Midnight Rain (Amour Toxique #3) - Dori Lavelle

Table of Contents Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Epilogue

MIDNIGHT RAIN (AMOUR TOXIQUE BOOK 3)

DORI LAVELLE

CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Epilogue Also by Dori Lavelle Connect with Dori Lavelle

Copyright © 2017 by Dori Lavelle All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CHAPTER ONE

M

y arms stretch out on both sides of my body. A dull ache throbs in both my wrists. The pain is close, yet I can’t grasp it. I want to lift my wrists to see what’s wrapped around them but I’m too weak. I breathe slowly, quietly, until I can muster up enough energy to lift my head from the pillow. Damien is sitting in a leather armchair by the window, scribbling in a notebook. Watching him, an intense sense of déjà vu washes over me. My mind returns to the time I woke up inside his cabin in Alaska, after he’d kidnapped me, to find him sitting by the fireplace, gazing into the flames. His chiseled jaw is tight, but he’s still as handsome as he’d been that morning, the highlights in his dark hair brought out by the light flooding the room from the window, the sprinkling of gray at his temples glinting. My heart sinks as my head falls back to the pillow. I’m alive. Instead of succumbing to my self-inflicted wounds inside the coffin he had buried me in, I’m right where I started—stuck inside my worst nightmare. I lift my head again but it hurts to hold it up. I groan and sink back into the pillows. He hears me and rushes to my side, lowers himself on the bed next to me and places a hand on my forehead. I’m too tired, defeated, and in pain to move away. “Thank God you’re okay.” There’s a gentle softness in Damien’s tone. “You scared the shit out of me.” He plants a tender kiss on my forehead, his warm lips linger for a moment on my skin. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he actually cared about my wellbeing. I blink in slow motion as anger boils in the pit of my belly. What the hell? He must be out of his rotten mind. Why would he be worried if he was the one who buried me alive? Why did he even rescue me? Why hadn’t he let me die as he had planned? I want to hurl all those questions at him and more. What would satisfy me most is to strike him with an object. To hit him hard over and over again on the head until he bleeds to death. I want him to feel the pain he has caused me. The thought of being pushed into another round of captivity—into my dark dungeon—brings

the adrenaline inside my veins to boiling. If only my body would catch up. Every piece of me is sore—my head, my brain and other parts I can’t see or touch. My body still hasn’t recovered from the shock of being buried alive and coming so close to death’s door. I don’t fight him as he lifts my upper body and puts more pillows behind my back. I don’t object when he lifts a cup of water to my lips. I don’t fight him because I can’t. I lick the cool liquid off my lips and turn my face away from him. The glass makes a tap as he lowers it to the bedside table. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” Damien’s brows draw together. “I didn’t . . . I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.” If he’s waiting for a reaction, he doesn’t get it. My head remains turned away from him. He lays a hand on mine but I withdraw from his touch. “You have every right to be angry. Asking for your forgiveness will be too much. But after you recover, let’s talk, okay?” A long pause settles between us then he clears his throat and speaks again. “You were unconscious for a couple of hours due to blood loss. But you received a blood transfusion. The doctor said you’ll be okay.” He eyes the IV bag suspended on an elevated stand next to the bed. “I’ll make damn sure you’re well taken care of.” Damien gets to his feet and disappears from the room. I’m surprised that he leaves the door unlocked. Maybe it’s because he knows that in my weakened state, escaping would be the last thing on my mind. Or it could be that he’s confident there’s nowhere I can run where he won’t find me. What baffles and creeps me out was the gentleness in his voice. What happened to the devil I saw on the train to Guadalajara? He returns with his cell phone pressed to his ear, fingertips massaging his forehead, conversing with someone in Spanish. He glances at me and moves to the window, looking out. For the first time, I notice that he looks less groomed than the last time I saw him, his blue shirt as rumpled as his hair which sticks out in all directions. He hangs up and comes to the bed, brushes flyaway hairs from my forehead and kisses my forehead again. His lips are hot against my skin. “The doctor is on his way. I thought it was best for you to recover at home, where I can care for you, not in some sterile hospital. I’m sure you agree.” Laughter swirls inside my chest but I keep it contained. Does he think I’m stupid enough to believe he’s keeping me here out of concern for my wellbeing? I know the only reason I’m not in a hospital is so he can keep me from anyone I can confide in. The truth is, he wants to keep his dirty little secret hidden. I wonder how much he paid the doctor to keep his or her mouth shut. The sight of him angers and disgusts me so I close my eyes to shut him out. I hear static as he pushes a hand through his hair. “Ivy, I know you’re hurt. But I promise you that the man who did all those horrible things to you is not who I am.

I’ll explain everything to you later.” The doctor arrives half an hour after Damien called him. He finds Damien failing at getting me to drink a glass of apple juice, wiping away drops of it that spill down my chin. A few minutes ago I tried telling him to fuck off but only croaks left my mouth. I finally quit trying to talk. The doctor is a forty-something, petite woman with raven hair pulled back so tight her long forehead looks as though it went through many rounds of Botox shots. “Hello, Ivy. Good to see you’re awake.” Her English has no accent whatsoever. “Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” As she places her bag on the floor and bends over me, I catch a whiff of Chanel No 5. I blink in response because there’s no strength in me for anything else. Her voice is soft and gentle as she checks my heart rate, my blood pressure and everything else she deems important to determine my health. She gives me a bright smile and tells Damien something in Spanish. His shoulders sink as he sighs with what looks to be relief. After the doctor leaves, he kneels on the floor beside the bed and takes my hand in his. “The doctor said you need a lot of rest but you should feel like your old self again in no time. Then we’ll celebrate with a little surprise.” He gets to his feet. The last thing I want are his damn surprises. I’ve had enough of those in the last couple of weeks to last me a lifetime and beyond. Before he leaves the room, I part my lips and try to speak again. This time I can get a single word out. “Why?” It’s a whisper but he must have heard it as he returns to the bed and gazes down at me. “I thought killing you would be easy. I couldn’t imagine you out there, living a life without me. I couldn’t handle your rejection.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Then I realized, almost too late, that the thought of you not being in this world at all is murder to my heart.” His emerald eyes cling to mine, pleading for forgiveness. “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. I know I broke you. Now I want to put you back together.”

CHAPTER TWO

A

knock on the door disturbs my thoughts of fury and pain. I know it’s him but, as usual, I don’t call for him to enter. He walks in anyway, a wide grin on his face. He’s wearing navy shorts and a polo shirt that strains against his hard chest. “Morning, Rosebud.” He gets no response from me. I’ve spent two weeks after he rescued me from death’s grip drifting in and out of sleep. Although my wrists itch, a good sign the wounds are healing, I can’t seem to find the energy or will to live. I’m finding it hard to climb out of the deep, dark abyss of depression. I’m not even sure I want to find a way out. My body has escaped the coffin but my mind is still there, trapped six feet under, clothed in darkness. Damien promises that once I get back on my feet everything will be great again, that we’ll have a fresh start. He swears he’ll never hurt me again, whispers those words to me at night when he holds me till I fall asleep, and repeats them first thing in the morning when I awaken. I recoil at every promise which lands on my ears. I want to believe him, but it all seems too good to be true. How can he change so drastically from monster to saint? “Time for your bath.” He comes to stand at the side of the bed. Despite his smile, the light in his eyes is dim, and the shadows under his eyes are darker than they were yesterday. Can it be he really does regret his actions and wants to make things right? After all, he rarely leaves my side—spending most hours of the day feeding me, reading to me, combing my hair, and even bathing me. Four days ago, the first time he attempted to undress me in preparation for my bath, my old fighting spirit briefly flared. I put up such a fight that he quit. No anger or frustration flickered in his eyes, only sadness. He left me alone for two days before trying again. He kept trying patiently until I gave up the fight and he undressed me and gently washed my body. He never tried to have sex with me, which I had feared. Today, like every other day I allow him to remove my clothes—a simple cream night gown and black cotton panties. But when he moves to lift me off the bed, I hold out my hands to stop him.

“I’ll do it myself.” Despite my conscious effort to harden my voice, it comes across as shaky. I find enough strength to cover myself with a bed sheet and walk unsteadily to the bathroom. I close the glass bathroom door behind me and lean my back against it, heart thudding. After catching my breath, I run the bath and carefully lower myself into the warm water. It’s hard to wash myself without getting the bandages on my wrists wet, but I refuse to ask for his help. He’s watching me through the misty glass while ordering lunch from a restaurant. My stomach groans with hunger. For the first time in days I look forward to a meal. After only fifteen minutes in the tub, I pull my dripping body out and pat myself dry. I throw on a bathrobe and exit the bathroom. Damien perches on the edge of the bed, his cell phone in his hand. “You can’t imagine how happy I am to see you on your feet again. You look so much better.” I don’t know how to answer him. I can never find the right words. I head over to the dressing table and open the first aid kit, ready to attempt changing my own bandages. “I wish you would talk to me.” I find my voice then and shoot him a blazing glare. “What exactly do you want me to say? You wanted me to be your slave. I’m here. What more do you want?” He drops his head before he looks back up. “I never wanted that . . . I wanted you to be my wife.” He stands and comes to kiss the top of my head and proceeds silently with helping me change my bandages. When he’s done, I return to the bed to lie down. He joins me, spooning me with his body, weaving his hands through mine, his heart slamming against my back. “I’m not a monster. You don’t have to be afraid of me ever again.” His warm breath hits the back of my neck. His touch is both comforting and revolting. “I didn’t have an easy childhood,” he continues. “I was pushed into doing things I’m not proud of.” I’m aching to ask what sort of things but I don’t want to disturb him. He’s letting me into his complicated mind, unravelling it for me to take a peek inside, to see the damaged parts of him. “My father—stepfather—owned chains of brothels across the globe. He introduced me to my first sexual encounter at fifteen, said it was time to turn me into a real man. Since his plans for me were to eventually join the family business, he wanted to ensure I understood every aspect of it.” I take a quick breath, astonished by what he could be implying. “He forced you to sleep with prostitutes?” “He made me do all kinds of things with them . . . to them. As the years passed, the sick son of a bitch forced me to see women through his eyes. As nothing more than objects. Once I slept with them, they became mine to do with as I wished. Nothing was off limits”

I don’t know what causes me to face him, but I do. Shadows from the past darken his features. “Who would do something like that to a child?” I blink away warm tears. “I should have fought harder against him.” He looks away in shame. “But he was a man who always got what he wanted.” “You speak of him in past tense.” “That’s because he’s dead.” “What happened to his broth . . . businesses?” The word brothel feels slimy and rotten on my tongue. He took a deep, unsteady breath. “My brother and I . . . we inherited them.” I narrow my eyes. “You never mentioned having a brother.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t. Not anymore.” “Sorry,” I murmur as his earlier words sink in. “So, that’s how you make your money? Prostitution?” “Not for a long while. A year after my stepfather died, I walked out and went to college. I changed my surname from Damien Devereux to Damien Steel and kept my reputation clean.” “What happened? Where did you find the courage to pull away?” “A woman happened. Kristi.” He touches a lock of my hair, wrapping it around a forefinger. “Her hair was the same shade of red as yours.” The name Kristi brings back memories of the wedding dress I found in the closet days ago. “You married her?” “I fooled myself into thinking I could have a normal life, a healthy marriage.” “What happened?” The words have a hard time moving through my throat. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. He removes his hand from my hair. “We were happy for a year. Then she became pregnant. She lost the baby. The pain of loss changed her. I did everything to hold the pieces of our marriage together.” He gives a sad chuckle. “I was foolish. Even when she told me she no longer loved me, I refused to let her go. She stayed but had an affair, which I forgave her for. I tried to make it work. But . . .” He gives a low laugh. “In the end, she left me anyway. She died.” I wait for a few heartbeats before asking the next hard question. “You killed her?” The words are thick on my tongue. He jerks at my question but recovers in a heartbeat. “No. She took her own life.” “Oh, Damien, I’m so sorry.” Why the hell is my heart breaking for the man who had stolen me and kept me captive? He places a hand on my cheek. “No, I’m sorry. For everything.” He pauses. “When Kristi died, I refused to accept it. I was in therapy for a long time. I never thought I’d fall in love again. Until you. You made me feel again. You gave me my life back, Ivy. I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you die.” Silence falls between us but it’s disturbed by the doorbell ringing to signal our lunch has arrived. During our meal of green salad, fried chicken, and vegetables, I bring up more

questions about Damien’s life, his wife, even Jennifer, but I find the door closed. He no longer wants to talk about the past, insisting we should focus on the future. “I love you, Ivy. My heart aches knowing you don’t feel the same for me. I want you to be here with me, to be my future. But I finally get that keeping you here will not make you mine.” He takes a swig of wine. “Loving you drove me to insanity. It took me back to the man my stepfather wanted me to be, the man I fought so hard to leave behind. I admit I went too far.” “What are you saying?” I stop chewing and push away my plate. “I’m setting you free, Rosebud.” “And you expect me to believe that?” A sarcastic smile curls the corners of my lips. “If I leave right this minute, you won’t stop me?” “I will stop you.” His gaze holds mine as he dabs his lips with a napkin. “But only because I want you to recover completely first. Once you’re strong enough, I’ll give you back your freedom.” I cross my arms and lean forward. “What if I walk out of here and call the cops on you?” “After what I put you through, it would surprise me if you don’t. Whatever you decide, I’m prepared to face the consequences of my actions.” “You’re willing to go to prison?” “If that’s what you want.” His tone is strong and determined. “How do I know you’re not playing a game with me? Maybe you want me to walk into some kind of trap.” He pushes his chair back a few inches and pulls his cell phone from his pocket. He hands it to me. My hands are shaking so much I almost drop it. “Call your mother or your friends to let them know you’ll be home in five days.” Expecting him to snatch the phone away, I dial. I can barely make out the numbers through my teary eyes. With every heartbeat I cannot believe he’s letting me go just like that. There has to be a catch, a price to pay for my freedom. But if there is, why would he allow me to reach out to the outside world? Damien rises and goes to stand at the window. I dial with the corner of my eye fixed on him, a solid knot of anxiety heavy in the pit of my stomach. My mother’s number is still disconnected and Chelsea won’t answer her phone. When prompted to leave a message, I hang up instead. How can I explain in a few words that the friend she thought to be dead is alive? I wrestle with whether to call the police but when I look at a Damien, I can no longer see the threat that had loomed over me during my time in captivity. “Couldn’t reach anyone?” he asks, walking back to the table. I nod and hand him back the phone. “Feel free to try again any time.” “Why are you really doing this?” I ask softly. “Because I love you, and I’m disgusted by the man I was close to becoming.”

WHEN NIGHT FALLS, Damien climbs into bed with me and draws me close to his body, holding me so tight I almost can’t breathe. I lie in his arms, my face tucked into the crook of his shoulder, shocked that the man who had once terrified me now makes me feel safe. Before I fall asleep I ask him a question that has been troubling me since my attempted escape. “Did you know that the wedding band you gave me is fake?” He’s silent for a long time and I almost fear he won’t answer, or worse he will return to his evil self. But when he speaks, his voice is gentle in the night. “It belonged to Kristi. We bought it from a beach vendor during a holiday in Hawaii. It was a souvenir at first but when we got married, she said I didn’t need to buy her an expensive ring to prove my love.” He exhales. “I’m sorry, it was cruel of me to give you the ring that belonged to my first wife.” I don’t say anything more. Instead, I shut my eyes and force myself to sleep. Behind my eyelids, I see the shadowed face of the woman who came before me.

CHAPTER THREE

T

he shower of hot water hits my head and shoulders and sluices along the curves of my naked body. I slather more shampoo into my hair and glide my fingers through. A movement at the door halts me. I turn my back to the shower and blink away remnant water from my eyes. The shower behind me continues to rinse the shampoo from my red locks. The bathroom door opens and Damien appears in the doorway. I swallow hard and switch off the water. “What . . . how did you? I locked the door.” Even though he has already seen me naked many times I debate whether I should cover myself. Being vulnerable around him sucks. “I know,” He doesn’t break eye contact as he strides to the shower, his eyes a stormy sea. “There’s a way to open it from outside—in case of an emergency.” His gaze travels the length of my naked body from my breasts downward. On instinct, I cover my breasts. My brain tells me to walk past him, to grab a towel or a robe, to cover myself up but my body refuses to move as I search his broken eyes. “What are you doing here?” Conflicting emotions tighten my throat. I haven’t seen Damien since early this morning, when he announced that he’ll be setting me free tomorrow. I still find it hard to believe he’s willing to let me go after everything he did to keep me in his life. Since he no longer locks the doors and gate, leaving me to roam around his mansion freely, I could have walked out and left him during the last few days. But I wanted to be strong enough to fight, in case he decides to change his mind at the last second. To safeguard my escape, however, I have managed to get in touch with Chelsea, who was understandably stunned to hear from me from beyond the grave. Damien didn’t stop me when I proceeded to tell her where I was and that I will be back in the US in a few days. I didn’t tell her the whole story of what had happened to me, but instructed her to call the cops and tell them where I am should I not arrive back in the US within a week. “You’re leaving tomorrow. I needed to see you again.” His gaze touches every inch of my skin.

“Damien . . .” I slide my bottom lip between my teeth. “I wanted to see you naked for the last time.” He reaches out and wipes a small mountain of soap from my shoulder. “This is hard for me, you know. The idea of never seeing you again drives me mad.” I shake my head as tears prickle my eyes. “You promised to let me go. You can’t keep me here.” “No, I can’t and I’ll keep my promise.” He guides me back into the shower and turns the water back on. He’s still fully clothed, getting soaked. “But I can touch you one last time . . . if you’ll let me.” He turns me around and proceeds to wash my hair, the tips of his fingers sending tingles across my scalp. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” He presses his body against me, eliciting a gasp from me as his erection presses against my butt. “If you don’t want to feel me inside you for the last time, walk out now before I lose my control and take you anyway.” I look up at him and water enters my eyes, mixing with my tears. “I—I shouldn’t . . .” The words get stuck in my throat. My mind is racing. He hasn’t touched me sexually since before I escaped. What message will I give him if I let him make love to me now that the chains are broken? What message will I give myself? Damien turns me around again, smooths a hand down the side of my body, and slips it to the front, where he slides it between my legs. My knees buckle. His hands hold me tight against him to keep me from falling. “I may have been a monster a few weeks ago, Rosebud.” His stubble pricks my earlobe as he whispers into my ear. ”But when we made love, everything you felt—I felt. My body was as much a prisoner to yours as yours was to mine.” “I was thinking.” The fabric of his drenched clothes rustles as he shifts behind me and pushes a finger into me. “Let’s erase the unpleasant memories by creating good ones.” His finger dips in and out of me with each word. My temperature rises and my body involuntarily presses harder against him, making the decisions my mind is incapable of making in the heat of the moment. My breath catches in my throat as my hands encircle his wrist, but don’t push him away. “I . . . oh . . .” “I know I was an asshole. I hurt you in many different ways. Please allow me to heal the wounds I inflicted. Give me permission to fuck you again, one last time.” He pinches my clit. I turn to face him. My erect nipples rub against his shirt, now see-through, putting his chiseled chest on display. He has taken a lot from me. I need what he owes me. My mind thinks I’m a fool for letting him drug me with his sexual charm, but my body disagrees. My lips meet his in a hungry kiss. As much as our heated kisses feel wrong, they’re also exhilarating. As I bury my hands into his hair, I do my best not to think. We’re like sexually frustrated people, our arms flailing around, grabbing skin and muscle, and hair—tearing at clothes. The sound of rushing water merges with our sighs and groans.

Without either of us saying anymore, he turns off the water and takes me by the hand. Together we step out of the shower but don’t leave the bathroom. He pulls out the drawer beneath the bathroom basin and removes a condom. He doesn’t break eye contact with me the whole time he unzips his jeans and allows them to crumple at his feet, like clothes left out in the rain. A shiver ripples down my spine when he slides on the condom then pulls me to him. He pushes me against the steamy bathroom wall, lifts my leg as far as it will go and, while my senses still cloud my better judgment, he fucks me. Filled with him and no boundaries of fear between us, I remember. Every nerve inside my body remembers the first time we made love, the electricity, the desire. But in this moment I also forget. I forget the pain that followed. DAMIEN SITS UP IN BED, rousing me awake. As I open my eyes I feel drunk or drugged or both. The memory of our epic goodbye sex still flickers in my veins. “What is it? You okay?” I sit up as well and lean against the headboard, the sheets sliding past my naked breasts to rest on my lap. “I thought I heard something, but I’m mistaken.” He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my palm “I’ll get myself a drink. You go back to sleep.” “Okay.” I slide back under the covers. With the help of the moonlight, I watch him slide into a pair of pajama bottoms and disappear through the door. As I listen to his footsteps padding down the stairs and think of how he had taken me, my core unfurls with desire all over again. Tears prick the back of my eyes. I want to leave him and this place but it’s going to be harder than I thought. As much pain as Damien has caused me, he has also made my body vibrate with life. He has completely turned me inside out. He’s letting me go tomorrow but how will I ever be able to move from this? How will I ever forget? A distant shuffle comes from downstairs as Damien prepares himself a drink. I close my eyes and wait for him to bring it up with him but it takes a while. He must have decided to finish it downstairs. But I’m wide awake, my mind overwhelmed by thoughts of him. I hear his footsteps on the stairs fifteen minutes later. Through the veil of semidarkness I watch his silhouette fill the doorway. A few heartbeats pass with him just standing there, watching me lying on the bed. A shiver of panic rushes through me. Now that we’ve slept together again, is he having doubts about letting me go? “Are you coming back to bed?” I ask, biting my bottom lip to harness my desires and fears. He doesn’t speak as he moves forward and slides back into the warm space beside me. Instead of the pajama bottoms, he’s now wearing boxer shorts. He must have made a stop in the laundry room downstairs. “Let me fuck you again.” His whiskey-laced whisper is deep in my ears.

I smile, the embers of desire flaring to full-blown flames inside my body. “You’re just insatiable, aren’t you?” The same can be said about me. Instead of answering, he turns me to face the other way. I oblige. He kisses the back of my neck and with his fingers traces a path from my chin to my breasts. I gasp as he pinches one of my nipples. His palm glides past my belly and rests at my vagina. He gives my clit the same pinching treatment he had given my nipples. “Ouch,” I say even though my pain is laced with pleasure. He chuckles into my ear and cups my vagina, shifting me toward him, ready to penetrate. “Come here.” His whisper is hot on my ear. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Instead of pushing my butt out so he can ease himself into me, I move away a fraction and slide open the bedside drawer on my side. I pick up the last condom and turn to him. His breath is now hot on my face. Neither of us speaks as I reach into his boxer shorts—since he won’t let me remove them—and find a way to slide the condom onto his shaft with the help of the moonlight. As soon as he’s fully covered, Damien doesn’t waste time turning me to face the other way again and slamming into me before I take my next breath. He digs deep this time, his movements rough and hurried. I grip the edge of the bed and close my eyes, enjoying every second but also hating myself for not being able to resist him. His hand grips the back of my neck and squeezes. He moves faster. “You like that, don’t you, bitch?” I flinch at the bite in his voice. “What are you doing? You’re hurting me.” I attempt to pull away, surprised by his sudden roughness and harsh words. Panic rises in my chest. He lied. He has no intention of letting me go anywhere. Tears drop from my eyes as he moves his hand from my neck and clamps my mouth shut while still mercilessly plowing into me. “Just giving you what you want, dirty slut.” “Get off her, you son of a bitch.” A voice cuts through my gut-wrenching sobs. And in a matter of seconds there’s a pop as Damien’s dick exits my vagina and his sweaty body unpeels from mine. By the time I turn to see what’s happening, he is no longer on the bed but on the floor. The sounds of pounding fists and groans of pain fill the room. What’s going on? Has Adrian returned to rescue me? Damien had mentioned that Adrian hasn’t been around since he’s no longer needed to watch over me. He’s instead stationed at the Steel Enterprises office building here in San Maureo, working as a night security guard. When a gunshot rings out, I flick on the night light and jump out of bed, grabbing my black negligée and matching panties from the floor. While struggling to get dressed, I whip around to see the scene unfolding like an action movie scene on the other side of the bed. One of the men, wearing pajama bottoms, is flat on his back, defeated and in pain from the gunshot wound in his upper arm. The other, wearing the boxer shorts, is facing me with a twisted grin and a handgun aimed at me. Ice spreads through my stomach as my gaze moves between the faces of the two

men before returning to that of the naked man about to shoot me. “Hello, ma chérie. I’ve waited so long to see you again. Such a shame that our fuck session was cut short. We’ll have to finish up later.” He dips his head to the side. “I have to say you have disappointed me, Ivy. I went through shit to escape from prison. To get to you.” He sucks in air through his teeth. “But you ran off with my twin brother. I had such good plans for us.” Twin brother? The two words knock the wind from my lungs. I look at each of them in turn. Even though Damien’s face is white as a sheet, compared to the man with the gun, they are completely identical, carbon copies. The same eyes, same facial structure, same lips, same everything. Saliva floods my mouth, bitter bile hitting the back of my throat. “Judson?” “That’s right, ma chérie. This is the real me. We look so much alike that it’s hard to tell we’re fraternal not identical twins. So, did you miss me?” He doesn’t wait for my response but gazes at Damien, who has managed to get to his feet, a hand holding his bleeding arm, blood slipping through his fingers. “How about you, brother? Did you miss me?” Judson asks oblivious to Damien’s pain. “No, you were too busy fucking my girl, weren’t you?” A sick grin forms on his face. He turns the gun on Damien. “I have to admit I underestimated you. I fucked your wife so you fuck my girl. A pussy for a pussy. Was that your plan? Well, guess what? I didn’t go after Kristi, she came to me. You didn’t give her what she needed and I could. She opened up her pussy and I did the right thing. I filled it. She was unhappy with you. That’s why she snuffed out her own life. Guess what, none of that was my fault.” “You bastard.” Damien lunges for Judson, who slams him over the head with the handgun. Damien falls back to the floor. “You don’t have it in you to fight me. You know I won’t think twice about shooting you if I have to. I’ve killed before. I can do it again. And you know what, I’ll get away with it.” Judson pins me with his gaze, gun still aimed at Damien, who’s writhing on the floor. “Now that everyone is calm, let me tell you what I have in mind. First, we’re going to have some fun. You two will show me what I’ve been missing. Then I plan on killing you both for betraying me. Who knows, maybe I’ll even be kind in the end. I might let you share the same grave so you can rot together forever.”

CHAPTER FOUR

I

f someone had told me I’m dead, I’d believe them. My head is blank, my senses frozen, my body numb. The argument between Judson and Damien slips through the roar in my ears, but I’m unable to catch every word. Twins. The word sinks into my brain, sending a shiver down my spine. How is it possible? How could I not have known? A cold hard object revives my sense of feeling. Judson, who has now put on a pair of jeans, is holding the gun to my head. “Don’t you fucking hurt her.” Damien reacts by ignoring his own pain and launching himself yet again at his brother. He connects with Judson’s elbow instead and goes right back down with a loud grunt. I have a go at saving myself by dashing for the door. I don’t get far. Judson pulls me by the hair and drops me to the floor. As the air shoots out of my lungs, I know one thing. We’re going to die. I know that there’s no way out, that I have come face-to-face with the real devil— one hell-bent on revenge. “It’s time for us to have a little fun.” Judson nudges Damien in the ribs and waves the gun from him to me. “Basement. Now,” he barks. Damien grunts as he gathers himself up and gets to his feet. For a moment his eyes meet mine but he looks away. Judson yanks me to my feet by the hair, which he twists around his hand. I bite on my lip trying hard to contain the pain but I only bring on more as I taste blood. Hot tears of fear scorch my cheeks as he drags me through the corridors, Damien walking ahead of us. By the time we reach the door to the basement, my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts, emotions, and images, all jumbled in no particular order. I want to scream and fight for my life, but if Judson can overpower even his brother, what chance do I have against him? The only thing I can do is do my best not to piss Judson off even more. “Open the door.” The words are for Damien but since Judson’s lips are so close to my ears, his voice assaults my eardrums. Damien places a hand on the door handle but glances behind him first before

pushing the door open. Is he checking to see if I’m all right? I avert my watery gaze and swallow hard. In spite of the fragile connection we made earlier, I can’t trust him. I’d come close to believing he regrets what he did to me, and yet he didn’t tell me about Judson. He may be the lesser of two evils, but ultimately he still has an evil core as he’s connected by blood to the devil himself. As Damien pulls the door wide, Judson plants the flat of his hand between Damien’s shoulder blades and shoves him into the darkness. My heart jolts at the sound of Damien’s groans as he goes tumbling down the stairs. “Your turn, darling.” Before I can prepare myself, I find myself flying and landing with a thud on the wooden steps, unable to catch my fall or breath. My screams catch inside my throat as I roll down the steps. I’m surprised when I don’t hit the solid floor at the bottom of the stairs. Damien, who still hasn’t moved, has cushioned my fall. Pain pulses inside my body as I groan and roll off him. My hands cover my head as though I can contain the pain better that way. In truth, my head feels on the verge of splitting down the middle. The light goes on but the dust particles floating around us make it less blinding. “Let me help.” Damien pulls himself to a sitting position and tries to help me. I yank my arm away. Before we can pull ourselves together, Judson is standing over us, a grin on his face and a bag hanging from his shoulder. I hadn’t noticed him carrying anything earlier. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on her.” Damien says the words between coughs. “No one tells me what the fuck to do,” Judson shoots back. He drops the bag at his feet and surveys the basement, nodding as though satisfied to have found the perfect prison for us. Damien shifts next to me but I don’t turn to look at him. Rubbing my sore elbow, I can’t take my eyes off Judson, who’s rooting inside his bag with one hand while the other is pointing the gun at Damien’s head. He pulls out a roll of thick rope. I begin to shake, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do whatever the fuck you came here to do to me. Just don’t harm her.” “Harm her?” Judson pulls a bottle of gin from his bag and unscrews the cap. “I won’t—at least not yet. I’m bored. I want to have a little fun first.” He takes a long swig then smashes the bottle against a nearby wall. Shards of glass and drops of gin collide in the air before dropping to the floor. The sharp smell of alcohol makes my eyes water. “You keep your mouth shut, I make the rules. Got that?” Before Damien can respond, Judson gives him a kick between the shoulder blades. The sound of a large animal in pain pours out of Damien’s mouth as Judson drags him toward two chairs stacked on top of each other while keeping the gun on me. The thought of attacking him while he’s occupied with tying Damien to a chair crosses my mind, but before I can act on it, something steals my attention. My

stomach tightens when I spot a wooden coffin. No one needs to tell me it’s the one Damien had buried me in. There’s no smear of dirt on the burnished wood. Could it be Damien had not buried me at all, that I’d been in the basement while he sat on one of the chairs listening to my agony? Fury gnaws at my stomach lining when my gaze slides to Damien, my body recalling the torture he put me through. But at seeing his head helplessly rested on his chest and his face pale, my anger turns to ashes, leaving only pity. Finished tying Damien up, Judson places a hand on the coffin, eyes hooded. He lets out a low whistle and glances at Damien. “One of your sex toys?” he snorts. “Glad to see you’ve finally found your kinky side. I never thought you had it in you.” He rubs the side of his face. “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or jealous.” When Damien doesn’t react, Judson ignores him and brings his attention back to me. My eyes fixed on his, I discreetly bring my hands behind me, my fingers searching the dusty floor for a weapon. I find none. In a heartbeat, he crosses the space between us and hauls me to my feet. A sharp scream rips through me. “Shut the fuck up.” He shoves me hard toward the coffin. My stomach collides with it and I gag. His hands clamp my shoulders and he pushes me to the floor, grabbing one of my hands and tying it tightly to one of the metal coffin handles, assaulting the newly-healed incisions on my right wrist. My head is spinning and bitter bile has collected at the back of my throat. I raise my wet eyes to his face. “Let me go . . . please.” “It’s me you want.” Damien cuts in, his voice broken but firm. “Let her go, dammit. Let her go and torture me. Kill me if you must. I don’t . . . I don’t give a damn.” Without warning, Judson charges toward Damien and his fist connects with Damien’s face, which snaps back like a punching ball. I let out another scream. Judson laughs out loud and stomps back to his bag and pulls out a roll of tape, which he brings back to me. Holding my head tight against his body, he shuts me up. “That’s better.” He drops the tape onto the floor. “The only time I tolerate women screaming is when I make them come.” He rubs his jaw. “Now that it’s clear who the boss is, let’s play.” Instead of shutting up as he wants me to, I make inaudible sounds from behind the tape while rolling my head from side to side. In a flash, his iron grip is around my neck. Sheer terror sweeps through me when on reflex I try to open my mouth to gasp for air but can’t thanks to the tape which covers my mouth. As the oxygen supply to my brain shuts off and my head threatens to explode, I thrash around, trying to shake him off. He doesn’t release his grip. He increases the pressure of his hand for a few seconds. From somewhere in the house, the doorbell rings, or I could be hallucinating. But he must have heard it as well because as suddenly as he had attacked me, he

lets go. My spinning, aching head drops to my chest and darkness steals over me.

CHAPTER FIVE

I

awaken to the rotten smell of his breath on my face. It reeks of alcohol, revenge and evil. My stomach curdles. I turn my pounding head away from him and find Damien watching me, his eyes blank. A lot must have happened since I fainted because his mouth is now taped shut and the wound on his upper arm is bandaged. It must not be in Judson’s immediate plans to let his brother bleed to death, not before he exacts whatever revenge plans he has in store for us. Before his wound was treated, Damien must have bled quite a bit as there are drops of blood under his chair, next to his pale bare feet. I’m also no longer sitting on the floor but on the chair next to Damien, my hands and ankles bound and tied to the chair. For the first time, I inspect the basement. Apart from dust, cobwebs and broken furniture, there are several stacked boxes underneath the staircase. And then there’s the coffin. Judson’s hand clamps around my chin. He forces me to face him. “Hello, sunshine. Welcome back to hell.” I try to jerk my chin out of his hands. His fingers tighten around me to the point I fear he might snap my jaw. The pain from my jaw merges with the agony already in my head, neck, and throat. Relying on my physical strength is useless. Fury burns my eyes as our eyes lock. I notice another physical difference between Judson and Damien. While there are faint golden specks in Damien’s emerald eyes, Judson’s are clear but a shade darker. My eyes lower to the wrist of the hand holding my chin. No tattoo. I can’t help wondering if the tattoo on Damien’s wrist was a way for him to separate himself from his brother. “You delayed my plans.” Judson releases my chin and leans against the coffin, folding his arms across his chest. “That was a naughty thing to do. But I’m willing to give you another chance. From now on you must behave or else you’ll not like the deadly consequences I have in mind. I promise it will include a whole lot of pain and blood.” The feet of Damien’s chair knock against the floor as he tries to rebel against Judson. But unlike me, not only are his hands tied behind him, but his feet are also bound to the legs of the chair.

“No need to worry, dear brother. Do as I say and I might delay the inevitable.” My anger ripples along the length of my spine, tempting me to fight him in whatever way I can. But my eyes meet Damien’s. He’s shaking his head ever so slightly, sending me a silent message, warning me against doing anything I might regret, that could bring Judson to hurt me more than he already has. Even though Damien is unable to fight Judson, his presence prevents me from being all alone with the devil. I can’t even imagine the things Judson would do if he had me all to himself, the torture he would inflict to both my body and soul. Without words, I hear what Damien is telling me, that he’ll get us out of this situation. Unable to speak, I blink and avert my gaze. He’s responsible for me being here. “Before we get started, I’ll get myself something to eat.” Judson pushes away from the coffin and stretches his arms above his head with a long yawn. “We have a long couple of hours ahead of us.” He walks over to Damien and yanks the strip of tape from his mouth. “I’m sure you have some explaining to do, I’ll give you a little time to do that.” Without waiting for an answer from Damien or removing my tape, he strides away from us and climbs up the stairs. The door at the top of the stairs slams shut and the key turns. I’m relieved about Judson’s departure. I hope in his absence Damien will figure out a way to get us out of this basement and house. If only I could ask him who had rang the bell moments before I’d passed out. But why does it matter? Since Judson is confident in his plans, he might have refused to open the door, which means we’re doomed. “I’m terribly sorry,” Damien’s voice is hoarse and low. “I wanted to tell you about him. I just couldn’t get myself to.” His face flushes deep crimson and sweat breaks through his forehead. “I didn’t want to give you more reasons to hate me than you already did.” Tears fill my eyes as I shake my head from side to side, frustrated with being unable to speak, that I cannot voice my anger, that I cannot plead with him to make things right by getting us out of here, to get me out of here. “I told you he’s dead, which is the truth. After he slept . . . with my wife, he was dead to me.” His face twists in anger. “I’m disgusted with myself for pretending to be him and doing things he would do. I wasn’t thinking straight. The only way I felt I could keep you, was by turning into him. He was the one you fell in love with, not me.” I shake my head from side to side. His apologies and regrets don’t mean a thing to me right now. I just want to get as far away from his brother as possible, away from both of them. A tear slides down my cheek. “Hey, you don’t have to be afraid.” He glances at the stairs and back at me. “I’ll get us out of here. I’d die before letting him kill you.” He draws in a ragged breath. “Until I come up with a plan, please do what he asks. Don’t try to fight him. He’s ruthless. I’ll make things right again. I promise.” I want to believe him more than anything, but how can I? Right now, Damien is

not the man I used to know. He’s weakened by his injuries and afraid of Judson himself, even though he doesn’t put it into words. I can hear it in the shattered tone of his voice that fails to rise above a whisper. As he talks, he struggles to free himself but fails. The sound of the key inside the lock halts our one-sided conversation. The door crashes open and Judson’s looming figure appears in the doorway at the top of the stairs. “Time to begin. I hope you’re ready.”

CHAPTER SIX

J

udson descends the stairs, carrying another wooden chair in one hand, and a bag of potato chips in the other. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He leans the chair against the opposite wall and sits, placing the bag of chips on his lap. As though he remembers something, he stands up again and picks up the roll of tape from the floor. “Time's up. I hope you’ve said everything you need to say.” He approaches Damien. “Fuck you. You won’t get away with this. I promise you that.” Damien turns his head from side to side, making it hard for Judson to tape his mouth shut again. But he’s overpowered. Judson manages to tape Damien’s mouth shut before he can say another word. “I hate to break this to you, but you're not in any position to make promises.” He returns to his chair and picks up his potato chips. “From now on, the only person allowed to do any talking inside this place is me.” I force my body to stop trembling. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction he craves so much, to see me in pain, to see how much power he has over me. “Let’s play catch up, shall we?” His eyes still on us, he rips open the bag of chips. The aroma of cheese and onion released into the air, makes me want to puke. “Ivy, my love, in case you’re still wondering, I did it.” He chews for a few seconds. “I killed that Oliver Banes because he fucked with my plans. And you were so naïve to think I was innocent, weren’t you? If you’d stayed long enough, you’d have read of my guilty verdict in the papers. But to hell with the law. A life behind bars is not for me. I had to get out of there, and I did.” He turns to Damien. “You actually thought my housekeeper wouldn’t tell me what you were up to? I guess you didn’t pay her enough to keep her mouth shut. She told me everything. I knew you were reading my letters before she brought them to me, and responding to several behind my back. I even knew Ivy wasn’t dead as you made everyone believe. You were too blind to see my guy following you around. I could have called the cops on you, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to make you suffer. This is the kind of dirty work I prefer to do myself.” He clears his throat. “Once I discovered your dirty little secret, it wasn’t hard to figure out where you are. San Maureo, the town you

ran off to with Kristi for that new start that never happened. This house you built for her holds a special place in your heart, doesn’t it?” His lips curl into a smile. “I don’t blame you for returning here. It’s a cozy little town, the perfect place to raise a family. I bet you were trying to replace Kristi with Ivy. You’ve always had a thing for redheads.” Damien’s body trembles, as he tries to control his rage but the fire in his eyes and red face give him away. Satisfied at having touched a sore spot, Judson bites on another chips. His eyes gleam as they meet mine. “Ivy, I don’t know whether my brother mentioned it, but I have this thing for virgins. I was the first man to fuck Jennifer. And I wanted to be the first to be inside you, but instead, you opened your pussy to my brother.” He places a hand on his chest. “You broke my heart.” He tosses the packet of chips at his feet and leans back, arms folded across his chest. “Now I intend to cause you pain, and I’ll take my time doing it.” He stands up and walks toward me, crushing the bag of chips underneath his feet. My eyes fill with tears the closer he gets. Damien’s chair shakes again as he tries to free himself, to save me. But he's powerless to do a thing. Soon, Judson is standing in front of me. He leans forward and dips a finger between my breasts. I make noises and thrash my head when he pulls my negligée toward him and cuts it down the middle with a penknife. My eyes flicker to Damien, but he’s unable to help. His head is resting on his chest again. Perhaps he’s unable to watch what his brother is about to do to me. He said I should do what Judson wants to keep him from hurting me. To hell with that. The moment Judson removes the rope from my ankles and pulls me to my feet, I try to free myself from his grasp but a hard slap across my cheek makes me stop. “Don’t make me do that again. Now, remember when I said earlier that we’ll be having fun?” He grins, showing me bits of chips stuck between his teeth. “The time has come to do that.” He shoves me against the wall. Pinning my bound hands above my head, he gropes my vagina. Pressing me to the wall, he pushes the crotch of my panties aside. Oh God, he’s going to rape me and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. Inside my throat I scream for help but nobody can hear me. Something crashes to the floor. Judson and I turn to the direction of the sound. Damien is on the floor, still tied to the chair, writhing and rubbing the side of his face against the dirty floor. Judson snorts with laughter. “You won't be able to save her from me. Since you disturbed us in the bedroom earlier, you’re going to watch me finish what I started.” He rubs the side of his unshaven face against mine, making my skin crawl. “Your last memory on earth will be of me fucking this pussy.” Before Judson tries to rape me again, I jerk my knee up, slamming it into his groin. He stumbles back, his face flushed with anger and pain. Using my momentary freedom and his weakness to my advantage, I try to run past him. He

trips me, sending me falling face forward toward the hard floor. The pain inside my head is so sharp it feels unreal. The metallic taste of blood spreads on my tongue. He recovers fast and drags me from the floor, one hand gripping my hair and the other cupping his groin. He draws me near to his face. “You’re not going anywhere, bitch.” His anger is hot on his breath. “Fine, I won’t be able to fuck you again right now, but I’ll still get to watch a dick enter your pussy.” He shoves me to where Damien is lying. I try to get up, using my bound hands and my knees, but he plants a foot between my shoulder blades, sending me crashing into the floor. While I’m lying there helpless, he pulls Damien from the floor, along with his chair until he’s sitting upright. “Get up.” He pulls his gun from a back pocket and points it at me. “Show me how you’ve been fucking my brother these past weeks.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

H

e has to be freaking kidding me. If he isn’t, he’s even more screwed up than I thought. Without words at my disposal, I shake my head from side to side. I refuse to be a part of his dirty game. Refusing to take no for an answer, he shoots out a hand and curls his fingers tight around the biceps of my left arm. He yanks me toward him, his gun pushed into my temple—cold, hard, deadly. “Don’t play games with me, ma chérie. The rules are simple. Obey or you die.” My eyes flicker to Damien. I’m unable to read the reaction from his eyes as they are shut. But the heat of his rage burns through the air between us only for his helplessness to cool it again. His eyes open. Our eyes lock. He gives me a barely visible nod. I shake my head, sprinkling tears on the floor. He can’t expect me to do what Judson is asking. Isn’t he as disgusted as I am? For a flash of a moment, I wonder if they had planned to share me all along, whether all this was meant to happen. Had Damien really planned on letting me go, or had he made arrangements for his brother to show up at the right time, so they can play this dirty game with me? But it can’t be. Why would Damien put himself through the pain for a few moments of pleasure? Watching him I know his helplessness and anger are not an act. No way. The undiluted anger between the two brothers is unmistakable, so heavy it sucks oxygen from the air. Judson Devereux, the evil twin, is acting alone. Fed up with my disobedience, Judson spins me around to face him and shoves my panties down then lifts each of my feet so I can step out of them. “Quit making this harder on yourself.” Drops of spit land on my nose as he gives me yet another warning. “I can do worse than this, trust me.” He shoves me toward Damien. “No,” I try to scream but he can’t hear me and doesn’t care either way. He returns to his chair, one of his hands still holding his groin. He picks up the bag of crushed chips and leans back as though waiting for a movie to begin. As I stand in front of Damien, tears streak my cheeks, cutting a hot path to my chin. I can’t do it.

Damien is looking up at me, his defeated eyes assuring me it’s all right. It’s not. How can he expect me to be okay with taking part in this disgusting power game? We both jump when something cracks and whizzes past my ear. The bullet hits the wall inches from Damien’s head. “What the fuck are you both waiting for?” Judson’s tone is as deadly as his bullet. It hits me not for the first time that I have few choices in this matter. My only options are succumbing to acting like a whore or dying without a chance to escape. It shouldn’t be a big deal, I tell myself. We’ve done this before. We’ve had sex, some of it raw and heartbreaking, some of it earth-shattering. But doing it with someone watching feels so dirty. The urge to puke thickens the saliva on my tongue. Tears blind my eyes as I pull the waistband of Damien’s pajamas and reach inside, encircling his warm penis with my fingers, pulling it out. My tears drip onto his flesh. “That’s right. Now give him a handjob to prepare him for the ride of his life.” GIVEN the trauma Damien has experienced and his lack of desire to participate, it takes ages for me to get his penis erect with my bound hands. My shoulders sink with relief when it hardens in my hands, taking both of us by surprise. My stomach twists when it dawns on me that there’s no longer anything stopping me from having sex with him. “Good girl,” Judson says. “Now fuck him. It’s not as if you haven’t done it before.” I swallow hard and shut my eyes as I settle into Damien’s lap. Holding my bound hands to my chest, he slides into me as he had done not too long ago. Humiliation floods my entire being. I can’t open my eyes, can’t look into Damien’s eyes. I wish I could hide from the whole world. But even when my eyes refuse to look, I feel Damien’s gaze on my face and Judson’s stabbing me in the back, a twisting blade. I refuse to think about what he’s doing while watching us. My stomach twists at the thought he might be jerking off. My cheeks burning with humiliation, I rock against Damien, finding no shred of pleasure whatsoever. I force my mind to conjure up images of comforting things, things beyond this room, beyond this town. Oaklow, the first time I entered the campus, the rush of freedom I’d felt then. My father, my few friends, anyone who has ever meant anything to me. I call to mind any moment that has ever brought me a shred of joy. I think of my life before I lost it. Despite the bleak circumstances, Damien hardens and lengthens even more inside me. I don’t stop. I keep going, doing as I’m told, holding on to however many minutes Judson will allow me to live. How can Damien’s body respond when all I feel is disgust? How can he be in pain and still feel aroused? Then again, not too long ago when we had made love for the

first time—when I was his prisoner—my body had responded even though I had not wanted it to. A few minutes later, Damien stiffens and jolts as he comes inside me. A sound like that of a tortured animal escapes his body. He buries his sweating face into my shoulder. I open my eyes and wait for Judson to give us the next instructions. When he doesn’t, I twist my body to look at him, tears dripping from my eyes. I’m relieved to find his jeans zipped up, his penis out of sight. He had not been jerking off to our humiliation. “Get off him, you whore.” His words cut deep but I ignore the pain. I rise off Damien’s lap, his penis sliding out of me. My gaze is averted as I go to pick my panties from the floor with both hands. Judson gets to them before I do. “You don’t need these. You’re a filthy whore. Covering your shame won’t make it less true.” He tosses my panties toward the stairs. They fall on top of the broken bottle of gin. Judson takes a few steps toward his brother, hands inside his pockets, back straight. “Look at you. As weak and pathetic as you used to be. Well, I hope you enjoyed that fuck. It’s one of my last gifts to you.” He pulls his hand from his pocket and ruffles Damien’s hair. “My final gift is death. I’m sure you’ll agree that this world can’t accommodate both of us. One of us has to die. That person isn’t me.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

D

amien jerks at each word coming from Judson, as though his brother is shooting bullets straight into his chest. He slams his feet into the ground, sending dust flying in all directions. He’s unable to speak but his body language utters every word he longs to say. His anger vibrates across the room and slams against the walls. He attempts to free himself again but he’s helpless, forever at the mercy of his sadistic brother. Even though Damien has done so much to torture me and almost drove me to my death, I feel every beat of his pain, the burning torture inside his soul. I realize that the man he is has everything to do with Judson, and without Judson, Damien could have been a better man. This truth hits my heart hard, cracking its edges. My legs and feet feeling as though they’ve disappeared into thin air, I stumble toward the corner and slide to the floor, my knees together to hide my private parts. Damien’s death will mean my own death. If Judson kills his own brother, his flesh and blood, why would he spare me? My fear is what Judson wants to see as he glances from me to Damien, looking for a reaction. I’m unable to hide it as my body is a trembling mess. Why didn’t I die in the coffin? Why did Damien have to save me? “Get over here.” Judson barks at me. “I’m not done with you.” Panic riots within me as I get to my feet, using the wall for support. I can’t resist his request, not when a gun is pointed at me. I force myself to move forward. He meets me halfway. To my horror he removes another handgun from his pocket and grabs me by the flimsy fabric of the negligée. The coolness of the gun digs into the skin under my chin. I sag with relief when he finally lowers it. The sigh of relief turns to ashes inside my throat when he grabs my hands and pushes a handgun between them, his strong hands tight around mine. “Have you ever shot a gun, ma chérie?” His breath is an unforgiving inferno on my cheek, burning its way through the layers of my skin. I shake my head, biting back the sudden urge to throw up as I read his sick mind. “That’s okay. Allow me to demonstrate.” He shoves the second gun into his waistband before he moves behind me. Fear melts the strength from my hands. I

let go of the weapon and it falls into Judson’s hand. My reward is a stabbing pain between the shoulder blades as the elbow of his free arm meets my back. The sound of pain that pours out of me is like sandpaper on the surface of my throat. “You have two choices. I can make this easy for you or we could go the hard way. Let’s start easy.” He wraps my fingers around the gun again and his lips brush my ear. “Do me a favor and kill my brother. Your reward will be a quick and painless death of your own. I’m thinking maybe pills? If you refuse to obey, I’ll cut your throat with the smallest razorblade you’ve ever set eyes on. The death will be so painful you’ll wish you were never born.” For someone who, only a few days ago, had been ready to open the door to the other side and come face to face with death, being murdered by Judson terrifies the hell out of me. My wild gaze lands on Damien. Eyes blank and glistening, lips bloodless, head slung against the wall behind him, he’s nothing but a shell of his former self. His eyes are coated with tears. The man I thought was a monster, the man I thought had a hard core is crumbling before me. Judson raises the gun, my hands tucked beneath his. The target is Damien’s chest. From the way my body is shaking, I’m in danger of pulling the trigger without being pushed. Judson steadies my hand the best he can before letting go. My arms sink lower but he pushes them up again. The gun settles on its target. “When you’re ready, pull the trigger.” Something hard and cool digs into the back of my neck. No one needs to tell me what it is. I have two choices. I could shoot Damien as I’m told or turn around and shoot Judson. But in my crumbling state and given my inexperience with guns, there’s no way I’ll succeed at shooting Judson before he kills me first. Damien’s Adam’s apple rises and falls as he swallows his fear of dying. For the first time since he kidnapped me, we share the same fears. He’s as much a victim as I am. I can’t do it. I don’t have it in me to take someone else’s life. “What are you waiting for?” Judson presses the gun deeper into my skin. “I said blow his fucking brains out.” I close my eyes and swallow the lump lodged in my throat. Should I kill myself and end the madness? It would be so easy to raise the gun to the place under my jaw and pull the trigger before he stops me. But my stubborn streak, refuses to let evil to triumph. “Looks like someone needs a little motivation.” Judson steps away from me, the space he had occupied behind my back filling with cool air. I don’t turn but I hear him unzipping his bag. Within a matter of seconds, he comes to stand next to me. While still holding on to his gun, he’s fiddling with a rectangular box. Before my brain catches up with my eyes, Damien grunts as though electrified. A fragile beeping sound pierces the silence like a needle, followed by a flash of red light.

Judson places the object between me and Damien. The color drains from my face when I spot the timer, counting down the last sixty minutes of my life. Judson straightens up, a smirk on his face. “You have sixty minutes to decide whether you’d rather swallow a few pills and die peacefully, or if you’d prefer to be blown to pieces. Looks like you don’t have much time to decide. In fact, I’m being generous with my time. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” He returns to his chair and waits for me to commit murder.

CHAPTER NINE

T

he handgun slips from my trembling hands and falls at my feet. Terror sweeps through me as I lower my gaze to the weapon. A little voice tells me to pick it up, to do as I’m told before I’m punished. My mind screams for me to move, but chains of fear have wrapped themselves around my body. How would I be able to pull the trigger when I can’t even feel my hands? Maybe it’s for the best. I’m not a killer. What does it matter whether I kill Damien or not? I’ll die anyway and I don’t want to go to the grave with someone else’s blood on my hands. Damien’s eyes widen as they meet mine, both relief and concern flooding them. From behind me I hear Judson’s heavy breathing. His clothes rustle as he stands, the feet of his chair scraping the floor. His footsteps are heavy, vibrating across the entire floor. My body goes cold when he reaches me, picks up the gun, and moves behind me. The heat of his breath scalds the back of my neck as his hand cups my chin. My back remains turned away from him, my eyes focused on Damien, the man who used to be my personal nightmare, the man who used to be a monster and is now giving me silent strength. Judson pushes my chin up, tipping my head back so I face the cobwebbed ceiling. “Guess what?” Something cool and sharp touches my throat, pressing into the skin. I grit my teeth at the pinch the first cut makes. “I actually considered sparing your life. I wanted you to kill my brother and then I planned to give you a new life.” He moves the knife away from my neck and uses it to lift a lock of my hair. The fragile trickle of fresh blood trails down my throat and settles into the hollow of my neck. “Your red hair would have been popular with the gentleman I cater to. Such a shame you have to die in vain. So young, so exquisite.” I bite the inside of my cheek and taste the metallic tang of blood. I want to take a breath, but my lungs feel as though they have shut down. Even though the cut of a knife is nothing new to me, I can’t imagine how painful it would be to have my throat slit. Certainly more painful than the cuts on my wrist but how would I know? I close my eyes so all I see is darkness instead of Damien struggling to free himself from his chair. Holding me in place with an arm around my neck, Judson brings the tip of the

blade to my cheek and traces a path from my cheek to my chin. “This pretty face, this beautiful skin, all going to waste because of one stupid mistake. What a damn shame.” He brings the knife back to my cheek before returning it to my chin, this time slicing into my skin again, digging deeper into my flesh. The blood warms my skin. It runs unhindered toward my chin and drips off to join the dust on the floor. I grit my teeth tighter so as not to cry out with pain, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing my agony. Then he lets me go, shoves me hard toward my chair. I fall to the ground, my forehead slams against the edge of the seat. I can’t describe the pain that cuts through my skull and flashes like lightning in my brain. “Sit,” he barks at me. Feeling as though the contents of my brain have been shaken several times, I push away the dizziness and try to haul myself to my knees. Something falls to the floor. My instinct tells me it’s Damien and his chair. “You fool,” Judson approaches me. “You still think you can save her? Not going to happen.” He grabs me by the hair to a standing position and slams my butt onto the seat, so hard I swear my tailbone cracks. He unbinds my hands but only to wrap my arms around the back of the chair before binding them again. As he has done with Damien. He leaves my feet free. Defeated and unable to hold my head upright, my chin hits my chest. I stare at the trail of warm blood that drips down my bare skin onto my breast. “If the bomb goes off, you won’t be able to save her or yourself,” he says. “You’re both doomed to die a very painful death.” He pauses. “On second thought, I don’t mind escorting you both to hell. With both of you dead, my job here on earth would be done.” I lift my eyelids a fraction to steal a glance at Damien who’s still on the floor, in the struggle to set himself free. Judson doesn’t help him but instead walks away from me. He picks up the ticking bomb and studies it for a moment before placing it back down on the floor. “Ready or not, this little guy will transport us all straight to hell.” He whistles as he strides toward the stairs. “See you on the other side.” He climbs the staircase, taking one heavy step after the other, as though he has all the time in the world. As soon as the door slams shut, Damien’s heavy breathing fills the room, strained grunts and shuffling as he tries to get to the bomb, which is now in the center of the room. What will he do when he gets to it? Even if he happens to have the skills to deactivate a bomb, there’s nothing he can do with his hands behind his back. He struggles more, and slams his head into the floor with exhaustion before lifting it up again. I want to help him, to help us, but I don’t have enough energy left in me to fight only to end up losing. My heart sinks when Damien, too, stops trying to get to the bomb. Blood is seeping through the bandages around his injured arm. Closing my eyes, I listen to the beeping sounds coming from the small machine

that’s about to take our lives and end it all. I want to know how much time we have left but I’m unable to see the counter as I’m too far away. For the second time in my life, I try to make friends with death. It doesn’t work this time as I struggle with the fear of being blown to pieces and having my skin and flesh melt in flames. A strange sound cuts through the silence and my eyes fly open. My first thought is that Judson has returned to deactivate the bomb. Maybe it was all a game to him, a way to frighten us and he didn’t actually plan on letting it go off. I raise my drowsy gaze to the top of the stairs but he doesn’t appear. The door remains closed. But that sound is still there, the sound of metal against metal. Damien must have heard it too because I see him struggle to lift his head to listen. The sound is not coming from the stairs but from another area of the room, from behind one wall. Suddenly, in my peripheral vision, I detect a movement. I turn to look just in time to see a door opening at one end of the room. It had looked so much like part of the wall that I hadn’t noticed it. Relief gushes through me when Adrian emerges, dressed all in black, gun in hand. Tears of joy choke my throat. I bounce up and down on my chair to catch his attention, even though he can clearly see both of us. Both Damien and I take turns making incoherent sounds, pleading for Adrian to set us free. “Thank God I made it to you in time.” Adrian gives me a brief glance then rushes to Damien first. He yanks the tape from his boss’s mouth. “If I hadn’t been in your office for the final inspection I wouldn’t have seen the security video feed on your office computers—” Office computer? Security video feed? As I digest Adrian’s words one by one, I move my gaze from one corner of the basement to the next, searching for the hidden cameras. I don’t see any. Anger rises up my throat when I realize that Damien had not only locked me up in a coffin in his basement, he also watched it the entire time, from computers at home and at work. I force my anger down. How can I be angry when the very cameras I hate are the ones saving our lives? “There’s a bomb,” Damien whispers hoarsely. “Get to it before it goes off.” Adrian’s gaze lands on the bomb. He nears it. Without touching it, he studies it for a moment, eyes narrowed. Sweat pools into my armpits when he bends to pick it up. I pray he knows what he’s doing. He turns the box over in his hand, prods it with a finger before he glances at Damien with a soft chuckle. “This is fake.” He presses a few buttons and the beeping stops. He drops it to the floor. I almost pass out with relief. Adrian returns to Damien but Damien shakes his head. “Take care of Ivy. Get her the hell out of this place.” His voice is deep and dusty, firm. “Drop by the office. Get the briefcase for her.” Adrian hesitates but nods. Within seconds he has freed my mouth and is trying to unravel the rope binding my hands together. His heavy breathing tells me he’s

finding it hard to untie the tough knot. I lose patience and shrug him off. “Go to Damien. He’s bleeding.” I’m still better off than Damien. The bomb may be fake, but the clock is still ticking. Judson could return any moment. We all freeze when the sound of footsteps upstairs catches our attention. He’s back. “Please—hurry,” I say. Tears hit the back of my throat and I swallow them. Adrian’s gaze sweeps the room. He spots the knife Judson had used to cut my cheek. He uses it to cut through the tough ropes around Damien’s hands. Before he can do anything else, the footsteps get louder. “Don’t worry,” Adrian whispers. “I’ll get him before he makes it down here.” Adrian drops the knife and aims his gun at the top of the stairs, awaiting Judson’s appearance. Will he be able to shoot him before he shoots us? Damien bends his body at the waist and tries to untie the knot fastening one of his legs to the chair. “Forget me. Go help Ivy. Whatever happens, she’s your priority now. Make sure he doesn’t get near her again.” “Are you sure?” “Do as I say.” The frustration is evident in Damien’s tone as he struggles to free his legs. “Very well.” Adrian picks up the knife and dashes to my side the moment the key turns in the lock. Fear rushes in my ears as he cuts through the rope, succeeding to free me this time. He slides the knife across the floor in Damien’s direction and lifts me from the chair. My legs give way. “Hold on.” He scoops me into his arms and hurries toward the hidden door as Damien frees one of his legs. We barely make it to the door when the door to the basement bursts open. “Drop her or I’ll shoot,” Judson orders. Adrian’s steps falter. He hoists me higher in his arms to better aim his gun at Judson. “Not before I shoot.” With each word, Adrian takes a step back, toward the door. Judson takes careful steps down the stairs, Adrian moves faster. By the time we reach the door, Judson is at the bottom of the stairs, a cloud of thunder darkening his face. “Don’t fuck with me.” He takes a few steps toward us. “Back off, Judson. Lock the door behind you, Adrian.” Damien, who has finally freed himself, steps between Judson and us, holding the knife in front of him. When Judson doesn’t stop moving, Damien lunges for him, but Judson steps out of the way at the last second. Damien falls to the ground at his feet and the knife slides from his hand and out of his reach. The last thing I see as we disappear through the secret door and into a dark tunnel is Judson’s gun aimed at Damien’s chest. The moment the door closes, a gunshot rings out. A raw scream rips through me as Adrian fumbles with the lock of the door then runs with me in his arms.

CHAPTER TEN

“Y

ou’re going to be okay,” Adrian promises, hurrying me through the dim tunnel. “I’ll take you to a safe place.” Silent pauses fill the spaces between the words, which tells me he’s not sure if we’ll be able to escape Judson’s wrath, that he’ll be able to keep the promise he made Damien. Judson could find us at the other end of the tunnel. I suck in the moldy air and damp wood smell, biting back tears. When I last checked the time, before Damien had gone down for a drink, it had been 1:00 a.m. Whether Adrian and I will live long enough to see the break of dawn is in God’s hands. Or Judson’s. If I survive, how would I ever be able to stop replaying what happened in the basement? How would I forget the sounds of the shots fired, the haunted look in Damien’s eyes, the taste of blood and dust on my tongue, the smell of gin? How will I forget the sensation of Damien’s penis inside me? At last, we emerge from the tunnel onto a beach with miles of sand and pebbles stretching out ahead of us. Waves rumble in the distance. Whether this private beach belongs to Damien’s mansion or if we’re off his grounds, I can’t tell. Why did Damien have a secret tunnel built on his property in the first place? Did he live in fear of Judson? Right now it doesn’t matter. What matters is that it got us the hell out of there. I take a breath, replacing the stale air with fresh sea air. A shiver ripples through me when a blast of cool air—carrying water droplets— sweeps over my skin, penetrating the thin material of my negligée. Adrian doesn’t lower me to the ground as he turns onto a dark path leading away from the beach. Is he worried I’d slow our pace? The long dry reeds framing the path tickle my dangling legs. His breathing comes in short, quick gasps by the time we climb the steps on one side of the promenade and descend on the other. His car is parked behind a closed hot dog stand. When he bundles me inside, I flop to my side, where my butchered cheek meets the leather of the backseat. He does his best to fasten the seatbelt around me without my having to sit upright. The moment he shuts the door, my tears come. The salt stings my cheek but the pain is welcome. It makes me feel a different

sensation apart from numbness. Adrian gets behind the wheel and drives us to what I hope is safety. Since arriving at Damien’s mansion, all I wanted was to escape. Now I have and I still don’t feel free. In fact, my heart is heavier than it had been in the past weeks. Adrian is on the phone, talking to someone in fluent Spanish. I hope it’s the police and a paramedic. Maybe someone will make it to Damien in time to save his life. And Judson has to be stopped. The thought of him traveling around the US, pretending to be a professor so he can get his hands on innocent girls to defile and then sell, fills me with dread. I’m not sure how long we drive but the car eventually comes to an abrupt halt. Adrian exits the car and comes to carry me from the backseat, where he finds me in the same position he had left me. With me in his arms, he kicks open a metal gate and walks me to the door of a one-story house. The door opens before we reach it and Hanna emerges, the light from the house making her white nightgown glow. “Heavens, what did he do to her? Adrian, she’s bleeding.” “I’ll explain later.” Adrian carries me into the house and shuts the door. “Get the first aid kit. I think she’s in shock.” He lowers me onto a camel corduroy couch and I close my eyes; the soothing familiar sound of Hanna’s voice calming my nerves. “Sweetheart, don’t be afraid,” she coos. “I’ll take care of you.” I lift my eyelids to see her face. The loose hair around her shoulders makes her face softer than I remember from when she worked at Damien’s mansion. She touches my unbruised cheek then stands. Throwing Adrian a look, she pushes past him and walks up a short staircase. She returns with a first aid kit and tends to the cut on my cheek. “It’s time you tell me everything, Adrian Peters. What did Damien do to the poor girl? I’m tired of the secrets.” Hanna doesn’t look at Adrian as she cleans my cut. Since we arrived, Adrian has been pacing the room, twisting his handlebar mustache between a thumb and forefinger. “It wasn’t Damien. It was Judson.” Hanna pauses but her hand remains on my cheek. “The psychotic twin brother? Isn’t he locked away—in the US?” “Not anymore. He escaped.” He lets go of the mustache. “Look, honey, I’ll tell you everything later. There are a few things I need to get from Damien’s office first.” Honey? “Where’s Damien now?” Hanna brushes back my hair, unsticking it from the blood on my cheek. “Judson shot him as we were getting away.” “Jesus.” A shocked breath shoots from Hanna’s mouth and cools my damp cheek. “He’s dead?” “I don’t know. Possibly. There’s something he asked me to do. He made me promise to take care of Ivy and that’s what I intend to do.” Adrian hurries back to

the door. “I won’t be long.” “Are we safe here? Did you call the police?” Hanna’s voice comes out choked. “I think we’re safe for now. I called the cops on the way here.” Adrian pulls the door open and disappears into the night. “I’m so sorry,” Hanna says when we’re alone. “You poor, poor girl. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” I swallow my tears. I think it will be a while before I’m able to speak again.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I

wrap my hands around the mug of coffee Hanna gives me and close my eyes for a moment, still trying to shut out the pictures that will forever torment my mind. It doesn’t help. To distract myself I gaze into the hot liquid, studying the surface for images which aren’t there. I look back up at Hanna, who had not been able to sit still since handing me the coffee. She’s moving around the room, wringing her hands and pushing the curtain back several times. Her lips are moving as though she’s saying something no one should hear. I want to say something to her but I can’t find the words. So I wait for her to start the conversation. She comes to a stop and stands for a few seconds in the middle of the room before settling next to me. She raises her hand and touches the Band-Aid on my cheek with the tip of her fingers. “I’m ashamed.” She purses her lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t see what he was doing to you. I . . . Perhaps I didn’t want to.” I’m surprised that she’s focusing on what Damien had done to me instead of his much more evil brother’s crimes. But I don’t stop her as she continues to talk. She needs to say whatever’s laying heavy on her chest and I need the distraction. “I’ll never forgive myself for choosing to be blind.” She brings her hands together in her lap and clutches them. “He wasn’t always bad, you know. He—He did some good things in his life. Maybe that’s why I overlooked his sins.” She pulls an embroidered handkerchief from the pocket of her nightgown and blows her nose. “If it weren’t for Damien, Adrian would not be alive today. Five years ago, Adrian needed a liver to save his life. Damien didn’t even think twice. He gave him the gift of life. After that, our loyalty was to him. We had no idea how to repay him otherwise.” “I didn’t know you and Adrian are married?” I ask, saying my first words in what seems like hours. My swollen lips throb with pain. “We like to keep things professional at work.” She pauses. “Fifteen years last month. He was my first love. We both worked for Damien and Judson’s stepfather.” She purses her lips. “That man was pure evil. The things he put those boys through . . . despicable. And the mother was never around to set them on the straight path

after he corrupted them. As the help, we had no choice but to turn the other way, to pretend we didn’t see. Judson suffered less only because he became like him sooner. He became the favorite son.” “And Damien resisted?” “The poor boy paid dearly for it. It was only a matter of time before he, too, turned into the monster his stepfather was.” My heart aches as I recall Damien telling me about how his stepfather had forced him to do things small boys should never be subjected to. An uncomfortable thought niggles at the back of my mind. I wet my dry lips and put it into words. “How was he punished when he misbehaved?” I’m unable to raise my voice above a whisper. Hanna shifts her gaze away from me. “Hanna, how was he punished?” I ask again, my voice stronger. “He was locked up for days on end, sometimes longer. The man did to Damien what Damien did to you.” She exhales. “But instead of being locked up in a room, he got the dark basement. And he was sometimes tied to a pole.” Hanna blows her nose again, her hands trembling. “To this day I still remember the sounds of his screams.” No wonder Damien built that tunnel. His childhood fears had followed him into adulthood. My heart bleeds for him, for the broken years of his life. But as much as my mind wants to dwell on his pain, I can’t think about his life or his death. Not now. The only person who should matter now is me. The splinters from his broken life have pierced me too. I raise the mug of coffee to my lips and sip the sweet, hot liquid, following its journey over my tongue and down my throat, enjoying its comforting warmth. As soon as I drain the mug, Hanna springs to her feet and brings me more, glad to have something to occupy her. When she returns from the kitchen, she finds me with my hand over my cheek. “Don’t worry. The cut wasn’t too deep. I’m sure it won’t take long before it heals.” I lift my gaze to her face and give her a bittersweet smile. My physical wounds are the least of my problems. The pain and the scars do not concern me. The wounds that matter, the ones that won’t stop bleeding, are the ones hidden within. In our momentary silence, we hear the distant sound of a police siren blaring. Hanna gets up and goes to the window, pushes aside the green printed curtain. She gazes out for a moment. “It’s been over an hour. What’s taking Adrian so long?” She allows the curtain to fall back in place. “I don’t know.” The knot inside my stomach is tightening with every second as I wonder if Judson had escaped the mansion after all and got to Adrian. I can’t imagine what he’d do to the man that destroyed his plans. “Do you know what he went to get from the office?” Hanna sinks into the couch. “I can’t imagine what can be so important.” “I—No.” I place a hand on my belly, guilt gnawing at my stomach lining.

Damien had asked Adrian to go to the office for me, to get something for me. Perhaps something that will aid in my escape. I can’t possibly admit to Hanna that Adrian went out there because of me, that if something happens to her husband it will be my fault. Swallowing my guilt, I do the only thing I can do. I pray for Adrian’s safe return to his wife and life. ADRIAN WALKS through the door at 3:00 a.m., carrying a vintage leather briefcase. He finds both Hanna and I fast asleep on the couch, exhausted from waiting so long for his return. “Where in God’s name were you?” Hanna almost trips on the blanket draped over her legs as she stands and rushes to Adrian. She throws herself into his arms, both relieved and furious. She pulls back and places shaking hands on both sides of his cheeks. “You weren’t answering your phone. Do you have any idea how worried I was?” “I should have called. I passed by the police station to ask if they had any new information. If they arrested the son of a bitch. The place was packed and loud. It took ages to get someone to talk to me.” “And?” My heart jams into my throat. I unclasp my hands and lift my lethargic body from the couch “Did they get him?” Adrian turns his weary face toward me. “I’m afraid they were not very generous with their information. They wouldn’t quit telling me to return in a couple of hours.” “Did they at least mention . . . is Damien dead?” Adrian nods and lowers his gaze, hiding his pain at the loss of his boss or perhaps avoiding seeing my emotions. “They refused to say. But I read between the lines.” He says something more but due to the rush in my ears, the words that reach me are nothing but gibberish. My stomach hurts so much, as though there’s a hand in there wringing my intestines. But allowing myself to crumble now is not on the cards. I can’t let myself go until I’m sure of where I’ll go from here. I bite back tears as I watch Hanna sink into a nearby armchair and bury her head into her hands, crying softly. Even if I refuse for it to show, I grieve for the man who has transformed my heart in so many different ways, the man who had done terrible things but also opened the window to a part of his heart that was flooded with light instead of darkness. The person who deserved to die was Judson, the man with a stone for a heart, the person who started the engine of the train to hell that we all ended up on. A man with no flicker of light inside his soul. The murderer. Adrian lowers himself onto the couch next to me, balancing the briefcase on his lap. He flips it open and gazes into it for a while.

“What did you have to get that was so urgent?” Hanna asks. “A few things to help Ivy get back home.” Adrian looks up at me. “Damien wanted to give this to you before you left for the US.” He pauses. “He had come to his senses in the end and did plan on letting you go … doing the right thing.” My breath catches inside my throat at the sight of the crisp dollar bills on one side of the briefcase. While I’m struggling to get my mouth to close, Adrian shifts around the other contents of the briefcase before giving up and handing me the whole thing. It’s heavier than it looks. “Everything you need is in there. I’m sorry you had to go through . . . all that.” Adrian stands and goes to stand next to Hanna’s armchair, a hand on top of her head. I lift a passport from the case and flip it open. It’s mine. My identity. Damien must have snuck into my dorm room to steal it before kidnapping me. I study it in silence. Will I even be able to travel with it seeing that I’m believed to be dead? I guess I’ll just have to get to the US Consulate to see what they say and ask for their help. I need to get back to the States before Judson finds me. Then I have to find a place to hide until I’m one hundred percent convinced that Judson is behind bars again, for good this time. Before that, it would be a terrible idea for me to reveal myself to anyone who knows me or to the press. “The money?” I ask, touching a top note with the tip of my finger. “It’s to keep you afloat for a while, wherever you decide to go.” Adrian returns to the couch and lifts the notes to reveal a white envelope with the Steel Enterprises logo in one corner. “That’s for you too. A letter from him.” Sucking in a breath, I pick up Damien’s last letter to me. I expel the breath through my mouth and open it. Ivy my love, If you’re reading this, our time together has come to an end. You have left me and I’m to blame. In my attempts to love you, I’ve hurt you in unforgivable ways. The words bleeding onto this paper are not enough to express how sorry I am for being cruel, for breaking your heart with my love for you. Maybe I’m naïve but I dare to hold the hope that one day you will find it in your heart to forgive me for destroying your heart and your life. I wish I could turn back the clock and do everything differently. I wish I’d realized sooner that loving you too much is the surest way of losing you. Holding you tight has only suffocated you and pushed you further away. This goodbye is inevitable and it’s my bloody fault. Nothing will ever be able to repair the parts of you I damaged, but I’m hoping that the little I’m offering you will make it easier for you to get back into your life. I hope you find someplace safe and far away from me, where you can rebuild your life and find happiness. I hope you get your life back, that you’ll find your laughter again. I’m such a fool for making everyone believe you’re dead, even though you are the most vibrant person I have ever met. I never told you this, but you gave me my life back. It may be selfish of me to say this but I have to say it. The truth remains that my

love for you is real. It hurts to think I’ll never see your sweet face again, but that’s a punishment I deserve and have to live with. Goodbye, Rosebud, forever if that’s your wish. D.S. A teardrop hits the page as I fold up the letter. Damien is not the man I’d fallen for in Oaklow, the man who had arrested me with his words. The man who wormed his way into my heart is Judson, the devil. Having seen Judson’s true colors, perhaps I should be grateful it was Damien who showed up first. If it had been Judson who had kidnapped me, I’d probably be dead by now, or lost to the point I’m be unable to recognize myself. I slide the letter back underneath the cash and close the briefcase, but hold on to my passport. I change my mind and reopen it, removing a handful of cash. Without counting the bills, I press them into Adrian’s hand. If I didn’t need the money to get out of Mexico, I’d have given them everything. Adrian pushes the money back into my hand and curls my fingers around it. “This is too much. We can’t take it.” Hanna comes to sit on the other side of me. “He’s right. We’re not worthy of your generosity. Not after what we did. We buried our heads in the sand while you endured so much suffering.” “You did nothing wrong.” I sigh. “Damien was your boss. You did what you thought was right. And you’re here now. You stepped up for me when it mattered most.” I hand the money to Hanna this time. “Please take it.” Hanna nods and takes the money. She squeezes my hand. “Will you return to Oaklow?” Adrian shifts in his seat. “I don’t mean to pry. You deserve to live your life how and where you please. It’s just that I promised Damien I’d make sure you’re safe.” “I have no idea. So much has changed. I’m not sure I still have a life where I left it.” I chew a corner of my nail. “Oaklow is the last place I felt at home. I don’t know where else to go.” “If Judson escapes, Oaklow would be the first place he looks for you.” I suck in a breath before I release it through my nose. The thought of Judson still roaming free is one I do not want to entertain. “How about both of you? What are your plans? You rescued me, Adrian. You could be in as much danger as I am. Judson saw you.” “True.” Adrian runs a hand over his mustache. “That’s why we’re moving out of Mexico as well. It holds too many dark memories.” Hanna clasps her hands in her lap, over the money I gave her. “We’ve been considering returning to the US for a while now. Now that Damien is . . . dead, there’s nothing keeping us here.” “Where will you go?” “Have you heard of Misty Cove, Florida? It’s a small beach town I used to spend most of my summers as a child, visiting my grandparents.” Adrian leans back and gazes into space. “They’re long gone now, but their cottage is still there.”

I close the briefcase and set it on the floor. “I need a place to hide out for a while. Is Misty Cove big enough for one more person?” “Absolutely.” Adrian leans forward. “You might even find you like it enough to stay longer than a few weeks. You’re welcome to stay with us until you get back on your feet.” Hanna gets to her feet. “That’s a wonderful idea. I think we should leave as soon as possible. We wouldn’t want Judson to find us here.” “I agree.” Adrian pulls a pad and paper from a nearby drawer. “In fact, we should take tomorrow’s evening train to Guadalajara. We’re not taking much from this house. We want nothing weighing us down.” “I appreciate your help.” Fresh tears fill my eyes. My experience with being on the train to Guadalajara will forever taint me, but knowing I won’t be alone this time makes me feel that much more secure. “Thank you for being here.” Hanna waves a dismissive hand. “No need to thank us. Now, let me go make us a fresh pot of coffee. We need to discuss the details and then, Ivy, you should try and rest.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

A

weight is pressing down on me, crushing my ribcage, flattening my lungs so they’re unable to expand enough to let in enough air. I jolt awake, my hands clutching my chest. Even though my heart is thudding, I’m okay. Everything is fine. No one is here but me and my racing heart. My gaze sweeps the room where I spent the last dark hours of the morning. The morning sun has replaced the darkness and sunlight is making the curtains glow. With its pink princess wallpaper, the tiny bed, and pink tutu-lampshade, Hanna and Adrian’s guest room looks like it once belonged to a little girl. When they showed me the room last night I asked if they have grandkids but they both shook their heads and said they never had children. I changed the subject. It’s none of my business to dig further. I pull myself up in bed and place a hand on my forehead. It comes away with sweat clinging to it, some of which drips down my temples, past my eyelids, and into my eyes. I brush it away. My heart still refuses to relax, as though warning me not to get too comfortable, that danger could still be lurking in the shadows. But the sunflower clock on the wall tells me it’s 6:00 a.m. I’ve been asleep for four hours and Judson has not shown up. Maybe the police arrested him. I touch my cheek, the place where Judson had sliced his knife into my skin. The memories flood back as though I flipped a switch. In my mind, Judson’s monster eyes gaze back at me, hatred filling them like molten lava. I remember Damien’s eyes coated with tears and regret, the concern about my safety. What if Judson hadn’t shown up? What if I’d returned to the States as planned with no one hindering my departure? Would I have been able to report Damien to the cops? I don’t know whether to be upset or relieved that those decisions have been taken from me by the bullet that killed Damien. Now I have no choice but to live with the memories of the time he kept me locked up, the time he opened his heart to me, and those of his death. I don’t know what they will do with his body but I can’t do a thing about it without putting my life in danger. There’s no way I can return home and pick up where I left off. I have to lay low for a while, to rebuild my life in secret. I ease my legs out of bed and stand, my knees creaking. As I move, I feel as

though I’ve aged a couple of years not hours. I push back the curtain with one finger. Outside, a small winding path leads to an isolated sandy beach. I gaze beyond the sand to the rolling waves, wishing I could ride the white peaks to my freedom, deep in the sea where no one can find me. I away turn from the window and get dressed in a simple beige cotton dress Hanna gave me. I approach the door, it’s still locked from before I slept. I unlock it and walk out. Hanna had said I should sleep in and she’ll knock on the door when it’s time for breakfast, but I’m awake and being alone is not appealing right now. I’m desperate for a shower but the fear of something happening while I’m helpless appeals to me even less. The aroma of fried eggs and sausages meets me on the other side of the door. My stomach responds with a grunt. I wish we didn’t have to wait the entire afternoon before leaving town. If only there were more than one train to transport us to safety. My heart will not be able to stop racing until we step off the train in Guadalajara. But right now, breakfast sounds like a great idea. I follow the sounds of cutlery clinking, my mouth watering with each step. Halfway down the stairs, dizziness washes over me, as though someone has spun me around several times and let me go without support. I put a hand on the railing and take my time going down. The sounds in the kitchen have stopped by the time my foot touches the last step. When I open the kitchen door, I’m surprised to find no one there. Although the table is set. Plates of sausages and eggs, and a pitcher of orange juice are in the center of the round table, around a vase with a single white rose inside. I’m so hungry that I’m tempted to sit and eat but it would be disrespectful to Adrian and Hanna. I pull out a chair and lower myself into it. As I wait for them to arrive, I close my eyes and take slow breaths, allowing the low classical music spilling out of a small kitchen radio on the windowsill to wash over me. I lift my eyelids again when I hear the sound of the door opening. My stomach drops.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

T

he devil walks in, clad in a bathrobe I’d seen hanging from a hook behind Adrian and Hanna’s upstairs bathroom. Oh shit. Damien is gone and Judson has managed not only to run from the police but to catch up with us. We were fools for believing even for a second that the nightmare is over. “Morning, sunshine. Isn’t it a beautiful day?” He gives me a smile that would fool anyone into thinking he’s a normal, handsome man. He pulls out a gun and places it on the table between the loaf of bread and the orange juice. “I see you haven’t eaten yet. I’m not much of a cook but I put in the effort to prepare breakfast for you. You must be starving. I am.” I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even blink. I was well aware that there was a chance Judson could catch up with us. I never expected it to be so soon. Definitely not in time for breakfast in a house that’s not his, not in Adrian’s bathrobe. It would have been more plausible if he had crashed through the door with his gun, threatening to shoot us in cold blood. A bubble of fear pushes itself up my throat but I can’t swallow it. My supply of saliva has dried up. Where are Hanna and Adrian? Did he kill them while I slept? After studying him for a few painful heartbeats, the shock in my system transforms to adrenaline, bringing me back to life. On the outside, my body resembles a block of ice, frozen and unmoving. On the inside, my mind is spinning out of control, scrambling for solutions, searching for ways of escape. My gaze roams the surface of the table. I don’t find what I’m searching for. “Looking for a knife to attack me with?” Judson reaches for my plate and spoons scrambled eggs on one side before placing a slice of bread next to them. His lips curl into a sadistic smile as he pushes the food toward me. “Don’t waste your time, sweetheart. I know your thoughts before you think them.” He pours me a glass of orange juice. “You’ll love the eggs, by the way. When I was a kid, Mom made the best scrambled eggs. That was, of course, when she wasn’t too drunk to be a mother.” He takes a sip from my orange juice before placing it next to my plate. “I don’t blame her for wanting to escape reality. Being married to a man who made a

business of owning and fucking beautiful woman couldn’t have been easy, even when he showered her with expensive gifts.” “What . . . what did you do to them?” I ask when my voice returns. My hands are curled into fists next to me as I await his response. I don’t need to elaborate because, as he said before, he knows my thoughts. “You mean Hanna and Adrian? You’ll find out soon enough. First, let’s enjoy a nice breakfast together. Wasn’t that what you always wanted? When we wrote those letters to each other, I read between the lines. I knew you wanted a future with me.” He observes the small kitchen and returns his gaze to me. “You wanted something like this, am I right? A sweet little family with one or two kids running around. You dreamed of us having breakfast together on a Sunday morning. Such a shame that won’t be happening. But we can have this un-rushed moment together.” He piles food onto his own plate. “We can share a meal before it’s time for you to die. I’m sure you understand that I have to kill you.” “The way you murdered your own brother.” I can’t help treading on dangerous ground. “Hmmm … I love the fire in your eyes. Well, yes.” He shoves a spoonful of eggs into his mouth, chews in silence and swallows. “He was an inconvenience. When something becomes inconvenient to you, you get rid of it, don’t you agree? It was for the best, trust me.” While he speaks and eats his food, I continue thinking of ways to escape. If I run from the table, it would be all too easy for him to shoot me in the back before I make it to the door. My only other option is for me to be the first to get my hands on his gun and shoot him before he shoots me. Getting away from him without killing him first is proving to be impossible. I might not be able to survive this ordeal without blood on my hands. It boils down to his life or mine. He reaches for his gun, pulls it closer to him. “You still haven’t touched your food,” he says, disapproval in his voice. “Isn’t it to your liking?” Holding a normal conversation with a psychopath is difficult, so I hold my tongue and cross my arms across my chest. “Why the fuck don’t you quit being a stubborn little bitch? Here I was thinking it would be a kind gesture for me to serve you your last meal before sending you to the grave. Instead you throw it back in my face.” He shoves away his plate. It collides with my glass of orange juice. The orange liquid spills over the rim and taints the white tablecloth. He grabs his gun and pushes back his chair. He gets to his feet. I jump when he yanks the tablecloth clean off the table along with everything on it. The meal he has prepared ends up a mess on the linoleum floor mixed in with fragments of glass and ceramic. “Get up,” he barks. “Please, don’t do this,” I beg but his eyes are hard as a marble. It’s over. The monster is going to have his way. I’ll be dead by end of day. If even the police can’t stop him, who will be able to? The fear inside my veins is like ice cold water, leaving me a trembling mess with goose pimples all over my skin. My knees

knock as I get to my feet with the support of the table’s edge. The last thing I need is for him to revel in my fear, but my body has reached a point where it’s acting on its own. “Shut the fuck up and go upstairs.” He waves the gun to the door. As I move ahead of him, I imagine my heart shrinking inch by inch inside my chest. Every step I take hurts. It hurts to move, it hurts to breathe, it even hurts to blink. Outside the kitchen, I listen to every sound over my thudding heart and cars driving by outside. I listen for the voices of Hanna and Adrian. I hear nothing that brings me a shred of hope. Feeling Judson’s eyes pinned on the back of my head, I take small steps. I’m not prepared for whatever his poisonous mind has in store for me. Soon he’s fed up with my slow pace and grabs me by the back of my neck, gun on my temple, as he moves me forward together with him, pulling me into an evil dance I don’t want to be a part of. I thought by now I’d know what fear is. But I had no idea. What I feel now is the purest form of fear I’ve ever experienced. One. Two. Three. Four. I count every step we climb. My hands clutch the banister. The moment we reach the top of the stairs, I dig my heels in so we come to stop. “What the fuck are you playing at? I’m tired of this bullshit.” He slams a hand between my shoulder blades. The impact is so hard I stumble. He catches me by the hair before I fall. Ignoring my shrieks, he drags me to Adrian and Hanna’s bedroom door and kicks it open. With the thick velvet blinds drawn, the room is dark. Judson flicks on the light and pushes me inside. The moment the room swallows me, dread grips the base of my spine.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“L

ook at them, so at peace.” Judson jams his hands into his pockets as he gazes at the quilt-covered double bed. “My apologies for not giving you a chance to say goodbye. I may have been a little impatient to get the job

done.” It takes my mind a while to absorb the picture in front of me. Adrian and Hanna are lying in bed, next to each other, Adrian’s arm draped over his wife in a protective gesture. No signs of struggle, no rumpled sheets, not a drop of blood. If I didn’t know better I’d think they were sleeping. But I don’t need to see the blood to know it’s there, hidden beneath the sheets. Judson doesn’t have to tell me they’re dead. The chill on my spine confirms it. Judson Devereux has murdered two innocent people. Three people dead at his hands in less than twenty-four hours. How did he kill them so quietly that I didn’t notice despite being in a room across the hall? “I thought it would be nice to have them die together in each other’s arms. Doesn’t get any more romantic than that. Neither one will have to experience the pain of losing the other.” He moves close enough to whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry. They didn’t suffer much. They were good people. Even though they had always preferred my brother. A few drops of a silent poison in the glasses of wine they enjoy before bed did the job.” As the horror of it all sinks into my mind, my legs lose every ounce of strength. I sink toward the floor but he stops me before I reach it, holding me upright with his strong grip. He keeps my face directed to the bed. He refuses to let his moment of victory end just yet. “Not so fast. Hang in there. It’s not too late for you to say goodbye. You could give them a proper send off with a kiss on the cheeks. They did risk their lives for you. Don’t be ungrateful. Show your last respects.” He pushes me forward. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait.” Aware that if I make a wrong move he’d not blink before sending me to join Damien, Adrian and Hanna on the other side, I obey him. I move further into the room, taking one small step after the other toward the death bed until I’m standing

over them, watching them in their endless sleep. Both their eyes are closed and Adrian’s head rests on Hanna’s hair that’s spread out across her pillow like a fan. The same hair that had hung on her shoulders only hours ago. The stillness in the room confirms their death, as though the essence of life has been sucked out of the air. That and the unnatural coloring of their skins. “I said give them a kiss.” Impatience sharpens his voice despite him telling me to take my time. Swallowing the rock inside my throat, I bend and kiss Hanna’s cool cheek first before doing the same for Adrian. Without words I apologize to them for bringing bad luck into their lives and thank them for their efforts to save mine. At the back of my mind I can’t help wondering what Judson will do to me after murdering me. Will he tuck my body into bed and burn the house to the ground with our corpses still inside? Will we end up at the bottom of the ocean? My chest tightens at the thought of letting him win. I can’t give up yet. Not when my heart is still beating. The moment I spot a potential weapon within reach, I don’t waste time thinking. Thinking in Judson’s presence is a dangerous game. I’d be foolish to give him time to read my mind. Before I straighten up, my fingers are clutching the wooden African statue on Adrian’s side of the bed. What used to be his side of the bed. Before fear recaptures me, I send the statue flying toward Judson’s head. Instead of striking him, it catches his shoulder. The gun slips from his grasp and lands on the carpet between us. Our eyes lock from across the room before we both lunge for it. I never expected to be the first one to touch it, never expected to be faster than him, but my fingers are the ones that meet the deadly weapon. At the same time, our heads collide. The explosive pain is a sharp dagger jammed into my brain, blinding me, weakening me. My fingers have no strength as he snatches the gun from me. I fall to the ground, my free hands cradling my head as though holding a broken piece of china together. THE BULLETS HIT the floorboard inches from my feet, the gunpowder assaulting my nostrils. I ignore the pain and run from death, crawling away before I’m hit. He continues to shoot around me but not meeting my body. I doubt he’s a lousy shot. He wants to toy with me before ending it. “You want to run?” His laughter bounces off the walls before hitting my ears. “Go ahead. Run, Ivy. See how far you’ll get. Make this more fun than it already is.” He continues to shoot and I continue to crawl as fast as I can, dodging the bullets. Out of breath, I scramble to my feet. As bullets whisper past my ears, I stumble over furniture. Pictures slide off the walls, vases crash to the floor after being hit by bullets or knocked over by my body. I slip on the carpet and fall back to the floor,

my bruised cheek taking the impact. I don’t feel pain as I scramble back to my feet. The gush of fear coursing through my veins is strong enough to numb me. “When will you quit thinking you can outrun me? Do you seriously think you’ll make it out of this room alive?” Judson doesn’t move away from the door. My lungs are burning up and my head is spinning, but I keep moving. I don’t even pause to communicate with him because it won’t get me anywhere. Hopefully he’ll run out of bullets and I’ll have the opportunity to take another swing at him. This time I won’t miss. The bullets keep coming, and I keep running and falling, and screaming. Maybe someone will hear my screams mixed in with the sound of gunshots, and call the cops. But if anyone was going to help me, wouldn’t they have done it by now? From what little I saw when Adrian brought me over, the house is pretty isolated. While Judson is still determined on scaring the crap out of me, I run out of fuel and sink to the floor in one corner of the room, covering my head with my arms and making myself as small as possible. My eyes are closed so tight my eyeballs ache. I hope any second now he’ll realize he’s won and quit the game with a bullet to my head. My disappointment burns hot in my eyes when he doesn’t shoot me. He grabs me at the back of the neck and pulls me to my feet, when I refuse to walk, he drops me to the floor and grabs one of my feet, dragging me across the room. On our way to the door, something sharp cuts my shoulder. What’s another wound to what I’ve already suffered? Like someone who no longer gives a damn about her fate, I fix my gaze to the white ceiling, black spots in front of my eyes, tears spilling down the sides of my face. Some sprinkle the floor and others dry on my skin. Thinking of what he’s done to Hanna and Adrian brings on fresh, hot tears I’m unable to blink away. Our destination is the room I slept in. I recognize the pink birdcage light fixture on the ceiling. The fear of what he has in mind niggles at the back of my throat, but I don’t let it show on my face. At least I hope I don’t. He’s won but he doesn’t have to know it. The door slams and he drags me across the room, past the bed and other furniture. We enter the small en-suite bathroom. When he drops me on the cool tiled floor, I fold myself into the smallest ball. “Why don’t you do it?” I say, staring at a piece of dried gum on the underbelly of the basin. “Why drag it on? Kill me already. I don’t care.” His torture is more unbearable than death. It reminds me of being inside the coffin and wanting to die fast instead of entertaining a slow death. He stands over me, feet planted on both sides of my body, hands in pockets. “Not yet, ma chérie. We have unfinished business, remember? We need to bring to an end what we started and never got to finish at Damien’s place.” His gun is still trained on me as he moves away and turns on the shower. “But Damien’s smell on your skin disgusts me. We have to do something about that.”

A jagged scream cuts through my throat as he picks me up by the hair and throws me into the shower with my clothes still on. My skin tightens from the shock of cold water but I recover fast. I shoot him a glare. The gun is gone and a sharp knife has taken its place. My body starts to tremble when he joins me in the shower. He doesn’t slit my throat with it but uses it to cut the clothes from my body, getting too close to my skin. Too exhausted and afraid to fight him, I let him. I’m crying again, loud broken sobs that hurt my chest. I hate myself for being right where he wants me. He will rape me and if I try to stop him, I could end up with the knife jammed into my chest. My sobs make my chest hurt as he takes a sponge, squeezes vanilla-scented shower gel onto it and scrubs my face. I press my teeth together when he attempts to push the soapy sponge into my mouth. He moves on down my throat, to my shoulders, and over my breasts and stomach. Whistling a tune, he squeezes more gel onto the sponge and scrubs my thighs, knees, and calves, as though his aim is to scrub the skin right off my flesh. “You pretended to be so innocent. So pure. I never imagined you to be just another dirty whore. I’ll show you what dirty whores deserve.” He moves to the area I dread the most. I put up a fight as he spreads my legs and shoves the sponge between them. I fail. The scrubbing there is even more violent. Then he tosses the sponge to the floor. He straightens up and pins me to the wall, a hand around my neck. I bite my lip as I wait for him to pull out his dick. He doesn’t. He gives me a hard slap across the face with his free hand, then moves it to between my legs, pushes a finger into me, then another, and another. I scream out with pain and anger. He shuts me up with a kiss. In a moment of insanity, I bite into his bottom lip hard enough, tasting his blood. He withdraws his fingers out of me but only to give me another skin-slicing slap that makes my head spin. “There’s a price to pay for that.” He turns off the water, wraps my hair around his hand and throws me out of the shower. I land on the floor. The gun is back and it’s pressed against the side of my head. I hope he’s changed his mind about killing me later. I’d rather die than have his dick inside me again.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I

whimper on the floor as he dries me. The towel feels like sandpaper on my skin at his harsh rubbing but I don’t fight him. What’s the point when my reward will always be pain? When he pushes my legs apart and continues the same treatment on my vagina, I lift my head from the floor. With the palm of his hand he sends it crashing down again. The pain eats through my cheek before spreading to the rest of my head. The inferno doesn’t stop there but rages through my neck, throat, and shoulders, refusing to stop until it has ignited my entire body. I clench my teeth to contain the pain. “Good.” I hear him say but his voice is so distant. “Now you’re going to pretend to be my little virgin again, not the slut Damien has turned you into.” He gathers me from the floor and throws me over his shoulder. Blood rushes to my pounding head as it sways and bounces against his hard back. Saliva drips from my mouth and I can’t stop it. I don’t care, anyway. I wish I had a knife on me to stab him in the back with. But I have nothing, no weapon, no strength, no life to call my own. He drops me onto the bed that had been my refuge for a few short hours, the bed that had protected me from him or so I thought. My naked body falls onto the pink and white quilt. His narrow gaze lands on me, sweeping across my naked body. My skin feels the heat of both his anger and sick desires. My brain tells me to move away from him but my body doesn’t obey. I’m frozen. The anger I had felt toward him earlier has transformed into mind- and body-numbing fear, more powerful than any chains. If he walks out of this room now, without chaining me, he might return to find me right where he left me. I want to fight him, to stop him from killing me, but I don’t stand a chance against his revenge. Everything has been taken away from me. Damien started with the taking, eating away at me before his brother showed up to take the leftovers and to finish me off. I have a body and a functioning brain and mind, but I might as well be dead right now. “It’s a shame you won’t be enjoying this as much as I will.” He bends to lick my unbruised cheek, his tongue hot and repulsive. “But it would be so much more fun if you try.”

My stomach churns at the thought of him inside me. There’s an itch under my skin, one brought on by his touch, his gaze, his very presence. I want to scratch it but I’ll never be able to get to it unless I peel my skin back. He moves away from my healthy cheek and moves on to my injured one. His touch is gentle but his eyes remain hard and blank. He has the eyes of a snake. How did I not see it? How could I have visited this man in prison? How is it possible that I had searched his eyes and missed the evil buried beneath the depths of green? His eyes are a deep, dark sea, hiding many unknown dangers. Dangers only visible to those who are unfortunate enough to dive in and see them up close. I’m one of those unfortunate people. He places his handgun and knife at the foot of the bed, not far from my feet. Having crushed me completely, he no longer perceives me to be a threat. I don’t blame him. He did a fantastic job at breaking me. Now he’s peeling off his drenched clothes, opening the buttons of his shirt one by one, his eyes holding me hostage. He throws the heavy shirt on the empty floor. The sound it makes as it touches the wood brings on a distant memory. My drenched photographs had made the same sound when they’d hit the bottom of the trashcan months ago inside the new dorm room, the room that had changed my life forever. “In case you’re wondering, I am a real professor.” He’s unzipping his jeans now. “I do hold a PhD in Art History. But lecturing was not a job to me. It was . . .” He stops undressing and places a finger to his lips. “It was an enjoyable hobby that gave me the opportunity to meet innocent little pussies in search of an adventure. Sometimes I was lucky enough to meet little virgins leaving home for the first time, craving their independence.” His lips twist into a sneer. “Many of them are well aware that the world can be a dangerous place. As little girls, their parents told them the story of Little Red Riding Hood. But guess what, they never expect the big bad wolf to be so close. I love the look in their eyes when they come face to face with danger. They look the way you do now.” “What?” The single word comes out but the effort of talking makes my jaw ache so much I shut up. Which is just as well since I don’t even know what I want to ask him. He tilts his head to one side. “What, ma chérie? Do you want to ask me something?” He waits for a response and when it doesn’t come, he continues talking while peeling off his pants. “Aren’t you going to ask what I did with them? I’m sure you already know that. Did Damien tell you about our lucrative family business, the one he was stupid enough to abandon?” My eyes blur with tears and I blink them away furiously. “I have lots of employees working for my company of whores all over the world, but I always enjoy the hunt. I never delegate that to anyone. I enjoy the thrill of meeting students and locking them into my web. I have to tell you though, I don’t normally sample the goods first but I make exceptions for the irresistible girls. You and Jennifer were among the lucky ones. I wanted to fuck you first before I sold you

to another hungry cock. And the other faculty like fools wonder why some promising students suddenly abandon their studies and vanish. Parents search for their missing children, never knowing they are in a place where they are much more useful.” I swallow the sour bile inside my throat and turn away from him. I can barely breathe as my anger returns. It warms my frozen body, bringing it back to life. I unfurl my fingers while glimpsing a snow globe on the bedside table. There’s a little cottage inside with a bridge on one side and miniature trees on the other. I used to love snow globes as a kid. They reminded me of how magical the world can be. My father had been a collector. Every time I traveled to a place he hasn’t been before, I always brought him one to add to his collection. When he died, I was crushed to find my mother had thrown them all away as though they were trash and not memories. I look back at Judson when I feel the bed sink from his weight. He’s fully naked but I don’t look below his waist. I don’t want to see his evil dick, to wonder how many girls it has defiled, how many innocent lives it has ruined. The thought of fearful abducted girls and grieving parents sends fire raging through my veins. He can’t continue this evil. I can’t let him hurt any more families. I will not let him hurt any more innocent people. He has to be stopped and I will be the one to do it. Before the anger-fueled drive leaves my body, I grab the snow globe as he’s positioning himself above me. I strike him on the side of the head with it and watch him crumble on top of me. “I guess you underestimated this pussy,” I push him off me and lunge for his gun. “Bitch.” As he clutches his bleeding head, I aim the gun at him. He tries to move but his body is fighting the unexpected pain. I try not to think of the fact that from this moment on I’ll be a killer. I think only of my freedom and of saving other lives. “No,” I say with tears streaming down my cheeks. I get onto my knees. “You are the bitch, and I’m the big bad wolf you never saw coming.” My eyes are closed as I pull the trigger and shoot. I shoot him again and then once more. I feel him jolt and try to scream through a mouth full of blood. I hear him sink deeper into the small bed. His blood sprinkles my face, drop by evil drop. Finally I lower the gun to my thighs and open my eyes. I don’t see him, not any more. His face is completely unrecognizable. I did it. It’s over. I’ve ended the horror. Then why do I feel sick instead of relieved? My stomach clenches and before I can stop myself, I throw up onto his body, over and over again until I have nothing left inside me to give.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

O

nly a towel is wrapped around my body as I stumble out of the room. I descend the stairs, almost tripping on my feet, one hand holding tight to the banister, and the other clutching the briefcase with the money Damien had given me. There’s a phone in the living room and I pick it up, only to drop it again when I fail to recall the number of the police station. Without thinking anymore, I swing open the front door and run out onto the street. The sun is warm for early in the morning, warming my damp head. I lower the briefcase to the ground and tighten the towel around my body. As I pick it up again, I scan the street for someone I can run to for help. On one side of the street is the sea and on the other are a sprinkling of cottages dispersed at great distances from each other. No wonder no one came to my rescue when Judson was attacking me. For all I know the other cottages aren’t even occupied. Tears stream from my eyes and drip onto my arms. When I glance down, I see Judson’s blood. Seeing no one on the small street, I distance myself from the house of murder. It takes a moment for me to realize I’m barefoot, but it doesn’t bother me as I’ve done it before when I tried to run away from Damien. With one hand holding on tight to the briefcase, and the other wrapped around the middle of my body, I hurry toward the largest cottage at the far end of the street. My body is on the move, pushing me toward my destination, but my mind is frozen with the shock of what had happened, the crazy turn of events. I doubt I’ll ever get used to the fact that I killed a man, even one who had been threatening my life. The two-story cottage is teal, with white window frames and door. As I walk up to the small gate, I pray someone is home. Whatever the case, there’s no way I’ll return to Adrian’s house. Once the cops show up, they will probably make me go back there, but I’ll not be able to handle returning there alone. Judson may be dead, but his presence is still so clearly in the air around the house. I breathe a sigh of relief when the small gate opens without resistance. My knees knock against each other as I walk along the cobbled stone path to the front door. I

close my eyes and take a deep breath before ringing the bell. The moment my finger meets the silver doorbell button, I’m unable to remove it, to stop pushing the button. Over the sound of my crying, I hear a tinkling sound coming from inside the house. I should remove my finger, pause the ringing. I should wait for someone to come to the door. But I don’t. My finger stays on the button. The door is finally yanked open. A woman with silver hair and cheeks flushed with annoyance stands before me, smelling of cigarettes and rum. The moment her eyes meet mine, she screams and before I can say a word, slams the door in my face. I haven’t had a chance to look in the mirror, but I know I must look a complete sight. In her place, I’d also be wary of opening the door to a stranger that looks like me. I ring the bell several more times but the door remains closed. From the other side, the woman is shouting something in Spanish. The word policía tells me she’s threatening to call the cops on me. My hand drops from the button to my side. Instead of heeding her warning and walking away from her property, I sink to the ground, hugging the briefcase. After a good cry, I push myself to my feet, ready to leave. But I change my mind and sit again. I came to the house to ask if I could call the cops. If I stay here, she’ll call them without my asking. I move to sit against the wall nearest to the door and lean my head against it. My eyes drift shut. I feel safe here. I can rest for a while. The cops will be here soon. They’ll take me to safety. I had meant to only rest my eyes, not fall asleep but I do. The next thing I know firm hands are shaking me awake. I force my eyes open. A uniformed cop comes into focus as my eyes clear. I use the back of my hand to rub away any remnants of sleep. In Spanish, he asks me who I am but I don’t respond, just stare at him because it hits me I have not worked out yet what to say without sounding like a crazy person. And where do I even begin, with the events at Damien’s mansion or Adrian and Hanna’s place? He gestures for a second cop to join us. While he makes a call, the second cop asks if I speak English. I nod and he lowers himself to my level. Our eyes meet. “Who are you? What you doing here?” “He . . . help.” I lick my lips and try again. “Please, help me.” Explaining everything to him right now would take too much energy. “You come with us, okay?” He helps me up by the elbow. When he bends to lift my briefcase, I snatch it from his hands. “I’m from the US.” I hug the case to my body. “Please—I want to go home.” While the first cop exchanges a few words with the distraught owner of the house, his colleague guides me down the path and out the gate. A second police car pulls up and a thin woman in uniform steps out. The two cops talk to her for a

moment, explaining what little they know about the situation. The woman smiles as she approaches me, concern in her deep brown eyes. “I’m Officer Florez. Please, come with me.” She drapes an arm around my shoulders and escorts me to her car. I’m shocked that instead of treating me like a trespasser, they’re showing me kindness. “What’s your name?” She asks once we’re settled in the backseat of the car. Another cop is drinking coffee from behind the wheel. “Ivy Hollifield.” I glance out the window to her colleagues who are peering at us through the window, perplexed expressions on their faces. I turn away from them. It’s much easier talking to a woman. “What happened, Ivy?” Officer Florez lowers her gaze to my hands, which are clasped together over the briefcase. “Did someone hurt you?” “Yes.” The word is drowning in the tears blocking my throat. “He’s dead.” “Who? Who hurt you? Where is this person?” Her voice is like a gentle stream of water but underneath the calm, I detect a blade of steel that likely emerges when a challenging situation calls for it. I’m not sure whether to mention that first it was Damien and then his brother who hurt me. I focus on Judson, the man who did the most damage, the man who died without redeeming himself. “Judson Devereux. He’s a fugitive . . . wanted for murder in the US. Was—” “Where is he? Where is this Judson?” she asks before I can tell her his killing spree didn’t stop in the US. “House Number 7. On this street.” Before walking away from Adrian’s house, I remembered to note the house number. “Wait here,” she says as though I have a choice. She opens her door and says something to the other cops, an authoritative and much deeper voice replacing the soothing one. In a flurry of action, the officers get into their cars and doors slam shut. A few heartbeats later, we’re in front of Adrian’s house. Officer Florez gives the male cops —including the driver of the car we’re in—what sounds to my ears like orders to get inside the house and confirm my story. As they follow her orders, she remains inside the car with me. She wants to know how and why I came to Mexico and everything that followed. Not wanting to break her trust, I tell her a version of the truth, that I came with my husband, who Judson Devereux also murdered. I leave out the part about Damien kidnapping me and holding me captive. I don’t understand why I’m protecting him. It’s not as if he’s alive to pay for his crimes. It has everything to do with the fact that his crimes pale in comparison to Judson’s. I mention that Adrian had called the cops to Damien’s mansion, but no, I don’t know the address. She stops taking notes and taps the side of her face with the ballpoint pen. A shadow crosses her face. “Was there a fire?”

I frown, shaking my head. “No. I—the house was not on fire when we left. Unless . . .” I wrap my arms around my body, suddenly cold. “He could have set the house on fire before he escaped.” A fire could have been the perfect way for him to distract the cops, giving him a chance to escape the crime scene. Judson not only murdered his brother, he scorched his body. My throat constricts at the thought of burning flesh and hair. I blink away tears. The officer pats my arm. “We’ll look into it. Please continue. What happened when you arrived here?” By the time I’m done telling the story, I’m sick to my stomach. “I killed him.” My lips tremble. “I shot him with his gun. He wanted to kill me.” She hands me a piece of paper and pen. “Please write down the names of all people who were involved.” I start with my name and then the names of the people who are now dead and gone. My tears come faster when I write Adrian and Hanna’s names. As soon as I’m done, and she has made a few calls, two ambulances, and a van pull up in front of the house. She urges me to get into one of them, even when I insist that apart from a few bruises I’m fine. On the way to the ambulance, I watch as bodies are wheeled out of the house. My head starts to spin and I clutch my throat, struggling to breathe. Then black dots appear in front of my eyes seconds before darkness swallows me. The next thing I remember is waking up from a nightmare and finding myself inside a hospital. The nurse tells me that I fainted and need to stay a few nights for observation. Outside my door, I spy Officer Florez talking on the phone. After she hangs up, she enters the room, unsmiling. “Are you okay?” She places herself at the end of my bed. “Yes.” My voice sounds foreign. “Am I in trouble?” She sighs. “No, but we’ll need you to stay a few days for questioning.” “Did you . . . did you find out anything?” “Yes, we’ve found evidence that proves you acted in self-defense.” “I’m innocent,” I mumble to myself. What if they don’t believe me? What if I go to prison for trying to defend myself? “You are. And once you answer more of our questions and get some rest, you’re free to leave Mexico. We’ll help you in every way we can.” “What about the house?” “It was burned to the ground.” She pauses. “A body was found. Do you want to —” “No.” Not interested in asking more questions and just wanting to leave it all behind, I nod and close my eyes. I dream of Chelsea and my mother, and everyone I left back home, people who had meant something to me. We’re on the beach and he’s standing a few feet away from me. He smiles and waves for a few seconds, then turns to walk away, disappearing into the night like a whisper.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T

he detectives get into their car, and I raise a hand to give them a wave. As I watch them drive off, the hairs at the back of my neck bristle. With narrowed eyes I scan the patch of dead bushes on the other side of the road in time to catch a flash of blond hair between the thin branches. I close the door and rest my back against it, eyes closed, drawing in deep breaths. I’ve been taking lots of deep breaths since arriving back home two weeks ago. It has been a struggle to return to my old life, but I always remind myself to breathe and take the next step. My eyes fly open when I hear the sound of my mother returning to the small living room, a tray in her hands. A frown touches her brow as she lowers it onto the coffee table. A lot has changed since the last time we saw each other. The amazing changes in her were clear from the moment I stepped off the plane and she pulled me into a hug, sobbing uncontrollably. I had tracked her down through her modelling agency. Tightening her arms around my body, she whispered that she refused to let herself believe I was dead. When we saw each other again in person, she was not the stubborn, hardhearted woman I’d left behind. Having neglected her Botox injections and her bleach-damaged hair hanging in limp ropes around her shoulders, she looked much older than her forty-five years. But despite her abandoned looks, she had transformed in other ways. She had turned into the mother I wished I’d had as a child. Coming home has turned out to be the best decision. I’ve found a fresh start in the place I least expected it. And a new home. Mom brought me to a small onebedroom apartment instead of the large house I spent my childhood. “I couldn’t stay in a place that reminded me day and night of what I lost,” she’d admitted as she let me in. “Everywhere I looked, I saw you . . . and your father. I remembered the pain I caused you both.” “This is a nice place.” I’d hugged her to hide my own tears in her shoulders. The tears marking the end of an era. A piece of my heart aches at the loss of the home that carried my childhood memories and memories of my father. But I got

something better. I found my mother, and she didn’t even care that my hair was in a messy ponytail instead of hanging neatly down my back, attracting potential model scouts. For the first time she saw me, her daughter, and not her personal cash cow. “Where have the detectives gone?” Mom asks, bringing me back to the present. “I thought they were staying for coffee.” I shrug and move to the couch. “They got the answers they needed from me, for now at least. But keep baking those cookies. I’m sure it won’t be their last visit.” I wish it were. During my absence, Mom had found comfort in baking. Who would have thought my mother, the society lady, would find joy in a kitchen? But one thing I’ve learned is that life is full of surprises, some horrifying and some amazing. Most of them life-changing. “Did they question you about Judson again?” She lowers herself next to me and places her hands on her knees. She’s wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, not the miniskirts and stilettos she’d loved so much. “Yes. They keep asking about his illegal prostitution business. They claim it was a massive operation. They want information that would lead the authorities to his business partners. He was guilty of so many crimes, Mom. Human trafficking, drugs, money laundering.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe he got away with it for so long.” Mom tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Thank God you put an end to it. If it weren’t for you, he’d still be hurting people.” “I know.” I pull in a breath. “But I wish I didn’t have to live with someone’s blood on my hands.” “Still having nightmares?” I lean my head on her shoulder. “I don’t think they’ll ever go away.” When I go to bed at night, I relive the moment I killed Judson Devereux over and over again, night after night. Mom runs a hand up and down my arm. “You had no choice, Ivy. If you didn’t kill him, you would be dead. I read that—” “No,” I cut her off. “Don’t tell me what you read in the papers. I don’t want to know, remember?” It’s so much easier for me to bury my head in the sand and wait for the news about me and the evil twins to go away. Several times I’d come close to reading an article, to check if the stories are accurate, to find out where Damien is buried, but I managed to stop myself. Judson and Mexico have to remain in the past. “Sorry. I forget,” she whispers. “It’s okay.” I squeeze my mother’s hand. “Anyway, I told Detective Selvery what I tell him every time. That I don’t know more than what Judson had told me about his disgusting business dealings. I wish they’d leave me alone.” I drop my head into my hands, squeeze my fatigued eyes. Even with the nightmare tormenting me at night, I’ve managed to sleep a lot. And yet the exhaustion refuses to go away.

“One day it will get better. You’ll have your life back, an even better one than the one you had before.” Mom crosses her legs and runs a hand through her hair. “Once the dust settles, what do you want to do with your life? I mean—” “Mom, I’m not returning to modeling if that’s what you’re thinking. That part of my life is over for good.” She places a hand on my thigh. “Sweetheart, since you got here, have I even once asked you to model again? I’ve changed. I really get it now. It’s your life. I’ll respect whatever decisions you make.” My shoulders rise and fall as I sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s just that—it’s sometimes hard to believe, you know.” “Believe me, I know.” She squeezes my thigh. “But thinking you were dead was a wake-up call for me. The months after you were gone were incredibly hard. Not a day went by without me beating myself up for never telling you how much I love you. I regretted chasing the wrong things in life, things that didn’t bring true happiness.” She blinks away tears. “Now that I have you back, I want you to be who you want to be. If you decide you’d rather return to Oaklow and continue your studies, I won’t stand in your way. I’m okay with whatever makes you happy.” “That means a lot, Mom.” I pause. “You should also start living your life again. Go back to work. I don’t need you to take care of me.” My mother sold her modeling agency business at around the time she sold the house but not because it held memories, but because it was in financial trouble. She could have fought to revive it, but after my supposed death, she didn’t find the joy she used to get from it. Now she’s employed by a small modeling agency that doesn’t pay as much as she used to earn but she seems happy. “You’ve only been here for two weeks. Selena understands that I need a bit of time to be with my daughter. A few more days won’t hurt.” “You do know that I won’t disappear again, right?” My lips curl into a sad smile. “Can I have that in writing?” She gives a brittle laugh. I’m still getting used to my mother’s laughter, but I like it. My phone vibrates on the coffee table. I turn it face down so I don’t see the call. “Aren’t you going to take that? It might be important.” “I’m sure it’s journalists. I’m tired of them pestering me.” The phone stops vibrating and I relax. “Maybe I should change my number. Except more of them will show up outside, ready to pounce when I leave the house.” “Let’s hope another story pops up soon and they move on. But I don’t want you to stop living your life because of them. You should go out. It might do you good.” I glance at the closed window, imagining the hungry press camping outside. “I doubt it. Right now the only place I want to be is here. I’m too exhausted to do anything else anyway.” “All right.” Mom rises and picks up the tray. “Let me take the tea back to the kitchen. Unless you want some?” “No, go ahead.” After my mother leaves the living room, I pick up my phone and listen to the

message left by the last caller. “Ms. Hollifield, Marcus Jenkins again. I’ve been trying to reach you several times this week. I’m wondering if you’ve given our offer more thought. We’re very interested in your story. I’m talking book and movie deals here.” I groan as I return Marcus Jenkins’s call. The man doesn’t take no for an answer. The first and only time we talked when he cornered me on my doorstep, I’d made it clear I’m not interested in his publishing company’s offer. Still, he’s called several times a day since then. His calls always go unanswered. Until today. “Mr. Jenkins, Ivy Hollifield here. I listened to one of your messages.” I rest my forehead on the heel of my hand. “Ms. Hollifield. What a pleasant surprise. I was hoping you’d call back.” “Mr. Jenkins, I’m calling to let you know I haven’t changed my mind. Much as I appreciate your offer, it doesn’t appeal to me. I’m only interested in looking forward, not back. Now please stop calling me. My answer will stay the same. Goodbye.” Before he can come up with more way to persuade me, I end the call and head to my room for a nap.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I

vy, are you all right?” Dr. Stella Dickson rises from her chair and comes to place a well-manicured hand on my shoulder. “Would you like a glass of water?” I raise my gaze to hers and shake my head. Since playing a game of hide and seek with the truth is easier than facing it, I play. Her looks are a welcome distraction. I guess her to be in her fifties. Being my mother’s daughter, I spot the telltale signs which point to the fact that she has turned to Botox injections once or twice, but only to enhance her looks, not destroy. Her salt-and-pepper hair is in a braided bun on top of her head. Not a hair out of place. She’s striking, a polished and distinguished woman. “Did you hear what I said?” She returns to her chair but her turquoise gaze remains on my face. “I’m sorry.” I sigh. “What . . . What did you say?” She clasps her hands on the table and leans forward. “You’re pregnant, Ivy. It explains why you’ve been so exhausted and nauseous in the past two months.” I chuckle “No. No, that can’t be. It’s not possible.” “I’m afraid your blood results say otherwise.” She glances at the papers on her desk. I swallow hard and force air into my lungs. I can’t get enough. The more I try to breathe, the harder it gets. After all this time, after all the days of trying to forget Damien and Judson, and everything that happened in Mexico, this is what I get? I thought the past was behind me or at least I fooled myself into believing it. I’ve enrolled in an online interior design course, moved into a place of my own, done everything that proves I’ve moved on with my life. Only for the past to walk into my present and slap me across the face. Clenching my fists, I think back to the times Damien and I had sex, we used a condom every time before Judson showed up. Then he forced us to have sex in front of him, gave us no choice in the matter. Now here I am about to have a souvenir from the past. A souvenir I’m not sure I want. I wipe a sheen of sweat from my forehead only for sweat to pop up in its place.

“I’m sorry.” I grip the sides of my chair. “I . . . have to go. Thank you for your time.” I stand up in a daze and sway to the door. It’s only when my hand touches the doorknob, that I realize I forgot my purse. I return blindly to my chair and lift it. “Ivy, I’m so sorry this is not the news you wanted to hear. If you do decide to keep the baby, please call for an appointment so we can discuss your choices for prenatal care.” I nod and barge out of her office, the word baby repeating over and over inside my head. A few seconds later, I’m standing out on the street, a mild breeze sweeping back my hair. I remain on the sidewalk for quite some time, oblivious to the pedestrians walking around me, the blurred faces studying my face suspiciously, wondering what’s wrong with me. Baby. Baby. Baby. As the four letter word spins round and round inside my head, my world tips. I move to the nearest lamppost and lean against it for a second before sliding down to the ground. Someone asks if I’m okay. I wave them off because I can’t give them an answer. “Okay” is a feeling that’s foreign to me, one that keeps moving out of my reach each time I get close to grasping it. Sometimes it’s something simple, a dream, a random thought, a stranger on the street that reminds me of Damien or his brother. And my day plunges into the whole of darkness. Finally I am able to stand again without fainting. Instead of taking a taxi, I disappear into a nearby restaurant and order a glass of water. After fifteen minutes of staring into my full glass of water, I blink. A tear drops onto the clear surface, breaking the calm. I watch the ripples while listening to the murmur of voices around me. Keeping this news to myself is killing me. I need to talk to someone. I push the water away and root inside my bag for my phone. I dial Mom’s number first but she doesn’t answer. The only other person I feel comfortable confiding in is Chelsea. Since returning from Mexico, I had seen Chelsea once when she traveled to Boston to see for herself that I really am alive and well. At seeing me in the flesh, she had wept for the friend she thought she had lost, her tears a mixture of happiness and pain as she apologized for not being there for me, for not protecting me. I’ve come to realize that some things just happen and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop the inevitable. You plan your life a certain way, do the right things for you. And then, when you least expect it, the carpet is swept from under your feet and you’re sent flying and crashing so hard your plans shatter and you’re left with nothing but the pieces. Chelsea picks up on the second ring. Before she says anything, I break my news to her. Heavy silence thickens between us when I tell her about the only time I had

unprotected sex. “I don’t know what to do.” I take a gulp of water and rest my head on my arms. “Shit,” she finally breathes. “Wow. I don’t know what to say.” “Yeah, it’s a shock for me too. I feel as though somebody hit me over the head with a hammer.” “And you’re certain it’s Damien’s? Can a paternity test even determine who the father is? The process could be different when twins are involved.” “Of course it’s Damien’s. He’s the only man I’ve slept with . . . without protection.” I bury my hands into my hair, trying not to think of having sex with Judson, of the known fact that condoms are not one hundred percent effective. “Look, Chelsea, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t lash out at you. This isn’t your fault. I just don’t . . . I’m so confused right now.” I rub tension from my brow as I answer her question. “A paternity test would be able to tell who the father is because Damien and Judson were fraternal twins, not identical. I think I’d need to get hold of posthumous DNA samples.” “Damn. This is one hell of a surprise. I don’t know whether to congratulate you or to say I’m sorry.” She pauses for a moment. “Have you thought about whether you want to keep the baby?” “I haven’t even digested the news yet.” I take another drink of water. This time I allow the liquid to linger longer inside my mouth, cooling my tongue, before swallowing. “Chelsea, what if the baby is evil?” “I think that’s highly unlikely. That baby you’re carrying is yours. It has your genes and you’re an amazing person.” “But what if Damien’s genes are dominant?” “I think Damien wasn’t all evil. Otherwise he wouldn’t have wanted to make things right in the end.” “He and Judson shared the same blood. Which two people can be closer than twins? And what if my baby takes after Judson?” “I don’t think it would.” Chelsea exhales. “If you choose to bring that baby into the world, you will raise him or her to be a wonderful human being. Upbringing also has a lot to do with how a child turns out. And if Judson and Damien weren’t raised by the stepfather from hell, they might have turned out completely different.” I place a hand on my flat stomach. “To tell you the truth, I don’t want this baby. But I don’t know if I’m strong enough to abort it.” “I guess you only have to ask yourself one question. What will hurt more— keeping it or letting it go?” I close my eyes and grip the phone tighter. “That’s a tough question.” At this point both options make my stomach twist with agony. “I wish I could take some of your pain away.” “I know.” I bite my lip to stop it from trembling. “I’ll let you know what I decide.” “Call me anytime you need to talk, day or night. You don’t have to make it through this alone. And if you want me to come over to see you, just say the word.”

A tear rolls down my cheek. I wipe it away. “Thanks, Chelsea.” “Stop thanking me.” She goes silent. “Can I ask you something?” “Yeah.” From the slight hesitation in her voice, I sense her question will be an uncomfortable one to answer. “If Damien hadn’t died, do you think you would have given him a chance? You did say he wanted to make amends.” “Honestly, I don’t know. Probably not.” If he had let me go that day and Judson had not shown up, I probably wouldn’t have called the cops on him, but too much had happened between us, enough to taint any chance of a relationship. “I don’t allow myself to dwell on it.” “You know what I think? I think if you decide to have this baby, you might be surprised to find it has the best parts of Damien, the qualities you felt drawn to, not repulsed by.” She pauses. “Look, I have to go to lectures. I’ll call you again tonight? Hang in there.” “Sure. We’ll talk soon.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN SEVEN MONTHS LATER

R

osebud. Damien’s name for me, the word which had sickened me each time he’d said it. This time I turn the word over in my mind while gazing with awe into my baby daughter’s little face. I no longer associate the word with pain and darkness. The unopened beauty of a pink rose—that’s her lips—awakens in me feelings of love and hope. The nine months of pregnancy had been a roller-coaster as I wrestled with the fear of keeping the baby and the guilt of aborting her or giving her up for adoption. After months of being trailed by the ominous cloud of depression, I made the decision to give her to someone who will love her without associating bad memories with her. I’d found a family, signed the papers, and gone through with the pregnancy. When Mom heard of my decision, she and I had a huge argument that lasted a month. She offered to raise the baby, but I pointed out that it meant the baby would still be in my life. Finally she gave up trying to change my mind. My daughter was born last night at the break of dawn. Before her new parents took her away, I asked for a moment with her, to say goodbye to the little person who’d been a part of me for nine months, to feel her warm body in my arms for the first and last time. The moment her big, hazel eyes met mine, the walls around my heart crumbled. When Jane and Patrick Smith came back into the room to take her, I broke their hearts. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I apologized and told them that just because she left my body doesn’t make her less a part of me. Even if she’s not in my life, she will remain in my world. She’ll live under the same sun, moon, and stars. Giving her away will not mean she’s gone. My body will remember her heartbeat, my heart will forever hold a place for her. I’ll hurt more with her out of my life than in it. Last night I slept better than I have in months and woke up with that light feeling one gets when something good is about to happen. She’s my something good, the miracle I never saw coming.

I’m standing by the window, gazing out into the night, finally alone for the first time today after my visitors have left. My overjoyed mother left an hour ago, leaving me alone with baby Reese Hollifield, named after my paternal grandmother. “You are the most gorgeous baby.” I press a kiss on her forehead. “Forgive me for what I almost did.” I sway from side to side, pulling her body close to mine. She belongs in my arms, in every fiber of my life. Something about Reese brings me peace, the kind I’ve been searching for since leaving Mexico. I could laugh at the irony of life. Funny how Damien’s child, the constant, ever-present reminder of him and Judson is the one that returns to me the peace and joy that had been stolen from me that fateful day in Oaklow. As I lay Reese back in her crib, she stirs but doesn’t wake. Her sleeping face suddenly reminds me of another baby from the past. Tim, the baby Damien had brought into my life for a short while, the little boy who had given me a slice of comfort when I needed it most. I wonder how he’s doing, whether he finally has the life he deserves, whether he is happy with his adoptive parents. I recall the shock that had hit me when Damien asked me to look after him, my confusion at trying to understand how Damien could be a monster and still offer to help an abandoned baby. I switch off all lights except the lamp above my hospital bed. Still sore from the birth, I wince as I lie down, turning to face Reese’s crib, unable to believe how something so precious could come from such a dark place. THE FOG of sleep is still thick on my brain, but the urge to wake and check up on Reese is strong. Call it mother instinct. I’ve only fed and changed her an hour ago, but something tells me she needs me. I squeeze my eyes first, and open them, the insides of my eyelids grainy against the eyeballs. Before falling asleep, I’d switched off the light above my bed. The room is illuminated by the moonlight entering from the window and the sliver of light sneaking in from the corridor through the slit under the door. More than enough light for me to make out a person sitting on the other side of Reese’s crib. But the light is enough to enable me to see the person’s shadow, but not enough to make out the face. As I sit up in bed, at first I think it might be my mother, but visiting hours have been over for hours. A quick glance at my phone tells me it’s after midnight and the night nurses are strict on no visitors after hours, certainly not this late. I flick on the light above the bed with the small remote control next to me. My eyes meet those of the intruder. I blanch and bite back a scream, my hands covering my mouth. His hair is longer, brushing the tips of his shoulders, and his facial features are slightly sharper from a bit of weight loss. But it’s him.

The man sitting in the wooden chair, holding my baby, is none other than Damien Steel. It can only be him since Judson had died in front of my eyes. “How—what the . . .?” The whispered words passing through my throat feel like broken glass. A corner of his mouth curls into a smile so faint it’s almost invisible, but I see it. He glances at Reese, and back up at me. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your permission to hold her. I didn’t want to wake you. You need your sleep.” Fear claws at my spine. I don’t believe in ghosts, but the moment I saw his face, I thought he has to be one. There’s no other explanation for his presence. But ghosts don’t talk, do they? What the hell is going on? No. This can’t be happening. I don’t see Damien. I can’t. He’s dead. “You can’t be—” I stutter. “You’re not real.” Even as I say the words I know he is. A ghost would also not be able to hold a baby. “Put the baby down.” I’m unable to stop my lips from trembling. What I want most to do is fling back the covers and jump out of bed, to snatch Reese from him. But I can only think it as my body is unable to move. “You’re not real. You’re not here.” I wet my lips as tears press the back of my eyes. I hate not being able to go and protect my child from something I don’t even understand. “You’re dead. He shot you. I saw . . . I heard.” “You’re right, he did. He shot me right here.” He lays a hand on his abdomen, a storm brewing in his eyes. “But he missed some vital organs. It was a bit touch and go, but I survived. And I heard you killed him.” Pain distorts his face for a moment. “I should have been there to protect you. I don’t know what I would have done if he killed you instead. I never thought we would both make it out of Mexico alive.” “But,” I shake my head. Unanswered questions bounce around inside my skull. “How did you escape?” “I played dead, so he set the house on fire and went after you and Adrian instead. He had to keep you from going to the cops. I made it out through the tunnel. Good thing Adrian disobeyed my order of locking it.” “It’s impossible.” I shiver as my mind returns to Mexico. “The cops said there was a body.” “It wasn’t mine.” Damien runs a hand over Reese’s red curls and the base of my spine cools. “Remember when the doorbell rang, shortly before you fainted?” I blink in response. “My guess is the person who rang it ended up being one of Judson’s victims. Perhaps it was someone who heard shots and came to investigate. I’m sorry, Ivy, for everything I did to you. For everything he did to you. I’ll never forgive myself.” He kisses Reese on the top of the head. “I can’t believe something good came out of such a mess.” He glances up. “She’s beautiful. Like you.” Still not convinced Damien is real, I bring my hands together in a prayer pose. “Please—put my baby down.” “Our baby.” He touches Reese’s cheek with the tip of his finger. Reese stirs but

continues sleeping. “She’s a miracle.” When he looks back at me, his eyes are bright with tears. “Please, let me hold her for a few more seconds, then you can do anything. I’m not naïve enough to believe you’ve forgiven me for everything I did to you. I wanted to see you and her, then you’ll never see me again. If that’s what you want.” Adrenaline rushes through my body and I slide out of the bed, pushing past my fear of ghosts. I move cautiously toward Damien, afraid that out of desperation he might do something to Reese. He surprises me by not putting up a fight, instead placing the sleeping baby in my arms. Holding Reese to me, I take cautious steps to the bed, pick up the remote. “Please go.” One press of a button and one of the night nurses would be alerted and at my door in a heartbeat. Damien rises, his hands up. “I didn’t come here to hurt you. I’m not the same man I used to be, I can promise you that.” His brows draw together in a frown. “Ivy, you don’t think . . . I hope you don’t think I had something to do with Judson showing up that day. I swear, I had no idea. I really wanted to let you go.” As much as I want to believe he’s not here, that he’s dead and buried, my hand had come into brief contact with his when I took Reese from him. He’s not a ghost, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. My instincts assure me he’s harmless, and his words sound genuine. But how can I ignore the fact that he sneaked into my room and took Reese from her crib without my knowledge, that he’s the same man who had kidnapped me. “How did you know about the baby?” I hold the remote tighter, still not pressing the button even though panic is forming at the base of my skull. “Have you been following me?” His face crumbles. “I’m sorry. I meant no harm. I wanted to see how you were doing. I wasn’t sure you’d want me close.” He hangs his head. “So I watched you from a distance. I loved seeing you pregnant. But after the baby was born, I couldn’t stay away. I needed to hold her. It was not my intention to frighten you.” “I don’t know what to say.” I sink onto the bed. “Rosebud, I’m ashamed to ask this of you but . . .” He takes a step toward me but I flinch. He nods and takes two steps back. “Give us a chance. Give me a chance to repair what I broke.” “I can’t.” I swallow a sob. “I’m glad you’re okay, Damien, but I’ll never be able to look at you without seeing Judson.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I can’t change the way I look. I’ll always resemble him, but I’m different. I’ll never hurt you again. We can have a real life this time, a real marriage, a family. We already have a child together.” I lift my chin. “There’s no paternity test to prove it.” “You think it could be his?” His voice cracks. I meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” I lie. Judson wore a condom when he had sex with me. I’m well aware that condoms tear, but every piece of me believes Reese is Damien’s child. But I can’t tell him that. I can’t give him a reason to want to stay.

He removes a black cap from his pocket and pulls it low on his forehead. Given the attention my story got, the press would go nuts if someone recognizes him. The twins’ names—and mine—are still on the tip of people’s tongues. He puts on his shades at the door and turns to me. “You don’t have to worry about seeing me again. I’ll leave town. There will be an envelope waiting for you at the front desk with samples you may need should you want to do a paternity test.” He reaches for the door handle. “I’ll always love you.” Before I can say anything, he’s gone, leaving behind traces of his cologne and an ache in my heart. After an hour of crying which leaves my temples throbbing, I’m about to lower Reese back in her crib when I notice a small, black leather box at the foot of the crib. I tuck Reese in and return to my bed to open it. What I find inside makes my breath hitch. Glinting back at me is an oval cut diamond ring with my name engraved in the white gold metal.

CHAPTER TWENTY

I

’m stuck in a nightmare, surrounded by darkness so thick its velvet cloak brushes my skin. It fills my lungs as I breathe it in. I’m naked but with the cover of darkness, I feel less so. Confused as to why I’m naked, I turn in a half circle, trying to navigate my surroundings. Being in an unknown place, surrounded by unknown dangers hidden in the shadows. But my heart rate is even, calm. I cover my body as best I can with my arms and hands. Then I wait, for what I don’t know. Soon a light cuts through the darkness, faint at first but strengthening to chase off the shadows. I turn in a full circle, taking in the entire room. The rectangular, carpeted room has no doors or windows. I’m standing on one end of it and Damien on the other. I count his steps as he walks toward me, all thirty of them. His posture is confident, but the sadness in his eyes is palpable. Unlike me he’s not naked but dressed in jeans and a shirt so white it gives off a glow. In contrast to his well-groomed hair, his beard looks as though it has not been shaved or trimmed for weeks, giving him both a scruffy and put together appearance. He steps closer. I don’t step away. Maybe I should fear him but I don’t. Soon he’s so close the heat of his body radiates through the space between us, caressing my naked body. With a final step, he closes the distance between us. Now his breath is on my face. The flyaway hairs around my face sway each time he exhales. With his body touching mine, my heart abandons its calm. My heartbeat throbs hard inside my ears. He takes hold of my hands and lowers them to my sides, leaving me completely exposed. No words are exchanged between us. I don’t pull away when he cradles my chin with his manly hand. He lowers his lips onto mine. They’re velvet soft and taste of chocolate and wine. My pulse shoots up the moment one of his hands meets the small of my back and we sway, dancing to a song only we can hear. He leads and I follow. When he picks me up and lowers me to the floor, shivers race along my spine as my back sinks into the white carpet. His entire body merges with mine, his hands

supporting his weight so he doesn’t crush me beneath him. He kisses me again, harder this time, hungry for my kiss, for my soul. I return his kisses with the same hunger. Pushing down his pants, his lips stay on mine. He enters me with a force that drives a gasp from deep within my throat. With him moving inside me, I feel strangely whole again, as though a part of me I didn’t know was missing has fallen back into place. With a loud groan into my shoulder, Damien rolls us over to bring me on top of him, putting me in control to follow my sexual desires. I try to rock hard against him, aching to race toward the climax that’s building inside the pit of my stomach, but his hands keep me moving at a slow pace. Frustrated, I bite my lower lip. I need all of him and fast, but I also want to enjoy every second. After what seems like an hour, his own impatience gets the best of him and he allows me to ride him faster, his hands tight on my hips as he guides me up and down his shaft. Then he takes back the control, flipping me onto my back, my legs over his shoulders. He’s so deep inside me, I’ve never felt fuller in my life. His deep strokes are almost unbearable. I want him to stop and I want to tell him to never ever stop; to tell him that I want to stay glued to his skin forever, to keep him buried inside me for an eternity. My body does the talking, my inner muscles clenching tight around him, needing to keep him inside a little longer each time he plunges into me. Our sounds of passion weave into each other as we increase the speed of our lovemaking. When my climax explodes inside me I swear I see broken stars falling from the ceiling and sprinkling our bodies, millions of sparks heating us up until we burst into flames. When his turn comes to let go, his hands tighten on my thighs, the rhythm of his breathing breaks, and his body vibrates against mine. “Fuck, Ivy, fuck,” he growls, his sweat dripping onto my body. He doesn’t stop moving but wraps my legs around him. His lips meet mine in a warm kiss. I dig my fingers into his sweat-dampened hair. For no reason, tears spill from my eyes. “Hush, baby.” Our mouths part and he kisses my tears away, still moving inside me. When the tears cease, he stops moving and lifts himself up, hands planted on both sides of my body. His gaze meets mine and I reach into the depth of his eyes, I see them change from warm, to cool, to hard cold ice. Fear grabs hold of me and claws up my spine. The man I made love to is not Damien but Judson. “You were fantastic, ma chérie,” he whispers and evil laughter pours out of him. I try to get away but he presses me into the floor, keeping his head raised, his eyes on me. Trembling beneath him, I watch in horror as his face changes into various expressions and blood trickles from his eyes, nose and mouth, dripping onto my face. As I watch in horror, his face transforms into a mess of flesh, blood and smashed bone. I turn my head in an attempt to look away but his hands clamp

around my head. A satisfied grin appears on his face. “Take a good look at what you’ve done.” A raw scream explodes inside my throat and spills out of my mouth. My cheeks are still damp from tears when I sit up in bed, a few minutes to 11:00 p.m. My heart is beating so hard it takes a moment for me to hear Reese crying. I swing my legs out of bed and grip the side of the bed hard, pulling myself together for the sake of my little girl. For her, I’ll push through my weakness to be a better, stronger person. On my feet I feel as though I’m walking on a cloud, woozy from the traces of shock left in my veins. On my way down the short corridor to Reese’s room, I switch on all the lights and press my body against the wall for support. The moment my six-month-old baby sees me, her tears stop. Her gummy, innocent smiles erase the nightmares and toxic memories, cocooning my heart with warmth. The nightmares have become a constant part of my life, tormenting me almost every night. Sometimes I dream of Damien and sometimes of Judson. Some nights, like this, they both appear in my dreams. My mood is always left fragile for the rest of the day. If it weren’t for Reese reminding me of the good things in my life, I’d be a complete mess, firmly stuck in the past. People tell me Reese is a miniature version of me, having inherited both my hazel eyes and my red hair. No one but my mother and Chelsea ask about Reese’s father. They know it’s Damien, but what they don’t know, is that the man they think is dead is alive. I want it to stay my secret. The only fear that eats me up is knowing one day Reese will be old enough to ask me questions I don’t want to answer. Most of the time I do my best not to think of the future and instead focus on the now. But it’s proving difficult to live in the moment when the past haunts me every chance it gets. “This has to stop,” I whisper while changing Reese’s diaper. I have to find a way to end it. Lying in bed an hour later, on the pillow that’s still damp from my tears, I debate whether I should take up Marcus Jenkins’s offer, to put my emotions into words and pour them into the pages of a book instead of keeping them hidden inside my heart. But the fear of going back there again, reliving every dreadful moment, to look point blank into Judson Devereux’s bloody, disfigured face, scares the hell out of me. Though, what if that’s the only way for me to let go? At 1:00 a.m., unable to get any sleep, I suck in a deep breath and switch the light back on. I remove the black and gold business card from my bedside drawer and pick up the phone. It’s late, but I doubt Jenkins will care. He’s been waiting for this call for months. The phone rings five times and I’m about to hang up and change my mind about the whole crazy idea, when his rusty voice fills my ear.

“I’m sorry for calling you this late.” I chew a corner of my nail. “It’s never too late if you’ve got good news for me.” His voice is thick with excitement. Getting me to write this book, telling my high-profile story, means lots of cash for him. At this point I couldn’t care less. He gets the money, I get my freedom. Win, win. “I do.” I blow out a stream of air. “I’ll write the book.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I

rise from the makeup seat and join my mother at the backstage juice bar. She wraps her arms around me and gives me a good squeeze. “I’m so proud of you.” Pressing my cheek to hers, careful not to ruin my camera-ready makeup, I breathe in her comforting perfume. “I’m not sure I can do this.” She pulls back and holds me by both shoulders. “I think you can. You’ve gone through the worst already by writing that book, facing all the emotions.” I sigh. “I wish this talk show wasn’t part of the deal.” Writing my most private thoughts in a book is one thing. Willingly putting myself out there, in front of cameras and a live audience, makes me feel uncomfortable. As a former model, I should be used to cameras, to sometimes being asked uncomfortable questions, but the appearance on Thirty Minutes with Lori Raine will completely expose the ugly side of me for all the world to see. But this is the first and last public appearance I promised my publishers. After tonight, I can finally step back after seven months of hard work. I do have to admit that even though I had been resistant to the idea of writing the book, I like to believe the experience healed me in many ways, by helping me shift through suppressed emotions, bringing them to the surface so I can confront them, to accept that even if I turn my back on the past, some of the pain will never really go away. It will lurk below the surface and at times fate will fool me into thinking it’s gone, only for the wounds to reopen when I least expect it. My best bet is to look in the eye of the storm and live my life anyway. “It means a lot that you’re here.” I brush a piece of fluff from my white blouse and smile at my Mom. “I’ll always be here to support you.” She dabs her eyes with a Kleenex. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for not being there in the past. I can’t believe I gave birth to such a remarkable young woman. I think it’s great that you’re giving most of the proceeds to abused women charities. You’re making your own mark in the world.” “Your daughter also looks breathtaking.” Chelsea has ended her call to Neil, her fiancé, and comes over. She surveys me from head to toe, taking in the loose silk

blouse over skinny jeans. I shake out my fingers. “Let’s hope I still look good after the interview.” The stylists have pulled my hair into a sleek and carefree ponytail that gives me the appearance of a young, innocent college student. I’m pretty sure it was done on purpose. Perhaps the producers want to portray a picture of the girl I was back then, before Damien took me away. Our conversation is cut short when a man with headphones and a notepad peeps through the door. “You’re on in thirty seconds, Ivy.” He winks and closes the steel gray door. I blow Mom and Chelsea a kiss and allow myself to be ushered out by a woman wearing a cream shirt and black skirt. “Good luck,” she says and opens the door. Time to get out from behind the words and face the world. I put on a smile and step through the door and into the bright lights. My name is called out, someone introducing me. The room explodes with applause. The audience is bigger than I’d expected. I thought only about twenty or so people would show up, but the room is packed. There has to be at least fifty. Watching the expectant faces, I feel hot. My hands are slick with sweat and my cheeks feel as though they are being ignited from within. As I climb onto the lit up stage, my eyes on Lori Raine, my left toe hits the edge of a step. I start to stumble forward but right myself in time and give a nervous smile. My eye is trained on Lori. If I’m going to get through this, I’m going to have to pretend it’s just me and her in the room, having a chat as if over a coffee. No cameras, no audience, just the two of us. “Ivy Hollifield, everybody.” Lori Raine, a middle-age woman with a deep voice and big hair beams up at me. “Ivy, I’m so thrilled you agreed to an interview. Welcome to Thirty Minutes. It’s a great honor to meet you in person.” She waves at a red leather vintage armchair. “Glad to be here.” I sink into my seat. “Thank you for inviting me to the show.” Lori crosses her legs. Given how tight her knee-length, charcoal pencil skirt is, I expect the movement to be a struggle but she’s a professional. With her pixie haircut and dark blue cat eyes, she’s even more striking in person. I’ve watched her on TV for years, interviewing A-class celebrities. When my publishers begged me to be on her show, they said I should be flattered that she’s desperate to interview me. I’m not. She’s known to be ruthless at questioning her guests and exposing their weaknesses for all the world to see. As far as I’m concerned, I’m inside a slaughter house. She gives me an easy smile, making me feel comfortable enough to think she will be easy on me. “Ivy, congratulations. It’s been a month since the release of your book, Midnight Storm. How hard was it to write such a tragic story?” She waves a hand at a hardback copy of my book on the white chrome table, between two crystal glasses of water. I pick up my glass and take a cool sip while glancing at the glossy cover. The image used is of a woman alone on a beach with her back to the camera, a troubled

sea stretching out before her. The cover artist had shown me several cover options but this image was the first one I saw and the one that resonated with me most. The picture leaves one wondering what the model is thinking, the state of her emotions, what she’s trying to hide from the world. I couldn’t have chosen a better image if I tried. “Well, it wasn’t easy, I can tell you that much.” I force a nervous smile. Lori glances at the silent audience then back at me. “I’m sure I speak for everyone here when I say we’re glad you wrote the book. We were all curious to know the truth of what really happened in Mexico.” She taps her thigh with coral red manicured nails. “What made you agree to write your story?” “It’s not for money, as most like to believe. I wrote it for me. Putting my emotions on the page helped me face the emotional pain of trauma I carried around.” I clasp my hands in my lap. “Half the proceeds from the sales of my books are also being donated to various charities.” “That’s awfully generous. Judging by the attention your book is getting, you’re going to make some charities very happy.” Lori leans forward. “Can you confirm the rumors that there are talks of a movie deal?” “I’m afraid not. In fact, allow me to squash the rumors—” “So, you’re saying there will be no movie?” “That’s right.” I take another sip. Hearing the words movie deal makes me want to cover my ears. Not a week goes by without my publisher trying to talk me into allowing my book to go to Hollywood. I can’t expect they’ll be pleased with my little announcement today. I don’t blame them for holding out hope that I’ll change my mind. After all, I’d changed my mind about writing the book. Except this time my mind is made up. I spent months writing the book, time I could have spent with Reese. It’s time for me to move on with my life. “That’s a shame. Your story would make a great movie.” Lori picks up my book and opens it where a turquoise beaded bookmark separates the pages. “I have to admit I haven’t finished reading the entire book yet. Not because I didn’t enjoy it. It’s just so hard to read. I’m horrified at the things you went through.” “Thank you.” I sweep my legs to the side and cross them at the ankles. “So much has changed for you in a short time. First you were a model, then a student, only to be lied to, kidnapped, and almost murdered.” “It was a difficult time.” “I’m sure it was.” Lori puts down the book and picks up a pack of cards from the table. “Thirty minutes is a short time when you’re having fun, so let’s get to the hard questions.” She winks at me. My body tenses and without planning to, I glance at the audience. Most of them have a copy of my book in their laps. I’m guessing I’ll be signing a few copies before making it out of the building. I’ve come prepared for most questions and Markus Jenkins personally prepared me for the interview, but as many viewers know, Lori Raine can be unpredictable. She’s brought a lot of tough men and women to tears with her questions. And she

always ends her show with a shocking question or revelation. I’ll not fall into her trap. She won’t break me. I’ll only give her the answers I’m prepared to give. I square my shoulders and lift my chin. “What would you like to know?” I’m expecting her to want more details about Mexico, even though most questions are answered in the book. She glances at her cards. “A few months after you were rescued in Mexico and brought back home, you gave birth to a little girl. Reese Hollifield is her name, right?” I blink at her, completely caught off guard. I should not have agreed to this interview. One of the reasons I had refused to give interviews was so I could protect Reese. Now Lori is making my daughter the topic of conversation, even though my one condition to coming to the show was that there will be no questions about Reese. She has built my trust at the beginning of the interview only to snap it in half. “Ivy, are you with me?” Her voice is smooth as honey, dripping with poison. She comes back into focus. Her head is tipped to the side expectantly. I glare at her. “Yes, yes, I am.” “I’m sure everyone is wondering who the father of your child is. Is it one of the twins?” Hiding the truth would be more damaging than unveiling it. My publishers told me that Lori is always one step ahead. She prepares for her interviews with the precision of a lawyer about to walk into a court room. She has answers to most questions she asks and she’s not afraid to expose a lying guest if she has to. The best and only option for me at this point is to come clean. I raise my chin and meet her eyes, my insides burning with rage. “The father of my daughter, Reese Hollifield, is Damien Steel.” “The man who kidnapped you.” Lori smacks her thigh with her cards and looks to the audience for a reaction, which she gets when gasps and whispers fill the room. “How does it feel to look at your daughter every day and be reminded of what happened in Mexico? Do you look at her and see her father?” I push down the anger burning at the back of my throat. “The funny thing is, Lori, when I look at my daughter, I see a little girl who saved me. She’s the reason I wake up every morning. The one good thing that came out of the worst time of my life.” “I see.” Lori gives me a smile but I see-through her. She really enjoys this. She wants more than the facts. What she’s interested in is digging up the pain and bringing it to the surface for all to see. She likes a good shocker and this is mine. She puts the cards back on the table and picks up her glass. As she lifts the glass to her lips, I strain to read her watch, to guess how much more time is left of the interview. Thirty minutes have never seemed more like an eternity. Lori takes a drink and watches me over the rim of her glass. “I’m sorry I have to ask, Ivy.” She sighs. “What are you going to tell Reese? When she grows up, will

you tell her the truth, that she’s the daughter of a kidnapper and a liar, and the niece of a murderer and rapist?” The question is a stab to my heart. I clench and unclench my hands as I glare at her. I want to jump from my seat and wring her neck before walking out of her interview. But what example would I be setting for my daughter? Life is full of bullies like Lori Raine. My job is to teach her to stand up for herself. I reach for a napkin on a side table. Wow, she really believes in her ability to make people cry so much that she has the Kleenex ready. Taking my time, I wipe my eyes and paste on a smile. To hell with the damn interview. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Lori?” She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean? I’m sorry, are the questions too uncomfortable for you?” She pauses and looks at her gang of an audience. “I guess Miss Hollifield didn’t get the memo. Thirty Minutes is about the truth. Unfortunately, some people can’t handle it.” She chuckles and the audience barks with laughter. “No.” Heat rises up my neck. “This show is about you. You take people’s pain and derive pleasure from it.” I wet my lips. “You’re making it look as though what I went through is my fault.” “I didn’t say—” “You don’t need to say it. Your words and actions say it all.” I lean forward and harden my voice. “What I went through is not a joke, and it can happen to anyone, your daughter, your sister, your friends. Instead of educating people, telling them to be more careful, you’re making me feel guilty for something I had no control over. I’m sorry, but you should be ashamed of yourself.” “No, Ivy, you should be ashamed of yourself for making a mockery of my show.” She points a trembling finger at me, her anger erasing her beauty. “The way you’re making a mockery of my pain?” “I did no such thing. I merely asked an honest question.” “Now let me give you an honest answer.” I cross my legs. “One day, when my daughter is old enough to ask questions about her father, I’ll answer them honestly.” No longer caring what anybody thinks, I turn to the audience. “I’ll tell her that her father was born a good man but he had a very tough childhood. I’ll tell her that he made a lot of mistakes, and hurt me in many ways, but when it mattered most, he did the right thing. He owned up to his mistakes in the end and tried to make them right. We all make mistakes. We all hurt people in different ways.” I turn back to Lori. “Look at you, for instance, you’re hurting people and don’t even know it.” “How dare you—” “Let me finish.” My eyes blaze at her. “In Damien Steel, I saw a monster at first, then I saw a man in pain, then I saw a man who saved my life. He was hurt by someone before he hurt someone else. For my daughter’s sake, I choose to see the good in her father.” “Do you mean that?” A deep voice comes from the audience, amidst a flurry of

whispers. I squint as my gaze travels over the faces in the audience. Before I can find the one I’m searching for, he stands and removes his cap and dark shades. “What the—call the cops.” Lori’s head snaps back. Shock waves sweep through the audience as Damien leaves his seat and walks down one of the aisles, headed for the stage. “Lori Raine, Damien Steel. I wish I could say it’s a pleasure to meet you, except it’s not. I hope you don’t mind me joining you.” Without waiting for an answer, he takes a seat next to Lori, whose face is white as a sheet. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. “You’re supposed to be dead,” she breathes. “Turns out I’m not. I survived. The only reason I stayed away is for Ivy’s sake.” Even though, unlike everyone here, I’d known Damien was alive, my body is also hot with shock. Never would I have expected him to show up like this, or ever. He ignores Lori and turns to me. Silence falls over the room when he continues to talk. “I did a lot of terrible things, and if you decide right now to call the cops on me, I won’t stop you. But there are a few things I want to say to you first, and I want the world to hear.” He runs the palm of his hand over his jeans. “Hearing you say those things about me cut deep. After all I did, I’m the last person to ask you for forgiveness. But I want you to know that even though I’m sitting in front of you, the man who did all those terrible things is dead. He died in Mexico. The man I am today is the kind of person I grew up wanting to be, someone who is willing to sacrifice his heart if it means saving the woman he loves.” He draws in a breath. “Ivy, I’m not here to cause you more pain. I realize that what I did to you cannot go unpunished. I’m tired of hiding, pretending I’m dead only because I’m afraid of the consequences. I’m here because I want to be the man you and our daughter can be proud of, someone who is not afraid to accept responsibility for his crimes.” “What do you want?” “I read the book—every word. Seeing everything I did to you in black and white shook me. I can’t hide from the truth. When I close my eyes I see your pain. I need to do the right thing.” He rubs the side of his face. “I wanted to see you first, to tell you I love you before turning myself in.” While Damien is talking, two cops get up on stage, ready to take him away. He glances at me and gets to his feet. “I said what I came to say. Please tell Reese that I love her and wish I can one day meet her. If you decide not to grant me that wish, I’ll understand.” He hands himself over to the cops and allows them to guide him to the steps and down the aisle. “Stop,” I shout before they reach the door. Tears clog my throat as I get to my feet. He turns. Our eyes meet across the room. “I . . . I don’t want it. I don’t want you to go to prison.” Even as I say the words, I know that whatever will happen to Damien is out of my control. My book contains enough damning evidence to send him away for a

long time. I have slammed the final nail in his coffin. “The decision is not up to you, my love. Don’t stand in the way. This is something I have to do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

T

he rational part of me urges me to turn the car around, to drive away from the prison gates before the reporters see me. A week has passed and all the focus of the press has been on my story. It came to a point where I had to move into a small motel on the outskirts of town to hide out, while Reese stayed with my mother. I thought that waiting a week before visiting Damien would be enough to get them to stop camping outside the prison gates. I wipe the sweat off my forehead. I’m sweating and it’s not because it’s been a hot couple of days. After seeing Damien at the studio, the way he looked at me and the things he said, I’m nervous about seeing him again. I don’t have to visit him. Both my mother and Chelsea warned me to stay away. Mom said she’s proud of me for forgiving him, but I’d be a fool to let him into my life, into Reese’s life. Her words kept me up most nights, and this morning I woke up at the crack of dawn and stared out the window while my mug of coffee went cold, debating on whether to come or not. But something inside me refuses to let me let go. I take a deep breath and step out of the car, throwing myself into the throng of reporters and journalists. Ignoring the flashing cameras and questions, I keep my head low, my hand tightly wrapped around the handle of my handbag. I charge forward without looking right or left, only focused on where I am going. I hold my breath until my lungs scream, until I’m forced to suck in the smells of chewing gum, stale cigarette smoke, and perfume. A journalist with stringy hair and bad breath shoves a microphone in my face. “How did it feel to have sex with two brothers?” “Would you really like us to believe you couldn’t tell the difference between the two?” someone else shouts. The word “whore” from somewhere in the crowd lands on my ears. Tears burn the back of my eyes but I bite them away and push my way through, ignoring the questions and insults hitting me in the back. I refuse to make any comments because the next thing I know, my words will be taken out of context and the sting

will follow me for weeks. Answering their questions only gives them permission to hurt me more. Here I was thinking after the interview with Lori, I would move on with my life, finally shutting the door to the past. It only served to open the door wider, inviting Damien in. Almost every news station reported our story and the Internet went crazy as videos from the show were watched, liked, and shared thousands of times. I had to stop watching TV and reading the papers to keep from going mad. At last, by some sheer miracle, I make it through security and into the visitors’ room. Damien is already waiting on the other side of the glass, his chin covered in stubble, his hair disheveled. When he sees me, he picks up the handset. “I didn’t think you’d come.” His blank eyes crinkle at the corners as he gives me a weak smile. “I never expected to see you again.” At hearing his words, a coolness settles on my spine. The same words Judson had used when I first visited him in prison what seems like a lifetime ago. “I only came to tell you that I tried to get the charges dropped. It didn’t work.” “Good. This isn’t something you can stop from happening.” “I get that now. And I respect your decision, but you should know that I meant everything I said on the show. You hurt me deeply, but the person I saw in you the few days before Judson showed up, was a good man. That’s why I choose to forgive you.” He nods with a smile. “You have no idea how much that means to me. Unfortunately, the law is not as forgiving, and I’m okay with that.” Silence falls between us before he talks again. “Am I really the father of your child?” “I did the paternity test. Reese is your daughter.” “Our daughter.” His eyes glint with pride. “You gave her a beautiful name.” “Thanks. It’s my grandmother’s. I’m glad you like it, Damien.” “I know this is selfish of me but I have to ask.” He runs a hand over his head, causing even more of a mess. “Is there a chance I can see her again?” I’ve been expecting the question and dreading it. It’s one thing for me to forgive Damien but quite another to allow him access to Reese. On the other hand, I don’t feel comfortable denying him a relationship with his daughter. “Can I have a few days to think about it?” “Yes, of course. That’s more than I can ask.” He places his hand on the glass this time. “I promise to never break her heart . . . or yours again.” I shift in my chair. “Damien, this doesn’t mean we’re together.” “Are we friends at least?” I shake my head. “I don’t think we can ever be just friends.” I glance at my left hand, at the empty ring finger. “I need to return your ring.” “It’s yours. When I came to see you at the hospital, I planned to propose to you. I thought the birth of our child meant a new beginning for us. But I don’t blame you for not wanting a relationship with me right now. I fucked up.” “What should I do with the ring?” “Keep it. Maybe one day you’ll change your mind.”

I moisten my lips. “I don’t think—” “Give it a couple of years, if you must, to think about it.”

EPILOGUE

T

he warm summer wind sweeps across my skin and rips strands of my hair out of the intricate up-do. I brush the strands back and pin them back in place. I’m enjoying a glass of wine under the long canopy that offers shade to a dozen low reed tables. Chelsea and Neil wanted a laidback daytime, beach wedding reception and their wedding planner did an amazing job. The center of the tables are decorated with oyster shells strung together by white cords as well as flowers and tea light candles. Instead of chairs, soft cushions are placed on reed mats. In spite of the loud music, laughter, and chatter, I feel so relaxed my eyes are threatening to close by themselves. “Excuse me,” I say to one of Neil’s cousins, who spent the last thirty minutes telling me how spaghetti is made. “I need to check up on my daughter.” I give him a polite smile and rise to my feet. “No problem. It was nice talking to you.” He turns to the guest on the other side of him and continues the spaghetti story. I can’t help smiling as I walk toward the area that’s reserved for the kids, enjoying the feel of the sand between my toes. Damien is sitting on a large cushion facing the sea, with Reese curled up in his lap. One of his hands lays gently on Reese’s curls. Watching them together makes my heart clench. When he was in prison, it took me months before I gathered the courage to take Reese to visit him. And he was so moved that I started taking her to see him more often. It didn’t take long before Reese warmed up to him and they developed a bond. Every time I told her we’re going to visit “daddy” her eyes would dance and she would be incredibly animated. The deeper their relationship grew, the more distant the past became, the more I embraced the future. I still had no idea where we would be once he got out, but I knew that if nothing else, we would be friends. The two years he was in prison, I had two short relationships and I told Damien about them when he asked. Although he always put on a brave face and told me he’s happy for me, his green eyes would darken with sadness. The truth is, no one I dated ever came close to making my heart flip over. “Hi,” I say when I reach them. I sit down on the blue cushion next to him and

adjust my long, beach dress around my legs. “She had too much fun?” I look down at Reese. “Yes.” He chuckles. “And too much wedding cake.” I smile. “I don’t like her eating much sugar, but since she’s the flower girl, I guess it’s her right.” “It was a beautiful wedding,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I still can’t believe you came to Oaklow. The town holds—” “Many bad memories for me, I know.” I wrap my arms around my legs. “But Chelsea is my best friend. I couldn’t miss her wedding even if I had to go to hell to attend it. Also, I didn’t think it was fair for me to forgive you and not Oaklow.” I laugh. Damien lets out a ragged breath. “It kills me knowing your bad memories start with me.” “But you’ve been doing a great job at repairing what you broke, as you promised you would. It’s been a year since you got out of prison and every day I’ve been waiting for you to return to the man you were in San Maureo, but you keep proving me wrong.” After Damien came out of prison, earlier because he gave the authorities information about Judson in exchange for a shorter sentence, at the back of my mind I feared he might hurt me or Reese. Although he decided to stay in Boston, I kept a distance from him for three months, only allowing him to communicate with Reese over the phone. Even though I had forgiven him, I had felt more secure when there were bars between us and him. In the three months away from him I waited for him to slip, to do something stupid like stalking us so my fears could be confirmed. But he respected my decision until I finally gave him the benefit of the doubt and met him for lunch. It wasn’t long until we spent more time together, sometimes with Reese and sometimes just the two of us. Before I knew it we ended up in bed. I’ve since accepted the fact that my body refuses to live without Damien. But this time is different. I’ve entered into this relationship with my eyes open. I’m the one with the power, the one calling the shots. I promised myself that if I detect even a flicker of his past evil self, I’ll walk away. “The old Damien is gone, Ivy. He’ll never return because this is the man I always wanted to be. I can never put what I’ve found with you and Reese at risk.” “I believe you.” I brush a lock of Reese’s hair from her forehead. “She looks so peaceful. And so beautiful. Sometimes I still can’t believe she’s our daughter.” Silence falls between us then I feel him turn his head again, his eyes on the side of my face. I don’t look at him. “It’s the first time you’ve referred to her as our daughter,” he says. “That’s what she is,” I say. “She may not have been planned, but she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” “And to me.” He pauses. “You and Reese make me a better man. And I feel as though, in a way, Judson’s death set me free. I don’t think I’d have been able to

have this life if he were alive.” My heart clenches as it always does at the name Judson. “You think he was right when he said this world is too small for the both of you?” “Maybe. I don’t know.” Damien stares at Reese, at peace in his arms. “I do believe you, you know,” I say softly. “I know you won’t go back to being—” “A monster?” I smile. “That’s not what I meant to say, but yes.” I bite my lower lip. “I find this hard to believe and I know many people probably think I’m crazy, but I love you, Damien. I love the man you’ve become.” I reach out and touch his cheek. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m ready for us to be a real family.” “You’re ready to be my wife for the second time?” I swat his arm playfully. “Not for the second time, silly. The last time doesn’t count. This will be the real thing.” “Are you proposing to me, Rosebud?” His face breaks into a huge grin. “No, you’re proposing to me.” I reach into his pocket and pull out the small leather box I returned to him when I met him after he left prison. “You’ve been carrying this around for a while, haven’t you?” He nods. “I was waiting for the right time. To tell you the truth, I never thought I’d have the guts to ask you.” “It’s okay, you can ask.” Tears fill my eyes. “This is the right time.” “Ivy Hollifield,” he says, taking the box from me and flicking it open with a thumb. “Will you give me another chance to make things right? Will you be my wife?” “Yes, Damien.” I wipe the tears from my eyes and kiss him on the lips. “I’ll allow you to repair my heart. I will be your wife.” We kiss for a long time and he places the box on his thigh. Still kissing me, he removes the ring from the box and slips it onto my finger. “I have a request,” I say when we stop to catch our breaths. “Anything. It’s my duty to make your wishes come true.” His eyes glint with undiluted happiness. “I want to get married here, in Oaklow. This beautiful town also needs its reputation repaired.” He places a finger under my chin and lifts it. “Are you sure that’s what you want?” “More than anything.” I get to my feet and reach for his hand. “Now let’s get our little angel to the hotel for a nap.” “Can we celebrate tonight, you and me?” He gives me a mischievous grin. “Of course.” I laugh. “Any ideas?” “Let me just say, it involves me licking champagne from your belly button. But I’ll say no more than that in front of our daughter.” I giggle as he gets to his feet with Reese in his arms and we walk into our future. THE END

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