Breaking Grace - Rose Devereux

BREAKING GRACE

ROSE DEVEREUX DEVEREUX BOOKS

Contents Acknowledgments Prologue 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24.

Grace Bram Grace Bram Grace Bram Grace Bram Grace Bram Bram Grace Bram Grace Bram Grace Grace Bram Grace Bram Grace Bram Bram Grace

25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38.

Bram Grace Bram Grace Bram Bram Grace Bram Grace Bram Grace Grace Bram Grace

Epilogue About the Author Also by Rose Devereux

For my Family

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

To all of the readers and bloggers who support my work and love/hate/want my dominant alphas, thank you so much. I love and appreciate you all. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Kathi Goldwyn and Zoraida Mills, for transforming the last four months of my life with your friendship and encouragement. You’re amazing. I’m so grateful for both of you every day. Thank you to Maureen Goodwin and everyone at The Dark Angels and Wicked Dirty Girls for making me feel so welcome, always. I’d be lost without Michelle Brown and Caroline Cogswell, PA’s extraordinaire. I don’t know how I lived without you! Thank you for putting up with my endless questions, and being so brilliant and kind. To all of the authors, bloggers, and readers of

the Dark and Dirty Romance Book Club, I’m honored to be among your ranks. I’m endlessly grateful to my ARC readers, and the beautiful and dedicated women on my street team. Thank you to everyone in my reader’s group for appreciating the male form and loving steamy romance. To Amy Jay and Natasha Rivera, thank you for being my oldest and dearest friends, and for understanding when I vanish into writing for months at a time. I love you. John McCosh gave me great emergency writing advice, and knows more about story structure than I ever will. To all of the ladies who show up at my pages every day and comment and make me laugh – because of you, writing is never lonely. I write for you and all of my readers, and love every one of you. Thank you so much for reading my books.

PROLOGUE

She walks into the courtroom and everyone stops breathing. Except for me. I breathe harder. Blood surges through my body like a dam just broke, flooding every distant vein. I flex my fists. The instinct to fuck on sight is so strong I can barely stay in my chair. It isn’t because she’s beautiful, though she is. Or dressed to kill, ditto. She’s wearing a cream silk blouse tucked into a skinny, ass-skimming skirt and high-heeled sandals that tie like a little suede rope around her ankles. If they’re supposed to make me think of all the things I could do to her, mission accomplished. Chin high, she strides past the first row of seats. Heads swivel. The chatter stops. Here she comes, the lovely grieving widow. Not

exactly widow. Fiancé. And she’s practically a child, only twenty-three. When Dolly Parton wrote Jolene, she was imagining a girl like Grace Garrett. With flaming locks of auburn hair, with ivory skin, and eyes of emerald green. The lyrics are like Grace’s own personal Missing poster. Along with a list of the things I jerk off to every night. There are a few descriptives Dolly didn’t think of, like a click-bait body and a stern, craggy-faced minister for a father. This chick was born for social media. The press loves her. She’s got a good-girl pedigree, and she looks amazing no matter what she’s doing. Sitting, walking, crying, or wishing me stone-cold dead. That’s the part everyone is here to see. The silent explosion when our eyes meet. The epic, David and Goliath battle between her and me. Evil on one side, good on the other. That’s what makes me hard. What can I say? I’ve always liked contrast. Grace doesn’t care if I’m taller, richer, stronger, smarter, and better-looking than anyone she’s ever met. She knows the world loves an underdog, and she’s going to take me down. She’s here to show everyone what a monster I am. As if they don’t already know. My proclivities have been the stuff of gossip for years. When the jury looks at me, they think they

know me. They put rumor and wishful thinking together, and create the perfect monster. And they love it. Something makes a brutal sort of sense in their world, and that something is me. If only they knew what Grace knows, and I know. They’d discover that they’ve got the story backwards. I’m not the villain in this tragic drama. She is. “Jesus,” I mutter as I watch her bend over to hug James’s parents. “What?” my lawyer says. “Those legs.” “You want to lose?” he murmurs back. “No,” I say. “And I won’t.” Her father’s not here. He came for opening arguments last week, but hasn’t been back since. He has too many people to preach to, I suppose, too many souls to save. Her mother sits beside James’s parents and they all stare straight ahead. The three of them look numb, half-dead inside. His mother’s eyes are vacant and helpless. She probably thinks I don’t notice. That I don’t care. I do care. And I’d put her only son in the ground all over again if I had to. Grace strides down the aisle, her heels clicking in the heavy silence. Everyone’s waiting for her to look at me. That’s when the fireworks will start.

Her sea-green eyes flash in my direction. I look over just in time to catch her gaze. Every time she looks at me, it feels like sucking on jagged glass. Even though it hurts like hell, there’s something beautiful about it. I shouldn’t relish the way it cuts, but I do. Lips pursed, she takes in my suit, and then, the body underneath. She stares at the parts she shouldn’t, the large, powerful parts that could crush her. Hard as she tries to push her forbidden thoughts away, she can’t help but imagine what a man of my height and strength looks like naked. She wonders if I’d be as ruthless with her tiny body as I was with her fiancé. Yes, I mouth. A frown crumples her brow. The air is thick with her hatred, but I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone more. This is biblical stuff, her and me. First I killed her man, and now I want to fill her with my seed. Plant my flag on her gorgeous body and stake my claim. The whole city is on her side, and why not? I’m the wealthy scoundrel who’s up to his neck in big government contracts. I dispatch mercenaries around the world to retrieve dangerous information and make things, well, challenging for our enemies. She’s Scott Garrett’s daughter, a pretty girl with a touch of fire and brimstone inside her. All she wants is justice. She’s standing up for the little guy.

Or in this case, the little girl. What crap. I could destroy her life in ten seconds. That’s how long it would take to prove what kind of person she is. A liar. A corrupt, money-hungry bitch. It would save me a lot of time and millions of dollars if I lose, which, contrary to my cocky bullshit, I just might. But I can’t do it. I can’t out her for the malicious wench she is. She didn’t learn much from her Daddy, or maybe she did. People love a good story, whether it comes from the Bible or the mouth of a beautiful grieving girl. As long as it reaffirms their view of life, they don’t care if it’s true. Part of me would love to see her go down. It would be a triumph of truth and justice. But it would destroy her. Maybe her father’s church, too. And for some reason I can’t fathom, my gut won’t let me do it. Even if it means lying for her, which I’m about to do on the stand. Right hand raised. I swear, your Honor, I don’t have video of the incident. My property is wired with surveillance like a maximum security prison, but it happened to be on the blink that night. In that one place, right where the incident occurred. Grace sits down, her eyes glassy with grief. I pity the poor bastard who falls in love with her

next. No one can compete with a ghost. He can take on any shape, infect the hearts of the living, haunt a woman’s soul all her life. In the split second before Grace looks away, I smile. She scowls back. We both know what I’m thinking. Your secret’s safe with me, sweet girl. But I’ll get something in return. Someday, somehow, I’m going to make you mine.

GRACE

Eighteen months later…

THIRTEEN HOURS before I get kidnapped, I go to work drunk. It was supposed to be my day off. I’d been dreading it for a week. An entire Tuesday, all to myself. Hours with nothing to do but think. Usually I spend my time off alone, organizing my already immaculate apartment and trying not to watch the clock. One more morning has gone by since James died. One more minute. One more second. But today, I had plans. Real plans, like a normal person. Last weekend was the two-year anniversary, and I’d decided it was time. Time to at

least pretend. I had a full day scheduled. I would start with the Fine Arts Museum, where I’d try to be interested in art. Then I’d have lunch with my waitress friend who has weekdays free, and then look for new shoes. Later I’d go grocery shopping and spend an hour at the gym. I’d force myself to feel like a typical twenty-four year-old whether I wanted to or not. It was going to be a brand new day. I’d been awake for half an hour. I was sitting on the couch eating toast in my pajamas and watching the news, and then I saw him. I should have turned the TV off but I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. My eyes were riveted to his face. He wasn’t on the news because something bad happened, like most people are. It was because his life is perfect. He’s untouchable. He’s about to get even richer, and he wants everybody to know it. A reporter was interviewing him outside his office. He was wearing a dark suit and a blue shirt that made his eyes look ash-gray. The sun had come out for a minute, and he was squinting in a way that made him look dangerous. Scary focused. Like he knew I was out there somewhere watching him. As if he cares. As if he ever thinks about me at all. He raised his hand to wave as he walked away, and I caught a glimpse of the chainlink tattoo on his

wrist. I’ve seen it once before, in the courtroom, when he pulled up his cuff to check his watch. It always seemed like a metaphor. Like, everything real about him was hidden underneath. Smiling his smug smile, he vanished into the glass and steel Phantom Building. I turned off the TV and threw out the rest of my toast. Then I typed out the letter I’ve wanted to write for weeks. I signed it, stuck it in my purse, and went back to the kitchen. Before I knew it, I was pulling the Tito’s bottle from the freezer. One shot didn’t help, but three took the edge off. I was about to drink a fourth when I got the call. “Grace, is that you? Oh, thank God.” “Stephanie?” My heart raced as if she could see the shot glass in my hand. “Hannah just called in sick. Please tell me you can come to The Emerson Hotel. The Executive Council Luncheon is at noon and if you aren’t here to help I’ll die. I’ll die.” “I can’t, Stephanie. I’m…busy.” “No, you’re not. You hate days off.” Shit. She knew me too well. “What about Patrick?” “He’s scouting venues with a broker. He’s the one who told me to call you.” Her voice got high and whiny. “Please?” The vodka bottle sat accusingly on the kitchen

counter. “I don’t feel well.” “You sound fine.” “I’m lightheaded.” She huffed. “You’re lying. Why are you lying?” I almost told her right then. I almost admitted that I’m so tired of feeling lost, sometimes I drink when I shouldn’t. I almost said I was on the wagon until I saw Bram Russell’s face. But if I said it out loud, then it would be real. It would officially be a “problem,” and I can’t handle another one of those. “Two hours,” she said. “You can be busy and sick later.” “I’m in no condition. Seriously.” She took a deep breath and went in for the kill. “Remember when you sent that wedding cake to Martin’s Lane instead of Martin’s Circle, and I drove all the way to the outskirts of town to get it? Like, willingly? With an amazing attitude?” I winced. “And I said, anytime you need a favor, or my first-born child…” “Yup, you did.” She was right. She’d saved me more than once. When Divine Events first hired me and I was a clueless ingenue, she taught me everything. She encouraged me to take risks and follow my instincts, even if only half my broken heart was in it. “Two hours max,” I said, flipping the coffee pot back on. “And I need to take a shower.”

She let out a shriek. “I fucking love you.” I grab a mug out of the cabinet. “I really did have plans, you know.” “They’ll still be there on your next day off. Now get your ass down here and help me. I’ve got forty banksters showing up in an hour.”

IT’S twenty minutes until showtime. Stephanie is across the room checking the sound system. I’ve set up the podium, vacuumed stray crumbs off the chairs, and stocked the buffet tables. Two cups of coffee have made me feel tipsy and wired, but I’m doing a good job of faking sober. Vodka and Bram Russell be damned. This thing is going off without a hitch. The servers file in, chatting and tying their aprons. One of the guys, a tall blonde with biceps that strain at his white shirt, shoots me a crooked smile. I give him a semi-inebriated stare. Please. Minister’s daughter, virgin, dead fiancé. He’d have better luck with a Kardashian. “Excuse me?” The assistant to the event host roars up behind me with a murderous look on her face. She’s tall, with a waist-length sheet of raven hair. She’s wearing a form-fitting red midi-dress no one under forty should be able to afford. It looks amazing on

her. I unpeel my tongue from the roof of my mouth. “How can I help?” “The lunch is about to start,” she hisses. “Where the fuck are the flowers?” “Last I checked they’re on the way, but I’ll be happy to check again.” Pressing my headset clumsily into my ear, I call the florist’s driver for the third time. For the third time, it goes to voicemail. “They must be in the Larson Tunnel,” I say. “But I promise they’ll be there.” “Did the food come at least?” she asks. “The caterers are in the kitchen prepping right now.” I touch her arm and give her my best soothing smile. “Everything’s under control.” “It’d better be,” she says, bright red lips twisting. “Patrick told me he only hires the best. If this event isn’t perfect, heads will roll. Including mine.” She turns and walks out. My chest deflates. I should only be so fashionable, so on the ball, so disgustingly perfect. As I put out place cards, two words keep piercing the shell around my heart. The best. Once I thought the best applied to me. When I was majoring in hospitality in college and planning events at my father’s church on the side. When I still had ambitions beyond surviving each day

without cracking. Before life lost all meaning, and barely functional became my new normal. I squeeze the back of a chair until my hand aches. One day I’ll be that girl again. I’ll have dreams and ambitions and a reason to wake up in the morning. Time heals all wounds, doesn’t it? Or not, according to the therapist my parents made me see, the one who said I had complicated grief. “Well, of course grief is complicated,” I said. “There is nothing about this shit that’s simple.” But she was talking about something else. The kind of grief that doesn’t go away by itself. Not for years. Decades, even. She said she could help me get better. I haven’t been back to see her since. I don’t want help. I don’t want to get better. I just want James back. If pain is all I have left of him, I’ll never let it go. Stephanie’s assistant, Wendy, bustles into the room and touches my back. “Um, Grace? Patrick’s out in the lobby.” “He is?” I’m suddenly feeling a lot more sober. “Why?” “He had to meet a client down the street. He asked to talk to you.” “Now?” “I guess so.”

“Okay,” I say, handing her my earpiece and tablet. “Can you keep calling about the flowers? We have eight minutes to make this happen.” She gives me a thumbs-up. “I’m on it.” Popping a mint into my mouth, I walk to the lobby. I head past the main desk toward the lounge. The polished marble floor feels like ice under my heels, and the pattern on the walls makes me dizzy. Okay. So I’m not in the best shape for a talk with my boss. Tossing back my hair, I take a quick, steeling breath. You’ve got this, Grace. You can do it. As long as you don’t completely fucking blow it. I see Patrick standing near a large gas fireplace with his back to me. His bomber jacket is speckled with rain. He turns, spotting me just as I step onto the carpet. “Morning,” he says. “Hi, Patrick!” My mouth is so dry his name catches in my throat. Pressing his lips together, he sits down in a striped swivel chair. “Sorry to drag you away. How’s it going in there?” “All set. Just waiting on the flowers.” I perch on the chair across from him and press my trembling knees together. I radiate vodka and fear. “I only have a minute,” he says. “Okay.” Who told him? One of the servers? The

woman in the red dress? He runs a hand through his thinning red hair. “I’ll get right to it, Grace. I hired you last year because I thought it was the right thing to do. I knew you were having some…difficulty, and I wanted to help.” My insides are frozen. I can hardly breathe. “I appreciate that.” “But I’ll be honest,” he says. “My instincts told me not to do it.” My heart withers. All I can think to do is nod. “Stephanie convinced me to give you a shot. She saw potential during your interview. I agreed to give you six months to prove yourself.” Blood rushes to my face as I remember my rocky first days. “I know I’ve made mistakes, Patrick –” He holds up his hand. “I know. A three-tiered cake instead of five. Hors d’ouevres delivered to the wrong venue. A thirty-second delay on a wedding song.” Wow. He knows my fuck-ups by heart. I guess showing up to work drunk is the last straw. I clutch my caffeine-shaky hands in my lap. It doesn’t matter if I had good intentions. Proving myself is over. My career might be over, too, before I even gave it a chance. My mind skips back to the first event I ever planned. I always loved parties, even simple

birthdays for the neighbors’ kids and cookouts during the summer. Tonight we might go back to a strained, silent house, but for a few hours we could be like everyone else. I was twenty when my mother said that two of my father’s parishioners wanted to throw an engagement party at the church. When I heard they were looking for an event planner, I offered to work for free. I was too young and naïve to be nervous. I read every book I could find on hosting and planning. My theme was a vintage garden party, and even though I had a shoestring budget, all of the women loved it. I’d never been so happy. I finally felt good at something. I had a purpose in life. After that, whenever there was an event at my father’s church, I got to plan it. Baptisms, memorials, retirement parties where ten people showed up – it didn’t matter what it was. I threw my heart and soul into it. I never had much money to work with, but I had the ability to give people memories. I could make them smile. And the best part was that I was useful at my father’s church. Every time I helped plan a fundraiser or birthday party, I belonged. I wasn’t the misfit daughter anymore. He never said he was proud of me, but I could see it in his eyes. At least I hoped I could.

But after all the press about James, my father didn’t want me involved at the church anymore. I was a distraction. Not to mention hard-headed and disobedient. I’d pushed James’s parents to join me in a lawsuit so we could convince a civil jury to do what the criminal justice system hadn’t: make Bram Russell pay. All I wanted was some tiny bit of justice. What was thirteen million dollars to a man like Bram Russell? Less than nothing. But he fought like hell for it anyway. My father wanted me to drop the case. Accept that the law was on the side of James’s killer and move on. But I wouldn’t. I defied him. And worse, I lost. Pastor Garrett’s name was in the papers every day for months in connection with me. His stubborn, defiant daughter. Not the son he wanted. Not even his own blood. Now I’m losing my job. It’s my fault. I let Bram Russell knock me down again. Squaring my shoulders, I look Patrick in the eye. I’ll tell him the truth and resign. He deserves that much after giving me a chance. “Patrick, I –” “My point is,” he says. “You’ve made mistakes, but we’ve all had disasters in this business.” I frown. “We have?” He gives me a wry smile. “Are you kidding?

When I first started out? I made every mistake in the book. Twice.” “Does that mean you’re not…firing me?” He laughs. “Firing you? I think you’re ready to take on more responsibility. In fact, you’ll need to after I let Stephanie go.” I whipsaw from relief to confusion in less than a second. “Wait a minute. You’re letting Stephanie go?” “I can’t give you more responsibility and keep her on.” “But she told you to hire me. She taught me everything I know.” “Yes, she did, and she’s good at her job. But you have a feel for this business.” He clenches his fists for emphasis. “You have real talent. You’re creative, you love the work, you’re good with people. You work too hard, but you’ll find a balance.” I don’t love the work, I almost blurt. I love the distraction. My dream was my own business, back when I still had dreams. “The choice was between Stephanie and me?” I ask. My voice is hoarse and quiet. “Yes.” “When did you decide?” “When you agreed to work on your day off for the fourth time since August. That kind of dedication is rare.”

“I came in because Stephanie begged.” “You came,” he says. “That’s what matters.” I twist my hands together. “But I shouldn’t have. If I’d done the right thing –” I catch a glimpse of vivid purple and green as the revolving door swings open and the florist’s driver walks in. Stephanie rushes across the lobby and takes one of the huge vases out of his arms. As she hustles past me, she catches my eye and winks. I remember what she said the first day she trained me. Working for Divine Events was her dream job. She’d toiled through years of shit work for caterers and wedding planners, but now she was proud to tell people what she did. I lean forward and lower my voice. “Stephanie has two kids. Her husband just took a job with a start-up. It doesn’t pay much yet.” Patrick sighs. “I know. Running a business forces me to make tough decisions.” “I don’t feel right about this,” I say. “Can’t we keep everything as it is?” He shakes his head. “I understand you and Stephanie are friends, but sometimes change is necessary. We have to leave what’s familiar to see what’s possible.” He stands up. End of discussion. A cocktail of vodka and guilt swirls in my stomach. I should be thrilled. Instead I feel sick. “I have to run,” he says. “We’ll talk about your

raise tomorrow, okay?” I swallow hard. “My raise?” “More responsibility means more money. Oh, and one last thing. We’ve been invited to put in bids on three events for Phantom Industries. If we win, it could be huge for us.” I stare up at him. “Phantom,” I repeat in a shocked monotone. “I’m aware of your history with Bram Russell, but this is a big opportunity.” “Would I have to…” I trail off. “See him personally? I don’t know. But you can handle it. You’re a professional. You’ve proven that over the last eight months.” He turns to go. My mind whirls. Did Bram Russell know? Did he ask us to bid just to taunt me? To get close so he could mock me to my face? My heart is jolting in my chest. The walls lurch and close in on me. I can’t breathe. Suddenly I hear my own voice. It sounds strong and clear. “I quit.” Patrick stops dead. He turns around slowly. “Did you say something, Grace?” I stand up on numb legs. “I said, thank you for your confidence, but I’ve decided to go in a different direction.” He frowns. “I don’t understand.” “It’s been on my mind for a few weeks,” I say. “I think now is a good time for me to pursue other

opportunities.” “Look, if this is about Stephanie…” “This is about me. Really.” He gives me a skeptical look. “Are you sure? I need to commit to one of you. We can’t undo this if you change your mind.” “I won’t.” Patrick says something about hoping I find what I’m looking for, but his eyes are clouded with doubt. Maybe I’m one of those people who can’t be happy, no matter how many chances I get. Maybe I’m so stuck in the past, the future doesn’t exist for me. That’s what he’s thinking. That’s what I’m thinking, too. It isn’t until after the event is over and I’ve said goodbye to Stephanie that I remember the letter in my bag. It’s still early afternoon. Plenty of time. I don’t have my job anymore, but I have something important to do. Something that will give my broken life meaning. A quick drink in the hotel bar and I’ll be ready.

BRAM

The most important meeting of my life is about to start when I get a text from security downstairs. Young woman here to see you, Mr. Russell. Doesn’t have an appointment. Says it’s an emergency. I send a subtle eye-roll toward the screen. Unfortunate timing. Very. It’s almost like the universe is trying to tell me something. You can burnish the outside Bram, but inside you’re still the same twisted fuck. For months I’ve been trying my damnedest to turn over a new leaf. No one-night stands, no parties, nothing outside the bounds of utterly normal. I’ve turned my whole life into merger material. I’ve become so ordinary I bore the shit out of myself. Not that I’m celibate. I’m just more subtle

about it these days. Who’s this girl, an ex? Somebody who saw me on the news? I have to hand it to her. She went for the jugular right away. It’s amazing what can pass for an emergency these days. You didn’t call me. I wish I hadn’t fucked you on the first date. I can’t stop thinking about your cock. If I weren’t on my way to finalize the merger between Phantom and Signet Industries, the biggest private military company in the world, I’d have security send her up. It might be a nice little diversion. I’d make her wait in reception for a few minutes, just long enough so she could wallow in the fact that, yes, she really did show up at my office uninvited and wearing a slutty dress. I’d have my assistant offer her some tea. And when I finally called her in to my office, I’d sit her down and ask about the nature of her crisis. Did it have anything to do with missing me? Needing to know if she meant something to me? Waking up this morning with a wet pussy after dreaming of her one night in my bed? Because chances are it was only one. I rarely let a woman stay for two. Once I’d diagnosed her symptoms, I’d temporarily alleviate them by slicing the string of her panties with a letter opener and fucking her blind on my leather sofa. After sending her on her

merry way, I’d order in lunch. The whole scenario should make me hard, or at least smile. Instead, I feel the overwhelming urge to yawn. I get this feeling every so often, and right now I have it in spades. Like there’s nothing left to do. I’ve traveled everywhere, fucked everybody, bought everything. I’ve been a soldier of fortune, an interrogator for the Polish government, and now, CEO of a global company. I even spent a year as a Master at a school called Black Halo in England. The dark shit that happened there – I keep those memories tucked away in a distant corner of my soul. The only challenge left is this merger, and after that, life is one gray, boring blur. I’m not available today, I text back. Tell her to call and make an appointment. Yes, Sir. “Gentlemen, Ladies,” I say, walking into the conference room with my assistant at my back. The CEO and CFO of Signet stand up. The founder’s daughter, Miriam Peck, stays seated. Her walker is stashed in the corner. She gives me a short nod. I nod back. Feels like déjà vu, but it’s not. Getting her here two years ago was easy. This time? It took months of persuasion, charm, and dinners in swanky restaurants to convince her that I was Signet’s future. Nothing –

and no one – will fuck this up for me. “I saw your interview this morning,” she says. “Well done.” Good. I hate that shit. I’m glad she couldn’t tell. “Thank you.” As I take a seat at the head of the table, Miriam’s gaze wanders to the display of weapons on the wall. A medieval Italian pistol. A rusted machete from an uncontacted Amazonian tribe. Four clubs from different time periods, one with a wiry black hair still wrapped in the studs. I’m willing to play the conventional businessman, but I draw the line at boring paintings on my walls. “Those belong to you?” she asks. “Yes.” “You’re a collector?” “From the age of fifteen.” “What a strange hobby,” she says, squinting at a 17th century horseman’s pick. “I prefer to call it an obsession.” Tugging on my French cuffs, I smile. If she only knew the sorts of hobbies I used to indulge in. The bacchanalias that lasted for days. The drinking and fucking until I lost count of bottles and bodies. The training of girls to become slaves and submissives. There’s that urge to yawn again. It used to be enjoyable, but after a while it felt like breaking horses that wanted to be broken.

There was no challenge. No fight. I’ve shattered the minds of traitors in shithole foreign prisons. Now that was a challenge. Girls who want to be fucked and pretend they don’t? Not so much. An intern comes in with a beverage tray. Everyone asks for coffee but Miriam, who takes Scotch. I raise my cup in a silent cheers. “Shall we begin?” Her CFO opens his mouth but Miriam waves him silent. “Let’s get right to it,” she says. “The pros and cons as I see them.” She details both in blunt terms. Phantom has a great success rate, and in eight years we haven’t had a single civilian casualty. Our training center is state of the art. It’s a dangerous world. Governments need us, and so do their people. But the company is relatively new, and some of our methods are controversial. One of our snipers just killed a government official’s guard in Jordan. “But I can forgive those things,” she says, flicking a gnarled hand. “Shit happens in this industry.” Pausing, she stares at me over the rim of her highball glass. “It’s you I’m concerned about.” I can’t even pretend to be surprised. “Go on.” “Two years ago we were right here in this room, hammering out a merger. Then that damn trial started and the publicity made a mess of things.” “I remember,” I say.

I can still hear her voice on the phone the morning she pulled the plug. I can’t have Signet associated with this. Maybe if you win…in the future… I won. And it’s the future. Nothing will derail me this time. “As we’ve discussed, no criminal charges were filed,” I say. “The jury ruled in my favor in the civil case.” She sighs as if I’m putting her to sleep. “I know, Bram. I’ve done my due diligence. But how things look is more important than the truth. I need your personal promise. Until this deal is signed, I don’t want to read about you in the press.” “Neither do I,” I say, but she’s unamused. “Not a whiff of controversy. If you’re going to run Phantom after I die, which will be soon if I’m lucky, I want to know it’s in stable hands. My greatgrandfather started this company –” I know, I know. World War I, son of a farmer, started from nothing. I did my due diligence, too. My phone lights up again. The young lady won’t leave. She insists on seeing you. Insists? Yes. She’s getting loud. My stomach clenches. Who the fuck, and why? The possibilities are practically endless, and they’re all bad. One of these days, I was bound to knock some girl up. I’m surprised it hasn’t

happened already. Or maybe I fucked a married woman and her husband threw her out. She needs cash and a place to stay. With her kids, her dog, and her mother. I tap my phone while pretending to listen. Call Fritz. He’ll take care of it. I nod at Miriam, though I haven’t heard a word. After countless meetings at the Signet offices upstate, I know she’s got about ten minutes left before she barks at her assistant to bring her walker. Then she’ll shuffle out of here as fast as her eighty-three year-old legs will allow. The only way to her Town Car is through the lobby. Where some girl is losing her shit over me right now. “So we’ll draw up the agreement and sign it when the lawyers are done bleeding us dry,” Miriam says. “Three or four weeks. All you boys agree?” You boys. If my mother had lived this long, she’d probably be a lot like her. I smile, but her CEO and CFO scowl. Poor bastards haven’t figured it out. A woman like Miriam requires a sense of humor. “Perfect,” I say, getting up. I shake hands all around, and escort Mrs. Peck and her assistant to the elevator. As soon as the doors slide shut, I call Fritz, head of security and my best friend.

“Is the girl gone?” “I walked her out two minutes ago.” “Who was she? What did she want?” “I dealt with it.” There’s something in his voice I don’t like. “I asked what she wanted.” He doesn’t answer. “Fritz?” “Come to my office.” “Why?” He pauses. “See you when you get here.”

I KNOCK on Fritz’s door. His office is in the bowels of the building, off a concrete hallway filled with pipes and fluorescent lights. I offered to move him to a higher floor into an office with windows, but he likes privacy. He likes the dark. We’re similar that way. He’s not just my head of security. He’s been my best friend since we were dirt poor townies in high school. I walk in. He’s sitting at the security station in front of a row of monitors. He’s not even six feet tall but his wide, solid body makes him look like a badass. “Hey. Take a seat.” I sit in the creaky desk chair beside him. “What’s up?” He presses a few buttons and nods at the

monitor in front of him. “This.” I watch the screen as a video starts to play. The time stamp is from an hour ago. A female figure passes through the metal detectors and stops at the security desk. The guard makes a call and hangs up. She argues, throws her arms around, points at the ceiling. “I don’t recognize her,” I say. Fritz changes the angle of the camera to show her face. “Yes, you do.” He stops the video when she’s mid-sentence. Her mouth freezes open. I cringe and turn my head, but her image is burned into my brain. High cheekbones, full lips, a strange wildness in her expression. My blood races. “Fuck.” “Yeah,” Fritz says. “Today of all days?” “It wasn’t a coincidence.” “Did she say what she wanted?” He snorts. “To blame you for quitting her job this morning.” I roll my eyes. “What?” “She’s an event planner. She said something about her company bidding on Phantom projects.” “I don’t know anything about it,” I say, and I don’t. But something stirs deep inside me at the thought of her working for me. Controlling her every move, giving her orders, watching her

scramble to please the man she hates. “You sure? You used to take an interest in her –” I cut him short with a look. “Not anymore, Fritz. You know that. Talk to my assistant about this bidding crap.” I look at her frozen figure again. The cords on her neck stand out. Her face is gaunt and shadowed, her eyes huge in their sockets. On video they look black instead of green. They make me think of tenement windows in the shit neighborhood where I grew up. Dark and shattered. God. She used to be so fucking beautiful. She’s even more beautiful now. She’s raw. Fragile. With a hint of selfdestruction that turns my guts inside out. I always sensed it in her. She’d burn before she’d give up. She hasn’t changed at all. And she hasn’t healed. I can see it. Eighteen months later and she’s still a wreck. So much pretty grief, and all for James Winthrop. He’s the luckiest asshole in the world, even if he is dead. The traitorous punk doesn’t deserve a bit of it. I wonder if she’s figured that out yet.

FRITZ LEANS BACK in his chair. “At some point today, she started drinking. I could smell it on her.” “At one in the afternoon? Where are her

parents?” I already know the answer. She’s Scott and Melinda Garrett’s daughter in name only. She’s always been too much for them. Too pretty, too smart, too headstrong. Suing me for thirteen million was her idea. Her parents and the Winthrops wanted to move on, but Grace wouldn’t let them. All that anger had to go somewhere. “There’s one other thing,” Fritz says. I sigh. With girls like Grace Garrett, there’s always one other thing. “What now?” “She had a letter. I told her I’d pass it along.” “Don’t tell me. It starts dear asshole.” “It wasn’t for you,” Fritz says. “It was for Miriam Peck.” It takes me a second to process what the fuck that means. Then the rage pours in, and my heart starts hammering. “Fuck. That’s why she was here.” “Yup. The meeting was all over the news.” He hands me a sealed envelope. I rip it open and yank out a single sheet of paper. Untrustworthy. Violent. Dishonest. I stop reading after he’ll ruin your company the way he ruined my life and crush the letter in my hand. Fritz shrugs in that blunt, what-can-I-tell-you way he has. “Destroying it won’t help. She’s sending a copy to Signet headquarters.” I stare at him. “You’re fucking serious.”

He crosses an ankle over his knee. “Yup. This merger goes through, you’ll be the richest guy in the state. You deprived her of millions, she wants to do the same to you.” I bark out a bitter laugh. “I didn’t deprive her of anything. I saved her.” “We know you saved her, but no one else does. Maybe it’s time to change that.” For a second I’m almost tempted. Two can escalate this bullshit. If the bitch wants to go to war, I’m game. I can start with a restraining order to keep her drunk ass six-hundred feet from this building. But talk about controversy. The press would be allfucking-over it. It isn’t exactly merger-friendly to go to court and fan the flames. And there’s still that crazy part of me I can’t kill off. That gives a shit, whether I want to or not. “No,” I say. “I need to keep this quiet.” Fritz swivels his chair toward me. “You mean, keep her quiet.” “How? Pay her off?” “She’s got too much pride for that. And so do you. You’ve done nothing fucking wrong.” “So just let her slander me and send bullshit letters? I can’t let this deal fail.” “No.” It’s just one word, but it says everything. Fritz knows this merger means more than money. It’s legitimacy. A huge American company backing

me up. It’s a broke, fatherless kid saying fuck you to everybody who called me a loser, back when a loser was all I ever thought I’d be. “You’ll figure it out,” he says. “You always do.” “Jesus,” I say. “How did Grace Garrett get so much power?” He turns off the monitor and her face vanishes. “She walked into your life. Some girls, the smart ones? That’s all they’ve got to do.”

I TAKE the elevator down to the parking garage and get in my car. I’m not sure where I’m going. I just need to get out the office, and out of my head. I drive into the rain and flip on my wipers. Traffic is snarled. The sky is so dark it looks like twilight. I’m staring at the SUV in front of me, but all I can see is Grace’s haunted face. Haunted, and so fucking accusing. Defenses flaring, I clench my jaw. She can accuse me all she wants. It’s not my fault her fiancé was an entitled fuck-up. Granted, I could have – I clench my fingers around the steering wheel. No. I’m not going back there. I’ve had my dark nights of the soul, the spiritcrushing realization that I shot a man. I sailed through the trial on cockiness and adrenaline, but the second I won, the doubts hit hard.

Did I have to fucking kill him? Why did I protect Grace? Why am I protecting her now? Because I’ve got a soft spot for wounded birds. It’s that simple. I have a lot of flaws, but that one’s fatal. The first day in the courtroom, I could see how shattered she was. It fit the history my lawyers had dug up about her – the drug-addict birth parents, the foster family that didn’t want her, the religious couple that adopted her when she was three and changed her name from Lea to Grace. Her parents were there with her in body, but they had no fucking clue who she was. I could see the chasm between them. She’d come to them fully formed, already scarred. I’d never spoken to her and I knew her better than they did. Because I know what broken looks like. I’ve been there. And I couldn’t bear to crush what little of her was left. I’ve heard all the platitudes. It’s not up to me to shield someone I don’t even know from her bad choices. No one is responsible for anyone else’s life. It’s not what happens to you, it’s how you respond. Yeah, yeah. I can tell myself all the bullshit I want. In the end, I’m to blame for her pain. Every second of that beautiful girl’s misery is on me. I stop at a red light. It’s pouring now. Lightning

flashes through the trees. The light’s just turned green when I see her. She’s coming out of the park three blocks from my office. She’s drenched to the bone. Her long auburn hair is stuck to her neck and jaw. She’s weaving a little in her heels. The wind gusts, flipping up the hem of her short wrap dress. Flushing, she pushes it down. I’m a cruel fuck for staring at her slender white thighs, and getting hard at the sight. The second we first saw each other, there was friction between us, some sick attraction that feels like hate all mixed up with hunger. It’s never gone away. I can’t look at her without wanting to throttle her, and fuck her until she doesn’t know her name. She doesn’t see me. She holds her purse over her head and runs across the street against the light. A truck blasts its horn at her. “Relax, man!” I shout at the inside of my windshield. Keeping my car maybe fifty feet back, I pretend I’m looking for a parking spot and follow her. She stumbles along the street. At some point she gives up on using her purse as an umbrella and lets the rain soak her. She should look pathetic, but she doesn’t. Her spine is ramrod straight and she walks with purpose, even if she is a little wobbly. I’ve never seen a girl look so tormented, and so fucking pretty.

She turns into the parking lot of a convenience store. I idle at the curb, watching her. When she gets under the awning, she shakes her head like a soaked puppy. Then she goes inside. I park in the lot and watch her through the window. She walks gingerly between aisles with a shopping basket over her wrist. She’s lucky she doesn’t fall in those wet stilettoes. She looks so sweet as she compares two tubes of toothpaste. So fucking reasonable. We’ve never said a word to each other that wasn’t relayed through lawyers or the press. I apologized for her loss through a judge and a bunch of journalists. If I could just talk to her, she’d understand. She’d see that I don’t want to hurt her. That I never meant to – Except that I did. Every night before I fall asleep, I remind myself why I made that decision. The lives I might have saved, along with my own. Her basket’s almost full. In two minutes she’ll be gone. Fuck it. I need paper towels anyway. I get out of my car and go inside. A guy buying cigarettes pockets them and leaves. I can see Grace in the security mirror. We’re the only ones here besides the cashier, a gangly, pockmarked kid in his twenties. “Hey, how’re you doing?” I say to him, keeping

my voice quiet. “I’m looking for paper towels.” “Sure. Aisle four.” “Thanks.” I walk past the soda machine and head toward the back of the store. I hear the freezer case open. Bottles rattle as Grace pulls out a six-pack of beer. The security mirror shows her heading toward check-out. At the last second, she pivots and walks down my aisle. I turn and look at her. She gasps. My heart stops before punching me hard in the ribs. I don’t speak. Neither does she. Her chest rises and falls as if she’s out of breath. Wet strings of hair stick to her cleavage. “You wanted to see me?” I say. Her mouth drops open. Those green-black eyes radiate so much hatred, my skin burns and my cock gets hard. Her eyes flicker down to the long, thick bulge and back up to my face. She shakes her head just once, her face tight with disbelief. Jesus. What kind of man wants to fuck the woman he almost destroyed? That’s what she’s wondering, and the answer is right in front of her. The paper towel wrapping crinkles in my hand. I’m buying kitchen products, she’s buying a sixpack. Quite the gender role reversal. I’d laugh if the situation were any less tragic.

She sways on her heels. Reaching out, she grabs a shelf to steady herself and knocks a box of dish cubes to the floor. We both look at it, and then back at each other. She tosses her wet curtain of hair back over her shoulder. Her eyes shift from one side of the aisle to the other. As long as I’m standing here, she can’t get by me. I’m that big. But she’s not about to reverse course. Fritz is right. She’s got too much pride. She walks toward me. Her breathing is jumpy and nervous. Basket in one hand, six-pack in the other, she turns sideways to squeeze by. I hear the squeak of her shoe as she slips. The basket clatters to the floor. Dropping the paper towels, I yank her against me. I brace for the crash of bottles but she’s got the six-pack hooked in her fingers. The sharp edge of it bangs into my thigh. I like the way it hurts. I hope it breaks the skin. Her whole weight is in my arms. I grip her tight and breathe in everything she is. Wet, flowery hair. Quivering limbs. A broken, soft, strong girl. “You okay?” “Get your hands off me,” she hisses. I tighten them instead. “You wanted to talk,” I say against her ear. “Let’s do it.” The cashier comes around the corner. “Everything all right over here?” “She dropped her basket,” I say.

“That’s okay,” he says, kneeling to grab a sponge off the floor. “I got it.” Grace spins to face me. Her face and neck are blotchy red. “Instead of talking to you,” she says, “I’ll be talking to the Larchmont Gazette tomorrow.” I stare at her. Crazy, half-drunk bitch. Whatever she’s blabbing makes no sense. But then it does. Larchmont. Where Miriam Peck lives. Letters aren’t enough. She’s going to fucking slander me to the press. “Call them and cancel,” I say. “Now.” The cashier glances warily up at Grace as he grabs toothpaste from between her feet. She glares at me. The look on her face is disgust spliced with morbid joy. “And miss the chance to tell them how you hired pricey lawyers to stiff the Winthrops?” she says. “After murdering their son? Did you know Mr. Winthrop’s business failed because he was too depressed to work?” Her words scorch me like acid. They hurt like fucking hell. And I want to thank her for it. Maybe now I can turn and walk away. For the first time in two years I’ll feel no guilt. No responsibility. Nothing but hatred, and the sick fucking lust I wish I could cut out of my heart. Maybe I’ll finally be free of it. Now that I know

how black her soul is. Black and broken beyond repair. But I’m not free of it. As I inhale her flowered skin, it only gets worse. I want to push over every shelf in the store. I want to hurl her over my shoulder and settle this fucked-up score in a remote shed somewhere. With my hand around her throat and my cock in her ass. With her pleas for mercy echoing like thrash metal in my ears. My hands twitch to grab her. What the fuck. Once I had total control and discipline, but now my temper is an unstable grenade. She takes a step back. She’s scared. She should be. I’m scared of myself. I’ve got to get the fuck out of here. The cashier is on his knees staring up at me, a ruptured packet of peanuts in his hand. I pull a hundred from my pocket and hand it to him. “For your trouble,” I say. Without another glance at Grace, I turn and walk out.

GRACE

Clearly one martini at the hotel bar wasn’t enough. If it had been, Bram Russell’s face would have faded into the bleak background of crappy food and overpriced toilet paper. I wouldn’t have even seen him. But he was as clear as the shaky hand in front of my face, and now I feel like throwing up. The worst part was the way he left, just dropping a hundred and walking out. As if I were less than nothing. “You don’t want your groceries, ma’am?” the cashier says. Holding my reeling stomach with one hand, I dump the six-pack on the counter with a thud. “No, thanks. Just the beer.” He peers at me. “You sure you’re all right?” “I’m fine. Having a bad day, that’s all.” “Well, this should cheer you up,” he says.

“Believe it or not, that was Bram Russell you were talking to.” I can barely speak. “Who?” “Bram Russell.” I grind my back teeth. “You mind ringing me up? I just called a cab.” “Sure,” he says, dragging the six-pack across the scanner. “Maybe you don’t follow the news. You hear about that road rage case from a few years ago? Some guy got all hot thinking Bram Russell cut him off, so he followed him home. When he tried to get inside the house, Bram –” I grip the edge of the counter. “That’s not how it happened.” He flaps open a paper bag and sticks the sixpack inside. “How do you know?” “Trust me. You can’t believe everything you read.” “I didn’t read it. I saw it on Newscenter 4, and –” I grab the bag out of his hands. “Thanks a lot.” I’m out the door before he can say another word. What a ridiculous fucking day. Scanning the parking lot for my cab, I step off the curb into the rain. A car starts to back up next to me, the rearview mirror coming a little too close to my hip. I glare through the rain-speckled driver’s window. It’s him. Driving that vulgar black

Maserati and looking bulletproof. Of course. Because he is. Bulletproof and inhuman. No one looks like he does. No one’s that big and tall. One of his hands would cover my back. I used to stare at him in court and think, he’s got the face of a fallen angel. Not that I know what fallen angels look like, though maybe I should since my father’s a minister. But every time I saw Bram Russell’s chiseled jaw, high cheekbones, and ashcolored eyes, that’s what I thought. He was horribly, unfairly perfect. My stomach would pitch as I looked at him, and I’d squirm with shame. I hated him. I wanted him to die. I couldn’t like looking at him. Rain pours onto my shoulders but I don’t move. I see myself reflected in the rain-speckled glass. My eyes are wild and I look unbalanced. Because I am. I actually thought he got an erection when he saw me in the store. Like, come on. Even he can’t be that sadistic. He brakes. Raising his palms, he mouths, sorry. Sorry. What an insult. Worse than nothing at all. “You’re sorry?” I yell. My voice breaks. My whole body is vibrating. The window rolls down halfway. As the glass disappears, another man’s face emerges. Round, bearded, with close-set brown eyes.

It’s not Bram. The car isn’t even a Maserati. It was all my insane imagination. “I apologize,” he says. “I didn’t see you.” The tears I’ve been holding back since this morning spill over. “That’s okay.” He frowns. “Are you hurt?” The cab pulls up behind me. A tear drips into the corner of my mouth as I grope for the door handle. “I’m fine. Really.” I slide into the back seat and shut the door. The driver glances at me in his rear mirror. I wipe my face with my wet sleeve. I manage to get home with the six-pack unopened. Twelve entire blocks. I haven’t had a binge like this in a long time. “Tomorrow,” I mutter. “Everything will be different. I’ll start all over again.” As I get out of the cab, I realize I’m shivering. Even my panties are soaked. I can’t wait to get inside. I go up the steps to my apartment and see a dark figure leaning against the wall by my door. My heart jumps, but I know in a second it’s not Bram Russell. Whoever it is is half his height, not much taller than I am. He turns toward me as I get closer. The overhead light illuminates his pale, flat face. Isaac, my father’s right-hand man. He wears his usual uniform of a black suit, white shirt with a

band collar, and shiny, square-toed boots. The look is undertaker with a touch of Nordstrom Rack. As soon as he sees me, a smile snakes across his face. My skin tingles in silent warning. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “Hello to you, too, Gracie,” he says. I give him a sidelong glare. “Nobody’s called me Gracie since I was fourteen.” “That’s okay. You’ll always be fourteen to me.” He spins his wedding band around his finger and squinches up his eyes. “Can you believe I’ve known you that long?” “Feels like longer. Did my father send you?” “Yes, he did. He, uh, heard you got fired today.” I tuck the bag of beer under my arm and dig in my handbag for my keys. “I didn’t get fired. I quit.” “Why?” “A bunch of reasons.” “Your father’s worried about you. We all are.” “I’ll call him,” I say, nudging past him. “Thanks for your concern.” Isaac sniffs the air. “You smell like girl’s night out, Gracie. What’s in the bag?” “Why do you care?” “You know your father doesn’t like it when you drink.” “I’ll discuss it with him. Now if you’ll excuse me – ”

“Sure thing.” He steps out of the way and watches as I push the key into the lock. “You look awfully pretty in that dress.” “You said that last time about my baggy jeans.” “You look pretty in everything.” “Uh huh.” I try to turn the key but it’s stuck. Great timing. I take a calming breath and try again. It won’t budge. “Something wrong?” Isaac says. His high, whiny voice makes my scalp crawl. “My key is sticky. Must be the rain.” “You got the right one?” I pull it out and check. “Yes.” I jam the key back in. It still won’t work. Isaac lets out a little chuckle. I look over at him. His mouth twists into a cold grin that makes my stomach turn. “Somebody changed my locks,” I say. He shrugs. “It looks that way.” “Who? My father?” Even as I say it, I know it isn’t true. My father can’t hang a picture, let alone change a lock. Bracing his back against the rough stucco wall, Isaac crosses his ankles. “The apartment belongs to your parents, doesn’t it?” “I pay the rent.” “Last I heard it was still their property.” I drop the useless keys back into my bag. My pulse pounds in my ears. “You changed them,

didn’t you?” “Everything I do is at Mr. Garrett’s request. And on that note, he asks that you come with me.” My toes brace into my shoes. “Why?” “You haven’t seen your parents in two weeks. They’re concerned.” “They show that by sending you here?” His thin mouth tics. “What do you have against me, Gracie? I’ve been nothing but good to you for twelve years.” “Good to me? Is that what you call what happened that day?” I’ve never said it out loud before, but I’ve always been sober in his presence. I’ve always had something to lose. “There’s no need to get snippy,” he says in a quiet voice. “I’m only here to help.” “I just wonder. What would your wife think if she knew? Not exactly godly behavior, is it?” His jaw grinds. “Let’s go, Grace.” “Go to hell. I’m not going anywhere with you.” His face is red and twisted. “I won’t let you embarrass your parents any more than you have.” He grabs the six-pack and wraps his thick, short fingers around my arm. Panic rises in my throat as he hauls me down the stairs. “Let me go.” I try to jerk away but I’m too weak. My mind is too fuzzy to think. “You can’t do this,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Whine about it to your father.” I stumble behind him. Rain pelts my face as he drags me across the parking lot and pushes me into his car, a gray sedan with a child seat in the back. Chest heaving, I stare straight ahead out the windshield. He bends down so close I can feel his stale breath in my ear. “Now, buckle your seatbelt, Gracie. We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

BRAM

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” Fritz slides the sword out of its battered leather sheath and holds it up to the light behind the bar. “Four hundred and nine years old. Who knows how many men it disemboweled in Burma.” “Honey, please,” his wife Coral says, wiping down the bar. “I have enough trouble keeping food down.” Fritz gives her an apologetic pout. “Beheaded?” Sighing heavily, she straightens and rests her hand on her pregnant belly. “Another drink, Bram?” “Thanks, Coral. I thought you’d never ask.” I push my empty glass toward her. I haven’t thought about Grace or her haunted eyes since halfway through whiskey number three. With this much booze in my veins, I can almost forget that I

pulled over four blocks from the convenience store and jerked off to Grace in my car like a fucking pervert. I’m sitting at the bar of The Usual, owned by Fritz and Coral and heavily invested in by me. Fritz has been a cab driver, an EMT, and my head of security, so when he asked me to help him open The Usual in an industrial part of town, I wasn’t sold on the idea. “What do you know about bars?” I asked. “I like to spend time in them,” he said. It seemed as good a reason as any, and I trust him with my life if not my money, so I forked over a few hundred thousand. I look around, proud of what we built. The interior is pure class – dark beams, red brick, a bar made from a solid chunk of zinc. Three years after opening, The Usual is one of the most popular places in the city on weekends. During the week, it’s a second home to the kinds of people I like to hang out with: veterans, exvigilantes, starving artists, MC guys who have no idea how much money I’ve got and wouldn’t give a shit if they did. They’d treat me just the same. Coral extends an arm toward Fritz. “Give me that,” she says. “Before you wipe out half the bar with it.” He surrenders the sword and sheath with a smirk. She handles the sword like an expert, sliding it in its case and setting it behind the bar.

“I blame you for this, Bram,” she says. “You and your grandfather’s Glock.” “You should,” I say. “That was a hell of a gun,” Fritz says. “I still think about it sometimes.” I still think about it a lot, though I don’t say so. That battered old gun was almost a living thing to me, the closest thing I had to a protector. And Christ knows I needed one. I’ve known Fritz since I was thirteen, when we were broke townies with bad attitudes and crap home lives. I was the runt, a favorite of bullies and asshole rich kids. Fritz was big enough to defend himself, but his grades were so bad he was always in detention. We had no friends but each other. We’d take off after 4th period to shoot beer cans in the woods and dream about slaying our enemies. One day we’d show them. If our shitty existence didn’t screw us over first. Fritz dropped out of school just before senior year, and we lost touch. By coincidence we met up again overseas, when I was working as an interrogator and Fritz was teaching firearms classes for a military contractor. He ended up at the school in England, and invited me to join him. Black Hollow. Or Black Halo, as everyone called it. I take a long swallow of whiskey. We’ve showed our fucking enemies, all right. Sometimes, just for fun, I count all the ways we got ahead. But

I always run into the same fucking snag. I never had a father and never will. Lucky for me, I don’t need one anymore. One of the bar’s regulars, Vernon, leaves the table where he sits with two aging bikers and takes the stool beside me. His worn jeans are so low they look like they might slide off his bony hips. “Vern,” Fritz says. “Hey.” I wouldn’t normally have much to say to a guy like him – he’s a mama’s boy who lost a chunk of his brain in a motorcycle accident – but he’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met. When the trial was going on, he came to the courtroom every day for weeks. He didn’t call attention to himself; he just sat in the back a few rows behind Fritz and listened. We never even talked about it. “Hey, Vernon,” I say, shaking his thin, tattooed hand. “It’s been a while.” “Mr. Russell.” “Bram. For the hundredth time.” “Any man who drives a car like yours is Mister to me,” he says. Coral pushes a vodka on the rocks at him. “You’re the ideal woman, Coral,” he says, forking over a few wrinkled bucks. She smiles. “Shut up and drink.” He swirls the ice with his finger, takes a sip, and looks at me. “I been meaning to thank you.”

“For what?” He gives me a baffled frown. “For what? The wheels you gave me last year.” “That old Jeep?” I tap my glass against his. “It was sitting in my garage taking up space. You did me a favor.” “Maybe so, but I treasure that car. You gave it to me when I was feeling low and it changed my life.” Fritz leans his elbows on the bar. “An old Jeep changed your life?” He laughs. Vernon shoots him a frown. “Every day I pick my niece up from kindergarten in that car. And every day I remember. Mr. Russell did this for me.” I have to say, I’m touched. “Thanks, Vernon.” He nods. “I just want to say, anything you want, you let me know. I’ll make it happen.” “Anything, huh?” It’s a joke of course, but still. He doesn’t want to say that to a guy like me, not after the day I’ve had. He doesn’t want to say that to anybody. He spreads out his hands. “Whatever you need. Last week I delivered a baby elephant to a guy two towns over. He wanted one his whole life and I got it for him.” “It’s already at a sanctuary,” Coral pipes up, slinging a bar towel over her shoulder. “The idiot lasted two days with it.” She opens the door marked Employees Only and shuts it behind her.

Vernon looks like a child who just got scolded. “But you delivered, right?” Fritz says, bucking him up. “It didn’t work out, but you got it done.” “That’s right,” Vernon says, his voice full of pride. “I delivered. I’d do it for you and Mr. Russell, too.” I’m just drunk enough to indulge him. “Funny you should ask, because there’s a girl I know.” Vernon smiles his gap-toothed smile. “A girl.” “If I had my way, which I never will, you know what I’d do?” His man-child eyes light up, like I’m about to tell him a bedtime story. “What?” After hours of burying it, my fury roars back. It feels good to feed it whiskey and cheer it on. Maybe Grace has the right idea after all. I should drink the pain away more often. Or bask in it, like I’m doing now. While Vernon drinks and Fritz polishes glasses, I go on a little rant. I talk about her pretty face, her bitter heart, and the balls it took to show up at my office. I predict the shitstorm to come if she tries to take me down. And then, when the rest of the bar is empty, I spin a yarn so fucking dark it brings tears to my eyes. The one I’ve been mulling over all afternoon. Vernon won’t understand and Fritz will think I’m bullshitting, and I suppose I am. But it doesn’t matter. This is for me. Maybe if I get it out, it’ll go

away. Poof. Like a dream that disappears the second I open my eyes. The story’s simple, really. Just a little fairytale. A girl, a remote house, and me. She doesn’t choose to go, and she doesn’t go quietly. There’s nothing out there. No comfort, nothing to read or watch. Just her and me. That’s how I want it. I’m her world. Her breath. Her food and water. She’s got a temper, this girl in my story, but tempers cool down fast when it gets lonely. When all you can see through the window is bare branches and snow. Every detail is so fucking clear. Concrete. Ropes. Crushing silence. My girl on scraped knees with her head bowed. Her transformation, unfolding over weeks. Her surrender. The light restored to her eyes. The brain responds to isolation. Mindfuckery. Rewards and punishments. With one kind gesture, it attaches to an enemy like a lover. That’s what I wanted to see in the women I trained, but I never did. They never let me in. It was a stupid game to them, so that’s all it was to me. For Fritz, it was enough. I was never satisfied. I didn’t want a willing captive. I wanted something real. I wanted life and death. I’ll never have it, but fuck it. That’s what I wish for. Normal guys don’t want to do this shit. They

don’t even think about it. But if I could have anything tonight, it would be her and me. Just us. Just like that. Vernon crunches a piece of ice and squints. “So…wait a minute. All this really happened?” Fritz shoots me a look. “No, Vern. We’re just shooting the shit, that’s all. Telling stories.” “Oh, okay. Cool.” Vernon aims a bloodshot blue eye at me. There’s a strange expression on his face. He’s smiling even though he’s not. Maybe on some reptilian level, he gets me. Maybe he’s smarter than I thought. Smarter, and not nearly as drunk. Jesus. He taps the shattered screen on his phone and pockets it again. “Gotta go, gents,” he says, sliding off his stool. “I’m hitching a ride with a friend.” “Goodnight,” Fritz says. “Vern,” I say, nodding. He walks behind me and at the last second, pats me on the shoulder. He’s never touched me before. The Vernon I know wouldn’t dare. “Later,” he says, and he’s gone.

GRACE

By now, I’m dead sober. My parents sit across from me, both leaning forward, hands on their knees as if they practiced their movements in advance. We’ll unnerve her by being a united front. We’ll say the same words and synchronize our breathing. I never noticed until this moment, but they’ve started to look alike. They both have short brown hair and black-rimmed glasses, and wear loose, dull-colored clothes. I don’t remember my mother this way. She used to wear bright colors and laugh a lot. For a long time it felt like being raised by another kid who was older and knew more. “Was she cooperative?” my father asks Isaac. Isaac leans in the doorway of the living room, wearing a look of sarcastic piety. I have the urge to throw a lamp at him.

“As cooperative as Grace gets,” he says, and chuckles. “He’s lying,” I say. “I fought like hell. I didn’t want to go anywhere with him.” “She was a little feisty but she calmed down quickly,” Isaac says. I glare at him before looking back at my parents. “Why did you change the locks?” My mother looks at my father for approval before speaking. He gives her a curt nod. “We feel you’d do better in a more structured environment right now.” “Like where? At home in my old room?” “I’m getting to that,” my mother says. I have a blood-boiling vision of slipping back into my old life, complete with flowered wallpaper and stuffed animals. Yesterday I was a grown woman with a job and an apartment. Today I’m a child. “Maybe I could dig up my clothes from eight years ago and go back to high school,” I say. “I mean, since apparently I never grew up.” “Where did you get this streak?” my father breaks in, his voice harsh and loud. “What streak? The one that makes me want to live on my own, free from surveillance by creeps like Isaac?” My mother glances at Isaac. “She’s been drinking,” she says in an apologetic tone.

My father clenches his wide, square jaw. “The streak that makes you determined to embarrass us. It started long before James died, and I know it didn’t come from this side of the family.” My stomach twists up behind my heart. “What does that mean?” His eyes are like black embers. “It means you were born this way.” “Maybe not born,” my mother says to him. “The way she was raised…her first three years…” My father shoots her a withering look and she shuts up. “Talking back, wearing short skirts, acting in school plays…even James was a way to defy us. You were practically living with him.” Don’t forget the porn you found on my phone, I want to say. And my friends with atheist parents. And the romance novels on my Kindle. My father’s face is red. “You know I’m trying to raise money for an addition to the church. And how do you help? By quitting your job and showing up drunk at Bram Russell’s office. It’s as if you’re trying to destroy this family’s reputation.” Shame pours over me like hot tar. “How do you know I was there?” “One of the parishioners saw you. He was meeting someone for lunch. He sat across the lobby and watched you for twenty damn minutes.” My insides crumple. I can sense Isaac’s triumph

from here. “This can’t go on, Grace,” my mother says. She tries to sound gentle but she just sounds weak. As weak and afraid as she’s always been. I look from her to my father and back again, watching their mouths move, barely taking in their words. Maybe this shows they care. Maybe they want me home because they love me. Everyone says they’re just worried about me, and this proves it. Maybe I’m so twisted around from losing James I can’t recognize love anymore. I’m so desperate for security that I don’t know it when it hits me in the face. Moving home might be the best thing for me. I could take time to rest, get closer to my mother, look for another job. It could be exactly what I need. Suddenly, the thought of being here, of being what my parents want me to be, is a relief. I don’t have to be alone in my apartment every night, drinking and texting old friends I lost touch with while I was out of my mind over James. I can wake up the way I always did, to breakfast cooking and my father practicing his sermon in the den. “Okay,” I say. My parents stare at me. “Really?” my mother says. My father’s mouth is flat. “You understand

what this means. You do what’s asked of you. You fall in line.” The words make me bristle, but I put on a smile. “I know I’ve been drinking too much. And I promise I’ll get another job.” “If you can,” my father says. “Employers don’t like quitters.” “I had good reason,” I say. “What – giving your job to a friend? Letting Bram Russell rule your life again?” My heart sinks. I will not cry. My father can cut my soul to smithereens but I won’t let Isaac see a single tear. “We know how hard James’s death was for you,” my mother says. “But it’s time to move on.” Move on? I bite my lip. “If I can borrow the car I’ll go get my things. Just enough for a few days, then I’ll move the rest this weekend.” “Your luggage is already packed,” my father says. “All of it?” “Isaac took care of it. It’s in his car.” A cold feeling creeps through my chest. Isaac touched my things. He packed my panties and the t-shirts I wear to bed, and then he changed the locks. And my parents told him to do it. But we can argue about it later, after he’s gone. “I’ll just go get everything, then.” I stand up. My father frowns. “You think you’re

staying here?” Confused, I stare at him. “You’ll be living with Isaac and his family, Grace.” “What?” “The dynamic when you’re here, in our house…it’s not good for anyone,” my mother says. “You know that.” My heart turns to ashes. I was never what they wanted. I’m old enough now that they don’t have to hide it anymore. I clutch my hands together. “Mom, please.” “It’s that or an inpatient program for your drinking,” my father says. “Your behavior stops now. Tonight.” Isaac clears his throat. I look at him as if I’ve never seen him before. “You’ll love living with Kathy and the kids. She needs a lot of help so you’ll always feel useful, and the farm isn’t that far from town.” “The farm,” I say blankly. “In fact, Kathy’s holding dinner for us, so we should get going.” Broken images race through my head. A country kitchen stuffed with screaming children. My bedroom under slanted eaves with a twin bed and musty quilt. Isaac’s figure in my doorway at night, and no way to escape. When I try to picture being in rehab, all I can see is a dark hallway lined

with locked doors. “You won’t be at Isaac’s forever,” my mother says. “Six months or so until you get back on your feet.” Everyone stares at me. All I can hear is panic screaming through my body. I want to pound the walls with my fists. I’ve told you what he did to me, I want to cry. Why won’t you believe me? But nothing I say will matter. It never has. I put on the bravest smile I can. “All right.” “Really?” my mother says. “Yes. I’ll go to Isaac’s.” She lets out a sigh. “Oh, Grace, I’m so relieved. I told your father you’d be open to the idea.” “And I am,” I say in a blank voice. “Very. I’m going tonight?” “Yes,” my father says, nodding. “Right now.” “Great. I’ll just…run to the bathroom before we leave, okay?” “Sure,” Isaac says. “Take your time.” Rounding the corner, I start up the carpeted stairs. I force myself to walk at a normal pace. It gives me time to think, anyway. These damn heels. I could probably find flats in my old room but I don’t have time. Help me, James. If you’re watching over me, help. Stepping into the bathroom, I shut and lock the door. I slip off my shoes and quickly tie the straps

together. It’s still raining. Isn’t there a robe around here? One of those hooded terrycloth things? The door hook and hamper are empty. Shit. That’s okay. I’ll figure it out. I lift the window slowly. It’s been years since I snuck out at night, but it’s all coming back to me. I pinch the fasteners on the screen and pull it in, setting it carefully against the wall. There used to be a bench here, but this time I’ll have to hoist myself up. I sling my shoes over my shoulder. Bracing my hands against the windowsill, I jump up. The window’s just big enough that I can sit and swing my feet around. It’s two stories down, but the bushes will break my fall like they did in high school. I hope. I hear voices, and then the creak of stairs. “Now,” I whisper, and push myself through. The fall is long enough that I feel my hair fly above my head before I land. I thud to the ground in a mass of prickly wet branches. The breath jolts out of my lungs. My face and arms sting with scratches. I don’t feel my ankle until I start to run. I can’t afford to slow down. Limping through the garden, I slip through the back gate and into the neighbor’s yard. Her security light jumps on as I run past her garbage cans. A distant voice bellows, “Grace!”

It’s my father. I hear the front door slam. Male voices. Shouts. I run faster. When I get to the street, I stop. I turn around just long enough to look back at the house where I grew up and wonder if I’ll ever see it again.

BRAM

“Thanks, Fritz,” I say, climbing out of his classic Corvette into the rain. Cars this small don’t mix with guys my size. My knees ache from riding a few miles in the passenger’s seat. I brace my arm against the top of the door and lean down. “Thanks for letting me rant. I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up my car.” “The bar looks good with a sports car out front,” he says. “Leave it as long as you like.” I shut the door and Fritz roars off. Damn Corvette’s going to wake up my neighbors, not that I have many. A few scattered around, three or four acres away. Out here, the trees are big and gnarled and the fields go on forever. You wouldn’t know the city’s so close. Just ten miles north, but it feels like another world.

I keep my eyes to the right as I walk up my front steps. By now it’s habit. If I don’t look, I don’t see his body. I don’t see the red-black pool of blood, or hear him sucking in his last breaths. I don’t feel his pulse fading under my fists as I try to jumpstart his heart. I don’t hear the sirens getting closer, or my voice growling, “Fucking breathe, damnit.” Even then, I saw the irony. I was trying to save the life of the guy I’d just tried to kill. Not that I regret it. I just don’t like thinking about it. I press the combination on the door and go inside. I know what my grandfather would say. Get a fucking hold of yourself, boy. You had to do it. Think I lie awake torn up about what I did to some twenty year-old soldiers? But it’s not what I did to James that keeps me up. Lucky for my grandfather, he never knew what happened to the girlfriends of all the bastards he killed. I do. I drop my leather jacket off on a chair and go downstairs. I haven’t been to this part of the house in months. I should have skipped The Usual and come straight here. The hallway is wide and paneled in sleek dark wood. It winds around like a maze, past a wine cellar, a home theater, and a two-story ballroom, and ends in a plain steel door. The red devil’s lair.

That how I think of it. I press my thumb to the pad on the wall. The door swings open without a sound. Antique iron sconces come on automatically, filling the room with a dark golden glow. I let my eyes skim over the illuminated walls. Gleaming racks of guns, glassed-in cabinets of swords and lances, and shelves of melee weapons, my favorite. Hand-to-hand combat stuff like axes and polearms. The real thing. When I first started collecting, I actually hoped I’d have a chance to use this stuff. Just let some asshole try to mess with me. I’d had the shit beat out of me as a kid so many times, I figured I was owed. And at first, after I shot Winthrop and the prosecutor’s office ruled it justifiable, I was proud of myself. I had a right to self-defense. He wasn’t the first person who’d wanted to fuck with me. There was the drug-crazed stalker in her late forties and some idiot who’d tried to break in while I was at work. I was pissed off and paranoid and had every right to be. Knowing what I know about James, I’m still not sorry he’s dead. I take a Civil War-era piece from the knife cabinet and slide the pitted blade along my forearm. My cock comes to life as the steel raises an inchlong line of blood. It’s the second time today I’ve

had an inappropriate hard-on. There’s a thrill that comes with power, even when it’s directed at my own skin. A psychiatrist would probably say that a bad childhood left me in an endless search for control. No shit. Having no father to stand up for me, losing my mother at sixteen, relying on my grizzled old grandfather until the day that he, too, dropped dead – it’s a wonder I don’t walk around armed to the teeth. On my way back upstairs, I stop in the doorway of the ballroom and flip on the chandeliers. The lights are still dimmed, like they were for the last gathering Fritz and I had. I can almost hear the laughter of the girls as they drifted around like a roomful of butterflies. Without people, the staircase looks even grander. This house never fails to impress me, even three years after finishing it. I’d been coveting the old Bristol Mansion since I was twelve years old. I didn’t care if it was haunted and beat to hell. Someday, it would be mine. And when the old lady who owned it died, I bought it and stripped it down to the bones. Now it’s a fortress made of travertine, dark wood, and slate, more pharaoh’s tomb than family house. It suits me. After grabbing water in the kitchen, I go up to the master bedroom. I leave the light off and strip down to boxer briefs. A hard rain pounds the roof. I

lie down on top of the comforter, and in ten seconds I’m out. The next thing I know, it’s the middle of the night. My cell phone is ringing on the nightstand. “Christ.” Rolling over, I reach for it. Who’s trying to piss me off at this hour? I glance at the screen. It’s a number I don’t recognize. Some impulse makes me pick up anyway. I answer without speaking. For five seconds I hear nothing but the wind. Whoever’s calling is outside, and they’re not saying a word. “Yeah,” I bark. A hear a sharp inhale. “You get the package?” It’s a male voice, rough, unfamiliar. “Who is this?” He clears his throat. “There’s a package outside for you.” “What?” I’m beat, the whiskey’s worn off, and I’m in no mood. “What the hell are you talking about?” He sighs impatiently. “You got a delivery.” “What the fuck? Now?” “You’re welcome, asshole.” The line goes dead. I stare at my phone. Of all nights for some random clown to fuck with me. I bang my phone back on the nightstand and lie down again. I was crashing hard until that call. Now I’m wired. I stare at the ceiling for ten minutes,

hearing the guy’s voice replay in my brain. I can’t shut it off. Groaning, I get up. I put on jeans and grab my gun from the drawer. Downstairs is dark and quiet. A quick glance through the front windows tells me there’s nothing on the porch. I cross the house and walk through the dining room to the back slider. Turning off the alarm, I open the door and scan the terrace. I see nothing but some Italian urns filled with whatever the hell blooms in October. The pool’s been drained and covered, and the outdoor furniture is in storage. I shut the door and lock it. Good. Nothing to deal with. Just a wrong number at the end of a very weird fucking day. I head back upstairs. The wind is really lashing now. I stop on the landing to look out the window across two acres of garden. There must be a full moon behind the storm clouds. The whole sky glows a dark, turbulent red. I glance toward the far side of my property. There’s something out there. I step closer to the window and squint. It’s a pile of junk near the fence. Rags? A canvas sheet? Maybe the gardener left it behind, or – My guts twist for half a second. A delivery. Outside. “Shit,” I mutter, and head back down the stairs. I put on boots and a rain jacket and grab the

flashlight from the coat closet. The gun goes in the waistband of my jeans. In thirty seconds I’m around the house and clomping through the mud. Out in a storm for a pile of rags. Fucking fool’s errand. At first I can’t find it. I have to walk farther back on the property, where the ground is torn up and uneven. Finally, the flashlight glances across the top of it. Ten steps later I crouch down. What the fuck. It looks like a body. I roll it a little. No movement inside. When I let go, it rolls back into a soggy rut. The whole thing is tied with plastic rope. Where does the rope start? Why do I care? I’ve learned this lesson before. Call the cops. Leave your life un-fucked with. Walk away. But that’s not who I am. Even now. I glance around. Nothing, and nobody. Just me and whatever the hell is lying on the ground. I stick the end of the flashlight in my mouth. Feeling around with both hands, I find the end of the rope buried in the mud. I pull it. It’s wrapped tight and doesn’t want to give. I stretch it just enough that I can loosen the tarp at the top. Now if I can just find an edge. “Shit.” A steady deluge of ice pellets starts raining down. I brush water out of my eyes and probe with my fingers. I should have brought scissors. And

gloves. The edge is right on top, I just couldn’t see it. I tear at it, impatient as I’ve ever been. I reach underneath and yank hard. The tarp gives. I move around to get a better look. I can just see inside. A shoulder. An ear. It is a body. Warm and alive. My adrenaline surges so hard it hurts. I pull the tarp harder and it comes open. Now I see a face. I take the flashlight out of my mouth and aim it straight down. Auburn hair. Ivory skin. Emerald green. Fuck.

GRACE

I’m lost. I was running so fast I forgot to notice where I was going. I’m in a neighborhood I’ve never seen before. All the houses are dark and quiet, and the sky is blood red. I couldn’t walk in my heels with a sprained ankle so I took them off again. For the first half hour, I heard shouting. My father’s voice, then Isaac’s, then both of them together. I hid behind a backyard playhouse until the voices faded away. I look for street signs or landmarks, anything that will tell me where I am. Relief almost doubles me over when I see a headstone through the fence across the road. I’m not lost anymore. I’m on the backside of the cemetery where James is buried. I limp along the fence until I find a gate. It’s

locked, but low enough that I can climb over. It’s almost like James led me here tonight. He kept me safe, just like I asked him to. I have no money, no phone, and no place to go, but with James watching over me, nothing can happen to me now. I find his grave in the dark. It’s in the newer section where the headstones look new and the flowers are still fresh. My feet are numb by the time I sit down on the brown grass. In five minutes I’ll get up and keep moving. I trace his etched name with my forefinger. James Edward Winthrop. The one person in the world who got me. Who accepted me just the way I was. We were nothing alike. He was quiet, geeky, a coder who worked for a data storage startup. He was creative and a little quirky. Not an open book. I liked that. It meant he’d be interesting to me forever. He had big dreams. Any small injustice bothered him. Technology was the great equalizer, and he was going to use it for good. A lot of his plans went over my head, but I loved listening to them. I loved his ambition. I knew I’d be proud of him one day. He was the only person in my life who wouldn’t disappoint me. He promised me that. He knew what I’d been through, and he swore he’d never let me down.

And then he let me down by dying. By doing something so unlike him, I still don’t understand it. Sometimes at night, when I can’t stop wondering why why why, I wonder if I really knew him. There’s something shiny on the edge of the headstone. I reach for it and pick it up. It’s a small silver heart, heavy and cold in my hand. I didn’t leave this. I should have. It’s perfect for us. Maybe one of his cousins brought it. They all loved him. The younger girls worshipped him. They liked the zeros and ones tattooed on his inner arm – his ode to the binary number system. Even though his nose was broken and his eyes were two different colors, they thought he was the handsomest boy in the world. So did I. Now I’m starting to forget what he looked like. I lie on my stomach on the wet ground and rest my forehead against his headstone. “I saw him today,” I whisper. “I went crazy at his office.” My words vanish on the wind. I wonder if he can hear me. I wonder if he knows everything I feel and think. I hope not. Because then he knows all the horrible things in my head. The cravings that turn my stomach and make me want to die. Like when Bram Russell touched me today. My heart has never beat so hard. It wasn’t that I

wanted him to love me. I wanted him to hurt me. Like he’s hurt me all along, only worse. I wanted him to bite my lips and draw blood. I wanted his rough fingers in my virgin pussy and his cock in my ass. I wanted him to ruin whatever parts of me grief hasn’t ruined already. The sacred parts I was going to give to James. Back when I thought of my body as a vessel of love. Now I think of it as a vessel to be fucked, something to be smashed and consumed. When I saw Bram that first day in court, my whole being turned on me. My clit pulsed as he mauled me with his cruel wolf’s grin. My panties were soaked and my nipples were hard as I sat sobbing on the stand. It wasn’t just his body or his piercing eyes. It was how he made me feel. Like a woman. Desired. Seen. Somehow, he knew me. As I swore to tell the truth, I was hoping he liked my dress. I was hoping he liked it so much, he’d think about it later while jerking off. I bury my face in my hands. I’m still a virgin, but every time I see Bram Russell he makes me feel like a whore. I squirm on the grass over James’s coffin as heat arcs across my chilled skin. I’m dying for just a moment of comfort. To escape into a horrible fantasy that will never come true.

I slip my hand in my panties and let memories of today wash over me. Bram’s big hands on my waist. His breath on my neck. His cock against my hip. It was the first cock I’ve ever felt, and it was so thick and long. My first humiliating instinct was to worship it. To give up my pride. To tell him I was born to serve him on my knees, forever. Flickering my finger across my clit, I moan. When he grabbed me, I could smell the woodsy scent of his thick brown hair. It’s so short it’s almost buzzed. It makes him look like a drill sergeant. Big, broad, and merciless. Like he’d force me down onto rough concrete and punish me with his huge dick in my mouth. It’s so dirty to imagine it, but it feels so good. I picture his teeth sinking into the back of my neck as he pushes my panties to the side and breeds me. I’m there, right now, in the convenience store. Blood trickles down my thigh as his cock stretches my cunt open. I can see the fluorescent lights overhead and hear my pleasured screams ringing off the walls. “Stop,” I beg him as he floods my pussy with come. “Please, stop. This is wrong.” A drop of cold rain on my lip brings me back to reality. I pull my hand out of panties and sit up. As soon as I do, shame overwhelms me. Tears pour down my cheeks. Forgive me, James. I hate being this person. I

don’t know why I am. I must be so damaged. More damaged than I realized. Maybe my father’s right. I was born this way. Born lonely and wicked, with a huge empty void to fill. I never wanted James like this, and I’m glad. We were friends, almost like brother and sister. We kissed and held hands. Our love was innocent. What I feel for Bram Russell isn’t innocent. It’s like a form of death. I want him to wipe away everything I’ve ever felt. I want him to fuck me so hard I don’t survive it. I hear a car on the road behind the cemetery and leap to my feet. I have to go. Isaac would know to look for me here. I’ve spent more time in this cemetery than any living person should. The granite headstone is cold and smooth under my lips. “’Bye, baby,” I whisper, and limp toward the fence. Only when I get to the street do I realize I left my sandals behind. I’ve been walking less than five minutes when something sharp cuts through the frozen numbness on my right foot. I stop and look. A sliver of glass. It’s okay. Don’t let them find you. Keep going. Keep going where? I can’t go to my parents’ house, or the apartment that isn’t mine anymore. I can’t call any of my friends without a phone. And I wouldn’t anyway. My pride won’t let me. I’d rather die.

James’s father would understand. He’s always cared about me. But it would kill him to see me this way. He’s so fragile after the divorce and losing James. He needs me to prop him up. Not the other way around. I feel a hollow emptiness where my heart used to be. I thought I’d lost everything after James died, but this is losing everything. This is having nowhere left to go. I go out to the main street and turn right toward the city. Ahead I see the lights of The Chapman Bridge. The suicide capital of the state. I’ve always thought it was beautiful. It’s lit from underneath by blue and white lights, and at night it looks suspended in mid-air. I once heard that two hundred people a year end their lives there. They come from miles around just to die. There are a few people walking ahead of me. They’re wearing rain gear and boots, and they stride with purpose. They know exactly where they’re going, toward the bright windows of home. Nobody seems to notice the barefoot girl limping behind them. Soon they’re gone and I’m alone. I walk to the center of the bridge, duck around the safety bars, and peer over the side. Through a layer of misty drizzle, I see water swirling in hypnotic black circles. Cars swish across the asphalt behind me. The steel railing is slippery

under my hands. It’s barely above freezing now. The rain has turned to hard little needles of ice. In twenty seconds, I could be warm and at peace, floating in the womb of the dark river. No more pain, no more running, no more disgusting desires. No more mistakes or shame. I could be with James again. If there really is a heaven. My parents would be shocked to know my doubts. If they knew what I feel, the things I think…they wouldn’t even try to reform me. They’d say I was beyond hope. And maybe I am. Maybe this would solve everything, for all of us. Slinging my leg over the railing, I hitch myself up. Just to know what it’s like. To see how it feels to be almost dead. I stare into the open space between the bridge and the water, and imagine letting go. It would be so much farther than the jump from my parents’ window. Like dropping through space. I can see my body falling, falling, falling, and then the tiny splash. No one would see me go under. No one would even know I was gone. Eyes stinging with tears, I slide back down to safety. Never. Even the thought makes me feel like retching. I haven’t gone through this much pain to give up. To

never be happy again. I take a step back and almost slip on the icy metal grate. My heart pounds. A lot of people mean to die on this bridge, but some of them fall. I’ve read that. They climb over the railing to jump and change their minds, then die anyway. Now that I’m safe, my body starts to shake. Eyes closed, I grip the railing and breathe. “You’re okay,” I whisper. “You’re alive. Just keep moving.” Just as I let go of the railing, I hear quick footsteps behind me. One, two, three – then a powerful body slams against my back. I gasp. My nails claw the air. Legs bucking, I lash out at a figure I can’t see. A hand smothers my screams. Thick fingers force a rag between my teeth. The taste of it makes me sick. No, no, no! I try to yell but nothing comes out. The world goes black as a hood slams over my head. The knot crushes my throat. I grab at it but my fingers are weak and slippery. I blink inside the hood. I need to stay awake. Keep your eyes open. Fucking think. A second ago I wanted to die. Now all I want is to live. I try to breathe but I’m choking on the rag in my mouth. Through my terror I hear a low, rough voice. “Don’t fight, sweetie. It’s easier that way.”

But I have to fight. It’s all I know how to do. I try to kick but my knees buckle. Someone catches me as I crumple to the ground. I’m so cold, and then, in an instant, I’m not cold anymore. I’m not warm. I feel nothing. Behind my eyelids, I see colors and faces. I see my mother, James, my body falling from the bridge. Then blackness.

BRAM

She’s breathing. Barely. I push my hand into the bag and feel her heart beating, quick and light. Her skin is cold and pale blue. She doesn’t have any injuries that I can see. No blood or bruises. She smells like chemicals. Whatever it is must have knocked her out. She’s wearing the same dress she had on at the convenience store. The neckline has pulled open, exposing a sliver of lacy white bra underneath. My fingers ache to touch it, but I don’t. I pick her up in my arms. She doesn’t move. She’s fragile and small, a tiny dove. I look down at her dirt-streaked face. I want to hate her, but right now I can’t. All I feel is protective, like I just found an injured fawn in the road. “How did you end up here?” I mutter. “What the fuck happened to you?”

I shouldn’t have touched her with a ten-foot pole. I know that. I also know she isn’t here by accident. I can’t call the cops. Not yet. I need time to think. I’ve got to get her inside. I carry her across the yard in the dark. Her legs sway back and forth. I have to sling her over my shoulder to punch in the code and open the front door. She’s like a child, barely heavy enough to register against my shoulder. I kick the door shut behind us. I can’t fucking believe it. Grace Garrett is in my house. Kneeling down, I lay her on the living room rug. I grab scissors from the kitchen and snip off the ropes. When I pull the tarp open, her arms fall down by her sides. Her feet are bare and dirty. She’s soaked. Her legs are covered in scratches. Between the convenience store and right now, something very fucking scary happened to this girl. I wish to hell I knew what it was. Not that she’s my problem. At least, she wasn’t until she landed in my yard. Rolling her off the tarp, I ball it up and toss it away from me. I go upstairs and grab a blanket and my phone. On the way back down, I call Fritz. He answers in a quiet voice, which tells me he’s in bed next to Coral. “You get it?” Those three words tell me everything. I grip the

phone so tight I hear it crack. “There’s an unconscious crazy girl in my living room. Did that fuck-up Vernon do this?” “Yes,” he says. “With good intentions and a friend he met at Burning Man.” “Is that who called me? Jesus Christ.” I drag a hand over my wet hair. “How did they find her?” “Vernon’s mother lives like, eight blocks from Grace’s parents. They happened to get very fucking lucky to see her on the street.” “Fuck, Fritz, lucky? They know where her parents live?” “After the trial, who doesn’t?” I clench my fist and imagine slamming it into Vernon’s gapped teeth. “What was that asshole thinking?” “I don’t know. He’s got the mind of a nine-year old, okay? He feels beholden to you for the car thing. He just called me full of remorse, afraid he’s going to jail for life. He was trying to be a hero.” I bark out a laugh. “By dumping Grace Garrett in my yard?” “He was following some pretty specific requests that came from your mouth –” “When I was rambling and blowing off steam, not to mention fucking drunk –” Fritz snorts. “Vernon’s a total pussy and always has been. Why do you think I didn’t shut you down tonight? Because I knew it would never happen.”

“And yet it happened, Fritz. Explain that to me.” “Listen. He and his buddy saw Grace walking near the cemetery and followed her onto the Chapman Bridge. They were too scared to go through with it. They were about to drive away.” “So why the fuck didn’t they?” He goes silent. “Fritz?” He blows out a breath. “Because, man. She was ready to jump. They saved the bitch’s life. Given the PR nightmare they just prevented for you and Phantom, I think a little gratitude is in order. Don’t you?” I can’t speak. Pain carves through me from my throat to my gut. I can barely breathe. Grace was ready to jump. I can see her up there in the icy dark, one of the hopeless, desperate for a way out. So much for no more guilt. I’m fucking choking on it. I cover my eyes with my hand. All I wanted was to talk to her. To say how sorry I am, even if she is a scheming liar. I drove her to the brink instead. “Holy shit.” “Yeah,” Fritz says. “Not to mention she was barefoot, no phone, no coat –” “What did they use to knock her out?”

“Vernon’s buddy works in a chemistry lab at the college. Fuck knows what he’s got in his trunk.” Grace hasn’t moved. Phone jammed between my ear and shoulder, I drape the blanket over her dirty wet body. “Was she drunk?” I ask. “Didn’t look like it. Vernon said she was walking fine.” I look down at her pale, lost face. “What the hell am I supposed to do with her?” “You had that all figured out at the bar. What happened? The sight of her pretty face get you all flummoxed?” “Fuck you.” There’s rustling as he gets up. A few seconds later I hear a door shut and his voice gets louder. “Look, Bram, I was a paramedic for a lot of underpaid years. I know what on the edge looks like. I know fucked up enough to destroy your life right along with hers. I promise you she’s got more tricks up her sleeve. So I suggest you get this nutcase under control.” I know what that means. Don’t let her go. Don’t give her a stern talking-to. Don’t bring her to rehab. Don’t threaten her with legal action or telling her parents. Do what’s necessary. Correct her. Take care of the problem my way. Given how this looks, I might not have a

fucking choice. “How’d the guy knock her out?” I ask. “Any chance it will kill her?” “Doubt it. She’ll probably be awake by morning. If it was ether, she won’t remember much. The way Vernon described her, she sounds hypothermic. You want her to live? Get those wet clothes off her and warm her up.” I get up and pace across the living room. My blood is pumping too hard to sit still. “I need you to tie up loose ends,” I say. “Keep Vernon and his idiot friend quiet. I’ll pay if I have to.” “You won’t. These aren’t pros, they’re morons. They’re scared shitless.” “They should be. I want to slaughter both of them.” Bending down, I press my fingers to the pulse in Grace’s neck. It’s a little stronger and slower. “She’s high profile, Bram. She can’t stay missing for long.” “I know. I’ll think of something. And Fritz? Thanks.” He’s never been more of a friend to me than he is right now. I wonder if he knows that. “She’s yours,” he says. “As long as you’ve got her, she’s not fucking up your life. This could be a good thing.” “A good thing.” “Yes. Call me if you need help.” He hangs up. Phone in hand, I stand staring at the floor. This

is a dream. This morning my whole life was mapped out in boring detail. I had one challenge left. Phantom. Now I’ve got so many fucking challenges I can’t keep track of them. Phantom is the last thing on my mind. I hear a tiny moan behind me, like an abandoned kitten under a pile of garbage. And that truth is so fucking real, nothing else matters. Grace is here. She’s drugged and half-frozen. And my options are practically zero. I could drop her on her parents’ doorstep. But showing up at their house is as good as saying I kidnapped her. Not to mention they’re doing a shit job taking care of her. I could dump her somewhere else. A church or a fire station. But who knows who’d find her, and when. In this weather, she could die. I could call the police and try to explain the whole – Fuck, no. All three alternatives are out. Which means she’s staying here. For Christ knows how long. When she wakes up under my roof, she’ll blame me. She’ll say she was kidnapped. She could say anything and the whole world would believe her. Her DNA is all over my house and my yard. And it’s too late to undo it. Fucking Vernon.

The idiot thought he was doing me a favor. I clench my fists and growl at the ceiling. Goddamnit. I wanted this to happen. I can act like it’s a shock but deep in my ruined fucking heart I longed for it. I asked for it. I wanted Grace Garrett in my hands, and now I’ve got her. I’m the monster she always thought I was. That I knew I was, under my bullshit façade. And the fucked-up thing is that she needs me. What happened on the Chapman Bridge proves it. I kneel down on the rug. Taking her chin in my hand, I turn her face toward me. I’ve never seen it so close-up. Never studied it. Her eyebrows are slightly thick arches. One’s a little higher than the other. On the side of her nose is a scratch with a little bead of blood at the end. Curved along the edge of her lower lip is a small, jagged scar. I touch it with my fingertip. She probably doesn’t know how pretty it is. You want her to live? Get those wet clothes off her. “All right, Grace,” I say. “Let’s warm you up.” I start with the tie around her waist. It’s wet and knotted tight. When I finally loosen it, the front of her dress falls open. My balls tighten. Her hips are two curvy C’s facing each other. Her stomach is hollow and her ribs show. My eyes skim over her, taking in every detail. A brown mole

on her sternum. White lacy bra, white lacy panties. Barely enough to cover the tiny mound underneath. Her life is a mess, but this morning she put on matching lingerie. That says something. She has a little life-force left, a shred of determination. Lifting one shoulder and then the other, I pull the dress off her body. Her head falls to one side and damp strings of hair cover her cheek. She’s not a woman right now. I won’t let her be. This is something I have to do. Undressing her is like gutting a fish or skinning a deer. It’s clinical, a necessity that won’t stir or arouse me. She’s just a female animal under my control. She needs tending. Modesty and chivalry have no place here. Her bra clasp is in front between her breasts. I press it and it springs open. I push aside my emotions. Sweeping the bra cups aside, I pull the straps off over her arms. I glance at her breasts. I register their size and firmness, and the delicate brown-pink of her nipples. I cup my hands around them to feel the temperature of her skin. Still cold as ice. I slide my hands to her ribs and waist. My hands are so hot on her frozen skin, I’m surprised she doesn’t wake up. My pulse throbs in my neck. A thousand times I’ve imagined ripping her clothes off, shredding them in my hands while she screamed. I gave myself full erections as I pictured

bending her over in the courtroom and hate-fucking her until she came all over my cock while her parents watched. Halle-fucking-lujah, Mr. Garrett. Your bratty little angel can’t get enough of my enormous dick. But I never imagined her blacked out and helpless on my floor. At my mercy. Sleeping fucking beauty. My cock is huge for her, the head so swollen it aches. So much for clinical. I’m a man first. My blood and brain have their own agenda. Hunting, fucking, devouring. The weaker the hunted, the better. But still, she needs tending. Whether I want her or not. Hooking my index fingers over the edge of her wet panties, I pull them down to her thighs. Her waxed cunt is small and even, closed as tight as the bud of a flower. A tiny spring rose. I’ve seen a hundred girls and been bored to tears by most of them. Same pussy, same tits, same seduction routine. Any difference was barely memorable. I expect to feel the same now. I try to. I don’t. My heart pumps so hard I see spots in front of my eyes. I’m hard as a fucking rock. God, she’s beautiful. In this state, defenseless, with her eyes half-closed, she looks like the most innocent thing in the world.

And I’m the beast who fantasizes about kidnapping her. Who, in some fucked up, roundabout way, actually did it. Teeth set, I yank her panties to her ankles and pull them off over her scratched, dirty feet. Her thighs fall open and her pussy glistens in front of me, a dark pink slit of wetness and plump flesh. I’ve never seen anything so pretty, except her face. She’s so gorgeous. And this is so depraved. Except for the part about saving her life. Yeah, that. The blanket isn’t enough. I’m no EMT, but I learned enough survival skills from my grandfather to know the basics. I stand and pull off my t-shirt. Boots and jeans are next, then my boxer briefs. All six feet five inches of me stand naked over Grace Garrett with a massive erection and one foot planted on either side of her. My spoils. My sweet, senseless prey. I kneel beside her. Cold radiates from her skin like dry ice. Turning her on her side, I wrap myself around her – body, arms, and legs. I groan at the first touch of her velvet skin. My broad chest against her slim back, my thick, stiff cock against her ass. I haven’t seen her ass but I can feel it. Round, firm, and high. Perfect. And so cold. I pull the blanket over both of us. Her cool, soft

breasts rest against my forearm. Her waist is a deep dip under my hand. My breath grazes her ice-blue cheek. I can feel her frozen blood pulling heat from my body. She’s drinking in my warmth, coming back from practically dead. My cock has never been so big and strapped with veins. My hips strain forward, aching to fuck her. One thrust and I could be inside her, filling her with life-giving seed, thawing her beautiful cunt from the inside out. I pull her closer, squeeze her harder. She’s all mine, and she doesn’t even know it. I clench my jaw remembering how she used to look at me. I could feel her rage across the courtroom, her need to see me suffer. But then her guard would crack, and her eyes would dart across my body, resting on my shoulders, my arms, my hands. Once I even smiled at her. It wasn’t a kind smile. It was a smile that said, someday I’ll fuck you until you admit what you are. A slut for my cock. A whore for the power I hold over your life. I breathe in the rainy-dirty-flowery scent of her hair. She smells like a lost little girl. Like dead leaves and tears and the inside of a stranger’s car. She scares me. She isn’t happiness and roses. She’s a girl who grieves and wants to die. She acts strong but she’s fragile as fuck.

I keep my hands still. Holding her, warming her, but not really touching her. She wouldn’t want me to touch her. I’ve seen it in her eyes. She’d rather die than live because of me. But she has no choice. Whether she lives or dies is my decision now. I grind my hips into her ass. Her head falls back against my shoulder like she’s begging me to kiss her neck. I brush my lips just below her ear. Breathe hot air over her skin to warm her blood. And then I bite that tender patch of skin. Just once, hard enough to leave a mark but not to tear her open. I groan. Blood fills my cock and my balls throb with unshot come. Beautiful girl. This isn’t violating her. It’s saving her fucking life. “Everything’s okay,” I whisper. “It’s just us now.” My hands feel charged. They won’t stay still another second. I have to feel her. Holding my breath, I trail my fingers across her soft belly and over her breasts. Her nipples stiffen under my rough palms. They’re dark pink and rigid, begging to be sucked. I pinch them between my fingers and feel them respond. Her body has its own life. It wants me even if her mind is a black, empty space. I slide my bare feet around one of hers, heating

her icy toes. I can feel the deep scratches in her soles. She didn’t get these trying to run from Vernon. She had no shoes on. No coat. No handbag. “What happened to you?” I whisper. “Who did this?” She was drunk. Out of her mind angry. Anyone could have hurt her, chased her through that dark cemetery in the rain. The cemetery. Fucking of course. Jealousy spears my gut as I think of her at James’s grave. Going back to him after seeing me. To reconnect with a dead man, the only man she’ll ever love. She may have felt heat with me, but she had so much more with him. I have no right to be jealous. She hates me and I hate her. That’s where it ends. But I can’t miss the parallel, or the old, scarred-over wound. I know that kind of love. I wish to fuck I didn’t. Grace’s ghost almost killed her tonight. If she doesn’t let him go, someday he will. “Lucky girl,” I whisper. “You’re safe now.” A breath shivers through her and her hand twitches. I could warm up towels to cover her, but then I’d have to leave her. I can’t do it. Even for a few minutes, I won’t leave her alone. I find a cold patch on her hip and another on her ribs. What parts of her have I missed? The

deep, tender parts. The ones she’d scream at me not to touch. I reach under her round little ass and between her legs. My cock throbs with the desire to fuck, but this isn’t about want. She needs me. She needs my heat. I’ve jerked off a hundred times thinking of fucking her with my fingers. Priming her for my cock by stretching her open with one. Then two. Then three. All in good time. I’m not her lover tonight. I’m her savior. I groan when I touch her cold, tight slit. So sweet. It parts with gentle pressure from my thumb. Grabbing the thick root of my dick, I slide the head between her cunt lips. Slick. Smooth. Jesus fuck. I almost explode at the first touch. She’s too tiny, too tight, too soft. Her velvet pussy grips my cock as I rub from her clit to her ass. Every stroke is so electric, the friction could start a fire. Her cunt opens as I rub it back and forth. It’s creamy and slick, and my cock slides easily. “Were you an excited girl tonight?” I murmur. “Why is your little pussy so wet?” Even limp in my arms, she’s so fucking inviting. I want to fuck her alive again. I want her to wake up on my cock, her pussy stretched to the limit, an orgasm welcoming her back to the world.

But I won’t do it. When I break her, I want her to feel every thick millimeter. I want it to hurt. I want to see those big green eyes surrender when I shatter James’s memory and finally put the bastard to rest. “I’ve got you now,” I whisper to her. “You hear me? For as long as I fucking want you.” Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear her heart starts beating faster.

GRACE

I hear moaning. Hour after hour. Again and again. There’s nothing in the world but that haunting sound. Nothing to see or feel or taste. Just moaning, over and over. Every time, a little bit different. My eyelids are heavy, too heavy to open or blink. I want to open them but I can’t. It’s not time yet. Somehow I know that. Much later, I’m realize that the moaning is coming from me. It feels like hours since I started hearing it. Days. I blink once. The world appears in fragmented snatches, jagged bits of wall and floor. Stone, beams, a high window showing a sliver of flat gray sky. My mouth tastes like metal. I feel sick to my

stomach. I close my eyes again and the feeling goes away. It’s almost nighttime when I open my eyes again. I’m more awake now. Awake enough to be terrified. My heart races so fast I can’t count the beats. My body trembles as I push myself up on wobbly arms. After a few tries, I’m able to sit. The walls reel a little before going still. I’m lying on a bed. I’m naked. The white sheets are tangled as if I’ve been thrashing in my sleep. There’s a comforter in a heap on the floor. Fear and confusion grip me in waves. What is this place? What happened to me? I look at my hands, my arms and legs. I must have been drugged. Maybe beaten unconscious. But my head doesn’t hurt. I don’t see blood or bruises, just cuts from jumping and walking in bare feet. My mouth is dry, my eyes filmy. I glance around, trying to find one familiar thing. The room is small and strange. The stone walls are a dark gold color with tiny pits in them. The floor is a different stone, black and shiny with silver fragments that glisten. The ceiling soars maybe fifteen feet above my head. Thick wooden beams arch across it. Their rich dark color soothes my eyes. I’m at Isaac’s. I must be.

Whimpering, I yank the sheet up over my breasts. With a frantic feeling of dread, I touch my pussy. No blood. It doesn’t hurt. Nobody’s raped me. Yet. I have to get out of here. I can’t wait for him to come for me. I look from the window to the beams to the floor. There’s something weirdly opulent about this room. The sheets feel impossibly smooth against my skin. Everything seems elegant and expensive, from the pillows to the down comforter to the gray velvet headboard. Can this really be Isaac’s farmhouse? I’ve seen pictures of it. I pretended to be interested when he showed off the renovation to my parents last year. I remember thinking, renovation? All I saw was flowered wallpaper and rough pine floors. Maybe I’m in rehab, or jail. I did something terrible last night. Has it only been one night? What do I remember? Hands clutched to my racing heart, I try to think. Jumping from my parents’ window. Lying on James’s grave. The silver heart on his headstone. Walking. Freezing rain and endless wind. That’s all. Nothing else. I push the sheets aside and sit on the edge of the bed. My legs quiver as I try to stand up. Sharp

pain shoots through my ankle and my knees wobble. I kneel down and crawl to what I hope is a door. There’s no handle, just a rectangular seam in the wall. I push against it. It doesn’t budge. I press my ear to the stone and listen. The silence is so deep I feel swallowed by it. I sit back and rub my swollen ankle. Time passes. The sky gets darker. It takes until sunset to gather my nerve. I knock lightly. “Hello?” My voice sounds weak and raspy. I put my ear to the door again. Dead silence. I call out again, and again. “I’m awake. I’m here.” My voice breaks and I cough. Maybe no one can hear me. I have to be louder. I stop talking and use my fists to pound the door. The sound hurts my ears. I pound until my hands ache and tears are streaming down my cheeks. I’d be relieved to see Isaac now. I’d take any human being who can explain why the hell I’m here. It’s dark now, the kind of deep, consuming dark that makes me feel crazy. I run my hand along the walls but there’s no switch. Panic rises in my throat but I push it back down. I need to stay calm. It’s all I’ve got.

I feel my way back to the bed and curl up in a ball. “Sleep,” I tell myself. “It’s the only thing you can do.” A moment later, I hear footsteps. I scramble into a corner and pull my legs up to my bare chest. My pulse hammers in my ears. The door swings open slowly. There’s a figure in the doorway, backlit by a bright light. I blink my eyes and squint. A low, golden light glows on overhead, and a figure steps into the room. A woman. She’s wearing a long, flowing red caftan and high-heeled leather sandals. Wavy blonde hair flows down her back. As she approaches I see that she’s pregnant, at least six months. And she’s beautiful, with full lips, high cheekbones, and china-blue eyes. This is not Isaac’s wife. This isn’t my life, or reality as I’ve ever known it. This is insane. Fuck calm. I have to get out of here. I jump up and lunge for the door. With almost effortless grace, she reaches out and locks an arm around my throat. Her grip is just strong enough that I can’t speak or move. I’m too weak. My legs quiver under my weight. She reaches out with her free hand and shuts the door. “Going somewhere?” she asks, her voice

soothing and light in my ear. I shake my head. “Good,” she says. “Then I won’t have to do that again.” She lowers her arm slowly and lets me go. I back away and crouch against the side of the bed. I don’t try to cover myself. I don’t care that I’m naked anymore. It’s a trivial detail compared to the craziness of this moment. “Who are you?” I say. “What the fuck is this place?” “I heard you were feisty,” she says, smiling, “and you are.” “How did I get here? Do you work for Isaac?” “Isaac?” She seems genuinely puzzled. I just shake my head. I despise her smooth, confident control. She’s what I always wanted to be and never was. She squats in front of me and rests her elbows on her knees. Her long-fingered hands clasp lightly. I try to stand up again but she clucks her tongue. Shamed and defeated, I sit back down. “You can fuck with me or we can be friends, okay?” she says. “You decide.” My whole body hardens with fury. “I want answers. Now.” She smiles again. “Then start asking questions.” “Who are you?” “My name is Coral,” she says. “Did you undress me?”

“No. You were naked when I got here.” I glare around at the strange stone walls. “Where’s here?” “A house.” “Obviously,” I spit out. “Who owns it?” “A friend of mine.” I roll my eyes. “You want to expound on that? Man? Woman? Name?” Her expression doesn’t change. “Later.” I drag my fingernails along the floor, not caring that it hurts. “What the fuck am I doing here? What do you want?” “To help you, Grace.” Hearing my name shatters my last nerve. My eyes flood with tears. “How do you know I’m Grace?” She reaches out and takes my hand. “Come on. Come with me.” Digging my toes into the floor, I stiffen and pull back. “Where?” I sound rattled and hysterical. “You must need to use the bathroom by now, and I bet you couldn’t find it. There are no doorknobs in this house.” She gives me a conspiratorial smile that says, we’re both women. You can trust me. I let her pull me up and lead me to the other side of the bed. I watch her warily. She touches the wall and part of it slides open. A light comes on inside, illuminating a luxurious

bathroom with a soaking tub, double sinks, and a glassed-in shower. Everything looks as polished and elegant as the bedroom. The modern fixtures remind me of the kind of upscale hotel I’ve always wanted to stay in but could never afford. “Where’s the toilet?” I ask. “Around the corner,” she says, letting my hand slip out of hers. “Go ahead.” I do as she says. Underneath the terror and resistance is a tiny glow of comfort. It’s a dangerous feeling. The urge to give in and trust. To make this bizarre detour in my life okay. Nothing about this is normal. I’m weak and in shock, but I can’t let my guard down. My life might depend on it. A minute later, I come back around the corner to find her running a bath. Beside her is a marbletopped table with a porcelain pitcher, dishes of soap, and clear glass bottles of shampoo and conditioner. “Get in,” she says. I shake my head. “I have to make a phone call. My parents will be worried. I need to go home.” “This is your home for the moment.” My chest aches with fear. “No, it isn’t. That makes no sense.” “It will. Now get in.” She holds out her hand. I fold my arms and set my jaw. Her cleavage rises and falls as she sighs. “One of the rules here is

that you won’t be asked twice.” “You live in this house?” “No.” “Then how do you know what the rules are?” She twists off the faucet. A single drop falls into the water with a hollow ring. “As I said, the owner is a friend. I know what he expects.” “He.” Terror cracks through my heart. “Did someone kidnap me?” “They saved you. Now, come take your bath.” The steam from the tub looks so inviting. I’m dirty, frozen to the bone. I take a tentative step toward her. “Good,” she says. I step over the side and into the water. It feels like liquid fire as I sink into it. “It hurts,” I say. “You were outside for a long time.” She dips the pitcher into the water and pours a slow trickle over my head. I squeeze my eyes shut on instinct. “What are the other rules of this house?” I ask. “You don’t need to learn them all right now.” “Just tell me two or three,” I say. She laughs. “Were you always this willful?” “My parents would say yes.” She pours more water over my head and pulls the cork from a glass bottle. I hear her hands rub together, and then they start massaging my dirty

hair. Shivers go down my back and legs. “You said they saved me,” I say. “Who’s they?” “Two men who saw you last night. You were in danger.” I try to comb back through my memories, but everything stops at the cemetery. “In danger how?” She hesitates just long enough to scare me. “Willful and talkative,” she says. “Just take your bath.” Just take my bath. Don’t think. Don’t wonder. She works conditioner through my hair, then starts scrubbing my back. I relax into her hands, shamed at the tears filling my eyes. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me. For two years I’ve endured the brief, skeletal hugs of my parents, the professional probing of doctors, and the tentative embraces of friends who’d mutter, “Sorry I’ve been so busy,” or “You’re so thin. Are you eating?” Coral’s soapy hands slip over my shoulders and collarbone, wrapping around my throat and rubbing under my chin. I tilt my head back and let her wash off the dirt, rain, and sweat. “Feeling better?” she asks. “I’m starting to.” She stands and sits again on the tub’s edge, facing me. I haven’t felt this way, this lost and innocent, since I was a child. Coral takes the soap from the dish and rubs it between her hands.

“I can do it myself,” I say. “Not the way I can,” she says. She glides her soapy hands firmly down my arms, back up and down the front of my chest. I brace against her touch. No one’s touched my breasts except me and James, though he only did it once. I asked him if he wanted to, and he pushed his hands under my bra. His fingers pinched too hard and we fought about it, and after that he said we should wait until we got married. I didn’t want to wait. I wanted him to be so attracted to me, he had to have every part of me right now. But James wasn’t like that. Sex wasn’t a big deal to him. That’s what he said, anyway. I tried to be happy. If he didn’t want me for sex, that meant he loved me for who I really was. I’d give anything to be with him right now. To escape this confusing, shameful moment. Goosebumps ripple across my skin. Coral slides her fingers under and around my breasts, lightly running her smooth palms over my nipples. My breath quickens and I lower my eyes. Her touch shouldn’t feel good, but it does. I should want her to stop, but I don’t. “It’s okay,” she says, as if she can read my mind. “You’ve been through a trauma.” “Have I?” “You tell me.” I shake my head. I still can’t look at her.

“No judgment,” she says. “I promise.” My voice is quiet. “I was drinking yesterday. I quit my job.” “How did you get the scratches?” “I jumped from my parents’ bathroom window. They gave me two choices. Go to rehab or live with a man I hate.” “That explains the limp,” she says. “Stand up.” Water pours from my body as I get to my feet. “You’re already waxed,” Coral says. “That’s good.” I look down at the bare smoothness between my legs. “Good for what?” “Everything.” Soaping her hands again, she slicks her hands over my ribs and waist. “Feet apart.” I plant my right foot to the side. I’m in awe of her confidence as she grips my hip and slicks soapy fingers through the folds of my pussy. Every time she grazes my clit, I gasp. “I can do that,” I say, blushing. “You need to be cared for right now.” With expert poise, she washes me thoroughly and turns me around. “Bend over.” I wince at the wall. “No. I can’t.” “You’re not getting out of this tub until you do.” Her voice goes from friendly to stern in an instant.

Biting my lip against a wave of embarrassment, I bend at the waist. “Excellent,” she says. “So much for I can’t, huh?” Her wet, slippery fingers soap between my ass cheeks and probe every inch of me. My pussy tightens. I can’t be aroused. I feel sick and my face is hot and I want to cry. It’s my fault. I’ve isolated myself for so long I’m like a starving animal. I’ll take anything that resembles warmth and affection. Demeaning pleasure from a strange woman’s fingers. Touching my pussy on my fiancé’s grave. Suddenly, hot spray from the hand-held wand blasts between my legs. Grabbing me again by the hip, Coral spins me around and rinses me from my breasts to my knees. She does my feet last, making me sit in the tub and present each one for a thorough scrubbing. I hiss when she scrubs across the sliver in my heel. “I stepped on glass,” I say. “Ouch,” she says, wincing in sympathy. She takes a pair of tweezers from a glass dish on the table and pries out the sliver. I bite my lip to keep from whimpering. “All better,” she says, holding up the tiny shard. “Now you can heal.” Now I can heal. She makes it sound so easy. After drying me off, she tells me to clean up.

While she watches, I scrub down the tub, wipe up the wet floor, and put the towels in a hamper hidden under the sink. She wants every bottle and implement on the table to be wiped down and arranged with perfect symmetry. “The world outside is a mess,” she explains. “In here it can be different.” When the fixtures are gleaming, she blows out my hair in front of the full-length mirror and puts makeup on me. “Your body is scratched but your face was spared,” she says penciling in my eyebrow. “You’re lucky. A pretty face makes life easier.” “That hasn’t been my experience so far.” “Maybe now it will be.” When she’s finished, she turns me around to look in the mirror. I look glamorous, almost too made up, like I’m about to perform. “What do you think?” she asks. “Better than yesterday?” A tiny part of me wants to smile, but I don’t. “A little bit.” “You look beautiful.” “I think I look scared.” “You can be both, you know.” Going to a closet across from the tub, she takes out a long white satin robe. “Where did that come from?” I ask. “I brought it up while you were asleep.” She slips the sleeves over my arms and ties the slender

string in front. It barely keeps the robe closed over my breasts.

“I FEEL SO EXPOSED,” I say. “It’s that or nothing,” she says, sounding stern again. She takes out a pair of ballet slippers and puts them on my feet. “You can wear heels when that foot is better.” My heart aches with hope. Her words imply that I’ll have a future. That she won’t hurt me, and no one else will either. “What happened to my dress and underwear?” I ask. “They’re being cleaned. You’ll get them back.” Stepping in front of me, she puts her hands on my shoulders. “I’m going to leave you now. I hope I’ll see you again. Take care of yourself.” I grab her arm. “Why can’t I call home? I can keep a secret. I promise I won’t say a word to anyone –” I stop. I hate myself for sounding so desperate and weak. Taking my hand, she leads me back to the bedroom. “Wait here. Be patient. Leave the light off.” “Sit in the dark?” “For now. Are you hungry?” “No.”

She pries my fingers from her sleeve. “I can’t stay.” “Please take me with you,” I say, and start to cry. “Or call my parents. Scott and Melinda Garrett. Let them know I’m okay.” She smiles her strange, ethereal smile. “You’ll call them soon enough. Just sit tight. Wait. It won’t be long.” “Until what?” “Goodbye, Grace.” She kisses the tips of her fingers and walks out the door, locking it behind her.

BRAM

“I made her pretty for you,” Coral says. She stands on my porch with her umbrella and car keys. Thunder rumbles overhead. “I don’t care if she’s pretty or not,” I say. I sound irritable as hell because I am. Thanks to Grace, I had to call in sick this morning for the first time ever. I haven’t slept since Vernon ditched her in my yard last night. I brought her up to bed with me around three a.m., but sleep was impossible. I was too busy making sure she wasn’t dying. All night and half the morning, I watched every breath she took and held her wrist so I could feel her pulse. I had to make sure she was safe. It was so fucking hard not to mount her drowsy body and fuck her into oblivion. I had to make do by jerking off next to her. Twice.

But now it’s eighteen hours later and reality is hitting hard. It’s looking and feeling more kidnapping every second. Like a fucking pain in my ass with no clear end game. From what Coral told me, I’ve got trouble upstairs. A hard-drinking, suicidal girl on the run from her parents and some guy they want to pass her off to. She’s feisty, she’s fucked up from the drugs, and she wants out. “She says she’s not hungry,” Coral says. “Good,” I grumble. “I don’t feel like cooking.” “I would have cooked for both of you if you’d asked. Too late now.” Coral smiles. Sometimes I can’t believe how much she’s changed. I remember what she was like when Fritz and I first met her. Melancholy, no ambition, four arrests including one for stealing a car in London. She’d given up an out-of-wedlock kid for adoption and tried every drug she could lay her hands on. She was doomed to a shitty future until Fritz trained her and turned her life around. Eight years later, she’s the most confident and independent woman I know. Nothing fazes her, not even a request from her husband’s best friend to help with an unexpected situation. I asked her to come for one reason. I didn’t want mine to be the first face Grace saw. I wanted her to have the dignity of a bath and something to

wear before she saw me. The man she hates so much. It was hard listening to her pound the door and scream, but Coral had to wait until Fritz relieved her at the bar. The isolation was probably good for Grace, anyway. It set the tone for what’s to come. “One more thing,” Coral says. Sighing, I raise my eyebrows. “What?” “You wanted this to happen. Remember that.” I snort. “Is that what Fritz says?” Peering out at the dark sky, she pops open her umbrella. “That’s what I say. You know where to find me.”

I GO BACK INSIDE and head upstairs. Grace has been awake for three hours. It’s time. Her room was meant to be a saferoom, back when I was renovating the Bristol Mansion. For years I’ve been meaning to stock and furnish it, and turn it into the perfect place to spend the apocalypse. But work distracted me from the end of the world, and the saferoom became the one part of my house with no purpose. Until last night. By now, she can hear my boots on the stairs. It gives me a corrupt pleasure to imagine how she feels as I approach. Her ear turned toward the awful sound. Her heart throbbing in time with my steps. My heavy stride coming closer until it stops

right outside her door. I’m enjoying my power way too much already, and I’ve barely begun to use it. I stand in the hallway. She’s just a few feet away. Mere inches. She has no idea what I’ve already done to her. How hard I came while she lay like a stunned bird in bed next to me. Eyes pinned to her face, I pressed her tiny hand to my chest. I talked to her while I pumped my fist, hoping somewhere in her senseless mind, she could hear me. “You know what this big cock could do to you, baby girl? See how much come I have for you?” I raise my thumb to the sensor by the door and press it. I can feel her fear through the wall. Energy surges through me, a second wind so strong it makes me sweat. My exhaustion is gone. I’m high on what’s about to happen. I’ll be all that matters in her world in three…two…one. The door swings open slowly. I’m wired. My body feels tight and ready to spring. Light from the hall spills into the dark room. She’s standing under the window with her forearms clutched to her chest. I can see her pale, slim legs and long neck. The white wisp of a robe barely covers her. Her breathing is quick but soft. In a moment, that will change. I press another sensor and the light springs on

overhead. I’ve been waiting hours for this moment. Fucking years. I have just enough time to appreciate the captive specimen of femininity in front of me before her pupils dilate and the blood drains from her face. Clutching the lapels of the robe, she shrinks away. “What the fuck,” she hisses. She backs up until the wall jolts her shoulder blades. Silky auburn strands fall over one eye. “Hello, Grace.” I step inside and shut the door. The lock clicks. “You fucking criminal,” she spits out. “You kidnapped me.” Her voice is scratchy but still soft and high. As if it never caught up when her body developed. “I’m sure that’s how it looks,” I say. Her hands clench into trembling fists. “Stay away from me.” Fear suffuses her skin, turning her chest and neck a deep red. Her bright, aqua eyes never leave my face. Her whole body is vibrating. Suddenly, with a sharp intake of breath, she starts to scream. The sound pierces my brain like a baby’s cry. Her pretty pink tongue quivers and her white, straight teeth open and clench. Poor wretched thing. She’s so beautiful, bathed, and dolled up for me. A wretch gone astray. A

fatherless filly who’s wandered into a lion’s den. Her screams bounce off the walls, making my ears ring. My muscles are hard and my blood is pumping. Coral made her as pretty as possible, but makeup can’t disguise her jutting hips and collarbone, her sunken cheeks or glassy eyes. One hot bath won’t restore her strength. It will take care and discipline. A strict sleep schedule. Maybe even force-feeding. When she pauses between shrieks for breath, I say, “Your ankle is swollen. You need ice.” She screams again, more hoarsely this time. After another minute, her voice cracks and gives out. The only thing left is whispery breath. She’s voiceless, and it terrifies her. Panic fills her eyes. She rushes to the door and runs her hands over it. “There’s no way out, Grace,” I say. “The sooner you accept that, the better you’ll feel.” She searches the wall for a button, some magic device that will set her free. “No,” she whispers. Her back slumps as she realizes she’s trapped. I don’t expect her to give up, and she doesn’t. She turns around, her face wild. She charges at me and pounds her hands against my chest. Her fists flail uselessly, like a child beating a tree trunk. I barely feel them, and what I do feel makes me hard. My cock lays throbbing

against my leg as she tears me apart with her words. “Monster! Bastard! Murderer!” “I know. It’s all right. Let it out.” I stand with my arms at my sides and take her blows. She shrieks with frustration that she can’t reach my face. When she’s exhausted and her hands are bruised, she sinks to the floor in the corner and cries. My boots make a hollow knocking sound as I walk up to sit beside her. When her sobs turn to hiccups and she raises her mascara-streaked face to look at me, I smile. “You’re just a mess, aren’t you?” I mutter, smoothing the hair back from her huge, horrified eyes. Her breasts are white half-moons, her nipples barely covered by the robe. “Where am I?” she asks. Her lips shiver. “My house. The old Bristol Mansion.” Her eyes are tormented. “Where James died.” “Yes. And where I live.” Torment is replaced by pure, crystalline fear. I’ve seen terror on a woman’s face before, but never like this. Her breaths are quick and shallow. Her dilated eyes are like a trapped animal’s. “How did I get here?” she asks. Her teeth are chattering. “Someone dropped you off. You were unconscious.” She swallows hard. “This is for coming to your

office, isn’t it? For writing that letter.” “No,” I say. “Then why am I here? Who was that Coral woman?” “She’s a friend I’ve known a long time.” “It was weird, like…she’s done this before. Like you both have.” Her frantic gaze scours my face. “What are you going to do to me?” “What’s best for you, Grace.” She draws up her shoulders as if that will make her look bigger. “You can’t hold me against my will.” I smile. “Against your will? Think of it as protective custody.” She may be terrified, but she can still manage a scornful smirk. “What’s protective about kidnapping?” I pull a tiny lock of hair from the corner of her mouth. “Do you remember last night?” She blinks, and a tear falls to her chest. “What about it?” There’s no way to soft-pedal it, so I say it straight out. “You tried to kill yourself.” The scar on her bottom lip quivers. “No, I didn’t.” “What were you doing on the Chapman Bridge at midnight?” “The Chapman Bridge?” Her eyes shift blankly across my face. She doesn’t remember.

“You were on the railing about to jump.” “You’re lying,” she says, but her eyes are dark with doubt. “You were up there in the rain with no shoes on.” She squints. “How do you know? You saw me?” “No. But the man who saved your life did.” Her mouth hardens. “My kidnapper?” “No, Grace. Your savior.” Her shivering terror turns back to fury. “You paid somebody to kidnap me.” “That’s not what happened.” What I mean is, pretty damn close to it. I paid him with a car a year ago, even though I had no fucking idea. Using my thumb, I wipe the track of a heavy tear. She whips her face away and scowls. “Don’t touch me.” God, what a gift. I haven’t seen a girl so intensely real…ever. I knew she would be. At this moment, I’d give her anything. I’d sacrifice the world for her. I can be that fucking tender inside. But tenderness doesn’t enter into it. With Grace, it can’t. “You don’t remember being on the bridge, do you?” I ask. “I want a phone,” she snaps. “I want to call my parents. I want to call the police and have you locked up for good.” “You jumped from your parents’ window last

night. Now you want to call them?” Her huge eyes fill with confusion. She’s trapped by my logic and her shitty options. Everywhere she looks there’s a brick wall. “I’m not talking to you anymore,” she says through gritted teeth. “All right,” I say. “We’ll try again later.” She shoots me a surprised look as I get to my feet. A hundred questions haunt her face. I leave them all unanswered and walk away. Switching off the light, I leave and shut the door. I can’t afford to be soft, not this early on. Pity her and I’ll lose her. I learned that lesson years ago. I hear a thud as she flies at the door and pounds on it. “Please!” she shouts. Then, in a voice so quiet my heart almost breaks, she says, “Don’t go.” She doesn’t hear my footsteps yet. She thinks she still has a chance. A little bit of power in that soft, pleading voice. She has none. That’s her first lesson. “Don’t go!” she screams. If I didn’t care, I’d go back inside. I’d set her free to self-destruct again. That’s what a true monster would do. He’d give her her power back, and watch her ruin herself with it. As she beats her fists against the door, I walk away. Every echoing step sounds like a message

meant just for her. You’re mine. You’re mine. You’re mine.

BRAM

It’s midnight when I go back upstairs. She’s had three hours to realize how much she needs me. I’m her everything. Her sun, moon, and fucking stars. But not for long. It was addicting while it lasted. All is quiet inside her room. I knock twice and go in. She’s sitting on the bed with the light on low overhead. I set an ice pack on the comforter next to her. She doesn’t even look at it. “Hungry yet?” I ask. Eyes cast down, she shakes her head. She’s washed the mascara from her cheeks. That tells me something. She cares how she looks for me. She wants to be pretty for the man she despises. I like that. I walk up and loom over her. Her face goes dark in my shadow. “Call your parents,” I say, pulling my phone

from my pocket. She looks at the phone and then at me. “What?” “You heard me. Tell them to come and get you.” I curse the words as I say them. I’m doing the right thing, but it feels like killing something precious. Like letting go of a treasure I’ll never have again. She lowers her eyes. “No.” “No?” “I want to call my friend Stephanie instead.” “Why not your parents?” “Because they’ll…” She swallows. “Make me live with him.” “Who?” I see defeat in her shrug. “Isaac. He works for my father. They want me to live with him and his family until I – get my shit together.” “What’s wrong with that?” She swivels her eyes up and stares at me. “He tried to rape me at my father’s church when I was fourteen. He’ll try again if he has a chance. That’s what’s wrong with it.” My guts churn. “He – Jesus. I’m so sorry, Grace.” But I’m only sorry for a second. Then I’m so enraged I’m shaking. Some asshole tried to shove his dick in this precious girl when she was still a

child. I want to strangle him. I want to find out everything about him so I can destroy him. Suddenly her eyes flash and her teeth clench. “What am I telling you this for? You’re worse than he is.” Of course I am, in my own way. After last night, lying in bed with her, I can’t even pretend to be pious. “You’ve told your parents?” She rolls her eyes. “Like it mattered.” “You’re an adult. They can’t force you to live with him.” “They can make life impossible if I don’t. They locked me out of my apartment. My money is in a family account, and they won’t let me have it.” “Why not?” “I’m embarrassing them,” she says. “Sound familiar, Mr. CEO? Who had me thrown out by security?” “You were drunk and wanted to slander me.” She gives me a bratty eye-roll. “Thanks for fucking with my job, by the way. Did you hope I’d quit?” I shake my head. “If you think I’m involved in minor event-planning decisions, then you don’t know what CEOs do. Maybe I should bring you along for the next Take Your Daughter to Work day.” She glares at me. “I want to get out of here. I

want to call Stephanie.” “You’re not leaving with a friend, Grace. Do I need to remind you? Last night you were suicidal. You have no home, no job, and no money. You don’t even have a phone.” She crosses her arms. “I’m fine on my own.” “Your father or the police. I’ll have to tell them you tried to kill yourself. They need to know you’re a danger to yourself.” Her forehead crinkles. “But I’m not. Whatever that man thinks he saw –” “I’m not taking any chances.” Her eyes glitter. “I’ll tell them you kidnapped me.” “Go ahead. You’ll be in a mental hospital and I’ll be in jail. A lose-lose for everybody.” Her mouth quivers. “No, please.” Pocketing the phone, I sit on the edge of the bed. “Let’s say we do this your way and you go with your friend. Your parents will find you. You’re not exactly anonymous.” I reach out and cup my hand around her smooth, oval cheek. “The only place you’re anonymous is in here. With me.” Her face falls. There’s no way out, and she knows it. I let my hand drop as she pulls away from me. “I guess there’s one thing I can thank you for,” she says. “What’s that?” I’m riveted to her every word.

Her gaze is like broken glass as she looks at me. “I always believed that bad people get punished, but now I know they don’t. They just keep on taking what they want and hurting everyone else.” I should feel regret but I don’t. She’s learned a lesson she’ll need if she’s going to survive. It’s a lesson I learned twenty years ago, when I was bullied and beaten and had no one to stand up for me. “Villains run the world, Grace. Are you just figuring that out?” Her eyes blaze a sharp jade. “I know how unfair life is, thanks to you.” I stare at her, pondering her beautiful bitterness. How I’d love to do the impossible, and restore the innocence to that sweet face. To show Grace that sometimes, if girls are very good, even a tragedy can have a fairytale ending. “What if we could change that, just this once?” “What do you mean?” She frowns. She thinks I’m toying with her. I’m a predator, and predators like to tease their prey before they shake it to death by the neck. “What would make you feel better?” I ask. “Better?” She waves the question away. “Ask me when you learn to raise the dead.” Snatching her hand in mid-hair, I hold it still. If she thinks this is a democracy, she’s very fucking mistaken. “I’m asking you now.”

She tries to jerk her hand away, but I hold it tight. Her mouth twists. “You won’t like my answer,” she says. “Tell me anyway.” Her eyes are sharp and focused. “All right. For you to hurt the way I do.” Beaten down though she is, there’s a triumphant edge to her voice. A killer instinct that lives under all that brokenness. Something snaps inside me. Fuck. I finally get it. She doesn’t want to hurt me. She wants me to hurt like she does. She wants somebody to understand. And for the first time, I do. “An eye for an eye,” I say. She nods. Our gazes connect like two strings of barbed wire. Her face takes on a faraway look as she imagines this fair and just world, but pain floods her face as the fantasy fades. It’s a game. I don’t really mean it. “Okay,” I say. Her expression is dark and confused. She shakes her head. “Okay?” “You can make me hurt the way you do. But you’ll have to earn it.” “What does that mean?” I bring my face close to hers so there’ll be no mistake. “It means this. You do as I say. You listen. You give me everything. Nothing in your body or mind are off limits.” I grab her slender shoulders in

my hands. “It’ll be the hardest thing you’ve ever done. But if you get through it, I’ll give you what you want.” Her eyes are so transparent, I can almost see into her soul. “What are you talking about?” “Thirteen million dollars for you and the Winthrops. Exactly what you sued me for.” She doesn’t blink. “You don’t mean it.” “You have no fucking idea how much I mean it.” She turns her head and eyes me warily. “It’s hush money, isn’t it? As long as I’m here, I can’t cause trouble for you.” “Yes,” I say. “That’s part of it.” It’s a brutal admission, but she seems to accept it. “What’s the other part?” Jesus. The other part is a quagmire. It’s regret and bitterness and the urge to fuck her, it’s the impossible wish to undo the past. To go back to the moment I first met James Winthrop, and do everything differently. “I owe it to you,” I say. She lowers her eyes. I let her go of her shoulders. She pulls at the scar on her lip with her top teeth. What does ‘nothing is off limits’ include?” she asks. “Sex?” “Yes.” “Money isn’t enough.”

“Come on,” I say. “There’s always been an attraction between us. While you sat there in court in your little blouse and skirt, you hoped I’d walk up, rip your panties off, and fuck you senseless. Don’t bullshit me. You’d do it for free.” Her eyes dilate for an instant before closing like a cat’s. Of course I’m right, but her shame and anger are like a heavy shield. “I told you,” she says. “It isn’t enough.” Not enough. Damn. I thought she’d fold, given her desperate circumstances. I knew she was as strong as a bull, but she’s even stronger than that. “Everybody has a price,” I say. “And I’m not talking about money.” There’s that cynical look again, like she’s done and heard it all. “What more could you offer me than that?” It’s like a fucking revelation when I think of it. A crazy spark that goes off in my brain. It’s as if I’ve been waiting for it all along, and didn’t even know it. I hold her chin so she can’t look away. “An eye for an eye, right, Grace?” “So?” “So. I’ve got a roomful of weapons downstairs.” Face draining, her lips part. “What? Do you mean…” “Yes. If you stay, and money isn’t enough, then

you decide what to use and how to use it.” Her eyes are huge and green-black. “That’s… insane.” “But it’s fair, isn’t it? It’s justice?” “Why – why would you do that?” It takes me a long time to answer. “Because this has to end. And if that’s how it ends, then so fucking be it.” A tiny shudder ripples through her shoulders. “Wouldn’t that make me a killer, too?” “Not if I do it myself.” She gasps. Pulling back, she gives her a head a hard, determined shake. It’s one thing to dream of revenge. But this is too close, too fucked-up, too real. “I can’t,” she says. “Never.” I stifle the urge to fight her. To try to convince this weak-strong, sweet-evil girl to take the deal of a lifetime. Hand-to-hand combat won’t work. Not with her. “I had your dress cleaned today, and your lingerie washed,” I say. This bit of information seems to startle her. “Oh. Okay.” “You can keep the slippers Coral gave you.” “Thanks.” Her voice is small and docile. “And I’ll um, ice my ankle.” “Good.” I stand and go to the door. “There’s a paper and a pen in your nightstand. Tonight, make

your decision to stay or go. Write yes or no and put it under the door.” She blinks at me. She’s never looked more innocent. “Under the door?” “I’ll see it in the morning. If you write no, you’ll get dressed and I’ll drive you to your parents’ house. We’ll never see or speak to each other again.” “And if…I write yes?” she asks. I switch off the light, plunging us both into darkness. “If you write yes, then you’re mine.”

GRACE

During the night, Isaac comes for me. I’m young again, barely fourteen. Images tumble through my mind, dark dominos falling one after another. Tearing lace. Screams. The taste of my own warm, metallic blood. I’m lost in a nightmare and I can’t get out. Sweat trickles between my breasts. Wherever I am, it’s not safe. My head swims. It’s too dark to see. It smells like the church basement. Concrete and dust. Wet wool. Old wood pews and floor wax. I drag in a breath and try to hold onto right now. It slips away. I hear a harsh voice in my ear, but the words jumble together. “Why?” I hear myself say. “Because we belong together,” a man replies. Isaac. His horrible whiskered face scrapes against

my cheek. I claw at his stiff shirt as his fingers thrust into my panties. I have my period. I’m bleeding. He doesn’t seem to notice or care. He kisses my neck. I feel his thick lips and tongue, and then his teeth. “I like the way you look at me.” His voice turns my stomach. “Please don’t. My father –” All of a sudden he’s mean. He’s twisting my arm. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.” “But – I thought you liked me.” “I do, Gracie.” He pushes my face hard into the wall and rips my panties off. “No!” I try to scream, but then I see something across the room. A shadow, a black hole. Whatever it is, it’s worse than what’s happening to me. It’s worse than anything in the world. I wake up choking on my own silent screams. A shudder runs through me, and I sob without crying. I feel sick. I can still smell him, feel him, taste his bitter cologne on my tongue. I drag in deep breaths and look around. I’m in a locked room at the Bristol Mansion. For a long time I lie staring into the dark. He’s not here. No. This is a different kind of hell. That was a dream. Reality is almost worse. Isaac or Bram. Two terrible choices. Rapist or

murderer. Abuser or abuser. I can almost feel my bones crack as fury rips me apart. I bite the pillow, claw the sheets until my fingers feel raw. Bram called it a choice. It isn’t. It’s a trick. A mindfuck so twisted it unburied a ten year-old torment. Thanks for that. You want to leap off a cliff or drown in the river? Your choice, buttercup. I can’t leave. He knows it. It doesn’t matter who I choose. Everybody will control me. Everybody will hurt and use me. But only one is promising a reward. The millions I and James’s parents deserve. The chance to extract a pound of flesh. I never thought I was a violent person, but that chance convinced me. He’ll even do it himself. If he means it. And I believe he does. I shouldn’t trust what I saw in his eyes, but I do. I never thought I’d have the opportunity again. I can’t give it up, even if I have to sell my soul. I’ve already sold my body. I turn my face into the pillow and squeeze my eyes shut. The horrible part is that I find it flattering. Bram wants sex to be part of the deal. That makes me feel good. It means he feels it, too, this sick, desperate thing between us. I’m not alone with it anymore. All those hours in the courtroom, all of my fantasies about him – he knew. I’m so

ashamed, and so miserably glad. He wants me. He sees me as a woman. Not just as trouble, but a girl he’d like to fuck. My pussy throbs at the thought. James loved me, but he didn’t want to fuck me. Not like I want to be fucked. Even though I don’t want him near me. Even though I hate him with all my heart. I’m scared. So scared of what I’m about to do. I get up and press my thumb to the nearly invisible pad on the wall. The overhead light comes on, a dim, gentle glow. As I scrawl yes on the slip of paper and slide it under the door, I feel myself falling. I’m lost. I’m in a black hole where there’s no right and wrong. There’s only me versus him. Somehow, I’m choosing this. Bram twisted and manipulated and backed me into corners, until it became my decision to stay. To be locked up of my own free will. And now I’m a willing prisoner. Bram Russell’s bitch. A whore for the hope that someday, I’ll be happy again.

IT’S BARELY DAWN when the door opens. I sit up with a start, clutching the robe over my chest. Bram walks in. He looks wide awake. He’s wearing drawstring pants and nothing else. He’s carrying a tray.

The early light casts shadows across his chest. His arms, chest, and stomach are sculpted ridges of strength and power. The black chain link tattoo on his wrist winds around his arm and ends at his elbow. He’s big but perfectly symmetrical, as if every fiber of his body was designed. He looks like a warrior, the god of every female fantasy that ever existed. I’m shivering with nerves, but I can’t stop staring. I knew he had this body. A suit couldn’t disguise it. Nothing could. He’s a mountain. A concrete wall. A force of nature. Before I can shove the traitorous thought away, I compare him to James. James was thin and athletic but he wasn’t…this. Blessed beyond all reason. A machine meant for fucking. It’s horrible that I look at him that way. That he’s using his body to rattle me. It only makes me despise him more. “Good morning,” he says. Nothing about the note. Nothing about my transformation from good girl to murderer’s slut. I sit in shamed silence. If he could read my thoughts when we were in the courtroom, can he read them now? Do I not even have the refuge of my own mind? He purses his lips. “You’ll say good morning when I enter your room.” And so my sentence begins. If I thought it was

going to be easy, I was dead wrong. I narrow my eyes at him. “I’m too old for finishing school.” He sits and sets the tray on the bed. It holds a plate with a steaming vegetable omelette, toast, coffee, and orange juice. My stomach growls. Suddenly he grabs my face between his thumb and forefinger. My cheeks dig into my teeth. “Good morning. Say it.” “Let me go.” His fingers are like a vice. His fallen-angel eyes bore into mine. He smells like something so warm and intoxicating it makes my heart hurt. “We’re off to a rocky start,” he says, his clipped tone making my stomach turn. “Say good morning.” My eyes are watering and my nose stings. That stubborn streak. You were born this way. Yes. And this is a man who is capable of pulling a trigger. Who can kill someone on impulse and not feel a second of regret. “Good morning,” I manage. My tone makes it sound like fuck you. “Excellent,” he says, dropping his hand. “Now eat.” “I’m not hungry,” I say, my stomach aching for food. He sighs. “The two things you want are freedom and revenge. I told you they’d be earned,

and eating breakfast is your first task.” Setting the tray on his lap, he slices into the omelette and shoves the fork toward my face. I know I look like a petulant child as I turn my cheek, but I don’t care. “Eat!” he orders. By now my stomach is twisted in knots. The thought of eating makes me sick. I can’t do it. But not because I’m angry. Because being this close to him is bad for me. He’s too beautiful. He smells too good. I hate how he makes me feel. I can see the outline of his cock against his thigh. He’s not wearing underwear. All that covers him is a thin layer of material. My fingers twitch to reach out. To feel a man’s cock for the first time. It’s huge. Is it still thick from waking, or is it always like this? After a whole life without touch, my body is a force of its own. It won’t stop. It won’t respond to anything I do. It will only respond to him. “Take the fork and eat,” he says. I shake my head. I’m terrified I’ll touch him. Before I know it I’ll be on my knees, pleading with him to fill my throat with his dick. To make me forget everything but right now, and fuck the life back into me. Suddenly his patience snaps. He sets the plate down and pulls a strip of coiled rope from his pants

pocket. “What’s that?” His face is rigid. “An appetite stimulant.” I scramble across the bed, but he whips out his hand and grabs my wrist. Instantly my fingers go numb. Kicking the sheets, I try to thrash away but there’s no use. He’s worse than I thought, and so fucking strong. A brute-force bastard. I haven’t been overpowered since Isaac ripped my panties off in my father’s office. But this is different. Even though it scares me, my blood is pounding with excitement. There’s something perversely soothing about his power. It’s sick, and wrong, and I won’t let myself like it. He jerks me toward him. I flush as my robe falls open. A devil’s smile curves his lips. “Beautiful tits. See what happens when you resist? You expose yourself even more.” “You stripped me while I was unconscious,” I shoot back. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen them.” “You’re right. Nor is it the last.” With expert speed, he wraps my wrist in rope and binds it to the other one. I try to yank my wrists apart but they won’t budge. My robe gapes all the way to the hem. Now my pussy is exposed, too. Bram’s eyes

scour from my nipples down, making my skin burn. “I didn’t agree to shit like this,” I say. “You don’t own me.” He grabs my wrists and tightens the knot even more. “The note outside your door says I do.” “I’ve heard rumors about you,” I say. “That you like this kind of stuff.” “I like slave girls tied up with rope?” He laughs. “Does that shock your delicate sensibilities, Grace? Is it a mortal sin?” I flush. He makes me feel like a stupid child. “I’m just repeating what I heard.” “And you liked hearing it, didn’t you? You liked imagining all these lewd, dirty things I do. And now they’re happening to you.” I yank at the rope. “I knew this was a mistake.” “And yet you decided to stay anyway. Now eat your breakfast before I force it down your throat.” I expect his eyes to be hard and cruel, but he looks almost amused as he raises the fork. And why shouldn’t he? Only a few hours in and he’s already winning. Asshole. I want to jerk my knee up to kick the plate away, but I’m so hungry my stomach burns. As I reluctantly open my mouth, I hear my own voice in my head. There’s a reward at the end of this. Remember why you’re here. The omelette is still hot. There’s a dusting of salt over the top, and the inside is creamy. It tastes

so good it brings tears to my eyes. Blinking hard, I chew and swallow. “Good girl.” He feeds me another bite. He doesn’t take his eyes from mine. I can’t remember the last time someone fed me. Maybe my biological mother when she was stoned out of her mind. I have no memories of her and my father, and I’m glad. Bram watches my face like he might watch a baby’s. “Good,” he says when I swallow again. “We need to put weight on you.” “We?” I say. “We’re not in this together.” He’s still got that enraging, amused look. “Oh, we’re not?” “We’re both here for our own reasons, and that’s where it ends. Tying me up won’t change that.” He breaks off a corner of toast. “You’d be amazed at what tying a woman up can do.” “I’m not like any other women you’re used to.” A flash of stupid jealousy scours through me. I’m stunned silent when he agrees. “No. You’re not like any of them at all.” He feeds me another bite. When he pulls the fork from my mouth, a tiny piece of egg falls onto my thigh. I reach for it on instinct, but my hands are cinched together. It’s a clammy, claustrophobic feeling, but there’s something almost calming

about. I have no choices. I can’t do anything but exist and follow orders. Open, chew, swallow. Sip coffee as he holds the cup. Watch his sculpted face and hope to be praised. Good girl. No one’s ever said those words before in my life. Bram picks up the scrap of egg from my thigh, puts it in his mouth, and swallows. His gaze is so intense I can’t stand it, but I can’t look away. Even my eyes feel bound and helpless. “You’re an excellent eater,” he says. “I’m proud of you.” I snuff out my pleasure with a cynical thought. Of course he’s proud of me. I’m doing what he wants. Instead of mailing letters and speaking my mind, I’m tied up in his house behind a locked door. “Almost finished,” he says. “Open wide.” As I take the last bite of omelette, guilt smothers my heart. For fifteen minutes, I’ve been no where but in this room, eating my breakfast with Bram Russell. It’s the longest I’ve gone without thinking of James in two years. There must be a reason. Fear, the strangeness of the situation, Bram’s huge, overwhelming presence. I’ve been shocked into the moment against my will. When I get back to real life, I’ll be myself again. People don’t change this quickly. They don’t really change at all.

Bram sets the plate on the tray and takes the last sip of coffee from my cup. The gesture is so familiar and intimate, I blush. Glancing down at my chest, he smiles. “You really are a mess, aren’t you?” I follow his eyes to my cleavage. There are toast crumbs stuck to my skin. A splash of coffee has dripped on my chest and dried. “You fed me,” I say in my defense. “My hands are tied.” “Yes, they are,” he says, his voice a deep rumble. I hold out my wrists to be untied but he ignores me, raising his hand toward me instead. “Don’t,” I say, leaning back. His eyes are stern. “Someone has to take care of you.” He parts the robe in a smooth, expert motion. All of my muscles stiffen. Taking a white napkin from the tray, he lightly brushes off my breasts. “You’d think I was feeding a child,” he mutters. “A sweet, clumsy child.” “Don’t call me that.” “I’ll call you what you are. A child. A slave. A sexy little brat.” Good girl. Sexy. My stomach is in knots and my face is hot. I want to say something cutting but my tongue is useless. All I can feel is the linen sweeping roughly across my nipples.

“Next time we’ll have to put a bib on you,” he says. “You don’t get to do this,” I manage to say. My nipples are stiffening into tight points. “Do what?” “Tie me up, make me eat, play with my body. As if you bought me at auction like a horse.” “A very pretty, very expensive horse,” he says, and smiles. He pulls the napkin away and watches my nipples turn hard and dark red. I swallow down a surge of humiliation. “You like that,” he says. “No, I don’t.” “Really? Your nipples say otherwise.” I glare at him. “Is this legal? To tie a woman up and mess with her…body parts this way?” “I’m sure it’s not.” He drops the napkin on the bed. "If you didn’t like how that felt, maybe this will feel better.” Reaching both hands out, he lightly squeezes my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. I let out a quick cry of shock. An electric jolt travels straight to my clit. His eyes rip into my face. “Pleasurable, yes?” I open my mouth to say go fuck yourself but only a whimper comes out. “I thought so,” he says. “Coral told me what a needy girl you are.”

I flush. “But I’m not.” “Really? She told me you’re in need of a good, hard fucking.” I’m humiliated, angry, and in love with the way he says those words. A good, hard fucking. I’ve never had one. I can’t imagine how it feels. He pinches my nipples again. This time, all I can do is lift my chin and lean into his fingers. I ache. I’m drained and bruised. For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt nothing but physical and emotional pain. I need this. Just for a minute. And then I’ll make it stop. Somehow. Lip caught in my teeth, I watch his face. His jaw and cheekbones are sharp and angular, almost artistic to the eye. No man should be so intoxicating to look at. Especially a man with such a mean, dark heart. Arousal floods my pussy as he rolls my nipples gently between his rough, callused fingers. “Enjoy this,” he says. “You deserve it after the last two days.” I swallow hard. Stop him, Grace. Fight. Scream. Push him as hard as you can. Try to kick him in the balls. But my thoughts scatter and disappear. Nothing exists but his hands and my nipples. Nothing matters but the depraved bliss coursing through my body.

What would my parents think if they knew? How would Isaac punish me? But they won’t, and he can’t. Not as long as I’m here with Bram. The sheets are wet under my pussy. I can’t move or he’ll see what I am. He’ll know I have no control. “You’re not the only one who likes this,” Bram says. His voice is rough, almost angry. He grabs my bound hands and brings them to his cock. I try to yank them away but he forces me to feel him through his drawstring pants. Staring at his face, I shake my head. A man’s cock can’t be so big and thick. It can’t be this hard. Hard as a rock, just like they say. But it is. He groans as my hands explore and squeeze and stroke through his pants. A spot of wetness blooms on the linen and spreads. He wants me. He wants to fuck me. His cock wouldn’t be that big if he didn’t. Maybe it’s so hard because I’m helpless. Maybe that’s what he likes, and that’s why I’m here. And that’s why I’m so wet. So needy I’d give anything to come while he touches my tits. I pull my hands away and ball them in my lap, pushing my breasts closer together. Bram makes an animal grunting sound at the sight. I’ve never felt wanted by a man. Not like this. My fingers are a millimeter from my pussy when Bram’s eyes narrow. “Who said you could

touch your cunt?” Cunt. I’ve never heard anyone say it out loud. “I don’t need permission,” I say, sounding stronger than I feel. “In this house you need permission to breathe. Hands on my cock. Now.” Cool air greets my pussy as I circle my hands around his cock again. I can feel his veins through his pants, thick ropes of excitement that circle his dick from big, round head to heavy balls. If I told him I’d never touched one before, he wouldn’t believe me. My parents always assumed I was sleeping with boys, but I never even touched James. And even when I wanted James too much to wait, he insisted. I won’t let you break a promise to yourself. Your father wouldn’t think very highly of me if I did. It seemed so easy for him. It was almost like he didn’t want me. But with Bram, it’s like he has to touch me. Like even though I’m helpless, I have total control. My clit pulses in time as Bram’s fingers squeeze, pinch, and stroke. He’s a monster, a but my body doesn’t care. It wants touch and affection. It wants what it’s never had. I squeeze my thighs together, trying in vain to pleasure myself. Bram clucks his tongue. “You haven’t asked permission,” he says, his voice like warning roll of thunder. “You never

learned proper self-discipline, and it’s time you did.” I run my tongue along my lower lip. I’m so desperate for a moment of happiness that I hardly take in his words. All I can feel is the white-hot fire snaking from my nipples to my clit. I want to close my eyes, but I can’t stop looking at his face. “Jerk my cock,” he says. I blink at him and swallow. “What?” I whisper. His breath is fast and heavy. “Jerk it. Move your hands.” He must mean move them up and down. He thinks I know what he means, and that I know how to do it. I don’t. Flushing, I pump my hands awkwardly. The fabric of his pants bunches up between my fingers. He gives me a hard, disapproving look. “How much experience do you have?” he barks, his fingers gripping my nipples so hard I wince. “Some,” I say. “I mean, plenty. Enough.” His smile cuts through to my soul. “You’ve never touched a cock in your life.” “Yes, I have,” I say, almost choking on my deceit. “It wasn’t as big as yours, but…” “I don’t believe you,” he says. “Have you even seen a naked man?” Tearing my lip in my teeth, I nod. “James, once…when we were in his car…”

“Showed you his cock,” Bram says. “Yeah.” “But he never fucked you.” “No.” His slides his hands around the sides of my breasts and up to my face. My nipples throb painfully without his touch. His palms are so large they cover me from my forehead to my chin. “My God,” he says. “You’re a fucking virgin.” I start to deny it, but he drowns my words in a kiss. My lips crush against his and our tongues melt. I moan into his mouth, tasting him, the man I despise, who’s consumed my thoughts for two years. If I don’t come now, I’ll die. When he lets me breathe, I look up into his icegray eyes. “Please touch me.” He shakes his head. “I’m not here to violate you.” I should be relieved. He’s not Isaac. He won’t try to rape me while promising to protect me. But right now, I want to be violated. I want him to crash through every boundary I’ve built and every lie I’ve ever told. He’s taken everything else from me – the love of my life, my pride, my freedom. Fuck it. He can have my virginity, too. “If you’re not here to violate me, why are you here?” I ask. “To train you. To take care of you the way your

parents never did.” “So why touch me?” He lets out a long breath. “Because goddamnit. I can’t help it.” He plunges his tongue into my mouth again. Our lips crush together and our tongues tangle. I’ve never kissed like this. Never wanted something that was so wrong, so much. His taste and scent ignite my senses, banishing the last of my shame. Fumbling under his waistband, I take his cock in my hands. It’s so big, so hard, and so hot it feels like it could burn me. The skin is like silk. Silk over steel. I never knew a man could be like this. My stomach twists as I remember what I felt when I saw James in the light from the streetlamp. I wanted to be aroused, but I was disappointed. It was so…small. Half-soft and ugly, barely big enough to pull out of his zipper. But this… This is the cock of a fallen angel. My hands slide over his smooth skin, finding their rhythm until he pants against my lips. “Just like that,” he says. “That’s how you touch a man, Grace.” Every time I slip my hands over the thick, broad head, I feel wetness. He hasn’t come yet – I think I’d know if he had. “Harder,” Bram groans. “You’re doing very well.”

A glow of pride washes over me. I tug harder, being careful of my nails. “Thank you,” I whisper. I’ve never seen a man come, but I think he’s getting closer. Kissing me, he slides one hand from my cheek into my hair and pulls. It hurts. I wince. “You used to dream of this, didn’t you?” he says. “Every time I stood up in the courtroom, you’d try to see my cock. You’d wonder how big it would feel in your hands.” I want to shake my head, but he clenches his fingers harder. “Didn’t you?” he says through his teeth. “Yes,” I whimper. While his lawyer ripped James’s character apart, I would trace the outline of Bram’s bulge with my eyes. It was an escape from something too painful to confront, a harmless fantasy that dulled the ache. After all, I was twenty-three and had never had sex. My fiancé was dead. I had to do something with all that repressed need. That’s what I told myself, anyway. What a lie. I wanted Bram because he was hot. My cunt didn’t care if he was a murderer. He’d proven himself stronger than James or me, and that’s what my pussy wanted. Strength and power. Control. A man who would take what he wanted and protect me from the entire world. Even if it meant protecting me by force. Like he’s doing right now.

“Look at me,” he says, and stares into my eyes. His strapping body is tight and tense. A groan splits the air as he comes. Pleasure breaks across his face like electricity, lighting up his features and making my heart soar. There’s nothing else but him. Him and me. Hot semen spills over the backs of my hands. It’s so warm, and there’s so much of it. He’s so potent. I knew he would be. I only wish he’d come inside me so I could feel his seed seep into my blood. I’ve fallen that far. I want the man who kidnapped me to claim every part of me. “Taste it,” he says. His breathing is still labored, his eyes still glittering into mine. I hesitate. Looking down at my hands, I watch a heavy droplet of come drip onto my wrist. “Shy virgin girl,” Bram says huskily. “Don’t let it get cold.” He scoops the drop with his thumb and paints it roughly across my bottom lip. Like I’m a slave for his come. “Now lick it,” he says. I shake my head. “Please...” He watches my come-smeared mouth. “It’s okay to be bad with me. Remember, Grace. I’m forcing you.” Yes. He’s forcing me. It’s okay. The scent of his come is so powerfully

masculine I can’t resist it. I close my eyes and trace my lip with the tip of my tongue. “Good girl,” he says. “I’m proud of you.” I lick a little bit, and then I lick it all. Every salty, musky drop. And when there’s nothing left, I crave more. “All done,” I say. For the first time in his presence, I smile. He grabs me and pulls me against his naked chest. A hug. A real, powerful, breath-crushing hug. Like I’ve never felt in my life. I close my eyes and try to fall into the warmth of his arms. It’s all right. He’s forcing me. It’s okay to be bad with Bram. But deep inside, under the excitement and thrill of the moment, guilt simmers like poison in my soul. I gave in to him. I let my unspeakable fantasies come true while my dead fiancé spun in his grave. I didn’t even last a day. On my first morning in captivity, I let the devil make me feel good. And God help me, I want him to do it again.

BRAM

Isolation. Control of outside influences. Regulation of food and water. Lack of distraction. Physical and mental control. The beginning of Grace’s transformation. By next Sunday, she’ll be sure of one thing. I’m her god. I’m her demon, the ruler of her soul. I’m her only chance. I give her some time to heal and acclimate without distractions. I limit my time with her, bringing her meals and having short discussions about her health and the cleanliness of her room. I don’t touch her. I want to. Fucks knows I think of nothing else. But she comes first, before my cock, before her own pleasure. She starts eating more. Her ankle gets better.

She catches up on sleep. At my insistence, she leaves a message on her mother’s voicemail saying that she’s fine. She’s sober and staying with a friend. She’ll be in touch soon. She asks if she can leave her room. I tell her no. She insists. My answer is the same. Old habits die hard. She still thinks she can do this her way. She can get the money, maybe even see me hang in our own private gallows without letting me affect her. She can fake it. Outlast me for as long as it takes. But soon she’ll start to live, breathe, and dream me. One morning she’ll wake up, and her parents will feel hazy and distant. She won’t remember Isaac’s face. Even her precious James will be gradually fading from her mind. She’ll try to cling to him, but her thoughts will be shattered by the smell of my come on her fingers. She’ll hear my footsteps and her nerves will stand on end. Soon she’ll realize. A two-year old memory can’t compete with the devil in her doorway. As long as I control her tears and her pussy, I’m number one. It’s day three. A cold rain is falling. When I get home from work, I turn the thermostat down so Grace will be slightly uncomfortable, racked by the occasional shiver and unable to block it out with books, music, or television. When I finally touch her chilled skin, my body heat will feel like the life-

giving force it is. It seems cruel, even to me. But her defenses are strong. I need strong tools to break them down. I suffer with her. I eat what she eats, sleep when she sleeps. I make my bed every morning, just as I insist she makes hers. Every day after work, I strip down to boxer briefs and deny myself any distractions. The floor is like ice under my feet. I sit against the wall outside her door and let her feel my presence. And I know she can feel it. I know she senses me. This is what my grandfather and years in interrogation rooms taught me. True power is in the small things, the subtle mindfucks. You don’t change people. You help them change themselves. When I’m done with her, I want nothing between us. I want her to be so raw and honest, she admits what we both know. I don’t want to force it out of her. I want her to look me in the eye and tell me. That she knows what happened. That she lied to me. She lied to everybody. That’s what I want for my thirteen million. More than her body, exquisite as it is. More than a merger that will make me criminally rich. More than her obedience, or even her virginity. I want what’s real. I want the truth.

I START LEAVING her alone for hours. Whole afternoons. An entire night and half the following morning. But never a full day. She always has me. It just doesn’t feel like it. At first, she pounds on the door. “You can’t do this!” she screams. “This wasn’t part of the deal!” For two days, the shouting is incessant. It starts when I’m leaving for work and as soon as I come home. I can’t blame her. She gets five minutes of me every day. No more. Just enough time to drop off her meals and make her crave more of me. When the shouting phase is over, she cries. At first her tears are angry and spiteful, then quiet sobs I strain to hear down the hall. Tiny echoes that nearly crush my resolve. I almost snap. I almost open the door and tell her she’s free to run back to the parents who failed her. To the man who would rape her. It isn’t just her will being tested. It’s mine. Better that I hurt her than Isaac. Better that she hates me than hurts herself. On the fifth day, her tears stop. And on the sixth, she starts to sing. I almost think I’m imagining things. When I first hear her soft, aimless humming, I stop in my tracks outside my bedroom door. It’s such a pretty sound, a window into a Grace I’ve never seen. And it’s proof of what I know. Given time and isolation, a person will reach

into their soul for something to live for. Who they truly are will come out. She sings songs I’ve heard on the radio. She hums arias. She belts soul songs. And for long hours, she goes quiet. Just when I think she’ll never make another sound, she sneezes, or says my name in a sharp singsong voice. “Bra-am. Asshole. I’m hungry.” She doesn’t know how much time I spend, inches away in the hall, mentally recording what she does. The video camera in the corner of her ceiling documents her voice and movements. It keeps me in constant touch. Even when I’m away, I’m always with her. I sit in my office at work watching her on my laptop, memorizing her routines. Getting to know her the way I never could over dinner, or even in bed. She likes to sit with one leg folded under her and one knee drawn up to her chest. She stretches her arms toward the ceiling when she wakes up, lightly scratching one and then the other. Her favorite food is any kind of cereal. She munches it in bed, and drinks the milk out of the bowl when she’s done. She stands in front of the bathroom mirror for hours, brushing her hair with the brushes Coral left. Leaning close to the glass, she practices lining her eyes with black liner. She puts on red lipstick, then

wipes it off with tissue and frowns at herself. She’s a girl playing dress up. Killing time. Changing into a femme fatale before my eyes. She burns off energy by walking around her room in circles. Sometimes she skips, and the robe flies out behind her like a sail. She’ll be getting exercise privileges soon, when she’s stronger and gains a few pounds. Good girls who eat and obey get rewards. I tell her that one morning while she’s eating her yogurt, and she flips me off. One day she jumps up to try to see out the window. When she can’t, she pulls the bed across the room. It’s heavy, but she pushes and pulls until it moves. She stands on it, reaching for the sill, but it’s still too high. She slumps back onto the bed and sleeps for a while before pulling it back. She likes to touch her pussy in defiance of orders. I won’t punish her, not yet. If I punish her she’ll know I’m watching. I don’t want that. I’m learning too much about her. I’m learning that she likes to lie on her stomach when she comes. Like a sweet young girl. She parts her legs just enough to tease me, but not enough to show me her cunt. The silk robe covers her beautiful ass to the tops of her thighs. I sit in my office with my cock expanding to obscene thickness in my hand, and watch her. She slips her hand under her body and raises her ass toward the camera.

Fuck. I need her to show me her pussy. Perform for me, you lonely little virgin. Pull up your robe and give me that perfect ass. I still haven’t seen it. I need to. Now. I push my pants down to my knees. Mouth salivating to lick her, I jerk my cock. She’s thinking of how big it felt in her little fist. I know it felt big, because her eyes were wide open and her heart was pounding. She couldn’t stop staring at it as she stroked. Right now, she’s remembering how much come I laced across her hands. Or maybe she’s thinking of him. A bolt of jealousy sears through me, making me even thicker and harder. It makes no fucking sense, but the jealousy feels good. I want her to think of James so I can rip him out of her mind. I want to replace him, to fuck her so hard even his memory rots away. Pumping my fist, I watch her hips lift off the mattress. She must be glistening, her thighs and belly soaked. She whimpers and twists her head from one side to the other. Her eyes are covered by her hair. Her legs are shaking. Sweet little slut. She’s never been fucked, but God how she wants it. I look at my murderously huge cock and then back at her. I imagine nailing her from behind, parting those cunt lips the way I did when she was unconscious. But this time I wouldn’t stop. I’d give

her my crown first, then my shaft, then my big, heavy balls right up against her ass. I’d paint myself with her juice from my chest to my knees. I’d plunder her virginity and lord it over James for all eternity. Fuck him for the shit he did. This is what he gets. His fiancé fucking herself on screen while I watch. Her legs tense up. She’s getting close. I jerk harder. My breath is heavy and my balls start to pulse. Jesus fuck. I can’t hold back. She smothers her cry in the pillow as she comes with me. Live, right now, while ribbons of cream spurt across my thigh twelve miles away. I lean my head back and groan. My whole body fucking explodes. It’s not the first time I’ve come for her. But this time, she wasn’t just a picture in my head. She was real. She’s waiting for me at home. My slave. Her life is in my hands now. One day soon, mine will be in hers. I wipe up my come and sit back to watch her some more. She pulls her hand out from under her body and turns on her side. Her big eyes blink. She sighs, and her pretty bare feet stretch out. Then she puts her index finger in her mouth and sucks off her wetness. I lose my fucking breath. I

rewind those three seconds all afternoon, and watch them again and again. This is the private life of Grace. And I’m seeing it all.

GRACE

He thinks I don’t know that he watches me. Sure. Like he’d leave me in this room by myself all day. Suicidal Grace. What a joke. I’m lonely and scared but I’m not stupid. I spotted the camera on the third day, when I pulled the bed under the window. I suspected it even before. He thinks a minister’s daughter doesn’t know the ways of a demon. How could I? I’m so untouched and innocent. I know demons. None exactly like him, but every demon comes in a different form. That was one lesson of my father’s that I never forgot. The demon watches me masturbate. I shouldn’t do it, but I can’t help it. It’s the only attention I get. My only connection to human life. Through a cold, empty video feed.

I lie on my stomach and come for him. Maybe he’ll punish me, but I doubt it. He knows it would give him away. Careful not to look at the camera, I roll on my side when I’m finished. A tear drops into the sheet, where he can’t see it. I feel sick and twisted inside. Like a craven little whore. I wasn’t supposed to come, not for real. I had a plan. Hide my face so he couldn’t see my deceit, and fake an orgasm. Let him think it was for him. I was going to seduce him. Make him weak with the one advantage I have. His desire to fuck me. To own my virginity. That’s my only bargaining chip. How did I stumble into this world? Where my pussy and my resolve are all I have? I thought it would be easier. I’ve already experienced pain beyond pain. Life with Bram couldn’t be worse. But I’m already losing track of days. Losing myself. I’m desperate for contact and attention. If I don’t have it, I won’t make it. And I have to make it. I didn’t need to touch myself. Not really. But it felt too good to lie face-down with my hand between my legs. The thought of him watching set my pussy on fire. Once I started, I prayed to stop. But I couldn’t. All I could think of was his cock. How hard he’d have to thrust to force it into my untouched

cunt. I thought of his eyes piercing into mine while he ripped my pussy apart. And then I came. I gave him something true and precious, and I loved it. It was the craziest and most intimate thing I’ve ever done. Nothing has ever felt so good. For a fleeting second, life was worth living again. But now that it’s over, I want to die. I want to take it back. I betrayed my true love with his killer. Again. I suck my juices off my finger so I won’t find a sticky streak in my sheets later. A bitter reminder of how lost I am. And now I sit waiting for him to come home, my heart leaping with every imagined sound. I’ll never know if he watched. Maybe he hires someone else to do it. Maybe he doesn’t care what I do. I could touch myself all day long and it wouldn’t matter. Maybe. But I don’t think so. This sickness between us has lasted too long. There’s something there. It’s twisted and terrible, but no matter what I do, I can’t kill it. I can only use it to try to survive. That night, he drops off my dinner of roasted chicken and grilled vegetables and leaves with barely a grunt of greeting. He won’t even look me in the eye. My heart falls as he turns and walks out. I almost yell out for him. Please don’t leave me

in this cold, silent room. I’ll die if you do. But I’m done begging. No more pounding my fists and crying. I’m finished putting on eyeliner and lipstick and singing stupid 80’s songs. From now on, I’ll be silent. If he wants a reaction, he won’t get one. I’ll live on what he gives me. Silence and isolation. Later that night when the house is dark and I’m lying in bed, he comes into my room. He comes in almost every night. I lie awake and wait for him. I listen for the turn of the door handle. His quiet footsteps. The rustle of his clothes as he leans down beside the bed to pick up my ballet slippers. Tomorrow they’ll be facing the opposite direction. The door to the bathroom will be closed just an inch. The red lipstick Coral left will be in a different drawer. For a second I’ll wonder why, and then I’ll remember. It’s a message. In here, my perceptions belong to him. He decides what reality is. I don’t have control over anything. Even the things that aren’t supposed to matter. I can see him in the bathroom, touching my robe and towel. He looks so…tender. Like part of him is capable of caring. In the months after James died, when I stalked Bram Russell online every night because I couldn’t

sleep, I searched for clues to who he was. For something that would make him seem human. I learned that his parents were dead and he had no living relatives. His job history was listed in vague terms that gave me the creeps, like “government services” and “educational consulting.” In months of searching, I uncovered only one picture of him with a woman. It was blurry and dim, but I had no doubt it was him. She had dark golden skin and long black hair, and his arm was wrapped around her shoulders. He was smiling. He looked happy. She was gazing up at him as if he ruled her world. Once, he had a shred of a heart. I don’t know if he does anymore. He sits against the wall under the window and watches me pretend to sleep. He doesn’t know I’m pretending. Or does he? Are we both part of the same charade? My skin aches to be touched. I don’t just need him for food and someone to talk to. I want to see him. To hear his voice and his praise. Which only makes me hate him more. I can smell him from here. Without the distraction of books and music, my perceptions are like an animal’s. I breathe in his hot skin and dark, earthy cologne, his breath and his cock. The scent is so delicious my mouth waters. It makes me wet. I bite my lip to keep from moaning.

A leaf swirls by the moonlit window above his head. The tiny red light on the camera – a barely visible pinpoint – floats in space on the ceiling. His advantage. When it suits him. I sit up in the dark. I’m naked except for the sheet pulled up to my chest. He sits straighter against the wall. He’s surprised to see me awake. “Hi,” he says. Hi. As if he didn’t creep into my room at midnight to fuck with my head. “I’m just wondering something,” I say. “Since you seem so good with video cameras.” He turns his face slowly toward the ceiling. “So you’ve been performing for me.” “You’ve been watching.” “Obsessively.” “Why?” “Why?” His voice is low and gruff. “You were suicidal a week ago. You’re in my house. I have a responsibility to watch over you.” “Watch over me, or watch my body?” “Both.” He rests his forearms on his knees. Even from here, I can see his shadowed gray eyes. “We came together, Grace. Did you know that? While you were touching that drenched little pussy, I was in my office jerking off with you. I timed it perfectly. It was fucking beautiful.” He’s seen everything. He’s watched me cry and

sleep and touch myself. It’s violating, and horribly comforting. I want to reach for him, to quench the aching loneliness. “I bet it hasn’t failed once,” I say. His voice is deathly quiet. “Excuse me?” “The camera you’ve been using to watch me. I’m just wondering why it’s so reliable, while the one at your front door died that night.” He doesn’t say a word. He sits and watches me until my neck prickles and my mouth is dry. “You know why, Grace.” My insides feel hollow. “No, I don’t.” I shrink back into the sheets as he stands up. His powerful figure steps close to the bed and looms over me. His arms are crossed, his bare feet planted apart. “You lie so fucking well,” he says. “I’m not lying.” I hate my small, meek voice. He lets out a soft laugh. “What a con job. The innocent girl and her poor boyfriend. He made one little mistake by following me and paid for it with his life.” Bram’s features twist in the moonlight. “And I fucking protected you.” “You protected me,” I repeat in a stunned monotone. His eyes are two fiery black holes. “Do you know what I saved you from? Do you have any idea?” My mind spins in sickening circles. Protected

me. Saved me. It feels like an upside-down world where nothing make sense. I shake my head. “Please, Bram –” He interrupts me by walking out. He comes back a minute later and points something at the ceiling. It’s a remote. The tiny red eye of the camera goes black. I lie frozen in bed, my heart pounding. Bram sets the remote on the nightstand. “I was wrong to monitor you without telling you,” he says. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t sound sorry. He voice makes me shiver. “Okay,” I say. “Thank you.” “Promise me you won’t hurt yourself.” “I won’t. I promise.” He presses the pad on the wall and the door opens. His silhouette towers in the moonlight. My whole body yearns for him, for just one touch. “You know, I told myself I was watching over you while you were alone,” he says. “But the fact is – you’re beautiful. I just loved looking at you, Grace.” He turns, and the door closes quietly behind him.

BRAM

When I brought Grace into my life, I should have known everything would change. Even the past wouldn’t stay the same. I’m at work, in the umpteenth meeting about the merger. Sitting around the table are the heads of every department – finance, logistics and training, IT. Fritz sits at the head. I’m the only one not sitting. I lean against the wall with my arms crossed, wishing I were in my office watching Grace. Not that I can trust what I see. She knows now, and nothing she does will be innocent. It hasn’t been for days. I was shocked when she confronted me. Shocked at her strength after days of isolation. Most women would have begged for comfort. She wanted the truth, just like I want from her. Neither

one of us would budge. I lost control. She pushed and I pushed back. In two minutes, I ruined a week of gains. The camera splintered her trust, and I smashed what was left. This morning I brought her breakfast. Eggs and toast. She always cleans her plate, but today she left most of it behind. “Not hungry?” I asked. Her eyes were huge and scared. “No.” I wanted to tell her that I understood. That I know why she lied. But I can’t if she won’t admit that she did. I left her room without saying a word. I finished the rest of her eggs standing at the counter in the kitchen, and for some reason, she seemed so human to me at that moment. A lost girl who’d been hurt and made mistakes. Just like I had. I think of my laptop on my desk, and crave a glimpse of Grace. Even if it’s all a show, I’ll take it. Even when she tries to fake it, she can’t help but be herself. That’s what’s so fucking alluring about her. It takes all of my will to bring my focus back to the meeting. Cole, my head of IT, is just starting to speak. “Signet called about the 2015 data breach, so I’ll be putting the documentation together,” he says. “That’s my life for the next week.” Everyone in the room laughs but me and Fritz. Suddenly I’m on high alert.

The data breach. I thought that fiasco was long over. I haven’t thought about it in two years. “How do they know about it?” I ask. I try to keep the stress out of my voice, but I sound like I’m ready to strike. Cole looks down the table at me. “It was part of the disclosure between our departments.” “Martin Yates decided it wasn’t a breach. He was before your time. He thought it was a software glitch.” The room is tense and silent. Cole shifts nervously in his chair. “To prep for the merger, two forensics guys went over the incident and decided it was hacking. They’re writing up a report. They think we can figure out who did it.” I exchange a glance with Fritz. “Is that so?” “The good news is, the system’s been rock solid for two years. So Signet’s not worried. They just want an accounting of what happened for their lawyers.” In other words, they want to see the data Martin and I labeled a software fuck-up and then buried. Not because we cared about publicity, but because there were operatives’ lives at stake. If the evidence got out, it could get one of my employees in another country killed. It might even now. That was the point of the hacking in the first place. Fuck with me by putting people who worked for me in danger. Make their names public. Expose

operations. Cripple Phantom and bring us down. Unfortunately for Cole, the thought still enrages me. “‘Just an accounting?’” I say, everyone’s eyes riveted to me. “Is that what you call the identities of people in the field?” “No, Sir,” Cole says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize –” “I want everything related to that incident classified,” I say. “Nobody sees it unless I sign off, and I don’t sign off on sending it to Signet’s lawyers.” He nods. “Absolutely. Done.” “Good,” I say. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem.” Cole looks like he might puke. Fritz gives me a faint smile. I wish I could see the humor in the situation. Shouldn’t be a problem. Wouldn’t be, if I’d never answered that message. I’ve reamed myself countless times for it. Wondered why I didn’t delete it. I don’t know how my contact information got out, but it’s hard to keep that stuff private. The email was so weirdly formal, I still remember some of the words. As an young engineer with deeply-held views, I admire your company’s mission, to establish a strong American standard... It was a little too idealistic. Too starry-eyed. But

he was obviously bright and his education was stellar. He knew a lot about me. He knew everything about the history of Phantom – how we’d expanded, the competition we’d crushed. He was thinking about my company’s role in the world, and that was more than most kids his age would do. So I wrote back. This may disappoint you, but Phantom isn’t about a certain vision of America. It’s about providing an important service people need and doing it well. If you’re still interested in an interview, let me know. He was, and I set it up for him. I’d been in his shoes. Striving. Trying to use my brain for good. I’d come from nothing and done plenty of shit work I was too smart for. I related to his ambition. I was happy to help. Until the next week, when I met him. Two years ago last month. My whole life changed, all because I got an email and decided to answer it. Sometimes things really do happen for no apparent reason, randomly. But when I think of Grace waiting in her room in my house, my willing captive, the whole thing doesn’t seem random at all.

GRACE

It must be Thursday, or maybe Friday. I’m losing touch with everything but the shape of the room and the pattern of the stone walls. This morning when I woke up, I had to think for a second to remember my name. Bram went to work after leaving with my halfeaten breakfast. I wanted to say something as he walked out, and I could tell he did, too. But neither of us did. I sat under the eye of the camera all day hoping he was watching me. It wasn’t much of a connection, but it was something. It’s just getting dark when I hear the garage door go up. I jump to my feet. My heart is racing. He’ll be here in half an hour. He thinks he’s unpredictable but he has patterns. I know them by now. He always brings my breakfast after his shower in the morning, when he smells like

sandalwood and his hair is still wet. He brings my dinner once he’s changed clothes and the outside lights flip on. I pace while I wait. I go to the bathroom and check my makeup for the fifth time, though I don’t know why I care. I should be making myself ugly and pathetic. Maybe then he’d pay me just to go away. The sun goes down. The outside lights come on. My stomach starts to ache from hunger. But still he doesn’t come. Is he all right? Is he still angry? I brush my hair and stare in the mirror. I want to know why he thinks I’m a liar. What did I lie about? Who does he think I am? I wasn’t part of James’s group, if that’s what he thinks. It always seemed kind of silly to me, anyway. When Bram’s lawyers brought it up during the trial, they treated me like I was part of it. As if I’m some subversive tech expert when I’m not busy planning weddings. He never even talked to me about it. It was James who taught me about justice. It wasn’t just an abstract term to him. You really could make things right, he said, if you tried hard enough. Sometimes it took unusual tactics. Principles are everything, he used to say. I used to believe him. After this week, I’m not sure anymore.

I’m on the edge of tears when I hear footsteps in the hall. I have to fight to keep from running to greet him. I’m afraid I’ll babble anything to be on his good side again. I’m sorry for what I said about the camera. You only wanted to keep me safe. Please say everything’s okay. Pitiful. Who am I? What’s happening to me? The door opens and my heart soars before sinking. It isn’t Bram. It’s Coral. “Hi, Grace.” She gives me a quick smile and bustles into the room with a glossy shopping bag. I’m so disappointed I can’t even say hello. “Where’s Bram?” Her kitten heels click the floor as she walks toward me. She’s wearing a body-con dress that skims her curves and makes her pregnancy look sexy and elegant. “You’re gaining weight,” she says, eyeing me from top to bottom. “These should fit perfectly then.” She reaches into the bag and pulls out a tissue-wrapped package. “What’s happening, Coral?” I ask. “Why haven’t I seen Bram tonight?” She gives me a reassuring smile. “You will.” “When?” Putting her hand on my shoulder, she looks directly into my eyes. “When he decides to come.

He’s had a busy day.” “But he’s always so consistent. He has a schedule. He –” Putting an arm around my waist, she leads me to the bed. “Sit,” she says. Smiling, she pulls items out of the bag and shows them to me. She starts with a tiny pair of pale pink and black satin panties, followed by a matching bra and garter belt. There are black silk stockings with a seam up the back, and strappy suede sandals with dark red bottoms. They’re all so pretty. They’re the kinds of things I used to fantasize about wearing on my wedding night. When I’d be so sexy, James would have to have me. “You bought these things?” I ask. “Bram did.” “You mean, he paid for them.” “I mean, he went to the boutique this afternoon, picked everything out himself, and then paid for it. I’m just delivering it.” My heart contracts as I imagine Bram in a lingerie store, listening to the salesgirl and looking through the racks. “How did he know my shoe size?” “He measured your feet before you came to. He wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.” “All I need is my life back.”

“That’s what you think you need.” She smiles. “I think you’ll love what he chose. Take off your robe.” When I hesitate, she raises a brow at me. “Take it off, Grace.” Unknotting the tie, I let the robe drop and stand flushing in front of her. “Did you shower today?” she asks. “This morning.” “Good.” She leans forward and sniffs my neck. “I asked Bram if he wanted you to wear perfume, but he said no. He likes the way your skin smells.” “Does he?” I glance down so she won’t see the pleasure in my eyes, but she knows. “It’s a nice compliment, isn’t it?” I nod. “What’s all this for? What’s going to happen tonight?” “He didn’t tell me.” “Do you get paid for your services?” She lets out a gutsy laugh. “Bram doesn’t need to pay for my friendship.” “Have you and he ever…?” Her eyebrows lift. “Fucked? No. We like each other, but we’ve never had chemistry.” “Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” “He used to. It’s been a long time.” Panties in hand, she bends down. I step into one leg hole and then the other. She pulls the panties smoothly up my legs and over my hips.

“Turn around,” she says. She straightens the material over my backside. It feels like a cloud against my skin. “They don’t cover much, but you’ve got the ass for it.” She slips the bra straps over my arms and fastens the hook at the center of my back. I haven’t worn a bra since I came here. It feels strange, like a protective shield. “Why do you do this?” I ask. She smiles. A couple of her teeth aren’t straight, but there’s something sexy about it. “I want Bram to be happy. What he went through…after your fiancé died…” Disbelief surges up from my soul. “What he went through? He didn’t have to shoot him.” Coming around to face me, she squats down to hook the garter belt around my waist. “He was on another man’s property. He was threatening him.” “Bram cut him off. He was angry.” “Do we know he cut him off?” “A witness said –” “A sixteen year-old girl who’d had her license for three days.” I wish she’d stop talking. I feel sick, and dizzy, and all I want to do is run. She stands up. Her eyes are even with mine. “Bram had a right to protect himself,” she says. “Uh huh. I know all about his excuses, the stalker and the attempted robbery…”

“Excuses, or reasons to be careful of a crazy kid?” “James wasn’t crazy,” I say. “People make mistakes.” “In this world, mistakes get people killed.” I swallow down a bitter retort. Just like with my parents, nothing I say will make a difference. Coral believes Bram, like everyone else does. She taps my ankle. I lift my foot, and she slides a silk stocking over my toes. Pulling the top up to my thigh, she hooks it into the garter belt. She does the same with the other stocking, then slips on the shoes. I don’t want her to touch me anymore. I want her to stop saying things that make me doubt myself, and leave me alone. “They’re very high,” I say, trying not to wobble. “That’s how Bram likes them.” Stepping away, she crosses her arms and evaluates me. She adjusts a bra strap and one stocking, then pulls one last item from the tissue paper. I gasp when I see it. It’s a full-length silk kimono, pale pink, with black lace inserts in a beautiful flower pattern. “He chose that?” I ask. “He didn’t just choose it,” Coral says. “He chose it for you.”

She wraps it around me. It feels like a dream on my shoulders. I take a few steps and feel it swirl around my ankles. Coral smiles. “You look beautiful, Grace.” “I don’t care if I look beautiful for him or not.” Quirking her mouth, she tilts her head. “Yes, you do, and that’s okay. You can forgive him, you know.” I look her in the eye. “Never.” She kisses me on the cheek even though I’ve been speaking to her in a horrible tone. “You’re here all dressed up for him,” she says. “That doesn’t look like never to me.”

GRACE

Bram doesn’t come until half an hour after Coral leaves. It could be longer than that, but I wouldn’t know. I don’t have a phone, or a clock, or any of the normal ways to tell time that people who aren’t prisoners have. He knocks twice, then opens the door. He steps into the room wearing a dark suit with a faint plaid pattern and a white shirt with a cobalt blue tie. He looks so gorgeous it makes my stomach turn. My deprived, lonely eyes feast on the sight of him. “Hello, Grace,” he says. I don’t answer. I stand under the window with my arms crossed, because it’s better than sitting on the bed like I did all day. He comes closer. Even in these ridiculously high heels, he makes me feel tiny. “You’re beautiful tonight.”

I’m too angry to take in his compliment. By now the front of the kimono is wrinkled and the bra is pinching my ribs, and I don’t care. I’ve been waiting too long to hold in my words. “Why are you doing this? Keeping me alone and waiting all the time?” His broad shoulders rise and fall as he sighs. “I’m sorry I was late. You’re right to be upset.” “It isn’t just tonight. It’s all day, every day.” “I know. But this is part of the process.” He’s so calm I want to scream. “The process of what? Killing me?” He raises his eyebrows. “You haven’t had a drink since you’ve been here. You haven’t hurt yourself. You haven’t made a scene in public. This is me protecting you. Undoing an upbringing by parents who couldn’t handle you. I can handle you.” “By isolating me in a cell?” I scoff. “That doesn’t take much skill.” “I think you’ll agree it’s been effective.” “At what? Making me crazy?” “No. Bonding you to me.” He backs me against the wall. Raising my chin, he forces me to look at him. “What was the first thing you said when Coral walked in tonight?” Shrugging, I press my lips together. His eyes burn into mine. “You said, where’s Bram.”

“So? I was wondering, that’s all.” His eyes are so close to mine, they feel like my whole world. “You wait for me to bring you breakfast. You listen for my car. You think about me. You look forward to seeing me. This horrible man you hate so much. Don’t you?” He knows everything. I have no thoughts or feelings of my own. He said I was a good liar, but I’m not. I’m the worst liar who ever lived. He shakes me by the shoulders. “Don’t you?” he shouts.

I GLARE AT HIM. “I won’t stay here locked in some ridiculous bargain with you. I have a life to get back to.” His eyes pierce my bravado. “Really? Tell me about that life, Grace.” My answer catches in my throat. “I have – options.” He lifts his eyebrows. “Okay. Let’s list them, shall we?” He puts out his big, powerful hand and extends his forefinger. “Living on the street. Winter’s coming, and you almost died of hypothermia once.” I roll my eyes. “I won’t be homeless.” “All right, then. You stay off the street, but hook up with some predator asshole who fucks you in exchange for a few bucks.”

“I’ve never whored myself out. Unless we count living with you.” His mouth tightens as my words hit their mark. “Option three, you get a job and support yourself. But to get a job, you need money and a place to live, which you don’t have. In fact, when I peeled your dress off the other night, you weren’t even wearing shoes. You want to go? Tell me where. From what I’ve heard, your friend Stephanie has a full house with her kids and husband, and your parents aren’t too keen to take you.” I try to bluff my way through with the last miserable thing I have. “I’ll live with Isaac and his family for a few months. At least they won’t keep me locked in.” Bram’s stare is steady and intense. “That’s worse than no plan at all. If you don’t have a plan, you’ll stay here until you have one.” “I hate it here,” I spit out. “I hate what you’re doing to me.” His eyes narrow. “Did you think this would be easy?” he says. “Did you think I’d give you everything in exchange for nothing?” I shake my head. “Of course not, but this –” “This, Grace, is just the beginning.” The beginning. The thought is so ominous and sickening I can’t bear it. I hear his voice and Coral’s on a loop, each one battering my brain. I don’t know what’s real

anymore. I don’t even care. I just want out. Leaping to my feet, I run for the open door. Bram grabs me by the hair and pulls me back against his chest. The breath knocks out of my lungs and my vision blurs. He’s so powerful. I’ll never get away. I was stupid to even try. “You want to see how dark life can get?” he growls in my ear. “Because that’s next.” I thrash like a bird caught in a net. “You said you wouldn’t hurt me!” “I said I wouldn’t hurt you except for a very good reason. Like if you tried to run back to the life that almost killed you.” He lets me go and steps away. “Turn around,” he barks. Heart thundering, I turn slowly to face him. His eyes are bright, lit by an internal fire. “You’ve been so good. So obedient. I was going to reward you tonight.” I swallow. “What?” A shadow crosses his face, disappointment so deep my heart feels cold. “I had a special night planned for us. Why do you think I was late? Why do you think I dressed you in beautiful clothes?” My stomach is in my throat. “A special night?” “Dinner. Here with me. The chef at Meridian is a friend of mine. Our four-course dinner is waiting downstairs.” My heart splinters under the weight of my

mistake. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I just thought –” He grits his teeth. I’ve seen him angry, but this is much worse. “You thought, you were wrong, and now it’s come to this.” With casual cruelty, he reaches out and rips the beautiful robe off my shoulders. It falls in a heap of silk around my ankles. “Too bad,” he says. “It looked so pretty on you.” “Why did you do that?” My voice is thick with tears. He grabs my upper arm and yanks me toward him. “Rewards and punishments,” he says, ripping the satin panties off my body. “Trust and discipline. We had this discussion, remember?” My skin stings where the side of the panties snapped. He rips the bra off next, grabbing it between the cups and jerking so the clasp in back snaps. It drops off my arms to the floor. “I’ve offered you safety. My belief in you. Millions of dollars. But you’d rather fuck up your life by living with the man who almost raped you. Clearly we have more work to do.” I suck in a savage breath. I’m so ashamed I can hardly look at him. “I didn’t mean it.” “So you lied. Again.” “I never lied in the first place.” He silences me with a look. “Kneel by the bed. Bend over.”

“Why?” He points across the room. “Now.” I shake my head. Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he marches me to the bed and forces me to the floor. Pain burns through my knees as they hit the stone. “How dare you,” I say, glaring up at him. Yes. How fucking dare I.” He slaps my cheek hard. My mouth drops open. “You didn’t just do that.” “You never learned to bite your tongue, did you? Even when it was good for you.” Though my lips tremble, my voice sounds strong. “I have opinions. I have a voice.” “Yes. But I have the upper hand. And you gave it to me willingly.” He sits on the edge of the bed in his suit, looking every inch the dangerous businessman he was in court. His neck looks even thicker with a silk tie knotted around it. “Bend over before I give you to Isaac on a silver fucking platter.” “You wouldn’t.” “I’ll drive you to his house myself. The choice is yours.” I almost say yes, just to see his face. To win after a week of losing. But then I think of James’s father, and how sad

his eyes looked the last time we went to the cemetery. He could hardly look at his own son’s grave. I think of his shuttered furniture store with the Everything Must Go sign still in the window, and his depressing one-bedroom apartment with the popcorn ceiling and the La-Z-Boy in front of the television. He needs me. He needs me to be strong. I kneel and bend forward. As my breasts make contact with the sheets, a shiver runs all the way to my feet. “What are you going to do?” I ask. Bram leans down so his mouth is next to my ear. I breathe in his scent, letting it soothe me even as my heart screams in fear. “I’m going to tell you a story,” he says in a deep, low voice. He runs his hand over the garter belt, following one tight silk strap to the top of the stocking. “A st – story?” “Yes. It’s about a man and a woman.” “Who are they?” “Hush. Listen.” He pauses. His hand strokes over my backside, a light touch that makes my clit and nipples tighten. I never knew my cunt had a heartbeat until now. “He was the kind of man people stare at on the street. Big, strong, and tall, with a face like a villain. Can you picture him?”

I close my eyes and imagine Bram. “Yes.” I hear the first blow before I feel it. Swallowing a shriek, I clutch the sheets with both hands. Pain explodes across my ass like thorns and fire. I feel every knuckle and line in his fingers like a sizzling brand. No one has ever hit me. Not my father, not James, not Isaac. The privilege and cruelty are all Bram’s. “She was young and innocent,” he says, “and so beautiful she hardly seemed real. They were strangers. Then one day something happened, and that’s how they met.” I hang onto his deep, rough voice as if it’s a rope dangling over an abyss. When I close my eyes, I can almost see his words written on the air. He spanks me again. I clamp my jaw shut as tears flow down my cheeks. Pain rips into my lower back and sears across my skin. “No,” I whimper. I thought I knew what spanking was, but this is different. It means something. He might as well say it out loud. You belong to me. You’ll never escape me. In the deepest, most shameful part of my heart, I’m glad. I didn’t want to be free. I ran, and he wouldn’t let me go. He wants me in the worst, sickest way, but he wants me like no one else ever has. I bury my face in the sheets. It’s not Grace

thinking these things. It’s the girl who’s been imprisoned for a week, afraid to stay and afraid to leave. I’m changing. Bonding to the devil himself. He slaps me again, cupping my ass so his fingers barely miss my pussy. As a sob escapes me, he nuzzles my neck. “Sweet dove. You’re so pretty when you hurt.” A tear drips across the bridge of my nose. “No more. Please.” “We just have to finish our story, sweetie, then I’ll stop.” He slaps the other side this time, a fresh expanse of skin that burns until my toes curl. I can only imagine the handprints he’s leaving. The bruises and welts that will last for days. “The first time he saw her, he couldn’t stop staring at her,” he says. I gulp down a knot of tears. “Why?” “It wasn’t because she was pretty. It was like… he knew her and always had.” “Did he talk to her?” “No. He was afraid to. He didn’t talk to her for a long time.” “Why was he afraid?” “Because he wanted her. And the way he wanted her was dirty and wrong.” My heart breaks open. He’s talking about us. This is our story. It’s dark and terrible, and I’m addicted to every word.

He was afraid of me. He wanted me. He felt just like I did, all this time. “Did he ever get her?” I ask, through hot, dry lips. “I don’t know, Grace,” he says. His voice is rough. He sounds almost sad. “You don’t know?” “The rest of the story is yours to tell.” He slaps me again. The pain ripples up my spine and vibrates through my pussy. My clit tingles even as I scream. I have the urge to spread my legs wide apart. “Please, no,” I beg as his finger probes between my slick cunt lips. He’s never touched me before. No man has ever put his hand there. He strokes me like he owns me, with a cocky roughness that makes me gush. He takes what he wants, and what he wants right now is my cunt. He runs a thick, strong finger from just under my clit to my ass. I bite back a cry of pleasure. “Lift your hips,” he grunts. “Ass in the air.” The sobs of pain turn to humiliation as I give him my most private places to violate. I feel so slutty, so needy and desperate. I bury my face in my hands as I soak his fingers. If my parents knew where I was and what I felt, they’d wish me dead. It would be more dignified and moral to die than submit like this. Bram’s hand whistles through the air and

slashes across my skin. I scream and bite my lip until I taste blood. His possessive fingers tease and grope my pussy like he just bought me. “My good girl,” Bram whispers. He kisses my temple, my cheekbone, and my jaw. “You love it. I knew you would.” I can’t look at him. “Why do I love it? I don’t understand.” “You don’t have to. Just feel.” The first touch of his finger to my clit is pure sensual electricity. He teases the very tip, making me grind against his hand for more. It’s so fucking good. So much better than touching myself. A big, strong hand. A man who knows how to take everything by brute force. I moan like I do when I’m alone. I wish I could stop but I can’t. I’m just the toy he teases and plays with. “You’re going to come,” he says. My tears flow. “I don’t want to.” “Good girls don’t come with men like me, do they? Is that what you were taught?” He spanks me again. The sound echoes through the room and makes my ears ring. “Yes,” I gasp. “Good girls aren’t supposed to come at all,” he murmurs in my ear. “No, they aren’t.” “That’s right. They aren’t supposed to think about big cocks fucking their little pussies until they

scream.” He slicks a wet finger around the tight entrance of my cunt. My whole pussy throbs. He lets out a long breath when he feels the soft, wet pulsing. “But that’s not what happens, is it? Good girls touch their pussies when they’re all alone. They put their faces into pillows and moan the names of big, bad men while those men watch.” He hits me again, so hard my teeth clench. The pain fans out, rippling into my thighs and back. By the time it reaches my clit, it becomes pleasure. “What a beautiful little cunt,” he says. “And it’s all mine.” I’m going to come. With Bram Russell. While he spanks and uses and talk dirty to me. I’m lost forever, and there’s no turning back. “Hit me again,” I whisper. “Please.” His fingers dance across my clit, slipping together every few seconds like a firm, hungry mouth. His mouth. He lets out an animal groan and slaps my ass with all his might. In the back of my mind, I think, it must hurt him, too. He’s breathing hard and his palm stings. He rubs his thick, long cock against the side of my thigh and does that thing again. Captures my clit between two extended fingers. Tugs gently on the wet flesh while pain surges from my ass to my pussy. I turn my head and look at him. My upper lip is

damp with sweat and my face is flaming hot. His eyes are so close, so deep and intense. He doesn’t blink. I can’t be this intimate with him. I can’t let him make a possession out of me. I call up all of the pain he’s ever caused me, the grief and fury and misery. I try to protect myself with my hatred, but I can’t find it anymore. He destroyed it. He broke it. He broke me. As fire starts to coil through me, I force myself to say it. I hate you. But somewhere in the tangled wires between my pussy and my brain, hate transforms into something else. “I want you to fuck me,” I whisper. His lips part and his silver pupils flare. It’s too late to take it back, or to stop the orgasm that’s unfurling inside me. “And I will,” Bram whispers back, spanking me one last time. A cry rips from the deepest part of me. It’s the sound of a female animal in heat. The sound of everything I’ve never let myself feel. All the desires, the bad thoughts, the dreams, the deep, intense craving to live. I shiver as my hips buck and pleasure destroys me. “Bram,” I say, and then he kisses me silent. His tongue dances with mine and fucks my mouth, in and out like he’s going to fuck me.

I come on his fingers with high-pitched moans of ecstasy. His teeth nip at my lower lip, tasting my blood and kisses. I want him to devour me. When this is over, I want to be part of him. I don’t want to exist anymore. Because if I do, I’ll be changed. Grace will be gone, and in her place will be a complete stranger. As my shudders fade, tears stream down my face. Bram hauls me against him. I fling my arms around his neck and clutch my nails into his back for dear life. “My girl,” he murmurs, stroking my stinging skin in soothing circles. “You came like the angel you are.” I sob into his shoulder. “It was wrong.” “Why?” “I promised…” He clucks his tongue. “Promises are dangerous. Especially when you make them to a memory.” I stiffen my body against his words. They feel like an assault, an insult to what I felt for James. “He’s more than that.” Bram holds me tighter. “No, Grace. He isn’t.” No. He isn’t. I take a long breath and, like a heartbroken little girl, sob as I’ve never sobbed before. My soul cracks and splits in two, then splits again. James is gone forever.

No promise or vow of celibacy can change that. Nothing can bring back the person I thought had saved me. Not even the man who took him away. Sobs rack my chest until I can’t breathe. I try to keep crying. I reach into my soul for more pain. I have nothing left. After two years of weeping and bitterness and hate, I’ve run out of tears. “I’m sorry,” I choke. “Shhh.” Face smeared with tears and strands of hair, I look at Bram. “Why did you do it?” His eyes are sharp and alert. He knows exactly what I mean. With gentle fingers, he pushes my hair back from my sweaty neck. “I had to, Grace.” “But…the James I knew wouldn’t follow you. He wouldn’t force his way into your house.” “James was a chameleon.” I shake my head in frustration. “What does that mean?” “It means…he pretended to be what people wanted.” I frown. “How do you know?” Bram hesitates. “You can’t say that. You didn’t know him. You couldn’t –” Something in Bram’s eyes makes me stop. An expression I can’t read. Shadows so dark I don’t dare get close to them.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Is it?” “Yes,” he says, and wraps me in his arms. “I promise.” “I thought you said promises were dangerous,” I whisper. He doesn’t answer. I can’t see his eyes or ask questions. He holds me so tight I can’t move. And I let him. I let him silence me. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to tell me. And I don’t want to know.

BRAM

I stare at the ceiling, blood pounding in my ears. Just when I thought I had her, she goes back to James. She comes with me, and her first thought afterwards is him. Her very first fucking thought. Why did you do it? In that high, whispery voice of hers. Right now, I wish I could kill the son-of-a-bitch all over again. I wish I could kill him before he met her. She falls asleep in my arms, tears drying on her cheeks like a beautiful child. Her breath comes in little spasms as she drifts off. Her heartbeat is fast, her eyelids fluttering. Even in sleep, she’s not at peace. She’s still afraid of me. Her heart and soul are uneasy. As they fucking should be.

God, I want her. My cock is huge and stiff, and my balls ache. I could fuck her so hard and fast right now. Roll her on her back, spread her wet thighs, and take her virginity with no fanfare at all. Just take it, like I’ve taken everything else in my life. She wouldn’t be the first virgin I’ve fucked. I should prove just how much power I have. How little I care. After all, the first lesson of control is to control oneself. Which I could hardly do. She wanted to talk, and I shut her down. I shouldn’t have, but for her to mention him… That was all it took. It doesn’t matter who I am now, or what I’ve accomplished. I’m right back there, a skinny runt kid all over again. Every good day, every Christmas, every summer afternoon – my father shit all over it. And he wasn’t even there. He didn’t care that I was turning nine, or it was July 4th, or I just got the bow and arrow I’d begged for all year. No matter what day it was, his absence was a wound that bled all over our lives. My mother was still young and pretty when he left us. But she turned down every good man after him so she could pine for the asshole who never came home. She tried to smile on birthdays and holidays, but

her eyes always betrayed her. Even when she was looking straight at me, she wasn’t with me. She was with him. I could have had a stepfather, somebody to look out for me. She needed her ghost instead. The bastard stole her from me my whole life. And I’ll never forgive him. Grace’s arms are tight around me. So clingy and needy. Just the way I imagined my broken girl could be. Submission, stormy skies, silence forever. This is our isolated place, right here. My palm burns from striking her. Tomorrow she’ll have bruises, and I’ll make her wear them proudly. Tonight was the first time I’ve ever truly spanked a woman. Not that I haven’t turned the asses of a hundred girls red with my hand, but none of it was real. They pretended they didn’t want it and so did I. But Grace gave me the gift of her fear. Her resistance and her tears. I made her want it. I turned pain into fucking bliss. That was the power I always wanted and never had. Until she gave it to me. I love her for that. I wince. The thought of love makes me choke. I can be protective of her. I owe her that. But she’s not mine to love. I’ve tried this before. I’ve tried to love a haunted girl with loyalties I couldn’t break, no

matter how hard I spanked, whipped, or fucked her. I unhook Grace’s arms from around my neck and slowly pull away from her. She whimpers, but doesn’t open her eyes. Her hands clutch a pillow in place of me. I stand up. Her ass is covered with a crisscross pattern of welts. My fingers, branded into her skin. As I turn to go, her lips part and she whispers something. Probably his fucking name. I’m not even gone and she’s dreaming of him already. Once upon a very different time, I made a promise to myself. I wouldn’t say a word about him. She wouldn’t believe me if I did. But right now, it’s all I can fucking do not to shake her awake. To stare into those innocent eyes and shatter the wall between us. Closing her door quietly, I go to my bedroom, change into jeans, and head downstairs. I ignore the boxes of five-star food sitting on the kitchen counter, and go to the garage. I know where I’m driving. I just don’t know why. It takes me almost forty minutes to drive into the city and out the other side, to a suburb of bleak apartment buildings and shabby, working-class homes. Every time I come here, no matter what season, it’s raining. Tonight, drizzle spits down from a flat gray sky, making everything look hazy. I park and look up at the corner unit on the

second floor. 4B. The drapes are open and the lights are off. He’s in bed, or watching television in the dark. Sometimes I see his figure walking back and forth. He’s always alone. I knew his wife left him last year. I didn’t know his business had failed until Grace told me. I feel no animosity toward him. He’s just an ordinary guy that life steamrolled. He’s what everybody could be with enough bad luck. I imagine walking up to his door and knocking. Seeing his slack gray face blinking out at me when he answers. And then what? This is where my imagination always slams into a wall. There’s only one thing I could do. Tell him everything. Try to make losing his son okay, even though it never will be. I wanted to give him the money two years ago. In fact, I met with my lawyers and fucking insisted on it. But they said no. It would make me look guilty, and be bad for Phantom. The lead attorney practically repeated what Miriam Peck said word for word. Forget guilt. Forget what’s right. What matters is how things look. You could lose everything, he said, and it won’t bring back his son, anyway. And that’s a fact. I can’t bring James back. But I can give his father the truth.

I can already feel the wet pavement under my feet as I grab the door handle. This time I’m going to tell him. I’m going to fix what I can fix, let Grace go, and move the fuck on. But like always, I drop my hand and sit back. And like always, I remember what my grandfather said when I was thirteen. It’s time you knew about your father, Bram. You’ve been in the dark long enough. He sat on our ratty couch for an hour and shit all over my illusions with the truth. Loser. Liar. A drunk. That’s the man your mother mopes over. A deadbeat fucking ghost. To this day, I wish he’d lied. I wished he’d left me something of the man my mother worshipped, and I missed like fucking crazy. I won’t do that to James’s father. I won’t do it to Grace. I start the engine and drive back across town. I don’t mean to go to the cemetery, but that’s where I find myself. I pull around back where the fence is low, park, and get out. The grass is slippery under my boots. I walk past rows of recent graves until I get to his. It looks well-tended. It hurts like hell to look at it. The grass is flat, like someone’s been sitting there. On top of the headstone is a little silver heart. It sits in a tiny pool of rain. Grace must have left it. A symbol of her undying devotion to a man who

isn’t me. I shouldn’t have stopped here. It wasn’t James’s grave I came for anyway. Drizzle coats my hair as I walk toward the older part of the cemetery. I’ve never been here at night. I shouldn’t be here at all. The first time I came, eighteen months ago, I knew somebody might spot me. But once I found out, I had to see for myself. I had to know it was real. Grace’s mother made me promise. Whatever my lawyers dug up, I wouldn’t tell Grace. I was so shocked to hear Melinda Garrett’s voice on the phone two weeks before the trial, I could hardly speak. “You might…discover things,” she said. “From a long time ago.” “I don’t understand,” I said. “You will. And if you have any decency, you won’t use it. You’ll let my daughter live in peace.” I didn’t know what she meant, and she wouldn’t tell me. But I promised anyway. “I won’t say a word. You can count on that.” My lawyers came to me a week later with new information. It looked bad for Scott Garrett. It cast doubt on the whole family, on who they were and what they believed. But I’d made a promise, and I was glad. I told my lawyers that using it wasn’t an option. My

decision was final. The grave is in such a dark, distant place. The back corner of the cemetery at the end of a row, set off all by itself. It makes me so fucking sad every time I see it. It’s like they wanted to hide him. To pretend this little boy never lived. No one’s tended this grave for years. There are no flowers, no silver hearts, just a blanket of dead leaves so thick it covers up his name. Squatting down, I sweep the leaves away with my hand. I scrape the dried mud from the front of the headstone so the years show again, and I can read the words. Blessed child. Or not, it turns out. I would have brought something for him if I’d known I was coming. I’m the only person who ever comes, which is why I do, I guess. I stand up and walk away. It just doesn’t sit right with me. It’s not the promise to Melinda Garrett, or the secret. It’s not even how he died. It’s that Grace would love him, if she knew. And he deserves that.

GRACE

I wake up when he leaves my room. The lock clicks behind him. I listen to his fading footsteps, then the house goes silent. I’m here again, in my room. Trapped and alone. No special night. No conversation. None of the things I desperately need. I gave him so much tonight, but nothing changed. I didn’t earn trust or freedom. He didn’t even stay with me. I fell asleep in his arms, but I’m still nothing to him. Just a prisoner to fuck with and control. My stomach growls. I never ate, and Bram doesn’t care. I wonder what happened to the dinner he brought home. He probably tossed the whole thing in the trash. I crane my head over my shoulder. Even in the dark I can see welts and bruises. I have the sick

instinct to be proud of them. Bram Russell did this to me, and I took it. I not only took it, I got pleasure out of it. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now. Is he proud of me? Still angry? I roll over and squeeze my eyes shut. Forget it. It doesn’t matter. Be grateful he didn’t hurt you even worse. Just then, I hear the rumble of the garage door. I hold my breath and listen. A minute later, Bram’s car roars to life and drives away into the darkness. Loneliness sweeps over me. He left me. Again. I’ve never felt so solitary and forgotten, even when Bram left me for hours at a time. I’ve never been alone here this late at night. I strain to see the moon or stars through the window, anything that will make me feel grounded. There’s nothing outside but flat gray darkness. It’s starting to rain. Maybe he went to Coral’s husband’s bar. She said they were best friends. Or he needed something at the grocery story. Breakfast for me. Or. I press my lips together. He’s never mentioned anyone else, but he wouldn’t. How do I know he doesn’t have someone to fuck? Or three? My stomach pitches as I imagine him naked in

another woman’s bed. Fucking her with the long, thick cock he never even took out of his pants tonight. At Phantom, he must be surrounded by beautiful, accomplished women. A man like him? He probably fucks one girl on his lunch hour and another after work. For all I know, he fucks them under this roof while I wait for thirty pathetic seconds of attention. I’ve never seen even him naked. It’s so unfair. He’s never been vulnerable, not with me. Why? Maybe if I didn’t talk back, if I were a better person... I growl into the mattress. These thoughts are crazy. I’m crazy. I can’t be jealous. I can’t want him like this. It’s horrible and wrong. I pull the pillow over my head and try not to listen for his car. I try to force myself to sleep, but my heart feels sick and broken. What if Bram never comes back? Would Coral rescue me? A desolate feeling cracks open inside me. I lie awake waiting, feeling so desperately alone I can hardly breathe. When I finally hear him pull in, it’s relief like I’ve never known. I’m not alone anymore. He’s here. He’s safe. I listen for his footsteps and the sound of his bedroom door closing, and close my

tear-filled eyes.

I WAKE up with sweat pooled in the hollow of my throat. It’s barely light out. My chest is so tight I can hardly breathe. I was on the Chapman Bridge, about to jump. I could feel the rain, the slick railing, the chilling vertigo of black water hundreds of feet down. It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. I squeeze my eyes shut but the vision gets brighter. I can feel the cold, slippery grate under my bare feet. I was there. Just like Bram said I was. I was that far gone. And being Bram’s captive has pushed me even further. I have to get out. I wake up in this room every morning with no decisions to make. Bram rules me. He’ll tells me what to do, when to breathe, and how to think. He’ll even give me vengeance if I’m good enough. Millions of dollars in cold, sweet payback. All he wants in return is everything I am. James’s father wouldn’t want the money. He’d want me to resist. For a fleeting moment, I see myself from across the room. I see a girl sitting naked with her head bowed, tears streaming down her cheeks. I want scream at her. Don’t adapt to your

misery. Don’t make excuses for him. He isn’t helping you. He’s breaking your soul for an empty promise he may not even keep. Vengeance isn’t worth losing myself for. I know how to resist. I’ve been doing it my whole life. My father tried to change me and he failed. So will Bram. I shake my head quickly. Rubbing my eyes, I try to tear away the fog of the last week. Underneath the need and the longing, I’m still me. I still have a chance. Adrenaline powers me out of bed and into the shower. Every movement, every tiny decision, feels important. I stash the high heels and lingerie in the closet and make my bed. Telling him won’t work. I’m under his spell now. If I ask him to let me go, somehow he’ll make me change my mind. He’ll make me wonder why I ever wanted to leave in the first place. Bram brings my breakfast at seven. “Good morning,” I say. “Good morning.” He’s already dressed for work in a dark blue suit and gray shirt. His eyes are bloodshot and his lids are heavy, but he only looks more handsome. The craving to touch him flares across my skin, making my nipples tingle. My bruises throb. I want to show them off, to share that dark, violent bond with him again. I want his wet tongue in my throat

and his fingers on my clit. I want to take care of him. Every feeling proves what I know. Last night was dangerous. It changed me. It stripped my nerves raw and turned me into an addict. My stomach churns with nerves as I slice my omelette with the side of my fork. Bram watches every bite. Like last night, his eyes are roiling with emotions I can’t read or understand. I pretend to be ravenous, but I feel sick. It’s all I can do not to choke and cry. He doesn’t ask how I slept, or if he bruised me. He doesn’t seem to care. The silence is like an iron weight on my head. Where were you? I want to scream. Wasn’t I worth staying with? What do you want? Every swallow is magnified in the tense air. God help me escape this man. Help me be who I was before. When he stands up, I do, too. I’m shoveling in the last bite of eggs as I follow him to the door. “I’ll see you later tonight,” he says. His voice is clipped and distant. I feel it like a knife down my spine. “Okay. Have a good day.” He presses his thumb to the wall and the door swings open. Heart racing, I hover behind him. “I’m almost finished if you want to take my plate.” “I’m in a hurry. I’ll get it later.”

My heart is a brick in my chest. Gone is the emotion he showed while spanking me. It’s as if the intimacy and closeness never happened. He feels nothing for me. He never did. Smiling through the sting of rejection, I hold out my plate with both hands. “I ate it all. I was a good girl.” I hold his gaze with mine. It’s like staring into cold ash, and then something breaks deep in his eyes. “I noticed,” he says. He still doesn’t smile. He glances at my empty plate before taking it. “Thank you for breakfast,” I say. He nods and walks out. The door begins to swing shut. I pull the linen napkin from the pocket of my robe. I slip it in front of the lock just as the door closes. I hold my breath. The lock doesn’t click. I stand with my fingers over my mouth, listening to his footsteps. His heavy tread echoes in the hall and down the stairs. The sound of the Master. Soothing and terrifying. A silent minute goes by. He must be in the kitchen by now. My thoughts tear apart as I picture him putting my plate in the sink. I hate him. I miss him already. I wish he’d come back and tell me what I did wrong. I hope he never comes back again.

I have to focus. Soon I’ll hear the garage door, and he’ll drive away. That’s when my life will truly begin. I freeze as I hear a sound. Hollow knocking. His footsteps. Coming back up the stairs. He knows. The lock didn’t click. He saw the treachery in my lying face. I grab the edge of the napkin and pull, but the door is too heavy. All it does is rip. I drop my hand. This is the end. The honesty I promised was a sham. The obedience, a line of bullshit. And he’s about to discover it all. His footsteps stop. He must have gone into his bedroom. He’s coming here next. A shiver breaks over me and my skin prickles. I slink to the far corner and wait. “Please,” I whisper. “Please.” My brain is on fire. I’m too petrified to think. I wrap my arms around my knees and put my head down. Total submission. I won’t even look at him when he comes in the room. He’s walking down the hall again, coming for me. But then the sound fades and disappears down the stairs. With a gasp, I raise my head. I’m trembling. Two minutes later, the garage door opens and shuts, and he’s gone. Gone. And the door is unlocked. I can still hear the growl of the engine as I leap to my feet. Prying my fingers around the edge of

the door, I pull it open. Cool autumn hair rushes in from the hallway and light hits my face. Sweet fucking freedom. I’ll never go back.

BRAM

“Happy birthday!” I walk into the lobby of my office on four hours sleep, only to be ambushed by a fucking surprise party. There are balloons everywhere, a buffet table loaded with food and champagne, and forty people popping up from behind the furniture. Jesus Christ. I’d forgotten it was my birthday. Too bad no one else did. “Thanks, everybody,” I say as confetti falls into my hair. I blow a piece off my upper lip and try not to look annoyed. I’ve barely had time to take off my trench coat and already I’ve having coffee, a Mimosa, and a massive rainbow-sprinkled donut shoved in my face. Interns and support staff mill around chatting like I just gave everybody the day off. Which I didn’t.

But what the hell. They deserve it. And I’m not going to be a Scrooge as the first act of my thirtysecond birthday. “Hey, buddy,” Fritz says, cornering me near the reception desk. “Don’t look so excited.” He’s got pastry glaze on his chin and a coffee so loaded with cream it’s white. I scowl at him. “Did you do this?” He swallows a hunk of sugar and nods. “Yes.” “For God’s sake, why?” “To foster the illusion that you’re human and actually have birthdays.” I’d never say it, but I’m touched. “Funny. Thanks.” “There’s a big table of presents over there. Stuff that will explode in your face when you unwrap it.” “And you…” “Organized that, too. You’re welcome.” He takes a loud gulp of coffee. “How’s it going at home? Coral told me a little bit.” At home. As if Grace and I are a typical suburban couple. “What’d she say?” “Just that she likes her.” I turn up my palm, which still stings. “She was a handful last night.” “I’m not surprised. She’s in love with you.” His words catch me off guard, making me smile like an idiot before I can force the emotion off my

face. “Come on, Fritz. Girls in love don’t act that way.” He shrugs. “She wouldn’t be that feisty otherwise. Most women, that kind of offer, they’d sit back and ride it out. She’s fighting. There’s something she’s trying to protect.” I’d love to believe him, but I don’t. “Yeah, her fiancé’s memory. She’s in love with a dead guy.” “Because nobody’s made that impossible yet.” “No, Fritz. I’ve fought that battle before. I’m done.” He pops a chunk of donut in his mouth and talks with his mouth full. “Uh huh. If you were done she wouldn’t be at your house right now.”

AFTER HALF AN HOUR of happy birthdays and small talk with my staff, I retreat to my office. My first instinct is to bring up Grace’s feed on my laptop, but I disabled it. It turned it off and left her with the remote as a gesture of trust. She feels so out of reach. She’ll be on her own all day, away from my protection and control. I wish I could call her. For some stupid reason, I want her to know it’s my birthday. I want to hear her say it. Happy birthday, just like she said good morning when I brought her breakfast. I don’t need champagne or balloons, I just want to see excitement in her eyes. Genuine feeling for

me. I saw a glimpse of it last night, when her beautiful pain smashed the wall between us. I felt so close to her. Like I was in her mind. Like I could feel what she felt. And then memory of James tore us apart. I thought I could rip him out of her heart, but he’s still there. Still fucking with me, even though he’s dead. Tossing my empty coffee cup, I sit down at my desk. I check voicemail and messages, and am about to ask my assistant to schedule a conference call when a notification pops up on my laptop. You have a new video message. Click here to view. “Goddamn birthday,” I mutter. I can just imagine who it’s from. Some guy I knew overseas years ago. My aunt in Canada, who every year tries to make up for twelve months of silence by keeping me on the phone for an hour and asking personal questions. She means well, but Christ. I last saw her when I was twelve. I click on the link and reach into my desk drawer for some eye drops. That midnight drive around town left me shot. At least I don’t have anything pressing to deal with today. I lean my head back, squirt in a few drops, and look at my laptop. At first I think it’s a fucking illusion. Blurry eyes combined with lack of sleep and the sting of Grace’s rejection.

But it’s none of those things. It’s very fucking real. My own ghost returned to life. I click the arrow and the video plays. I thought she’d seem like a stranger, but she doesn’t. She’s everything she always was. She has the same golden skin, black hair, big eyes, and thick eyebrows that make her look intense, almost angry. Her hair hangs straight and long in front of one shoulder, and she’s speaking in that voice. That soft, musical accent I didn’t stop hearing for months after she left. “Happy birthday, Bram,” she says. “It’s been a long time. I hope you’re happy and life is going well. It is from what I’ve heard.” She pauses and smiles her shy smile. “And from what I’ve seen. I’ve looked you up on Facebook a few times. Anyway, I’m living in London and…I still think about you. My father passed away a few years ago, so things have changed for me. I’m really on my own now. Maybe we could…see each other someday? For a drink. To talk. Happy birthday again. Uh…you have my email.” The video stops. I sit back in my chair. I stare at her frozen image until the sound of a popping champagne cork brings me back to reality. “Holy shit,” I mutter. Indira. It’s really her. She finally did what I wanted her to do. She came back to me. But she didn’t do it until her father was dead.

The man who controlled her every move, even when he was thousands of miles away in New Delhi. The man she was loyal to instead of me. I watch the video again, and once more after that. I can’t believe she’s back after seven years. I can’t believe I won. I stare at her face. Every angle is so familiar, like a song I used to know but haven’t heard in a long time. Everything I loved about her is the same. Except all the time that’s passed. I should feel more. I fucking try to. I should want to talk to her and fuck her and hold her for days. My heart should be pounding and my cock ready to fuck the way it is when I watch Grace’s video feed. But it’s too late. Everything I felt is broken now. What do they call it? A Pyrrhic victory. A win that feels a lot like losing. The day she left the school, I was sure she’d be back. Her father had found out where she was, but she was an adult. We were in love. I was her teacher and she needed me. I’d taught her many things, but the most important was this: that the ultimate loyalty was to herself. But she ran home to her father, and it took his death to bring her back to me. That’s not what I want. I don’t want loyalty that’s convenient. I want it to be hard. I want sacrifice. I’ll never be second best again. I’d rather be

nothing at all. Thank you for the birthday wishes. Sorry to hear about your father. Glad you’re doing well. That’s all I write to Indira. She’s a smart woman. She’ll understand what I really mean. I moved on years ago. It’s over. Please don’t contact me again. After I spend two hours on calls, I go out to the lobby to open gifts. I unwrap Bram Russell bobbleheads and fake prescriptions for Fukitol, then have takeout delivered for the whole office. I’m standing in line with a paper plate and talking to one of the tech interns when my cell rings. “Bram Russell,” I answer. “It’s Miriam Peck,” barks a crotchety voice. Even though she can’t see me, I paste on a smile. “Miriam! How are you?” “I’m wondering what the hell you’re doing at the office on your birthday,” she says, and then she laughs. I’ve never heard her laugh before. It sounds like gravel hitting a window. “You know me, always working,” I say. “Good thing I came in, because I’ve been the victim of a very nice surprise party.” If she heard me, she gives no indication. “Well, I’m in town and I want you to meet me for lunch. The Irish pub on 19th Street. I’ve been going there for thirty years.”

Lunch with Miriam Peck. Anything but that. Just give me another Boss Fuel mug. “That’s very kind, but really, it’s not –” “I won’t take no,” she says. “It’s your birthday. I’ll be at my usual table in twenty minutes.” “Twenty minutes?” “Don’t be late. Oh, and Bram?” “Yes?” “I’ve got a surprise for you.” “A surprise?” I say. But she’s already hung up.

GRACE

I run straight for Bram’s bedroom. It’s closer than I thought – just down the hall. Through my panic, I can’t help noticing the stark opulence of the house. All of the windows are tall and narrow. Everything is made of dark stone or exotic wood. His bed is covered with a thick fur blanket, and the headboard is distressed brown leather. The lamps are made of gold-veined marble, with metal shades that must glow when they’re lit. So unusual. Larger than life, like he is. I slide open the door to his closet. It’s a room in itself, filled with the most beautiful fabrics I’ve ever seen. It opens a window into who he is, but I slam it shut with my hardened heart. Finding my dress is all that matters now. I see it hanging at the end of a row of tailored shirts. It’s been cleaned and pressed, but it smells

like him, as if he’s been holding it to his face. My pussy aches at the thought. This is what he trained me for. To crave him. To put on my own chains so I could never escape I throw off my robe and slip into the dress. I’ve got Coral’s ballet slippers in my hand -- those go on next. Now for money. I’ll need it for a ride out of here. I rush to his nightstand. A bottle of aspirin, a Kindle, an old Swiss Army knife. Nothing else. Shit. I yank open the drawer. I paw frantically past headphones and magazines, feeling for cash or the edge of a wallet. My heart jumps when I touch a leather corner. I pull it, turning everything in the drawer upside down. Fuck. It’s not a wallet, it’s a book. No. A small photo album. It’s made of something gray and smooth, like lizard skin. On the cover is a nameplate with a black circle on it. A halo. A sick chill slithers over my skin. Put it away. It doesn’t matter. Go. I open the cover anyway. The hand cut paper is rough under my fingers. It smells old. Every page holds a single black and white photograph of a girl. Not all of them are young or beautiful. They’re women I’d see on the street. Ordinary, but not ordinary at all. Each one is dressed in a tight black dress that

laces to the neck, but leaves a swath of exposed skin under the laces from belly to chin. They wear black pull-up stockings that stop just above the knee. Their thighs are bare. They wear black MaryJanes with thick high heels. Solid, old- fashioned shoes. The background looks like a strange country. Twisted trees like I’ve never seen before. Meadows of tall, dead grass. An old brick building with turrets rising into the sky. In some pictures, the girls are sitting at desks in classrooms. The windows are barred and the walls are peeling. I flip past pictures of haunted faces, my heart weeping for them. I feel like I know them. Like I could reach out to them and comfort them. I’m them, and they’re me. One picture shows a girl with her arms strung up to a pipe above her head. Another is handcuffed to a man’s leg. There are pictures of lashed skin and bruised mouths. Another girl is tied naked to a tree with her legs apart and a gag in her mouth. Beside her stands a man holding a riding crop. Bram. I know those shoulders and that stance. Long legs apart, boots anchored, arms crossed. What people said about him was true. No one saw anything, because it didn’t happen here. It happened in that strange place, in another time. With all of those girls.

I flip to the next page to see a blonde woman sitting on leaf-strewn steps in her pretty, laced-up dress. I gasp when I see who it is. Coral. She’s thinner, maybe eight years younger. She’s looking up at the camera through her lashes. Her eyebrows are raised, but she isn’t smiling. None of the girls are. What is this place? Why was she there? No wonder she handles me so well. She must have been trained, like Bram is training me. Was training me, until I woke up from this trance. I slam the album shut and stick it back in the drawer. Forget money. I’ll call a cab and pay when I get to my parents’ house, or wherever I’m going. I haven’t thought that far. I run down the staircase through bolts of morning sunlight. Hands trembling, I go from room to room in search of a phone. Nothing. Okay. I’ll set out on foot. Maybe I’ll get lucky and a cab will drive by. I find a woman’s coat in the closet by the front door. It’s a little too big, but it’s warm. I shove my arms into the sleeves and wrap it around me. I’m two seconds from freedom when I see the blinking alarm on the wall by the door. The breath rushes out of my lungs. My hope is crushed. I can’t get out. The whole house is a prison, wired to go off if I escape.

Unless. I run back up the stairs, searching for a window. I don’t care how high it is. I’ve jumped for my life before. If I die trying this time, so be it. I almost laugh when I see it. The slider in Bram’s bedroom that leads to a deck. The big oak tree with the branch hanging over the railing. With a leap of faith and a prayer to James, I crawl onto the deck railing and grab the branch. It’s slippery, but thick and strong. The bark scrapes my legs as I shimmy toward the trunk and down to the ground. I take off running toward the road. “I’m sorry, Bram,” I whisper, though I can’t say what I’m sorry for.

THE THRILL of freedom has turned to low, grinding panic. I’ve been walking for an hour. In all that time, four cars have passed. I haven’t been out here since just after James died. I forgot how remote it is. The road is narrow, forcing me to walk in the ditch by the shoulder. The ankle I thought had healed is aching again. Dark clouds rush in from the horizon. Just when I thought I’d have a sunny day for my escape, the rain is back. Big droplets pelt my head. I raise my chin and keep going.

This is who Bram was training me to be. Resourceful and disciplined. He should be proud of me for breaking out. I didn’t let him stop me, and now I’m on the brink of escaping him forever. A strange sadness arcs through my soul. Escape, forever. Bram out of my life. Back to the role he used to play, the demon I blamed for everything. My grief, my drinking, my bad dreams. Blaming him won’t work anymore. I know that. He’s too real to me now. He touched and fed me. He brought me back from the dead. If Bram’s heart were that black and rotten, he wouldn’t have protected me. He’d have let me die. I look over my shoulder, but the Bristol Mansion has disappeared. For the first half hour I could see it, black and forbidding against the blue sky, and a shameful part of me longed to run back. My battered spirit imagined the bed where Bram spanked me and made me come, and craved the security of his arms. In a perverse way, he gave me of glimpse of what I never had. The longing will pass. It’s just a sign of my sick addiction to his body. I had to get away from him. He’s a dream and a nightmare. He’s everything that can’t come true. I blink back tears when I see a gas station in the distance. Sadness and joy battle in my heart, until the tears spill over.

Life as Bram’s captive was easy in a twisted way. I’ll miss it. There are no cars at the gas station. My cheeks are dry when I walk inside and approach the counter. The woman at the register looks over from the TV. “Help you?” “I’m wondering –” I clear my throat. “Is there a phone I can use?” My voice echoes in my ears. I haven’t spoken to anyone but Bram and Coral in two weeks. She shakes her head. “Not for the public. Sorry.” “The thing is, I don’t have a phone and I’m… stranded.” Memories of Bram dance in front of my vision. The idea that I might blurt out his name terrifies me. “Stranded,” she says, in a distracted monotone. I nod. “I don’t have any money, either.” She throws her eyes toward the corner near the bathrooms. “ATM’s over there.” Holding out the remote, she turns up the TV. The anchor is announcing Powerball winners. She glances at me again, her gaze cutting through my defenses. It’s as if she can see what Bram did, and who he turned me into. She wouldn’t believe what some men do, and how some women come to crave it. I’m no different from the girls in the halo pictures, except

that I almost envy them. They were part of something that fascinates and scares me. I long to know what it was. “I’ll be right back,” I say. I turn and go to the bathroom. The disinfectant smell turns my stomach. Shutting the door, I stare at my fluorescent-lit reflection. Who am I? Where’s my voice? The old me would have insisted on using the phone. I’d have screamed that I’d been kidnapped. I’d have gone to the first house I passed and banged on the door. I wouldn’t have protected Bram. But even the thought feels wrong, like the worst kind of betrayal. Two weeks in his prison have changed me. I’m not Grace anymore. I’m a slave who loves her master’s attention. Who can’t conceive of hurting him. I scrub the tree sap off my hands and take deep breaths. I have to do this. There’s no going back. I open the door and walk up to the counter. The cashier is stocking the water case. The TV still blares. I’ll wait until she comes back. I won’t leave until I’m rescued. I’m sorry, I don’t have my ATM card. I need your help. Please call 911. My heart is pounding. My throat is cracked and dry. Every moment feels like a hallucination. There’s too much noise, too many colors. I crave

my isolation. My thoughts, my silence, him. I’m going to scream if she doesn’t turn the TV off. All I can hear are jumbled words. The people on the screen look weird and contorted. I squint. Something tells me I should recognize them. I blink hard until their faces become clear. I stare at them numbly. My parents. Isaac. The police. This isn’t real. I want to laugh. The only thing that makes sense is the headline at the bottom of the screen. Local woman reported missing. Isaac stands with his hands clasped in front of him, his flat face smug. He can barely keep from smiling. My mother huddles beside my father, who speaks woodenly into a microphone. We’ve called her friends. No one has heard from her in almost two weeks. I’m actually seeing this. It’s really fucking happening. A desperate cry chokes in my throat. They know I’m not missing. I told them not to look for me. I made my choice, compromising and wrong as it was. Funny how they didn’t tell the police why I ran. Just as I was running back to them, they betrayed me. I stand at the counter with my mouth open. I can’t cry. I can’t even move.

I’ve ruined everything. Bram’s trust. The chance to help James’s father. The opportunity to heal and move on. I look down and realize I’m ripping at my bare thighs with my nails. My lungs are too tight to take a breath. I hate what I’ve done. I can’t go to my parents. I can’t bring this nightmare on Stephanie or James’s father. I won’t. I’d rather die. And Bram… Even if he wants me, he’ll destroy me. I’ve seen the pictures. I know what he’s capable of. But I have no choice. He’s all I’ve got. He’s protected me this long. If I can just convince him to take me back. To let me try again. The cashier shuts the door to the water case. “ATM on the blink again?” she says, walking back behind the counter. She turns toward the TV screen, where my mother is holding up my high school graduation picture. By the time she turns around again, I’m gone.

BRAM

I get to the restaurant before Miriam does. The host seems to know exactly who she is, and who I am, and he leads me to a booth in the corner by the window. I take the side facing the bar, where a muted television plays sports highlights to the lunch crowd. I order a pint of beer and skim the menu. Whoever this new Miriam is, who laughs on the phone and orders me out to lunch, I hope she doesn’t have the waiters bring cake with a candle and fucking sing to me. But Grace. I love her singing voice. I think I’d like it if she sang me to me, and tied a balloon to a dining room chair, and cooked me something really simple and not even particularly good, but that she put her whole heart into. When I get home, I’m going to tell her it’s my

birthday. I’m going to apologize for being so quiet this morning, and keeping her isolated for a week while I tried and failed to become her whole world. I may never be her world. She may never care about me beyond the limits of our arrangement. I feel sick at the thought, but even if I push her to her limits, it might not be enough. It’s not her fault. She loved hard and lost, and she can’t get over it. Maybe she never will. But I can give her something fun and sweet. I want to see the little girl in her eyes tonight, just for a minute. I sip my beer and try to decide between cottage pie and a Reuben. I glance at my phone to see the little icon of Indira’s video in my messages. I haven’t thought of her once since I watched it this morning. When I was twenty-five, all I wanted was for her to choose me. It’s proof that love dies. If it happened for me, maybe one day it will happen for Grace. I hear Miriam’s voice from across the pub. Straightening my tie, I stand and wait for her. She’ll need help getting into her seat, and someplace to put her walker. Maybe around the end of the bar. I see her slightly stooped figure across the dining room. She’s wearing a tweed jacket and pants, and her hair is whipped into a conical shape above her head. The pub is dim, so it takes me a second to realize that she’s not alone.

She’s holding onto someone. A girl. Her assistant. No. Grace. What the fuck? My mind races through a hundred scenarios in a split second before drawing a complete blank. There’s no understanding this. No way to even try. All I know is that Miriam looks like she’s having the time of her life. She doesn’t even have her walker, because she has Grace. She’s leaning on her arm shuffling toward the table while Grace chats about God knows what the fuck in her ear. “Bram!” Miriam calls out from the end of the bar. “Happy birthday!” Everyone swivels on their stools to look at me. I stitch on a smile. As Grace gets closer, my eyes drag in every detail. She’s wearing the dress I found her in, and the ballet slippers Coral gave her. She’s got on makeup and the gray coat that’s been hanging in my front closet since a guest left it after a party. She looks pretty and composed, and if it weren’t for the burn in her cheeks, I’d never know she just…what? I don’t even know what the hell she just did. Miriam’s hooded brown eyes light up as she gets to the table. “How about this surprise, huh? She can’t jump out of a cake but she can have lunch with us, right?” I grin so wide it hurts. “Right!”

Miriam grips the edge of the table with a gnarled hand as Grace helps her into the booth. Grace won’t even look at me. “Thank you, hon,” Miriam says. “Now go sit next to your beau.” Your beau. There’s a story in full fucking bloom here and I’ve got no clue what it is. Grace hangs her coat on the hook between booths and sits next to me. She stays as close to the edge as she can without falling off. “Happy birthday,” she says. Her voice catches. Her hand shakes as she reaches for her napkin. Miriam frowns. “It’s his big day. Aren’t you going to kiss him?” Grace fumbles her napkin and drops it to the floor. “Oh – yes,” she says. Her face is a picture of smiling misery as she turns toward me. Whatever she did, it was wrong and she damn well knows it. “How nice that you’re here,” I say in a dark voice, and lean toward her to be kissed. Her lips are dry and hot as she presses them quickly to mine. They taste like a bad girl who’s been making stupid decisions that could blow up my life. The waiter comes and Miriam orders wine for both of them. Oh, good. Let’s all get drunk in the middle of this disaster. “So nice of you to invite me out, Miriam, and to bring my…” I glance at Grace and give her a hard stare.

She swallows. “Girlfriend.” “Girlfriend,” I say. “Right.” I take a long sip of beer and sling my arm over the back of the booth. “How did you happen to bump into each other, anyway?” Even under pressure in the courtroom, Grace never looked this nervous. Her pupils are so dilated she looks drugged with fear. “I was dropping off a gift basket for you,” Miriam says. “I know I don’t seem the type, but you could be in charge of my company soon and my husband is always after me to be polite. Anyway, I thought you’d be home on your birthday, and I haven’t seen the Bristol Mansion since you bulldozed it –” “Renovated,” I pipe up. “– and I was just pulling up when I saw Grace here trying to find a way in. Poor thing locked herself out!” “Poor thing,” I say, pushing out my lower lip. “How, honey?” Grace’s eyes are cold as stone. “Left without my keys, I guess.” “She was trying to shimmy up a tree if you can believe that, but she’s young and fit, so why not?” “A tree,” I say, slowly squeezing the back of her neck. “Imagine that.” “She’s just lucky no one saw her and reported a burglary,” Miriam says. “Now wouldn’t that have

been funny.” Grace snorts a fake laugh. “Hilarious,” I say. Miriam takes a heavy slurp of wine. “I told her who I was, and of course I recognized her from the whole trial nightmare. So when she told me you live together now, you know what I thought?” My stomach turns to lead. “I can’t imagine.” Miriam looks at both of us in turn. “That it speaks to your character. To your ability to forgive. Both of you.” “That means a lot, Miriam,” I say. “Doesn’t it, Grace?” “Yup,” she squeaks. “She was so embarrassed that she locked herself out. She was afraid you’d be angry, Bram. Isn’t that silly?” Grace’s pulse races under my fingers as I squeeze her neck harder. “Ridiculous.” “It took some convincing but she finally agreed to surprise you. It was her first time in a car with a driver, and it was fun, wasn’t it, Grace? You told me all about party planning, which I’m lousy at. You’ll have to plan my husband’s next birthday, if he lives that long.” Grace gives such a good imitation of a laugh, it fools even me. Miriam leans across the table and grabs my forearm in a surprisingly tight grip. “I wish you’d told me you had a girlfriend. I’m

a lot less worried about these playboy rumors now. Next thing you know, marriage and children. I know you two had a tough start, but who says things don’t work out for the best?” “Yup,” I say. “They always do, don’t they?” Our food arrives and Miriam orders another glass of wine. She digs into her Rueben and talks about her grandson, a smart but rebellious philosophy major who just got his tenth tattoo. Grace chats and asks questions, and even asks to see pictures of Miriam’s family. She’s doing an admirable job of pretending she didn’t do whatever the fuck she did. I glace at her as she nibbles on her fish and chips. I can’t help admiring her. My good bad girl. She’s trying so hard. She protected me. She didn’t tell Miriam I kidnapped her, or recite the letter she gave to Fritz. She created a story to save her ass. And she saved mine, too. It wasn’t all about James today. This time, she thought of me. I slide my hand down to her bare leg and squeeze her thigh. She looks up at me with jittery doe eyes. I raise my hand and wipe a tiny spot of tartar sauce from her lip. “It’s okay,” I mouth. Her smile is small and trembly, but it feels like the sun just broke across her face.

That single moment of connection is so intense, I’m instantly hard. She’ll be lucky if she escapes this pub without a fast, hard fucking in the men’s room. I hear my phone buzz on the table beside me. Fritz’s name flashes on the screen. I ignore it. Two minutes later he calls again. He can wait. Lunch is almost over. Sipping the last of my beer, I sit back and watch the woman who referred to herself as my girlfriend. My secret weapon. Little did I know. Miriam just told us that she always wanted a granddaughter. Maybe she sees a glimpse of her in Grace. I glance over as two people stand up from the bar. The news is on behind Miriam’s head, and a banner flashes at the bottom of the screen. BREAKING. I tip back my pint. When I glance at the TV again, my body goes cold. My hand slips from Grace’s knee. Splashed across the TV are Grace’s parents and some guy in weird clothes. Pictures of Grace flash on the screen. She sees it at the same time I do. Face draining, she looks at me. She already knows. I can tell. She didn’t even warn me. She let me sit here for an hour and get ambushed. She could have dragged me away. She could have asked the waiter for pen and paper and

written me a note. Anything but what she did, which was nothing. Miriam jabbers on while my phone buzzes like an alarm. That’s why Fritz is calling. Because everything just went to shit. I know, I text him. My phone goes silent. Of course the waiters come and sing. They put a huge piece of cake in front of me with a flaming candle on top, and Miriam orders Bailey’s and coffee and lunch drags on forever. By the time I thank her a hundred times and help her into her Town Car, I’m about to explode. I shut her door and wave. The car drives off. When I turn around, Grace is in tears. “I’m sorry,” she says. “Who have you called?” I bark. “Your parents? The police?” And then I realize what a stupid question I’m asking. She doesn’t even have a phone. And that’s my fault. I grab her arm and start walking. She trots after me, excuses tumbling from her mouth. I can’t even hear them. “I thought you’d know what to do,” she says. “We can fix this, right? You’re not going to send me home?” I feel a sharp pang that she’d even say that, though part of me wishes I could. Send this sexy drama machine back to her parents and let them deal with her. Return to my gray, boring life and

enjoy every second of it. “Home?” I snap, hauling her up the street to the police station. “You’re my girlfriend now, remember? Miriam Peck likes you. Until I’m head of her company, you’re not going anywhere.”

BRAM

The ride home in the car is long and silent. When we get to the house, Grace goes straight to her room. “I’ll be up in a minute,” I say. “Leave your door open.” For the last two hours, I haven’t left her side. She talked to the police, called her parents, even called James’s father. Her parents insisted on coming to get her, but wouldn’t promise she could stay with them. She stood her ground. She was fine, she said. She was staying with a friend like she told them before. She’d come home when she was ready. And then, when we got in the car, she admitted everything. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she described how she escaped. She apologized for making me miss work, for ruining my birthday, for the whole charade at lunch.

I didn’t say a word in response. There was nothing to fucking say. As soon as I went into my shell, she went into hers. Her tears dried up and she stared out her window. So she protected me. She lied to Miriam and played the charming girlfriend. I was grateful for about five minutes, until it occurred to me. Her little act was only necessary because she tried to get away. She tried to get away from me. I can imagine how my footsteps sound to her as I climb the stairs. Good. Let her piss her panties from fear. She caused this. I guess she missed bawling her eyes out on James’s grave so much, she had to break out to see her ghost. She had to give up thirteen million dollars and run back to the shit I saved her from. I walk into her room. She sits against the wall, her face impassive. Blank and devoid of emotion, like an abandoned doll. I want more than that. Much more. I want regret to contort that pretty face. I want I’m sorry and you own me to be the only English she utters for a week. I walk up and squat in front of her. She dares to look me right in the eye. “Tell me again, Grace,” I say. “Tell me how you only came back because this Isaac fuck-up was at the news conference.” She shakes her head. I hate the coldness in her

face. She’s switched off. Life is too painful. She ventured out into the world this morning and it shattered her after one hour. Her parents blew up her world and drove her back to me. And I’m all she’s got. Again. Every time I think about her walking back to me, I have to block it out. I don’t want to feel anything. I don’t want to imagine my beautiful virgin slave trudging home in shame. I’m so pissed off, I want an empty hole where my heart should be. I can’t be soft. She needs me to care. And the way I care hurts sometimes. I slap her face. She whips her head back, her eyes burning into me. “You said a lot of things on the way home, but you didn’t tell me why,” I say in a dark growl. “Why, Grace? Why did you do it?” She sets her mouth. Her lips are dark pink, making her scar look like a tiny silver thread. “Fucking answer me. Did you learn your life skills from James? Did he teach you how to lie? Run away? Blame?” She narrows her eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” “You were fooled by him, weren’t you? Your fucking saint. You’d rather grieve him than live.” “Today had nothing to do with him.” “Bullshit.” I haul her to her feet. She stands in

front of me, helpless, beautiful, and cold as ice. I take every bit of jealousy and fury out on her dress, and rip it off her. She’ll never wear it to run away again. She stands in the bra and panties I bought her, looking like an abandoned street urchin. The ribbons of her dress fall to the floor. She glances down at what I’ve done, but she doesn’t cry. She won’t give me the fucking pleasure. I lean down so close I’m almost kissing her. “Your door wasn’t locked after the second day, Grace. You’ve been free every fucking second.” She sucks in a breath. Finally, some emotion in her face. Surprise. Sadness. The realization that she doesn’t know me at all. “Why?” she asks. “You said you were choosing to stay, and I believed you.” I grab her chin in my hand and stare hard into her soul. “Tell me why you left. Tell me why you’d risk your life.” She spears me with her jade-green eyes. This time, she doesn’t hesitate. “You drove away last night. You made me come and then you left me alone.” My fury cracks. I expected her to complain about my inhumane rules or callous treatment of her tender body. But I didn’t expect this, in that soft, almost hurt tone of voice. “You were asleep,” I say.

“I woke up when you shut my door.” I shrug. “I had something to take care of.” “Something, or someone?” I tilt my head. She can’t be jealous. Women like Grace and my mother don’t get jealous. Their whole fucking lives are tangled up in men who aren’t around. But I can’t help prodding her. To see if there’s a scrap of feeling that didn’t get buried six feet under. “Why do you care where I was, Grace?” Her eyes are alive now, crackling with color and feeling. “I don’t.” Turning my palm up, I push my hand into the panties I bought for her. My panties. My pussy. “That’s not true.” She squirms her hips to try to escape my touch. “You forced me to come and then you left.” I hook one rough, cold fingertip into her pussy and another in her ass. She gasps as I yank her against me. “Forced you? You begged.” “I’ve been isolated,” she stammers, her slick juices flooding my fingers. “You’ve kept me prisoner.” “And made you very jealous, apparently.” “So what? I’m human. What you did…you shouldn’t leave a woman alone after that. It isn’t fair.” She’s biting her lip and her face is red. She’s never looked prettier. I’ve never wanted to fuck her

more. I love her beautiful humiliation. I love her jealousy. I love that it’s all for me. “You silly girl,” I say, stroking a finger between the lips of her cunt. “There is no one else. There hasn’t been anyone else in years.” “Years?” she says. “A very long time.” She squeezes her feminine muscles around my fingers. “I shouldn’t care,” she says. “It’s stupid. But if you’re going to be the first man…” “Who does everything to you,” I say. She nods with such innocence my heart breaks. “I don’t know if you still want to be, but just while I’m here, I don’t want to…” It’s almost more than I can stand. Her sweet possessiveness. Her need to have me for herself, even if it’s just for now. “You don’t want to share me,” I say. She shakes her head. “No.” “Thank you,” she says, and I try to be satisfied with that. But there’s more in her eyes. Something darker and more complicated than jealousy. “What else, Grace?” I say, holding her warm pussy in the palm of my hand. “That wasn’t all that made you run. Was it?” She turns her face away. Her cheeks catch fire. “I saw the book.” “What book?”

“The one in your drawer, with all those pictures.” I flinch inside. I never thought she’d see the album from the Black Halo. I should have. I’d left her door unlocked, even if I hadn’t told her. I wanted to see how obedient she was. I never thought she’d run. I thought vengeance was more important to her than anything else. “Did the pictures scare you?” “Yes,” she says. “I saw Coral. She looked so different.” “She was back then.” Grace’s eyes search mine. “Is that going to be me?” “Do you want it to be you?” The prettiest confusion shadows her face. “I don’t know. I know I’m curious sometimes.” “About being that kind of girl?” “Yes. But that’s not really why I ran.” She’s so quiet, I strain to hear her words. “Why then? I won’t be angry, I promise.” She chews the inside of her bottom lip. “Whatever you’re doing to me, I’m afraid it’s working.” “Working? How?” “It’s just…I don’t feel like myself. You’re all I think about. It’s being in this room alone, dependent on you.” Her gaze is so strong I feel naked. “You know what you’re doing,” she says.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” She knows me. I’m still a virtual stranger, but she knows me in the ways that matter. “I want to be everything to you while you’re here,” I say. And always, I almost say. I want your loyalty to me no matter what happens. I want your soul forever. “But I don’t want to change,” she says, voice shaking. “I don’t want to forget. I want to be me.” I pull my hand from her panties and wrap it around her waist. She’s small and fragile against me, a bundle of burning questions. “That girl, the one you were? She’s not you anymore.” Her eyes fill with tears. “But she’s all I know. And you just want to break her.” “She was broken when I found her. I want to put her back together again.” I never thought I’d end this day blaming myself for her escape. Now I see how fragile she is. How every move I make matters. She hears every sound and reads into everything I say. All she wanted was to please me by coming. And when I left, I hurt her. My sweet, broken girl. “I’m sorry,” I say. “No, I am.” Raising my hands to her jaw, I lift her face toward me. Her mouth is open, wet, and sweet. I can’t resist her. I shove my tongue in deep, tasting her honey-scented breath. Before she can control

herself, she kisses me back, her hot tongue tangling with mine. What she wants, what she doesn’t want – it’s all the same now. It’s all wrapped up in me. She whimpers when I pull away, her neck craning forward for more. I smile into her upturned face. “What happened, Grace? This morning when I went to work, I thought I was leaving a good girl in charge. A girl I could trust.” “I’m sorry,” she says, her chin quivering. “I ruined your birthday.” Her remorse touches me in a place I thought was dead. “No, Grace. This is my birthday. Right now.” Sliding her thick curtain of auburn hair aside, I bite her neck gently. She sucks in a high breath. I watch the marks of possession as they imprint her beautiful pale skin. Mouth to her ear, I lower my voice to a whisper. “You know what bad girls do sometimes?” I say, slipping my hand back into her panties. “They jump to conclusions and get jealous.” She gasps in a little breath. “I’m sorry, I –” “We need to do something about that, right now.” “Now?” I drag two fingers through her soaked slit and hold them in front of her face. “What does that

look like to you?” She swallows hard. “I don’t know.” “It looks like I want to suck Bram’s big cock to me. You’ve never sucked one before, have you?” I know damn well she never has. I just want to hear her say it. “No,” she says, widening her eyes. “Never.” “I think it’s time, then.” I push her to her knees with one hand and unzip my pants with the other. It’s not the gentle introduction to cock-worship I had planned, but it’s what I want tonight. It’s what she deserves. A little correction in the form of my dick in her throat. A reminder that she’s not in charge with me, and never will be. “Keep your lips closed,” I say. She blinks up at me. Behind a sparkle of fear is something dark and beautiful. Respect. She needs this. It’s her security. No one’s ever been able to control her, before me. “Closed?” she asks. “Yes.” I take off my tie and shirt, and drop my pants so my stiff cock is right in front of her. I let her stare at it in fascination for a minute before tipping her chin up with my fingers. “Look at me now. Keep your eyes on mine.” Taking my dick in my fist, I rub the swollen head against her smooth, closed mouth. Her eyes are shy as I slick salty precum over her lips. Back

and forth over her cupid’s bow and in each corner until her full mouth is glistening. “Taste,” I say, stepping back. The tip of her tongue flickers out and snakes along the edges of her lips. Her eyes never leave mine. “You like that, Grace? You like tasting how horny you make me?” “Yes,” she says, and swallows. “Good,” I say. “Now open.” Like the cock-sucking virgin she is, she opens her mouth an inch. “Wider.” She opens a tiny bit more. I want to smile at her innocence, but bad, jealous girls don’t get smiles. I slap her right cheek and listen to the beautiful crack it makes. She lets out a little cry. My gaze is like a hook, holding her and not letting go. “Wider,” I say. “Wide enough for my big dick.” Her jaws separate as she follows my order. I can see her white teeth and pretty pink tongue, just waiting to take me. I let the head of my cock graze her lower lip as I enter her mouth. The hard, veiny underside slips over her tongue and strikes the back of her throat. She gags a little and tears glisten. Her glassy eyes are scared, but focused on mine. “Now suck,” I tell her, hearing the gruff demand in my voice. Part of me wants to be kind

and gentle, but she needs strong right now. I need it, too. She closes her luscious mouth and sucks like a child with candy. She’s awkward but eager, trying hard to make me happy. I drop my head back and live in the sensation of her gentle sucking. “Yes, baby. Suck it like a good girl.” Her lips stroke down my shaft, finding their rhythm. My ass clenches and my muscles go rigid, making my dick so hard my balls ache. It drops out of her mouth and she blushes bright red. “Sorry,” she mumbles. I cup her cheek. “Look at me, Grace. You can’t do anything wrong.” I stroke her skin. She has no idea. Every earnest lick, trembling breath, and nervous heartbeat is perfect. She tries so sweetly. Tears run down her cheeks as she sucks and gags and sucks harder, giving everything she has. She’s tried her whole life to please and be good. And here, with me, it matters. She doesn’t have to be perfect, or even succeed. She just has to try. My cock is too big for her, but she doesn’t stop. Dominant, competitive thoughts flit through my mind, bringing me even closer to coming. James never had this. The poor bastard never felt her mouth suck his dick. He never pinched her

nipples, or spanked her gorgeous ass raw. She never came for him. He died without taking her precious virginity. He may have her heart, but damnit, I’ll have everything else. And after the things she said tonight, I’m not giving up on her heart, either.

GRACE

When I jumped for my life this morning, I’d never have believed I’d be back in my room tonight, sucking Bram’s cock and loving it. It’s the most soothing thing I’ve ever felt. I love his thickness, his warmth, his pleasure. The rightness of how we fit together. Our eyes bonded together, never looking away. “You’re a natural,” he says. I smile up at him. “Am I?” “You love sucking me. I can feel it.” I feel so happy, even though I know I should be miserable. Miserable that my plans failed, and that Miriam Peck drove up and found me. Miserable that Isaac answered when I called my parents’ house, and they wouldn’t promise I could stay with them. But I’m not miserable, and I’m not sure why. I

only know that when I walked into Bram’s house tonight, it felt like home. He feels like home.

TILTING my head to the side, I open wide and gently suck one of his heavy balls into my mouth. He pulls in a sharp breath and I stop, looking back up at him for approval. “That’s perfect,” he says. “I like it when you show me what you want.” I give his balls a tentative lick. “Does it feel good?” “Good? It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt.” I run my tongue along the seam of his balls to the base of his cock. He groans his pleasure, making me glow with happiness. He could have – has had – any woman he wants. But even though I’m nervous and inexperienced, I please him. For some reason I’ll never understand, he likes me. My fist practically disappears as I hold his thick shaft. He’s so big, he hardly seems real. Lapping again, I go further under this time, until I tease the fine hair between his balls and his ass. I want to taste every part of him. To be part of him. “Is this okay?” I ask. “My lovely girl,” he says, his hips shunted forward. “You can be who you are with me.”

No one’s ever said those words to me. I feel like I’ve waited all my life to hear them. I rise on my knees and take his cock in my mouth again. After a few minutes of wet, noisy sucking, he slides my hands around his hips. “Grab my ass. You’re going to be a good girl and make me come.” His ass feels perfect under my hands – firm, high, and muscular. I’ve never touched a man’s ass before. I never thought I’d dare. Bram thrusts into my mouth, hitting my throat until it feels swollen and raw. I slide my lips back and forth, letting him use me for his pleasure. “Perfect,” he growls. “You just started and you’re already perfect.” It hurts and I can hardly breathe, but I won’t stop. I don’t want to. Clutching his ass, I meet his thrusts with my mouth, concentrating until the flow of cock, mouth, and tongue are just right. Bram must feel it, because his breath is heavy and deep. “Now moan,” he says. I stop. Mouth full, I give him a questioning look through my lashes. “You heard me. Moan. I want to feel your pleasure vibrate through my cock.” I’m embarrassed and shy. I almost pull away. But the look in Bram’s eyes is so encouraging, I can’t disappoint him. I try it, just a brief, light hum in my throat, and

Bram’s cock swells and pulses in my mouth. “Holy shit, that’s beautiful,” he whispers, threading his fingers through my sweaty hair. “More. Louder.” I push my other hand between my legs and trembles a finger across my clit. My toes curl and my nerves sizzle. “Mmmm,” I moan, louder. I feel the soft, tingly vibration through his cock and into my lips. My cheeks tremor from the sound. “Show me how much you love sucking my cock,” he says, ramming hard into my throat. “Moan for me, beautiful.” I want so much to make him cum. To know I’ve given him pleasure, and done well. To earn back his trust. To be better than any girl who’s sucked him before. His one and only. After last night, now I know. That’s what I want. As soon as I start moaning again, the pulsating starts. I feel it in the base of his cock, throbbing against my lips, and rocketing up his steel shaft until cum spurts onto my tongue. Moaning, I hold my lips tight. He groans loudly. He can’t contain the bliss. His cum pours like nectar down my throat. I swallow every drop, nearly choking there’s so much of it. Now, part of him is truly, deeply inside me. In my bloodstream. My cells and my bones. The last pulses fade and his fingers relax in my

hair. As he pulls his still-thick cock from my mouth, a trickle of cum trails down my chin. Smiling, he kneels in front of me. His body is so beautiful, so tight and ridged, that looking at it makes my skin tingle. He licks the dribble of cum from my chin and feeds it to me with his tongue. “Happy birthday to me,” he whispers. Butterflies rise from my stomach into my throat. Mouth wet and open, he tastes himself, and me, and both of us together. “You’re incredible,” he says. My whole body glows. “Do you mean it?” “God, do I mean it. One day soon I’m going to fuck you. But I’m going to make us both wait because it’s worth it. You’re worth it.” He picks me up in his arms and brings me to the bed. He strips off my bra and panties before taking off his clothes and lying beside me. I’m so aroused I’m covered with goosebumps, so wet my thighs are sticky. But all I want is to feel him next to me. To put this confusing, rollercoaster day behind me and be close to him. Even if it’s wrong. Even if it can’t last, and breaks my heart. It feels strange to snuggle up beside him, but so natural. Like I’ve been waiting to do it forever. His arms are big and strong, and wrap all the way around my body. I can hear his slow, heavy heartbeat under my ear. “I wish you’d told me it was your birthday.”

“I forgot myself,” he says. “How could you forget your own birthday?” He pauses, and that pause says everything. “Birthdays weren’t very important when I was growing up.” “Why not?” “Single mother, not much money, same old story.” I look up at him. His eyes are angled toward the ceiling, but I can see a glimmer of pain. “It’s a story I’d like to hear,” I say. “Nothing much to tell.” “Tell me anyway.” He does, in a cool, flat voice. As if it doesn’t matter that he never knew his father, or his mother was distant, or she died when he was sixteen. As if getting bullied and beaten up is just part of growing up. I can hardly imagine him as a skinny, frightened kid, shooting his grandfather’s gun in the woods after school. “Where’s your father now?” I ask. “Dead. My mother’s buried next to him. I guess they’re finally back together after all these years.” I hear so much emotion just under the surface of his words. I wish he’d let me see it. I wish he’d tell me everything. “It must have been hard not having her attention when you were young.” “Yeah,” he says. “My dad came first, even though he wasn’t there. I mean, she kept his place

set at the table for two years after he left.” “But he never came back? Not once? “Yeah, he came back. In a pine box nine years ago.” I can almost feel the wound in his heart as I listen to it beat. He’s not the privileged, perfect man I thought he was. He’s not cold. He’s a lot like me. A little bit damaged. Strong on the outside, but broken underneath. “I know it’s not the same,” I say. “But my parents wanted a boy instead of me.” Bram’s eyes are intense as they search my face. “They did? How do you know?” I swallow. Even after all these years, it feels forbidden to say it. “I used them to hear them talking. I was young so I couldn’t understand everything, but I had this feeling. And once...” I swallow down a rush of tears. I can’t believe I’m about to cry. “Once what?” “I was looking for Christmas ornaments in the attic and I found a box of baby clothes. Little blue bibs and tiny socks. They were all for a boy. Maybe my mother had a miscarriage, or they were trying to adopt and it didn’t work out. I don’t know. I asked her about the box but she said it must have been there before they bought the house. I could tell it wasn’t true.” I shake my head against his chest. “I just know I was second best. They wanted

something else but they got me.” “Oh, sweetie,” Bram says. “Your parents couldn’t ask for anything more than you.” “Really?” My voice breaks but I can’t help it. “Really.” My heart swells with sadness and regret and joy. Bram makes me feel special. He makes me feel seen. Like even if I’m not perfect, I was worth saving. His hand strokes up my belly, lighting sparks along my skin. “You don’t know, do you?” he says. “You don’t know why I left after I spanked you last night.” My stomach does a tiny dip. “Is it something I did?” “Yes,” he says. My heart sinks. I’m so inexperienced. I cried and asked for more and embarrassed myself. I did something wrong. “You mentioned James,” he says. “Just after you came with me.” I frown. “I did?” “You asked me – if I had to. And I understand, Grace. I’d ask, too. I just wanted you to be with me for a minute without thinking about him.” There’s a dark note in his voice. I hurt him. I hurt Bram Russell, who has everything. Who could have anyone. I have that little bit of power. And I thought I

had none at all. “But we’re not…supposed to care,” I say. “Are we?” “No,” he says, his fingers dancing over my ribs, my nipples, my neck. “We have a deal, and this isn’t part of it.” I feel him shrug under my head. “Maybe that deal has changed. Everything’s the same except now…it matters more.” I smile and get as close to him as I can. It matters. I guess all I ever wanted was to matter. I just can’t believe I matter to a man like him.

BRAM

We go downstairs naked and I light a fire in the fireplace. While Grace looks through my DVD’s with a gray throw draped over her shoulders, I heat up the four-course dinner we never ate last night. “Do you speak all these languages?” she asks, shuffling through the foreign film case. “No, but I’m amazing at reading subtitles,” I say. She smiles. I can count on one hand the times she’s smiled at me, and almost all have been tonight. Each one is so different, and so fucking beautiful. I pop open a bottle of wine, fill two glasses, and set them on the coffee table. I watch her as she unwraps Miriam’s gift basket, lips pressed together with concentration as she peels back the cellophane. The throw slips off one shoulder,

revealing the gorgeous constellation of bruises on her ass. My bruises. My ass. Two weeks ago she lay unconscious on my rug. I wasn’t sure she’d wake up again. To see her here tonight, radiant and alive, is a dream.

WE SIT on the floor with our backs against the couch and eat from plates on our laps. Beef tenderloin, grilled shrimp, roasted vegetables, linguine. We share a chocolate torte that I pile high with ice cream, and even though I can’t find any candles, Grace sings. Happy birthday, dear Bram. She sits cross-legged with her back straight and her pretty tits exposed. Her voice is soft and a little nervous, and she hits one note a little off-key. It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever heard. The craziest and best birthday I’ve ever had. “I wish I had a present for you,” she says. “You do,” I say. “It’s downstairs.” “There’s a downstairs?” “Oh, yes. The red devil’s lair.” She smiles again, and even though there’s a still a hint of exhaustion in it, I’ve never seen her look happier. Maybe I never wanted to train her, or ease my guilt. Maybe I always just wanted this. To banish her sadness, and make her happy again. “The red devil’s lair?” she says, licking a smear

of frosting from her finger. “You’re kidding.” I stand up and put out my hand. “No, my little angel. Let me show you.”

SHE PADS down the stairs behind me in her bare feet. I can hear her sweet breathing as she tries to keep up with my long-legged stride. For the last two hours, it’s almost been too easy between us. And she’s too smart. She’s figuring out who I am. She knows that, with me, every ray of sunshine is followed by a thunderstorm. The hall lights are still set low from the night I found Grace in my yard. I lead her to the door at the end and stop. I let her feel how close and claustrophobic it is here, with no windows and only one way out. I know this is a risk. I might trigger her just as I’m gaining her trust. But I have to show her. I need to see her here. “Only a few people have been in this room before,” I say, pressing my thumb to the sensor on the wall. The door clicks open. She pulls the throw around her chest and peers inside. “Follow me,” I say. With a brave little breath, she steps into the darkness behind me. A light springs on overhead, illuminating the room in a sudden sweep of brightness. But I’m not looking at

the room, or what’s in it. I’m looking at her. She stops breathing and her eyes widen. “What is this?” “My favorite place in the world,” I say. “My collection.” Shivers rise on her arms as she glances from wall to shelf to glass case. Her spine shudders. She’s surrounded by instruments of death, each more beautiful than the last. “But…why? Because you liked shooting in the woods?” Her sweet question makes me laugh. “It’s been a passion since my grandfather gave me his rifle and knife. They’re over there.” She follows the tilt of my head to the case displaying my most valued treasures. Her eyes flicker over the serrated blade of the knife and the scratched and battered rifle. The tremble of her shoulders makes my cock swell. To see such a fragile girl surrounded by so much deadly power is intoxicating. “He was a soldier?” she asks. “A soldier and a prisoner of war. He didn’t have it easy, even after the war. He never had much money.” “He’d be proud of you, I’m sure.” Those simple words bring fucking tears to my eyes. She glances up just as I turn away, but she knows.

“You miss him,” she says. “Yeah.” I go to the case and slide the door open. Picking up the knife, I hold it in a beam of light. “He killed three guys with this when he was on watch one night. His rifle jammed and it was all he had. It was pitch black in the jungle. Hand to hand combat. He got a purple heart for it.” Her lips are parted as she listens. She looks fascinated. “It’s amazing he escaped.” “He didn’t,” I say. “There was a fourth soldier who took him prisoner. He was in a bamboo cell for three years.” “Oh, Bram,” she says, slowly shaking her head. “My God.” “Pretty intense,” I say. I hold the knife out flat on the palm of my hand. “Have you ever touched something like this before?” She shakes her head. Her eyes are round and nervous. “It was decommissioned by the military because it was considered too brutal.” I pick it up by the blade and hand it to her. Reluctantly, she takes the thick black handle. The knife looks huge in her slender hand. “It’s heavy,” she says. “Is it still sharp?” I step close to her. She holds the knife away from her body as if it might explode. “Find out,” I say, and turn up my wrist. Her

pupils are huge as I take her hand and bring the knife down. The blade rests coldly against my skin. She looks down at my crisscrossed veins and the chain tattoo winding up my arm. “Bram, please.” “One cut and I’d be on my knees bleeding. If you were fast enough, you could cut the other wrist before I knew what was happening.” Her pulse pounds under my fingers. “If you were on your knees, why wouldn’t I just cut your throat instead?” Though her words sound confident, her voice is as soft and unsure as a child’s. She’s beautiful, such a contradiction. “You’re learning.” “What am I learning?” “To protect yourself. To exploit your opponent’s faults.” “What are your faults?” she asks. “Simple. I want you so fucking much it makes me crazy.” I try to press the knife down but she resists with all her strength. “What’s wrong?” I say. “I thought you believed in vengeance. An eye for an eye.” “I do. I mean…I don’t know anymore.” With a smooth, practiced motion, I take the knife from her and spin her around. Arm belted around her shoulders, I yank her against me and raise the knife where she can see it. She freezes like

a terrified bird. “In our arrangement,” I say, “one of us has to win. If it isn’t you, it’s going to be me.” She drops her head back and looks up at me with glittering eyes. “Why can’t we both lose?” Her lips are parted, and so fucking kissable I groan. Lowering my head, I plunder her sweet mouth with my tongue. She tastes like chocolate and fucking. Her lips are so soft, full, and wet. She kisses me with abandon, like a horny teenage girl who’s never kissed a boy before. Reaching back, she hooks her arms around my neck, bringing my mouth down hard on hers. Her breath pants in and out and I can hear her heartbeat. “Does this scare you?” I ask against her lips. “This room? These weapons?” “Yes.” “Because it makes me seem violent?” “No,” she says. “Because I like it.” She likes it. The thought makes my cock so painfully hard I lose all fucking control. I step away from her and set the knife on a shelf. She’s a vision in that blanket with nothing underneath. “So…where’s your birthday present?” she asks. “It’s not something you can see,” I say. “It’s something you’re about to feel. Has a man ever eaten your cunt, pretty girl?”

She shrugs. “In your fantasies, but not in real life. Isn’t that right?” “Maybe,” she says, but she can’t hide her desperate need from me. Under all that shyness, her body’s on fire. Taking her by the shoulders, I back her into a corner. “Move a muscle and you’ll spend two days leashed to your bed.” She whimpers a protest, but doesn’t budge. There’s a chair a few feet away – I yank it toward us and drop to my knees. Grabbing her slender ankle, I plant her foot on the leather seat. “Open,” I say. She pulls her knee back an inch. “I said open,” I bark, and push it roughly as wide as her leg will go. Palms flat against the wall, she looks down at me. I pull the blanket from her shoulders and toss it aside. Her bare cunt is right here. Mouth-level, parted, perfectly smooth. Her clit is tiny, barely visible under a pale pink hood, and her inner lips are already slick with excitement. With craving me. Her captor. The man she wanted to kill. “You’ve never given this perfection to anyone before. Why?” She bites her lip. “James didn’t want it.” “You offered yourself to him and he refused?”

Shame darkens her face. “I once told him I wanted to wait until we got married. I changed my mind, but…he wouldn’t.” Pure, unadulterated bullshit. James wasn’t religious. Something else was going on. Knowing him, it was underhanded and immoral. No single man with a cock would pass up this beauty. The heady scent of it rises to my brain, making me feel pussy-drunk before I’ve even tasted her. She gasps as I nip at her inner thigh. A bright bloom of redness appears on her glass-smooth skin. “Ouch,” she whispers. I’ve never licked a virgin before. Never given a woman her first experience of hot and wet. She sucks in a breath as my mouth comes closer. She can feel my heat, and it scares her. But she wants it more than anything. I kiss all around her cunt. Taking her other bare foot in my hand, I slide it over my huge, bare cock. “You feel that?” I say, flicking my tongue over her left hip. “That’s what I’m going to fuck you with.” Her hands tremble on my shoulders. A clear trickle of desire runs down the inside of her thigh. “Are virgins always this wet and horny?” I ask. “You’d know better than I would,” she pants. “No, I wouldn’t. You’re my first.” With that, I bury my tongue in her pussy. Her

juices spill across my tongue, a sweet flood that makes me moan with joy. I’ve imagined this a hundred times, and now it’s happening. Grace and me. No ropes, no restraints, nothing keeping her here but her desire for me. She bucks her hips from the sheer newness of the sensation. I hang on. Pushing her leg open even more, I drive my tongue up into her pussy and slip the tip in and out. A little preview of the massive cock to come. God help me. I can’t wait to see her cry. Not the way she did in the courtroom, but from pleasure so intense it shatters her. And changes her forever. I suck her soft, slick wetness against my tongue. To hear her moan in this room makes me so hard I could come without touching myself. I fill my mouth with her juices and stand up. Gripping her by the hair, I pull her face to mine. “Taste yourself. You’re so fucking delicious.” Kissing her, I smear her sweetness across her mouth and chin. Her tongue flickers out curiously. “Delicious, aren’t you?” She gives me a tiny, intoxicating smile. “I like it.” “See how wet you are?” “Yes,” she says, wiping the corner of her mouth. “Who made you that way?”

“You did,” she whispers. “I did. What’s my name?” “Bram.” “I want you, Bram. Say it.” “I want – I want you, Bram.” Her words feel so good, like fucking music. My whole body aches with the need to fuck her. “You want more, don’t you?” “Yes,” she says, as I fall to my knees again. “Please.” Circling my hands around her ass, I devour her pussy again. This time I focus on her clit, lapping the sensitive bud until her hands are knotted in my hair and she goes up on her toes. How’s that have to escape thing going, Grace? I think with a smile. My tongue make you forget what a monster I am? Her cunt pulses around my finger as I push one inside. Or try to. This is virgin territory, and even though it’s wet, it’s tighter than anything I’ve ever felt. She murmurs something unintelligible as I force my finger in deeper. I circle it in her opening, preparing her for my cock as I lap her petal of a clit. Wrapping her leg around my neck, she pulls me closer. Sucking, licking, I show her how much I’ve wanted her from the first day I laid eyes on her. I’ll never forget seeing her in front of my house

the morning after. She was standing in the street with her father and a police officer. Her face was contorted with grief. I watched her through the window, my heart breaking for her but my cock hard as steel. Something about her beautiful sadness made me want to fuck her until she started crying from pleasure. That was the first time I wanted her, and it was sick and wrong. I tried to block out the memory, but I never could. I thought about it while driving, working, jerking off. It came to me in my dreams. Dragging her hands through my hair, she holds me against her cunt. “It’s so good,” she whispers. “Please don’t… don’t stop.” I swallow a tongueful of her gorgeous juice. “Never.” Finger twisting slowly into her cunt, I lap, lap again, and then stop. I look up to see her head rolled back and her eyes half-open. Her whole tiny cunt fits in my mouth. I feel so big and powerful in front of her, my kitten, my little moaning nymph. “It hurts,” she whimpers as I push my middle finger to the second knuckle. “Virgins are supposed to hurt.” “But I like it, too. I like – I want –” “What do you want?” “I just – I love this. I shouldn’t love it.” “Oh, Grace, you should love it. You’re just a

girl. A beautiful girl who needs to come.” I slide my finger out of her cunt and replace it with my tongue. I fuck her with it, giving her a little glimpse of how my cock will feel when I make her mine. When I ruin her for anybody else. Her foot finds my cock again, rubbing and pressing my huge erection. It feels so good, the way she feels me with the sole of her foot, curious, a little clumsy, and desperately sweet. She rocks her hips against my face. Gently slurping and sucking, I feel her go stiff. Her legs shake and her belly vibrates. I moan against her clit. My face, my neck, my hands are covered with her beautiful cream. I want to drown in it. “Please,” she pants, as I give her my finger again. “Fuck me. Make me come.” I push my finger all the way in just as she comes. This time, a helpless little scream escapes her. She explodes around me, her sweetness pulsing and squeezing and gushing silky wetness into my mouth. She’s so delicious I could live on her. I could drink her forever. As her pussy relaxes, I pull her down to the floor. She’s wobbly and her skin is damp, and she’s smiling that beautiful smile. I pull her against me and kiss her with pussyflavored kisses, and she licks her wetness from my chin. “You like your taste,” I say.

She blushes a little. “I guess I do.” “I never knew virgins could be so uninhibited.” “You’ve never been with a virgin before,” she says. “Or so you say.” I raise my palm. “God’s honest truth.” “How did you like your birthday present?” she asks, her face so earnest and real that I laugh. “I loved it,” I say, draping the throw over her shoulders. She smiles. “Funny how it felt like a present for me.”

ON THE WAY BACK UPSTAIRS, she stops at the doorway to the ballroom. “What’s in here?” she asks. “Another room,” I say. I press the button on the wall. I watch her face as warm amber light floods the space. Her face glows and her mouth opens. “Another room? Oh, Bram, it’s incredible.” I smile at her girlish excitement. It’s like seeing my house for the first time as my eyes follow hers. Everything is big and grand and elegant, from the chandeliers to the stone staircase. The air almost hums with the memory of past parties. Parties that, in retrospect, seem empty without her. “It’s beautiful,” she says. “You could throw some amazing events here.” “I used to, until –”

She looks at me, waiting for me to finish. She really doesn’t know. “I stopped having parties two years ago. It didn’t feel right after what happened.” “After James,” she says. I let out a huff. “I’m sorry. You brought him up and now I have, too.” “No,” she says, her eyes open and honest. “I’m glad. I’m glad you were…” “Changed?” I say quietly. She nods. “I was, Grace. I always will be.” We lapse into silence. Stepping into the ballroom, she looks up at the soaring ceiling. There’s a wistful longing in her eyes I’ve never seen before. “You miss your job, don’t you?” “I miss being good at something.” “The way you talked about it at lunch today, you lit up. I could see that it’s your passion.” “It is,” she says. “I guess I love…I don’t know. Vicarious happiness.” Taking her shoulders, I turn her toward me. “Why did you quit? Because you didn’t want to see me? I had nothing to do with the bidding process for Phantom. I swear to you.” She shakes her head. “That’s not why. It was a choice between Stephanie and me, and Stephanie deserved it. A few times I’d come to work after

drinking…and my heart wasn’t in it. I always wanted to work for myself.” I hear fierce ambition in her voice, but it’s muffled by everything she’s gone through. “Why don’t you?” I ask. “I was starting to when –” She stops and forces a smile. “Maybe someday.” “You can start a hell of a company with six and a half million dollars.” “We’ll see if I can earn it first.” Seeing her against the empty backdrop of so many gatherings, I feel a flash of guilt. For two weeks I’ve kept her from the world. Yes, I’ve protected her, and given her the structure she didn’t have. But she can’t go on living this way, trapped and isolated, letting her talents go to waste. “I want you to plan a party,” I say. Her eyes are dark with disbelief. “Don’t tease me.” “I mean it, Grace. Plan it for a week from Saturday. Here, in this room. Can you do it?” Her eyebrows knit together. “Nine days? How many people?” “A hundred and fifty? Two-hundred?” Her eyes brim with excitement and fear. “I’ve never planned such a big event by myself.” “Then shouldn’t you?” She hesitates. Doubt and confidence battle in her face. “I don’t know, Bram…”

“I do. I’ve gotten to know you over the last two weeks. I see how hard you try. I know how smart you are.” “Thank you, but…” She looks around the room again, her pretty face bright. “I guess I should ask. What’s your budget?” “Whatever you want it to be.” She giggles, and it makes me smile. “That’s ridiculous.” “Ridiculous and true.” Her smile fades, and her face takes on a sweetly professional look. “Well…what kind of party do you want?” “A dinner party.” “I mean, describe your perfect gathering.” “No,” I say. “Describe yours.” She lifts her eyebrows and puts a hand to her heart as if to say, me? “I want your vision, Grace. Whatever you want. No limits.” “No limits?” Her eyes fill with wicked delight. “Okay…off the top of my head? White candles in wall sconces. Blood-red roses. Naked servers in gold body paint.” “I like this so far,” I say. “Go on.” “Um…lute players. Long tables with ornate chairs. White fabric draped from the ceiling and columns.” I take her hand. Her palm is damp from

excitement. “It sounds like ancient Rome. How debauched you are, my wet little angel.” Her blush is sexy and innocent. “I wasn’t until I came here.” “Oh, but you were. You just didn’t have enough encouragement.” Her face turns serious as she looks at me. “You’d really do this for me?” “You’d be doing it for me. It’s a job, Grace.” She shakes her head. “I won’t charge you for it.” “Of course you will. You’ll charge me way too much and I’ll pay it. It can be the start to your new business. Will you say yes?” She doesn’t answer. She just throws her arms around my neck and presses her warm, quivering body against mine. Licking her pussy was beautiful, but this is my birthday present.

GRACE

For the next two days, life is as perfect as it’s been in years. Maybe ever. We eat. We sleep in Bram’s bed. We take showers together. I work on my cock-sucking technique and practice having orgasms on Bram’s tongue. For the first time in my life, I straddle a man’s face. I hold his hands to my tits and ride his mouth until I see stars. He gives me an afternoon dirty talk lesson, and I giggle all the way through it. “Say it like you mean it,” he says, a devilish smile on his face. “Fuck me. Pound my wet pussy. Make me your bitch.” I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Fuck me,” I say, blushing. “Pound my wet pussy.” “You forgot the last one,” he says. “Do it again. Take it from the top.”

Later, when I’m lying next to him wet and panting, I ask him to fuck me. He strokes my face and says, “Not yet, baby girl. You’ll know when it’s time.” I almost like his denial. Even though I’m not in my room anymore, he lets me know he’s still in control. When we aren’t coming and eating, we’re talking about business. He knows everything there is to know, and I want to learn. I ask him a hundred questions. How did he start out? Who was his first employee? How did Phantom expand? For the first time, he talks about the merger and what it means to him. His company is still a young upstart in the industry, even though it made him rich. Signet will give him what he’s always dreamed of. Influence. A name as old as Sears and GE. “Nine years in this business and I don’t feel like I’ve made it,” he says, holding me in bed one night. “If we merge with Signet, I will.” I take in every word he says, every lesson and bad experience. My dreams feel small compared to his, but he won’t let me minimize them. “Someone taught you to underestimate your gifts,” he says, stroking my hair. “Those days are over.” “I just…don’t know how to go from who I was to who I want to be.” “The key is to depend on yourself,” he says.

“Not on me or your memories, on yourself. You’re strong. No one else can fulfill you. Only you can do that.” “How do you know I’m strong?” I ask. “Because all you’ve ever shown me is a spine of steel.” By the time he goes back to work on Monday, I feel different. I feel free. Truly, blissfully free. After he leaves, I stand in the upstairs hallway and listen. I hear nothing but the wind gusting through the trees. It isn’t the solitude I relish as much as the trust. Bram left me with a new phone, the keys to his other car, and the run of the house. No room is locked or off-limits. His world is my world. It spoke volumes when he walked down the steps and drove away. All of his other reasons for keeping me – pity, guilt, concern for his company – are in the past. Now I’m here because he wants me. There are no secrets between us. Nothing I haven’t told him. I’m on the brink of a strange place called forgiveness. It’s a state I never thought I’d reach. I didn’t want to. But since he brought me here, that’s changed. I’ve changed. I spend the morning making a Pinterest board for the party. It’s the most fun I’ve had in…I can’t remember how long. I pin pictures of sparkly gold masks, lavish flower arrangements, and gorgeous

platters of food that make my mouth water. I keep reminding myself that I have no limits. Everything is unlimited – my creativity, my budget, my life. After a lunch of leftovers, I drift upstairs to Bram’s room and look at his rumpled bed. That’s where I spent the last three nights, in his arms. Joy swells up inside me so fast I almost can’t contain it. I’m not supposed to feel this way. I’m supposed to be a walking memorial to James. But then Bram started showing me how to live again, and now I don’t want to give that up. I don’t want to go back to self-destruction and misery. I throw off my white robe and flop blissfully onto the bed. Is it normal to be this happy, even for ten seconds? I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve felt the depths of hatred and now the heights of adoration. And I’ve felt them both for the same person. I throw back the sheet and fur blanket and pad naked across the room. Bram said I should enjoy being a good girl today, and watching a movie sounds like the perfect way to do it. The last time I watched a movie, I was in my parents’ apartment by myself, drinking cheap wine and feeling lonely. Now I don’t need wine. I just need the scent of Bram on the sheets and the knowledge that he’ll be home soon to kiss me again. Squatting down in front of the media center, I start opening drawers. The first one is filled with

books. Tucked in the side next to a crime novel is a leather case filled with discs. They’re labeled by date, going back a few years. Maybe movies Bram recorded. I grab one and stick it in the slot. Standing in front of the TV, I press the play button. A slightly blurry black and white picture comes up. It’s not a movie. It’s the yard behind Bram’s house. I watch it for a minute before realizing what it is. Surveillance video. My heart drops. I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to dig up bad memories on a perfect day. I eject the disc and stick it back in the case. In the drawer underneath I find movies. Dozens of them. Anything I could ever want to watch. I pick out The Notebook and am about to put it on, but my hand feels paralyzed. Get control of yourself. Don’t do this. He trusts you. I open the top drawer again and stare at the leather case. I shouldn’t have opened it. Shit. With trembling fingers, I tab through the discs until I find the ones from two years ago. It won’t be there. Bram isn’t a liar. He swore an oath to tell the truth. The whole trial hinged on this one detail. His word against James’s. From the labels, it looks like each disc holds a week of recordings. When I find the one from the week James died, my body goes numb.

It’s okay. Bram never said the whole week was unrecorded. Only that camera, only that day. When I put it in, I’ll see nothing but images of his property, and maybe Bram coming and going. I pull it from its sleeve and slide it in. I feel frozen inside. I used to think that nothing else could happen to me that would equal losing James. There was no one that important left to lose. But now I know there is. The video starts. It’s silent. The picture is a little fuzzy, but clear enough. For ten minutes, nothing happens. I’m about to fast forward when a figure comes up the front steps. Bram. Followed by a girl. The time stamp in the corner says 12:32 am. She’s wearing a tight mini-dress and heels so high I can’t believe she doesn’t trip. She’s pretty, with huge, heavily-lined eyes and puffy lips. She’s almost as young as I am. My heart clenches as I watch her. Arm slung through his, she stands beside him as he punches the combination into the door lock. As if aware she’s on camera, she swings her blond hair forward so it cascades in a sexy sheet over her shoulder. “What did you expect?” I mutter. “That he’d be a virgin, too?” Queasy with jealousy, I watch him stand aside and let her go in first. What a gentleman. I wonder where he fucked her. And how many times. And if he fucked her the same way he’s going to fuck me.

This is what I get for snooping. A kick in the stomach, but not the one I feared. Ejecting the disc, I put in one from the following month. At first I see nothing but Bram coming home and leaving. Fritz and Coral visit. Just when I think the girl on the disc was a fluke, there’s another one. She’s even prettier, with waist-length dark hair and tight leather pants that show off her perfect legs. She and Bram are so hot for each other, they can’t wait to get inside. They kiss under the bright porch light. He shoves his hands under her tiny tank top. I sit with my palms pressed to stomach, watching Bram lust after someone else. “Fuck,” I say. “This sucks.” It’s my fault for watching. And my fault for not being able to stop. If I watched the whole tray of discs, God knows how many girls I’d see. Fuckbuddies, girlfriends, exes, sluts of all shapes and sizes. Maybe that’s why Bram kept all these discs. He’s proud of them. They’re his sex tape collection, showing every girl he fucked over three years. The dark-haired one doesn’t leave until two days later. Two whole days of Bram’s cock slamming into her pussy. His eyes burning into hers the way they burn into mine when I suck his big, beautiful dick. I try to force the image of from my mind, but I

can’t. I keep seeing her lithe body under Bram until I groan out loud with jealousy. The disc keeps playing. A week after Darkhaired Girl, Bram comes home with two women at the same time. They leave after four hours. Three days later he has a party. The first girl arrives at 8 pm, and by 9 I’ve lost count of how many have walked under the camera. The men are dressed in black tie. The women are dressed like high-class hookers, in corsets, stockings, and sheer bodysuits that show the outlines of their breasts and pussies. Fritz and Coral come late, just before midnight. I hate myself for being fascinated. Not just fascinated, aroused. I can only imagine what so many beautiful people were doing to each other inside. What Bram was doing to the women. The men are gorgeous, but none can compare to Bram. He’s the king. I’d bet a lot of men would give anything to hold his massive cock in their hands, or to suck its thickness in their mouths. Just to experience it. To worship someone so superior, they can’t help but show their admiration. I’m not the only one who wants him. I knew that before, but now I know it. And I wish I didn’t. Why did I look? Why do I always have to know everything? Pausing the disc, I sit on the end of the bed. My

thoughts are tormented, while my body is desperately aroused. Slipping my hand between my legs, I feel a rush of shame. How can I be so wet? To think of his potent cock fucking a dozen girls in one night makes me sick. It’s also going to make me cum. I slide my index finger over my slick clit. I imagine walking into one of his parties dressed in the lingerie Coral brought, looking pretty and ready to be fucked. But I’d belong only to Bram. All of the craziness between us would go away. There’d be no history, no confusion, no pain. He wouldn’t even know my name. He’d see me across the ballroom and his cock would get hard. He’d want me for my body, and the mysterious connection when we look at each other. Nothing else. All he’d want is to stick his dick in my mouth and fuck me. And I’d want that, too. I push a finger into my pussy the way he did, turning it like a corkscrew and slowly working it in. My sore cunt resists, but I push harder. I have to get used to it if I’m going to take his cock. That’s what I want more than anything in the world. Fingers of my other hand racing across my clit, I imagine him leaving his party guests to follow me. I get lost in his huge house and end up in a dark hallway. I don’t see Bram until he grabs me from behind and shoves his cock into me without so

much as a hello. It feels big, and it hurts, and I love it. I beg him for more and more. “Please fuck me,” I whisper. My pussy starts to squeeze. When Bram takes my virginity, his cock will feel like that. He’ll know how much I want him. I won’t be able to hide it. Suddenly I hear the front door open and shut. “Grace? I’m home early.” I jump out of bed with a gasp and run to the media center. The TV screen is frozen on a slutty, over made-up face. Fuck – where’s the remote? I crawl naked across the bed, feeling through the sheets with my hands. There it is – under a pillow. It slips out of my fingers. I grab it again and flip around. Just as I aim it at the television, Bram walks into the room.

BRAM

I see the TV from halfway down the hall. A video is playing on the large screen. A gray image of people walking up my front steps. My heart stops beating. What the fuck. I step into the bedroom. Grace kneels naked on the bed with the remote. She’s pressing buttons but they must be the wrong ones. She seems helpless to stop the video, which plays silently on and on. “What are you watching?” I ask. She turns her head. The world – my world – feels suspended in mid-fucking-air as I wait to see her expression. I’ll know what she’s thinking the second I see her eyes. She aims her beautiful sea-greens at me. All I see in her dilated pupils is hurt and jealousy. Dropping the remote, she folds her arms over her breasts. “How many women have stayed in this

room?” Relief makes me weak in the knees. If she’d found it, I’d know. She wouldn’t be talking to me. She’d be gone. What a fuck-up I am. I thought I’d brought the discs to my storage space months ago. Boxed them up and buried them under a ton of unneeded shit. “How many women?” I repeat. She shrugs. “I mean, girl after girl, night after night. From the videos I saw, some stayed for days. Where did you keep them all? In here? In this bed?” Like a light bulb blowing, my relief turns to impatience. “Why were you watching a surveillance video, Grace?” “I thought it was a movie.” I go to the DVR player and press eject. I scan the label on the disc. “The same month James died,” I say. “Quite a coincidence.” She huffs. “What do you want me to say?” “I don’t know. Whatever’s true. For a change.” Her eyes narrow and her arms tighten across her chest. “I’ll tell you what’s true. You told me you’d been alone for years.” “I have been.” “Dozens of women is being alone?” She raises her eyebrows. I sit on the edge of the bed and loosen my tie. “A warm body is not a relationship, Grace. You’re

still a virgin. You think every time two people fuck, it means something.” Her mouth twists. “Please. Even a virgin isn’t that naïve.” “Fucking was my escape, okay? I’m not proud of it, but it’s the truth.” “You didn’t like any of the girls enough to keep them around?” I sigh. “It wasn’t about like. It was about protecting myself. Most women who go home with a guy they just met want what I wanted. A nice, distracting, forgettable fuck.” Confusion flits across her face. She can’t reconcile what I’m saying with the intense connection between us. “So before me…you’ve never…?” “I’ve had a relationship before, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say. “I was engaged once.” She frowns. “You – you had a fiancé?” “Seven years ago. She was a student at Black Hollow.” “The school?” “Yes. That was the real name, but everyone called it Black Halo.” “Why?” “I don’t know. The nickname went back a long way, before my time. The school started in the 40’s I think, in an old school building in the English countryside.”

“So…you met this student while you were teaching there?” “Her name was Indira.” Grace’s face goes dark with jealousy. “And it didn’t work out?” she asks, trying to put on a flip tone. “No. Her father came first in her life. After a long time of trying to help her stand on her own, I gave up and she left the school. I couldn’t compete with him, any more than I could compete with my own father.” I’m surprised at how much those words sting. Not to think them like I have a hundred times, but to say them out loud. The softness in her eyes is like a safe haven. “It must have felt familiar, in a painful way.” “Yes. Between Indira and you, it seems I have quite a pattern.” She frowns. “Me?” “She was loyal to her father. You’re loyal to James.” I say it almost as a challenge. Tell me it’s not fucking true, Grace. Tell me you’re over him. Tell me anything. But she doesn’t. She hears it, and lets it drop. “Do you still think about her?” she asks. “Almost never,” I say. “She sent me a birthday message, but that’s the only contact we’ve had. I don’t have feelings for her anymore.”

“Really?” “Really.” Her face brightens. She slides across the bed, a little closer to me. I glance down at the sheets where she was just sitting, and blood rushes to my cock. My horny virgin left a heart-shaped wet spot. It made her pretty cunt drip to watch videos of girls as they walked in my house to be fucked. Following my eyes to the sheets, she flushes dark red. “That was because…um…” “I know what it was because,” I say. “You like knowing I’m a master at fucking, don’t you?” She nibbles the inside of her cheek. “It excites you to think that other women want my cock.” “I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I do. I think it turns you on that I’ve done everything, and fucked everybody, but the only girl I want to fuck now is you.” Her eyebrows go up in the middle. “The only?” “The only. You know that.” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t. Not after today.” I run a hand through my hair. “Things have changed in the last two years. That’s not my life anymore.” “Do you want it to be?” “No.”

I hold out my arms. She blinks at me warily before crawling across the bed. I wrap her warm nakedness against my chest. “I’m sorry I watched the videos,” she mumbles into my shoulder. “I understand why you did.” She shakes her little oval head. “I shouldn’t have. I won’t do it again.” “It’s over. Now, don’t you have some party planning to do? You only have one week, and I’m a very demanding client.” She looks up and smiles. “I don’t know. You seem pretty nice to me.”

FOR THE REST of the night, that little wet spot stays with me. I change into jeans and make dinner while Grace works on her Pinterest board at the table. I tell her that she needs clothes, and to order whatever she likes. She turns the laptop toward me and shows me dresses and tops. I give her my opinion on her choices while I make a salad. “I’ll pay for everything with my party planning money,” she says. “No, you won’t,” I say. And all the time, my mind keeps returning to that heart-shaped stain. It was so sweet, and said so much.

It told me that her desires are her own. I don’t force her little pussy to crave cock. She likes thinking about fucking. She needs it. That’s another thing I’ve learned about her. For hours, I deprive her. No touch, no kisses, nothing but casual conversation about her plans for the party. By nine that night, it starts to get to her. She seems restless. She watches everything I do. She wants to say something, but doesn’t dare. She’s already made one mistake today. She doesn’t want to make two. After we clean up dinner, I head upstairs to the master bedroom. I don’t tell her I’m going, and I don’t invite her. Three minutes after I climb the stairs, she does exactly what I want her to do. She follows on her own. I’m standing at the window with my arms crossed when I hear her soft footfalls behind me. “Put on your robe and heels,” I say. Her excitement is palpable as she goes to the closet. Tonight is the night. She senses it. She’s been dreaming of it all of her life. A strong, dominant man to claim her virginity. Except I’m not going to claim it. She’s going to give it to me. She emerges from the closet looking like an angel in stilettoes and white satin. I barely glance at her. She stands across the room, radiating the need

to fuck. Her lust is wrapped in a package of innocence so sweet and earnest, all I want is to protect her from the big, bad, voracious wolf. But I can’t, because the big, bad wolf is me. She clears her throat. Her stance is guarded, her fists clenched in little balls. She’s waiting for me to come for her, to sling her tiny body over my shoulder and take her unspoiled cunt by force. I turn toward the window and look out. “It’s raining again,” I say. “I love the rain.” The air is tense. She’s hanging on my every word and movement. I sense terror battling with lust in her scarred heart. If I’d just walk over and tear her tender body apart, she could say it was my animal greed. It would be so easy to blame her wanton cravings on me. But I’m going to make it hard. Her heels tap the floor as she walks toward me. I smile at the moon glowing in a dim red crescent between the clouds. My cock is rigid and ready against my leg. “I like the rain, too,” she says, standing beside me at the window. I look down at the top of her auburn head. I go through a list of my advantages, relishing each one. I’m taller, bigger, and stronger by a magnitude of a lot. She’s naked except for heels and a silk robe, I’m fully dressed. She’s never been fucked, I’ve fucked a thousand times or more. She’s in my

house. My world. My life. And she’s going to come to me. Our beginning wasn’t exactly consensual. Tonight there’ll be no fucking doubt that she wants it. Glancing tentatively up at my face, she takes a baby step toward me. Her thoughts are almost written on the air. Why won’t I touch her? Why won’t I do what she expects? Sweet fucking Jesus. If she only knew how much self-control I’m burning through right now. The first thing I feel is her head leaning against my arm. My ab muscles tighten and my cock aches. I seem so nonchalant, but my heart is racing, pumping out blood in preparation for shattering her innocence. She puts her hand on my forearm. “Is this okay?” Okay? If she only knew how many shameless girls have thrown themselves at me while I yawned and thought of her. The one girl who wasn’t impressed by me. She has no idea. A shy hand on my arm is the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced. Rain travels on a gust of wind and batters the window. Grace turns toward me. The soft mounds of her breasts press through my shirt. Their heat penetrates into my skin. “Are you tired?” she asks. She’s trying to find an explanation. “No.” My left hand twitches to reach over and

squeeze her supple tits. I feel her gaze against the underside of my jaw. Her heartbeat throbs like a trapped butterfly against my bicep. Finally, I let my eyes meet hers. I give her no expression, nothing to encourage her one way or the other. She’s on her own. Gently, she pulls my shirt from the waistband of my pants. It’s all I can do not to throw her on the bed. Needy girl. She wants so badly to be fucked. And she will be. She’s not going to sleep tonight with that tight cunt intact. Her cool fingers tremble underneath my shirt. Feeling their way, they inch across my abs and up over my chest. Her full lips part. Her eyes glitter like two green jewels. “Do you mind?” she asks. “I just wanted to… touch you.” “Explore all you want. I won’t stop you.” What I really mean is, you’re about to take my cock in that chaste little hole until you scream. Until there’s blood on my sheets and cum dripping from your soul. Her slender fingers bump over one of my nipples and then the other, pausing to squeeze gently. I feel it all the way to my full, throbbing balls. “What does that feel like?” she asks, blinking her huge eyes.

She squeezes again, and I suck in a breath. “I like it.” A tiny smile plays across her lips. She’s in front of me now, both hands under my shirt, playing like a little girl with something forbidden. Her eyes halfclose as she feels her way up my chest to my neck. It’s like she can read me through her fingers. I’m so crazy with the need to fuck her that I almost start barking orders. Unbutton my shirt, Grace. Unzip my pants. Stroke my big cock. But it’s time for me to train myself for once, and be patient. She’s getting more confident. Her hands splay open as they touch and massage, and her breath is heavy. I gaze down at her, letting her touch and control. It’s all about her desires tonight. And serving mine by showing me hers. She goes up on her pretty tiptoes and offers her glistening mouth to me. Instead of lowering my head, I let her struggle like a kitten to reach me. Clawing her nails at my shoulders, she presses her hot lips to mine and feeds me her sexy little tongue. I have to bite back a growl. My cock is about to explode. To feel her shy but passionate desires is a gift. She’s not putting on a show for me. She’s not adopting a persona like so many other girls I’ve known, who copy porn stars but don’t know who they really are.

She’s herself. She’s real. Still on her tiptoes, she tries to open the top button of my shirt. Her fingers fumble as her tongue darts around mine. She has no idea how fucking cute she is. How sick I am of practiced, comehither bullshit. Our kiss is deep and frenzied. We fit together perfectly. We can’t get enough of each other. But I won’t touch her. The first time she feels me change her life with my cock, she’ll be begging me to do it. With a sweet cry of frustration, she grabs both sides of my shirt and rips it open. Buttons pop off. With a sound that’s music to my ears, the handwoven Italian fabric rips down the front. “I’m sorry,” she says, straddling my thigh with her hot pussy. “It was an accident.” “No, it wasn’t.” “No,” she admits with a little pout. “It wasn’t.” I feel her warm wetness through my jeans. She must be drenched. “Why won’t you touch me?” she asks, a sweet note of hurt in her voice. “I’m kissing you, aren’t I?” “Yes, but...” She grabs my wrist and clamps my hand to her hip. Her girlish lust makes me smile. “You’re just desperate to get that little cunt fucked, aren’t you?” A silky auburn strand obscures one of her beautiful eyes. She nods. “Isn’t that awful?” she

whispers. “No,” I say. “It’s fucking beautiful.”

GRACE

I don’t know myself. I can’t control myself, either. As soon as Bram’s buttons go flying through the air, I know there’s another Grace alive inside me. The one I’ve always been ashamed of. Who loves to touch herself and look at dirty pictures under the covers, who gets wet when another woman gives her a bath. Who loves to be spanked and licked and even slapped. Who loves every form of attention from this dominant alpha man. And now I can’t live without his cock. He’s broken my mind, and I need him to break my body, too. He pulls off his torn shirt, revealing his golden skin one muscular inch at a time. “Denial of our animal drives is as much a form of torture as pain,” he says. “It’s terrible when there’s no big dick to

fuck your wet pussy.” The words spill off his tongue as if he were born to say them. It’s like he’s stroking my mind with the sound. “I recall one particular day when I walked into court,” he says. “I was wearing a striped shirt and tie, and you stared at my body. You were so curious about me.” His heart pounds against my right hand. His skin is hot, and smooth as marble. “You were imagining things.” My voice comes out as a broken whisper. “I was imagining things just like this. And so were you.” I shrug. The side of his neck is broad under my thumbs. I stroke my fingers back and forth, just to feel how strong he is. “What were you thinking of when you stared at me that way?” he asks. My hands flatten as I draw them down toward his stomach. They glide smoothly over his corrugated muscles, sending silent signals to my pussy and nipples. A trickle of wetness drips down my thigh. It takes all my focus to force out a half-truth. “I was thinking that…every word that came out of your mouth was a lie.” “But you wanted to lick them off my lips, didn’t you?”

He smiles when I nod. His arms still hang at his sides. I’ve practically thrown myself at him, but all he’ll do is kiss me. Spanking hurt. This is torment. Maybe ripping off his shirt was too subtle. I know something that won’t be. My fingers shake as I unzip his pants and reach into his boxer briefs. Holding my breath, I lock my fingers around his huge, stiff cock. The veins pulse. His balls are full and heavy enough to flood me with come ten times over. He’s so big and hard for me. Why won’t he take me? I drop to my knees in front of him and raise my eyes. He looks down at me, his eyes calm but churning with lust. “Please,” I say. “I need it.” “Need what, baby girl? You’ve had your dirty talk lesson, so use your words.” “I need…” I swallow and take a deep breath. “I need you to take my virginity.” He crosses his arms over his muscular chest. “How, my sweet Grace?” “With this,” I say, and kiss the thick, shiny head of his cock. “How shall I take your virginity with my cock?” he asks. “By, um…fucking me.” He smiles. “In what position?”

My mind races through every sexual position I can think of. “All of them?” His cock pulses like a dangerous animal in my hands. His chuckle is so warm and accepting, my blush vanishes immediately. “And which would you like to start with?” I shrug. He gives me a quick, brisk slap. “I didn’t teach you to be indecisive, or avoid a question,” he says, but his voice is coaxing and gentle. “So again, which would you like to start with?” It’s the opposite of the training I had growing up. Hide what you feel. Pretend you’re okay. Go along to get along, even if it hurts. I put back my shoulders and look him in the eye. “I want to be on my knees. The first time you fuck me, I want it to be from behind.” His eyes smolder into mine. Everything else – the room, the rain, my fear – disappear. My whole world is him. “Why?” “Because I think…I’ll feel the most fucked that way.” His mouth opens in surprise. “Listen to my girl, using her words so well.” My heart soars at his praise. “Thank you.” With the backs of his fingers, he strokes the cheek he just slapped. “Stand up.” He takes my hand and leads me to the bed.

Turning me slowly, he pushes the robe off my shoulders, leaving me in only heels. “Stay there. Don’t move.” He goes to the closet and returns with a wooden box. “Shoes off,” he says, in a cool monotone that makes me shiver. I’m not in charge anymore. I never really was. The whole night was foreplay, and I had no idea. “A virgin body demands a little ritual,” Bram says raising the burled lid of the box. “Some preparation.” “What do you mean?” I try to peek inside but he holds it away. “Shoes off, Grace. I won’t tell you again.” I bend over and unbuckle the ankle straps. Slipping off each shoe, I stand in bare feet in front of him. Now he’s even taller, even bigger and more commanding. I wanted him to take control and he has. This is my choice. But it still scares the hell out of me. He takes out a small glass bottle and sets the box on the nightstand. “Lie on the bed. Face up.” I lie back. I’ve never felt such desire, not just for him, but to leap into the unknown. Whatever he wants, wherever this leads. I’ll go there with him. I feel a cool dribble across my stomach and open my eyes. The scent of coconut rises to my

nose. “Oil?” I ask. “Hush. Eyes closed.” Slowly, with deep, rhythmic force, Bram begins massaging my body. Across my stomach and chest, up my neck and down my arms, my feet, my calves, my hips. He massages all around my pussy, but leaves it untouched. My whole body hums as he kneads and strokes, luring me down into a warm, hypnotic state. After what feels like an hour, he turns me by the hips and shoulders, and massages by back. He gets closer and closer, massaging my ass and upper thighs until each stroke makes my cunt pulse. He parts my legs as wide apart as they’ll go. “That’s what I want to see,” he says. “My sweet girl ready for her first cock.” First and only, I want to say. I can’t imagine ever wanting another man this way. I need him. I need to belong to him. Touch me, I scream in my mind. I hear the lid of the wooden box open and shut. A moment later, a soft buzzing noise fills the air. The sound of it makes my ears tickle. He leans close to my face and kisses my cheek. I breathe in the nectar of his breath and lips. “Do minister’s daughters use vibrators?” he asks, his voice sexy and amused. “Not this one,” I admit. “No sex toys for Grace? Ever?”

I blink at him. “It must seem silly to you.” “No. Being your first for everything is perfect.” I jump a little as he traces the vibrator over the back of my upper thigh. “Keep your legs apart. Wide open.” I spread them even further. I can feel sticky strings of wetness stretch as my pussy opens to him. I’m soaking his sheets again, showing myself for the needy slut I am. “What does it feel like?” I ask as he gets closer to the lips of my pussy. “You’re going to tell me.” The second I feel the vibration in my pussy, I stop breathing. My cunt and ass are alive with the sensation, as if the pleasure is coming from inside me. I squirm under the feeling. It’s almost too intense. He puts his hand around my neck and squeezes lightly. His fingers nearly touch across my jugular vein. This is too much. Too much pleasure, too much fear, too much trust. I try to squirm away but he holds me tight by the throat. “You’re mine,” he says, buzzing the vibrator closer to my clit. “You know that?” I nod. “You don’t belong to your father. You don’t belong to James. You belong to me.” A desperate moan rips from my throat. I have to

feel it now. I’ll die if I don’t. Bram kisses me as he touches the tip of the vibrator to my clit. His hand is tight on my neck, making my ears pulse with blood. His soft tongue, his firm hand, the tremoring in my cunt – I’ve never felt so alive. It’s as if I were just born. “Thank you,” I whisper into his mouth. “We’ve only started.” He glides the vibrator from my clit to my ass and back again. Just when I think I’m going to explode and cum, he slides it away. Tears of frustration trickle onto his sheets. “I’ve never felt such a wet slit,” he says, between nibbles of my lower lip. “You really need to get fucked, don’t you?” I swallow against the firm grip of his hand. “Yes.” “My cock is too big for a tiny thing like you.” I gush even more. “That’s what I want.” “Good girl for telling me. I want to know everything.” He buzzes the vibrator up my spine until I feel it in my teeth. I feel it in every nerve, my heart, the center of my brain. He has total power. He vibrates my clit again, waiting until I’m tearing at the sheets to pull it away. Again and again, he tortures me. “Please, Bram,” I whimper. “Don’t stop.” His face is so close to mine. I can feel his smile

as he leans down to kiss my cheek. “You like that?” “Yes,” I gasp. “It’s amazing.” I’m in the palm of his hand by the time he hauls me onto my knees and positions himself behind me. I can’t resist, or even speak. I’m as pliable and docile as a little doll. His doll. Soon to be a virgin no more. I feel the thick head of his cock opening my pussy lips. Sliding between them, taking possession. The pressure against my wet hole is intense. I stiffen. “Shhh,” he says. “Relax. It’s all right. I’ve got you.” I let out a shaky breath. “You do?” “Yes. Always.” Teeth gently gripping the back of my neck, he slides himself into me. First he gives me the very tip, then the whole, swollen head. I squeeze him, and he answers with a soft moan. “You felt it?” I whisper. “I feel everything.” His hips ease forward another inch. I gasp as his broad shaft stretches me open. I gasp and wince. “Does it hurt, beautiful?” “Um…yes.” “Good.” His response makes my clit throb. He’s big, it hurts, and I want more. I want all of him. I point my toes and grip the sheets. He groans,

his fingers firm around my hips. Millimeter by millimeter, my cunt expands, taking him until I feel a heaviness under my heart. He’s all the way inside me. I’m being fucked. And it’s incredible. It’s so many things I’ve never felt before. Deep. Intense. Complete. I was empty until now, and I never knew it. “I love you,” I whisper into the sheets. Where he won’t hear me. Where it won’t feel so wrong. “You love me?” I hold my breath. He stops moving. The only thing I hear is his breathing. He heard me. Fuck. I can’t take it back. All I can do is own it. “Yes.” He wraps both arms tightly around my waist. “Say it, then.” It feels like pulling my heart out through my mouth as I repeat the words. “I love you.” He exhales a long breath that ruffles my hair. “God, Grace,” he says. “You don’t know what you fucking do to me.” I’m oily and sweaty, and so excited I can’t catch my breath. Bram starts thrusting again, a slow in and out that feels primal. There’s pressure and pain, but soaring over it all is pleasure. The man who shattered my life once is doing it again. And this time, I can’t get enough. Thick cock deep inside me, he slides both hands

around my throat. His voice is a whispery growl. “Your pussy is mine. Your body is mine. Your life is mine. Understand?” “Yes.” “Always. Always mine.” His rhythm picks up, and I start moving my hips. Bringing my ass up to meet his thrusts, I start to fuck him back. “That’s right,” he says. “Give me your cunt. Show me you love getting fucked.” As we fuck, I let go of everything. The past, the future, everything except right now. And him. I can feel him trying to be gentle. Such a big, powerful man, trying not to break me. “I need to see you,” he says, and pulls out slowly. I feel empty and achy without his cock. Even a second away from him is too long. Rolling me onto my back, he stares down at me. He sees my oiled skin, the hair stuck to my forehead, the streaks of blood on my thighs. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he says. He plants his knees wide apart and forces my thighs open. His cock stands proudly straight up, slick and ribbed with thick veins. The head is dark with my virgin blood, and I’m proud of it. Proud of bleeding for him. He leans back on his knees and ogles my cunt. “Look at that pussy. Do you know how perfect you

are? Just like this?” “But I’m not,” I say. He props his elbows by my shoulders and covers my body with his. His face is half in shadow. The light plays over the sharp, angled planes of his face. He’s so impossibly gorgeous I lose my breath. He smells like hot masculine skin and clean soap. He smells like he’s been drowning in my pussy. “You’re perfect,” he says, breath hot against my lips. “You’re God’s fucking gift.”

BRAM

I ease my cock inside her in one long, smooth stroke. Her tight cunt stretches to take all of me. She’s going to bleed more. I’m glad. My little virgin sacrifice. All mine. I thrust my hips a little harder, a little faster. Every stroke squeezes me from the head of my dick to my balls, so tight and hot. Nothing has ever felt so good. The pure wrongness of seeing her under me, this girl I ruined and saved, makes every stroke more intense. It’s all I can do not to explode. I grab her ass and spread her firm cheeks wide, wide enough to fit in my middle finger. She’s wet and slick from the massage oil, and my finger slides in easily. She gasps. “Bram?” “It’s scary, I know. Deep breath. Let me in.” I hear her shaky inhale. Her ass clutches my

knuckle and then slowly relaxes. “Good girl.” “It just feels so…private,” she whispers. “Yes,” I say, low and gruff. “Every private part of you belongs to me. Every thought. Every beautiful fucking hole.” I lower my head to her hard, pink nipples, and fuck her and suck her tits and finger-fuck her ass until she’s shivering and tears stream across her temples. “Bram…fuck me, please. Just like that. I can’t…I don’t….I love it.” It’s like she’s speaking in tongues. Her words flow out, uncensored, from the deepest part of her. The neediest, most beautiful part. “I know,” I say. “I know.” Going up on my knees, I grab the vibrator. I hold the buzzing tip to her clit and rock my dick into her pussy. Her legs jerk as the vibration spreads and claims her body. She’s going to explode around my cock, and then I’m going to fill her with cum. No man will ever have what I have right now. Grace, first. Grace, always. Lost in bliss, she turns her head from side to side. Her lips and chin are quivering, her body quaking to her toes. All she can do is whimper. My thrusts are deeper and harder now. When this is over, I want her to feel fucked. I want her to know that it couldn’t have been better. It couldn’t have been deeper, harder, or more real.

Her pussy clenches around my cock. Her eyes fly open and lock to my face. Her fingers claw my arms. “Come, beautiful,” I tell her. “Give me everything.” She lets out a sharp, shocked scream when the orgasm takes her. It consumes her like flames, spreading from her huge eyes to her convulsing cunt. Every spasm squeezes my cock tight, bringing me to the edge so fast I can’t go back. I’m right there with her. “Watch, Grace. This is what you do to me.” I’m still holding the vibrator to her clit when I erupt inside her. My vision blurs, but I won’t close my eyes. She’s my pleasure. Being here with her, fucking her. This incredible woman I just changed forever. When her pulsing pussy has wrung every last drop of seed from my cock, I collapse on top of her. I roll us onto our sides, into the sheets stained with oil and sweat and blood and come. I want to sleep in them, in us, for days. I want to revel in what we just did together. Grace buries her face in my shoulder. Her heart is a little metronome against my ribs. When she finally pulls back to look at me, her eyes are wide and stunned. “Bram,” she whispers, and shakes her head.

“Did you like your first fucking?” She smiles, and then her mouth trembles and she starts to cry. “I loved it so much. Is that okay?” I take her face in my hands. “Of course. It’s perfect. Every second was perfect.” “I feel so different.” “Do you?” “I didn’t think I would, but…it was so much better than I thought.” She laughs, a soft, lighthearted sound that I feel in my bones. I have to laugh with her, because it was. It was so much better than anything, ever. I stroke her hair back and kiss her nose. Her oily skin glows like velvet in the amber light. “I’m sorry for what I said,” she says. “It just… came out.” “No, it didn’t.” Her eyes get round. “No, really. It was the heat of the moment. You have to believe me. Please.” “Okay. I do.” Even though I don’t. Even though she doesn’t either. I’ve fucked a lot of women. A few loved me, most didn’t. And I’ve never, ever felt something that felt so much like love. Not the typical, jealous kind that turns to boredom after a year. Just utterly fucking real. I kiss down her body to her gorgeous swollen pussy. “Sore, baby?” I ask, parting her legs gently. “A little.”

A little. My brave Grace. I rub my face over her hips and thighs, smelling her beauty, covering myself with our juices. Then I kiss between her legs, her pink puffy lips and her clit. I lick her softly, tasting everything. Her blood, her come, my come. So intimate and primal. I clean her with long rasps of my tongue, and when her breath turns to panting and she’s gripping my scalp, I make her come again. She screams her pleasure, and then she cries out my name. Bram. Bram. Again and again. The sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Wrapping my arms all the way around her body, I hold her hips in my fingers. I hold her until the last spasms subside, and then I turn my face away. Fuck, how I wish she’d tell me the truth. Why won’t she? I’ve broken her down to nothing. Pure feeling. Now is the time. I wait for her to say something, but she doesn’t. And I don’t tell her my secrets, either. Maybe we can live with them, just like this. They never have to get in the way. She’ll pretend and I’ll pretend, and our perfect life will go on just like it is. Or maybe our secrets will come out and destroy us, and all we’ll have left is this beautiful memory.

BRAM

For two straight days, we fuck. We fuck in every room of the house, in every position, every time of day. I wake her up in the middle of the night to fuck. She straddles my lap to fuck me at the breakfast table. We come, we eat, we sleep, we come some more. I tie her up. Spank her. Flog her, but only after she flogs me. I make her call me Sir. And even after days of fucking and coming and bleeding for each other, it’s still only the beginning. There’s so much more to do. I can hardly drag myself away from her to go to work. She’s warm and sleepy, an auburn-haired kitten curled up in the warm spot I left behind. I kiss her forehead and her cheek, and she sleeps on. My good girl, fucked to exhaustion. I drive to the Signet offices in Larchmont and

spend the morning consulting on an expansion in Jordan. It’s fascinating work, or it should be. My thoughts are wrapped up in Grace. She isn’t the only one who’s grown used to our arrangement. Caring for her is my security. I’d made peace with fleeting relationships and an empty house, until her. It became my addiction to rise every morning with a purpose, a woman-child waiting for my arrival, her whole life controlled by mine. Grace gives me a purpose and a reason for being that are bigger than me or my company. I’m not bored or cynical anymore. I’m alive again. Halfway through the day, Miriam Peck asks me to come into her office. I expect a luxuriously appointed space with custom furniture and a view over the countryside, but it’s a simple utilitarian room piled high with papers and with windows overlooking the parking lot. The scratched furniture looks like it hasn’t been replaced since the 80’s. She must see the surprise in my face, because she says, “I started in this office when I was a typist fifty years ago. I keep it because I’m used to it. My uncle told me I’d never be more than a secretary at Phantom. Firing him twenty years later was my best day at this job.” I smile. She doesn’t. Damnit, I like Miriam Peck. She’s hard as hell on the surface, and I know why. No woman makes

it to her position by tiptoeing around people’s feelings. “How’s Grace?” she asks. “She’s amazing, thanks,” I say. “This whole missing person thing isn’t going to pop up again, is it?” “No,” I say. “As I said in my email, it was all a misunderstanding.” “I’ve had misunderstandings in my life, but none of them have ever been on the news. Take a seat.” I grab a battered metal chair and sit. Arms folded, Miriam leans on the corner of her desk. “I want you to move to Germany,” she says. It takes me a second to process her words. “Excuse me?” She gives me a look that says, at least try to keep up. This isn’t the Miriam from my birthday lunch, it’s the businesswoman who’s frustrated me at every turn for months on end. “You know that’s our main office in Europe.” “Yup.” “We’re more dependent on our German division than ever with all the crap going on in the Middle East. I need somebody I trust to oversee things.” I appreciate that I have her trust – Christ knows it took long enough to earn. But what I don’t have is a signed merger. “We’ll talk about it once the

deal’s gone through.” Her sharp eyes scour across my face. “I thought I just spelled it out, but I guess I was too subtle. You agree to go to Germany, the merger goes through.” I sit in silence. I frankly admire her willingness to go for the throat. She may be eighty-three and a woman, but she’s got balls to rival most men I know. The subject of working in a foreign headquarters came up six weeks ago over dinner, and I liked the idea. I didn’t tell Miriam because I keep my thoughts close to the vest, but I was ready to do it. A merger, a new country, a new life. But something happened between then and now. Grace. I almost laugh. How ironic. I took control of her, and lost control of myself. After Indira, I made a promise to myself. No woman would ever neuter me. I wouldn’t change, please, or give in. I’d always be who I am. And so far, I have been. But what’s happening right now makes me nervous. This is the top of the slippery slope. And it isn’t even Grace who wants to change me. It’s myself. I love Coral and Fritz, but deep down I could never understand them. Fritz has his bar and his security position at my company, and Coral’s

planning to stay home with her son. They’re buying their first house. They spend weekends decorating the baby’s room and going to the farmer’s market. And I fucking envy them. Every time I see Coral, I wonder what Grace would look like with my child growing inside her. I want to hold her hand in public. I want to protect her. Six weeks ago, Phantom meant everything to me. I was obsessed with smashing smaller companies and winning huge contracts from foreign governments. I was a knowledgeable bastard and I liked proving it in interviews and on television. I wiled away my non-existent free time by collecting weapons and screwing everything that moved. But now, my only obsession is Grace. Possessing her, fucking her, being worthy of her. Everything else feels so small, and so fleeting. Including the merger. Including Miriam. Which makes being straight that much easier. “I have something a little different in mind,” I say. She doesn’t even blink. “Like Cairo? If you’ve got the backbone for it, we have offices there, too.” I grin. “No, not like Cairo. Like, we agree to the merger with no preconditions.” Just my size and demeanor are usually enough to make people back off, but not with Miriam. She’s deflected too much shit in her life. She’s been insulted, underpaid, and probably had her ass

grabbed a hundred times. She’s got a hide of stone. “We’ve been negotiating about what?” I say. “Seven months? Give or take a few years?” She shrugs. “It’s been a while.” “You’re a direct woman, so I’ll be direct with you. We do this or we don’t. I understand we both have to give up something, but one thing I won’t give up is my freedom.” She chuckles. “Freedom? You younger people get so emotional. This isn’t about your feelings, Bram. It’s about what’s best for our companies. Yours and mine.” “Freedom isn’t an emotion,” I tell her. “It’s a hard limit. I decide where I go and what position I take.” I see a half-second of surprise in her eyes before she snuffs it out. She’s not about to give me an advantage. She sniffs and purses her lips. “I’ll think about it.” “With all due respect, there’s nothing to think about. If I decide to go overseas, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, we need to wrap this up.” “Wrap it up?” I get to my feet. Maybe I should have told her. Few men are as patient as I am, but few are as done when that patience runs out. “We’ve gone through this not once but twice. The first time you pulled out because of the trial, and I understood. Since then, we’ve been through

countless meetings and dinners. I’ve consulted on plans and projects for Signet, and I was happy to do it.” I’m a little too close to angry, and I pause to force it down. “Look, I know letting go of control is a big deal. It is for me, too. Maybe we’re alike in that way. I’m glad we are. I can only hope to be as strong and successful as you’ve been.” A tiny smile, a tiny chink in her veneer. “You flatter me, Bram.” “It’s the truth. You’re as close as I’ve ever had to a mentor.” She waves her hand. “I’ll tell you what the truth is. I’m a stubborn old woman and this company is my life. It’s that simple.” “I’m a stubborn young man and my company is my life,” I say. “At least it was.” She’s too smart to miss what I’m saying. “That’s how it should be. Don’t fuck it up with her, Bram.” “I won’t,” I say. She stares at me so long I start to sweat. Finally, she sighs. “All right. Give me ten days to wrap things up. It’s not just the merger, you know. I have to announce my retirement and leave this place, and those aren’t things I want to do.” “I know,” I say. “I get it.” “No,” she says. “You don’t get it now, but someday you will.”

I DRIVE BACK to my office in a state of disbelief. She cracked. I stuck with it, and I outlasted her. I can’t wait to tell Grace. I want her to be proud of me. And one day, I want her to feel this way, too. I want her to have the joy she deserves. I gave her a weekend crash course in business between eating good food and fucking, and now I want her to fly free. It would be better for her to fail with the party than depend on me. That’s the best lesson no one ever taught me. Rely on yourself and you’ll succeed. Succeed or drown. It sounds like tough love, but I’ve never given her anything less. My toughness, and my love. When I get home, I tell her all about my day. I try to keep my excitement under wraps, but she sees it anyway. She sees beyond the suit to who I really am, which is a runt kid who wasn’t supposed to make it but just did. Made it a long time ago, actually, but couldn’t let himself feel it. Grace sits on my lap and wraps her arms around my neck. She wants to know everything – what I said, what Miriam said, how I felt. It’s that beautiful trait of hers, vicarious happiness. My joy is hers, and she makes me feel it. Once I ask how her day went, sweet questions start pouring from her mouth. She wants to know my thoughts on this fabric and that hors d’oeuvres, and I love it. I love it too much. Two weeks ago, this was all I wanted. To be her

everything. For her to need me. Not just for food and human interaction, but this. I didn’t want her to breathe without thinking of me. And now I have that. But for her own sake, I need to give it back to her. “I’ll leave you to your work this week,” I say. “I’ll trust you to plan the event on your own.” There’s a shadow of rejection in her eyes. “What if I have questions?” “Research the answers and make a decision. You’re smart, Grace. You don’t need me.” “But this is your party.” “And I’m paying you to plan it.” Flushing, she puts on a confidence she doesn’t feel. “Of course. I just want to make sure you get what you want, that’s all.” She won’t look me in the eye. I cup her jaw and turn her face toward me. “Look. I know the last three weeks have been crazy. But you won’t know how strong you are until you break free of me. Until you fly, or fall.” “It feels a little like, I don’t know.” She shrugs. “Punishment.” “Not at all,” I say. “This week is a chance to stand on your own two feet.” “I guess I’m not a prisoner anymore.” I stroke her flushed cheek. “You never were.” “I felt like I was,” she says, squirming on my lap.

“I think you liked feeling that way.” She gives me a shy little look. “Maybe. Once or twice.” I squeeze her tight against me. “I liked it, too.” I kiss the delicate place just in front of her ear while pinching her nipple hard. Gasping, she bites her lip. “I’ve been gentle with you so far,” I say. “Are you ready for rough?” Her gaze is alluring, with a beautiful undercurrent of fear. “It depends on what rough means.” I unwrap her arms from around my neck and put them behind her back. “Let’s find out.” Pulling off my tie, I wrap it around her wrists. “I think that sore little pussy’s ready to get fucked again, don’t you? You’ve gone without cock all day long.” She answers by kissing me, a soft, eager kiss that makes my dick curve toward the ceiling. Desire roars in my blood. The restraint I had when she was a virgin is gone. Pushing the chair back, I pick her up in my arms like a tiny doll and head upstairs with her. She may stand on her own two feet this week, but she won’t forget that she’s mine.

GRACE

When we get to the bedroom, Bram strips me naked. He lays me on the bed with my tied hands above my head, and enters my wet pussy hard and fast. He isn’t patient or gentle. He fucks me so hard my teeth rattle. “Not a virgin girl anymore, are you?” he growls. “Now you’re a woman.” Hands around my throat, he captures my mouth and devours it. His hips are like pistons. He’s a human version of the fucking machines I’ve seen online, but never thought were real. This isn’t the man who took my virginity. This is the man who already owns it, and now wants the rest of me. He tightens his hands over my windpipe until blood fills my head and my bound hands clutch his. “Trust me,” he says, eyes close to mine. “I’ve got

you.” “Do you?” I whisper. His gaze fills with tenderness, and I relax. “Always.” Later, after he comes in my mouth and pussy and makes me come while he fucks me from behind, the Bram I know returns. He’s warm and kind and funny, and I’m not afraid of him anymore. Even though I liked it when I was. “You have a lot of experience,” I say, snuggling again him. “I can tell.” “Can you?” he says. “Definitely.” “You weren’t sure before but after tonight you are?” “Uh huh,” I say. “How many women have you fucked anyway?” “Ten. Maybe twenty. Thirty?” He gives me such a sweet, boyish smile, I can’t help but laugh. “Judging from the numbers I saw, it was a lot more than that.” “That was a bad month. Or a good one, depending on how you look at it.” “Any virgins?” He gives me a smirk. “We’ve talked about this. I lost my virgin virginity with my beautiful Grace.” Blushing, I bury my face in his chest. “Stop it.” He kisses the top of my head. “It’s true. You’re my first and last. I swear on my life.”

I wrap my arms around him and squeeze hard. “You had some big parties. There was one night when it looked like a hundred people came over.” “It was two-hundred, but who’s counting? That was the last time Fritz and I threw a party. The debauchery lasted all weekend and I was bored to death.” “Good.” “Good?” I smile up at him. “I couldn’t believe some of the costumes I saw. Like something from an oldfashioned ball.” “I like to throw parties where inhibitions get checked at the door. For four or five hours, the only thing people do is live.” “I didn’t watch it all, but there was another one – wait. This weird costume. I’ll show you.” I scramble out of bed and skip to the TV. “You don’t have to,” Bram says. “I’m sure I’ll remember.” “Hang on. It’ll only take two seconds.” I flip through the case until I find the right disc. At least I think it is. As soon as I put it in, I’ll know. I push it into the DVD player and stand back with the remote in my hand. “Come back to bed,” Bram says. “I will. It’s coming up right now.” “Grace.” I hear him get up. “I mean it.” “I won’t get jealous, I promise,” I say, fast-

forwarding the disc. “Even if you did fuck fifty sluts that year.” I giggle. “Ha ha,” he says. “Give me the remote.” He tries to take it from me but I snatch my hand away. “Grace.” His face is stern. Pretend-stern, I hope. If not, it’s because he’s afraid I’ll pout. “You’re right,” I say, pressing play. “It was silly to get jealous when you didn’t even know me then. Well, you knew me, but you thought I was evil incarnate.” “Turn it off. I’m dead fucking serious, Grace.” The atmosphere is tense. “Oh.” My stomach sinks. He really is serious. I thought we were having fun teasing each other. “I’m sorry,” I say. My heart stings. Apparently, Bram’s women and his parties are private. He wants to keep them that way. Flushing, I walk around the bed to hand him the remote. I see his figure on the screen, walking up the steps. He squats down in front of the DVD player and starts hitting buttons. He presses pause just as another figure comes into view. I stare at the frozen black-and-white form. It’s James. Bram ejects the DVD. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Goddamnit, Grace.” Mouth slack, I stare at him. “Bram?” He turns to look at me. My world has just ended. It looks the same. But inside, everything is

smashing apart. His eyes are like two storms burning a hole through to my heart. “You had it all along,” I say. There’s a moment of frozen silence. “Yes. I did.” My heart is lead. “I don’t understand.” “After three weeks in my care, you should.” I shake my head. My heart is pounding so hard I feel faint. “What’s all this doublespeak, Bram? I should understand? Are you crazy?” His mouth twitches. “Sit down.” Suddenly I feel desperate to escape. “No.” His eyes sear into mine. “I said, sit the fuck down.” He points to the end of the bed. It scares me to see his hand shaking. Bram. The strongest man I’ve ever known. The man who’s afraid of nothing. “What?” I say. “Why?” His voice is deathly quiet. “Because this isn’t going to be easy. Sit down.” I want to shake my head, but for some reason, I nod instead. Two years of curiosity and frustration and grief well up in my eyes. Even if it kills me, I have to see the last minute of James’s life. I have to know who Bram really is. “Have you seen it?” I ask. “Yes.” He looks torn up inside. His eyes are wild and haunted. I sit on the end of the bed. My chest is so filled

with fear I can hardly breathe. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. “Yes,” I say. “I do.” He sits a foot away from me. We’re both naked. I’m about to ruin everything. We’ll never go back to who we were. We can’t. No love survives something like this. The thought makes me desperately sick. I put my hands over my face. I want him to stop, to snap the disc in half and crawl into bed next to me, but I can’t speak. I can’t stop what’s going to happen. I feel numb as I drop my hands and stare at the screen. Numbness is a defense. I know that. A way to ward off trauma and endure the worst of life. I’ve been here before. It’s a familiar feeling. Almost comforting. Bram presses the button on the remote. I sit perfectly still, feeling every shallow breath and desperate heartbeat. This is rock bottom. The worst I can feel. Nothing could be worse. And still I’m living. On the television screen, Bram walks up the steps. He doesn’t look like the man I know. There’s stress in his face, even in this blurry image. He looks over his shoulder. I want to warn him, to stop what’s coming. If I make him listen, or scream loud enough, I can go back and change the past.

He goes inside the house and shuts the door. Nothing else happens. I glance at him. He’s staring at the screen, his face tight and colorless. A second later, another car screams onto the lower left side of the screen. A figure gets out. I gasp and put my hands to my mouth. My toes curl. James. He clomps up the steps with a walk I’ve never seen before. He exudes attitude and anger. My James, I think, even as another thought crowds it out. He’s a stranger. After two years, I don’t know who he is anymore. He pounds on the front door. Though the video is silent, I hear the insistent banging in my head. His mouth snarls open and he shouts something. He must have been scared. That’s the only explanation. He had a temper, yes, and he yelled when he was angry, but no more than anyone else. People snap. That doesn’t mean they deserve to die. The door opens and Bram appears. I tear at my bottom lip with my teeth. “Bram, no,” I say, even though I don’t mean it. I’m watching through until the end. I’ll let him destroy everything I care about, for the second time in my life. James grabs Bram by the collar and shoves him against the wall. He’s shorter and lighter than Bram, but he’s running on adrenaline. Nothing else could explain his coiled fists or snarled mouth. He

looks crazy. I almost don’t believe what I’m seeing. This is Bram’s version of the story. It was never mine. In my head, James was justifiably pissed off. All he wanted was an apology. He felt it was his duty to tell Bram that he’d kill somebody if he didn’t drive more carefully. Bram backs away, hands out. He looks calm, even conciliatory. I gasp as James comes after him. Like a martial artist, Bram ducks out of the way and James slams into the wall. He whirls around, his face twisted with rage. That’s when he goes for the door and tries to get in the house. Bram blocks him with his big, strong body. Only seconds have passed, but my loyalties are slipping. I need to root for James. He’s innocent. He must be. Something will happen to change everything. The world has to make sense again. James starts jabbing. His fists flail and he can’t land a punch. He tries to force his way in again. My blood freezes as Bram pulls out a gun. “No,” I whisper. James freezes in place. This is where he controls himself and backs off. He’s going to turn back into the man I trusted. Just before Bram murders him, brutally and with no feeling. Bram turns to go back inside. James yells something. A second later, he tries to wrench the

gun from Bram’s hand. Bram spins around. I jump as James falls. No. No, no, no, no, no. I close my eyes. Every image I’ve just seen whirls through the blackness in my mind. In the space of half a second, they replay over and over and over again. I clutch my stomach with aching fingers. Nothing makes sense. Not James, not Bram, not my life. None of this. When I open my eyes again, Bram is looking at me. The video is paused on James’s still form. I can’t speak. I can’t swallow or breathe. “I’m sorry,” he says. “What was he saying?” I whisper. “I don’t know, that he wouldn’t be treated this way. I don’t really remember.” “But…if you’d shown this…we wouldn’t have gone to trial. All the time you spent, all the money...I don’t get it.” “Don’t you, Grace?” I shake my head. Tears stream down my face and drip from my jaw. “It’s been our secret for two years,” he says. “It will stay secret.” “What? What do you mean?” “I mean this.” He starts the video again. All I see is James’s body lying still, and Bram on his phone. I know

from cell records that he called 911. He pauses the video and looks at me. “Do you understand now?” My voice is thick with tears. A sob of frustration bursts from my throat. “Understand? What am I supposed to understand?” Like a horrible joke, I’m not getting the punch line. He’ll have to explain what’s so tragically obvious. He raises the remote and rewinds the video thirty-three seconds. “No, Bram,” I say, standing up. “I can’t.” “You can. Watch the left side of the screen.” “Why?” “The car. Watch it.” I swallow down a flood of tears and watch. He’s already ripped my life and my illusions apart. He can’t destroy them anymore. As the disc plays, my eyes shift between James and the car. The instant his body falls to the porch, the passenger door opens. A girl jumps out and runs away. I shake my head. I didn’t see that. “Play it again,” I tell Bram. He does. He pauses the disc just after the girl runs offscreen. When I look at him, his eyes are full of pain and something that almost looks like love. “So now you know,” he says. “I kept that video secret to protect

you.” I’m so confused, it’s like he’s speaking another language. “Me?” “If people knew you were in the car, that you saw what happened and lied about it –” “I saw what happened?” I cry. “What are you talking about?” He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me. “The video! You just saw it, Grace! Goddamnit –” “You’re wrong.” “What? What the fuck are you talking about?” “I’m telling you, Bram, I wasn’t there. That girl’s not me.”

BRAM

We stare at each other. The only sound are the tiny sobs in her throat. Neither of us blinks. “Listen to me,” I say. “No one will know. It’s our secret.” “It wasn’t me.” Her voice is clipped and hard. She has to be lying. I have no fucking doubt. The girl in the video is her. She has the same hair, the same body, and though she only glances toward the camera for a second, the same face. It’s Grace, goddamnit. No one but a twin looks that much like someone else. And here I thought she might be starting to love me. It’s the same fucking story I’ve heard countless times before. Allegiance to James, and to herself, comes first. I get up and stand in front of her. She looks tiny

below me, her tear-streaked face tipped up. She looks me straight in the eye. I must say I’m impressed. Bad liars and those just starting out aren’t good at eye contact. Grace is a fucking expert. “If it’s not you, who is it then?” A tear trickles down her pale-skinned breast and onto her nipple. Bullshit as I am, I hunger to suck it off. “Destiny,” she chokes out. “Oh, so you know this alleged lookalike.” I blow out a breath. I’m just waiting for the tale-spinning to start. And the second it does, I won’t be able to contain my fury. Grace gulps down a tearful swallow. She shivers in front of me like a girl in shock. “I don’t know her,” she says. “James knew her from high school. She was his first girlfriend.” The first stirrings of doubt niggle my gut. “Last name?” “I’m not sure. Um…Lovis, I think.” I take Grace’s tear-soaked jaw between my thumb and forefinger, making her already full lips look bee stung. “If you’re lying to me, this won’t go well.” Her eyes drop. Hands tangling in her naked lap, her voice goes quiet. “She broke up with him as soon as they graduated. I used to worry that he never got over it, that I was a substitute. She was

fun and outgoing and dressed in sexy clothes. He fucked her. I could never understand why if he fucked her, he wouldn’t fuck me.” “Did you know they were in touch again?” “No. A couple of months before she sent him a text, but he said it was just to say Merry Christmas. He promised he hadn’t seen her in years.” I should be glad. I should be happy to shatter her illusions about James, but I’m not. It ruins my fucking heart to tell her. “I saw her in the car,” I say. “She had her feet on the dashboard.” “Her bare feet?” “Yes.” Grace’s brow crumples and her eyes cloud over. She’s imagining another girl in her boyfriend’s car, her feet up like she owned Grace’s life. She shakes her head. “He was driving that way for her,” she says. “He was showing off, trying to impress her…” Her voice trails off. “I’m sorry, baby,” I say. And I am. I’m so sorry I feel sick for her. I wish she could give me her pain. After a minute of dead silence, her eyes flicker up. This time, she looks strong and determined. “What else, Bram? Tell me. I want to know everything.” I squat down and take her hands in mine. My pretty, vulnerable, naked girl. I care too much to

ever keep the truth from her. “He had his hand on her knee.” Lips pressed together, she nods. “Okay. Anything else?” “While he was driving like a lunatic, she was hanging all over him. I saw them in my rearview mirror. She leaned over and put her arms around his neck. He almost crashed into somebody when he took his eyes off the road to kiss her.” She winces. A fresh tear trickles from the corner of her eye. “She was at the funeral, you know,” she says with a short, bitter laugh. “With her boyfriend.” “She had a boyfriend,” I say. “I guess that’s why she ran.” Grace’s eyes flash. “She wept through the entire service. She was so loud and vocal about it. I couldn’t even cry. It was like…she’d stolen all my tears.” “Who invited her?” Her voice shakes with disbelief. “My father. He invited all of James’s friends. It was the first time I’d ever seen her. So many people commented on how alike we were. I didn’t think so at all. Her eyes are blue and she has freckles, and...” She swallows. She looks too miserable to go on. “I’m sorry, Grace. I’m sorry I thought she was you.” She shrugs. “You’re not the only one. My father

did, too.” “Your father?” “At the funeral, he came up and put his hand on my shoulder and called me Destiny. I hated it. But you know what’s even worse? She started going to our church after that. She’s been there every Sunday since, sitting in the front row, clapping and singing, buddying up to Isaac…” I squeeze Grace’s hands. “Maybe that’s how she deals with her guilt.” Her eyes are wide and confused. “She knew about the trial, Bram. My father wrote a sermon about it, about how the truth always wins. She was there listening, nodding her head! She knew what the truth was, but she never said a word to anybody. She just wanted to protect herself!” “Yes, she did. It isn’t right.” Grace presses my hands to her racing heart. “You could have gone to jail! You had to endure that entire trial. It cost you a fortune!” “No, no, no,” I say. “It doesn’t matter now.” Her eyes are shattered with regret. “I wish… Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” “It’s not the trial that bothers me,” I say. “It’s thinking that you were like Destiny.” “What do you mean?” “That you’d lie for your own gain. That you’d know what happened that night and try to hurt me anyway.” I stroke away her tears and kiss her hot,

damp cheeks. “I should have known. That’s not my good girl. I should have realized that.” She sits silently before sucking in a breath. “Why didn’t you show this video to anyone? If my lawyer had known, he wouldn’t have taken the case! It never would have happened.” My chest feels heavy. Fuck. All I ever wanted was to protect her. “You’d been through so much because of me. I didn’t want to ruin your life. I’d ruined it already.” “You didn’t ruin my life,” she says, her eyes fiery. “He did. James did.” I kiss her and try to infuse my strength into her. “It’s over now. It’s okay. We did the best we could.” She breaks down. “I’m sorry. I’m just so, so sorry.” She cries in my arms, sobbing until she’s wrung out. I help her stand up and give her some water. After she’s had half a glass, I bring her to the shower. I wash her hair and her whole body, and rinse her clean under the handheld wand. When we’re both toweled off, I lead her to bed by the hand. We get under the sheets, and I hold her. She as tiny and bewildered as a broken fawn. Her breath is soft against my ear as she speaks. “He’s not the man I thought he was, Bram. He’s a total stranger.”

“I know.” “I always thought James was the one person who loved me. I thought I was everything to him. I wasn’t.” “He was an immature kid,” I say. “He only cared about himself.” “Is this what you meant when you said those things about him, that he was a chameleon?” “Yes.” It isn’t what I meant, but I can’t tell her that now. Her heart is broken enough. We talk until very late. Her expression is open and trusting as she absorbs everything I say. I’m not just her god in bed, I’m the man she listens to. I understand every fragile part of her. And tonight, she knows it. She strokes her hand along my jaw as if she’s trying to memorize me. “You know what I just figured out?” she says. “The reason he didn’t fuck me was because he didn’t want me. He wanted Destiny instead.” “Grace –” “No, it’s okay. He didn’t want me. It’s the truth.” She tries to look brave and strong, but her voice cracks. Fuck. The bastard used and cheated on her. He wasn’t even a man. Men are honest. They make tough decisions. They do what’s hard. If he’d had any balls, he’d have told her the truth and set her free.

Instead, he took the last two years of her life to the grave with him. She may forgive him for it, but I never will. I trace her browbone with my finger. “You saved the most beautiful part of yourself for me. It’s a precious gift, and it’s mine now.” She bites the little scar on her lip in that innocent way she has. I bet she’s not even conscious of it. “I’m glad it’s yours,” she says. “You deserve it.” I pull her close to me and hold her again. After a while she looks at me, her eyes as big and dark as the sky outside the window. “I’m lost, Bram. I…I don’t know how to love James anymore.” I fold her into my arms so tight, she feels like part of my heart. “You don’t have to, Grace. You can love me.”

GRACE

Bram holds me all night. We talk, and sleep, and wake up to talk again. He fucks me with me on top, and standing up with his elbows looped under my knees. Around four in the morning, he wraps me in his arms again and asks what I saw in James. I hold nothing back. James was my escape, I tell him, the one person who let me be myself. We didn’t share a lot of chemistry, but at the time it didn’t matter. I thought he loved me for me. Not my body, not what he wanted me to be, but the flawed person I was. After tonight, I don’t know anymore. Maybe he loved that I asked so little of him. Maybe he was too obsessed with work and his ex-girlfriend to care. When I wake in the morning, Bram is gone.

There’s a note on the nightstand. Hope you’re okay. Call me. I touch my mouth. I can still feel the heat of his goodbye kisses on my nose and lips. I sit up in bed. Something feels wrong. No, not wrong. Different. The familiar crushing feeling in my chest. The horrible certainty that I’ll never be happy again. That I don’t want to be happy. It’s gone. For years I idealized James. I ignored the red flags so I could hold onto my dreams. Delusions were better than the death of love. I couldn’t afford to lose him. I didn’t have a family that loved me, and if I didn’t have James, I had nothing. Now I have everything. I have Bram, and I have the truth. I still grieve for James, but it doesn’t feel the same. I don’t think it will ever again. I get out of bed and take a shower. I’m still sad and in shock, but it helps to have a job to do. I have a busy week ahead, and a protective man I want so much to impress. The next two days are a whirlwind of phone calls, visits to florists, and meetings with catering companies. The invitations have already been printed and sent out. I’ve invited one-hundred and seventy-six guests, from CEOs and bank presidents to a graffiti artist and a burlesque performer. To save time, RSVP’s are by email only. I can’t wait to see who responds.

I love driving Bram’s car into the city and feeling free. I love having places to be and things to do. No matter how many times I hear the words no, or we need more time, I hand over his credit card and pay my way out of it. He did give me an unlimited budget, after all. And the only way to make this event happen on his timetable is to throw money at every obstacle in our path. This was the person I was meant to be. Competent. Driven. Free of the past. Loved. And more than anything, Bram makes me feel loved. I lie awake at night thinking through every detail, from the seating arrangements to the makeup the servers will wear. I’ve hired a makeup artist who promises he can bring my vampy vision to life with dark red lipstick, false eyelashes, and smoky eyeliner. Their hair will be pulled into topknots. They’ll be naked except for heels and chandelier earrings, and of course, gold body paint. It’s strange to give my attention to something else besides Bram, but he wants more than a party. He wants me to pour my soul into one night of beauty. He wants my strength and independence, and that’s what I’m going to give him. Three days before the event, I meet Stephanie to go dress shopping. She helps me pick out a slim white gown with netting for the sleeves and most of the body. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen, and it covers almost nothing.

Stephanie looks at the price tag and gives me a confused frown. “Bram told you to buy anything you wanted? Even if it costs as much as a small car?” “Maybe a small used car,” I say, and we laugh. It takes me ten minutes to slither into the dress and zip it up the side. When I come out of the dressing room, Stephanie shakes her head. “It’s perfect on you,” she says. “Your father would kill you if he saw you in it.” “Sold,” I say. Afterwards we walk to the most elegant bakery in the city for a cake sampling. They know my timeline, and they’ve promised to deliver my order on Saturday even if they have to bake for two days straight. One 5- tier cake per table. Eight trays of truffles filled with different kinds of liquor. A chocolate fondue fountain. Over German chocolate and coconut cream, I tell Stephanie everything. Well, almost. I leave out parts like how I got to Bram’s house, my escape, and my four hours as a missing person. She’s so happy for me. She’s happy that I lost my virginity. She’s happy that I’ve gained weight. She’s happy that I’m happy. And that’s all I could ever want. Since she has a wedding Saturday night, she makes me promise to take a hundred pictures of Bram’s dinner party. I promise her twice that many,

plus videos. “I still don’t understand why you quit Divine,” she says. “I mean, I got a promotion and a raise out of it, but still.” She makes a sad face. “I miss you.” I take a big bite of maple cheesecake and smile. “You won’t when I’m your competition,” I say with a full mouth. She stick her tongue out at me and steals the rest of the German chocolate off my plate.

BRAM

Thirteen hours away from her. It feels like thirteen weeks. She’s stayed in my thoughts every second, all week. I can smell her on my skin. Feel her mouth on my lips and cock. I’m in withdrawal from my sweet girl. The one I’m trying so hard to push away. I wasn’t supposed to keep her. I was going to save her, make her stronger, and set her free. I guess this is what freedom looks like. I unlock the door and walk inside. I shouldn’t even be here. Grace was meeting her friend Stephanie today and sampling cakes. I was going to go to a steakhouse with Fritz, drink vodka, and stay out late. Get home long after Grace had gone to bed. But I canceled at the last second. The plan was to give her a whole day without

me. No call or text. I managed that part. But when five o’clock rolled around and I got in the car, I just wanted to go home. I wanted to be with her. “Grace?” I call. She’s going to come bounding out to meet me like a sweet, lonely kitten. Or she’ll run up from downstairs where she’s spent all day planning an amazing party to please me. I can almost hear her high, feminine voice ringing through the air like a bell. You’re home! Oh, Bram, I missed you. Please don’t ever go away again. “Grace?” I walk into the kitchen. It’s spotless and empty. Upstairs, my bed is neatly made and every sign of her has been neatly put away. Her towel is folded over the stainless steel rack. Opening the bathroom cabinet, I touch the bristles of her brush. A silky strand of auburn hair snags around my finger. Fuck, I miss her. I crave her touch. I had total control of her body and mind for three weeks, and now she’s leaving me. With my help. She isn’t in the living room, or downstairs in the ballroom. Because I don’t want to give up yet, I even peer outside into the garden. It’s damp and windswept. No sign of her. I turn away as a cold, empty space opens up inside me. For years it’s been there, and I’ve always relished it. It meant I was an island, a man who needed nothing and no one. I’d survive, no

matter what. But tonight, it feels like a bullshit defense. It hurts. I should have measured my words. Grace felt my first, abrupt nudge as she stood on the edge of the nest, and she heard the message loud and clear. Time to fly, baby. And that’s exactly what she’s doing.

SHE WALKS in the door just before nine o’clock. It’s all I can do not to jump up from the couch. For two hours I’ve been like a frantic father, walking from window to window and fighting the instinct to call her every three minutes. I want to shout at her. Where the fuck have you been? Why didn’t you call? I want to strip her clothes off and throw her over my knee to be spanked until she screams. But I can’t. This is my doing. This is what I wanted. And now I’ve got it. A stable, independent woman with her whole life ahead of her. She’s no longer racked by grief or her hatred for me. She’s not a danger to herself or my company anymore. She doesn’t need me. She’s just fine, all on her own. So why do I want to put her back in her room and start all over again? Why do I want her to need

me, to depend on me like she did before? I thought she’d resist the change. She seemed so happy and comfortable in this house. And at first, she did resist. She pouted. And I liked it. I could encourage her self-reliance, knowing that she’d always be reliant on me first. But when I led her to the edge of the cliff, she only clung to me for a moment. Then she let go of my hand and leapt. What did I expect? She didn’t come to this house under her own power. She was forced. Kidnapped, if I’m being honest. It took time to smash the wall around her heart and gain entrance to her spirit. It’s no surprise that she’s dying to get back into the world and be a free young woman again. “Hi!” she says, flitting into the room with three shopping bags like an excited butterfly. “I made good progress today!” She thumps across the room in high wedge shoes and plops beside me on the couch. Her bare leg presses innocently against my thigh. She smells like gardenias, and she’s wearing a mini-skirt she bought on her shopping trip with Coral. It’s so mini, in fact, that when she sits down it practically shows her panties. I stifle a growl. “Tell me,” I say. “Well, one of these bags is filled with material for the drapes I want to make. At the last second I

decided velvet would be better.” “Velvet,” I say, watching her flushed, animated face. “Yup. I found some beautiful tablecloths at an event website, so we can just rent those, and for flowers I’m adding purple orchids and burgundy dahlias to the red roses. There’ll be so much deep color.” The scent of gardenia drifts around my head. “Is that new perfume?” Her eyes get round and excited. “Do you like it? My parents never allowed me to wear perfume when I was younger so it stills feels like a sin to wear it.” I lean close and sniff her neck. It’s all I can do not to bite her instead. “Did you buy the bottle?” I ask. “Is that okay? You said to buy anything I wanted, but I only bought the perfume and some panties. That’s pretty good, right?” Perfume and panties. Just what a girl needs when she has nothing tying her down. When she’s beautiful, unattached, and the man who fucking adores her has no claim to her. “Right,” I say, but my voice sounds rough and irritable. Possessive rage rises in my chest. I circle my hand around her soft thigh. As I expected, the edge of her panties is just under the hem of her skirt. So tempting, so alluring

to every cock in the city. I can just imagine how many men stared at her ass, smelled her gardenia skin, and thought about fucking her. And she did everything she could to encourage it. “It was a chilly day today,” I say. “You went out with bare legs.” She shrugs. “I was so happy to be out, I hardly felt the cold.” “I bet.” Once I exorcised James from her heart, I assumed she’d be mine. I didn’t anticipate that the only person she’d belong to would be herself. Her free, beautiful, happy self. She gives me a teasing smile. “You left early this morning, and didn’t tell me what to wear. If you’d said jeans, I’d have worn jeans.” Lips pursed, I nod slowly. She’s right, but right can’t cool the boil in my blood. It can’t make me think straight, or change what I’m about to do. “Stand up,” I say. She sticks out her long legs and flexes her calves. Her new, bright-red pedicure makes my cock throb. “I walked too far in these shoes today,” she says with a satisfied sigh. “My feet are killing me.” “Stand up.” A frown flickers across her brow as she registers my tone. “What’s wrong, Bram?” I shrug. “You were out all afternoon in a slutty

skirt. I want to see what every other man got to see.” She looks genuinely confused. Such an innocent, flirtatious little bird. “What?” she says. “Every cashier, every married man, every college boy – show me what you showed them.” She gulps down her nervousness and stands up. I wave her a few steps away. “Stop. Right there.” Planting her wedges a foot apart, she drops her hands to her sides. Her lips quiver but her eyes are insolent. “One week away from me and you forget your training? You forget to respect me?” “One week away and you forget what you said?” she says evenly. “I can quote you verbatim. You need to start standing on your own two feet.” The words sting like stones as she throws them in my face. She’s right, yet again. But still my greediness won’t subside. “I said nothing about dressing to entice other men. Or not calling. Or coming home late as excited as if you just got fucked in the back seat of a car.” A sharp frown creases her forehead. “I don’t understand. You said –” I know what I said. I wish she’d drop to her knees and wrap her arms around my legs. I wish she’d bury her face in my lap and beg for forgiveness, even though she

did nothing wrong. Am I this fucking insecure? This bonded to a woman I once thought of as a nuisance to be controlled? She can’t detach this fast. It can’t be this easy. I get up and stand in front of her. Hands on her hips, she stares at me. She barely has time to suck in a breath before I whirl her around. My cock is so hard I feel lightheaded. This was always my courtroom fantasy. Strip Grace Garrett down and fuck her until she forgave me. Fuck her until she loved me. “Please, Sir…” she stutters. The word Sir washes over me like a healing wave. But it’s too late to stop what’s coming. Hand in her hair, I march her to the dining room table. “Take off your panties and kneel on the table,” I say. “Why?” “Do it.” She flashes the prettiest ass in the world as she climbs up onto the table. Her slit is pink and glistening. The combination of her pussy, bare ass, and the high wedges on her feet make her look sweet and slutty in the most innocent, fuckable way. I stand behind her and unzip my jeans. I can’t even wait to get undressed. I’m going to have her now.

I wrap a hand around her throat as I enter her hard and fast. A little scream rips from her body as I bury my cock to the hilt. Leaning forward, I take her ear in my teeth. “Self-reliance doesn’t mean you have control. I do. I always will.” She reaches across the table and grips the edge. Knees braced, she takes another deep, hard thrust. “Still sore from your first fuck?” I ask. She nods. “And my sixth and seventh.” “And who’s the man who fucks you, Grace?” “You are,” she says. I nail her hard, glad her pussy still aches. I never want the aching to stop. I want her to feel that ache when she wakes up every morning and remembers that she’s mine. She may be free, but she’ll never be free of me. Wrapping a hand around her pretty face, I give her my index finger to suck. “Make it nice and wet,” I say. “It’s going in your ass.” She whimpers with her tongue wrapped around my knuckle. Her saliva feels like warm velvet running down my skin. “That’s right. Good girl.” She makes a beautiful sucking noise as I pull my hand away. I give her a deep, thick thrust, then pull out, leaving her pussy with only the head of my cock to hold onto. Spreading her ass cheeks, I slip my finger

inside. She hisses as I pierce her delicate flesh. “Remember, your ass belongs to me as much as your cunt. Okay? Tell me you understand.” She nods and her hair falls over her eye. “I understand.” “Nobody else gets to fuck you. Is that clear?” She nods as I corkscrew my finger further inside her. She clenches down hard and moans. “It’s clear.” I’ve got my hand around her throat, my finger in her ass, and my cock all the way up her pussy. The first few times, I was gentle. This time, she’s discovering what a good, hard fuck really is. Her cunt is starting to conform itself, to shape every exquisite contour to my cock. It feels different than it did every time before. She’s like warm wax, molding herself to my body and what I want. She can’t pull away from me now. I grab her hair and yank her head back. Her gorgeous green eyes roll back to look at me. “You understand what this is, don’t you?” I growl. She nods as best she can. “What is it?” I ask. A pretty tear streams over her temple. “You’re angry.” I lean down to kiss her tear as it vanishes into her hair. Her back arches like a cat’s and her pussy clamps around my cock. “This isn’t anger,” I tell her.

“It isn’t?” she whispers. “No. I just missed you so fucking much today.” Her body telegraphs relief as she relaxes. Everything is softer now – her cunt, her gaze, her ass around my finger. Trust floods back into her face. I see her pulse slow in her neck. “Oh, Bram,” she says. I lick the trail of her tear. “You did nothing wrong,” I say, and reward her by ramming my cock into her. “You were perfect. Your skirt was perfect. Your perfume was perfect.” She’s crying now. I made her cry with my jealousy and my crazy fucking need for her. I want her to be like every other woman I’ve fucked, but she isn’t. She’s got her hooks into my soul. A month ago, my happiness depended on no one but me. Now, I can’t take a breath without thinking of her. I pull back and step away. “Turn around and look at me.” She turns on her knees. Tear-flooded eyes glued to my face, she sits on the edge of the table. Her wedged feet hang down. “Fuck,” I say. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.” “What wasn’t?” “I was supposed to change you. You weren’t supposed to change me.” Her blouse is pulled to one side, showing her bra strap and one white shoulder. “How am I

changing you?” “I’m already doing things I swore I wouldn’t do,” I say. “I turned down an opportunity I’d have jumped on a month ago just for the fucking adventure of it. But I said no without a second thought.” “What kind of opportunity?” she asks. “To move to another country after the merger happens. I thought that’s what I wanted.” Her huge eyes plead with me. “Don’t, Bram. Don’t give up what you want for me.” “But that’s just it, Grace. I don’t want it. I don’t want the life I had before. The only fucking thing I want is you.” Her forehead wrinkles. “But you said –” “I know what I said. You shouldn’t depend on anyone but yourself. But fuck, you make me want to.” She takes my still-rigid cock in her hands. She kisses the head like she worships me, and I feel it in a place I didn’t know existed. Not my soul. Deeper than that. Where I’ve buried all the pain and death and things I wish I didn’t know. The secrets I want to tell Grace but can’t, because I love her. I fucking love her. “Back on the table,” I say. She gets up again. She goes to the table and kneels. Bending down, I cover her perfect ass with

kisses. I lick her cunt from behind and slick the juices over her hole with my tongue. Her little squeals and whimpers tell me she loves it. She loves that I lick her in the most private places like an animal. That I smell her gorgeous feminine heat and want to breed her. When she’s good and slick, I position myself behind her. She wriggles her hips, begging to be fucked like a girl who’s just discovering the pleasures of a big cock. “I need this,” I say. “Take me.” “Not your cunt, baby girl. Your ass.” Her body freezes on instinct. “It’s okay,” I say. “Is it?” “Yes. You’ll see.” Pulling her head back by her hair, I demolish her mouth under mine as I press the head of my cock to her ass. Whimpering, she breathes against my lips. “You’ll go slow?” “Yes. I won’t let it hurt. I promise.” She exhales a long breath. Her hole relaxes and opens to me. “Perfect,” I say, slicking more of her juices around my shaft. “Just like that.” Kissing and sucking her lips, I give her one inch, two inches, three. “Is that okay? Not too scared?” God, I love taking care of her. I love it as much as fucking her ass.

“I’m okay. Don’t – don’t stop. Please.” Please. And I thought I couldn’t get harder. I thrust my hips forward with gentle but steady force until her body starts to yield. She’s soft but so tight, the perfect virgin beauty. She moans and cries, and a hot tear splashes over my fingers. This was what I always wanted – to feel her surrender. To hear her say yes to me a thousand times over with her body. With a long, slow thrust, I fill her ass with my entire cock. Fuck, I love this girl. I have from the first moment I saw her beautiful, weeping face. Her muscles pulse around me and her pussy gushes. “Why so wet, sweet thing? Tell me.” She turns her head and blinks up at me shyly. But under those pretty, bashful lashes, her eyes simmer with lust. “Because I’m excited,” she whispers. “For what? My cock in your ass?” She nods. “Out loud, baby girl.” “For your big cock in my ass.” I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Fuck, she turns me on. That high voice saying unspeakable things is almost more than I can take. I shove my cock inside her again, harder this time. She moans. She’s walking the razor’s edge between pleasure and pain, and it’s like clinging to the edge of a cliff together.

“Tell me what you like.” “I like it all,” she whispers. “No playing shy. Tell me why you like getting fucked in the ass by a beast.” The apples of her cheeks are bright red. I watch her lips move and relish every sexy word that comes from her mouth. “I like your balls stroking my clit.” “It takes big balls to do that. Big balls like mine.” I drive hard into her and her teeth rattle. Reaching around to her pussy, I feel her swollen, slick lips. “Mmmm,” she moans, dropping back her head. “Mmmm what, my dirty-talking girl?” “I want to come. My clit is aching for you.” “So good girls love to come, too?” “Yes, Sir, they do.” My whole fucking heart warms like a ray of sunshine. “I didn’t hear you,” I say, though I did. I just want to hear it again. “Yes, Sir.” I smile. What she does to me. Fucking her ass hard, I play with her drenched little clit. It’s a stiff, swollen rosebud under my fingers, so tiny and sweet. “Feel good?” “So good, Sir. Please…don’t stop.” Her moans are still soft, but they sound

different. They come from deep inside her, from her dark, animal soul. “I’m going to – Bram…” I lower my mouth to her ear. “Let go. Give it to me.” And she does. Her lower back curves and her legs spread wide. A sudden cry splits the air as she comes, and her ass grabs my shaft tight. God, she’s amazing. She’s still coming as I explode inside her. I fill her all the way to her heart. Nothing has ever felt so fucking good. So pure. So real. As I pull her into my arms, I want to tell her everything. Right now, tonight, I’m sure of one thing. There should be no secrets between us. We’re too close. I care for her too damn much. A war breaks out inside me as I kiss and hold her, and praise her for being such a good, strong girl. I’ll tell her now. There’ll never be anything between us again. Just peace and truth. But I carry her upstairs without saying a word. I bathe her and put her to bed and kiss her, and say I’m sorry. And she thinks she knows what I’m saying it for.

GRACE

The morning of the party, I wake up with my heart in my throat. I sit up in bed and let out a nervous giggle. Every birthday I ever wanted and never had is finally here. All of them, rolled into one perfect day I planned myself. Bram has gone to the office for a few hours, then to the gym. He doesn’t want to see me until just before the party, when I’m dressed and the ballroom is ready. It feels like my wedding day. In a way, it is. This isn’t just a gathering for almost twohundred of Bram’s closest friends. It’s a display of love and gratitude. Mine for him. It’s a way to thank him for saving me. For taking everything from me, and giving me back the world of my dreams. The chairs and tables arrive just after eight

while I’m drinking coffee. For the first time in weeks, the sky is clear and bright. Mug in hand, I direct the delivery men around the ballroom. My mind is clear and my senses sharp. At first I think it was a good night’s sleep, but then I realize. This is me without grief. This is how it feels to return to life. The linen and china deliveries are next, and a few minutes later, the assistants I hired arrive. After showing them to the ballroom, I put them to work on each table. They bustle around polishing crystal and setting out plates. The white tablecloths sound like bird’s wings as they flutter open. Deliveries come all afternoon, bringing another piece of my vision. Once the caterers have set up the buffet tables and started preparing the hot food in the commercial kitchen, I take my first deep breath in hours. The servers are being body-painted in the dressing room. The lute players are tuning their instruments. I walk from table to table, sliding flatware a millimeter to the left or right. The wineglasses and gold-rimmed plates gleam. Everywhere I look, I see another token of luxury. Napkins edged with the images of nymphs and Greek gods. Vases wrapped in red silk ribbon. On each woman’s charger plate is a feathered mask, each one unique and glittering with vibrant beads and crystal. I turn to go upstairs and get ready. I pause in the

doorway, a glow of accomplishment swelling in my heart. This moment is my reward. Tomorrow it will all be over, but I will never forget how I feel right now. I look around the room and think that I’ve never felt such joy. Everyone always told me I’d be happy again, even though James was gone. They told me that someday I’d fall in love. They were right. I just never thought I’d owe that love and happiness to Bram.

IT’S the most beautiful night of my life. It’s everything I dreamed of. The room, the food, the crowd – everything is perfect. And so is the man in his beautiful dark suit. He loves my dress. He loves my red lipstick. He loves every detail, from the flowers to the servers in their body paint to the wineglass charms. When he came into the room for the first time and saw what I’d done, he walked up to me and whispered my favorite words in my ear. “Good girl.” He introduces me to so many guests, I lose track of names and faces. I meet people from Phantom and the bar Carol and Fritz own, old friends Bram grew up with and wealthy businesspeople I’ve seen on television. He makes me blush by telling everyone that I planned the party myself. He promises to send around my

phone number and web address when I start taking clients. Best of all, no one seems to recognize me. I’m not “that girl” anymore. I’m just me. I’m Bram’s girlfriend, I planned this gorgeous event, and I’m the happiest woman on earth. Later, after dinner is cleared, I go to the dessert table to check on the display of cakes and truffles. Most of the guests are up and mingling again. I shiver with pleasure as eyes rake over my exposed skin and follow the long train of my dress. It would feel good even if I were alone, but to be with Bram, master of this house and my heart, is enough to make me cry. My smile trembles as a teardrop trickles over my cheek. Pure joy. “Hi, babe,” Coral says, coming up and hugging me. She wears a red empire-waist dress that shows off her gorgeous round stomach. She looks like a queen. “I’m so glad you could come,” I say. “How are you?” She tilts her head like it should be obvious. “Two weeks from my due date,” she laughs. “That’s how I am.” “Where’s your husband? I’m dying to meet him.” “He’s upstairs.” She quirks her eyebrows. “I thought I just saw you coming down.”

I shake my head. “That must have been another half-naked girl in a white dress.” “No one’s mistaking me for anyone else. Not with this.” She cups her hands around her stomach. “The first thing I’m going to do after the birth is drink champagne.” “I’ll save you a glass,” I say. “Save me a bottle. Actually, two.” She kisses me. I watch her disappear into the crowd, her blonde hair flowing like part of the décor. I check on the desserts, then walk back toward my table. Ahead of me in the crowd, I catch a glimpse of long, auburn hair. It must be the girl Coral mentioned. No wonder she thought she was me. She’s my height, my build – I stop in my tracks for a second, then start walking again. Faster, this time. She winds through the throng, her slim form slipping between groups of people. In a sea of long gowns and flowing hair, it’s impossible to keep track of her. I think I’ve lost her when I see her at a table groaning under the weight of fruit and cheese platters. It can’t be her. It would ruin everything. To see her here, in Bram’s house, the only place that’s ever felt like home… I’m six steps behind her. I wait, sure it’s not her, praying that it isn’t.

She turns to the side. She’s smiling. Destiny. My heart plummets. I feel faint and queasy. I duck behind someone’s shoulder. She doesn’t see me. She looks nervous, out of place in her jeans and turtleneck sweater. Why the hell is she here? Who brought her? A tall man with salt and pepper hair stands with his hand on her back. He must have been on the guest list. He’s still wearing his coat, like he just arrived. I never had Destiny pegged for a girl who’d go for older men, but she’s a woman of many faces. None of them authentic, apparently. I have to get a look at this guy. I wonder if he knows that his date ran from the scene of a shooting so her boyfriend wouldn’t find out. That she kept quiet while Bram spent millions on lawyer’s fees. That for two years she let me wallow in the fallout of her lies. Poor fool. Hopefully this is just a fling for him. Heart pounding, I wait for him to turn around. When he does, my world collapses under my feet. “Daddy?” I whisper. Then I turn and run.

GRACE

Everything I thought was real is false. My life, all the things I thought were true. Morality. Goodness. Fidelity. I knew my father wasn’t a loving man, but I thought he was a real one. I thought he was aloof because his head was filled with moral questions. He wasn’t affectionate or even knowable, but he was virtuous. It was all a lie. A big lie I believed in, just like I believed in James. How can he be here? How can he be here with her? I run through the crowd, my dress flying behind me. Suddenly I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed that I created this beautiful gathering and poured my heart into it. I hate every blossoming flower, every flicker of candlelight.

Tears fall in terrified droplets from my eyes. I want to escape who I am. I want a safe place to breathe as my world falls apart. I need Bram. I need the protection of his arms. Panic flooding my veins, I run to our table. The chair at the head is empty. I scan the room for him, but he’s gone. From out of the sea of laughing faces, I see my father again. He’s half a table-length away, his eyes like fire. Frozen in fear, I watch him walk toward me. I see no repentance in his face. Only the anger I once tried to convince myself was love. I turn and rush toward the arched doorway. Just as I get to the empty hall, an iron fist closes around my arm. In a brief moment of surrender, my muscles relax. I know that grip so well. It slapped my face and squeezed countless bruises into my skin when I was a child. He backs me against a wall and glares into my face. As our eyes connect, my heart stops. So do my tears. “Why are you here?” I ask in an even voice. “Why do you think?” he says. “I’m looking for my daughter.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “How did you find me?” “A police officer told me you came into the station with Bram Russell. Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I don’t care,” I say. “I’m proud to be here.” His frown is deep and angry. “With the man who killed James? Do you hate yourself that much?” “It isn’t hate that led me here. It’s love.” He laughs his hard, staccato laugh. Forcing the quaver out of my voice, I square my shoulders. “Why did you bring Destiny, Daddy?” His burning eyes feel like an assault. “She offered to help look for you.” “Is that all?” He looks at me like I’m insane. “All? I don’t know what you mean.” He seems so sure of himself. I didn’t imagine the connection between them. I couldn’t have. “Do you know anything about her? Did she tell you she was with James that night?” “Smearing her won’t help you,” he says. I lean forward into his face. “There’s video, Daddy. She was in the car. She saw him get shot. She ran.” “It doesn’t matter now.” “It doesn’t matter that she lied?” He looks disappointed in me. Disappointed, and tired. “Lying is so important to you, is it? Because if there’s video, then Bram lied, too.” I pause. He doesn’t understand. “But he thought – he did it to protect me.” “To protect you. Okay, Grace.” His grip is so

tight my shoulder aches. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. You’re going to take off that whore costume and put on respectable clothes. You’ll pack whatever possessions you have and come home with me. And when you get there, you’ll beg God and your mother for forgiveness.” “I’m not going anywhere but back to my party.” His face is ruthless. “You’re coming home where you belong. Right now.” “No.” “No?” The air is so tense I feel sick. “You know, I’ve been following the merger story quite closely,” he says. “I’m sure the people at Signet would be interested to know that Bram Russell kidnapped my daughter.” My body goes cold with horror. “No. You can’t.” “And imagine, Grace. What will the police say when they find out about the video? You know, the one Bram swore didn’t exist. I think that’s perjury, isn’t it?” I can’t even breathe. “Daddy, please…” “Before you say no again, think about the position you’ve put him in.” His eyes are pitch black. There’s no feeling in them, just dead rage. I feel myself dissolving under his fury. I was so strong this morning. I was sure I’d never feel fragile again. But I do. I’m the old me, and weaker than ever.

“Why did you adopt me?” I have no fight left, just sad curiosity. Who is this man? How did my life end up in his heartless hands? He drops my arm with a look of disgust. “Go get your things. We’re leaving.” He turns, but I grab his shoulder. “Really, Daddy, why? Because you’ve never loved me. You never wanted me.” His gaze swivels back to me. The rage has turned to a deep, jagged pain. “Your mother did.” “What?” His face sags. Suddenly he looks old and broken. “Haven’t you figured it out by now? The reason she’s so sad?” I know I should feel something – dread or fear. But I’m numb to the root of my soul. “No.” His voice sounds distant, as if I’m hearing it through a fog. “We had a son.” I stare at him, hands balled over my heart. A son. The words are nonsense in my ears. His face is harder than ever. “He died of cancer when he was three. We tried for two years to have another child.” The past burns to the ground before my eyes. I had a brother. A little boy. He died, and I took his place. I couldn’t take their pain away. I couldn’t be him. I never had a chance. All this time I was trying to make up for something bitter and unfixable, and

I had no idea. “What was his name?” “Michael.” Tears grip my throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Because you know how you are. Our love was never enough. Your mother thought you’d compare yourself.” He pauses. “You might even hate him. See him as competition.” My face crumples. “No! Never!” “You see now? Why it broke your mother’s heart when you left?” “But she said…the dynamic in the house when I’m there –” He silences me with a look. “You and I, we have our differences. But you’re all she has. She needs you to come home.” My courage is in shreds. I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore. “I won’t live with Isaac.” “All right.” My heart strains under a new burden of pain and hope. “Tomorrow,” I say. But my father isn’t listening anymore. He’s looking past my shoulder, his eyes bitter. I turn to see Bram in the doorway behind me. I’m so relieved to see him, my heart nearly bursts. “He knew,” my father barks. I frown. “About what?” “About Michael.” Mouth open, I stare at Bram. “Is that true?”

He stares back at me. He doesn’t move a muscle. “Yes. Your mother called me. She was afraid my lawyers would find out.” The party disappears. My father is gone. There’s nothing in the world but Bram standing there saying he knew. “Please, Grace,” he says. “I couldn’t tell you. You’d been through enough.” I feel like throwing up. My heart has never beat faster. “Why would it hurt me to know the truth?” My father’s voice is like a blunt knife in my ear. “This doesn’t concern him. We’ll talk at home. Get dressed.” Suddenly I’m crying and I don’t know what for. The little boy who was my brother, Bram, my mother. This perfect, ruined night. I feel Bram’s hand on my shoulder. I want to turn and dissolve into his arms, but I can’t. “I have to go,” I say. “My mother needs me.” “Grace,” Bram says. “Get your hands off her,” my father says. “She’s coming home with me.” I look up at Bram. His face is like stone. “That’s her decision.” “And she’s made it.” Bram stares at me. “I can’t stay,” I say. “I told him about the video, and he said…” I’m babbling about perjury and kidnapping when Bram breaks in. “I don’t give a fuck. He can do what he likes.”

“I’m right here!” my father shouts. “Talk to me like a man!” People are starting to gather in the doorway and hall. I see Destiny among the gaping eyes. I’m mortified, so ashamed I want to die. Bram sticks his phone in my father’s face. “Call the police, ruin my name. Let’s do this right now.” I grab his sleeve. “No!” I cry. “You can’t! I won’t let you!” His voice is deep and soothing. “Go upstairs. Let me handle this.” “Get in the car, Grace,” my father says. “You’re coming home.” I feel ripped in half. A sob bursts from my mouth. Bram grabs my hand. “It’s okay,” he says. “He can’t hurt me.” I rip my hand from his. “Yes, he can! Let me go. It’s not worth it!” “It’s fucking worth everything,” he says. “You’re worth everything.” “Outside, Grace,” my father orders. “Now.” I turn away. I have a vision of my mother alone in our house. I think of her dead son, and her broken heart. I think of Bram’s years of hard work, and how much he tried to protect me. I think of both of them, and I know what I have to do. Suddenly Fritz is standing next to Bram, and shouts are ringing off the walls. I shrink away toward the stairs.

“Grace?” Coral calls after me. “It’s okay!” I say over my shoulder. “I just…I have to go home.” Fritz’s voice booms over all the others. He’s threatening my father with trespassing charges. Coral’s telling him to calm down. “Grace!” Bram yells. My heart and soul yearn for him. Turning on the stairs, I look back. Destiny and my father are right behind me. “I need to say goodbye,” I say. “Please…” “No, you don’t,” my father snarls, grabbing my arm. “Keep walking. You don’t live here anymore.” .

BRAM

She won’t change her mind. I beg and plead with her while she sits in the back seat of the car in her beautiful dress, but she won’t listen. She won’t let her father hurt me, even if she ruins us. Even if I’d rather be ruined than lose her. With Fritz as his escort, her father gets in the driver’s seat without a word. Fritz has already threatened him with arrest if he opens his mouth, and he goes quietly. Destiny gets in the passenger’s side. She’s a poor imitation of Grace, with none of the elegance or strength. Holding Destiny’s door so she can’t close it, I lean down. “Not your first time out this way, is it?” I say. “What?” She turns her icy blue eyes on me. At first she looks confused, then terrified. “That’s

right,” I say. “Grace and I know, Destiny. Safe trip.” I shut her door. The engine starts. Grace keeps her eyes in her lap, looking up at the last second to put her hand to her window. The car drives away, and my captive girl is gone. She decided to kill me, after all. I just didn’t think she’d do it like this. All I can see is her face. The pain and disbelief. The confusion. No one told her about Michael, not even me. The man she gave everything to. I demanded truth and gave her back lies of omission. I hate myself for it. The party breaks up not long after Grace leaves. After the last guest drives away, I go down to the ballroom. It’s a beautiful wreck of privilege and debauchery, Grace’s final gorgeous gift to me. The gold-painted servers are wearing uniforms now and breaking down the tables. Everywhere I look are vestiges of Grace’s incredible, sensual mind. Crumbs of blood-red cake. Droplets of candle wax. White velvet, white linen, gold. A forgotten swag bag on a chair. Grace’s napkin, still beside her half-empty plate. I touch the red lip-print and feel sick to my soul. I can’t bear to fucking look at it. It looks like perfect happiness, just after it’s been shattered by tragedy.

I had such hopes for us. For her. When I pushed her to be strong and independent, I didn’t think she’d use that strength to walk out the door. I didn’t expect her to be so determined. Not this soon. I walk up to the guys taking down the drapes and decorations. It’s all I can do to keep my voice steady. “Get it all out of here,” I say, bitterness burning through my limbs. “I want everything gone in two hours.” It’s almost sunrise when the last truck drives away. I can hear vacuums in the ballroom as the last sign of Grace is swept up and cleaned away. Not from my life. Never from my life. She’ll be back if I have to fucking drag her. I’ve done it before and I can do it again.

I SEND the money as soon as I’m alone. Electronic payments, one in Grace’s name, one in the Winthrops’. They’ll get text notifications. 6.5 million dollars waiting for each of them. Because Grace earned it. That, and so much more. If this payment is Grace’s revenge, it sure doesn’t feel like it. It feels like a slap in the face to her, and everything we had. Like the only thing left is money. It makes me feel fucking sick. I wanted her to be strong. Right now, I wish she

were weak. I wish she’d come running back to me, begging me to give up everything for her. I wish she didn’t care what her father did, or who he hurt. But she’s strong and principled, and goddamnit she loves me. She protected me tonight, like I’ve always tried to protect her. I hate her for it, and I couldn’t be more proud. She’s the strongest person I know. I’m forever in love with her. I should go to bed, but why bother? I’ll never sleep. All I’ll find upstairs are remnants of her. Her hair in the bathroom sink. Her new clothes in the closet. Her presence all over my life. I make coffee and stand at the front window, willing her to come back. I can picture a cab driving up with her and all of her things. Luggage and coats and stuffed animals falling out of the back as I go outside to help her. I can see her face, full of innocence and hope. I can see it all so clearly I can’t believe it’s not about to happen. It fucking has to. But it doesn’t. My phone doesn’t ring. The phone I bought her sits forgotten on the kitchen counter. I’m just turning away from the window when I see a gray sedan pulling off the main road. My heart jumps in my chest. She’s here. I knew she’d come back. She can’t live without me, any more than I can live without her.

The car comes down my driveway and stops. I’m already on the porch when the driver door opens. Everything inside me dies when I realize it’s not Grace. No sweet stacks of clothes still on hangers. No tears. No warm, tender body rushing into my arms. The person getting out of the car is a man. James’s father. Fuck me. I guess this is the kind of unexpected visit a few million dollars can buy. He clomps up my stairs. He looks sober, but his eyes are sleepless and bloodshot. He’s got at least five days growth of beard. I thought he looked like hell during the trial, when his marriage and business were still intact. He looks ten times worse. “Mr. Winthrop,” I say. “Good morning.” He stops about five feet away. He’s wearing work pants and boots, like he’s on his way to a blue-collar job. “Why’d you send me money?” He doesn’t sound friendly. I didn’t expect him to. “I promised Grace I would.” He sucks a front tooth. “Her parents have been calling me, worried about her. She’s been with you, hasn’t she?” I lean against the side of the house. “Yes, she has.” “I don’t want to know how that arrangement worked.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you.” Smirking, he zips his bomber jacket against the cold dawn air. “You pay her, too?” “Yes.” He squints at the sky and clears his throat. “Well, I don’t want your money. I won’t accept it.” On any other day, I might actually care. But this morning, after losing Grace, I don’t give a shit. I wouldn’t blink if he flushed every fucking dollar. “Look,” I say. “Your son’s passing was hard. You’ve gone through a lot with your marriage and your business. Money doesn’t solve that but it makes things a little easier.” He huffs. “I told you, I don’t want it.” “You can say whatever you want about me. I’m not trying to keep you quiet.” “I know,” he says. His hands shake as he pulls out a pack of cigarettes. “Do you?” He gives me a sharp look. “I just said I know, all right? I don’t want it because I don’t deserve it.” “Bullshit,” I say. “You’re not listening to me!” he says. Boots thudding, he starts pacing across the porch. I put my palms up. “I’m listening. Say what you’ve got to say.” He takes a long drag and holds it in. “One of James’s friends visited me last week. One of his coder friends.”

“Okay.” I’m not in the mood for a fucking story. I’m way too heartbroken to listen. “He had something to get off his chest. Something eating him up about my son.” My spine tingles. All of a sudden I’m interested. “What did he say?” “That James wanted a job with your company.” “Yes,” I say. “He did.” “And he was offered one, but he got pissed off. He thought he deserved a better position for more money. And when he didn’t get it, the pompous little shit hacked into your systems. He was going to make all your information public, put it out on the Internet. Is that true?” “It’s true,” I say. “That’s exactly how it happened.” His eyebrows go up. He seems surprised. “So you already know all this.” “I’ve known since your son called to negotiate, as he called it. Give him the job he wanted, or he’d prove how inferior Phantom was by publishing the names of my people overseas. People who could die if their identities got out.” His eyebrows twitch together. “He told you that? That was his plan?” “Let’s just say he got his point across. But I wasn’t in a negotiating mood.” Mr. Winthrop scrubs a hand over his face. “How’d he end up dead out here? Can you make

that make sense to me?” “No,” I say. “But I can tell you the truth.” His eyes are watery. It could be smoke or not enough sleep. I hope so. “James saw me pull out of the parking garage at my office. It was a couple days after we found out the system had been hacked. He was in his car, I was in mine. It was a really shitty coincidence.” “So this road rage thing…” “Didn’t happen. He followed me. I tried to lose him but I didn’t try very hard. He was already speeding. He had a girl in the car and I didn’t want him to kill her.” “What the hell did he want?” “What any kid wants, I guess. To be taken seriously.” Mr. Winthrop looks confused. He looks like he’s been confused the last two years. “What did he say to you? I mean, did he say anything?” “That I’d disrespected him. I didn’t know how powerful he was, but I was about to find out. He was going to release everything that night. He wanted more than a job. He wanted money. He wanted to talk about it in my fucking house.” “That doesn’t sound like my son.” “I’m sorry. It doesn’t sound like the kid who emailed me either. I liked him at first.” Mr. Winthrop sits and smokes. I can see him turning over questions in his mind, trying to

understand. “Why didn’t you go to the police? Report him when this all started?” “Because this stuff is hard to prove. I didn’t want it getting around. I didn’t want to ruin my company’s reputation, or his either. I thought he was a dumb kid and he’d forget about it.” “But you made him look…I don’t know. Innocent.” I look at James’s father, and the whole thing suddenly seems so pointless. “I guess I didn’t want to ruin his memory. He was gone. I wanted you and Grace to have something.” “But I don’t,” he says. “I don’t have anything.” “I’ve figured that out,” I say. “I’m just…I’m really sorry.” He lights another cigarette. He wants to hear what happened again, so I tell him. He asks questions I’ve already answered. And when he finally stands up to leave, I ask him to keep the money. He says he’ll think about it. It feels like charity, and he doesn’t like that. “One more thing,” he says on his way down the steps. “Before I came here, I texted Grace. I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore. It felt kind of cruel, though. She won’t see my son the same way anymore.” I turn to go back inside. “You asked why I didn’t tell you. Now you know.”

GRACE

My mother is up when I get home. She doesn’t look happy to see me. She’s wearing her old flowered robe, and she looks drawn and exhausted. My father and I walk inside. “Hi, Mom,” I say, and hug her. “What are you wearing?” she asks, frowning. “I was at a party.” “Your father was out looking for you.” “He found me,” I say. “Obviously.” A glance passes between my father and me. I feel like I’m protecting him, and it makes my stomach pitch. “You brought Isaac?” my mother asks him. “No,” he says. Nothing about Destiny. Nothing about the naked servers, or Michael, or the way I sobbed when I walked away from Bram.

There’s nothing between us but lies and silence. Just the way it’s always been. “I’m so sorry I worried you, Mom,” I say. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” she says. Then she turns and goes up the stairs.

IT’S LATE, but I can’t sleep. I never imagined that the night would end this way, with me in my old bed, a lifetime away from the beauty and pleasure of the ballroom at Bram’s. My life with him feels like a dream. A perfect, unrealistic, dangerous dream. We’ll never be together again. We can’t be. Not because he kept my mother’s secret. I know why he did it. I know he was protecting me. That’s all he ever wanted. I understand that now. It took tonight for me to see what love really looks like. As the Bible says, love isn’t selfish. It isn’t quick-tempered. Love is patient and kind. It’s all the things Bram is to me. I can never go back. I won’t see his life destroyed by my father. Everything he’s worked for and dreamed of. His place in the world. His legacy. I won’t let anyone take that from him. He’s given me too much. He’s given me myself. “I miss you,” I whisper. “I’ll spend my whole life missing you.”

I hurt too much to cry. Every second is miserable torment. A broken heart isn’t just words. It’s physical. It’s everything in the world, smashed and ruined. I’m lying in bed with my hands clenched to my chest when the door opens. I sit up. “Mom?” She shuts the door quietly. “Are you awake?” “Yes.” She crosses the room in her slippers. “Are you okay?” I ask. “I’m worried about you. The way Daddy made it sound…” She sits on the bed and looks at me in the dark. She’s silent for so long it scares me. “I didn’t want you to come home,” she says. My stomach sinks. Whatever was left of my heart burns to ashes. “I’m sorry. I know the way I left, running away like that –” “No. I mean, you shouldn’t be here.” “But why? Daddy said you need me.” I put my hand on her arm. “He told me about Michael, Mom.” Her body goes rigid. “When?” “Tonight at the party.” A muffled cry escapes her. “Oh, Grace. I never wanted you to know.” “I wish I had. I’d have understood so much more.” “What would you have understood?”

“Why you and Daddy couldn’t…I don’t know. Love me the same way.” I can barely mouth the words. They come out as a whisper. She takes my hand and squeezes it hard. “Listen to me. What did your father say?” All of the tears I couldn’t cry in front of my father spill over. “That Michael died of cancer when was three. He said Bram knew. You called him and asked him not to tell me.” “Yes, I did,” she says. “I wanted to protect you.” “Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry.” Her eyes are dry, her voice eerily quiet. “That’s all your father said?” “Yes. I think so.” “Of course,” she says, in a sharp whisper. “He wouldn’t tell you he fought with Michael’s doctors about his treatment.” I frown. “What do you mean?” “He resisted them from the day we got the diagnosis.” “He was probably upset. I bet a lot of parents don’t understand –” She shakes me silent. “Grace. Be quiet and listen. Your father understood perfectly. He thought he knew better than the oncologists. He thought prayer would save my little boy.” My little boy. I’m so confused, so whipped by emotions I can’t think. “Of course he prayed for

him. I’m sure you did, too.” Her eyes burn through the dark and into mine. “He took him out of the hospital and brought him home. To this room. For two weeks while I watched Michael suffer in that corner, I begged your father to bring him back to the hospital. He wouldn’t.” I’m stunned, desperate to understand. “But why would he do that, Mom?” “Because he had to be right. He had to be in control. Not because he was strong but because he’s weak. He was too afraid to feel anything.” Turning my head, I look into the corner. I can see a beautiful day in the distant past with the sun shining over my brother’s bed. The sweet little bed where he died. “Would he have lived?” “I don’t know,” she says. “I try not to think about it. I focus on being grateful for you.” “Me?” She pulls her hands away and balls them in her lap. “Oh, Grace. I’ve never been – free to love you the way I wanted to. I was afraid of upsetting your father. I was afraid of –” “What?” She sighs. “How can I say it? Being disloyal to Michael, I guess. Of not loving him the way I always promised I would. I was stupid and selfish.” I don’t know she’s crying until a tear splashes onto my hand. “It’s okay, Mom.”

“No,” she whispers. “It’s not. It will never be okay.” I sit up and hug her. She hugs me back, but there’s a stiffness in her body. A worry that I can feel. I pull back. “What’s wrong?” “It’s not safe for you here. First thing tomorrow, you’ll go. Promise me.” “But it’s all right. Daddy said he won’t make me live with Isaac.” She gasps in a quick breath. “They prepared a room for you. They’re bringing you there together.” My tears dry in an instant. “I won’t go, Mom.” “No, you won’t. I won’t let them take you.” Her thin lips turn up into a sad smile. “I was happy for you when you ran away.” “You were?” “I didn’t want to report you missing. I was proud of you for leaving. You have the strength I never had.” She suddenly looks old and tired. “I should have left twenty years ago. I should have left when I found out about Destiny.” I flinch against the sound of her name. I tell my mother everything I saw on the video, and at the party. I leave out nothing, even though I know it will hurt her. But it doesn’t hurt her. She doesn’t even seem surprised. “Destiny’s with him every day at the church,” she says. “She works there now. She

idolizes him, and that’s what he needs.” My stomach turns. “Are they…?” She shrugs. “If she isn’t sleeping with him yet, she will be.” “How do you know?” In the twenty-one years I’ve lived with her, I’ve never seen my mother look so strong. “Because I’m divorcing him. She’ll be the only person he has left.”

IT’S STILL DARK when I wake to voices. My parents, arguing. When my mother left my room two hours ago, I thought everything would be okay. She was determined. Nothing would change her mind. But I hear it in her voice through the floor. She’s bending. He’s making her weak again. I pull the pillow over my head and try not to listen as she crumbles. As he steals her away from me one more time. Go to sleep. When you wake up, you’ll escape. You’ll never come back again. I’m on the edge of dropping off, into a dream so terrible it feels like darkness swallowing me up. But I can still hear my parents’ voices. This isn’t a dream. I’m not asleep. My mind splits open and the memory is there. Isaac, pressing my face to the wall in the church

office. His hand gripping the back of my neck. His other hand clawing at my skirt and panties. “Not a fucking sound,” he warns. And there, in the distant shadows of the room, my father’s face. At first, I don’t believe it. I must be hallucinating him, calling him to protect me. I blink, but he’s still there. I hear ripping as Isaac tears my panties. My favorite panties, the ones with the polka dots. The fanciest ones I own. I feel them drop in a torn heap onto my shoe. My father is watching. Isaac unzips his pants. His thick lips are all over my neck. “Filthy fucking tease,” he mutters, saliva spraying against my ear. My father doesn’t blink. Does Isaac know he’s here? I try to scream for him but only a sob comes out. I’m helpless. I gasp for breath but my throat is frozen shut. This must be what drowning feels like. Am I going to die? I can’t. I’m only fourteen. Help, Daddy, I mouth. I try to reach out for him, but Isaac forces my arm behind my back. I’m choking on my own tears. Like the devil in a nightmare, my father slips around the corner and out the side door that leads to the vestry. A hard breath jolts into my lungs. Suddenly I have air to breathe and the power to scream. My voice pierces the walls. Isaac slams a clumsy hand over my mouth. I

bite his fingers, aiming for the bone. I taste blood and hear his guttural grunt of pain. I bite again. This time I get his pinky along with my own lip. I don’t feel the pain, but my blood is warm as it runs over my chin. I spin around, legs flailing, screaming, the demon child my father always feared I was. Reaching for anything, I grab a corkboard off the wall and it smashes to the floor. I hear women’s voices in the hall. So does Isaac. “One word and your family’s church is done,” he says. He zips his pants and vanishes through the same door after my father. I grab my panties off the floor and shove them in the pocket of my skirt. As the voices get closer, I tell myself a quick, terrible story. Something bad happened, but it wasn’t what you think. It was a mistake. A mistake can be forgiven. You can make it go away. I remember the women wiping the blood from my face and trying to calm me down. They thought I’d fallen and cut my lip on the broken corkboard. I couldn’t tell them what was wrong. I didn’t understand it myself. I only knew that Isaac would ruin us if I talked. I’d be sent away from the only family that wanted me. I forgot as much as I could. And I never saw my father’s face in the shadows again. But I see it now. My shattered strength is like a broken mirror

sliding back into place. I pull the pillow off my head and breathe. I’ve never felt so calm. I get out of bed. I find my flannel robe in the closet and slip it over my arms. Opening my door, I follow the sound of my parents’ voices to the kitchen. The fluorescent light is on. The both look up when they see me. Neither of them says a word. I look my father in the face. “Get out,” I say. He stares at me. I feel my mother’s eyes on me, but she says nothing. “Go back to bed,” he says, in the cold voice I’ve been hearing all my life. “No,” I say. “Get out or I’ll call the police.” He looks at me, and he knows. His features change. His eyes are different. He’s not my father anymore. He’s the man in the shadows, the man who let my brother die. He has no power over me or Bram. I’ll never be afraid of him again. He pushes his chair back and stands up. “Scott?” my mother says, with an edge of hysteria. As he walks by, I step in front of him. “Tell me why.” Just once I want to see real feeling in his face. Feeling for me. “You know why,” he says. “If that had gotten out, it would have been the end of the church. We made a sacrifice, you and I.” There’s the feeling, but it’s not the one I

wanted. “No, I made a sacrifice,” I say. “Now it’s your turn.” My mother stands up. “What are you talking about, Grace?” she says, wringing her hands. “What’s happening?” “It’s okay, Mom. Let him go.” My father walks upstairs. He packs while I stay with my mother, and a cab comes to get him. He doesn’t even say goodbye. He just walks out and closes the door. We watch him through the front window. He goes down the sidewalk with his suitcase while dawn breaks over the street. The cab pulls away. My mother slumps against me, but neither of us cries. I help her upstairs and into bed, then go back to my room. I sit and text Bram from my old phone. I love you. I’ll be home soon. I get under the covers. The birds are starting to sing as I lie down. I close my eyes and breathe. I thought vengeance would be different. I thought it would be louder, more violent, like the world splitting in two. It turns out it’s just a door shutting, and someone I once loved driving away.

EPILOGUE

Two months later…

IT’S SATURDAY AFTERNOON, and I’m supposed to be letting her work. I’m not supposed to be popping in here every ten minutes to say hello, or kiss her, or ask if she wants a snack. This may be her office now. It may be filled with upscale new furniture and a custom mahogany desk. I may have blown out a wall to make the room three times bigger, and give her a beautiful view over our acreage. I may have decorated with the prettiest weapons ever made, including an antique pistol with a jeweled handle. There may be a framed picture on the desk of her and Stephanie, and one of Michael’s grave after she spent the

afternoon tending it. But this is still Grace’s room to me. It’s still the place where I first spanked her and made her come. It’s where she hated me, loved me, and became mine. I stand behind her chair and slide my hand into the V of her shirt. “Bram!” she whines, and swats me away. “The party’s next week. If Miriam’s husband’s birthday is a fail, I know who to blame.” “Wouldn’t be the end of the world,” I joke. “I’m head of her company now.” “Except that she’s paying me,” Grace says, eyes wide. “A lot.” I kiss down the side of her neck. “It’s almost Christmas. Fiancés need attention at the holidays.” “As I remember I gave you a lot this morning,” she says, a sexy throatiness in her voice. “On my knees.” “I’m talking about attention for you.” I pluck her left hand off her keyboard and kiss it. I love seeing my mark of possession sparkling on her finger. It looks so big on her small, slender hand. I could give her three rings just like it and it wouldn’t be enough to show her how I feel. She pushes back her chair. “I guess I can spare five minutes,” she says, biting her pretty little scar. “Or an hour.” She stands up and follows me. I love listening to her high giggle as we run down the hall to the

master bedroom. Every time I see her like this, happy and free, I’m grateful that her father can’t hurt her anymore. I’m glad he sold his church and moved four states away to live near his brother. I’m glad Destiny refused to go, and they’re both alone now. I’m glad Isaac’s wife Kathy got a letter from Grace describing what happened to her, and I’m glad she protected her children and left him. I’m glad that Grace knows all my secrets, and that I finally know how she got her pretty scar. I love her even more for it. “Don’t forget we have dinner at your mother’s tonight,” I say, whipping off my jeans. She peels off her shirt and sweatpants. “You’re making the salad, right?” “Already washed. I just have to throw it together.” She bounds into bed and I yank her naked body against mine. My cock is already rock hard, the tip slick and ready. I suck her lower lip into my mouth and slowly let it go. “You know,” I say. “You’ve been keeping me in suspense these last few months.” She smiles. “I already told you I’d marry you. I only made you wait, like, two seconds for my answer.” “This is something else. A story you were supposed to finish, remember? About a man and a

woman, and how they met.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Oh, that’s right. I thought you’d never ask.” “Well, I’m asking.” I roll on top of her. As soon as she spreads her legs, I see how wet and needy she is. Even after months of fucking, the novelty hasn’t worn off. She’s still as excited by my cock in her pussy as she was the first night. “So this man and this woman,” she says, wriggling her hips under me. “Everything was against them. They were never supposed to be together.” “Never?” “No,” she says. “They were star-crossed. Like Romeo and Juliet, only worse.” Pinning her arms above her head, I smile. “Worse than Romeo and Juliet?” “Yes. Much.” She sucks in a breath as I thrust all the way inside her. It feels so good I forget to breathe. I hold my cock inside her and pulse lightly, letting her feel my thick length. “So how did these star-crossed people get together?” “Well, he was afraid of her. Or so he said.” “Yeah?” She wraps her legs around my back and squeezes. I’m so far inside of her I can feel her heart beating. “And she was afraid of him, too.”

“Mmm. Sounds like trouble.” “It was. But sometimes fear just means that…” Her pretty eyes angle toward the ceiling. “… something really matters.” “I see.” “And we don’t want to lose it.” Never, ever. I take her wrists and loop them around my neck. “Right. So what happened?” “He put his life in her hands.” “Really?” “Even though he didn’t know her, and she seemed a little crazy. Because he knew she needed that to feel safe.” “And then what?” I pump her hard, and though I make her moan, I can’t throw her off her story. “She put her life in his hands, too. She was afraid he’d break her, and he did.” “He did?” “Yes,” she gasps, her nipples like tiny pebbles against my chest. “But when he broke her, the person she really was came out.” “And then he asked her to marry him.” She frowns and smiles at the same time. “Hey, this is my story.” “I thought it was ours.” “Oh, yeah,” she says, losing her breath as I thrust harder. “Since it’s our story, you can have the last word.”

“Just one?” “Okay, two.” I cradle my hand around her head. I love you has too many words, and forever has too few, and besides, I know something she likes better than both of those. Eyes on hers, I lean close and whisper to my sweet Grace. “Good girl.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rose Devereux writes shamelessly dark romance. In her other life, she is a traditionally published author whose books have been translated into five languages. Reviews of her novels have appeared in Cosmopolitan, The Boston Globe, New York Magazine, and the Associated Press. She loves animals, sleeping late, and alpha males, and would drink Prosecco every day at lunch if she could. She lives in Boston and New Hampshire. Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2x9d12P Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rosedevereuxbooks/ Website: http://www.rosedevereux.com/ Amazon: http://amzn.to/2wU7b56 Reader’s group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/290938648053649/

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