stuff?” she questions, a slight pout in her voice that I’ve never been able to resist. “Maybe I could tag along.” My chest tightens at the thought of Gwen and Violet in the same room. It’s too much. Too emotionally crippling. I scrub my face with my palm. “Another time.” My voice is gruff. “You’re hiding something from me,” she declares as she rises from the bed. She stalks over to her favorite place to annoy me and plops down. Her legs are crossed as she attempts to decode the numbers of the lock that’s attached to the cedar chest. “Who is she?” she demands with her back to me. “Enough of this, Gwen,” I seethe as I pace at the end of the bed. “We’ll spend the day together tomorrow. Just give it a rest.” She gives up on the lock, like always, and stands. “I have a part of you inside of me. You seem to forget. It links us, Gray. Some weird kind of sixth sense. I feel it. Something is wrong. You’re hiding something from me. You promised you’d never do this to me.” We glare at each other for a long couple of minutes before I relent. “Fine. Meet me at Bull and Sadie’s. Joshua hasn’t seen you in ages. He’s into Paw Patrol now so make sure you’ve googled the lingo because he’s going to talk your fucking ear off.” She squeals before launching herself into my arms. I hug her to me and inhale her comforting scent. “Thank you. I was going crazy cooped up in this house.” “Always so dramatic,” I tease before ruffling her hair. “Make sure you wash this mess before tonight. We’ll have one of my employees dining with us as well. Don’t overshare.” She snorts and bounds away from me. “Who me? Overshare? I would never.” “I mean it,” I call out to her even after a door slams shut behind her. Her voice is muffled. “No, you don’t.” A tiny smile plays on my lips. No, I really don’t. Gwen’s stories are sometimes the only breath of fresh air I get in an otherwise suffocating world. I just hope things don’t go too haywire with Violet. That woman is the exact opposite of Gwen. If you look at them side by side, you’d deem them as opposite as two

women can be. And yet… Some part of me hopes that they’ll like each other.

ON THE WAY to Bull and Sadie’s, Violet and I chatted about safe topics. Turns out she likes to read but her Kindle’s broken and she never thinks to go to the library until she’s in bed wanting to read. She loves breakfast food and sometimes makes it for dinner. And she can sing. In Latin of all languages. Her choir teacher in high school had a thing for Latin songs. I’d pressed her to sing me one but she’d just laughed and waved me off. The drive was light and fun. I haven’t been this relaxed in ages. And her scent filling my car had me wanting to reach across the console to thread my fingers in her hair so I could taste her pretty mouth too. Like a gentleman, I refrained from mauling her in my car. Instead, I stole glances. Tonight, she’s wearing jeans, like I’d requested, paired with some knee-high boots. Her sweater is fitted but she is clearly wearing a bra underneath. I am both annoyed and thankful for that. I’m dying to peel away her clothes and sink my cock into her hot body but I know women like Violet are worth the wait. When I finally do get my opportunity, it will be that much sweeter. “We’re here,” I tell her as I pull into the driveway beside Gwen’s Camaro. That shiny red sports car was my present to her for her thirtieth birthday. I climb out of the Range Rover and make it over to Violet’s side just as she’s opening the door. Our eyes meet as I hold it open for her and offer my hand. “So you can be a gentleman,” she teases. Even though she’s smiling, I don’t miss the nervousness that’s rippling from her. Her brown eyes dart down the street—both ways— before returning to mine. One day I’ll find out who she’s looking for. And if the fucker has hurt her in any way, I’ll harm him too. Once I close the door, I don’t let go of her hand until we reach the door. I’m not about to advertise my interest in Violet in front of Gwen. Not even going to go there tonight. I knock on the door and soon Sadie answers. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite guy,” she gushes as she steals a hug. “But don’t tell Jeff. You know he gets jealous.” We both chuckle. “Sadie,” I introduce with a wave of my hand. “This is my…” I trail off. I don’t want to introduce her as my girl, even though she is and just doesn’t know it yet. But “assistant” feels cold. We’re friends I suppose but I don’t like that one either. In the end, I choose the safest option. “She’s my Violet.” Sadie’s eyebrows raise. “Your Violet, huh?” “Violet Simmons,” Violet rushes out and extends her hand. “I’m Gray’s assistant at the

office.” Sadie lets out a laugh. “Okay, that makes more sense. I thought I recognized you. I meet Jeff from time to time for lunch. You might remember my son bouncing through there, terrorizing everything and everyone in sight.” Violet smiles politely at her, but I can tell she feels uncomfortable. “I believe I’ve seen you a time or two.” “I’m hungry. What’re we having?” I question as we follow her inside. The Brownstone they live in is decorated well. Sadie does interior design. She’s the one who came through and turned my masculine home into something more livable. Gwen certainly doesn’t have the touch—not like Sadie. “Jeff marinated some steaks. Everything’s just about ready. We were just waiting for you to get here before we threw them on the grill,” Sadie chirps as we make our way toward the kitchen. Joshua, their rambunctious six-year-old, is sitting on the bar playing on his iPad. But when he sees me, he screeches before launching himself off the counter like a spider monkey. I catch him with a grunt as the growing boy nearly tackles me. “Uncle Hawk!” Violet’s gaze narrows at me as she eases to the side of the kitchen. “What have you been up to, buddy?” I question as I set him to his feet. He starts telling me about Minecraft, droning on about creepers and some guy named Steve. I have no idea what he’s going on about so I just nod and smile. Eventually he grows bored. “Where’s Aunt Gwen? She promised to play with me.” Sadie answers for me. “Aunt Gwen is out back with Daddy. Tell them Uncle Hawk is here.” Sadie turns to me as she grabs the plate with steaks. “I’m going to run these out. I’ll be right back. Help yourself to some wine.” She knows I don’t drink often for my own personal health reasons but always offers anyway. I do, however, pour a glass for Violet, who has gone tense with nerves. “Relax,” I tell her as I hand the wine to her. Her brown eyes are cold as she stares back at me. “What sort of game are you playing, Gray?” Frowning, I push the glass into her palm. “What do you mean?” She gulps down the red liquid and sets the glass down rather roughly so that it makes a clang. “This”—she gestures around us—“bringing me here. I thought…” Heat creeps up her neck and she shakes her head. “Never mind.” “We’re friends, Violet. That’s what you wanted, right?” She glares at me. “That’s what you wanted. But yes. That’s all we are.” When voices resound in the other room, Violet once again stiffens. A moment later, two familiar arms hug me from behind. “There you are. Late as always,” Gwen says with a laugh. Violet’s eyes are on mine, and I sense that she’s hurt. It makes my chest squeeze.

“Hi,” Gwen greets, peeking around me to offer her hand. “I’m Gwen Maxwell. You must be the work associate he was telling me about.” Violet blinks several times before reaching for the wine. I watch her with a lifted brow as she fills it to the brim, ignoring Gwen’s outstretched hand. Instead, she waves and gulps half the glass down. Gwen drops her hand and looks up at me with a frown. Her feelings are hurt and her brilliant blue eyes shimmer with unshed tears. Before I can do damage control, Bull comes up beside Violet and tugs at her hair before leaning in to whisper loudly. “Just because your boss is an asshole doesn’t mean we are. You can’t help who you love. Ain’t that right, Gwen?” He flashes her a silly smile before regarding Violet. “But we’re not like him.” He points at me, and I flip him off. “We’re a nice lot once you get to know us.” Violet seems to relax toward Bull but won’t meet my gaze. She’s a tough nut to crack. But I will crack her. I’ll get inside of her in every way that I can, and she’ll never be able to get me out.

CHAPTER NINE VIOLET

GWEN MAXWELL. I can’t believe the nerve of that prick. Parading his would-be mistress around in front of his wife. The pain searing through me is similar to the first time Vaughn informed me he was going to share what I thought was sacred between us with another man. I was devastated. Furious even. But when I balked at his request, I’d learned who the strong one was in our relationship. Vaughn brought me to my knees that night with the back of his hand. And through my tears and not-so-silent begging, I’d pleaded for Vaughn to wake up and see what he was doing to me. To us. In one single night, he tore the hard-earned love from my heart and replaced it with something dark and sick. “You’re a quiet one,” Sadie, the attractive blonde woman, murmurs as she grabs my now empty dinner plate. “Want to help me in the kitchen?” I’m eager to escape the dining room where their child babbles about cartoons I know nothing about, and Gray’s wife stares at me as if I’m something rotten. She’d been all smiles until I couldn’t bring myself to shake her hand. How does one shake the hand of another woman when moments before she was lusting after her husband? Bile creeps up my throat, and I wish I had more wine to wash it down with. Thankfully, once in the kitchen, Sadie seems to sense my stress levels. She pulls a bottle of rum from the cabinet and pours some into a coffee mug. Then, she starts the Keurig. Hot coffee pours into the mug along with the liquor. We’re quiet as it fills. Once it’s done, she pushes it along the counter to me. “You like Gray,” she says softly. Usually, I like a sprinkle of sugar in my coffee but tonight I’m after the numbing liquid that will have to suffice as a substitute. “He’s my boss,” I murmur as politely as I can manage despite the fury raging inside of me. And I don’t like him. Not at all. Especially now. “He doesn’t bring women around. Ever. So you must be special,” she tells me and offers me a small smile. I clench my jaw and try desperately not to say anything I’ll regret tomorrow. “I don’t feel very special. I feel horrible and embarrassed. Poor Gwen.” Even though Gwen seems to

hate me, I can’t help but feel remorse for her. Her husband is a cheating asshole. There was heat and desire in his eyes. The man wanted to nail me, and had I let him, he would have. “Oh, so you know?” she questions, her brows bunching together. “Don’t you feel sorry for her?” “Well, if I had to live with Gray, I’d feel sorry for me too,” I hiss at the seemingly nice woman. My anger is misplaced. I want to grab him by his stupid collar and shake him for leading me on. “He’s not so bad,” Sadie teases. “Even if he is a bit of a neat freak. I think that’s what bothers Gwen the most.” I gape at her as if she’s lost her mind. Neatness is Gwen’s problem with her husband? What about his eager dick? The damn thing was hard for me. “You girls having fun without me?” Gwen questions in a cool tone behind us. We both jerk around to stare at the small woman. Sadie glances at me and guilt shines in her eyes. “I’m not feeling so well,” I tell them both as I abandon the steaming mug of hot spiked coffee. “I think I’ll catch a cab home.” Gwen narrows her eyes at me. “I could have sworn you rode in with Gray. Is he not taking you home?” Swallowing, I shake my head. “Nope.” At this, she scowls. “Well then I’m taking you home.” Before I can argue, she stomps into the dining room and announces it to the two men. I can hear her and Grayson arguing in hissed tones. Sadie simply offers me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well,” Sadie says and pats my hand. “Please come over again.” I nod that I will as I snag my coat from the hook. The voices in the dining room grow louder, and I slip out the front door to escape them. Moments later, Gwen comes clomping down the steps and hits the fob, making the lights on a red Camaro light up. When I steal a look at the house, Gray stands in the doorway with his arms crossed over his massive chest. He’s pissed yet he has no right to be. If it weren’t for not wanting to cause a scene, I’d run right over there and give him a piece of my mind. Gwen and I don’t speak aside from me pointing her in the direction of my building. When she pulls up in front of it not twenty minutes later, she turns off her car. I reach for the door handle but she touches my arm to stop me. Turning, I meet her gaze and fear for a moment that she’ll slap me for something I didn’t do. “I’m sorry,” she says and bites on her bottom lip. The move makes her seem young, childlike almost. “About what?” “About getting off on the wrong foot. I was being grumpy and that wasn’t fair. He sort of

blindsided me by inviting you. Work associate my ass,” she grumbles but waves me off when I start to speak. “Clearly, I love him. I just want him to be happy. I wish he would have told me about you—that he was dating you—” “We’re not dating,” I argue. “Fucking. Whatever. What I’m saying is—” “We’re not fucking!” I screech, horrified to even be having this conversation. She laughs and that confuses me. “Down girl. All I’m saying is that if he likes you, then I want him to do what makes him happy.” I gape at her, my mind attempting to process her words before I snap out of it. “Whatever kind of sick relationship you two have is your business. In two weeks, I’ll be out of your lives. I’m sorry I almost got involved in the middle of your…your…your whatever it is. Goodbye, Gwen,” I blurt before stepping out of the car and bolting to the building. The car door slams and she shouts after me. “Violet! Wait!” Ignoring the crazy woman, I rush into my building. I catch sight of a man leering from the shadows and I stop dead in my tracks. Vaughn? Panic slices through me, and I let out a garbled sob as I inch backward toward the door. I nearly knock down Gwen in the process. “Stay away from me!” I screech at the man hiding in the shadows. When he emerges, I flinch and cover my face with my hands. No! No! No! Gwen makes what sounds like a battle cry. Then, some man starts yelling. “My eyes! You bitch!” I jerk my gaze to see that now the man has fully come out of the shadows. It’s not Vaughn. Just one of the usual lecherous men who hang around these parts. She grabs my elbow and ushers me into the stairwell. Once the door closes behind us, she urges me up the steps quickly. “What just happened?” she demands when we get to the first landing. “Third floor,” I croak and point up. “I thought he was…I thought he was someone else.” “Grayson?” I blink at her in confusion. “No.” It won’t hurt to tell her. “I thought it was my ex. His name is Vaughn.” Understanding flashes in her bright blue eyes as she helps me to the third floor. My knees are wobbling, and I’m shaken up badly. She tugs my jangling keys from my grip when I can’t seem to fit the key into the slot. Once we step inside, I hastily snap all of the bolt locks in place. Her wide blue eyes are staring at me as if I’m an injured animal that might bite the person trying to help them. “Is this Vaughn character stalking you?” she questions, concern painting her pretty features. I want to hate her, but right now she’s the only person I’ve got.

“No. I just…” I trail off and a shudder ripples through me. “I thought he might have found me, and it’s been stressing me out. I’m sure it’s all in my head. He can’t know where I am. I’ve made sure.” Her eyes flit around the dumpy apartment as she comprehends my meaning. “Can I make you something to drink?” Tears well in my eyes as I regard her. Hours ago her husband was on my couch making himself at home. Now, she’s in here, offering to serve me as if I’m her guest and not the other way around. “Vodka. Freezer,” I clip out. She nods and disappears into the kitchen while I plop down on my sofa. The afghan on the back was one my therapist made for me. I jerk it around me and attempt to warm up. I’m shaking from the inside out. When she returns, she has two glasses filled with what looks like ice water. I know better. I can smell that gasoline from a mile away. “Thirsty?” Her eyes flicker with a slight wickedness as she hands me my glass. I sip my vodka on the rocks and make a face. But the fire running down my throat instantly warms me. “I’m sorry about all of this.” I wonder if she can smell her husband’s scent lingering in my apartment. I can and I’m annoyed that I still like the smell. “So you’re having a bad day,” she says with a laugh and plops down beside me like we’re best friends. “I have them often.” Her eyes darken and she looks away from me. Guilt surges through me. I wonder how many other women Gray has been with while married to this woman. There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s beautiful and feisty. Why would he step out on her? “Why do you stay with him?” I ask, my throat suddenly choking up. Confusion swims in her eyes. “With Grayson?” I nod and her gaze softens. “Because I love him,” she says as if that’s enough reason. “And because I don’t cope well on my own.” “Cope?” “When I was a kid, I suffered from kidney issues. My left kidney was dying and trying to poison me in the process.” We both eye the alcohol in her hand and she sets it down on the table. “I’m not supposed to drink that.” She laughs and tears shine in her eyes. “There are a lot of things I’m not supposed to do now. But I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Gray.” Pure love is reflected in her gaze. “That’s why you put up with his…” I can’t even say the word. “Shenanigans?” Another laugh from her. I chug the vodka while she composes herself. “Slow down there, killer, or I’ll be cleaning up vomit. My brother would have a fit if I got his girlfriend shit-faced.” She snorts and steals the glass from me. The room spins as I gape at her.

“Wait. What?” Her lips quirk up on one side and she reminds me of a certain crazy man who’s recently decided to disrupt my entire life. “Grayson’s my older brother. I was the ‘oops’ baby my parents had fifteen years later.” I’m so stunned, I have no words to say. Brother. Brother. I’ve made a fool out of myself because I thought Gwen was his wife. “Oh my God…” I groan and clutch my stomach that truly is roiling. “But you were so mad at me.” “You were eyeing me like I was a venomous snake!” she argues with a giggle and swats my thigh. Warmth shoots through me. My friend Lisa from high school used to be that way. A knee slapper is what we called her. “Because I thought Gray brought me on a date to meet his wife!” This sends her into a fit of laughter that has her doubled over. Once I make sense of the stupidity of it all, I start laughing too. Then we’re both trying to talk with tears streaming down our cheeks. “You h-h-had the bitch look!” “You were s-so p-pretty and I thought you were his wife!” “I thought my brother found himself a mega bitch!” “I thought I was going to have to castrate him in front of his wife!” We’re both laughing so hard when someone pounds on the door. We ignore it at first, but when the pounding gets louder, we both fall silent. “You stay there,” she instructs as she fumbles for her keys. She holds up a can of mace that’s on her key ring as she starts toward the door. Must have been what she got that creepy dude downstairs with. Suddenly, I want to hug this girl and never let her go. When she stands on her toes and peeks out the peephole on the door, she lets out a snort. “Oh, God. Do you want to talk to him?” “Why are you here, Gwen?” he growls from the other side. She looks at me and rolls her eyes. “Consoling your girlfriend. You hurt her feelings.” “I’m not his girlfriend,” I hiss but she just winks at me. “I don’t know what the hell happened,” he roars from the other side. “One minute everyone is hunky-fucking-dory and the next my baby sister runs off with my…” Silence falls, and Gwen and I seem to be holding our breath. “Violet,” he finally says with a huff. “Your Violet?” Gwen challenges with an arched brow my way.

I shake my head at her. “I’m not his.” But warmth spreads throughout my body by that notion. “Let me in so I can make sure she’s okay,” he pleads. Something in the vulnerable way he says it has me chewing on my lip and nodding. As soon as she unlocks the last bolt, he pushes through the door past her and drops to the sofa beside me. His icy blue eyes seem to swirl with hurt and concern. It causes my heart to flutter. Stupid heart. His warm hand envelops mine and he squeezes. “Everything okay?” His voice is husky and raw. “Yeah.” “What happened?” Gwen tosses her keys back in her purse. “A miscommunication.” Gray frowns at me but doesn’t press the issue any further. “Do you want me to stay with you?” “I’ll be fine. I’ve just had a long day. Truly. You two should go. I appreciate the…” I stall because I don’t know what to call this intense pair. “In the real world, they call it friendship. Glad we became friends,” Gwen chirps, wearing the same shit-eating grin her brother wore earlier today when he made a declaration of friendship as well. My eyes dart to Gray’s, and he’s smirking at me. “We’ll leave but get yourself to bed early.” “So it’s not just me he bosses around,” Gwen says behind him. He flips her off but his eyes never leave mine. I like the way they wash over me. Assessing my emotions. It’s nice to be someone’s focus. “I’ll call you and check up on you tomorrow,” he says finally. I can hear the reluctance in his voice, but he stands anyway. Gwen walks over to me and hugs me. “Talk soon, friend.” Her smile widens. “I’ll get your digits from my brother.” Grayson ruffles her hair and then proceeds to poke at her until she makes her way to the door. Now that I’m not freaking out over her being his wife, they’re actually a cute pair of siblings. “She’s a stalker,” he mouths to me. “You’re going to have to block her.” She punches him in the arm but wears a smile that she regards me with. “Don’t forget to lock up, Vi.” I give them a wave and follow them to the door. Grayson gives me a long penetrating stare before mouthing the word “bye” and stalking after his sister. Two friends in one day. It only took seven years to make all two of them.

CHAPTER TEN GRAYSON

SLEEP IS FOR PUSSIES. At least that’s what I tell myself on night two of no shuteye. After I made sure Gwen made it home safely and we watched a movie together, I slipped out of the house to go see Violet again. When I left her earlier this evening, she was shaken up and slightly drunk. It took everything in me to leave, but the only reason I left was because I knew it would only be a matter of hours before I came back. Click. I twist the knob and push the door inward after disengaging all three locks. The apartment is dark and quiet. Slipping inside, I make sure to close the door as silently as possible. For a moment, I remain still with my back pressed against the door. I’m patient. I count the seconds. Then the minutes. And eventually, it rolls into an hour before I feel comfortable to proceed. I slip out of my shoes and pad through the house. Last night and earlier today, I learned so much about her. Tonight, I intend on finding more out. If I don’t find anything, it will be worth just seeing her sleep again. Her bedroom door is ajar, and the room is dark. I want to turn on a light to look at her, but from the sounds of her soft breathing, I don’t think she’s in a heavy sleep like the night before. With slow and silent movements, I tug at the curtain until moonlight shines down upon her bed from the window. I’m disappointed to see that she’s sleeping in a T-shirt rather than in the nude like last time. I’ll have to fix that. Prowling through the room, I make my way over to her bedside. She looks angelic in the moonlight as she sleeps. So delicate and perfect. Fragile like a porcelain doll. The thought of anyone breaking her has fury bubbling up inside me. Earlier, when I’d probed Gwen about what they’d talked about, she’d kept her lips zipped. Despite my annoyance over being left out of the loop, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride that my Violet was able to pull forth a sense of comradery from Gwen. My sister doesn’t have friends. Her issues make it difficult for her to make or keep them. Boyfriends are non-existent. My sister is unable to take care of herself, much less others, which is why she relies so heavily on me. The fact that she seemed to have this desire to look out for Violet—even so much as protecting a secret—was huge for Gwen. Maybe Violet’s neatness would rub off on Gwen. The very thought of Violet wading through Gwen’s mess has me suppressing a shudder.

Gwen is too much like Mother. She teeters on that edge between sane and lost. It terrifies me. I attempt to tether her to me so if she falls, I can reel her back in. From time to time, I do just that. But what worries me the most is that our connection won’t be strong enough. That one day she’ll fall and it will simply snap. My sister will be just as gone as our mother. I sit down on the edge of the bed and brush Violet’s hair from her brow so I can see her eyes. They’re closed and her mouth is parted. She sleeps soundly. With a smile, I peel away the blankets and regard her perfect form. Who needs sleep when you get to spend the night staring at this vision? I begin a slow, subtle pulling of her T-shirt. Tiny movements that won’t be felt as she slumbers. Carefully, I bring her arms through the holes of her shirt and then eventually remove the shirt altogether. Her tits are absolutely divine in the moonlight. With a sigh, I carry her shirt over to the hamper and dump it inside. Then, I make my way back over to her. Pale pink panties are the only thing she wears now. I want those gone too. My fingers tug at the fabric and I’m able to gently slide the soft material down her thighs. Once I get them past her knees, she makes a soft sigh. I pause in my efforts as my heart jackknifes in my chest. If she found me like this, undressing her, things could turn bad very quickly. Her breath evens out, though, and I set to sliding her panties off the rest of the way. Instead of relinquishing the lingerie, I keep it as a token. I inhale the fabric, my mouth watering at her unique scent before I shove them into my pocket. My cock is hard in my pants, but I ignore it as I settle for digging more into her life. I snag her phone from the charger and take it with me into the kitchen. In the dark, I rummage around until I find a bowl of fruit on the counter. I settle at a bar stool and begin peeling the orange as I flip through her phone. She has no pictures saved, which I find strange. But when I hunt through the deleted folder, I find a few selfies she took. So beautiful when she smiles. I also find some screenshots of the ocean. There’s even a screenshot of a woman’s Facebook page and I connect this woman as her mother. From her phone, I text all of the pictures to my phone. Of course my phone doesn’t buzz from my pocket because I turned it off before my little recon mission. I delete the trace of my sending them to me from her phone. Once I finish peeling my orange, I eat the wedges unrushed as I snoop through her phone. Her texts are basic. I’m in her contacts along with my office number. She also has that fucker Sean Slante on there. I’m not sure where all of her friends are but they’re not here on her phone. Popping up her messages with Sean, I read through everything they’ve chatted about. Apparently he’s very apologetic about last night. The motherfucker should be. He took advantage of her. She eventually responded back to him in a very polite manner, saying she’d talk to him later. He’d responded back with some other flirty bullshit. And my girl never replied. I smile and it doesn’t feel as foreign as usual. From her phone, I decide to take matters into my own hands and pretend to be her. Violet: What you did was sleazy. It satisfies me knowing he’ll read that and shit his panties. It’s late but apparently, the fuck is awake because he replies.

Sean: Are you drunk again? His tone boils my blood. It’s as if he assumes she gets wasted all the time. I don’t know Violet well but I am perceptive enough to realize she doesn’t do this often. Her life is too orderly to get out of control on a frequent basis. Violet: I’m clear headed. How do I know that when working for you, this kind of thing won’t be a regular occurrence? I was blacked out, and had that nice man not saved me, you’d have probably fucked me in that cab. His response is immediate. Sean: Whoa. Calm down, Letty. We both got a little wasted but the last thing I would ever want is for you to think I would take advantage of you. I’m not like those guys at Maxwell. You know this. I stiffen and glare at the glowing screen as I shove the last orange wedge in my mouth. Violet: What do you mean? While he types, I scoop up all of the orange peelings and hide them at the bottom of the garbage can. Sean: You mentioned last night how they touch you against your wishes. I may have drunk a lot but I didn’t forget what you said. And last night, you wanted me to touch you. It was extremely unprofessional and I’m sorry. I don’t want us to get off on the wrong foot. My blood boils and I nearly crack the screen in my brutal death grip. Who the fuck has been touching her against her wishes at Maxwell? I’m raging with fury but I attempt to quell it. I’ll get to the bottom of this on Monday. Whoever thinks they can fuck with my girl is going to pay. Violet: Please keep things professional from here on out. Sean: Of course. I’m sorry. Once I’m certain he isn’t going to respond anymore, I delete all of tonight’s correspondence before pocketing her phone. I give my hands a quick rinse in the sink and then I’m back to check on her. She’s still sleeping soundly, but this time naked like she belongs. My cock aches for her. In the moonlight, her perfect round tits are on display. I want to mark her up and stain her with all that is me. Those sorts of thoughts don’t help my dick. Before Violet, whenever I’d feel the need to fuck, I’d give my friend Elisha a call. She’d come over and let me use her however I needed to. Then, she’d leave, her purse a little heavier than it was when she showed up. But now… The thought of being inside any woman who isn’t Violet is repulsive. Violet is mine and she will continue to be mine. I’ll make her mine in every way that I possibly can. There’s no way I’ll be able to peacefully sleep with my cock throbbing so painfully. I carefully undo my belt and pants before sliding them to my ankles. With my foot, I kick them under the bed. I peel away my sweater and have it join my pants as well. Once I’m standing

beside her in nothing but my boxers and socks, I stroke myself through my underwear. God, I fucking want her. I push my boxers down my thighs so that my heavy erection bobs out. When I take it in my grip, it’s hot and pulsating. I’m dying to push into every single one of her holes. To draw out pleasure and pain from her. I want to own every part of her. Fisting my cock feverishly, I attempt to keep my grunts stifled. With each tug, I get closer and closer to release. Desire for her alights every nerve ending from my skull to my toes. I push the sheet away from her so I can see all of her creamy flesh. Her sweet cunt looks good enough to eat. The thought sends me over the edge, and I spurt my heat all over her lower stomach. I groan as the last of my orgasm drips from the tip of my cock onto the edge of the bed. With a sated smile, I run my fingertips through my release on her body. I drag my seed along her taut stomach to the curves of her breasts. I smear it all over her nipples and my dick jolts with excitement when they harden in response. With my wet fingers, I give in to the urge to touch her cunt. I’m satisfied when a small moan escapes her the moment my cum-covered finger slides along her seam and rubs at her clit. Last night she had her own fingers. Tonight she has me. She’ll always have me. Her body squirms in her sleep. I’m dying to pry her legs apart and suck on her perfect nub until she screams my name. But her breathing has slowed, and I don’t want her to wake. Reluctantly, I remove my finger and simply stare at her. My cock has gone flaccid, but I know if I keep staring at her wet tits, I’ll come all over her again. With a soft sigh, I use the sheet to clean away my spent seed. Eventually, a yawn escapes me. I decide a small nap is in order. Her breathing is regular again, so I walk around to the other side of the bed. I gently slide into the covers beside her. She’s warm and smells delicious as fuck. I’m completely addicted to her. My dick lurches when it rubs against her smooth side. I can’t help my greedy fingers. They want to touch her all over. I settle with running soft circles around her peaked nipple. My nostrils flare with every breath she takes. I want to inhale her deep inside of me and never release her. Sweet Violet…you’ll never have to worry about men like Sean, or whoever messed with you at the office, because I’ll always take care of you. I’m going to embed myself so far under your skin, you’ll die if you ever try to cut me out. Sleep steals me away but not before I press a kiss to her temple. Goodnight, lovely.

I WAKE WITH A START. Early dawn is peeking in through the windows, and I let out a yawn. A smile tugs at my lips to find Violet wrapped around my naked body. She’s still sleeping but she clutches onto me like a lifeline. Soon. Soon every night will be like this, and she’ll want this as much as I do. I don’t want to leave her side, but having her wake up like this would be bad for our budding relationship. With the patience of a saint, I slip out of her grip and off the bed.

She rolls over onto her side with her back to me. I’m just about to walk over to the other side of the room to grab my clothes when her alarm starts buzzing. I freeze when she leans forward to turn it off. I’m standing there, staring at her, buck-ass naked when she slips out of the bed and hobbles toward the bathroom. Quickly, I drop to my belly and slide under the bed. I can hear her peeing in the bathroom. I’m hard just imagining her squatting on the toilet. I bet her hair is messy and her face is scrunched up with sleep. One day, I’m going to fuck her mouth while she pees. I’m grinning like a fucking idiot when the toilet flushes, and I hear the sink. But something catches my eye. My boxers are sitting on the floor beside her bed. Panic seizes my chest, and I scoot toward the edge. I snag the boxers, yanking them under the bed with me just as she exits the bathroom. “Oh, God,” she groans. “It’s too early for this shit.” I roll onto my back and am thankful when the springs squeak as she settles back on the bed. My heart is thundering in my ears and I wish it would quiet down, so I could hear her better. She fidgets and squirms. “Gray,” she murmurs. “What have you done to me?” I freeze and it takes a moment to realize she’s talking to herself. Then, I hear her bedside drawer open. When a buzzing sound fills the room, I grin up at the mattress. She’s masturbating…to the thought of me. The thought elates me. Soon, she won’t have to. I’ll give her every orgasm she never knew she wanted. “Mmmm,” she whines. I stroke my now rock-hard cock as I imagine her naked squirming body beneath mine. Her scent clings to me, which makes the visual even better. “I want you inside me.” The setting on the vibrator increases, and the entire bed seems to rattle. “I bet you’re bigger than this.” Even though she is talking to herself, I pretend she’s talking to me. I stroke my cock harder and faster but am still careful not to be too noisy. The sound of a cap being popped open has me biting back a groan. I’ve snooped around in that drawer. I know she has several vibrators and a bottle of lube. My sweet Violet was correct—I’m much bigger than anything she owns in that drawer. “Oh, God, yes,” she chokes out. A slurping sound indicates she’s fucking herself with one of her toys. I’m jealous of the damn thing and wish it were my dick instead. But my envious thoughts are snuffed out when she utters my name again. Her breathing grows heavier and ragged. Every time she moans, I swear I’m going to moan with her and give myself away. Eventually, though, she puts us both out of our misery when she comes hard. “Gray!” A small grunt escapes me as my cum jets up across my toned stomach. She’s still moaning and writhing as she milks another orgasm from her inadequate vibrator so she doesn’t notice my sounds. After a moment, she stills and the room goes silent. “I need to get laid,” she says with a chuckle and slips back off the bed. Soon, the shower is running, and I can hear her humming inside.

Quickly, I slip out from under the bed. I throw on my clothes but then take a moment to grab her vibrator off the bed. It still glistens with her juices. With a wolfish grin, I snag it up and suck on the rubber. It still tastes of the lube, but mostly it’s her. She tastes fucking delicious, and I can’t wait until I can tongue her essence straight from her cunt myself. I lick off all of her taste before dropping the dildo back on the bed. I don’t want to leave her but I know I must. With silent steps, I sneak the bathroom door open and prowl inside. I’m playing a dangerous game but I can’t help myself with her. I need to see her. From the sliver of an opening between the shower curtain and the wall, I can see her eyes are closed as she washes her hair. Her tits are soapy and look hot as hell. I allow myself one second longer to look at her before slipping out undetected. With a quick sweep, I check to make sure I haven’t left any clues. I make it to the door and slip on my shoes. Then, I exit her apartment. With practiced efficiency, I engage all of the locks in seconds. I want my girl to be safe. There are all kinds of freaks in this world who would die to be inside this apartment with her. Lucky for her, she has me to protect her. There’s only room for one freak in her world. And I take up a lot of space.

CHAPTER ELEVEN VIOLET

I’D SET my alarm for Sunday morning just like I do every Sunday morning. I call it my reset day. The day when I try to calm myself a bit before subjecting myself to a week of frustration at work. Normally, I pull on some yoga pants and head off for some Pilates before wasting my time at Starbucks for a couple of hours, planning vacations I’ll never take. But today… Today feels different. I feel different. Last night, I dreamed about Grayson Maxwell. Fantasized that we were intimate. Thought about him warming my bed. It felt safe. For once in a very long time, I wasn’t absolutely terrified of being close to a man. I’d woken up with his scent still stuck in my nose from seeing him the night before, and I masturbated to him. For once, it wasn’t Vaughn—that sick bastard—that I thought about while I got off. Perhaps I’m not as broken as I thought. The thought thrills me. I almost bet if I were to thaw a bit, Gray and I could have that delicious rumble in the sheets. But I’d already friend-zoned him. A girl can still dream about her sexy-as-sin boss who she’d like to fuck if this were another life and she wasn’t herself. “Excuse me,” an irritated woman utters, dragging me from my daydream. “Is that seat taken?” I’d been so lost in my thoughts, I’d forgotten that I skipped Pilates altogether and went straight to Starbucks after a long shower where I ended up using the showerhead to ease another ache. They seem to keep coming. Literally. “Oh, uh—” I start but a masculine voice interrupts. “The seat is taken.” I jerk my gaze over and find myself staring into Gray’s ice blue eyes. His hair is wet, as if he just showered, and his chest is heaving as if he ran all the way here. The woman waddles off when he drops into the seat across from me. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says with a laugh as he sips on his coffee. I can’t help but beam at him. “Are you stalking me?”

His eyes flicker with amusement. “I wish my story was as glamorous as that. I was actually in the neighborhood on my way to this market I recently found out about. Thought I’d grab a coffee first. You’ll never believe the hottie I ran into.” With a snort, I shake my head at him. “You’re relentless. Were you really in the neighborhood?” He flashes me a shy grin. “I was, but in all honesty, I was coming to see you. You were upset last night, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” His cheeks turn slightly pink. The boyish gesture has me thawing. I chew on my bottom lip as I take in his appearance. He’s slightly disheveled. It makes me wonder if he was in a hurry to come see me. The thought is a warm one. How is it that this guy was cold and in his own world Friday, but by Sunday he’s someone I don’t mind spending time with? “I’m fine. That’s sweet of you to check up on me. Although,” I say with a slight shake of my head. “You’re a far cry from the prick I handed my notice in to on Friday.” His smirk has the room feeling as though the temperature has risen. “Let’s just say someone pointed out my flaws. Now I’m trying my damnedest to make her realize I’m not a complete asshole.” Even though we’re surrounded by a ton of people on this busy Sunday morning, I feel as though we’re all alone. Lost in our own little world. “This whole having friends thing is weird,” I admit with a chuckle. His long leg brushes against mine under the table and a spark of electricity darts its way to my core. I try not to shudder in pleasure. Friends. We’re just friends. “I want to get to know you, Violet,” he murmurs, his hand boldly covering mine on the table. I stiffen but then relax when he adds. “As friends.” A smile plays at my lips. “Okay. I don’t see the harm in that, I guess.” “Come with me to the resort on Wednesday,” he murmurs and leans closer, his leg once again brushing up against mine. My cheeks blaze crimson as I recall my dreams last night. Dreams where he touched me and held me. Dreams where we were naked and tangled together. “I, uh…” He chuckles. “Down girl. I meant as colleagues. I’ve needed to travel out to the property now that I’ve acquired it from Mr. Collins. There’s some business stuff I need to take care of. I’ll require the aid of my hardworking assistant.” Embarrassment floods through me. Of course he wants to look at the property. I assumed he meant he wanted to take me away for a romantic weekend. God, I’m such a flake around him. If he wasn’t so damn good-looking, I wouldn’t get so tongue tied. This whole friends thing will take some practice. I’d guess that most friends aren’t as severely attracted to the other, like I am to him.

“Yes, I’ll go. I knew what you meant,” I tell him firmly, despite the burning heat still lingering on my cheeks and throat. He flashes me a crooked grin. “Come on. Grab your coffee to go.” Once we’re outside in the cold drizzle, he pops open an umbrella and holds it above us. It’s small, so I have to lean into his side to keep from getting wet. Together, we start walking down the busy sidewalk. “Gwen and I watch football on Sunday nights. She likes to cook. Spends hours making all this finger food, even though we’re the only ones there to eat it,” he says with a chuckle. “You should come over tonight and watch the game. As friends of course.” My gut instinct is to tell him no but then I remember I’m attempting to try new things here. Friendship is one. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to try and get to know Gwen a little better. “Okay,” I concede. “What should I bring?” He guides me over to his white Range Rover. “Yourself. That’s all I want.” The husky way in which he says it has me frowning at him. “Gray…” Pulling open the car door, he laughs. “Stop reading so much into everything. We both want you there.” I slip into his vehicle, that smells just like him, and ponder what I’m even doing right now. This was not a part of my Sunday plan. “Where are we going?” I question once he slides into the driver’s seat. He shrugs as he zips down the road. “I need to do a little shopping. You up for a quick visit to the mall?” Considering we’re now going in the opposite direction of my home, I can’t help but agree. It would be rude to make him turn around to take me home. “Yeah, the mall sounds fun.” The seat warmers in his car have me feeling relaxed as ever. I’m enjoying the passing sights and the music that’s playing and the comfortable quiet between us. So much so that it isn’t until a song that Vaughn used to play when we were fucking comes on the radio, that I feel ice begin to creep into my bones. I hadn’t realized how little I think about him when I’m with Gray until now. “Can you change it?” I ask, my voice breathless. My eyes close and I can almost feel the weight of Vaughn as he pins me to the mattress. The way he’d wedge his knee between my thighs until his cock was settled against me. How he’d hold me down and fuck me slowly at first. I’d get lost in his gentle touch until he’d turn dark on me. Until he’d hit me or choke me unconscious or do something equally brutal. “Violet, babe, you’re scaring the hell out of me right now,” a voice growls. I snap my eyes open to see Gray glaring at me at a stoplight. My hand shakes as I swipe a lock of hair away from my face. Not meeting his gaze, I say, “Nothing. I was just daydreaming.”

The song has long since been changed and the light has turned green. This time, the silence inside the car is thick and heavy. I can sense him brooding about what just happened. Sickness roils in my belly. “You can talk to me, you know,” he says gruffly. “That’s what friends do.” Not about this. I can’t ever talk to anyone about this. “Maybe one day,” I lie as I twist my fingers in my lap. He reaches over and covers my hands with his much larger one. His pinky innocently grazes against my clit through my yoga pants, causing me to jolt. I sneak a glance at him. His jaw clenches as he maneuvers the road with ease, his attention ahead of him. My nipples harden, and I know my panties are now damp. What is wrong with me? I’m a pervert. He’s trying to comfort me, and all I can focus on is how his pinky rests against the seam of my sex. My breathing is heavy. I try desperately to calm it. His thumb rubs over the back of my hand in a comforting manner. I wish it were his other finger, though, doing all the moving. “I need help picking out a chair,” he tells me as we pull into the mall parking lot. “They have one of those ergonomic office stores here. Ever been?” I shake my head because I can’t manage words with his finger on my pussy. He gives my hands a squeeze which makes a thrill shoot straight to my core from where his finger innocently rubs against me again. “There’s a spot,” I choke out, pointing to an empty parking space. I jerk my other hand out from under his and run my fingers through my hair. Instead of pulling his hand away, he settles it back on my thigh. That naughty pinky of his seems to fit right up against me as if it belongs there. He pulls into the spot and tugs his hand away to put the car into park. I let out a long breath I’d been holding. His full lips curl into a lopsided grin when he regards me. My entire body buzzes with electricity that seems to be linked to him. “Ready?” I bolt from the car and stalk toward the mall. Soon, he catches up to me and places his palm on my lower back. The rain has stopped, but it looks like the bad weather will continue throughout the day. “Your ass looks nice in those pants, little quitter,” he says with a grin. I huff and glare at him. “Boss. Boundaries.” He snorts and gives my ass a swat. “Friends get to say these things.” I’m pretty sure friends aren’t this touchy-feely, but what do I know. What I do know is that it is fucking with my head. Gray is too hot for him to be playfully touching me all the

time. One of these days he’s going to get me so worked up that I pounce on him. We spend the next hour trying out office chairs. He says he needs a new one and insists I try them all out to tell him which is the most comfortable. When I sit a little longer than necessary in one of them and close my eyes, he snaps his fingers. “I want this one,” he tells a salesclerk. I turn my attention to see him watching me with his muscular arms folded over his solid chest. He looks good today. No surprise there. He looks good every day. But now that his focus is on me, he seems especially handsome. His eyes seem to never leave mine. The way his gaze follows me everywhere reminds me of Vaughn. But with Vaughn, I’d always felt like a mouse caught in a trap—and he was the cat about to eat me. Gray stares at me as if he’s trying to memorize every freckle and expression. He watches me with a hunger that promises so much more than friendship. “Stay there,” he tells me. “I’m going to go pay for this.” When he disappears, I let my mind wander. I remember shopping with Vaughn early on in our relationship. Back when he’d only started becoming possessive. At the time, I thought it was sexy.

“TRY THIS ONE ON,” he says with a wolfish grin. He holds up a skimpy dress fit for going to a club. I frown because he’d promised he’d take me to buy more jeans. After growing up in a household where my mom scrimped and saved so we’d scrape by okay, it is nice having a boyfriend with money and who wanted to splurge on you. Problem is, I don’t ever feel right to ask him for what I need. I just let him buy what he wants. And today, he wants a red dress two sizes too small. He flashes me a smoldering grin that has me tugging the fabric from his fingers. I walk to the dressing room with a frown playing at my lips. Sometimes Vaughn is everything I ever wanted in a boyfriend. Other times, he’s intense. Too intense. With each passing day, his like for me turns into something borderline obsessive. And while I think it’s hot when he glares at other guys for looking at me, I don’t always think it’s hot when he lashes out at me for it. “I’m coming with you,” he growls from behind me as he grabs my ass through my dress. I shiver and look over my shoulder. His grey eyes are hard like steel, and that perfect jaw of his is like stone. I push through the dressing room and hang the dress on the hook. He locks the door behind him and sits on the only chair. Vaughn is hotter than any guy I’ve dated. Not that I’ve dated tons. He’s definitely way out of my league. I’m simple and plain and fairly on the innocent side. Vaughn is far from

simple. He’s complex and layered and tricky. And he eats innocent for dinner. My gaze falls to his sculpted chest that’s barely hidden behind the stretched white fabric of his T-shirt. I know that hiding behind the shirt just over his heart is an anatomically correct tattoo of a black heart with my name in the middle. I’d been horrified when he showed me the tattoo just three weeks after we started dating. My mother was always against tattoos. I grew up getting lectured that you should never permanently mark up your skin. Especially not with someone’s name. If she knew Vaughn had ‘Letty’ scrawled across his flesh forever, she’d have a coronary. I jerk my eyes to the red dress and turn my back to him. He watches me with narrowed eyes in the mirror. I try not to focus on him but become distracted by the dark bruise on my throat I’d tried desperately to cover with makeup. It’s times like these that I begin to regret my two-month relationship with him. As much as I love him buying things for me and showing my body pleasure it’s never known, I can’t help but feel slightly trapped. I mean, he has my name inked up on him for crying out loud. “Babe,” he growls. “We don’t have all day. I have business shit to take care of later.” I flash him a quick smile in the mirror that doesn’t reach my eyes as I begin peeling off my jeans and shirt. By business, he means drugs. I know he sells the hard stuff. I’ve tried to stay out of it but on occasion, he’s done deals in front of me. I pull the red material up my body and situate it. It’s a tube-top dress and molds against every curve on my body. I look like a skank. My lip curls up to tell him this, but then his heat is up against me from behind. His erection pokes into my back as he grabs my breasts. Our eyes meet in the mirror and his smoldering one weakens me. “You look so fucking hot,” he praises. “It’s a little tight,” I breathe. He smirks and I loosen up. But that’s until I start to worry about other men seeing me dressed this way. He hates when they look at me, which is why I don’t fool around too much with my makeup or cute outfits. Vaughn thinks I’m beautiful when I’m plain and boring. I don’t need to doll myself up for other men. His palms slide up the outer sides of my thighs and he urges the dress up to my hips. When he starts to pull down my panties, I let out a nervous laugh. “Not here, Vaughn,” I hiss, my throat heating with embarrassment. His eyes become hard in the mirror. He pinches my tit through the material causing me to yelp in pain. My eyes well with tears. From time to time, he gets rough with me but it usually ends with him kissing away the hurt and being super sweet. He grabs a handful of my hair and yanks my head back. His hot breath tickles my ear as he spits out his word. “Here.” His other hand yanks my panties down my thighs. When he starts to bend me forward, I fight against him. What if someone hears and they kick us out? Crack!

My forehead slams against the mirror and I black out. When I come to, he’s fucking me from behind. A massive headache is thundering in my head and my sex hurts from not being wet when he entered me. With shaky hands, I press them against the mirror and push away to regard my face. Blood trickles down from the left side of my forehead down over my eyebrow. A wave of dizziness washes over me. I start to collapse but Vaughn’s powerful arm holds me up. He grunts and then pulls out at the last minute. His cum shoots against the dress as he hisses in pleasure. I can’t look at him. What he just did is… That’s rape, right? My boyfriend just raped me? Again. Bile creeps up my throat and a tear slips out of my eyes. I’m still staring at my haggard face when I hear fabric ripping. He shreds the dress as he pulls it from my body. I would be horrified but I’m too dizzy to think too hard about it. He twists me around so I’m forced to look into his cold eyes. They quickly soften as he uses the red dress to wipe away the blood from my wound. It’s his tongue he uses to wipe away my tears. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his hot breath against my cheek. He trails soft kisses to my parted mouth. His kisses are sweet and apologetic but I’m numb. I don’t understand why he keeps doing this to me. “I…I…why?” I ask, a sob caught in my throat. He leans his forehead against mine and strokes my hair. “Sometimes I love you so much I lose my head. My mind turns black.” His simple confession has me softening. He loves me. I sort of thought he did, but this is the first time he spoke of it. “Vaughn…” “Babe,” he whispers as he hugs me tight. “Let me love you. Don’t fight it at every turn.” I sag against him. My heart hurts because the person who is able to single-handedly destroy me is also the person to fix me. I’m warm and safe in his loving embrace. “You hurt me,” I accuse, more tears leaking out. “I’m sorry. You know that.” He pushes his hand into his jeans pocket and retrieves a pill. “Here,” he coos. “Take this to take the edge off.” I’m not one to do drugs but my head is throbbing and my heart aches so badly. I open my mouth and swallow the acrid pill dry. He’s gentle as he helps me redress. Him being tender right now is almost as worse as him being rough. He once again wipes away some lingering blood with the dress that got us into this mess and then pulls my hair down in front of my eye to cover the wound. “So pretty,” he praises. He tosses the soiled dress onto the floor, and I’m thankful I won’t

have to ever look at it again. With a firm grip on my elbow, he guides me out of the dressing room. Several women shopping stare at us as he all but drags me through the store. We start to pass by the racks of red dresses and bile rises up. Thank God I won’t ever have to look at them again. But then he jerks one off the rack before hauling me over to the register. The cashier won’t make eye contact as she rings up the dress. “I thought you didn’t like it,” I murmur, tears once again threatening. He releases his death grip on my elbow to pull out his wallet. “But you look downright fuckable when you wear it, baby,” he says with a wide grin that an hour ago would have made me crazy with need. Now all it does is make me shudder. “Thank you,” I breathe. The cashier makes a sound of disapproval but I don’t meet her stare. I can’t. I’m ashamed and embarrassed. If my mother knew he treated me this way, she’d probably kill him. The medicine begins to work its way through my system on my empty stomach and the room spins. When I wobble on my feet, Vaughn chuckles and pulls me against him. “I’ve got you, Letty. I will always have you.”

CHAPTER TWELVE GRAYSON

AFTER I PAY and give the clerk the address to my office, I search for Violet. Her eyes are haunted as she stares straight ahead. She’s stiff-shouldered and her skin is pale. What the fuck? I stalk over to her and kneel right in front of her. Her pretty brown eyes are lost. Those plump pink lips are positively kissable, but she’s in a zone. Trapped in a memory. I know far too well how that feels. It fucking sucks. I cradle her face with my palms and tilt her head to look at me. “Violet, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Her eyes shimmer with tears, and a sound of despair groans from her throat. Without thinking, I press a kiss to her cheek and then her nose. Then to her forehead against a pale white scar. When I drag my nose against hers, her breath hitches. Our mouths are so close to kissing it makes me crazy. “Gray,” she murmurs, her voice so damn soft. I pull away and regard her with a frown. “What just happened?” Her entire body shudders as shame crosses over her features. She darts her gaze past me while she worries her lip between her teeth. “Nothing.” Fucking liar. I refrain from rolling my eyes. Instead, I indulge her. “Okay,” I say with a sigh. “Let’s go grab some lunch.” She doesn’t balk when I take her hand in mine and guide her out of the store. I want to take her someplace nice but the nicest place at the mall is a Mexican restaurant. Thankfully, they find us a round booth in the back corner away from everyone. I’m able to sit close to her with my hand still clutching hers. I hate how zoned out she is. Whatever her past holds, I intend on shaking it out so I can inspect it. Someone hurt her. And I will hurt that someone. It isn’t until after I’ve ordered our food and drinks that she seems to snap out of it. Her hand tries to pull from mine, but I grip it.

“You’re okay,” I assure her and give her hand a squeeze. “You’re safe now.” Her eyes dart to mine and her cheeks blaze red. “Oh my God. I am so sorry for that.” “Panic attack?” She bites on her bottom lip and shrugs. “Something like that.” I let out a heavy sigh and reach forward for a tortilla chip. “Friends open up to one another.” This time, she’s the one letting out a heavy breath. “Some things are better left locked up in the past. Some monsters belong there.” I’ll free her monsters. Because once they’re free, I can find them and kill them. “What’s his name?” I probe. She shudders and jerks her hand from my grasp. “He was nobody.” “He was somebody. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s the reason you go to great lengths to protect yourself. That shitty cash-only apartment is one of those ways.” Her body stiffens. “Vaughn.” The name on her lips is like ice. Cold and bitter. Whoever this Vaughn fucker is has hurt her badly. I need to know how he hurt her so I can fix it. “Was he your boyfriend?” She darts her head toward the rest of the restaurant and skims the growing lunch crowd as if she’s searching for someone. When she doesn’t find said person, her body relaxes. “Ex, yeah. Things didn’t go well toward the end.” I want to ask her more but don’t want to sour our date. “Do you have any family?” My sudden change of subject has her jerking her head up. Tears swim in her eyes and her bottom lip quivers. “My mom.” I smile at her. “Feel free to elaborate.” She smirks, and I’m glad to see her mood lighten. “She gave birth to me.” “Smartass,” I growl. A cute laugh escapes her. She grabs for a chip and shrugs again. “I don’t know. She’s just Mom. Works at a diner back home. I love her and miss her dearly. Haven’t seen or spoken to her in years.” “Did you have a falling out?” I probe. She bites the chip and shakes her head. “More complicated than that. I just wanted her to be happy. And with me”—she sighs—“it was impossible.” I can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it because she starts babbling about some real estate news she read about this morning in the paper. I focus on her face. A storm brews in her brown eyes, but she keeps it at bay, her face a picture of calm. Those juicy lips move

rapidly as she speaks, and I want them. All over my body. Between my teeth especially. My gaze drops to her slender throat. I imagine suckling the flesh there and turning the cream to crimson. Would she pant softly or moan my name? My cock throbs in my pants. One day I will have her. But my Violet is like a frightened stray. I need to feed her with affection and gain her trust before I slap a collar on her and declare her mine. “So what does Gwen do for a living?” I jolt from my daze and scowl. “She’s an artist.” Her brown eyes light up with excitement. “Really? That’s amazing.” I down my water glass to keep the violent words from spewing. “Yep,” is all I manage. “Now look who’s being vague and strange,” she admonishes softly. When her palm rests on my thigh, I stiffen. Everywhere. I turn to look at her, and she stares at me with an expectant look. “Gwen has issues.” She frowns, and I like the way her forehead crinkles between her brows. It makes me want to rub the wrinkles away with my thumb until it’s smooth again so I can kiss it. “Feel free to elaborate,” she throws back at me with a smirk. “She’s a lot like our mother. Mom is clinically depressed.” And clinically insane. “The depression bleeds into all aspects of her life.” Her eyes dart over my face in confusion. “But she’s so sweet and…” Her nostrils flare. “Normal.” A harsh laugh escapes me. “Is she?” We’re silent for a moment before I rest my hand on hers that still sits on my thigh. “She’s on one of her highs right now. The lows are dark and abysmal and fucking scary.” Understanding flashes in her eyes. “I suffered from depression years ago.” I quirk up a brow and my full attention is back on her. Her cheeks and throat have turned pink again. “After him?” I ask. She gives me a clipped nod before turning her head back to the increasingly crowded restaurant. Her gaze sweeps the room for a moment before she looks down at her lap. “He did a number on me.” White-hot anger surges through me and it takes everything in me not to slam my fist on the table. I hate this fuck, whoever he is. I’ll find him. Until then, I’ll find out what I can about him from her. “You’re safe now,” I assure her. I fucking dare him to even look at her. She snorts and her tone is cold. “I will never be safe.” I’m about to drill her with more questions, but the server brings us a giant sizzling plate of chicken and steak fajitas to share. The rest of lunch is light and easy as we share not only food but also laughs. Once lunch is over, and we’re walking back to the car, she lets me hold her hand again. I

know I told her we’d be friends but I can barely refrain from pushing her up against the closest wall, tearing a hole in her yoga pants, and fucking her until we offend everyone at the mall. My cock likes this image because it thickens in my slacks. I swear all I do is get hard in her presence. “I can’t believe the weekend is nearly over,” she groans once we’re back on the road. “My boss is a real prick.” I smirk and shoot her a smoldering stare. “I bet you’ll find that once you get to know him, he’s not so bad.” I don’t miss her smile before my attention is back on the road. She lets out a sigh and stares out the window. I like how serene she is right now. Most of the time, she’s wound up tight. But not now. Now, she’s relaxing and letting me look after her. As it should be. “Do you want to change before we go to my house?” She laughs. “Am I really coming over?” “As if you have any choice in the matter. Once Gwen and Gray Maxwell hook their claws into you, you can’t get away,” I tease. “Friends aren’t really our thing so when we make one, we don’t like to let go.” Her chuckle is sweet, but I can tell she likes the idea of being our friend. I like the idea of my cock deep inside her wet cunt better. Baby steps. Once outside her ghetto building, she runs upstairs. While she’s gone, I pull up the Internet on my phone and start scouring the web for anything to do with Vaughn. Without a last name, I’m helpless. I’m still grumbling fifteen minutes later when Violet returns. Her brown hair is down and even the glum rain clouds can’t take away her shininess. The gold strands in her hair glisten and sparkle just like her. My gaze falls to the scoop neck of her dress. She wears a leather jacket over the jade-colored dress. Her black boots and tights complete the sexy look. Her eyes are darker with mascara and her pretty lips shimmer. My cock aches for attention, but she’s stolen the show. I can’t look away from her. She pops open the door and laughs. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.” Don’t mind if I do. I’ll wait until you’re asleep and naked, though.

THE GIRLS CHAT on the sofa as the game drones on. My gaze is fixated on Violet as she chomps on some pretzels. Gwen came through and made enough food for an army. I’d be annoyed about her wasting so much food except that cooking is something that draws her out of her rooms. Those rooms are a chain keeping her from total freedom. When she cooks, she’s free for a little while. My phone buzzes, jerking my attention from my woman.

Bull: That fumble was bullshit. I barely register that the football game is on. Me: I slept under her bed. His response is immediate. Bull: WTF. You have issues. I snort and my eyes find Violet’s. She’s drawn her attention from my sister’s babbling to regard me curiously. I flash her a panty-melting grin that makes her throat flush red. When she turns back to Gwen, I reply to Bull. Me: She’s so fucking beautiful. I’m going to make her mine soon. Bull: Fuck. I dart my eyes back over to her and my gaze lingers on her creamy thighs that are visible now that her dress has ridden up. I’m dying to taste her there—to taste her everywhere. Bull: Maybe you should call Elisha. You’re losing touch here. I grumble and tap out my response. Me: Elisha is nothing compared to her. Nobody is. Bull: Why can’t you just date her like a normal person? Is it necessary to stalk her? Me: I’m trying. And until then, yes. She stands and asks Gwen where the bathroom is. Gwen directs her, and I stare after my woman as she walks away. Her ass is round and fucking delectable in her dress. Bull: You do realize if she ever finds out, you’re fucked. Like seriously fucked. Like you could lose your company and go to jail fucked. I smirk. Me: She’s worth getting fucked over. He responds with the hand flipping the bird emoji. Gwen starts cleaning up her mess in the kitchen, so I stand and shove my phone into my pocket. I stalk down the hallway because I want to steal a moment alone with Violet. She’s been teasing me in her sexy little dress all night. But when I approach the bathroom, the door is ajar and she’s not inside. Fuck. I rush into my room first because I worry I’ve left my chest open. Once I realize it’s still locked, but she’s not there, dread fills my chest. Oh, God, no. I take off down the hall to the other side of the house. The side I never want Violet to see. No other woman I’ve ever brought home has dared leave my bedroom or the living room. They were there for one reason only. But since Violet is here “as friends,” I guess she’s taken it upon herself to explore. “Violet,” I holler as I stalk down the long hallway of my giant house. There’s a reason

why Gwen stays on the other side. When I near her rooms, the stench hits me. I hardly ever come over here, and the housekeeper has been forbidden to step foot past my bedroom. Bile creeps in my throat when I find that one of the doors is open. Her bedroom. The fucking worst. I pull my shirt up to cover my nose and mouth. Violet stands just inside the doorway. Her entire body is frozen stiff as she stares. “Fuck.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN VIOLET

GRAY’S VOICE is muffled as he curses behind me. My stomach roils as I take in the scene before me. Madness. Absolute chaos. I’m so shocked because the other parts of the house are immaculate and pristine. But this…this is sick. “Violet,” Gray hisses as he grabs my elbow. I jerk my arm from his grip and stare at the dump. Dump is a nice word. It’s an absolute shithole. I’d barely gotten through an episode of Hoarders once a few years back. After they found a dead cat under some debris in an old woman’s house, I shut it off and scrubbed my bathtub until I could see my reflection. This is worse. The stink is sickening. Rot. Mildew. Sour…something. Yuck. The potato skins I ate moments earlier, before I went exploring, threaten to make a reappearance. From floor to damn near the ceiling, this room is piled high with junk. Not just junk but trash. Trash! Somewhere in the middle of the chaos is a bed. Shit has been piled up on the bed as well. Only a small portion remains uncovered. Where that person sleeps. Whose room is this? “Gwen,” Gray mutters as if to answer my unspoken question. He told me she was sick, but not like this. This is something else. I see something run across her bed and I let out a scream. A strong hand covers my mouth from behind. I’m dragged out of the room and the door slams shut. The stink lingers in my nostrils, and I feel like I’ll throw up at any second. I fall limp in Gray’s grip as he retreats quickly down the hallway. I expect him to drag me back to the living room but instead, he pulls me into what must be his bedroom, hence the familiar masculine scent. I inhale it in hopes of ridding my nose of the disgusting stench from Gwen’s room. My body trembles and he hugs me tight against him. With my back pressed against his chest and his strong arm around my middle, awareness prickles through me. Slowly, he peels away his hand from my mouth. “I’m sorry.” Guilt rushes through me. “I-I overreacted.” He nuzzles his nose against my hair and groans. “You didn’t. It’s…it’s not something that people besides her and I see. I didn’t prepare you. It’s disgusting. I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“Things were living there,” I hiss, my voice quivering on the line between hysteria and calm. I’m pretty sure it was a big mouse but I can’t be certain. “I know,” he growls. “Trust me. I pay a fucking exterminator to come out every week to try and deal with it.” “You pull it all out and throw it away. That’s how you deal with it,” I exclaim. He releases me, and when I turn to look at him, his palms scrub over his handsome face in frustration. “If it were that easy, the shit would have been hauled away a long time ago. This is…this is something she’s learned. It’s been ingrained in her since birth.” I frown at him when he stalks over to a chest in the room. He sits on it and then regards me with a despondent look. “Our mother is worse,” he murmurs, shame coating his features. Big, powerful, neat-as-hell Grayson Maxwell is surrounded by a family of hoarders. “Your father?” I ask, my voice soft. He shakes his head. “He’s the cause, honestly. Mom always collected things in our basement. But when Gwen got sick, she started trying to record and save all her moments. Both of them became obsessed with collecting things. It drove my dad crazy. He ended up spending more and more time at his apartment in the city near his office. Eventually, he never came home.” My stomach roils when I imagine his mother’s house. How could it be worse than that? “So, they’re divorced?” He sighs. “No. He paid off the house and always saw to it that she had enough money.” He pauses and his eyes shift away, but I don’t miss the storm brewing in them. “She won’t ever leave the house, though. I’ve taken over paying utilities and sending groceries to the house. Dad won’t come see her. They’re married, but he hasn’t seen her probably in twenty years.” I gape at him. I suppose everyone has skeletons in their closets. His are apparently full of hoarded skeletons. “She needs help,” I tell him softly. “That can’t be safe.” He stands and prowls over to me, anger written all over his face. I flinch when he raises his hand. The action makes his hard features crumple. Vaughn has ruined me forever. “She used to see a therapist each week but eventually got angry with Dr. Ward and quit going. We’ve tried everything. At first, it was just her room. Then, she took over two more rooms. I refuse to let her take over anymore. Sometimes, she brings her things to Mom’s. They find room in that shithole somehow.” I swallow and close my eyes when he touches my cheek. His other hand grips my hip and he drags me closer. I love that his masculine scent is quickly chasing away the horrible one from Gwen’s room. He rests his forehead against mine, and it grounds me. Something about this guy affects me. His mouth is so close to mine, and if I were to tilt my head up, I’d be able to kiss him. I

want to kiss him. But a kiss will lead to more. I’m certainly not ready for more with him. “I should go,” I murmur, trying to ignore the way his thumb rubs my hip. “I wish you didn’t have to.” I place my hands on his firm chest that I’d love to explore more and push him away. “Can you take me please?” I bite on my lip and frown. “And please don’t tell her I…saw.” He shakes his head. “I won’t. It would send her into a tailspin that I can’t afford to mentally deal with. I have too much else on my mind.” It reminds me that he’s a successful businessman who spends his day acquiring hotels and businesses left and right. But a small part of me hopes that I’m also on his mind. “Let’s go then,” I breathe out. His gaze falls to my lips and he clenches his jaw before nodding his agreement.

I WAKE up in a cold sweat. And naked. Why do I keep undressing in my sleep? Am I sleepwalking again? Dread consumes me. It’s been years since I’ve had the night sweats where I would find myself in various places around the apartment. What’s triggered this? Is it Gray? I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself to sleep. But then I hear it. A ping. I jolt upright in bed and still my breath. Then a creak. Holy shit. The hair sticks up on the back of my neck. Someone is in my house. I slide out of bed and snag my gun from under the mattress. I keep it loaded and ready to fire. Once I have it in my grip, I call out in a shaky voice. “Who’s there?” Thud. Thud. Thud. The footsteps are heavy and a scream gets lodged in my throat. He’s coming for me. It’s Vaughn. He’s here and he’s going to drag me back home with him by my hair. No! I stumble backward until my bare ass hits the wall with the gun wobbling out in front of me. It’s dark aside from the moonlight pouring in from the open curtain. The front door swings open and crashes against the wall before slamming again. My heart jackknifes in my chest. I bolt through the apartment and then twist all the locks into place. As soon as the last one engages, I start to cry. He was here. It had to have been him.

I’m panicking. I don’t know what to do. I can’t call the cops because he’ll kill me and my mother. That was something he always told me he would do. At times, I didn’t care about me, but it wasn’t fair for my mother. My hand trembles, but I keep hold of my gun while I hunt for my phone. I dial Gray and pray he’ll wake at this ungodly hour. He answers on the fourth ring, his voice thick with sleep. “Yeah?” “G-Gray, h-he was h-here,” I sob as I start frantically turning on every light in the apartment. He growls. “Who?” “V-Vaughn. It had to have b-been him. I heard him s-slam the door shut when h-he left.” My teeth begin to chatter as another jolt of fear slices through me. “Lock yourself in the bathroom and don’t come out until I call to tell you I’m there,” he instructs as he shuffles around. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” We hang up, and I rush to the bathroom. I yank my robe off the hook and sling it on before locking the door. Twenty minutes feels like twenty years. But in sixteen minutes, a loud bang on the door causes me to scream. Gray: I’m here. I toss the phone down but I’m still too afraid to relinquish my gun. I unlock the bathroom door and run to the front one. Once I peek through the hole and make sure it’s him, I disengage all three locks. When I barely have the last one unlatched, Gray’s pushing in with a frantic look on his face. “Violet,” he hisses as I all but jump into his arms. He’s warm and safe and here to protect me. That’s what friends do. “It’s okay, baby,” he coos. “I’m here now.” His voice cloaks me like a safety blanket. He pulls away briefly to lock up the apartment and to gently pull the gun from my grip. Then, he wraps an arm around me and guides me to the sofa. Together we sit, and I practically crawl into his lap seeking security. “Tell me everything that happened from start to finish,” he tells me, his voice tense. I launch into how I woke from a nightmare and heard a sound. I leave off the embarrassing fact that I don’t know how I got naked. I’m certain it wasn’t Vaughn who got me that way. He wouldn’t have been able to undress me and resist touching me. I’d have awoken with his cock deep inside me if it were him that had taken off my clothes. That was all me. “The nightmares are back and now…” I trail off and shudder. “And now what?” he questions, his fingers finding my chin to tilt my head, so I can see him. His handsome face is screwed up in concern as he regards me. I get lost in his fierce, icy-blue gaze before my eyes drop to his mouth. “Vaughn is back.” “Vaughn who?” I shudder just thinking about him. My eyes close, but then I see him staring at me with

hate in his eyes so I quickly reopen them. “We can’t go to the cops,” I whisper. “He’ll kill my mother. He’ll kill me.” His eyes bug out of his head for a moment before a murderous scowl washes over his features. “He won’t touch you, but I want his name.” When I start trembling again, Gray grabs my hips and guides me farther into his lap. The lines of friendship are blurring because I straddle him over his thighs. His palms cradle my face as he searches for answers. “Brecks. His last name is Brecks,” I murmur. “He can’t know where I am. Ever.” A quake ripples through my body as another sob catches in my throat. “Come here,” he growls and slides a hand to my ass to pull me closer. The silky robe hardly hides the fact that I’m naked. His palm remains on my butt as he rubs me in a comforting way. I bury my face against his neck. God, he smells delicious. My breasts are pressed against his firm chest, and it feels good to be against him like this. His other hand rests on my bare thigh and he runs circles with it just under the robe. My entire body starts quivering for a different reason. The adrenaline coursing through my body has channeled into something else. Something hot and hungry. “How do you think he got in?” I question, my breath hot against his flesh. His cock begins to harden beneath me, sending ripples of need coursing through me. I’m pressed against his very impressive length in his jeans. “Those locks are cheap and easy to break into,” he tells me huskily. “I’ll call my locksmith we use for the office tomorrow and have your door fitted with something impenetrable.” I sit up so I can look at him. His blue eyes have darkened with lust. I wonder if mine mirror the look. He lets go of my ass and boldly tugs at the rope holding my robe together. It falls open and a gasp of shock rolls off my tongue. “Gray,” I murmur in warning. He arches a brow and it makes him ten times sexier. “What?” he questions, feigning innocence. A smile tugs at my lips. “Friends don’t try to undress friends.” He chuckles and it warms me all the way to my core. I find my eyes fixated on his full lips. “I need to kiss you,” he admits, his voice thick with desire. I dart my eyes back up to his. “A kiss isn’t what friends do either.” His fingers slide to my neck and he curls them around the back of my head. “Maybe I don’t want to be friends. Maybe I want to take care of you in so many ways that go beyond friendship.” When I’m tugged forward, I start to protest with my palms against his chest. But then his other palm cups my breast in a gentle, reverent way that has me whimpering. I end up meeting him in the middle and pressing my lips against his. The kiss is soft and sweet at

first. All it takes is one moan from me and he slides his tongue into my mouth, seeking something deeper. My clit throbs with need and my nipples ache to be touched. As if he has direct access to my thoughts, his thumb rubs across my erect nipple, causing me to shiver. “I see you, Violet,” he murmurs against my mouth, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip. “I see you.” His words turn me on. After so many years of existing as a mere shadow—in his shadow —I love that I’m in his spotlight. Shamelessly, I grind myself against his erection, which makes him groan with pleasure. “Gray,” I moan as I rock against him. “We should stop.” He laughs and it reverberates down to my core. “Why would we want to do that?” “Because we’re friends,” I try but then decide I like kissing him better than talking. My mouth devours his. His palm slides down my side, dangerously low on my stomach, and my breath hitches. “Friends can still fuck,” he growls. I let out an embarrassing sound when his thumb grazes against my clit. The pleasure from such a simple touch sears through me like hot fire. He massages my clit in a slow torturous way that has me jolting with each movement. An orgasm decides to take hold of me out of nowhere. And, holy hell, is it delicious. Electric pleasure shudders through me just as he pushes a finger inside my wet center. The sudden intrusion coupled with the high of my orgasm sends another orgasm right on its heels. I throw my head back and cry out in pleasure. When my body stops shaking, he slips his finger back out and leans forward to press a kiss between my breasts. The tickle of his hair reminds me of Vaughn, and I scramble away from him with a scream falling from my lips. I don’t toss a look his way until I’m safely on the other side of the couch. He still sits with his powerful legs slightly spread apart and his erection blatantly obvious through the denim. His hair is messy—I must have grabbed hold of it at some point—and his chest heaves. The lust in his eyes is enough to almost have me crawling back into his lap. “I-I can’t,” I mutter, tears threatening. He reaches over and clutches my bare ankle. “It’s okay.” His gaze darts to my bare chest before he clears his throat and pulls his hand away. “I’ll stay over tonight to make sure he doesn’t come over again. Do you have a pillow and a blanket?” I swallow and nod as I stand. With quick movements, I tie my robe back up. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.” My eyes drop to his erection, and I frown. He laughs. “I’m fine, little quitter.” Heat and amusement glitter in his eyes, effectively diffusing the awkward moment. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.” I locate some bedding and practically throw it at him before shutting myself in my room. As soon as the lights are turned off and I’m back in bed, I slink out of the robe and slip a hand between my thighs. I’m still soaked from the orgasms he gave me. I run the wetness up between the lips of my pussy and let out a hiss of pleasure. I still tingle but all he did

was make me crave more. Silently, I massage myself into one more orgasm. I hope he didn’t hear his name as it shamelessly moaned its way out of my mouth. The more time I spend with Gray, the more I like it. Is this his plan? To woo me into staying at the company? I have less than two weeks to get my head back on straight and focus on my career. Not men. Not my past. My future. T-minus twelve days…

CHAPTER FOURTEEN GRAYSON

“GRAYYYY.” The way she said my name last night behind her door had driven me wild with lust. I’d already been jerking my cock for relief under the blanket so when I heard the moan, it sent me over the edge. We’d been so close to fucking, but then something spooked her. “New client I want to talk about later, once my assistant gathers some more information when she gets here,” Bull grunts from my doorway. I wave him in. “Close the door.” His brows furrow together as he shuts the door and stalks over to the chair in front of my desk. Violet isn’t due for another half hour. I left her house early this morning upon her demand. She was back to her fierce self and promised she’d shoot anything that came through her door. The only reason I left her was because it wasn’t Vaughn who had been in her house. It was me. I’d been rifling through one of her other closets when I heard her voice. She didn’t rouse when I slipped into her apartment. She didn’t wake when I undressed her. And she didn’t wake when I rubbed her pussy while I jerked off. Again. It was like the night before. Until it wasn’t. I’d almost been caught. “What is it?” Bull asks. “She almost caught me.” His features darken. “Under her bed?” “I was looking through her front room closet. She thought it was Vaughn, her ex. Apparently, he was quite a psycho,” I growl. Bull laughs. “She really knows how to pick ‘em.” I flip him off. “Fuck you. I’ve already called the locksmith to change her locks out, but, man, she was terrified. I want you to call Dusty and have him see what he can drum up on Vaughn Brecks. Everything, no matter how big or small. I want to find this fuck.” All humor is wiped from Bull’s face. We only call our ex-military buddy, Dusty, for emergencies when we need info on a big client. This is a fucking emergency.

“You’re taking shit far,” he says with a groan and tugs at the knot on his tie. “I know. I want her. I want all of her. We have a connection. Both conscious and subconscious. Her body responds to mine. We belong together,” I clip out. His eyes regard me almost sadly for a moment before he shakes away the look. “Fine. I’ll check it out. Be careful.” I nod and then let out a heavy breath. “I also want you to shake down every sick fuck who has put his hands on Violet and bring them to me.” His eyes widen. “Like her entire life?” I growl. “Here.” He clenches his jaw and nods. “I have a couple of names right off the top of my head. I’ll get you a list starting with our VP, Brent Adams.” “I want him gone. And the fact that there is a ‘list’ has me wanting to go fucking postal,” I seethe, my hands fisting tight. Who the fuck is Brent Adams, anyway? “I’ve mentioned it to you before but—” I glare at him. “What?” “Do you remember when I fired, Jack Langston?” The name rings absolutely no bells. “He only worked here for three years,” he tries. I shrug. “Don’t know him.” “Well, I saw him slap Letty’s ass once in the break room, so I canned him. To save her from embarrassment, I told the employees he got a job elsewhere.” “Her name is Violet,” I growl. He holds his hands up in defense. “Fine. Violet. Anyway, Truman replaced him but apparently, Clint hires shitty guys because he’s number one on the list right beside Brent Adams.” I slam my fist on the mahogany desk and glare. “I want Adams and Truman gone. But not before I talk to them.” Bull’s eyebrow lifts and he smirks. “You can’t kick their asses.” “No, but I can scare the shit out of the little pricks.” He sighs and stands up. “I guess it’s high time we cleaned house around here.” “We have eleven days to make her stay,” I tell him, my mind whirring with ways to make that happen. I’ll be goddamned if I let her go to Slante who is no better than Adams or Truman or any of these other fuckers. “What if she doesn’t want to stay?” he challenges. My nostrils flare. “That’s just not a fucking option, man.”

AFTER I PLACE an order to the flower company, I start a little recon on my own. I start with Facebook first. I sift through her friends list looking for connections and crossreference most of them as women who work for me and their friends. Nobody traces back to the town where her mother works. I’d looked up the diner name on the paper I found in her closet. My Violet is far from home. Vaughn Brecks doesn’t come up on Facebook but he does have a rap sheet a mile fucking long. Mostly for drugs, assault and battery, and pimping and pandering. My blood pressure rises as I wonder if he pimped Violet out. The thought makes me borderline fucking crazy. I’m going to find this guy and make him bleed. Unfortunately, he’s not showing up anywhere when I try to hunt him down. No addresses. No legal jobs. Nothing. And he isn’t dead because there isn’t any record of that either. He’s flying low under the radar. But now that I have my sights on him, I’ll find him. I’ll put my crosshairs on his motherfucking head and blow his brains from here to Connecticut. After I send an email to Dusty with what little info I have, I check on an Amazon order I placed this weekend while I was chilling under Violet’s bed. I have a surprise coming in today that I paid expedited shipping for. Now that she’s practically mine, I want to shower her with everything. Love. Attention. Gifts. Cum. People start filing in. Normally I don’t notice them but today I have my door open. I’m waiting for her. It’s been just an hour since I’ve last seen her, and I’m going nuts. This weekend she was semi-casual and I’m dying to see her in some sexy office attire. Goddamn, I need this woman. My ears perk up when I hear the name Truman outside my door. A douchebag-looking motherfucker stops to talk to Clint from HR. They chuckle and discuss last night’s game. When a woman walks by, Truman’s narrowed gaze follows her ass. Rage bubbles up inside me. Violet was right. This place is crawling with sexist pigs. Because of me. Had I laid down the law in the beginning, these assholes would know how to act. But since they know they can get away with this shit—because human resources clearly doesn’t have a fucking issue —they continue to abuse the situation and my female staff. They abuse my Violet. I stand from my chair and fist my hands. Bull is going to gather the men and we’ll have a big fucking meeting later this afternoon. Until then, I need to let Truman feel my fury. I stalk out into the hallway. His gaze turns from leering to friendly as he regards me. “Mr. Maxwell,” he greets with a grin. Clint turns and stares at me, shock in his eyes. “Sir.”

I tilt my head to the side and size up Truman. Clint is a pussy because he murmurs that he has work to do and retreats. Truman, the dumbass, opens his mouth like we’re fucking chums. We. Are. Not. Fucking. Chums. “I need coffee,” I clip out, my voice short but calm. He frowns at me in confusion. “What?” “I need coffee,” I repeat, stepping into his personal space. “I need coffee now.” His stupid beady eyes dart over to Violet’s empty desk. Before he can open his mouth and say something stupid, I growl startling him. “I need you to make my coffee. You, Truman.” A flash of anger flickers in his eyes. “Don’t we have people for that?” “Two scoops of sugar. One scoop of creamer,” I seethe, my chest bumping against his. “And don’t forget a dash of cinnamon.” His jaw clenches as his eyes challenge me. I fucking dare him to challenge me. Finally, he bites back his reply. “You got it, boss.” He storms into the kitchen and starts slamming shit around. A smile tugs at my lips but it turns full blown when I hear the clack of heels. I jerk my gaze to see my gorgeous, confident woman striding into the office. Her long, brown hair is like pure silk hanging in front of her perky breasts. She’s paid a lot of attention to her makeup today because it’s perfect—like she’s headed for a photo shoot at a magazine, not work. My gaze roams down her sexy little body. Today, she wears a white button-up blouse that hugs her round tits and is tucked into a slate grey pencil skirt that seems a tad shorter than the one she wore Friday. I drag my eyes along her long legs to a pair of snakeskin stilettos in the same shade as her skirt. When I finally find her eyes again, she’s smiling. Goddamn, she’s beautiful. “Did you need something?” she asks with an arched dark eyebrow. “Coffee perhaps?” The challenge in her voice gets my dick hard. “You don’t make coffee anymore,” I growl as I prowl toward her. Panic briefly crosses her features, almost as if she fears she’s in trouble. She’s in trouble for not giving me her pretty pussy last night. But I’ll punish her later with my tongue. As far as this job goes, she’s doing much more than I ever realized. I quickly analyzed the data she collected on the Collins property, and it helped me with some decisions that needed making. Violet is smart—too smart to be making coffee and answering the phone. And as if a light bulb goes off in my head, I know what I’ll do. Later. It is the answer to a lot of my problems. “Gray,” she murmurs when I near. Her brown eyes do their own little field trip down my body. I’d worn one of my expensive suits to impress her. It fits well and shows off my build. I need to drive her just as fucking crazy as she drives me. “You look good, little quitter,” I say with a lopsided grin. She laughs and waves me off as she starts for her desk. “Back at ya, Gray.”

Pride fills my chest as I follow her. The skirt hugs her ass perfectly. My fingers twitch to grab the hem and slide it up to her hips so I can see which panties she’s wearing. I’ve pulled them all out of her drawers and inspected them. I have my favorites—favorites that I didn’t steal for my own personal Violet souvenir collection in hopes that I’d get to see her in them one day. “What is this?” she asks suddenly, drawing me from my thoughts. “Mmmm?” She snaps around and glares at me. Her pert nose flares with anger. I bite the inside corner of my lip as I stare at her pouty parted lips. God, I need those lips like I need air. They tasted like sweet honey when we kissed last night— “Gray,” she hisses. “Focus.” Focus. Focus. My eyes are on hers. Locked. She’s in my sights. And I’m coming straight for her. I’ll obliterate her heart. She’s my target and I’m the motherfucking bullet. Mine to pierce and lodge myself into. “Gray.” Her voice is softer this time. Those dark brows are no longer furled in anger. They pinch together in concern. “Why did you buy me a chair? I thought this was for you.” I flash her a smug grin. “You practically fell asleep in it. Why do you think I had you test it out? Just don’t go falling asleep on the job. My methods for waking you up are…” I scratch at my jaw with my finger and narrow my gaze at her as I lick my bottom lip. “Unconventional. Probably illegal.” Embarrassment paints her cheeks and throat as her eyes quickly dart around to make sure nobody heard. I simply shrug. Who’s going to tell on me? I’m the fucking owner. “Gray,” she murmurs, her voice thick with an emotion I want. Something that my ears equate to need and lust. I want to bathe in the way she says my name. “I’ll be leaving in less than two weeks. You shouldn’t have bought me a chair.” As if cold water splashes me awake, I jolt at her words. “Nonsense. The chair you had was crap. You deserve it.” Her cheeks turn slightly pink as she sets her purse down on the desk. “You shouldn’t have.” “I did,” I challenge in a low tone. She flashes me a smile that makes my heart nearly thud out of my chest. When she sits

down and leans back, she lets out a sigh of approval. “Okay, so maybe you should have like six years ago.” I smirk and sit down on the edge of her desk. “After you get situated this morning, we’re having a meeting.” Her brows crash together as she frowns, and I instantly hate the loss of her smile. “What sort of meeting?” “One that’s long overdue,” I tell her with a sigh. “Sir,” Truman grits out as he approaches carrying a steaming mug of coffee. “As requested.” I don’t miss the slight intake of air from Violet. Pride fills my chest that I’m already making changes that will make her happier. And making this dipshit do menial tasks will make her fucking giddy. “Thanks,” I grumble as I accept the coffee. I take a sip and it kind of sucks but at least she didn’t have to make it. “Oh…” Annoyance flits in his eyes but he wisely clenches his jaw to keep those words locked up tight. “Yeah?” “Violet needs coffee this morning too.” His nostrils flare as he regards her. “How would you like your coffee?” She sits up and leans forward plastering on a bitchy smile I’ve never seen before. “I take Splenda in my coffee, sugar.” I narrow my eyes at her. I know for a fact she doesn’t take her coffee that way, but something tells me she’s saying something that is intended to piss him off. And, boy, does it work like a charm. He lets out an angry huff and storms away. Her smile turns into a beautiful one I’m familiar with and her brown eyes glitter with triumph. I love this look on her perfect face. “Let me guess,” I say, my eyes lingering on her pouty lips I’m desperate to nibble on. “Truman likes Splenda in his coffee.” She laughs, the sound reverberating its way straight to my cock. “He’s an asshole. Serves him right.” “You let me know if he so much as gives you a funny look,” I tell her in a firm tone. “I want to know everything.” Relief morphs her features and it once again makes me feel like a fucking blind prick. She’s been dealing with this shit for six long years. I could have stopped it. All I had to do was notice… “I’ll be in my office. Come see me when you’re settled,” I instruct before stalking unwillingly away from her.

“YOUR MOTHER WANTS you to stay with her so she can look after you,” my father

says from in front of the hospital window. His arms are folded across his chest and he refuses to look at me. “Dad,” I grunt, wincing at the never-ending fire that seems to rip across my back each time I move, despite the fact I’ve been here for weeks recovering. “I can’t go there. You know I can’t.” He turns, a heavy sigh on his lips, and regards me with disdain flickering in his eyes. It’s a direct blow to my heart. No matter how hard I’ve tried to become my father—to fucking please him—it’s never enough. I’m never enough. “Well, I sure as hell don’t have the time to take care of an invalid,” he snarls, his normally cool features screwed up in anger. An ache forms in my chest but I ignore it. “We can hire a nurse. Please don’t make me stay there. You’re never there anymore and—” “Because I have to work my ass off to provide for this ungrateful family!” he roars. I blink at him in shock. My newest nurse, Sasha, peeks her head in and asks if I’m okay. Once she’s gone, I glare at my father. “She’s not ungrateful,” I hiss. “She’s sick. You need to call a therapist.” He huffs and shakes his head. “Your mother isn’t sick. She’s just a shopaholic and she babies you kids. It’s not a sickness, it’s a personality flaw.” I tremble as if I’ve been struck by him. “She loves us. Last time I checked, loving your children and husband wasn’t a personality flaw. It’s called ‘normal.’ But what isn’t normal is you staying in the city all the time. Gwen doesn’t understand.” Guilt flashes in his eyes for a brief moment. My baby sister just turned five and is sickly. Mom tries to say it’s something to do with her body but my father always argues that it’s my mother’s filthy housekeeping that’s making her sick. Regardless, nobody has discovered yet what it is that’s making her ill. “Gwen is just a girl. She doesn’t understand these things,” he grits out. “But I’m not. You don’t explain anything. Why won’t you come home to them?” His lip curls up slightly. “I already told you. My company is in the city. It’s timeconsuming. I don’t have time to run home at every turn and take care of them. I’m able to take care of them financially so that’s what I do. Your mother doesn’t need a therapist, she just needs her own space.” “Dad, it’s a cop out,” I snap. He glares as he storms over to me, his finger wagging in my face. “Don’t come at me acting like you know everything, Grayson. I’ve been married to that woman for over two decades. Trust me when I say it works better this way. She can do…she can buy…she can collect whatever the hell she wants, and I can work. We stay out of each other’s hair and everyone is happy. Nobody needs fucking therapy.” I stare up at him in disbelief. How can he even convince himself that all but abandoning Mom and Gwen is okay? Mom’s becoming more and more obsessed lately with online shopping. She buys all these things to make Gwen happy. Together, they pick stuff out

online and act so fucking happy when shit comes in the mail. But it’s weird. It’s not normal. And it’s starting to collect. “We’re a family,” I murmur. “We’re supposed to stick together.” He growls. “You’re a grown man now. Discharged from the military due to your injuries, sure, but you have a bright future ahead of you that doesn’t have to involve the military. You’re smart and you’ll continue your education. I did what I could to set you down the right path. Gwen is your mother’s problem. They’re too much alike. I’ll never know how to handle that little girl. It’s high time you accept they’re happier just the two of them and eventually move on with your own life.” “A life that doesn’t involve you,” I clarify, my voice shaking with anger. “You want Mom to nurse me back to health only for me to abandon them just like you did once I’m well? Just making sure that’s what you want me to fucking do, Dad. Will that make you proud? A chip off the old block—” Fire explodes across my back as my father strikes me. An agonized scream rips from me, and tears roll out of my eyes on their own accord. Dad stares at me in shock for a moment upon realizing what he just did. I writhe in excruciating pain as he stalks out of the room, barking at a nurse to come see me on his way out. Fuck you, Dad. Fuck. You.

“GRAY,” Violet grumbles as she steps into my office, dragging me from my memory. “You sent me flowers? And a Kindle?” I shake away the dark thoughts and grin at her. “Do you like them?” Her plump lips purse together as she closes the door behind her and leans against it. “This is too much. You’re going overboard.” She lifts her chin in a brave way—as if she’s been practicing this little speech all morning. I stand from my chair and drink in her appearance. I could stare at her shiny long legs for hours. Run my tongue along the smooth flesh— “Focus,” she snaps, her hands finding their way to her slightly curved hips. “You can’t do —” she waves her hands around her for effect “—whatever it is you’re doing here. People will notice.” Who gives a fuck if people notice I’m finally appreciating her for all that she is? “Listen,” I say as I stalk over to her. I love the way her breasts jiggle beneath the fabric as she takes in a harsh breath of air. “I owe you. I owe you so much.” Her body relaxes when I reach her and cup her jaw with my hand. I love how small she feels in my powerful grip. Soon I’ll be able to worship every perfect part of her from sun up to sun down. I step closer to her until her full breasts brush up against my chest. My thumb strokes along her jawline as I look into her big brown eyes that no longer hold fury in them. There’s heat flickering but it’s the kind of heat that I want to get burned by.

“I’m going to kiss you,” I murmur, my eyes dropping to her now parted lips. “I’m going to kiss every part of you one day.” A small mewl rattles from her chest. “Gray…” I rub my nose against hers and inhale the lingering coffee scent on her breath. I want to know if she tastes as good as she smells. “Is this harassment? Is this unwanted?” “N-No,” she admits. “I like this. Too much.” My lips brush against hers, and she grips the lapels of my suit jacket as if to ground herself. I’ve got you, little quitter. I slide my free hand to her hip and press my hard body against her soft one. When she lets out a small moan, I drown it with a kiss. A soulconsuming kiss. My tongue dives into her mouth. I expect hesitation or resistance. Instead, her tongue eagerly meets mine. She kisses me back just as hungrily. My cock is hard as stone in my slacks and I can’t help but press it against her, so she can feel just what she does to me. This sends another pleased moan rippling from her. I take it as an invitation to grind my erection into her stomach as I kiss her deeply enough to steal her breath. “We shouldn’t,” she whimpers, turning her head to break our kiss. I smile as I go for her neck instead. I nip at the flesh and then run my tongue up to her ear, enjoying the way her body trembles in my grip. “You know we should.” “I can’t have sex with you here,” she utters, her voice but a whisper. I chuckle and nip at her earlobe this time. “When I take you for the first time, it sure as hell won’t be a quickie in my office. I’m going to pin you down in your bed and give you so many orgasms you’ll forget your name. And then, I’ll slide my cock inside your wet cunt.” She lets out another strangled sound. “You’re so confident I’ll sleep with you.” I grin and pull away so I can look at her. God, she’s so fucking gorgeous. “I’m confident your panties are soaked.” At this, she arches a sculpted brow at me. “Confident, huh?” “You’re practically trembling with the need to fuck me,” I assert with a shit-eating grin. She rolls her eyes. “And if my panties are not ‘soaked,’ then what?” “Your panties are soaked. But if they aren’t, hypothetically, I’d say I’d owe you something.” “Lunch, perhaps?” she challenges. I laugh because either way, I’m winning. “Of course.” With fire in her eyes, she grips my wrist and guides it to her thighs. Our gazes stay locked as I take over on my path to her drenched panties. I kneel down on one knee and look up at her to make sure she’s still okay. Her swollen-from-our-kiss lip is captured between her teeth as she watches me with hunger dancing in her eyes. I lean forward and inhale her. From this position, I can smell her arousal. My cock is

going to rip through my slacks at any moment. “Lift your skirt,” I command, my voice husky. She grabs the hem of her skirt with each hand and slowly inches it up, baring more creamy flesh to me. Right before she gets to her pussy, she stops. “This is going too fast,” she breathes. I shoot her a smoldering glare. “Not fast enough.” At my comment, she smirks and her confidence returns full-force. She slips the skirt up past her pussy to her hips. When I drag my gaze from her pretty browns to between her legs, I stare in shock. “You played me,” I growl, my eyes fixated on her smooth bare pussy. “You were so sure of yourself,” she says with a laugh. But her amusement dies down when I grip her thigh and place it over my shoulder. “W-What are you doing?” I slide a finger along her wet slit and tease her clit softly. “I’m about to get you back.” A moan rushes from her the moment I push a finger into her tight body. Now that her skirt is scrunched up on her hips, she abandons the material to grip my hair. Slowly, I fuck her with my longest finger. Her body reacts beautifully. So fucking responsive. She seems to quake and tremble with the slightest of my movements. I wonder how she’ll respond when I’m buried deep inside her cunt and tearing at her smooth flesh with my teeth. I’m desperate to taste her, so I lean forward and use my free hand to spread her pussy lips apart. My tongue is on a mission to annihilate her with pleasure. The moment it runs across her clit, she nearly collapses. Her grip tightens in my hair. “Oh, God,” she chokes out. “Gray…” I suck on her clit and begin an assault on her that makes her seem to drip with more arousal. The moment I hook my finger inside her and graze her G-spot, she cries out loud enough for people to hear. I don’t give a fuck, though. This moment is worth whatever consequences may follow. I suck on her clit and revel in the way she explodes with pleasure. I don’t stop my tasting and sucking until she starts wobbling. Then, I pull my finger from her and stand quickly to capture her in my arms. Her slender arms hug my middle, and I don’t miss the way she inhales me. “Did you like that?” I question with a smile and kiss her soft hair. She nods. “That was so bad. We shouldn’t have done that here.” “I do what I want around here,” I tell her with a chuckle. “There’s so much more I want to do with you. You just have to let me.” “I wasn’t exactly fighting you off just then,” she says with an annoyed huff. “What’s gotten into me?” I slide her skirt down her hips and back in place and then press a kiss to her pouty mouth. “Not me. Yet.” She laughs at my crude joke and gives me a small shove. “I’m here to work. Not…” “Get your pussy eaten by your boss?” I quip.

Her brown eyes widen and her cheeks and throat blaze crimson. “Yeah, that.” I hold my hands up in surrender but flash her a conspiratorial grin. “You ready to get to work now or do I need to make you come one more time?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN VIOLET

I’M FLUSTERED and hot and turned on. I can barely focus on the file in front of me as Gray happily rambles on about land values. Two hours ago, he went down on me. In his office. At work. And I let him. I’m mortified but mostly I can’t stop replaying it in my head. He was so good at it. His tongue and—my God those teeth—knew exactly what they were doing. I remember enjoying oral sex with Vaughn but I’d been half fucked up out of my skull whenever he’d do it. This was different. This was real. I enjoyed every second of it no matter how wrong the location was. “I can see someone’s a little distracted,” he says with a smirk from across his desk. At having been caught, I feel my cheeks heat. “Sorry. I was just thinking about lunch.” He gives me a knowing wink before leaning forward. “I could eat again.” “Honestly, Grayson,” I huff but I can’t keep the smile off my face. “You’re so crude!” His chuckle is warm and reverberates its way to my core. “I’ve been called worse. Seriously, though, what’s wrong?” I miss the way your lips kissed mine. I was thinking of how the inside of my thighs are raw from where your cheek stubble scratched me. My pussy has been throbbing ever since you gave me that orgasm. “Nothing.” He reaches across the desk and takes my hand. “I want to do that again soon. Your taste is addictive, little quitter.” A couple of days ago, I bristled at the pet name but it’s starting to grow on me. Especially coupled with the words before it. “I think I want that too.” My eyes drop to our hands that are now threaded together. “I want so much more than that too, though,” he tells me, his voice deep with insinuation. I chance a glance at him. His icy blue eyes are sharp and focused on me. I love the way he

seems to zero in on me. It’s as though I’m his primary focus. After everything that went on with Vaughn, you’d think I would be opposed to that kind of attention. But…apparently I have issues because I like it. “How much more,” I breathe, unable to refrain from baiting him into more naughty words. His eyes drop to my lips. “For starters, I can’t wait to feel those pouty lips around my dick. I’m not sure your little mouth can even take my cock.” He flashes me a smug grin that has my thighs clenching. “And I can’t wait to strip you bare so I can taste every inch of your flesh. I want to run my tongue along every dip and curve you own. I want it in every single hole.” My eyes widen. I’d done anal plenty of times with Vaughn, but I never had his tongue in my ass. The thought both disgusts and delights me. “I also can’t wait to spread your sexy thighs apart so I can look at your needy cunt. I bet it’ll always drip for me,” he muses and scratches his stubbly jaw with his free fingers. “I know you’ll want me to wear a condom, because you don’t know me, but I’m fantasizing right now about how you’d feel bare. I bet my cock would slide right into your tight pussy and you’d come just from the way I stretch you out to capacity. I can almost see your juices running down my shaft and—” “S-Stop,” I breathe and squirm in my chair. “I can’t think about that right now.” “My dick inside you?” I let out a sharp breath. “Yes. Oh my God. Stop talking about it.” My voice sounds whiny but really it’s because I’m needy for all those things too. “Please.” His blue eyes darken with lust, but he nods. “We’ll pick this conversation up later tonight.” The promise of pleasure sends excitement coursing through me. “Later,” I agree with a smile. “Now let’s talk numbers.”

AFTER FOUR HOURS of me showing Gray my many ideas on how to improve not only the way he does things, but the company overall, he announces he’s taking me to lunch. He stands and then offers his hand to help me out of the chair once he’s rounded his desk. I take it but immediately hate how affected I am by his touch. All thoughts dissipate as he becomes my only thought. My mind reels with all of the things he said earlier—all the things he wants to do to me. God, how I want them too. He guides me over to the door, and when I attempt to pull my hand from his, he turns to frown at me. “What’s wrong?” “We can’t leave this office holding hands,” I tell him, my voice shaky. He scowls. “And why not?” “Because you’re my boss!” I’m pulled against him, and he attacks my lips with his. Within moments, I’m lost in his deep kiss. He eventually pulls away and regards me with a dark expression that sends a

chill skittering down my spine. “Fuck all of them. You’re mine.” His lips are back on mine. Owning me. The possessiveness rippling from him should scare me. I should be running for the hills. How is it that I find myself attracted to these severely intense people? He’s not like Vaughn. At least I hope not. “Listen to me,” he murmurs against my lips as he strokes my hair in such a reverent way I think I might melt. “I’m going to take care of you now. Just let me in, baby.” God, how inviting that sounds. “This is all too much,” I whisper. He drowns out my words with a kiss that has me dizzy and weak. Once I’m putty in his hands again, he nuzzles his nose against mine. “You deserve everything. It’ll never be enough.” Years and years of loneliness threaten to tear my heart wide open. For the first time since I ran from Vaughn, I feel the desire to be with someone else. I don’t have to be so hard and guarded around Gray. Around him, I feel relaxed. Safe even. And considering Vaughn could be stalking me at this very moment, I am glad to have Gray’s presence cloaking me. “I’m scared,” I admit with a frown. “And Vaughn could be—” A growl silences me. “He is not a threat to you. Not while I have a say in it. You have to trust I’ll take care of you.” I stare up at his serious blue eyes. His jaw clenches as if he truly believes he has the power to protect me from my psycho ex. I almost laugh because Vaughn will stop at nothing. I hope to God it was an intruder from my crummy building who broke into my apartment, and not him. If it truly was my ex, I’m more than screwed. Even big, powerful Gray wouldn’t be able to save me. “How about we start with you buying me lunch first?” I tease in an attempt to lighten the mood. Intense is good in the bedroom. But sometimes intense is too much for everyday life. I worry Gray has those same tendencies as Vaughn. The obsessive ones. However, Gray doesn’t share the empty, soulless gaze Vaughn always had. Gray’s eyes dance with secrets and curiosity about me and desire. I feel like those are normal for a budding relationship between two people. And they probably mirror my own. “Lunch first,” he agrees with a bright grin that has my thighs clenching. “But I’m holding your fucking hand.” I’m still laughing at his fierceness as he drags me out the office door. He’s on a mission, but my eyes lock onto Truman’s, who happens to be standing near my desk. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head in disgust. Gray doesn’t notice him and hauls me out of the building in no time. Once we’re outside, he slings an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side as we head down the sidewalk. It feels good being like this with someone. It’s hard for me to believe that a few days ago, Gray didn’t even see me. Now, I feel like I’m all he sees. I’m not stupid. They don’t call him Mad Max for no reason. But his eccentricities are endearing now that I’m

on his radar. “Where are we going?” I question as we stroll down the street. “Someplace good.” His tone is sure and smug. I can’t help but laugh. When we walk up to Ziggy’s, the city’s most popular pizza parlor, I stop in my tracks. The heavenly aromas of garlic and other deliciousness invade my senses. “Ahh,” I groan and glare at him. “You’re so mean to tease me with this place. You know we can’t get in. There is always a three-hour wait.” I gesture at the long line of people wrapped around the building to make my point. He chuckles as he grabs my hand. “Good thing I know people.” “No,” I gasp, excitement flitting through me. “Tell me you can get us in.” He steals a chaste kiss and waggles his brow. “I can get us in.” I squeal all the way past the line, ignoring the annoyed glares, and nearly die when we step inside. The place is small with only a few booths lining the walls. Every seat is packed except a booth in the corner. When he starts for it, I panic a bit. “Are you sure?” “Positive,” he tells me, flashing me another smug grin. We slide into the booth together on the side that faces the wall, rather than the crowd of people, with me on the inside and him on the outside. “Someone was probably waiting for this booth,” I tell him, my nerves still eating me alive. “The owner was,” he says with a shrug as he grabs a menu from the table. “We should go then—” “I’m the owner.” I jerk my head to gape at him. The shit-eating grin he wears so well is sometimes annoying. Okay, so it’s not annoying at all. What’s annoying is how I melt every time he does it. “You own this place?” “And this is my booth. Bull and I come here all the time. They know to keep it open for me,” he tells me, mischief glittering in his gaze. “Wow,” I utter and steal the menu. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” His palm rests on my thigh just below the hem of my skirt so that his fingertips graze my sensitive flesh, sending quivers of desire dancing through me. “You have no idea, little quitter.” The rest of lunch goes amazingly well. He wasn’t lying when he said he owned the place. The wait staff knew him and seemed eager to please him. We were brought Gray’s favorite items, as well as a few things I wanted to try. By the end, I was stuffed. “I’m so full,” I groan and pat my stomach. His palm covers my hand and he leans forward, his hot breath on my ear. “I could still eat.” Desire washes through me and I squeeze my thighs together. “You’re crazy,” I breathe but

don’t stop him when he slides his palm under my skirt, between my legs. His mouth kisses me slowly along my earlobe and along the side of my neck. All of his touches are making me lose my mind. “I wish we didn’t have to go to work,” I admit as I tilt my head to the left to give him more access to my throat. “We can go home,” he suggests, his teeth grazing along my tender flesh. God, how I want to. “Baby steps,” I remind him just as his fingertip grazes along my pussy. I jerk my gaze over to see if anyone can see us. From our position, we’re hidden from prying eyes. Which is exactly why I find myself parting my legs. A mewl escapes me the moment his finger is back inside me. “Too fast,” I tell him. “All of this is too fast.” He sucks on my neck and then presses a soft kiss to my skin. “I can’t slow down with you. Everything in me screams to devour you. I won’t stop until I’ve had all of you, Violet.” His finger slowly fucks me, which drives me borderline insane. My entire body shakes with the need to orgasm right here in a restaurant full of people. He’s corrupting me. “Gray…” I bite my lip to hold back a moan. “Give me what I want,” he growls and then flicks his tongue at my ear. Coupled with his hot breath in one of my most sensitive places and the way his finger owns me, I come like he wants. I come hard and not-so quietly. Thankfully, the restaurant is fairly loud and my sounds are drowned out by forks clattering on plates and people talking. When I come down from my high, he slides his finger out of me and drags my wetness along the inside of my thigh. “I’ll clean that up later,” he assures me before pressing a kiss to my cheek. I’m in a daze as he pays the tab. Nobody is aware this man—my boss for less than two more weeks—just fingerfucked me in this booth. I’m almost giddy from my orgasm and the fact that we just did something super naughty. Gray appears cool and composed whereas I feel as though everyone in the restaurant knows what we were up to. He takes my hand, his finger still wet from my juices, and tugs me from the booth. His blue eyes are dark with lust and hunger. I wish I could repay the favor. Tonight. I shiver at his promises. He wants to continue this later. In my bed. I’m nearly delirious with the thought of having sex after so long. After everything that happened back then, you’d think that I’d be opposed to sex. And maybe, for several years, I was. But after some intense therapy, I was able to work through the things Vaughn made me do. I’m normal again. “What’s wrong?” Gray questions once we’re back outside. The sky has darkened as a storm starts to brew. Wind howls between the buildings and I shiver. His brows crush together as he shrugs out of his suit jacket and wraps me up in it. It smells just like him, and I inhale the masculine scent. “I was just thinking about…” I trail off. He stops and pulls me up against a building to block the wind. His palm cradles the side of

my neck as he regards me with concern. The look in his eyes causes my heart to flop. I could easily fall for Grayson Maxwell. “We’re friends,” he tells me, his eyes searching mine. “And we’re going to evolve into more. We already are. I want you to tell me things.” I swallow and chew on my lip for a moment to draw up the courage. “It’s horrible.” “There are things about me that are horrible. Tell me.” My curiosity is piqued but I decide I’ll probe more on his horrible secrets later. “Vaughn… he…he prostituted me out.” Gray’s face becomes murderous. “He fucking did what?” My bottom lip trembles as I desperately fight tears. I’d gone so long without even thinking about it regularly. But just saying it out loud, to someone other than my therapist, makes it all come crashing back down around me. “H-He made m-me have sex with men for m-money,” I chatter out. I’m not cold, just overcome with emotion. He pulls me to him in a brutal hug that sucks the air out of me. When he starts whispering assurances into my hair as he strokes my back, I collapse in his grip. Gray is strong and fierce and holds me against him so I don’t fall on my ass. “I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him.” He chants this over and over and over again as if those words have the power to heal me. And magically, they do. I feel myself latching on to the furious way he says them—so sure and confident—that I believe him. I believe if he has the chance, he’ll do it. God, how I want him to. But Vaughn is a ghost when he wants to be. Nobody is taking him out. Not even the beautifully intense man who is holding me together. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” he demands suddenly, pulling back slightly so he can see me. I tilt my head up and admire his chiseled jaw and fiery eyes. His nostrils flare and if he grits his teeth any more, he might break them. “Mostly it was just sex. And on the occasion when someone hurt me, he hurt them.” I shudder. “I just…I didn’t want to do it.” More tears well in my eyes. I feel dirty and used and disgusting—just like when I confessed it all to my therapist. But instead of seeing pity or sadness, like I did in her eyes, I find hate and vengeance in his. “I’ll find him and I will end him, Violet. I swear it on my own life,” he vows in a low growl. “Oh, sweetheart.” His forehead rests against mine and we both close our eyes. Despite unloading one of my most embarrassing secrets, I feel better. Lighter and freer. “Thank you,” I murmur, my voice catching. “For what?” I let out a sigh. “For everything. You’re slowly chipping away parts of me that I didn’t realize were weighing me down. Thank you for that.” His palms find my cheeks and he tilts my head up again to look at him. “You deserve to be free of all of it. I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen.”

He presses a soft kiss to my mouth. Everything is going too fast, but somehow I can’t find it in me to care. I’m getting sucked into his vortex but I feel like that’ll be okay because he’ll keep me in the eye of his storm. Nobody will hurt me as far as Gray’s concerned. And what if the storm becomes too intense? I’ve survived much worse.

AS SOON AS we got back from lunch, Gray got caught up on a phone call so I busied myself with some cost analyses. Despite him telling me I didn’t have to make him coffee, I can’t help but notice the time. A scheduled coffee time. And normally, I’d resent every second of having to go into the breakroom to make it for him. Today is different. I want to make him a cup of coffee. He has been nothing but good to me since I turned in my notice Friday. Doting and attentive. A good friend. And…more. A smile tugs at my lips as I walk into the breakroom and pull a mug from the cabinet. When heat cloaks me from behind and two hands rest on the countertop on either side of me, I let out a surprised squeak. “I see you’re back to doing your job,” Truman seethes. I freeze and glare at him over my shoulder. “Get away from me.” His eyes are manic and furious. Terror claws its way up inside me, but I squash it down. He is not Vaughn. Nobody will ever be as frightening as Vaughn. “So help me if you don’t step away from me, I’ll scream bloody murder,” I threaten. He pins me against the counter and his mediocre erection presses into my ass. I’m stunned for a moment as to what to do. “You scream and I’ll deny everything. You think they’ll believe the office slut who’s clearly banging the boss to get out of doing her damn job?” I elbow him in his gut and he stumbles away. When he starts for me again, I twist and crack the coffee mug against the side of his face. We both stare at each other for a long moment in surprise. Then his fingers touch his eyebrow. The moment he pulls them away, I realize they are smeared with blood. “You fucking hit me,” he hisses in disbelief. I grip the handle of the mug and ready myself to use it again. “You fucking touched me,” I bite back. I’m still pressed with my ass against the counter and my arm poised to swing if necessary when I sense a comforting presence. My senses are right because a second later, Truman is shoved away from me. “What the hell is going on in here?” Gray thunders, his body between Truman and me. With his back to me, I can’t help but feel as though he’s chosen this stance as a protective

one. My heart cracks and breaks because I can’t take his kindness. It’s too much. Too addicting. I’m going to crave it like an alcoholic needs her booze to survive. I want to get drunk off him. To let him hold me and fight all my battles that I’m too tired to fight anymore. “She hit me,” Truman accuses in a venom-filled tone as he snags a paper towel from beside the sink. “With a coffee mug.” “Boardroom,” Gray booms. “Both of you.” I stiffen and want to choke Truman when he shoots me a satisfied smirk before he storms out of the room. Once he’s gone, Gray turns his murderous attention on me. I almost cower beneath his hard stare, but soon he softens and strokes my cheek. “You okay?” he questions, his blue eyes assessing me. I nod and hold up the mug. “I had a little help from my friend.” “I’m so sorry.” His apology is a knife to my heart. It guts me. “He got handsy and threatening. I took care of him,” I tell him, confidence bleeding back into my voice. “This is not your fault.” His fingers run through his messy hair and he growls. “It is but I’m going to make up for it. I swear.” Then, his gaze falls to my lips for a moment. “Let’s get to the boardroom.” “Am I in trouble?” “Fuck no,” he snarls. “We have a meeting. A meeting you’re going to want to be a part of.” “What?” I stare at him in confusion, but he grabs the mug and sets it down, his gaze narrowing. “You won’t be needing that because you have me.” His lips quirk up on one side in a sexy, playful way. “Now come on.” I let him take my hand, no longer concerned about people seeing. I won’t be here after two weeks anyway. Besides, he’s the owner. What are they going to do about it? I smirk at Clint from HR when I pass him in the hallway. I grow nervous, though, when we enter the boardroom. Eight men are seated around the table. The eight men I hate most at this company. But then my eyes lock with Jeff’s—or Bull as Gray calls him—and he gives me a reassuring smile that has all the air in my chest rushing out in relief. He’s one of the few I don’t hate. Gray pulls out a chair at the head of the table—his chair—and motions for me to sit. All eyes are on me as I take my seat. I flit my gaze up to him and give him a questioning look. Instead of answering me, his voice thunders as he addresses the group. “You all were called here today because we have something very important to discuss. But first, I want to ask you all what Violet Simmons does for Maxwell.” His voice is low and deadly. Jeff winks at me before turning to regard Ralph Darden at his left. “What do you think, Ralph?”

Ralph huffs and shrugs. “She’s a secretary. Grayson’s secretary.” Gray crosses his arms over his chest and walks over to Ralph. “Wrong.” At this, I scrunch up my nose in confusion but I don’t dare interrupt. Whatever it is that’s going on, I know Gray has my back. He wouldn’t treat me the way he’s treated me all weekend and today to suddenly throw me under the bus. “She does special favors for the CEO,” Truman quips, disgust in his tone. Gray’s fist slams so hard down on the table beside Ralph, it’s surprising that he doesn’t break his bones or the table. Everyone gapes at him in shock. Then, he places both palms on the mahogany and leans forward to glare at Truman from across the table. “That,” he clips out in the coldest tone I’ve ever heard, “is sexual harassment.” Truman’s eyes widen in surprise and Ralph starts to protest. “No!” Gray thunders. “You all will listen really well. Jeff and I became aware that many of you are sexually harassing our employees. Specifically, Violet Simmons. And in case you didn’t know, sexual harassment will not be tolerated at my company.” Clint peeks his head in the doorway and clears his throat. He looks scared as hell. “That’s right,” he says in a wobbly voice. “According to our HR policy, many of you have violated the rules.” “This is ridiculous,” Ralph hisses. “Just wait until the board hears—” Jeff slides a piece of paper over to Ralph. “Actually, the board already knows. The motion has been approved to remove you via telephone conference earlier today. As of now, you are no longer an active board member.” “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Brent Adams, the VP utters. Gray rises to his full height and pins the VP down with a vicious glare that has him hunching in his chair. “I don’t joke about sexual harassment.” Brent has the sense to shut his mouth. His face turns bright red. I have to bite back a smile. That asshole has been one of the biggest thorns in my side here. “Ralph, you may leave,” Gray says dismissively. “As far as the rest of you, you’re fired.” A roar of arguing voices all start up at once, but Gray once again silences them with a fist slamming down on the boardroom table. “This is not up for negotiation. Clint and Mr. Barker will handle it from here. I want you gone within the hour,” Gray hisses, his fiery glare meeting each and every one of them. Truman, the arrogant prick, just can’t leave well enough alone because he stands abruptly and points an accusing finger at me. “Sexual harassment isn’t okay but it’s okay for this bitch to suck you off in your office. Double standards, man.” Gray starts around the side of the table, a loud growl rumbling from him, but Jeff stands and blocks him. “Enough, Truman,” Jeff bellows. “Talking shit after you get fired isn’t changing the fact that you no longer work for this company.”

Gray shoves past Jeff and pulls my chair out before offering me his hand. Once I’m standing, he addresses Clint this time. “Violet is now our VP. That is what she does for this company. I’ll send you an email with the details, but understand this,” he tells the wide-eyed HR guy. “She is your boss. You report to her. And if any more of this sexual harassment bullshit slips through again, it’ll be your job next.” He gapes at Gray but nods like a bobble head. “Yes, sir.” I’m still in shock, even after we make our way back to his office and he closes the door. “What just happened?” He stalks back and forth in front of his desk like a caged lion. “I did what I should have a long time ago.” I swallow and stand in his path. His solid chest bumps against mine. A hot glare is affixed on his handsome face. When I reach up and run my fingertips along his jawline, his gaze softens. “I don’t know what to say,” I murmur, my lips tugging into a frown. “There’s nothing to say,” he says gruffly. His palm finds my shoulder and he grips me gently. “They shouldn’t have lasted as long as they did.” “But me? I don’t know, Gray…” I trail off. Why promote me right before I leave anyway? “You’re more qualified for that position than anyone in this damn office,” he argues, his jaw ticking. “Won’t they think…that…I don’t know…” “That we’re fucking?” I gape at him. “We’re not, though.” His eyebrow quirks and he flashes me a smoldering grin. “Not yet.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN GRAYSON

I’VE BEEN COUNTING down the minutes till five ever since I fired a bunch of losers and promoted my girl. And like the hard worker she is, she’s taken her new responsibility seriously. She’s been tapping away at her computer for hours now. I’ve been trying to focus on work-related shit, but my mind keeps drifting back to lunch. It had been perfect. I got to taste her—willingly on her part—before lunch and then had my finger back inside her before lunch was even over. I’d been looking forward to the moment I’d have her alone until she broke apart on the street. That motherfucker prostituted her out. I will put my crosshairs on his goddamned forehead and blow his head off. “Is murder on the agenda today?” Bull questions in a teasing manner from my doorway. I shrug. “Maybe.” His eyes widen and he closes the door behind him. “I was kidding, but apparently you’re not. Who are we killing?” I can’t help but grin at my best friend. Always willing to go into battle with me no matter what. “Vaughn Brecks.” He stiffens and gives me a clipped nod. “Thought so.” He drops a file down on my desk. Dusty’s familiar handwriting is scrawled on the outside. Three possible addresses. I flip open the file and stare at the pictures inside. “He took these photos?” I demand, a menacing growl in my throat. He shakes his head. “No, but he’s doing more digging. The first address is the one he thinks he’s at. A guy fitting his description comes and goes from there.” “Anything else?” “Not as far as that fucker is concerned. Mostly, I wanted to check to see how you were doing. In that meeting,” he says thoughtfully as he scrubs his cheek with his palm, “you weren’t yourself.” I frown and cross my arms over my chest. “How so?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. You were focused. Not just on her but everything around you.” Ever since Violet caught my eye, I seem to notice a lot of things. Mostly the things that

directly affect her but she seems to touch everything around her, which means I notice those things as well. “Violet makes me better,” I tell him, confidence in my tone. He smirks. “I can see that. I can see she’s warmed up to you.” “She’s mine,” I tell him absently as if that is the reason why she is no longer frigid around me. “Does she know that?” he probes, amusement in his voice. “I told her a time or two.” He snorts and rubs at the back of his neck. “Of course you did. Does she know you’re a fucking stalker?” I flip him off and he laughs. “Seriously. Does she know the depths of your obsession?” “I told her I’d do anything for her,” I grunt out. “Even kill that fuckface Vaughn.” His eyes widen in surprise. “And she didn’t run for the hills?” “Nope.” “Well, Jesus Christ, Hawk, I think you found yourself the perfect woman,” he jokes. “Goddamn right I did.” “Good for you,” he says with a chuckle. “Don’t fuck it up. Maybe lay off the stalker shit now that she’s into you.” But there’s so much more to learn about her… “Hmph.” He snorts again. “Don’t get arrested, psycho.” “I’ll try not to, asshole.” His smirk is my parting gift as he leaves for the day. I thumb through the folder and read through Vaughn’s rap sheet. He’s a fucking stalker too. The guy has more restraining orders against him than I’ve ever seen one person have. This could work in my favor… I shut the folder and hide it in my drawer. Once the drawer is locked, I grab my jacket and go look for my woman. When I find her leaned over the planter of violets I bought for her empty desk, inhaling their sweet scent, I can’t help but smile at her. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. “You ready?” She swivels around and beams at me. “Let me run to the restroom, and then we can go.” I love how eager she is to want to spend more time with me. When she’s gone, I sit down in her chair. Her phone buzzes. Sean: How about lunch one day this week to discuss some business? Same place as

Friday? I promise to be a perfect gentleman. Rage bubbles in my chest. I’m dying to write him back and tell him he’s a fucking idiot but the clack of her heels tells me she’s on her way back. With a huff, I set the phone back down. “Trying to steal my chair already?” she teases as she grabs her purse. “The chair isn’t the only thing around here I’m going to steal.” When I smirk at her, she laughs but then her smile falls as she picks up her phone to read her text. With a frown, she taps out a response. I’m dying to know what she said to him but I know I can sneak a peek later when she’s asleep. “What are we doing?” she questions as we start out of the building. I guide her to where my car is parked. “Well,” I say as I open her door, “first we’re going to go eat.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth as she regards me. “And then I’m going to take you back to your place and fuck you.” Her eyes widen, but I shut the door before trotting around to the other side. “Gray,” she hisses as soon as I sit inside and start the car. “What if I don’t want to fuck?” I flash her a panty-melting—not that she’s wearing any—grin. “I’ll convince you.”

SHE’S BEEN LOCKED AWAY in her bathroom for a good forty minutes now. After we ate a nice steak dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, I brought her back to her place. And just like I’d arranged, her locks had been replaced. I’d asked the locksmith to leave me the extra key under her doormat. I swiped that when I’d heard the shower running. While she takes forever in the bathroom, I use the time to rifle through the closet I’d been searching through last night. Coats hang from the racks and boxes line the shelves. I’d been in the process of checking the pockets when she woke up. I locate a letter in one coat pocket addressed to “Momma.” It isn’t sealed but it is addressed already. With my phone, I snap a picture of it for later investigation. I open it and read it quickly when I hear the hair dryer going. Momma, I miss you. One day maybe things can be different. You know I love you. Everything just got so bad, and I needed to get away. You know this. Of course you know this. I’ve been telling you the same thing for years. I hope the money helps. It’s all that I can afford to send, but I hope it’s enough so you don’t have to break your back every night at the diner. Love you always. She didn’t sign the letter nor did she add a return address. The money she sends away— the reason she lives in this shithole—makes more sense now. I fold the letter back up and stuff it in the coat pocket. I’m just closing the closet door when her cell phone starts ringing from the bedroom. Figuring it’s Sean, I stalk in there. The number is unknown. I answer it but don’t speak.

Someone breathes heavily on the other line and my hackles raise. “Is that you, Letty Spaghetti?” a deep voice growls. I can fucking growl too. But I don’t. “I think you’ve reached the wrong number,” I bite out, my rage barely controlled. But I’ll be damned if I let on that this is her phone. Click. I quickly block the number and delete the trace of the call from her phone. I’ve just set it down when the bathroom door opens. Violet steps out of the bathroom, a nervous look on her face. “Were you talking to someone?” “Wrong number,” I assure her. My eyes peruse her perfect body that’s barely covered by her silky robe. Her nipples are hard beneath the fabric, and I can tell she’s completely naked underneath. All the anger and fury from learning that fuckface has her number washes away as heat rushes to my cock. “Wow,” I growl. “So much wow.” A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Oh, this old thing,” she teases as she spins in a circle. My cock jolts when I see her delectable ass beneath the robe. “Come here,” I order. She stiffens and shoots me an unsure look. “Gray…” “I just want to kiss you.” Not entirely a lie. I want to kiss every part of her. My words seem to calm her because she walks over to me and tilts her head up as if she’s waiting for that promised kiss. My palms grab her gorgeous ass, and I pull her against me so she can feel just how hard I am for her. A gasp of air escapes her. “Anyone ever tell you you’re the most beautiful woman on this fucking planet?” She chuckles but I’m dead serious. I squeeze her ass as I drop a kiss to her supple lips. Our kiss is sweet at first, but soon she’s helping me peel off my suit jacket. Her palms roam up my chest and then she’s working frantically at the knot of my tie. I tug at the strings on her robe and she wiggles out of it until she’s completely naked before me. Grabbing hold of her shoulders, I push her away until she’s at arm’s length so that I can properly view her. Sure, I’ve seen her naked plenty of times over the last few days but never like this. “You’re so goddamned beautiful,” I praise and then run my tongue along my bottom lip. She chews on hers and stands there looking uncomfortable under my scrutinizing stare. I let my gaze drink up every beautiful curve on her perfect body while I rid myself of my tie and shirt. When my eyes dart up to hers, she’s staring at my chest. “You have tattoos,” she whispers.

I frown. “I do.” “I like them.” Her brown eyes are molten with lust. “I like them a lot.” Smirking, I look down at my colorful chest. Dad ingrained in me to be structured and focused, but Bull helped me rebel. He was there with me for every single tattoo inked on my chest and arms, in solidarity. I unbuckle my belt and lift an eyebrow at her. “You ready for this?” She laughs. “It’s a penis not an introduction to the president.” I let my slacks fall to the floor and step out of them. Her greedy eyes find my cock that is straining through my black boxers. “That’s Mr. President to you.” “Hmmm,” she says, amusement in her tone. “Let’s see him.” I flash her a wicked grin as I lose the boxers. When I start stroking my impressive length, she lets out another one of those sexy, needy sounds I’ve grown to love. “Crap,” she breathes. “We’re really doing this.” I lift a brow. “Unless you don’t want to.” “Oh,” she says with a wild look in her eyes, “I certainly do want to.” Releasing my cock, I step toward her and capture her face in my hands. I brush kisses along her soft lips and jaw until she’s clawing at me. My cock is hot and throbbing and ohso-fucking eager between us. When her hand reaches between us and grips my dick, I let out a guttural groan of pleasure. She’s my fantasy come to life. A dream come true. With each stroke of her hand, I feel closer to coming. So after another selfish moment of having her small hand wrapped around me, I pull away and regard her hungrily. “Get on the bed and show me your pussy.” Her eyes widen at my brazen words, but she sits down on the edge and scoots back. Once she lies back and her body is ripe for my visual tasting, I take hold of her knees and spread her apart. Her cunt glistens with her arousal, and I can’t wait to have my nose buried in it. I want to suck her taste until she can’t speak or think. “Touch your nipples,” I growl. She lets out a whimper but obeys me. I crawl toward her and inhale her sweet scent. When I drag my tongue along her slit, she jolts on the bed. “Grayyyy…” I chuckle and press a kiss to her clit. “Mmmmm?” “Oh, shit,” she breathes. “That’s too much.” I cock an eyebrow up and challenge her. “When I hum against your clit?” “Yes.” Her eyes are wild and frantic as she pinches her nipples. “Good,” I murmur before capturing her clit between my lips. I apply pressure with my lips

and let out a growling sound that no doubt reverberates to her sensitive bundle of nerves because she cries out. Slowly, I push one finger into her soaked entrance. She’s so fucking tight, and I can’t wait to feel her perfect body gripping mine. We were made to be together. Everything about this feels right. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to make her my wife. My partner. The goddamned mother of my children. Mine. “More,” she moans. I urge another finger inside her and she starts to tremble. With firm circles, I begin pleasuring her clit that’s hot beneath my tongue. My fingers slide easily in and out of her because she’s so wet for me. When I start pushing a third finger inside, she loses control. An orgasm tears through her quickly and forcefully. Her tight channel grips my fingers as she goes wild on the bed. The moment she stops shuddering, I slide my fingers out and crawl over her. My cock slides against her drenched pussy lips, but I don’t let it enter her. “Gray,” she begs, her eyes dark with lust and need. “Please.” I inch the tip of my cock in but don’t let it go any farther. I want her juices soaking me from the tip to the base. Those other men Vaughn made her sleep with didn’t deserve her perfection. She was always mine…I just hadn’t found her yet. “I want to fuck you bare,” I tell her boldly, my eyes fixating on hers. “I want to feel every hot part of you wrapped around me. I want to drain my orgasm inside of you. I want to watch it pour from your sore pussy when we’re finished.” She lets out a moan. “God, why does that sound so hot?” “Because it is,” I assure her and tease her some more by pulling the tip back out and letting it run along her clit before pushing it barely inside of her again. “It’s irresponsible.” It takes every ounce of self-control not to slam into her. “I’m going to fuck you bare,” I growl again. “We both want it. All we’re waiting on is for you to admit it.” Her body wiggles as if she’s trying to get me to slide in all the way. When her heels dig into my ass to pull me closer, it takes everything in me to fight against her. I want to hear the damn words. “I’m going to come inside you,” I murmur and dip down to nip at her bottom lip. “So fucking deep, Violet.” “This is…oh, God…” Her body trembles with need. “Beg for it, baby. I want to please you. All you have to do is ask for it.” My stubborn girl bites on her bottom lip. “I don’t know who you’ve been with…and my past is…we hardly know each other…this isn’t me…” Our eyes lock as I inch deeper inside her. My cock is halfway in her tight cunt. I almost pass out from the pleasure. I reach between us and capture her clit between my thumb and finger, twisting it just enough to hug the line between pain and pleasure. “Gray,” she mewls, her fingernails clawing into my sides. She’s losing control. This

woman is usually wound up so tight, but right now she’s unraveling fast and just for me. “I’m going to take care of you,” I assure her with a fierce growl. “Let me take care of you.” I slide the rest of the way in and my cock throbs almost painfully. I’ve never been inside a woman bare before. It’s as if I can feel every part of her. Her eyes are wild and those pouty lips of hers are parted. “Do you like this? Me inside of you like this?” I question, my nose dragging along hers. “Y-Yes,” she chokes out. “So much yes.” “You want me to fuck you so hard you scream?” I trail kisses to her ear and nip the flesh just below it. “Hmmm?” “Yes,” she whines. “Fuck me hard.” “I’m going to come inside you, Violet.” Her fingernails claw at me as she becomes positively manic. “Stop talking and fuck me. I want to feel all of you inside of me.” With a wicked grin, I slide out just so I can slam into her violently. The scream that escapes her is pure heaven. Thrust after thrust, I drive into her. I don’t neglect her needy clit either. I massage her in unison to the speed I’m pounding into her. Our mouths meet for an uncoordinated kiss that has our teeth knocking together. Neither one of us cares, though. We’re too wrapped up in our moment. I manage to pull a lovely scream from her as another orgasm crashes through her. The moment her pussy clenches, I lose control. My seed gushes out inside of her, marking her with me. She’s mine. Fucking mine. I slow down until I’m completely still inside of her. Her eyelids are heavy, and I love how red her mouth is from where my stubble scraped her. She’s completely sated and at ease. The soft, easy look in her eyes is one I could get used to seeing every day. “Come bathe with me,” I murmur as I press kisses to her parted mouth. “I want to take you again in the shower.” She whimpers and the familiar tension that always seems to have its tentacles around her tightens its grip. “What we just did…Gray, I’m not on the—” I silence her with a kiss. At first, she protests but then her mouth joins in. Our tongues aren’t interested in what’s right or wrong or fucking irresponsible. Our tongues just want to fuck each other. My cock starts to harden again but I want to take her when her soapy, slippery tits are in my grip. So instead of fucking her once more, I slip out and revel in the way my cum runs down the crack of her ass, soaking the bed. I wonder if this is how Bull feels about Sadie. The overwhelming need to consume her in every way.

I saunter off toward the bathroom. She lets out a sharp breath, but I don’t stick around to see why and turn on the hot spray of the shower. I climb inside, and seconds later, she joins me. I’m grinning at her but her brows are furrowed together in sadness. “What’s wrong?” I demand, concern dripping from my voice. She turns me to face the wall. Then, her palms skate over my burn scars on my back. I tense up which makes her hesitate. “Does this hurt?” “Not anymore.” Her palms continue to ghost over my mangled flesh. I know it’s hideous and ruined. I’m hoping she’s not turned off. “What happened?” she whispers, her lips kissing the flesh. A shiver ripples its way straight to my dick, making it bounce. “I was a sniper in the Marine Corp during the Gulf War. RPG nearly got me,” I say with a sigh. “The explosion did a number on me.” Her arms wrap around me and her cheek rests against my mottled flesh. “I’m so sorry. That had to have been horrifying.” I shrug and cover her arms with my hands. “I don’t remember the explosion. All I remember is waking up in the hospital on my stomach and being in excruciating pain. It took many skin grafts and months of recovery. A very dark time in my life.” She sniffles. “I suppose we all have dark times…they’re just different. No less terrifying.” I twist back around so I can hug her. Whatever that fucker did to her must have been bad if she’s comparing it to RPG explosions and third-degree burns. Under the hot spray of the shower, I hold her to me and stroke her hair. “I want to take you to the resort in a couple of days. We’ll miss a few days of work and stay through the weekend. When was the last time you got away?” I question. “I’ve been on vacation the past six years since I’ve lived here,” she says with a humorless laugh. I grip her chin and tilt her head up. “Working for me was no vacation.” “But I was free of…” she trails off and her bottom lip quivers. “Him.” “Yes,” I agree and press a kiss to the wobbling lip. “But when was the last time you splurged and spoiled yourself?” “Never.” “Which is exactly why we’re going on Wednesday.” She doesn’t get to argue anymore because I grab her tiny ass and lift her. My mouth covers hers in a hot kiss as my dick slides into her. I’m going to show her over and over what it means to be spoiled. T-minus eleven days…

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN VIOLET

I WINCE as I sit in my new comfy desk chair. The chair may be comfortable but it does nothing to ease the ache between my legs. It’s all Gray’s fault. Last night, he fucked me until I kicked him out. I needed sleep, and if he stayed in my bed, neither of us would get it. God, did he ever fuck me, though. Life after Vaughn has been cold and difficult. But last night, I was on fire. Everything was easy. For once in a really long time, I relaxed and enjoyed myself. A little too much. With a grunt of frustration, I dig around in my purse to locate the morning-after pill I bought on the way to work this morning. I’m praying to God he’s clean because we had sex carelessly four times without a condom. I quickly down the pill with my water bottle and put my purse away. Heat creeps up my neck as I steal a glance toward his office. The door is closed, and I can hear Jeff’s deep voice booming on the other side. Whatever they’re talking about doesn’t seem like it’s good. Once my computer is finally powered up, I find I have two emails waiting for me. The first is from Clint and the second is from Gray. I ignore Mr. Fuck-A-Lot and open the important one. Clint’s sent me a Word document, listing all of all my new duties. I already do everything on the list each day, aside from manage people. After I reply to him that I received it and save it for easy access, I open Gray’s email. Violet, Last night was incredible. YOU are incredible. I want to take you to lunch. Gray I smile because he’s pretty incredible too. After my ex, I should be hesitant to dive right into something with someone—my boss no less—so quickly, especially considering he’s extremely attentive but I can’t help myself. His magnetism draws me in. Vaughn was the same way… I squash the thought because I refuse to let my past dictate my future. Gray is generous and thoughtful and sweet. He’s not psychotic. I’ve worked for him for six long years, and

although he’d been nicknamed Mad Max for his eccentric ways, not one time had I thought he was an evil person. He’s just hyper-focused. Obsessive about his company. Driven to succeed. But not a possessive lunatic. I’m still trying to convince myself when Gray’s office door creaks open, and Jeff steps out. His gaze darts over to mine. Guilt shines in his eyes. My heart rate speeds up, and I frown at him. He gives me a quick wave in greeting before stalking back to his office. I’m still staring at him when Gray comes sauntering out. He’s scowling until he sees me. All irritation melts from his expression as his face lights up. And dammit, I feel my face lighting up too. I love how my presence seems to cheer him up. “Good morning,” I say with a smile. He strolls over to my desk and sits on the edge. When he reaches out to toy with a strand of my hair, my eyes flutter closed and I exhale a tiny sigh. His fingertips brush along my jaw and down my throat. I pop my eyes open when he touches the string of pearls my mother gave to me as a high school graduation present. “I like this necklace on you,” he praises, his dark brows pulled together as he inspects my jewelry. This necklace was the only thing I was able to take with me when I ran away from Vaughn because I happened to be wearing it that day. My heart is thundering because, God, he smells delicious and he’s touching me intimately, despite our workplace setting. Warning bells are going off inside my head because all it takes is the wrong person seeing our exchange to give me hell. Unfortunately for me, I’ve never been one to heed warnings very well and tend to float off into the deep end without a raft. Gray will save me. Once, I thought Vaughn would too. A rough thumb brushes against my bottom lip and my eyes dart to his. His icy blue eyes are narrowed as he scrutinizes me. Seconds pass by—tick, tick, tick—as I remain under his microscope. The thing with Gray is, it’s almost as if he can see right into my head. As if he knows exactly what’s running through my mind. I feel naked and exposed around him. “Are you sore?” he questions, his voice husky. His eyes flicker with heat that burns its way straight to my core. I jerk my gaze around the office but nobody is paying attention. “Yes,” I admit with a whisper. A smug grin tugs at his handsome mouth. “Good. I like the idea of you thinking about my big cock every time you sit down.” “Gray!” I hiss and once again do a visual sweep of the office for nosy co-workers. He shrugs. “What? I’m just being honest. How busy are you right now?”

This feels like a trick question, and like the naïve girl I am, I follow him right into the proverbial white van where he promises candy and puppies. “Not very busy.” “Good,” he says with a wolfish grin that has my panties becoming wet between my thighs. “I need your assistance in my office.” He stands and turns away to walk back to his room. My gaze roams his fit body that looks too perfect in a suit. It’s a good thing I’m leaving this company soon because having to stare at him each day looking good enough to eat is quite distracting. I’ll be leaving soon. Several days ago, I’d have been thrilled. But that was all before Gray finally noticed me. Guilt and indecision wars within me. He’s already done so much for me. We’ve gone from co-workers to friends to lovers in a matter of days. Grayson Maxwell is so intense that I’ve easily been swept up into his vortex. How will it feel when I finally crawl my way out? Will I be the same? Rising from my chair, I push away those thoughts for now as I stride into his office and close the door behind me. “Lock it.” His rough command sends shivers through my body. I flip the lock and regard him with my hands on my hips. “What do you need help with?” I question, my voice raw and shaky. He sheds his jacket and hangs it on the back of his chair. The powder blue dress shirt he’s wearing today molds perfectly against his skin. I can see his tattoos through the fabric and it sends another thrill shooting through me. “Gray,” I try again, my voice rising. “What do you need?” He arches a brow at me and pins me with a smoldering glare. “You know what I need.” As I choke on my words, he unbuttons his shirt at his wrist and begins rolling up his sleeve. The veins in his forearm bulge and the muscles flex with his movement. I find myself staring at his wrist of all things with my mouth watering for a taste. He continues on with the other side. Then, he begins working at the knot on his navy-colored tie. My body is about to combust. Between my thighs, my panties are drenched. Hardened nipples scratch against my bra. And an internal fire alights my flesh from the inside out. He sheds the tie and undoes the first two buttons before placing his hands on his hips to mimic my position. “I need you to look over some contracts with me. I want some advice,” he says as he strolls over to sit in his chair. I’m so dumbfounded by the quick turn of events that it takes me a second for my mind to catch up to his words. “Contracts?” I murmur.

His dark brow arches up again, and he smiles crookedly at me. “Contracts.” Then his gaze narrows as he roams my body. “You didn’t think we were going to fuck in here, did you? With everyone listening?” I swallow and shake my head before hurrying over to the seat across from his desk. Snagging the nearest folder on his desk, I snap it open and stare at the words on a page. My brain is running a hundred miles per hour. Nothing on the page makes sense. He reaches across the desk and snags my wrist. I let out a yelp when he pulls my hand to his face. Then, in a shocking move, he sucks on my middle finger. I dart my gaze to his blazing one, my lips parted open in surprise. His tongue teases the underside of my finger like he’s done on my clit which has a low moan escaping me. “Baby,” he growls and playfully bites my flesh before pulling away. “I most definitely want to fuck you. Right here on this desk. I want to make you scream. I want your pussy to drip all over these files and smear the ink. Violet, I want my cock buried so deep in your sore cunt that you beg me to stop.” Another growl. “But that’s the thing, beautiful, I wouldn’t be able to stop. I’d fuck you all day over and over. You’d be weak from all the orgasms, and I’d be worthless to run this company. Together, we’re explosive.” He kisses the tip of my finger. “Which is why the fireworks have to stay outside of this building.” I swallow and nod. “You drive me crazy with the way you talk…” “I know.” He winks and flashes me a knowing grin before releasing me. Now that I know I won’t be getting spread out over the desk and feasted upon like a Thanksgiving dinner, I can focus. Focus. Focus. Violet, focus.

“I HAD A PET BIRD ONCE,” he murmurs, his voice soft. My fingers had been stroking circles on his bare chest. “Mmm?” I look up to find him staring up at my bedroom ceiling, lost in thought. After a productive day at work, he took me out for sake and sushi. Then, we ended up in my bed where he made me come so hard I nearly forgot my name. But I didn’t forget the condom. I managed to throw one at him and even ignored his groans of complaint. The sex was amazing. This cuddling thing, though, is even better. I’d missed human connection. Simple kissing and touching. “I’d been hunting quail with my dad. We killed a mother. She left behind a squawking baby bird. My father was pissed when I told him I was going to keep it as a pet,” he tells me gruffly. “I hardly ever acted out against my father. But I wanted it, Violet. I needed it. Something about that bird spoke to me.” I smile because him caring for a little bird is sweet. “How old were you?”

“Nine.” His hand covers mine on his chest and he rubs his thumb along my flesh. “I took it home. Named it Wail the Quail.” We both laugh. “Wail was loud and needy. But I loved him. I’d marched my butt down to the library and checked out every book I could find on quails. I learned about their feeding, nesting, sleep habits. Everything there was to know about Wail, I made it my job to figure out.” “That’s so sweet,” I say, leaning forward to kiss his jaw. He’s quiet for a moment before speaking. “I loved that bird. Dad knew it.” His voice grows cold, sending shards of ice poking at me. “One day, Mom cooked a nice dinner. As we were eating, Dad not-so-kindly pointed out that we were eating Wail’s mother.” I tense and stare at him. His eyes are clenched shut and his nostrils flare with fury. I kiss him again in hopes to calm him, but it doesn’t work. A ripple of rage quakes through him. “When I stood from the table and told him I would not eat my pet’s mother, he threatened to murder Wail if I didn’t eat the meat. With tears in my eyes, I choked down that bird. Mom had mentally checked out, staring at her plate and not touching the meat she’d prepared.” His voice cracks which causes tears to well in my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. He swallows. “When I finished, I went back to my room. I’d felt so guilty and wanted to apologize to my bird but…” My heart pounds in my chest. “What?” “He wasn’t there,” he chokes out. “Wail was gone.” A tear leaks out of my eye and I sit up. My palm strokes his stubbly cheek. “Where did he go?” His eyes are hard when they meet mine. “My father said my bird stunk up our house. He killed my bird. Dad plucked the feathers and cleaned his carcass. Handed it to my mother and made her cook it up.” “No…” “She didn’t know,” he murmurs. “Always doing what he asked of her. But I didn’t eat Wail’s mom. I ate Wail.” I press a kiss to his mouth. Soft kisses. Comforting kisses. Over and over again because I don’t want him to think about his asshole father. He’s still at first, but when I straddle him to kiss him harder, he parts his mouth to meet my tongue with his. His fingers spear into my hair to guide our kiss. A moan escapes me when his hard cock rubs against my ass. When he reaches between us, I lift my body and let him guide himself into me again. My body aches from all the sex we’ve had, but this feels different. Not just fucking. Something else. I slide up and down on his thick length as my gaze meets his. Sadness lingers in his eyes, but the hunger he always seems to have for me slides into the forefront. His strong fingers find my hips. He grips them almost to the point of pain as he lifts his hips to drive into me. “Gray,” I moan as my head tilts back. One of his hands slips to my breast while the other begins massaging my clit. I ride him wildly until an orgasm is rippling through me,

causing every muscle in me to spasm. I’m trying to find the sense to slide off of him before he comes, but then he’s gripping my hips again. With hard, measured thrusts, he seeks out his own climax. And with a groan on his end, I feel his heat surge into me. Fuck. Why am I so careless with him? He yanks me to him, and I fall hard against his chest. Our heartbeats are thundering against one another through our chests. His fingers tangle in my hair as he whispers sweet nothings against the shell of my ear through my messy hair. You’re mine. I want you forever. Let me keep you. Mine. Let me love you. Forever. The words are intense and spoken quickly, but I drink them up. I greedily take them all as though I have no self-control around men like him. They offer intensity and I devour it as if it nourishes me somehow. Vaughn fed me this same way. It’s what I’m attracted to. This attraction was, at one time, nearly fatal. As my eyes drift close, my thoughts drift to the night I ran and never looked back.

“THIS WAY, LETTY SPAGHETTI,” Vaughn grumbles as he drags me by my wrist down the dilapidated hallway of the apartment building we came to. I tug at the short hem of my dress but it’s so tight it hardly moves. I settle for fingering my pearls that belonged to Momma in a nervous manner. Vaughn and I have been playing this game for months. The sane part of my brain that survives when the pills wear off tells me I’m a prostitute. This is not my boyfriend. He’s my pimp. But prostitutes get paid, don’t they? What does it make me if he forces me to have sex and I see nothing in return? A slave. It makes me his damn sex slave. Anger begins to bubble up inside me. Earlier when he shoved the pill into my mouth, I tucked it into the side of my mouth between my teeth and cheek. He’s so used to me swallowing without complaint that when he looked, he didn’t really look. Just a simple glance. I managed to pull it out on the walk down to the car and tossed it into the bushes. My brain is clear. My heart is angry. My soul is broken.

He stops in front of a door and knocks loudly. A large black man answers the door wearing a tight white wife beater, a beanie on his head, and a baggy pair of jeans that hang several inches off his hips showing his blue boxers. “V, my man,” he greets in a deep voice. “I got your money, dawg.” He pulls a wad of bills rubber banded together and hands it to Vaughn. Vaughn nods and fist bumps the guy. “I knew you were good for it, Fuzz.” The guy named Fuzz lets his gaze roam over to me. “Your girlfriend? Damn, she fine.” “Could be yours for the night if you got more cash,” Vaughn tells him. Fuzz’s easygoing features harden as he steps aside to inspect me as I cower behind Vaughn. He lets out a whistle of appreciation. “Shit, V, she’s got some fine-ass legs. Her cunt tight?” I shudder at his crude words. Normally, I’m high off my ass by the time we get to these men he sells me to. Awareness prickles through me. I wish I were fucked up right now. “The tightest,” Vaughn brags, a lingering hint of possessiveness in his tone. “How much?” Fuzz questions as he blatantly eye-fucks my tits. “How much you got?” Fuzz laughs. “You took all my money, man.” “You got any brown left?” Vaughn asks. “I got a gram or two,” Fuzz tells him, his gaze never leaving the way my dress hugs my tits. “I need it.” I swallow and gape at him. Surely he’s not selling my body for a couple of grams of crystal meth. “Come in, man, shit’s over there,” Fuzz says and points to the couch. Vaughn drags me into the dingy and trashed apartment by my wrist. Terror spikes through me. I don’t like this guy Fuzz and the way he stares at me as if he wants to hurt me. “You got twenty minutes with her,” Vaughn tells him as he sits on the lumpy sofa and reaches for the tray of drugs. “No anal.” Fuzz lets out a whistle before grabbing me from behind. I scream when I’m lifted off the floor and carried into the bedroom. Vaughn’s laugh sends ice shooting through my veins. This is an all-time low for him. So many times he’s hurt me but this betrayal runs deep. Once inside the bedroom that reeks of body odor, I’m shoved to the floor. Fuzz shuts the door behind him and starts ripping off his shirt. He’s giant and solid muscle. It’s the evil glint in his eyes that has me scrambling away. I’m halfway toward the window when he grabs me by my hair and hauls me over to the bed. The screams ripping from me are otherworldly as he shoves me over the edge of the stinky stained mattress. He rips my dress up over my hips exposing my bare ass to him.

“No anal,” he mimics as he begins unbuckling his pants. Tears stream down my cheeks and I once again try to claw my way away from him. He’s strong as he presses the back of my head down against the mattress with his massive hand. I’m squirming but it doesn’t stop him from pushing his fat erection into my dry pussy. I sob and claw my fingernails into the soiled mattress but to no avail. He drives into me brutally. His grunts and moans are like alcohol in a cut, stinging me from the outside in. “This ass is so fucking hot,” he tells me as he slams into me. “I’m going to hit it too.” I start screaming for Vaughn. Begging him to save me. Fuzz pulls out of my pussy and begins pushing the head of his cock against my asshole. Fire burns through me from the tiny intrusion. I’m fearful for when he manages to get all the way in. “V-Vaughn, p-please,” I sob. Pain, excruciating and all-consuming, explodes within me when Fuzz pushes all the way into me. I black out but the fire won’t let me go. It holds me just out of reach from passing out all the way. Some sick torturous game. I will myself to think about anything other than the brutalization but I can’t. All I can think about is Fuzz’s giant cock in my ass while my boyfriend ignores my screams. I start to truly black out when I hear a slam. Then a grunt. The pain seems to lessen the moment Fuzz pulls out. Crack! Crack! Crack! I manage to roll over to my side, wincing in pain. Vaughn has Fuzz by the throat as he slams his fist over and over again into the man’s face. “I. Said. No. Anal,” Vaughn roars, gripping Fuzz by the throat and then slamming his head into the edge of a dresser. Pop! Pop! Pop! Sickening sounds of crunching bone and puncturing flesh cause me to vomit. Bile spews all over the mattress as tears blur the scene before me. Vaughn doesn’t stop for what seems like forever. He lets go of Fuzz who hits the floor with a thud. When Vaughn’s eyes meet mine, they’re dilated and wild from the drugs. He winks at me before stalking out of the room. I’m shaking so badly but I manage to sit up on my side. When I glance out of the room, I’m horrified to see Vaughn prepping another syringe. I drag my gaze to the floor. Fuzz, or what’s left of him, faces the ceiling. His face is crushed in and he’s not breathing or moving. Vaughn killed him. He’s going to kill me one day soon too. I know that to be true with every part of my being. And without the drugs confusing me, I’m able to take action. I ease myself off the bed and stand on wobbly legs. Everything hurts, especially my ass, but I manage to drag my dress back down to cover myself. Bright red blood runs down my thigh past my knee.

Oh, God. I sway at the sight of the blood but dart my eyes over to the window. With newfound urgency, I make my way over to the window and begin fiddling with the lock. I flip it open and wrench the window up. It takes some work, but I manage to get it up high enough to squeeze through. The fire escape provides me with the out I need. With each passing second, I find more clarity. I must get away. And I need to make sure he never finds me again. Abandoning my heels so I can run faster, I scale down the fire escape ladder as quickly as I can. When I reach the bottom, I hop down the rest of the way right into a puddle. The alley of the apartment building is empty, but at the end of one side is a busy street. I take off, sprinting toward the cars that keep passing by. “Hey, baby, stay awhile,” some guy smoking hollers at me. I ignore him and run faster right out into the middle of traffic. A car slams on its brakes. I lock eyes with a woman around my mom’s age as the front of her car bumps my hip. She has a teenage girl in the passenger side with her, who wears a similar stunned reaction. “Please,” I beg through my tears. “I need help.” She’s still gaping at me when I round the side of the car. Other vehicles swerve around her car, that’s stopped in the middle of the street, and honk. I beat on her window as terror threatens to consume me. A quick look over my shoulder tells me he isn’t after me yet. “Please,” I plead again, “I’ve just been raped.” This seems to jolt her into action. With a shaking hand, she hits the unlock button on her car. I scramble into the backseat and find myself staring at a wide-eyed toddler in a car seat. “Wh-Where do you want me to go?” the woman asks. “Anywhere away from here,” I cry out. “Just hurry.” She peels out and hauls off down the road. The baby in the back starts to cry. When I look at the girl in the front seat, her flesh is pale as she stares out the windshield. She grips her mother’s hand to the point her knuckles turn white. “Are you okay?” the woman asks, her panicked eyes meeting mine in the mirror. I swallow and nod. Relief floods through me as realization sets in. I’ve escaped. I’ve finally slipped from Vaughn’s death grip. “I am now.”

“BABY,” a deep voice coos, dragging me from my nightmarish past. “It’s me, Gray.” I chance a peek and am thankful to see his concerned blue eyes darting all over me. My face is cradled in his strong hands as he regards me.

“Talk to me, Violet,” he murmurs, worry in his tone. “You scared the shit out of me.” With hot tears welling in my eyes, I blurt out the memory of the night I escaped. Detail by horrifying detail. I don’t stop until I finish. The room grows silent for a few moments before I chance a look at him. Gray’s features are positively manic with hate and fury. He’s clenching his jaw so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t break in two. But the way he drags his thumb across my bottom lip is gentle and reverent. “I’m going to obliterate his goddamned skull into a thousand pieces,” he seethes. “That is my vow to you.” Again with these intense proclamations—proclamations that should scare me but instead warm me to my very soul. I want him to hurt Vaughn. I want Vaughn eliminated from this earth so he doesn’t hurt other women. “I’m fucked up,” I tell him, my voice wobbly. “You’re the first person I ever told that story to. My therapist knows the gist and the women’s shelters I bounced around to in the beginning had an idea. But nobody knows, in detail, what happened.” I bite on my bottom lip and frown. “Maybe I should have spared you the graphic details.” His grip is firm on my jaw and he shakes his head. “I need to know every single detail about every single thing that ever happened to you. I want to steal those horrific memories and wear them like the burn scars on my back so you don’t have to fucking carry them around anymore. Please,” he pleads, his lips pressing to mine. “Give them all to me. Let me take them and replace them with something good. We can be good together. Don’t you feel that, Violet?” I nod and smile because I can feel it. His presence overwhelms me with safety and warmth. A giant security blanket. I’ve been shivering with the chill of my past for far too long. It’s long past time I relied on someone else to help carry that burden for me. He starts kissing me feverishly once again until his phone rings. A growl escapes him. “That’s Gwen’s ring tone.” I miss his body pressed against mine the moment he pulls away. His body is all lean defined muscles hiding beneath tattooed and scarred flesh. He’s beautiful—like God created a special masterpiece and named it Gray. But Gray is far from boring, he’s colorful and bright and charming. “Fuuuuck,” he hisses into the phone. “I’ll be right there.” “What is it?” I demand when he tosses the phone onto the bed and begins rapidly throwing clothes on. Sadness flashes in his eyes. “Mom. She fell. The paramedics won’t come into the house anymore so if she gets hurt or falls, Gwen or I have to help her.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be back when I can.”

I jolt from the bed and hurry to my dresser to hunt for some panties. “I’m coming with you.” He stalks over to me and hugs me from behind. His slacks are back on but he’s still bare chested. The warmth radiating from him calls to me. Sings to quiet parts deep within me. “Baby,” he coos against my hair. “She’s worse than Gwen. You need to stay.” I twist in his grip to face him. My palms find his stubbly cheeks and I shake my head at him. “Not a chance. I was being inconsiderate of your family’s illness before. But now…” I trail off and stand on my toes to kiss his lips. “I want to help. You’ve listened to me unload my past on you. This is the least I can do.” Emotion shines in his eyes. “Really?” “Really,” I assure him with a smile. “Let’s go help your mom.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN GRAYSON

I’M STILL SEETHING with rage as we drive to Mom’s. The things that Vaughn did to her…sick. The things I’m going to do to him…sicker. From the passenger seat, Violet nervously chews on her nail. She’s similar to me in the way that she is neat and orderly. Because of her past, she’s been driven to keep her life organized just so. I hate having to take her to Mom’s but she seems so willing to help. It fucking moves me. I knew Friday when I locked eyes with her that I’d sentenced us to death. After a lifetime of love of course. But she’d be mine until the end. A crooked piece inside of me seemed to straighten the moment she became the main fixture in my life. I’m trying desperately not to move too fast. The last thing I want to do is scare her away. But keeping my shiny little Violet on her pedestal in front of me is where she belongs. I want to cherish her forever. I reach over and grab her thigh through her jeans. Her palm covers the back of my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. This woman is the filling for the void that’s sat inside my chest for as long as I can remember. My life feels complete now. I’m going to work myself so far into her heart, she’ll never want me to leave. As we drive, I can’t help but feel disappointed about earlier when she wanted to use a condom. Doesn’t she know I want to put my seed inside of her? That I want her pregnant with my child? I’d suggest we marry tomorrow if I didn’t think she’d send me packing. Violet is like an abused puppy. It will take time to gain her trust. I want to cuddle the fuck out of her and put a collar around her throat that says she belongs to me. “What are you thinking about?” she questions, her thumb stroking across the back of my hand. How crazy you make me. How my heart beats only for you. How my brain won’t let your face leave its presence. How I’m going to blurt out that I love you long before the socially acceptable time because the internal raging fires that burn for you are out of fucking control. “How beautiful you are,” I tell her with a smile.

She laughs. “Somehow I feel there’s more, but I’ll let it slide since you’re so sweet.” She has no idea just how much more… “We’re here,” I tell her, my smile fading as anxiety sets in as I park next to my sister’s Camaro. “This is a nice home,” she murmurs. It’s more than nice on the outside. My childhood home sits at the end of the street in an expensive neighborhood. The homes in the area sell in the millions. The neatly manicured lawn and fresh paint job hide the horrific secrets that lie inside. The chaos and disorder. The absolute madness. The hired lawn people on call help keep up pretenses. “Do you want to sit in the car?” I question. She’s already climbing out. “No. I can handle this. Your mom needs you.” I scrub my face with my palm and inhale a fortifying breath. This is going to be difficult. Last time I came by was when one of Mom’s shelves fell on her. My skin still crawls from having to pull all that shit off of her. I hop out of the car and stalk across the lawn to the front door. Behind me, Violet is quiet but I know she has my back. I’m embarrassed, but she’s already seen Gwen and she’s been warned. “Breathe through your mouth,” I mutter as I push through the unlocked door. One of the only few clean rooms in this house is the foyer but I can tell that will soon change. Her mess is starting to spill out of doorways into the space. Soon, there will be no hiding this from people. I cringe to think about that day when a postman or nosy neighbor spreads the news about what lies in this house. A scent that’s part feces and part rotting garbage immediately suffocate me. Despite breathing through my mouth, I can’t help but choke on the disgusting smell. Violet doesn’t let on her disgust because she’s quiet. “Gwen?” I call out. “In the basement,” she hollers back from within the house. “Fuck,” I hiss under my breath. “The basement is the worst.” I stalk down the hallway until I reach the dining room that leads to the kitchen where the basement door is. As soon as the dining room comes into view, I shudder. There is a small walking path but garbage and shopping bags and boxes are stacked waist high. You can’t see the dining room table—the same table my father made me eat Wail at. The entire room is a sea of junk and trash. “This way,” I utter, grabbing Violet’s hand. I guide her behind me so she doesn’t fall. “Oh,” she chokes out upon reaching the kitchen. More of the same in here. Trash and a pile of stinking dishes are bulging from the sink. There is a small walkway to the refrigerator and one more to the basement door that’s been wrenched open. I grab the

handle and pull it open more so I can squeeze through. Light illuminates the stairwell but there is so much crap piled up on the stairs that it’s no wonder she fell. At the bottom of the stairwell, Gwen sits in a pile of garbage with Mom’s head in her lap. “Mom,” I call out. “You okay?” She waves a hand at me dismissively. “Of course, sweetheart. Just being clumsy again. I told your sister not to call you and that when I catch my breath I’ll get back up.” “Nonsense,” I grumble. “I’ll carry you out of there.” “Do you need help?” Violet questions, her breath merely a whisper. I look over my shoulder and shake my head. “Just hold the door open when I make it back up here.” Once she nods in confirmation, I squeeze through the door and begin my descent. “Shield her from anything that falls,” I instruct Gwen. My sister scrambles into a standing position and moves in front of our mother. “Okay. Ready.” I’m larger than both of them so when I begin climbing down, boxes and bags and garbage start crashing down to the bottom. I nearly knock over a stack of magazines but right the wiggling tower before it topples over. The smell gets worse the farther down I go. Stinks of raw sewage. Fuck. I don’t know what to do when it comes to Mom and Gwen. Once, I tried to get people out here to clean up and they were both so distraught, I pulled the plug immediately. But the thought of Mom getting sick from leaky pipes creating mold or something worries me. When I reach the bottom, Gwen hugs me tight. “Thanks for coming, big brother.” I kiss the top of her head and grunt. “You just use me for my muscles,” I tease. Mom laughs. “Oh stop, you two. How’s work been, honey?” “Good,” I tell her as I slide my arms beneath my mom’s slight frame. “Just closed on a property recently. I’m going to go out of town to see it for a few days.” “How wonderful,” she says beaming at me. “You look so handsome. Just like your father.” Her smile fades and her eyes grow distant. “How is he, anyway?” I’m not going down that rabbit hole. Not now. Not ever. “He’s fine. He told me to tell you hello,” I lie. Her blue eyes flicker with light. “Oh, how I miss him. Tell him I’ll come visit him for lunch in the city next week.” I nod and smile back at her. We both lie to each other. She’s never leaving this house except on a gurney. He never asks about her. I trip over something and crash toward the wall. My shoulder hits the drywall, but it’s better than her head. With more exertion and grunting, I manage to climb the mountain of

trash until I reach the top. The door gets wrenched open, and I step into the narrow pathway. “You need to lie down. Where are you sleeping these days?” I question. The bedroom upstairs has long been filled and abandoned. “Laundry room beside the front bathroom,” she tells me. I wince. “Laundry room it is.” I twist my body to face Violet. “Mom, this is Violet. My girlfriend.” “Oh…” Mom chokes out, embarrassment causing her to tense up. “Oh…” “Violet?” Gwen squeaks out in surprise when she emerges from the basement stairwell. “What are you doing here?” The terror in her voice makes my heart rate quicken. “We were together when you called,” I tell Gwen gently. “She wanted to help.” Gwen’s features harden and she shoves past me disappearing out of the kitchen. I shoot Violet an apologetic look. “Excuse my manners,” Mom says to Violet. “And Gwen’s. We’re just not used to visitors. Had I known you were coming, I’d have straightened up a bit.” “Violet doesn’t care about a little clutter,” I assure Mom. “Do you, baby?” Violet shakes her head. “Nope. Your home is lovely. Were those begonias I saw by the front porch?” Mom nods and beams at her. “Enrique planted those. I’m quite fond of them.” “They’re beautiful,” Violet murmurs. I flash her a look of gratitude before wading my way through the hoard of junk toward the laundry room. Once inside, I’m irritated to find that my mom folded up a bunch of blankets to make a makeshift bed on top of the side-by-side washer and dryer. Even the laundry room is filled with junk. I’ve long gotten over the fact that Mom doesn’t wash laundry or dishes or anything. I pay the city to take the trash two times a week but my gut tells me Mom never has anything to put out at the curb. Violet pushes past me into the laundry room and smoothes out the blankets and situates the pillows. I set Mom down on her bed and Violet proceeds to cover her up. Mom, no longer embarrassed, stares at Violet as if she’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. I glance over at my woman. She’s sure as fuck the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “I’m going to go check on Gwen. Can you stay and make sure she’s okay?” I ask Violet. When she smiles and nods, I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “Thank you, baby.” I can hear Mom chattering to her as I exit the laundry room. The mere idea of climbing the stairs has me shuddering, but I know Gwen is upstairs in my old room. It’s the only place in the house they won’t fill up with junk for some reason. Whenever I tell Mom she should sleep in there, she just shakes me off and says she’s saving the room in case I ever need to come back.

It takes several minutes and a couple of dry heaving moments until I pass by one of the bathrooms but I eventually make it to my bedroom. Once I push inside, I take a deep breath. Everything is just as I left it. Dad, that asshole, had been right. I needed to get away. I’d let Mom nurse me back to health after my extensive burns, but the moment I was healed, I left. Gwen lies on the bed with her back to me. With a sigh, I crawl in beside her and hug her. “Don’t be mad, sis.” She sniffles. “She’ll think we’re disgusting. How could you bring her here?” Guilt shoots through me. “Violet’s different. She’s going to be a part of this family one day. I don’t want to start something with secrets. Everything is out in the open.” She rolls onto her back and regards me with a tear-stained face that reminds me of when she was younger. “Does she know what’s in the chest?” I frown. “There’s just stuff in there.” “What kind of stuff?” “Nothing important,” I huff. Her nostrils flare. “She must not be that important then.” When Gwen gets upset, she goes on the offensive and says things that are meant to sting. Luckily, I’ve played these games a thousand times with her. “Are you okay?” I ask, changing the subject. “Mom just scared me,” she admits with a choked sob. “When she called me, she was disoriented.” A tear leaks out of her eye. “She’s been falling a lot lately but mostly she seems to be forgetting things.” Another tear races out. “People.” “What do you mean?” I demand, worry creeping its way through me. “She hasn’t recognized me a couple of times.” I frown and look past her out the dark window. “Gwen…” “I know.” “I’ll call tomorrow.” She sniffles. “I’m not like her.” Oh, baby sister, but you’re exactly the same. “I know.” Lies. “I’m just messy. Artists are messy,” she assures me. “I can clean it all up whenever I want.” I smile. “Of course you can.” Her eyes fall closed. “Maybe I should see Dr. Ward again.” Hope blossoms in my chest. “She was one of the few people you liked.” “But she made me angry,” she whispers, her eyes flying open.

I smirk at her. “I make you angry all the time and you don’t fire me.” “I wish I could sometimes,” she teases, amusement flickering in her eyes. “I’ll call Dr. Ward and set it up.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “Thank you.” She nods and sniffles again. “I can’t face Violet right now, though.” “It’s okay,” I assure her. “Can you look after Mom tonight for me? I’d like to go home and finish what I started with my girlfriend.” I waggle my eyebrows to tease her. A groan escapes her. “Gross. And girlfriend?” Her eyebrow lifts playfully. “That was awfully quick.” I shrug as I climb back off the bad. “Since when do I ever take my time with anything?” “Since never.” “Damn straight.”

“ARE YOU SURE?” I ask as I wrap one of my thick plush towels around Violet’s perfect body. She laughs. “I’m here, aren’t I?” “I think I like you here at my place,” I tell her with a grin. “My bed is bigger anyway. More room to fuck you on.” “Honestly, Gray!” she squeaks. “You’re always so crude.” “You like it,” I argue as I saunter my naked ass out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. I’m just pulling back the covers when I notice her stop in front of the chest. “What’s in there?” All happiness and playfulness fade away. “Nothing important.” Her eyes narrow at me. “I care about unimportant things too.” “It doesn’t matter,” I tell her, scowling. “Trust me. It doesn’t matter.” Hurt flashes in her eyes. As much as I want to open up to her, I don’t want to about this. At least not this early on. “Open it,” she whispers. “No.” Fire flashes in her eyes as she kneels and starts fiddling with the lock. “Stop,” I growl. If she tries too hard, she’ll figure out the combination. It’s the same as her debit card PIN number. I know this because I made them the same. She starts turning the dial, ignoring me. “Goddammit, Violet,” I snap. “It’s none of your fucking business.” My words cause her back to stiffen. The towel loosens and slides down her back to her hips. Her smooth flesh calls to me but it reddens quickly with her anger. She jerks her gaze

over her shoulder. “I want to go home.” My heart sinks and I fall to my knees behind her. “No,” I tell her as I hug her middle and pull her bare back against my clean chest. “Stay.” “I’ll stay if you tell me what’s inside.” I growl when she tosses away the towel and rubs her naked ass against my hardening cock. “No.” “Please,” she begs, her voice breathless. “Nothing inside that chest matters,” I reply as my hands roam her silky body. “All that matters to me anymore is you.” To prove my point, I guide my dick inside her. She grips the chest and lets out a needy moan. I tangle my fingers in her wet hair, pulling her head back, as I drive hard into her. “Gray,” she hisses. My balls slap against her pussy with every thrust. She’s tight and clean and fucking mine. As I fuck her, I stick my thumb into my mouth to wet it. When I push it against her tight asshole, she lets out a whimper. “Touch your clit,” I order, my voice low and husky. She obeys but her ass clenches. “It’s going to hurt.” “What happened was a long time ago,” I assure her, my tone gentle. “I’m going to make you feel good.” Trust—such a beautiful little bird—gets released from her cage. She relaxes and allows me access. As promised, I ease my thumb inside her tight channel. My thrusting slows until I’ve got my thumb all the way inside her. “You okay, little quitter?” “Yes…” “Yes but?” “I’m still scared.” I begin slowly sliding my thumb in and out of her in unison with my cock that’s inside her cunt. Soon, she’s rocking against me, very much into our little ass play. “When it comes to me, you have nothing to fear. Ever,” I vow. “Every single thought. Every goddamned action revolves around you. I don’t think you understand how much you’ve embedded yourself inside me.” She moans in response. “Gray…” “Nobody else will ever have you because you’re mine,” I bite out as impending pleasure begins to settle in my balls. “Say it, baby. Tell me who you belong to.” “You,” she whispers without hesitation.

Pride surges through me. I’m not the most normal guy on the block. I’m obsessive to a fault and possessive as fuck. I don’t quite understand her quickness to give in to me but I feed off it. “I’m going to protect you, and when you let me, I’m going to love you. I’m going to stamp myself all over your heart and your pussy. You’re going to wear my ring and take my last name. Why, Violet?” She cries out when I slap her ass. “Because I’m yours.” “Fucking right you are. And I’m going to come inside your pretty little cunt. No more goddamned condoms.” I growl. “Why, Violet?” When she doesn’t answer, I slap her ass again. “Because I’m yours.” “Good girl,” I praise. “No more morning-after pills.” She shudders as an orgasm ripples through her. Her body seems to choke the hell out of my cock. I’m grunting, my thrusts ragged and uneven, as I desperately try not to come too soon. “How did you know—” she starts. “No more morning-after pills,” I hiss, interrupting her. “Why, Violet?” “B-Because I’m yours,” she murmurs, her entire body still quivering. “If you get knocked up, it’s going to be okay. Why, Violet?” When she doesn’t respond, I reach around and swat her hand away so I can massage her clit. She starts shuddering wildly from the overdose of pleasure. “Why, Violet?” “Because I’m yours.” Her words send me over the edge, and I come with a feral growl. This seems to set her off again because she screams my name as her body seizes wildly with pleasure. I slide my thumb out of her ass and admire how her hole clenches back tight. One day I’ll show her how good it will feel to have all of me there. My cock throbs out the rest of my release. As soon as I’ve given her all I have, I slide out and watch with fucking glee as my white seed runs back out of her glistening red cunt. It drips on the floor, pooling between her knees. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re hot,” I tell her, pride rippling from my voice. “When you talk dirty, you’re pretty hot too,” she admits, peeking at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are hooded and her cheeks are rosy from exertion. I pin her with a serious stare. “I meant every word, baby.” Her plump lips part open. She starts to say something but then closes her mouth. “I’m tired.” I snag her towel and clean her up. When I scoop her into my arms, she regards me with a soft look that makes me want to climb inside her head. “This is happening,” I tell her, my forehead resting against hers. “We are happening. I want this.” Her eyes remain slightly guarded, but I see the flicker of hope.

She wants this too.

CHAPTER NINETEEN VIOLET

“I CAN’T BELIEVE how beautiful it is here,” I murmur as I sip my wine. I’m still in my swimsuit from earlier, but my feet are propped up on the balcony edge as I stare out into the ocean without a care in the world. This was supposed to be work, but for the past four days, we’ve done nothing but play. “It sure is,” Gray replies, his voice husky. When I turn to look at him, I find him staring. My body begins to heat from the inside out. We’ve been seeing each other in some capacity for a little over a week now. He’s such a whirlwind that I lose all sense of time and reality. It feels like much longer. “I always dreamed of having a place like this. A place to take my family one day. A place where the mother was involved and the father wasn’t a giant asshole. A place where the kids would look forward to visiting every summer.” He threads his fingers behind his head as he stares off into the ocean. His dark hair is messy and flutters in the wind. I find myself fixated on the way his biceps bulge from that position. “Now I own such a place.” “That you do,” I tell him, a hint of dreaminess in my voice. He turns his heated, intense gaze on me. “All I need is the family.” Once again, my throat and cheeks heat. When he says these powerful things to me, I just fall deeper in a hole that he’s dug for me. I just hope he doesn’t bury me one day. “One day maybe you will,” I offer and gulp down the rest of my wine. “Come here.” He pats his thigh and flashes me a grin that looks entirely too good on him. Despite being much older than me, he remains fit and has a young, vulnerable edge about him that I find myself drawn to. His intensity, though, is that of an ancient god. Unwavering and dominant. I stand from the lounge chair and then straddle his lap. He’s only wearing a pair of swim trunks so the moment I sit on him, his hard length presses against the place I want him most. “I want to make this our thing,” he says, as he reaches behind me to tug at the string of my bikini top. The material slinks away from my breasts. “This”—he motions at the resort and to the beach—“should be our thing.”

His words. His implications. They’re all too much. Desperately, I cling to them. For so long, I’ve craved just what he’s offering. But it doesn’t seem real. A fairytale. A dream that he’s woven for me while he fucks me beyond sanity. What happens when it all goes up in a poof of smoke? Where does that leave me? “You do realize you only figured out I exist a week ago. Now you’re ready to impregnate me and run off into the sunset. You don’t live in the real world.” This is why they call him Mad Max. “We’re just having fun.” His blue eyes darken to a shade of navy as he tugs the upper string behind my neck. My top falls between us baring me to him. “I live in the world I create,” he tells me, his words fiery with need. “And in my world, it’s you and me.” I bite on my bottom lip and regard the handsome man. Was this how it was with Vaughn in the beginning? I don’t remember him being this dedicated or consumed. Intense and possessive, yes. But never…sweet and passionate. Gray is just…different. “We’re moving way too fast,” I try, though the fight is gone the moment he tugs my bikini bottoms to the side and slides the tip of his finger along my clit. He leans forward to capture my breast between his teeth. His eyes lift to find mine. They’re blazing with emotions I want to peel back and discover. Truth is, I love the way he looks at me as though I’m the only thing in his life that matters. With his tongue darting across my flesh and his teeth biting into me, I’m overcome with need. He’s never looked hotter than he does in this moment, with his messy hair and wild eyes. His finger expertly strokes me to the point I’m practically dripping with desire. “Oh, God…” I whimper. He suckles away the pain from his bite and then breathes against me. “Tell me what I need to hear.” I grip his hair and tilt my head back. The balcony is private considering it’s the penthouse suite, so I throw caution to the wind and let myself free. “I’m yours,” I tell him as I rock against his finger that massages me only from the outside despite my need to have him on the inside. “Tell me this is more than fun,” he growls, nipping at my skin. “Tell me this is our world and you want it just as much as I do.” When he talks to me like this, I lose all sense of right and wrong. There is no reality with him. “Yes,” I assure him, my body quivering with pleasure. “Our world.” His finger speeds up its motion until I lose it. The world darkens around me as an explosive orgasm surges through me, obliterating every nerve ending in my body. I’m still shuddering when he pulls his hand from my bottoms to tug his cock from his trunks. Once it’s out and standing upright between us, he lifts my hips and once again pushes my bikini

bottoms to the side. This time, he impales me with his cock. His strong hands on my hips control our rhythm. All I can do is latch my lips to his and enjoy the ride. Our kiss is all consuming and powerful. We kiss as though the other holds the key to our future and happiness. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want what Gray is offering. I’m dying to let him suck me into his storm and never let go. When he owns me from the inside, the answer is always yes. “That’s it, baby,” he groans against my mouth. “Take this thick cock because it belongs to you.” Damn him and his crazy dirty talk that drives me wild. Like the good girl I am, I ride him as if I own him. I use his cock to pull out the pleasure I crave and need. Arching my back, I position myself so he hits me against my G-spot. Zings of bliss pulsate through me. “Beg me to come inside you, Violet. Fucking beg me to put a baby inside you,” he snarls, his teeth nipping at my breasts. “Beg me.” His words are insane. A game of pretend. Apparently, I like these games. “Yes,” I plead. “I want it. I want all of it.” “You’re going to carry my kid in your sexy little stomach, aren’t you?” he demands. “Mmmhmmm.” “Say the words, Violet.” “I want your baby.” He nips at me again. “We’re going to be a family. Promise me.” “Yes,” I whine as my body tightens with another impending orgasm. “I promise.” The moment my climax shudders through me, he loses control. His bite on my breast feels as though he broke the skin, but I don’t even care because his heat surges inside of me carrying with it all of his promises. I’m so fucked in the head by this man. He’s going to tear my world apart. Deep down, I know this. I can feel it down to my toes. And yet… “Don’t break me,” I beg, my lips finding the shell of his ear. “Please don’t break me.” He hugs me tight and growls his fierce proclamation that I want to believe so badly. “I won’t break you. Fucking never.”

“IN TWO MONTHS, I have to go to Hong Kong for business,” Gray says, his finger tracing softly up and down my bare stomach in the dark. “I’m jealous,” I tease and smile.

“I want you to come with me,” he tells me with a chuckle. “You’re the VP, after all.” I stiffen. “I won’t be working for you then. I only have one week left.” His hand stops moving and I’m glad I can’t see his expression. “But I thought…” “That just because we’re seeing each other right now that I’d give up my prior commitments?” He pulls away and flips on the lamp. When he turns back, his nostrils flare with anger. “I promoted you. I assumed you were staying.” The money is way better than what Sean is offering. And I’d be doing what I know. But I’d be spending every waking moment with Gray’s undivided attention on me. What happens when this blazing flame of his flickers out? Will I be cast aside and forgotten again? If so, and I chose to stay at Maxwell, I’d have passed up an opportunity for a career change. “Gray,” I start but am interrupted when he jerks out of the bed. “I need to make a phone call,” he growls before slamming the bedroom door. I sit up and bring the sheet up over my bare breast. He did not take that well at all. Butterflies take flight in my belly as my nerves threaten to consume me. I snag my phone from the end table and text Sean. Me: Everything still a go? Despite it being close to midnight, he responds. Sean: I thought you’d changed your mind. You know, after all that happened. Then you never responded. Is everything okay? My mind has been distracted the past week, but I didn’t think I’d ignored any of his messages. Me: Everything is fine. Looking forward to starting up soon. He responds back immediately. Sean: Oh good! I’m counting down. If you want to drop by one day on your lunch, I’ll show you where your office will be. We can have lunch in my office. Me: I’ll let you know a day I’m free. Talk soon. I try not to watch the clock but seconds turn into minutes and then minutes turn into hours. Gray hasn’t returned. I’m just drifting off when I hear the lamp being turned off and the bed sinking down with his weight. He curls his massive body around mine and hugs me to him. I feel like we’ve just had our first fight. It’s not hard to see his point. He’s promoted me and fired several employees because of how they treated me. We’re sleeping together and spend every waking moment with one another. I can see how he’d assume I was staying. But…

I can’t risk everything on a week’s worth of his attention. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against my ear, his thumb running circles around my belly button. When I pretend to be asleep, he relaxes and kisses me softly on my head. Tears well in my eyes because Vaughn was never affectionate like this. It makes me feel guilty for even comparing him to my psycho ex. His breathing evens out. As warm as he feels curled up against me, I think we need space. I’m losing sight of myself by getting swept up in him. I can’t go through what I went through with Vaughn again. I’m not mentally capable. Tomorrow I’m going to try and untangle myself from Grayson Maxwell. Until then, I’ll stay warm in his arms for one more night.

“CONGRATULATIONS,” a lady named Deb chirps when she passes by my desk. “What an achievement.” I smile until she walks off. What the hell is everyone congratulating me for? She’s at least the fifth person to do so today. I thought my promotion was old news. My eyes skip over to Gray’s door, but it’s closed. After the weirdness of Saturday at the resort, he brought me home Sunday where he dropped me off. I didn’t invite him inside to stay. The drive home was polite but mostly quiet. I could practically see the gears turning in his head, but he was careful not to say anything to spook me further. And, boy, am I spooked. I’ve made one horrible decision after the other since I put my notice in. My phone buzzes and I’m surprised to see it’s Gwen. Gwen: Hey girl! We should do lunch one day. I wanted to apologize in person for how I behaved last week. When I think of Gwen and Gray’s mom’s house, I shudder. She was a nice woman but she was definitely a little spacey. I was glad when Gray told me he’d arranged for her to go to an assisted living home. It was Gwen who went with her and got it all set up, but he’s the one who found the top of the line facility and shelled out the money for it. Once she’s settled, he said he’s going to pay some people to come in and go through the house. He’d confided in me that he hoped he could get Gwen to clean up her mess too but he was only dealing with one problem at a time. Me: It was fine. You were stressed. Lunch sounds great. “Congratulations, Letty,” another person chirps as they pass by my desk. “Front page. Unbelievable.” This grabs my attention. “Excuse me? What are you talking about?” The guy slaps the New York Times down on my desk. On the front page is my face. I blink once in shock. Then, I blink once more as horror sets in. My age. My location. My entire

damn name. All splashed across the front page. The article goes on to not only talk about my promotion for one of the biggest acquisition firms in the country but also talks about my overcoming sexual harassment and breaking through the glass ceiling. But it’s what’s at the end of the article that has my blood running cold. Maxwell Subsidiaries bought Slante Mortgages. One simple sentence, stuck in at the end. But it has me seeing red. So much so, that it overshadows for the moment that my anonymity is gone. I snatch the paper up and stalk over to Gray’s door. When I charge inside and slam the door behind me, I find him sitting at his desk with his fingers steepled as if he was waiting for me. Even Jeff wears an expectant look. “How could you?” I seethe, my tone low and deadly. His gaze is sharp as he skims over my blouse and skirt before roaming back up to my eyes. “How could I what?” I slam the newspaper down on his desk. “Do you know what you’ve done?” My voice is shrill. “That was me, actually,” Jeff pipes up. “I contacted my buddy at The Times and told him the story.” “You don’t know what you’ve done,” I tell him, a slight quiver in my voice. When I think of Vaughn seeing the paper and knowing where I am, my knees buckle and I crash up against the desk. Jeff tries to right me but Gray has already come around the desk. I’m dragged into his powerful grip. His scent. His touch. His overpowering presence. I fall victim to his gentle touch for a moment and let him protect me from the repercussions. But just for a moment. Then, the fury sets in. “You didn’t want me to leave so you bought Slante Mortgages?” I screech. He rubs my back. “There’s more to the story that you don’t know.” “So. Tell. Me.” I lift my chin and glare at him. His jaw ticks and he nods at Jeff who slips out of the office without another word. Then, his features soften as he regards me. I try to wriggle away but his grip tightens. “Sean has a bad history,” he grits out, anger morphing his features. “A bad history for what?!” “For fucking his employees.” His words are snarled out, jealousy clinging to each one. I scoff. “You fuck your employees.” This earns me a growl. “No, I just fuck you.” Embarrassment causes my neck to heat. This poor guy just lost his company because my

new boyfriend is jealous and doesn’t want me to quit? Unbelievable. “That was his company,” I mutter, disgust seeping in my tone. “You just made a few phone calls and bought his company out from under him?” “I hardly call twenty million a bad deal. I doubled his asking price.” His voice is smug and it irritates me. “When?” I hiss. “When did you do this? After our fight on Saturday?” His features harden. “He was pleased with my offer. After I dropped you off, I met with him and our lawyers. Everything went smoothly. This morning, the wire transfer went through. He’s staying on to manage, though. But…” He doesn’t have to say it. I know. “But the caveat was he couldn’t have me.” He has the sense to look shameful. “Violet.” “No,” I murmur. “All of that is horrible, and I’m furious with you. But splashing my face and name all over the front page of the country’s biggest paper when you know I’m hiding from my psychotic and abusive ex? That’s unforgivable.” This time when I push away, he releases me. He looks wounded. “You don’t understand—” “Apparently not.” I choke back tears. “I’m taking the day off. I’m not feeling well.” He sees through my lie but gives me a clipped nod. “Let me drive you home at least.” I shake my head and hold my hands up. “You’ve done enough.”

CHAPTER TWENTY GRAYSON

I HATE HAVING to bite my tongue but I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t let her know that I had Jeff run that article so that Vaughn would come out of his hiding place. Dusty is still trying to find the slippery motherfucker. Using Violet as bait seemed like the quickest way to draw him out. I’ve been unable to work all day. Not without Violet nearby. Instead, I’ve sat in my car across the street from her building watching for creepy assholes that might be casing the place. When it’s well past midnight, I climb out of my car and stretch my legs. I haven’t eaten or moved in hours. Once I’m on her floor and my forehead is pressed against her door, I listen. The apartment is quiet. She’s probably sleeping but I need to talk to her. Me: I’m sorry. She responds immediately which makes my heart rate quicken. Violet: Me too. Me: Can I see you? Violet: I’m a mess. Me: What if I told you I was waiting at your front door? Violet: I’ve been watching you from the window all day. I’ll let you in. I straighten my body and slide my phone into my pocket. A few minutes later, I hear the bolt locks disengaging. The moment she opens the door, I can’t wait any longer. I tug her into my arms where she belongs and kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry.” She sniffles but her grip on me is tight. “I’m sorry too.” I pull away to lock the doors before scooping her slight frame into my arms. She rests her head against my shoulder as I carry her through the dark apartment to her bedroom. I kick off my shoes and set her down on the bed. The lamp beside her bed casts shadows on her face, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes. Her face is puffy and red from crying. I reach forward and swipe a shiny brown strand of hair away from her face. Kneeling in front of her, I hug her waist and rest my

cheek against her thigh. Her fingers stroke my hair. Touching her soothes my heart. I hope I fix her the way she fixes me. “I don’t know what to do,” she murmurs, her voice wobbly. “He’s going to come for me.” I kiss the inside of her thigh. “I’m going to keep you safe, like I promised.” When I lift up to look at her, tears race down her pretty swollen cheeks. I don’t like seeing her cry. I want to put smiles on her face. And once that fucker is dead, she’ll never have to fear for her life again. I sit up on my knees and tug at her T-shirt. She lifts her arms, allowing me to shed her of the garment. “Lie back, baby,” I instruct as I begin peeling off my clothes. She scoots back and then shimmies out of her panties. I shed the rest of my clothes before killing the light. Once darkness shrouds us, I claim my woman. The moment our bare skin touches, the usual connection we share seems to flare to life with a jolt. Our mouths meet for a desperate kiss. She wraps her smooth legs around me, and in the next instant, I’m buried deep inside her. Instead of moving, I simply cradle her cheek with one hand and kiss her until she’s breathless. I trail kisses along her cheek to her ear where I whisper to her all the things I need for her to hear. I’m obsessed with you. I can’t live without you. I’d die without you. My words turn her on because she wiggles and moans and begs for more. Slowly, I rock against her. Her body is tight and accepting. Warm. Mine. I continue murmuring the words she clearly needs to hear too. You’re mine. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you. Whatever it takes. Mine. She whimpers in pleasure. My thrusting has quickened. I’m so overcome with my need for her that my movements are uncoordinated and ragged. I can’t spend another day like the past two days away from you. I need to see you and be with you. You’re mine, goddammit. “Yours,” she agrees, her voice catching as her orgasm nears. You’ve consumed me. You own me.

I’m nothing without you. I love you. She comes with a screech and her body jerks from beneath me. I’m so lost in our lovemaking that I come like a fucking virgin teenager. Quick and explosive. I mark my woman from the inside out. Her fingers thread into my hair and she sighs. “You’re so intense. I don’t know what to think.” I rub my lips along the shell of her ear. “You don’t think. You feel. I don’t care about rules or norms. All I know is I’ve been completely spellbound by you since the moment you slapped your notice on my desk.” “I’m still upset with you,” she admits, her voice shaking. “I feel so out of control around you.” I lift up and brush my lips across hers. “So take back control.” “How?” Cradling her face, I nuzzle my nose against hers. “We’ll set some ground rules. What makes you feel like you have no control?” She lets out a ragged sigh. “We should use condoms. I can’t think about having a baby right now. My life is too messy.” It pains me to do so but I agree. “Done. What else?” “You can’t just blast through my life and make financial or career decisions for me behind my back,” she murmurs. “Buying Slante and stealing that opportunity for me, no matter what your intentions were, was wrong. I don’t trust easily, and doing stuff like that will make me not trust you.” My heart squeezes. “I want you to trust me.” “I want to trust you too.” I kiss her nose. My cock that had softened inside her is already hardening again. I wonder if she wants me to pull out and wrap my dick up. “What else?” “I need some space,” she whispers but then moans when I rock against her. “How much space?” “Tonight, I need to sleep by myself. I need space to think and sort out everything that’s happened mentally. It’s too hard when you’re curled around me and in me.” I thrust again and nip at her bottom lip. “Where are your condoms?” Her lips curve into a smile against mine. “I need to buy some more.” “Should I stop?” I murmur as I slide slowly inside of her in a teasing manner. “I don’t want to break rule number one five minutes into this.” “Don’t stop, Gray.”

SHE MADE good on rule number three. After we made love and talked late into the night, she kicked me out. Sweetly of course, but she forced me out the door. Luckily, for me, I have a key. And once I’m sure she’s most likely fallen asleep, I slip back inside. I open the curtain in her room so that I can see her properly. She looks positively angelic sleeping soundly and curled up on the bed. Her arm is wrapped around the pillow I’d been lying on. I’m completely consumed by her. I’ve allowed certain things in my life to take control. Violet controls my every thought and action. Everything I do now is under consideration of how it will impact her. The newspaper article wasn’t an accident. Nothing, when it comes to her, is an accident. I wasn’t lying when I told her I want my last name to erase hers. I want my carefully chosen and rare—like her—diamond weighing her tiny hand down. Despite the new condom rule, I’m going to wear her down until she lets me put baby after baby inside her body. She’s mine. We’re supposed to be together. That motherfucker Sean Slante would have treated her no better than the pricks I fired from my own company. At first, when I called him Sunday, he’d been resistant. But when I dangled an ungodly sum in front of him, he was giddy as fuck to sell. She’s excellent at her job—at my company. At a company that will one day be hers too when she bears the Maxwell name. I lean forward on the bed and brush her hair away from her eyes as she sleeps. She’s adorable as hell and I’m proud she’s mine. I just have to eliminate all of the shit that stands between us. Sean Slante is gone. Vaughn Brecks is next. I should be sleeping but I’m wired up in her presence. She’s just as invigorating as the coffee she used to bring me. I’m proud to say I now make it myself. After she showed me how, of course. Violet makes me a better person. Even Bull has noticed that. I peel back the covers and frown to see she put on a T-shirt after I left. With careful movements, I remove that and her panties. When she fully gives in to our relationship, I’ll insist she sleeps naked every night. The time we spent at the resort, she had no problem sleeping with our bare bodies pressed together. It was perfection. Once I deposit her clothes into the hamper, I rummage around in her closet a little and inspect her jewelry. I take a mental inventory so I know what to buy her. This costume shit

is getting thrown out and I’ll replace it all with high-quality pieces that belong draped across her. Once I’ve cataloged everything she owns jewelry-wise, I check the sizes of her shoes and clothes. When I move her into my home soon, I’m going to shower her with gifts, including a new wardrobe. I come across the box tucked away and pull out the picture of her mother. Upon Dusty’s researching, he located her mother and was able to dig into her finances for me. She does, in fact, receive the money Violet sends her. The woman no longer works at the diner, which is because Dusty said she was sick. Mountains of hospital bills bulge from her mailbox each day. I had him send me the totals and creditors so that I could pay them off immediately. Violet’s family is my family. Her burdens are my burdens. One day I’m going to eliminate her ex so that I may reunite her with her mother. That is the ultimate gift I vow to give her. I want Violet to be happy. I will make her happy. I tuck everything away in the closet and saunter back out. She still sleeps soundly. Her full tits are gorgeous in the moonlight. My cock rouses in my pants. Quickly, I remove all my clothes and shoes before kicking them under the bed. Then, I slide in next to her. God, she’s beautiful. I press kisses down her throat to her breasts. My tongue slides across one of her nipples, causing it to harden. I’m addicted to touching and kissing her. I’ll never get my fill. I brush kisses along her abdomen. I’m dying to spread her apart and eat her until sun up but I refrain. Instead, I press a soft kiss to her clit before sliding back up the bed. Kneeling beside her, I fist my cock. I’d prefer to be inside her again but this will have to do. I stifle my groans as I worship her with my eyes. With each jerk, I imagine I’m inside her tight cunt that only belongs to me. I imagine coming in her so many times I eventually knock her up. I imagine her lying in my bed back home with her stomach swollen with our child and her wedding ring shimmering in the sunlight through the window. So beautiful. With a moan that I barely contain, I come hard. My hot semen splashes across her perfect tits, marking her as mine. I should clean away the cum that runs down her flesh but I can’t. I can’t swipe away my mark. She belongs to me. And I’m hers. A sigh escapes her and I freeze. I can’t let her wake up to me jizzing all over her while she sleeps. That would probably seem fucking creepy. Carefully, I slide off the bed, my dick dripping along the way and then kneel on the floor. Then, I slide underneath the bed. The nasty carpet scratches at my back and irritates my scarred flesh. I much rather be in bed with her. But love makes you do crazy things. I maneuver until I locate my pants. Once I pull out my phone, I check my emails and do more research. As I hunt for more clues on Vaughn, I can’t help but think about how my

life has improved since Violet came into focus. I cleaned out the trash at my company and promoted someone worthy. I’ve made that someone my friend and will ultimately make her my wife. Her presence kick-started something with my mother and sister. My mother willingly went to the home, knowing she needed the help. So many years she clung to the fact that Dad would come back. Dad is never coming back. I know this for a fact. And Gwen? She was just embarrassed enough to want to do something about her problem. I know she doesn’t want to end up like our mother. The fact that she wants to see Dr. Ward is such a huge feat. Violet and I have tapped into something that most people never have. Love. A future. Happiness. It’s ours for the taking. And we’re going to motherfucking take it. I set my phone down and grip my cock. I’m always hard around Violet. Her scent climbs its way inside of me, clawing away at my senses. It’s as though she flows through my veins just as naturally as my blood does. And like my blood, she floods straight to my cock every time. With her sweet smell overpowering me and knowing she sleeps soundly above me, I fist my dick, reveling in the pleasure. I’m overcome with the need to spurt my release all over the fucking place. Part of me craves to slide back out from under the bed—to push her knees apart and ease my cock inside her tight body. The thought of being inside her bare again has me losing control. I can’t hold in the groan as I shoot my load up my belly. I’m still flying high with my heart hammering in my chest when my blood runs ice cold. “Who’s there?” Fuck.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE VIOLET

I BLINK AWAY my sleepiness and strain my ears. I heard something. A voice. It was loud enough that it woke me up. If my heart weren’t thundering in my chest, I’d be able to hear better. “Who’s there?” I call out again as I ease my gun out from between the mattress and box spring. I scoot back against the headboard and squint in the darkness. My gaze travels over to the window. Someone opened the curtain. I’m not going crazy. Before going to bed, I remember shutting it. I felt exposed, as if Vaughn were watching from across the street. I’d felt the need to hide from him if he was. Cold awareness trickles through me. I’m naked. I’m fucking naked. Terror climbs its way up my throat along with a scream that I barely stifle. Someone undressed me. Those other times, even though I convinced myself otherwise, weren’t me. A reality that I’d chosen to ignore because I couldn’t mentally deal with it being truth. I’d been too terrified to admit it so I pushed it into the back of my mind. I swallow as I reach for the lamp. My skin on my chest is tight. As though something sticky has dried on my flesh. A tear races down my cheek and drips off my jaw. I flip on the lamp and my thoughts are confirmed when I look down at my bare breasts. Cum. I have someone’s cum dried up on my breasts. Vaughn is toying with me. “V-Vaughn?” I whimper. Discreetly, I reach for my phone and quickly dial Gray. Please answer. Please fucking answer. Buzzzzz.

Buzzzzz. Buzzzzz. I’m frozen when I realize the sounds are coming from under my bed. It’s as though I’m the star of a horror movie. Tearfully, I swipe my tears away when he doesn’t answer. I drop my phone onto the bed and lean over the edge to look. The tip of a black dress shoe peeks out. No. No. Fucking no! I leap from the bed as far as I can and train the barrel of the gun at the shadow between the floor and the bedframe. “Get out,” I hiss. “Get out!” A grunt—a familiar grunt—resounds from underneath the bed. Terror causes my entire body to shake. I’m naked and scared to fucking death but I don’t dare take my gun from the monster under the bed. “GET OUT!” A man’s hand slides out from the shadows, strong and powerful. I nearly shoot it on the spot. Now my phone is trapped on the other side of this hand. Stupid! More tears streak out, but I hastily blink them away so I can focus. Slowly, a man slides his very naked body out from beneath my bed. His toned and tattooed chest shimmers with what looks like his spent orgasm. Disgust rises in my throat. The moment I actually see who’s emerging from my bed, I am overcome with betrayal. “How could you?” I hiss, the gun in my hand wobbling wildly. “You fucking sicko!” “Violet,” he murmurs as he slowly slides the rest of the way out and stands up. His impressive cock hangs limp and dripping between his powerful thighs. Hours ago, this man was inside me. Owning and loving my body. I trusted him. “It was you. All of this was you,” I sob. “Put the gun down, baby,” he whispers. “I AM NOT YOUR BABY!” He winces at my tone and starts for me. “Listen to me.” “Stay back or I’ll shoot your cock off,” I threaten through my tears. As if it reacts to being spoken to, his dick hardens and bobs. “I love you,” he tells me as if this solves fucking everything. “You’re a stalker!” I screech. My heart is confused because the look of crushing devastation on his face weighs heavily on me. But my mind is telling me to unload the entire magazine into his psychotic chest. “Violet.” His blue eyes are tender as he regards me. “I can’t stay away from you. I’m

addicted to you.” “This is insanity, Gray. This is illegal!” He runs his fingers through his hair and his jaw clenches. I hate how brutally handsome he is. I hate everything about him. This is worse than Vaughn somehow. Vaughn destroyed me straight to my face. Gray has done it behind my back. A crippling sob ripples through me blurring the world around me. It’s a terrible mistake because I lose sight of him. By the time my eyes clear, he’s on me. His strength overpowers mine, and together we struggle with the weapon. He manages to tackle me to the floor. When my head hits the floor with a thud, the room spins. The gun is torn from my grip. “Listen to me,” he urges, his voice soft but commanding. I scream and struggle, but he pins my wrists above my head. My entire body convulses in fear. His body is heavy against mine, his erection thick and hard between us. Terror bubbles up inside of me, and I’m transported to so many nights with Vaughn. But instead of hurting me, he kisses my neck. Over and over again. It’s almost worse than Vaughn’s abuse because I like Gray’s kisses. Each one is like a painful stabbing reminder of what we could have had. “I hate you,” I sob. “I hate you.” He works his body between my parted thighs. His breath is hot against the shell of my ear. “Liar.” His single word makes my heart clench. “You ruined everything.” A whimper escapes me when his cock rubs against my clit. He suckles the flesh just below my ear. Despite my fears and being unable to move my hands, my body betrays me. I’m wet and desperate for his touch. This is his storm. I was never meant to escape it. I’m his to obliterate and destroy. He’s doing it gently with kisses and love. “I hate you,” I try again, but my body is wiggling with need. “The moment I escape, I’ll run far away from you.” He lifts and regards me with a fierce glare as he tortures me with teasing thrusts against my clit. “I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, Violet. Don’t you see? I’ve committed my heart to you and nothing, fucking nothing, will stand in my way.” Why do I attract psychos? Furthermore, why do I love them back? “Please…” I don’t even know what I’m begging for at this point. In the shadows of my mind, I know. My sanity refuses to admit it. “Please…” “Please stay?” he questions, his cock sliding away from my clit and toward my opening. He doesn’t enter me, just rubs against me.

“I hate you.” “I love you.” His teasing and proclamations of love have me so confused. My heart is thundering right out of my chest. It wants to run away with him and never look back. My mind is at war, though. I can’t wrap my head around what he’s done. It’s twisted. Fucking insane. “Let me make love to you,” he breathes against my lips. I’ve lost feeling in my hands where he grips me tight. The thought of him pushing inside me has a low moan rumbling in my throat. Everything throbs for him despite the anger exploding through me. “Say the words and you’re mine again. It’s been all about you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I can’t get you out of my head. The only thing that’ll stop me from loving you—from fucking consuming you—is a bullet to my skull. Is that what you want?” I whimper and hiss out, “Yes.” “Liar,” he growls, his cock barely pressing into me. “You want my cock to stretch you open. You hate that you can’t hate me. You hate that you want me to fuck you. You love that I’m obsessed with you. You want my children and my last name. Fucking admit it, Violet.” “I can’t,” I choke out. “I can’t admit it.” “You’re beautiful even when you’re in denial.” I shiver and plead once more. “Please.” “This?” he questions. The tip of his cock slides further into me. I can’t breathe. He’s too much. He’s overwhelming. “Y-Yes.” A scream rips from me because before I’ve barely spit out the word, he drives into me with enough force to rip me in two. Gray is an F-5 tornado destroying me with every touch. And yet I can’t step out of his path. I allow him to consume me. “I love you,” he tells me over and over again as if it’s a prayer. All I can do is ride out the storm. My orgasm teases and taunts me. Reminds me that if I give in, he’ll give me everything. He’s not like Vaughn, he’s worse. My ruthless attempts to convince myself aren’t working because, deep down, I know. He’s not worse. He doesn’t hurt me. Gray just clouds around me in his intoxicating haze until I’m drunk off his heady scent and whispered vows. I’m so lost in him that I don’t realize he’s released my hands until my fingers claw at his hair. This time, when his lips brush against mine, he follows it with a demanding kiss. So much emotion and power comes with the kiss that I fall victim to it. I want his overpowering attention and affection. I want his gentle love but rough lovemaking. I want him to stalk me to the ends of the earth. This means I’m sick too. “Come for me, baby,” he breathes against my mouth as his fingers slip between our slickfrom-sweat bodies. The moment he touches my clit, I lose all sense of time and reason. My world tilts off its axis as pleasure crashes through me. I come so hard, my bones feel

as though they’re rattling inside me. “Oh, fuck,” he groans as his release spills from him. “My God you’re perfect.” I close my eyes as his seed pours into me and my body goes limp. I’m exhausted from the tears and the emotions that were exploding through me. The adrenaline that was spiking through me has slowly drained away from me like his cum that leaks from my body. “Let me take care of you,” he coos as he slides out of me. I no longer have any fight left in me. He’s a stalker. The man has crept into my home, jacked off all over me, probably touched me while I slept, gone through my things, and lied to me. And yet I still somehow feel safe with him. It makes absolutely no sense. “I don’t know what to think,” I murmur as he carries me to bed. He kisses my forehead. “I know. So don’t think. Just let me take care of you, like I always will.” I curl up into a ball once he sets me on the bed. He leaves and several moments later he comes back. Dutifully, he shoves the gun back under the mattress and plugs my phone back in. Then, he uses a wet cloth to clean my stomach and between my legs. Once the light is turned off, he slides into the bed behind me. I shiver until he envelops me with his warmth. My skyrocketing heart slows to a crawl, as my eyelids grow heavy. I’m tired, and truth be told, I like him wrapped around me. I know what’s right and wrong, yet here I am, choosing wrong because it feels right. “I love you, Violet,” he murmurs against my hair. I shiver again. “I love you too.” Because it’s true. Fucked up, but so very true.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO GRAYSON

“THIS IS FUCKED UP,” Bull growls into the phone. I pinch the bridge of my nose and nod. “I know, but it’s reality.” “How is she this morning?” I glance up at the bathroom. The door is closed as she dries her hair. “Contemplative but responsive.” He grunts. “What does that even mean?” “It means she’s quieter than usual but she didn’t put up an argument when I went down on her this morning in the shower.” A long, disappointed sigh escapes him. “Where do you guys go from here? I hate to sound like an asshole, but why is she still with you?” Her phone buzzes on the table. Ignoring him for a moment, I let out a deep breath I’d been holding the moment I see it’s Gwen. Gwen: Can we do lunch today? My heart swells. “Hello?” Bull questions. “Sorry,” I grunt. “I’ll see you in the meeting this morning. We’ll talk after.” I abruptly hang up, my focus on something new. Me: It’s Gray. Violet’s drying her hair. I’m sure she’d love to go to breakfast instead. I have a meeting with a London client at 9. Can you pick her up at the office? Gwen: Of course. The dryer stops, and a second later, the bathroom door opens. Violet is absolutely stunning today. Her silky brown hair has been blown straight and I love how strands of gold glimmer in the sunlight shining in from the window. A towel remains wrapped around her body that bears red marks—marks I made from sucking on her all night and into the morning. “Who are you texting?” she questions. “Gwen. She wants you to have breakfast with her.” I search her gaze. After all that went

down last night, I feel that she’s fragile. I need to put her back together if she starts to break again. She takes her phone and reads through the texts. “Okay.” I’d only made it to putting my slacks back on but am still without a shirt. Her eyes roam my chest before she turns her back to me. I grab her hips and pull her into my lap. My arms snake around her middle. “You feeling okay?” I question as I press kisses along the back of her shoulder. “Surprisingly, yes,” she says with a sigh, relaxing against me. “I should be a lot of things but not content.” Her shoulders sag. “I shouldn’t be happy.” I tug her towel loose and then urge her to straddle me so I can see her face. My fingers ghost up her ribs on both sides as I look at her, my stare fierce. “You should be so fucking happy, baby,” I argue, pressing kisses to the hollow of her throat as I squeeze her bare ass. Her palms find my cheeks and she frowns. “This isn’t normal, Gray. Nothing about this is normal. We’re sick.” I slide my hand up to cup the back of her neck and draw her closer. We kiss softly. Our kisses are gentle and filled with promises. I pull slightly away and rest my forehead against hers. “We don’t have to follow the rules. We just have to be together.” She seems to soften and relax. “You make it sound easy.” I grin at her, which makes her eyes twinkle in return. “It’s that easy. You let me take care of you like I want. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve it. I sure as hell don’t deserve you but I’m going to have you anyway.” Her thumb brushes along my jaw. “Are you always this intense?” “Only when it comes to you,” I say with a smirk. She smiles but then it falls away. “What you did was not okay.” Shame fills my chest, and I nod. “I know. I’d do it a thousand times over, though. I don’t think you understand the level of my need for you.” “I believe I get it now,” she says in a wry tone. “After Vaughn, this took me by surprise. Had I not gone through such a toxic relationship with him, I’d never be able to accept this.” I study her features. Her lips are pressed together in a firm line and her brows are pinched together. “I won’t hurt you like he did,” I promise. “You have to realize that.” She smiles. “I do know that. But…” Her smile falls again. “What happens when the intensity fades? Six months down the road? Six years down the road? What happens then, Gray?” I kiss her mouth. “It won’t happen. If anything, each second that passes, I become worse. My brain is scrambled with you. I can’t think straight. I can’t work. I can’t sleep. Not when I’m worrying about you. When you’re sleeping in my arms or by my side, my life

seems to level out. The way I hyper focus on shit seems to fade away. Yes, I’m completely focused on you but I also somehow see the world around me for the first time. You make me better.” Her cheeks redden slightly. “I want you to be better.” “I am better with you.” We’re quiet for a moment, simply content to hold each other. “What do you want to do? I know mortgages wasn’t it.” I look up at her with a brow lifted in question. She lets out a small chuckle. “Actually, I’m doing it. I love the stuff I do at Maxwell. Especially now that my job doesn’t revolve around making coffee. I love analyzing every aspect of the properties and businesses you want to acquire. It’s like a puzzle I have to put together to make sure it’s a good fit for the company.” I beam at her. “You’re nearly as good as me at it,” I tease. “What do you like to do for fun? You know…when I’m not embedding myself in every second of your life?” She grows thoughtful and looks past me at the window. “I love watching those shows on HGTV. You know…the ones where they flip old homes and spaces. I’ve never had a home of my own to do that sort of thing with. I love the idea of taking something old and ruined and then turning it modern and beautiful.” “I’ll buy you a house to fix up,” I tell her, my tone fierce. I’ll buy her a thousand houses. She smirks and darts her eyes back to me. “You’re literally insane. You know that, right?” “There are worse things I could be than your stalker.” Her eyes close as she shakes her head. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around this. If I had any friends, they’d be telling me to run for the hills.” “I’d just follow you there.” “Crazy. You’re crazy.” I laugh. “I know.”

BULL IS mid-sentence explaining about a new client when my phone buzzes in my pocket. Violet is off at brunch with Gwen so I’ve actually been able to focus on work for a change. Assuming it’s her texting, I pull out my phone to make sure everything is okay. Dusty: Found the slippery fuck. I flash Bull a look that has him going silent. With one nod, he knows what to do. He rises from his chair and stalks out of my office. Me: Here or there? Dusty: There. You’re not gonna like this. I scratch at the stubble growing in along my jaw. With Violet, I never seem to have any time or means to shave. Once I have her at my house indefinitely, I can settle back into a

normal routine—one that doesn’t require me spending the night under her bed. Me: Spill. Dusty: I saw him and two men go into her mother’s house. Then, the target left alone. I’m in pursuit now. He’s headed that way. My heart rate spikes. I knew I’d draw the little cocksucker out. Me: Eyes on him. Give me the location of her mother’s house. I need pictures. Send one of your guys to get me the layout. I need to know everything down to the motherfucking weather. Dusty: On it, Hawk. It’s hard to remain calm, but I have to. Vaughn has been slippery thus far, but I won’t let him get away from me. He thinks he can use her mother to find her now that he knows where she lives and works. I’ll be damned if he ever harms her again. I quickly shoot off a text to her. There isn’t any time for me to intervene. All I can do is follow the plan. Focus. Adjust. Hoping she’ll see my text before it’s too late, I fire off a message. Me: Be brave for me. I’m going to get you your life back but I need you to be brave. I love you. When she doesn’t respond, I worry it’s too late. I bolt from my office just as Bull is striding my way. Together, we haul ass out of there. We have a plan. Focus.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE VIOLET

I STARE DOWN at my phone in confusion. Be brave? Gray’s cryptic words send alarm shooting through me. With him, I forget to always be aware of my surroundings. I’ve felt protected from Vaughn, even if Gray was stalking me like a creep. A sexy creep. Oh my God, I have issues. “So, anyway, Dr. Ward thinks I should take on the task with a friend or family member. Gray has always offered to help when I was ready, but I’d kind of like it to be you,” Gwen says as she pokes at her eggs. “I mean, if you want to.” I look up at her and smile. “I’d love to help you. You know that.” “I know you think I’m disgusting,” she murmurs, tears shining in her eyes. “It just got out of hand.” I reach across the table and grab her hand. “Together we can work through it. I love to clean and organize things. When I had a peek, I saw some useful salvageable things. I bet you’d be able to donate a lot of stuff to those in need.” Her lips quirk up on one side. “I think I’d like that. Dr. Ward says I need to connect with people, not things. She thinks I should ask some local churches to see if they would help us clear out the trash.” “I think that’s a great idea,” I tell her gently. “And just think, once you get your rooms cleared out, maybe you could help your mom with her house.” Gwen sniffles and pulls her hand away from mine to swipe away a tear. “Gray said once the house gets cleaned back out, we can bring Mom back home. That we can hire a nurse to look after her. And with him being serious with you…” she trails off. “I thought I could move back in to take care of her.” “I think she’d like that,” I assure her. “Then maybe we could fix it up. Redecorate and make it look nice.” She nods. “Do you think Dad would come back home then?” Her eyes soften and she regards me with such an innocent look it makes my heart hurt. All I can think about is the

way he forced Gray to eat his pet. The anger swells up inside me but I don’t let her see. Apparently she was too young to know what an asshole her father was to her brother. “Maybe,” I say to placate her. She starts babbling on about one of the paintings she’s working on. I nod and engage but my gaze keeps darting out the window. Be brave. Everything Gray does and says has a reason. Everything he does revolves around me. Gwen continues to ramble. My eyes keep roaming the street outside when they land on something that makes my blood run cold. Across the street, a man leans against a sleek vehicle. He’s wearing a baseball cap and his head is lowered, hiding his face, but something in his stance is familiar. His body is larger and more filled out—as if he’s spent six years straight working out. I know exactly how he found me too. The newspaper article. My promotion was splashed all over one of the biggest newspapers in the country. Plain as day, he was told where I worked. All it would take is one phone call. I’d let the receptionist know earlier this morning that I was having brunch with Gwen at the best waffle house in the city. Our receptionist babbles a lot and probably mentioned this. So many careless moments led to this. When he lifts his head and I lock eyes with familiar evil ones I know, I realize I have to get the hell out of here. Away from Gwen. Vaughn would destroy her like he once destroyed me. “Gwen, sweetie,” I say, jerking my eyes back to hers. “I need to leave. You have to stay here for me. Okay?” Her nose scrunches in confusion. “Why? What’s wrong? You’re white as a ghost.” “Tell Gray I need him.” “Violet,” she whines. “You’re scaring me.” My eyes dart out the window and I see Vaughn stalking across the street with a purposeful look in his eyes. “Just promise you’ll call him right after I leave and make him find me.” I shove my phone down into my bra and shakily hand her my purse. “Keep this for me, please.” I don’t wait for an answer. I bolt out of the restaurant, shoving past people along the way. The moment I step outside and the warm breeze whips around me, I’m chilled by a voice. “Letty Spaghetti,” he chides. “You know I hate Hide and Seek.” Terror claws its way up my throat, but I don’t fight him when he grips my elbow. Willingly, I walk with him across the street. He opens up the passenger door and closes it behind me once I’m seated. My gaze flits across the street and I’m thankful to see Gwen staying on her side of the road with her phone pressed against her ear. Vaughn slides into the driver’s seat and wastes no time peeling out into the busy traffic. The silence is deafening.

I’m too afraid to look at him or speak to him. When I finally chance a peek, he’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles are white. His jaw is hard and his thick neck muscles keep ticking. This is bad. This is so bad. I suck in a frantic breath but will myself to calm down. I need to think and plan. He doesn’t know I have my phone yet, so if my stalker boyfriend is tracking me—which I have no doubt he is—then maybe he’ll find me. “I’ve looked for you for a long time,” he tells me, his voice every bit as cold as I remember. “Your style has changed since I saw you last.” His gaze roams up my bare legs as he takes in my sleek pencil skirt and bright pink cashmere button-down blouse. “You look like a damn naughty librarian.” I look down into my lap but don’t speak. I’m too afraid of setting him off. He’s calm right now but I know his monster will rear its ugly head sooner than I’d like. “You know,” he grits out. “I was so fucking pissed when I found out you bailed on me that night. I mean, I get it. I shouldn’t have lent you to that asshole. But, angel,” he says as his strong hand rests on my thigh. “I killed him for you. You should have seen me as a hero.” My body begins to tremble and as a physiological response to this monster, my leg begins to go numb where he touches me. At one time, I was able to numb everything. Even my mind. “You were always quiet, Letty Spaghetti, but never this quiet. What’s got a grip on your throat?” he growls. “I know it sure as hell ain’t me. But it will be soon.” My phone buzzes against my breast, and I pray he doesn’t hear it. Of course my prayers fall on deaf ears because he most definitely hears. With a rough yank, he grabs the material of my shirt and pulls it until the buttons ping off. Then, he snags my phone from my bra. I’m not at all surprised when he tosses it out of the window. “Your tits look just as nice as I remember,” he praises as he cups my breast over my bra. “I bet your pussy is every bit as perfect too.” I close my eyes and try to block out his touches. He squeezes my breast so hard that I yelp, popping my eyes back open. “Your mom says hi,” he tells me with a harsh laugh as he tugs the front of my bra down. His fingers dive beneath the fabric where he pinches my nipple. “Leave my mom out of this,” I hiss, tears welling in my eyes. He snorts. “She speaks! She fucking speaks!” “Please, Vaughn.” He yanks at my bra until I’m halfway over the console and nearly into his lap as he continues to drive. “I love it when you beg.” I try to wriggle away from him, but he twists his wrist and my bra tightens around me, causing my ribs to scream in pain. Just when I don’t think I can take much more of it, the

clasp in the back breaks and frees me. “Sit down and enjoy the ride,” he grumbles before shoving me back over into my seat. My bra hangs loose around my breasts. “Give me your shirt and bra.” Remembering all too well what it means for me to ignore or fight off Vaughn, I immediately jolt into action. Maybe if someone sees me half naked on the highway, they’ll call the cops. One can hope. With shaking hands, I slowly remove my shirt and broken bra. Once he has these in his grip, he tosses them out the window as well. “What are those?” he bellows, his fiery gaze on my bare tits. I drop my eyes down to all the hickeys Gray marked me with. The warm memory surges through me causing my nipples to harden in response. After all the hell we went through last night, we still ended up all but fused together. Gray might be a creepy-ass stalker but I feel safe with him. He doesn’t hurt me. If anything, he loves me when he shouldn’t. I’d been hurt and horrified but I couldn’t push him away. My mind and heart were at odds but my heart won. I’m obsessed with him too. He fills voids in me that I didn’t know were empty. Gray breathes himself into every pore. He takes up space in every part of my being. “You still whoring it out?” he demands and hits his fist on the steering wheel. I don’t want to set him off by telling him my boyfriend gave them to me. But I can’t help but jab at him. “I learned from the best.” His hand flies across the car so fast, I don’t even see it coming. Hard knuckles crack across my cheekbone, causing millions of stars to explode in front of me. My head lolls to the side as I fight for consciousness after the blow to the face. “I see you’ve turned into a little bitch while you were hiding too,” he snarls. “Time to knock you down a few pegs.” Something sharp jabs into my leg jolting me awake. I stare down in horror at the syringe sticking out of my thigh. “What did you just do?” I choke out. He shrugs but his body relaxes. “I’ve gotten a lot better at keeping my girls compliant, that’s for damn sure. Sleep, Letty. You’ll see Mommy soon.” Darkness clouds around me as a million thoughts swim in my head. He said girls. As in more than me. I always knew deep down it wasn’t going to just be me. And then I think of my mother. I’m going to get to see her.

I COME to as I’m carried into my old childhood home. Even though I’m groggy and confused, the familiar smells of home permeate my senses and warm my heart. My God, I’ve missed this house and my mother. Tears roll out on their own accord. I drag my heavy lids up so I can stare at Vaughn. He’s no longer wearing the ball cap and longish blond

hair hangs in his eyes. At one time, I thought he was so handsome. Now, I’m scared shitless of him. “W-Where’s my mom?” I croak out. He smiles at me. I hate his wolfish grins. They’re meant to intimidate me and they always work. “She’s sleeping in her room. You’ll see her later when she wakes up. For now, we have some catching up to do.” A sob is lodged in my throat. Each of my limbs feels as though they’re weightless. Whatever he gave me makes it so that I can’t feel much. In a way, that’s a blessing. When he hurts me, I won’t feel it. When we reach my old bedroom, I start to cry harder. Momma left everything just as it was when I ran off with Vaughn. My heart shatters into a million pieces. I should have never gone anywhere with him. I walked right into a nightmare. He lies me down on the bed and then looms over me. I attempt to move my arms and legs, but they feel like they’re not attached to my body. So when he unzips the side of my skirt and starts yanking it down, I can’t do anything but stare at him. He pulls it away, along with my panties. My shoes have long since disappeared. I’m naked and at his mercy. Just like all those years ago. Gray, I’m trying so hard to be brave… Another tear sneaks out when he palms my thigh. His fingers walk up my flesh slowly until he reaches my sex. He slaps it hard and thankfully I don’t feel it. “This isn’t yours to just give away, Letty Spaghetti.” “I d-didn’t g-give it away,” I whisper. “So you traded it for something?” he questions, a blond brow raised in question. “I’m n-n-not for sale or for b-barter.” He laughs. The dark, sinister sound of it creeps its way through me and settles in my bones. “It belongs to me. I can do whatever the fuck I want with it. If I want to trade it or your goddamned ass for some meth, I’ll fucking do it. Understand me?” When he peels off his shirt, I close my eyes so I don’t have to see my name tattooed on his chest. I don’t want to see any part of him. My thoughts drift to Gray. I’d been so crushed finding him under my bed. Everything we’d created together in such a short time felt like it was a fraud. I had every intention of shoving him out of my life for good. But he consumed me. Plowed right through my heart like he always seems to do. Made love to me on the floor of my bedroom and had me forgiving him so easily. Looking back, I was too harsh on him. Gray is nothing like Vaughn. Crazy, yes. Overwhelming, definitely. Obsessed, you bet. But evil? Never.

Strong fingers bite into my jaw and I jerk my eyes open. Vaughn is naked and his cock is hard with a rubber wrapped around it bobbing between us. Thank God I won’t feel this. “You’re going to come back home to me, Letty,” he tells me as he releases my jaw to grab hold of his cock. I glare at him. “No.” Fury flares in his eyes. “You remember the first time you told me no?” And just like that, I’m launched into a past that is worse than the present.

“I’M NOT READY,” I tell my new boyfriend. Momma always lectures me on how guys only want sex. That you’re supposed to not give it to them because they’ll just leave you once they get what they want. I like Vaughn. I don’t want him to leave me. “Please,” he begs, his teeth nibbling at my lower lip. He finger fucks me inside my panties under my dress. It feels good—too good. “I like what we’re doing,” I moan. “Just this.” He trails kisses down to my throat. When he bites down on my flesh, I cry out. “I want more. Pull my cock out.” His words warm me. I reach over and desperately tug at his jeans. Once his impressive cock is freed, I stroke it like I’ve done many times. “Come sit on it,” he murmurs, his finger sliding harshly in and out of me. “Vaughn,” I whimper. “No sex.” He yanks his finger from me. “Why the fuck not?” “Because. I’m not ready.” “Well, I’m beyond ready,” he grits out, his hand striking at me like a snake. I’m shocked when he grips my throat. His grip is so tight that I abandon touching him to try and claw at his wrist so he’ll stop choking me. I’m stunned at his aggressive behavior. He’s always been so good to me. His grip tightens as he pushes me down on his sofa. All of my focus is on the fact that he’s cutting off my air supply. I slap at his face to get him to stop. Blackness eats at the edge of my vision. My world tilts and spins. And then explosive pain. I black out completely as my mind shuts down. He’s inside me. That’s my only thought as I begin to lose consciousness. I’m roused by a slap to the face. He’s no longer choking me but he’s very much fucking me. The pain is intense but I don’t know what to do. I’m at his mercy. This man—whom I was falling fast and hard for—is raping me.

He starts kissing me but I’m limp. I can’t participate. I’ve crawled so deep inside myself that I’m just a shell. That is until he reaches between us. His finger starts massaging my clit in a way that has confusing thoughts rippling through me. Zings of pleasure dart through me despite my tears that won’t stop rolling out. What were tiny zaps soon turn into full-on ripples of bliss. I’m enjoying this. It feels good. A self-loathing begins to fester inside me. Who enjoys being raped? This time, when he kisses me, I find myself kissing him back. I’m losing myself inside of him. This world of his. His darkness. “There she is,” he purrs. “So beautiful. You belong to me now, babe.” His words seem to tip me over the edge. I’m spiraling out of control. The pleasure he’s giving me outweighs the bad, and I greedily accept it. I moan and beg like a whore. No more begging him not to. All that comes out of my mouth is, “Don’t stop.” Don’t stop. Tears of shame leak from my eyes as I selfishly latch onto my orgasm. I ride the waves of pleasure with his name a scream on my lips. And before I’m even off my high, he slides out and comes all over my belly. “I knew you’d love it,” he says in a playful tone that used to be sexy. Now it makes my blood run cold. “Y-You shouldn’t have done that,” I murmur. “That was rape.” He strokes my hair from my sweaty forehead and frowns. “When you come like that and beg for it, it’s not rape. Sorry to burst your bubble, sweetheart.” Confusion washes over me. I did like it toward the end. I orgasmed. “Oh.” “Time to take you home,” he snaps. “I won’t be accused of being a fucking rapist.” Tears well in my eyes, and I shake my head. Maybe I am being crazy. “I want to stay with you,” I tell him boldly despite the quiver in my voice. His jaws clench. “Don’t ever fucking tell me no again.”

I’M JERKED from my memory when I hear a pop.

Vaughn, who still looms over me, ready to take what he thinks belongs to him, widens his eyes in confusion. The moment we hear another pop, he’s leaping off the bed and jerking on clothes. “What have you done?” he snarls. His glare is vicious enough that I almost feel bruised by it. Be brave, Violet. Be brave.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR HAWK

EYES ON TARGET. Always. I don’t have to watch my back because Bull has it. Always. Sniper and spotter. Two best friends since the seventh grade. “Both of his men are down. You still got eyes on your girl?” Bull questions as he smacks his gum. I don’t answer but I do have eyes on her. My eyes never leave her if I can help it. The target, who was positioned to rape my woman, jerks off the bed. He quickly yanks on his pants and is pointing to her in accusation. Smack. Smack. Smack. A cool breeze skitters across the back of my neck. Sweat is trickling down the side of my temple but I don’t dare move. Instead, I’m calculating the wind not just up here from my position on the top of a hill across the road but also where my target is at. The wind picks up and thunder rumbles in the distance. Click. I make an adjustment to the windage turret. “Elevation?” Bull questions as if I’d forget. I never forget. I double-check the elevation turret, but it’s where it needs to be. Bull doesn’t require an answer. He knows how we work. When I’m in position, I don’t speak. I don’t move. I hardly fucking breathe. Any movement could affect my shot. I absolutely cannot afford to miss. I will not miss. Smack. Smack. Smack. The target keeps moving. I keep adjusting. Click. Click. Click. Adjust.

My sights have moved slightly to accommodate my target. A target that is almost clear. Focus. Smack. Smack. Smack. “Stay still motherfuck—” Bull starts. When my sweet naked girl lifts her chin and says something to him that makes him tremble with rage, I take my shot. Despite the suppressor on my rifle, the crack echoes off the homes around me the moment I pull the trigger. “We have to go,” Bull growls. I blink once and watch the target fall face down onto the bed. He’s unmoving, a deadly head wound causing blood to rush from his skull. Target eliminated.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE VIOLET

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Vaughn accuses again. He’s in a furious rage that would have once scared me, but I’m not afraid anymore. Gray asked me to be brave. Gray knew this would happen. “The answer was always no,” I hiss at him. “You were never allowed to take from me. And now you’ll pay.” Another pop. My eyes close for just a moment, and then Vaughn’s attacking me. I screech and wriggle but halt my movements the moment hot blood gushes over my bare chest. When I reopen my eyes, I’m both horrified and elated in one single breath. He’s dead. Vaughn Brecks, the monster from both my nightmares and reality, is nothing more than a blown out skull sitting on an unmoving body. It baffles me how one moment the room is rippling with evil and the next moment it’s completely snuffed out. He’s heavy, but I manage to push him off me. My mother cries out in a raspy voice from down the hallway. On shaky legs, as blood drips down my naked body, I make my way to her room. Sadness washes over me the moment I see her frail form curled up in the bed. When she sees me, she reaches out to me as if she’s trying to hold onto a dream that’s quickly slipping through her fingertips. “Momma,” I sob as I wobble over to her. I crawl into bed next to her as we frantically hug one another. “Y-You’re really here,” she cries. “He told me you were coming, but that I wouldn’t live long enough to see you. Oh, baby girl.” “H-He said he would kill you. That’s w-why I l-l-left all those y-years ago,” I stutter out through my tears. “Shh, honey. Shh. You’re here now. That’s all that matters,” she coos. I’m still hugging her when two strong arms grab at me from behind. I start screaming like a wild banshee but then fall limp when I smell him. Gray.

He came for me. He killed the monster just like he promised. “I’m here, Violet,” he murmurs, his lips pressing kisses all over me. He covers me with a blanket and hugs me tight. “I’m always here.” “I-I was b-brave,” I chatter out. “I know you were. I never had a doubt.”

THE PAST WEEK has been a whirlwind. Cops. FBI. Dealing with my mother moving to the city. I’ve been walking around in a fog. If it weren’t for Gray, I’d have let all the stress swallow me up. But Gray is more than the storm. He’s also the calm within it. With the patience of a saint and the smooth tongue of a sinner, he’s woven a tale they believe. His private investigator Dusty had all sorts of information on Vaughn. After Gray shot the men, Bull took the gun and casings with him. There wasn’t any evidence for the police to find. Not that they were truly worried about Vaughn and his goons. Once they discovered it was someone on the FBI’s wanted list, their efforts switched from wanting to find the killer to finding the missing women that were believed to be hidden away by Vaughn somewhere. I was able to tell them what I knew about his old stomping grounds and past residences. And with the intel they had from Dusty, they were able to piece together some locations. The same day Vaughn was murdered, the FBI found the warehouse where seventeen girls and women between the ages of fifteen and thirty were found. Most were drugged out of their mind. Many were raped beyond reason. All were rescued and returned to their families. “Happy anniversary,” Gray murmurs, his palm cupping my breast as he begins kissing my neck. “You still leaving, little quitter?” I roll onto my back on his bed and regard his handsome face. Once Vaughn was truly gone, I shed about ten pounds worth of stress. My life began to drip with color again. My favorite is gray. “I guess my two weeks’ notice is up, huh?” He slides his erection against my thigh. “You could always ask for an extension.” I start giggling so loud that I have to cover my mouth so nobody hears. My mother has come to stay with Gray and me at his house. Gwen has been so good to both of us. I’ve missed Momma so much and getting to see her every day has been the icing on the cake. “I’m happy,” I blurt out, hot tears quickly filling my eyes. “I’m happy because of you.” A growl rumbles low in his throat and he attacks my mouth. Our kisses are needy and fervent. It doesn’t take much shifting before he’s driving deep inside me. He devours my lips to stifle my moans, so we don’t wake up the whole house.

As he fucks me, he lifts up to regard me. His icy blue eyes are sharp and focused on me. It’s my favorite thing about him. The way he watches me like a hawk. As if I’m the only thing he sees. But he’s not like Vaughn. Gray is good to me. He loves me. And I love him too. SIX MONTHS LATER… “Here?” Gwen asks, her nose scrunched in question. I frown and shake my head. “Over just a bit.” My back aches from all the work we’ve been doing. My sister-in-law made good on her vow to deal with her hoarding problems. With intense therapy and help from not only Gray and I, but my mother as well, she’s been able to clear out all her rooms. The church near her mom’s house has been helping us with the donations. It’s been a lot of work, but I’m happy to see Gwen working through her issues. “You think he’ll notice?” she questions once the picture is hung. I laugh. “He notices everything.” We both admire the painting she’s been working on for weeks. It matches the décor of the room perfectly. “I love it,” I tell her with a sigh. “What’s next on our list?” She shakes her head. “Not so fast, missy. You need to rest. I promised Gray I wouldn’t work you to death. You know how he worries.” “He worries way too much,” I say with a faux pout. Truth is, though, his worrying makes me feel safe. If it weren’t for him obsessing over my well-being, we wouldn’t be here today. I’d probably be drugged out of my mind in some warehouse once again under Vaughn’s thumb. “I have two to worry about now,” a deep voice rumbles from behind me just as his strong arms wrap around my middle. I lean back against his solid chest. He palms my swollen stomach and kisses the side of my neck. “How’d painting go?” I question. “Bull can’t paint for shit,” he gripes. Our son rolls in my belly. “Oops, I think I woke little man up.” I laugh and Gwen lets out a huff. “Umm, hello? Notice anything?” “What? Did you cut your hair?” Gray teases her. I know he sees the painting on the wall but he likes to razz her. “You’re an ass,” she gripes and points in exaggeration to the hawk painting.

“Looks good,” he tells her in an absent tone. “I’ll come inspect it more later once I’ve seen to it that my wife is taken care of.” Gwen pretends to gag. “Gross. Go away. Bye.” I’m scooped into Gray’s strong arms and finally get a good look at his face. White paint speckles cover his forehead and cheeks. There are even flecks all in his hair. He looks downright adorable. “You’re a mess,” I tease as he carries me to our bedroom. He smirks and kicks the door shut. “And you’re beautiful.” When he sets me on the bed, he doesn’t waste any time stripping me out of my clothes. Once I’m naked, he steps back and lets out a groan. “Goddamn you’re hot when your belly is rounded with my kid,” he observes, flashing me a smoldering grin. I lie back so he can enjoy the view. He was right about everything. Being his wife fills one of those holes I had deep inside me. Carrying his child fills another hole. This life he forged for us is one I don’t ever want to lose. “So beautiful,” he praises as he kneels on the floor and starts kissing my thighs. Gray is so thorough. He hardly misses a day where he isn’t worshipping every part of my body. His breath tickles along my flesh as he makes his way to the part of me that throbs for him. Once he reaches his destination, he kisses my clit. Softly at first. Then, he begins sucking and tonguing me until I’m writhing in pleasure. I barely have time to recover before he’s pulling my hips to the end of the bed. He enters me gently at first but then thrusts into me raggedly as if he’ll die if he doesn’t get enough of me. Don’t worry, honey, I’ll give you everything. It isn’t until he comes with a loud groan and falls on his side beside me that my gaze falls on the chest across the room. My question is always the same. His answer is always the same. “What’s in the chest?” His palm finds my cheek and he turns my head to look at him. His mouth hovers over mine. “It doesn’t matter.” And honestly, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the man who’s now kissing me and the boy rolling around in my belly. What matters is us. They are what I notice. Everything else is out of focus.

EPILOGUE

GRAYSON Fifteen years later… Thomas is different than most kids his age. Brooding and introspective. He harbors dark thoughts but never acts on them. I don’t miss the storm that brews in his icy blue eyes that match mine exactly. A storm he needs to gain control of. His three younger sisters are all loud, playful, and funny. It’s as if he stands out like a sore thumb in his own family with his frowns and sulking. I know it bothers Violet, but she doesn’t understand him. I’m the only one who gets what goes on in that mind of his. And it’s long past time for me to help him gain control. “Daddy! Daddy!” my youngest daughter Emily screeches as she comes barreling down the hallway. I scoop up my four-year-old and squeeze her tight. “Where’s your brother?” I question with a smile. Her lip pouts out. “Hiding in his room. He told me to go away.” I kiss her forehead. “Thomas is getting to be a big boy now. He likes to do grown up things. Why don’t you go play with your sisters? Later we’ll walk down to the creek behind the house.” “Yay!” she squeals. “I want to catch a lightning bug.” I set her to her feet and ruffle her hair. “Maybe Thomas can help you catch one.” Her nose scrunches as if she doesn’t believe me. Then she changes subjects on a dime like she’s notorious for doing. “When can we go to the beach again? I want to build a sand castle.” The kids love the resort. We spend at least three weeks there during the summer. It’s a place where my family can laugh and play without a worry in the world. The mother is involved and the father is kind. It’s what I always wanted. “We’ll go soon,” I promise. She bounds off through the house to look for her sisters. I turn and stride in the opposite direction toward Thomas’s room. When I twist the knob and walk in, a familiar pang settles in my chest. His room is immaculate. It reminds me so much of mine growing up.

He sits in his desk chair hunched over looking in a shoebox in his lap. “What’re you doing, kiddo?” He looks up from the box and shrugs. “I found this.” I stride over to him and drop to one knee to look in the box. When I see an old squirrel skull, I smile at him. “Did you find it in the woods?” “Yeah. Can I keep it?” “Of course.” I meet his sharp stare. “How do you think he died?” Something flickers in his eyes. Curiosity. The fact that anything flickers in him surprises me. He walks around so emotionless all the time. “I don’t know. Got eaten by a puma maybe?” I smirk. “Maybe he ate a bad nut or starved to death.” “What if a dog bit his tail off and he bled to death?” he asks as he picks up the tiny skull. He hands it to me and I turn it over in my palm. “You know, Thomas, you’re a lot like me.” His shoulders stiffen. “I guess.” “I get obsessed with things. People. Stuff. Ideas. Does that ever happen to you?” Our eyes meet, and for a moment, he looks so vulnerable and lost. It crushes me. “Maybe sometimes.” “It can be kind of scary. Thinking about something to the point of exhaustion, huh?” I ask. He nods and takes the skull from my palm before sticking it back in the box. “Yeah.” “I want to tell you a story.” For the next thirty minutes, my son morphs from a brooding boy to someone who once again has light in his eyes. The secret obsessions he’d been harboring were set free. It sure makes a difference when you have someone to share them with. I always had Bull. Now I have Violet. And Thomas has me. “I hate him,” he growls, his voice surprisingly deep. Another few years and my boy will be grown up. He’ll turn into a man before my very eyes. “I hate him too.” My father was an awful man. After spending all that time in the hospital and once I was nursed back to health by my loving mother, I went to see him in the city. I followed and watched him. My father became my obsession. He was a monster. Not just toward me, but toward everyone. A liar. A cheat. A thief. I’d uncovered how he embezzled from his company. How he slept with anything that was female. And his computer that was littered with sick shit that no eyes should ever have to

see. I didn’t like watching him through the window but I did. I hated the way he touched himself while looking at pictures of my sister. So I took care of the problem. I set my sights on him. “Want to see?” I ask Thomas. He nods eagerly. Together we go to my room and stand in front of the chest. I tell him the combination. Once he pulls the lock free, he lifts the lid with a creak. “This must be Wail,” he points to a plastic zippered bag full of my pet’s bones. “That’s him.” His fingers run across the plastic and he smiles sadly at me. “I’m sorry, Dad.” “It’s okay.” He refuses to touch the other. Curled into a fetal position is a full skeleton in pristine condition. Aside from the gaping hole missing from the skull. A human skull. My father. “How’d you do it?” I kneel beside him and run my finger along the jagged hole. “I shot him at his favorite hunting site on some land upstate he owned.” I eliminated my target. “He deserved it,” he assures me, clutching my shoulder. For once in what feels like years, I’m connecting with my son again. It’s like he’s found a way out of his darkness and discovered me. We’re the same. We’re special. “I’ll never tell a soul,” he vows, his gaze serious. He knows how important it is to keep the secret from his grandma, his aunt Gwen, and his mother. “But, Dad?” “Yeah, buddy?” He beams at me—a smile that reminds me exactly of Violet. “Will you teach me how to shoot?” I grin back as I close the chest. “You want to be a sniper one day?” “Maybe,” he says as he hooks the lock into place and snaps it closed. “But mostly, I just want to be like you.”

The End

BONUS EPILOGUE

Thomas Eighteen Years Old… “Thanks, Dad,” I say as I hold the binoculars in my hand. “These are nicer than my last pair.” Dad nods and gives me a warm smile. Bird watching. That’s what we tell Mom. But the only thing I watch is her. “You headed out to see some friends tonight?” he asks. He always asks. For appearances. I always lie. For appearances. Grayson Maxwell, my father, is the king of appearances and he’s taught his little prince well. “Yeah, AJ and Britney. A party downtown. We’ll be out until late. Might even stay the night.” Dad smirks. “Sounds like fun. Enjoy your birthday, Thomas. Just make sure you’re home tomorrow by dinner. Your mother and aunt have a whole birthday meal planned out.” As soon as he leaves my room, I turn off all my lights and sit in my chair by the window. I have a few more weeks of school left and then I’ll be headed for boot camp. I’m more than ready to serve our country as a Marine like my father was despite my mother’s horror when I enlisted. But the look of pride on Dad’s face was enough to have me not second guessing my decision. After a few months of boot camp, I’ll begin marksmanship training. For the past three years, Dad has taught me everything he knows. I want to be a sniper just like he was. I pull the binoculars to my eyes and peer down them toward her house. The same house I’ve been watching for three years. My dad told me it was okay to watch people—that I wasn’t a fucking weirdo for it. Click. Click. Adjust. Focus.

One light is on in her bedroom. I can tell he’s there because she isn’t smiling. Thalia Davis —I know this is her name because I looked in her mailbox years ago to confirm—never smiles when her husband Antoine is home. When he’s off traveling to God knows where for weeks at a time, her smile comes back and she’s happy. Now, she’s anything but. Her dark brows are pinched together as she frowns, her stare at the bathroom door where he’s inside is troubled. As if she can sense me, her brown-eyed gaze darts to the window. There’s no way she can see me from this distance in my dark room but her eyes plead with mine. Help me. A tear snakes down her cheek and I’m thankful for my new binoculars. My other ones were military quality as well, but these, I can actually see details like tears and the way her nostrils flare with each terrified breath she takes. She’s afraid because he’s mean to her. I’ve seen the way he grabs her by the arm and shakes her. How sometimes, when he’s had too much to drink, he shoves her into the dresser or the wall. And how he fucks her when she clearly doesn’t want him anywhere near her. But all that anger he has for her disappears the moment they have sex. She seems to relax him because then he’s calm. The next morning, I see them chatting as they drink their coffee on the back patio—as if he didn’t nearly beat the shit out of her the night before. The routine is always the same. Once, I asked Dad about it. Asked if I should intervene. He said some people don’t want a hero. Some people want to be the hero. That I should make sure she can’t handle herself first. And so far, she seems to smooth things out on her own. Having a stalker teenager show up to save the day might do more harm than good. So I wait. I wait for the moment she needs a hero. The bathroom door swings open and Antoine stumbles out. He’s massive. A monster. His chocolate-brown skin encases bulked-up muscle from years of hitting it hard in the gym. Dad says he’s ex-military. That now he’s contracted out by the government privately to work jobs for them overseas. Dad’s ability to know everything about a person is a skill I’ve yet to master. I don’t want to sit in front of a computer learning about someone. I want to be right there. Watching them. Smelling them. Touching them. Antoine staggers into a wall and a picture crashes to the floor. Thalia winces and pulls the covers to her chin. I want to implore her to pretend to sleep. Instead, she stares at him wide-eyed. The towel around his waist unravels from his hips and drops to the floor. He’s hung like a damn horse. A spike of jealousy surges through me. A woman like Thalia— who’s used to a giant black dick—would probably be disappointed with a normal-sized dick. I mean, the girls I’ve fucked at my school have always seemed pleased, but I don’t compare to the black hulk.

He says something to her and waves his hands in the air. She flinches. At times like these, I wish I had her house bugged so I could listen. His hand swipes out and he knocks a bunch of shit off their dresser, his chest heaving with rage. She blinks up at him with tears in her eyes. And then he’s pouncing. He attacks her on the bed, tearing away the sheets. Her perfect body—one I’ve whacked off to thoughts of countless times—is revealed. Naked. Curvaceous. Mocha brown. Smooth and silky. I stand because if this motherfucker rapes her, that’ll be the last thing he does. But then she seems to be pulling him between her spread legs. If he weren’t so goddamned drunk all the time, he’d see how she just goes through the motions to placate him. Thalia doesn’t find pleasure in Antoine. He slaps her and hits her and chokes her. Each infliction against her, a douse of gasoline to my rage. And yet, she doesn’t fight him. She endures it because she’s brave or fucking stupid, I don’t know what. Regardless, she takes it because for now, she’s her own hero. The beast begins to fuck her powerfully as he claims her. It infuriates me. I want to rip his throat out. She needs a hero because she’s not a very good one. Dad said don’t intervene unless she needs a hero. I’m seconds from motherfucking intervening. He fucks her quick and I don’t think he even finishes before he passes out. As soon as she’s sure he’s asleep, she slides out from beneath him and goes to clean herself up. I watch her round ass jiggle as she walks to the bathroom. Thalia has a nice big ass I’d spend my entire life worshipping if she were mine. I grit my teeth. A woman like Thalia, at least five years my senior, wouldn’t be into a guy like me. She stares down at him as he sleeps. Hate brimming in her brown eyes. Her lips mouth the words, I hate you, to him. As if this satisfies her for now, she lets out a deep breath. She walks over to the window, places her palms against the panes, and leans her forehead against the glass. My dick hardens in my jeans. I’ve watched her hundreds of times over the years. Never has she presented her naked body to me like a gift. With my free hand, I unzip my jeans sending them careening to the floor around my ankles, and pull my throbbing cock out. I stroke it as I admire her perfection. Giant double Ds are the object of my focus. I know they’re double Ds because I’ve been in her lingerie drawer when she wasn’t home. I’ve touched everything that’s touched her. I’ve inhaled her scent and jacked off in her bed. I’ve licked her vibrators and stolen her panties right from her hamper. Thalia Davis is my obsession. She leans away from the window and squints. Her hand slides to the dark patch of hair between her thick thighs and she begins to tease her pussy with her long, elegant finger. It’s as though she knows I’m watching. As though this show is for me. I grunt in pleasure and quicken the way I grip my cock. Her plump bottom lip gets trapped between her teeth as she succumbs to the pleasure she’s

doling out. I become fixated on the way her gorgeous tits jiggle as she breathes. Her soft middle bears the scars of a pregnancy she almost carried to full-term before her loss last year. She never lost the weight there but it’s something I love about her. I would kiss those scars and promise to give her all the babies if it would make her smile. She opens her mouth to let out a moan I desperately wish I could hear and then she slumps her shoulders. As though the weight of her world is too much to bear. She needs a hero. Thalia is a motherfucking queen meant to be worshiped. She shouldn’t be fighting daily physical and mental wars with that villainous beast. The thought of me being that hero has me coming all over the front of my T-shirt and drenching my hand. A grunt of satisfaction escapes me. She shoots one last longing look into the darkness my way before she turns the lights off, takes a long shower, and then slips into bed with that monster. I’ll be your hero, Thalia.

Last night, it took everything in me not to sneak into their house with the purpose of beating the living daylights out of that prick. Instead, I went to sleep as soon as her lights went out and she returned to bed. Tonight, I’m slightly buzzed. Dad took a couple of shots of whiskey with me when Mom wasn’t looking. An eighteenth birthday is special, he’d said. You’re a man now, he’d assured me. Click. Click. Adjust. Focus. Now, as I stare through my binoculars through the trees at my neighbors, I’m reminded that I’m very much a man. Watching Thalia swim in the pool in nothing but a tiny white bikini has my cock very hard. Her stupid husband is inside getting shitfaced but I know it won’t be long before he’s outside giving her hell again. Fury bubbles up inside me. Why does she put up with him? I wish she would just leave him. But then who would look after her? Irritation simmers in my veins as I contemplate how to be the hero she needs. I grin, and all annoyance fades away when she stands in the pool and runs her fingers through her soft brown hair, twisting it back up into a bun so it doesn’t get wet. I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman in all my life. The girls I’ve dated at school are skinny and bony. Like I might break them if I unleashed fully on them. Thalia looks as though she could handle a rough fuck—a fuck where I’d make her come

over and over again, unlike her worthless husband. Her gaze is pointed up to my bedroom window. My party is long over and my family is asleep. She doesn’t know I’m in the backyard watching her. A smile tugs at her lips as she adjusts her bikini top. The wet white fabric does nothing to hide her dark nipples that are erect beneath the tiny scrap of cloth. It makes me want to walk my ass over there, dive in, and bite each nipple until she squeals. I’m hard as fuck over that thought but my fantasy is ruined the moment Antoine walks out and steals her smile. Motherfucker. He yells at her to get out of the pool—words I can hear all the way over here—his arms waving around him in anger. I clench my fist and crave to run it right through his fucking nose. Antoine may be a monster who’s bigger and scarier than me. But I’m a stalking panther. Quick, sneaky, and fierce. One day I’m going to beat the shit out of him and he won’t even see it coming. She reluctantly climbs out of the pool, water dripping from her curvaceous body. Like melted chocolate against her brown skin. I want to lick every drop from her. Once again, her eyes dart to my window. A hero. She wants a hero. I stand from the lawn chair and abandon my binoculars to stalk their way. We’re one of three houses out here—our house situated in the middle—and the length of a football field separates each house with thick woods lining the back of all three properties. His yelling is louder as I approach. I’m nearly there when he raises his hand to hit her. She flinches but it does nothing to protect her from his full-fisted blow to her abdomen. He knocks her to the ground with that punch and she bumps her head on the lawn chair. Rage. Motherfucking rage. With a roar, I charge for him. He’s already crouching, his fist reared back to hit her again when I connect with him. My hands shove him hard. I may be only eighteen and not nearly as big as him, but I did play football my entire high school career and know how to tackle brutes like him. “What the fuck?” he snarls, his brows pinched together in confusion as he tries to right himself near the edge of the pool. “Fucking weird ass kid. I’ve seen you watching us.” I start to reach for Thalia to help her up but this asshole is running my way like he’s going to punch me next. Fuck him. When he nears, I use his momentum against him. I’m younger and more agile. Twisting away from him, I dart behind him and shove him once again. Splash! Pop! Into the pool he goes. That’ll distract him for a bit. Not looking back to see how pissed he is, I rush over to Thalia. She’s sobbing as she holds onto her stomach. My poor sweet

thing. It kills me that he puts his hands on her. Fucking kills me. “Hey, beautiful,” I murmur, my voice low and husky as I stroke her nearly black hair from her face. “You okay?” She turns her tear stained face to regard me. Surprise dances in her gaze. “You came.” A hero. Thalia needed a hero. Of course I fucking came. “It’s okay,” I assure her. “I won’t let him touch you again.” Jerking my head over my shoulder, I scan the pool area looking for that fucker. He’s going to be ready to kick my ass at this point. He can try, goddammit. “He’s gone.” I turn back to her in time to catch her pretty smile. Thankful and shocked. She’s shaky but I manage to help her to her feet. I tower over her shorter frame which I like. It makes me feel like I can take care of her. I will take care of her. “Where did he go?” she asks, worry dancing in her brown eyes as she darts her gaze to the house. “I don’t know…” I trail off when I see him still in the pool. Blood clouds around him as Antoine floats in the water below the surface. “Oh shit,” I hiss. “Shit!” I start to dive in—even though the abusive asshole doesn’t deserve it—but Thalia’s fingernails dig into my bicep. “Please…” Her single word comes out like a choked cry. “Don’t. He’s dead.” I snap my gaze to hers. “He could still be aliv—” “He’s not,” she whispers. “He’s not.” Lifting her chin, she regards me with a relieved expression. Her lip wobbles and I wonder if it’d be inappropriate to kiss her with her “dead” husband nearby. “You need to leave. Hurry. Before anyone sees you.” She wants to be my hero. “Are you sure?” “I’ve never been more sure in all my life. Now go,” she breathes. And then she smiles. I smile too.

It’s been three weeks since I accidentally killed Antoine Davis. I’d wanted to add his skull to my collection of animal bones I’ve collected over the years. Unfortunately, life doesn’t always let you keep your rewards. My reward is every night—when she smiles and stares out into the darkness. When she touches her cunt and she thinks of me. I know she thinks of me because I’m her hero. Her motherfucking savior.

Since he died—of unfortunate drunken pool accident where he “slipped and fell”—I’ve become bolder. Each night, while she sleeps, I creep into her house. Sometimes, I like to think she leaves the door unlocked for me because she wants me to come to her. Tonight, just like every night, the door isn’t locked. I sneak into her nice home and slip up the stairs. As soon as I enter her room and inhale her sweet honey scent, I feel relief flood through me. Her breathing is soft as she sleeps. The moonlight shines in from the window and blankets her chocolate-colored skin in a brilliant glow. She’s sleeping in the middle of the bed naked, the sheet tangled around her thighs. I smile knowing I gave her this space. This freedom. Just like every night, I strip out of my clothes and lie beside her. Her body is warm and inviting. My hard cock presses against her bare hip. It feels good to rub it against her smooth skin. Sometimes I can come just like that—with my dick sliding against her flesh. Eager to touch her, I slide her dark hair away from her throat and press a kiss there. Every night, I worship my goddess. I kiss and taste her as she sleeps. I caress her huge tits and tweak her nipples. I finger her cunt and make her moan. She never opens her eyes. Her breathing remains the same. But often, I wonder if she’s awake. My palm roams down her tit to her rounded belly. Possessively, I stroke her flesh and grab it. One day, I plan to bite and suck every inch of her. Tonight, I’m satisfied with simply holding her. She rolls to her side, her back now to me, and I still my body. Then, her ass wiggles against me as if to invite me to touch her more. I never turn down such an invitation. My palm sneaks its way down between her thighs. I groan when I run my fingers along her seam and encounter wetness. Always wet when she sleeps. Wet for me. “Good girl,” I murmur as I stroke her sweet spot. Moans and whimpers purr from her. It makes me wonder if she thinks about me in her dreams. The man who killed her husband—the man she saved too by never telling cops. I inch my finger inside her tight channel. She’d feel so good wrapped around my cock. Perhaps one day. My cock is alive and desperate between us. I rub it along the crack of her ass. Kiss after kiss along her shoulder, I worship her. Her ass continues to grind against me as though she’s begging for my dick. All I’d have to do was grab it and push it into the right hole— the hole that is weeping for me. Would she panic when she awoke? Call me a rapist and a killer? “Please,” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep. Her voice is raspy and sexy. A voice I could come to just from hearing the sound of it. I grip my dick and run it along her wet seam from behind. Once again, she pushes her ass

toward me as if to plead for my cock. This is probably a terrible decision. A decision that could end badly when she comes to her senses. And yet… I push the tip of my cock into her soaked cunt. She moans which encourages me. Slowly, I urge myself the entire way in, reveling in the way her pussy seems to hug me. I’ve been inside countless chicks before but never one that felt this amazing. I’m bare and buried deep inside this woman and I’ve never felt so goddamned good in my entire life. Her body seems to clench around my cock and I’ve yet to move. We’re connected. She’s mine. I run my tongue along the side of her neck that tastes salty from sweat and sweet from her scent. My fingers massage her clit and still I don’t thrust into her. I enjoy the way her pussy squeezes my dick as the pleasure begins to take over. “So beautiful,” I murmur against her flesh and then drag my teeth along her neck until I find her ear. “So beautiful and mine.” Another moan. Needy as fuck. The gripping her cunt keeps doing around my cock will make me come long before I’m ready. I rub her pussy faster, eager for her to orgasm all over my dick. I want her to drench me with it. She whimpers and cries out, the pleasure too intense. That motherfucking husband never took the time to touch her—not in a way that actually made her feel good. He let someone like her go unsatisfied. I’d like to think he was saving her for me. “That’s it,” I mumble, “come all over my dick, baby. If you come, I’ll fuck you so hard you scream.” She shudders in my arms as an orgasm sweeps through her. Unlike those girls from school, she lets loose. Doesn’t try to hide the way I affect her. Her body trembles and she thrashes in pleasure. I start pumping into her, my thrusts hard and thunderous. My hand becomes greedy for her fat tits and I grip the closest one. I sink my teeth into her throat and nearly come from the sound of her surprised scream. “You.” Her muttered word isn’t an accusation, it’s a prayer. A thank you. Motherfucking praise. I lick away the pain I inflicted on her neck and kiss my way up to her ear. I suckle on her earlobe and then whisper dirty things to her. I’m going to fuck you all night in the same bed where your now-dead husband used to sleep. I’m going to fill your pretty cunt up with my seed. I’m going to ruin you for any other man. She cries out as if turned on by my savage words and comes hard. This time, I go with her. Together, we find a place between reality and dreams. We dance there—naked and embracing—for a brief moment. And then we’re back in the present. I’m grunting as my

release spills inside her. I’ve just fucked my widowed neighbor. After I snuck into her house. This is bad. “That was so good,” she whispers, awe in her voice. “I’ve been fantasizing about it for a long time.” Pride surges through me. “How long?” “Since you started driving.” Thalia watches me too. “Sixteen,” I growl. “So dirty.” I pinch her clit and her pussy clamps around my cock again. “I looked but I didn’t touch,” she murmurs. “Unlike you.” This time, her tone is an accusation, but it’s filled with hurt. As if it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t reciprocate. I smirk at her words. “How long have you known I’ve been touching you while you slept?” “The very first time you touched me. It’s like you awoke the fiery woman I used to be. Made her see that life could be different. I pretended to be asleep,” she admits, her voice so soft I barely hear. “I wanted it.” I slide my soaked, softened cock from her body and run my fingers through our spent orgasms. After I coat my fingers, I bring them to her mouth. “If you wanted it so bad, you should have said so.” I push my filthy fingers into her mouth. “You should have told me.” She sucks off our juices so enthusiastically that my cock is raring and ready to go once more. When I pull my fingers away, she lets out a sigh. “I was afraid.” I sit up on my elbow and grip her jaw to urge her face toward mine. In the dark shadows of the room, I can hardly make out her features. But I can feel her quick breaths tickling my face. “Afraid of me?” “No, Thomas,” she says, my name on her lips making my dick thump in excitement. “I was afraid of the unknown. Afraid of him.” “And now?” “Now I’m free.” I release her jaw and climb on top of her. Settling myself between her spread thighs, I once again push my erection deep inside her perfect cunt. My lips brush against hers in a soft kiss. “You know my name.” “I know things too…” “My sisters told you?” She moans when I thrust into her hard. “Your dad. He’s so proud of you.”

I crush my lips to hers and kiss her passionately. I’ve waited for what feels like forever for this woman to kiss me back. And now she is. Her fingernails are digging into my muscled shoulders and her heels pushing into my ass. She urges me to fuck her. My sweet Thalia needs me. Our tongues dance together in a familiar way—as if each of us has been practicing in our dreams. I devour my woman as I drive into her. Hard. Unrelenting. Desperate. I want to fill her up with every part of me. Give it to her so good she’ll never desire anyone else. “Yes,” she whimpers. “That feels so good.” I pinch her nipple hard enough to make her cry out into my mouth and then I slide my hand between us. It doesn’t take much effort on her sensitive clit before I’ve worked her into a frenzy. A frenzy that I’m sure draws blood from my shoulders when she claws the shit out of me. Her wildness spurs the animal inside of me to lose control. With a guttural growl, I come hard inside her. My cum spurts out, hot and claiming. I’ll put a motherfucking baby in her because I can. She. Is. Mine. When the glow of our fucking begins to dim and reality sets in, her voice trembles. “Your dad said you’re headed to boot camp soon.” I kiss her plump lips. “I am.” “But we’ve just…” Silencing her words, I kiss her hard. I nip at her bottom lip and suck on her tongue. When I’ve thoroughly quietened her, I nuzzle my nose against hers. “I’ll be back, sweet Thalia.” I bury my face against her throat and kiss the silky flesh there. “And I’ll always be watching over you.”

The End

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS FROM K WEBSTER

Thank you to my husband…I’ll always be your number one stalker! A huge thank you to my Krazy for K Webster’s Books reader group. You all are insanely supportive and I can’t thank you enough. A gigantic thank you to my betas who read this story. Elizabeth Clinton, Ella Stewart, Shannon Miller, Amy Bosica, Brooklyn Miller, Robin Martin, Amy Simms, Jessica Viteri, Amanda Söderlund, and Jessica Hollyfield, you all helped make this story even better. Your feedback and early reading is important to this entire process and I can’t thank you enough. Also, a big thank you to Vanessa Renee Place for proofreading this story!! Love you! A big thank you to my author friends who have given me your friendship and your support. You have no idea how much that means to me. Thank you to all of my blogger friends both big and small that go above and beyond to always share my stuff. You all rock! #AllBlogsMatter I am totally thankful for my author group, the COPA gals, for being there when I need to take a load off and whine. Y’all rock! Ellie at Love N Books, thank you for editing my crazy Gray! You were a pleasure to work with. Vanessa with Prema Editing, thanks so much for being my second round of eyes. You’re amazing. Thank you Stacey Blake for being a super star as always when formatting my books and in general. I love you! I love you! I love you! A big thanks to my PR gal, Nicole Blanchard. You are fabulous at what you do and keep me on track! Lastly but certainly not least of all, thank you to all of the wonderful readers out there that are willing to hear my story and enjoy my characters like I do. It means the world to me!

THE FINAL FALL ALEXA RILEY

FOREWORD

It’s been two and half years since we released Taking the Fall and it’s finally time! After all the begging and pleading… Viktor is finally getting his story.

We hope he’s worth the wait!

CHAPTER ONE LONDON

“I THOUGHT he’d be here by now,” I mutter to myself, looking down at my paper. I stare at the sketch of the man who holds my thoughts and makes my heart flutter. Letting out a breath, I close my pad, dropping it down onto the bed. The more days tick by, the more I think he’s not going to come. I know three days doesn’t seem like much time, but over the last year he’s watched me every day. From the moment I first noticed him, he’s never missed one. He’s always in solid black, which includes his buzzed hair and his eyes, so brown they’re black. But I can never get close enough to be sure. Everything about him is dark and mysterious, but somehow it pulls me in. His face never shows emotion, and I have a need inside me to draw it out of him. The need grows every day and now it’s become a deep ache. I watched him as he watched me and wondered where he was going and what he was doing. I knew it couldn’t be something good. One look at my mystery man and you’d know he was up to something dark. The first time I saw him I thought maybe I was seeing things. Why would a man like him be following me? But he watched me constantly, and though it was strange, I grew to love it. I looked forward to spotting him each day. Sometimes he would watch me all day. Once I even tested it by going to the park with my lunch and drawing pad. I lay out on a blanket and he stood off by a far wall, never moving. I swear he was utterly still. It should have scared me, but the more he watched me, the more I wanted him. Maybe the old saying is true. Good girls really do want bad boys. But my mystery watcher is all man. Either way, to the people who know me I’m the “goodest” of them all. The girl who volunteers at the hospital. The girl who helps when anyone asks. The girl who works at the biggest church in town as the secretary to the preacher—my father. I walk over to the window and look out at the lake. I’m also a little shocked my father hasn’t shown up here. He has to know I‘m here. I reach up and touch my cheek where he’d slapped me when he found out I was taking off for a little. He even called me a little whore and asked about my drawings of the man. I had no idea he’d seen them. I don’t know why I was shocked he’d done it. My father rules with an iron fist, which I assume is why my mom ran off when I was little,

too early for me to even remember her. I saw a picture of us once when I was digging in my father’s desk for a pen. She was holding me close, kissing my chubby cheeks. I was about three in the picture, if I had to guess. I look just like her. Blonde hair and bright green eyes. It’s clear as day we’re mother and daughter. She looked happy holding me, so I wondered why she left me behind with him. After my mom left, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents from my father’s side. I loved it there. I would spend whole summers with them while my grandma and I cooked and Grandpa took me fishing. As I got older my father’s church started to grow. He thought it was time I came home full time. I thought he just wanted to use me as a prop, and he did at first. Then he had me take over the church accounting. It was bittersweet at times. I love a lot of people at the church, and getting to help those in need filled a place in my heart. But that was during the daylight. Behind closed doors, my father’s real personality came out. He’s cold and puts me down for the smallest things. I think it’s because he’s taking more money from the church than he’s supposed to be. And he knows I know. I’d thought about saying something once, thinking maybe he’d get in trouble and I could go back to Grandma and Grandpa’s. That dream was short-lived, though, when my grandparents passed away nearly days apart. I’d been sixteen at the time. Grandma had a heart attack one day, and Grandpa died the next. They never could ascertain the cause of his death, but I think he couldn’t live without her. They were always so in love. I looked up to that. Wanted that. I’d never felt more alone than when they passed. What made me finally hate my father was the funeral. He spoke about how much he loved them and would miss them. He was a liar. He hated Grandpa for a reason I would never know. To me and Grandma, he was wonderful. Nothing about my father ever seemed to add up. That’s the reason I came out here to my grandparents’ place. I needed some space. I hadn’t been here since they died and I missed it. It could be why I haven’t seen my mystery man in days. I assumed he would find his way here, just like he always finds me, but apparently, I was wrong. I turn from the window and grab my pad from the bed. I need to get outside. Maybe the sunshine will do me some good. I can go lie on the dock and get some fresh air. I head to the kitchen to grab a soda and make a snack. I can’t help but smile as I do. I have so many memories of being in here with Grandma. I’d begged my dad to come here a few times, but he always said no. I’m scared he’ll sell it, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do if my father finally shows up. But I’m not going back with him. I’ll figure it out somehow. Maybe he’s forgotten about the place. I’d been paying to keep it maintained out of the small pay I get from the church. I turn around to head back toward the living room and stop dead in my tracks. Standing there in the middle of the room is my mystery man. The breath catches in my throat. I

know the door was locked and the alarm was on, but he got inside the house without setting it off. He’s even more handsome than I thought he’d be. He has a hard look on his face, but I can see he’s tired. His eyes do appear black now that I can see them up close. But I want to be closer. He’s unmoving like always, and as soon as I have the thought, he cocks his head. I watch the corner of his mouth turn up, and then I do something that isn’t in my nature. I launch myself at him.

CHAPTER TWO VIKTOR

I ROLL MY RIGHT SHOULDER, trying to get the tension out of it. I don’t know if it’s from London being missing or the beating I’d given on my last job. I’d gone after him a little harder than normal. He had a type—blonde girls. My London is blonde. When I thought about how he could beat on someone as sweet and pure as her, my anger only grew. Then it burns when I realize whoever has her could be doing the same thing to her. I slam my fist into the steering wheel, making my Dodge Charger jerk to the side before I steer it back on the road again. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. That’s something I wouldn’t have ever done before. I’m not one to snap and lose control, but she’s able to do this to me. I’ve been in a state of panic since losing track of her. There’s a weird pressure on my chest, making it feel like I can’t breathe, and the longer she’s gone, the heavier it gets. If I don’t find her I hope it finishes its job and crushes me. I knew from the moment I saw her she was the most perfect creature to walk this earth. She walked out of the hospital wearing one of those candy-striper uniforms. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a fancy-looking braid, and some tresses had come loose. They were brushing against her cheeks and it was all I could do not to walk up and touch her. She turned my way as if she could feel someone staring at her. That was when her bright green eyes hit me. They dominated everything and I was trapped by the vision. Her full lips parted and she blinked, then the moment was broken. She was a young little thing. Too young to be walking around on her own. She looked like an angel. I wanted her from that very moment. She’s a treasure I want but can’t have. I’m not good enough for her and I know it. I found out she worked at a church and was the daughter of the preacher. Of course she is. She’s an angel. She shines, and when I watch her, it feels like she bathes me in light. I’ve watched her every spare moment I have. I’ve even started working less. I only take jobs here and there, but I was stupid. I should’ve quit from that very first day. I knew she needed someone to watch over her. Or maybe I brought the darkness to her. That’s what I fear most, that somehow someone saw what I coveted and they’re going to use it against me. The one thing in my life that makes me vulnerable and suddenly it’s out of my grasp. I clench my teeth. I’m not sure who would dare, but there are always men trying to make a name for themselves. I’m not one to be fucked with, but there’s a new idiot for hire every

day of the week. If even a hair on her head has been hurt, I will never forgive myself. My phone rings and adrenaline hits my blood. Only one person has this number, so I answer quickly. “Speak.” “Well, aren’t we chipper.” “Are you sure you want to play this game with me, Saint?” I say coldly. I like Saint, but I would never let him know that. We traded a favor. I bring him the man who likes blonde girls, make him cry, and hand him over to Saint. Then Saint tells me the location of my angel. I only left him with the rapist an hour ago, so I’m surprised to hear from him so soon. But maybe he was worried I’d come back and physically make him carry out my favor. “All right. All right, Fixer. Let me start by telling you this. She’s safe.” I feel a drop hit my cheek, my eyes welling with relief. It’s something that hasn’t happened since I was a child and I lost my sister. “I’m going to tell you the story, but make sure you’re headed toward Cranberry, Colorado.” Luck is on my side because I’m already headed that way. I hit the gas, looking at the navigation to see it’s not even an hour from her home. Four from me, but I’ll make it in three. I need to see her with my own eyes. “I didn’t think anyone took her, because her father hasn’t reported her missing. I feel like if your daughter is missing for three days, you’d do that.” I nod in agreement even though I know he can’t see me. I’m not a man of many words. I don’t talk when it’s not needed. “So I started digging into the preacher’s daughter.” “She doesn’t belong to him,” I correct. I hear a snort and clench my teeth once again. “I started looking into your girl.” He emphasizes the last word. “Since her mom up and left him, which we’ll get back to in a minute, she stayed with her grandparents until she was in her early teens, then her dad brought her back home to the church. The grandparents ended up dying a while back. Their house is still there and still in their names. It shouldn’t be, because according to their will, it was left to your girl when she turned eighteen. But from what I can tell, I don’t think she knows that.” My mind starts working. I didn’t pay him much attention. My angel always seemed so happy. “How can you be sure?” I ask, still worried. I’ll stay that way until I get my eyes on her. They will never leave her again. “She didn’t have a car in her name, and the dad seems like a dick, so I’m guessing he isn’t letting her use his. I went digging at the bus station and got into their shit. I pulled up the cameras and did some more shit you don’t care about until I spotted her. She bought a ticket with cash, headed for Cranberry.”

The piece of information makes me feel a little better, but still I ache. Saint rattles off the address to me. “Don’t hang up,” he orders. I don’t, but I don’t speak either. “I don’t think her mom skipped town,” he adds. I pop my neck, getting ready for what’s coming. “From what I can tell, the preacher’s wife seemed awful fucking clumsy. Always in and out of the hospital with injuries. Then one day, poof.” A rumble leaves my chest. He must have killed her mom. “If he’s touched her…” “Yeah,” Saint agrees. I’m shocked I said that out loud, but like always, my control isn’t great when it comes to my angel. “Fixer, if you ever need something, don’t hesitate.” I don’t return the favor. I already did my deed for Saint, and I have a feeling I might be retiring very soon. I roll down the window and toss the phone out of it. I push the gas even harder, eating up the miles that separate us. I have no plan for what I’m going to do when I get there. She doesn’t even know who I am. A few times I thought she caught me looking at her. Or maybe I was being stupid like I often am with her. How could she have not seen me? I’ve been following her for a year. Sometimes it isn’t easy to stay hidden, and with my size it’s even harder. I run my hand down my face. I thought leaving my angel alone and watching her was for her own good. But now I see the error of my ways. I’ve been letting her live with a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The right thing to do would be to kill him and then she would be free. She could go on and live a normal life. But I’ve never been the kind of man that does the right thing. After losing her for days, I see that I can’t live without her, and I know I can’t live with only watching. What if someone else tried to take her? What if another man tried to make her his? Rage makes my neck hot. I would end up killing someone, and that would cause my angel pain. There is only one choice. She has to be mine. I park about half a mile from the house in a docking area. I grab my bag and make the walk. I pick up speed with each step, and before I know what’s happening I have her cheap alarm disabled and the lock popped on her front door. I slide inside and close the door behind me. My heart is pounding. I hear someone moving around in the kitchen. I place my bag on the floor by the door and step into the living room. The weight on my chest lifts. She’s perfect as always. She turns around and takes a few steps before she notices me standing there. When her face turns in my direction, she

freezes and her mouth drops open. She doesn’t look scared. I try to read her expression, but there’s too much to take in. When I see the light in her green eyes sparkle, I know I’ve got her. She drops everything she has in her hands and runs at me, jumping into my arms. I catch her easily as she wraps her arms around my neck. When she presses her lips to mine, I fall to my knees on the floor.

CHAPTER THREE LONDON

HIS HANDS HOLD ME TIGHT, and I bring my mouth down on his. I hear him gasp as he falls to the floor. His hands snake up my back, pulling me into his lap. I open my mouth a little and he slides his tongue in. I moan, his taste warm and sweet. He’s soft at first, but when my tongue touches his, it breaks him. Gone is the gentle first touch and in its place is hunger. He eats at my mouth as if he’s starving for me. I slide my hands up, wanting to feel his hair. I run my fingertips over his buzzcut. We press against one another as much as we can; the space between us is offensive. His fingers dig into my back, and I find myself starting to rock against him. I can feel the stiff length in his pants, and though its size should scare me, I only move against it harder. I place my elbows on his shoulder to help steady my body as I rock faster. “Fuck,” he grunts, sounding like he’s out of breath. I bury my face in his neck, my body still moving against his. My hormones are racing and I can’t slow them down. Embarrassed heat stains my cheeks, but I don’t know how to stop. In one swift motion of strength he stands, easily walking over to the sofa and sitting down with me straddling him. He rubs his hands up and down my back softly, his voice low and purring. He says words in Russian that I don’t understand, but I stay with my head in his neck, breathing him in. I feel like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. He’s here. He actually came. “You know who I am?” He finally speaks in English. His rough words are thick and sexy and filled with need. I wrap around him even tighter. “My mystery man,” I whisper, then I kiss his neck. He stops rubbing and instead digs his hands possessively into my skin. “You don’t fear me?” I lean back and shake my head before placing my lips on his neck once again. His warm flavor is everything I’ve dreamed it would be. “I can’t think when you do that, my angel.” “You want me to stop?” I ask. “Never,” he answers.

He moans and leans back as his hands go to my ass, pulling me closer. Another string of Russian words leaves his mouth, making me smile. I’m making him lose control, and I have no idea what I’m doing. “I didn’t think you would come,” I admit. “It took some time to find you.” His hands move to my thighs, rubbing up and down my bare skin. His touch is possessive, like he’s owning every inch, like he’s touched me for as long as he’s been watching me. “Good.” Our eyes lock. I didn’t know eyes could be so dark. If I didn’t think of him as my guardian angel, I’d probably fear them. I raise my eyebrows in challenge. “I did it on purpose.” He studies me for a moment. “You hid from me?” “Yes!” I yell. “You never talk to me. I mean, I try walking by you or getting close.” I hold my hands up in frustration. “Then nothing. A few times I even stood in creepy places thinking, okay any moment now he’s going to grab me.” “You thought I’d kidnap you?” He looks at me, a little shocked. My gaze falls to my lap and I feel embarrassed again. “I don’t know what I thought. I just wanted you.” “Look at me, angel.” He slides his hands up to the hem of my dress, to where the tops of my thighs meet my hips. His palms are so big they wrap around me there. Our size difference is major. “I have—” He stops mid-sentence, his whole face going hard. “I will kill him.” His eyes are on my cheek, and I reach up to cover it. He pulls at my wrist softly, making me move my hand. He leans forward to get a better look at the bruise. His face shows pure rage like nothing I’ve ever seen before. “I don’t even know your name,” I whisper as his eyes come to mine. The hard rage slips just a little before he places a kiss on my cheek. “Viktor.” “Viktor, can we not do this right now? The whole cheek thing. I-I…” I stumble over my words a little. “I don’t want to talk about my father. That can be later. Today is us.” I reach out and run my finger along his lips. They’re so full for a man. A scar runs from the top of left lip down to the bottom. He looks down when I touch it, like he’s embarrassed. I kiss it. Then I kiss the other side of his mouth. Then I kiss him. His hands tangle in my hair and he takes control. I melt into his touch, craving his strength. “Angel,” he growls. “If you do not stop I will cum.” It’s then I realize I’m rocking against him, trying to ease that deep ache that’s between my legs. “Yes, I want that.”

He slides his hands around to my ass and his mouth goes to my neck. I feel his power everywhere. The heat from his big body warms me, and he moves me against him. His hard length rubs my bare panties, and I feel myself soak the cotton material. “Viktor,” I moan as I throw my head back. His teeth graze my neck and it sends a chill down my back. My nipples chafe against my bra and my breasts feel heavy. Lava rumbles in my center before it breaks free and I explode. I scream out his name and he jerks under me, and words I don’t understand fall from his lips. The orgasm is coming in powerful waves, and all I can do is ride out the pleasure. “I’m going to have to learn Russian,” I say on a laugh as I lay my head against his chest. He leans back, wrapping his arms around my back and keeping me in place. “I don’t think I can let you go, angel. Maybe you weren’t wrong with your kidnap idea.” “Then don’t.” I let out a sigh of contentment, completely at peace for the first time in a long time. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever had this feeling. I don’t know what it is about him. “Please look at me.” “Your ‘please’ sounded forced,” I giggle. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I can’t remember the last time I used the word. I don’t have to. Other people are usually saying it over and over to me.” I sit back and look at him, my jealousy firing through me. “You’re upset,” he says, reading my expression. “Are you talking about women saying that to you?” There’s no way to keep the sass out of my voice. “You’re jealous?” I smack his chest. He smiles. “I can’t remember the last time someone smacked me and didn’t pay the price. But you, my angel, may do with me as you desire.” I do it again, irritated at his non-answer. “It’s not funny. You can’t stalk someone and sleep with other women.” He lets out a sound of disgust. “I did no such thing. I spend all free time as you say, stalking you.” He leans up, cupping my face. “There is only you.” “Oh.” He leans forward, placing a soft kiss on my lips. “Lie on me. I like it very much,” he whispers against them. I smile and lay my head back down on his chest. “You don’t understand my words. I am not a good man, London.” “Don’t call me that.” “Angel,” he corrects.

I kiss his neck when he says it. He lets out a breath, probably knowing I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t. Not right now at least. Digging into the past is something I want to avoid. I know we will, but not right now. “How did you know I would come for you?” “I got tired of waiting. This all seemed so crazy and I thought, okay, this might be even crazier, but what if you found me. If you came for me here, then it was meant to be.” “You don’t know the things I had to do to find you.” “Do I want to?” “Nyet.” “Then I don’t want to know.” I shrug, not needing to know all the details. Someone else may like to know every single thing, but I’m okay being in the dark. “Was it worth it?” “I would have done worse for this. I would have done anything.” The way he says “anything” makes goosebumps rise on my skin. I lean up. “We’ve waited long enough.” I move so my lips are barely touching his. “Make love to me, Viktor. Show me what it feels like to be connected to someone. Make me yours.”

CHAPTER FOUR VIKTOR

“ANGEL, MY HANDS ARE—” “Perfect. I want you to touch me everywhere with them.” I can’t remember the last time I’ve ever been shocked. Nor can I remember the last time I felt unsteady. But I feel both as I try to keep my hold on her. “I never want to hurt you,” I try to tell her. She doesn’t see the pleading in my eyes. It’s not that I don’t want to be inside her, because every cell in my body is screaming for it. It’s that I’ve dreamed about this moment more than I should have. Once I laid eyes on her, my dark dreams melted away and they were only filled with her. She made me cum in my pants merely by rubbing her body against mine. Even after that, I’m still hard as steel. “I’ve always heard it hurts the first time so…” She licks her lips and trails off. I groan and before I know it I’m on my feet carrying her in my arms. She giggles as she wraps her arms around me. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” “I still can’t believe you want me here.” I move down the hallway, careful not to jostle her. “Don’t say that kind of stuff. I don’t like it. I want you, Viktor. I want you so much I hatched a plan to get you here because you wouldn’t make a move.” Something deep inside of me warms. No one has ever wanted me. Unless they want me to fix something or hurt someone. “I want you more than you will ever know, angel. If I hadn’t found you—” I shake my head. “I would have searched until the end of time.” I find the room at the end of the hallway and lay her down on the bed. I move over her and wonder if she knows one of the world’s deadliest killers is about to take her innocence. Her big green eyes are filled with excitement. Her blonde hair is fanned out around her and it looks like a golden halo. “I tried to do the right thing. For once in my life I tried to be honorable. But you sealed your fate by luring me here, and I’ll never let you go.” “Liar.” There’s a knowing smirk pulling at her lips. I lower my weight on top of her to prove my point. She isn’t going anywhere. “You think I’d let you go?” I ask. My tone is stern, but it doesn’t seem to faze her. She’s

completely unafraid of me, and something about that makes me love her even more, which I didn’t think was possible. “After seeing you here, I mean, I know you were never going to let me go, but watching would have only lasted so long. What if I went on a date with some guy and—” I growl, cutting off her words, and she smiles triumphantly. “See? Today didn’t seal my fate. I was yours from the first moment.” She’s never been more right. “I’m going to show you who you belong to.” I reach into my boot, grabbing the knife I keep hidden there. I sit back while still straddling her, and look down. There’s not a trace of fear on her face. In fact, she wiggles around like she’s excited. I slide the knife into her dress and I watch as her breathing picks up. I cut down the center, the sound of the ripping cotton loud in the quiet room. I toss the knife onto the floor, not even looking at where it lands because I’m unable to take my eyes from her body. I spread my hands across her belly, seeing such a difference between the two of us. Where she’s soft and pale, I’m tanned and covered in scars. Not one mark is on her body, the creamy skin shining in the light. My hands move to her stomach and slide up higher. She raises her chest as I make my way to her tits. I glance into her eyes and see that she’s not watching my hands, but instead she’s watching me, her lips slightly parted with desire all over her face. Never in my life did I think I’d have this perfection in front of me. She’s ripe and innocent, and I’m going to spread my filth all over her. Fill her pussy with it. I’m a selfish bastard, and I’ll take the treat she’s dangling in front of my face. Someone should have protected her long ago, because I’m about to have every inch of her. I brush my fingers over her nipples. The delicate pink peaks harden under my rough touch. I pinch one and then the other, going slowly. “Viktor, I need more,” she pleads with me. I close my eyes, trying to get myself under control. When she says my name like that, I’ll do anything. I open my eyes again, staring into hers and trying to relay all that I’m feeling. “Don’t ask me to go fast. I’ve waited so long for this, dreamed about it so many times. I’m going to take my time, and you’re not going to rush me.” She smiles at me and puts her hands above her head. “Do with me as you please.” Leaning down, I suck a nipple into my mouth. The feel of it on my tongue is almost too much, and I have to grind my hard cock against her thigh for some relief. She moans as she arches up, showing me she wants more. Her sounds of pleasure are driving me to the point of insanity. I let her nipple pop out of my mouth before I move to the next, giving it the same treatment. Back and forth I go between them, until her cries are more than I can stand. I move down her body, needing to taste all of her. My tongue dips into her belly button before going to one hip and grazing my teeth across it. I kiss my way over to the other, then bite her there as well, marking her as mine. My angel wiggles under my touch, with

her hips rising under me. “This feels so good.” Her words are broken as they fall from her lips. Her body is covered in a layer of sweat as her excitement grows. I kiss her everywhere, wanting to taste it. I slip my fingers under her soft pink panties, pulling them down her legs and moving to stand on the side of the bed. I look at her laid out on the bed for my taking, her hands stretched above her head. “This is it, London. You’re mine forever now.” She smiles and spreads her legs shyly. I grab her ankle, rubbing my thumbs across it, wanting to feel her soft skin again. I easily pull her down the bed as I drop to the floor between her spread thighs. I toss her legs over my shoulders and lick my lips. “Angel.” I whisper her name against her pussy as I breathe in her heavenly scent. The smell of her fresh pussy fills my senses, and I grip her ass with both hands. She isn’t going anywhere. She’s staying put until I’m finished. I take one long lick, and when I pass her clit she jerks in my grip. I keep her thighs in a tight hold. I need this more than I need my next breath, and she’s going to give it to me. I want to show her I can take care of her and make her feel good. I may not be worthy of her, but I’ll make sure she has everything she’s dreamed of. She moans my name as my tongue circles her clit. Then I suck on her until she’s thrashing. Her legs begin to shake and I watch her fingers dig into the sheets. “That’s it, angel. Ride my face.” Up and down my tongue moves between her swollen lips as her body nears its peak. Steady strums right on her hard pearl are what she’s after, and I give it to her. I lick her virgin cunt within an inch of its life, and I’m rewarded when she screams my name and warm, wet cream lands on my tongue. I don’t stop as she pulses and her orgasm rocks through her body. I help her stretch it out and keep my mouth right where she needs it most. “Please, Viktor, it’s too much,” she pleads, oversensitive from her climax. I give her cunt one last peck and then kiss the inside of each of her thighs before I rise to my feet. There’s a dreamy look on her face, and I want to beat my chest like I conquered a goddamn mountain. There’s never been a greater moment in my life. Seeing her like this, happy with what I’ve done to her, and knowing I’m about to go balls deep into my new home. I strip off my clothes and stare down at her. “Show me my prize,” I demand, staring between her legs. They fall open, showing me her soaked pink pussy that’s glistening with her release. For a moment I wonder how it will look when it’s covered in my cum, and I take my cock in my hand. I pump up and down the thick length, licking my lips and tasting what’s left of her pussy. Her virgin cunt is the jewel I will hold most precious. But make no mistake, I will own it.

She reaches her hands out, silently calling for me. I slide one arm under her body and climb onto the bed with her, scooting her up. I move between her thighs, pushing them wide open as I slide my cock between her wet lips. Leaning down, I kiss her, letting my tongue show her what my cock is about to do. When my mouth moves to her neck, I press the tip of my cock to her opening. It’s covered in cum and slick with her own release. “You make me feel so small,” she says, looking down to where we are about to be joined. “You are small. But I’ll be as gentle as I can.” I’ll try not to hurt her, but I have to be inside her. There’s no way around it. I have to own her, and I have to fuck her, and I need to do it now. “I trust you,” she says, raising her hips. I growl, loving how hungry she is for this, too. She makes the cutest mewling sounds as I push forward just a few inches, letting the thick head sink into her virgin cunt. I feel her barrier stop me after only a few inches, and I hold there. Leaning down, I kiss her lips softly as I thrust forward, all the way to the root, and sink into her tight pussy. Her warm, wet grip squeezes me as I feel her tense and then relax. I don’t move right away, but instead kiss her slowly and let her adjust. The silky heat of her pussy is begging me to cum on the spot, but I focus on her and hold out. As her hips move tentatively, I check my control. It’s taking everything in me not to thrust in and out of her like a dog. She’s the one person on this earth that I never want to hurt, and I will make sure that I spend my life from here on out only giving her pleasure. “Move,” she whispers against my lips, and I do as she says. My thick cock pulls out in a long stroke and slowly sinks back into her warmth. I move her hips so that every thrust is pleasure, making sure her G-spot is being rubbed every single time. Her breath catches and I know I’m right where she needs it, so I hold it there, rubbing it with the fat head of my dick. Her body coils under mine and her eyes roll to the back of her head. “That’s it right there, isn’t it?” I move my lips to her neck and bite her. “I’m going to make sure you’re addicted to that fucking sweet spot so every time your pussy tingles, you climb on my cock and make me find it.” Her tight cunt is gripping me hard and it’s perfect. Heat builds in my spine and I’m doing everything I can to not cum. I don’t want this moment to be over, but I know as soon as I cum, I’ll be ready for round two. “Angel, I need your eyes, baby.” My voice is so gruff I don’t even recognize it. “I want your eyes on me when it hits you.” She pops open her eyes and gives this small nod as I thrust hard. Her mouth falls open and she screams out my name as her pussy clamps around me. I cum with her as the full load from my cock releases into her pulsing pussy. It doesn’t seem to stop as her cunt grips me tighter and tighter, taking everything I have to give.

CHAPTER FIVE LONDON

VIKTOR ROLLS over so I’m lying on top of him. He plays with my hair, bringing it to his nose every now and then and smelling it. “That was amazing,” I sigh. I turn a little and kiss the place over his heart. I lay my ear back down on it, listening to it beat. It’s soothing. “You are amazing.” I let out another deep sigh, feeling sleepy and content. “I’ve never felt so at peace.” I really don’t care how crazy all of this is. As long as Viktor and I are on the same page, it doesn’t matter. “We should leave tomorrow. Someone knows I’m here. I don’t think this person would give away my location, but I will never risk your safety.” “That’s very cryptic of you,” I laugh. “I don’t need it all right now, but you have to give me something. You probably know almost everything there is to know about me.” “I didn’t know your father hit you.” His chest rumbles in fury. “That was the first time,” I admit, trying to cool his anger, but it doesn’t seem to work. “It doesn’t matter. I’m with you now, and I’m sure no one will get within five feet of me ever again.” That helps some of the tension leave his body. “I grew up in Russia. I normally mask my accent when around others, but it comes out when I’m with you.” I don’t know why, but I like that a lot. “My mother was gone before I could even remember her.” “Mine too.” I tilt my head to look up at him. He tenses for a second and I notice his brows draw together. “My father was a doctor. He practiced in a small clinic in our basement and made house calls. He didn’t have normal patients. People went to him when they didn’t want to go to the hospital because the police would ask too many questions.” He keeps on playing with my hair while he talks to me. “My older sister hated it. I didn’t give it much thought. Then one day I went down to the

local store to pick up some things. I didn’t feel like I was gone long, but when I got home I couldn’t find anyone. I went downstairs to his clinic and they were both dead.” I see pain in his eyes. “My sister…” He pauses, looking away from me. “They were not merciful.” I hold on to Viktor, letting him know I’m here. I want to comfort the little boy who had to see that. “I went upstairs and I packed a bag. I took one of my father’s guns and some cash he kept at home and I left. I hoped the police would think whoever did this took me and would think I was dead, too. They did.” “Where did you go?” My eyes water. “I lived on the streets. I was trying to find the person who killed my sister. I wanted revenge on the sick fuck who did those things to her. It took years, but I found him.” “How old were you when you found him?” “Barely a teenager. By that time, I’d learned the streets. When I found him I took him to an abandoned warehouse. I used to read everything I could get my hands on, and growing up, a lot of that was medical textbooks my father had around. This knowledge was helpful. I knew how to cause pain but also how to do it in a way that wouldn’t kill him. Or at least, not quickly.” At that, I tense. He was a little boy doing this. I turn my head and give him a kiss over his heart again to let him know I’m still with him. “I played with him for hours until I finally shot him. He was my first kill.” I crawl up Viktor’s body to put my face into his neck. “Keep going.” “I left a note on his body with my sister’s name. It didn’t take long for word to spread about what had been done. People were shocked that such a young boy had done these things. It wasn’t long until people were asking me to do things for them, offering me money to do it. I was young. I could get in and out of places without being noticed. I took the jobs and did what I had to do.” “You’re a contract killer?” “Yes.” “You said you pick your jobs. How do you pick them?” “I take jobs that rid the world of people like my sister’s killer. But understand that just because I do it my way doesn’t make it okay. I’m still a killer, angel. I kill people for money. This is who you lie in bed with, who you gave your innocence to.” “Viktor.” I kiss below his ear before sitting up and looking down at him. His chest is littered with scars. I place my hands flat on his chest, my hair falling all around us. I feel powerful sitting over him, but he looks like a warrior between my thighs. “Are you done with that life? Are we free of it?” “You still want me?” He looks at me with hope in his eyes, his hands moving down to my hips. “Would you let me go if I didn’t?” I raise an eyebrow in question. His fingers dig in,

silently answering me. “I don’t want to go. I love you. All of you.” Suddenly I’m on my back and Viktor is looking down on me. Being thrown around so easily sends a delicious chill up my spine. “I’m done with that life. If you are by my side, I’ll give it all up.” I lock my arms around his neck. “I love you more than anything, angel, and I’m going to show you that for the rest of our lives.” “Start now. Make love to me.”

CHAPTER SIX VIKTOR

I LIE HERE STARING at my angel while she sleeps. Her hair is all over me. It’s softer than silk and I find myself playing with it constantly. I need to get up and start making plans. I wanted to do it after we ate dinner last night, but we ended up swimming in the lake, then tumbled back into bed after a shower. I couldn’t keep my hands off her. Even through the night I couldn’t stop from reaching for her. Each time, she welcomed me with spread thighs and a wet cunt. I should have let her rest, but I’m an animal when it comes to her. I have a feeling she’s going to be sore. It may work to my advantage since we’ll be traveling most of the day. I slide out from under her, hoping to get my shit done before she wakes up. I walk out of the room and head for the bag I dropped by the door. I find a pair of boxers and slide them on before grabbing a burner phone out of my bag. I freeze when I hear something coming up the gravel driveway outside. I glance down the hall to make sure my angel isn’t coming, then sidle over to the window to look out. I can feel the smile pulling at my lips. I open the door, stepping out as her father comes up the stairs to the porch. His gray hair is styled and like always he’s in a suit. I’m starting to see that everything is about appearances for him. He freezes at the sight of me. I take a step to close some of the distance between us. The shock is clear on his face. “It’s you, that man she’s been drawing in her notebooks,” he says, accusation in his voice. I watched her draw so many times, but I never had any idea what it was. Fuck, I love her. I’m starting to see she really loves me, too. She keeps on showing it time and time again. I’m going to take it. I don’t say anything. Instead I give him a bored look. “Get off my property right now,” he says, flustered but straightening his shoulders. “Can’t,” I say, taking another step closer. “It doesn’t belong to you.” His face drops a little at my words. “Is my daughter in there?” “She doesn’t belong to you anymore.” I fire back, then lightning fast, I backhand him across the face. He flies back, hitting the gravel, and I’m on him before he can cry out. I wrap my hand

around his throat so he can’t make a noise. “You’re going to be real fucking quiet because my angel is sleeping. If you wake her, things are going to go badly for you.” He’s choking and trying to pull my hand away from his throat. “Blink twice if you understand me.” He does, and I release him. He coughs but covers his mouth at the same time. I stand back up, looking down at him. It takes everything in me not to kick him, but I’d probably break something, and I want him to leave. I don’t want my angel seeing him. I handle any darkness that tries to come at her. “Get up and get the fuck out of here.” He stands, backing up a few paces and rubbing his throat. My handprint is already showing on it. He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “Don’t think I don’t know about London’s mom.” His face pales at my words. “Don’t come back here or try to reach out to her again. She’s dead to you.” With that, I turn and go back in the house, locking the door behind me. I look out the window and watch him take one last look at the house before he gets in his car and leaves. I grab my burner phone and make a call. I hear the line pick up. “It’s Fixer.” “Finally calling in that favor?” “Yeah, I want you to make it look like an accident.” I rattle off her father’s address before hanging up. He took her mother from her and laid hands on her. He was already a dead man. I make one last call to line up plans, then I break the phone in half and toss it into the trash. I head back upstairs, feeling like I’ve already been away from her too long. I slide into bed next to her and she wraps her naked body around me. A feeling of being home settles in my chest. “You smell good,” she says against my neck, then kisses me there and gives a little nibble. My cock hardens at the slightest attention from her. “How are you feeling?” “A little sore, but a good sore,” she sighs. “I’m going to run you a bath. I’ll make us something to eat, and then we need to hit the road.” “Mmkay,” she mumbles, but she doesn’t move. I slide out and she grabs for me, but I’m already pulling her into my arms. I pick her up and carry her into the bathroom, sitting her on the counter. I run the water for her bath, making it nice and warm. “Give me a morning kiss,” she says, finally opening her eyes. I step between her legs and take her mouth. The kiss is soft and sleepy, and when she’s finished I pick her up and place her in the warm water.

“I’m going to start packing.” She nods. “Angel, eyes.” She opens them and smiles at me. “Don’t fall asleep.” “I’m up, I promise,” she yawns. I didn’t think she could look any sweeter, but sleepy London is adorable. I start grabbing her clothes and packing them into her bag. Then I make sure the rest of the house is locked up tight and toss out all the food in the kitchen so it doesn’t go bad. I walk back into the bedroom, and she’s sitting on the side of the bed in a simple sundress. Her hair is in a knot on the top of her head, and I walk over and pull it free, letting her blonde locks fall. “Where are we going?” she asks, looking up at me. “I’m getting us out of the States. Then we can go anywhere you want.” “I’ve never seen the ocean.” I cup her face. “I’m going to show you everything.” I drop to my knees in front of her. “We are headed to Texas to catch a plane, but before we leave Colorado I’m going to marry you—” She cuts me off, throwing herself at me. I let myself fall back so she’s on top of me as she kisses me everywhere. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” she chants, placing frantic kisses on me. “I didn’t think I phrased it as a question,” I tease, squeezing her ass. “I want you to make love to me right now, but I really want to go get married, too,” she says, thinking through her indecision. “I’ve never seen you smile so big before.” “London, you just agreed to be my wife. How could I not be the happiest man on earth?” “This is crazy,” she giggles, rolling all over me. It is, but it’s also right. My entire world revolves around her, and so this is our destiny. I would have her by any means necessary, but to know that her love for me is even a fraction of my love for her is paradise. It’s all of my deepest, darkest wishes come to life and then some. She strengthens me in a way I could never accomplish on my own, and I will be her warrior. I will not only marry her but I will guard her until my last breath. My gift to the world is protecting what is most precious, and my angel is that for me.

EPILOGUE 1 LONDON

ABOUT A YEAR later “Are you excited to be home, angel?” I look over at Viktor. I feel like we’ve been driving forever. It might feel like that because he’s right. I am excited. “You’re driving me crazy.” “You look really happy for a crazy person.” He strokes his hand back and forth on my thigh. I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you for doing all of this,” I tell him. “You haven’t even seen it yet. You might hate it.” “You made it for us, so I know it will be perfect.” I truly believe that. Over the past year Viktor has made my life feel like a dream. We’ve been traveling all over the world, seeing things I never thought I’d see. Doing it all as husband and wife made it even more special. Though while we were traveling, he kept checking up on the house we would be calling home soon I had no idea what he was really up to. He said he already had a house on a nice piece of land, and it all just needed to be set up and secured. I don’t even want to know what he means by that because it’s likely something over the top. “We’re already here.” He nods to the stone wall that’s running along the wall. “We have over three hundred acres.” My eyes almost bug out at that. “I’ve owned the land for a while, and there was already a house on it, but I didn’t think I would be here long term. Then you came. Now I know why my guy told me to buy it. Just like everything about us, it’s like fate kept making sure we got what we needed.” “Is this going to be like a fortress or something?” I eye him. I have a feeling I know what’s coming. He gives me one of his half-smiles. I don’t care if it is. If it puts him at ease, then I’m okay with it. I loved traveling. I got to see more than I ever thought possible, but I’m ready to be grounded, to have a place we can call home. “As long as I’m locked away with you, I’m happy.” Finally, we pull up to a giant iron gate. Viktor reaches out and puts him thumbprint on a pad, and the gates slowly open. A man in a black vest with a gun strapped to his side steps out and nods to Viktor, who nods back at him.

We drive on, and a house comes into view as we reach the top of a steep hill. The sight takes my breath away. “Viktor,” I breathe, utterly shocked by what I’m seeing. “Do you like?” he asks. “It’s wonderful.” I stare at it in awe. I can’t believe this is going to be our home. “Before we go in, I want to show you something.” He jumps out of the car and comes over to my side to open the door. He gives me his hand to help me out. “Around the back.” He leads me around the house. When I look down the sharp decline, I see a lake that’s almost crystal clear. He points, and I follow his line of sight. My breath leaves my lungs as a sob bursts out. There, on the lakeside, is my grandparents’ house. “I told you I would give you everything.” I turn and throw myself in his arms. “I never doubted.”

EPILOGUE 2 VIKTOR

ABOUT FIVE YEARS later I growl at the valet who tries to open the door for my wife. He jumps back, and I open the door to the car instead, giving her my hand to help her out. My eyes soften when they come to hers, like they always do. Something about her can shut down the darkness that used to run so deep in me. Even with the smallest touch, I can go from beast to kitten for her. It’s all in her touch and in her voice. It’s our anniversary and I plan to celebrate with my angel. I thought when we first moved to Seattle and I put a wall between us and the world that it might bother her, that she might go stir-crazy. But as time has gone on, I think she likes it more than I do. I thought for our anniversary I’d make a change. I got a hotel in the city and made a reservation to a fancy restaurant. I’m not sure I’ve made the right choice, though, and I feel like everyone is looking at my angel. It’s annoying me. She takes my hand and gives it a firm squeeze. She must realize how I’m feeling. No one has ever been able to read me in all my years as a hitman. Except her. I take the luggage from the bellhop, who wants to take it for us. No one will be wheeling my wife’s panties around but me. I don’t care if it’s in luggage. When we get to the front desk, I give my name. The desk clerk looks at my angel a little too long. I’m not shocked that people want to look at her. She’s the most perfect thing that has ever entered this earth, but it doesn’t mean I will allow it to go on. I reach over the counter and grab him, bringing his head down on it. It makes a hard thunk. London gasps besides me, grabbing my arm. “You don’t look at her,” I tell the man. He lets out a strangled, “sorry.” “Viktor,” my angel admonishes, but it sounds more like an angry kitten and it makes my cock jerk. “Your keys, sir,” the clerk stutters over his words. “I’m sorry.” London rolls her eyes at me. I pick them up, guiding us over to the elevator. She hits the button and the doors open and we step on. “Did you really have to scare the poor boy?” she asks me. She’s lucky I didn’t do more than give him a knock on the head. I hate when people look at her. It’s like sandpaper to my skin. She’s mine. I need all her sunshine to block out my

darkness. She is my air to breathe. Without her I am nothing but a hollow man. “He’ll spread the word. We are here for a week. Now I won’t have to think of others looking at you.” The elevator doors slide open. She goes to step off, but I stop her, pushing her back. I step into the hallway, looking both ways before I let her exit. When we get to our room I let her in, but like always she stays by the door. I don’t care how crazy it is, I check the room to feel at ease and she lets me. Old habits die hard. I make my way back to her and pick her up, carrying her through the sitting area and into the bedroom. My mouth goes to her neck and I nibble on the place she likes best. “Viktor,” she moans. “I need to tell you something.” I pause and look down at her. She bites her lip and I can tell she’s worried about whatever it is she is going to say. “You can tell me anything, my angel.” I try to comfort her. I don’t like the worry I see. I’m the one who worries, not her. “I’m pregnant,” she finally blurts out. My eyes start to water and I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “Are you happy?” I can see she’s unsure about my reaction, and I sit down on the bed with her in my lap. I hold her close, praying to every god I can think of and thanking them for blessing us with a child. For so long I’ve wanted this baby, but I didn’t push my angel. I knew that if it was what she wanted, then I would make it so. “Angel, I’m more than happy.” I feel like my chest is going to burst. I remember when she told me she was on the shot. I was a little sad that I couldn’t get her pregnant right away. I wanted her to have our baby, but I also wanted time for the two of us. It’s perfect timing, and it feels right. “If it’s a girl, I want to name it after your sister, Nika.” I lean back and look into her bright green eyes, seeing her own tears of joy. I press my lips to hers and whisper words of love as I hold her in my arms. There will be time for making love later, time for celebrating later. In this moment, I want nothing more than to hold my family in my arms and give thanks. She’s handed me more than I could have imagined and more than I ever deserved. I will spend the rest of my life honoring the gifts she has given me. “Da,” I say simply, and our lives are forever changed.

VISIT THE AUTHORS

Alexa Riley A. Zavarelli Celia Aaron Jenika Snow Isabella Starling Alta Hensley Jade West Ava Harrison K. Webster