The Castle (Endgame #3) - Skye Warren

THE CASTLE SKYE WARREN

“Whenever a thing is done for the first time, it releases a little demon.” – Emily Dickinson

Table of Contents Cover Title Page Epigraph Prologue 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 Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Epilogue Thank You Excerpt from Tough Love Other Books by Skye Warren About the Author Copyright

Prologue Gabriel

I

DEAL WITH dangerous men every day. Criminals. Lowlifes lurking in the darkest corners of the city,

without ever flinching. Bruised knuckles and bare tits. That’s what I know. It’s this gilt and glamour that makes me itch. Men in tuxes. Women in glossy gowns. An enemy who greets me with a handshake. Hair on the back of my neck rises. Geoffrey James is a businessman with a lot of influence in Tanglewood. He has a reputation for being honest, despite his family legacy. Generous, despite his wealth. The skin around his eyes wrinkles as he smiles. “Gabriel. Or do you go by Gabe?” “Gabriel will be fine,” I say smoothly. “Of course.” A jovial laugh. Does he practice that? “I wouldn’t want to call you Miller. That’s more your father’s thing. The formality.” Formality. That’s one word to describe my father’s penchant for violence. In contrast to this glittering estate, we lived in a goddamn hovel. Such very different social spheres. So very similar, once you get beneath the surface. The James family fortune was built on the backs of whores and drug addicts. That part is common knowledge if you’re connected to the Tanglewood underworld. What isn’t common knowledge is that his construction company is a front for the Russian mafia. “My father is no longer”—I pause, savoring the words—“in business.” For a brief moment James appears nervous, his wide forehead slick with sweat. He pulls a handkerchief from his jacket, wiping hastily. I do him the favor of averting my eyes. I have no plans to break him. Not tonight. Normally I don’t enjoy the pretense of fancy things—diamonds and gold. Pretty wrapping on dark cruelty. Though I have to admit this estate is tastefully done, the lawns a demure rolling green, the front of the house in an old manor style. A rich moss scent saturates the night air. Fireflies dance in the distance. The wide front door opens, revealing yellow light and sparkling laughter. “Built it for my wife,” he says, gesturing to the house with his damp handkerchief. I vaguely recall that he’s widowed. “My condolences.” “A long time ago now, but thank you. It’s just me and my little girl these days.” As we watch, a Bentley pulls up into the curved drive. A young valet sprints around the car to catch keys worth more than he’ll make in a lifetime. Another glittering old couple ascends the staircase. A young woman steps onto the front portico to greet them, her smile bright enough to light the entire mansion. Her pale pink dress ruffles in the summer breeze. In a world of falsehoods, she looks completely genuine as she greets the newcomers, giving them warm hugs. Even from ten yards away I can tell she squeezes them. What would it feel like to be held in her slender arms, her body lithe and pale beneath that floaty fabric? It would tear beneath my hands. The dress. Her skin. I would ruin her. The couple and the woman go inside, leaving me to catch my breath.

I manage to look sideways and catch the glint of pride on James’s face. Good Lord, that’s his little girl? He would probably have a stroke if he knew all the ways I want to defile her. “It’s her graduation party,” he says. Then she’s eighteen years old. Legal. I should probably be ashamed for thinking of her in sexual terms, but shame was beaten out of me years ago. “Give her my congratulations.” “Of course,” he says, lying through his teeth. The girl will never know I was here. Never know my name at all. “Shall we go inside? I keep the good brandy in my study.” “Let’s.” What we have to discuss is best done in private anyway. Wouldn’t want to spoil the party by talking about dirty money. Wouldn’t want to ruin little Ms. James’s celebration by exposing her father for a fraud. I’m sure she worked very hard at her expensive prep school, wearing plaid skirts and dark green cardigans and curl-tipped pigtails. At least that’s how she looks in my imagination. James isn’t lying about the brandy. A thousand dollars a bottle, I think, breathing in the cherry notes. I take a sip and amend my evaluation. Two thousand, at least. Delicious, I’ll give him that. If only he had spent that money on his debts instead of fine liquor. He settles across from a chess set, and I wonder whether he actually uses it. It doesn’t look dusty, but good housekeepers can fix that. I pick up a wooden pawn, running my thumb over the ridges. The beige wood doesn’t have a single visible knot, every imperfection whittled away before being allowed in a place like this. His gaze tracks my movements, clearly displeased. I guess he knows I’ve seen the books. He’s at a disadvantage, enough to let me do what I want. With this chess set, at least. With his daughter? That would take more work. I sit down on the white side, making myself comfortable. “I’ve been looking over the records,” I say because we’ve done enough pretending. Enough gold. Enough diamonds. “My father’s records. A lot of it’s missing. A lot of blank pages.” He looks relieved, so I set the pawn on the board—not in its starting position. I set it down two spaces forward. An opening move. He needs to understand that we’re playing. And that I play to win. He meets my gaze, his dark eyes wary. “Much of our negotiations were verbal, you understand. Agreements between gentlemen.” I once saw my father piss on a prostitute’s back because she had cried too much when a customer whipped her. Gentleman? Hardly. “Although, the numbers I do have don’t add up.” “Well, like I said. Verbal agreements. I can’t control what your father wrote down. Can’t control what kind of records he kept. But I can assure you that our dealings were always the utmost aboveboard.” He’s talking too fast, nervous and revealing. “You traded on flesh and weapons,” I say, unable to hold back the venom in my voice. Not because I’m above them. No, I’m taking over the family business like a good son, the monster my father raised me to be. But I won’t pretend to be something else, won’t smile as a photographer from the society section flashes his camera. His expression hardens. This is the face of a man that buys and sells a girl his daughter’s age without remorse. “Whatever your father told you, I never cheated him. We were even at the time of his… disappearance.” “Interesting that you think he told me anything about you. At the time of his disappearance, as you put it, he had more pressing matters to consider.” Like my knife at his throat, my knee on his back.

I’ve committed many sins in my life, but his was the first life I took. It saved the life of a woman, but I can’t claim any noble purpose. His death was long deserved. And extremely profitable for me. I’ve spent the past two weeks taking over every arm of his business. James sputters, heat rising to his ruddy cheeks. “This is a rough business. I’m sure you know that. No matter how much I want to give the benefit of the doubt, I have to protect my interests.” “I’ve found it’s the dishonest who are most paranoid about other people lying.” He stands abruptly. “How dare you accuse me of stealing from your father.” I follow more leisurely, standing and straightening my suit jacket. The truth is, the penguin suit is growing on me. As is the velvet brandy on my tongue. As is the pretty girl I saw outside. All the money in the world doesn’t matter if you don’t have anything to buy. Cars. Drugs. Women. None of it interests me, but suddenly I know exactly what I want—everything he has. “Stealing?” I say, tasting the word. “I didn’t say anything about stealing. Is that what you did?” James takes a step forward, apparently trying to be menacing. His physical body doesn’t offer any threat to me. I managed angry customers twice as strong when I was half as old. “Look here,” he says, almost snarling. “How dare you come into my house, throwing around accusations. That’s not the way business is done, and if you want to challenge me, go right ahead. You’ll find I have a lot of friends in this city.” “Friends can be bought, the same way you acquired them.” “You don’t know anything about me, boy.” Boy. It’s meant as an insult, but it amuses me. It’s been a long time since I felt young or innocent. Actually I’ve never felt that way. Thirty years is long enough to see every form of depravity in this city, most more than once. “Relax, old man. I have no issue with you or whatever deals you made with my father. You have a clean slate with me.” Relief wars with anger on his puffy face. He wants to stay pissed at me for my insinuations, for the old man comment. But he owes too much money to my father not to take the gift. “Of course,” he finally manages. “Naturally that’s the state of things. Good to hear you agree. Then we can complete the final shipment as planned.” I give him a hard smile. “I look forward to doing business with you.” And I won’t accept any underhanded bullshit. That’s the point of this little visit. Except I can see by the glimmer of greed in his eyes that he doesn’t accept the warning. Christ. It’s a miracle he’s stayed alive this long. Paying off the right people can do wonders. That’s the lesson I’m taking away from this. I should steer clear of him. After this last deal, no more. No more opportunities for him to steal. Except for the girl with her pink dress and bright smile. She’s a fucking goddess, all of Tanglewood society at her feet. So pure and shining. I want to drag her into my lair, to fuck her so hard she begs for mercy. I want to make her cry. All the people here celebrate her bright future. I want that for her, too. As long as I can drag her back into the dark every night. He manages a stern expression. “No hard feelings,” he says gruffly. “Look forward to doing business.” He has no goddamn clue, but that works in my favor. Then again maybe I should leave well enough alone. He does have quite a few friends, bought or otherwise. Quite a few resources. I could use him as an ally, never breaking him. Never breaking his daughter. Eighteen is still so young, so innocent. The kind I’ve never been.

She would be better off with some rich kid, one who will insist on plastic surgery even while he fucks around with the nanny. That’s the life she was born for. Not for the likes of me. I work the question in my mind like my thumb against the ridges of the pawn, feeling it out, testing as I leave the room. The hallway is full of antique vases and plush rugs. Is this what prep school girls like? Of course it is. If a man does something foolish and ridiculously expensive, it’s probably for a woman. Would the young Ms. James want a house of her own like this? It’s like my mind conjures her from thought alone. When I turn the corner, she’s there, her hazel eyes wide, her body leaning back in surprise—back toward the open staircase. I catch her arms, the sudden lurch in my heart more than shock, more than relief. It’s the feel of her soft skin beneath my hands, the knowledge that I’ll leave finger-shaped bruises on her flesh. She smells like fucking strawberries. I want to slam her against the wall, to growl at her about the risks of being so damn edible around men who like to eat pretty girls for dinner. But her father is in the study behind me, only a few yards away. An entire crowd of people mill around downstairs, their jewelry sparkling from the chandeliers. This isn’t the place. This isn’t the time. In that second, staring into her wide eyes, looking at her pink lips, I know there will be a place. A time. I won’t be able to leave her alone, not now that I’ve seen her, touched her. She’s going to be mine. No matter how many antique vases I need. I’ll buy the entire city to own one young woman. I settle her firmly on the landing, making sure she’s sturdy before moving down the staircase. I catch glimpses of worried looks from the partygoers. Even in this goddamn suit they can tell I don’t belong. Too dangerous. Too cold. They aren’t as safe as they think. Half the men in this room are my customers now. The other half wish they were rich enough to be. By the time I’m done with this city, I’ll own every goddamn neck in the room. Every wrist. Every sunshine smile.

Chapter One

P

ANDORA WAS THE first woman to be created by the gods. Zeus ordered that she be formed from the

earth, her creation a punishment for Prometheus’s theft of fire. In that way her curiosity was foretold, part of her fate. I pause with my hands on the keyboard, studying my words. Like taking a breath after too long underwater, I’m back at school. I have two correspondence classes, this one Gender in Classical Greek Literature. An analysis of the first reading assignment is due tomorrow. The woman signifies more than the punished; she’s the punishment itself, retribution for events that occurred before her conception. Blame without agency is a central theme for women in Greek literature. The other class I’m taking is Subjectivity, Individualism, and the Crisis of Morality. At first it seemed like a stark contrast to study the breakdown of traditional customs while studying an ancient civilization. Then again, who better embodies nihilistic randomness than the Greek gods? They acted on impulse, creating lives and destroying them, rewarding and punishing on a whim. Vengeful and cruel, without the inherent gifts of morality imbued on other modern deities. Gifting humanity with a beautiful woman only to condemn them for her eventual curiosity. At ten o’clock Gabriel still hasn’t returned. I wander to the window. A full moon lights up the maze of hedges, the line of trees beyond. Jonathan Scott might be in those trees. He might be anywhere. My eyelids are heavy, but I’m afraid to sleep. A stream of cheery notes startles me. My phone. Please tell me you’re having wild sex right now.

Thank God for Harper. A reprieve from the nightmares. And she’s one of my only links to the outside world now that I’m trapped here. I flop onto the large bed, plush and utterly cold without Gabriel. The estate is large and so very lonely. Coursework is a good distraction from the fact that I can’t actually leave. After the fire and the creepy switched painting of my mother, I know there are real dangers outside these walls. But I also can’t help but long for a simple trip to a coffee shop, a walk in the park. How persistent is the danger? How serious is the threat to me, specifically? I can’t shake the feeling that Gabriel isn’t telling me everything. I type back. Why would I be on my phone if I’m having wild sex? Lie to me. I need to live vicariously through you.

A snort. Good luck with that. I’m stuck in Gabriel’s fancy house. At least you have a hot man coming to service you every night.

My cheeks heat. He certainly makes the most of the time we spend in this bed together. It’s almost enough. And then every day he leaves before it grows light. It’s like he’s a dream, something I made up to ease the loneliness of this prison. What about your harem of frat boys? I ask. Dry spell.

I’m not sure how she can run out of boys with two different colleges within driving distance. There are parties every night, some huge and boisterous, some private and exclusive. And Harper always goes.

I send her a long line of question marks, nothing else. There’s a pause when I think she might not respond. Our conversations sometimes end this way, fading and then starting where we left off the next day. I try to imagine her in her dorm room with its small desk and the WWII poster of Rosie she hung above her bed. If she’s not heading to a party, she would be dressed in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, like most of the other girls on the floor. Not like my lace nightgown, one of many that magically appear in my drawer each day. Gabriel loves to rip them off me, to literally rip the fabric with his bare hands. He ruins them with a ferocity I feel in my core, as if my flesh is made of satin, as if he’s tearing me apart. I’ve grown addicted to ruin. Another little bleep from my phone. They seem so young, she says. Even when they’re grad students. What’s happening to me? I want to tell her she’s in love with her stepbrother. Or in hate with him. I understand how thin that line can be now that I’ve lived it myself. It consumes you, leaving no room for other men. Definitely no room for boys. Instead I type, Maybe you’re growing up. You’re right. It’s time I find a sugar daddy.

That makes me laugh. She’s richer than God, thanks to a daddy who ran Wall Street and a mom who married three other men like him. And her stepbrother, Christopher, makes sure her large room of gold keeps growing. I send her an emoji of an eggplant and a pot of gold. She replies with a stream of water droplets, a little pink bow, and what appears to be a judge’s gavel. I’m a little afraid to ask for clarification. We go back and forth for a while, which is a nice consolation for the fact that I’m basically alone. Somewhere Mrs. B will be cooking or cleaning. Guards will be guarding, but I don’t want them. I’m alone all day and late into the night, when Gabriel always returns. Good night, she types. Don’t let the bedbugs bite, unless his name is Gabriel. My lips quirk as I set the phone aside, closing my eyes for only a moment. As prisons go, there isn’t a more beautiful one, a more luxurious one than this. It’s built like an old French chateau, but recently enough that it has every modern convenience. Unlike my mother’s house with its secret passageways and its hidden horrors, Gabriel’s mansion has state-of-the-art security. Already he had the points of entry monitored—the windows, the doors. That was how he knew when Justin came to my window that one time. Now he’s added the human element, as he calls it. Armed guards that patrol the perimeter. It seems like overkill. Or it would if I hadn’t seen firsthand what Jonathan Scott is capable of. I trust Gabriel. I believe that no one can get inside. That knowledge doesn’t stop the nightmares. Flames lick my skin. Smoke curls around me, stinging my eyes. From far away I can hear my mother calling. “Avery! Stay there! Whatever you do, stay inside!” I can’t stay inside. I can’t breathe here. The doorknob burns my skin. I yank my hand away. “Little Avery James, all grown up.” The voice comes from behind me. It’s Gabriel. I whirl, but there’s nothing there. Only fire. Only smoke. I stumble back, hitting the door. There’s no way out. A scream erupts from my throat.

Chapter Two

I

COME AWAKE with blinding suddenness, the lamp on the nightstand abnormally bright, my heart pounding

as if I have been running instead of lying down. I must have fallen asleep. My phone screen comes alight. Midnight. The last part sounded so real, it feels like someone else is in the room with me. It’s not the first time I’ve heard a voice in the walls, but it’s the first time it sounded like Gabriel. Little Avery James, all grown up. Then again, he said that to me. Maybe it was just a memory. Maybe it was just a dream. That’s what I decide. A dream. I can’t be going crazy, can’t deal with the doubt that my mother faced. Can’t surrender to the dark waters that lap at my mind, ones that threaten to drown me. The room looks like it did before, bathed in soft light, my laptop screen dark. The bedcovers are barely rumpled from where I slept on them. Empty. Gabriel isn’t here. I’m tempted to text him, but something draws me back to the window. And there he is, standing on the marble veranda. He’s taken off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves. Wind moves softly through his hair, hiding the angles of his face. I’m halfway down the stairs before I realize I’m not dressed for the outdoors. The pale pink nightgown barely reaches my thighs, the lace dipping low between my breasts. The magnetic pull of him compels me to the balcony. I’m desperate enough for any company right now, after all day alone, but there’s something about Gabriel. Something about the set of his shoulders, the solitary silhouette of him, that tells me he needs me. He doesn’t turn when I step outside, but I know he hears me. It’s strange, the way his senses are finely honed. Something you would expect from a hunter in the woods or a soldier on the battlefield. It was a kind of war, the way he grew up in a brothel, forced to fight far too young. The streets of Tanglewood have seen blood spilled. Is that what happened tonight? Is that why he vibrates with dark tension? I slide my hands across his back, smoothing away the invisible ripples. He’s pure muscle beneath my touch, strung as tight as I was after my nightmare. Except that had been a dream. “What happened?” I ask softly, resting my cheek against his back. “Nothing you need to worry about.” A sigh catches in my throat. He tries to protect me, but at what cost? “I won’t break, you know. If you let me in. If you tell me what’s happening. I might even be able to sleep better.” He turns suddenly, capturing my arms with his large hands. “You had another one?” A nightmare. Sometimes I wake him up with my thrashing, with my cries. He looks haunted when he finally shakes me awake, his voice hoarse as if he had been afraid, too. They make me feel weak, those dreams, as if I’m really a fragile princess. That’s how he treats me. I’m terrified he might be right. I shrug, taking his place at the balcony, the curved stone cool against my palms. I would rather pretend it was a nightmare than a hallucination. That’s what drove my mother to her death. His chest shields my back, warming me despite the chill in the air.

He presses his face into my hair, breathing deep before he speaks. “It’s always been a fight.” I don’t think he’s talking about his friend. “You seem different, though. More tense.” “Because you’re here now,” he says, voice low. “I don’t understand why Jonathan Scott even cares about me.” “He doesn’t need a reason. Every once in a while a man like him climbs out of his hole to snatch someone pure, someone rich, just to prove he can. And then with your history…” A shiver runs through me. “My mother.” I read the end of the diary, the part where my mother recognized that Jonathan was playing mind games. She went to confront him that night, not to run away with him like my father assumed. “Maybe he really did care about her,” Gabriel says, his voice distant. “A man like him, he’ll always destroy what he cares about most. A man like me.” My breath hitches. “Not like you. You’re protecting me.” His hands tighten on my arms. “Is it protection to keep a flower in the dark, away from water and light? To watch it wilt in front of your eyes? No one else can see it.” “Is that what you’re doing?” “No one can ever take it away.” I try to turn, to face him, but he holds me in place. I can see only the perfectly manicured hedges holding up an inky night sky. “I’m not wilting.” “You’re not happy, little virgin. Locked up in your tower.” “Then let me out,” I beg softly. “Let me come with you, at least. I’ll be safe with you.” His hesitation gives me hope. “Jonathan Scott isn’t the only danger. He has dark connections. Foreign ones. His power diminished over the years, and for a while he seemed content to operate in the shadows.” A shiver runs through me. “And now?” “He wants to rule the city again.” My throat tightens, and I face him. “Justin turned away from his father. He told me he’s working with someone who wants to beat him, someone with deep pockets.” Gabriel’s expression darkens. “Selling secrets?” “He did it for me,” I say softly. “So that he could buy us a new life. I should warn him.” Danger sharpens the air around us. “No, little virgin. Whatever he got into, that’s on his head. He either understood what they were doing or he’s too stupid to help.” I turn away, looking out over the darkness. There’s no point in arguing. Anything I say will only convince him that I still love Justin…and I do, in an innocent way. I may not want to marry him anymore, but I still care what happens to him. Gabriel captures my chin, lifting my face. “You miss Justin?” “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” He already took my mother. My mother’s house. And it feels like the fire still rages, burning everything in its path. Only a matter of time until it reaches me. “A lot of people will get hurt,” Gabriel says gently. “That’s the nature of war.” Fear must show on my face, because he brushes his thumb over my cheek. “The important thing is that we win. Then you’ll be able to leave here.” Will that ever happen? Wars like this never really end. A fist clenches my heart. I know there’s something a little dark about the way Gabriel locks me away, a little foreboding, but I’m too glad to have someone who cares enough to do it. Too afraid that I need the protection my mother

didn’t get. She left that night to confront Jonathan Scott, even though she must have known what he was capable of. Wasn’t she scared? Did she think he wouldn’t hurt her? It’s a blind trust that can only come from love. It makes me wonder if I have the same fatal flaw. Except it isn’t Jonathan Scott who could hurt me. It’s the man keeping me here. “Tell me, Gabriel. What would happen if I walked out the front door?” “Try it,” he says softly, but it doesn’t sound like an invitation. It sounds like a warning. “Am I your prisoner?” “If you want something, only ask. If you dream of something, I’ll find it for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t bring you.” That means yes, which is disturbing. And strangely comforting. To have every wish granted as long as I don’t leave. What woman would leave that paradise? What woman would stay? Maybe that’s the curse my mother and I share—to bat our wings against the cage, relentless in the pursuit of freedom. Only, the true danger lies when we find a way out.

Chapter Three

E

VERY NIGHT THE sex lasts from the moment we touch the smooth sheets to the first fingers of morning

light streaming between the curtains. Before that, we play chess. It’s a little strange to have the same nightly tradition with Gabriel that I had with my father. Looking back I know that Daddy felt pride for my wins, but he also used the game as a shield, keeping me from delving too deeply into his past. Gabriel uses the game the opposite way, as a key to his secrets. And Gabriel is a fierce competitor, brutal in his attacks, swift in retribution. He wins more than I do, pulling secrets from my body as his prize. Tonight I’m determined to win. “The stakes,” I tell him, turning away. “Stakes?” “Of the game. You said they were getting higher.” He sounds wary now. “Yes.” “And I’d like to double down. If I win you have to take me out. For dinner. A date. You can take whatever security precautions you want, but I get to leave.” His eyes narrow. “And what do I get if I win?” Apprehension circles in my stomach. I don’t want to promise this, but I know I can’t demand that kind of prize if I don’t offer something equally desirable. “I promise to stay here until Jonathan Scott is found.” “Done.” Golden eyes glitter, determined that I should lose. Unlike the hand-carved wooden set in the library, the set on the wide balcony is made of marble. The white pieces are perfectly pale, with even lighter striations running through them. The black pieces gleam on the other side, a perfect counterpoint. It rests upon a stone table, flanked by two iron chairs. Gabriel takes a seat behind the black set. It’s a silent gift but also a statement of confidence. With a solemn nod I sit opposite him, accepting the first turn. It’s a small advantage but sometimes a crucial one. It’s pride that makes him so sure he’ll win—and I want to see the look of surprise when he doesn’t. I start by moving my queenside pawn, the most basic of openings. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment as he mirrors my move, putting our pawns face-to-face. “Your father passed a letter to you.” My hand pauses over my bishop. I try to control the rapid thumps of my heart. “I don’t want it.” “The third one this week.” “Throw it away,” I say, making a bold stretch across the board. I haven’t had any contact with my father since the night of the party, when he claimed my mother was insane, hearing voices. And we proved him wrong. Machinery in the walls. People inside the walls. It never should have gotten that far. He was her husband. He should have believed her. He should have helped her, so that she wasn’t forced to confront Jonathan Scott alone. He moves his knight to meet my bishop, unconcerned. “Are you angry at him for selling you?” And then there’s the contract he made with Gabriel Miller, well before I showed up at the Den, long before I auctioned my virginity to him. “Maybe I’m angry at you for buying me.” “Should I have let someone else win the auction?”

I lift my chin. “Maybe so. I would have spent my month with him. And then I would have been free.” “Free,” he murmurs, examining the board as if it contains the answers. “Like this pawn.” “There are times a pawn can be more valuable than a king.” He picks up his bishop and gently knocks over my pawn. “Not alone.” My eyes narrow. “I could be a queen, then.” “Without me?” “I could be.” “I don’t doubt that, little virgin. I don’t doubt that you could captivate any man you set your mind to. You captivated me before you even knew I existed. You’re my queen.” My breath catches. It’s seductive to believe that might be true. I know better than that. With a sense of reckless longing, I advance my queen out of the safety of the pawns. It’s early in the game to release her. Dangerous. “She can go anywhere.” “Not safely,” he counters, launching his knight in threat. I skirt easily out of the way. “Maybe she’s stronger than you think.” “Or maybe the danger is stronger than you know.” He moves his bishop again. “Check.” My knight blocks the threat. “So why don’t you tell me more?” “Because I want to protect you. I want to protect you the way I could never do for the women in my father’s brothel. They were trapped—by money, by power. They were trapped by me, understand?” “So you try to atone by keeping me safe?” “Is that wrong, little virgin? I want you in my bed. That’s not a secret.” “It’s not enough.” “What, then?” he demands, moving a piece without looking. “What do you require in payment?” “Everything.” His body. His soul. Most of all, his heart. If I spelled it out he would claim he didn’t have one. He sucks in a breath. “You’re asking me to break into pieces. What do you think shards of glass will do to you? You’ll be cut, little virgin. You’ll bleed.” “Then I want to bleed. That’s the payment I require.” He stands abruptly, walking toward the edge of the balcony. He rests his hands on the balustrade. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” I move one final piece before following him. “Then show me.” He whirls. “God, do you think I don’t want to? That I don’t want to hurt you? That I don’t want to see your pretty skin marred with my fingerprints? Smeared with blood?” There’s something strangely seductive about his threats. It’s the same feeling I get when he checkmates me—feeling cornered, feeling grateful. My wings want to beat against a cage. “I could make you bleed,” I whisper. He cocks his head, his eyes molten lava. “Could you?” I take a step closer, my gaze downcast. It’s better that he underestimates me. The world already does. “I don’t know. I could try.” His fingers beneath my chin are gentle. He lifts my face to his, meeting my lips in a kiss of wanting and warmth. There’s no violence in his touch, only his heart. His tongue darts out to taste me, the movement thorough with possession. As if emboldened by my flavor he groans, pulling me closer with a hand behind my neck. His embrace crushes my arms against his chest. I can’t move, but I feel the power I have over him. The urgency in his kiss, the hardness against my stomach. “What will you do to me?” I whisper against his lips. “The railing. Put your hands on it.”

As suddenly as we came together, we’re standing apart. I sway in the cool night air. It feels like a dream as I move to obey him, but the stone beneath my palms is solid enough. He doesn’t immediately cover me with his body, not like I thought he would. “I’m going to lift that silk around your thighs. I’m going to taste how wet you are for me. Are you wet, little virgin? Or will I have to slick you with my tongue?” My inner muscles clench. “Gabriel.” “I’ll torture your clit until you come, crying my name, loud enough the men patrolling the boundaries can hear you. I want them to know who you belong to.” “Please.” I shiver, not from the cold but from his words. From wanting. “I want your juices sliding down the insides of your thighs. And I’ll lick it up, because you taste like heaven.” His voice is tight. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.” My head rests against the cold stone, but even that can’t fight the fire inside. “And when you’re begging me to stop, to give you a moment to rest, a second of peace, that’s when I’ll fuck you. It will feel like too much. I know that, little virgin, but that’s how I want you.” Silky fabric whispers along the backs of my thighs. The brush of his hand sends a shiver through me. He groans when he finds my intimate skin exposed. “Christ,” he mutters. “No panties. I never would have been able to focus on the game if I knew you were bare under this.” “I’ll keep that in mind for next—” A whimper escapes me as his blunt fingers push inside. He twists them, and sensation bursts through my body, lights behind my eyes. “Already wet.” His satisfaction fills the air, as sweet as the scent of bougainvillea reaching up beneath the balcony. “It won’t take much to make you come.” I press up on my toes, squirming away from his relentless caress. “Wait.” “It’s too soon to beg, little virgin.” As if to prove the point, he presses a kiss at the base of my neck. And another one lower, trailing down my spine with a casual sensuality that leaves me breathless. When he reaches soft skin, he bares his teeth—swiping the flesh of my ass with the sharp edges. There’s a rush in my ears, a mix of pleasure and trepidation, the wildness of Gabriel Miller that I can’t ever get enough of. Loud enough that I almost don’t hear the footsteps on the patio below. A long shadow appears across the smooth flagstone. “Gabriel! Someone’s coming.” “Oh, that’s right,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my sex. The vibration makes me shiver. “I thought I’d be late so I asked West to come by and check on you.” “Tell him you’re—” His tongue sweeps from my clit up to my ass, and I squeak in surprise. “You tell him,” he says, devious intent running beneath his voice. Instinct has me pushing back, standing up, stumbling away from the railing. His hands are firm, inexorable as he guides me back. He presses my palms to the stone, a shock of cold. “Stay,” he murmurs, kneeling behind me again. West comes into view, an imposing presence with his military boots and not-quite-concealed firearm. He nods to me from below. “Ma’am.” Oh God. “Um. Hello.” “Did Gabriel make it home?” His tongue swirls around my clit with painful urgency. I make a low moan before I catch myself. “Yes!” I shout. Somehow I force myself to speak normally. “Maybe twenty minutes ago.” “Excellent. No trouble tonight?”

His fingers push inside me, revealing just how turned on I am. I’m slick and swollen, the walls of my sex producing unbearable friction with his calloused skin. “No,” I say, my voice wobbling as Gabriel dips inside for my liquid. “No trouble.” West cocks his head, and I wonder if he knows. I don’t think he can see Gabriel from that angle, but he must know something’s strange. He must hear the wet sounds from between my legs, smell the scent of my arousal in the air. “You can always call. I’m sure Gabriel told you that. If you need anything, if you hear anything.” Despite the strange sensuality of the moment, my body tenses. If I hear anything. As if he knows I hear things. How could he know? He would think I’m crazy. Gabriel would think I’m crazy. “Okay,” I manage. “Thank you.” Please go away now. West has been nothing but professional with me, but I’m dying here. And then something wet and thick presses to my back entrance. I gasp aloud, the sound echoing off the granite. He’s never touched me there. And now the tip of his finger is inside me, stretching me open. West gives me a faint smile. “Tell Gabriel I came by, will you?” “Of course,” I say, my voice too breathy. Long, casual strides carry him back around the property the way he came. “Oh God,” I whisper. “He knew.” “What did he know?” Gabriel asks, murmuring against my slick flesh. “Spell it out, little virgin.” My face flames. “He knew you were there.” “Doing what?” he asks, his tongue sweeping my folds. He won’t rest until I answer him. “Licking me,” I whisper. “That’s right. I’m licking you. And what else?” “You have your finger…” “Where is it, little virgin?” He twists the finger, making me squirm. “In my bottom.” He bites the plump flesh between my legs. “Asshole.” “My…my asshole.” “Have you ever wondered what it would be like? Taking me here?” I shake my head as hard as I can. “It’s dirty.” A low laugh. “I like dirty.” “I know,” I moan, clenching around his finger. Part of me wants to push him out. The sensation is strange, his finger impossibly thick. My muscles press so hard around him. How can he stand it? “Tell me your dirtiest fantasy, little virgin.” “I don’t…” My voice cracks as he licks my clit again. “I don’t have any.” “Liar,” he says, affectionate. And maybe I am a liar. My fantasies were never fully formed, always glimpses of flesh, only the flash of golden eyes. I never allowed myself to dream that deeply, afraid of what I would find. “I’ll trade you,” I say, my whole body trembling, on the precipice of an orgasm that might break me. “Everything is for sale. Isn’t that what you told me?” He pauses, clearly intrigued. “And what will it cost me, this fantasy?” “A secret.” The silence clouds with darkness and danger—with threat more real than his castle to my king. “What kind of secret?” “The kind worth selling.” He knows what I want from him. I’m not sure whether he’ll agree or not, but I know he’ll give me something real if he does. Honor means too much to him to shortchange me.

He pulls away from me, and I find myself mourning the loss. Is this his answer? Is this how I finally push him away, by asking for too much? Except he turns me around, and the determination in his eyes proves otherwise. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, setting me on the cool stone where my hands were. My back entrance twinges, reminding me that something has just been inside. His large hand spreads my thighs, and he steps between them. We’re almost eye level like this, my body higher on the balcony, my legs dangling. It’s only his hands on my waist that keep me from falling ten feet onto granite. My clit throbs from where he touched me, my inner muscles clenching around nothing. Part of me feels wild for him, unable to think until he lets me come. The other part can’t believe this is happening. I know exactly how hard he works to guard his walls, and he’s letting me in. That’s how much my fantasies mean to him. “To understand one secret, I have to tell you another.” A light wind lifts my hair, brushing over my neck, and I realize just how precarious my position on this railing is. How precarious my relationship with Gabriel Miller is. How precious my safety in Tanglewood is with Jonathan Scott on the loose. “That doesn’t mean I’m giving you two fantasies,” I warn him. The corner of his mouth lifts, his lips still glistening from my juices. “It’s a buy-one-get-one-free sale.” Despite the levity in our words, I feel the weight of his confession looming. Suddenly I wonder if this was a good idea, if I’m sure I can handle whatever he tells me. It’s too late for second-guessing, too late to back out with so much on the line. “Tell me.” He looks away, his eyes almost black in the moonlight. “Most of the girls who came to the brothel were early twenties. Late teens. Some of them had worked on the street. They were relieved to have a bed to sleep at night and food every day.” I grasp Gabriel’s arms, as much to steady him as myself. “Others…they came from debts. Bought and sold like cattle.” My throat tightens. It’s not so far from what happened to me, and in that regard I’m lucky. As much as I’m angry at my father, as much as I dislike being cocooned in this castle, it’s a far kinder fate than other girls in my position. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, expression hard. “And then one day, there was a little girl.” “Oh no,” I whisper. “You could tell…just looking at her eyes, you could tell she knew what we did. You could tell it had happened to her before. Even the older girls, sometimes they would fight. They would be shocked. Not her. She knew.” “Gabriel.” My hands tighten on his arms. “You don’t have to finish.” “I do. You should know who you’re dealing with. What you’ve got yourself into. You think you’re safe here with me, but I can’t fucking…” He presses his lips together. “I can’t fucking promise.” And I understand that he needs to tell me, that the wall costs him something. It costs him too damn much. “What happened?” “I told my father that was it, that I wasn’t going to help him keep a little girl. But it was a problem. He still owned the place and he still owned her. Even if I left, she’d be there with no one to protect her.” My heart clenches at the thought of that poor girl—and of a younger Gabriel, powerless, faced with an impossible choice. “What did you do?” “I paid for her.” I shiver at the cold calculation in his words. “You protected her.”

“It was the only way to keep her safe. Every hour she would have had to work, I paid for her to sit in her room. Alone. None of the men with their fucking hands on her.” My hands clench in Gabriel’s shirt, pulling him close. It suddenly strikes me as absurd that he’s still dressed. Because he just had his mouth on my most private places. And because he’s baring the darkest parts of himself right now. “It cost everything I had saved up, thinking I was going to leave. And it cost years of my life, working for my father, doing whatever he said, shaking down drug addicts, keeping the girls in line.” My throat tightens. “You did what you had to.” “How do you know that?” He sounds disgusted with himself. He sounds furious. “How do you choose between one woman and another? How could I force so many women to spread their legs while keeping one safe?” “She wasn’t a woman,” I whisper. “She was a little girl.” He shakes his head. “I was so sure, then. I knew what I needed to do. I would have fucking killed anyone if they’d laid a hand on her. Even my father. And I probably would have been killed in the process, so this way I kept everyone safe.” A rough laugh. “Everyone except so many fucking women.” “They understood,” I say, even though that’s not true. How could a woman understand her oppressor? Why should she have to? “And even if they didn’t, I understand. You had an impossible choice.” “In the end it wasn’t my father who killed her.” My throat tightens. “She died?” His expression is grim. “While I was so busy keeping the men out of her room, she was plotting for ways to escape.” “No,” I whisper, but the picture already unfolds in my mind—gruesome and stark. “I think she knew how little was keeping her safe. A kid with more pride than sense. That was me. And her age. Once she was older, I wouldn’t have had any excuse for keeping her locked up.” I bury my face against his chest, bracing myself for what’s to come. What he’s lived with. “She came up with a plan to run when I wasn’t there, out on a fucking errand. That’s the part that sticks with me. That I had kept her in that room. That she was afraid of me. I was the one she hid from.” “Gabriel.” “And the men who found her,” he says, his voice almost painfully emotionless. “They didn’t see a little girl, not anymore. They saw a girl old enough to work on her back, like all the others. They fucked her. And then they left her there to bleed out.” I stare at him, horrified. I knew the story had a tragic ending, but this is beyond anything I could have imagined. It’s not even human. Not animal. These were monsters. “Oh God.” “And it was my fault,” he says, his voice still flat. “Because I let her escape.” “No,” I tell him. “You aren’t responsible for them.” “Don’t fool yourself,” he says coldly. “Those people are out there. The ones who would hunt you down. Who would fuck you. Who would watch you die.” Ice floods my veins. “You’re not just keeping people out, are you? You’re keeping me inside.” “Do you really want an answer to that?” I think I already have one. “I’m not a little girl.” He looks down, studying my bare legs, spread around his hips. “I know that, little virgin. I’ve made sure of it.” “Stop.” “I had your blood on my cock proving the point, didn’t I?”

I swallow hard. “Stop it. I know you want to punish me. You want to punish yourself, but you don’t deserve that. What happened was awful, too awful for words. And not your fault.” “That’s my secret, Avery. I’m paid up. Now tell me your fantasy.” My mouth drops open. “I can’t—not after that. I can’t talk about sex.” “That was our deal. Don’t you dare go back on your deal. I think of all people you should know the steep penalty for doing that with me.” I flinch, unable to stop myself. “I’m not holding back. I just… You told me something terrible. Something horrifying. I can’t tell you about some secret fantasy now. You don’t even want me to.” He raises an eyebrow. “Don’t I?” “You’re just trying to punish me. That’s what this is.” “What would I be punishing you for?” “For asking. For pushing. For wanting you to open up to me.” He laughs, the sound hollow. “If I had wanted a girl who didn’t ask questions, I would have paid for one. Instead I bought you.” A shiver runs through me. “If you want to know my fantasy, I’ll tell you.” “Rose petals?” he asks, his voice mocking. “Candles? Champagne?” “So I’m innocent,” I retort. “You could have bought a girl who wasn’t. Instead you bought me.” He strokes the backs of his fingers against my cheek. “Don’t you see, little virgin? This is why I need you. So many girls, broken so young. Not only her. All of them. Whether they were nine years old or sixteen, the end result was the same. A hard life and a shallow grave.” My breath catches. “That’s terrible.” “I needed something pure. Someone who had never seen that side of this city. And I never wanted you to know it. You should have taken your million dollars and never looked back.” “Maybe I will,” I say softly. His smile is sad. “It’s too late for that. Jonathan Scott has his sights set on you. You’ll never be safe. You understand why you have to stay here, right?” He’s not afraid of Jonathan Scott getting in. He’s afraid that I’ll escape. “I’ll stay here, for now. I’ll do what you say, but I have a voice, too.” “Then tell me, little virgin. Use that voice to tell me what you dream about in the dark.” My body has cooled after that dark story, but I tell him anyway. Because he gave me something incredibly valuable as payment. He gave me his pain. “I have these dreams,” I say, my voice halting. He grows still. “Dreams?” Everyone thought my mother was crazy. They’ll think you’re crazy, too. I can’t tell him about the voices. I can’t bear the look of disbelief I would see in his golden eyes. Those eyes watch me expectantly, so I give him a different secret instead. Even that feels scary. “I have dreams about being tied down.” His expression darkens, his eyes turning bronze. “And?” “There are hands on me, all over, every secret place. They touch me like they own me. Like I’m a piece of marble.” His hands tighten on my waist. “Keep going.” “I’m naked, exposed. I can’t stop anything that happens to me. I can’t do anything but take it.” Gabriel groans, pulling his tie loose. I expect him to undress, to take me against the balcony. Instead he wraps the silk around my wrists. My eyes go wide. “What are you doing?”

“Did you think I would wait?” Using the tie, he tugs me off the balcony. The stone feels freezing beneath my feet. My legs buckle, and Gabriel catches me. He guides me gently to the floor, turning me over, onto my knees. I barely have time to fight him before he loops the end of the tie around the balusters. “Wait,” I whisper, even though I’m not sure. Not sure if I want him to wait. Not sure if he’ll listen to me anyway. The knot he makes doesn’t seem strong, but when I try to get away, it tightens into a hard kink of fabric. The restraint only makes me pull harder, yanking uselessly as he watches, his lids low over golden eyes, steeped in lazy satisfaction. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, running his lips down my shoulder. “This isn’t the last time we’ll do this. A hundred different ways. Soft and then rough. Every place you can think of and then more.” He positions himself behind me. “And most of all, when you’re least expecting it. Because that’s part of the fantasy, isn’t it? Not knowing who it is? Not knowing when he’ll find you?” I shiver. How does he know the parts I left unsaid? His cock nudges me, finding me slick. “You’re ready,” he says on a groan. “Always ready for me.” And then he’s inside me, pushing my walls apart, opening me, tearing me where my body can’t accommodate his size. My mouth opens on a silent cry, my hands still pulling, pulling, completely tied up. He swears under his breath, holding himself inside me. “Yes, we’ll definitely do this again. But right now I just need to use you.” His hands dig into my hips, fingertips bruising. That’s the only warning before he slams fully into me again, so hard I let out a shriek of pain and surprise. He withdraws and then pushes in again, completely focused on his own wild pleasure. He’s an animal rutting on the plains of the safari, concerned only with a primal mating drive. He owns me in the purest sense—where my pleasure doesn’t matter. He slams into me again and again, a blunt force trauma that my body accepts in pure sexual shock. The teasing from before, the pain right now, it blends together in a whirlwind of sensation. And when he bites down on my shoulder, I shatter. My orgasm comes suddenly, making my insides bear down, my hips buck against him. He shouts behind me, his cock pulsing fresh heat into my sex. He draws out his orgasm and mine, pushing his still-firm cock into my slick heat with lazy thrusts, every slide a new wave of sparks behind my eyes. I collapse onto the hard marble, the coolness a relief to the fire in my body. He leans on top of me, pressing me down harder. It’s not an accident like this. It’s no mistake that he covers my body this way. It’s an animal signal, a message that I’m his—for any other male in the vicinity. And a message to me. I can’t argue the point, not when he teased my fantasy from me. Not when he used it against me so ruthlessly. What other things might he get me to admit? My stomach clenches. He’s getting too close. Some things should never be spoken aloud. My mother learned that lesson. I’m afraid history might repeat itself. “Checkmate,” I say, my voice hoarse. He stiffens. “What?” “The game. I won.” I sigh, almost sorry to have won now that I know what it means to him. Not sorry enough to take it back, though. “You have to let me out.”

Chapter Four

I’

T S HARD TO focus on the lecture streaming on my tablet when I know I get to go out tonight. This one is

about Prodicus’s “The Choice of Heracles,” where Virtue and Vice represent the two sides of a woman. The popular view of Rome includes orgies in the public baths, but women of stature covered most of their faces. The veils symbolized modesty but also appear in scenes of seduction. That dichotomy portrays women as both demure and lustful, both submissive and destructive. There are two pages of scrawled notes by the time the professor gives us a reading assignment. In the past week I would have immediately opened my books, eager to begin. Today I bolt upstairs for the shower, determined to make the most of my brief foray outside. The soaps I use are imported from France, made from roses grown by the family farm. The scent makes me feel grown-up, alluring, so different from the strawberry shampoo I used at home or the discount body wash I had at the motel. I love it, but I also hate it—the way it feels like a dream. All my clothes, all my things. All the nights in bed with Gabriel Miller. I could wake up tomorrow, unable to return. My throat feels scratchy, a physical reminder of the nightmares. Wrapping myself in one of the oversize white towels, I pad across the warm tile to the closet. There are more clothes than I could ever wear. Elaborate gowns and comfy leggings. A sound from the hallway draws my attention. I gasp, pressing the towel to my damp skin. It’s only Mrs. B, her eyes averted, looking flushed and embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” she says, out of breath. “This came for you earlier, but you were in the shower.” She holds a bag from a high-end department store, black with an emblem engraved on the side. She sets it down on the carpet and flees from the room as if it contains something dangerous. Snakes. Maybe a bomb. Instead I find an emerald-green sheath that will bring out the flecks in my hazel eyes. It fits my body like a second skin, perfectly smooth over my breasts, my waist, falling above my knees. I feel like an old-world actress, Audrey Hepburn if she had dirty blond hair. I use the hair dryer to fold in large curls, making my hair fall in waves. I add a swipe of ruby-red lipstick to complete the look. Little Avery James, all grown up. “Gorgeous,” comes the low murmur. I whirl to see Gabriel standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. How long has he been there? His expression is severe—the way it has been every time he returns, doing whatever dark things he has to while he searches for Jonathan Scott, the things he never quite explains. But his eyes are bright with hunger. “I want to take it off you.” He crosses the room, and I back up. It’s a natural reaction, done without thought—the movement of prey away from my predator. And for once I don’t want to be devoured. The prospect of going out is too appealing. “After dinner.” He prowls closer, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Not many people tell me no.” “I’m not saying no. I’m saying later.” A low laugh. “Not many people tell me that either.” I raise my chin. There’s only so long I can stay inside these walls. Even he knows that. I’m desperate enough to do anything. Even defy him. “Well, I’m telling you. And that’s final.”

He grasps my hair and pulls. “I should make you go to dinner naked for speaking to me that way.” My stomach clenches. The worst part is that he could probably make me like it. There’s no middle ground with him. No compromise. It’s all or nothing. “No.” His hold tightens, dragging my head back, exposing my neck. Like the animal that he is, he lowers his mouth to my throat. The edges of his teeth drag over the tender skin. A whimper escapes me. “We’ll wait,” he murmurs. “Though you might regret it, in the end. When you fight, it only makes me harder. Rougher. And you’ll have to take it, however much it hurts.” Gabriel places a soft kiss at my collarbone before releasing me, his large hands smoothing my hair. “You have five minutes,” he says. “I’m going to make a phone call. Then we’re leaving.” He turns toward the door, giving me privacy. Leaving. The word echoes in my gut, half euphoria, half dread. Avery! Stay there! Whatever you do, stay inside! “We’ll be okay, right?” He stops and faces me. “What?” “You said we’ll be safe in the Den. But what about the restaurant where we’re having dinner?” A strange expression flickers over his face. Uncertainty? It’s such a foreign look for him. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him less than confident, less than commanding. “I’ll be with you.” Words catch in my throat. It’s not that I don’t trust him, but I’ve had my protector ripped away from me before. My father had seemed invincible once upon a time. And it’s the man standing in front of me who tore him down. I know better than to believe in any one person. The world is too ruthless for that kind of faith. Doubt must show on my face, because Gabriel takes a step closer. “Do you think I would let someone hurt you?” he asks softly. “I think you’re human.” Unlike the gods in my mythology books. Even Hercules was a demigod. People had to imagine beings stronger than them to combat the frailty of the human body. Gabriel doesn’t seem weak. He radiates strength, muscles compact over his body, the white silk of his shirt stretched taut over broad shoulders. He doesn’t seem weak, but that’s the nature of being mortal. Only flesh and blood. Even his powerful body wouldn’t stand a chance against a blade, against a bullet. He reaches for me, and I’m startled at how small my hand looks between his two large ones. I don’t consider myself a small woman, but I always feel delicate when Gabriel is near me. It must be the way he tempers his force, the mighty paws of a lion with a fragile butterfly perched on top. His eyes meet mine. “Ask me how many women I’ve brought here.” My mind shies away from the question. “It doesn’t matter.” He pushes my hand flat to his chest. I can feel the steady beat beneath my palm, the even rise and fall of his breath. “Ask how many.” And I know he doesn’t only mean his mansion. He means his heart. I’m more afraid of this answer, because it has the power to break me. More than what happened with my father. The world is too cold for this kind of hope. The words are barely a breath. “How many?” The look in his eyes singes me, burning hot. “One, little virgin. Only one woman ever broke down my walls. Only one woman ever had that power over me.” Emotion expands in my chest, filling every centimeter of space between my ribs, expanding outward. He only pretended that telling him no was a rebellion. I see that now. The true power I have is to tell him yes.

Yes, I’ll stay with you. You can wrap your chains around me. I may fight you, but you can make me like it. My fingers close around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him close. That’s all he allows—one inch. He takes over the motion, sweeping down to my mouth, an urgent press, a possessive flick of his tongue. Then he’s kissing me, opening my mouth to him, holding me still for an urgent exploration. I feel claimed. I feel trapped. I feel safe. Every stroke of his tongue against mine pushes me deeper. Winds me tighter. Until I’m breathing harder, leaning toward him, a flower to the sun. He nips my bottom lip, and I make a small sound of surprise. His head lifts, revealing bronze eyes dark with hunger. I feel ravenous myself, ready to shed this dress. “Gabriel,” I gasp. “I need you.” He gives an unsteady laugh. “Later, little virgin. I promised to make you regret it, and I intend to deliver.”

Chapter Five

Y

ELLOW LIGHT SPILLS onto the slick streets from the vaulted windows of the Oak Room. My favorite

restaurant. Excitement strums my nerves. Except that’s not possible… The limo slows near the crush of Bentleys and Ferraris, the valet station bustling with gentlemen in tuxes and ladies in glittering gowns. It’s a place to see and be seen. We glide past the awning, golden light glancing across our window and then going dark. Curiosity spikes when we turn a corner into the alley. I glance at Gabriel, who’s watching me with dark eyes. We pull behind the restaurant, where two men in suits stand on either side of an open door. The limo slows to a stop, and the driver steps out, but he doesn’t open the back door. He’s a shadow at the side of the car, as if he’s waiting for a signal from inside. The back entrance. “They’re expecting us.” “I called before we left.” All this from a phone call. My father was lucky to get a reservation a week in advance. That was only due to his wealth and his reputation in the city—before the scandal. Some of my friends from prep school couldn’t get in at all. “This was my favorite restaurant. I used to come here with my dad.” His gaze is steady. “The shrimp cocktail.” Unease runs through me. I loved the giant martini glass it came in. It made me feel grown-up before I could order drinks. “I never saw you.” “Of course not.” My eyes narrow. “Then how did you know what I ate?” A low laugh. “Are you asking if I saw you in secret? If I had an arrangement with the proprietor to let me know when you had reservations?” I shiver. “Did you?” He brushes a thumb across my cheek. “Every time you felt a tickle on the back of your neck, I was there. Every time you felt eyes on you, they were mine. I stood in the shadows and watched you laugh, your smile like goddamn sunlight on my face after being buried alive.” Anger rushes from me, swift and comforting. “That’s not right.” “What makes you think I care what’s right?” Of course he doesn’t. “You’re keeping me safe. Why? Out of the goodness of your heart?” His hand shifts to my neck, long fingers gentle against my skin. “So bright. So beautiful. I used to wonder if it would burn to touch you.” A slight squeeze and I flinch. “Now you know. It doesn’t.” “Oh, little virgin. You definitely make me burn. And I’m addicted to being ash.” For one breathless moment his fist closes on my neck. Tears sting my eyes. My lungs ache. He leans close and nips my lips. I don’t feel the sensation of his teeth until he releases me and sits back, the sting sharpened with the sudden inhalation. I touch my lips. My hand comes away red. Blood. He made me bleed. And while part of me doesn’t fear him, the other part knows that I should. “Do you want me to be afraid of you?” He cocks his head. “Of course.”

“Why?” “Because that’s how I’m keeping you safe.” I raise my chin, determined not to show him I’m shaking inside. “I’m not afraid.” “That’s a problem,” he growls. “It would be a mistake for you to trust me.” “I don’t,” I say, my hand up as if to ward him off. He keeps coming. There’s no space in the limo, no air left. Maybe we do burn, because we’ve used up all the oxygen. I’m gasping. “The way you looked at me,” he says. “Like we’re on a date. Like I’m courting you. Like maybe I’ll ask Mr. James for your hand in marriage, with a big wedding and a tall white cake.” “That’s not what I think,” I say, but it’s a lie—a horrible lie. “And you’re not completely wrong. I’m keeping you happy like feeding you treats through the bars of a cage, giving you a nice swing inside. Some colorful toys to play with.” “Stop it. You want to push me away? Fine. Consider me pushed. You don’t have to hurt my feelings.” “Yes, that would be contrary to my purposes. I prefer to keep you satisfied so that you’ll smile when I fuck your tight little pussy, so that you’ll hide your face when it hurts too much, bite your lip to keep from crying out. So you’ll let me hurt you.” “You’re sick,” I hiss. “Yes,” he says, reaching for me. “Sick. Deranged. Fucked in the head.” Animal instinct sends me scrambling out of his grasp. It’s fight-or-flight, and I already know how sharp his claws are. I pull the door handle, but it’s locked. How is it locked? I don’t have time to ponder the question, because his hand lands on my shoulder. That’s the only warning I have before his body cages mine. My hands scrabble uselessly at the soft leather interior, knees pressed into the plush cushions of the seat. Every wrench of my muscles only pushes me deeper into his grasp. Gabriel is impossibly hard behind me, around me, breath harsh against my shoulder. “Tell me I’m crazy.” The word vibrates in my throat, almost formed, not yet sound. It would be so easy to call him that, and God, I wouldn’t be wrong. What kind of man holds a woman down in the back of a limo? What kind of man keeps one safe by locking her in a tower? “I’m crazy,” I gasp instead, because I trust him. Against reason. Against instinct. He put his hand around my throat, but I didn’t believe he would hurt me. He groans, his hand moving the fabric of my dress. A warm caress up my thigh. A gentle nudge at the hem of my panties. A single swipe through the slickness at my center. “So hot.” And it doesn’t hurt, not even when his fingers find my clit, when he pinches the sensitive skin, making my hips buck. That’s when I feel his erection, hard and irrepressible beneath the fabric of his suit. It’s a brand against my hip, marking me as his. I’m possessed by him. Owned. As much an object as any woman of ancient Greece—because nothing ever changes, not really. The societies we build, the secrets we hide. Men and women. The gods themselves. He thrusts two fingers inside me, sudden and blunt. I whimper at the intrusion, the stretch of my tender flesh around his unforgiving entry. He licks the side of my neck. It could be soothing, but it inflames me instead. Then he bites down on my skin, and I know that’s what he intended. He wants me to burn as much as he does. It’s a kind of retribution, a punishment for turning him to ash. His fingers twist inside me, finding that secret spot, and I moan. As if he was waiting for that, he pulls away. My inner muscles clench around nothing. “Please. Please, Gabriel.”

“That’s right. Beg me. That’s all I want to hear from you. Begging. Crying. I want you broken at my feet.” “You’re crazy,” I finally whisper, but what I really mean is: I’m crazy. My reward is his cock—large and hot at my entrance. “Again,” he says. I push back, fighting for him to fill me. His large hands hold my hips steady, as easily as if I’m a doll. He moves me when and where he wants me. And right now he wants me to suffer. “You’re crazy,” I say, and this time I mean it. He pushes inside me with a violence that pushes me against the inside door of the car. Cool curved glass presses against my cheek. The smooth wood and leather padding the door cradle my breasts. My sex pulses around his cock, shocked anew at the size of him, the width. He never gives me time to adjust—or maybe it’s not possible. Maybe he wants me small and tight, meant to stretch on every entry, to squeeze him with every twitch. Isn’t that why men want a virgin? So they can hurt us? I want you broken at my feet. “Harder,” I whisper, and I’m not sure who I’m saying it for—him or me. I’m not sure it matters. We’re the same being when he’s inside me. Moving toward one goal. He pulls back. There’s a brief moment of respite, a cold reminder of the space he’s claimed. Then he’s deep inside me, his invasion thorough, his cock pulsing in cruel pleasure. I release a pent-up sound of grief, but I don’t know whether I want him to stop or start again—whether I could go back to a time when he didn’t use me this way. My breath leaves a cloud on the window, transient proof of what we’re doing, the only mark we’re leaving on the world outside. Through the tinted glass I can still see the men in suits, standing at attention. Waiting. Guarding. They must know what’s happening inside. All of them answer to me. Gabriel speeds up, fucking me with rough intent, every thrust pushing me against the window, marring my makeup, loosening my hair, pushing my breasts from the confines of the twisted, bunched emerald fabric. As if every sparkle, every neat line stood as a taunt to Gabriel—a threat that he needs to subdue. He fucks me like I’m the enemy, like he can vanquish me. And maybe he can. He can invade my slick channel, forcing me to take him, giving friction and heat, pleasure and pain. It swirls ever higher, tighter, sharper—until I’m mindless on the end of his cock. “Please,” I whisper. “Promise me.” “Anything,” I moan, and that’s the sad truth. That’s crazy. That’s me. His voice is harsh, roughened by sex, but determined. “Promise you won’t try to leave. I’m letting you out of my house. Letting you out of this car. You have to stay with me. Behind me. At all times.” My mind is drenched with need. It’s hard to think. Hard to speak. It feels like I haven’t spoken in a thousand years. My mouth struggles to form words. “I promise.” His hand moves to the ledge of the car door in front of me. Leverage. I realize it when he manages to move deeper inside me, the force pushing a whimper of pain from me. His other hand wraps around my neck like he had before. From behind this time. His mouth lowers to my ear, his whisper like a dark dream. “He won’t stop, understand? The man who’s hunting you. If he gets his hands on you, he’ll squeeze and squeeze until you long for death. Understand?” To make sure that I do, he squeezes. Black spots dance in front of my eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” I can’t speak. Can’t even nod my head. Can’t even beg, and I think this is what he wanted all along. My body convulses, on the verge of an orgasm, on the edge of passing out, torn between pleasure and

pain. On the next thrust he releases my neck, and the rush of air burns all the way down my throat, all the way through my lungs, bursting in a fire of oxygen and arousal, my climax hitting me with the encompassing flare of a forest fire. I press uselessly against the cool glass, desperate for relief, tears slick against my cheeks. The sound that emerges from me is rough and uneven, more object than animal, something being torn apart. He plunges deep and holds there, grip piercing on my hips as he holds me steady, his halted breath the only sound of his orgasm. I collapse against the door, my muscles made soft and replete. Satisfied, like he said I would be. Satisfied so that I would let him hurt me. He doesn’t hurt me, not anymore. He pulls me against his body, gathering me like I’m in a hundred pieces. I curl into his lap, resting my head against the smooth fabric of his shirt. How is it that he isn’t even wrinkled? I’m a disaster. “You can’t go looking for him,” he says, his voice low. And strained, as if this is almost too important to put into words. “No matter what happens. No matter what you think or fear or wonder.” I blink slowly, made curious by his intensity. Why does he think that will happen? “I know what he did to my mother. I saw what happened at my house. I know how dangerous he is.” His arms tighten around me. “Danger doesn’t keep you away.” Because he’s dangerous. That’s what he tried to prove by holding my neck, by threatening me. It’s what he did every time he threatened the women at his father’s brothel. Threatening them in a desperate attempt to keep them safe. I nuzzle my face deeper against his chest. “I’m here, Gabriel. I’m not leaving.” And only then does he allow his head to rest on top of mine. He could have climaxed ten times, but he wouldn’t have had the bone-deep satisfaction that radiates from him now. He doesn’t want me broken. He wants me whole.

Chapter Six

I

SPEND A few minutes freshening up with the makeup in my clutch, but there’s not enough lipstick in the

world to make me presentable. My eyelids are heavy, my cheeks flushed. My hair a wild mane around my shoulders. It’s dark in the back of the limo, but I know I must look sultry, the aura of sex emanating from me. Gabriel raps on the window, and the door opens. A blast of humid night air rushes in, a sharp contrast to the cool interior. I take Gabriel’s hand, surprised to find my legs shaky. I know that I affect him. I can see the impact when we’re alone together. And I see how much he fights it. But he looks completely unaffected, his expression stern, his suit perfectly pressed despite what we just did. No one would know that he just had sex to look at him. Meanwhile I’m rumpled and loose-limbed, every nerve of my body still tingling from aftershocks. I blush when we pass the men standing at the door, but they don’t meet my eyes. They don’t even twitch. They might as well be statues made of concrete. Gabriel’s hand guides me up the narrow steps onto a hand-scraped wood floor I remember from my visits. Except there aren’t any tables. There’s a muted clatter of pots, the bustle of the kitchen not far away. All I can see is a shadowy interior. As if he’s walked this path a hundred times, he guides me down the hallway. The restaurant spreads out in front of me, dark walnut tables surrounded by maroon leather booths. The large rooms arranged in such a way that almost every person is visible from here—but no one directly faces us. He pulls my hair to the side, exposing my throat. His lips meet the side of my neck, warm and soft—a contrast to the cold space in my chest. “This is where I stood,” he murmurs. “When you laughed. When you smiled at your daddy like he was the whole world.” Pain squeezes my heart. “And that’s when you decided to ruin him?” “No, little virgin. That’s when I decided to ruin you.” I whirl to face him. “Stop trying to scare me. I’m not afraid of you.” His expression flickers with something like pride. Something like pleasure. “And now you look at me like I’m the whole world. Do you want me to apologize for that?” “It might be nice.” “Do you want me to pretend I wouldn’t do it again? Do you have any idea how much you’re worth?” “One million dollars,” I whisper because the amount is imprinted on my soul. Written on my body. He takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting my gaze to his. “I built that house like a fortress, a goddamn castle. All that’s missing is a drawbridge. But I had nothing to protect. No one.” I turn away from him, staring at the glittering array of women, the black-and-white clad men. “You could have had anyone.” “Not someone I would die for.” “I don’t want you to die for me,” I say too loudly. The couple at the closest table turn their heads. Whatever they see in Gabriel’s expression makes them look away fast. I struggle to find my composure. “I don’t want you to die at all.” “Not even for revenge?”

My eyes prick with tears. It wasn’t only me in that fire that haunts my dreams. It was Gabriel, trapped and burning. “Not ever.” His hands are firm on my arms. He steps forward, and I stumble back—I’m falling, hands tight in his shirt. He guides me to the wood-paneled wall of the hallway, only half blocked by heavy velvet drapery. His forehead meets mine. I’m trapped by the size of him, the strength. I’m held captive by his physicality, but it’s the gentle touch of his forehead that catches my breath. “I don’t want to die for you, little virgin.” My hands wrap tighter in the fabric, pulling myself higher, pulling him down. I can’t seem to get close enough. The clothes are in the way. Air is in the way. An entire universe colluding to keep us apart. “No?” “Let me live for you.” A helpless sound escapes me, because a bond like that doesn’t go one way. It’s a string between our hearts, our souls, something no amount of money could ever measure. I’m already living for him, already lost. “Yes,” I breathe. “Then stay.” This moment is as much a command as his orders in the limo, that moment as much a plea as his breath on the bridge of my nose now. He orders me to stay; he begs me. And all of it points to the same conclusion: he believes I’m going to leave.

Chapter Seven

T

HE OWNER OF the restaurant greets Gabriel like an old friend, with a warm smile and a two-handed

shake. He seems sincerely pleased to meet me, even giving me condolences for my father, as if he’s dead instead of merely poor and ill. In this society that’s worse than death. I accept them awkwardly, still torn between a deep-seated grief and my sense of betrayal. My father was the only family I knew for so long. He was my whole world, like Gabriel said. And I would have done anything for him. I did anything for him, auctioning my virginity once his medical bills drained my college fund. But he wasn’t the man I thought he was. He betrayed me, essentially selling me as part of a business contract before he was attacked. And maybe worse than that, he betrayed my mother. He hadn’t believed her when she needed him the most. Would she still be alive if he had believed her? Would she have gone to confront Jonathan Scott if my father had been her true ally? I shiver, because Gabriel believes me. Doesn’t he? “Avery!” I’m startled from my own thoughts by Candy’s voice. She smiles, standing from the table tucked into a corner. This is the most secluded spot in the restaurant. “I didn’t know you were coming!” She gives me a tight hug, smelling like sugar and sex. “I’ve been begging Ivan to let me see you for weeks.” Her eye roll is somehow precocious and sensual at the same time. “He insists on being by my side ever since the fire.” “So it’s not just Gabriel,” I say. A soft laugh. “They have some things in common, our men. But I’m guessing they do some things very differently. For example Ivan loves to—” “Darling.” Ivan Tabakov strokes his hand along her bright blonde hair, the touch gentle and yet possessive. He gives me a grave nod in greeting before returning his attention to Candy. “We don’t discuss such things at the dinner table.” She gives him a fake-puzzled look. “I was just going to tell them your favorite drink after a hard day at work. What did you think I was talking about?” “Of course you were,” he says drily. Gabriel leans forward to shake his hand. “Tabakov.” A nod. “Miller. Have you found anything?” “Nothing worth mentioning.” I exchange a glance with Candy. They’re talking about Jonathan Scott. I didn’t realize that Ivan Tabakov was looking for him, too, but I suppose he considers the fire an attack on Candy. At the very least he’s a danger. And from the hard glint in Ivan’s silver eyes, he doesn’t let anything pose a danger to her. “Excuse us,” Candy says breezily. “Avery and I need to visit the little girl’s room.” Gabriel frowns, his hands hard around my waist. “I don’t think so.” “It’s like six feet away,” Candy says, laughing. My eyes narrow. “Does my leash not extend that far?”

“No,” he says, his voice flat. There’s no room for argument in the set of his jaw, but I’m not backing down. “We’ll be inside the restaurant! I know you have people standing watch outside.” That was only a guess, but the look on his face confirms it. “That’s not the point.” “You can’t follow me into the bathroom.” His golden eyes glint with challenge. “Can’t I?” It won’t work to confront him, to fight him. He’s a warrior. This isn’t only about where I go. It’s about the very nature of our relationship, the way that I wield my power. And I don’t need the strength that comes from muscle, from steel. I have other weapons. I squeeze Gabriel’s hand. “I’d love a few minutes of girl time.” The change in him happens in degrees. He doesn’t soften. That word doesn’t suit him. But he believes in me, and that’s even better. “Five minutes.” “Ten,” I say, pushing to my toes so I can kiss his cheek. The scruff of his jaw abrades my lips, a small reminder of the punishment he wields when he wants to. Candy links arms with me, pulling me away before I can change my mind. My heart lurches when we round the corner, leaving the men staring after us. It’s silly to be afraid, especially because Candy hadn’t been exaggerating about the distance. There’s a private bathroom tucked into this corner, separate from the one I had used before on the main floor. A lavish parlor with a sofa and lighted dressing table fill the carpeted bathroom. Two stalls are set deep in the room. Candy collapses on the sofa, looking like a glamorous star from black-and-white movies in her glittering gown. “Sit by me. Tell me how you are. We only have a few minutes before they come looking for us.” That makes me laugh as I sink into the plush cushions with her. “You’re probably right. A WOMAN sign on the door isn’t going to stop them.” “Hardly. And they’ve both been worried, even though they try to hide it. I’ve never seen Ivan like this.” The reminder sobers me. “This is the first time I’ve left Gabriel’s house since that night.” Blue eyes widen. “Are you serious? I would go stir-crazy. At least I get to go to the Grand. Ivan comes with me, which is stifling enough.” It’s like a lungful of air to have someone understand me. “I know he just wants to keep me safe, but it’s a different kind of dangerous, being all locked away like this.” “Loneliness?” I look away. “I don’t know.” She takes my hand. “You can trust me.” “Sometimes I feel like I’m going crazy in those rooms, all alone.” Like my mother went crazy. At least she felt that way. It turned out that there were speakers in the walls, but that can’t be the case in Gabriel’s house. There’s security. There are guards. It’s perfectly safe. So why do I still hear voices? Worry darkens her liquid eyes. “Have you told Gabriel about this?” “No way,” I say immediately. “He would just freak out. More than he already does.” She bites her lip, which is pink and plump. “He could help you.” He already thinks I’m going to go running to Jonathan Scott, like my mother did. If he knows I hear voices too, he will never trust me. And I want that more than anything—maybe even more than sanity. “Let’s go back,” I say. “Once he starts coming to the bathroom with me, he might not stop.”

We find the men standing beside the table, waiting for us. I don’t miss the flash of relief when Gabriel sees me turn the corner. My own heart slows half a beat, my body calmed by his presence. It’s like we both feel the invisible forces pulling us apart, both hear the voices in the walls. Only when we’re together does it seem possible to beat them. He gives me a slight smile. “I ordered for you.” Suddenly I feel shy. The domesticity of it. The intimacy, deeper than sharing our bodies. “Shrimp cocktail?” “In the largest glass they have.” He bends to kiss my forehead. It feels like a shot of warmth in the middle of winter. He pulls out a chair, and I move to sit. Only when my butt touches the wooden surface do I hear the crack in the air. Only when I look up do I see the split of wood in the wall, at the same height as my head. The world reduces to seconds. One second. Two. And then Gabriel’s hands are on me, harsher than they have ever been before, pushing me down to the floor. Three. He lands on top of me, his weight pushing the air from my lungs. Four. Another crack. Someone is shooting at us. Someone tried to shoot me. Five. Six. Seven. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. I can’t hear anything, and then all at once I hear everything. Screaming the night of the fire. My mother’s voice. Only this time she isn’t telling me to stay inside. From somewhere deep in my memory, when I was too young to understand, too little to know what it meant, I heard her on the phone. “I’ll meet you there,” she whispers, her hand cupping the receiver. I’m huddled beneath the vanity, clutching the doll with long hair. I know she’ll be mad if she finds me here. I should have gone to sleep an hour ago. She leaves the room, and I feel the walls shift as she leaves. Daddy is at work, like he always is. I know Rosita is downstairs sleeping if I really need something. Sometimes I wake her up because I don’t want to be alone. At least that’s what I tell her. The truth is I’m not ever really alone.

Chapter Eight

“A

VERY!” THE SHAKING jolts me back to reality, to the dark interior of the limo, to the swerving motion

of the vehicle, usually so smooth. To Gabriel’s fierce golden eyes. “Are you hurt?” I swallow past the lump in my throat, struggling to get myself under control. “Is Candy okay?” “She’s fine,” he mutters, but his attention is on his hands. He runs them over my arms, down my body, my legs. He’s touched me a hundred times, but never like this—impersonal, efficient. Like he’s trying to find an injury. “I’m fine,” I tell him. “Not hurt.” His eyes glow with a ferocity that seems otherworldly. “Where did you go?” He doesn’t mean physically. I went somewhere in my mind, someplace dark. A memory? A dream. “I think…I don’t know. I went into shock or something.” “I’m taking you to the hospital.” He drops his fist onto a panel of buttons. “Ben. St. Mary’s.” The thought of being tied down with tubes makes me cringe. I still remember the smell of disinfectant from taking care of my father for months. “No. Please. I promise I’m okay.” His nostrils flare. “Avery.” I press my forehead to his, the way he did in the restaurant. “I’m fine. I’m one hundred percent fine.” “You scared me,” he admits gruffly. “I thought you’d been hit.” My hands run over him without thought, driven by the same instinct that made him examine me. “Are you hurt? Do you need the hospital? Gabriel!” He grunts when my fingers brush over something wet on his neck. “It’s nothing. A graze.” “A graze from a bullet? Oh my God.” He presses the button on the door again. “The Den.” “No! You were going to take me to a hospital, but not yourself?” “There’s supplies there. Not that I need much for a scratch.” I hold my fingers up to the flicker from the streetlights passing by. Red flashes under each glare, turning dark and inky when we reach downtown Tanglewood. An inch. That’s all that separates life from death. The only reason he’s alive. “What happened?” I ask softly. I can’t shake the dreamlike feeling from when I was on the floor, huddled beneath the dinner table like it was my mother’s vanity. Even before that, walking the halls of Gabriel’s mansion like it was a place that exists only in my mind. The only thing that grounds me is the hard, heated body beneath me. He’s holding me in his lap, his grip strong enough that I don’t think he’ll let me go anytime soon. “We’re still figuring it out,” he says, clearly furious. “He got the drop on an ex-SEAL on the left side of the building.” My stomach clenches. “Is he—” Dead? “Unconscious.” I shake my head, uncomprehending. “Are you sure this was Jonathan Scott? There were a lot of important people there. A lot of people with enemies. Someone else could have been the target. And how would he be able to knock out someone trained like that?” “He could have had hired help, but he likes to get his hands dirty.”

“I don’t understand.” Gabriel sits for a moment, the secrets almost tangible in the air. “Jonathan Scott—he’s not really a man. Not an animal, either. That’s what makes him so hard to pin down. He’s like a shadow.” “You make him sound supernatural.” “Most people believe in God. Would it be so hard to believe in the alternative?” I think of the myths that I study. They’re just stories to us now, but the ancient Greeks believed them. They meant something then. They mean something now, because stories are important. “Yes,” I say honestly. He gives a low laugh. “He’s real enough, Avery.” “I know.” And that knowledge sits deeper than I’m willing to admit. I curl into Gabriel’s arms, shivering at the words. Maybe it would be more comforting to think of him like a ghost. Maybe he could haunt us without actually hurting anyone. The slick blood against my temple, dripping from the wound on Gabriel’s neck, proves the threat is real. “He knows this city better than anyone, every crack, every corner. And he’s fearless. Other people behave in certain ways, even when they’re well trained. Instinct. Human nature.” “Then how will you find him?” Gabriel doesn’t answer, but maybe that’s answer enough. How can he find something he can’t see? How can he fight a force that doesn’t breathe or walk or eat, at least not like any regular man does? At least that’s how he sounds. In that way maybe the myths are true. There could have been a man powerful enough to seem like a god, calloused enough to play with humans like they were toys, strong enough to defy death. A sense of inevitability overcomes me, the same as watching the moon rise in the sky. There’s no way that we can change the tides. All we can do is cling to the mast, the way that I’m clinging to Gabriel now. He’s my ship, my center. My only hope for surviving the night.

Chapter Nine

T

HE NIGHT OF my auction there was a man in the Den, his eyes a frosty blue and his hair white-blond. It

might make another man look soft, but his broad shoulders strain his white dress shirt, muscles bulging beneath the fabric. He looks like some kind of Nordic warrior, pillaging a village. He takes one look at Gabriel and scowls. “Sit down before you fall down.” It’s a sign of how affected Gabriel is that he actually listens. He takes two steps into the nearest sitting room and reclines his body on a leather armchair. It could be casual comfort. Only a scratch, like he wants me to believe. But the way he closes his eyes proves it’s more than that. He can finally lower his guard now that we’re somewhere safe. Blood stains a dark line down the front of his crisp white shirt. I wring my hands together, torn between wanting to help him and not wanting to make it worse. “You said there’s a first-aid kit?” “Anders will get it,” Gabriel says without moving. Blue eyes flash with ice. “It would serve you right to bleed out.” I take a step forward. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but he needs you to help him. And that’s what you’re going to do.” One pale eyebrow rises. “Your kitten has claws, Gabriel.” “Hey,” I snap. “He’s not talking to you. I am. And I’m telling you to get a first-aid kit now.” After a long look Anders stalks down the hallway. I kneel beside Gabriel and take his hand in mine. His eyes slit open. “I liked that.” “Him calling me a kitten?” “I liked you standing up for me.” My heart aches. He’s been so alone, without even knowing it. These men at the Den, they’re his friends. But they’re also tough assholes, used to hurting each other as much as helping. A group of lost boys, all grown up but still searching for a home. Gabriel hasn’t had anyone to look after him. Now he has me. Anders returns with a black leather bag. I expected something small and white and plastic, maybe with a strip of gauze and a small tube of Neosporin. Instead he pulls out a stainless-steel tray that contains metal tools wrapped in plastic, like some kind of portable surgical table. Gabriel moves to take off his shirt, apparently unsurprised by the setup. “You said it was a graze,” I accuse. “It is,” Anders says, wiping away blood with a wad of gauze. “A graze that needs stitches.” Gabriel shrugs and then winces. “You don’t have to watch. Wait upstairs for me.” I’m not going anywhere. “You’ve done this before?” I ask Anders even though he handles the tools with a cool efficiency clearly born of experience. He doesn’t bother looking up. “Once or twice.” “He’s a doctor,” Gabriel says. “Was a doctor.” Anders snaps on a pair of plastic gloves. “My license was revoked.”

My mouth drops, though I’m not sure what’s more shocking—that this large, rough-hewn man, a hint of violence in his every move, once made a living healing people, or that he lost his license. “What for?” “What else? Killing patients.” I move to stand between him and Gabriel. “Wait. Are you serious? Should you be doing this?” “He went to medical school, little virgin,” Gabriel says from behind me. “You should go to a hospital,” I say without turning. “Where the doctors still have their licenses!” Something dark passes over Anders’s expression—maybe grief. Maybe fury. But when he speaks, his tone is droll. “Well, sure. He’ll lose another pint of blood in the process and the hospital will have to report the gunshot wound, which will lead to the police knocking on your door.” “Better than you chopping him up,” I snap back. I don’t know where this protective instinct comes from, but it’s hard and hot. I want to stand up for Gabriel the way no one ever has before. I want to stand up for him the way no one did for me when I needed help. Large fingers take mine. I turn to see Gabriel holding my hand, his mouth taut with pain, his eyes bright with a shared fervor. “Little virgin.” I can’t even mind him calling me that, not with blood slick on his neck. “I’m sorry,” I whisper because it feels like my fault. His blood. My fear. Everything that’s happened since the auction. He pulls me close, until I’m standing between his legs. It should make me feel vulnerable, being small and captive within the confines of his body. Even injured he could hurt me a thousand times over. Instead I feel like he’s worshipping me. I always thought of the men as gods—powerful, angry. He makes me feel like a goddess, beautiful and divine. “I’m one hundred percent fine,” he murmurs, echoing my words. Only then do I realize the breath I’ve been holding. Gabriel worried about me, but I wasn’t injured. He was, and the knowledge pains me in the deepest way. I step aside without another word, clinging to Gabriel’s hand even as Anders pulls up a chair. “He warned me about you,” I say, dropping onto a smooth leather ottoman a few feet away, my fancy emerald dress wrinkled and ruined above my knees. “Did he?” Gabriel says, sounding unconcerned. “He told me I should run away from you.” Sex for money. I guess it’s more honest work than your daddy did, but just as dirty. “You didn’t listen.” “No. I spent the first eighteen years of my life listening to men tell me what to do. And then I realized that they were going to judge me no matter what I did. They were going to sell me and buy me and do whatever they wanted, so I may as well get a cut.” Gabriel’s golden eyes glint with pride. “That’s right.” “And how’s that working out for you?” Anders asks, his voice dry, the unspoken answer obvious as he unspools a length of suture tape. “Things weren’t exactly safe before he came into my life.” I can’t quite shake the memory of the mystery man outside my window when I was alone in the house with my father bedridden. Was he sent by Jonathan Scott? Or someone else who hated my father? I didn’t get a good enough look at his face. For all I know it could have been Anders. The only reason I know it wasn’t Jonathan Scott himself is because I would be dead. Your father stole from Gabriel Miller, and nobody gets away with that. That’s why he got knocked down. But Gabriel wasn’t the only person he stole from. “I won’t hurt him,” Anders says without looking up.

“I know,” I say. Gabriel wouldn’t let the man near him if he wasn’t competent. He wouldn’t be at the Den at all. “I’m sorry I freaked out.” He glances at me briefly before dabbing a solution over the area, wiping away bright blood onto a cotton swab. “I’ve done this a hundred times before, on Gabriel alone.” “You know, surprisingly that doesn’t make me feel better.” Gabriel slants me a taut smile. “No bullet can bring me down, little virgin. So don’t get any ideas.” I have the sudden realization that he’s teasing me to take my mind off the shooting. That’s how much he cares about me, how much he cares for me. That he would protect me, covering my body with his. That he would pull me out of a dangerous situation and take me to safety. That he would joke with me so that I wouldn’t be shaking with anxiety while his injury is tended. “Gabriel,” I whisper. His expression doesn’t change, but I feel the moment when Anders pushes the needle through his wounded flesh. The pain pulses through my body like it’s my own. “Take me home. After this, take me home. I won’t fight you anymore.” I don’t care how much it hurts me to stay in the gilded prison. In this moment I don’t even care how crazy I might become, the voices that I shouldn’t hear.

Chapter Ten

G

ABRIEL REFUSES PAIN medicine during the stitches, the only sign of pain his eyes darkening to bronze.

Anders holds out a small pile of pills. “Antibiotics.” A frown. “I don’t need medicine.” Anders rolls his eyes. “You can’t even let your guard down for a motherfucking second.” Gabriel glances at me, his golden eyes bright with promise. “Not if I can help it.” Worry makes my stomach turn. He’ll run himself to the ground like this, refusing medical attention, putting himself into danger to protect me. I put my hand on his arm. “If you get an infection, you won’t be any use to anyone.” His eyes narrow like he wants to refuse. Instead he takes the medicine and swallows them dry. “Now go lie down,” Anders says, sounding surly. “And don’t fuckin’ argue.” Gabriel stands, his large body swaying before I move to support him. The air rushes from my lungs as I realize how much of his body is pure muscle. My own legs shake as I help him over to a long brown sofa, the leather crinkled and worn. He collapses on the soft leather. “You fucker,” he says, voice slurred. “Stubborn,” Anders says, a look of dark satisfaction on his face. Golden eyes disappear beneath heavy lids. “You slipped in pain medicine,” I say, torn between relief and guilt. Guilt, because he wouldn’t have taken any pills if I hadn’t urged him to. Anders shrugs. “He would kill himself to stay awake.” Gabriel’s large body lies faceup, one knee up, the other foot on the floor. He still wears the dress pants from dinner, a black belt across his abs. Tan skin stretches over ridged muscles. A sprinkling of silvery brown hair covers his chest. The blood has been cleaned from his skin, leaving only a small line of stitches on his shoulder. Anxiety strums through me. “He’ll be okay, though, won’t he?” “If he rests,” Anders says with a low growl. He gathers his supplies with rigid order and disappears without another word. I turn back to Gabriel, nonplussed to find myself alone with him. His lips have kissed so many places on my body. Those large hands have touched me everywhere, but I’ve never really examined him. He’s never let me. The realization hits me with a dark sense of betrayal. He exposed his secrets to me, portioning them out like bread crumbs. But when it came to sex, he held me down, he turned me around. He subsumed me in pleasure, rendering me boneless and satiated. I climb onto his body, my knees split over his hips. Guilt twinges inside me. He would never let me do this if he were awake. He would be hard and thrusting, his hands wrapped around my waist, flipping me over. Instead I rest my palms over the flat of his stomach, positioning myself where I can study him. A lock of mahogany-brown hair falls onto his forehead. Lashes rest against his cheek. Gabriel’s eyes have an intensity that always captivates me. So it’s a novel experience to look at him with his eyes closed, like reclaiming my power. I know he’d hate to be vulnerable like this, unable to

protect me, unable to shield himself from my curiosity. I touch my forefinger to the taut skin of his stomach. His muscles ripple beneath my touch, hyperaware even when he’s asleep. The skin is smoother than I expect, smoother than it feels when he pounds into me, his body hard around me. I trail my finger along the valley of his abs to his broad chest. Higher, higher. To the rough bristle over his chin, to the soft pad of his bottom lip. My gaze lifts to find his eyes slitted open. “How do you feel?” I whisper. “Like flipping you over,” he says, his voice like gravel. “You’re in no shape to do that,” I say, alarmed. It would be just like him to do it anyway. Even though he doesn’t look capable of it. Even though he’d probably rip his stitches out even trying. “Don’t look like her,” he mumbles. Surprise clenches my stomach. Everyone knows I look like my mother. So much that no one noticed that her portrait had been swapped out for a new painting of me, an elaborate and quietly terrifying threat. Jonathan Scott succeeded in breaking my mother, but it seems like he won’t be content until he has me too. “A little different,” I answer, uncertain. There are slight differences to our appearance, besides the different clothes she would wear. Her nose was a little stronger, more aristocratic, her overall face thinner and more defined. Her hair was a pale blonde, like spun gold, instead of the dirty blonde I have. “Hannah.” My heart thuds. “Who?” “So pretty.” A hot burn streaks through me, sudden and strange enough that it takes me a moment to catch my breath. Jealousy. Which is pretty messed up, considering Hannah’s probably the name of the poor dead girl, the one he didn’t manage to save. He’s delirious from drugs. That’s why he’s spilling secrets he never would before. If it was wrong for me to look at him while drugged, it’s even worse for me to question him. “Hannah’s the girl from the brothel?” His eyes are glazed, in another time and place. “You can’t have her.” Suddenly I realize how little I know about him. Before it had seemed like enough, to know that he cared about me, that I trusted him. I didn’t know all his secrets, but it was almost a game to uncover them. This doesn’t feel like a game. There’s something in the air—desperation, yearning. God, did he love her? That makes her fate even more horrifying. I stand back up, taking a few steps away. A few feet to breathe. Anders returns to the room with a fresh pair of gloves and a crisp white bandage. He applies it with surprising care, using medical tape to secure it. “With any luck he’ll actually let them heal.” “I’ll make him rest,” I say, but even I don’t believe I have that power. “He’ll be out for a few hours. I’ll take you to a bedroom upstairs.” I shake my head. “I’m staying with him.” Anders looks at me with begrudging respect. “You’re less of a spoiled little princess than I thought.” My eyes narrow. “You’re just as much of an asshole as I thought.” He laughs, folding the rest of the bandages over, turning away to leave. “Wait,” I say, unease churning in my stomach. “Will you answer something for me?” “Depends on what it is.” “Who’s Hannah?”

Confusion crosses his expression, and it appears to be genuine. I’m not sure why he would pretend with me anyway. He glances at Gabriel, his eyes hard. “If you’re asking about an ex, he’s never been with anyone. Not seriously and not for more than a few nights.” “Okay.” I’m convinced it was the girl he protected at the brothel. Then why did I hear such longing in his voice? Gabriel’s power, both in the business world and his physicality, makes me think of an older man. His vitality makes him younger. I don’t know exactly how old he is, but how is it possible he’s never had a serious girlfriend? Why would he be talking about Hannah when he’s drugged if she didn’t mean something more? Anders shakes his head. “I told you once that Gabriel was dangerous for you. You didn’t believe me then. I don’t really expect you to believe me now.” “I thought you said you were wrong about me.” “About you, maybe. Not about him.” “Then Hannah—” “Forget about her. I don’t know who she is, and I don’t fucking care. The person you need to worry about is lying right in front of you, unconscious. If you’re smart, you won’t be here when he wakes up.” I blink, uncertain what he’s implying. “Gabriel wouldn’t hurt me.” A rough laugh. “What does he call you? His little virgin? I’m pretty sure he already has.”

Chapter Eleven

I

DRIFT OFF with my arms on the sofa, my knees curled underneath me. There’s a bed upstairs, another

sofa across the room. And I can’t make myself leave his side, not when he’s vulnerable like this. In my dream the earth crumbles to dust, only to form again in the shape of the woman. Soft grass covers her body, delicate white flowers dusted over her lush curves. She’s made of dirt and vitality, darkness come alive. Water laps at her skin, nourishing at first. Surrounding her. She’s an island, alone. The water keeps rising, rising, creeping over her skin before she realizes what’s happening. By the time she’s submerged, it’s too late. She can only press her mouth to the surface, one final gasp. And then she drowns. I come awake with a painful intake of breath, my lungs burning. It takes a second to orient myself—to the sleeping man under my arms, to the strange sounds coming from the hallway. My limbs still heavy from sleep, I stand and peek out the doorway. It sounds like rain. Like thunder. Like a wild battle. The heavy oak door to the Den stands open, dark slashing rain a grim backdrop for Damon Scott. I’ve seen a hundred different smiles from this man—the mercurial enigma, the joyful deviant. Never have I seen the features of his handsome face etched into grief. Rain darkens his suit, dampens his black hair around his temples. He holds a girl in his arms, her skin sickly pale, almost blue, kicking the door shut. I gasp. “Is she—” “Dead?” Damon asks, his voice tighter than I’ve ever heard him. He auctioned off my virginity to a roomful of sadistic billionaires with ease, but he looks like he’s about to crack. Whatever he’s just come from has nearly broken him. “She’ll wish she was.” I can’t tell whether that’s a threat. He isn’t going to hurt her, is he? She looks bad enough. “What can I do?” “Blankets,” he mutters. “Every single one you can find.” A breath of relief fills me. He’s going to help her. I follow him upstairs but continue to the end of the hallway to a closet. There are plush down comforters and creamy knitted throws. With my arms full I find him in a bedroom decorated with antique cherrywood. A high bed sits on a platform in the center of the room. The girl lies on top of the sheets, her legs bare. As I watch, Damon tears away sodden blue fabric from her skin. I can see the blue veins in her breasts. She must be freezing. What happened to her? Part of me is horrified, but the other part springs into action. Taking one of the throws, I approach and use it to dry her skin with invigorating strokes while Damon yanks away the rest of her clothes. Her hair is a limp mass, turned pitch-black from the rain. I wrap the blanket around it and squeeze. She doesn’t stir, even when I accidentally catch a lock around my pinky. She feels like ice to the touch. I glance back to ask what happened, only to stop, my mouth open. Damon’s suit jacket lies in a wet heap behind him, his shirt half-unbuttoned. As I watch, he pulls the soggy fabric apart, ripping the rest of the buttons. His hands move to his belt before I can speak. “What are you doing?”

He gives me a dark look. “Fucking her limp body. What do you think?” I look back at the helpless naked body on the bed. I have no idea who she is or what she’s been through. Was Damon Scott the one who did this to her? He isn’t really trying to have sex with her. I see the line between his eyes, the tension in his body, rippling through muscles I never guessed were under those finely tailored suits. That doesn’t mean she would want his naked body around hers. “I can do it,” I say, reaching back for the zipper of my dress. Damon gives a caustic laugh. “As much as I’d love to see the two of you in bed together, I don’t want to see what happens when Gabriel finds out I saw you naked.” “You saw me naked at the auction.” “That doesn’t count. You weren’t his then.” Damon tosses the belt aside and pushes down his pants. I know I should be worried about the poor girl on the bed. I should be worried about Gabriel being shot. And I am, but there’s another part of my mind reserved for the words: You weren’t his then. Do I belong to Gabriel now? He bought my virginity, my body. Not my soul. And definitely not my heart. I manage to look away in time, hearing the sounds of him climbing into the bed. “I’ll go find Anders.” “Really intent on making this a threesome, aren’t you?” “He’s a doctor.” “He lost his license.” I watch as Damon wraps the girl in his arms, their intimacy obvious despite the heavy down blanket covering them. The tenderness in his movements makes my breath catch. “Gabriel said it was fine. Anders stitched his gunshot wound.” Damon’s dark eyes sharpen. “Gabriel was shot?” “Grazed. On his neck.” I’m silent a moment before confessing. “The bullet was meant for me.” “You don’t know that,” comes a low voice from behind me. I whirl to find Gabriel leaning against the door frame. His skin is paler than usual, the bandage stark white. His golden eyes swirl with sleep and drugs and pain, liquid gold. “You shouldn’t be standing,” I say, accusing. “And you shouldn’t be in Damon’s bedroom.” My eyes widen. The room is certainly large and opulent. And completely devoid of personality. “This is his bedroom?” “I heard you almost died,” Damon says lazily, not seeming concerned that we’re in his personal space, that he’s naked next to a girl almost blue with cold. “Did you lose…what? A whole teaspoon of blood?” At least he sounds more like himself right now, amused and uninterested. “A quarter cup, at least,” Gabriel responds drily. “We should talk.” The air in the room thickens with words unsaid—words about guns and enemies. Words about Jonathan Scott. “You can talk in front of me. I want to know.” Damon glances down at the girl in his arms. “In private.” My heart speeds up. “Why? What happened to her? Does it have to do with your father?” Damon slips from bed and bends to pick up his pants, revealing more than I expected. I make a squeak of surprise and turn my face to Gabriel. Embarrassment heats my cheeks. Gabriel gives a low laugh. “Are you shocked, little virgin?” It is shocking, even when Damon has his pants on. The black hair on his chest contrasts with the light brown on Gabriel, both of them naked from the waist up. Damon is a little leaner, more streamlined grace to Gabriel’s muscled power. My whole body feels tight with a strange kind of anticipation. And I think my

naïveté is more than coincidental. I think Gabriel likes keeping me in the dark—about his body, about his business. What else is he keeping from me? “Tell me what’s happening,” I murmur, not far from begging. Maybe I’m already there. Gabriel studies me for a moment. And in that moment I can almost believe he’ll let me in, that he’ll bring down the walls between us. That ivory tower I’m in keeps me apart from the city, but it also keeps me apart from him. Then his golden eyes harden. “No.” “Don’t do this,” I plead. “Stay with her,” Damon says, brushing past me. “Her name’s Penny.” “What happened to her?” Neither man answers me as they walk down the hall, intent on their mission. I have half a mind to follow them, to demand they let me listen, to make them lock me out if that’s what they’re so intent on doing. But I can’t really leave the girl—Penny—alone. A few minutes in Damon’s embrace isn’t going to fix whatever made her ice-cold and catatonic. And so the footsteps rumble down the stairs, taking Gabriel away from me, along with his secrets. Secrets I’m more convinced he’ll never share.

Chapter Twelve

T

HE GIRL LIES in the bed, her eyes wide and unblinking.

“Are you okay?” I whisper. She doesn’t move, not even when I climb onto the side of the bed. I take her hand, surprised to find it warm. Her hair had felt coated with ice when she came in. How has she warmed up in just a few minutes? Whatever help Damon was to her body, her mind doesn’t seem improved. “Penny?” I squeeze gently. “You’re okay now. You’re safe.” No answer. I don’t undress, but I do climb into the bed with her. If I can’t offer words of comfort or medical help, at least I can give her body heat. Her hair still feels cold and wet against my arm. I can’t help but shiver as I curl myself around her. “No,” she whispers. I push up on my elbow. “Penny?” “Don’t leave me here.” Her eyes stare at nothing. I’m not sure if she knows I’m here, if she knows she’s safe. It seems like her mind is still back in whatever horror Damon took her from—which must be the worst curse of all. Her body is here, but her mind isn’t. My chest constricts, the situation too familiar for comfort. I’m tucked away into an ivory tower, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe. Not while I’m hearing voices. “I won’t leave you,” I say, almost fierce. The way I would want someone to promise me. Like they mean it. She begins to shiver. “Please don’t leave me.” “Not going anywhere.” I press my forehead against her temple, the way Gabriel did to me in the restaurant. That feels like a lifetime ago, even though it was earlier tonight. I had been hopeful about the future then, cautiously optimistic, excited to spend the evening at my favorite restaurant. Now I’m grateful to be alive. I wrap my arms around the girl—how old is she? From the brief glimpse of her body she looks fully grown. A woman. Except the frail body in my arms doesn’t feel big enough, strong enough. Not with shudders racking her slender frame. We stay like that for long moments, only her halting breaths breaking the silence. “So dark,” she murmurs, her voice almost dreamlike. She doesn’t sound afraid, only lost. “And cold. And heavy. That’s what you don’t realize about water. How heavy it is.” My throat tightens. “Did you fall off the docks?” My dad used to have a yacht on the lake outside Tanglewood, but we didn’t spend much time on it. A few company parties with his executives, lots of suits and hearty handshakes. One time the VP of Commercial Development, drunk on bourbon and his new promotion, went overboard. She shakes her head, voice small. “The west side.” I blink, unsure what she means. The lake is to the east, and besides, the west side usually refers to the jumble of tenements that house Tanglewood’s poorest population. There are no lakes there. No rivers. Barely any trees. Only miles of broken concrete.

So how did she end up drenched and shivering? “Did you go swimming?” A violent tremble shakes her small body. She burrows her face into my chest, and I pull her close. It feels strange to comfort someone like this. The closest friend I have is Harper, and even though we could talk about anything, she’s a force of nature. Too powerful to ever need solace. For so long I didn’t have a mother to do this, to hold me, to stroke my hair. To whisper that everything would be okay. And I find it gives me a kind of peace to hold her, as if we’re both helping each other. I’m not sure how long we stay like that, in that place between past and present, in the hazy shadows of trauma and relief. It feels like the world might be passing us by, one of those fast-motion videos of the sky with clouds migrating across the city. This might not be the ivory tower Gabriel keeps me in, but it’s a safe house all the same. A building without time, without even reality to intrude. Penny shifts slightly, and I know she’s awake. “Are you one of them?” she asks. “One of who?” “One of the girls. The ones Damon collects when someone can’t pay the loan back.” “Do you mean the strippers?” Damon owns clubs around the city. I could have ended up onstage in one of them, working off my father’s debts, lap dance by lap dance. I should be grateful that I’m with Gabriel instead—and I am, but I can’t shake the feeling that I don’t know everything. My father kept secrets from me. On good days I think he was trying to protect me. Then I remember that he sold me to Gabriel Miller as part of a shady business deal well before the auction. Regardless of his intentions, the fallout from his crash destroyed my life. “Are they strippers?” Penny asks, her voice drowsy. “I thought he kept them for himself. I imagined a harem of girls, one for every day of the month.” The only time I’ve seen another woman at the Den was the night of my auction. Candy was there to help get me ready. And a few other men brought women on their arms, mistresses or sex partners. Temporary guests in a purely male environment. Is that what I am? “There aren’t other girls. At least not here.” And apparently this is Damon Scott’s bedroom. Where else would he keep a harem but nearby? “What made you think there were?” “He threatened to take me. If Daddy didn’t pay.” My hope dims. I don’t want to depress her, but I don’t want to lie either. “Maybe he wanted you to work off the debt.” I don’t mention that he might auction her off to one of the men who bid on me. “No,” she says, voice slurred with sleep. “He told me what he wanted to do. Him and me.” My eyes remain wide open even as Penny drifts off. At least right now her expression is peaceful. No nightmares like the ones that plague me. Him and me. That didn’t sound like a business arrangement. And he brought her to his bed. That didn’t look like business either. And in that brief glimpse of Damon’s body when he got out of the bed, he was aroused. Even with her body cool and unconscious, he had been hard. Then again it might not mean anything. I know better than anyone how business and pleasure could mix.

Chapter Thirteen

A

S A LITTLE girl my favorite cereal was Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Even when I got older, my father let me

eat that for breakfast every morning. His eyes would crinkle. Never grow up, he said. If I imagined anything, it would be making coffee before a full day of research, catching a few minutes with my husband, Justin, before he left for work. No amount of forethought could have prepared me for this morning. A Southern breakfast spills across a long walnut table. Steam rises from a pile of fresh biscuits, a saucer of dark gravy beside it. Heaping bowls of fruit contain grapes and orange pieces and rosy strawberries. A stack of bacon could feed an army. I have a small plate of scrambled eggs and cantaloupe slices. I would have thought I’d be queasy after the events of last night, but my stomach firmly reminds me we didn’t actually eat dinner. The men pile their plates high with waffles and fried chicken, digging in as if the calories are consumed by their intensity alone. And judging by the abs I saw on both men last night, that would be true. They speak in low tones, their words too cryptic to decipher. At the moment I’m too tired to try. The strangest part of the breakfast is the girl sitting across from me. Someone brought over a duffel bag of clothes for me last night. A few pairs of yoga pants and slouchy tops, so I loaned some to Penny. By loaned I mean that I dressed her like a doll. She stares at the pool of lukewarm tea in her cup, her expression blank. We spent the night in the same bed. There’s a kind of kinship that comes from recovering together, even though I know basically nothing about her. I know her daddy got her into trouble. If she lives in the west side, her daddy doesn’t have a lot in common with mine. Except that he sold his daughter, too. “So I’ll bring Avery back,” Gabriel says, catching my attention. Damon nods. “We can meet this afternoon.” My eyes narrow. “Can you maybe talk to me instead of about me?” “I’ll bring you back to my house,” Gabriel says in a dry tone. “And then meet with Damon this afternoon.” “What about Penny?” Both men look at the silent girl, as pale as a ghost, her strawberry-blonde hair in unruly curls. “What about her?” Gabriel finally asks. I shake my head, impatient. “Who will take care of her?” “I’ll find someone,” Damon says with that uncharacteristic solemnity. And I would break my promise to her. “I’ll stay with her.” “Absolutely not,” Gabriel says. “My house is the safest place for you, especially when both Damon and I aren’t there. The security team is already installed there.” “Then she can come with me,” I say, nudging Penny’s foot under the table. It would help if she’d back me up. She continues to stare into her teacup. “If it’s safer there, then she’ll be safer, too.” Damon frowns, watching Penny with a dark expression. “Take her.”

Without another word, he pushes back from the table and throws down his napkin. He strides from the room at a clipped pace, not looking back. “What happened to her?” I ask Gabriel. He shakes his head, expression grim. “You don’t want to know.” “I should know if I’m going to help her.” “I’m not sure there’s any help for someone who’s been through that.” “Are you speaking from experience?” He meets my gaze, his golden eyes blazing. “I saw a lot of fucked-up shit at the whorehouse growing up. Women raped, hurt. Beaten until they weren’t recognizable. And still I never saw anything like this.” My heart thuds, imagining that little boy watching such violence. Being part of it. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t apologize, little virgin. I could have freed you. Never forget that. I could have paid a million dollars and then walked away, never fucking that pretty little cunt.” The words I’m glad you didn’t sit on the edge of my tongue. I can’t quite say them. I would have gone on with my life. Would have gone back to Smith College. I can’t even imagine that life now, but it was the one I wanted for too long to throw it away. He smiles without humor. “He fucked her. And then he drowned her.” I suck in a breath. “How did she—” “Survive? Dear old Dad made sure to put a call in to Damon. He had no idea if he’d find a dead body at the bottom of the pool.” “Thank God he didn’t.” “What Jonathan Scott did to her… Most people would rather have died. So now you know why I keep you locked up. Why I’ll continue to lock you up. To keep you away from him. To keep you for myself. There’s really no end to the depraved things I want to do to you. We’re not so different.” My stomach clenches. “What you do to me is nothing like what he did to her.” “It’s convenient that you think so.” He tosses back the rest of his coffee. “Because I don’t plan to stop. Not for Jonathan Scott. Not for anyone. You’re mine, and I damn well keep what’s mine.”

Chapter Fourteen

“S

O DARK,” PENNY whispers, staring ahead.

Every single light in the guest bedroom is on, including a lamp on the bedside table and a small chandelier overhead. There’s also a night-light plugged into the wall, its tiny light barely adding to the blaze. None of it seems to penetrate her mind. “Shh.” I smooth back her hair. “Don’t try to figure it out right now. Rest.” I never thought of myself as a nurturing person. I always assumed that when I had a child, the instinct would be gifted to me, some kind of biological imperative. Maybe Justin and I would have gotten a puppy to practice, something purebred with a glossy coat. “Sleep now,” I whisper, stroking her hair. Whatever the reason, Penny seems to have taken to me. She goes completely silent whenever Damon comes near her. And she shrieked when Mrs. B tried to help her take a bath. I’ve been by her side in the three days since we came back to Gabriel’s estate. It’s been a relief to have someone with me, since Gabriel has been gone during the day. Finally her eyes drift shut. It’s a small comfort that she doesn’t seem plagued by nightmares. She lives in an almost catatonic state during the day, but she seems to sleep peacefully at night. Her breathing evens out, and I continue to stand vigil. Looking at her delicate features, it’s hard to imagine someone doing what Jonathan Scott did. Violence is never acceptable, but with her pale skin and golden curls she looks angelic. What kind of monster could hurt her? The same monster who killed my mother. The same one who threatens me. A shiver runs through me. There’s no reason to feel uneasy, not when I’m so safe here. West came in to check on me an hour ago. His men patrol the estate. No one could break in here, so why can’t I shake the feeling that I’m not alone? It’s not only Penny’s fragile presence that pierces the air. I wish Gabriel were here. It always calms me, as if nothing can touch me. Not even a bullet. That’s how I drift to sleep, curled protectively around Penny’s body. The shadows shift in my mind, changing from man to monster and back again. Whenever I think I’ve pinned him down, he melts into the blackness—only to reappear from a different angle. He isn’t real, I tell myself. Then why can I hear him laughing? The sound of laughter jolts me awake. It’s not a dream. It’s here. It’s really happening. I can hear him. “Gabriel?” I say, my voice shaking. For a long moment the only thing I hear is the ringing in my ears. It was only a dream. It must have been. What’s the alternative? That I’m crazy? That the house has been invaded? That Gabriel has been my enemy all along? I do feel like I’m going crazy, especially since Penny sleeps peacefully. My eyes close, fighting the wave of nausea. That’s when I hear him. “Don’t say you forgot me. You’ll hurt my feelings.” Wild drumbeats pound through my veins. I scramble from the bed, gaze darting around the brightly lit room. No one’s here with me. “Who are you?”

Another laugh, like in my dream. “I’m the monster under your bed.” The words are as clear as if someone’s speaking to me, a disembodied voice from my nightmares. Familiar and yet strange. Close and yet completely unknown. Panic squeezes my chest in a vise. I’m afraid to leave Penny alone with the voice, but I’m more afraid that it will follow me. It’s not the house that’s haunted—it’s me. I’m going insane. I run from the room as if my life depends on it, sightless, gasping—and run straight into a hard chest. A whimper escapes me as I scramble back. It takes half a second for my sight to focus on Gabriel, on his narrowed golden eyes, and by then he’s seen too much. “What’s wrong?” he says, taking a step into the room. The way he stands, it’s like he’s poised for battle. He would take on an army for me, but there isn’t an army. There isn’t even a single man to fight. Only the demons in my mind. “Nothing,” I say too fast. He glances back, disbelieving. “You look terrified, Avery.” It’s telling that he calls me Avery now. Not little virgin. He isn’t playing with me. I’m not playing either, but I can’t tell him. He wouldn’t believe me. Or worse, he would. I can’t stand the thought of him thinking I’m crazy. And it would be even worse for him to know I doubt him. He might be my enemy, but by God, if he’s my hero, he doesn’t deserve my doubt. “I had a bad dream,” I say, which isn’t a complete lie. It’s just that I’m living my nightmare. His blunt fingers brush the hair from my face. He examines my eyes with an intensity that makes me blush. It’s like he can see all my secrets, especially the ones I don’t want to share. “I know you’re keeping things from me,” he murmurs. “And maybe you’re allowed your secrets. God knows I have my own.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I do trust you.” Which isn’t a complete truth. I trust him more than I trust myself. He cocks his head. “You would tell me if you were in danger.” Without meaning to, I take a step back. “Yes.” Anger clouds his gaze. “Goddamn it, little virgin. Do I need to find an even smaller cage to keep you in? How tight do I have to lock you up to know that you’re safe?” I shiver beneath his regard. “Maybe we could stay at the Den.” No voices spoke to me there. He shakes his head. “That’s Damon’s place.” My eyebrows rise. “You don’t trust him? I thought you were friends.” “I don’t trust anyone when it comes to your safety.” “Even West?” The ex-military man looks extremely dangerous, but he’s always been respectful. Even though there are a huge number of men guarding the estate, it’s only West who interacts with me. I don’t think that’s a coincidence. “I don’t need to trust West. I pay him enough that I don’t have to.” A small laugh filters through my fear. “Only you would say that.” “And he knows I would kill him if anything happened to you.” “Did you find him?” I ask, and he knows who I mean. “Not yet, but we will.” The same answer, a little less believable each time he gives it. I know how much power Gabriel wields, both physically and financially. How much influence he has in this city. But there are limits to everything. What if it’s just not enough? I look away, focusing on the footboard of the bed. Penny has been staying in this guest room since her arrival. I’ve spent hours each day in this room, but I only now notice the ivy engraved into the wood. It

climbs the bed, spiraling upward, almost stifling in its thickness. “Promise me something,” I whisper. “What?” “That if he finds a way to catch me, you’ll let me go.” The sudden intake of breath is my only warning. He hauls me into his arms, forcing my jaw up, meeting my gaze with blazing fury. “What the fuck did you say to me?” It’s hard to speak with his grip clamping my face, but this is too important. “You said yourself that most people would rather be dead.” And if I’m at the bottom of a pool, I want to stay there. Not end up a broken shell in Gabriel’s guest room. He would be racked with guilt. I’ve already seen what he does to himself about Hannah. This would be worse. A lifetime of fighting has made him into a warrior. But this…this could break him. He bends his head—to kiss me, I think. Until I feel his teeth sink into my lip. The pain makes me cry out. A burst of copper spreads over my tongue. He licks to soothe me. “There is no place he could take you that I wouldn’t follow, little virgin. I will climb into the depths of hell to get you back. That’s my promise.”

Chapter Fifteen

I

WALK AWAY from Gabriel, which I know is a mistake. Turning your back on a predator. Leaving yourself

vulnerable. And even with that knowledge, it’s a surprise to feel Gabriel’s hand on the back of my neck. Only a touch. There aren’t any teeth, at least not literally. Still, I flinch at the bite. I guess that’s what makes me prey. That and the fact that I follow where he directs me, the subtle command guiding me down the hall and onto the balcony, where the chess set is reflecting moonlight, both the light and dark sides. “Shall we play?” he asks, but it doesn’t sound like a question. It also doesn’t sound like he’s talking about chess. Frequently our games devolve into sex. Or maybe devolve isn’t the right word, since it’s part of the same thing. Chess is like foreplay for us, a give-and-take, a mental seduction that turns both of us on. I should probably be worried that we do the equivalent of slaughtering each other, if only symbolically. Remembering my hands on the wide stone railing, Gabriel’s harsh breath behind me, I know I’m too far gone to care. This time he doesn’t even seem like he’s going to play, at least not like before. He usually seats me on the white side, giving me the first turn. Last time it was enough to best him. Now he changes the rules, moving first. In the form of his hand sweeping across the marble chessboard, heavy pieces falling to the balcony floor. The movement takes me by surprise, drawing a gasp from me, my hand to my throat. This is how he wants to play today. I take a step back. “You’re in a mood.” “Am I?” he says, stalking forward. “And I don’t like it.” “True or false. Avery James doesn’t like when I’m rough with her. When I’m cruel and hard and dangerous with her. But how will we test the theory?” When I hit the railing, I curve to the side. My hands grasp the stone, sightless. “We won’t.” “Maybe we’ll test your sweet cunt. See if you’re swollen and pink, hungry for my cock. See if you’re wet for me. Are you?” “I don’t like you when you’re like this.” He touches my throat, in that hollow point where my hand flew in surprise, that vulnerable place that my body understands instinctively. He understands it, too. “I think you do, but more to the point, I don’t care. Not right now. Because I don’t like you lying to me.” “I didn’t lie,” I protest, feeling my pulse thud against his fingers. “What were you afraid of? In the room just now? Something happened. I can see the knowledge in your pretty eyes even if I don’t know the details.” And he never will. I lift my chin. “I had a nightmare.” “Well, well. Maybe the little virgin really has grown into a woman. Little liar, that’s what I’ll have to call you now. You looked right into my eyes while you did it.” The eyes that glow with ferocity. I shrink away, looking to the side. “We’re not going to play tonight.” “We’re already playing, little liar. That began when you said nothing happened.”

It’s not only that I want to keep my secrets—it’s that I don’t fully understand the confession. I’m afraid of Gabriel, afraid of myself. Afraid of the unknown voice that spoke to me. It isn’t the voice that feels like a dream. It’s this. Life. Death. Only the sex grounds me in anything real. “Please,” I whisper. I grasp his hand, which only makes me feel smaller. Powerless. He’s so much larger than me. Sometimes it feels like his presence takes up that space, but no. I feel the muscle beneath my touch. I can’t even circle my fingers around his wrist, not completely. “Please what?” Please don’t make me tell you, don’t make me explain what I don’t even understand. Please touch me so that I forget all about being afraid, if only for an hour. “Please, Gabriel.” His eyes flare. I feel the tension in his body. He likes the word; I knew he would. We’re playing this game, and this was my move. He pulls me back to the metal table with its empty chess set. We both ignore the beautiful pieces strewn about. They’re casualties in this war. We’re the ones left standing. His hands circle my waist, gently touching, measuring. Feeling me. That’s the only warning I have before he lifts me onto the table. I shriek and grasp his arms. “I’m too heavy.” “Hmm,” he says, keeping me there. “Marble pieces, triple weighted. Almost six inches high, wouldn’t you say? Altogether I think they weigh more than you.” “Unlikely. Sixteen pieces? They don’t weigh ten pounds each.” He smiles. “Then I’ll have to admit I made sure the table could hold a person.” “Did you have this set made for us, too?” Like the wood set in the library. His gaze flicks over the intricate marble sculptures as if seeing them for the first time. “No, that would be extravagant. These came from an ancient royal family in Southern Italy, passed down through generations.” “Not extravagant at all,” I say drily. “How did you come by it? Pillaging? Thievery? Or did you find it in the bargain bin at the Tanglewood pawn shop?” “As a matter of fact, this was a gift. Does it shock you that my business interests are international?” “It shocks me that someone would give you a gift.” A low laugh. “You have quite a mouth on you.” “I thought you liked my mouth.” “I love your mouth, even when it’s telling me lies.” My lips press together. “You aren’t going to offer to put my mouth to better use?” “Especially when it’s telling me lies,” he muses. “How perverse of me.” “Or maybe you’ll give me something to hold in my mouth instead of talking back to you.” I don’t know what’s gotten into me, only that we’ve moved past sparring with wooden pieces, with marble. All I have left are words, and it’s a fight to the death. “No,” he says gently. “Use your mouth however you want. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you say.” With that he kneels between my legs, his eyes glinting with dark intent. Oh God. His palm shoves my leg aside. By the time I realize what he has planned, it’s too late to protect myself. My legs are spread wide, the marble cool against the bottoms of my thighs. He stares at the shadow between my legs, and I ache to know what he sees. I’ve seen this board a hundred times, the pieces in a thousand configurations. But I have no idea what I would look like, laid bare to him. It’s a little like being pillaged, the way I suggested he did to get the set. That’s not so far from how he got me. A deep sigh escapes him, male satisfaction mixed with lust. “Pink,” he says simply. My sex. And I’m wet, too. I’m sure I am. My cheeks flush hot. “Are you only going to look?”

He runs a blunt fingertip down my slit. “Much more than that.” “Are you only going to touch?” “You want me to wreck you, do you? You’re begging for it.” “No.” “Little liar,” he says fondly. Then he nudges his head between my legs. I jolt up at the electric touch of his mouth to my core. His hands are prepared, holding me down on the board. My muscles ripple against the marble, unable to move. There’s no give here—not from the stone and not from his hands. Not from his mouth, either. He licks from the base of my body to my clit, slow, as if he’s savoring my taste. He’s tasted me before, but never on top of a chess set. Never with my cunt touching marble, the temperature shocking—and still not as shocking as his tongue, his teeth. Definitely never with my juices leaking down to the board. Firmly he pushes my legs wider. I have to lean back to keep my balance, both hands on the round metal edge of the table behind me. He cants my legs onto his shoulders. Nothing anchors me but him. He licks and tastes and bites me, a man starved. There seems to be no end to his persistence, his patience, as he builds the spiral ever higher. I’m helpless on the journey, drawn by his mouth and his will. Taken to the peak again and again, glimpsing the light around the mountain only to be dragged away. Tears leak from my eyes, frustration and anguish rising to match my arousal. It’s a storm inside me, a blizzard. I can’t see anything. Even sound is muffled here. There’s only the hard, wet bite of him, lashing me, breaking me down. “Gabriel,” I gasp. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for until he murmurs, soothing, “I know, little liar.” For lying, that’s why. And as if to show mercy, he finally stands up. My muscles spasm, desperate to come. He lifts me like I weigh nothing—as much as a single chess piece instead of sixteen. He turns me over so my hands clasp the cold edges of the marble chessboard, so my face presses to the center, where it’s wet with my own arousal, salty and sweet. I’m too far gone to mind, my cheek pressed into the mess he made of me. He takes only a moment to test me from behind—two fingers, three. Then he slams inside, a rough claiming thrust that makes my mouth open on a silent scream. That’s how he fucks me, bent over the table, eyes wide, a primal cry welling up in me, until I can do nothing but come, nothing but spasm around his cock. Nothing but melt around him, sending long drips of arousal down my legs and onto the balcony floor.

Chapter Sixteen

T

HE NEXT MORNING I wake up to a bloodcurdling scream. The sound rips through my body like a tangible

cut, jolting me from the bed in a sleepy stumble. A crash pulls me into the hallway, where a broken shell of china rolls drunkenly across the walnut floors. Inside Penny’s room I find her huddled under the covers, only her eyes peering over. Mrs. B stands at the foot of the bed, her round face a mixture of worry and frustration. A silver tray hangs loosely by her side, dripping with something that now darkens the rug. “What’s going on?” I ask mildly even though I know perfectly well what’s going on. It happened early on. Ever since then I made sure to bring Penny her breakfast. After last night I must have slept in. My body needed the rest. “She needs to eat,” Mrs. B says, gesturing to the shivering girl. “She’s skin and bones.” I can’t argue with that. Even with me force-feeding her every day, she’s painfully thin. The alternative is a feeding tube, probably with rubber walls to match. I can’t do that to her, not knowing how terrified she’d be. I feel like that’s the final straw that would break her. “Can you please bring another cup of broth?” Mrs. B gives Penny one last long glance before bustling from the room. There’s something in that gaze I can’t quite decipher. Pity. Compassion. And maybe also accusation? That doesn’t make sense. I climb onto the tall bed, tugging the sheet away from Penny’s grip. “Why do you fight her? She wants to help you. Like me. We only want to help you.” No answer. At least she lets me pull the sweaty sheet from her body. One of my nightgowns hangs loosely on her body, no curves or solidity left to give it shape. Her bruises have healed, the ones with fingerprints that revealed what was done to her in startling horror. Most people would rather be dead. That’s what Gabriel said, and I’m not sure he’s wrong. “One cup of broth,” I say, softening. “Then you can rest.” She doesn’t answer, but I can tell by her silence that she accepts. I’ve come to read the subtle shifts in her body language, so maybe it isn’t only that she’s comfortable with me. I’m comfortable with her. After having my father lie to me, after wondering whether Gabriel told me the truth, it’s a relief to have someone I can read. There aren’t any words or artifice to fool me. Only herself, raw and pained and hopelessly lost. Mrs. B returns with the broth, sighing once at Penny before leaving us alone. The dishes are a perfectly white porcelain with a green ivy inlay. Probably something priceless and unique, the poor broken teacup that met its demise earlier never to be replaced. I scoot closer on the bed. “Ready?” A shake of her head. My lips curve in a smile. “It smells delicious. She’s a little loose with the salt shaker, not that I’m complaining. And once you get a little stronger, she has a hollandaise sauce that’s ridiculous.” A scrunch of her nose. “Not a fan of hollandaise? I don’t know…this one might change your mind.” I dip the spoon into the dark liquid, stirring gently before lifting a spoonful. I blow across the top, sending ripples through the

nutritious broth. Penny only eats liquids—tea, broth. The occasional cup of pudding. It reminds me of taking care of my father after he was beaten. I’m not sure I could have left him to die, even knowing he left my mother to fend for herself, even knowing he sold me to Gabriel Miller, but I’m relieved that I don’t have to worry about it anymore. He’s in the best nursing home money can buy. It’s more than he deserves. I hold the spoon to her lips. She gently drinks the liquid from the spoon, reminding me of a baby bird. Her lower lip is cracked, and I make a mental note to ask for Chap Stick. If we have to be trapped in a castle, at least it’s a wellequipped one. Whatever I can think of, I only ask and it appears the next day. Penny drinks another six spoonfuls without any fuss. Once we reach the bottom of the cup, she turns her face away. I suppress a sigh, understanding the frustration on Mrs. B’s face. How can a body survive on so little food? The alternative is like torture to a girl who can’t stand to be touched. How far should we go to keep her alive? How far would she want us to go? Setting the cup down, I smooth her hair back. “I’m going to go for a walk. Don’t get excited, just inside the house. Gabriel’s still paranoid about the outside world. Only when he’s here, even with all that security. What does he think is going to happen, hmm? A military air strike over Tanglewood?” A blank stare at the wall. Still nothing. I use the silence to text Harper, more somber than last time. Are you around?

She texts back twenty minutes later. Just got out of class. What’s up? I’m kind of freaked out about something. Should I call you? No, it will be harder to say it out loud. And besides I don’t want anyone to hear what I’m saying. What if one

of the guards overhears my conversation and tells Gabriel? They work for him, not me. I can’t forget that. Harper’s reply pings my phone. Are you pregnant? What??? No. STD?

Good Lord. No. Cheated on Gabriel with the sexy pool boy? Okay, I’m going to stop you right there. Tell me, already.

I took a deep breath and typed out a long message. I’ve been having these dreams. Weird dreams where I hear voices. Except sometimes the voices seem…real.

Three little dots appear. Then disappear. Then appear again, as if Harper starts saying something and then deleted it. In the end all she says is, Keep typing. There’s a man’s voice. He’s a little bit threatening. He threatens you? No. I mean not really. It’s more like I feel threatened when I hear him. Is it Gabriel? At first I thought it might be, but no. It’s not him. What does he think about it? I’m afraid to tell him.

Girl. I know, but voices… that’s what my mother heard. And no one believed her. My father thought she was crazy. Even

her best friend hadn’t believed her. A whisper of worry works through me. What if Harper calls me a liar? You need to tell Gabriel, she says. He’s not going to dismiss you. And then I’m left with nothing but the truth. The real reason I’m afraid to tell him. What if he should dismiss me? What if I’m really going crazy? No way.

Relief fills my lungs. I appreciate her vote of confidence even if I don’t share it. I still don’t want to tell him without knowing it’s more than a dream. Have you ever heard the voices when you weren’t asleep? Always when I’ve drifted off or something. I’m just not sure. Well, there’s your answer. As long as you don’t hear the voices when you’re fully awake, you’re fine.

There are a hundred other things I want to tell her—how I’m afraid that Penny is stirring up dark shadows in my memories, that I might have more in common with her than I think. How I’m afraid to be trapped in this castle, while at the same time afraid to leave. But that would require telling her about the shooting, about the dangers outside. She would come in a heartbeat if she knew, and I can’t let her miss a semester of work for me. She’s taking a lot more than two correspondence classes. And though her focus is art history, that involved enough actual art class to require her presence. How are the frat parties? I type. It’s kind of a code for asking about how classes are going. The better the parties, the worse her grades will be. Horrible, she replies. I have more fun alone in bed than I do in a frat house. I set down my phone with a small smile. My amusement fades as I see Penny watching me, blue eyes unblinking. “Come for a walk with me,” I whisper as if someone can hear us. “I want to find out where the voices are coming from. Will you help me?” With a furtive glance around the room, I lean close. “You don’t hear them, do you?” No answer. And if she does, why doesn’t she freak out like she does for a flesh-and-blood man? I’m honestly not sure which thought is scarier—that there might be an intruder in these walls or that I’m going crazy.

Chapter Seventeen

W

EST APPEARS AT the door to Penny’s room, his gaze sharp as he takes in the room. For a moment I sit up

straight, hoping, praying that he somehow heard the voices. Maybe he’s following them through the house, finally confirming that I’m not crazy. “Someone’s at the gate.” Disappointment sinks in my gut, but I force a blank expression. “Who?” “He says his name’s Justin Walker. He’s advisor to Senator Clark.” “He’s—” I have to stop and think. What is he? My ex-fiancé. My friend. “He’s an old family acquaintance. You can let him in.” “We already put a call in to Gabriel Miller. He isn’t responding.” My eyes narrow, more concerned about that little fact than the presence of Justin at the door. “Isn’t responding? Do you know where he is? Do you have GPS on his phone?” He gives me a kind smile. “It’s normal for him to be out of contact for periods. We’re more concerned about the unexpected visitor.” “He’s not dangerous or anything.” “The senator doesn’t have the best reputation.” Is he one of the men who works with Jonathan Scott? Is he one of the men Gabriel is looking for? If so I might learn something useful. It would be a relief to participate. And I could warn Justin. “I’ll meet him downstairs.” West hesitates, his silent thoughts echoing through the air, You aren’t my boss. I don’t pay his check. I don’t make the rules. “I’m not sure that would be wise,” he says, apparently a diplomat. I get out of the bed, lifting my chin. I can spend my days cowering in my room, terrified of what’s outside these walls, scared of what’s inside, too. Or I can make a stand, demanding what I’m due. A pawn with ambition. Or a queen with chains. I can’t control West’s answer, but I can control my command. “I’ve known Justin for years. I trust that he won’t hurt me. Physically at least. But you’re welcome to wait outside the door. I’ll call you if I need you.” His eyes widen at the tone of authority. Any man with military bearing would recognize it. Most would balk at it, not wanting to take orders from a woman. He looks merely uncertain, more concerned about what Gabriel will say when he gets back. Which accepts my authority, at least, over himself. He’s the knight on this chessboard. And Gabriel may be his king, but the queen has power too. “I’ll stand outside the room,” he says finally. “With the door open.” It’s a compromise. Not complete power. Not complete powerlessness, either. “Thank you,” I say softly. It still takes thirty minutes until I’m escorted downstairs. I imagine that Justin has been thoroughly searched, both his vehicle and his person. He’ll be puffed up and indignant. Don’t you know who I am? Except the boy I find in the front parlor isn’t radiating pride. He’s watching the dark fireplace thoughtfully, hands behind his back. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s filled into his suit. He’s always been

muscular, always active—a jock. Now he seems to have lost some of his bulk, but made up for it with a lean intensity that I find appealing. He looks up as we enter. “Avery.” My smile is genuine. This is a Justin I’ve never met before—mature and genuine. The one I had hoped to grow old with. “You’re looking well.” The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Thank you. And you’re stunning. But then you always were.” Surprise stops me, halfway seated on the sofa. The shock must show on my face. Justin gives me a rueful look, sitting opposite me. “I know I didn’t tell you enough when we were together. I guess I took it for granted. Or I thought you’d realize you were too good for me.” “Seriously, where is Justin Walker and what have you done with him?” A quiet laugh. “I’ve had some time to grow up.” His amusement fades. “Or maybe it wasn’t time that I needed. I’ve seen some things that helped me grow up. I think you’ve seen some, too.” The auction. The fire. “Yes.” “I’m relieved that you look healthy. And maybe even happy. I know Gabriel Miller has a reputation as a hard-ass, but I hoped he was treating you well.” “He does,” I say, those two words taking on an unexpected sexual connotation as my mind flashes to our nightly chess games. My cheeks flame. Justin gives a small cough. “I’m also a little surprised he let you see me.” “He doesn’t control me,” I say. A dubious look. “Besides,” I add, “he’s not here right now.” “Ah. Well, I’m glad we have the chance to talk.” “Yes.” I hesitate. “Actually I’ve been worried about you, too. The stuff you said before, about working with men to steal the seat from your father. I’ve been worried you got yourself mixed up with a —” His eyebrows rise in question. “With a—with a dangerous lot,” I finish lamely. “Nobody’s as dangerous as Gabriel Miller.” Except for Jonathan Scott. “I’m not sure that’s true.” “You aren’t that far off the mark. I got in deeper than I expected. Lost some. Won some. I don’t regret it because it’s the only way I could have become a man—breaking away from my father.” “Do you see him?” I know how close they were. Sorrow flashes across his eyes. “Not since I left. I’m sure he won’t speak to me again.” “You’re his only son,” I protest. “What’s the point of a son if he betrays you?” Is that how Gabriel’s father felt? Then again, what’s the point of a father if he betrays you? “I’m sorry.” “I didn’t come to commiserate. I came to help.” I blink. “Help with what?” “I know you’re looking for Jonathan Scott.” Air rushes from my lungs. “Um.” “It’s okay. I’m not working with him. In fact we’ve been looking for him, too, but we have bigger fish to fry at the moment. Entire governments, as a matter of fact.” My eyes narrow. “What exactly have you got yourself into?”

“Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. But I don’t want you caught up in it any more than you already have been.” “Well, that’s very cryptic.” “Look, your father—” “I don’t want to talk about him.” “He was in over his head.” “And you’re not?” “Oh, I definitely am. That’s not the point.” “Then what’s the point?” “The point is that Jonathan Scott hasn’t left Tanglewood.” My lips press together. I don’t want to tell Justin anything, but Gabriel already knew that. At least he suspected. That’s why through all his searching, he’s always returned to me each night. “If you knew where in the city he was, that would help.” He laughs. “Does it matter? He can be anywhere he wants in a second.” “You make him sound like a ghost.” Dread sinks in my stomach. “Isn’t he? That’s why you need to leave the city.” I shake my head. “If he’s really after me, won’t he just follow me?” “Even ghosts have their limits. He only haunts the west side. The farther away you are, the better.” “Ghosts aren’t real,” I tell him, but a part of me wonders. Those voices. I can’t explain them. They feel too real to be a ghost, too terrifying to be a dream. I don’t know what they are. Could they be connected to Jonathan Scott? Could he be causing them somehow? My stomach clenches, and I know I can’t keep my secret much longer. “Well, Jonathan Scott is definitely real. And he has a price on your head. Everyone connected to the underground knows about it. Kill Avery James and get two million dollars.” Two million dollars. I feel faint. A grim humor overtakes me, and I can’t help but laugh. Justin is looking at me like I’m crazy, which only makes me laugh harder. At least my price is going up. I’m twice as valuable now than I was as a virgin, but only if I’m dead.

Chapter Eighteen

T

HE FIRST TIME I came to Gabriel’s house, right after the auction, it felt like the Labyrinth. A maze, one in

which I could wander for days and never find the center. I don’t think it was a coincidence that I felt completely lost at the time, wandering through the maze of Tanglewood’s underworld. Now I know the halls well enough to make my way around, but there’s space missing. The distance between rooms doesn’t fit how big the walls should be. The third floor feels miles above the first. There are gaps in what I can see, and it’s enough to send a shiver down my spine. I roam the hallways, my gaze flicking up to the corners. I’m looking for the glare of a tiny camera. The black wire of an audio device. My paranoia has reached untenable levels. My insides feel shaky and upside down. I won’t be able to hide the voices from Gabriel much longer. He already suspects. And now that I know about the price on my head, I’m about to fall apart. The only sound is the soft slap of my feet on the hardwood, the swish of my dress around my knees. There haven’t been any voices today. Why do they come when I sleep? Are they part of my dreams? I desperately want to believe that, but there’s something too real about them. The timbre of the voice, as if I’ve heard the words spoken aloud. As real as a memory. Except those can be wrong, too. I pass by the library with the wooden chess set silhouetted by the dark fireplace. There’s a sense of peace in that room that tempts me. I want to curl up in the large armchair with a book about ancient Roman symbolism. The words would transport me away from this house as surely as whatever strange thrall holds Penny—a separate reality, a safer one. I’m too far gone to pretend. The voice is real. I need to know how. I need to know why. My step slows as I reach Gabriel’s office. The door stands slightly ajar, a half-inch view of a massive oak desk and maroon-leather swivel chair behind it. He doesn’t keep his door shut or locked, which should be a comfort. Wouldn’t a man with something to hide keep this hidden? Unless he knows I won’t be able to do anything, no matter what I find. I hate these thoughts, these doubts. A man who worried about the fate of a little girl, one he didn’t even know, one who gave years of his life to protect her, one who’s haunted by the memory of her, wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Then again, that could be a lie. He was willing to keep the bounty a secret. My hand nudges the door open, revealing an opulent rug and a painting of intense red trees. It’s all very ordinary for an expensively decorated study. A little too ordinary for a man like Gabriel Miller. Stop being suspicious. I can’t make the feeling go away. When I step fully into the study, I’m surprised at how bright it is inside. Light streams in almost sideways, casting a yellow glow around me, rays pressing through the thin green fabric of my sundress. The desk is almost completely empty, as if the room isn’t used, even though I’ve seen Gabriel here. I’ve heard him on the phone. The room even smells like him, the faint scent of man and musk. Only one envelope sits on the desk. I cross the room and pick it up as if in a trance. There’s one word scrawled across the white vellum. Avery. And I recognize the handwriting. It’s from my father. This must be the last letter he sent. The one I

refused to read. There are a hundred reasons to be angry with my father. And only one reason to open the letter—hope. The hope of a daughter who never quite gives up on her daddy, who wants family and protection and love even if she knows the man can’t give it to her. With a shaking hand I open the shallow top drawer of the desk. Scattered pens and paperclips litter the cherrywood, along with a silver letter opener. I draw a straight cut through the seam and unfold the sheet inside. My dearest daughter, I don’t know if you will read this. The last two returned to me, unopened. I know you’re angry, and I know you have a right to be. I never wanted you to know about the deal I made with Gabriel Miller. It was a moment of dark desperation, and I will regret it for the rest of my days, however few they may be. You don’t have to forgive me. I can’t even ask for it, but I implore you to hear me out. You aren’t safe. There are men in this city who want revenge on me. Men like Gabriel Miller. I know you believe that’s over now, but I believe the worst is yet to come. He may want you, and he may keep you. He may even love you, in the only way he is able. That’s the greatest danger of all. I still have my sources in this city, and they tell me there is a bounty on your head. Has he told you this? If not, how can you trust him? I send this in the form of a letter, knowing that his hubris will mean you get it, even if it exposes him for the monster he is. With love, Your father My fist crushes the thick paper before I can even process what it says. A price on my head. First Justin, now my father. Even with their claims it would be hard to believe, except for the shooting at the restaurant. I’m still stunned by the idea, hurt by it, terrified of it. That’s why it takes me a moment to register the whisper in my ear. There are monsters under your bed, but you and I know the truth. They aren’t all bad, are they? Some of them care for you. They care for you more than anyone. I whirl, knocking the swivel chair with my knee. It rolls away, loud in the empty room. The silent room. There’s no one here with me. And I can’t blame the dreams this time. Rage and fear collide inside me, leaving me shaken. My mind is playing tricks on me. Or someone else is doing it. At my mother’s house there were secret rooms built into the design, something easier to do back when an architect could be bribed. Despite the old-world design, Gabriel’s house is modern—with all the amenities and security that money can buy. How could whole rooms have gone unexplored? How could secret speakers have gone unnoticed? Unless he’s the one who had them installed. My hand closes around the silver hilt of the letter opener. I approach the painting, my eyes narrowed. Like the fake painting of my mother that came, the one that was replaced, this could have been smuggled in. An art dealer. An antiques store. There are a hundred ways someone with excessive money and power could attempt to gain entry into this house.

I pull my arm back and stab directly into a red tree, then slash diagonally across, revealing nothing but the hollow wood frame of the picture. That kind of violence should have shocked me back to reality, especially with the confirmation that it’s just an innocuous painting. Instead the movement liberates me. I’m free to do anything, be anything. Even a monster, myself. I lift the heavy painting from its hooks and toss it onto the rug with a thump. Taking hold of the letter opener again, I pull back and stab into the wood. My hand slides against the roughened splinters, making me cry out. “Shit,” I whisper. There’s barely a nick in the thick wood paneling. I’m a fly against concrete now. Dropping the letter opener, I pick up a globe from the bookcase. It’s heavy, made from some kind of dark stone. I pull it back and slam it into the wall. The impact reverberates up my arm. Pain barely registers, only a dim sensation. “Good Lord,” comes a voice from behind me. I turn and see Mrs. B watching me, her eyes wide pools of green. Without answering I slam the globe again, and the metal frame breaks away from the sphere. A deep crack appears in the wood, almost to the ceiling. It’s impossible to grip such a heavy stone now, not with any surety, so I let it roll away. “What are you doing?” she shrieks. There’s a fire raging inside me, with every doubt and fear. With every secret kindling to stoke it higher. “Taking back my life,” I tell her. I don’t even hear what she says in return, but she leaves me to my destruction. Am I creating a new life for myself? Am I destroying the one that I have? Thinking of Penny, catatonic on the bed upstairs, I’m not sure they’re even so different. Crossing behind the desk, I pull the rolling chair over to the wall. It’s the largest thing in the room, the biggest thing I might be able to lift. Even then I feel my muscles strain against the expensive chair made of wood and leather and metal. Made to last. I’m tired of living in the dark. Tired of being blamed for the sins of men. Tired of being moved around the board like an unthinking figure made of marble, meant to touch and to hold and to own. I raise the chair above my head and slam it against the crack. Wood splinters into a million pieces, raining down on my head. Without waiting for the dust to clear, I pull the chair back and slam it hard again. I’m panting, raging, crying. Sobbing as I rip the lavish study apart with my bare hands.

Chapter Nineteen

“A

VERY.”

I think I went into a kind of fugue state with the chair, with the statue on the shelf, with a lamp in the corner. The study is in shambles, every cabinet ripped open, all four sides of the walls torn open. Gabriel steps into the room, and I brace myself for his fury. I cringe away from his violence. Paranoia has its grip in me, deep enough to draw blood. Maybe that’s why I’m bleeding. I touch my cheek, unsurprised when it comes away smeared pink. Tears and blood, the pain a dull throb. He steps over the remains of his swivel chair, past the innocent-looking globe lying on the floor. When he reaches me, he kneels and brushes the hair from my face. His expression isn’t angry, though. It’s concerned. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” he says, sounding more emotional than I’ve ever heard him. More moved. As if the prospect of me hurting myself hurts him instead. “I want to,” I whisper, and that’s when I realize that it’s not him I suspect. It’s not his study I wanted to destroy. It’s my own mind I can’t trust. My own body I want to tear apart, flying shreds of wood and pieces of metal taking chunks of my skin. He pulls a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabs it to my lip. “Do you need your freedom that much? That you’ll kill yourself trying to get out?” I wince, only noticing the cut there for the first time. “I’m not trying to get out. I’m trying to stay in.” And then I burst into tears. He gathers me into his arms, murmuring words of comfort, words that mean nothing at all. His hold says everything, the tender way that he embraces me, the almost hesitant way that he strokes my hair. He doesn’t want to hurt me. How could I have doubted him? “I’m sorry,” I sob, too breathless to explain what I mean. “Don’t be. I hated that painting, too. Who paints red trees?” I can’t even laugh, too broken by what I just did. Broken long before this. There are hidden wounds on me, inside me, like the one on my lip. Gabriel can see it, but I can’t. Not until he touches me there. He reaches down to pick up a crumpled piece of paper. His large hand smooths it out. There’s only the sound of my uneven breathing as he reads it. “Is it true?” I whisper, voice thick with tears. “Is there a price on my head?” “Yes,” he says evenly, completely without emotion. I know what that means for a man like him. That he’s bracing for the worst. For me to turn away from him. For me to suspect him, the way I have until now. I sigh, pressing my face into his broad chest. “Thank you.” He grows still. “Why?” “For not telling me. I may not always prefer it, but I know you only kept it a secret so I wouldn’t be afraid. That’s why you kept telling me to stay here, but you didn’t want me to know the details.” His hands pull me closer, so tight I almost can’t breathe. “I don’t know how to make you stay. I don’t know how to keep you without breaking you.” “Love me,” I whisper. “That’s what I need.”

One heartbeat passes. Another. His silence echoes around me. His body vibrates with tension. “Last week we found the man who shot up the Oak Room. He held out a little while but ultimately confessed. Unfortunately, he didn’t know anything about where Jonathan Scott was. We made quite sure he didn’t know before disposing of him.” “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice hoarse. I know what it must have cost him to do that. To torture a man. To kill one, even someone who deserves it. “Don’t be. I enjoyed it.” He tightens his hold on me. “Your father is right about one thing. It isn’t a good thing that I want you. Nothing good comes from a man like me.” I turn my face up to his, knowing that he’ll see my eyes red and puffy, that he’ll see the worst of me. His expression reveals a deep-seated pleasure, the kind that comes from physical sensation. God, he likes it. He loves me torn up and angry. He loves the real me, stripped down. Not like I was at the auction, naked and humiliated, freshly made-up and for sale. No, this is the real Avery James. My palm cups his cheek, feeling the bristle of his hair, the tension of the muscles underneath. “I want you, Gabriel Miller. And maybe you’re the one who should be afraid of that.” His laugh is a rumble that spreads through my body with me held in his lap. I feel it at the depths of my soul, his pleasure at my dark pronouncement. “Yes, little virgin. I am.” I close my eyes. “I have a confession to make.” “Did you perhaps grow angry with me? Or with your father? And maybe throw something? I don’t know what clues make me think that.” He examines the room in shambles. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.” The corner of my lips turns up. “I hope you’ll forgive me for that, but it isn’t the only thing.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Tell me the rest.” A deep breath is the only strength I can find. “I’ve been hearing voices. It started after the fire. First they only came during the nightmares. But they started to feel more and more real. And the one I heard today? I wasn’t sleeping. Not just waking up. Completely awake.” He looks grave. “Here? You hear them in my house?” I nod, aware of what this means. Especially with the hollow walls exposed around us. I didn’t find a single speaker, a secret room with a stool and food wrappers. Nothing that would have explained the voices. And that leaves only one choice. “I’m going crazy,” I whisper. “Like my father believed about my mother. But it wasn’t true for her. Or maybe it was. Maybe Jonathan Scott only made it worse. Maybe he played on her fears. I don’t know anything except what I hear.” Gabriel carefully stands, supporting me with his hands, golden gaze examining the exposed walls with detached curiosity. “What do they say?” “They talk about…” My cheeks flush with embarrassment. “They talk about the monster under my bed. Almost like the voice is the monster. That he has feelings, too. That he’s sad I’ve forgotten him.” “And you don’t know who the voice belongs to?” “I thought…for a while I thought they sounded like you. Now I don’t know. A man. Not a man I can remember, but someone who seems familiar. I know that sounds crazy.” He takes a step toward the wall, peering into the hollow space. “Not crazy. It’s a puzzle. Like any puzzle, there’s a logical solution.” “Apparently it’s not someone hiding in the walls.” He meets my gaze with a faint smile. “No, not that. Come with me.” Taking my hand, he leads me from the room and down the hall. We enter the kitchen, passing by a wide-eyed Mrs. B. I can only imagine what she thinks of my mental state. And she’s not wrong.

For a moment I think we’re going outside, onto the lawn. We turn to the right instead, where a man of military bearing stands beside a door. The same man who greeted me below the balcony the other night. I might be embarrassed if I weren’t so upset. He nods at Gabriel. “Sir.” “West.” Gabriel greets him and pushes through the door, revealing an array of screens. Another man sits on a black leather chair, his silver hair short, his lined expression severe. He stands as we enter, his build imposing but his posture deferent. “Leave us,” Gabriel says. And just like that the small room empties, the door closes. I know without asking that a nuclear explosion could occur and we would not be disturbed, based on Gabriel’s quietly spoken command. If those two men are knights in the medieval hierarchy, then Gabriel is clearly the king. This war room would be the one with a map, little ceramic pieces placed to indicate walls and barricades. A large screen in the center shows the front lawn with its wide circular drive and row of walnut trees extending to the main road. A second screen almost as large shows the balcony behind the house, the marble chess set gleaming in the sunlight. “Oh my God,” I say. That means someone sees us play chess every night. Someone saw us have sex on the balcony. “You can’t be too careful,” Gabriel says mildly. “An ex-fiancé might show up anytime.” I flinch. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be sorry,” he says. “I don’t blame you for my lapse in security. He never should have gotten through, at least not without me present.” “Nothing happened. If there are cameras in there, then you know that.” He nods. “I do.” And he knows exactly what was said. “Every room?” “Which do you want to see?” “Penny’s room. Last night, right before you came home.” Gabriel reaches down to the keyboard. He taps a few keys with ease, making it clear he’s familiar with the system. How many times has he watched it? How many times has he watched me? A room appears on the screen, stark white sheets and a dark wood headboard carved with ivy. I’m sitting on the bed with Penny. Her voice is only a whisper, but I can hear it perfectly clear. “So dark.” “Shh,” I soothe, stroking her hair. “Don’t try to figure it out right now. Rest. Sleep now.” Minutes pass with agonizing slowness, as Penny’s eyes drift shut—and then my own. I watch myself sleep, feeling strange, as if I’m in a dream now instead of watching myself on a screen. Even from this high angle I can see a faint movement behind my eyelids, some sign that I’m not completely gone. The lights are bright enough to gleam off my hair, to dust my lashes with gold. My lips move, indecipherable. It’s impossible to make out the words, but I know what I’m saying. I remember it too clearly. Who are you? And someone answered: “I’m the monster under your bed.” Only there’s no other sound on the recording, not until Gabriel walks down the hallway. I scramble out of bed, my eyes wide with terror, terror for the voice I heard, for the one I answered. The voice that definitely isn’t real.

Chapter Twenty

W

HEN I EMERGE onto the balcony, I find Gabriel already there. Instead of looking out over the expansive

lawns and hedge maze, he gazes down at a small marble piece—white and glinting. His thumb brushes over it in a way that feels definitely sexual. Definitely invasive. The rest of the pieces remain on the board where we left them during our last game, where I had bested him. Checkmate. Of course he always gets his revenge in the physical sense. My cheeks heat as I remember what he did to me after. Then he had been dominant. A little playful. Now he seems pensive, his handsome expression drawn tight. His golden eyes gaze at the small marble statue as if it holds answers. As if he can unlock them with sight alone. An air of melancholy squeezes my heart. Gabriel’s confidence, his borderline arrogance may be frustrating at times, but I greatly prefer it to the humbled man who sits before me. “What’s wrong?” I ask. He cocks his head to the side. “How do you get in?” I take a step closer, studying the smooth compact surface. “Into marble? I’m pretty sure the only way is with a saw.” His thumb smooths over the stone—and again. “You’d have to break it, then.” “Yes, but…there’s nothing inside.” He finally looks at me, a shadow of a smile on his lips. “Nothing at all?” “Solid stone. You can feel how heavy it is.” “Almost not worth the trouble,” he murmurs. “What?” “Never mind.” He sets the castle down on the board. “Tell me about your day, little virgin. Did you have strange feelings between your legs while I was gone? Did you touch yourself, only to find it made the ache worse?” My cheeks heat. “No, I didn’t.” “All my daydreams,” he says, mocking. “Destroyed.” “Actually I worked on my course essay. I only have a few more weeks to finish.” “Are your gods being vengeful again?” “This one’s for the psych class.” “What was it? Subjectivity, Individualism and…some kind of crisis. The crisis of masturbation? I knew you touched yourself. You have that guilty expression.” “Crisis of morality,” I say, feeling embarrassment in my cheeks. He manages to look grave. “Ah, that’s completely different.” My gaze darts around the shadows, desperate for another topic. He doesn’t need to know that I masturbate every morning in the shower, thinking of him, sometimes moaning his name. The chess set sits between us, pieces left unattended. “It’s about chess, actually. My essay.” “Chess pieces as sex toys?” How does he always manage to turn me around? I’m about to self-combust from embarrassment, even though I have no real reason to be. He’s been my only sexual partner. My first. And he’s just as moved by our encounters as I am. But I know the answer: he

pushes me because I am embarassed. He likes me on the edge, teetering, off balance, and the scary truth is that I like it, too. “Female roles in chess,” I amend, trying to sound prim. “An analysis of gender and the real-world implications.” “Oh, that does sound interesting. Anatomically speaking. Perhaps we could work up a few visuals together. Purely out of academic interest.” He picks up a castle again, this time from the black side, and I can’t help but shiver. All he’s doing is sitting there holding a rook, but it feels like a threat. Unlike the pawn he once touched me with, this doesn’t have a round head. The battlements at the top wouldn’t be sharp, but they wouldn’t be completely smooth either. They would have a bite, like his teeth. “Morality,” he says, his tone genial. “You were saying?” My brain can only focus on the castle in his hand, on all the ways he might use it. All the places he might use it on. “Yes, well. The focus of my paper’s the creation of the queen.” “Like when a pawn becomes a queen?” There’s enough weight in his words to make me blush. “No, I mean like the queen piece itself. When there didn’t used to be any women on the board.” He quirks a brow. “What was there instead?” “You don’t know?” I don’t mean to goad him, but it’s just that we came at each game from an equal position. It’s strange to realize there’s something I know about it that he doesn’t. “I’ve been more interested in strategies for winning than the game’s history,” he admits drily. “The queen used to be a vizier, advisor to the king. Male, of course.” “I’ve seen those sets. I assumed it was a variation.” “Those were the original pieces. They still play that way in some parts of the world. As the game migrated west, where women held more power as monarchs, some even ruling on their own, that led to the creation of the queen.” “The piece with the most power,” he says. “That depends on how you define power,” I say. “It’s the king who decides the game.” He studies the rook. “What about this one?” “The rook originated from the chariot, the kind used in battle. More akin to a modern-day tank than to a castle.” “I didn’t know,” he says softly, his thumb moving over the black stone. “And really, it makes more sense that way. Castles don’t move.” His golden eyes meet mine, suddenly intense, blazing. “What did you say?” “That’s not really part of the essay, which is more about the roles in society and—” “You said castles don’t move.” “Well, yes. They don’t.” “God,” he mutters, standing abruptly. I stand, too, unnerved by the energy coursing through the night. “What is it?” “We’ve been looking everywhere, little virgin. All over the godforsaken city. And all along, castles don’t move. They can close their gates. They can fortify. But they don’t fucking move.” “I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I’m sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “We can’t play tonight. I need to go.” “Go? Where?” He gives a dark laugh. “Don’t worry about that. I might be gone a few days.”

I feel like some kind of parrot, but he’s moving too quickly. He never leaves at night like this, not so suddenly and without explanation. “Gone a few days?” With startling suddenness he pulls me to him. “Stay here. Promise me that.” A shudder runs through me, the words echoing too close to my dream. Whatever you do, stay inside! It had been my mother screaming that, her final words to me before she died. Without thinking my hands clutch Gabriel. “Don’t go. Please.” His brows lower. I’ve never begged him, especially for something like this. “Why?” “Please, I want to—” I cast around for something, anything. “I was having those thoughts you said. The ones about me and touching and the ache. And I thought—” He leans close, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “You’re adorable.” “No, I’m not,” I tell him earnestly. “I really had them, and—” “But I do need to go. Once this is over, we can spend an eternity sorting out exactly what thoughts you have and where you ache.” He looks regretfully at the rook in his hand before setting it on the board. “We can spend an eternity on that.”

Chapter Twenty-One

T

HE FIRST THREE days pass in a strange blur, where I’m more afraid of hearing the voice again than of

Gabriel being gone. Maybe it’s best that he give me some time to figure this out. On the fourth day I’m anxious for him to return, wondering if he’s run into trouble. On the fifth day I have a terrible realization: I miss him. Not his safety or even his sex. I miss the presence of him, the man himself. With all his secrets and flaws, every dark desire, every dangerous dream. He’s a wild animal, and I know I’ll never tame him. More and more, I never want to. I’m so distracted by his absence, so accustomed to Penny’s silent presence, that it’s shocking to hear her voice in the middle of breakfast. “He’s not coming back,” she says over a bowl of steel-cut oats and brown sugar. Surprise holds me breathless, and for a moment I can only focus on her—not her words. “Penny?” She picks up her spoon like it was nothing. Then the meaning of her words registers. “Why did you say that? What do you know?” So maybe it’s not the best idea to demand answers from a girl who’s only just brought herself to speak, after a terrible trauma, but my heart beats too rapidly to ignore it. This is when she decided to say something. I have to believe she did it for a reason, even if she seems unconcerned. “He never said goodbye.” My head cocks to the side. “If you mean Gabriel, he’s coming back. Any minute now.” “Him too.” It’s almost strange that her voice sounds so clear, as if she had been speaking every day. I would expect her to be rusty, her throat roughened from disuse, but her soft voice rings out clearly. “Penny,” I say. “Who didn’t say goodbye?” “Damon.” I try not to show my relief. “Do you want him to come back?” One slender shoulder lifts. Even though she eats food at the table with me, it’s barely enough to keep her alive. She’s still thinner than when she arrived, pale and unmoving. “Maybe we can visit the Den one of these days. We’ll get Gabriel to take us.” A pause. “He needs help.” My chest constricts. I want to refute her claim as the mutterings of a crazy woman. She’s unhinged, isn’t she? Why am I listening to her? But I have a feeling she sees more than any of us—more than me and more than Gabriel. Even more than the cameras that watch us from hidden perches. Unlike those cameras, she sees what’s missing. Unlike those microphones, she hears what isn’t spoken. I bite my lip, struggling with the question. “Do you ever hear voices? Voices that aren’t there?” Her blue eyes meet mine. “You definitely can’t trust me.” “What?” “Run and tell your daddy that Jonathan Scott is here.” That’s when I realize she isn’t speaking anymore, she’s recounting a memory. One that replays in her head. Electric current runs through my body, hot and sharp.

The man who terrorized her, Jonathan Scott. That’s what he said to her. And it’s what she hears over and over. It seems normal to hear the voice of your attacker, the echo of that terror long after the act. Except I didn’t experience an assault. Did I? I wasn’t attacked and nearly drowned by a maniac. Was I? Would I even remember if that happened? Footsteps approach the kitchen door, and I straighten. Is Gabriel back? Hope leaps to my throat. The door swings open, revealing Anders carrying a bag. For Penny’s weekly checkup. I forgot about that. I try not to let the disappointment show on my expression. He stops at the table, his cheeks ruddy from the wind outside. “How are you feeling?” “I used to dream about trees,” Penny says, her voice almost melodic. “About sunshine. And dirt.” He nods as if that’s a perfectly normal medical answer. “Better, then.” “I know it doesn’t sound pretty—dirt. The smell of it, thick and strong. It means you’re free.” This kitchen smells like warm biscuits and something sweet. The hint of wood polish, its oils caught in the deep grooves on the table. These are comforting smells, but they aren’t freedom. “You can still dream about them,” I tell her softly. “What’s the point?” “Dreams don’t need to have a purpose. They’re part of living.” “If they’re part of living, then they’re part of dying.” I give her a secret smile. “I don’t think you’re quite as dire as you pretend to be.” She peers into her oatmeal, examining the almost gooey consistency as it cools. Well, she might not be as dire as she wants to be. I’m not as unconcerned as I pretend to be, either. Anders’s blue eyes glint like ice. “And how are you?” “I wasn’t hurt,” I say, indignant now. Gabriel has been shot. Penny was brutally attacked. And Anders acts like I’m the one who’s going to break into a million pieces. I’m not that fragile. He makes a noncommittal sound. “I’m just worried. About Gabriel.” I close my eyes. “He was supposed to be back by now.” “He can take care of himself.” I give him a pointed look. “So can I.” His laugh rumbles through the heavy table. “Come on, broken bird. We’re going to check you out. This one’s still in denial.” I look down at my dark coffee and swirl the spoon. Denial? Maybe so. Gabriel might be in trouble, but I don’t know how I can help him. I’m trapped in this castle, held in by a well-trained security team. They won’t hurt me, but they won’t let me leave. So maybe they are the metal grate locked on top. And this is the pool filled with water. Then there’s nothing left for me to do but drown.

Chapter Twenty-Two

W

HEN GABRIEL HAS been gone for three weeks, I know something is very wrong.

Penny still takes a nap once a day, doctor’s orders. With her body still weakened from the ordeal, she falls asleep soon after I pull the covers over her. Then I return to the kitchen, where our dishes from lunch have been cleared from the sink. Mrs. B works efficiently and, for the most part, invisibly. I rarely see her unless I’m looking for something, when she magically appears. Kind of like a fairy godmother but with more silent pity. I follow the hallway where Gabriel took me once to find the room with the surveillance equipment. The door is closed, but it opens as I approach. Of course they could see me coming. The man named West gives me a polite nod. “Can I help you with something?” “I’m wondering if…” My hands twist together. “Well, I’m wondering if you’ve heard from Gabriel. He was supposed to be back by now.” “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says, sounding genuinely regretful. “I can’t share that information.” I blink. “You mean you don’t know, or you can’t tell me?” “The second one. I’ll tell Blue that you spoke with me. He’s my boss, the one who owns Blue Security. He’ll be in touch with you later today.” But I can already tell by West’s stern expression and opaque eyes what I’ll find out. Nothing. “He won’t tell me either. He’ll just handle me, like you’re doing. Won’t he?” “Blue is trustworthy,” he says. “I’m sure that if Gabriel is in trouble, Blue will help however he can. Our contract isn’t limited to this estate.” Which confirms that Gabriel is in trouble. And that Blue is trying to help him. I guess that’s reassuring. Except not really. “So, tell me this. If I were to walk out the front door right now, what would happen?” Discomfort flashes across his hard features. “If you plan to leave, I would have to inform my supervisor.” “No, no,” I assure him, though we both know I’m lying. “I’m not planning to leave. Why would I want to leave? I mean, hypothetically. What would happen if I did?” He studies my expression. Then sighs. “Our job is to keep you safe.” “Would I be safe outside?” “Not according to our information.” “So then you would force me to stay; that’s what you’re saying. You would kidnap me.” “We would keep you safe,” he says gently. And of course they aren’t the ones to keep me. If anyone did that it was Gabriel. Or maybe myself. Maybe I tied the rope around my own wrists, closed the door to my own cage. The men are just another kind of lock. Without a word I turn and walk away. At the end of the hallway pale light from the kitchen draws a triangle. Before I reach the entrance, I hear voices—a low, masculine voice I don’t recognize. It must be the man from the security room earlier, the one with cropped silver hair. “You should tell him sooner rather than later.”

“And then what?” This voice I recognize as Mrs. B, more worried and whispered than I’ve ever heard her. “He’ll despise me. He deserves my loyalty.” “He doesn’t deserve anything from you.” “I’ve worked here for over twenty years.” “And you’ll be long gone, so what do you care what he thinks?” My heart thuds. The man she’s worked for the past twenty years is Gabriel, and this man is telling her she doesn’t owe him anything. What did she do to break her loyalty? Pass information to a stranger? Take a bribe? It could be anything. It could be the reason why Gabriel is in trouble now. “I do care,” she says, sounding near tears. “About him. But the girls, it’s too much. First one. Then another. I hate them. I hate them so much I almost can’t breathe.” I suck in a breath. Me and Penny. Why does she hate us? And what has she done about it? Sold information? If that’s the case, then the man with cropped silver hair knows about it. He works for Blue Security, which means Jonathan Scott has an inside man. Even if I believe what West told me, I can’t trust that Gabriel will be okay. Not with people inside working against him. There’s murmuring from the kitchen, words I can’t make out. What are they plotting together? Before I realize what’s happening, the man with silver hair strides into the hallway. He stops short, eyes narrowing. I gesture uselessly toward the room. “I was just talking to West. Asking about Gabriel.” “And what did he tell you?” There’s suspicion. Accusation. “Not to worry.” “Then you should listen to him,” he says, his voice flat. A shiver runs through me. For a moment I think he might handle the threat here and now. Drag me into a closet. Finish me. Except that would be too big of a mess, even for someone with connections. There would be evidence on tape. And whatever Mrs. B and this man have done, I believe that West is being honest with me. As honest as he can be. He wouldn’t be in on a plot to hurt Gabriel. “Of course,” I say too brightly. “I’m sure he’ll be back tomorrow.” And I see in this man’s expression the truth. He knows Gabriel isn’t coming back. The way that Penny knew that he was in trouble. The way I knew, somewhere deep inside, when I begged him to stay. In that split second I make a decision. I’m not safe here. And more importantly, Gabriel isn’t safe out there. When I emerge from the hallway, Mrs. B works at kneading dough on a wooden chopping block dusted with flour. I smell rosemary and garlic. Any other day I would have given her a smile and some remark about how delicious it looks. That’s what I do today, too. Because I don’t want her to suspect. “Oh by the way,” I add. “I remembered I need something. Can you order it for me?”

Chapter Twenty-Three

I

FEEL A little guilty for leaving Penny. She’ll freak out when Mrs. B shows up with her breakfast

tomorrow, but I don’t have a choice. Aside from one day of speaking, she still doesn’t talk. She barely eats. I can’t drag her around Tanglewood. And even though I don’t trust Mrs. B or the security guards here, I believe they’ll at least behave for the camera, for the time being. Besides, it would be harder to sneak two people out. The one advantage I have is that I got to know the house before the extra security came. Before I became a prisoner here. So I’ve seen the way deliveries are handled, even though I probably couldn’t make it outside before being escorted back inside by West—or the man with the silver hair. An Amish farm outside Tanglewood sells organic handmade soap. I used to order a special strawberry blend from them when I lived with my father. That’s the kind of thing Tanglewood high society likes to do. Usually our beauty products and fashion came imported from Paris, like any respectable billionaire princess. Every so often there would be a new discovery—the anti-aging benefits of local honey or a silk made from worms only in our tristate area. Anything new seemed fascinating, because we only ever saw the same people at parties, only ever discussed the same things. The truck that pulls in front of the gate is an old model, with large curves and knotted wooden slats lining the bed. A faded painting of a buggy is painted on the side, the only nod to the Amish sensibility. I have no idea if it’s really the truck they have or purchased for the old-world image, but it’s easily distinguishable from the brown package trucks that show up regularly. I watch from the darkened stairs as Mrs. B bustles to the door, escorted by the man with silver hair a step behind. Security measures, though they seem more sinister after the conversation I heard. With them occupied, there’s no one in the kitchen. I pass through the warm room, the scent of fresh bread permeating the air. Instead of turning down the hallway toward the room with surveillance, I walk quickly out the door. With West in the room and the other two at the front door, no one will know which way I went. Eventually they’ll find me on the cameras, which is exactly what I want. I cross the back lawn toward the forest, which curves around to the front gates. From the protection of the trees I watch the delivery man return to his truck and drive away, dust kicking up in his wake. It hurts not to be on that truck, but it would be too easy. Plus I’d be stranded on an Amish farm outside Tanglewood. It’s slow going through the forest, trying not to leave any tracks, but eventually I reach the back entrance of the hedge maze. I pick up a brisk jog once I’m inside, working toward the center. A stitch pains my side, and I stop for a moment. Something snaps behind me—a twig. I turn, but no one’s there. Only an endless expanse of greenery. Stop imagining things. With a shake of my head to clear it, I continue forward. When I reach the middle, I sit down in a dry patch of earth to wait. Night comes slowly, leaving me plenty of time to think. To think about my father, living alone in a sterile room. Comfortable, yes. He has all the luxuries that money can buy. No family, because he pushed away everyone he loved. Or maybe he never loved us, my mother and me. He could be a castle, shiny and smooth—made of stone, through and through.

The moon sits high when I hear voices. I’ve been discovered, of course. Mrs. B would notice when I don’t appear for dinner. My heart pangs. Penny will be afraid when I’m not there. The search of the grounds takes two hours. I hear shouts coming from the east as men look through the forest. And then I hear footsteps through the maze, on the other side of this hedge. Finally the moment I’ve been waiting for. I follow a circular route so that I’m behind the man. It’s a man I’ve never seen before, wearing the same black T-shirt and black cargo pants that West does. He looks military, but young. Hopefully that will be enough to fool him. That and my familiarity with the hedge. I follow him left, right. Left again. We might be going in circles for all he knows. My foot breaks a twig, and he stops. I tuck behind a wall, barely breathing, waiting. When his footsteps fade away, I know I’m safe. I follow with more distance between us this time. He leaves the hedge, speaking into his cell phone. “The maze is clear.” I’m his shadow, following him across the lawn and to the garages. If I stayed too close, I’m sure he would have heard me. But I know where we’re going. I only need to make it to the vehicle before he leaves. The hatch door at the back of the black SUV hangs open, as if it’s just been loaded. When I stand at the bumper, I hear him speaking on the phone again. “Should I keep looking?” A pause. “Jefferson said he’s already looked through the house. He has the housekeeper looking again, but he seems sure they’re not there.” I climb into the back of the trunk, between a row of black duffel bags. What are in these? They’re heavy, that much I know. I tug one on top of my body, hiding myself—and praying there isn’t some kind of grenade inside. “He said there was a delivery this afternoon. Some fancy shit from a farm east of Tanglewood. She must have known the driver or communicated with him beforehand.” My eyes close, praying it’s enough. “We can check the farm, but if she had a plan, he could have dropped her anywhere.” Something touches my foot, and I almost scream. Penny climbs into the trunk beside me, a serious look in her eyes and twigs sticking out of her hair. What are you doing? I form the words with my mouth, no sound. She doesn’t answer except to tuck her body beneath a duffel bag like mine. She smells like earth and fresh air, which means she’s been out in the hedge with me all this time. God. “I’ll head back to HQ,” the man says, his footsteps crunching on the gravel as he rounds the vehicle. We stay deathly still as he approaches the trunk. The pause sounds like thunder in my ears. Then the trunk hatch slams closed, and I breathe a sigh of relief. When we’re on the road, the roar of the engine makes it possible to talk. But what is there to say? She knows that I’m escaping. And that I planned to leave her there. Her hand reaches for mine over the scratchy carpet on the floor of the vehicle. I clasp her frail fingers, praying I’m not leading us both to our deaths.

Chapter Twenty-Four

W

HEN WE GET into the city, the black vehicle pulls into a gated parking lot. We wait until he’s gone

before bolting for the gate. I’m sure they have video surveillance here, at their headquarters, so we need to disappear fast. A bus screeches by, coming to a stop across the street. I take Penny’s hand and pull her through the accordion doors. Once we get up the tall steps, I’m not sure what to do. I rode the bus to visit my father in the nursing home, but I had money then. I’ve got nothing now. The bus driver is an older woman, who gives me a look of disdain. “Tanglewood Sober Ride,” Penny murmurs, before tugging me down the aisle. Apparently those are the magic words, because the bus lurches forward. “Thank you,” I whisper as we make our way to the seats. There aren’t many people on the bus with us, and they don’t bother looking up. She gives me a small smile that seems to say, your first time? So maybe Gabriel isn’t so wrong when he calls me little virgin. “We should go to the Den,” I murmur. “It’s on Fourth Street, once you go past the train tracks and—” Her hand squeezes mine. “I know.” She knows this city better than me. We’ve both lived here our whole lives, but I only walked the hallowed upper society. Manors and house parties. Not the actual streets of the city I thought I loved. How can I love something that I didn’t even know? There’s an uncomfortable parallel between the city and Gabriel Miller, but I can’t focus on that now. Not when he’s in danger. The buildings change from the warehouses near the docks, where the security company is headquartered, to the narrower historic buildings of downtown. Penny pulls a cord behind us, making a ding sound. The bus slows to a stop. From there it’s only a block until we reach the Den, moving quickly in the dark. It’s not smart to linger on these streets. I may not know the secrets of the public transit system, but even I know that. The Den’s door hangs open, an ominous sign. All the lights are off. I take a step inside, my ballet flats crunching on something breakable and sharp—it stabs into the corkboard soles of my shoes. A pained sound in my throat echoes through the foyer, and I step back. Penny feels around the side and finds a light switch. The air sucks from the room. Glass litters the entranceway like rose petals on a church aisle, leading the way down the hall. And there at the end, lying on the stairs, Anders’s large body sprawls across the steps. Skipping over the glass, I rush to his side. “Oh my God.” I press my hands to the wound on his chest, but there’s too much blood. I’m wearing a thin pink cardigan over my linen dress, and I pull it off to staunch the blood. It makes a grotesque amalgam of pale rose pink and dark red. He coughs, a sound of pain that fills me with relief. Alive. He’s alive. “Don’t,” he says. “You’re losing blood,” I say, my voice high with panic.

“Don’t go—” He coughs again. I glance back, surprised to see Penny staring at us, wide-eyed and terrified. For someone who was so competent on the bus, she looks like she’s about to bolt. “He’s not here.” “Gabriel?” She shakes her head, skin deathly pale. As pale as when she first arrived at the Den. Anders takes my hand, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones. I yelp, trying to pull away. But even despite his injury, he yanks me close. I’m an inch away from him. I can see the faint lines of his face, the slight silvery scruff of his hair. The striations of pain in his blue eyes. “Don’t go to him. That’s what he wants.” Not Gabriel, I realize. Jonathan Scott. The same thing Gabriel has been warning me against the entire time. The same thing my mother did that ended her life. Except I don’t know that there’s any other choice. He’s closing every other path, forcing me to the one he wants. “Gabriel,” I whisper. “He’s alive?” “Forget him.” That means yes. If he were dead, Anders would tell me in a misguided attempt to send me away. If there’s a chance that I can save Gabriel, then I’ll do it. I may be the princess locked in the tower, but I’m going to save the prince. I go to the phone on a side table and call the emergency line. An ambulance will come for Anders. Whether I’ll need one at the end of this remains to be seen. And then I turn to Penny. “He sent you to me, didn’t he?” “I don’t know,” she whispers, her voice thready. “You’re going to take me to him.” Her head shakes, violent. “No.” “Yes, Penny. I need you to do this for me. I need you to do it for Gabriel.” And I think she has to do it for herself, to break her out of this spell. She’s lived in a cocoon of Jonathan Scott’s making ever since the attack. The only way to survive is to break free, to become someone else—something else. “I don’t want to die.” That’s when it hits me, the realization that this is the end. Not for Penny and not for Gabriel. Not if I can help it. It’s the end for me, the same way it was for my mother. And maybe that’s the best end I can hope for. Not a love story. A tragedy, one I faced with bravery, my chin raised high to the end. My mother was an adventurer. I know that much from her diaries. I may look like her, but we never shared that trait. I never sneaked onto the lake in a stolen canoe, never fooled around with my female classmate while men vied for my hand at the party inside. A rule breaker, while I minded every wish of my mother, every requirement of society. We were, each of us, born in the wrong time. There’s one thing we share, besides the blood that runs through our veins. We both love a man that leads us to our deaths.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I

THOUGHT THE streets near the Den were dark, but they’re nothing compared to the west side. The deeper

we walk, the more shadows surround us. I can see how Jonathan Scott manages to maneuver here, especially if he’s familiar with these alleys. Penny seems familiar enough, leading me with a steady gait, if a worried expression. She tugs me to the side to avoid a particularly deep pothole in front of a diner. Light spills out of frosted windows, revealing cracked leather booths, mostly empty. A waitress fills a coffee cup at one of the tables. Her uniform is a drab blue, like the one that Penny wore when Damon carried her. I can still remember his hands tearing the fabric from her cold body. “You worked here?” She gives me a small smile. “Since I turned thirteen.” My eyebrows rise. I didn’t even know you could go to work that early, but that shows how much I know about child labor. And then again, the west side isn’t exactly known for strict law enforcement. “Did you like it there?” Her smile fades. “No one likes it there.” “The food isn’t good?” “It’s tolerable. Most things are tolerable, if you don’t have any other choice.” I put my hand on her arm. “I’m sorry.” She looks back, her blue eyes imploring. “Don’t be sorry. I don’t want that. I just want you to understand this. To understand me. Because what you’re going to see next…” “What?” “The west side isn’t like what you’re used to. It’s not even like the Den.” Unease runs through me. “Sometimes the way people talk about Jonathan Scott… it’s like he’s a ghost or something. Not even human.” Her eyes flash with remembered pain. “He’s not human. He’s an animal.” “You don’t have to come with. Give me directions.” She shakes her head. “I think I can sneak into the back and find some steak knives.” I wish I could spare her this, but I might need help. Gabriel could be in real trouble, and we might need strength in numbers. We might even need steak knives, not that they would be much proof against the guns that Jonathan Scott has access to. “Are you sure?” “Wait here,” she says. “You can be the lookout.” Only when she disappears into the side alley do I realize we don’t have a warning signal. I suppose I would just run back and join her if I see anything. On the other hand, being a lookout probably isn’t a real job. We’re not robbing a bank, after all. It’s something to keep me busy so I don’t get in the way. She returns in only five minutes, looking breathless. “Thank you,” I say, taking one of the knives from her. “When we get there, I’ll go in first. I know the layout, at least a little bit. And there’s always a chance it’s rigged to explode or something crazy like that.” My mouth drops open. “So you’re going to sacrifice yourself?”

“It only makes sense.” “Are you kidding me? It makes zero sense. If anyone’s going first, it’s me.” “I’m nobody,” she says gently, as if she’s breaking bad news to me. “The way that royalty would have someone taste their food, to make sure it wasn’t poisoned.” “I’m not royalty,” I say, horrified by her logic. “And no one’s going to die for me.” She looks almost pitying, that she’s having to explain the facts of life. “Maybe not royalty in the official sense. But in every way that counts. Girls like me, no one saves us in time.” “Damon did,” I insist, wishing I could explain how broken he looked, carrying her body. “He kept me from dying, but that’s not what I needed saving from. What Jonathan did to me…” He attacked her. Physically. Sexually. My stomach turns over. “God, Penny.” “So you see what I’m saying. I’m already damaged.” I shake my head, thinking about that castle again. About how you have to break it apart just to see inside. About the fact that we’re all castles—hard, packed pieces of stone. Perfectly composed by eons of earth shifting and forming, carved into our individual builds. And when we shatter, there’s no going back to what we were before. “Sometimes it’s harder to survive,” I murmur. Her blue gaze sharpens. “Yes.” “I won’t let you martyr yourself for me. We go together, okay?” After a long pause she takes my hand again. Whatever we find, we’ll be side by side. I’m imagining something wild like a netted trap hiding beneath a pile of leaves, yanking us into the air as soon as we step onto it. More likely we’ll find Gabriel already hanging from the tree. I figured out long ago that Gabriel Miller always gets what he wants. He’ll find a way, even if it breaks him. Even if it kills him. And I’m afraid that with this, it might be worst of all. Because Gabriel is made of stone—he’ll survive anything Jonathan Scott does to him. The hardest part isn’t dying; it’s surviving. The way that Penny did. The way that Gabriel did. And even the way I did, after my mother died, after my father betrayed me. A scream rents through the street, echoing off the brick walls. The hair on the back of my neck rises. It’s an animal sound, made without conscious thought. Made from pain. The sidewalks are completely empty. No one in the darkened windows of the tenements even comes to look out. They know something horrible if happening. Something evil. The scream comes again, and I run toward the sound.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I

EXPECT TO find a man being pushed to the edge of his limits. And I do find that.

But not the way I thought. There’s a row of abandoned houses, each one stately and tall, each one crumbling beneath nature and neglect. Some of them have signs in the front, converted into businesses at one time. A lawyer’s office. A boutique. The sign at this house is too faded to read as I streak past it. The door hangs open, not locked. No one’s worried about intruders. No one enters a place with this level of danger, of dread voluntarily. Instead of Jonathan Scott, looking sinister in a neat tuxedo, wielding some kind of instrument of torture, I find Gabriel Miller with his shirtsleeves rolled up, the white linen fabric stained dark with sweat and soot and blood, holding an iron poker, the end red from heat. A pile of coals sits in the center of a large fireplace, the kind once used to heat large homes. Half of a desk stands sideways in the corner, signaling some kind of office setting. It’s a modern archaeological dig, layer upon layer of history, the remnants of life lived and lost. I don’t have time to document every artifact, to study every reference, but I can sense the despair in the musty darkness. And instead of the man I love at the mercy of a killer, hurting, suffering, I see Jonathan Scott tied to the ceiling, his mouth dripping with blood and saliva, his naked torso a maze of scars and open wounds. Gabriel’s eyes meet mine, and for one horrifying moment I can see everything he’s seeing. I can feel everything he’s feeling—the anger and the pain, the determination and sinking mercy. He’s a man who’s done violence before, one who will do it again. And I’m the only person who can reach him. “What are you doing here?” he says, and even his voice sounds different. Cracked. “Looking for you,” I whisper. “How long have you been here?” “You shouldn’t be here.” The sound coursing through the night air had narrowed my vision. I didn’t know what kind of building we’d come to, but now that I look around, I see the remnants of some kind of clinic—that old rubbery floor strewn with dust, missing ceiling tiles, the smell of mildew sharp in the air. A home, an office. “Is this…a hospital?” Jonathan Scott begins to laugh, a horrifying sound. Blood-tinged spittle flies onto the floor. “Does someone look sick to you, little girl?” A sudden chill overtakes me. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him speak before now. A sense of dreamlike familiarity washes over me, moving my lips. It’s someone else who answers him, her voice tight. “You’re not looking very well at the moment.” Dark eyes meet mine, the same ones I saw across the ballroom in my mother’s house. That’s the only time I’ve ever seen this man, but I recognize the venom in his eyes. The soulless intent. “I’ve never been well, not really. Neither have you.” Gabriel takes a step between us. “Don’t speak to her. You don’t fucking speak to her.” The poker still burns faintly pink. That’s how hot it is. I can see the marks on Jonathan Scott’s body, the places where Gabriel has already applied the heat. Burns that will never really heal on skin that was never truly fine. “Gabriel,” I whisper. “What happened to him? Look at all the open wounds, the burns, the blood. Did you do all of this?”

Though his face looks completely normal, his body is covered in old wounds. Ropes of scars on top of scars. I’m not sure I can even see a strip of untouched skin across his chest or his arms. “Some of it,” Gabriel says, his expression flat. “And don’t look so horrified. He doesn’t deserve your pity.” “It doesn’t matter what he’s done, no one deserves that.” And I’m not sure anyone can survive administering that kind of torture day after day, the way Gabriel did. “If you had a full accounting,” Damon Scott says, strolling from the shadows, “I think you would disagree. However, the stories aren’t fit for polite company.” Penny takes a step back, as if she’s more afraid of the man with a quick smile than the one practically feral tied up with a rope. Damon pauses only infinitesimally, enough to show he notices, not enough to show he cares. “Forty years ago they thought they could cure what was wrong with his brain.” He waves a hand around, as if showing off some banal art museum instead of torture devices. “That enough heat or electricity or water could shock the crazy out of him.” My eyes widen. “That’s barbaric.” “And ineffective,” Gabriel says, his voice harsh. “Then why are you doing it?” He tosses the poker down with a horrible clatter. “I’m not trying to cure him.” “You’re torturing him,” I say, my voice rising in panic. “It’s one thing to kill someone in self-defense. Even revenge. Another to hurt someone like this, to destroy them, to mutilate his body.” A small laugh. “Have I shocked you again, little virgin?” Tears spring to my eyes. “Yes.” Penny touches the back of my hand. “He’s trying to save you.” I glance back. “How?” “Yes, how?” Jonathan Scott swings in his ropes, and I see where Damon gets his grotesque humor. He looks almost playful. “Tell her how Gabriel Miller bought her and fucked her and keeps her locked away from the world, all in a desperate bid to save her pretty tits.” “Get them out of here,” Gabriel mutters to Damon. When Damon makes a move toward us, I back away. “I’m not going anywhere.” He sighs. “You really shouldn’t see this.” “It shouldn’t be happening! You’ve caught him. You have him. You can turn him over to the cops.” Damon’s eyes close. “The chief of police is dear old Dad’s drinking buddy. They liked to torture animals together while they watched the game on Sundays.” My gasp is drowned by the maniacal laugh from the man hanging from the ceiling. “Did I say animals?” Damon says, glancing back with an impassive expression. “Sometimes dogs. Sometimes girls. Anyone who would scream.” “Sometimes you,” I whisper. His dark eyes meet mine. “He doesn’t deserve your compassion.” “Maybe not, but what about Gabriel? What do you think this is doing to him?” Damon doesn’t look back at his friend. “You can’t save him, little virgin.” My eyes narrow. Maybe Gabriel can call me that, but not anyone else. “You should get Penny out of here. She’s been through enough.” He must figure I’m telling the truth, because he takes a step toward Penny. She backs up, but he doesn’t stop. His hand grabs her wrist. “Come,” he mutters, dragging her behind him.

His rough handling makes me wince, but it’s better that she’s gone from here. I’m not convinced that there isn’t a net hiding under the leaves, ready to trap us when we take the wrong step. Jonathan Scott sighs with what sounds like pleasure. “I thought they would never leave. I really prefer threesomes to an orgy, don’t you? Much more intimate.” Gabriel takes a step forward. “I’ll use a gag on you, you sick fuck.” “Kinky, but I won’t pretend not to like it.” “Wait.” I put my hand on Gabriel’s arm. He looks down, half-surprised, half-frustrated. “Damon was right, you know. He doesn’t deserve your mercy.” “Tell me why you’re doing this. I’m already here, damn it. Let me in.” “Christ.” He stalks away before turning back. “He put a price on your head. And he’s the only one who can call it off. If I kill him now, there’s someone out there. Maybe multiple someones.” “How will they get their money if he’s dead?” He shrugs. “A surrogate might be holding the money. That’s my bet, but even if that weren’t the case, no one would believe he had died.” I blink. “An assassin wouldn’t believe he could die?” “I have a reputation,” Jonathan Scott says in a droll tone. As if it bores him. “It’s somewhat magical. Is that what you’d call it? Almost divine.” “You’re no god,” I tell him. “Not even for someone who reads about Zeus and Apollo? Why can’t I be one of them?” “They were men. Ordinary men built up by stories.” “You’re probably right. I wouldn’t have used the word ‘god,’ myself. I’m more like the bogeyman. The monster under your bed.” The words send shards of pain through my skull, blinding light and screeching sound colliding. I stumble to the side, stunned and hurting. “No,” I whisper. I can hear Gabriel calling me, but he’s far away. “Avery!” He sounds worried, but I can’t reassure him. It comes to me with startling clarity, the way nightmares should never be. The way that can only happen if they’re real. The monster under my bed. He’s Jonathan Scott. Not a god. Not a shadow. A real man. My stomach clenches hard, and I fall on my hands and knees. The world tilts around me, a spinning vortex. The only thing I can see clearly is my bedroom, with its pink ruffles and white wood furniture. The only thing I can hear is Jonathan Scott’s voice. “Don’t tell me you forgot me. It would hurt my feelings. Monsters have feelings too, you know.” Spasms wrench my body, the past and present colliding, a history unlocked. I would have kept it hidden forever—even from myself. And he forced the memories to the surface. “Oh God,” I gasp. “Please stop. Please.” “What are you doing to her?” Gabriel’s voice. “Stop it right fucking now.” “I’m not touching her,” he says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice. That’s the truth. He’s never touched me. All those nights and he never once touched me. Gabriel wraps his arms around me, and only then do I realize I’d been flailing. I must look insane to him, and maybe it’s the truth. That’s why Jonathan Scott brought me to this place. Not a hospital. It’s an insane asylum. “Stop,” I whisper. “Tell me how to help you,” Gabriel says, gently begging. “What is he doing to you?”

The avalanche can’t be stopped now that it’s started. A small crack in the ice and the entire mountain is coming down. There’s no way for me to avoid the awful knowledge, to hide from the terrible truth of what I am—what Jonathan Scott made me. The only thing I can possibly do is get Gabriel out of the wreckage. I can condemn him to surviving once again. It’s a cruel thing to do, but I do it with love. Is this the choice that my mother faced? To leave me in a world too dark to keep the both of us? Gabriel’s golden eyes look luminescent through my tears. “A doctor,” I lie, because what I really need is time. “I need Anders. He’ll know what to do.” “I’ll carry you there,” Gabriel says urgently. I hold out my hand, sure I’ll vomit if he touches me. “Please. No. I can’t.” “I can’t leave you here with him.” “It’s the only way.” Gabriel stares at me for a long moment, before finally ducking out of the building. Then I’m alone with the man who starred in my nightmares, who infiltrated my dreams. The very real monster under my bed—Jonathan Scott, in the flesh.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“I

T WAS YOU, all along.”

“I don’t know why anyone didn’t realize. When they found the equipment in the walls, I was sure they’d guess. Why would I only talk to the beautiful Helen James when her lovely little daughter slept under the same roof every night?” “Because they don’t think like you,” I whisper, horrified. Not only horrified at the man hanging in front of me, but at myself. “Don’t blame yourself,” he says, sympathetic. “Repression is a powerful instinct. Much like fight-orflight. You thought you could forget me.” “Until you reminded me.” I’m a little surprised that Gabriel left me here, even believing I needed a doctor. But I still won’t have much time. Maybe fifteen minutes? Until Gabriel reaches the Den and finds it in shambles. He might find Anders, still waiting on an ambulance, or only broken glass. Either way, he’ll come right back here. “I had hoped that you would come to me on your own. And then Gabriel Miller took an interest in you. I knew I had to act or I would lose you forever.” “You never had me.” “Didn’t I?” “Never,” I say, shocked by the sharpness of my voice. There’s rage inside me that I never even knew about, never dreamed about. Even in my nightmares I was afraid. “Who taught you about your body? About your pretty nipples and the other places you were pink?” My teeth clench together. “Shut your mouth.” “Who told you to touch yourself to make it feel good? Which parts were soft and hard, which parts to pinch or draw little circles around?” “You’re disgusting,” I hiss, my body remembering each pinch, each circle. “You didn’t think so at the time. You said it felt good.” “I was a child.” He lifts one shoulder, arms still tied above his head. “What’s wrong with teaching a child about her body? What’s wrong with showing her pleasure?” I pick up the poker, pressing it into the small bed of hot coals. They don’t look as red as when I came in, but they’ll have to do. Steam rushes from between the coals, nudged aside by the iron I hold. It’s heavier than I thought, but still not as hard or as sharp as I feel inside. “Are you going to show me pleasure?” he asks, his voice low. He wants me to hurt him. We’re linked enough for me to know that about him. It feels like a loss, to give him what he wants, but it also feels like winning. “I wasn’t afraid of you,” I tell him, holding the iron poker in the air. “And I loved that about you,” he says, earnest, coaxing. “Little girls and boys run away from me. They know, without me ever speaking a word.” My bitter laugh echoes off the grimy tile. “I guess that makes me a fool.”

“Don’t pretend,” he says, fierce. “Don’t pretend that you didn’t know what I was. You knew it was wrong. You knew enough to keep your mouth shut when you talked to your mother. She never knew that we talked.” “I’m glad she never knew. Because she loved you.” “She didn’t love me. Is that what your jealous father has you thinking? Or maybe that was you, coming up with tales. You always were a romantic.” “Based on what I told you as a child?” “Yes, based on that. It’s everything, those innocent words. So pure. But your mother only loved herself. Looking in the mirror, having the world fawn over her. She didn’t love me. She didn’t love your father.” “Stop.” “And she didn’t love you.” “You would say anything to hurt me.” “Come, little girl. You knew that already. You’ve always known.” I hold the iron poker with both hands, ready to swing like a bat. “How much damage do you think this will do? How many times will I get to swing it? Five? Six? Or will you be dead on the first one?” “Mama never pays attention to me,” he says in a strange, soft voice. My voice, I realize. “She only looks at me when I’m wearing a new dress. And then says I look just like her. But she doesn’t seem happy. She seems sad.” He’s repeating my words back to me. Entire conversations a little girl might have had with an imaginary friend at a tea party. And I spoke with the voice in the wall, the disembodied man who told me he cared about me, who whispered things to try in the cover of night. My hands grip the iron bar tighter, palms slick with sweat. “I really can’t decide whether I want to aim for your head or your heart. I mean, you deserve whatever will be most painful. Head, I think. But I should get satisfaction, too.” “Satisfaction?” His gaze sharpens, looking so much like Damon Scott that chills run down my spine. “Satisfaction for hurting the one man who cared about you most?” “How dare you.” “How dare I? It’s the truth. Stab my eye out if you want it to hurt the most. Jab the pointy end in my ass. There are countless ways to hurt me without killing me. I’ll walk you through them as long as I can talk. I’m excited for it, actually. It’s the first time we’ll be together like this.” I’m horrified to realize that he is excited. His dress slacks bulge at the front with an erection. Pain makes him hard. The threat of it turns him on. And it would be sexual, with all that history behind us. Now that I’ve remembered all of it, I can’t stop thinking about it. Are they getting bigger, little girl? One day they’ll fill up your hands. Like your mother’s. She’s very lovely. All the men look at her, don’t they? One day they’ll look at you like that. One day they’ll fight for you the way they do for her. I understand how Pandora felt, bearing the burden of knowledge that she didn’t ask for, pained with the vengeance of gods who created her, her very existence a punishment. A footstep echoes from behind me. Without turning I know who it is. “You never left?” His voice is gentle as he takes the iron poker from my hand. “Never.” Gabriel pulls me into his arms as I begin to weep. He heard everything, so he knows what happened to me as a child. That the only person I learned to trust was the one who betrayed me, that the only man

who cared enough to try was a dangerous predator. That hurts the most. Not that he loved me, in his dangerous and obsessive way. That he was the only one. I sob against Gabriel’s shirt, dampening the fabric beneath my cheeks. “Please.” “No, Avery.” “He deserves it.” “Yes, but I heard you before. That it would destroy me to torture him. To kill him. And I have more experience in the language of violence. What would it do to you?” “I need to be destroyed,” I beg. “Like the marble. Broken apart.” He pulls me in closer, cradling me in his strong arms. “I’m not going to let that happen. Understand? You’re mine to protect. Whole. Strong. Beautiful, inside and out.” “I’m not whole,” I say, breath shuddering. “You know what he did.” “He toyed with a child. He played with your mind. He fucked with you the way he fucks with everyone, because he’s sick. It doesn’t taint you, Avery. Not even the auction can do that.” He pulls back, pressing the back of his hand between my breasts. “None of it touches you here.” “I blocked it out,” I whisper. “All of it.” “I know.” “How long?” “I knew you were hiding something. From me. And from yourself. I didn’t know what.” “Go away, Miller.” Jonathan Scott rattles the chains, making a creaking sound. “She and I aren’t finished here. You can have her when I’m done with her.” Gabriel’s eyes are bronze and dispassionate as they gaze at Scott. “Your hold on her was over the moment she left that house. You’re done with her.” “Oh, and you have a hold on her? I can make her do anything I want. You think I talked to her for years and never figured out how her mind works. Never planted any little trap doors.” I stiffen. “What are you talking about?” “Why do you think you went to my son for help? Of all the gin joints in all the world? You went to Damon Scott, a man who isn’t exactly known for being charitable.” “That was a coincidence.” “Or your obsession with Greek mythology.” “No,” I whisper, but I remember now. The stories he would tell me. “Oh yes. How the titan god Cronus was so paranoid and so jealous that he feared every child would take his throne. So every time his wife gave birth, he swallowed the child.” The words spill from me, more wound than salve. “When she gave birth to her last child, she gave Cronus a rock swaddled in cloth instead. And she sent the child away.” “That god grew up to be Zeus.” Jonathan Scott laughs, his eyes crinkling in a way that reminds me of Damon. “I was never humble enough to be anyone else.” “You’re not a god at all.” “Of course, he was raised by nymphs, fed honey and milk on the island of Crete. A much better childhood than a ward of the state in an experimental mental institution.” I swallow hard. “You grew up here?” “Home sweet home.” “That’s sick,” I whisper. “How many children do you suppose Zeus had?” he says, studying me. “They would be demigods. Half human. Half gods.” I take a step back. “You’re lying.”

“Perhaps,” he says vaguely, but I know the truth. I was never my father’s daughter. And maybe he always knew that. Some part of me always knew we were different, always knew that I had to work to ingratiate myself with him, learning chess and hosting his parties like the perfect daughter. It doesn’t even matter now. Because the man who is my biological father? He’s the one who whispered to me about women’s bodies. He’s the one who taught me how to make myself wet. Taste it, he said from the darkness of night. I’m sure you’re sweet. I answered back: Not sweet. Salty. A laugh filled the room. That means you’re all grown up. My stomach churns, and I’m afraid I’m going to throw up. There’s nothing in there. I haven’t eaten in hours, but then my diaphragm spasms and I bend over, gagging. “Go outside,” Gabriel says in a low voice. “I’ll take care of him.” I manage to straighten, still breathing hard. “By killing him?” “Don’t think about it.” “I am thinking about it. You can’t. I mean you can but—don’t. For me.” His eyebrows lower. “You’re asking for his life?” “Please.” I don’t know whether I want Jonathan Scott to live because he’s my biological parent or because killing him would irreparably harm Gabriel Miller. All I know is that if this night ends in death, my soul will be imprinted with this night. “It will break me,” I whisper. Gabriel is silent a moment. “Go outside. I promise not to kill him.” I eye the torture implements strewn over the broken tiles. “What will you do?” “I’ll make him go away. If that’s what you want.” “But how? You said the prisons couldn’t hold him.” “He already told us the answer. We put him in a mental institution. That’s where he belongs.” “Won’t the people who helped him out of jail help him out of that?” “Only if they know where to find him. He isn’t the only one with influence. If you want him to stay alive, then he can spend his days in a Russian psych ward, his name changed, where most of the nurses don’t even speak English. He’ll be drugged. Restrained. God knows he’ll fail any test they put in front of him.” I glance at Jonathan Scott, at the endless network of scars on his body. “I know he’s evil. What he did to my mother, what he did to me. Even Penny. For that he deserves anything that happens to him, but…” “They won’t torture him,” Gabriel says gently. “He’s been through enough of that.” “What about the price on my head?” “I’ll call it off,” Jonathan Scott says, his voice rough. “There’s a number. A code word.” “Why?” I ask softly. “It was never about killing you. My own flesh and blood? It was closing off the exits.” Like the hedge maze on Gabriel’s estate, this one built around me, with guns instead of branches. “How do I know it’s real?” Gabriel asks, expression hard. “The code word.” “You don’t. I guess you’ll just have to trust me.” I put my hand on Gabriel’s arm. “It’s okay, Gabriel. I’m not afraid.” And for once that’s not a lie. I’m not afraid of dying, because I’m more afraid of living. It isn’t Gabriel who’s going to survive. It’s me. Gabriel murmurs something about handling the logistics of

moving Jonathan Scott. I think I manage to respond back coherently. Then I walk out the front door and cross the cracked lawn with its thick-stemmed weeds. My knees hit the earth a second before vomit presses into my throat. I throw up everything and nothing beside a sign with faded lettering that reads Midtown Asylum.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

T

IME PASSES IN a blur of black boots and hushed words. Apparently Blue Security is full service, because

the boss himself arrives to transport Jonathan Scott to a secret holding facility and clean up evidence that we were ever there. In twenty minutes a limo glides to a stop in front of the asylum. Gabriel’s dress shoes appear in front of me, still shiny despite the events of the evening, my sunshineyellow ballet flats blackened and torn in contrast. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice low. Where are we going? I think the words, but sometime while watching Jonathan Scott, still bleeding and feral, wrapped in chains and transported in an unmarked van, I seem to have lost the ability to speak. How long did he exist in my mind, whispering suggestions? How long did I obey my father, even without knowing him? “Home,” he says, hearing me anyway. It’s his house, though. His estate. His million dollars sitting in my bank account. I don’t have anything left, not even myself. He bends, scooping one arm beneath my knees, the other supporting my back. Then I’m in his arms, being carried down the lawn toward the waiting limo. It might have been romantic if I didn’t know the brown stains on his shirt were blood. My father’s blood. Without speaking he settles me onto the plush seats. They feel almost shockingly warm, burning, as if the leather will melt my skin. And then the blessed numbness surrounds me, cotton and cool breeze, where nothing can touch me. Not even Gabriel, when he climbs in beside me and pulls me onto his lap. His mouth presses against my hair, not quite a kiss. “Don’t let him win,” he whispers, fierce, almost desperate. It isn’t about letting Jonathan Scott win. That contest ended when I was five years old, the first time I heard a voice speak to me—and opened my mouth to speak back. My lips are too starched to explain, though. My eyelids too heavy to open. His hands run over me, more like they’re checking for wounds. Pain blooms in parts of my body that shouldn’t hurt. My hands. My heart. Even between my legs, the first place I touched that made me a woman. Gabriel may have taken my virginity, but my innocence was stolen long before that. Instead of curious exploration, instead of the patient guidance of a mother, I had a voice in my wall. And I feel the weight of those words on my sex, sharp and hot. No, fight it. Sometimes the only thing you can do is survive, so I push down the feelings, the horror. I imagine I’m some other girl, who never knew how little I was loved. I let myself be a doll in Gabriel’s arms, unthinking, without protest. It turns out that’s all I can be. Without interest I listen to Gabriel speak to Damon on the phone. “It’s done?” “Yes,” comes a voice that’s painfully familiar. “We sent the code word and got confirmation. Only time will tell if the information was valid.” “What’s your read?”

“I think he didn’t really want her dead, like he said. But with my father, that means you’re half-buried already.” Gabriel’s hands tighten around me. “No one’s getting near her.” “Even me?” Damon asks, his voice wry. “As it turns out, we’re related. Which makes the whole virginity-auction thing a little taboo.” “It wasn’t taboo already?” “More than that.” A pause. “Has she said anything? About me?” “She hasn’t said anything. As in, she’s not talking.” “Shock?” “Let’s hope so.” A grim silence. “That’s what you said Penny did, and she recovered.” “Is she at the Den?” “No, I sent her home.” Gabriel straightens. “Home?” “Her shitty father almost pissed himself when he saw her. Probably figured she was at the bottom of the lake by now. Forgave the debt and everything.” “I’m surprised you didn’t keep her.” “For what? Fucking a scared little virgin isn’t really my kink. More like yours.” A low laugh. “Fine.” “Besides, I’m thinking of going underground for a little while. Which means no keeping girls, however pretty and wide-eyed they might be.” “Pulling a disappearing act? Like your father?” “Something like that. Take care of her, will you?” “I will.” Gabriel whispers in my ear, “What do you need, little virgin?” Of course I don’t answer him. From his sigh I know he doesn’t expect me to. It’s impossible to explain what I need when my heart is locked up tight, impossible to form the words with my body coated in black tar. Pandora opened her mythological box, releasing the evils of humanity—diseases and plagues. Death. What most people leave out of the story is that there was only one thing left when she closed it again. Hope, trapped inside. The question has never been how to close the box. It’s how to open it again.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I

SPEND THE next week in bed. At least I think it’s a week. I’m asleep most of the time, so the mornings

blend into night. Only the meals change, as any kind of marker. A thin oatmeal mixture, more milk than grain. A fragrant broth that has vitamin powder poured in as liberally as the spices. And finally some kind of caramel pudding, both salt and sweet. Every day Gabriel struggles to feed me, to force me, but he could sooner have sex with me than he could make me eat. There’s always a hint of regret when he gives up, the briefest sorrow that I can’t be the woman he wants. Then the door closes behind him, and numbness drifts over me again. A tray of food appears on the side table, a bowl of steaming broth. The smell assaults me with bittersweet flavor, the memory of caring for Penny when she had lain in bed, broken, bruised. Now it’s me trapped beneath the sheets, trapped by the very evil I unleashed. Being a little girl didn’t excuse me. Being afraid. Being in love. All of them explain what I’ve done in my life, a dark symphony always underscored by the heavy beat of womanhood. A burden I never asked for, one I wouldn’t trade even if I could. It’s not Gabriel this time. The mattress dips as Mrs. B sits on the edge of the bed. Her hand reaches for me, hovers a moment before pulling back. From the corner of my eye, her expression looks repentant. Maybe he’s finally given up on me. “Richard told me that you might have heard what I said before.” For half a second I wonder if I might be curious about this. Did Mrs. B betray Gabriel? Does she feel bad about it? And then I remember that I don’t care, not about any of it. “It wasn’t that I hated you. I’m sorry I said that. And I’m very sorry that you heard me in that moment of weakness. Lord knows you’ve been through enough already.” The doubt must show on my face. “What your father did. Even Gabriel. As much as I owe him, I have no illusions about the kind of man he is.” Her round cheeks turn pink. “I also threw away the sheets after your first stay.” The ones with my blood on them. “Yes, well.” She busies herself straightening a corner on the white sheet. “You know. I have some experience with that, myself. With being used. Being sold.” My heart wrenches, a faint beat of pain beneath the cloud of disassociation. I’m starting to think every woman has been used that way, every woman has been sold. Which ones of us have escaped that fate? Was my dream of a gentle husband just a shared fever dream? Is a white picket fence just another form of turrets on smaller castles? “It’s not an interesting story,” Mrs. B says. “I wasn’t pretty enough to earn money for Gabriel’s father. He would give me to the roughest customers, the ones who couldn’t be choosy. Or the ones who wanted to mess me up.” I’m sorry. The words echo around inside me, in the silence of the room.

“It was Gabriel who convinced his father to let me clean the house, to work in the kitchen. I only found out later that he had done it, after one night when he’d had to pick me up from the floor.” How many girls does Gabriel need to save until he’s whole again? “When he killed his father—” The jolt that runs through me is completely involuntary. He killed his father. I knew that he despised his father, with his whorehouse and his brutality. And I knew that he failed to save the little girl who had grown up. Mrs. B looks stricken, having seen my surprise. “He didn’t tell you?” Even if I could speak now, I wouldn’t. I’m too busy working through what it means that Gabriel killed someone—killed anyone. And to kill your father. A sigh. “Gabriel isn’t a perfect man. He isn’t a kind man. Some of the things he’s done, they might shock you. They might shock me. He’s always been private.” No, he didn’t answer to anyone. “I can’t say I was comfortable hearing he had purchased you, with being a part of that. And it made me uncomfortable to be near you, and Penny, knowing what had happened to you. Seeing the looks on your faces, as if I were back in that place, surrounded by trapped women.” A pause. “I’m not proud of this, but most days I pretend I grew up with two loving parents.” A small laugh. “I even invented a husband. He was strong enough to protect me, but always gentle.” I put my hand on hers and squeeze. Her small eyes meet mine, wide open, shimmering with tears. “And then I met Richard, the security guard you heard me talking to, when he came for the first installation here. It was shocking enough to me that he wanted me—me.” She looks down at her body, with her generous curves and thick arms. Her cheeks turn pink. “Especially with how he looks.” The man with the silver hair. They’re together. “That’s what we were talking about. It was one thing to steal an hour away with him. Another to leave the safety of Gabriel’s home and marry Richard. I was worried that Gabriel would see it as a betrayal. Didn’t he deserve my loyalty?” That’s what they were whispering about. A thread of gladness winds through me, that she found someone to appreciate her. That she found someone to appreciate in turn. “But Gabriel wouldn’t have been angry with me,” she says softly. “I think that was an excuse, because I was afraid. Afraid that I wouldn’t survive outside these walls. Afraid that Richard would hate me once he knew the truth.” As quickly the feeling is doused by that persistent blackness, because there’s no way to be happy without acknowledging the sadness. Better to float here in this place, where nothing hurts me. Nothing horrifies me. “Of course I kept my past a secret, but they’re very thorough with the background checks. Turns out Richard knew all along. He finally told me. Told me it didn’t matter, either.” She looks away, at the bowl of soup that no longer steams. “I don’t know everything that happened to you. But I know that Gabriel won’t hold it against you. He has his own past. And like Richard says to me, the things that happened to us, they only make us stronger.” With her flyaway graying hair and twinkling eyes, Mrs. B may come across as soft. Maybe even weak, if you don’t know about the inner strength in a woman with her history. She lived through hell and came out the other side as a woman who can laugh and love.

And I have faith in Penny’s ability to do the same. I’m not made of marble or anything hardy like that. I’m built from crystal flutes and rare silk. From the brushstrokes of my mother’s portrait. I’m a shadow of a human being, only a cautionary tale whispered from mother to daughter. A collection of dangerous words. I’m a myth. And as long as I don’t speak, I can bury myself.

Chapter Thirty

I

DON’T FEEL anything while I’m nestled in Gabriel’s large bed. Not hunger. Not pain. Definitely not

horror at what my biological father did to me. And that’s how I want to stay. There’s a flicker of relief when Anders comes in. Alive. He has the black bag with him, which he sets down on the bed. “You must be surprised to see me?” he says, a glint in his ice-blue eyes. “Disappointed I didn’t bleed out on the stairs.” I’m not sure how much more death I can handle. None, really. “Gabriel says you aren’t talking. I don’t suppose you’ll whisper something to me. He would be incredibly jealous. Imagine how fun that would be?” His words have to travel the cottony padding of my mind before reaching me. Disappointment flashes on his face before he flips open the bag. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to poke and prod to figure out the answers myself.” What he doesn’t realize is that I’m completely numb. His hands. The cold flat of the stethoscope on my breastbone. Pricks of needles drawing blood. All of them pass like seconds ticking by, separate from me. My entire body, separate. It’s still a relief when he leaves, closing the door behind him. All I want to do is sleep. “She has to want to get better.” Anders’s voice crashes through the closed door, despite his attempt to keep it low. “If she won’t eat, won’t fight for it, there’s nothing I can do—medically speaking.” “What is there to do not medically speaking?” That’s Gabriel. “There’s a reason they revoked my license.” “She’s wasting away in there. I can see her bones. Every day I go in, I’m afraid she won’t open her eyes. Every breath she takes, I’m afraid it will be her last.” “It’s only a matter of time,” Anders says dispassionately. “Heart failure, probably.” A loud crash. Probably a fist against a jaw, my mind calculates without emotion. Followed by ceramic breaking and wood splintering. The oriental vase and antique hallway table. Priceless. And now it’s broken into a million pieces. “Fuck.” Anders’s voice sounds muffled. “That’s not good enough. Tell me how to help her.” When the other man speaks again, there’s a slight lisp as if his lip has puffed. “Sometimes with patients who have a significant trauma, they’ll induce a coma. To protect the brain.” “You’re saying you want to induce a coma?” “I’m saying she’s in one. The brain patterns. The metabolism. Her body has done it.” “But she can still hear me. Sometimes she looks at me.” “Yes, and if it were done by drugs, she wouldn’t do that. But the body doesn’t exactly measure things in vials before injecting her. The goal is to protect her, and her physiology is doing that.” “So then I should leave her this way?” “Well, she’ll definitely die. Fevers are also mechanisms to protect the body, raising the heat level to kill off infections. But too high a fever can kill the brain cells, too. They can kill the very person they’re designed to protect.”

“I swear to God—” “Jesus, stop. Don’t fucking hit me. I’m telling you the truth. Repressed memories, they’re buried for a reason. Because the mind can’t process the trauma. The fire probably triggered her PTSD from what happened as a child. Then caring for Penny, that probably helped uncover the memories. Or maybe…” “Maybe what?” “Maybe being kept in this place reminded her of being trapped at home as a child.” “You’re saying I did this to her.” “I’m saying the brain is complex. What I do know is this—Jonathan Scott is a sick fuck who caused a deep psychological trauma when she was young. And her body suspended the effects of that trauma until now.” “So you need to snap her out of this.” “No,” Anders says, sounding farther away. “You do.” “How am I supposed to do that?” “This wasn’t induced by drugs. We can’t use them to snap her out, either.” “It was induced by her father being a sick fuck who violated her,” Gabriel snaps. I can practically hear the shrug in Anders’s voice. “Maybe fuck her, then.” “Out.” “I’m just saying. It can’t hurt at this point.” “Get the fuck out or you’ll be flat on the ground. I can’t promise I won’t break your jaw this time.” Loud swearing fades away, because Anders may be crude, but he isn’t stupid. Anyone could tell that Gabriel is serious about that threat. The violence vibrates through his voice—through the air, even in the silence that follows. I can feel it crackle over my skin like electricity, an unwelcome reminder that I can still feel. Despite everything, I can still feel. I suppose that’s why the word violated feels like the tip of an iron poker, tinged red with heat, imprinting right on my heart, smoke rising above me. It smells like burned skin, like burned hope. When Gabriel walks into the room, I’m lying on the bed where I always am. My eyes are closed like they always are. My body is still like it always is. But already it feels a little different. I’m more aware of him, of his intent. His determination. “Hello, little virgin.” The words are casual, but the undercurrent is far from benign. “I’ve been reading your books. I hope you don’t mind. It didn’t look like you were using them.” Ah, sarcasm. However drily delivered, it’s a sure sign that he’s reached the end of his patience. “Of course everyone’s heard of the Oedipus complex. Every man’s inherent desire to kill his father. Kind of morbid. In my case, stunningly accurate.” A strange ache beats beneath the darkness. “It’s the entire point of chess, according to Freud’s protégé. The unconscious motive. Killing your father, in the form of the king. Did you know that?” More than that, disciples of Freudian psychology even gave sexual connotation to the death—to castrate the father. Checkmate as the ultimate sexual revenge. “Of course you know,” he says, still mild. “You’re the smartest woman I’ve ever met. The strongest. The most beautiful. Does that shock you, little virgin?” I don’t believe him. The words ring false, a definite lie. Except that Gabriel never lies to me. “The awkward part of the Oedipal complex turns out not to be murder, but the idea that you have to marry your mother. Is that required, do you think? Is it a complex if you never knew your mother?” My heart clenches.

“A prostitute, for sure. She died during childbirth. Or he killed her.” I open my eyes, meeting his burning gaze. “I don’t know if she was smart or strong. Probably beautiful, for my father to bother with her.” Stop. The word hovers on my tongue. I don’t say it. Stop blaming yourself. He unbuttons his shirt, and my eyes widen. “I understand you’d like to stay silent and small. To hide in a place where Jonathan Scott can’t touch you. And that’s hard to do, isn’t it? When he found you in your bedroom. In your mind, even. All you did was speak, and you were his.” His movements are brisk as he undresses—his belt, his shoes. His pants. Oh God, he’s really doing this. Maybe fuck her, then. It can’t hurt at this point. I’m a little horrified at the idea that he’s going to do this. A little curious, too. He pulls his undershirt over his head, revealing a taut stomach and broad chest. He’s a muscled bronze, so much darker than my pale skin that hasn’t seen the sun in days. The only thing he’s wearing are briefs that cling to his manhood. He’s hard, I realize. All I’ve done is lie here, and he’s hard. My breath holds as I wait for him to shed the remainder of his clothes. As I wait for him to fuck me. Part of me wants him to, just to prove that I won’t feel it. Nothing can touch me like this. Instead he disappears into the bathroom. Protection, maybe. The water turns on, a thunder that I haven’t heard in the weeks since I’ve been here. Mrs. B comes with a pail of warm water and a washcloth each morning. Gabriel returns, walking toward me with the ferocity of an ancient warrior. My heart lurches as he lifts me from the bed, still wearing a white tank top and sleep shorts. He carries me into the large tub, dunking us both into the warm water. It laps at my skin, a blast of intensity across every nerve ending. A gasp escapes me, echoing off the ceramic. The tender scent of strawberries rises from the water—the soap I ordered from the Amish farmer, I realize. My lips turn up in a smile. I try to force it down, but there’s too much at once—Gabriel’s body surrounding me, the immersion of water. Every sense bombarded. Every defense destroyed. Almost. Somehow I hold on. “Stubborn,” Gabriel murmurs. “That’s another thing about you. Headstrong.” He rubs shampoo into my scalp, and the pleasure is enough to close my eyelids, to force a deep breath from my body. I curl against him, letting him pet me. “And sensual,” he murmurs. “You think I don’t know you, that you’re just a warm body to me, but I know enough to use against you. I know how to break you if I need to.” His hands roam lower, down my neck and across my shoulders. Sensation blooms throughout my body, not only the places he touches me. Down my spine and between my legs. All the way to my toes. As if I’m discovering my body again. As if he’s uncovering it after so long buried. “Maybe that’s the wrong thing to do,” he says, his hands tight on my hips. “Maybe I should let you stay there, hidden, if that’s what you want to do. Shouldn’t it be your choice?” I don’t answer, because we both know my choice doesn’t matter. Not in this bathtub, not on Gabriel’s estate. Not while I belong to him. My choice didn’t matter from the moment Damon Scott said, “Sold.” “I’m selfish enough to make you come back,” he says, almost tender. “Selfish enough to insist you go on living, even knowing it’s going to hurt you. God, you’re going to be in agony. You’ve been protecting yourself from it.”

I shiver, aware of the pain that awaits me. There’s no way to avoid it, not with the full force of Gabriel’s will upon me. Selfish, that’s what he called himself. Though maybe I’m selfish for wanting to stay like this, safe and blanketed. “I know you’re afraid. You should be, after what happened to you. Your father betrayed you. He sold you. He definitely didn’t deserve you for a daughter.” The realization sinks in as warm and welcome as this water—that he didn’t deserve me. And the corollary: that I didn’t deserve what he did to me.” “And then what Jonathan Scott did…” Gabriel swears. “You’re worried you’re crazy, but what that motherfucker did is certifiable. This? This is a sane reaction to that kind of abuse. This is normal.” Can that be true? I was sure that I was insane—whether I was born that way or was driven to the brink by the voices in the walls. Either way the result was the same. Except Gabriel doesn’t seem to think I’m insane. Neither did Anders. It’s like a sickness. Temporary. Like the beating my father took after his downfall, but this one bruised my soul. And Gabriel’s nursing me back to health with emotional chicken soup. I blink at him, drops of water heavy on my lashes. “There you are,” he murmurs. My lips move but no sound comes out. “That’s right. You won, little virgin.” He laughs, rough and dark. “I’m not humble, so I can admit it hasn’t happened often. But I can’t deny it anymore. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. Even the thought of you being hurt is enough to paralyze me.” I know what it feels like for a body to brace for pain. It’s what I’ve been doing ever since Jonathan Scott confessed what he did. So I recognize the tension that enters Gabriel’s body. “You own the board now.” Checkmate. Part of me wonders what he means by that. The other part of me is distracted by the way his hands slide down my stomach. Down, down, to the thatch of hair grown wild in the time I’ve been bedridden. A daily wash doesn’t include a daily shave, and I’m suddenly very aware of the natural state of my body. He doesn’t seem put off. If anything, his cock hardens beneath my ass as he runs his fingers through the curls. He strokes me without urgency, almost petting me, as if he could do this for hours, for days. Every touch of his fingers, gentle, with water swirling against my sex, sends me deeper into the dream space. It isn’t the nightmare with fire and voices. This is cleansing. Purifying, as if he took me apart only to put me back together. When his fingers nudge my clit, it feels both inevitable and yet entirely new. He draws gentle strokes, writing letters across my sensitive skin, leaving his mark, indelible. I sigh, pressing my face to his neck, breathing deeply of his musk. When I come, it isn’t with explosions or rainbows. There’s only the glint of gold, the slightest spark of life, as I murmur, “Gabriel.” His expression turns tender. “There you are.” Have I returned from somewhere? It feels like I’ve been asleep a thousand years instead of a week. Like I’ve dreamed my entire life, only to come awake this moment. “Please.” “Tell me what you need,” he says, grave and sure. There’s only one answer I can give, only one thing a pawn truly wants. And that’s all I’ve ever been. To my father. To Gabriel. The whole world sees me as a piece to be played. And I can never really be safe as long as I’m being moved around the board against my will. “Set me free,” I whisper. His eyes blaze with emotion. “Say it again, little virgin.”

“Freedom.” And whatever happens next, I know that I am changed. I can no longer defend a king who doesn’t value me, the pawn who faces the enemy front lines. I can no longer fight for my own virtue, a knight who wields her sword in service. And I can no longer hide behind the walls of Gabriel’s castle. I’m a queen in my own right, whether I fall or fight another day, whatever my next move, wherever I land. I have the whole board to consider, every direction available. My fate may not decide the game, but I can go anywhere I want. The queen has freedom the king does not. She decides her own fate.

Chapter Thirty-One

I

WAKE UP alone in the bed, blinking into the darkness. Shadows tell me it’s early morning, before I would

normally expect breakfast. My body hums pleasantly from the bath the night before. The bed smells like Gabriel, but he’s not here. The sheets on either side of me are cool beneath my fingertips. For a moment I wonder in silence—and then I remember. My mouth works. I swallow. “Gabriel?” The sound is scratchy and halting, so I try again, stronger this time. No one answers. Maybe he went to a different bedroom. Or to his office. There are a hundred places he could be in this house, a thousand valid reasons for him to be absent from his bed. Why did I wake up? Did I hear something? Did the house shift? A sense of urgency propels me to sit up. I need to find him. I push the heavy blankets aside, suddenly finding them suffocating. My feet touch the carpet for the first time in a week. My toes curl in pleasure at the softness, trapping the fibers beneath them. That’s when I see the bedside table. The gleaming white castle sits there, all by itself. It definitely wasn’t there the night before. And there’s no reason for it to be separate from its set, except as a message. I pick up the piece, fingering the smooth marble. It’s almost a surprise. For some reason I expected to find it shattered. Maybe there would be lines in the stone where it had been glued back together, not quite right. But it’s as perfect as ever. A folded sheet of vellum remains on the nightstand. I open it, feeling oddly weightless. My little virgin, My estate is the safest place in the city. It’s yours. You have beaten me thoroughly, and with more mercy than I deserve. I’ve lost the thing I care for most—your heart, your smile. Your presence. And I can’t even regret it, because the more I came to love you, the more I want you to win. That’s when I know what strength is—not surviving. Not even fighting. Sometimes strength is moving forward, another checkerboard, a single step. “Stay,” I whisper. Only there’s no one to hear me. I run out to the stairwell, shouting for him. “Gabriel! Where are you? Gabriel.” Mrs. B comes out of the kitchen, looking flushed and disheveled. “Avery?” “Where is he? Did he leave yet? Please tell me he didn’t—” And then through the high arch window above the front door I see it. The black limo, pulling away from the circular drive, picking up speed down the pebbled path. My heart lurches. I stumble down the curving staircase and out the front door. Stones bite into the soles of my feet, but I don’t slow down. I can’t slow down. I must look wild, completely insane, wearing only a thin tank top

and sleep shorts, my hair a disaster. Nothing matters except stopping that car. How can a person on foot catch a moving vehicle? How can one small woman shouting reach the inside of a heavily padded limo? It’s impossible, like everything about me and Gabriel Miller, which is exactly why it works. The only way it would happen is if he looked back. The limo comes to a smooth stop, its black paint gleaming in the sun like marble. Gabriel steps out of the back, an incredulous look on his face. “What are you doing?” There are only a few pieces left on the board. Only the two of us in the endgame. One of us has to die so the other can win—and so Gabriel knocks over his king. It’s both a gift and a loss, a sign that something finally matters more than winning. “Stay.” Hope flickers across his face, doused by stoicism. “That isn’t how the game is played.” “I’m done playing.” “So am I.” “I love you.” I’m out of breath, the words falling like gasps. “What did you say?” he demands, taking a step closer. And something matters more to me than losing. “I love you, Gabriel Miller.” He takes another step closer, almost compulsively. And stops. “God. Don’t.” “I really do.” “It’s suicide. To love a man like me.” “Then what is it to love a woman like me?” My laugh sounds maniacal even to myself. “Hearing voices. Chasing cars. I’m a little bit insane.” “You’re a queen, little virgin.” I throw myself into his arms. Of course he catches me. “Then you’re my king.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

M

Y TEACHERS ARE kind enough to extend the deadline for my final thesis.

When it came to choose my thesis for my Gender in Classical Greek Literature class, there were too many topics to explore. Beauty and exploitation. Shame and oppression. Sexuality and the tangled web of female agency. I had decided on motherhood, the examination and expectation of the role as caregiver. It was an homage to my mother, a person who I love without ever having known, more myth than fact—like the literature I was to examine. When I return to my laptop a few days later I know I need to start over. There’s something else I need to examine, a subject I know intimately but that remains a mystery—virginity. The auction changed the course of my life. It ruined me. It saved me. How could such a small strip of skin so greatly affect me? Why does the lack of experience mark me as somehow more valuable? I buried myself in Gabriel’s library, digging out the Greek dramas and philosophers. I located texts online with religious practices and Hippocratic medical writings. I pored over every text I could find that explored the classical views on sexual purity. Was a woman ruined once her hymen disappeared? Why was virginity something for a man to take, as if it was a possession? It took me weeks to write the first version of my essay, carefully outlining and rewriting, debating the best sources and the right format for my arguments. The new one appears as quickly as I can type the words, a manifestation of a lifetime of study, a synthesis of everything I’ve learned—a rebuttal to what Jonathan Scott said to me in that dilapidated mental hospital. What’s wrong with teaching a child about her body? He didn’t teach me. He violated me. He didn’t show me anything. He took from me. That’s the essence of how a man takes a woman’s virginity. By exerting his power. By purchasing her. By bending her to his will. These are first times in the purest sense. The first time I was used and sold and abused. They aren’t my only first times. There’s the first time I orgasmed by myself, alone in the silence. The first time I stepped over the threshold at the Den, determined to save my father and myself. The first time I climaxed against Gabriel’s fingers in the warm tub, coming alive, feeling every nerve ending in my body as if I were born anew. For all that we consider modern society to be enlightened and even highly sexualized, our views on innocence and sin are remarkably puritan. For the Greeks, virginity was not about a small strip of skin. It wasn’t irrevocably missing after having sex. Virginity was closer to abstinence, to modesty. A purity of body and thought. A sacred duty. And that’s why I don’t object, when Gabriel continues to call me his little virgin. It’s true enough. True in the most important ways. That I belong to him and no other. That he belongs to me, too.

Of course I add annotations and references to my paper. It wouldn’t be complete without them. Still, I’m nervous the day after I submit the paper. Most of the undergrad work is simply regurgitations of existing concepts. Have I gone too far? Flown too close to the sun? From across the chessboard Gabriel gives me a dark look. Only then do I realize I’ve been tapping the wooden rook against the board. “Sorry.” “What’s the matter, little virgin?” “I should have sent the first paper.” He turns back to his book. “Perhaps.” With a huff, I throw the piece at him. It bounces off his arm and falls harmlessly to the floor, rolling on the rug. “You’re supposed to say I did the right thing.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “If you already know, then why are you worried?” “Because.” “Because?” “Sometimes men have antiquated views of virginity and a woman’s status, even now, and my stuffy professor might not enjoy them being challenged.” Gabriel closes his book and sets it on the chessboard. “A smart man enjoys the challenge of a smart woman. Surely you know that.” A small smile teases my lips. “And what if he’s not smart?” Golden eyes regard me with solemn promise. “Then I’ll kill him for you.” I can’t hold back my laugh. “Liar.” “I’ll arrange for a sex scandal, thereby revoking his tenure.” My eyes widen, because that one seems more plausible. “Don’t.” “Can I at least have his office vandalized? We’ll cut words out of your essay to spell out The professor must die.” “I’m pretty sure I didn’t use the word professor in my essay.” He nods gravely. “Then I suppose we’ll have to accept whatever the grade is.” “How sensible.” I stand and stretch, my muscles tight after hours spent reading. I love these evenings of quiet repose, but I love the loud recreation that follows even better. His eyes track the sliver of skin beneath the hem of my cami. “Quite.” “Is that what you are? Logical? Analytical?” “For the most part,” he says, eyes narrowing. “Unless provoked.” I pick up the king, tapping the square cross at the top with my finger, feeling the imprints and the edges. “Then I suppose it would be wrong to provoke you.” “God,” he mutters, watching my finger trace the outline. And I put the tip of the king to my lips. My tongue darts out to taste. Wood tastes like nothing, but all I feel is danger when his golden eyes sharpen on me. He takes a step forward, and I drop the piece to the floor. Another step. I’m backed against the spiral staircase, carvings pressing into my back. When I would slide away, he shoots a hand to my collarbone, holding me there. He brings his body flush against mine, looming over. His thumb brushes over the delicate bones at my throat, the way I felt the wooden chess piece. “Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You provoke me just by standing there. By looking at me. By writing those glorious, filthy words about sex and women and love.” “Love?” I ask, suddenly breathless.

He bends his head until he’s a breath away. “Yes, love. What else would a king feel for his queen? What else would a man feel for the woman who made him whole?” I need to hear the words. “Do you love me?” “Oh, little virgin. I love you with every cold bone in my body. I love you with every dark thought, every violent impulse. I love you enough to leave the walls I’ve carefully built, the iron bars I refined, the castle I made.” “I don’t want you to leave,” I whisper. “This castle is for you. I’m talking about the one inside me, the one locking up everything gentle and kind I ever might have been. And now I stand in front of you, completely defenseless.” That was one thing Jonathan Scott got right. Repression is a powerful instinct. Much like fight-orflight. You thought you could forget me. I can’t forget what happened to me anymore than Gabriel can forget what he’s done. We can be stronger for remembering. For surviving. For loving. “I won’t ever hurt you.” “Won’t you? You could crush me. With a word. A look. If you don’t let me kiss you, right this second.” And I do him one better, rising up on my toes, pressing my lips to his. I kiss him, forcing my mouth against him, my will against him, my love imbued in every shiver and breath. The words I love you slip out, air shared between us. Then we lose ourselves in the magic of battle, of chess, the powerful exclamation that comes from one body consuming another—being consumed in return. I’ve spent my life trying to be more than a princess in a tower. Trying to be smarter or kinder. Trying to be better in some way that will lend me power of my own. It wasn’t isolation that made me weak, though. It wasn’t a pretty pink dress. It was thinking that being saved made me weak. Accepting help, supporting friends. Finding love. All of it made me stronger. And I could give strength in return, the one to finally make Gabriel a king.

Epilogue

T

HE EMERALD IS a historical hotel from the 1800s offering twenty luxury suites and a Michelin-star chef.

It’s also the only place that isn’t a motel within driving distance to Smith College. Naturally that’s where most of the parents bunk when they visit their offspring. It’s also where Gabriel and I check in after arriving in Massachusetts. A porter escorts us to the separate penthouse elevator. The glass doors open to reveal an expansive sitting area, larger than the average hotel room. It includes elegant seating arranged around a fireplace, a desk in the corner, and a built-in reading nook with walnut paneling. Through the door to one side I can see a high bed. On the other end, sunlight streams through French doors that lead to a private terrace. When we’re alone, I turn to him. “You said we’d be circumspect.” That was a condition of our trip. “I said we would be safe,” he amends. “This place was amenable to my security requirements. The fact that it’s also quite comfortable is just a bonus.” I laugh softly, not wanting to know how much that cost him. A placard near the elevator reveals the history of this place. “The Emerald was a gift from a Spanish count to his betrothed, the daughter of a New York financier, banker, director of railroads, and real estate tycoon.” “Do you think she liked it?” he asks innocently. “An extravagant mansion and hundreds of acres? I’m sure she said thanks.” I don’t want to give Gabriel any ideas. He already gives me gifts on a daily basis. The money bothers me, only because I used to subsist in that shallow world. I don’t want him to think that’s the only reason I stay. But I can’t deny the pleasure, the way his stoicism covers an intense desire to please me. He smiles. “This was their country home, actually. They only stayed here a few weeks out of the year. Their primary home was in the city.” My eyebrows shoot up. “I don’t know whether I’m more surprised that a place this huge could be a vacation home or that you actually know that fact. Do you always read up on the hotels you stay in?” “No,” he says, drawing out the word. “Though I do for the hotels I’m buying.” My breath hitches. “What?” He joins me at the French doors, looking at the stunning vista of grass and lake. “Do you want to hear more? Apparently the landscaping was done by the same guy who created Central Park.” “I’m serious,” I manage. “You’re buying this place?” “Past tense. I bought this place.” My lungs seem to have forgotten how to breathe. “Why?” He pulls something from his coat pocket. An antique copper key with a green velvet ribbon tied to the end. “A gift for the woman I love.” My vision blurs, and I know that I’m crying. “Oh my God.” “Do you like it?” he asks, his voice curiously flat. When Gabriel agreed that I would return to Smith College, it had seemed like a dream. The correspondence classes were good, but nowhere near as immersive an experience as actually attending classes. The prospect of sitting through more live-streamed lectures seemed untenable. Then I got the grade back on my final thesis. An A, along with an invitation to be his research assistant on his gender studies book. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.

And also a chance to rejoin my friends, especially Harper. I’m coming with you, was all Gabriel said when I asked him. “I love it,” I whisper, ashamed at the simplicity of the words. I’m awed at what he’s done for me— both his willingness to follow me and his boundless generosity to help me go. “There are houses,” he says, speaking a little too fast. “I have pictures you could look at. But this way you have a full-service concierge so you can focus on your studies.” I force back the tears. “And I imagine you’ll be making security modifications?” “Already done.” We’re standing side by side, but it’s too far apart. I fling myself into his arms, and he catches me like he’s been waiting for it. His shoulders are too wide for me to really hold, his body too tall and broad for me to embrace, but I give it my best shot, squeezing him so he understands how much this means to me. He makes a soft sound—not pain, not pleasure. Something like longing. “Thank you,” I say, pressing my face to the cool linen of his dress shirt. “Are you sure you like it? You don’t have to—” “Gabriel. I’m about to die; that’s how much I like it.” “Is that good?” I press my lips to his, showing him in a language he’ll understand. He gives me only a moment to control the caress before his mouth takes over, pressing harder, demanding entry. His tongue swipes against mine in a move both playful and hard. When he pulls away, I’m panting. “They needed an influx of cash,” he explains. “They were on the verge of accepting a buyout from one of the big hotel conglomerates, even though that would have stifled everything unique about this place. I purchased a majority share in your name.” “Just like that?” “Of course they’ll continue to manage operations. And you’ll reside in the penthouse exclusively.” It’s going to take me some time to process the magnitude of this gift. I know that it will make my life easier during my final years here, and possibly into grad school, but that’s not why I’m really moved. Gabriel makes grand gestures like this, always watching me, always measuring. This is how he shows me what he feels inside. This is the language he uses. When he kept me at his estate, he wanted me to be comfortable. He wanted me to be safe. And now, with this, he wants me to be free. I cup his jaw with my hand. “You’re insane,” I tell him solemnly. “So are you,” he says, dipping to kiss my nose. Taking a deep breath, I manage a tremulous smile. “So you know I’m going to have the best college parties, right?” His expression hardens. “I thought you said this was an all-girl college.” “Strictly speaking, but there are boys at the neighboring universities. Amherst and UMASS. That’s where Justin went. He was on the rowing team. Did I mention that?” A growling sound rumbles through the air. “No frat boys.” “They tend to show up wherever there’s beer,” I say apologetically. “It’s like a sixth sense.” “And no alcohol.” My eyes widen in pretend dismay. “Then however will I unwind after a long week of studying.” He leans closer, his expression predatory. “I can think of a few ways.” “Only a few?” I take a step backward, toward the bedroom. The flash of violence in his golden eyes is the only warning I have before he charges. I manage to avoid his grasp by centimeters, fleeing into the bedroom, scrambling onto the high bed with its cool white

sheets. When I’m in the middle, I hold up my hands. “Wait.” He comes to a halt at the foot of the bed, his body vibrating with tension. “I’m not a patient man, little virgin.” I beg to differ, but I’m not going to argue the point right now. “I’m the proprietor of this establishment now, am I not?” Bronze eyes darken. “Yes.” “So I think I should be the one to make the rules.” “What kind of rules?” Once upon a time I had been a princess locked in a tower. His tower. And I gave him my fantasies. I have dreams about being tied down. Now I hold up the key thoughtfully, then tug at one end of the velvet ribbon. It wouldn’t be very tight, but that’s not the point. They’re symbolic chains more than real ones. The same way this hotel is a symbolic cage, something we both enjoy. There are hands on me, all over, every secret place. They touch me like they own me. Like I’m a piece of marble. “Take that off,” I say softly. He studies me for a long moment, eyes glittering. Finally he obeys me, shrugging his suit jacket to the floor. I approach him carefully, the way you would a wild animal. That’s how it feels as I unbutton his shirt, revealing his hard chest and muscled abs—as if he might bite me at any moment. His stomach ripples as the backs of my fingers brush across, unbuckling his belt. Removing his pants. His shoes. And then he’s naked. I’m naked, exposed. I can’t stop anything that happens to me. I can’t do anything but take it. I came to him as a virgin in every sense of the word, my body untried, my mind untested. My heart unbroken. He changed me, formed me, made me into a woman. And in the same way I made him into a man—a man who can love without reservation, a man who can submit. A king who can give himself over to his queen. He doesn’t resist as I lead him to the bed, naked while I’m still wearing my jeans and T-shirt from the plane trip. I climb onto my knees, tying his wrists to the headboard using the velvet ribbon, the emerald color bright against his tanned skin. “Now,” I tell him innocently. “There are people in the floors below us. Try not to make a sound.” “Oh, little virgin. You’re going to regret this.” It’s the sweetest kind of payback as I play his body with my hands, my mouth. This is what he did to me on the balcony, once upon a time. And he’ll do it again, sensual revenge enforced back and forth, a battle that both of us can win. * * * Thank you for reading the complete Endgame trilogy! I hope you love Gabriel and Avery as much as I do. This book is the final book for them, but don’t worry. You can find out what happens to Damon Scott and his broken girl, Penny, in The King. SIGN UP FOR SKYE WARREN’S NEWSLETTER: www.skyewarren.com/newsletter

If you loved The Pawn, you’ll love the sensual, dark, and dangerous USA Today bestselling Stripped series. The prequel novella Tough Love is FREE to download! By the way, this is the series where Ivan and Candy first appear. And don’t miss the rough + sexy bestselling Chicago Underground series, starting with ROUGH, available for free! I never thought a man that rough could be my prince… And if you’re looking for something sexy and sweet and romantic, you can fall in love with this modern fairy tale retelling! The first part Beauty Touched the Beast is FREE now! I appreciate your help in spreading the word, including telling a friend. Reviews help readers find books! Please leave a review on your favorite book site. You can also join my Facebook group, Skye Warren’s Dark Room, for exclusive giveaways and sneak peeks of future books. Turn the page for an excerpt from Tough Love…

Excerpt from Tough Love

T

HE MOON SITS high above the tree line. Somewhere beyond those woods is an electric fence. And

beyond that is an entire city of people living and working and loving each other. I may as well be on the moon for how close I am to them. A guard walks by my window at 10:05 p.m. Right on time. I wait a few minutes until he’s out of earshot; then I flip the latch. From there it’s quick work to push up the pane with its bulletproof glass. I broke the lock a year ago. And almost every night since then I’ve sneaked down the ornate metal trellis—like a thief, stealing a moment to myself. The grass is still damp from the rain, the ground beneath like a sponge, sucking me in. I cross the lawn, heart beating against my chest. I know exactly where the guards are on their rounds. I know exactly where the trip wires are that will set off the alarms. My father is too busy in his office to even glance outside. The office I broke into this morning. I breathe a sigh of relief when I reach the pool. I’m still out in the open, but the bright underwater lights make it hard to see anything on the patio. They make it hard to see me as I curve around the edge and reach the pool house. The door opens before I touch the handle. “Clara,” comes the whisper. I can’t help but smile as I slip into the dark. Giovanni always opens the door for me. It’s like some old-world chivalry thing, even though we’re just two kids sneaking around. At least, that’s how everyone treats me. Like a kid. But when I’m with him, I feel less like a girl, more like a woman. He looks out the door for a beat before shutting and locking it. “Are you sure no one saw you?” “You’re such a worrywart, Gio.” I let myself fall onto the couch, facing up. “If your father ever found out…” We’d be in so much trouble. My father is a member of the mob. Giovanni’s father is a foot soldier who works security on the grounds. Both our dads are seriously dangerous, not to mention a little unhinged. I can’t even think about how bad it would be if they caught us sneaking around after dark. I push those thoughts away. “Did you bring it?” Reluctantly, Giovanni nods. He gestures to the side table, where a half-full bottle of Jack Daniels gleams in the faint light. “Did you?” I reach into the pockets of my jeans and pull out two cigars. I hold them up and grin. “Didn’t even break a sweat.” He rolls his eyes, but I think he’s relieved. “This was a bad idea.” “It was my idea,” I remind him, and his cheeks turn dark. Of course the little homework assignment was my idea. I’m the one ridiculously sheltered up in my room with the tutors and the gilded locks. Fifteen years old and I’ve never even been out to the movies. Giovanni gets to go to regular school. He’s too young to get inducted, but I know he gets to be at some of the sit-ins. “I just want to try them,” I say. “I’m not going to get addicted or anything.” He snorts. “More likely you’ll get a hangover. How are you going to explain puking to your padre?”

“Honor will cover for me.” My sister always covers for me. She takes the brunt of my father’s anger. Ninety-nine percent of the time, I love the way she protects me. But one percent of the time, it feels like a straitjacket. That’s why I started coming to the pool house. And I’m glad I did. This is where I met Giovanni. He examines the cigar, eyes narrowed. “How do you even light it?” I ask. I’ve seen my father do it a hundred times, but I’m still not clear on how the whole thing doesn’t just catch fire. Isn’t it made from dried plants? He puts the cigar to his lips experimentally. It looks strange seeing his full lips around something I’ve mostly seen my father use. Then he blows out a breath, miming how it would be. I imagine white smoke curling in front of his tanned skin. “They don’t let you use them when they do?” I ask. He gives me a dark look. I’m not supposed to talk about the side jobs he does for his father. “I mostly sit in a corner and hope no one notices me. It’s boring.” “If it’s boring, then why won’t you talk about it?” I know it’s not a good thing to be noticed by men like our father, to be groomed by them, but sometimes that seems better than being ignored. I’m the younger one. And a girl. And there are rumors that I’m not even my father’s legitimate child. In other words, I’m lucky my sister remembers to feed me. He swears in Italian. “That’s no life for you, Clara.” “And it’s a life for you?” “I would leave if I could,” he says. “You know that.” “You turn eighteen in a year. Will you leave then?” My stomach clenches at the thought of him gone. I’m two years younger than him. And even when I turn eighteen, I won’t be leaving. By then I’ll be engaged to whoever my father picks for me. Just like my sister. I shudder at the thought of her fiancé. He shrugs. “We’ll see.” I roll my eyes. I suspect he’s making plans, but he isn’t sharing them with me. That’s how the men around here operate, keeping girls in the dark. Honor only found out she was engaged when Byron was invited over for dinner. He has the money and the power. She doesn’t get a choice. Neither will I. “If you go, you should take me with you,” I say. “I don’t think Honor would appreciate me taking you away.” No, she wouldn’t. And the thought of being without my sister makes my heart ache. Sometimes I give her a hard time, but I love her. I’d never leave her behind. “She can come with us. It will be like an adventure.” “Don’t talk stupid, Clara.” His eyes flash with anger and something else I can’t define. I jerk back, hurt. “It was just an idea.” “Well, it’s a bad idea. Your father is never gonna let you leave.” Deep inside, I turn cold. I know that’s true. Of course it is. Giovanni doesn’t have the money or the resources to take us away from here. And even if he did, why would he want to? I hate myself for even suggesting it. How desperate can I look? Shaking inside, I stand up and grab the bottle of Jack Daniels. It’s heavier than I would have expected, but I carry it over to a wet bar still stocked with decanters and wine glasses. No liquor though. There used to be huge parties here. When my mother died, they stopped. We’re supposed to have a party in a few days, though, to celebrate my sister’s engagement. I’m not even allowed to go. I’ll just be able to see the fireworks from the window.

Without a word Giovanni joins me, his heat both comforting and stark. He takes the glass from my shaking hand. He opens the bottle and pours the deep amber liquid inside. Then takes another cup for himself, twice as full. “Why do you get more?” I protest, mostly because I like teasing him. His expression is amused. “I’m bigger than you.” He is bigger. Taller and broader, though still skinny. His hands are bigger than mine too. They hold the glass with confidence, whereas I almost drop mine. I take a sip before I can second-guess myself. “Oh my God.” It burns my throat, battery acid scalding me all the way down. His lips firm, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Good stuff?” “Oh, shut up.” Then it doesn’t matter because I’m laughing too. That stuff is awful. He grins and takes a drink—more like a gulp. And he doesn’t cough or wince after. “You get used to it.” “How much do I have to drink to get used to it?” “More than you should.” I take another sip. It burns again, but I have to say, not as bad. It still doesn’t taste good, but I’m determined to drink it anyway. This pool house is the only place where I can break the rules, where I can experience things. The pool house is the only place I even feel alive. “Let’s try mine,” I say. My voice already sounds rougher from the alcohol. He holds up the cigar. “Did you bring a lighter?” “Oh, crap.” His eyes crinkle in that way I love. It makes my chest feel full, like there’s no room for air. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “But I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain.” He takes another drink. It looks so natural when he does it. “What bargain?” “To do bad things,” I say seriously. When your life is as controlled as mine, you need to plan these things. Tonight is supposed to be the night. He looks down, a strange smile on his face. “Let’s start with the whiskey. If that’s not enough, we can knock over a bank or something.” I smack his arm. “You’re making fun of me.” “Never.” His eyes meet mine, and I see that he’s not laughing at all. “I’d rob a bank if you wanted me to.” My stomach twists at his solemn tone. “I’d rather you stay safe,” I whisper. He reaches a hand toward me like he’s going to cup my face, only half an inch away he freezes. I can almost feel the heat of him, and I remain very still, waiting to see what he’ll do next. He shoves his empty glass onto the bar and walks away. I let out a breath. What is that about? Lately we keep having these moments where it seems, like he’s going to touch me. But he never does. I want to touch him too, but I don’t. I wouldn’t know where to start. I can’t even imagine how he’d feel. Would he be like the whiskey, leaving a trail of fire? I’m scared to find out. He’s on the couch, so I join him there. Not touching, just sitting beside him. “Gio, I’m worried about Honor.” He doesn’t look at me. “She’s strong. She can take care of herself.” “Yeah, but Byron is a jerk.” And even she can’t fight the tides. That’s what men like Byron are. Tsunamis. Hurricanes. Natural disasters.

“Your dad wants someone who can take over. That’s pretty much guaranteed to be an asshole.” He’s not saying anything I don’t know, but it’s still frustrating. It’s too dark to see his expression. I can only see the shape of him beside me, his neck and shoulders limned by moonlight. “This isn’t the eighteenth century. This is Las Vegas.” “Marriage isn’t about that. Not here.” It’s about making alliances. It’s about money. “He should make you the next one in line.” At least Gio has been around for years. His dad is trusted here, even if he’s not high ranking. This Byron guy hasn’t even been in Las Vegas very long. And he’s a cop. I learned from an early age not to trust cops—even dirty ones. Gio shakes his head. “No, thanks.” “Why not? You’d be good at it.” I can tell he’s biting his tongue. “What?” “Good at killing people?” he asks softly. I flinch. Most of the time we skirt around what exactly my father does. And technically Gio is a part of that. I’ve never asked him if he’s killed someone. For all I know, he already has robbed a bank. He’s still in high school, so they’re keeping him light. But once he graduates high school, they’ll want to induct him. I’d almost rather he did leave then. Even though it would kill me to see him go. He shakes his head. “Anyway, if it were me being groomed, I’d have to marry Honor. And I couldn’t do that.” The thought of him marrying my sister makes my stomach knot. He’s only a couple years younger than her. It’s actually not a bad idea. “Why not?” “Because I like her sister.” I go very still. There’s only one sister. Me. “What did you say?” I whisper. “You heard me.” He leans close. He reaches for me—and this time, his hand does cup my cheek. The feel of him is shocking, startling, impossibly coarse and warm at the same time. He runs his thumb along my skin, rasping against me. My eyes flutter closed. The old leather of the couch creaks as he leans forward. He must be inches away now. His breath coasts over my lips. Goose bumps rise on my skin. I’m waiting…hoping… Suddenly his lips are against mine, warm and soft. God, I’ve seen those lips smile and twist and curse a blue streak, but I never imagined they could be this soft. Nothing like whiskey, with its fire. This is a gentle heat, a caress, and I sink into him, let myself go lax. One second later, he’s gone. Not touching me at all. My eyes snap open. “Gio?” He looks tormented. I may not have felt the whiskey burn, but he did. Pain flashes through his eyes. He stands and walks away. “No, Clara. That was wrong. I was wrong to do that.” “But why?” How could that be wrong? That was the best thing that ever happened to me. On a night when I wanted to be bad, I experienced my first kiss. It’s the best bad thing I could have imagined. And it tasted so sweet. He’s still shaking his head, so vehemently I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince—me or himself. “You’ve been drinking.” “One drink,” I say, kind of insulted. I may be new to this, but I’m not drunk. “One drink is enough.” “You had one drink too,” I point out, accusing. He laughs, the sound unsteady and harsh. “I’m bigger than you.”

I don’t know if he means the drink affects him less or if it’s just another reason why the kiss was a bad idea—as if he might have overpowered me. But there is no reason why this is a bad idea. I’ve wanted him to kiss me forever. And judging by the way he kissed just now, he liked it too. Unless… My voice is small. “Did I…do it wrong?” He lets out a string of curse words. “No, bella. You did nothing wrong. This is me. I can’t touch you when you’ve been drinking. I can’t touch you at all.” Want to read more? Click here to download Tough Love for free!

Other Books by Skye Warren Endgame series The Pawn The Knight The Castle Stripped series Tough Love Love the Way You Lie Better When It Hurts Even Better Pretty When You Cry Caught for Christmas Hold You Against Me To the Ends of the Earth Chicago Underground series Rough Hard Fierce Wild Dirty Secret Sweet Deep Criminals and Captives series Prisoner Standalone Dark Romance Wanderlust On the Way Home His for Christmas Hear Me Take the Heat Dark Nights series Keep Me Safe Trust in Me

Don’t Let Go The Beauty series Beauty Touched the Beast Beneath the Beauty Broken Beauty Beauty Becomes You Loving the Beauty: A Beauty Epilogue CLICK HERE for the complete Skye Warren book list, along with boxed sets, audiobooks, and paperback listings. Thank you for reading!

Copyright This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in a review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author. The Castle © 2017 by Skye Warren EPUB Edition Cover design by Book Beautiful Formatting by BB eBooks