BLACKWOOD

CELIA AARON

CONTENTS

Free Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Counsellor

1. Sinclair

2. Stella

3. Sinclair

4. Stella

5. Sinclair

6. Stella

7. Stella

8. Sinclair

9. Stella

10. Sinclair

11. Stella

12. Sinclair

13. Stella

14. Stella

15. Sinclair

16. Stella

17. Stella

18. Sinclair

19. Stella

20. Sinclair

Also by Celia Aaron

About the Author

Celia Aaron

Copyright © 2017 Celia Aaron

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language.

DIRE WARNING: If you pirate this book, your soul will rot in hell.

Cover art by Perfect Pear

Cover model Adam Joseph Chase

Cover image by Aoife McCartan, www.aoifemccartan.com

Content Editing by J. Brooks

Copy Editing by Spell Bound

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CHAPTER ONE

T  HE GRAND HOUSE ROSE from the ground as if it grew in that one spot, nurtured for years by the sun and rain. Trees encroached from all sides, their branches leaning toward it, as if seeking to gain some of the same sun and air. Despite time and neglect, the building remained strong, the corners sharp and the roofs perfectly angled. Whoever had built the Victorian masterpiece in the woods had done so with painstaking precision. It was meant to last.

The Blackwood Estate was the last stop on my survey, and I intended to get permission to search the extensive grounds and do a few digs. Acres and acres of woods, unused farmland, and various creeks and river branches would provide months—if not years—of interest. But my main focus at that moment was the immense home hidden in the dark forest.

I’d pushed the main gate open, the hinges screeching in disrepair. The driveway was mostly clear, the cracks in the concrete streaking like dark lightning. I’d rolled steadily forward, eyeing the gentle hills and wondering what archaeological treasures lay buried beneath the fertile Mississippi Delta dirt.

At the end of the drive, I’d found the faded mansion, vines growing along the sides and a front porch swing rocking in the breeze. Despite its strong bones, time had worn away much of the home’s superficial beauty—the gray and white paint peeled, dark green shutters along the first floor hung askew, and the windows carried a film of dirt, making it hard to tell if someone lurked inside, watching.

A shiver ran through me at the prospect. Slowing, I took in the house’s worn façade and maneuvered around a fallen limb. I eyed the second floor windows, but nothing moved. It was as if the house was holding its breath, waiting for something. For me?

I drove to the side of the structure, the driveway continuing further into the dark property. Gathering my notepad, I climbed out of the car and took the full brunt of the winter wind. Fall had come and gone, leaves littering the ground and crunching beneath my feet. A surprisingly cold winter had followed in its wake, the low temperatures often the first subject of any conversation I’d had with the locals.

The sun flirted with the tops of the trees to my left, throwing dappled shadows against the turret that rose three stories along the side of the house. A weather vane sat atop it, though it seemed frozen, the direction signifying nothing.

Pulling my red pea coat closed, I climbed the front steps and knocked on the dark brown front door with as much authority as I could muster. The wood was too thick and seemed to absorb the sound from my knuckles so that only someone standing right next to it would even hear it.

“Hello?” I banged on the door with the side of my fist. A solid thunk of flesh on wood was my only reward.

I glanced around for a doorbell or a knocker. Nothing.

The wind picked up again, whistling along the eaves of the house like an unruly ghost.

I swore under my breath and knocked again. “Is anyone home? I’m Elise Vale from the university. I just have a few questions.”

No luck. The house remained silent, watching me. Turning, I walked along the front porch, past the rusted swing, and to a set of dusty windows. I bent over to peek inside.

The interior was so dark that what little sunlight filtered through the surrounding trees was still too much. The gold reflection blinded more than it illuminated. I dropped my note pad onto the swing and cupped my hands on the chilly glass to peer inside.

When I saw a face only inches away from mine, I shrieked and stumbled backwards, falling on my ass with a thump.

CHAPTER TWO

T  HE FRONT DOOR CREAKED open, but not enough for me to enter or the man to come out. Relief flooded my veins. The man I saw through the window wasn’t someone I wanted to meet face to face, not when I was out in the boonies alone.

I scrambled to my feet and clutched my notebook. The county records indicated the land was still in the Blackwood family, now owned by Garrett Blackwood, thirty-two years old. Could this be the same man? Surely not.

“Mr. Blackwood?”

“What do you want?” The voice was low and gruff, scratchy from disuse.

“I’m Elise Vale from the university.” I brushed off my pants.

“I’m not deaf, Red.” His voice boomed through the crack in the door. “I heard that part. What do you want?”

I took a few hesitant steps closer. “I’m working on my Ph.D. in archaeology, and my focus is on Choctaw culture.” Usually that was enough to shake loose a question or an expression of interest from the landowners I spoke with. Not this one. I continued, “The woods and fields here in the Delta are littered with artifacts, and the university has made some great finds over the past few years in several of the areas near here. I was hoping you’d allow me to survey your land and perform a few digs—all with your express permission, of course. I wouldn’t do anything or dig anywhere without first gaining your approval.”

A few beats went by. I tried to see into the dim interior of the house, but the darkness was all-consuming. Only his voice and the tips of his fingers—the nails dirty and black—along the edge of the door proved that a man stood just inside.

“Go.” He pushed the door, closing the narrow pathway between us.

I put my hand out and stopped the door before it closed all the way, only a sliver of space left. “Please. I’m counting on this to finish my Ph.D. Most of the land around here has already been searched and studied. The Blackwood”—I gestured to the skeletal forest encroaching on the house—“is the only untouched site in this part of the eastern Delta.”

A harsh laugh cut through the air. “Untouched? Nothing here is untouched. Everything is spoiled, ruined. You want to hunt for remains of a murdered civilization? Look around; you’re surrounded by ghosts. No digging necessary.” He pushed the door all the way shut, and the clink of a lock sounded from within the thick wood. “Leave.” His voice barely made it to my ears, though I suspected he leaned against the door when he spoke. It was as if I could feel him through the surface, the fibers separating at microscopic levels to carry his cruel voice to my ears. “Stay off my land or I’ll call the sheriff.”

My stomach sank. I needed to dig on this property.

And not just for my Ph.D. project.

“Please reconsider, Mr. Blackwood. I’ll leave the papers in the letterbox out here if you change your mind.” I opened the rusted letterbox next to the door, the hinges squeaking angrily, then slid the permission documents inside. “My phone number is on the first page, and you can call my thesis advisor, Dr. Stallings, if you have any questions. His number is there, too.”

“Go!”

I jumped as the door rattled and boomed. He must have banged his fists on it.

The sun hid behind the trees as the chill wind picked up again. I turned, disheartened, and trudged down the stairs and back out to my car. After one more glance at the faded mansion in the woods, I backed up and headed down the driveway toward the road. The windows remained empty in my rear view, no sign of life or hope to light any of them.

I gripped the steering wheel hard, too hard, and came to a stop at the main road. This had been my chance, my one chance to find the truth. I stared into the woods ahead of me, my headlights barely penetrating the surface of their shaded depths.

Blackwood had taken the truth away from me, along with so much more. I knew without a doubt those documents would rot in the letterbox, and I would never be allowed to dig on the property.

I was so close. I looked at my stack of signed permission papers in the passenger seat and chewed my lip. I had to have express approval from each landowner before Dr. Stallings would release funds for my digs. I’d hyped up the Blackwood site so much—too much—that it was pivotal for me. Dr. Stallings warned me that the university wouldn’t pay for me to dig in tracts that had already been surveyed unless I had something fresh to investigate.

It was Blackwood or nothing. I slapped my palm on the steering wheel, the resulting ache in my hand letting me know I was still alive, still in the game, and still able to continue my search.

I pulled a copy of the Blackwood permission papers from my stack and took a pen from my bag. Putting pen to paper, the name “Garrett Blackwood” flowed out easily in black ink. His property was expansive. I could dig without him ever knowing, Professor Stallings would have his paperwork, and I would finally be able to discover the truth about my father’s disappearance.

CHAPTER THREE

DR. STALLINGS FLIPPED THROUGH my approval papers, his sandy blond eyebrows drawn down as he checked each signature.

“They’re all there.” I tucked my hair behind my ear and tried to calm my skittering nerves.

“I see.” He glanced at the last page—Blackwood’s page—then leaned back in his chair. “I see you got the Blackwood permission.”

“Yes.” I dropped my gaze to my sensible flats. “I think I’ll start there.”

“I’ve tried for years to get permission to dig out there. No dice.” He gave me a half-smile. “I should have realized all I had to do was send a sexy student to ask.” His light brown eyes scanned me with a cursory sweep. I used to think they were the color of honey, and the man who owned them just as sweet. Not anymore. “Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you on some of the scouting?”

“And interrupt your classes?” I shook my head. “No. I can handle this.”

He narrowed his gaze and motioned toward the door, silently telling me to close it. I stood and pushed it shut, even though acid began to rise in my throat. Even though I knew what was coming next.

“Are you okay?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he asked, the buttons on his light blue dress shirt straining.

“Yes.” I sank into the leather chair in front of his desk and silently prayed he wouldn’t ask me to chat with him on the couch. I’d heard too many stories about that couch.

The wrinkles around his eyes tripled as he gave me a look of faux concern. “I wish you’d let me take you to dinner where we could talk quietly.” He glanced at the door. “More privately. I know it’s hard for you to share your feelings in this setting.”

I had to play this carefully. One wrong move and he’d think I was interested in his advances. A move too far in the other direction and he’d threaten funding for my digs again. Subtlety wasn’t his strong suit.

“I’m still not ready. I’m sorry.” I sank into my chair with a sigh.

He stood and walked around his desk. The skin on the back of my neck crawled as he hovered behind me. “Your mother would want you to be happy.”

Don’t you dare talk about her. “You’re right.”

“I can make you happy.” He slid his hands onto my shoulders, the fingers digging into my flesh like tenterhooks.

“Doctor—”

“Call me Frank. You know you can talk to me.”

I remembered the last time he wanted to “talk.” The memory of his hot breath on my neck made me shudder. “Frank—”

“Come sit with me.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, the sting of pain keeping me grounded. “I’m fine here.”

He squeezed my shoulders hard, too hard. “Come on. You’ll feel better.”

I bit my lip and rose as he released me. He sank onto his couch, one arm slung along the back. He was handsome, his sandy hair and clean-cut features screaming “All-American guy.” I’d never seen him with so much as a shadow along his jaw. Never a hair out of place, his clothes always perfectly pressed. He wore a uniform, a costume designed to lull me into a false sense of security. It failed to hide the fact that he was forty, married, and a known student-fucker.

This wasn’t the first time he’d tried to get close to me. But I’d heard plenty of stories about his conquests, and I wouldn’t be the next. All the same, I had to do this. For Dad. One last gauntlet before I could investigate his disappearance.

I eased down next to him, but not close enough to touch. “It’s going to take time. I still think about her a lot.”

“I know.” He grabbed my upper arm and pulled me into his side. “Shh.” He kissed my hair. “I know it hurts.”

I stared at the door, willing someone to knock. “I think getting out and doing the surveying will help me. Maybe once I get back…” I shrugged and let the carrot dangle in the air.

He ran his hand through my hair, then down to my waist. “You think you’d be ready to talk about it then?” His thumb stroked the bare patch of skin between my pants and my shirt.

I swallowed hard. “I think so, yes. Doing the legwork will help me clear my head.”

“But that will be months.” He sighed and slid his fingers under my shirt.

I froze. “I know.”

“I just thought I’d have the chance to help you through your mother’s passing while it’s still fresh. It’s only been a few months. Is being alone really the best thing for you right now?” He inched his fingers along my skin, sliding up my stomach.

I pulled out my last card. Bursting into tears, I buried my face in his chest. “I just can’t stop thinking about her. Time alone would help me let her go, you know?”

“Shhh.” He rubbed my back, and I could almost feel him smiling. “I’ve got you.”

Not even close. I fake cried with hiccupping sobs as he wrapped his other arm around me.

“I understand.” He kissed my hair. “I can wait. How long will your surveys take? A month?”

“I’ll need at least three.” I could do it in one, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Three?” The frown in his voice iced my insides.

“I want to be thorough, especially since my Ph.D. is riding on this. I hope that’s all right?” I kept my voice meek.

“Well, I suppose that could work. Three months is a long time, but if that’s what you need to get your head clear so that I can help you, then I can live with it.”

I nodded and blinked hard so a tear would wet my cheek, then looked into his eyes. “Thank you.”

His gaze flicked to my lips. “Once the surveying is done—”

“I’ll be back.”

He leaned forward, and I let him brush his lips across mine. Then I buried my face against his shirt again. I hoped my nose would run and leave snot all along the designer check pattern.

“Good.” He held me close. “I want to help you as soon as I can. I care about you so much.”

I sniffled. “I know. You’re so good to me, Frank.”

“That’s my job.” His chest puffed up. “Caring about students and their personal wellbeing is part of it.”

“Thank you.” I lay my head on his shoulder. “I owe you so much.”

“My pleasure.” His erection poked against his khaki pants, fanning out the pleats. He seemed to have no qualms about it. “I’ll get the funds all set up this afternoon. The sooner you get the surveying done, the better. Once it’s all laid out, you can come back. We can…talk through it all until you’re feeling better. Then we’ll both go out and oversee the undergrads on the digs.”

The mental image of him grunting and grinding all over me in a pup tent was a particularly disturbing visual.

I forced a wan smile. “That sounds perfect. I can’t wait.”

“Good.” He stood and pulled me up with him. “I have to prepare for class.” He snagged a box of tissues sitting on a side table. Of course he kept tissue next to the love seat.

“Sure, no problem.” I grabbed my bag and walked to the door.

Before I could turn the handle, he was behind me, his erection pressing against my ass. “I can’t wait for you to get back.” He dropped a kiss on my shoulder.

“Me neither.” I let my breath out on a silent sigh as he backed away.

I pulled the door open and strode down the hall. Once I rounded the corner, I leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. Students passed, completely unaware of the wank session I was certain Dr. Stallings was engaging in just down the hall. Despite the fact that my skin still crawled, and I’d have to shower to get rid of the smell of his overpowering cologne on me, I smiled. I had the funding and the go-ahead to start my search.

Blackwood’s secrets were mine to discover, and I would find them all before my three months were up.

CHAPTER FOUR

I  SETTLED IN AT the counter of the small-town greasy spoon. Browerton was the closest spot of semi-civilization to the Blackwood Estate. It had a smaller population than my university, but was a big enough town to be the Millwood County seat.

I’d spent a week back at school getting everything prepared and avoiding any more run-ins with Dr. Stallings. I was prepared to spend my entire three months at Blackwood, flying under Garrett Blackwood’s radar the entire time.

“Usual?” Bonnie sidled up and poured me a cup of coffee.

“Please.”

She turned and shouted through the window to the kitchen. “Ty, two over easy, side of bacon extra crispy, and cheese grits.”

“Heard.” A male voice called back, though I’d never actually laid eyes on “Ty,” and I’d eaten at the diner three times.

I turned my head to the left and studied the cork board at the end of the counter. Livestock for sale, work at a lumber mill, and several faded missing persons’ posters. My father could have been up there, a staple through his description and zero chance of being found.

“So, where you been?” Bonnie leaned on the counter and watched the county road outside through the wide windows. Farm trucks bumped along on the potholes under her curious gaze.

She looked about forty and had a friendly demeanor. I suspected she and Ty were married. Her Southern lilt had more of a twangy tinge to it than I was used to, but I found it familiar and enjoyable all the same. Sometimes I wondered if she’d known my father. I never asked. Stirring up the past too soon would lead to disaster.

“I had to go back to school and get all my permits and funding lined up.” I sipped my coffee, singeing my tongue as the caffeine worked its way into me.

“You think you’ll find anything out there in the woods?”

The sizzle of bacon and the smell of grease and butter wafted in the air. I warmed my cool hands around the coffee cup and looked up into her thoughtful brown eyes.

“I hope so.”

“Aren’t you scared to be out there all alone? What if something gets you? You know there was this kid from the county high school that swears he’s seen Bigfoot tracks out in the woods. He makes these plaster cast things—”

The door behind me opened, and Bonnie straightened, throwing her shoulders back to maximize her curves. “Sheriff Crow.”

“Mornin’, Bonnie.” The sheriff sauntered in and dropped his hat on the counter next to me before sliding onto the stool to my left. “Mornin’, miss.”

“Hi.” I glanced into his light blue eyes. Intelligence sparkled in them, and I hated the feeling of a pink blush creeping into my cheeks.

He gave me a friendly smile. “I’m going to go ahead and hazard a guess that you’re the girl, I mean woman—” He shook his head at himself. “Sensitivity training clearly didn’t take, sorry about that—from the university looking for Choctaw artifacts?”

“That’s me.” I tucked a lock of brown hair behind my ear. “How’d you know?”

He arranged a napkin in his lap as Bonnie poured his coffee. “Everybody talks in a small place like this. A mosquito can’t sneeze on one end of town without me hearing a ‘bless you’ on the other.”

“I see.” I had the irrational fear he’d ask to see my permission papers and somehow know I’d forged Garrett Blackwood’s signature. My stomach churned, suddenly angry at my order of coffee with a side of subterfuge.

“Where you from?” He held up his hand to stop Bonnie’s steady pour of sugar into his cup. “That’s good, thanks.”

“Stewartville.”

“Up near Tupelo?”

“That’s right.” I pressed my hands against my cup so hard I feared it would break. Revealing too much about myself wasn’t an option, but lying to the sheriff wasn’t high up on my list of priorities, either.

“And getting a degree in something?”

“Ph.D. in archaeology.” I nodded.

“Makes me wish I’d gone to get some actual schooling.” He gave me a wistful look.

“And leave us here with old Sheriff Pennington?” Bonnie crossed her arms over her chest. “God forbid.”

“He wasn’t so bad.” The sheriff shrugged.

“Yeah, back when he was a younger man, he was fine. But when he got the fits those last few years.” She shuddered. “That was a mess. We were lucky you were here to carry on his duties, even though you were just a deputy.”

He grinned. “You’re just trying to flatter me into a bigger tip.”

She fought a smile and lost. “If you say so.”

He turned back to me. “Be careful out in the woods. The snakes will be hibernating, but there are other nasties out there. It’s turkey season, first of all. So there will be hunters out and about. Then wild boars that could skewer you clean through. I’ve heard about panthers from hunters here and there. Never seen one though. And don’t wear white. We don’t want someone mistaking you for a white-tail deer and taking a shot. You have a cell phone, right?” He took a drink as Bonnie put in his order.

“Yes.” I studied him as he spoke, the clean line of his jaw, the slight salt mixed into the dark pepper of his hair. He was handsome, and the allure of men in uniform wasn’t lost on me. Early forties, but still had the verve of a younger man, the same sort of twinkle in his eye and easy smile. I knew from scouring newspapers that he’d become sheriff two years prior, after the then-sheriff died.

“Good service?” He glanced to the cell phone I drew from my pocket.

“So far, but I haven’t been off the main road much.”

“It might get dicey if you get deep into the woods. Here.” He snagged a napkin and wrote down a phone number. “This is my direct line. If you get into anything you can’t handle, give me a call. If you lose service, I suggest you go back the way you came. There’s no need to take risks.”

“Are you going to Blackwood?” Bonnie slid my plate in front of me, the yellow egg yolks jiggling as the plate came to rest.

“Yes.” I didn’t want to share too much of my plans. There was no way to know who to trust. “There and a few surrounding homesteads.”

“Any spots in particular?” Bonnie took her usual spot against the counter, her eyes on the road. “Those woods are haunted, you know?”

“Bonnie.” Sheriff Crow shook his head and laughed lightly. “Nothing’s haunted. Don’t try to scare her.”

Bonnie drew her expertly arched brows together and put her hands on her hips. “Then how do you explain the screams? People all over say they hear screams in those woods at night. If you see that Garrett Blackwood, run. Understand?”

“Why?”

She crossed herself, her neon pink fingernail scratching across her starched top.

“Bonnie, you aren’t Catholic.” The sheriff quirked his lip up in amusement.

“Doesn’t matter. That man is bad news. Steer clear of him. Him and that Blackwood are cursed, if you ask me.”

I conjured the limited image of Garrett Blackwood in my mind—the wild eyes through the window and the dirty fingernails on the door. Other than our brief run-in, I knew nothing about him other than what I’d found out in my research, which was enough to place a shroud of suspicion over him.

He’d gone to my university, graduating with top marks in history and ancient cultures. I found a picture of him in the school yearbook. Deep blue eyes and dark brown hair—he smiled at someone off camera when the photo was snapped. I couldn’t reconcile that smiling face with the glimpse of the man I’d gotten at the Blackwood estate.

After graduation, he’d taught for a few years at a university in Alabama on a tenure-track position. Something happened in his sixth year, though, and he abruptly left school. Rumors were that he’d been embroiled in a scandal with a married female professor, but other than hazy rumors, I had nothing to go on. What did interest me was that he’d returned to Blackwood at around the same time as my father’s disappearance.

“What makes you think Blackwood’s cursed?” I leaned forward, desperate for more of the urban legends that might shed some light on my father’s fate. Bonnie wasn’t the first person who mentioned screams in the woods near the Blackwood Estate.

Sheriff Crow huffed out a breath. “Superstitious nonsense. Wind in the trees or some kind of animal. There aren’t any ghosts, Bonnie. And Garrett is just a quiet guy who likes his space. That’s all.”

She leveled her gaze at me. “I wouldn’t be caught in Blackwood after dark, and neither should you.”

“That’s good advice.” He arched a brow at Bonnie. “Even if we’re giving it for different reasons. The ghost talk is ridiculous, and Garrett isn’t a bad guy. You should be out of the woods by sunset because you don’t want to get lost or stay out in these temperatures. Always know where the road is. You got a compass?”

I pulled one from my pocket. “Sure do.” I had two others stowed in my backpack.

“Good. Always check it when you get out of the car.”

I wanted to tell him I could survive in the woods for days, that I’d prepared for handling anything that came my way, that my dad had taught me how to shoot, skin rabbits, read a compass, and build a fire by the time I was twelve. That I had a knife and a gun, and knew how to use both. Instead, I nodded and smiled along like he was giving me the keys to the kingdom.

“How do you even know where to look?” Bonnie still didn’t seem too keen on me exploring alone.

“The Choctaw generally preferred level spots near strong water sources, so I’ll scope those out first.”

“So along rivers and such?” Bonnie crinkled her nose.

“Right. I’m going to start surveying in those areas, see what I can see. All the history I’ve managed to dig up points to a possible Choctaw village at the southwest edge of Blackwood where the trees open up onto a grassy field.”

Sheriff Crow scratched his chin. “I think I know where you mean. It’s a flood plain, more or less. Dark dirt there, good for growing, but I’ve never really dug down. Garrett gave you permission to dig?”

My mouth went dry and I took a sip of coffee before responding. “Yes, well, he gave permission for me to survey. I won’t start digging until the spring when I’ll have undergraduates out here to help me. But, of course, I have to find something first. Some sort of clue to point me in the right direction. If I can find some arrowheads or pottery—any artifacts, really—at a few spots, then I’ll be able to start digging.” I swallowed hard. “With Mr. Blackwood’s permission, naturally.”

“Right.” He thanked Bonnie as she set his plate in front of him, the grits swimming in butter. “Like I said, if you need anything or get into any issues out there, don’t hesitate to contact me.”

Though I felt more than prepared for my task, it was comforting to know I had backup if I ran into any trouble. “Will do.”

“Eat your breakfast. I’ve interrupted you for long enough.” He gave me another smile, the wrinkles around his eyes barely making an appearance. “Bonnie might take my head off if I talk until your food gets cold.”

“You do like to talk, Sheriff.” She grinned and twirled a lock of hair around her finger, the flirtation obvious and only slightly awkward. “Good thing I don’t mind listening.”

“Bonnie,” Ty called from the back.

She rolled her eyes, then disappeared through the narrow door into the kitchen.

I sliced through my eggs and scooped them onto my toast as two men from a logging truck walked into the diner. They exchanged bleary-eyed “good mornings” and sat down at the bar. I’d only taken a few more bites when the door opened again.

A man in an ill-fitting navy suit hustled in. His collar hung loose around his neck, as if he’d lost a great deal of weight but still felt he could wear the super-size clothes. He gave me a lopsided smiled and plunked down next to Sheriff Crow. Something about his gray hair and sagging face seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

“Sheriff.”

“Mayor.” Sheriff Crow took a long pull from his cup. “You aren’t going to the winter market opening?”

Mayor. I’d seen him before in news clippings, but he’d been a much larger man. He must have dropped the weight recently. He was only forty-five but looked more like a shrunken sixty.

“Of course.” He shot a glance to the kitchen door. “Where’s Bonnie, and who do we have here?” He turned to me.

“This is Elise from the university. She’s doing the—”

“Digging. Right?” The mayor leaned backward so he could see me past the sheriff. “Out on the western side of the county?”

“Yes.” I took a bite of cheese grits. “I’m surveying out there and digging if the property owners agree.”

He drew his gray brows together. “Just don’t bother anyone. I have enough complaints to deal with around here.”

“Len.” Sheriff Crow clapped him on the back. “Come on. She may bring more visitors to the county. Money, too. What if she finds some sort of, I don’t know, village or something? Good press.”

I took a swig of my coffee to try and fight off the awkward the mayor’s words had created.

“Bonnie!” he called. “I need my regular to go.”

“Heard.” Ty’s voice floated across the pass-through, and I was beginning to suspect he was a ghost.

“Good press.” The harried mayor pinned me with his dark eyes. “I like good press. More visitors, more tourist dollars. That’s what we need.”

“I can’t promise any of that.” I shrugged. “I’m just doing research.”

He sighed and drummed his thick fingers on the countertop. “Well, keep it out on the west side of the county at least.”

I returned his stare. He wouldn’t spook me from my investigation, and I wasn’t the type to let anyone—mayor or otherwise—push me around. I took a big bite of my eggs and spoke around the mouthful. “That’s my focus.”

“Good.” He scowled.

The sizzle in the kitchen did all the talking for a while until Bonnie appeared with a to-go box.

“Got it all for you, Mayor Freeman. You going to the winter market?”

The mayor swiped the Styrofoam coffee cup from Bonnie and snagged the box of food. “Yep, and I’m late. Put it on my tab.”

“Sure thing.” She gave him a thin smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes.

He slid off his stool, gave the sheriff a nod, then headed out into the cold.

Bonnie frowned as soon as the door closed. “Old sourpuss.”

“Charming.” I nodded and bit into my toast. “Really got a way with people.”

Sheriff Crow laughed. “Go easy on Len. He’s been crabby ever since he started the Lodge. Too much work.”

I finished my eggs. “The Lodge?”

“You haven’t heard of it?” Bonnie threaded a yellow dish towel over her shoulder. “It’s a swanky retreat. I hear you can get massages there.” She leaned closer to me and cupped her hands around my ear. “It’s for men only. I hear they get happy endings there and do crazy nude dancing around bonfires.”

Sheriff Crow chuckled as my eyes widened at Bonnie’s revelations. “Not true. None of it true.” He shook his head at Bonnie. “Don’t go lying to her about it and scaring her off. It’s just a hunting club. Len’s been trying to get the governor to visit. Did you know that, Bonnie? It’s not a massage parlor or nudist colony. I’ve been a few times. Ty’s going to visit sometime soon. Right, Ty?”

“Sure, if I ever get out of this hellhole!” Something clanged in the kitchen. Ty was definitely not a ghost.

The radio attached to the sheriff’s shoulder crackled. “Sheriff, Danny is making trouble at the Quick Mart again.”

He clicked the radio. “I’m eating at Bonnie’s. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Carl says he’s screaming about the lights in the woods. Won’t stop. Scaring off customers.”

The sheriff pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bonnie, can you put mine in a to-go box for me?”

“Sure thing, hon.” She swiped up his plate.

“Viola, tell Carl to keep Danny there. I’m on my way.”

“Will do.” The radio crackled once more and fell silent.

Sheriff Crow ran a hand through his hair and plopped the hat on, snugging it down as he stood. “I guess I forgot to mention it’s not just the woods you have to watch out for around here.” He leaned over, his clean, masculine scent washing over me. “I was serious about calling me. Safety is important, especially since you aren’t from here. I want you going back to that school of yours singing the praises of country hospitality. The mayor will have my ass otherwise.”

I bit into my extra-crispy bacon. “If the food is any indication, I’ll be able to give a glowing recommendation.”

“Great.” He leaned away and took his breakfast box from Bonnie. “In that case, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

I smiled to myself. “So do I.”

CHAPTER FIVE

I  HEFTED MY PACK onto my back and slammed my trunk closed. Dirt and gravel crunched beneath my boots as I studied the small slope to my left. I’d parked on an old logging road to the west of Blackwood near the site I’d described to the sheriff. Instead of heading south toward the clearing, I consulted my map and walked into the woods toward the northeast.

I’d studied aerials and satellite data from the area and marked sites of interest—sites where I might find some trace of my father. I would hike to the Choctaw field after I checked the first spot, an area where something glinted from beneath the trees on the aerials. If I was lucky, I might find something of interest concerning my father or my dig along the way.

The wind had died down, but the chill air remained. I started off through the pine woods, the ground sloping gently. The eastern edge of the Delta wasn’t as marshy as the lands closer to the Mississippi River, though wet patches and streams were frequent. The terrain remained almost flat, only rolling slightly, as alluvial soils fanned across the gentle slope down to the river. Preparing for the terrain and the weather was half the battle. I wore layers, jeans, waterproof boots, and carried another coat in my pack.

The day had dawned bright and cloudless, and the sun helped me pick my way through the thickets and brambles. I snapped twigs and crunched pine cones as I trekked through the taciturn landscape. An hour of tramping later and I came to a wide stream, its surface placid in areas and gurgling over rock in others. I walked farther north, looking for an easy spot to cross.

Cypress trees loomed overhead, their feathery branches leaning down to the water’s surface as the ground became boggier, my boots sinking with every step. I leaned against a twisting cypress root and grabbed my canteen. The woods remained silent around me, no summertime cicadas singing in the trees and the sun too high for the frogs to serenade me.

After downing a few pulls of water, I stowed my canteen and stared down the path of the stream, looking for the easiest way across. A small outcrop about twenty feet ahead seemed like my best bet. I’d have to step through the stream to reach a dirt bank on the other side, but the water was shallower and clearer there.

A twig snapped nearby. I whirled and peered through the trees, searching for movement. After staring for a solid thirty seconds, I relaxed against the cypress, the gray moss hanging from the low limbs forming a curtain around me. Whatever animal was out there likely caught my scent and fled.

The stream crossing went smoothly, my boots keeping my feet warm and dry despite the frigid water swirling around them. Once I gained the opposite bank, I continued my trudge, checking my compass every so often to make sure I was still on track to find the spot of interest. Every so often, I thought I heard some sounds in the woods, more twigs cracking or the crunch of dead leaves. Whenever I stopped, the only sound was my breathing and the quiet gurgle of the nearby waterways.

After another hour of hopping smaller streams and picking my way through the undergrowth, my stomach began to grumble.

A clearing opened ahead of me, the brown grass absorbing the sun’s rays and storing them up for the green of spring. I recognized it from my satellite map. The shine in the woods wouldn’t be much farther ahead.

I wiped the back of my hand across my forehead where a fine sheen of sweat had grown during the journey. I’d spent hours on the treadmill getting ready for the arduous task of surveying the properties, but the actual hike—pack included—was proving more demanding than I’d thought.

The sun hit my face with full force, warming my cold cheeks as I stepped into the small clearing, about fifty yards wide. Some of the grass was matted down, a sleeping area for deer or some other animals. I walked about twenty feet away and settled in a spot where the ground was dry and solid.

My lunch consisted of a simple turkey sandwich and some chips. But food always tasted better when your senses were full of the palate-cleansing outdoors. Something about the clear air, or perhaps the cold and lonesome woods, made everything so much sweeter.

I finished my food and stowed my trash in my bag. Before leaving the clearing, I unhooked my small spade from my pack and walked a few paces away, my eyes trained on the ground. When I found a slightly mounded section of ground at the edge of the plot, I dug down, turning a few shovelfuls of dark dirt onto the dormant grass.

The smell of rich earth permeated the air, and I remembered why I loved archaeology—finding things, learning about the past, and trying to preserve whatever fleeting lessons the ghosts could teach us. I dug a layer deeper and found some particularly juicy earthworms, then changed position around the mound. I sank my spade deep, then hammered it further with my boot. Something hard clicked against the spade’s tip. Likely a rock, but maybe something else.

I pulled the spade out, moved it back a few inches, then plunged it in again and pushed on the handle, leveraging the dirt up and over. Pottery pieces crumbled on top of the pile. My body buzzed with the thrill of discovery as I zeroed in on the find.

Kneeling down, I picked up the biggest shard. Only a few inches across, it was a medium brown with scored lines across it in a repeating pattern—likely etched solely for decoration. I carefully turned it over and studied the inside. Made of clay and crushed ceramic, the piece was at least two-hundred years old. Yes.

I returned to my pack and pulled out my map. With a charcoal pencil, I marked the spot for future exploration, but frowned when I remembered that I was still inside the bounds of Blackwood property. Did I have permission for future exploration, or even current exploration? No. But I decided to let future Elise worry about that tiny snag.

After carefully stowing the artifact, I got to my feet and continued my trek. Renewed energy flowed through my limbs from my lunch and the pottery find. The trees thinned a bit as I crossed a boggy area and then climbed a small hill.

I was getting close and kept scanning the trees for any sign of something other than vegetation. Cresting the rise, I pulled out my binoculars and studied everything I could see as I spun in a circle. I stopped when an odd break in the trees caught my eye. That was it, the anomaly on the satellite image.

My breath grew short as I hurried toward the spot. My heart constricted, and I was drawn to the odd patch of woods like a hunting dog toward its quarry. Somehow, I just knew it would give a clue to my father’s disappearance.

“I wouldn’t go that way if’n I was you.”

I spun and froze. A man approached from about twenty feet behind me, his feet quiet on the pine needles as he chose his steps with care. He was tall with bushy eyebrows, an overgrown beard, and a smile that revealed crooked, yellow teeth.

“Who are you?” I reached into my pocket, palming my knife.

He spat out a stream of dark liquid and grinned, a lump in his cheek next to his gum.

“Are you following me?” Fear slid down my spine like a runnel of ice water.

“Yep.” He kept walking toward me, and I felt the urge to back away. Instead, I flicked my knife open, the blade locking into place with a quiet click inside my pocket.

“Why?”

He stopped a few feet away and looked at me with curiosity. His beard was matted, the hair reminiscent of steel wool. “You shouldn’t be out here, punkin.” He let his gaze slide down my body, then back to my eyes. “Not safe out here for a girly like you. No telling what kinda madman might take a shine to you and carry you off.”

“Is that a threat?” I held my knife with a death grip.

“Just a fact.” He spat again, the stream tangling in his beard and dripping down to his tatty t-shirt.

“I’ll be sure to be careful.”

“You do that, punkin.” He grinned again and walked past me.

I turned as he went, keeping him in front of me. “Who are you?”

“Nobody important. Nope, not important. I’ll tell you something, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I would turn around if I was you, punkin.” He disappeared behind a tree, reappeared on the other side, and continued along as if he knew exactly where he was headed. “Go back. Go back to whatever town you come from. Don’t come here ever again.”

“You can’t scare me away.” I tipped my chin up, trying to speak the lie with conviction. “I have permission from Mr. Blackwood to be on this property.”

He cackled but didn’t look back. “Mr. Blackwood, is it? He’s the one you should be afraid of the most.”

“Why?”

Another cackle, which faded as he wandered farther away. “I warned you, punkin. Don’t never say I didn’t warn you.”

I stared after him for a long while until he was completely lost from view. His cryptic warnings only strengthened my resolve to keep digging. Whatever secrets these woods held wouldn’t stay secret for long.

Keeping one eye on the direction he’d gone, I moved slowly toward my goal. There was nothing particularly different about the trees themselves, but something rested at the base of one of them just ahead. As I approached, I realized whatever it was had been covered in branches. Even so, the afternoon sun glinted off metal.

My heart sped up as I took the final steps toward the biggest clue yet. There, under the canopy of trees and covered with rotten limbs sat my father’s green El Camino.

CHAPTER SIX

BLOOD POUNDED IN MY ears as I ripped the barren limbs from the car. I yanked and pulled, not caring that the jagged pieces of wood stabbed through my gloves and scratched my hands.

When I finally pulled the last branch away, I stood back and took in deep gulps of air. The El Camino was the same mottled green—more Bondo than metal in some places—that I remembered from my childhood. Patches of rust had sprouted along the hood, and the tires had long since deflated. The car hunkered down like a corpse, all momentum lost.

The windows were dirty, and I could only make out the dimmest outlines of seats inside. With shaking hands, I gripped the driver’s side door and pulled. A harsh creak cut through the air, and the angry joint gave way. I bent over and scanned the interior as a musty smell overwhelmed my senses. Beneath the decay, I recognized the familiar whiff of vinyl.

The purple rabbit’s foot still hung from the rearview mirror despite dark brown stains on the beige vinyl telling me my dad’s luck had long since run out. I stepped back and took a breath. Even though I knew he was gone, seeing the evidence of it still hit me like a punch in the gut.

I leaned my head back and stared up through the skeletal branches, past the spotty moss, and into the blue above. “Dad.” Tears I thought I was done shedding burned in my eyes. “What happened to you?”

The empty air didn’t answer. It maintained its silence as I tried to piece together the few facts I’d learned about his disappearance. He’d spent his last moments on earth at Blackwood, but why, and who killed him? Taking a deep breath, I turned my gaze earthward. Someone had obviously gone to a good deal of trouble to cover up the car. Only time revealed its location, the branches withering until a glint of glass shone out to a satellite high overhead. Whoever drove or pulled his car into these woods probably felt safe, maybe had even forgotten about their dark deed. I’d find them, and when I did, I would see justice done.

The first person on my list was the stranger in the woods. I filed him away and continued searching the car.

Pulling out my flashlight, I scoured the interior of the car. Empty cigarette packs and some matchbooks littered the passenger floorboard. Memories of my father talking with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the ash precariously long, threatened to overwhelm me. I pushed the thoughts away and kept looking. The glove compartment had been cleaned out. I pulled the passenger seat forward and shone my flashlight along the floor. Something under the driver’s seat caught my eye. Was that hair? I leaned in and ran my hand along the floor and snagged a few strands. The thing came free with a pull.

A sob shook me when I recognized one of my favorite pony dolls. I remembered looking for it for days when I was nine years old. My mom gave up the first day, convinced I’d somehow accidentally thrown it away. I’d continued the search, even calling Dad to ask if he’d seen it.

“No, darlin’. But they say if you love something and you let it go, it’ll come back to you.”

I’d hung the phone up in frustration and eventually called off the search, opting for a different pony altogether. I smoothed the plastic hair out of the purple mare’s eyes. It was an artifact of sorts, a small piece of history from the life I’d had so long ago. After tucking it into my pack, I did another sweep of the car. The rest of the cab was empty, no spare keys or papers hiding in the visors.

I dug through the mass of leaves and pine cones in the bed, but found nothing of interest. When I was finished, I closed the doors, the squeaky thuds giving a finality that I felt in my bones. My father was dead. But the car gave no explanation as to who killed him or why.

Backing away, I searched the ground nearby, looking for any hint of a grave. I walked in concentric circles, tramping through the leaves and undergrowth as I moved farther and farther from the car. Nothing caught my eye, no obvious disturbances or tell-tale depressed ground. He wasn’t here, but I knew he couldn’t be far. I’d have to keep digging, just like I’d always done.

The trek to my car was an even slower slog, old grief weighing me down. Memories of my parents flitted through my mind like a movie reel, each image growing darker until finally eaten away by time and distance. My parents were shadows, both of them gone, yet still haunting me. My father with questions, my mother with warnings. I’d never known which one to listen to when they were alive, much less now.

I arrived at the same stream I’d crossed earlier and knelt down while peeling the gloves off my stinging hands. My palms were scratched and gouged. I leaned over, submerging them in the clear, cold water until the sting was replaced with a comfortable numbness. Once cleaned, I pulled them out, shook them off, and stuffed them in my warm pockets. I had bandaging materials in my pack, but my hands weren’t bad enough for me to stop and doctor them.

Once feeling returned to my fingers, I pulled my canteen from my pack and fished out a granola bar. As the sun melted into the horizon, the frogs started their lulling songs, all of the notes mixing to form a homogenous hum.

Since I was losing the light, I decided to wait and investigate the field near the river the next day. After gathering my strength for the push, I took off. I made it across the stream and through the boggy ground without too much trouble, then approached the logging road from the north. Coming out of the woods at twilight, I hit the road with solid, if tired, steps.

I trudged steadily south, expecting to spot my car around each curve of the road. I walked a quarter of a mile as the sun set and the forest filled with fireflies. Stopping, I pulled out my map and compass. I didn’t mark the spot where I parked, but I knew I should have seen it by now. Something was wrong. My car was gone.

Who would have taken my car? The image of the creeper from the woods walked through my mind, his filthy spit staining the ground. Foreboding darkened my thoughts, and I suddenly felt exposed out on the road. I hurried into the trees, though they didn’t offer much cover. I fished my cell from my pocket. No bars. The closest cell tower was too far on the outskirts of Browerton.

“Fuck!” I rubbed my forehead with two fingers and clenched my eyes shut. I was seven miles from the main highway, in the middle of the woods, and the temperature was quickly dropping.

Shining my flashlight onto my map, I searched in vain for a closer homestead, a forest ranger station, even a hunting shack. Nothing. The closest spot of civilization was the home at Blackwood, only two miles away through mostly flat terrain.

I could either set up camp with what I had in my pack or try for the house. Getting inside was already on my list of priorities, though Garrett Blackwood had been less than welcoming when I’d met him. Did I really meet him? I still wasn’t sure. Those eyes from the window may have been the same hue as the ones from the university photo I saw, but the resemblance ended there. Whereas the man in the photo smiled, giving off the effervescence of youth, the man in the window looked nothing short of haunted.

The decision came down to roughing it in the woods or risking it with the man in the house. A bitter wind kicked up in the darkness, and the promise of a long, cold night ahead made the decision for me. I turned toward the southeast and set out. Only ten minutes or so had passed when I heard a bloodcurdling scream tear through the trees.

CHAPTER SEVEN

STUMBLING ACROSS A SET of tangled roots, I pressed my palm against the closest tree trunk to steady myself. The scream had sounded once more after the first peal, only to be silenced halfway through, as if a hand had clapped over the woman’s mouth.

The moon rose high and bright, shining its crescent light down through the trees and glinting off the small creeks and streams I crossed. Each step took me closer to the house and the screams that had chilled my blood. I reached into my pocket, my knife comforting against my palm.

I kept walking, determined to rescue whomever needed saving. Jumping a small stream, I heard a huff, like a hard exhale, ahead of me. The hackles on the back of my neck rose as my heart kicked into high gear. I froze and searched the darkness.

Far in the distance, a light burned through the trees. The house. It had to be. Salvation or damnation. Either way, I was focused on getting there.

I took another step, and the sharp exhale sounded again. I pulled my knife from my pocket and held it out in front of me. Dead leaves crunched ahead and to the right. The noise grew closer as I held my ground. My knife hand started to shake as twigs snapped.

A shadow darted through the trees, small and scampering. Then another headed right for me. I crouched, bending my knees and getting ready to spring forward with my blade. The shadow moved quickly, and I held my breath as it approached.

A tiny boar dashed past me and bent its head at the small stream at my back. Another one barreled out of the night and joined its sibling for a drink. Their coarse black hair, striped with a lighter brown, shone in the moonlight and their stubby tails flicked and wagged. I sighed with relief.

Dropping my arm to my side, I stood up straight. “You two scared the shit out of me.” My breath puffed in front of my face.

They happily ignored me and kept slurping at the stream, one of them squealing lightly. They seemed cute in a creepy, middle-of-the-night sort of way. Or maybe they weren’t cute at all, and I was just relieved to find harmless piglets instead of a bear or the rumored panthers. I was too tired to give it much thought, and I kept trudging forward, still seeking the sounds of the screams.

Throwing them one last glance, I continued toward the beckoning light through the trees. Garrett Blackwood had left a light on, or maybe he was sitting in a room along this side of the house. Or maybe he’s in the woods dismembering the screamer’s body. I shivered and kept my knife in my free hand.

I made it a dozen steps before the huff sounded again, louder this time, and followed by a low grunt. Leaves crunched as the animal approached. The noises alone told me I was dealing with a much larger boar than the two piglets. I edged to the closest tree and leaned into it, seeking some form of cover. It was barely wider than I was, but I would have to cross into open moonlight to make it to a bigger tree about twenty feet away.

Peeking around the pine, I saw the boar emerge from a nearby thicket. Though I didn’t see any tusks, it had to weigh at least two-hundred pounds, maybe more. It lumbered through the undergrowth with heavy grunts.

The boar snorted along the roots of a tree, then raised its head and began to move toward the piglets. I edged around the tree, trying to keep my steps quiet as I hugged the bark and circled. The boar kept coming and passed in front of me, its steps steady as it approached the stream.

My lungs burned and I took a calming breath. Another dense thicket rose to my left. If I could get closer to it, it would serve as something of a hedge and hide me from the boar.

I eased out from behind the tree and chose careful steps as the massive beast drank along with the piglets. The tangled brambles ahead promised safety, and there were only a few more feet left to go before I’d be out of sight.

That’s when I heard another boar snort close behind me. Whirling, I found a dark blur charging me through the moonlight, a ghostly shine on its upturned tusks.

I darted to the left as the animal careened past and into the thicket behind me. Breaking into a run, I tore down the slight slope toward the light in the woods. Hooves pounded the ground behind me, at least two of the monsters giving chase as I tried to manage the dark forest. I didn’t dare glance around, just kept my hellish pace and tried to avoid roots and branches.

The cold air burned my lungs, and sapling limbs slapped against my body and face as I crashed through the woods. I kept hoping the boars would lose interest, maybe turn back to take care of the smaller pigs. Instead, the snorts and grunts behind me kept up even as my strength waned, the long day and the cold air weighing me down and slowing my pace.

I slid the straps of my pack off my shoulders and let it fall. The lighter load urged me faster, and I chanced a glance behind me. Only one animal remained, the other sniffing the pack I left behind. Jumping a small stream, I hit the ground and veered to the right around another bramble thicket. I couldn’t see the light any longer, but I knew I was still headed toward it and the mirage of salvation.

I’d almost cleared the tangle of vines when a burning pain ripped across my calf, the boar’s teeth sinking into me. I stumbled and fell, stings and pain erupting along my face and hands as the thicket’s thorns drew blood. I screamed and turned. My knife dropped away, lost in the dark maze of criss-crossing agony. The boar’s breath formed a puff of steam as it advanced, no longer in a hurry. It was as if it knew I was snared, and all it had to do was wait. The thorns snagged all along my coat and in my hair. It would take time to rip myself free, but I had none.

I kicked out with my good leg, but missed its wide snout. It surveyed me with black eyes, then lunged forward, spearing my bloodied calf with its tusk again. Another scream ripped from my lungs as I brought my heel down on the side of its head. It squealed and backed away, but quickly came again. The blood must have drawn it to my injured leg, because it went for it and latched on with a strong bite.

Screaming and kicking, I fought as pain overwhelmed my senses and mixed with terror. It yanked, dragging me from the thicket. Being out in the open was somehow worse than being trapped in a wall of thorns.

I landed another kick right on its eye, and it let go with a snort. Caught between the thicket and the boar, I had nowhere to go. Not that I could walk. My leg wound was too extensive. Tears threatened as the second boar approached, its nose in the air as it scented my blood. I felt around behind me, trying to find my knife and ignoring the thorns that ripped my already injured palms. It was my only chance.

The boar with the tusks regrouped and lunged forward again, seeking my injured leg. I kicked, but it grabbed my right foot in its mouth and clamped down around my boot. The second boar, emboldened, ran up behind its mate, grunting and snorting its interest.

I balled my hands into fists, leaned forward, and swung at the monstrous black snout. I connected, but the beast didn’t let go. Instead, it shook me so hard I thought it might pull my leg from its socket.

A scream bubbled from my throat as its teeth punctured my boot and dug into my heel. The other boar circled around toward my left.

I would die out here.

The realization of death didn’t come like a sucker punch; it came as a cold finality. It was almost calming to know with certainty that the end is imminent and utterly unavoidable. I felt the cold air in my lungs, the roaring pain radiating from my leg, the tickle of hoarseness in my throat—everything all at once, my last bits of life. Was my father’s ghost here, watching me die in the same woods where he perished?

The second boar snorted with agitation as it advanced, skirting the thicket and hemming me in. It surveyed me with black, shiny eyes. This was it. I readied my fists for the final assault.

The boar at my foot yanked viciously as the one to my left charged.

A shot cracked through the frozen air. The boar to my left stumbled and dropped, its forward momentum from the charge sending it skidding into my side. It shuddered and stared up at me with one black eye.

Another shot echoed through the trees and the boar at my feet released its hold and backed up a few steps. It turned and started to run, moving like a drunk through the trees. Another shot, and it dropped to the ground with a thud and didn’t move.

I scooted away from the dying boar and cried out from the searing pain in my leg. The woods swam, the trees no longer straight but becoming wavelengths transmitting my horror. Leaves crunched nearby, and a dark shape approached as I struggled to breathe and keep my eyes open.

He knelt down and peered at me as words came out of his mouth. I didn’t understand him, though I caught a “fuck” here and there. I couldn’t concentrate, so I stared into his eyes. They were familiar, even in the dark. A steely blue. Like water beneath a stormy sky. My vision fuzzed black at the corners, and then I fell deep into that churning water, a storm raging above me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

F IRE BORED THROUGH MY calf, each lick of flame hotter than the last. I came to on a scream.

“Great.” The same deep voice from the woods.

I tried to rub my eyes, but I couldn’t move my hands. The burn intensified as I struggled.

“Stop moving!” A large palm gripped my thigh, skin to skin.

Blinking hard, I took a look around. I was in a room, the décor dated. A fan twirled above me, and two wide windows showed me nothing except a reflection of the interior. It was still dark outside.

The man from the woods bent over my leg, and a flash of searing heat shot through me again. I struggled, but he’d tied me to the bed.

“Let me go!” I yanked at the rope, but it didn’t give, only dug into my wrists.

“I said for you to stop fucking moving.” His voice remained calm, cold.

I couldn’t make out much other than dark brown hair and a plaid shirt over broad shoulders. He didn’t meet my gaze, keeping his face turned toward my calf. He’d rescued me from the boars only to tie me to his bed? Fear churned in my stomach, and I turned my head to the side, afraid I was going to be sick.

He let out a heavy sigh, and his tone gentled the slightest bit. “Stay still. I’m trying to sew you up.”

“It hurts.” Tears welled and rolled down my temples. The fear and agony of the woods painted my thoughts a murky color, and I couldn’t seem to think clearly.

“I can either sew it up or let you bleed out.” He rose to his full height and peered down at me, his eyes so familiar yet so changed from the college photo. He had a short, dark beard and hair that almost brushed his shoulders. Wild. “I’ve cleaned your wounds as best I can. The nearest hospital is an hour away. It was risk you dying to drive you there or this. I chose to keep you alive, though I don’t have a clue why. So don’t fucking move, and I’ll finish what I started.”

I withered under his fierce gaze as the deep ache in my leg seemed to thump along with my heartbeat. “I don’t know if I can be still.”

“You have to be.” He bent over, his hair forming a dark curtain between us.

I pulled on my bindings again. “Untie me.”

He turned and slammed his fist into the sturdy wooden bed post, his anger swift and surprising. “If you hadn’t been on my land illegally, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I heard screaming. I wanted to help her.” The room began to expand and contract with my breaths. Why didn’t the plaster crack? “She’s in the woods. A woman in pain.”

“There was no screaming.” He turned to me again, his eyes barely showing through his waves of dark hair. “I would apologize about this, but I’m not sorry.”

“About wha—” My question turned into a wail as more agony than I thought possible cascaded up my leg, silenced my heart, and drowned my mind in a sea of terror.

Silence.

Birds. Where did all the birds come from? I cracked my eyes open and stared at the lazy turn of the dusty ceiling fan. Each blade passed by slowly, whispering something to the air right next to it, though I couldn’t make out the secrets.

My body ached, my leg sending waves of discomfort along with the steady beat of my heart. The shadows of the prior night danced and skittered across my mind—the woods, the boars, and Garrett Blackwood.

I turned my head to look out the sunny windows.

The cold woods gave off an innocuous air in the morning light, the oranges and golds trying to lull me into a false sense of security. But I remembered the screams. Something was wrong in those trees, and it wasn’t just my father’s death. Whatever claimed his life seemed to be intent on collecting others as well.

I tried to sit up, but the throbbing in my leg advised against it. Instead, I raised up on an elbow and gave my body a once over. I still wore my bra, tank top, and underwear. My pants and other layers had been stripped from me. I rested on top of the covers, my body exposed, my turquoise panties on full display. Embarrassment was overtaken by curiosity as I studied Garrett Blackwood’s handiwork. My left leg was carefully bandaged with white gauze, and my right foot had patches of gauze covering the spots where the boar’s teeth had punctured my skin.

Wincing at the memory, I lay back down and finished my inventory. My hands bore a patchwork of adhesive bandages, and my muscles groaned as I repositioned myself in the bed. I would recover, though I worried about the extensive work he’d done on my left leg. I grabbed my right wrist and felt the slight sting left from the rope. What kind of man ties up an injured person? The rope was gone; he’d cleared away any evidence of my bondage, though the red marks on my wrists left me unsettled.

A board creaked in the hall, and I grabbed a handful of the quilt beneath me and flipped it over my body. Closing my eyes, I feigned sleep.

The door opened, and the air in the room changed, became fuller—charged with the heartbeat and movements of another person.

“I know you’re awake.” The bed sank near my feet.

“Garrett Blackwood?” I opened my eyes and stared at the man who stared right back. His cold eyes told me nothing, not even whether he was friend or foe.

“Why were you on my land?” His scruffy beard spread across his gaunt cheekbones, down his throat, and tickled his Adam’s apple with its dark curls.

“I heard screams. You didn’t hear them?”

“I sure did.” He narrowed his eyes. “Turned out it was some idiot trespassing girl who couldn’t take care of herself.”

“No.” I struggled to sit up, ignoring the fire in my calf. “Before that. I heard her.”

“You didn’t hear anything except your own imagination. And look where that got you.” He extended his long index finger, pointing at my leg.

I shifted farther up the bed, but groaned at the fresh wave of hell that rocketed along my nerve endings.

He scratched his jaw, the sound bristly and rough. “Do I need to tie you up again, Red?”

I stopped moving and glared at him. “My professor will come looking for me. There are others, too. The sheriff—”

“Has already stopped by early this morning after I called him.” He smirked. “He brought your clothes and personal things from the hotel where you’ve been staying.”

“What?”

He pointed to the dresser where my overnight case sat. “He came in here to check on you and everything.”

Color raced into my cheeks, and I swallowed hard. “But I wasn’t wearing any pants.”

His smirk grew bigger, and he let his gaze slide down my body, his eyes lingering on the quilted patch covering my panties. “No, I suppose you weren’t.”

“I have to get out of here.” I scanned the room for my clothes.

He stood and put his hands on his narrow hips, the sun peeking through the triangles created on either side of his body and exaggerating his V-shape. “Not until your leg heals up.”

Now that I’d finally found a clue to my father’s death, I couldn’t waste another moment. “No, I have to go—”

“Let’s get one thing clear.” He stepped closer and glowered down at me. “I don’t want you here. I want nothing to do with you or whatever it is you’re digging for. That’s why I refused to sign your papers.” His glower turned even darker, like a menacing thundercloud. “Remember that?”

My forgery hadn’t exactly been the best move, but it had led to a major discovery about my father. I wouldn’t regret it, no matter what sort of trouble it led to. I stiffened my spine as best I could. “I remember.”

“But you trespassed anyway. I should have you arrested.” He ran a hand through his dark hair and backed away a step. “Instead, Sheriff Crow wants you to recover here in the lap of luxury—” A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. “So word doesn’t get out that you didn’t enjoy your time in our fair county. Especially not that you got attacked and almost killed under his watch.” He hung his head, his chin touching his chest and his dark hair catching the light. “Fuck me, this sucks.”

“You can’t keep me here,” I said with far more bravado than I felt. “I refuse to be held prisoner by a psycho in need of a shower and shave.”

He laughed, this time the sound rich and sultry. It reverberated inside my chest. Something about it reminded me of the forest, the way the sunrise warmed it but couldn’t quite reach its dark heart.

“You don’t like my beard?” He sat next to me, much closer this time.

My pulse ratcheted up, and I took in a quick breath.

“Well?” He grinned and took my wrist.

I tried to pull it away, but his grip was like an iron shackle. He eased the back of my hand down his cheek. “Not so bad, is it?”

It wasn’t. Not exactly soft, it felt thick and masculine. Rich. “What are you doing?” I leaned back until I pressed up against the headboard.

He moved closer, his woodsy scent a mix of smoke and soap. Maybe he didn’t need a shower after all. I didn’t turn away, not even when his lips were only inches from mine.

“I just wanted to see.” His eyes flickered to my lips.

“You’re about to see what a vicious head butt looks like.” My rapid pulse infected my voice, making it quaver.

“Yeah?” He squeezed my wrist harder. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fuck you.” I stared into his eyes, searching the stormy irises for some way to solve the enigma of Garrett Blackwood.

He smirked again, just the slightest quirk of his lips, then leaned back and released my wrist. The air cooled between us, and goose bumps rose along my bare arms.

“I won’t stay here,” I said as he stood.

“Wrong.” He shook his head slowly, as if he were disappointed in a small child. “You’ll stay right there until I say you can leave.”

“I’ll be gone long before then.” I tested my leg, trying to move it to show him I could do it. The scorching pain brought tears to my eyes. I bit them back and stilled. Fuck. “And where’s my car? Did you take it?”

“Your car?” He scratched his beard and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, you aren’t going anywhere.”

“This is bullshit!” If I could have pummeled something, I would have. “Give me my phone.”

“Not a chance. And don’t kid yourself, Red. As soon as I can kick your ass out, I will.” He turned and walked to the door, eating up the dark wood floor with his long strides.

I glared at his retreating back and stifled a litany of curses. They wouldn’t do any good. “My name is Elise.”

“I’m aware of that, Red.” He shot an amused look over his shoulder as he walked out the door. “I’ll make your breakfast and bring it to you, but just so you know”—His voice floated back to me over the creaking floorboards— “I can’t cook for shit.”

CHAPTER NINE

GARRETT HAD BEEN HONEST about his lack of culinary prowess. I struggled through a breakfast of dry eggs and toast. Garrett disappeared while I ate and only showed back up after I’d been finished for half an hour.

“I have to pee.” I glanced to a door I suspected led to a bathroom.

He bent over and picked up my tray, then set it on the wide dresser. “I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

“What, you never pee?” I fought the awkward, but it began to overwhelm me.

“Sure, but I can do it all by myself unlike certain nosy little girls.” His smirk was back.

“A: I’m a grown woman, not a little girl.” My voice rose, irritation winning out over fear. “B: go fuck yourself. C: if you would let me go, you wouldn’t have this problem.”

“You forgot D.”

I blinked, not sure if he was being forward or obtuse. “D?”

“You really need a D.” He gripped my quilt and yanked it away.

“Hey!” I reached for it, but my leg flared. I leaned back and took a deep breath, fighting away a wave of nausea.

“Can you walk?”

I scowled at him. “Does it look like it?”

“Pete owes me for this.” He leaned over and, with a surprising gentleness, slid one arm under my back and the other under my thighs.

“Who’s Pete?”

“Sheriff Crow.” He lifted me easily and moved toward the bathroom.

I clutched his shirt as my body adjusted to the change, my blood flowing at different speeds, the nerves in my leg alerting me to the damage in new, torturous ways. “I might be sick.”

“God, does he owe me.” He stopped and held me as I clenched my eyes shut and tried to fight away the nausea. “Just breathe. Breathe through it. In… out. Come on, match yours to mine.”

His chest expanded slowly, and I followed, taking a deep breath and letting it out along with him. He stood there, just holding me and breathing for a few moments until I nodded.

I glanced up at him and was surprised to find concern warring with his irritation. “Thank you. I’m better.”

“Welcome.” The word was grudging, as if unwanted on his tongue. “Let’s do this.” He moved slowly, gingerly carrying me through the door and into a small en suite. “I have some of the good shit in my room. Should have already thought of that.” He frowned. “Anyway, once your stomach settles down—probably at lunch—I’ll bring you some pills, all right?”

“Okay.” I didn’t know what he meant by “good shit,” but I would take anything if it would dull my aches.

He lowered me onto the toilet. I held onto his arms, then let go once I felt sure I wasn’t going to topple over.

“Your panties.” He stared at the turquoise fabric along my hip.

“What?” I cocked my head at him.

“Do you need help taking your panties off?” He said it as if it was no big deal to strip a complete stranger.

“No.” I shook my head hard enough to bring back the nausea. “I can do that. Just some privacy, please.”

“Sure.” He backed up, ran into the claw-foot soaking tub, then cleared his throat and left, closing the door behind him.

He’d been kind. Still gruff and unreadable, but kind all the same. I hadn’t expected that. During my research, I’d looked into everyone connected with Blackwood. Of everyone, Garrett was the hardest to figure. His mother had died when he was ten, his dad when Garrett was twenty-four.

The parents had a tidy history. Both of them had grown up in the county and married early, Mr. Blackwood rich and Mrs. Blackwood beautiful. They started a family later in life, their first child born when Mrs. Blackwood was forty years old. Other than being a member of the Blackwood family, they had no connection to my father that I could find, especially considering they were already dead when he went missing.

Their three children were far more interesting. Lillian, Garrett, and Hart had been the pride of the county. Lillian had won every pageant she’d ever entered, Garrett was praised as the scholar of the family, and Hart was a loveable kid. I’d pored over stories about them from the local newspaper, trying to glean any clues I could. How did they know my father, and what part did they play in his death?

Though the puzzle pieces were scattered, some of them faded by time, I still had a good idea of how the completed image would look. Somehow I knew that right in the very center, Lillian Blackwood would be staring out at me with bright green eyes and a mischievous smile.

I spent the rest of the morning in bed. Every time I worked up the nerve to try and swing my legs over the side of the bed, the pain stopped me.

All I could do was watch the fan turn or study the two faded portraits on the walls. The room wasn’t unpleasant, though it needed a good dusting. The light green wallpaper, high ceilings, and dark floors had all the makings of a nice guest room, one that someone had taken time to decorate. I was certain that someone wasn’t Garrett Blackwood.

Though the house showed its age in spots of cracked plaster and faded curtains, it still felt alive. Why was it that some old houses became dry and dead, the roof falling in and the walls crumbling, while others maintained a heartbeat?

The house’s age turned out to be an ally, because the floorboards in the hallway creaked without fail. I had been staring out at the sunny day when the sound alerted me to Garrett’s approach.

“Got your lunch.” He carried a wide plate piled with more food than I could eat in two sittings. Country fried steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans—all of it hot and setting my taste buds dancing.

“Who made that?” I arched an eyebrow and wriggled up in the bed.

He placed the tray across my thighs. His nails were dark again, his fingers tinged gray and black at the tips. “I did.”

“Really?”

“No.” He smirked. “Bonnie dropped by when she heard about you laid up in here. Gave me the evil eye.” He backed away, then dug in his pocket. “Before I forget, here’s the pain pills.” He leaned over and dropped two white, powdery tablets on the edge of the tray. “Eat some first. Those will hit you hard if you don’t.”

“She didn’t come up to see me?” My closest friend was three hours away scouting dig sites in Tennessee. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to. Someone other than Garrett. But I was heartened by the news that others knew I was here. Maybe Garrett didn’t intend to dismember me after all.

“Ty would lay into her if she missed the lunch rush.”

“Rush?” I grabbed my knife and fork. “I’ve never seen more than four people in the diner at a time.”

“Right. The rush.” He deadpanned and crossed his arms over his chest.

I laughed despite myself.

Something softened around his eyes, and I realized what a handsome man he was. The beard and the hair couldn’t hide the man underneath, the one with sharp eyes and a sinful mouth. I forced myself to look away. There was no room for thoughts like that, especially when I wasn’t sure if Garrett could be trusted. I glanced to the marks on my wrists. Definitely can’t be trusted.

I began cutting my steak. “Thanks for the food.”

“Don’t get used to it. You’ll be back on my cooking tonight.” His softness left as quickly as it had come.

“Hey, did you ask the sheriff about my car?”

“No, I figure he’ll drop by here soon and you can lay all your concerns on him. Your car, your phone, my beard, all that.” He turned to leave. “Take the pills. I’ll check your bandages when I come back for the tray.” He strode out and closed the door.

I stuffed a spare pillow behind my back and settled into the bed. Getting well enough to continue my investigation was the most important thing. I ate as much of my lunch as I could stomach, then popped the pills.

The afternoon floated away, and I was only vaguely aware of Garrett cleaning and replacing the gauze along my leg and foot.

Whenever I drifted to sleep, my dad was there. Sometimes it was a replay of a memory—him waving at me at my high school graduation, him snugging on his Braves hat as he watched a game, him kissing my mom on the mouth after he’d been drinking and showed up at the house uninvited. Sometimes, I found him sitting in his rusted-out car in the woods, smoking a cigarette and watching as I walked around and inspected the damage.

No matter what sort of dream he appeared to me in, two things were always the same—his shirt was drenched in blood, and he had a smile on his face.

CHAPTER TEN

I T TOOK TWO DAYS before I could go to the bathroom without Garrett’s help, then another two days before I could take a bath with my leg draped over the tub. By that time, I couldn’t even bear to sniff my pits, and I found a new admiration for Garrett. He’d been attending to me dutifully and hadn’t commented on my desperate need for a bath.

I sighed as I lay back and rested my head on the edge of the tub, the warm water swirling around me.

Garrett had remained distant, only warming to me in rare moments of wry humor. They were so brief and dry that I sometimes wasn’t sure if he was joking or just saying something to shut me up. Any time I’d felt like I gained ground with him, he’d leave abruptly and not return until it was time for one of his terrible meals or one of Bonnie’s delicious ones.

I didn’t know how long I’d been soaking before I heard the familiar creak.

“Garrett?”

Assuming he wouldn’t show up until mealtime, I’d left the door to the bathroom open. The bath was just water, no bubbles to hide my nude form, though I don’t know why I was shy. He’d perused my body plenty as he changed my bandages and carried me to the bathroom. His fingers lingered on my skin longer each time, his hold on me tighter.

“Elise?” A man’s voice.

I sat up straighter in the water and cursed myself for not laying my towel closer. “Who’s there?”

“Sheriff Crow.”

I relaxed against the porcelain. “Hi. I’m in the tub.”

“Oh.” The creaking stopped. “Sorry about that.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m happy to see you.” I stared at the door. “Not that I can see you…”

He laughed. “I know what you mean. How are you recovering? I been meaning to come by sooner, but there was a hunting accident a couple days ago I had to look into. Took up too much of my time. Len—I mean, Mayor Freeman—chewed my ass when he heard I hadn’t made it out here yet.”

“I’m doing better. But I’d like to have my cell phone.”

He coughed. “I’ve been in touch with your professor already. He’s glad you’re okay. There wasn’t any other family to notify. He said you didn’t speak about your dad and your mother passed—”

“Great, but I want my phone.” Frustration seeped into my voice. What else had Professor Stallings told the sheriff? Irritation and petulance mixed as I considered how helpless I was under the Blackwood roof. “I want my phone. It’s mine.”

He sighed. “I’ll talk to Garrett. I believe he has it. I’m sorry about that, Elise. It’s just that I knew you were in good hands, and I didn’t want anyone thinking less of my county. Len figured you didn’t need the distraction—”

“No one expects you to control wild boars. And what I choose as a distraction is my business, not Mayor Freeman’s. And you didn’t have to leave me here with…with him.”

Another creak—he was moving closer. “He hasn’t done anything, has he?”

I shook my head even though the sheriff couldn’t see me. “No.” Had I thought about Garrett doing something to me? Something I might like? Yes. I chalked it up to the meds and my year-long dry spell. “But you don’t have the right to take my phone. And the mayor doesn’t have the right to cut off my communication just because he’s afraid of bad press.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Damn. Yeah, you’re right. I got carried away. Len’s like Chicken Little, and I didn’t think it through. I’ll make sure Garrett gives your phone back to you. Okay?”

“Yes. And someone took my car.” I stared at the silver faucet, a slow drip plopping into the clear water at a steady pace.

“Your car?”

“Yeah. My car was gone when I walked out of the woods that day.”

His shoes scuffed along the wood floors, as if he were turning in a circle. “I don’t know anything about that. Gone? Where did you leave it?”

“There’s a logging road. I think on the county map it’s marked with an L-8. I was parked about seven miles off the main highway.”

“Huh.” More scuffing sounds. “Sounds like a theft. Maybe some kids came along and jacked it for a joy ride.”

My memory fired. “Oh, there was a guy! In the woods! He had like, long hair, a scraggly beard, crooked teeth. Tall and sort of, I don’t know… He looked like he could use a good meal.”

“Danny. Had to be.”

Another fizzle of memory. “Danny, the crazy one?”

“How’d you know that?”

“I heard it on your radio at the diner that morning. Someone called in and said he was yelling about lights in the woods.”

“That’s him all right. I never took him for a car thief, though.”

“Maybe he didn’t steal it, but he could have seen who did. I don’t know, but he was there with me. Seems important.”

He was silent for a beat. “It’s odd. I have to admit. I’ll definitely look into it.”

“Thanks.”

“Very welcome. Well, I have to get back to it. I just wanted to stop by since I got a breather from the accident investigation.”

“What happened?” I adjusted my leg upward and moaned at the relief from the blood rushing away from it and back toward my heart.

“You all right in there?”

I pressed my fingers against my forehead. Oh my god. “Yeah, fine. Thanks.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, we aren’t quite sure what happened. One man shot dead with a high-powered hunting rifle. Damnedest thing. A local hunter found him still alive, but bleeding out. Couldn’t even talk to him before he died.”

Glancing to my leg, I realized how lucky I was. “Poor guy. Someone you knew?”

“No, that’s the part that’s got us standing here holding our di—err—I mean, scratching our heads. Not from here. No one recognizes him, not even the property owner.”

“I hope you figure it out.”

“You and me both. And after what happened to you, I’m trying to decide if I should get some guys together and go on a wild boar hunt.”

I swished the water back and forth with my palms. “I’ve been eating the hell out of the sausage and bacon that Bonnie sends as payback.”

He laughed, the sound rolling through the usual stillness of the house. “I like you. I’m glad you’re going to be sticking around. Still planning on doing your surveying and digging?”

“Definitely. As soon as I can walk well enough, I’ll be back out there.” I was too close to pack up and go home. Asking him about my father’s car was on the tip of my tongue, but my mother’s warning echoed in my mind: Don’t trust any of them. Not a one. I stayed silent.

He sighed. “Just try to be more careful this time.”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

“I can assure you I’ll worry. It’s my job. I’ll try and get back by here to see you in a few days. Keep resting up.”

I wouldn’t ask about my dad’s car, but the screams were fresh. Maybe Sheriff Crow could help out with the new mystery. “Sheriff?”

“Yeah?”

I shifted in the water. “The night I was in the woods, I heard something. I heard…screams.”

“Huh.” The shuffling noise resumed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. That’s why I came onto the Blackwood property.” A white lie never hurt anyone. “I was looking for the source of the screams.”

“You find anything?”

“No.” I rested my chin on the edge of the tub and stared at the empty doorway. “Just the boars. Or I guess they found me.”

“It could have been an animal. They say panthers and such have screams that sound human. Other animals, too, maybe bobcats. No one else lives out here, you know? And I haven’t had any reports of missing persons. But I’ll take a look, all the same.”

I knew with unflinching certainty it wasn’t an animal. Maybe it was a good thing Sheriff Crow didn’t seem overly concerned. What were the chances something violent would happen in the same woods so close to where my father died? If they were related in any way, I wanted to be the one to discover the link.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. And please make sure I get my phone.”

“Sure thing. I’ll talk to Garrett on my way out. I gotta get going, but you keep resting up.”

“I will. See you later.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His footsteps receded.

If no one was missing, where did the mystery scream come from? I watched the steady drip of the faucet, trying to hypnotize myself into discovering the answer. The water eventually cooled, and I still hadn’t figured it out. But I would, one way or another.

“Why are your nails black sometimes?” I took a bite of the most disgusting chicken salad sandwich I’d ever tasted.

“Sheriff Crow comes to visit and all of a sudden you’re chatty?” Garrett leaned against my doorframe and watched as I struggled to eat the “mayo with a side of chicken” sandwich.

“I’ve always been chatty. Now it shows because the drugs have worn off and I’m not in agonizing pain.” I put the sandwich down and focused on the potato chips instead. “You’re the non-chatty one.”

He tossed my phone onto the bed. “Maybe that’s for a reason, Red.”

“What reason?” I picked it up and swiped across the screen. No service. Shit.

“I told you when you got here that I wanted you out.” He sighed. “That hasn’t changed.”

I dropped the phone with a grimace and picked at my sandwich. “Okay. And I told you that I can’t wait to leave, so we’re on the same page. Why would those facts keep you from telling me why your fingernails are covered in filth sometimes?”

“It’s not filth.” He shook his head. “While you’re lying around eating my delicious food all day without lifting a finger, I’m working.”

“On what?” In all the research I’d done, I never found Garrett to have any real source of income other than timber and oil royalties on the Blackwood property.

“Why do you care?” He crossed his arms over his chest, the rolled up sleeves of his shirt revealing some dark ink snaking across his skin.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Why does it matter?”

I crunched the salty chips. “It wouldn’t matter if you weren’t so stubborn about not wanting to tell me. Now I have to know.”

“You’re calling me stubborn?” He arched a dark eyebrow.

“I see your hearing is working fine.” I plucked out another chip.

His lip twitched, a smile trying to form but failing. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know you can’t cook for shit.” I ticked off my fingers as I went. “You avoid me if possible. You have a secret pastime that turns your nails black. You are secretly kind. And you desperately need a haircut.”

“That’s all?”

“And a shave.” I drew my legs up under the blankets, happy to be able to move them without searing pain.

“Want to know what I know about you?” He walked in and sat on the spot my feet had just vacated.

“Sure.”

“You forged my signature on permission documents. You trespassed on my land. You almost got killed by wild boars.” His smirk began to surface. “You are eternally grateful to me for saving your life. And you have some major daddy issues.”

I stopped mid-chew. “What?”

“That’s right.” He snagged a chip from my plate and ate it. “You talk in your sleep. Most of the time it’s nonsense, but every so often you say ‘dad’.”

“You watched me sleep?”

He glanced away. “Sometimes when you were on the pills, you’d be sleeping when I came in with food.”

I didn’t buy his excuse, but I was more worried that I said something to give myself away. “So what kind of daddy issues do you suspect?” I tried to keep my tone playful.

“I’m not sure, but there’s something about the way you say his name.” He pinned me with an inscrutable look. “It seems like you’re sad. Like…”

My appetite dried up. “What? Like what?”

“It’s like you’re lost and you’re desperately trying to find him. Like if you could only get to him, everything would be okay.” He shrugged. “It makes me hope you find him. That’s why I never wake you up.”

I studied the strong line of his jaw, the messy locks of hair, and looked deeper. The man underneath wasn’t so easily discerned. For the first time since I’d shown up on his doorstep, I finally saw Garrett Blackwood.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“WHAT’S GOING ON?” I leaned against the doorframe and tried not to sound as exhausted as I felt.

Garrett didn’t turn around. “If you were trying to surprise me, maybe you shouldn’t have come down the stairs sounding like a wounded elephant.”

I stared at the library. Books lined the walls and only stopped for a window or a door. The turret along the front of the house spiraled up in the corner and let in plenty of light despite the encroaching trees.

“I’m proud of myself enough for the both of us.” My left leg had healed to the point it could bear my weight without too much pain. The bone was fine, but the skin itched and stretched where the stitches ran along my calf. I only hoped the scars wouldn’t be too noticeable.

“Color me completely unsurprised.” He sat at a wide work desk and looked through a lighted magnifying glass.

I hobbled into the room and rested on the arm of a threadbare sofa. This part of the house seemed fresher, more well-used than my dusty guest room. “What are you doing?”

He took a deep breath and leaned back. “I was working.”

“On what?” I took a few more steps until I stood behind him.

He waved his hands at the desk. An antique book lay open in front of him. The page on the left had crisp black ink on parchment. The right hand side was faded, the letters almost indistinguishable. Small pots of ink dotted the desk, and a wide selection of quills and fountain pens sat in a coffee cup to the side. A couple of books, their bindings frayed and worn, were stacked on the edge, as if waiting for their turn under the magnifying glass.

“This is why your fingers are black.” Ink.

“Give the lady a prize.” He glanced up at me. “What did you suspect?”

“I had two theories, really.”

“Yeah?”

“Mechanic or casual murderer who likes to dig the graves by hand.”

He laughed and shook his head, his shaggy hair giving off a clean shampoo scent. “Both excellent guesses.”

Something about his laughter sent my heart into a quicker rhythm. “So, you restore books?”

He nodded. “Collectors send me their treasures, and I get them back into good shape.”

“Seems really, um, tedious.” I scooted around him and sat on the edge of the desk. My leg needed a break.

“It is, but I enjoy it.” He leaned back and stared up at me, his face reverting to the usual look of serious disdain.

“You must have a lot of patience.”

He smirked and gave me a pointed look. “So it would seem.”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

His gaze traveled down my body, and I wondered for the hundredth time what he was thinking. I wore a college t-shirt and shorts. Nothing fancy, but the way he looked at me made me feel as if I were wearing nothing more than skimpy lingerie.

I followed the line of his throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple, the chest hair that disappeared into his shirt. His beard had grown on me, and I’d often found myself wondering what it would feel like against my skin. I chalked it up to cabin fever. Other than a few heated looks—looks that turned my blood into lava—he’d expressed nothing but irritation over my presence.

“How did you learn how to restore books?”

He met my eyes again, his pupils wide and dark. “You aren’t the only one with an education around here.”

I played dumb. “You went to school?”

“Yes. I have two degrees in history, and my dad always had a thing for old books.”

“So he taught you?”

He nodded, but kept his gaze locked with mine. “It was just a hobby for him. Something he did as a favor for book collectors or my mom.”

“Your mom?”

“This is her library. The books over there”—He pointed to a row near the back—“were her restored section. She had several first editions, and Dad spent years restoring a handful of them.”

For once, he seemed eager to talk. His parents were a fond memory for him, something that thawed his usually icy demeanor.

“What was her favorite?” I wanted to keep him engaged, his words alive.

He glanced to the bookcase and smiled. Actually smiled. He was handsome as a shaggy hermit, but when he smiled, he became irresistible. My heart cartwheeled, and I had the sensation of dropping down the first steep slope of a rollercoaster.

“Mom always had a thing for Alice in Wonderland. Dad found a beat up first edition. It took months, but he tightened the binding, freshened the ink, and then gave it to her on their thirtieth wedding anniversary.” His smile faltered. “That was the last time we were all together.”

“Your family?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back, his mood darkening by the second.

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?” I kept trying even though the moment was lost.

“I need to get back to this.” He pulled the magnifying glass closer. “The collector expects it done within the month.”

I angled for more. “If you have a graduate degree in history, why don’t you teach?”

“I did.”

“Why’d you stop?”

He sighed. “How much longer do you think you’ll be here?”

All the warmth from only a moment before was gone. I swept away the stab of hurt. He’d been clear from day one that he didn’t want me here. Our brief conversation didn’t change that fact. Though a part of me wished it would, wished he would open up to me enough so that I could figure out if he could be trusted.

“A few more days, tops.” I needed more time to search the house, and my leg, though improved, wasn’t in hiking shape.

His cool smirk returned. “Now that you’ve shown me how very independent you are, tell me how you intend to get back up the stairs.”

I effected a nonchalant air. “I was going to look around down here for a minute. You know, start getting my pack ready for when I’m able to get back out there.”

“You want to snoop.” His hint of amusement encouraged me.

“Just look around. Exercise my leg.”

“Knock yourself out.” He bent forward and peered through the glass.

“Really?”

He didn’t respond, just plucked a fountain pen from the cup and began tracing the outline of antiquated lettering.

“Okay, I’ll just see you later then.” I pushed off the desk, and it shifted slightly.

He groaned and yanked his hand away from the book.

“Sorry.”

“Just go.” He tucked his hair behind his ear and leaned closer to the page. “And if you fall down the cellar stairs, don’t expect a rescue anytime soon.”

“Got it.” I walked out of the library, my limp abating the more I stretched my leg. Heading across the foyer, I entered a small sitting room.

The furniture seemed dainty, and the fine layer of dust covering everything told me this room hadn’t seen much use. A fireplace presided over one wall, the hearth a wide expanse of dark brick. I walked to it and studied the images set along the mantle.

The family matriarch and patriarch took the middle spot in a large photo. Mrs. Blackwood, her hair long and dark, smiled down at me as Mr. Blackwood looked over at her. His jaw cut the same sharp line as Garrett’s, and his love for Mrs. Blackwood still shone as brightly as it did when the picture was taken.

Another photo to the left showed the three children. Lillian wore a floral summer dress and dazzled with a bright smile. Garrett quirked one side of lips up, as if he were in on a private joke. His dark hair was a stark contrast against the white of the house. Hart wasn’t looking at the camera, his eyes focused behind the photographer, maybe on something in the woods. The three of them were a mix of their parents’ beauty, though Garrett looked the most like his father.

I reached up and ran my fingers along his face. Only a dark hint of a shadow hid his cheeks, which seemed fuller, his eyes brighter. How long ago had it been taken? Hart looked to be about fifteen at most, so it had to be five years old at minimum. When the photographer clicked his button, my father was still alive.

Moving down the row, there were more photos, some of them graduation pictures, others candid shots of the siblings. I’d hoped to catch a glimpse of my dad, his eyes twinkling and his face scruffy. He wasn’t there.

I limped around the rest of the room and walked into the foyer. Garrett had closed the doors to the library, but I could sense him in there, bent over his work. I moved to the next set of open doors and found a living room with a flat-screen TV and some comfortable leather furniture. Books littered the side tables, and a laptop sat in a chair. I plopped down on the couch and pulled the computer into my lap. Garrett said for me to knock myself out. I grinned.

The computer wasn’t password protected, and I was on the web in seconds. Irritation percolated inside me when I realized I could have had a fully functioning phone via Wi-Fi over the past couple of days. Asshole.

I accessed my university email and ran through the few messages I’d received from friends and professors. Dr. Stallings had written me, demanding I call him as soon as possible. Maybe it was a good thing my cell wasn’t working. After flipping through the national news, I cleared my history and closed out of the browser.

My leg had enjoyed the break, but it was time to get moving. Pushing myself off the couch, I stretched for a moment then took off into the hall that ran along the side of the stairs. I peered into a dining room, the long table dusty and the chandelier dull. Heavy drapes covered the windows, and the dark mahogany walls sucked up what little light shot through the frilled curtain edges.

I kept exploring until I turned right into a large kitchen. Dated appliances and cabinets lined the walls, but they seemed to have been top of the line in their day. A wide butcher’s block took up the center of the room, pots and pans hanging above it on a silver rack. The white fridge had some basics—eggs, milk, butter, and lunch meat. I had an inkling that these items were placed there by Bonnie, especially given Garrett’s lackluster cooking abilities. Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were the height of his cuisine. The small pantry had a decent stock of boxed items and a few canned goods.

Slipping back into the hallway, I opened the door under the stairs. Simple wooden steps disappeared into the dark cellar. I felt along the wall for a light switch, but found none. Falling down the gloomy stairs didn’t seem like a good idea, so I closed the door and made a note to investigate once my leg had improved. A backdoor gave a view of the sunny yard, a rusted-out swing set grown over with weeds, and some sort of a gardener’s shed falling to pieces along the tree line. The woods were slowly reclaiming the property. How long before the house melted into the forest right along with its occupant?

Only one door remained. I turned the handle, and a rusty squeak informed me that the door hadn’t been opened in quite some time. Pushing inside, I found a woman’s bedroom. The bed, perfectly made, was covered in even thicker dust than the other rooms in the house.

Along one wall, a pile of trophies sat broken and upended next to a shelf. It looked as if someone had raked them all off with an angry sweep of their arm. I ventured farther inside, inspecting the rose bedspread, then the brushes, makeup, and knickknacks on top of the dresser. Lillian’s room, it had to be.

I’d researched her life. It was such an odd task—cataloging someone else’s achievements, failures, joys, and sorrows. She received a degree in theater from LSU, then worked for a TV station in Columbus. After that, she moved to Los Angeles. She was a ten in Millbrook County, Mississippi, but California had a different scale. I’d read a story in the local paper touting the beauty queen’s homecoming. Her Hollywood misadventure didn’t dim her in the eyes of the community. She returned and took over the local newspaper—her reporting ranging from crop failures to debutante balls.

I knelt and stared at the pile of discarded trophies. Several “Miss Millbrook” and “Miss Mississippi Queen” wins lay bent and broken, the golden angels atop them facing the floor—the fall of Lucifer in miniature. What happened here, and more importantly, why was it left this way?

Rising, I surveyed the rest of the room. Some of the decorations were girlish leftovers from Lillian’s childhood, while others, like the half-used birth control compact, were artifacts from her adult life. I crossed the daisy-shaped rug and flicked on the light to her closet. I stepped inside, the space shallow with clothes hanging on either side. Shelves lined the top with sweaters, jeans, and bags stacked in neat rows.

I ran my hands along the clothes, the empty hangers clicking against each other. Spreading them apart, I hoped to find a false back, a hidden treasure, anything that could point to my father. Nothing. The other side was similarly bare. I spun and leaned against the back wall.

Peering up at the clothes on the shelves, I spied a shoe box resting behind a high stack of sweaters. I had to stand on my tiptoes, my stitches burning, but I managed to snag it and pull it down. I hobbled out of the closet and sank on her bed, sending a plume of dust into the air. The specks floated in the rays of sun, an endless fall of particles painted orange. I flipped the lid off the box, and my breath caught in my lungs.

On the very top of a stack of papers, sat my dad’s Braves cap.

CHAPTER TWELVE

T  HE LIGHT HAD LONG since faded as I sat on the bottom step and contemplated how I’d get back up to my room. I needed to process everything I’d found in the shoebox. Putting my father’s hat back inside and replacing the box in the top of the closet was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. But I couldn’t keep it, not without the risk of Garrett knowing. The very fact that it was here in his house meant I couldn’t trust Garrett.

Don’t trust any of them. My mom’s vague warning, delivered on one of her last breaths, didn’t give me much to go on, but I wasn’t going to disregard it. She and Dad had a bright, burning relationship when I’d been conceived. The fire had died down to angry hissing embers by the time I was born.

Mom raised me on her own, with only occasional visits from my father. He provided—the child support paid every month like clockwork—but he was a rolling stone. His visits were infrequent yet all-consuming. I was a daddy’s girl, always desperate to hear his stories of travel and adventure as Mom sighed and shook her head.

“I fell for the same song and dance, so I can’t say I’m surprised.” Her chiding voice in my head was more comforting than anything else. I missed her. Every day, I thought about her. She had been the only reason I hadn’t investigated Dad’s disappearance.

Between her doctor’s appointments, treatments, and my studies, I couldn’t spend time on a father that hadn’t deigned to show up for years. Even so, my gut told me something happened to him. Something bad. Her dying warnings reinforced the feeling. She’d kept me away from Millbrook County, away from anything connected to my father’s disappearance, for a reason. I didn’t know what it was until after she died. That’s when I found my father’s final message in her cell phone.

“Something is wrong here. I can’t trust anyone. Don’t come looking for me. I love you and Elise.”

The message had been delivered two years prior, and Mom had never shown it to me. She knew I’d dig.

I slipped my hand into my pocket and ran my index finger along the small memory card I’d found under my father’s worn cap. Maybe it was nothing, but its placement on the top of the stack hinted at importance. Getting a look at it became imperative, but I’d have to wait until Garrett was out of the way.

“You get your fill of snooping?” His stark voice made me jump.

“I didn’t see you there.” I peered through the gloom to find him leaning in the doorway to the library. I’d been so lost in my thoughts I hadn’t heard him. How long had he been there?

“That’s because you’re sitting in the dark.”

“Good point.” I tried to get to my feet, but my exploring and the shock of seeing my father’s hat seemed to have drained me. I faltered and gripped the banister.

“Let me guess.” He sighed. “You need help getting up the stairs.”

“No.” I refused to accept anything from him, especially not when he was sighing about it. “I just need a few more minutes.”

“Sure you do.” His face was in shadow, but I could feel the smirk turning up the left side of his mouth.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

He stood straight and walked across the foyer, a few rays of moonlight striping across him as he approached.

I glared up at him. “I said I got it.”

“I think we’ve already cleared up that I don’t have a hearing problem.” He leaned down and easily scooped me into his arms.

“You can’t just manhandle me.” My mind said to tell him to fuck off, but my body relaxed against his, welcoming the warm feel of his chest.

“You think this is manhandling?” He shook his head, his unruly hair escaping from behind his ears.

“Yes, and if you take the stairs two at a time, I’ll lose my shit like Scarlett in Gone With the Wind.”

He laughed, the sound throaty. “One at a time, then.”

We ascended slowly, his steps even and constant. He turned left at the top of the stairs.

“Is your room the other way?”

“Yes. Why, do you want to go to my room?” He arched a brow and stared down at me.

My heart did a weird stutter step. “I was just curious.”

“My door’s locked. So it should go without saying that my room is off limits.”

“Why? You got some hookers tied up in there?”

He grinned. “Not at the moment.”

I canted my head and studied his face. Joking. He was joking. Surely.

The overhead light in my room brightened his features as he carried me to my bed. The longer I stayed here, the more handsome he became. Was this how Stockholm syndrome started?

He set me on the bed and backed away.

I caught his eye. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Here we go.” He crossed his arms over his wide chest. More ink peeked from his sleeves, and I wondered what he had tattooed on his upper arms. “I knew I should have left you sitting at the bottom of the stairs, staring off all dreamy.”

I wrinkled my nose. “How long were you watching me?”

He shrugged. “Was that your question?”

“No.” I scooted back in the bed and rested against the headboard. He catalogued every movement, his gaze darting down my body. “Why do you stay here by yourself?”

“Because I like it.” He turned to the door. “Glad we had this chat.”

“Wait!”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Listen, I know a few things about you.” I needed to sprinkle the truth with some lies. “I looked you up on your laptop earlier. You were fired from your teaching position.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his back flexing. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“You didn’t figure all that out, detective?” The bitterness in his voice cut, and his use of the word “detective” had me worried he knew more about me than he let on.

“No. That’s why I’m asking. So, why?”

He stayed silent for a while, then turned back to me. “Because I’m a bad man who does bad things.” His gaze flickered down my body again, lingering on my breasts and then lower. When he licked his lips, heat burst in my cheeks and a tingle rippled across my thighs.

“You don’t seem so bad to me.”

His eyes darkened, as if he didn’t appreciate what I’d said. “You don’t know me.”

“I think I know enough.”

He smiled, but it was cold. “Do you?”

I crossed my arms over my chest as goose bumps raced across my skin. “You’ve been taking care of me. You’ve been kind.”

He walked back to the bed and sat next to me, our hips touching. “I’ve been kind because I’ve had to be. Pete gave very clear instructions on how you were to be treated.”

I swallowed hard as his steely blue eyes bored into me. “Would you have treated me differently if it weren’t for Pete?”

“Yes.” No hesitation.

“How?” My blood raged through my veins.

He leaned closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “I would have hurt you.”

Why did his words shoot through me like a hit of a euphoric drug? “Why?”

“I’ve seen you looking at me.” He brought a hand to my cheek, his touch soft. “I know what you think about. I’ve heard you in here at night when you think I’m asleep.”

My cheeks burned red. He heard that? I feigned nonchalance. “So?”

“So.” He slid his hand down to my neck. “You said you saw where I left my teaching job.”

“You were fired.” I tried to lean back—his eyes were too intense—but his grip tightened at my throat.

“But you don’t know why?” He stroked my neck with his thumb and rested his other hand on my knee.

I wrapped my hands around his wrists. “No.”

He massaged his long fingers along my thigh while keeping my neck in his large palm. Control. He had every bit of it.

“I had an affair with the dean’s wife. But that wasn’t what led to my dismissal.” He smoothed his hand up my thigh and under the hem of my shorts. He leaned closer, his warm breath tickling my ear.

My grip on his wrists faltered; I couldn’t decide if I was afraid or turned on. Maybe a bit of both, and wasn’t that all kinds of fucked up? When his fingertips brushed my panties, I jolted.

“Are you wet, Red?” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, and I shivered.

“Don’t.” The quaver in my voice gave me away. I wanted him to touch me, wanted it more than I should have.

He laughed, low and sinister. He pushed my panties to the side and ran his fingers along my wet flesh. “You are.”

I whimpered and closed my eyes.

“Fuck.” He bit my ear, and I grabbed his shoulders.

Desire overwhelmed me and drowned out any logic. I wanted him, his wildness, and his veiled passion. If only for this single moment, maybe I could feel something other than loneliness and the burning need to know the truth.

When he pressed a finger inside me, I moaned. I tried to press my thighs together, but his palm kept enough room between them so he could ease farther inside me. God, it felt good.

“So wet and tight.” His voice was a growl as he fastened his lips right below my ear.

Heat seethed inside me, and when he squeezed my throat, I moaned.

“You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?” His voice shook, anger coating the words as he added another finger and slowly stroked me. “Couldn’t leave me alone.”

I forced my breathy voice past his palm. “I just wanted to know—”

“Some things are better left in the dark, Red.”

“No.” I didn’t believe that. “It’s better to know.”

“You want to know why I was fired and ordered to stay off all campus property?” He nipped at my jaw.

Every nerve ending in my body focused on his touch, but I had to hear the truth. “Yes, tell me what happened.”

“Fucking the dean’s wife wouldn’t have been such a problem. But things didn’t go so well when he walked in on me raping her.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

RAPE? MY BLOOD TURNED to ice, and I struggled to escape Garrett’s harsh grip. He was bigger, stronger, and I was still weak from the boar attack.

“Let me go.” I dug my nails into his wrists.

He kept his grip on my neck, but pulled his fingers from between my legs. Licking them clean, he kept his eyes locked on mine as my heart banged against my ribs. He groaned as his tongue snaked along his fingers, and I fought down the heat his erotic show created inside me. He’d said rape. I couldn’t trust him. Had to get away.

“You’re a rapist.” I wrapped both my hands around his forearm, but he still kept a solid grip on my throat.

“No. I’ve never taken a woman against her will.”

My mind spun. “But you just said—”

“I know what I said.” He finally released me, but didn’t rise, just sat and held my gaze.

I swallowed, my skin missing the heat from his palm.

“This.” He glanced to my throat. “Is just a sample, Red. My appetites would disgust you. Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes they disgust me, but I can’t escape them.”

I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. “Like what?”

“Haven’t you seen enough to know you should leave me alone?” He clasped his hands in his lap. “And get out of here as soon as you can?”

“I need an explanation.” I’d never been able to let anything go. My career and the burning need to know what happened to my father weren’t choices. They were part of my makeup. Mysteries were meant to be solved, truths brought to light. “Did you rape the dean’s wife?”

He shook his head. “No, but it certainly looked that way.” His expression soured. “And she preferred me leaving under a cloud of suspicion to giving up her position as the dean’s wife.”

“What happened?”

He stared at me, worry wrinkling the skin around his eyes, then rose and walked to the door. “I’ve fucked up enough people. You don’t deserve it.”

For reasons I didn’t understand, I ached for him. He seemed so lonely, lost. Maybe even lonelier than I was. “You can talk to me.”

“It would ruin you, and I don’t want that.”

“I’m not some virgin in an antebellum flick.” I cocked my head at him. “You can’t ruin me, Garrett.”

He growled with frustration and slammed his palm against the doorframe. “Don’t you get it? I’m the wolf. That day you showed up on my front porch in your red coat, if you’d known the thoughts I’d had, the things I’d wanted to do to you—you would never have come back here.” His muscles were drawn taut, as if he were straining to remain still.

I swallowed hard. “I’m a grown woman, not a child in a red cloak. You’re a grown man, not a wolf. I’m not afraid of you.” Was that true? “Why can’t you just talk to me?”

“Because if I did, then you would be afraid of me. And for once, I don’t want that. You being here is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt…” He sighed, as if the word he was searching for was floating just out of his reach. “Not so alone. I know you can’t stay. I won’t let you for a million different reasons. But what we have right now is the most I’ve had since—” He stopped himself and turned to face me again, his eyes sad. “Look, I just don’t want to ruin it.”

“How is you telling me about your past ruining it?” I absentmindedly ran my fingertips along my ear where his lips had been, the sparks gone but the memory still singeing my skin.

His tone was almost pleading. “Don’t push me, because if you do”—His expressive eyes pinned me with a look so hot I tensed—“I’ll take you somewhere you’ve never been, and I doubt you’ll enjoy it. Not a girl like you.”

“Garrett, please…”

He closed his eyes at my words, as if my begging was a delicious treat. “I said no. Don’t bring this up again.”

Before I could resume my entreaty, he stormed out of the room and slammed the door behind him. His steps retreated down the hall, and I heard another door slam.

I sat in shell-shocked silence and tried to digest everything he’d said, every emotion that had flitted across my mind. Something twisted lurked beneath his dark exterior. I should have been scared. Instead, I found myself more worried over the fact that every harsh word he uttered seemed to speak to a secret part of myself. One that wanted to revel in his darkness and sample every bitter promise in his words.

Over the next few days, Garrett only visited to drop off my meals. No small talk or flirtation, just a quick hello and a heavenly meal from Bonnie or a hellish one he’d made. Two weeks after the boar attack, he sat at the end of my bed and removed my stitches with painstaking precision. My left leg sat in his lap, my right behind his back. I tried to ignore the buzz his hands on my legs created.

Instead of imagining his hands roving higher, I focused on my new plan to survey his property. If he still wouldn’t give me permission, I’d decided I was going to do it anyway. He could call the sheriff on me all he wanted. I had a feeling, based on Sheriff Crow’s dislike of bad publicity, that all I’d get was a slap on the wrist for my trespassing ways.

“Ow!” I tried to keep still.

“Sorry. That one was probably the worst.” He pulled the thin wire from my skin and discarded it in a shallow dish on the bed. “I only have a few more to go.”

I fisted the blanket as he snipped another one and then another. By the time he was done, I’d left ugly wrinkles in the flowery quilt.

“All done.” He smoothed his hand over my calf. “Almost as good as new.”

I stretched my leg slowly and smiled when I realized the tight pulling sensation was gone. “Feels so much better.”

“I guess you’ll be taking off soon, then.” He rested his hand on my knee.

“Yes. Lots of surveying to do.” And finding my father.

He arched a brow at me. “On Blackwood property?”

“Well, I do have a signed permission form and all.” I smiled.

“I thought you might say that.” He sighed. “What happens when you run into another wild boar?”

“I’ll shoot it.”

“With what gun? I’ve been through your pack.”

“Shit.” Sheriff Crow hadn’t gotten back to me about my car, which happened to have a gun in the glove box, and Garrett had a point. I frowned. “Don’t go through my stuff.”

“I figured it was only fair since you did that walkabout downstairs.” He gripped my knee tighter and pegged me with a knowing look. “And I know you’ve been trying to get into my room while I’m working in the library.”

How did he know? “I was just, um…”

“Right.” He placed my foot flat on the bed and stood. “So I think I’m entitled to check your pack. You need more water, obviously, and a weapon.” The top few buttons of his shirt were open, the dark hair showing through.

“I had a knife.”

“Yeah, a lot of good that did you.”

“I’ll pick up something else in town.” I shrugged and inspected his worn jeans, appreciating the way they sat on his lean hips. Even the way he stood seemed masculine somehow.

“You don’t have to. I have a .45 you can borrow.”

“Really?” That would speed along my surveying. One less thing to worry about.

“Yeah, just don’t lose it. I’ll get it out of the safe once you’re ready to go back out there.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shifted from one foot to another, clearly uncomfortable with my gratitude.

“I think tomorrow I can do a little walking.”

“Not yet.” He furrowed his brow. “You aren’t recovered enough.”

“I won’t go far.” I grinned. “And what’s this newfound love of my company?”

He scowled. “Get over yourself. I just don’t want you getting hurt worse and then spending yet another two weeks here.”

“Neither do I.” I wrinkled my nose. “I’d probably die of starvation from your cooking.”

His smirk appeared, and my heart warmed at our not-so-friendly banter.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He turned to leave, then paused, as if unsure. “Red?”

“Yeah?” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and tested my calf.

“I just…”

I stared at his back. “Yeah?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. I’ll see you at dinner.” He strode away, his steps thundering down the stairs.

I spent the rest of the day walking around the house and feeling pleased with my leg’s recovery. It was weaker, but having the stitches removed made every movement easier. Pausing in front of Garrett’s door, I stared at it, wondering what he kept inside. I wasn’t much of a lock pick, especially given that the door had an antique handle that took an actual key.

Jiggling the handle, I found it locked yet again and sighed. This time, though, I noticed light through the keyhole. His room faced west, the afternoon sun pouring through. If the light could get out, maybe I could see in.

I stopped and held my breath, listening for Garrett. Nothing moved in the house. I imagined him locked in his library, bent over a book, his dark locks tucked behind his ears as he concentrated on each precise stroke of ink. Kneeling, I hunched forward and looked through the keyhole. The light blinded me, so I had to sit back.

“Shit,” I whispered to myself and decided to sit and wait until the sun’s angle was bearable. Every moment risked me being discovered, but I would hear Garrett coming. I listened intently and waited for the light to fade. After what felt like an eternity, the glare died enough for me to peek through. My eye adjusted after a short moment, and I got a glimpse of a large bed, the wide window, and something hanging on the wall. I squinted and leaned forward, my forehead pressing into the door handle. What was that?

Angling to the side, I got a better view of the wall. Rope. He had various coils of rope hanging on some sort of rack. I couldn’t see the rest of it, just the edge. I sat back on my haunches. What the fuck?

A knocking sound had me on my feet and trudging back to my room at a fast clip. If he caught me, I wasn’t sure what he’d do, but I had an idea based on what he kept handy in his bedroom. The thought of being tied to his bed sent a thrill through me when I should be disgusted or scared. What is wrong with you?

The fleshy knock grew louder as I passed the stairs. I paused. The sound was familiar—someone was knocking at the front door. I hurried down the stairs, my left leg aching in protest. With no Garrett in sight, I got on my tiptoes and peered out of the peephole.

“Fuck.” I plopped back down on my heels.

“I know she’s in there. Open up!” Dr. Stallings pounded on the heavy door, but it only rattled a little.

The library door stood open, and I didn’t see any hint of Garrett. After a calming breath, I turned the bolt on the door and pulled it open.

Dr. Stallings rushed in and took me in his arms, picking me up in a dramatic fashion.

“What happened? Are you okay? The sheriff wasn’t giving me any information. I was worried sick. Did they hurt you?” He rattled off the questions, then pressed hot kisses to my neck.

I cringed and pushed him back. “I’m fine. Promise. They’ve been taking good care of me.”

He lowered me to my feet and looked around the foyer. “They kept you locked up in this ghastly house?”

I frowned. The house had grown on me over the past couple of weeks. But, I followed his gaze to the tatty rug and dusty chandelier, I could see his point. “I’ve been recovering here. It made sense. The boar attack happened nearby.”

“Who’s here with you?”

“The property owner. He’s around somewhere.”

“Has he touched you?” He ran a possessive hand through my hair.

“What? No. He’s the one who saved me in the woods and stitched me up.” I pointed to my leg.

He knelt and ran his hands over the healing wounds. “You poor thing.” When his lips met my skin, I had to fight the impulse to knee him in the face.

His clean-shaven jaw brushed against my skin as he dropped kisses up to my knee and then higher. I took a step back. “I’m okay. I promise.”

He rose to his feet. “I think you should come back with me.”

“No.” I responded more vehemently than I intended.

His look of concern turned to a glower, and he took a step toward me. “I think this has been too much for you. You can always get back to the survey during summer term.”

“But I’m so close.” I forced myself to move closer to him. “My leg is nearly healed, and I’ve already found a promising dig site.” Running my hands down the front of his wool coat, I stared up into his eyes and tried to look beguiling.

He grabbed my waist and pressed me to him, his cock hardening against my stomach. “Maybe come back for just a week, so the two of us can get caught up.”

I let him kiss me, his mouth clumsy and demanding. Closing my eyes, I imagined it was Garrett’s skillful tongue pressing inside me, his hands roving my ass. Instead of Dr. Stallings’ smooth skin, it was Garrett’s rough beard against me.

Someone cleared their throat. Dr. Stallings released me and backed away. I wiped his saliva off my lips with the back of my hand.

“Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” Garrett’s glacial tone sent prickles along my skin.

“I’m Elise’s professor.” He puffed out his chest. “I’ve come to check up on her.”

“I saw how you were checking up.” Garrett walked up beside me, his jaw set in a furious line. “Teaching methods have certainly changed since I was a student.”

“I, ah, that’s none of your business.” He tried to stare down his nose at Garrett, but Dr. Stallings was a good three inches shorter, so it didn’t quite work.

“In my house, everything’s my business.” Garrett put his hand at the small of my back, his touch sending warmth licking along my skin.

Professor Stallings eyed Garrett’s arm as it snaked behind me. “Elise, you’re coming back with me.”

“I’m not finished. I only got one site scouted before the accident. I need more time.”

He shook his head, mock sadness drawing his mouth down in a frown. “I’m afraid it’s just too dangerous for you to be out here alone. I can’t promise funding for such a perilous expedition.”

My heart sank.

“You threaten her funding to keep her in line?” Garrett laughed. “That’s your power play?”

“I’ve done no such thing.” Dr. Stallings narrowed his eyes. “She was almost killed trying to survey this area. I think it only makes sense for her to wait until the summer when she can survey in safety.”

“And, let me guess, you intend to accompany her in the summer?”

“I’ll be free to help then, yes.”

“Help, huh?” Garrett tsked. “I hope you don’t intend to kiss her the same as you did a minute ago. Watching that shit was painful. So I can’t even imagine what a bumbling fool you’d be when trying to find her clit.”

Dr. Stallings’ face turned an angry shade of red as I wished for the floorboards to open up and swallow me.

I needed to defuse the situation. “Everyone just calm down, okay? We’re all adults here. No need for ugliness.”

Garrett scowled at Professor Stallings, and I could almost feel the vicious take down building in his lungs.

I edged closer to him. “Garrett, please.”

His fingers dug into my waist as he pulled me into his side. “Don’t say that.” His voice hissed through his teeth.

“Elise, come with me.” Dr. Stallings held his hand out toward me. “We can have that dinner and discuss your future like we should have done before you left. The land will still be here in the summer. I’ll come with you and help you get it all done. As your faculty advisor, I need you to trust me.”

“Fuck off with that shit.” Garrett scoffed. “This is what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave this house. Elise is going to stay here. I’ve given her, and only her, permission to survey my lands. If you try to cut her funding, I’ll write a lengthy letter to my old friend Dean Bascomb about you and the way you treat your female students.”

The color drained from Dr. Stallings’ face, and he dropped his proffered hand. “You know Dean Bascomb?”

“I studied under him for six years. He directed my master’s thesis. I attended his youngest daughter’s wedding a few years ago. Trust me when I say that he’ll take my word very seriously.”

Dr. Stallings cut his gaze to me. “Come with me. It’s not safe here.”

Garrett made an irritated “pfft” noise. “It’s plenty safe. I’ve already offered her full use of my house and lands for her survey. And I’ll be accompanying her on her travels. So there is no need whatsoever for any of your teaching methods.” The acid in his tone could have melted lead.

I gaped at Garrett as he pulled lies out of the air faster than I could take a breath.

“Elise?” Dr. Stallings, beaten but still clinging to me like a sad puppy, gave me a pitiful stare.

“I’ll be back in a few months.” I wanted to feel bad about the verbal stomping he’d just taken, but I didn’t. Instead, I had to fight my smile.

“If her funding goes away, I’ll pay Dr. Bascomb a visit. Don’t test me, asshole.” Garrett motioned toward the front door. “You know the way out.”

“Elise—”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Garrett’s harsh bark made me jump. Dr. Stallings too. He moved to the door and swung it wide before stepping out into the cold.

He turned and caught my eye. “You have my number if you need m—”

Garrett slammed the door in his face. “What a twat.”

I turned to him. “I could have handled him.”

“Yeah?” He gripped my shoulders and pushed me back against the door. “I saw your way of handling him.”

I glared up into his fierce eyes. “Don’t you dare judge me.” I shrugged, but he pushed harder, keeping me in place. “Get off.”

“You should thank me for tossing his worthless ass.” His gaze flicked to my lips, and my breath caught in my throat.

I laced my words with venom. “I’m not going to thank you for meddling in my life. I need the funding to get this done. I would have had Dr. Stallings out of here in no time. Everything was under control.”

“Under control?” He slid his palms down my arms, a sinister glint in his eye. “You let him touch you. Kiss you?” His voice vibrated with rage.

I wasn’t afraid. “Fuck off. You don’t have any say in how I live my life! You want me out of here, remember? You better back off before you ruin me, remember?” I tried to shove him away.

He didn’t move, every muscle in his body tensed into a wall of anger. “Stop.”

“Or what? Are you going to give me another sullen stare?” I wasn’t sure why I wanted to unleash the beast I suspected lived inside him, but there was no stopping me. “Maybe ignore me some more? Maybe—”

He gripped my hair and yanked my head back. Garrett’s kiss blasted away every moment of Dr. Stallings’ unwanted touches. His kiss was rough, possessive. Everything in me delighted in his dominance. But fighting back was in my nature. I captured his bottom lip and bit down until warm blood trickled from the wound. Instead of backing away, he growled and pressed his mouth tight to mine. His tongue brought the taste of copper, and he turned my head to the side, giving him all the access he wanted. My breath was gone, and the anger leached away, leaving white hot desire in its place.

He grabbed my ass and squeezed until I whimpered. The sound seemed to feed him. He gripped me harder, his tongue warring with mine as he pressed me into the unforgiving door. When I felt his thick cock against my stomach, my knees threatened to buckle. I dug my nails into his sides as he took everything he wanted, his body owning mine as he kissed me with more passion than I’d ever experienced.

Not content with feeling my ass through my shorts, he ran his hand under the fabric, beneath my panties, and kneaded me. His palm covered one cheek, and he squeezed hard enough to leave bruises. He finally came up for air, my lips throbbing from his rough treatment. When he fastened his teeth to my neck, I bucked. He pressed his fingers down the slope of my ass and rubbed my entrance from the back. I tried to curl away from his touch, but I was trapped.

“Wet. Fuck.” He pressed his finger inside me, and I gasped as he bit down on my throat almost hard enough to break the skin.

“Garrett.” My voice was a breathy squeal as he pulsed his finger in and out of me. His beard tickled my skin as his teeth sent a ring of fire spiraling down to my pussy where it tightened like a lasso.

He ground his erection against me, and I could barely believe this was really happening. Releasing my hair, he yanked my top up and fastened his lips around one of my hard nipples through the fabric of my bra.

“Oh my God.” I ran my hands through his hair and arched my back as he sucked and continued to plunge his finger inside me.

“I need to taste you.”

My mind screamed in agreement. “Garret, please.”

He groaned and dropped to his knees, then ripped my shorts and panties down to my calves. He stared at my pussy and licked his lips. “Beg me.”

“Please.”

He leaned closer and inhaled. “Fuck. Beg more. Tell me what you want.”

I was losing my mind, every logic center shutting down and every pleasure center lighting up like a Christmas tree. I didn’t know him, not really; he didn’t know me. None of that mattered. This was lust, pure and undiluted.

His breath ghosted across my hot skin. “Beg me.” His raspy voice set off a tidal wave of need inside me.

“Lick me. Make me come. Please.” My breathy plea sent him over the edge, because he pressed his mouth to my clit and moaned as his tongue sank between my folds.

I jerked as he dug his thumbs into my thighs and spread them just enough so he could wrap his mouth around my pussy.

My head bumped against the door as I jolted. The sting was quickly smothered by the pleasure Garrett’s tongue pulled from my sensitive clit. Relentless. Any finesses he may have had was gone, and in its place was a ravenous man. He kept my thighs pinned against the door as his mouth ravaged my pussy.

The wet noises should have embarrassed me. Instead, I gasped at the ferocity of his tongue and whimpered when he sucked my tight nub. I tried to grind against his mouth, but he growled and pressed his thumbs into me even harder. He took every ounce of control, working me with his tongue as I moaned and shook.

Spreading one palm against my thigh, he slid his other hand up my leg. He sank two fingers inside me, the intrusion so sudden I cried out. Instead of pulling out and easing in, he twisted his fingers around and pushed deeper.

My hips tensed as he began working his fingers against the one spot that promised an unforgettable orgasm.

I gripped his hair, the strands sifting between my fingers as I held on. When he bit down on my clit, I exploded. My breath rushed out of me on a moan as my pussy tightened and waves of delicious release broke against me. I shook as the euphoria dragged me down like a fierce undertow. I rode the release, and he licked more and more pleasure from me as I remained pinned against the door. He kept kissing and sucking as the waves began to quiet, my body finally giving up its hold on his fingers.

He nipped at my clit, and I clutched his hair.

Soft laughter rolled from him as he stood. “You like that, Red?” He met my eyes and licked his wet lips.

My knees wobbled, and I wasn’t sure if I would have been standing if it weren’t for the door at my back. “I, uh…” I was incapable of molding any thoughts into words. Nothing coherent, anyway.

His satisfaction slowly drained away as he glanced at my neck, at the marks that surely reddened my skin. “Shit.” He bent over and yanked my shorts and panties back into place. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m okay.” I squeaked as he scooped me into his arms and headed for the stairs. “I can walk.”

“I know.” He didn’t look at me. His heat was gone, a stony façade blocking every flicker of embers.

“What is it?” I clung to him as he hurried up the stairs.

“Nothing.” He pushed through the door to my room and sat me on the bed.

“Garrett, you didn’t hurt me.” I ran my fingers along the bite mark on my neck. “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t.” He shook his head. “I’m supposed to keep you safe. That”—He glanced to the mark— “isn’t keeping you safe.”

“I’m safe.” I canted my head, trying to figure out what was going on inside him. “Better than safe. That was … intense.”

“That was nothing.” A flame leapt in him as he bent down and put his fists on the mattress on either side of me. “The things I want to do to you… You don’t deserve them. I’ve already gone too far.”

I reached up and ran my hand down his cheek and across his beard. “I’m not afraid.”

“That’s because you don’t know what I want.” He closed his eyes at my touch.

“Tell me.”

“No.” He pinned me with his steely gaze and stood. “Never going to happen.”

Irritation roiled inside me. “I’m not some China doll you can break.” I rose and stepped toward him until we were almost touching. “You don’t have to protect me from anything.”

“I do. I have to protect you from me.”

“I’m not afraid of you.” I tried to touch his face, but he grabbed my wrist.

“Not yet. I want to keep it that way.”

“I saw the rope.” I locked eyes with him. “I know.”

He smirked. “Rope? You think you know because you saw some rope. What? Did you peek through my keyhole?”

Color fanned out across my neck and face. “Maybe.”

His grip on my wrist tightened painfully, and he forced me back until I hit the bed and sat. He loomed over me, anger marring his features. “I told you to stay away from me, but you just keep pushing.” He wrapped his other hand around my throat and shoved me onto my back. The dark glint in his eyes should have frightened me. Instead, I felt every nerve ending in my body come alive.

His hand at my neck was more aphrodisiac than threat. I knew it was fucked up, but I was helpless to stop how I felt. He pinned my wrist above my head and shoved a knee between my thighs.

I gasped as he rubbed against my hot core.

He bent down and pressed his lips close to my ear. “You think this is some fantasy where I tie you up and spank you a little?”

A moan lofted from my lungs.

“You think I’ll fuck you a little harder than your last vanilla boyfriend and call it a day?” He massaged my pussy, rubbing back and forth with his leg. “Here’s a crash course, Red. Here’s why I warned you to stay away.”

My panties were already soaked, and I thought I might come again just from his words and his light touch.

He squeezed my neck and spoke through gritted teeth. “I will hurt you, Red. Worse than you’ve ever been hurt in your life. I will fuck you like an animal.”

Hurt me. I couldn’t stop the inferno of need that consumed me. I wanted him to do those things to me. Sparks burst in my vision, and I tried to catch my breath. But his palm blocked any air from reaching my lungs. Panic began to set in when I realized he wasn’t letting up. I scratched at his wrist with my free hand, but he didn’t release me, not even when I drew blood.

“I’ll enjoy your pain. I’ll use you, beat you, and love every tear you shed. I’ll get off on your fear. When you scream in terror, I’ll get harder.”

The edges of my vision turned black. My mouth moved, but no sound came out. I was silently begging him to release me, but his grip was absolute.

He stared down into my eyes. “I’m the fucking wolf, and I’ll eat you alive.”

My eyelids began to flutter as my vision failed. With a vicious growl he released me and stalked from my room, the door slamming in a rattling boom. I gasped in huge breaths and rolled onto my side. Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I replayed his words in my mind. Fear coated me like a thick layer of grime, and I staggered to my door and clicked the lock into place.

Crawling into bed, I lay on my side facing the door and pulled my knees up in the fetal position. I ran my fingers along my throat, the skin hot and achy from his rough touch. I’d wanted it, but then something inside him had changed. He scared me. Wiping my tears away, I kept my eyes on the door. The lock didn’t matter. If Garrett wanted in, he was strong enough to break it down with ease. Strong enough to do whatever he wanted to me. A shiver raced along my spine.

The man who restored antique books and took care of my injured leg wasn’t a killer. But the man who’d just choked me until I almost passed out—I wasn’t so sure.

The scream woke me from a fractured sleep. I blinked awake and stared at the window. Did I hear it? The house remained silent, and a light wind rustled the tree limbs closest to the house. A clear cold night awaited beyond the glass. I peered at the yellow shards of moon falling across the woods. Maybe I’d dreamed it, remnants from my night in Blackwood. I glanced at the door. There was no way to know if it was still locked, but the fact that Garrett wasn’t looming in the open doorway was at least a little reassuring.

I eased back down into my bed and parsed through what had occurred between us just hours before. He’d tried to warn me, to tell me who he really was. I didn’t listen. I should have focused on finding my father, looking for more clues in the house, or asking the right questions for more information. Instead, I’d acted like a fool in heat.

Even as I berated myself, I pictured him, the way he’d dropped to his knees and given me an orgasm that seared straight through to my deepest places. But then he’d been cruel. I turned to my side and stared out at the night. Garrett Blackwood was an enigma. One I needed to solve if it would help me find out what happened to my father.

For once in my life, I wished my need to discover wasn’t quite so hard-wired in my DNA. Then again, I couldn’t fight nature. My father had been a private investigator, and my mom worked as a low-level crime scene tech in Tupelo. They’d met on the job. It was in my blood. I couldn’t give up, no matter how threatening my surroundings became. I owed it to Dad to find out the truth.

With new found resolve, I settled into my bed and closed my eyes.

My blood chilled when the scream came again, desperate and full of terror. Not a dream. I threw the blanket off and scurried to the dresser. With shaking hands, I yanked out a pair of jeans, a sweater, and some socks. Dressing quickly, I snagged my red coat and flew down the stairs as quickly as my leg allowed.

My pack sat in the foyer. I unzipped it as another shriek cut through the air, setting my teeth on edge. I ripped my flashlight from the front of the bag, yanked on my boots, then dashed to the kitchen for a knife. The biggest one in the butcher block called to me. I grabbed it and hustled out the back door into the cold dark.

One more scream. I tracked the sound through the trees to my left. My breath puffed out in a white plume as I jogged into the tree line, my leg already aching. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t stop until I found the woman whose screams haunted my nightmares.

Feathery clouds drifted past the moon, but the orb was bright enough to guide my steps over fallen logs and around bramble thickets. The woman couldn’t be far. Her cries had been earth-shatteringly loud, and I felt like I’d see her any minute as I trudged into the dark wood. The cool air bit into my exposed skin, but I hurried forward, the large knife a comfort at my side.

Something white flitted through the trees, and I stilled, trying to make it out. I could only see bits and pieces, but I knew it was the woman running for her life. What was chasing her? A chill rushed through me as I wondered for a moment if she was the ghost of Lillian. I shook the thought away. This woman was real, the crunching sound of her feet on the leaves and branches just as certain as my own steps.

I started forward again, running across the uneven terrain and ignoring the constant pain that raced up my leg. Getting to her, saving her, was all I could think about. She tracked to my right, and I changed my direction so I could intercept her.

I picked up my pace as her ghostly form grew closer. What was she doing out here in the cold?

Movement to my left caught me off guard. A dark shape barreled through the trees at a hellish pace.

I gasped as the dark shape collided with her. Her shriek was like a blade to my gut, and I ran as hard as I could.

Keeping the knife out to my side, I finally grew close enough to see the white dress again. I blinked hard as I approached and slowed my steps. A man sat on top of her and pinned her wrists to the rotting leaves. I couldn’t mistake the long hair, the strong build.

Garrett Blackwood.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

GARRETT’S GROWL, AS FERAL as any animal’s, rippled through the dark wood. I slipped behind the nearest tree and tried to plot my next move. I’d have to get the drop on him somehow. Maybe some sort of a distraction? I leaned down and grabbed a pine cone.

“Garrett, please—” The woman was out of breath.

“Shut the fuck up.” He slapped her, the sound like a shot. I clutched the pine cone and waited for my chance to lob it far enough to get his attention away from the woman.

“Yes, sir.” She quieted except for her large inhales and shaking exhales.

“I told you not to come tonight.” His voice was low, angry. “I fucking told you.”

I cocked my head, not sure if I was hearing correctly.

“I know, sir. But I wanted to see you. I needed you.”

“No, Melinda. You don’t need me. You just want what I can give you. I told you no, and you disobeyed me to try to force my hand.” He released one of her wrists and ran a hand through his wild hair. “I don’t work that way. You know I don’t.”

“I want to play.” Her voice turned into a whine. “I need you to hurt me. I’ve been very bad. Touching myself at work while thinking about you.”

“No.”

She huffed out a breath and tried a different tack. “I disobeyed you tonight, sir. You should punish me.”

“You’re right.” He leaned down until his face was only inches from hers. “Leave, and don’t come back.”

“What?” Panic turned her voice into a shrill whisper. “No. I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise. Please—”

“When we started this, we laid down our rules. Remember that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have I ever violated one of your rules, ever broken a hard limit?”

She whimpered. I wasn’t close enough to see if there were tears, but I sensed them in her tone. “No.”

“You just broke one of mine, and you know it. That’s a violation of my trust. I can’t allow it.” He shook his head, and his tone softened. “You have to go, Melinda. You and I are through.”

“No!” She slapped him with a vehemence that shocked me.

He leaned back and rose, then offered her a hand up. She didn’t take it, instead scrambling to her feet. Melinda, whoever she was, was tall and thin, her body like that of a ghostly dancer. Her blonde hair flowed around her heart-shaped face as she advanced on Garrett. She slapped him again and beat on his chest, but he stood stoic, refusing to fight back or even speak.

After she exhausted her rage, she wept and leaned into him. “I’m sorry. Please. I’m sorry. Don’t do this.”

“Just go.”

She took a step back and wiped the dirty sleeves of her dress across her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I know. Doesn’t change anything. Go.”

She sniffled and walked past him, back toward the house. I stared as he let his head drop to his chest and rested his hands on his hips. Even in that pose, he was an imposing figure. I wanted to ask him what was going on, question him about lying to me that first night when I’d heard screams—screams that obviously belonged to Melinda. But what was there to ask?

Melinda’s footsteps faded, and I waited for Garrett to follow. He didn’t. Instead, he raised his head and stared right at where I was hiding.

Fuck.

I held my breath, desperate to stay hidden as Garrett’s dark gaze swept the area.

“I know you’re there, Red.”

No. Maybe if I just stayed still—

“Come out. Don’t try to pretend you’re invisible.”

I tightened my grip on the kitchen knife and eased out from behind the tree. He tracked me, his eyes in shadow as I backed away from him. My leg had reached a new level of ache as I’d watched the scene unfold, and my limp grew worse with each step.

He walked toward me, and a primal fear rushed through me. I was in the dark woods with a wolf in the middle of the night.

“Stop.” I held the knife out in front of me. “Don’t come any closer.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He put his palms up, promising peace, and his tone was even and free of anger. But I’d seen the way he’d slapped Melinda.

“Stay back.” I tried to hurry backward, but the throb in my leg grew more vicious with each beat of my heart.

“You need help.” He kept coming.

“Not from you.” I feinted left and then ran right. My leg burned and stung as I struggled to escape him.

I hadn’t gone a dozen steps before he grabbed my upper arms.

“Red, please. Your leg isn’t well enough for this.” The pleading in his voice shocked me almost as much as the scene I’d just witnessed.

My head swam, and I fought to stay upright despite the dizziness. He gentled his grip on my arms, then walked around to face me. I brought the knife up and held it out in front of me.

He walked forward until the tip of my blade pressed into his chest. “You can stab me all you want, but I suggest you wait until I get you back to the house, warm you up, and check on your leg.”

“You hit her. I saw you.” My teeth chattered.

“You don’t know what you saw.” He leaned forward, as if daring me to hurt him.

“I saw you chasing a girl, pinning her, and hitting her. I heard her screams!”

“Did you see her hit me?” He grabbed my hand but didn’t force me to drop the knife, just held me in place. “Did you hear her beg me to hurt her?”

“Y-yes.” My teeth chattered so hard I wondered if I might have cracked one.

“I would never hurt you.” His eyes softened. “Not unless you wanted it like she did.” He squeezed my hand. “Okay? I wouldn’t take something that wasn’t willingly given.”

My leg felt colder than the rest of me. I glanced down. The side of my jeans were dyed dark crimson. My wounds must have reopened as I ran. Shit.

He gently eased the blade away and stepped closer. “Look, you can hold on to the knife if it makes you feel better.”

The realization hit me hard—if he wanted to take the knife, he could. I was too weak to do anything about it. If I tried to limp back to the house, I had no doubt I’d make it, but it would take a lot of struggling out in the cold woods to make it happen. I could chance the walk or rely on the man offering to help me.

I brought the knife to his neck and rested the blade against his pulse. “If you try anything, I won’t hesitate.”

“I got it.” No fear. “Now, may I?” He raised his eyebrows.

I dropped the knife to my side but maintained a death grip on it. He scooped me up and headed toward the house with long strides.

“What was that? What did I see?” I stared up at him as the trees cast ever-changing shadows across his face.

He sighed. “Melinda and I have an arrangement.”

“Where you think it’s okay to hit her?”

He ducked under a low branch and kept walking. “She wants me to hit her, just as much as I want to hit her.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It gets her off.”

“Does it get you off?”

He tensed and glanced into my eyes. “Yes.”

I’d heard about this sort of thing but never seen it firsthand. “So it’s BDSM? And you’re like a dom or something?”

“Not as simple.” He shook his head.

“Then what?”

His grip tightened as he stepped over a fallen tree. “I’ve always been… I guess strange is the word, when it comes to sex.”

“Don’t get vague on me.” I glared at him. “I need you to explain what the hell I just saw.”

“Why? Why isn’t it enough for you to know I won’t hurt you?”

“You almost choked me out earlier!” My voice cracked in the cold air.

“But I didn’t, and I never would. Not unless you asked.”

Not unless I asked? “Are you fucking kidding me? You explain and you do it fast. If I’m not satisfied by the time we get to the house, I’m calling the sheriff. Give me every detail. Make me understand.”

“God, this is worse than seeing a therapist.”

“You’ve been to a therapist for this?” I couldn’t imagine Garrett sitting in a staid office and telling his kinky sex fantasies to a guy in a smoking jacket.

“When I was a teenager, my mom found some of my porn—not your average centerfolds. She freaked out and sent me to a specialist in Columbus.” He wrinkled his nose. “I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

“Keep going or I’ll be telling Sheriff Crow all about Melinda.”

He grimaced. “The therapist said I was fine, just different. He was actually helpful, taught me that I wasn’t the freak I feared I was. I mean, still a freak, but not some sort of psychopath or something.”

I wasn’t so sure, but I wanted him to keep talking, so I stayed quiet.

“I always enjoyed the idea of women in bondage, women who liked pain. Horror movies turned me on—”

I stiffened in his arms.

“Not the blood or the killing.” He hopped over a small stream. “The fear. I wanted to be the psycho killer, the hot girl afraid and screaming, but instead of slashing her to bits, I wanted to fuck her.”

I shuddered. “Rape.”

“Yes, but no. I’d never take a woman against her will.” He peered down at me. “That night when I choked you—” His gaze fluttered to my throat. “—that was a warning, just a taste of what I’m capable of. You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about touching you. I’ve wanted…”

I swallowed hard as my emotions went to war with each other. Pain, longing, and my burning desire to understand how his mind worked. “Have you thought about hurting me?”

He walked out of the woods and carried me toward the house. “Yes.”

Each long stride seemed an eternity, the dead grass and fallen leaves whispering beneath his boots.

“Did you hurt the dean’s wife?”

He swung the back door open, and the screen smacked onto the side of the house as he pushed inside. “Yes. She was like Melinda. She craved it.”

“And Melinda? Was she a regular thing?” The twinge of jealousy that shot through me was completely at odds with the knife in my hand and the fear in my heart.

“Yes.” He carried me through the house. “We had appointments, more or less. Once a month. She’s who you heard that night when I found you. I hadn’t even caught her yet by the time I heard you screaming for help. I told her to leave, then set out to find you.”

I knew it. I wasn’t crazy after all. The screams that brought me to Garrett were real.

“You’ve been lying to me this whole time.”

“I didn’t lie. I just didn’t elaborate.”

“That’s the same thing.” I shook my head.

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.” I needed to know more, my curiosity overcoming my irritation with his deception. “Why would she scream in the woods? Why not come to the house and let you tie her up or something?”

“That’s not my thing.” He powered up the stairs.

“I think my wrists that first night would beg to differ.” I sighed with relief as he set me on my bed. My leg still stung and throbbed, but at least the house was warm and the bed was soft—and I still had the knife.

“Let me rephrase.” He rubbed his jaw and avoided my gaze. “I enjoy rigging, but that’s not my main thing.”

“What is your main thing?” I already knew, all the puzzle pieces falling into place, but I wanted to hear it from him.

He sat back on his haunches and began unlacing my boots. “It’s best described as consensual non-consent.”

I rolled the terms around in my mind. “So, pretend rape?”

He tossed one boot, then gently pulled the other off my injured leg. “The only thing pretend about it is the non-consent. The rest of it is real.”

“So Melinda would come and run from you like a victim in a slasher flick?” I should have been repulsed, but I understood the excitement. Those movies were popular for a reason. Each of us had a little killer or victim inside. Even me.

“Yeah, we had an agreement.”

“Are there others?” I hated how badly I needed to know the answer. “Other women?”

“No, just Melinda, and that’s over.” He tried to roll my jeans leg up to see the wound, but it was too skinny to cooperate.

With shaking fingers, I reached for my waist. The more I thought about it, if raping me had been his goal, he’d had plenty of opportunities. He’d never harmed me.

I ignored the chaotic jumble of thoughts rumbling through my mind and unbuttoned my jeans. He glanced up, surprise crossing his eyes before he dropped his gaze again. I dragged my zipper down and started wriggling out of the jeans.

He helped me peel them off and kept his eyes on my injured leg instead of my pink panties. Quasi-rapist yet also perfect gentleman. My head spun.

“This is a mess. I may need to stitch you again, but I’ll have to clean it up first so I can see.” He rose and walked to the bathroom. The cabinet squeaked open as he gathered supplies.

“What was your and Melinda’s agreement?” Shrugging out of my coat, I adjusted my leg away from the bed. I didn’t want to get blood on the handmade quilt.

He walked back to me, his dirty boots clunking along the floor and his arms full of gauze, tape, and alcohol. “She would come to the house, knock on the door, and then take off running into the woods. I’d be waiting at the door and give her a head start. Then I’d chase her.”

The image of him running through the woods like a predator spoke to the darker parts of my soul, the ones I’d never explored for fear of enjoying what I found there. What had I gotten myself into?

I tried to seem nonchalant. “And once you catch her?”

He knelt down and wet a washcloth with alcohol. “You saw.” Glancing to the knife in my hand, he asked, “Could you put that down? This is going to hurt, and I don’t want to die by my own kitchen knife.”

I narrowed my eyes at him but dropped the blade on the bed.

“Thanks. Brace yourself.”

When he touched my bloody calf, I brought my hand to my mouth to stifle the scream.

“I’m sorry.”

When I could finally breathe again, I asked, “Does that turn you on?”

He shook his head. “Not even a little. The kind of pain I give is wanted. And there’s always a reward.” He glanced up at me, the dark depths of his eyes making my stomach clench.

My mind whirled around the thought of the “reward.” Fuck. “So this pain is…”

“Different.” He wiped again, and this time I couldn’t keep the sound inside.

“You have a great scream, though.” He lifted my calf and inspected the wounds. “It’s close, but I don’t think you need more stitches. The separations aren’t consistent. I think they’ll sew themselves back up after you rest it for a while.”

I didn’t make it past his initial comment. “A great scream?”

“Never mind that.” He began to place gauze on the bad spots, his dark hair falling along either side of his face. “Now that you’ve questioned me, I have something I’d like to ask you.”

“What?” I wanted to push his hair back so I could see his face, but I kept my hands in my lap.

He turned his face to mine, his stare cold. “Why are you really here?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

M Y HEART DROPPED INTO my stomach acid. Surely he wasn’t asking what I thought he was asking. Did he suspect something? I’d covered my tracks, or at least I thought I had.

Maybe I’d misheard him. “What?”

He taped the gauze in place. “I did a little digging of my own, pardon the pun, and found out your mother died a few months ago and your father, Vince Gallant, was a longtime resident of Browerton. He disappeared a few years ago. Last place he was seen?” He glanced up. “Millbrook County, with my sister.”

I stuttered, and my mind blanked as he pressed the gauze onto a particularly tender spot.

He continued, “So that begs the question of what you are really doing out here. Seems like you would have mentioned your connection to Browerton first thing—to the sheriff, or me; hell, even Bonnie. But you didn’t. Why is that?”

“It didn’t really matter.” Oh, shit. “I’m here to dig for Choctaw artifacts, that’s all. My parents have nothing to do with it.”

He stopped taping my leg and sat back, his gaze settling on mine and locking. “You’re good at a lot of things—getting into trouble, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and getting under my skin—but one thing you’re not good at?” He shook his head. “Lying.”

He unspooled a length of tape and bit it off before returning to my leg. I didn’t respond, only watched as he kept working, steadily patching me up. What could I tell him? That I suspected him or his family to have had something to do with my father’s death? I almost laughed at the thought. I’m sure that would go over almost as well as his “I like to chase chicks through the woods and fuck them” explanation.

“I’ve met him. You know that?”

I twitched as he finished taping me up. “Who?”

“Still playing dumb, I see.” He sat all the way back, planting his ass on the floor and staring up at me with an openness I’d never thought I’d see on him. It was as if telling me his dark secret freed a part of him. “Your dad. I met your dad.”

“What?” I leaned forward, my need to know sparking to life. “When? Where?”

“Red, maybe if you’d just asked me right off, I would have told you. No sneaking around needed.”

I gave him a look that matched the incredulous laughter inside my head. “You barely opened the door for me the first day. You ordered me off your property. And I’m supposed to believe you were just going to offer up information to me?”

He clasped his hands, his forearms flexing. “Good point. But you’ve been staying here for almost two weeks, and you didn’t say a word.”

“You aren’t exactly chatty.” I dropped my gaze to the floor. If I were looking at the situation fairly, I’d have to say he’d been more open with me than I’d been with him. But I had my reasons.

“Well, we’re chatting now, aren’t we?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me the truth.” He slid his gaze up my body to my face. “For once.”

I hesitated only for a moment. “I’m here for my doctorate. That’s all.”

Disappointment flashed in his eyes. “Then I guess I don’t need to tell you about the time I met your dad.” Rising to his feet, he turned his back and strode to the door.

“Wait!” I tried to stand on my good leg, but the sudden movement sent needles stabbing into the reopened wounds. The room swam, and I thought I might vomit.

“Fuck, sit down.” He walked back to me and eased me onto the bed.

“My dad. I need to know.” I gripped his wrists, refusing to let him go until he told me what he knew.

“Just lie down.”

“No! Tell me what you know.” I couldn’t let this lead slip away.

“You being here has nothing to do with your parents, huh?” He pried my hands off his wrists. “Lie back and I’ll tell you, okay?” He lifted under my arms and helped me back to the pillows, then sat on the edge of the bed.

“Garrett, please.”

He closed his eyes. It was as if that word on my lips turned him inside out.

I snugged my legs under the cover, ignoring the stings rippling beneath the gauze. “I need to know.”

He met my eyes and reached up to my face. I didn’t flinch as he brushed a few strands of hair away and smoothed them into the rest of my locks. A faint smile played along his lips, as if he were pleased I let him touch me.

I should have been afraid. I had been when we were alone in the woods, but the more he’d explained, the more everything seemed to click into place. His kink had cost him his career and who knew what else, but he’d shared it with me. I didn’t know how big of a concession it was for him to open up to me, but—given his hermit ways—I could guess.

He ran his thumb down my cheek, then dropped his hand to the bed next to me. “A few years ago, he came to the house. Lillian brought him. She’d been back from California for a while, and I’d come home for the weekend to visit. This was when I was still teaching. I walked into the house and found him and Lillian making out on the couch in the sitting room.” He took my hand and squeezed it. “No offense to your mom.”

I snorted. “Don’t worry. They were on the outs before I was born. Never married.”

“Sorry.” He rubbed the skin along the back of my hand with his thumb.

I shrugged. “Mom had me when she was nineteen, and she raised me almost singlehandedly. Dad always paid child support, sent birthday cards, visited for Christmas, stuff like that. He wasn’t a bad guy, and I loved him.” My eyes began to water, but I willed the tears away. “He was never meant to settle down. My dad was a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy, at least that’s what Mom always said. She loved him, but she wasn’t in love with him, you know?”

“I found your mom’s obituary. I’m sorry.” How could the man who’d just been a feral beast in the woods be such a gentle soul? I peered into his eyes, still trying to get a bead on which one of him was the true Garrett.

“Thanks. My mom was my best friend and number one cheerleader.” Everyone in our hometown said I looked just like her—long dark hair and bright hazel eyes. I’d always thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I still told her so, even after the cancer had taken everything from her. “I miss her.” I cleared my throat. “Please go on about my dad.”

“All right. After I interrupted, he introduced himself and headed out. Lillian told me he was her newest victim.”

My eyes opened wide. “Victim?”

He coughed into his hand. “Let’s just say I’m not the only one in the family with kinks. Lillian’s were different, but she still had a strong dominant streak. Hart does too; he just hasn’t realized it yet. I don’t know why. We all had good childhoods as far as I know. It’s just in our DNA or something.”

I tried to distance myself from any thoughts of Lillian tying my dad up. “So they were an item?”

“Right.” He pulled his hand away from mine and loosened the blanket around my bad leg.

“Then what happened?”

Once satisfied with the bed, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw him again. I went back to Alabama, taught the rest of the semester. That’s when Joan and I began our affair, so I spent most of my free time sneaking around with her.” His tone darkened. “Until it all ended, and she didn’t say a word to defend me.”

My thoughts were on fire, each flash sending off sparks that set another idea ablaze. I needed information, all I could get. But first, I needed to know if I could trust Garrett. “What happened that night when you got caught with Joan?”

His jaw tightened, and bitterness creased his brow. “I’d rigged her, tied her to the bed and”—He glanced at me—“caned her legs and stomach. She was bruised and nearly bloody when her husband walked in.” He glowered. “Of course she failed to mention how she’d begged for the cane.”

“Caned?” I conjured images of corporal punishment in other countries. “Like with a stick?”

“Just a yew rod. Thin, flexible. Leaves some vicious marks if you use it right.”

“Sounds painful.”

“Yes, but it also releases endorphins. The pain heightens the pleasure.”

It was the wrong time for a rush of blood to parts south, for anything remotely like attraction, but I couldn’t stop it. “Your pleasure, too?”

He licked his lips. “Yes.”

“You’d hit her and then…” I let my words trail away as that flicker of jealousy ignited in my heart.

“Yes. Then we’d fuck.”

I flinched at his directness. “So it was all consensual?”

“Yes.”

I chewed my lip as I searched his face for any sign of dishonesty. I found none.

He squeezed my hand. “I swear it was, Elise.”

My eyes widened. “Wow.”

“What?”

“That was the first time you’ve ever said my real name. Not Red.”

“Don’t get used to it, Red.” His familiar smirk reappeared.

“What happened next?”

“How did this turn from me asking your real reasons for being here into you interrogating me?”

A smile crept across my lips. “Just answer the question.”

“You sure you’re into archaeology and not law?” The smirk widened.

I wrinkled my nose. “I dig in the dirt. I don’t cover it up. Definitely not the traits of an attorney.”

“Noted. Tell me something first, and then I’ll tell you the rest of my sordid tale.”

I swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“Do you think your father is still alive?”

I dropped my gaze. “No. He’s not. I know it.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head.

“Me too.” I swallowed my tears. “Now tell me the rest.”

He looked away. “After the scandal, I left in disgrace and thought I could come home and lick my wounds. Lillian was always good at smoothing over trouble. I talked to her on the phone the day it all went down. She told me to come home and we’d sort it all out. I left school and drove straight here.” He closed his eyes, memory coating his voice. “It was near the end of spring session. Everything was in bloom on the road home—yellow honeysuckle and purple wisteria hanging from the trees. Despite what had happened, I began to feel hopeful. Lillian would know how to fix it. She’d charmed her way out of tons of trouble. I didn’t have half her ability, but with her help, I don’t know…I thought maybe I had a chance, you know? Maybe she could talk to Dean Farraway or Joan.”

He shrugged and stared at the corner of the room, his eyes roving the wooden planks as if he could see to the bottom floor. To Lillian’s room. “I got home right at sunset. The house was lit up, welcoming. It wasn’t like it is now.” He waved a hand at the walls. “Dying.” He paused, as if trying to wrestle the unhappy words out. “When I got here, everything was quiet. I called for Lillian. She didn’t answer. I went to her room, and that’s where I found her. She’d hung—” He stopped, emotion welling up and drowning out his voice like a flash flood.

“I’m so sorry.” I pressed his hand between mine. I knew she’d committed suicide, but other than her brief obituary, there was no information on it. The then-sheriff of Millbrook covered up the details. I always assumed he’d swept it under the rug so as not to tarnish the family. Suicide was an unbreakable taboo, especially in this notch of the Bible Belt.

“It was unbelievable. When I saw her, it was like I couldn’t process, like it wasn’t real. But then I touched her, and she was…” He wiped at his eyes, the lashes wet.

Seeing him in pain broke a part of me. I wanted to take it away, to pluck the thorn from his paw, but some things—like some people—were beyond saving. “Did she leave a note?”

“No. I demanded Sheriff Pennington investigate it as a homicide. Lillian wouldn’t have done that. I refused to believe it.”

“You think she was killed?”

“I did back then. Sheriff Pennington performed the investigation like he did everything else—half-assed. He told me that because her prints were on the chair, the electrical cord, and the light fixture, he had no evidence of any assailant or explanation besides the obvious. I raised hell, and”—He shifted his gaze away from mine—“I made your father my number one suspect. I knew it was him. It had to be, and I wanted to make him pay.”

Motive. I tensed and glanced to the knife on the bedside table. Was Garrett confessing to killing my father?

He followed the direction of my gaze. “Take it if it makes you feel better.” The sadness in his tone made me feel like shit. He’d just opened up some wounds, ones that clearly cut him deep, and here I was still refusing to trust him.

“I’m sorry.” I ignored the blade and focused on him. “It’s all so…new, I guess. Please go on.”

“Not much more to tell. I always suspected your father of killing Lil, but he disappeared right after her death. The coincidence wasn’t lost on me. I paid a private investigator to find him. But your dad covered his tracks so well that all traces led right back here, to Blackwood. A dead end.”

He seemed to deflate as he relived his failure to find the man he suspected of killing his sister. I wanted to reassure him that Dad would never have harmed Lillian, but my words wouldn’t do anything to ease his pain. His sister was gone, and there was no reason for it.

More than that, my gut told me he had no idea my dad’s car was rusting on his property. He was just as in the dark as I was. Relief washed through me like the first hit of anesthesia. He had nothing to do with my dad’s disappearance. I knew it in my bones.

I took a chance. “What if I told you that I think all trails lead back here because my father never left Millbrook County—never left Blackwood—alive?”

He let his head loll back and stared at the ceiling. “Nothing would surprise me anymore. Remember when you first knocked on the door, and I told you this place was full of ghosts?”

“Yes.”

“The longer I stay here, the truer it becomes. Ghosts, secrets, lies. All here, all just beyond my sight.” Despair laced his words.

“Why do you stay here? Why not move somewhere else and start over?”

“After Lillian, I couldn’t seem to leave. It’s in my head.” He stroked his temple. “I know it is. I realize I can drive out of the gate and never come back, but I think I’m…”

I knew the feeling. “Broken? You think you’re broken.”

“I would have said fucked up, but yes.”

“I don’t think you are.” I ran my hand down his scruffy cheek. “I think you’ve been through some traumatizing events. And I think you’re afraid. But you’re not fucked up.”

He looked at me with heartbreaking surprise, as if he’d never seen himself as anything other than a monster.

“That’s why you pushed me away, why you’ve been pushing me away this whole time?” I cupped his face in my hands, and he closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. “You’re afraid you’ll hurt me or that I’ll be … what?”

“Disgusted.”

“I’m not.” I stroked my thumbs through his rough beard. “Not even close.”

He drew his brows together. “You heard the part about how I’d like to chase you through the woods? How I want to tie you up and leave my marks on your skin? How I want to fuck you so hard it hurts?”

My stomach clenched at his words. “I heard, though this is the first time you’ve said you wanted to do all those things to me.”

He grabbed my wrists and gave me a hard stare. “Are you kidding? You are the worst temptation. When I’m near you, something short circuits in my brain. Fuck.” He pressed his lips together, as if forcing himself to stop talking. “Let’s just say that every depraved fantasy I’ve had since you came knocking on my door involves a red coat.”

The tips of my ears began to burn, and I stared at his mouth. It took every ounce of willpower I owned to keep from kissing him.

Instead of giving in, I asked something that I’d been wondering for days. “Did you love her—Joan?” I cringed at my question as soon as it rolled off my tongue. It was none of my business, and I should have been asking more questions about my father. Instead, I was waiting for Garrett to tell me if he loved someone else.

He didn’t answer for a long time, the silence building up like bricks in a foundation. After a while, he took a deep breath and blew it out. “I thought I did. Now, though…”

Why did everything in me vibrate to whatever frequency he was putting out? I wanted to run my fingers down the back of his hand, hug him, do anything that would connect us as more than two people in an old house, each haunted by our own ghosts.

“Now, I’m not so sure.” He pulled away from me and stood. “You need to rest.”

“Don’t go.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. Maybe I’d lost more blood than I realized, or maybe I was foolishly letting my guard down. Either way, I didn’t want him to lock himself away in his room, to withdraw from me despite what we’d shared. “Will you stay with me?”

He backed up a step. “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I won’t hurt you.” I gave him a wry smile and pushed away the sting of his refusal.

“I think you know that’s not what I’m worried about.” He scanned the shape of my body beneath the blanket.

“You said you’d never force a woman, remember?”

“I won’t. I’d never take something that wasn’t freely given.” He backed up another step.

“You’re afraid.” I smirked as amusement flitted through me. “You’re afraid of me. Or what’s the word—intimacy. You’re afraid of intimacy.”

“I could pin you and rope you before you had a chance to scream.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You’re not afraid to do those things to me, no, but you’re afraid to sleep here with me.” I grinned. “I want to cuddle.”

He flinched. “Cuddle?”

“Yeah.” I flipped the blanket and the sheet off the other side of the bed. “Come on. Get in. Unless you’re scared?”

“I’m not scared, but cuddling may be a hard limit for me. Aftercare, yes. Cuddling, no.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Aftercare?”

“After a session in the woods, I would hold Melinda as she came down from the high.”

“And a hard limit, that’s—”

“Something I won’t do.”

“Right.” I grinned. “Because you’re scared.”

“Not scared.” He shook his head.

“I have an idea. Let’s have a safe word. I’ve seen enough movies to know that’s a thing, right?”

“Yes, that’s a thing.” He shrugged. “But I’m still not getting into bed with you without fucking you.”

Jesus. He had no qualms expressing what he wanted.

I wasn’t going to let his directness rattle me. “So you’re afraid of spending the night with me without fucking me?”

“Stop saying I’m afraid.” His voice lowered an octave, and heat pooled in my stomach.

I put on my best poker face. “If you get scared, just call out your safe word. What is it?”

He laughed, chagrin giving him an unexpected youth. “I’ve never had to come up with a safe word. That’s only for my subs.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. So, let’s make up one. Like, I don’t know, excelsior. That’s a good word.” I nodded at him, as if the added movement would make it more convincing.

“No, it needs to be simple, something you, or I guess I can remember with ease. Red is out. So we’ll have to go with black. Simple.”

“So if you say black, then that means I stop whatever I’m doing?”

He sighed. “I can’t believe this conversation is happening. But yes, if I say black, that means you’ve reached my hard limit.” He raked my body with a predatory gaze. “Same for you. You can call black, and I’ll know to stop.”

“So the word stop won’t work?”

He smirked and started unbuttoning his shirt. “No.”

Oh, shit. He really did intend to take me up on my offer.

“What about the word no?”

“Definitely won’t work. The only thing a no will get you is choked.”

I pressed my thighs together. Why was the threat so fucking hot?

He peeled his shirt off, and I finally got a good look at the black ink curling up his arms and across his chest. A tangle of swirls and skulls danced along his skin and under the dark hair of his chest. His nipples were a dusky rose color and the right one was pierced with a silver barbell.

He unbuckled his jeans. I leaned over and flicked off the lamp to keep from staring. Settling into the mattress, I heard his boots drop onto the floor, followed by the clatter of his belt. He stalked around the bed, his wiry muscles thrown into sharp relief against the faint light from my bathroom.

Focus. “So the deal is that we’re sleeping together, but no sex. Unless you’re scared, and we can call the whole thing off.”

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.” He sighed. “I’ve never gotten in bed with a woman without fucking her. This is dumb.”

I smiled at the gruffness in his voice and continued my examination. “What if I said stop?”

The bed shifted as he eased down next to me. “I wouldn’t, but the fact that you said it would guarantee a brutal fuck. Just black. That’s the only word that will save you.”

I turned toward him as best I could. He’d thrown my quilt over his legs and hips and laced his fingers under his head as he stared at the ceiling.

“But what if I said please?”

He turned his head toward me, his eyes deep pools of desire. “If you said ‘please’, I’d fuck you so hard that you wouldn’t be able to sit down, walk, or breathe for days without thinking of my cock inside you.”

Fuck.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“T  HESE GRITS ARE THE best thing I’ve ever eaten in my life. Ever.” I spooned a hefty helping of the buttery, cheesy deliciousness into my mouth.

“Because that Garrett has been starving you to death over here.” Bonnie sliced her biscuit in half and rattled her knife in the jar of homemade scuppernong jam. “I told Sheriff Crow to let you stay with me, but no, he wouldn’t have it. He said you were in good hands out here and moving you was out of the question until you got better. I raised hell about it, but he still wouldn’t budge.” She rolled her eyes and expertly spread the jam along the warm biscuit. “Maybe he’ll change his tune now that you’re up and around.”

I sipped my coffee, happy for the food and the company. “Garrett’s not so bad.” We’d spent the night in the same bed. I hadn’t gotten up the nerve to go for a cuddle, and I’d fallen asleep too quickly to act on the impulse even if I’d had it. The run through the woods had taken more out of me than I’d realized. He was gone when I woke, but I’d run my hand down his side of the bed, knowing he’d been there all night. So close.

“Not so bad, huh? He doesn’t feed you worth a damn and keeps you in this haunted house. Seems pretty bad to me. Where is he, anyway?”

I glanced at the wall behind her, the library beyond it. “Working.”

“On what?”

“Books. He restores them.”

She cocked her head at me as if I’d spoken another language. “He does what now?”

I explained his work as we ate a leisurely breakfast. Ty had given Bonnie the morning free to come and visit with me. If I ever laid eyes on him, I’d definitely thank him. She brought me bits of gossip from the county, and more importantly, the knowledge that I had a friend nearby. After we finished and cleaned up, I leaned against the farmhouse sink and tried to figure out the best way to ask questions without raising Bonnie’s suspicions.

“I looked around at some of the family photos here. One of them sort of got my attention. A girl, Garrett’s sister.” I fidgeted with the hem of my tank top. “Did you know her?”

She glanced around, her dark eyes scanning every corner and shadow. Did she think Garrett was going to pop out and yell boo? “Everyone knew Lillian, sugar.”

“What was she like?”

Once satisfied we were alone and staying that way, Bonnie relaxed and rubbed her fingers along the brown skin at her throat. “She was beautiful. Larger than life. Back in my heyday, I competed in a few pageants around these parts.” She stood a little straighter. “But I was always runner-up to Lillian. You know how you meet some people and you forget them the next minute?”

“Yes.”

“Lillian was the sort you never forget. She sparkled, you know?”

I nodded. I’d always thought the same of my mother.

“She could light up a room as sure as a chandelier. Bright. She used to get up to some crazy shenanigans around here, I tell you.” She smiled and leaned back against the counter next to the fridge. “Damn girl would toilet paper roll the Browerton mayor’s house, then egg Sheriff Pennington’s cruiser, then go on a tear all along the country roads on the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle—well, whichever boyfriend she had at the time.”

I found myself smiling. “She sounds like a good time.”

“She was. She really was. Charmed her way out of every lick of trouble.” Her face fell. “Shame what happened to her. I didn’t know she had any problems like that, you know?”

“I don’t think anyone did.” Garrett still doubted it; his revelations last night told me as much. “Did you talk to her after she came back from Hollywood?”

“Sure.” She started opening drawers, her scowl growing with each bit of disarray she found. When she discovered a stash of dishcloths, she snagged one, wet it, and began wiping down the counters.

“Had she changed?”

“Not really. Same sparkle. Just a little older like all the rest of us. She took up writing for the Browerton paper. Got the whole town riled when she did an exposé on Golden Grocery for discrimination against its black workers.” She smiled. “Made me damn proud.”

I’d read her piece and remembered being impressed with her dogged search for the truth. We seemed to have that in common. “Did she still have boyfriends?”

“Oh, sure.” She scrubbed a particular spot next to the sink with all the might her small frame could muster.

“Any in particular?” I knew I was pressing my luck, but I had to make some headway on my father’s disappearance. The car told me I was on the right path. I just needed some trail markers to show me which way to go.

“Sure, she saw crazy Danny—that was before he caught the crazy, mind you. Let’s see, the Satterly brothers. They got into a fight over her one afternoon right outside the diner. I’m talking grown men, in their late thirties, fighting over her. Ty had to break it up. I even heard she used to have girlfriends, too. Don’t know about that.” She worked her way around me, moving jars and wiping up every bit of dust as she went. “And there was one handsome fella she used to bring to the diner. Vince. He grew up around here. A couple years ahead of me in school.”

I went taut like a dog on the trail of a deer. “How long did she see Vince?”

“About the same as the others. Though, I think she was still dating him when”—She faltered, then scrubbed the side of the counter even harder—“when she did it.”

“What happened to Vince?”

She paused and wiped her forehead with the back of her forearm. “I don’t rightly know. I guess he left after that. He was raised here, but he never stayed. I think he was only hanging around again for Lillian, to be honest.”

“So you never saw him again?”

“Nope.”

That put his disappearance just two weeks after I’d seen him last. He’d come to visit me at school, plopped down on my dorm room bed, and asked me when I was going to start digging for dinosaurs. He stayed long enough to smoke a cigarette, in violation of dorm rules, and give me an early birthday present—a surprisingly attractive scarf. Had Lillian picked it out?

“You said she dated Danny. What happened to him between then and now?”

She dragged the washcloth across the counter and shook it out in the sink. “Nobody knows. But I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he started acting squirrely right around the time Lillian died. Hiding in the woods. Showing up in town every few months screaming about lights in the trees, or voices, or God knows what else.”

“I saw him. When I first started my survey, he found me in the woods, warned me away.”

She turned and glanced down at my leg. “Maybe you should have listened.” She shrugged. “Sheriff Crow keeps him in line. Locks him in the drunk tank to dry out whenever he shows up. Then we don’t hear from him again for months.”

If I could have physically kicked myself, I would have. My biggest lead had been right in front of me the whole time. “How would I find him?”

“You don’t.” She stabbed a finger at me. “Stay away from him. You know how I told you Garrett was evil? Maybe, and I mean maybe, I was wrong about him. But I’m not about Danny. Something ain’t right in his head.” She scowled at the counters and tossed her dish rag into the sink. “Well, I’ve done all I can right this minute. This place needs a real scrub down, not my half measures.” She wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Anyway, I’m so glad I finally got to come spend some time with you. Holler at me if you need anything. I’m always at the diner, and you have my cell.”

“Yes.” I nodded as she pulled me into a crushing hug.

“Watch out for Garrett.” She buried her whisper in my hair. “I’ve heard things about him. Bad things he likes to do to women.”

I returned her hug. “He’s a teddy bear, I promise.” Unless you run from him.

“If you want to stay with me in town, just say the word.” She grabbed her bright pink bag off the table and pulled her keys out. “I’ll get all over Sheriff Crow about it.”

“Will do.” I stowed the two containers of food she’d brought in the fridge. “Thanks for the food. Though the Garrett diet is doing wonders for my figure.”

“No excuse for a grown man not knowing how to cook.” Her disapproving tone came back with a vengeance as she strode into the hall, and I followed with a limp. She’d let her hair go natural, the brown curls fluffing in a cute halo around her head.

The library doors opened right as we passed by. Garrett looked up, surprise raising his eyebrows. “Bonnie. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I’ve been here for half an hour.”

“Food?” A hopeful smile gave him a boyish look.

“In the fridge.” She scoured him with a harsh stare. “But save some for your prisoner. She’s getting too skinny.”

“Maybe you should bring food more often.”

“Do I look like a Meals on Wheels to you, Blackwood?”

He glanced to me, unsure. “Um, no?”

“No is correct. Learn how to cook.” She pointed at me. “Let this little bit here teach you.”

He glanced at me. “You know how to cook?”

“I dabble.” I shrugged. “But I haven’t had a chance to try since my leg’s been messed up.”

“Here’s what I’ll do.” Bonnie pulled the heavy front door open. “I’ll stop by the store and bring you two everything you’ll need for a week.” She flicked her gaze to Garrett. “Give me a credit card.”

He fumbled around in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“I’ll be back after my shift, and I’ll use this”—She plucked the card from his hand—“to pay for my gas.”

“That would be perfect! Thanks, Bonnie.” I smiled, excited at the thought of having something other than a Garrett special. Maybe it should have put me off, the thought of cooking in this kitchen to the point of almost playing house with him. But good food wasn’t something I could pass up, no matter how awkward it got.

Garrett frowned, but didn’t raise a fuss.

“All right. See you in a few hours.” I closed the door as she walked down the front porch stairs.

Leaning back against it, I eyed Garrett. “What’s with you?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m not a big fan of visitors.”

“Water is wet.” I rolled my eyes. “This will be great. It can’t be worse than what you make, right?”

“You have a point. You already eat?”

“Yep.”

“Plans for the rest of the day? More snooping?” He stuffed his hands into his jeans, the movement bringing my gaze down to his belt and lower.

I snapped back up to meet his eyes, but his smirk told me I’d already been caught. “I’m all snooped out. If you don’t mind, I’d like to look at some cat videos—very important—and read the news on your laptop.”

“By all means.” He gestured toward the living room.

“Okay.” I turned and step-hopped toward it.

His hand was at my lower back in a moment.

“I can manage.” I didn’t move away.

“I know you can, but you shouldn’t.” He stood close enough that I could feel his body heat, smell his woodsy scent. My bed still smelled like him. “May I?” His gaze landed on my lips.

My nipples hardened and tingled. “Yes.” Permission. But what was I allowing him to do? Just help me, right?

He wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted. We walked to the living room, our bodies pressed against each other and my feet barely touching the ground.

“Thanks.” I held onto his neck as he lowered me to the couch.

“You’re welcome.”

I dropped my arms and stared up at him before letting my gaze trace down the buttons of his polo, past the lean stomach, and down to the bulge in his pants. Jesus.

He turned and grabbed his laptop from the nearby ottoman, then handed it to me. “Try to keep the porn to a minimum. Viruses and all.”

“No promises.” I took the computer and perched it on my lap.

He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, then tightened his jaw and strode away toward the kitchen.

I flipped open the laptop and searched in my pocket for the memory card I’d found in Lillian’s closet. The sound of a plate hitting the countertop reassured me that I was safe, but I turned on the sofa so I faced the door. If Garrett walked in, I’d have plenty of time to minimize whatever was on the memory card before he got around to see the screen. I didn’t know what I would find, and I wasn’t ready to share it all with him. Not yet.

With shaking fingers, I snugged the card into the small opening along the left side of the laptop. A file popped open on the screen. I clicked inside and found about twenty folders, each one named by date, which I assumed corresponded with the dates on which the photos were taken.

I opened the first folder and found five images. The first was of the front of the Browerton grocery store, the next four were photos of workers. The next folder had more of the same, but with images of paychecks. I sped through the next few file folders, most of them pertaining to Lillian’s investigation and eventual news article on the discrimination.

The next folder, dated a little over two years ago, held something that I never thought I’d see. Dad lying on a picnic blanket on a sunny patch of grass, a smile on his face and his Braves hat shading his eyes. Three more photos, then a selfie with both of their faces pressed together. Tears threatened as I studied them. My father’s crooked smile, the familiar wrinkles, and the mischief that always sparkled in his eyes. Lillian cut her gaze toward Dad, a smile along her reddened lips. Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders, and I could see why she won every beauty pageant she entered.

Footsteps in the hallway forced me to minimize the window and click on the Internet.

“Why did we agree to this cooking scheme when we could have just had Bonnie keep bringing us food?” Garrett leaned on the doorframe and rubbed his stomach. “I’m certain nothing I can make will beat those grits.”

“I know right?” I answered so quickly all my words ran together.

Garrett cocked his head to the side. “You all right, Red?”

“I’m fine.” I fidgeted, making sure to wince when I moved my leg. “It’s just sore. I think I’ll go get some rest once I’m done with the kitten of the week video.”

He didn’t seem convinced and ran a hand through his dark hair as he held my gaze. “If you say so.”

“Yep.”

“Call when you want to go up, okay? Can’t have you falling down the stairs. Insurance rates, you know?”

I snorted. “Right, insurance rates.”

He shot me a smile, one made of some sort of heart-melting material. “I’ll get back to work, but you can”—He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and inspected his feet—“you can come by if you want, or like I said, just tell me when you want to go up.”

Heart definitely thawing. “Thanks.”

“Welcome.” He walked out, the sound of his footsteps receding as I stared after him.

He had a sweet streak. Who knew? I adjusted myself on the leather couch, the cushions squeaking a little as I lifted my leg onto the ottoman.

I opened the file again and scrolled to where I left off. Instead of getting snared in the picnic photo again, I skipped to the next date.

Woods. I zoomed in on the photos but wasn’t sure what I was looking at other than woods similar to those around Blackwood. I clicked to the next and then the next. Ten photos in, and I couldn’t tell what the hell Lillian thought she’d captured on the photos. But I did find a pic with my father’s hand and wristwatch in the side of the frame. Whatever she’d been looking for, Dad had been with her.

I clicked through the rest, but I saw nothing that would help me figure out what happened. Deciding I had to have missed something, I started over, scrutinizing each photo for any missing clue. Other than a hunter’s mark on a few of the trees—a circle with a squiggly slash through the center done in orange spray paint, I found nothing. Shit. I closed out of the file and pressed my hand to the top of the monitor. I’d almost closed the laptop when a thought hit me.

I clicked on the memory card again. After a right click and changing some settings, I had the computer show me all hidden files.

“Bingo,” I muttered under my breath when a new file emerged, the last date of all the folders. I clicked inside and saw one file.

Click-click. The image filled the screen, and my breath stopped. Another shot of woods, the sun barely peeking between the branches. But this one had much more; a shallow grave filled with what looked like at least three bodies unearthed. To the side of the pit, my father leaned on a shovel and stared just above the camera with a look that turned my blood to ice. The sparkle had left his eyes and in its place—raw horror.

“Red?”

I yelped and slapped the laptop closed.

Garrett threw his hands up. “Damn.” He walked in and sat next to me as I furtively freed the memory card and stowed it in my pocket. “Cat videos getting to you?”

I swallowed and tried to play it off. “Just tired, I think. You scared me; that’s all.”

“You’re acting sort of…” He scrubbed his beard, the rasp reminding me of how it felt against my thighs. “Weird. Even for you.”

“Even for me?” I tittered out a fake laugh and kept my hand on the top of the computer.

“Yeah, especially what you just did right then. That bizarre laugh.” He stared at me. Could he hear my heart beating faster and faster?

He glanced to the computer. “Are you going to share?”

I wanted to trust him. My instincts told me to open the computer and show him what I’d found, but my mind was still on the fence.

I hedged. “Maybe, but not right now.”

“Fine. Keep your secrets.” He stood and sighed.

I took his hand.

He couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d smacked him.

“Just give me some time, okay? Just some time? Please?”

His demeanor softened, and he squeezed my fingers. “You know I can’t say no when you use that word.”

I smirked up at him. “I play to my strengths.”

“I’ve noticed.” He helped me up and held my waist as I hopped to the stairs.

Fatigue began to weight my limbs, and the stairs seemed impossible. Maybe I should have stayed on the couch.

He scooped me up and smirked down at me. “Ready for this, Red?”

“What do y—”

I gasped as he bounded up the steps two at a time. Strengthening my grip around his neck, I pulled myself closer to him.

“I’ve got you, Scarlett.” He laughed when he reached the top of the stairs and carried me into my room.

“I told you no Rhett Butler shenanigans!” I laughed through the scolding.

“I couldn’t resist.” He laid me on the bed and ran his hands up my forearms, keeping my hands latched around his neck. “If it bothered you, you could always have called black.”

He was so close that my mind seemed to scramble. “I wasn’t afraid.”

“No?” He pulled my arms free and laid them next to me. Hovering above me, his mouth curving wickedly, he was every bit the villain—one who scorched me to my core. “You should be.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“N O, THAT’S SUGAR.” I laughed as Garrett stared at the measuring scoop in his hand with a confused expression.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I pointed to the next large jar on the counter. “That’s the flour.”

He plucked the red lid off and stared down into the contents. “This looks just like the one I picked.”

“No it doesn’t. Flour is powdery. Sugar is grainy. All in the consistency. Did you never take a home economics class or even watch your mom cook?” I flipped the eggs and eyed the crisping bacon.

It was our fourth morning together after Bonnie brought groceries. Teaching Garrett how to cook had proven more difficult than I’d first thought, but he’d learned how to make an omelet, broil meat until it was done, and whip up a decent chicken salad.

“No. I was busy.”

“Doing what?” I scooped the bacon onto a plate covered with paper towels.

“Chasing girls, I guess.” He shrugged.

I arched an eyebrow as he leveled a scoop of flour and dumped it into a mixing bowl. “Literally or figuratively?”

He smiled. “A little of both.”

The more time we spent together, the more I saw the version of him that existed before Joan, before Lillian, and before everything that seemed to trap him at Blackwood. It scared me how much I liked him, the real him. He hadn’t slept with me again after that first night. I didn’t ask, though I wanted to keep trying to break down his walls. As he cracked an egg into the flour and started digging out the pieces of shell, I realized I was breaking them down. Cooking with Garrett seemed an impossibility only a week ago. Now we worked in the kitchen like a team, easy with each other in a way that should have seemed peculiar but didn’t.

“You get all the shell?” I peeked around him as he flicked a jagged piece into the sink.

“Think so. What now?”

“Buttermilk.” I pulled open the fridge and handed him the carton.

“How much?”

“Pour. I’ll say when.”

He opened the container, his large hands making quick work of the cardboard. I let my eyes wander up his sinewy forearms to the ink at his elbow. Other than some looks that could melt a glacier, he hadn’t touched me or made a move. The tension built, invisible but so thick it was almost tangible. I had to force myself to stay in my room at night instead of creeping to his.

My leg had healed since my run, the wounds sewing together faster the second time. My limp was all but gone, and I intended to restart my investigation in the next few days.

“That much?”

I snapped out of my gawking at his arms and looked in the bowl. He’d poured almost all the buttermilk because I hadn’t said “when.”

“When!” I put my hand on his wrist. “My bad.”

“Daydreaming over there?”

“No, I was, um… Just stir the batter and add another cup of flour. That should sort it out.” I returned to the stove and slid the eggs onto a plate.

We wound up making enough pancakes to feed all of Browerton, but the food was good, and we enjoyed each other’s company as we ate.

When I’d cleaned my plate and rubbed the food baby growing in my stomach, a grating noise from outside caught my attention. I turned to stare out the dusty dining room window. “What was that?”

He dabbed at his mouth with his napkin and rose. “Special delivery.”

“Of what?”

“Come and see.” He smiled and held out his hand.

I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. In all the time I’d been at Blackwood, only Bonnie or the sheriff ever visited. I couldn’t imagine what a “special delivery” entailed.

We walked down the middle hallway and out the front door into a bright, cold morning. A large white truck idled in the driveway, a flatbed trailer attached to the back. Two red ATVs sat on the trailer, their new chrome shining in the sun.

Garrett hopped down the front steps as a man opened the truck door and stepped out.

I peered at the trailer. “What’s that?”

“What’s it look like?” Garrett called over his shoulder.

I slid on my sneakers and walked out behind Garrett. My t-shirt and jeans did nothing to keep the chill at bay, but my curiosity overcame the temperature.

“Mr. Blackwood?” The man tipped his camouflage ball cap at Garrett.

“That’s me. You Gene?”

“Yes, sir.” He paused for a second, then continued, “This may sound odd, but man, nice beard. I been trying to grow mine out.” Gene rubbed his graying patches of scruff.

“Thanks, I’ve had it for about two years. Low maintenance.” Garrett shot me a sly smile. “Most women seem to like it.”

The beard had grown on me, but I wasn’t about to admit that to Garrett, so I said nothing and walked past to look at the ATVs. They had every bell and whistle imaginable, and I could cover a lot of ground on one of them.

“If the missus saw you, she’d be all for the beard. Me, though.” Gene shook his head and shrugged. “I’ll probably be back to shaving in a few days. Anyway, these are the ones you paid for. Top of the line, brand new, and fast as lightning. I just need your John Hancock.”

Garrett took a clipboard from Gene and signed a sweeping signature.

I leaned forward on the trailer and stared at the nearest vehicle, disbelief almost overwhelming the gratitude that welled up inside me. Had he really done this for me?

“You like them?” Garrett walked up to my side, our arms touching lightly.

I stared into his eyes, their blue tinted lighter by the bright sky. “Are they for me?”

“Well, one of them is, but you can have both if you want to get greedy.”

“Thank you.” The words felt inadequate on my lips.

He didn’t seem to notice the shortcoming, because he smiled, his eyes sparkling with genuine joy. “You’re welcome.”

“No, I mean it.” I covered his hand with mine.

He looked at my hand, then locked eyes with me again. “It’s my pleasure.”

“This is too much.”

Gene unfolded the back of the trailer with a clank and rolled the ATVs down onto the driveway.

“I don’t want the liability of you falling in the woods or getting attacked by wild boars again.” Garrett ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Insurance rates and all that could be a real pain with you wandering around the property. That’s why I got these.”

“That’s the only reason? Liability?” I walked over to the nearest ATV and tried to fight back my smile. The smile won.

“Give her a try.” Gene patted the ATV. “Key’s in the ignition.”

I threw a leg over and settled onto the black leather seat. “It’s really big.”

“I’ll be sure and tell the missus you said that.” Gene winked and lifted the back gate of the trailer into place.

The rumble of an engine filtered through the trees. I glanced to Garrett, but his eyes searched the expanse of woods around the driveway.

“Something else?” I followed his stare.

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, I’ll be off then.” Gene tipped his hat at me. “Keys are there, and if you have any issues, you know where to find me.” Gene shook Garrett’s hand and gave me a smile before climbing into the truck.

He cranked the engine and pulled to the back of the house to turn around. The source of the other engine noise appeared on the driveway—a muddy SUV emblazoned with the sheriff’s logo.

“Whoa.” I stood and watched as my car approached behind the SUV. It looked none the worse for wear. How did he find it?

“What is it?” Garrett kicked the tires on the other ATV.

“They found my car.”

Sheriff Crow pulled into the grass as Gene passed and waved. A deputy parked my car behind the SUV and got out. I hurried over, ignoring the chill that started to set in despite the bright sun.

“Where did you find it?” I leaned inside and put my knee on the driver’s seat. Everything seemed untouched. Popping open the glove compartment, I found my gun just where it should have been.

“It was on a logging road, the L-8.” The red-headed deputy, who couldn’t have been older than I was, watched as I looked around.

Not possible. “That’s where I left it. When I went back, it wasn’t there.”

“We rode up on it this morning, found a spare key under the floor mat, and cranked it right up.” The redhead smiled and held out his hand. “I’m Deputy Fields, by the way.”

I shook his hand but stared at my car. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. I’ve heard a lot about you from Bonnie and the sheriff. I’ve been looking forward to making your acquaintance.”

“Thanks.”

“Little Rory Fields.” Garrett walked to the passenger side and leaned over the roof of the car. “Last time I saw you, you had a mouthful of braces and a real body odor problem.”

Rory narrowed his eyes. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I see the braces are gone.” Garrett sniffed the air. “Not so sure about that other issue.”

I glared at Garrett, who gave me a shit-eating grin and shrugged. “What? It’s all true.”

“Mr. Blackwood, I don’t apprecia—”

Sheriff Crow put a hand on Rory’s shoulder and pointed his hat at me. “I told you we’d find it.”

Rory bit back whatever tirade he was about to start.

Garrett opened the passenger side door. “Anything stolen?”

“No, it’s all here. But I don’t understand how.” I shook my head, trying to figure out what the hell it meant. “You found it on the L-8?”

“Yeah.” Sheriff Crow patted the hood. “About seven miles off the highway, just like you said.”

“But it wasn’t there.” I stared at the car, wondering if I was losing my mind.

Rory hitched a thumb into his belt right next to his gun. “Maybe when you walked out of the woods, you were disoriented about what part of the road you were on?”

I wanted to tell him that wasn’t possible. My compass and my memory were just fine. But then again, if they found it on the road, maybe I’d missed it somehow?

“It’s just that I walked down the road for a good quarter of a mile. I should have seen it.” I crossed my arms over my chest as goose bumps from the frigid air or the ghost car raced across my skin.

“I don’t know.” Sheriff Crow snugged his hat on his head again. “But it’s here now. I guess that’s the most important thing.”

“Yes. Sorry. I should be thanking you for finding it.” I nodded at him. “I really appreciate it.”

“Just doing my job. Sorry it took so long. I been dealing with that hunting accident for days. Anyway, how’s the leg?”

“Much better. Garrett’s taking good care of me.”

“That’s what I want to hear. Maybe Bonnie will stop chewing my ass about letting you stay out here now.” Sheriff Crow grinned. “Then again, I like it when she gets onto me in front of Ty. I think the jealousy spices up their marriage, and it certainly inflates my ego.”

“Honesty from an elected official?” I laughed. “What reality are we living in?”

“I need to work on that for the next election cycle.” His easy smile was contagious. No wonder Bonnie had a crush.

“These are nice.” Rory walked over and ran his hand along the handlebars of one of the ATVs. “You still planning on doing your surveying, Miss Vale?”

“Looks like it. Garrett was nice enough to get the ATVs, so it should cut my field time in half.”

Rory looked up and caught my eye. “You know, I’m pretty familiar with these parts. I’d be happy to help you—”

“You’re about to freeze out here.” Garrett’s voice turned gruff as he walked around the car and took my upper arm. “Come on inside.” He started walking me toward the steps but called over his shoulder to Sheriff Crow. “Glad you and Junior Mouseketeer Rory stopped by.”

“It’s Deputy Fields.” Rory snapped.

Sheriff Crow cleared his throat. “Uh, all right. We need to skedaddle. Got a report of a…a poacher on Mr. Bowry’s property. Yep.”

“We did?” Rory didn’t seem convinced.

“Yeah, come on, son.” Sheriff Crow chuckled. “Let’s go check it out and leave them to it.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Vale.” Rory’s hopeful voice only spurred Garrett to tighten his grip as he helped me up the stairs.

“I’m fine,” I hissed as Garrett walked me through the front door and slammed it behind us. “I can walk.”

He whirled to face me. “I know, and Rory Dickhead watched every step you took.”

“He was just trying to be polite. What’s your problem?”

He backed me into the door, and my body tingled with the memories of what happened the last time we were in this position. “My problem is that I don’t like him looking at you.”

The sound of the sheriff’s engine died away.

“That doesn’t give you a license to be an asshole!”

“I think it does.” His voice lowered.

I met his eyes and licked my lips. He followed the movement and bent his arms at the elbow until his body pressed against mine. My breath hitched, and I gripped his waist.

My desire for him, the fire that had burned low over the past few days, roared back. I couldn’t deny it, not anymore. Rising onto my tiptoes, I kissed him. He answered, smashing his lips against mine in a blaze of passion as he cupped my face. A low growl rumbled in his chest as his tongue swept into me. I trembled, all hint of the cold disappearing.

My nipples hardened and crushed into his chest as he ran one hand down to my ass. He squeezed hard, and I moaned into his mouth. His other hand dropped to my throat. I dug my nails into his sides as he pulled me close. My panties grew wet, and I ground against him shamelessly.

His hand tightened at my neck, and I bit his bottom lip. The sting of pain seemed to bring him back to himself in the worst way. He broke our kiss and stared down at me.

“What?” My voice barely made a sound.

“I won’t hurt you. Not like this.” He backed away and held his hands up. “I won’t.”

The stab of rejection sank deep inside me like a poisoned splinter. “Why?”

“You’re too…” His chest heaved, and his cock pressed against his jeans. “I can’t do this to you.”

His face began to blur as tears clouded my vision. “You can’t or you don’t want to?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He took another step away, then turned his back on me. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Fuck you.” I wanted to hit him, shove him, do something to show him that I wasn’t going to break. “I didn’t call black.”

His shoulders slumped. “I know, but I feel like…”

“Like what?” I demanded.

“I feel like if I do those things to you, those things that I want—” He let out a heavy sigh. “Look, it doesn’t matter. It’s just not going to happen. Things are good the way they are. Let’s keep them that way.”

I dropped my head and two tears plopped to the floor.

“I’m going to work. You, um, you get ready to start surveying or something.” He walked toward the library.

I turned my head away from him. I didn’t want him to see me cry. A flash of red caught my eye. My pea coat hung on a hook along with other jackets in the foyer.

I blinked hard, ridding myself of the tears. He opened the French doors to the library, his back to me. In a moment of pure impulse, I snagged the red coat and pulled it on. He still hadn’t turned around.

With a deep breath, I gripped the front door handle and pulled.

He turned then, and shot me a look so fierce I almost faltered.

“What are you doing, Red?” The warning notes in his voice only strengthened my resolve.

I gave him a smirk and my middle finger before taking off across the porch, down onto the lawn, and into the cold, shadowy woods.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I  RAN FAST BUT not hard enough to re-injure my leg. Sprinting across the leaf-strewn ground, I felt electric. Each stride carried me away from Garrett, but also right into his arms. I’d made my choice. I hopped a small stream and cut to the left, dashing down an easy slope.

My feet skidded on a patch of wet leaves. I slowed to keep from falling. That’s when I heard Garrett’s footfalls. A thrill coursed through me. My body kicked into a higher gear, and I sped away, endorphins telling me I could beat him, that I could get away even if that wasn’t my intent.

I passed the silent trees. They watched as I ran for my life, my mind conjuring a killer chasing me down. A killer with Garrett’s face. The fear took me higher, gave me wings as I sprinted through a clearing. Garrett’s footfalls grew louder, the earth thundering beneath him as I broke through the tree line and darted to the right.

Five more steps. That was all I got. Garrett tackled me to the ground, his strong arms wrapping around me as we fell. I hit the forest floor hard, my breath escaping my lungs with a whoosh. He grunted, and I threw an elbow back into his ribs as I tried to crawl away from him.

“Not a chance, Red.” He gripped my upper arm and yanked me onto my back. Pinning my arms above my head, he glared down at me. His pulse thundered in his throat, and his eyes were wild, the pupils huge.

He straddled me, his strong thighs keeping my legs pressed together. Transferring my wrists to one hand, he used the other to grab a handful of my t-shirt.

“I won’t let you go. I can’t. Not now.” He yanked the shirt, and it ripped at my shoulders. “Call black.”

“No.” I tried to pull my wrists free, but his grip was like an iron band.

He yanked again, and the shirt came apart. Cold air assaulted my exposed skin, and my thin bra was no match for the frigid temperature. He leaned down and bit one of my nipples through the material. I arched and whimpered as he tongued me, then bit the other nipple.

In one rough movement, he ripped my bra down, one strap shredding against my skin with a sting. He bit the inside of my left breast hard, and I squealed at the sharp burn.

“Call black.” He growled and ran his hand to my jeans.

“Fuck you!” I wriggled, a stick poking against my right shoulder blade.

He tugged at my jeans so hard my hips lifted from the ground. The button popped off and the zipper ripped. When his fingers snaked inside my panties and down to my clit, I threw my head back onto the hard ground.

“Jesus, your panties are soaked.” He rubbed my clit, then sank two fingers inside me.

I yelped at the sudden intrusion. In answer, he bit my other breast hard enough to almost break the skin.

“Garret!” I struggled, arching my back and trying to yank free. Did I want to get free? Lust infected every one of my thoughts as he handled me roughly.

“Call fucking black.” He leaned back and released my hands only to grab the hem of my jeans and rip them and my panties down my thighs.

I instinctively flipped onto my knees and tried to crawl away. His large palm slammed into my upper back and pressed me into the cold ground. I clawed at the dirt and the leaves, but got nowhere as he yanked my jeans all the way off, my sneakers pulled off right along with them. I was naked except for the red coat.

His hand came down hard on my ass, and I shrieked. The sharp ache cut through my haze, and I fought against him. He hit me again and again, each slap as unforgiving as the last. The cold amplified the pain to almost unbearable levels. My ass burned and tears welled in my eyes as he beat me. When the slaps stopped, I heaved out a breath, but then he bit my ass, tearing another scream from me.

“Fuck!” He roared and bit me again, then flipped me onto my back.

His hair hung in disarray, and he was every bit as wild as the forest around us. Danger and desire mixed.

“Call fucking black.” He surveyed my body with a hunger that made wetness pool between my legs.

“Never.”

“Wrong answer, Red.”

Spreading my legs, he dove onto my pussy, his hot mouth licking and sucking. He pressed my thighs painfully wide with his palms. I ran my dirty hands through his hair and yanked. He growled against my skin and bit my pussy lips. I cried out, and he sank his tongue inside me, fucking me as his upper lip pressed against my clit. He dug his fingers into my thighs as I moved my hips against his face. My body was drawn tight, ready to be shot like an arrow. Each stroke with his tongue, each rough touch of his hands only made me burn brighter.

He returned to my clit, lashing it with his tongue as I writhed on the dirty ground. Just when my hips began to seize, he stopped and rose to his knees.

“Don’t fucking move.” He unbuckled his belt.

I stared at the bulge in his jeans, then up into his dark eyes. Fuck him. He would have to fight for it. I scrambled back and tried to get to my knees. He was on top of me before I could even contemplate my next move. His weight pressed down, and his cock was like an iron rod against my pussy.

He gripped my chin and forced me to meet his eyes.

“You’re mine, Red. Where the fuck did you think you were going?” He ground his hips into me, and I moaned. “You asked for this. For my cock. I’m going to give it to you. Your dripping cunt is mine.”

I tried to slap him, hit him, do anything I could to have one more chance at running. I wanted him angry, hungry, and past all reason. And I wanted to be caught.

He laughed as I struggled, then dropped his mouth to my neck and bit me again.

“Stop!” I screamed and raked my nails down his arm.

“I like your fight, but I’m still going to do whatever I want to you.” He tugged my hair until I had to arch my back, my breasts jutting into the air and my ruined bra hanging to the side. “Don’t move.” Rising to his knees, he whipped his belt free.

He gripped my hips and wrenched me over onto my stomach. With two hard pulls, he stripped my coat off and threw it aside. I tried to push up, but he took the opportunity to loop his belt around my throat and pull it tight. Panic blossomed in my mind.

I reached up to work my fingers between the leather and my skin so I could breathe easier.

He yanked on it, cutting off my air. “Try that again, and you’ll regret it.”

I nodded as he pulled me onto my knees.

He eased up, and I gulped in a breath.

The sound of his zipper was loud in the quiet woods. I curled my toes in anticipation, needing to feel him, to feel everything he kept hidden, but also afraid of what I’d find.

“Last chance, Red.” He ran his hand up my back and gripped my hair. “Call black.”

“Fuck you.”

His low laugh seemed to chill the air even further. “You sure?” He pressed his cock against my pussy, and a shudder went through me.

I surged against his hold, still fighting, still pushing him. The leather tightened, and my scalp stung.

“Scream for me.” He shoved inside me.

I howled from the sudden shock of pain and the sensation of being full to bursting. He didn’t stop, only reared back and slammed harder into me, using the belt to keep me in place. Releasing my hair, he slapped his palm onto my lower back and pushed down, forcing me to bow my back as he began a relentless pace.

My breath vanished, and I clawed at the ground as the pain sizzled away like water droplets on a hot pan. Raw pleasure shot through me, and I shook from each impact. Our bodies slapped together, and the slippery sounds from our union made an illicit soundtrack.

I’d never felt so alive. He slapped my ass, but the pain morphed into something different. Something with wings. I flew higher, each cruel stroke setting my body on fire and tightening the coil in the pit of my stomach. His grunts grew louder as he pulled on the belt. I could barely take a breath. He bent over me, his chest against my back as he pressed me into the ground. My cheek met the cold leaves as he snaked a hand to my clit.

I tried to buck, but he was too big. I was caught beneath him, his cock owning my pussy as his fingers strummed me roughly.

He pressed his lips to my ear. “I’m going to come deep in your cunt. That’s what you want, what you need.” He ran his teeth along the shell of my ear. “I own you, Red.”

My entire body shook as he ground me into the dirt. All of it was wrong, but I reveled in it. My body seized, he tightened his hold on the belt, and the hardest orgasm of my life ripped through me. He plunged deep and roared as my pussy convulsed around him.

“Fuck!” He slammed harder, his cock thickening even more.

All thought was blasted away as the purest form of bliss filled my veins. I let my forehead rest against the hard earth as electricity skittered across my body.

He didn’t let up, still fucking me deep. His erotic groan filled my mind as his cock kicked against my tight walls, and he surged hard against my cervix. He dug his fingers into the side of my ass as he came. I welcomed the pain and breathed in the dirt, the sweat, the sex.

He collapsed onto my back and loosened the belt. I gasped as the aftershocks of my orgasm shot through me. He panted in my ear, his heart beating strong against my back. I floated down slowly, see-sawing back and forth like a feather on the breeze.

My eyes fluttered closed as he removed the belt and stroked my neck with his long fingers. I couldn’t move, every bone in me melted. He pulled out, and I clenched my thighs together at the loss. My body trembled. From shock. From cold. I didn’t know.

He moved around in the leaves, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I felt untethered, surreal. His hands, so violent only moments before, gently pulled my shoulders and turned me toward him. He eased an arm behind my back and one beneath my knees and lifted.

I snuggled closer to his chest as he knelt, then tossed my red coat over me. My eyes closed, and I entrusted myself to him. He carried me to the house in silence, up the familiar stairs, and into my bathroom.

Sitting me on the edge of the tub, he kissed my forehead, then peered into my eyes. “You’re coming back down, Red. The bath will help.”

He twisted the squeaky knobs, and water began splashing behind me. He stood and stripped his navy plaid shirt off, the sleeves covered with dark dirt. His jeans, the knees black, went next. I gripped the edge of the tub to stay upright. Had he drugged me when I wasn’t looking?

“I feel…” I couldn’t mold my thoughts together enough to continue.

“It’s called subspace. So many endorphins in your bloodstream that it’s like you’ve taken a hit of heroin.” He stripped off his shorts, and I stared at his thickening cock. Fuck, it was gorgeous. A thick mushroom head and a straight, lickable shaft. “But you’re about to crash.”

He stepped into the tub and hissed, then tinkered with the knobs. Once satisfied, he gripped me under my arms and pulled me down with him.

I moaned at the hot water, my skin prickling at the onslaught of comfort and warmth.

Garrett’s erection twitched against my ass. “Do you have any idea what the noises you make do to me?” He wrapped his arms around me, and I relaxed against his chest.

“I can guess.” I wriggled my ass.

He growled. “You’re playing with fire, Red.”

“Burn me, then.” I sighed, contentment coating every corner of my mind.

His hands smoothed down my sides, lingering at the curve of my waist and then skirting along my upper thighs. “What am I going to do with you?” He turned me sideways, our legs tangling under the water.

“I think you’ve already figured that out.” I stretched up and nipped at his throat.

“Red.” The warning in his tone didn’t deter me, but my fatigue did. He wrapped his arms tight around me, pressing my softness against his hardness. I sank down and laid my head on his chest.

“Are you…” He coughed. “Sorry, are you on birth control?”

I snickered. “Yes. Maybe you should have asked that before having your way with me in the woods.”

He squeezed me. “You didn’t really give me a choice there, Red. You ran.” He said it as if those two words explained everything.

“Hang on a sec.” I grinned. “You’re cuddling. This is cuddling.”

He shrugged, sending a small wave sloshing over the tub’s edge and slapping into the tile floor. “You make me do things that don’t make sense.”

I traced my fingertips around the barbell in his dusky nipple. “Like what?”

“Like cooking, like playing doctor without any of the pervy benefits, like cuddling, like not using a condom, or like taking baths with an angel in my arms.”

If I weren’t already melted, his words would have done me in. “Smooth talker.”

He laughed, the water trembling. “That’s the thing, I’m not. You’ve done this to me.”

“I like it.”

“Of course you do.” He shook his head, his beard whispering against my hair. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. I want you warm and in bed with me.”

“Cuddling?” I grinned up at him.

He smirked and ran his hand between my legs. “Something like that.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“T  HAT WORD IS MISSPELLED.” I peered over Garrett’s shoulder at the book he was working on. The text had been written in a harshly slanting hand, each letter seeming to lean on the next for support.

“This is a seventeenth century manuscript that once graced the shelves of the largest monastery still standing in Britain.” He dropped his quill into the ink pot, spun in his chair, and dragged me into his lap. “I think they knew what they were doing.”

He pressed his lips to my neck as thunder rumbled outside. The weekend had arrived cold and wet. Ever since our time in the woods the previous day, Garrett and I hadn’t been able to keep our hands off each other. I had no doubt the worries about my father were waiting for me on the front porch, ready to pounce once I left the comfortable cocoon of Garrett’s arms. So I staved them off and planned on restarting the survey Monday morning.

“Where’d you go?” He stared into my eyes and cleared a few strands of hair from my forehead.

“Nowhere.” I smiled and kissed him. “Just here with you.”

He slid a hand under my shirt and up my back. Kissing down to my throat, he ran his teeth along my skin and sent goose bumps shooting down my arms.

“Is that your ink hand?” I wriggled against the hand at my back.

“Yep.” He sucked my jugular.

I tried to lean away from his grip, but he held on tighter. After our time in the woods, I learned the quickest way to get close to him was to push away.

He used his other hand to yank my tank top down. His hot mouth pressed against my nipple, and my breath hitched as he rubbed the flat of his tongue along the stiff peak.

“Garrett.” I ran my hands through his hair and gripped the strands as he leaned me back, holding me at his mercy. He sucked and bit my bare nipple before trading up for the one still imprisoned behind the fabric of my top.

Kissing back to my mouth, he murmured, “You taste good enough to eat.”

He claimed my mouth with a roughness that spoke to some inner part of me. One that I had never considered, much less explored. I eased my hand down his shirt and stroked his hard cock through his jeans.

He groaned into my mouth and gripped my hair until I whimpered from the sting. Pain told me the game was starting, and I was eager to play.

“On your knees.” He pushed me to the floor, my knees hitting his rug as he kept a strong hold on my hair. “Do you want my cock?”

I licked my lips and stared up into his stormy eyes. “Please.”

“Fuck.” He dragged me closer until my face hovered above his belt buckle. “Take it out.”

I made quick work of his belt and button fly. When I flipped his boxers down, his cock pointed at my face.

“Suck it.” He pulled me forward and gripped the back of my neck with his free hand.

I opened wide, and slid him as far into my mouth as I could. It wasn’t far enough for him, because he yanked me onto his cock, the tip pressing into the back of my throat. I gagged and sputtered. He pulled out and thrust again. I dug my nails into his thighs and tried to pull away from him. But, as with everything else, if I tried to escape, it only made him tighten his grip.

He forced his cock head into my throat and held me in place as my tears ran and I beat at his thighs. “Fucking take it, Red.”

I needed air. But the only way to get it was to give in to him. I stopped struggling. He pulled my head back and let me take a breath.

I went back in, sucking on his head and taking his shaft deep. He grunted, the sound masculine and sexy. My panties stuck to me, but I wanted to please him more than anything else. I rose up higher on my knees and pressed my elbows along the tops of his thighs as I bobbed on his cock. He guided my strokes, holding my head in place as I rubbed his cock against my tongue.

Wet sounds echoed around the library as he began thrusting, fucking my mouth.

“I’m going to shoot down your throat.”

I’d never taken a man into my throat before, but I wasn’t about to stop. Garrett groaned and grunted, each thrust harder than the last. I took in noisy breaths around his cock, but didn’t stop sucking and licking.

He tensed and yanked me onto his cock again. I couldn’t breathe, but he held me in place as he thrust once more. I closed my eyes and concentrated on him. His hands, his cock, his scent. I wanted it, all of it.

He groaned as his cock thickened in my mouth and his come coated my throat. I pressed my tongue to the bottom of his shaft and swallowed.

“Fuck.” He pushed me off his cock, then shoved me to the floor.

I gasped as he yanked my jeans and panties off. Before I’d gotten my breathing back to normal, his mouth covered my pussy, and I arched my back.

He grabbed my ass and raised me to his face as if he were feasting on a sumptuous meal. I moaned as he devoured me. Every lick, every bite was like a spark against a fuse, each one flirting with an explosion. I yelped when he dug his teeth into my mound and used his tongue to stroke my clit in hard, inexorable passes. My hips met his rhythm. He moved one hand to my pussy, then trailed the wetness to my asshole.

I dug my nails into the rug as he teased me, his finger caressing the ridges. He increased the pressure, and the sparks began to rain down. When he pressed his fingertip inside me, the fuse lit and my orgasm exploded. His name ripped through my lungs as my legs tightened around his head. Each wave of release shook me, and I moaned until my lungs burned. When I finally came back down from the heights he’d shot me to, he lowered my hips to the floor and kissed the spots where his bites would leave marks.

“Holy shit.” My heart thumped roughly in my chest, and I slung my arm over my eyes because everything seemed too bright.

I lay boneless as he dotted soft kisses on each hip and his gentle hands massaged my thighs. He crawled up my body and nudged my arm away to kiss me, giving me a taste of myself. I wrapped my arms around his neck as he pressed another kiss to my lips then rested his forehead against mine.

“Damn, Red.” A smirk crept into his lips, the fine lines next to his eyes crinkling. “You get so aggressive when you’re horny.”

I snorted out a laugh, and he grinned down at me.

A click sounded from the foyer.

“What was—”

“Shh.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Someone’s trying to get in.” He got to his knees and straightened his pants. Snagging my pants and panties, he shoved them into my hands then hurried into the foyer.

I yanked my pants on as the front door handle gave a familiar squeak. I’d made it to my knees when the door swung inward, and a young man walked in.

“Shit, Hart.” Garrett walked out to greet him. “I was about to fucking clock you.”

Hart laughed, his voice a pleasant baritone. “I still technically live here, you know.”

I got to my feet and tried to ease out of Hart’s line of sight.

He turned toward me at the movement.

Fuck.

His bright green eyes narrowed, then widened with recognition. “Sidney? What are you doing here?”

CHAPTER TWENTY

GARRETT CROSSED HIS ARMS over his chest and glared at me. “Who’s Sidney, and what the fuck is going on?”

“I can explain.” Can’t I?

Hart stared, his handsome face contorted into a mask of confusion. “How did you get here? Are you still doing that pine beetle study thing? The research?”

“Oh, so you’re a researcher, Sidney?”

There was no way out of this. Both men wanted an explanation, and what was more, they deserved it from me.

I straightened my back and walked into the foyer. “Okay, so you know I’ve been looking for my father.”

“You have?” Hart shook his head, his light brown hair flopping over his ears.

“Yes.” I gave him the frankest look in my arsenal. “Hart, I’m sorry, but when I met you, I lied to you. My name isn’t Sidney, and I’m not doing research on southern pine beetles. My name’s Elise, and I was asking you questions about the woods around here to see if you had seen any trace of my father or anything strange.”

He ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “This is sort of a mind-blown moment.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just that I didn’t know if I could trust you.” I glanced to Garrett as my cheeks heated. “I didn’t know if your family had anything to do with my dad’s disappearance.”

“Disappearance?” He looked from me to Garrett, then back again. “What are you talking about?”

“Maybe we should all sit down?” I motioned toward the dining room.

“No. Go on.” Garrett’s tone edged on dangerous.

“Okay.” I met his fierce gaze. “I looked up your family. I found Hart was a student at a university just a few hours away. I figured he would be my best bet to ask questions about the property without raising suspicion. So, I pretended to be studying the woodlands for my thesis. Hart was kind enough to answer my questions and talk to me.”

Hart smirked, the look almost as devious as the one his brother often wore, but with a hint of innocence from a perfectly placed dimple. “I talked to you because you were hot, not because I’m kind.”

Garrett thrummed his fingers on his bicep, irritation rolling off him in waves.

I hurried along. “So, I asked him about the woods, if he’d seen any beetle activity or human activity because I, um, I said that beetles were attracted to man-made things like houses, shacks, cars, any of that.”

Garrett drew his brows together. “Hart, you fell for that shit?”

Hart shrugged. “Did you hear the part where I said I would have told her anything she wanted to hear? Look at her.” He scanned me with open interest.

“Stop looking at her like that.” Garrett’s voice held a chill.

“Hart is the reason I knew to search here. He saw my father’s car on your property. That’s why I’m here. I swear, Garrett, that was it. I wasn’t trying to trick him or you, I just didn’t know who to trust.”

He stepped toward me, his arms still crossed. “So you still don’t trust me?”

“No, I do.” I rested my hand on his forearm.

“Then why didn’t you share this information?”

I dropped my eyes to the floor and chewed my lip. “I intended to. I just didn’t, but I should have. I guess I was embarrassed about the lies, so I was holding off for as long as I could.” I caught his eye again. “And there’s one more thing.”

Hart whistled. “Sorry to interrupt, but I still have no clue what’s going on.”

Garrett ignored him and zeroed in on me. “What’s the other thing?”

“I snooped in Lillian’s room” —His jaw tightened even more, so I sped my explanation— “and I found my father’s Braves cap and a memory card with photos on it.”

“Photos of what?” Hart asked.

I shook my head. No way I could explain it all. “Probably better if I just show you.”

Garrett pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your dad’s car has been on the property this whole time, yet you didn’t say a word?”

“I’m sorry.” I clasped my hands together. “I wasn’t sure about you, and I …” What else could I say?

“Well, are you sure now?”

“Yes.” I said it easily, no holding back. “All cards on the table.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes. “No more secrets.”

I nodded as regret settled on me like a fine ash. “I promise. You know everything. I swear. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

He seemed to relax a little, then glanced to Hart. “A beetle researcher? What else have you fallen for while you’ve been away?”

Hart grinned. “Well there was this one chick who said she was on the pill, but—”

“What?” Garrett barked.

I breathed a sigh of relief that he’d turned his ire on Hart instead of me.

Hart laughed. “I’m just dicking with you. Calm down. There’ll be no little Blackwoods running around anytime soon. Promise.” He glanced to me. “Unless there’s something you’ve forgotten to tell me.”

“Such an asshole.” Garrett gave a grudging smile and wrapped his arm around Hart’s neck. Both men were large, Hart’s thicker frame complementing Garrett’s more wiry one. “About time you came home to visit.”

I stepped around them and headed for the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Garrett asked.

“I figured you two wanted some, you know, brother time?” I hesitated on the bottom stair.

Garrett released Hart. “Go in the kitchen. There’s some leftover baked chicken and green beans in the fridge.”

“Are you shitting me? Real food in the house?” He glanced at me. “I’m still not sure who you are, but thanks for cooking.”

I pointed to Garrett. “Actually, he cooked it.”

“Well fuck me running.” Hart bounded down the hallway, the promise of food the only lure he needed.

Garrett walked over to me and cupped the back of my neck. “You think I’d let you get away that easy?”

God, when he said things like that, it was all I could do to not curl my toes. “I-I don’t know.”

He leaned closer, his lips at my ear. “I forgive you, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be punishment.”

A tingle shot up my spine. “Garrett—”

“No way out of it, Red. Not unless you call black.” He released my neck. “Now, let’s go get you reacquainted with my brother. Then I want to see the photos you mentioned. We’ll save the punishment for when he’s out of the house.”

“Okay.” Did I just agree to punishment?

“Go on now.”

I walked past him and yelped when he gave me a firm smack on the ass.

He wrapped his arm around my waist. “Couldn’t resist getting a head start.”

“Let me see your leg.” Hart plopped down next to me on the couch.

“Excuse me?” I gawked at him.

Garrett, Hart, and I had spent the morning getting up to speed on my surveying project and the issues surrounding my father’s disappearance. Hart had taken it well, far better than I could have hoped. Of the two brothers, the younger one was far more easygoing, and I couldn’t see the dominance that Garrett hinted lived beneath Hart’s surface.

Hart patted my knee. “I changed majors to pre-med. Maybe I can help.” He shot me a disarming smile and dropped to his knees. “Let’s see how it’s healing up.”

“All right.” I rolled up the leg of my black lounge pants.

He bent over and ran his fingertips along the scars. “Too bad about the marks, but they’ll fade.”

“I figure they’re going to be permanent.” I shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it. Bonnie brought some cream that I put on them every night. I can’t really tell a difference, but she swears by the stuff.”

“Any muscle damage?” He began kneading my leg, his strong fingers working my flesh as I leaned back against the cushions.

“That feels amazing, and no, I think the tusks went clean through. It feels weird to say this, but I think I got lucky with the injuries. And I know I lucked out with Garrett saving me that night.” I moaned when he reached a particularly knotted spot toward the top of my calf.

“You might not have any lingering muscle damage, but your leg needs a good working over to get it back in shape. Relying on the right leg has weakened the left.”

“Yeah?” I peered down at him, his bright eyes shaded by the hair along his brow.

He tried to run his fingers to my knee, but the rolled pants blocked him. “Do you mind? I can’t get a good idea of what sort of things might help without a look at the whole leg.”

“I, um…” I started to shake my head, but he pressed his fingers along my calf again, the sensation akin to a knotted ball of string unraveling.

“Let me help.” He snagged his fingers in the waist of my pants and tugged. He made an mmm sound and pulled again.

I grabbed his wrists. “I’m not sure if this is—”

“Hart!” Garrett’s voice ricocheted around the living room like a shot as he stormed in. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I yanked my pants back into place. “He’s pre-med. He was just checking my leg and—”

Garrett strode over, fisted the back of Hart’s polo, and dragged him to his feet. “Pre-med, huh?”

Hart grinned, mischief all over his face. “Pre-law and pre-med are practically the same thing.”

I shot to my feet. “You asshole!” Mortification painted my cheeks pink.

“Oh, come on.” He ducked out of his brother’s grasp. “She owed me one after the beetle crap I fell for. And really, what’s a little perving—nice lace panties by the way—between friends?”

Garrett took a menacing step toward Hart, who backed away and almost tripped over the ottoman.

Garrett’s glower darkened. “She’s my guest. Mine.”

“Sorry, my bad.” Hart’s smile undermined his words.

Garrett lunged for him, and Hart darted around the back of the couch and out into the hall. He winked at me before dashing toward the stairs. Garrett followed, but Hart was already pounding up the steps.

“Fucker!” Garrett called after him.

Hart’s laughter grew fainter until a door upstairs slammed and cut it off entirely.

Garrett stalked back into the living room, his eyes focused on me. I stood my ground, even as he churned toward me like a hurricane on the sea. When he reached me, he took my face in his hands and smashed his lips to mine.

Possession. He lowered me to the couch, his body covering mine as we sank down. I gripped his forearms, digging my nails into his skin as he filled every corner of my being with thoughts of him.

When he released me from his all-consuming kiss, he stared down at me, his eyes darkened with desire.

“You’re mine. You probably think you can just leave here when you’re done with all this.” He pressed his thigh against me, rubbing between my legs. “Maybe find some asshole who closes his eyes as he fucks you so sweetly.”

“I—”

“Not a man like me who takes what he wants.” He slid a hand down to my breast and squeezed until it hurt.

I leaned up to capture his lips, to soothe the beast. But he hovered out of range, his stormy eyes raging.

“You’re mine.” He moved a hand to my throat. “I won’t let you go. I can’t. I’ll destroy any man who tries to take you from me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” I ran my palm along his scruffy cheek. “I’m here with you.”

He kissed me again, this time gentler, though his need—his need for me—burned me deeper than anything I’d ever felt.

Raw and rough, he spoke his heart. His words created a new sensation inside me, an inexplicable cocktail of hope, heat, and something stronger. I didn’t dare define it, but as I ran my fingers through his unruly hair, I wished the feeling would never stop.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

GARRETT CARRIED MY PACK out the front door along with a small one of his own. I finished lacing my boots and followed him out into the brusque wind. The sky was overcast, promising rain later as a front moved in. We had until about three in the afternoon to do our first bit of surveying before the rain arrived.

“You sure today’s the day?” He stowed our packs on the back of the red ATVs and glanced at the clouds.

“Yes. I can’t wait around for the sun to pop out in a few days.” I stretched my bad leg, happy with the absence of pain or discomfort. “Besides, I’m already behind.”

I’d scouted the best route to a mounded area on the southeast edge of the property. The ATVs should be able to make it there and back again with ease. I also hoped to check out another odd spot on the satellite image. I’d shown it to Garrett, and we both surmised it was some sort of shack hidden in a thicket along the edge of a dense stand of pines. He’d been just as puzzled as I was about it being on his property. We were equally stumped by the photos in Lillian’s camera, and Garrett couldn’t determine which hunter’s mark graced the trees in the background. Square one wasn’t so bad, though, now that I had Garrett to scout with me.

I hurried to my car and snagged the pistol from my glove box.

Garrett eyed me as I walked up, then reached behind his back and pulled out his own handgun. “We’re armed to the teeth. I don’t think any boars are going to get the drop on us.”

I slung a leg over my ATV. “It’s not the boars I’m worried about.”

He walked over and tipped my chin up. “You’re safe with me. Nothing is going to happen to you on my watch.” Leaning down, he kissed me with a sweetness that infused me with delicious warmth.

“Is that a gentler version of ‘I’ll cut a bitch’?” I smiled against his lips.

“I’ll do a lot worse than that if anyone lays a finger on you.” He claimed my mouth again, more urgent this time.

I answered, my tongue sweeping against his as he roped my ponytail around his fist. It had been five days since I ran from him. We’d spent hours lying in bed, plenty of mealtimes cooking together, and our nights sleeping together. After that, I’d had a couple more days of laughing with Hart, the two men playing off each other and amusing me to no end.

After Garrett had marked his territory via loud, rough sex on the living room couch, Hart didn’t try any more come-ons. The night before he’d returned to school, he’d told tales of campus conquests until the wee hours, though I suspected half of the women he claimed to have bedded were solely in his imagination. Entertaining all the same, and something about him being around lulled Garrett into a happier mood. Quicker to laugh and throw witty comebacks, quicker to kiss me whenever we got a moment alone.

He pulled back. “If we don’t stop, I’m going to drag you into the house and fuck the day away.”

I pinned my lips between my teeth and shook my head. “No can do. Work first.”

He groaned and dropped another kiss on my lips, his beard tickling my cheeks, before backing away. I admired the low-slung jeans, button-down red plaid shirt, and simple sheepskin coat. When he turned to finish stowing his gear, the view of his perfectly toned ass almost made me change my mind about staying home.

“Oh, one more thing.” He grabbed the black helmet hanging from his handlebar and walked over. “Put this on.”

I worked my ponytail down until it hung low against my neck, then slid the helmet on. It fit well, and the visor did a great job of blocking the wind while still giving decent visibility. Once satisfied I was concussion-proof, Garrett walked back to his ATV and mounted it.

I flipped the visor up. “Where’s your helmet?”

His signature smirk appeared. “I live dangerously, Red.” He cranked his machine and drowned out my protest.

I glared at him and hit the ignition on mine. It roared to life.

He pulled my map from his pocket, checked it once, then pointed past the house and into the woods. I nodded and gripped the handlebars.

He eased down the cracked driveway. I followed, puttering along. Then I got a wild hair. Twisting the handle, I gave it some gas and motored around Garrett.

I zoomed across the driveway and onto the leaf-strewn lawn. The tree line loomed ahead, but Garrett flew past me. I tried to bite back my laugh as he gave me an exasperated stare, though a smile crept along the corners of his lips.

He slowed as he came to the edge of the woods. “Keep up, Andretti, and stay behind me.”

I bobbed my head and followed him under the canopy of trees. It took me fifteen minutes, a couple of rotten trees, and a handful of small streams to get the hang of the ATV, but once I figured out my limits, we made good time. We headed straight for the mounded area that could indicate Native American activity.

Garrett followed the map well, and I couldn’t help but be impressed with his skills at navigating the rough terrain and leading us through the tougher areas. We reached the mound just before eleven and parked under a huge oak at the edge of the rise.

“Lunch, then work. You warm enough?” He walked over and pulled my helmet off before removing his gloves and pressing his palms to my cheek.

“I’m warm. Don’t worry.” I ran my palms along the backs of his hands.

“You sure?” He grabbed my fingers. “Your hands could be warmer. I’ll start a fire.”

I laughed and stood, my thighs and ass sore from the bumpy ride. “Calm down, mountain man. Let’s eat lunch, and then do some digging. I’ll warm up fast from the manual labor.”

He kissed my forehead. “I’ll do the digging.”

“Yes, we will do the digging.” I rummaged in my pack and pulled out some sandwiches, chips, and water.

He grumbled and accepted the food. We leaned against the oak and ate.

“What do you think we’ll find?” He let his eyes rake the trees, rocks, and fertile earth.

“I don’t know. That’s half the fun.” I took a drink of the cold water. “Could be nothing, could be arrowheads, pottery, bones—anything that gives us a clue.”

“What about the shack? What do you expect to find there?”

I finished my chicken salad sandwich and stowed the bag in my pocket. “Not sure. Maybe something that will help me find my father’s grave.”

“And what will that do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you do find him, what then?”

I hadn’t thought of after. My life over the past few years had been centered on three things: school, my mother, and wondering if my dad was ever coming back. Eventually, the last thing morphed into trying to find out what happened to him. School was almost over, my mother was definitely over, and the truth about my dad was within my grasp.

I walked past Garrett and pulled the long shovel free from the back of my ATV. “I guess then I’ll know.” I shrugged. “I’ll know, and I can move on and finish my degree and start a career somewhere. Finally start a life.”

“Why can’t you do that now?”

I whirled on him. “And just forget about him? Let whoever killed him walk free?”

He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s been two years. Any evidence is bound to be gone. I’m only saying I don’t want you to get your hopes up for a resolution that might not happen.”

“I’m going to find out. I always do. I dig.” I held up the shovel for emphasis. “I’ll dig as deep as I have to and for as long as I have to.”

I turned and snagged my measuring tape. Nothing was going to stop me from figuring out what happened. He walked up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

“I’m not trying to upset you, okay?” His scent surrounded me, comforted me. “I just don’t want you to end up like me with Lillian, always searching for an answer that won’t come.”

I turned my head and stared up into his steely eyes. “You’re not so bad, you know?”

He kissed my hair. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”

“True.”

He laughed and took the shovel from my hand. “Come on. Put me to work.”

We tramped through the underbrush until we came to a spot dotted with younger trees.

I pointed. “Something was here.”

“What makes you say that?” He scanned the ground, which looked much the same as the earth in the rest of the woods.

“Look.” I pointed to the nearest tree. “That’s a bur oak. A notoriously slow grower. It looks about”—I glanced up and did some quick math in my head—“ninety feet high. That means it’s probably a hundred years old, tops.”

“So, that means what exactly?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Nothing on its own, but look at all the shagbark hickories around here.” I pointed out the nearest five trees. “They’re native to these parts, but not in this concentration.”

“So are you saying someone planted them? Because that’s not possible.” He leaned on the nearest oak.

“No. Of course not.” I kept walking through the trees. “This many hickories in various states of growth—they all grew here on their own, but they didn’t start out that way. The Choctaw preferred hickory for all sorts of crafts and projects and also ate the trees’ nuts. So, what the trees are telling me is that, more likely than not, a Choctaw camp was located in this area within the past few hundred years. The hickory trees mature and die relatively quickly, so these weren’t standing back then.” I rubbed my hand down the gnarled bark of the nearest tree. “But their ancestors were.”

Some brown stalks caught my eye. “And this.” I knelt. “Look at all this sassafras. Dormant now, but thick in the summertime. The Choctaw used sassafras in all sorts of medical applications.” My spider-sense tingled out of control. “Something is here. Has to be.”

He walked over to me, his lips twitching. “Would it be weird for me to say that watching you work and figure shit out is a turn-on for me?”

“Not at all.” I pointed to a spot amidst the sassafras. “Let’s dig.”

He sank the shovel into the dirt. “Yes, ma’am.”

I watched as he dug. After a few turns of dirt yielded nothing, I had him dig every few feet on a straight line toward the nearest stream. While he dug, I used a hard rake and scoured the ground in concentric circles around the grove of hickories. If anything lay close to the surface, the rake would disturb it and, hopefully, bring it to my attention.

I checked my watch. We’d been digging and raking for an hour with no luck. Garrett was halfway hidden behind some tree trunks and only had a few more spots to dig before he got into the marshy area next to the stream.

Leaning on my rake, I wiped the sweat off my forehead and stared at the scored ground. “Shit.” I’d really hoped we’d find something.

“Hey!” Garrett’s deep voice cut through the cold.

Adrenaline shot into my veins, and I hurried toward him. “Find something?”

He sank onto his haunches and plucked something from the fresh dirt. “Arrowhead.”

“Crap.” I took off my gloves and held out my hand.

He dropped the arrowhead into my palm. “I thought finding something was good.”

“It is.” I picked my way to the small stream and dunked the artifact into the clear, cold water. Swishing it around, I drew it out and stared at the rough divots along the shaft. “It’s just that I wanted more. But it’s a good start.”

Garrett laughed. “So you found what you were looking for, but you won’t be satisfied until you have it all?”

I glanced at him over my shoulder. “Look who’s finally on the same page.”

His jaw tightened. “We need to get home.”

“Why?” I stood up and stowed the arrowhead in my pocket.

“Because it’s time you became acquainted with a few of my favorite toys.”

I walked over to him and tugged on his beard. “I’m so very scared, Mr. Blackwood.”

He gripped my ass and lifted me until I had to straddle him. “Taming your smart mouth is going to be a real pleasure.”

I affected an innocent pout. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He walked until my back struck the nearest tree. “I think you do.” He licked across my lips, then forced his tongue into my mouth.

I opened for him as he pressed me into the tree, his cock already rock-hard against me. He gripped my ponytail and yanked my head back. His teeth hit my throat, teased with a little pressure, then bit down.

“Garrett!” I dug my nails into his side as he kissed back to my mouth, the force of his kiss creating a shockwave of need in me.

He ground against me, my clit taking the full brunt of his cock as he trapped me against the trunk. I wanted him to fuck me right there, up against the tree like two wild animals. He must have had the same thought, because he groaned into my mouth and skated his fingers down to my jeans.

Something popped, and the skin along the top of my shoulder burned. Garrett’s body shuddered and he broke our kiss. His brows drew together, confusion washing across his face.

“What? What is it?” I stared at him.

Another pop, and the bark next to my head burst into shards of wood.

“Down!” He sank to his knees and dragged me around to the back of the tree, then covered me with his body.

It was only then that I noticed the crimson stain spreading along his chest and soaking through the sheepskin coat.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

RAIN SOAKED THROUGH MY clothes until my skin crawled, my teeth chattering nonstop. Garrett sat behind me on the ATV, his head lolling forward onto my trembling shoulder every so often. He’d stopped shaking, which worried me more than anything else.

We’d waited behind the tree while I did my best to stop Garrett’s bleeding. The bullet had gone straight through, but I couldn’t tell if it had hit any organs. The blood worried me, the crimson stain soaking his shirt despite my attempts to stanch the flow. And his breathing had taken on an ugly wheeze.

He’d wanted to wait until dark before we moved, but I refused. He couldn’t stay out in the frigid woods for that long with major blood loss. So, despite his protests, I’d darted out to an ATV, started it up and driven it to where he was. He’d managed to climb on behind me, and then we took off through the woods.

The rain had set in only an hour later, the smell of water mixing with the dirt. The forest floor became a sloppy mess, and I couldn’t fight the chill. Instead of trying to make it to the house, which was two more hours away, I headed for the shack. I prayed that it still had a roof. If I could get us somewhere dry, I could tend to Garrett and warm him up.

I pushed ahead through a thicket, pinning the vines and scraping brush beneath the ATV. At least the shack was well hidden, though I had no reason to believe that whoever shot Garrett didn’t know about it. I stowed that thought and decided to worry about it later. I had enough on my plate.

Once through the first wall of foliage, I saw the shack ahead. About ten feet by ten feet, the wooden structure had been constructed of roughly-hewn wood from nearby trees. The roof consisted of a pine thatch, one corner completely rotted through. Fuck.

I motored up to it and peered through the darkened doorway. No windows greeted me, just a narrow entry. It would have to do. A burst of lightning shot across the sky, and the thunder chased it down, the rumble deep and loud.

“Garrett.”

“Mmph.” He squeezed around my waist.

“Come on. We’re here. I have to get you inside.” I threw my leg over and slid off the ATV.

He stared up at me with glassy eyes, his wet hair plastered to his head. “Here?” His breath wheezed in and out.

“Yes.” I dug in my pack and grabbed my gun, then found my flashlight, which I clamped between my teeth.

I slung his arm over my shoulders and pulled, keeping my gun in my free hand.

He stumbled to his feet, and I struggled under his weight.

He stopped, his breath a rattle. “This isn’t the house.”

“Uh huh,” I mumbled around the flashlight and helped him walk forward as the rain intensified, the sheets broken up by the pine boughs overhead.

Training the gun on the door, I followed the beam of light and checked the dank interior. The floor was made of packed dirt and strewn with pine needles. A pile of leaves in one corner appeared to be an abandoned critter nest of some sort. The back left side was wet, water pouring through the hole in the ceiling. Not good, but the ground sloped, so the water ran out between the rough planks. I could work with that. I dropped the flashlight and pulled Garrett along.

“Let’s go.” I dragged him inside, turning sideways so we could navigate through the narrow door.

My back ached, and I wondered if I’d pulled something as I lowered him to the ground in the dry corner.

“Stay.” I retrieved the flashlight and did one more sweep just to make sure nothing was going to jump out.

Dashing back to the ATV, I grabbed our bags and dumped them inside the door. My face and hands were so cold they hurt. Not a good sign. Garrett rested against the wall, his eyes closed.

Even in the dim shack, I could tell his skin was ghostly pale. A frozen hand squeezed my heart, and I snapped. “Garrett!”

His eyes fluttered open. “Yeah?”

“Stay awake, okay?”

“Bossy. I like it.”

I tore through my pack and snagged my Superman lunch box.

“We already ate.” His words slurred, and I forced myself to move faster.

“I know.” I unclicked the latch and flipped open the lid. “I keep my kindling in here so it stays dry.” I pulled out a small pack of dried twigs and a lighter. Glancing to the break in the roof, I realized it was a good thing. I’d need the smoke to vent out that way.

Setting the kindling aside, I flipped up my hoodie and headed back outside.

“Don’t!” He gripped my ankle. “It’s not safe.”

I leaned down and kissed him, his cold lips spurring me onward. “I’m going to find a few fallen limbs. They’ll be wet, but the rain only started within the last little while. I’ll cut down to dryer wood and we’ll be all set. Trust me.”

“I’ll come too.” He tried to sit up from the wall, but only made it halfway before falling back. “Fuck.”

“Stay here. I won’t go far. I promise. Two minutes, tops.”

“I don’t like it.” He reached up and pulled me down, our foreheads touching. “Please be safe.”

“I will. I swear.” I dropped another kiss on his lips and hurried out into the rain. I passed behind the shack and peeked out into the forest. The rain created a milky barrier. That meant I couldn’t see the shooter, but he couldn’t see me either. I hurried forward, my eyes trained on the ground. Up ahead, I saw a limb that would work. I snagged it and another and dragged both back to the shack.

“Garrett, I need one more. I’m almost done. Stay awake.”

He mumbled a response.

I walked in the opposite direction and scanned the ground. An oak limb, the leaves long since rotted away, presented the perfect opportunity. I darted up to it and started dragging it along.

Glancing back, I stopped dead. Beneath the limb, the ground was sunken in what appeared to be a six-foot by about three-foot rectangle. An unmarked grave.

A warning sounded in my heart. I needed to dig. But I couldn’t, not until I was certain Garrett was safe and the shooter was gone. I forced myself to turn and keep going. Dropping the limb at the doorway, I walked in and pulled my hatchet from my pack.

“I’ll have a roaring fire in under ten minutes. Want to time me?”

“Merit badge if you make it?”

I ran my hand along his forehead, hating the cold, clammy feel. “No. If I get it done, I get to use a flogger on you when we get home.”

He grunted. “That’s a big reward.”

“Hey, if you can’t handle it—”

“Done.” He coughed. “What do I get if you don’t make it?”

I kissed him again, then steadied myself so I could get to work. “Hypothermia.”

I stared at the narrow door. The night beyond consumed what little light the moon offered, the rays gobbled up by the thick clouds and endless rain. Garrett slept beside me. I’d dressed his wound, stripped him, and covered him in fresh clothes from my pack. I’d dried my clothes by the fire and put them back on. We were both warm, well fed with snacks and water, and as comfortable as possible in the shack. Once I was certain he wouldn’t die from the cold, I let him sleep off the injury.

Still, I worried that the shooter lurked just beyond the door, waiting for his chance. I adjusted so I could rest my gun hand atop my knee. If anyone came through the door, I’d shoot first and ask questions later.

The fire crackled, and I tossed another piece of damp wood on the top. It would keep us warm until morning, though I intended to rouse Garrett and head to the house about two hours before daybreak. We’d be soaked through again, but the dark would keep us safe from the shooter’s scope.

Midnight came and went as I kept watch, my eyes drifting closed and my hand drooping until I forced myself awake. The grave just fifty yards away preyed on my mind. Was it him? Had I finally found my dad’s resting place?

And who was the shooter? If it had been one shot, I could have believed in a stray bullet from a hunter’s gun. But the second shot dispelled that notion. Someone had tried to kill Garrett. Maybe even me. What the hell was going on? Fresh mysteries piled on top of old ones, and my questions kept circling the grave like a drain. I spent the rest of the night like that—in between waking and dreaming, one eye on the door and my thoughts buried along with whoever lay in the shallow grave.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

SHERIFF CROW AND RORY burst through the front door as I leaned Garrett against the wall of the foyer. I’d called them as soon as I got within range of the house’s WiFi.

“How far out is the ambulance?” I started stripping Garrett’s wet coat from him.

“Ten minutes or so.” Rory dropped to his knees and opened a duffel bag of medical supplies. Sheriff Crow knelt, and both men helped me pull his wet shirt down.

“Just a scratch.” Garrett didn’t open his eyes.

Rory pressed his fingers to Garrett’s neck and stilled. “Shit, pulse is slow. Too slow.”

I pulled the gauze away from Garrett’s bullet hole beneath his clavicle. “There.”

Sheriff Crow leaned Garrett forward and stared at the exit wound. “Came out clean, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

“I had enough of a first aid kit to douse it with alcohol and pack the gauze, but I couldn’t stop the bleed. And the rattle in his lungs has gotten worse.” I tucked Garrett’s hair behind his ear.

He leaned into my touch. “Red.”

“Red?” Sheriff Crow asked.

“That’s what he calls me.” I began pulling the damp shirt the rest of the way off, but lost my balance and hit the floor next to Garrett.

Sheriff Crow grabbed my elbow and peered into my eyes. “Rory, get her upstairs and warmed up. She looks like she might fall over herself.”

“No, I’m fine.” I shook my head and reached for Garrett’s hand.

“No, you aren’t fine.” Worry creased around the sheriff’s eyes. “Rory, get on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll wait for the ambulance. I expect it here soon.” Sheriff Crow rooted around in the duffel bag as Rory helped me to my feet. “Until then, I’ll check his wound. He’s going to be okay.”

Rory steadied me and herded me toward the stairs.

“Wait.” Sheriff Crow looked up from the bag. “Did you see anyone? Any clue who’d try to take a shot at you?”

“No.”

“Could it have been another hunting accident?” He took his hat off and threw it onto the small settee. “A stray shot?”

“That would have been possible if there was only one shot. But there were two.”

He shook his head. “I’m beginning to wonder why I took this job. What the hell is going on around here?”

My foot hit the bottom step, and I stumbled. I leaned on Rory as he helped me up the stairs. A distant siren promised help for Garrett, and I was finally able to take a breath without fear overwhelming me. “I have to go with him.”

Rory wrapped his arm around my waist and powered the rest of the way up the stairs to my room. “We’ll see what the sheriff says.”

I started to strip off my coat, then gave the staring Rory a look.

His face fell, and he turned toward the wall. “Let me know if you need help.” His tone still retained some hope that he’d get to see me naked.

I sank onto the bed and slowly dragged my clothes off until I was down to my tank top. The siren’s wail grew to ear-splitting levels, then quieted. Voices wafted up the stairs, and relief hit me like a wave. Garrett was going to be okay. I closed my eyes, and my world went topsy-turvy.

The last thing I heard was Rory’s voice. “Shit, you got hit, too.”

“Red?” Fingers stroked along my face, down my jaw, and to my neck.

I blinked awake. The septic smell of hospital seeped into my lungs as the light pinging of a machine told me my heart was still beating.

“Garrett?” I turned to find him sitting next to me in a wheelchair. Dark circles ringed his eyes.

“Thank God.” He kissed the back of my hand, his lips so much warmer than they had been the last time I touched them.

Memories of our last moments together hit me like a fist. “Are you okay? You lost so much blood.” I realized he wore the same hospital gown as mine, and the pole next to him carried an IV bag connected to his arm.

“I’m good. I made it because of you.”

He ran his thumb along my lips. They felt chapped.

“How long have we been here?” I blinked hard to try to clear the floaters from my vision.

“Only a few hours.”

“Mr. Blackwood, please.” A nurse stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her name badge. “We need to get this done.”

“In a minute.” His voice stayed near a whisper. “Had to see her.”

I sat up, but the pain in my shoulder had me falling back against my pillows. “Damn.” I took a breath as the pain lessened. “What does she want?”

“Surgery.” The nurse’s no-nonsense tone rose with each word. “We drew the air out from around his collapsed lung, but it’s not filling back up. He needs to have it repaired, but the stubborn jerk wouldn’t agree to surgery until he saw you.”

I pressed my palm to his cheek. “Have you lost what little mind you had left?”

He smiled and pressed his lips to my palm. “Maybe.”

How had I ever thought this man was a killer? The love in his heart shone in his eyes, and I leaned forward slowly to give him a kiss. He returned it, then backed away and drew in a wheezing breath. I glanced at the nurse, who shook her head and glared at Garrett.

“Go, stubborn man.” I kicked my chin toward the nurse. “I’ll be here when you get out.”

He squeezed my hand. “I’ll be back.”

“I know.”

The nurse walked over and unlocked Garrett’s wheels.

I wanted to ask her if he was going to be okay. No, I wanted her to promise me he would be. I bit back my question as my eyes welled. Instead, I asked, “Do you think you could give him a shave while he’s out? You know, surgery protocol or something?”

“I don’t see any harm in asking Dr. Brown if it’s medically necessary.” The nurse smiled.

Garrett grunted as she rolled him away. “Not cool, Red. Not cool at all.”

The words, the three words that meant far more than just an arrangement of letters, beat on the bars of my heart, demanding I release them. But I couldn’t say them. Not even as he gave me one last soulful look. It was too soon, too intense.

I lay back in my bed and listened to him go, the slight squeak of the wheels on the linoleum growing fainter as my tears became a deluge that drowned out everything else.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

“I  NEED MORE BLOWJOBS.” Garrett pushed himself up on the couch as I adjusted his pillows.

“This is the fifth, no, the sixth time you’ve mentioned that since we got out of the hospital.” I finished getting him settled.

He’d been camping out on the couch so he could watch me during the days. I messed around the house, cleaning and trying to get it back into top shape—all the while lecturing him on feminism as he agreed and stared at my tits and ass. I refused to let the wound in my shoulder slow me down, and I itched to get back out into the woods to inspect the shallow grave I’d found.

“I think it’s a valid request.” He gripped my ass as I finished fluffing and stood.

“You know what the doc said.” I grabbed his wrist, and he tried to wrest it away from me.

He put up a fight at first, but then cursed under his breath and let me go. “When I get better, I’m going to blister your ass with my hand, Red.”

My heart flipped at the threat, but I adopted a prim tone. “You’ll have to catch me first.”

He rubbed the scruff along his jaw that the nurse failed to shave away. “I’ll always catch you. And you’ll love every second of your punishment.” He glanced to my shoulder. “How is it?”

I backed another step away and pulled down my tank. “A lot better. I clipped the stitches out myself this morning.”

We’d been home from the hospital for a week. Garrett’s strength was steadily returning, but the doctor cautioned against any intense physical activity until the lung had healed completely. So, despite my patient’s grumbles and my own desire to climb on top of him and fuck him ragged, we had to wait. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t tease.

I slid my tank strap lower. His eyes lit as he stared at my bare skin.

“Lower.” His stern voice had me biting my lip.

“I think you’ve seen enough.” Such a brat. “Healing up great.” I started to pull the strap back up.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He stabbed a finger at me, the bare muscles along his torso tensing with the movement. “Show me.”

“My injury?” I simpered. “I already did.”

“I swear to Christ I will get off this couch and put you over my goddamn knee, Red!” He started to sit up.

“Wait, wait.” I held a hand out to stay him. “I wouldn’t want you getting excited.”

“Too fucking late for that.” He ground his teeth together and pressed his palm to the erection that threatened to break free of his pajama pants. “Show me.”

I trailed my fingers down the edge of my top, then pulled the fabric down to reveal my right breast.

“Oh, fuck.” He reached inside his pants and started stroking.

“Hey!” I darted forward to stop his hand. “You can’t do that. The doctor—”

He grabbed me, one hand clamping around my forearm and the other yanking at my jeans. “I don’t give two shits if this kills me. I need to be inside you. Now.”

“No.” I smacked at his hand, but he’d worked two fingers into my waist band and used his thumb to unbutton them.

“Did you just say no?” He smirked up at me and yanked my jeans and panties to my knees. “You did, Red.” He fell back against the pillows with a pained groan. “Ow, fuck.”

I took the opportunity to scoot away from him. I fell on the ottoman, my bare ass against the leather.

“We can’t! I told you.” I tried not to look as he freed his cock from his pants. Tried. Failed. I wanted it.

“It’s going to go like this, Red. Either you do as I say and get on my dick right now, or when I get better, I’m going to tie you to my bed, cane your ass slowly over hours as you cry and scream for me to stop. I’ll record the whole thing and make you watch it as I fuck your mouth, your pussy, your ass; do whatever I want.” His smirk grew. “And I can tell you want that. I see your pulse rising, your skin flushing. I know what I just said turns you on. And I promise you’ll get it. All of it. The difference, though, is that if you disobey me right now, I won’t let you come then or for an entire week after.” He stroked his cock, his palm sliding against the soft skin as he spoke. “It’s up to you. I’m going to fuck you either way. You don’t have a say in that. But do you want to come?”

I couldn’t look away from him as the threat hung in the air. He would do all those things. The set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes promised me he would. My pussy was already wet just from the way he said it, from the violence I knew churned inside him. Yes, I wanted it, and no, not coming for a week did not sound like a good deal.

Rising, I shucked my jeans and panties. He followed each movement, a satisfied grin replacing the smirk.

“You’re an asshole.” I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it on the floor.

“Water is wet. Just like your cunt.” He ran his hand down my ass as I pressed one knee onto the couch. “Mount up, cowgirl.”

“If this kills you, you have no one to blame but yourself.”

“Noted.” He dug his fingertips into my hips and situated me so I straddled him.

He groaned when I sat on his cock, pinning it between us.

“Are you okay?” I glanced to the bandage over his chest.

“No, I’m not okay.” He rocked against me, his cock sliding across my slick skin and creating a buzz in my clit. “Not until I’m inside you.”

I gripped the couch’s arm behind his head and rubbed my pussy up and down against his hard shaft. He grabbed my left breast and squeezed. Wrapping one hand around my neck, he pulled me down until he could claim my other nipple between his teeth. He bit me, and I gasped and stopped moving.

“Don’t stop.” A vicious smack on my ass put me into motion again.

I rode him, my arousal spiraling out of control as he sucked and bit my breasts. He slapped my ass again, the sting like a splash of lighter fluid on a fire. I leaned away from him, and he let me go.

“I can’t wait.” He pressed his thumb under his cock and pointed it toward me.

I lifted my left knee to line him up with my entrance. When I slid down on him, his thick cock touching me in all the right places, a shudder of pleasure rocketed through me. I stretched for him, adjusting as he cupped my breasts with his large palms.

My rhythm started slow, my hips testing the bounds of how deep he could go.

“Faster. Fuck me.” His gritty voice was accompanied by another hard slap on my ass, then another.

“Garrett.” I moved faster, keeping him deep and rubbing my clit against him with each stroke.

Another hard slap ripped a cry from me.

“Yes.” He hit me again. “Fuck yes.”

I kept riding him, his strikes crossing the wires on the ticking time bomb of pleasure and pain. His name coated my tongue, and I moaned when he wrapped his palm around my throat and squeezed. Again, he hit the sore spot on my ass, but I didn’t stop. Instead, I chased my orgasm with reckless abandon. I could see it ahead, just outside my vision, taunting me.

“Fucking hell.” He groaned. “Goddamn.”

I dug my nails into the couch as filthy words poured from his mouth. Each one like another euphoric slap on my skin.

“I knew you wanted it the moment I saw you.” He twisted my nipple, then slapped my breast.

I jerked at the pain, but wanted more. Always more. “Yes.” I purred past his palm as my pussy tensed and he hit my breast again.

“Tell me you wanted it.”

“I did. Yes.” Just saying the words was like a shot of heroin in my veins.

He thrust up, his cock hitting my spot, and moved his hand back to slap my ass. “Mine from the start.”

I quaked, my muscles dancing to the dark music he played.

“Whose cunt am I fucking?” His grip on my neck tightened. Smack.

“Yours.” I squeaked past the pressure at my throat.

“I bet you want me to come in your slippery cunt, don’t you?”Smack.

“Yes.” I met his wild eyes. “Please.”

“Fuck.” He squeezed my throat, and all air stopped.

I kept riding him, my release hovering on the edge of a knife. My throat burned as I increased my pace, getting every bit of friction between us. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I flirted with unconsciousness. I was almost gone when he released my neck, and my orgasm burst through my body like a firework.

I screamed as I came. High, frothy waves of pleasure rolled over me. Garrett grunted and surged up, embedding himself completely inside me as my toes curled and my mind blanked.

“Fucking shit.” He grunted and then groaned low as his hips pistoned into me, his cock kicking with each spurt.

He emptied inside me as I quaked, unable to control my movements as aftershocks shot through me like jolts of electricity. With a final groan, he relaxed down onto the couch and pulled me to his chest.

I collapsed on top of him and sucked air into my lungs. He wrapped his arms around my back and pressed us together, his rapid heartbeat almost matching mine. I should have asked if he was okay, if his lung hurt, if I needed to move off his chest. Instead, I sank into him, let him hold me as lightness took over my limbs. I snuggled closer as he stroked my back.

We lay together for a while, long enough for me to blink away the bliss and realize that I’d wantonly fucked a man who’d been in the hospital just a few days earlier.

I sat up and peeked at his bandage. It was still clean.

“Red, you have no idea how badly I needed that.” He stretched his arms up and tucked his hands behind his head—the picture of masculine satisfaction.

He winced as I stood, his semi sliding out of me.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” I called over my shoulder as I hurried to the bathroom. “And you need to wash your mouth out.”

“You loved it!” he yelled back as I cleaned myself up.

I took some tissue and a small tumbler of water back to him. “I may have enjoyed it.” I rubbed my ass. “That’s sore, though.”

He let out a breath, and his eyelids began to droop. “I love it when you wear my marks.” Reaching out, he ran his fingertips down the side of my breast. “Beautiful cherry red.”

“Drink this. You need to stay hydrated.” I tipped the water to his lips.

He took a few swallows, then gently pushed my hand away. “I’m good, just tired.”

“Rest.” I kissed him and smoothed the tape around the gauze on his chest. “You overdid it.”

“I want to overdo it again, soon.” His eyes closed. “I’ll be ready to go in an hour, tops, and that’s only because I’m injured.”

“Sure.” I brushed his hair away from his forehead as he slipped into slumber.

As soon as I was certain he was out, I dressed and headed to the foyer. My pack waited next to the door. I pulled on my socks and boots, then tucked my pistol at my back before pulling on a heavy coat. With one last glance toward the living room, I took a deep breath and eased the door open.

I’d be back before he woke. The meds I slipped into his water would make sure of it.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I  SPED INTO THE woods, putting far too much faith in the ATV and my helmet. Sapling branches smacked against me as the wheels ate up the rough terrain. I was on a deadline. My shoulder ached with each rough jolt, but my curiosity wouldn’t be denied. Garrett had another week of bed rest before he’d be able to do any riding, and there was no way he’d let me go alone. My need to investigate had intensified each day until I devised a plan—one that Garrett would be pissed about as soon as he figured out what I’d done.

The frigid air was still, giving no push back as I hurtled toward the biggest discovery of my search. The grave filled my thoughts. What was it doing out there, who dug it, and who was in it? My heart told me I’d find my father there, but I maintained an odd little sliver of hope. Like a splinter in my grief. Maybe it wasn’t him.

I focused on my path, following the trail we’d blazed a week before, then splitting off toward the shack. Digging the grave would take half an hour. I counted on safety for that short window of time. Even if the shooter had seen me leave the house, he’d have to have wings to make it to the spot of woods near the shack in time to do any damage.

Hunkering down, I picked my way through the undergrowth, aiming for patches of sun and avoiding marshy areas. The smell of damp earth clung to my nose as I rushed through the crystalline air and bitter cold. My thoughts flitted back to Garrett asleep in the house. I’d locked all the doors and made sure he’d be comfortable. Assuring myself that he wouldn’t be too mad when I got back home safe, I turned my attention to the thicket up ahead.

Heading to the left, I veered among the dark tree trunks until I found the opening in the twisted vines. I powered inside, my wheels following the faded tire tracks I’d left before. I pulled to the right, away from the shack, and toward the dig site. After about ten more minutes of riding, I slowed as I approached the dented ground, the dead limbs hiding nothing from my trained eye.

I rolled about ten feet from the depression and killed my engine. Then, I pulled off my helmet and listened. Minutes passed as my breath fogged in my face, and the tips of my ears began to ache from the cold. No sound, no breeze, just the infrequent sound of a woodpecker in a distant part of the forest. Satisfied, I slung my leg over the ATV and walked to the indentation. Dusky green moss crept along one side, covered here and there with brown leaf litter. One corner had a deeper depression—maybe due to normal settling or perhaps an animal trying to get at whatever lay beneath the ground.

The limbs around and on top of the grave had hidden it for maybe a season. After that, the leaves rotted off and left only interwoven branches, like two hands crossed over a dormant heart. I pulled them away and grabbed my rake to scrape the site clean of any other debris. The ache in my shoulder grew with each movement, but the burning need to know only glowed brighter.

I pulled my small hand spade from my pack and knelt at the edge of the grave. The cold earth seeped through my jeans to my knees as I shoved the wide edge of the shovel into the damp dirt. It sank in easily. My heart thumped with heavy beats, as if filled with tar instead of blood. Putting pressure on the handle, I turned a small bit of earth up and out of the depression. I dug the way I’d been taught, the way I knew would preserve whatever I found. Slowly, methodically. Another slice into the earth, another push deeper into the mystery. Five turns of the spade later, each one creeping inward, I hit something springy. Something unnatural.

Wiping the sweat off my brow, I shucked my heavy coat and tossed it onto the ATV. I stepped into the grave, careful to plant my feet where I’d already dug, then took a small hand shovel to the spot. I dug around the anomaly, trying to be careful despite my desire to hurry, to finally discover what I’d been searching for. I excavated around the shape until I hit something hard. Scraping the dirt off the top, a sob rocketed from my lungs and tears overwhelmed what little resistance I had put up.

A shoe. I’d found a shoe. Blue canvas with a white sole. The only type of shoe I’d ever seen my father wear. I’d found him.

“Daddy.” I choked on my grief. Bottled for too long, it had fermented into something uglier, something bitter, and I hated whoever had done this.

Bile rose in my throat, and I darted out of the grave as my breakfast pushed its way into my mouth and out onto the unforgiving ground. Acid burned my throat, my mouth, and I didn’t stop retching until I was completely empty.

I stood and leaned my head on the nearest tree as I tried to calm the shake in my hands. Who did it? I breathed deeply, forcing myself to go about this more rationally. I needed to find clues, something to point me to his killer. The grave was the only place I could look for them, but the thought of digging him the rest of the way out horrified me, sent my skin crawling. I dry-heaved and clenched my eyes closed as endless tears streamed down my cheeks.

A scuffing sound at my back caught my attention. I turned and reached for the gun tucked in my jeans, but someone grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked me back and then shoved me face-first into the tree.

I crumpled, blood streaming down my face.

“I told you to stay out of these woods.” The scratchy voice, the unkempt beard. Recognition flared right along with a burst of fear. Danny loomed over me, my pistol in his hand. He flipped it so he had it by the barrel. The butt of my own gun was the last thing I saw.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“HEY!”

My right cheek stung, and my ears rang.

“Hey, wake the fuck up!” Someone yelled and slapped me, the sound like a shot.

I opened my eyes and tried to back away, but I couldn’t move. My wrists and ankles were bound.

Danny reared back to slap me again.

“Stop!” I struggled away, but bumped into something sturdy and fell to my side. I blinked hard, but only one of my eyes opened. The dim interior of the shack greeted me as Danny yanked me upright and shoved me against the wall.

“Stay put.”

I sucked in air to scream.

He clapped a filthy hand over my mouth and leaned down into my face. “Scream and I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

I breathed out hard through my nose.

“Nobody would hear you anyway.” He sat back on his haunches, the dim light seeping through the doorway only illuminating half his face. The matted beard seemed even filthier, the spit streaks forming two dark lines from each side of his mouth. He scratched at his sallow skin with one hand and pointed my gun at me with the other.

“Let me go.” I glanced toward the door.

“Nowhere. That’s where you’re going.” He scratched harder. “I told you to stop digging. Told you to leave well enough alone.” His voice grew to a shout. “I told you to go back!”

I cringed against the wall as his face contorted into a mask of rage.

“Please, just let me go.” I coughed. The pain in my head blossomed like the cruelest flower, and I tasted blood. “Please.”

“I can’t! You done found your daddy.” He yanked on his beard. “That’ll get back to me. I can’t have that. No I can’t.” He shook his head. “Sure can’t. No, no, can’t. No.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” I leaned forward, trying to look into his eyes, trying to convince him my life was worth more than a bullet and another shallow grave. “Please.”

“Stop saying please!” He stood, but kept the gun trained on me. “I can’t change it. Not now. Too late.” He sagged against the opposite wall. “Why didn’t you listen? Why?”

“I had to find him.” Dizziness took hold, and I dry-heaved. The effort felt like a spikey sledgehammer to my face.

“You found him. So what?” He bent over and stared into my one good eye. “You think he wanted you to die out here, too?”

“Why did you kill him?”

“Does it matter?” He shrugged.

“Yes!” I screamed with what little force I had left. “Tell me why.”

“You want a story before bedtime, is that it? You want to know it all before I kill you and bury you in the same grave?” He mumbled under his breath too quickly for me to follow. “You know what curiosity gets you?” He cackled, his missing teeth like the holes in his sanity. “Come on. I’ll show you.” He pushed off the wall, and I tried to make a move toward the door. All I managed to do was make it easier for him to rip me off the ground and drag me out of the shack.

He took hold of my hair and yanked me toward my father’s grave. “I’ll show you. I’ll show you all you need to know about curiosity.”

Agony and disbelief punctured every soft tissue of my body as my knees hit the forest floor and he dragged me along by my hair. My screams didn’t stop, but he wasn’t concerned with the noise anymore. He sped up, rushing through the woods. I skittered along the ground, kicking and twisting as the pressure on my hair increased until I feared it would rip out. He threw me into the grave, then grabbed my wrists. After a few moments, he grunted, and the pressure on my wrists eased; he’d untied me. He scrambled out of the grave, my gun still in his hand. He grabbed the small spade and threw it to me.

“Dig!”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Fucking dig or I’ll put a bullet in your forehead right this second.” He shook the pistol at me. “No loss now that I’ve fucked up your pretty face.”

He stepped closer and stabbed his tatty shoe into the dirt. “His head was about here if I remember correctly. That’s where I want you to dig.”

Tears coursed down my cheeks as I took the spade with trembling hands. I thought of throwing it at him, but I knew I was kidding myself. One shot and it was over. I was going to die here.

“Dig!” His scream was animalistic as he began muttering to himself again.

I pushed the spade into the earth and hit something only a few inches down. A tink of the shovel blade and all forward progress halted. I knew the sound, the feel. It was a skull. My father’s skull.

“Please, don’t make me.” I stared up at him as horror ripped through my mind. “Please.”

“You need to learn.” What might have been remorse passed across his face. “This is what happens when you keep pushing and pushing and pushing. Now dig. Learn your last lesson. Dig.”

“No.”

He fired a shot into the dirt. “Dig!”

My body turned to ice, my heart to forgotten stone. I had no way out. Digging was the only thing that would prolong my life, give me some semblance of a chance. I gripped the shovel with freezing fingers and moved a few inches to the left of where I’d just planted the spade. The shovel blade sank into the dank earth, nothing halting its progress. I twisted it slightly, then leaned on the handle.

A skull pressed up through the earth, pushing through the secrets and the lies until the dappled sunlight hit the dingy bone. I sobbed as bits of flesh stayed behind and strands of hair just a few shades darker than mine snaked through the dirt. I sat back and threw the spade away.

“See, girl? See?” He walked over to me. “Your daddy, he asked too many questions, too. Wanted to know things. Him and Lillian.” His voice cracked. “My Lillian.”

“You killed her.” A tremor went through me as he wrapped one arm around my shoulders. “Both of them.”

“I’d never hurt my Lillian. No. No. That wasn’t me. That was him. Not me. No.”

“My dad?” I closed my eyes, refusing to look at my father’s skull any longer. The cheeks I’d kissed, the face I’d loved before I even knew what love was.

“No, fool woman! The one who runs things around here. The one who told me to do this.” He pointed the gun toward my father’s skull.

“The mayor?”

He cackled, the sound sick and wrong in the cold, quiet woods. “Try a little closer to home. Cozied right up, didn’t you? Did you know he likes to chase ‘em through the woods? Hunt them?” He ended his laughter on a wheezing note.

Did he mean Garrett? No. “Garrett had nothing to do with his sister’s death. You’re lying.”

“You think I’m just some mad dog killer, don’t you?” He tapped the barrel against my forehead. “That I just killed your daddy for kicks.”

I winced, but he kept me still, his arm tightening around my shoulders.

“I’m not a mad dog. No, no, no. I’m a kept dog. I get table scraps if I behave. But you, you were like a little bunny out here, running through the woods, whee! And I chased you, but instead of snapping you up in my jaws”—He shrieked and clapped his remaining teeth together—“I warned you.” His voice lowered to a hurried whisper. “I tried to tell you. Just like your daddy, you didn’t stop asking questions. Just like Lillian, you have to die. Just like both of them, your blood will be on my hands.”

“You said you didn’t kill her. Lillian. You said—”

“I didn’t stop it. I haven’t stopped any of the killing around here. Done a fair share myself. Now I’ll add you to my list.” He sighed and pressed the barrel to the center of my forehead. “I really do keep a list, you know? It’s long, longer than my beard, longer than your pretty brown hair, longer than Lillian’s was.” He mumbled quick words.

“The mass grave in the woods.” The photo from Lillian’s memory card resurfaced, though this time my body was piled in with the others. No.

“Seen some of my handiwork, eh? I didn’t know you’d ventured over there, but I guess a gal like you gets around.” He cackled and pressed the metal harder into my skull. “Lots of graves in these woods. Lots of señoritas and señors and whoever I can get for cheap.”

I couldn’t follow his words, only the shine of his barrel. “Let me go.”

His finger rested on the trigger. I couldn’t see anything else. Just the cold metal and his dirty index finger flirting with my death.

“They always say that.” He chuckled, then stopped abruptly. “I never do.”

I shoved my elbow into his side with all the strength I had and grabbed for the gun. A deafening shot went off, and my right ear burned and rang. I fought with him, both of us grunting as I tried to wrest the gun away from his bony grip. He shoved me to the ground as we struggled, my hands around his on the butt of the gun. He punched me in the jaw and ripped the gun away from my desperate fingers. It was over. I stared up at him as he leveled the pistol.

Another, quieter shot went off, and warmth sprayed across my face.

“Drop it!” Someone shouted through the constant scream in my ears. More pops, like fireworks going off on the next block.

Something large landed on my chest, knocking the wind out of me and blocking what little vision I had left.

Everything went quiet except the whine in my ears, and I realized this is what dying feels like.

The shadowy woods flew by in a rush. I bounced along like a bag of potatoes, lifeless and heavy. It was cold, getting colder, and I couldn’t seem to gather my thoughts. The pain in my head didn’t stop and dimly echoed from other places in my body. And I cried. Not because of the sharp aches like razors across my mind, but because of the man in the grave.

After what I imagined were hours, the jostling stopped. Strong arms lifted me.

“She doesn’t look so good.” A familiar voice. My ears had stopped ringing, but sound only came through in muffled tones.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Another voice, this one laced with worry. Sheriff Crow. “Help me get her into the truck.”

“Yes, sir.” The fuzzy shape moved away. Rory, maybe?

“You’re going to be all right.” The sheriff walked gingerly, cradling me close to him. “Hear me? You’ll be okay.”

I tried to respond, but nothing made it past my swollen lips.

He laid me down, my head slightly elevated. The engine cranked, and faint warmth poured against my left arm.

“We’ve got you, Ms. Vale.” Rory. The back of my head rested on his leg as he pressed down on my forehead. More agony bloomed where he applied pressure, and I tried to swat his hands away as the truck began to move.

“Stay still.” He didn’t move his hand. “I have to stop the bleed. Shh. Please, let me help you.”

I dropped my hands, my fingers prickling as feeling returned. Try a little closer to home. Garrett. Cozied right up. Garrett. I dry-heaved, my body convulsing as everything inside me rebelled at the thought.

Rory leaned over and pressed his forearm across my hips to hold me still. “Sheriff!”

“Keep her steady, goddammit! I’m going as fast as I can.”

“I don’t know if she’s going to…”

Their words faded away as my thoughts circled Garrett like a murder of crows. The man I’d slept with, the one I’d come to love—he was responsible for my father’s death. He’d played me this whole time. But what was he trying to hide? My thoughts scattered until an unwavering determination remained. I would find out. Garrett would answer my questions. And then he would pay.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“—A BOUT FIFTEEN HOURS, GIVE or take. I’ve given her something for the pain every two hours. Lessened the dose a little while ago.”

“When do you think the swelling will go down?”

“Days. These injuries are pretty bad, and head wounds take a while to stop swelling and bruising.” A cough. “Do you have any leads on who did it?”

“That’s an ongoing investigation, Doc. Can’t say more.”

Someone squeezed my hand. “You’ll heal, dear. You’ll heal in time.” The hand disappeared. “I’m going to get something to eat, then come keep an eye on her.”

“Sounds good. I’ll sit with her while you’re gone.” Sheriff Crow’s voice grew louder.

I forced my good eye open and blinked several times to clear the film. I lay in bed in a darkened room with a wide window looking out onto woods. The walls and ceilings were made of rough-hewn logs, and the décor was rustic with two sets of antlers on the wall near the door.

“Elise?”

“Yes.” My voice came out in a croak.

“Here.” After a beat, a straw pressed against my lips.

I drank as best I could. Sheriff Crow took the cup away and wiped the water off my chin.

He stared into my good eye. “You had me worried there for a minute, young lady.”

“Makes two of us.” My voice scratched through my throat.

“You’re safe here. I was trying to get you to the hospital, but you sort of had a fit on the way and then lost consciousness. I radioed up to the Lodge, hoping like hell Doc Lewis was here or nearby. We lucked up. He was on his way.” He swiped his hat off and dropped it on the small wood table next to my IV stand.

“Can you talk, or would you rather wait?” He took my hand, grasping gently.

“Talk.”

“What happened out there?”

“I saw a grave. That day when Garrett was shot.” His name felt like a curse word on my tongue. “I went back out there myself to see if it was…” I swallowed hard.

It was too late now. My secret was out. The sheriff and Rory must have seen the grave, the skull.

I took a deep breath. “To see if it was my father.”

He squinted in confusion. “Why would your father be buried in Blackwood like that?”

“He died there. Vince Gallant.”

A spark of recognition lit, like a popping ember in a fire, and he opened his eyes wide. “Vince Gallant was your daddy?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m out here. To find him. Find out what happened.”

“Hell.” He ran a hand through his hair and sat back. “I haven’t thought about him in a while. Didn’t know he had a daughter.”

“You knew him?”

“Yeah. Went to high school together. I was a couple years ahead of him. Then he came back around about two years ago or so. Didn’t see him after that.” He shook his head. “From the looks of that grave, he’s been here the whole time. What the hell happened out there?”

“Danny killed him.”

His expression soured and he moved close again. “That crazy old coot.” He paled. “Jesus. If we hadn’t been out looking for poachers nearby, we never would have heard you screaming. Heard the shot.”

“I’m glad you found me.”

“Me too.” He squeezed my hand. “That day’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life. First time I’ve ever killed a man in the line of duty.”

“I can’t imagine how that must feel, but thank you. You saved my life. He was going to kill me.”

“Then that makes it all worth it.” He scooted closer, the legs of the chair clacking against my bed frame. “More than worth it.”

We sat in silence for a while as I replayed the scene in the woods. Other than Danny’s words, I had nothing to go on. And I couldn’t sort through them. Why would Garrett want me dead?

“Sheriff?”

“Yeah.”

“Danny said things. I don’t really understand what he meant, but maybe you will.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Like what?”

“That he killed my father. That someone put him up to killing me.”

“What? Who?”

A ruckus in the hallway had the sheriff on his feet with a hand on his gun. He hurried to the door and peered out.

I shuddered, a tremor shooting through me at the thought of more danger, more violence. Clenching the sheets between my hands, I stared at the door and imagined any number of horrors coming for me.

“Where is she?” Garrett’s voice, wheezing but still strong, shot into the room.

Sheriff Crow relaxed.

“Don’t.” My voice was barely above a whisper.

“Don’t what?” He glanced over his shoulder at me.

I stared at the door, then glanced back to him.

He seemed to understand and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Garrett, calm down. You aren’t well.”

“Where the fuck is she?” he roared.

I cowered, my entire body shaking right down to my soul.

“Garrett, you shouldn’t be up.”

“Is she in there?” A scuffle erupted outside the door. “Red! Red!”

“Garrett, stop!”

More scuffling, and the door burst open. Garrett ran in, blood soaking through the gauze over his chest. Wild eyes, hair even wilder, he lunged toward the bed. I screamed and held out my hands as a pathetic defense.

Confusion crossed his eyes before Sheriff Crow tackled him to the ground. I stared down at the struggling mass on the floor, and only sank back into the bed when Sheriff Crow clicked his cuffs on Garrett’s wrists.

“Calm the fuck down, boy.” The sheriff clambered to his feet and pulled Garrett up with him. “Doc!” he yelled out into the hallway.

“What happened?” Garrett still tried to surge toward me even as I pushed back into the pillows. “Who did this to you?” Rage infused his words, and I almost believed it. Almost.

“You know who did it.” I hated the quaver in my voice, the weakness I’d just shown.

“How would I know who?” He shook his head before glowering. “All I know is I’ll fucking kill him.”

“What in seven hells?” Dr. Lewis poked his head through the door.

“You need to check him.” Sheriff Crow yanked on Garrett’s arm to try and pull him from the room.

“No, you need to tell me who hurt you. Now, Red.” Garrett strained against the sheriff’s hold, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Come on now. I’ll put you next door so you can calm down.” Sheriff Crow pulled again, but Garrett wouldn’t budge. “It was Danny, all right? Now come on.”

Garrett rattled his cuffs. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

Sheriff Crow slumped a little, his shoulders pitching forward. “You won’t have to. I already did.”

“Red, tell me what the hell is going o—”

“You need help, Sheriff?” Rory had arrived in the hallway.

“Just keep an eye on her. Come on, Garrett. Let the doc patch you up, and I’ll tell you what happened.”

“I’m not leaving her.”

My bottom lip trembled as I stared at the man I thought I knew, not sure if I wanted to run away from him or into his arms. It was all acting, had to be.

“She’s in no state and neither are you.” Sheriff Crow gestured toward me. “You’re scaring her. Just look at her and have a little mercy, Garrett.”

Garrett relented enough for the sheriff to pull him a few steps away. “I’ll be next door. Just next door. Nothing will hurt you. I promise. Not while I’m here.”

“Not even you?” A tear rolled down my cheek and stopped at the patch of gauze across the middle of my nose.

“What?” Hurt bloomed in his eyes like blood in clear water. The sheriff pulled him away, and pain welcomed me back into its thorny embrace.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I  SAT UP IN my bed, a steak knife I’d stolen from my dinner concealed under the covers.

“You said I could see her. Let me the fuck in.” Garrett’s pissed off growl in the hallway had me clutching the knife harder.

“Hold on a minute, now.” Rory kept his voice even. “The Sheriff left me in charge of this whole rodeo, so you can go in when I say you can go in.”

A thump sounded against the rustic wood walls. “Fuck, Garrett. Get off!”

“Move!”

The door opened, and Garrett rushed in.

“Hey!” Rory followed close on his heels. “Ms. Vale, I can throw him out of—”

“Just you fucking try it, Deputy Douche.” Garrett whirled on him.

To Rory’s credit, he didn’t back down. But it didn’t stop Garrett from grabbing him and tossing him into the hallway. Garrett closed the door and clicked the lock. My ears began to burn, my stomach in a knot.

“Ms. Vale!” Rory banged on the solid door.

“I’m okay,” I called. “Just wait outside.”

Garrett rushed to me and sat on the bed, then pulled me into his arms. “Jesus, what’s going on?”

He pulled away and ran his palm down my swollen cheek. “How could he? I knew Danny.” His demeanor turned to stone. “I would kill him with my fucking bare hands for doing this to you.”

“Would you?” I tried to weigh his worth, to decide if he was a monster or a man.

“What do you mean?” He pulled me into his arms again.

The furnace of my heart sputtered and sparked from the nearness of him, but doubt darkened any flames.

“I mean that Danny said things.” I hadn’t released the blade.

“Like what?” He kissed my forehead, his warm lips reminding me of nights spent safe in his arms.

“About the graves.”

He leaned back and peered at me, his hands still cupping my face. “What about them? Does he know where they are?”

Why couldn’t I sense his lies? Everything from the tilt of his head to the worry in his eyes screamed that he was innocent, that he didn’t know what I was talking about.

“I’m tired.” I backed away from his touch and pressed into my pillows.

“Red, please, just tell me.” He clasped my hand between his. “Let me help you.”

“The doctor said I need to rest if I want to get my strength back. We’ll talk when I’m better. I need some time. Alone.”

The hurt that flashed across his face echoed in my heart, stabbing into the soft tissue and starting a slow bleed. But how could I trust him? The simple answer was that I couldn’t. I should have listened to my mother. Until I found the graves and dug down deep enough to hit the truth, I couldn’t trust anyone.

Not even the man sitting in front of me with love in his eyes.

“You all right?” Rory walked down the hall with me.

I glanced back to the room where I knew Garrett was holed up. The sheriff had tried to escort him off the property twice since he’d visited me. Each time was met with broken furniture and more curses than I’d ever heard in my life. He stayed in his room, and I slept uneasily the past two nights.

“I’m fine. Just hungry.” I gave Rory a wan smile.

He returned it five times brighter and put his hand at the small of my back. “Breakfast is already cooking.”

The smell of bacon and butter wafted on the air, and my stomach growled. My appetite had returned once Dr. Lewis stopped the IV. Once the pain from my injuries had receded to a dull ache, I spent my time hunkered down in my room, trying to form a game plan.

Rory and I turned the corner and passed the large glass windows giving a view of the Lodge’s gym and sauna area. A few older men walked on state-of-the-art treadmills and stopped their conversation to give us small waves.

“Mayor.” Rory kicked his chin up.

I stared harder and recognized him. Mayor Freeman walked at a steady pace, his beady eyes focused on me. He’d come to visit me once, assuring me that the school was aware of my condition and that the sheriff’s department was personally overseeing the exhumation of my father’s bones. We continued down the wide hall lined with rustic décor and modern amenities.

Rory pushed the door leading to the large dining room. Antlers and game heads covered the walls and clear windows looked out onto the barren woods. A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight, giving the ground a pathetic smattering of white. The darkness shone through, the rotted leaves and decay overpowering the perfect flakes.

I let Rory lead me to a table next to the windows, and we sat. Pam, the cook and waitress, didn’t need our orders. We’d had the same thing for the past few days.

“Are you sure you want to leave today?” Rory flipped over our coffee cups and poured from the carafe that had already been set out.

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

I took my coffee and sipped it, the bitter sting reminding me I was still alive. “Finish my survey.” Find the graves on Blackwood property.

“I’ll go with you.” He leaned back as Pam put a plate of sausage, eggs, and pancakes down in front of him.

“No thanks.” I slid my napkin into my lap as Pam served me.

“Elise, you can’t go out there alone. Not again.”

I wouldn’t. I intended to go back to campus and get a handful of undergraduates, lots of university attention, and a solid grid-by-grid inspection of Blackwood. The mass grave wouldn’t stay hidden with that sort of inspection. Once I found it, I’d figure out what the hell had gone on—what had gone wrong—at Blackwood. And I’d know for certain if Garrett was responsible for the deaths.

“You still in there?” Rory’s voice snapped me back to the dining room.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m not going alone. I want to get some backup from school. Bring some undergrads to speed up the process.”

He met my eyes. “Good. I’ll be there whenever you want to go. The sheriff won’t give me any shit about spending time with you. Protection is part of the job.”

“What about the mayor?”

“He won’t say anything.” He shrugged and speared a piece of sausage. “Sheriff Crow is the boss of me.”

“You weren’t able to find out anything else about Danny?” I tasted my grits, but gave up on them when I realized nothing could compare to the ones Ty whipped up at the diner.

“No. That’s a kicker.” He shook his head, his short sandy hair barely moving. “I can’t even trace him back to a house, under a bridge, anywhere. I don’t know where he was living. That sort of ruins the whole search for clues. I think he was just crazy, you know?”

I chewed through my disagreement and remained silent.

“Just like, found your dad out there, killed him. Found you out there, tried to kill you. Crimes of opportunity. He got lucky. You got unlucky.”

“Sure.” I bit into my bacon and tried to gauge whether Rory was truly clueless. My bullshit meter didn’t blink, but I’d been wrong before. The thought of Garrett, of the things I’d done with him, burned through me until I couldn’t eat another bite.

“I’m ready.” I folded my napkin next to my plate.

“Now?” Rory spoke around a mouthful of pancake.

“Yeah.” I stood as he took a gulp of coffee.

“Sure.” He followed me to my feet. “I was thinking it would be this afternoon. I have to run to the back of the Long property first, check on a report of a deer in the road. Can you wait for me to get back?”

I didn’t want to spend another minute in my room. With my mind made up, it was time to leave. Time to get started on finding the truth no matter how much it hurt. “I’ll just go with you.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “There might be a dead deer. Is that okay?”

I wanted to laugh. I’d seen my father’s skull a few days ago. I could handle a deer.

The SUV rocked along the gravel road, bumping over the back way out of the Lodge. A shotgun was locked upright between the front seats, and dirt was caked along the floor mats.

“You want music?” Rory reached over and flipped on the radio. A country song warbled through the speakers.

I stared out the window and fought the sadness that seeped into me. Garrett. I was leaving him behind. Was he still in his room or watching me leave? Did he know that I intended to bring him down? That whatever sins he’d committed two years ago wouldn’t stay buried as long as I drew breath?

“I used to hunt out here before they built the Lodge. Seems like now, though, they scared the game away. Too many people, you know?” Rory cleared his throat. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Mmhmm?” I pulled my coat closer around me as I waited for the heater to warm the small space.

“I know this isn’t the most, um, opportune time to ask. But since you’re going to be in town for a little while, would you like to—”

“Shh.” I peered out the window. “Stop the car!” Something in the woods caught my eye. A flash of orange.

The SUV halted, its tires skidding a little over the gravel.

“What is it?” Rory leaned over and stared in the same direction.

“I saw something.” I couldn’t find the mark anymore, but I knew it had been there, the same one from Lillian’s photos.

“What?”

“Come on.” I yanked on the door handle and stepped out into the frozen air.

I walked through the gravel and up onto the short bank next to the road before plunging into the woods.

“Wait just a gosh darn second!” Rory caught up and took my elbow, but he didn’t stop me from walking. “What did you see?”

“Orange.”

“Elise, maybe we should go on back to the Lodge. I don’t think you’ve recovered enough.”

I stopped and turned to him. “I’m not crazy. There’s a mark. I think it’s on one of these trees. I have to find it. If you don’t want to help me, go back to the truck, but I will find it.” I ripped my elbow from his grasp and clambered over a fallen tree, my boot slipping in the snow along the top.

“Jeez, woman. No need to get mad.” He followed and took my elbow again, helping me along.

“Keep looking.”

He scanned the trees as we maneuvered around a fallen branch. “What kind of mark?”

“It’s like a circle with a squiggle through the middle.”

“Like the Ghostbusters thing?” He tipped his hat back on his head.

“Yeah, kind of like that.”

“That’s familiar. I’ve seen that in these woods.”

“In Blackwood?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets to avoid the chill.

“No. Never out on that side of the county. Only over here.”

“Here? What, like at the Lodge?”

“Yeah.” He helped me over a small stream. “I reckon that’s right. It’s just a hunter’s mark, to remind them where the game trails are.” He pulled me to a stop. “It’s nothing, just a hunter’s mark, okay?” He put a hand to my cheek. “You’re already frozen. Let’s go back.”

“No.”

“Why?” Exasperation colored the word, but once again, he helped me walk farther into the woods.

“Because I saw photos of that mark. I saw a grave near one of those marks. A mass grave.”

“A mass grave? In Millwood County?”

“Yes,” I hissed. “There’s something out here. I thought it was at Blackwood.” A burst of orange caught my attention. “There!” I pointed.

He peered through the woods. “Yeah, there it is.”

We trudged over to the marked tree, and Rory ran his hand over it. “Just a hunter’s mark, like I said.”

“No. There’s more.” I took a few more steps, my eyes trained on the ground. “A clearing. Right up ahead.” And something else, highlighted by the dusting of white. “Come on.” I hurried forward, almost jogging through the trees until I found it.

“Whoa, what is that?” Rory caught up and stopped next to me.

I looked from the ground to him. “It’s—”

A shot went off, and one of Rory’s eyes exploded as the bullet cut through his skull.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

M Y BACK HIT THE nearest tree, and I slid down into a crouch. Rory lay face up, his legs kicking slightly before he stilled. He’d fallen sideways, his body lying at the edge of the same mass grave from Lillian’s photo.

I bit the back of my hand as I searched through the woods and tried to think of a way out. If I could get to the clearing, maybe I could run through it and into the trees—

“Elise?” A familiar voice yelled to me through the woods. “Don’t move. I’m coming to you.”

“Sheriff?” My eyes flickered from tree to tree and then back to Rory. My breakfast rose in my throat at the splash of gore staining the snow-dotted ground.

Approaching footsteps flicked the switch to my fight or flight, and I took off, racing through the trees. I zigged hard left into the clearing and raced across the uneven ground, the dead blades of grass slapping against my legs.

“Elise, stop!” The footsteps behind me intensified.

Mortal terror gripped my insides and twisted them. I put everything I had into my steps, my muscles burning as I gained the opposite tree line and hurdled a fallen trunk with a sloppy jump. Skidding as I dropped back to the ground, I lost my footing and fell hard on my side.

“Stop!” Another voice ahead of me.

Fuck. I scrambled to my feet and darted to the right. Another shot, and a stinging pain erupted in my side.

I shrieked and fell against the nearest tree.

“Stop running, you stupid bitch!” The voice from ahead of me grew louder.

I pressed my palm to my stomach, but I didn’t know what sort of damage lay beneath my coat. Each breath felt like a knife stab, and I sank to my knees, the cold earth welcoming me as I rested my forehead against the elm tree in front of me.

“Got another fucking mess on my hands.” Mayor Freeman emerged from the trees ahead of me, a high-powered rifle slung over his shoulder. “Am I a magnet for dumb bitches? Is that it? I feel like that has to be it.”

“Shut your yap,” Sheriff Crow’s voice rang out behind me, his heavy footsteps echoing through my mind.

“I’m just saying—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Shut your mouth.” Sheriff Crow gripped me under my right arm and pulled me to my feet. “Winged you, did he?” He turned me around and pushed my back against the tree, then opened my coat and whistled. “That’s worse than a winging, darling.”

I looked down, watching the red stain spread across my top.

Sheriff Crow kicked his hat back on his head and clamped a hand around my throat. “I’d tell you to keep pressure on that, but it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

Mayor Freeman walked closer and leaned in toward my face. “Dumb bitches never listen, do—”

Sheriff Crow’s hand flew in an instant, punching the mayor in the side of the face. The man stumbled back then held a hand to his jaw.

“When I tell you to shut the fuck up, I mean it, Len. Do we have to keep going over this?” Sheriff Crow’s voice had the same friendly tenor it always did. He even smiled a little, as if reminding a small child of the appropriate way to behave.

“Right. Sorry.” The mayor dropped his gaze.

“Good.” He turned back to me, the intelligence I’d seen in his eyes crackling like sparklers. “Now, I think you know what has to happen next.”

“N-No.” I pressed back into the tree, the pain in my abdomen painting everything in a surreal light—the snow too bright white, the earth a dark shadow beneath it.

“I tried.” He ran his fingers across my forehead and through my hair. “I did everything I could. Put your car back on that road so you wouldn’t keep looking for it. Left that body in the woods and claimed a hunting accident to keep you away. Even left you with Garrett so he could scare you off.” He leaned closer, his lips at my ear. “I saw you. In the woods. Saw Garrett fuck you raw. I watched the whole thing.”

“Get off me.” I tried to knee him, but my limbs barely obeyed my commands, my life ebbing out of the wound in my abdomen.

He pulled away from my ear, but leaned close enough for our noses to almost touch. “You know where I went wrong? I underestimated you. I did the same thing with Lillian and your daddy. They found out about what we do here at the Lodge.” He clucked his tongue. “And they lacked an entrepreneurial spirit.”

“Wh-what do you do?” My teeth chattered as my worst fears began to roll off his tongue.

“We run a hunting lodge. But what we hunt isn’t your average quarry.” He smiled, his eyes glinting. “It’s something special. Something people will pay for. You wouldn’t believe how much they’ll pay to hunt here.”

“The missing persons.” The cork board at the diner, all the names and faces. Too many for such a small area.

“At first.” He nodded. “We had plenty of trash to pick from in the beginning. Then we had to expand our operation. Danny helped out, making sure our special deliveries arrived and were in shape enough to run. These people come here looking for a handout. We give them something better.” He snorted at his own sick joke. “A bullet.”

I stalled. “Rory?”

“He didn’t know. Shame about him, though. You killed him. When he heard your screams in the woods that day—even though I specifically told Danny to do it quiet”—He twisted his neck until it cracked—“I had to intervene. You got another chance. Then today you dragged him out to the graves.” He shook his head. “Game over.”

“Garrett?”

“That’s the best fucking part.” He laughed. “Had nothing to do with any of it. That basket case’s only mistake in all of this was getting involved with you. When I get done here, I’ll go to his house and hang him the same way I did his sister. Tragic.”

“He’ll kill you.” I pressed harder on my wound, refusing to let go, to give up.

“No, he won’t. He’ll let me in the door like he always does. He’ll leave a nice note detailing why he killed your daddy, poor Danny, and you. Won’t be able to live with the guilt.” He affected a contrite air. “Terrible shame for the community to lose that fucking nutjob.”

“Pete?” The mayor’s tentative voice shocked me out of my horror. I had to fight, to try something.

Sheriff Crow kept staring into my eyes, one hand on my throat. “What?”

“Can I do it?”

“No.” He tightened his grip on my neck, and I tried to grab his wrist. My bloodied hand slid off, but I grasped his coat sleeve.

“Why not?”

“Because she’s mine.” He squeezed harder, my breath gone as his eyes bored into mine.

“Pete, come on. Give me a shot. I’ve been working out and practicing and—”

“Oh, for the love of Christ.” He released his hold on my throat, and I choked down huge gulps of air. “Make it quick. We have to bury Rory and her, and we don’t have that dumb fuck Danny to do it for us anymore.”

“Okay. I can do it.” Mayor Freeman pulled his gun off his shoulder and rested it against the front of his camouflage coat. “Run.”

Sheriff Crow stepped back and put his hands on his hips. “Get going. Might as well use you for target practice. Waste not, want not.”

“Fuck you.” My voice barely cut through the cold stillness.

“Run or I’ll put a bullet in your face.” The sheriff pulled out his service pistol and aimed it at my forehead.

An idea took root in the chaos of my mind. “I’ll run.” I coughed, and agony streaked through my body. “But you have to give me a head start.”

Sheriff Crow smiled and slapped the mayor on the back. “We can do that, right Len?”

“I’d rather not. We’re in a hurry, and—”

“You want to shoot her in the back after she’s taken three steps? That’s not very sporting of you. We can do better than that.” Sheriff Crow grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me forward. “Give her the full Lodge experience.” He shoved me, and I managed to stay upright from sheer will.

“Twenty minutes.” I took a step backwards.

Sheriff Crow laughed, real mirth crinkling the skin around his eyes. “Five.”

“Ten.”

“Think you can handle stalking a wounded bitch after ten minutes?” Crow glanced at the mayor.

“Yes.” The mayor puffed out his chest and snugged his rifle tighter in his arms.

“We’ll see. If you can’t, then I’m going to do it with my hands.”

“Deal.” Mayor Freeman smiled, like a child given a chance to impress a grown-up.

Sheriff Crow took his hat off and waved it at me. “Run, rabbit, run.”

I turned and stumbled away through the undergrowth.

“Need to go faster than that.” Sheriff Crow laughed.

I didn’t look back, just kept moving through the woods, back toward the road, toward the SUV with the shotgun inside.

One foot in front of the other, I stepped as quickly as the pain in my stomach allowed, each footfall sending a jarring misery through me. But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t.

I passed through the clearing and tried to avoid looking at Rory. Until I didn’t. Until I realized Rory had a gun. Fuck. I yanked his coat up, but his holster was empty. Sheriff Crow must have already taken it. My fingers had lost feeling, but I shoved them into his pockets looking for anything I could use as a weapon. In his right pocket I found a small knife. No keys, nothing that could get me out of this frozen hell.

I could stay here. Just wait. The end was coming—either a bullet, bleeding out, or the sheriff’s hands around my throat. The row of graves blurred as I swayed on my knees. No. I pressed my palm against the wound, the pain dragging me back to the present, to the cold eventuality of my death if I failed to move.

How long? I didn’t know how much time had passed by the time I forced myself back to my feet and began stumbling toward the road. My forward progress took all my effort. One step, another step. If I was moving, I had a chance. So I kept pushing forward, even as my vision began to dim and my legs felt as if they were fighting against quicksand.

I saw the glint of the truck up ahead when the Sheriff’s voice cut through the woods. “Ready or not, here we come!”

Step, step, step. After an eternity, my feet hit gravel, and I fell against the truck. With what was left of my strength, I yanked the passenger door open. Leaning across the seat, I grabbed the shotgun and tried to pull it free. I couldn’t feel it, couldn’t tell if I had even moved it. My knees hit the running board just as the back passenger window shattered, a rifle shot roaring through the trees.

They’d caught up. It was only a matter of moments. I didn’t have time to cry. And all I could think was that I’d finally found what I’d been looking for, but the price of knowledge had turned out to be far too high. I pulled myself into the passenger side and closed the door. Curling into the fetal position in the floorboard, I stared at the sun-dappled woods through the driver’s side window as my eyes began to flutter closed.

Another slug lodged into the side of the truck. The faint sound of gravel crunching beneath boots told me I was done. All done. And I was…relieved. I let my eyes close as more shots rang out. So many shots. Someone yelled my name.

No, not my name. The color that soaked my shirt, my coat, my hands. Red.

“Garret!” The sheriff yelled. “It’s me. Come on. The mayor’s hurt bad. You got him in the head. I need to call it in. You’re looking at murder one. Let me help you.”

“Go fuck yourself!” The driver’s side door opened.

I turned my head and saw Garrett. He crouched down and reached out for me as the glass in the passenger window shattered.

“I’m sorry.” I said it, but he didn’t seem to hear me. Did I say it? I meant it. More than I’d ever meant anything in my life.

“Shhh.” He yanked out the floor mat, then reached up and pulled the visor down. A set of keys tumbled onto the driver’s seat. “Stay down.” He raised a pistol and fired three shots through the window over my head.

“Fuck!” The sheriff screamed. I hoped Garrett landed a kill shot.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he shoved the key into the ignition and started the truck. Another, even louder shot rang out followed by the hard thunk of punctured metal. We surged forward, Garrett leaning down as he floored it on the rough road.

“I’ve got you. Red, you’ll be fine.” He reached out and took my bloody hand.

I couldn’t feel him. I felt nothing at all.

CHAPTER THIRTY

DÉJÀ VU. THE TERM wasn’t strong enough for when I woke up in a hospital room with Garrett sitting next to me, my hand in his. I tried to speak to him, but something blocked my voice. His head was bowed, and he pulled my hand to his lips.

I squeezed his fingers.

His head bobbed up, his eyes wide. “You’re awake.” He turned his head to the side and yelled, “She’s awake!”

He pressed his palm to the side of my face. “Red.”

I leaned against his steady pressure. Tears gleamed in his eyes as the nurse—the same one from our last visit—hustled into the room.

“Ms. Vale?” She leaned over the other side of my bed and spoke clearly and almost too loudly. “You lost a lot of blood. Dr. Turner repaired the damage to your liver caused by the bullet, but you’ll need to stay here for several days to recover. You’re still intubated to make sure you keep breathing well. We’ll take the tube out once you’re awake for a bit. You can’t talk, though. Blink one for yes, two for no. And press the call button if you need anything. Understand?”

I blinked once.

“Good. I’m going to let the doctor know you’re awake.” She tinkered with one of my monitors and took my blood pressure, then left, her shoes squeaking with each step.

Garrett sat on the edge of my bed and kissed my hand again. “You’re safe. I swear.”

I blinked once, though the shadow of Sheriff Crow passed across my mind.

Garrett seemed to hear my thoughts. “Sheriff Crow got away, but not for long. There’s a state trooper outside your door, and the governor has ordered a perimeter around the county. He won’t escape.”

I glanced to the door, the windows. I felt like the bed beneath me disappeared and I was sinking through to the floor below and lower. The sheriff was coming for me, chasing me. His footsteps sped up along with the beep of some machine. I clenched my eyes shut.

“Nurse!” Garrett yelled.

I couldn’t breathe. Sheriff Crow was going to kill me just like my dad and Lillian. The cold grave would open, and I would tumble in, landing amidst the rest of the victims and barely disturbing the sparse snow along the edges.

“Red, please.”

Squeaking met my ears again, then hands landed on me. I struggled, pushing and fighting.

Black. I tried to call black, but the word wouldn’t come out.

“Red, you’re safe. I’m here.” Garrett’s voice broke. “Listen to me. Listen. I’m here. No one will hurt you. I swear I’ll die before any of them touch you again. I swear it. Hold onto me.”

He cupped my face with his hands. “I’ve got you.”

I opened my eyes and stared into his sparkling blues.

Garrett, not the sheriff, held me. The nurse had both hands on my right arm, pinning it down. My body relaxed as I looked into his familiar, kind eyes. I was safe. The rapidly beeping monitor began to slow. Another nurse darted in with a syringe.

I shook my head as much as I could.

“Are you sure, honey?” My nurse let up on my arm and leaned down to stare into my eyes. “I can send you back to sleep for a bit.”

I blinked twice as slowly and deliberately as I could.

“All right, but if you have another attack, I’ll have to sedate you.” She pocketed the syringe. “You need to rest.”

I blinked once, and Garrett wiped my tears away with his thumbs.

“She’s all right.” He didn’t take his eyes from mine. “She’s strong. Strongest person I’ve ever met.”

“Seems to me like you’re the one upsetting her.” She scowled at him. “Ms. Vale, would you like Mr. Blackwood to leave?”

I blinked twice.

After a wary glance to Garrett, she strode out. “I’ll be just outside at the station.”

I tried to calm myself, to snap out of the aftershocks of fear. Garrett wasn’t the enemy. He’d saved me. Again.

He kissed my palm and sank back into the chair next to me. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea about any of it.” He pressed the back of my hand to his cheek. “I still can’t believe it.” He sighed and ran his lips along my knuckles. “Do you want me to tell you about it?”

Blink.

“I don’t want to upset you.”

I need to know. I squeeze his hand.

“You sure?”

Blink.

“When I found out you left with Rory, I followed. By the time I caught up, all I saw was you staggering out of the woods and into Rory’s truck.” His voice turned cold. “I saw them chasing you, and I didn’t understand, but I knew I’d kill them to protect you.” He laced our fingers together. “All I had was a pistol. I aimed for Len. He was the one shooting at the truck you were in. I killed him in a few shots. Sheriff Crow ducked behind a tree. I should have stayed and shot him in the fucking face, but I couldn’t risk losing you.”

So much killing. Death lived in the woods near the Lodge, not Blackwood. Anything that happened on Garrett’s property was spillover and misdirection by the sheriff. And I’d fallen for it.

“You were in surgery for hours. Bonnie and Ty came by but could only stay for a moment since you’re in intensive care.” He quieted, though the storm in his eyes continued to churn.

The steady beep of the machines and the comforting touches from Garrett soothed my soul. But a thought soured in my mind, and I dreaded sharing the bitter taste with Garrett. Lillian. He needed to know the truth. I drew my other hand across to him, though it took far more effort than it should have. Spreading his palm open, I traced the letter L.

“Lillian?”

Blink.

“Are you saying Pete…”

Blink.

He squeezed my fingers. “I fucking knew it. Lillian didn’t kill herself. The photos, hanging around with your father—they found out about what he was doing at the Lodge.” He hung his head. “How did I never see it?”

I ran my fingers through his hair, giving what little comfort I could.

He wiped at his eyes, then glanced up at me. “Just rest. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. I swear.”

I believed him, every word quieting my ragged nerves as I lay back and closed my eyes.

Something nagging broke through the veil of sleep. My chest hurt, and I couldn’t seem to fix it.

Sheriff Crow loomed above me, one hand wrapped around my breathing tube and the other pressing a knife into my throat.

“Shh. It’s just you and me now.”

The tube blocked my air flow as I tried to take a breath. I was suffocating, Sheriff Crow’s fist squeezing the life out of me as I tried to pull his hand away.

“No, no. It’s got to be this way.” He kept his voice low and gave me the same friendly smile that I’d first seen at the diner. “No witnesses. I can pin it all on the mayor, easy. But not with you around.”

Garrett. I searched the room for him. He was gone. Where?

My lungs convulsed, desperate for oxygen, but none was coming. I scrabbled for the nurse call button, but the sheriff grabbed my wrist. I used my other hand to try and push him away. Nothing. He was too determined, and I hadn’t recovered enough. I glanced to my closed door, hoping for the trooper.

“Trooper’s on a smoke break, sweetheart. Just you, me, and the heart attack that’s about to kill you.” He crimped the tube completely in half.

My lungs seized again, and I sucked in violently, this time catching some air from around the tube.

The sheriff frowned. “That won’t do.” He grabbed the tube and yanked it off, the tape ripping and my throat turning to fire as it pulled out.

I sputtered but only got a small breath before he slapped his palm onto my mouth and used the other to pinch my nose.

A door squeaked open. A roar ripped through the room. And then chaos. Garrett had walked out of the small bathroom and tackled the sheriff. Both men rolled on the floor, knocking over hospital equipment as Garrett screamed and fought like a wild creature.

The door opened, and the nurse stared, perhaps just as unable to believe the sight as I was.

“Call the trooper!” She dashed around the struggling men and came to the other side of the bed. Yanking my bed to the far wall, she put her arms around me, as if that would defend against the sheriff. “Get security!”

Sheriff Crow swung his knife and caught Garrett in the arm, but it didn’t stop him. Garrett slammed his elbow into the sheriff’s face. The man howled and tried to roll away.

Garrett grabbed him by the hair and yanked him down onto his back. Straddling him, Garrett grabbed the sheriff’s knife hand and beat it on the floor. Smack, smack, smack. The sheriff gave up, and the blade clattered loose.

“Lillian?” Garrett roared. He grabbed the sheriff’s head and slammed it down, blood spurting across the white tile. “Elise?” Another slam.

The nurse screamed as two more people in scrubs crowded at the door. The sheriff bucked and grabbed for something on his belt. Garrett swung wildly, fury in every vicious blow.

“Garrett!” I screamed as the sheriff sprayed Garrett in the eyes with something noxious.

The sheriff took the opening to shove Garrett off. Horror crawled around inside me, trying to scratch its way out of my throat.

Sheriff Crow, his back to me, reached for the knife as Garrett swung blindly.

I moved, slowly at first, the pain telling me I couldn’t do it. I ignored it and shook off the nurse’s clutching hands, but not before I grabbed the syringe from her pocket. Agony ripped through my abdomen as I struggled off the bed onto my unsteady feet. Surging forward, I ripped the IV free from my arm.

Sheriff Crow grasped the knife, then raised it over Garrett as he continued trying to wipe the spray from his eyes. I lunged forward and stabbed the syringe into the sheriff’s temple. He screeched and grabbed my wrist, but not before I depressed the plunger.

Dragging me to the ground next to Garrett, Sheriff Crow screamed and raised his knife again, though this time his arm wobbled. Garrett swung and landed a blow on Crow’s jaw with a sickening crunch. The sheriff dropped the knife, and his left pupil, near where I’d stabbed in the syringe, blew—the growing black hinting at his soul underneath.

With a shudder, he fell backwards and began convulsing on the floor. Garrett pulled me into his arms and rose to his feet. The sheriff stopped moving, his mouth slack and his eyes open wide. Backing away, Garrett and I both stared at him, hoping he was dead, fearing he wasn’t.

“I’ve got you, Red,” Garrett whispered into my hair. “I’ve got you.”

My nurse rushed around the bed and hit her knees next to the sheriff as others poured into the room. Garrett went against the grain, leaving with me in his arms, where I belonged.

EPILOGUE

T  HE SCENT OF EARTH clung to me as I hefted my shovel over my shoulder.

“Go easy there.” I stared at one of my undergraduate workers. “If you were to hit a piece of pottery, you’d shatter it.”

“Right.” She sat back and wiped the sweat from her brow.

Spring had hit Blackwood like a knockout punch in a prize fight. But instead of falling into darkness, light infused the air, the trees, and the plants. Wildflowers grew in the clearings, and the thickets bloomed with huckleberry blossoms and white honeysuckle. I skirted the dig and hooked my shovel onto the makeshift tool shed we’d built.

About a dozen students dug, scraped, and brushed dirt away from the remnants of a small Choctaw village about fifty feet from the spot where Garrett and I had dug the day we’d been shot. Green tarps shaded the excavations as eager students honed their skills and discovered secrets of a lost civilization.

I was in charge of the entire dig. Dr. Stallings stayed as far away from me as possible, and he was more than happy to give me carte blanche where Blackwood was concerned.

The breeze picked up, bringing a taste of wisteria in bloom. Cicadas hummed in the trees, their endless song foretelling another hot day in the Delta.

Arms snaked around my waist, and a familiar beard tickled the side of my neck. “Lunch?”

“Yes.” I smiled as Garrett pressed his lips to my skin, creating a storm of goose bumps shooting down my arms.

“I made something special.”

I craned my head to the side and peered up at him. “Like what?”

He kissed my forehead. “I can’t claim it all. Ty stopped by the house to help. It’s his signature country fried steak.”

My mouth dropped open as my stomach rumbled. “Are you kidding? I missed him again?”

“He’s a private guy.” Garrett shrugged and squeezed me.

“I’ve already put him in the same category as Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny.”

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Ty.” He released me and took my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you washed up. Your fingernails are blacker than mine. Then we can eat.”

I followed him to the small trough we’d set up with fresh water diverted from the nearby stream. After washing, we strolled hand in hand to the small picnic area where a few students ate their lunches and talked about what they’d found on the dig.

Pride must have been written all over my face, because Garrett smacked me on the ass and said, “You got this.”

I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed him. “I’ve got you. That’s what matters.”

“I can handle the rest.” Garrett took the last dish from me and dried it with a faded dish towel. “You go on up to bed.”

I yawned and stretched. His eyes went to my chest where my nipples were hard and tingling.

He gripped my ass and raised me onto the counter. “Do you do these things just to turn me on?”

“What?” I bit my lip and stared up at him. “I just wanted to stretch.”

He smirked and planted his hands on either side of me, then leaned forward until our bodies were pressed together and his lips were only a breath away from mine. “Liar.”

His kiss heated my blood, my soul, warmed everything in me until I became an inferno that raged only for him. When he pulled away and traced his lips across my throat, I worked up another yawn.

He shook his head. “Go on to bed. I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Okay.” I let my eyes droop a bit as he slid me off the counter. “See you upstairs.”

“Naked.” He popped me in the ass with the dish towel as I strode out of the kitchen.

“Mmhmm.” Once I hit the hallway, I practically sprinted to the foyer on quiet feet. I pulled on my shoes and laced them tight. This time, I was going to let go, to give us a night we’d never forget. The past two times when we tried to play this game, I’d called black before even getting to the woods. Garrett had caught up and carried me back to the house, cradling me in his arms and comforting me. His love healed me more than digging ever could.

And now that I’d seen the Lodge dismantled, the building literally bulldozed, and justice for the victims, I felt ready. I could give myself over to the fantasy—fear and love and lust all wrapped in a fucked up and beautiful package.

I pulled the red pea coat from the peg next to the door and slid it over my arms. The familiar flick of the kitchen light switch turned up my adrenaline. Footsteps, soft and even, made the wood boards creak as Garrett approached.

My hand on the doorknob, I looked over my shoulder.

He came into view and stopped, his body going tense. “Red, we don’t have to—”

“Catch me if you can.” I swung the door open wide and ran. My feet pounded the soft grass, and the cool night air whipped my hair out behind me as I sprinted toward the tree line. Dread tried to press into my thoughts, to bring up images of a light snow, a row of graves, and a sheriff’s hat. I burst through all those dark thoughts as I passed the first tree and plunged into the moonlit forest.

I took a different path, veering hard to the right and around a small thicket. The green of the trees gave me a better chance at concealment, so I stopped and leaned against a wide oak. The quiet woods played along, serving as my accomplice and hiding me from the predator on my tracks.

Heavy footfalls sped my breathing, and I plastered myself against the tree as closely as I could.

“Red, call black.” His gravelly voice sent a tingle down my spine.

I held my breath as the scrape of underbrush on Garrett’s jeans told me he was getting close.

“Just call black.” His voice was half pleading, half challenging.

The darkness tried to rise, to swallow up the silvery forest, the moon, the sky, but I pushed it away. These woods were mine now. No ghosts. Only Garrett and me and the connection that intensified every moment we were together.

“I can smell you, Red. I want to eat you up, make you scream, make you cry, and own you until I’m the only thing you can think. I know you’re close.” The footsteps grew ever closer. “Call fucking black.”

“No.” I dashed from my hiding spot and exploded through the trees. I ran with everything I had, forcing myself to push through every haunted memory of my father, Lillian, the sheriff, the mayor—I hurtled through them, and they scattered like petals on the wind.

“Fuck.” Garrett grunted at my back. He was close.

I hopped a stream and hurdled a set of cypress roots. He hit the ground hard behind me as I dodged a tree and scraped past another. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I could feel him before he even touched me. Garrett.

He wrapped his arms around my waist and yanked me back. I yelped as we hit the ground and rolled. He pinned me before I had any chance of trying to make another great escape.

“Call black.” He glowed under the moonlight, the silvery-yellow orb creating a halo behind him. But he was no angel. He yanked up my top and fastened his mouth to my breast.

I moaned when he sucked my nipple into his mouth and teased the tip. When he bit me, I arched and struggled. He kept me pinned and released my nipple, then eased down the mound and bit the underside until I whimpered. More bites followed, both breasts stinging as he left his marks.

“Garrett.” I squirmed. “Oh my god.”

He transferred both wrists to one hand and pressed them into the leaves left over from winter. He kissed me, his teeth digging into my lip. I opened for him, and he swept his tongue inside, owning me with each stolen breath, each swipe of friction between us.

Pulling back, he stared into my eyes and gripped the waistband of my shorts and panties. “Red, I want this. I want it rough and ugly and fucking primal. I want to hurt you.” He pressed his forehead to mine. “Please, call black.”

“No.”

He yanked at my shorts, the seams ripping and my panties shredding along with them. My skin ached where the fabric chafed, but I didn’t care. I wanted him, all of him.

“You know, you could call black.” I spread my legs wide for him and gave him a smirk.

He pressed two fingers inside me and gripped up on my spot. “Never with you. I love you.” The words spilled out as if they weren’t quite intended.

I leaned up and kissed him. He answered, thrusting his fingers inside me in the same rhythm as his tongue.

“I love you, too.” I rested my head on the ground and stared up at him as he stilled.

“Really?”

“What kind of question is that after a declaration of love?” I pushed down against his fingers, needing more of him. All of him.

“I’m just—I just…” He smiled. “I don’t know. Happy.” He kissed me again, his beard tickling my nose.

I reached down to his pants and popped the button and unzipped his fly. “We should probably seal the deal.”

“So you aren’t going to call black?” He groaned as I took him in my hand and guided his tip to my opening.

“No. Are you?”

He growled and grabbed a handful of my hair, pulling me up until we were face to face, breast to breast. He pushed inside me, the full sensation sudden and delicious—the spark of pain and the euphoria of pleasure.

I dug my nails into his side. “Going easy on me just because we’re in love?”

His signature smirk crossed his lips as he began a wicked pace that curled my toes. “Never.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As always, the biggest thanks goes to Mr. Aaron, my number one cheerleader and best friend. He’s the greatest beta reader of all time. (He once read a draft of mine for another book and said, “this was all great and then you got to the big conflict and it was just … just a wet fart. Fix it.” Brutal honesty for the win.) Thanks for always keeping it real, my love.

Thanks to Aoife McCartan, the amazingly talented photographer. I hounded her for this cover image for over a month, and she remained gracious the entire time. Make sure you check out her website http://www.aoifemccartan.com. Also to Adam Joseph Chase, for his handsome, sultry, wonderful (did I say HANDSOME?) mug on this cover. Follow him on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/adamjosephchase/.

Perfect Pear. You love me. Don’t try and deny it. I may have chapped your ass over what I wanted on this cover, but you came through with a vengeance. Just remember, I’m always that other pear, sitting right behind you, rubbing your pear butt.

Viv, Rach, and Sybil, y’all are fab, as always. Thanks for reading my stuff when I know you’re already plenty busy leading your own lives (though I’m still confused about why your lives don’t revolve around my life…). Your input is always appreciated and invaluable. And Sybil makes some excellent teasers. Thoroughly teased over here.

Stacey, thanks for the eagle eyes on my text. There’d be quite a few bizarre typos in my books if it weren’t for you. (Whenever I type about it, it usually turns into abou tit.) And to Jeff, my long-suffering content editor. Your exclamations at the end of my cliffy chapters never cease to amuse me.

Mel, I won’t tell everyone what a sweetheart you are. Because that would just be silly. Totally silly. But thanks for all your help and suggestions, and for constantly re-explaining to me what “safe” actually means. I’ll ask again tomorrow.

Nicola and Dani—I’m still waiting on those tit pics. Just sayin’.

Last but not least, thanks to my readers for letting me gad about and write all sorts of things. From sweet and short, to long and twisty—and everything in-between. Thanks for your love and support. I couldn’t do me without you doing you. Much love.

xoxo,

Celia

COUNSELLOR

Acquisition Series, Book 1

Celia Aaron

Copyright © 2015 Celia Aaron

All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book only. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Celia Aaron. Please do not participate in piracy of books or other creative works.

This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

WARNING: This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Please store your files wisely, away from under-aged readers. This book is a dark romance. If dark romance bothers you, this book isn’t for you. If dark, twisty, suspenseful, and sexy—or any combination of those words—interest you, then enjoy.

Cover art by L.J. at mayhemcovercreations.com

Editing by J. Brooks

SINCLAIR

I N THE HEART of every man is a darkness. Primal. Instinctive.

At its most basic, it’s a desirous nature—one that covets, demands, takes. Most men brick it up behind a wall of self-control. They invest time and effort in maintaining the separation. These men, good men, control the darkness until it withers away and becomes nothing more than a shadow haunting their innermost thoughts. Something easily forgotten, dismissed, erased.

I've never been a good man.

My darkness is neither restrained nor buried. It lives right at the surface. The only thing that hides it is my mask.

My mask is the law, the light, the pursuit of justice. It is forthright and airy. It is the appearance of righteousness in a fallen world.

The mask I wear is purely the act of a predator. Theater. Pageantry. Deceptive and lethal. It allows me to get close and closer still until it is time to strike.

I stalk so near that my prey can feel the tickle of my breath, the coldness of my heart, the depth of my depravity. Only a whisper separates me from what I desire.

Then the mask falls away, and all my victim sees is darkness.

STELLA

T  HE DISTRICT ATTORNEY sat completely still at the dark, polished table across the courtroom. My father sat in front of me at an identical table, but he was full of nervous energy. He shifted, ran a hand through his silver hair, and leaned over to whisper to his attorney.

I clasped my hands in my lap until the ring on my index finger dug into my flesh. This was the last chance my father had for freedom, the last day he would be able to throw himself on the mercy of the court. My gaze wandered back to the district attorney, the one who had my father arrested. Investigators scrutinized every last cent the old man ever invested or borrowed. And, just like that, my world became a smoldering heap of ashes. All because of one man.

Sinclair Vinemont was unmoving, like a spider poised on a web, waiting for the slightest sensation of movement from a hapless moth. My father was the moth, and Vinemont was about to destroy him. The investigation and prosecution had been the careful work of a master. Vinemont had woven the cocoon tighter and tighter until my father was caught from all sides. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to try and hide from Vinemont’s poison. Dad was being systematically dismantled by the silent monster in a perfect suit.

I wanted to crumble. I couldn’t. Dad needed me. No matter the long list of allegations and the even longer list of evidence against him, he was my father. He had always been there for me. Always protected me, stood by me, and encouraged me. Even after what my mother had done. Even after what I had done.

I would not leave his side. He was staring down a hefty prison sentence. Even if the worst happened, I would visit him, call him, write him, and keep him company until the day he got out. I owed him that and much more.

I stared at Vinemont so hard I hoped he would burst into flames from the sheer heat of my hatred. I’d wished for his demise for so long it had become like second nature to me. I hated him, hated every slick word from his mouth, every breath he took. Vinemont’s downfall was stuck on replay in my mind. As I glared at his back, he remained tranquil, completely at ease despite my father coming apart with worry at the table next to him.

I forced myself to drop my gaze, lest anyone see me glaring at him with embittered rage. I couldn’t bear for my father to suffer any further torment, especially not if it was based on any of my actions. My hands were pale in my lap, a white contrast to my dark pinstriped skirt. I took a deep breath and settled myself. It would do no good for me to fall apart now. Not in the face of my father’s sentencing. I let out my breath slowly and looked up.

Something was different. I darted my gaze to the side. Sinclair Vinemont sat just as still, but now his eyes were trained on me. His gaze pierced me, as if he were seeing more than my exterior. I refused to turn away and, instead, gave him a matching stare full of righteous anger. We were locked in a battle, though not a word was said and no one threw a punch. I wouldn’t look away. I wouldn’t let him win even more than he already had. I perused his appearance more fully than I had ever dared. He would have been handsome—dark hair, blue eyes, and a strong jaw. He was tall, broad, fit. The perfect man except for the ice I knew coated his heart.

The internet had told me everything I needed to know about him. Single, old money, career in public service, and at twenty-nine years old, he was the youngest district attorney in parish history. The only thing I didn’t know about him was why he would dare look at me, why he thought he had any right to pin me with his gaze after he’d ruined my life. I wanted to spit in his face, claw his eyes, and make him hurt the same way he’d hurt my father and me.

The door at the front of the courtroom opened and the judge entered, a stark, elderly man in black robes. Vinemont finally turned away, vanquished for the time being. Everyone in the courtroom stood. The judge shuffled to his seat behind a high wall of wood and state insignias, far above the spectators and lawyers.

“Be seated.” Despite his apparent age, his voice boomed, echoing off the dusty shutters and up into the gallery above. “Counsellor Vinemont…” He trailed off, sorting through the papers on his desk.

My father sank into his chair and turned to grant me a thin smile. I tried to smile back to give him some sort of comfort, but it was too late. He’d already faced forward, watching the judge. I willed the judge to let my father go, to suspend his sentence, to do anything except take him away from me. I had no one else. No mother. No one except Dylan, and I refused to rely on him for anything.

Vinemont stood and fastened the top button of his suit coat before stepping from behind the table. He was tall, and like so many dangerous things, effortlessly beautiful.

The bespectacled, bearded judge was still rifling through sheets upon sheets of documents when Vinemont spoke.

“Judge Montagnet, I have several victims lined up to speak against Mr. Rousseau.” His deep Southern drawl was an affront to my ears. Even so, words spilled off his tongue with ease. He could charm the devil himself. As far as I was concerned, Sinclair Vinemont was the devil.

I wished we’d never left New York, never travelled to this backwoods bayou full of snakes. Vinemont condemned my father with airy ease every chance he got. No one spoke against him. No one countered his venomous lies other than the ham-handed defense attorney my father hired. So many of the people we’d met in this town were good, forthright souls—or so I’d thought. They weren’t here. They didn’t sit on my father’s side to give him support against Vinemont’s false charges. They hadn’t come to testify that my father’s sentence should be reduced or that he should be granted mercy. It was only me and rows upon rows of empty, cold pews. We were alone.

On Vinemont’s side of the courtroom, two rows full of people, maybe twenty in all, sat and glared at Dad and me. Most of them were elderly men and women who had invested with my father. They blamed him for losing their money when all he did was invest as they requested. He had no control over the market, or the crashes, or the resulting instability. My father wasn’t the monster Vinemont had made him out to be.

One of the women, gray and wrinkly, met my gaze and made the sign of the evil eye. I only knew what it was because she’d done it before, the last time I’d seen her in court during my father’s trial. I’d looked it up and realized she was cursing me. With each movement of her hand, she was willing destruction down on my head. I looked away, back to the true reason for my father’s disgrace and my desperation. Sinclair Vinemont.

The judge nodded. “Bring up your first witness, Counsellor.”

I steeled myself as one by one, the alleged victims walked, limped, or wheeled past me to testify against my father. Their tears should have moved me, their tales of trust broken and fortunes lost should have forced some shred of empathy from my heart. All I felt was anger. Anger at them for getting my father into this mess. More than that, anger at Vinemont as he stood and patted the “victims” on the shoulder or the arm and gave out hugs like he was running for office. Every so often I could have sworn he leered back at me, some sort of smug satisfaction on his hard face.

The day droned on with story after story. With each witness, Dad slumped down farther in his chair, as if trying to melt away into the floor. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder, tell him things could be fixed. Instead, I sat like a statue and listened.

The accusations stung me like a swarm of hornets. After the sixth or seventh witness, I went numb from their venom. Despite the breadth of the charges, I did not doubt my father. Not for a moment. Vinemont had done all this to ensure his reelection or for some other, similarly vile purpose.

When the last witness finally turned her walker around and shuffled back to her seat, the silence became a separate presence. Heavy, ominous, and draining, like a specter haunting the empty spaces of the room. My father remained hunched forward, his head bowed.

“Well, judge, I think you’ve heard enough.” Vinemont held his hands out beside him, the show at an end.

“I have. I’m going to need the evening to think on the sentence.” He glanced around the courtroom, his impassive gaze stopping on me for a moment longer than anyone else. “I’ll have my verdict in the morning.”

Vinemont turned to the judge and gave him a slight nod. Judge Montagnet returned the nod and then banged his gavel. “Court is adjourned.”

“Just let me make you feel better.” Dylan leaned over me, pushing me sideways onto the ancient leather sofa in my father’s library.

“I can’t do this right now.” I tried to push him off but he pressed harder, overcoming my balance so I fell on my back beneath him.

He put his mouth to my neck, sucking my skin between his teeth. He was large and well-muscled thanks to endless lacrosse and rowing. He crushed me and constricted my chest.

“Please, Dylan.” I gasped. I should have been afraid. I wasn’t. I was still dazed from the courthouse. Dylan was just adding to the long line of disappointments I’d suffered over the past six months.

He pushed his knee between my legs.

“I can make it all go away for you,” he murmured against me. “Just let me make you feel good for a minute. You need a break.”

He forced his hand up my skirt.

“Stella? Where are you?” My father’s voice calling my name had my stepbrother off me in a heartbeat.

Dylan gripped my hand and yanked me into a sitting position as he straightened his button-down and smoothed his blonde hair. He winked at me. The bastard.

When Dad didn’t show up in the doorway, I knew it was the “come here” sort of call.

“I have to go.”

“Later,” Dylan whispered.

Not if I can help it. Dylan had taken one youthful mistake committed years ago and turned it into some sort of lifelong flame. No matter how many times I told him, he just didn’t believe that twenty-five year-old me wasn’t the same as the foolish, needy nineteen-year-old I once was.

When my father and I had moved to Louisiana, we were despondent. Mom had left this world without saying goodbye or giving an explanation. Dad and I were adrift, trying to come up with some way to carry on even though our heart was gone, buried in the cold ground of a New York cemetery.

Dad eventually took a liking to Dylan’s mother and tried to make a new start with her and, admittedly, her family fortune. Neither venture worked out and they divorced after only six months. Dylan and I were mismatched step-siblings if ever there were any. I painted and read. He loved sports and abhorred learning of any sort if it didn’t have to do with Xs and Os on a whiteboard.

Still, I was sad and desperately looking to feel something, anything, in the wake of my mother’s death. Dylan was there and more than willing. So, I did something foolish. It was my first time—my only time—and I didn’t exactly regret it afterward, I just didn’t think about it. It was a non-event for me. That wasn’t the case for Dylan, unfortunately.

I shook thoughts of him from my mind as I followed my father’s voice to the back of the house and into his study.

Dad had sunk our last few dimes into this turn-of-the-century Victorian home. The whimsical façade was charming. The leaking ceilings and drafty windows? Not so much. Even so, it had been a safe place until Vinemont’s tendrils had begun to invade, first with visits from investigators, then the arrest, then the searches. Vinemont had shown up each step of the way, reveling in the torment he inflicted.

For the millionth time that day, I hoped Vinemont would spontaneously combust. Then I strode into my dad’s study.

The fire was crackling, and the room smelled of my father’s pipe. The atmosphere in that room always had a way of putting me at ease, making me feel safe. Even now, after all we’d been through, I still felt a familiar comfort when I walked in.

Along the back wall near the high windows, he’d arranged the draft paintings and sketches I hadn’t sent to the local gallery. I’d caught him so many times just standing in front of whichever piece he’d decided to peruse for the moment, staring into it as if it held some sort of answer. My mother had taught me to paint. Maybe he was seeing her in the strokes and lines?

My feet hit the soft Persian rug that I used to play on as a child, bringing me back to the here and now. My father sat in his favorite wingback chair near the fire. The room felt fuller, somehow more occupied than usual, as if there was less air or not enough space.

Despite the crackling flames, the room was colder, darker. My familiar comfort drained away. Someone else was sitting in the matching chair facing my father, though I couldn’t see who it was.

My pace slowed as I saw my father’s stricken look. His wrinkled, yet still handsome face was pale, even in the flickering firelight. The first coils of dread snaked around my heart, constricting it slowly.

“Dad?”

Then I caught the scent of him. Whenever I passed him in the courthouse or when he came too close to where my father and I sat, I’d gotten a taste of this same scent. Woodsy and masculine with a hint of some sort of sophisticated tinge. My knees threatened to buckle but I kept going until I stood behind my father’s chair and faced my enemy.

Vinemont’s cold gaze appraised every inch of my body. “Stella.”

I’d never heard him say my name. He spoke it with his signature arrogance, as if just uttering the word was somehow beneath him.

I scowled. “What is this? What are you doing here?”

“I was just discussing a business arrangement with your father. He doesn’t seem inclined to accept my terms, so I thought I would run them past you. See if I got a different result.”

“Get out,” I hissed.

He smirked, though there was no joy in his eyes, just an inscrutable coldness that radiated out and made my skin tingle.

“I think you should leave.” Dad’s voice broke on the last word.

“Do you, now?” Vinemont never took his eyes from me. “Before I’ve had the chance to give Stella the particulars?”

I put my shaking hands on the back of my father’s chair. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing. Mr. Vinemont should be leaving.” My father’s voice grew a bit stronger.

“Y-you can’t be here talking to my father without his attorney.” I forced the tremor to leave my voice. “I know the law, Vinemont.”

Vinemont shrugged, his impeccable dark gray suit rising and falling with the movement. “If you aren’t interested in keeping your father out of prison, then I’ll go.”

He didn’t move, simply watched me with the same dark intensity. Goosebumps rose along the back of my neck and shoulders.

What is this?

“What do you mean?” I asked. “How?”

“As I was just explaining to your father, I have a certain deal to offer. If you accept it, then he’ll stay out of prison. If not, then he’ll be going away for the maximum sentence—fifteen years.”

“A plea deal? But you’ve refused this whole time to make any deal at all.” My voice rose, anger influencing every word. “You were in the papers, telling anyone and everyone that you would do nothing short of seeing my father rotting in prison.”

“Plea deal? I never said anything about a plea deal. I didn’t realize you were this foolish.” He steepled his fingers and canted his head to the side. He looked like Satan, the firelight dancing along his strong features. “No, Stella. I already have a conviction, nothing left but sentencing for him. And I have no doubt he’ll get the max. I’ve made sure of it.”

He spoke as if I was a small, slow child in need of extra after-school help.

“Then what? What are you offering?” My hands fisted, my fingernails digging into my palms. “And what do you want in return?”

“Ding ding ding, she finally catches on.” His smirk grew into a wicked grin that chilled every chamber of my heart. His teeth were even and white. If there had been actual warmth in the smile, he would have been beautiful. Instead, he was the monster from my nightmares.

“The deal is simple. Even simple enough for you to understand, Stella.” He reached into his inner suit coat pocket and drew out a folded sheaf of papers with some sort of wax seal. “All you have to do is sign this and your father will never see the inside of a prison cell.”

“No. I’ve heard enough. Get out of my house.” My father stood and came around the chair to stand by my side.

Vinemont finally tore his gaze from me and glowered at my father. “Are you certain, Mr. Rousseau? You do realize that a Louisiana prison is hell on earth as it is, but I have ways to make it even more unbearable. Cell mates and such? It would be a shame for you to get paired with a violent—or amorous—sort, especially at your age. You wouldn’t last long. Maybe a month or two until you broke. And after you’re broken, well, let’s just say the prison system isn’t exactly known for spending medical dollars on old, decrepit thieves.”

“Get out!” My father’s voice rang out stronger than I’d ever heard it, even as he trembled next to me.

Vinemont’s smile never faltered. “Fine. See you in court.”

He tucked the papers back into his coat, rose, and strode from the room. Confidence permeated his movements as he stalked out like some big, dangerous animal. The sureness of his words, the conviction of his gait left me feeling at once chilled yet burning to know why he’d come.

What the hell is going on?

When he was gone, I was finally able to take a full breath. I clutched the back of the chair. “What was that?”

My father pulled me into his chest, his familiar smell of tobacco and books cutting through Vinemont’s more seductive scent. He was quaking violently. “No. Nothing. Forget about it. About him.”

“What did he want? What was in those papers?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. If it has anything to do with you, I don’t want it. I don’t want him near you.”

I leaned away and looked into my father’s eyes. He didn’t meet my gaze, only watched the fire behind me the same way he would stare into my paintings. He studied something far away, past the flames and the bricks and the mortar.

Fatigue was written in every line on his face. Not even the flickering orange glow could hide how drained, how frightened he truly was. He hadn’t looked this haunted since the night he found me lying on the floor, almost two years ago. I rubbed my eyes, trying to erase his fear and the memories from my mind.

He let out a labored groan and fell back against the chair.

“Dylan!” I called.

My stepbrother appeared in the doorway within moments. “What’s going on? Was that the dick prosecutor I passed in the hall?”

“It doesn’t matter, just please help Dad to his room. He needs to rest.”

“No, no. I’m fine.” Dad clutched me to him again, his grasp weaker, fading. “I love you, Stella. Don’t forget that. No matter what happens tomorrow.”

I forced my heart to stay together. If it shattered, I would be of no use. I couldn’t become a quivering heap of regret, not yet. Not until I found out what Sinclair Vinemont wanted from me.

SINCLAIR

I  TAPPED MY fingers along the top of my thigh as I waited. I hated waiting. Something about it made me itch to do something, anything, to keep my life moving. Good or bad, it didn’t matter. Given my history, most likely bad.

I wouldn’t have to wait long. I knew she would come. The dutiful daughter, rushing after any salvation for her father she could find. Poor little idiot. Salvation had a price—the highest one imaginable—and I knew she would pay it the moment I first laid eyes on her.

She’d been sitting at her father’s side at his arraignment. Her red hair had been pulled back in a tight bun and she wore a black suit, as if she were in mourning. She wasn’t. Not yet. She would be soon enough. I’d caught sight of her as I walked through the door from Judge Montagnet’s chambers.

It had been immediate—I wanted her. More than that, I wanted to break her, to make her mine and take everything from her until I was the only thing she thought, or dreamed, or breathed.

She seemed easily breakable. Her pale skin and delicate wrists with the tell-tale scars were like a lure to me, and her understated curves would look perfect when reddened by my hand or belt. But my momentary infatuation faded with each step closer I came to her downcast eyes. She’d be too easy, too quickly cowed and brought to heel. She wasn’t a challenge, and I wouldn’t waste my time.

But then she’d looked at me. Her eyes were fire, heat, hate. I wanted to stoke the flames, to make her despise me with even more ferocity. I knew how to get her there, to drag her down into the darkness and twist her beyond recognition. I would do it, too. There was no longer an ‘if’, only a ‘when’. Things had been set in motion that were beyond even my control. She was my Acquisition.

I shifted in my seat and willed her to come to me. The sooner the ink dried on our deal, the sooner I could begin her education. The front door of the Rousseau estate opened, casting yellow rays of light onto the wide, curved stoop. Her small figure took the few steps down the stairs, and she strode toward my car with purpose. I couldn’t see her face in the dark, but her movements were enough. She had steeled herself for this, strengthened every fiber of her being. I would tear it down piece by piece until she was naked, shivering, and begging for more.

My driver, Luke, got out and opened the back passenger door for her. She slid in next to me, though she took care to come no nearer than absolutely necessary. She still wore the light blue blouse and black skirt from earlier. The coat was gone, and she’d put on some unbecoming flats. I frowned.

“I should’ve known you’d be waiting out here like a spider.”

I smiled at her. She would come to regret that statement. “What can I do for you, Stella?”

“What’s this deal?”

I reached into my coat pocket and she jumped. She pressed herself back into the car door. Her fear made my cock spring to attention, annoying me. This wasn’t about fucking her. This was about defiling her. Destroying her. Adding her to a gruesome menagerie.

“As I said before, Stella, it’s simple.” I drew the document from my pocket and handed it to her.

She looked at it as if it were a particularly venomous snake before darting her hand out and taking it.

“Luke.” At my command, my driver flipped on the interior lights.

Stella turned the documents over in her hand and stared at the large ‘V’ wax seal, covered in the classic vines that adorned the Vinemont crest and estate. “What is it?”

“A contract.”

Her gaze shot up. She had dark half-moons under her eyes, and her skin seemed almost sallow in this light. She was worn down, or at least she thought she was. This was nothing compared to the coming months.

She studied my mask. Finding nothing there to enlighten her, she broke the seal and unfolded the contract. I’d written it myself in perfect calligraphy. She read through the recitals on the first page, which stated the parties to the contract, dates, duration, and other boring particulars.

“One year?” She said it to herself more than to me as she flipped to the second page.

Her eyes grew wider with each line she read, until a look of utter horror painted her face. It was beautiful. The paper shook as a tremor settled into her hands. She finished the page and flipped once more. The last page was simply for her signature.

It seemed impossible, but she shrank even further back, melding herself against the leather and metal of the car door. “You can’t do this.” Her eyes were glassy, fearful.

“I’m not doing anything. I’ve simply presented you with terms. You can agree to them or not. It’s up to you.”

“What will happen if I don’t agree?”

“That’s the question of a child, Stella. Worse, you already know the answer to it.”

Her chin shook and her green eyes welled. “You’ll send my father to prison.”

“No, I’ll make sure your father dies in prison.”

Her breath left her so quickly it was as if I’d punched her in the gut. And I had, in a way.

She recovered, though her voice was no more than a whisper. “But if I do agree—”

“Then you are mine for one year. To do with as I please when I please. You will live with me at the Vinemont estate. You will do as you’re told. You will serve me and whoever else I want. I will own you, body and soul.”

Though she trembled, she lifted her chin the slightest bit. “No one can own my soul.”

I already do. “What’s it going to be, Stella? This offer is quite time sensitive. Your father’s sentencing is at eight a.m. sharp. And it’s,” I made a show of checking my watch, “ten fifteen p.m. right now. Tick tock.”

“How do I even know you have the power to do this? How do I know you’ll do what you say? I’m supposed to take the word of a man like you?”

A flame of anger licked around my heart. “Are you questioning my honor, Stella? I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

She laughed, the sound shaded with exhaustion. “What is the word of a man like you worth? What sort of man presents someone with a slave contract and says ‘sign it or your father dies in prison’? This isn’t even enforceable. I may not be a counsellor, but even I know that.”

She threw the pages back at me, adding more to her punishment. She was already poised to endure more pain in the next twelve months than she had for her entire sheltered life.

I neatly arranged the papers and pulled the final document from my coat pocket. This was sealed with a wax ‘M’. I held it out to her. She ripped it from my hand and tore through the seal.

When her face fell, I was disappointed. No more fight? No disbelief? No amazement at how completely I’d caught her in my trap? Instead, she just looked defeated. She was defeated, of course, but would it hurt her to lament her situation a bit more loudly?

“Judge Montagnet?” Her voice was barely audible now.

“Old family friend. You see, in this parish, old money has its own ways. This happens to be one of them. The North may have won the war, but slavery has always been in vogue around these parts. I don’t choose based on color. That’s barbaric. I choose based on certain other factors.”

“Like what? Finding someone who will do anything to save the father she loves? Desperation? Is that it, you sick fuck?” The fire in her eyes was indulgent, alive.

Her punishments were adding up each time she opened her lips. Too bad I wouldn’t taste them for a while yet. Not until she was broken beyond all repair and begged me to take her.

“Not quite. But that’s all you need to know for now. What I need to know is whether you agree to my terms. As you see, Judge Montagnet has agreed to suspend your father’s sentence for the year’s time you agree to be mine. If at any time you breach this contract, Montagnet will immediately sentence your father and have him taken to the prison of my choosing. I rather like Dunwoody—no air conditioning and a widespread rodent infestation.” I waited a beat, just to let the idea of rats crawling over her father while he slept sink into her mind. Then I continued, “So, as I’ve said from the start, it’s up to you. The choice is yours.”

I handed her back the contract. She took it, though I still wasn’t sure if she’d rip it to pieces before my eyes. Her anger was unpredictable, wild. I wanted to taste it, take it in and relish it.

“Choice? You call this a choice?” She pushed her hair behind her ear in a violent movement.

“That’s exactly what it is. Don’t sign. Let your father meet his fate. Or do sign, and give him a total reprieve.” I relaxed back into my seat, though I kept my gaze on her.

She chewed her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. She didn’t seem to notice. I wanted to run my thumb across her mouth and sample the flavor.

She stared past me, back into the warm light cascading through the front door of her house. “I can’t decide on this right now. I need to get out of here. Away from you.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Stella. I’m an early riser and, what with how late it already is, I’ll need to be getting back home. So, you either stay here and I’ll see you at the sentencing, or you come with me now and put the whole unpleasantness of the court system behind you and your father.”

I smiled.

She cringed. Perfection.

I couldn’t let her out of the car, not now that she was so close to signing. I could tell she was standing at the edge of the precipice, looking over the side and pondering the jump. Would the fall kill her? Perhaps.

She dropped her gaze to her lap. “How can you do this? You’re supposed to uphold the law.”

My hand itched to slap her for such a foolish question. For the pure naïve idiocy of it. But she wasn’t mine yet.

“Public offices like mine are just a remnant of the noblesse oblige. It means nothing to me or my family. We couldn’t care less if people like you rape and murder each other, or get hooked on drugs, or hurt their own kind. Enough questions. What’s it going to be, Stella?”

“People like me?” Her eyes, shimmering with tears, found mine again.

My anger had reached its zenith. Her futile display of emotion wasn’t going to change my plans. Nothing would. “For fuck’s sake, Stella, sign it!”

She recoiled at my words and turned to open the car door.

Shit. I forced myself to remain still. I wanted to grab her by the hair and drag her to me. I didn’t. I let her finally find and pull the handle before she ran away and back into the house. The door slammed behind her, smothering the yellow light and leaving everything dark.

STELLA

I  DASHED PAST the library, narrowly avoiding Dylan as he came out into the hall.

“What—”

I ignored him and took the stairs two at time until I came to my room. I heard his heavy steps behind me but I slammed my door and clicked the lock over. I leaned back against the solid wood, my heart beating so loud that I thought my ears would burst from the pressure.

A hard knock at the door.

“Dylan, go away.” It was more of a plea than a command.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“Let me in.” He twisted the handle, the metal parts clicking and scraping but not giving way.

“No. Just go. Please, Dylan.”

“Who was that guy? Do I need to do something?”

Yes, you need to kill Sinclair Vinemont. “No. Just go.”

The floorboards creaked, as if Dylan was walking in a circle outside my door.

“Dylan, please, just go back to your mom’s house. I need to rest. The sentencing tomorrow…”

The creaks stopped and a thump sounded, his hand hitting the door. “I’m sorry, Stella. About earlier. I just thought it would help is all. I didn’t mean to cock things up even worse.”

“You didn’t. Really. I just, I just need to rest is all.”

Another, lighter thump. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll go. See you in the morning. I’ll be there for you.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Thank you, Dylan.”

His footsteps retreated and I sank down, my legs no longer willing to hold up the weight that grew heavier by the moment. I still clutched the contract to my chest. The infernal sheets of paper threatened to burn me down to nothing more than cold cinders.

I flipped the pages open and stared at the swirls and curves of ink. They had no meaning in the semi-darkness of my room. They were only drawings on a cave wall that told a story of violence and degradation. The elegant curlicues hid nothing from me. The words were stark, cruel—just like the man who’d written them.

I dropped the pages as if they scorched my fingers. The agreement fluttered to the floor and lay there as if it were just harmless paper. I knew better. I pulled my knees up and rested my head on them. How could I sign over my life to a man who I knew would hurt me? I had no doubt of it. The way he’d watched me in the car, as if I was a plaything, still haunted me. I’d been fearful of him before, of something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I still couldn’t explain it, but now I was terrified.

Tears welled and leaked down my nose before landing on my knee and rolling down my leg. I sat like that for a long time. Minutes, hours. However long it took for me to go through my memories of my father. How strong he’d been when my mother had checked out of this life. How much stronger he had to be when I’d tried to do the same thing. Could I let him go to his death, all the while knowing I could have saved him?

One year. It wasn’t so long. I’d wasted a year recovering from my suicide attempt. Would it be such a loss for me to disappear for one year? I’d never graduated college. My mother took her life the summer before I was to attend NYU. My life was put on hold indefinitely. Then Dad had decided to move us here so we could get on with our lives. Dylan’s mother helped ease my father’s pain for a time, though I withered away, locked in my room, painting dark scenes of even darker thoughts until it all became too much.

I shuddered at the memory of what I’d done. I’d vowed to never be weak again, to never let myself get to the point of wanting the oblivion badly enough to run headlong into it. I couldn’t go to that place again. And just as I refused to rush to a dark fate, I refused to send my father to one equally grim.

I stood, my back stiff from resting against the unforgiving door. My decision made, I dragged a carry-on bag from my closet and began packing clothes, not caring whether they were fashionable. The basics would do—shirts, shorts, jeans, bras, socks, panties. I scooped up some toiletries from my bathroom and snagged the photo of my mother and me from my nightstand. I changed into a pair of jeans, a dark t-shirt, and a navy cardigan to protect against the chill in the fall air. After making quick work of my belongings, I pondered whether I should leave a note.

It tore at my heart not to say any goodbyes. I pulled out my stationery with the swirling ‘S’ along the top. I stood for a while with the pen poised over the page. My hand shook. There was so much to say. Or maybe there was nothing. The pen clattered from my fingertips.

I didn’t trust myself. If I put what I felt down on paper, my resolve could waver. My father would know where I went, anyway. He wasn’t a fool on any count. I only hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid to try and save me. He had no chance. The look on Vinemont’s face when he’d proffered his bargain was one of certainty. If what I’d read about him was true—his family owning the largest sugar factories in America and some of the most expansive sugar cane plantations in a number of other countries—he had ways to keep my father at a distance. He and that snake Judge Montagnet would no doubt see to it.

I opened my bottom drawer and reached up for the knife I’d stashed there. I’d taped it to the bottom of the second drawer so that I was the only one who’d ever know where it was. It was the same blade I’d used on myself. My blood no longer stained the metal, but I knew parts of me were still there, ingrained in the steel. I shoved it into a side pocket of my bag, hiding it among some toiletries and underwear.

I gave one last glance around my room, saying a quiet goodbye, before creeping down the stairs and out to the garage.

I threw my few belongings into my trunk and started the car. It didn’t take long to find Vinemont’s address on my phone. It was an hour from town, out in the more rural area of the parish. Once satisfied I knew my way, I lay my phone on the small table next to the garage door. I couldn’t risk anyone calling me and changing my mind. A plea from my father could break my resolve, and I was determined to see this through. For his sake.

I reversed down the driveway and settled in for the trip, watching the retreating façade of the house instead of the lane behind me. One year, and I would be back. One year, and my father would be safe.

What was one year to someone who should already be dead?

The drive was somber and dark. Though the moon was high, it was only a sliver in the vast expanse of inky black and scattered stars. The farther I drove from town, the more opaque my surroundings became. Night covered the fields of cotton, the groves of trees, and the brambles cloistering the dark waterways.

Soon the road withered down to two narrow lanes with woods encroaching on either side. I continued onward, though no cars passed anymore. It was just me, alone, being drawn ever forward into Vinemont’s trap. I chewed at my lip, the taste of copper the only thing that stopped me from worrying away my flesh.

The road curved around to the left and the GPS told me the turn was up ahead on the right. All I saw were trees and thick underbrush, no sign of a house. I drove a little farther until I saw an opening. There was a drive of no more than a hundred feet that ended at a massive gate. I turned and idled up to it. It was wider than four cars sitting side by side and high. It was black wrought iron with metal vines twining and ensnaring the bars. In the center was a ‘V’, the vines slithering around the letter and creating an impenetrable barrier.

My breath caught in my chest. I looked around each side and saw the same high wrought iron fence flowing away from the gate and disappearing into the shadowy woods. I stopped and tried to calm my heart, to slow the hammering sensation of blood pounding through my veins.

Fear. There was no other word for it. The cold sweat along my temples, the sinking sensation pulling me down into despair. The deepest sort of dread overtook me, and I reached down to the gear shift, ready to put it in reverse and leave. Maybe there was some other way? Something I could do to save my father that didn’t involve Vinemont, didn’t involve whatever lurked beyond the sinister gate?

The metal shifted, swinging silently inward. There was no guard tower, no obvious camera anywhere along the unyielding metal fence. Still, he must have been watching me. I knew it just as sure as I knew I would be here, with him, for the next year.

I pulled my hand away from the shifter and rubbed a damp palm along my jeans. With a deep breath, I hit the gas and passed through the gate, lurching unsteadily forward into an unknown and uncertain future.

The driveway was initially hemmed in by the same forest and thick brush as the roadway. It was claustrophobic, even with the moon still high and clear in the sky. Slowly, the woods began to recede, leaving well-trimmed grass at the sides of the smooth drive. I’d gone what felt like a mile along the road, seeing nothing other than Louisiana landscape. Here and there would be a bridge crossing over dark waters as I flew past.

Ahead, the grass became expansive, a wide river of rippling emerald in the night breeze. Far in the distance, I finally saw lights glowing through the night. It must have been a house. His house.

I let off the accelerator, no longer fearing what dwelled in the dense woods and bayou inlets. Vinemont was a real, tangible danger, not one from my imagination.

Even as the grass expanded, more trees loomed ahead, forming an arch over the drive. These were the classic Southern oaks, moss hanging low from their limbs. Beyond the graceful trees was the home, a structure so tall that I couldn’t see its roof for the blocking boughs. Three, possibly four stories of antebellum splendor—large columns anchored the palatial home, and it gleamed a ghostly white in the moonlight.

The windows were wide and tall, warm light spilling onto the porches. I could imagine rocking chairs and children playing tag, running through the grass, or having a picnic. But not here, not while Vinemont ruled over this estate. Despite the home’s charm, its occupant lacked even basic human warmth. The magnificent façade was just that—charming camouflage for the depraved soul within.

I slowed and pulled up near the front door. The drive continued off to the right, further into the estate grounds. I took my keys from the ignition and was about to drop them into my purse. I stopped. Why? Would this car be sitting out here waiting for me for the year?

The thought made me laugh. My beat up American-made sedan sitting out in front of this mansion for a year, its battery going dead, parts rusting. It was absurd, just like everything that had happened over the past few months. I let the laughter pour from me. Some turn of the century medical pamphlet would say I had a case of ‘hysteria’ and advise that I be shipped off to the sanitarium. The giggles tapered off, as if I were sobering up. I didn’t know if I’d have the chance to smile or laugh at anything again. Not for a year, at least, and something told me this year would leave scars to last a lifetime.

I dropped the keys in the cup holder and looped my purse over my shoulder before stepping out. I grabbed my bag from the trunk and rolled it to the steps. Mums, perfectly full of fall blooms, lined the flower beds next to the porch. I lifted my bag and rolled over the wide plank floor to the double front doors.

I didn’t have to knock. A door swung inward to reveal an elderly butler. He looked stuffy and proper, though he had a smile for me. He was tall and wiry with white hair and light blue eyes. He seemed friendly, if reserved. The only odd thing was that he was getting the door for me at well past midnight.

“Miss.” He gave me a small nod.

“Um, hi.” I didn’t expect this. I expected Vinemont to drag me in and beat me, hurt me, and throw me into a dungeon.

“Would you like to come in?” He smiled the slightest bit, as if amused by my hesitancy on the doorstep.

“I-I thought—”

“You thought what?” Vinemont stalked into the foyer. He wore a pair of dark jeans and a gray t-shirt. I’d never seen him in anything other than a perfectly-tailored suit. He seemed almost human. His chest was somehow broader than I remembered, tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. A five o’clock shadow covered the hard lines of his jaw and fluttered down his neck. His eyes were still cold, though, and as calculating as ever.

And there was something else about him I never thought possible—dark vines of ink snaked from under his sleeves and down to his forearms. He was like the wrought iron gate—cold, hard, and choked with equally unyielding greenery. His unexpected tattoos shocked me more than the surreal nature of my situation.

I closed my mouth, determined not to answer any of his questions.

“Do come in, Stella. We won’t bite.” He smiled.

I wanted to slap the look right off his face.

“Farns, this is our newest Acquisition.”

The butler blanched and swayed. Vinemont put a hand on the old man’s elbow to steady him. That one tiny act of kindness made me feel like I’d fallen into some alternate dimension. I didn’t think ‘kind’ was something ever attributable to the spider standing before me.

Farns turned his head from Vinemont then back to me, his friendly smile faltering. “I see.” He sighed. “This year? I see. May I?”

He held a shaking hand to take my luggage. I passed it to him.

“Thank you, Miss—?”

“It’s Stella Rousseau,” Vinemont said. “Go ahead and get the quilt room ready for her. I would have told you earlier, but I wasn’t sure if she’d accept.” The cold smile crept back into place as Vinemont continued assessing me.

I bristled. “I think you were sure. You knew all along, you bastard.”

Farns coughed delicately. “Oh, well, I’ll just go get everything straightened out for you, Miss Rousseau.” Farns gave Vinemont a strange look, almost pitying, before taking my bag and heading toward the sweeping stairs.

I peered around, ignoring Vinemont. The house was just as beautiful inside as out. Antique wood and plaster work graced every surface I could see. The floors were a warm honey color, reflecting the light of chandeliers and sconces that bathed the rooms in warmth. The furniture was dark, providing a contrast and making everything look even more luxurious.

The room to the right had couches and an elegant writing desk. The one to the left appeared to be a music room. A piano, guitars, and a few other instruments were displayed. I realized the wall paper was actual sheet music, pieces pasted over other pieces until the room was a paper mache made of melody and harmony.

The Rousseau home back in town was large. This house would have swallowed it whole and come back for seconds.

“When you’re finished gawking, we can get down to business.” Vinemont was still sizing me up, maybe deciding how badly he intended to treat me. I didn’t know. Everything was so foreign, so overwhelming. Even so, I forced my spine to straighten. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me.

“Fine.” I glared back at him.

He turned and walked past the staircase, leading me deeper into the house. The grandeur didn’t end. Paintings and rich tapestries lined the halls. Some of the artists I recognized, others were a mystery, but I wanted to stop and inspect each one. Instead, I followed my captor. He drew me into a dining room with two bright crystal chandeliers overhead. The table sat at least two dozen people.

He went to a sideboard with a decanter and glasses atop it. “Have a seat. Want a drink?”

I was confused before. Now I was utterly lost. “A drink?”

He looked at me over his shoulder as he poured perfectly. “Yes, Stella. In everyday parlance it means a liquid refreshment. In this context, I’m suggesting an alcoholic beverage.”

Asshole. “Yes.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Whatever you have.”

“We’ll have to work on your tastes.”

I winced at the thought of Vinemont working on anything of mine.

I sank down into the nearest chair and lay my head on the back of my hands.

“What is this?” I mumbled. I wasn’t sure if I was asking him or me.

“This is you and I having a drink as we discuss the contract. I assume you brought it?” He put a glass next to me, setting it down with a slight clunk.

He took the seat across from me.

I dug in my purse and pulled the pages out. “Yes.”

“Good. Have you signed?” He took a drink from his glass, appearing nonchalant. He didn’t fool me. There was eagerness in his eyes, the spider hungry for its next meal.

“No.”

“But you’re here, so I assume you intend to sign it?”

I leaned back and returned his direct stare. “Why won’t you just let my father go?”

“Because he’s a criminal.”

“So are you.”

He drained his drink. “No, I’m not.”

“So slavery is legal all of a sudden? No one told me we’d revoked the Emancipation Proclamation.”

The corner of his mouth twitched the slightest bit, as if his cruel smile wanted to surface. It didn’t. “The real question, the one you keep avoiding, is whether you believe your father is a criminal.” He stood and poured himself another drink before returning to the table.

I took my glass and turned it between my palms, the condensation wetting my fingers. Back and forth. “He’s not.”

“Then you really are as dumb as I think you are.”

“That’s fair, given I already know you’re as evil as I think you are.”

He smirked. “Evil? You haven’t seen anything yet, Stella.”

“Funny, I feel like I’ve already seen more than enough.” I gave him a pointed look.

He pushed back from the table and walked around to my side before picking up the contract. His scent enveloped me. I could feel him, his eyes on me, as he stood at my back. He bent over and smoothed the paper with his large hand. I noticed a series of scars along the back of his wrist. They were faint, barely noticeable, but there all the same. A crisscross of damage marking his otherwise perfect hand. I had the wild instinct to run my fingertip along the scratches, to see if he really was made of flesh and blood. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.

“Just so happens I have a pen right here, Stella.” He slapped down a fountain pen next to the signature page.

He leaned in closer, his mouth at my ear though he never touched me. “Sign it.”

I closed my eyes, hoping I would open them and the nightmare would be over. It didn’t work. The paper with my signature line was still in front of me, held in place by his strong hand.

I picked up the pen and poised it over the page. “Are you going to hurt me?” I hated the weakness in my voice, the weakness of the question, but I had to ask.

His warm breath tickled my ear. “Definitely.”

My hand began to shake, my resolve faltering.

“But that doesn’t mean you won’t like it.” He reached around me, his hard chest pressing into my back, as he steadied my hand with his own. “Sign it, Stella.”

His voice was somehow hypnotic, seductive. Instead of loathing, something else bloomed inside me. It was sick, wrong. Even so, I leaned back into him the slightest bit, searching for some sort of comfort. He didn’t withdraw.

His hand was warm, unlike his heart. He pressed down until pen met paper, the ink spreading like blood from a wound.

I should have tried to fight him, to burn the house down and run. But the wall of muscle at my back told me just how futile such thinking truly was. I would have to use other tools at my disposal if I wanted to make it through this ordeal.

I took a deep breath. For Dad. I moved my hand under his, making the swirling signature that bound me to Vinemont, that made me his, his to rule and ruin, for a year. When my signature was finished, the last letter inked, he leaned in even closer, the tips of his lips pressing against my earlobe, raising goosebumps down my neck and lower.

“Now you’re mine, Stella.”

With that, he seized the papers and stalked from the room.

SINCLAIR

F UCK. THAT WAS not the way it was supposed to go. I paced around my study as Farns escorted Stella up to her room. What was I doing? It didn’t help that my erection was siphoning blood away from my brain. No wonder I couldn’t think straight.

I went to the closest half bath and locked myself in. I unzipped my pants, angry at the complication my dick was causing. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This transaction was solely business for me. Something that needed to be done. The same as it had been for other generations of Vinemonts. The same as it had been for centuries. I wasn’t a special fucking snowflake. I was a Vinemont.

Of course, the last Acquisition had been done by my mother when I was still a small child, but I don’t remember it going so badly straight out of the gate. She had followed the rules, respected the tradition. She was a true Vinemont, whereas I was standing in a water closet with my cock bossing me around. Motherfucker.

I pulled the traitorous length from my boxer briefs and began stroking. If I could just squeeze out a release, I would be able to calm down and do this the right way. I closed my eyes and saw her red hair, the way it fell around her shoulders as I’d stood behind her, the way it was begging to be fisted as I fucked her mouth. No. I forced my eyes open and looked at my own reflection.

I wouldn’t think about her, not like that, not anymore. The time would come when I would fuck her, but not out of any real desire on my part, except for the desire to fully break her.

I fisted myself harder, pumping up and down as my hips bucked. An unwanted image of her guileless green eyes flitted across my mind. It was then my balls drew up tight and my cock jerked, shooting my seed into the delicate, hand-painted sink. Once I was done, I placed my hands on either side of the vanity and took a deep breath.

I had to maintain control. It was the only way to win. This year’s Acquisition prize was mine for the taking. All I had to do was stay strong. I stared at myself in the mirror, willing the mask back into place. Once satisfied I was what I needed to be, I straightened.

I cleaned up, rinsed my seed down the drain, and tucked my cock back in. With this little momentary insanity behind me, I knew I would be able to maintain, to win, to ultimately defile Stella Rousseau.

STELLA

F ARNS LED ME to an upstairs bedroom. He flicked on the light and showed me inside. The room was large and somehow light. I thought I’d be led to a cell with shackles and a metal bed. But no, this was a sweet country bedroom, even homier than my drafty room in town. It was along the side of the house, and two expansive windows filled one wall. Quilts hung along the other walls from floor to ceiling.

They were displayed with pride, some folded on racks and some spread out and exhibited. I scrutinized the nearest one with tired eyes. It bore a repeating pattern of a little boy in overalls and a wide straw hat. The fabrics were mixed, though all seemed well used.

“That one dates to 1897, I believe.” Farns stood behind me.

“Does he collect these or something?”

“No, miss, he doesn’t. His mother did, as did her father, and so on up the Vinemont tree.”

“Who made them?”

“This one was done by a great-great grandmother of the late Mr. Vinemont. The rest were done by other Vinemont women and sometimes men, if they had the knack of it.”

There were so many others, some done in a similar style, others with art deco influences, some oddly modern. The room was a mix of old and new.

“This one,” he pointed to a smaller square of material that was far darker than the others in the room, “was done by Mr. Sinclair’s mother.”

I ran my finger down a particularly straight seam. There was no pattern to the material, just jagged edges on blue and green fabric. The stitching was a deep crimson, discordant and striking.

“I didn’t think people who have been rich forever bothered themselves with being useful.”

“Forever is a long time, Miss Rousseau. Most things aren’t quite so constant.” He gave a slight bow and left, clicking the door shut behind him.

I needed more than veiled information, but I was too tired to follow Farns and ask questions. He wouldn’t give me any real answers, anyway. Still, I went to the door and opened it. It hadn’t been padlocked from the outside or anything. They had a strange way of keeping prisoners.

I pressed the door shut and eyed the bed. It was a four poster affair with a fluffy white comforter and welcoming pillows. I went to the closet and found it mostly empty. Farns had deposited my bag inside. Quilting fabric and thread were perched on the upper shelves, far from my reach.

I pulled out some toiletries from my bag and took them to the en suite bathroom. It was large for such an old house. Soaking tub, small walk-in shower, vanity, and toilet. I arranged my items in the cabinet and along the sink before getting ready for bed. It was odd, doing these things in a strange house, but I did them anyway. Brushing my teeth and changing into a t-shirt somehow put a veil of normalcy on the whole sinister affair.

I returned to my bag and dug out the knife. Tape still lingered on the blade. I pulled out the third drawer of the bedside table and affixed the knife to the bottom of the second drawer, just like at home. No one would find it there. It was like an insurance policy of sorts. I didn’t intend for it to ever spill my blood again. But Vinemont’s? That was a definite possibility.

Once satisfied it was hidden, I sat down on the bed. It was plush, luxurious. I was through the looking glass—nothing made sense and everything seemed somehow backwards. Was it a trick? Would Vinemont drag me from my bed after I’d fallen asleep and throw me into a musty dungeon?

I rubbed my eyes, too confused and exhausted to ponder what would happen in the next few minutes, much less in the hours to follow.

I got up and hit the lights. The darkness was almost a comfort to me, like it was cloaking me from prying eyes. I crawled into the unfamiliar bed, sliding between the smooth sheets. They smelled like linen and faintly of detergent. Clean and cool against my skin. These things, this room, they were all meant to seduce me, just like Vinemont’s voice in my ear. I wasn’t in a fairy tale. Vinemont wasn’t my prince.

I snuggled in deeper, hugging an extra pillow against me. It was down-filled, soft and fluffy. I breathed in deeply and let it out. I would enjoy what I could while I could, because I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Sleep fell like a curtain in front of the stage, slowly obscuring me from view.

A knock at the door jarred me awake. Light streamed in through the windows, giving my cell the appearance of a traditional Southern room.

“Who-who is it?”

“Farns, miss.”

“Oh, come in.” I sat up and pulled my blanket to my neck.

He opened the door and took only a single step inside. “Breakfast is ready downstairs. I wanted to let you sleep for a while longer, but Mr. Sinclair has requested your presence.”

“I haven’t even showered.” I pushed my hair back from my eyes, knowing it was a tangled mess.

“Even so.” He didn’t look at me. In fact, he looked everywhere but in my direction. Modest much?

“Fine. I’ll be down in a few minutes.” I paused, realizing I had no idea which way to go to get down to breakfast.

“I’ll wait while you ready yourself and then I’ll escort you, if you’d like,” Farns said.

“Yes, please.” I dropped the blanket and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

Farns backed out of the room and eased the door shut with a soft click.

I rose and stretched before going to the bathroom, washing my face, and running a brush through my hair. Presentable. But why should I be? Maybe when Farns said “breakfast” he really meant “guillotine” or “the rack.” I had no way of knowing at this point. Were his kindly words and face just another put-on like Vinemont’s?

I donned another pair of jeans, a tank top, and a cardigan. I wasn’t sure about shoes, so I put on some sneakers. I sat for a moment to collect myself, to try and sort through what was true and what was the lie. It was impossible. I only knew one thing for certain—Vinemont was my enemy. Anyone connected with him was suspect, if not an outright danger to me. With that cold thought, I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and went to the door.

Farns was, as he promised, waiting outside. “Right this way, miss.”

I followed him down the long hallway. I peered into rooms as I passed. They were all bedrooms in this part of the house, each with a different theme. Some were flowery, others done in rich, dark fabrics.

“So, do you treat all your prisoners like this?” It came off even more snide that I’d meant it to. I was testy, angry, a seething bubble of emotions that seemed to have simmered overnight while I slept and only now erupted at my surface.

Farns stopped and then took another step, as if unsure whether to continue. “I’m not entirely sure how to answer that.”

“Why? I’m sure I’m not the first slave Vinemont has owned.”

“I, ah. Well, miss, you are the first Acquisition we’ve had for the past twenty years, if that’s what you mean.”

“Acquisition? I keep hearing that word. What does it even mean? Is it some code so you don’t have to say ‘slave’?”

He turned toward me, his eyes kind. He made it hard for me to be cross with him. “I take it Mr. Sinclair hasn’t explained the Acquisition trials to you yet?”

“There are trials?”

“Yes, there are.” Vinemont strode down the hall toward us. “And if you would come downstairs to breakfast, I would explain them to you.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What’s the rush?”

“Farns.” Vinemont’s gaze darkened and he waved the butler away.

Farns hesitated and then obeyed, retreating back the way we’d come until it was just Vinemont and me. He wore another pair of dark jeans with a black t-shirt, his inked vines snaking down his arms from beneath the fabric. In the morning light, I saw they were a deep green, small leaves done in an emerald, and vicious thorns done in almost black.

He gripped my upper arm and yanked me to walk alongside him.

“Hey—”

“You are testing my patience, Stella.” He stopped and pushed me up against the wall. His eyes bored into me. “Don’t ask Farns questions like that. He can’t help you.”

“I can ask whatever the hell I want.” The cocktail of emotions roiling inside me had made me bold, even in the face of Vinemont’s wrath.

His gaze travelled over my face, down to my lips and then back to my eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

He gripped my hair and pulled my head to the side. His mouth was at my ear again, his Southern drawl whispering darkly to me. “I thought I made it clear that I own you now. You do as I say. If you don’t, I’ll make sure your father feels the brunt of your punishment.”

He stepped into me, pressing my back into the wall and crushing me painfully. I yelped at the sudden aggression. He clapped his free hand over my mouth. I hit ineffectually at his sides, his back. I even tried to knee him, but he took advantage of my efforts and pushed one of his large thighs between my legs and lifted so I was straddling him.

“Fuck.” It was a gravelly whisper.

My heart beat faster and faster, panic welling up inside and drowning out any other emotion. He was going to hurt me. Right here, right now in this sunny hallway.

He pulled my hair harder and harder until I thought he would rip it out. I stopped struggling.

“Better. Here’s how this is going to go, Stella. You are going to stop trying to make trouble. You are going to do as you’re told. This year will pass by much easier for you if you just follow my orders. You can fight me.” His lips moved down to my neck, a hairsbreadth from making contact. “And I’m not going to lie, I like it when you fight. It makes this easier for me. But you won’t like the results.”

He released me and backed away. He ran a hand through his hair as he continued to stare me down. My heart hammered, demanding that I run as far and as fast as I could.

He licked his lips, reminding me of a hungry killer that had scented blood. My blood. I shivered under his gaze, hating that my nipples had hardened from the sensation of him rubbing against me.

Vinemont stabbed a finger in the air in the direction he’d come. “Go.”

I bolted from the wall and tore down the hallway. I found the stairs to my right and maneuvered down them so quickly I almost fell on the second landing. His steps sounded behind me, heavy and deliberate.

I whirled when I reached the bottom, my stomach growling from the smell of food on the air. I turned right, spotting the front door. I didn’t make a choice. My body made it for me.

I ran to the door and wrenched it open. I took off across the porch and down the stairs. The morning sun made the wide expanse of grass seem manageable. The air was crisp, fall had finally settled even this far south.

My sneakers barely touched the pavement of the driveway before I was treading on the soft earth. I ran as hard as I could. I was small. I would make it to the trees and hide. Just curl up somewhere in the roots of a cypress or maybe even climb and hide in the branches. Maybe Vinemont was lying about having the judge in his pocket. Maybe I could go to the police or someone else. I was desperate to believe it as I hurtled through the sunlit lawn.

None of my hopes were true, I knew that, but I didn’t care as long as my legs kept pumping, carrying me closer to the salvation of the tree line. I had to get away from him, from the terror, from the flare of unwanted heat he sparked in me.

My lungs began burning, making me painfully aware of my need to stop and take deep gulps of air. I didn’t. I pushed myself harder, ignoring the pain in my side, ignoring everything except the approaching sanctuary. I’d made it more than halfway across the emerald field.

I fell. Hard. Arms had encircled my waist and dragged me down so I was lying on my stomach. The grass had softened the fall, but not much. The air whooshed from my already tortured lungs, and my ribs felt on the verge of cracking apart and spearing the organs inside. The smell of fertile earth and verdant green invaded my nose, but his scent mixed in as well.

He was on my back. He gripped my arm and pulled me over roughly. He straddled me, his thighs against my hips. I couldn’t see his face. The sun was high behind his head, blinding me. I screamed and tried to slap him, scratch him, draw any sort of blood I could. He captured my wrists easily and pinned them over my head. He leaned over me, blocking the sun yet showing me the scorching anger in his eyes. He was fierce, far worse than he had been upstairs.

“I warned you, Stella. I told you.” His breaths were shuddering even as I gasped for air.

He transferred both my wrists to one of his hands and drew back his palm to strike me. I held his gaze. I wanted him to feel it, to know how much I loathed him, to know what I thought of his twisted soul.

His eyes opened a little wider at my stark stare.

“Fuck!” He stayed his hand and, instead, slammed his fist into the ground next to my head. He let out a roar, guttural and full of pent up rage.

He let my hands go and sat back, crushing my thighs. His head was thrown back, as if he were pondering the shape of the lazy white clouds above instead of thinking about how to hurt me. I lay still, once again blinded by the sun.

“You’re killing your father.” He brought his head back down slowly. His face was calm again, as if some switch had flipped.

“N-no.” My breaths were finally evening out, though my head pounded from the adrenaline and lack of food.

“Yes, you are.” He leaned down over me, bringing his face only an inch from mine. His erection was hard against my thigh. “If you had escaped, what do you think I would have done? Nothing?”

“I-I didn’t think—”

“Exactly. That’s your problem.” He drew a hand up and fastened his palm around my throat.

I tried to pry his fingers off, scratching him and pulling. He didn’t move, only squeezed harder the more I fought. It was as if he were pinching my windpipe, stopping even the slightest flow of air. When the edges of my vision started to dim, I relaxed.

“I thought I made it clear upstairs. I guess I didn’t. What do I have to do to get through to you? Hurt you more? Take more?” He ran his free hand down my side, my stomach, and finally to the vee of my thighs.

I whimpered as he rubbed against the seam of my jeans, right over my clit.

“I will, if that’s what you want, if that’s what it takes for you to understand how completely I own you.” He rubbed harder, building a heat inside me. My stomach clenched. I didn’t want his pleasure, not like this, but my body wasn’t discriminating.

“Is that it, Stella?” He eased his mouth closer to mine as his fingers continued to work. He was so close I could feel his warm, minty breath on my lips. “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you. Before I even planned on making you my Acquisition. What do you taste like? I wonder. I’ve wondered it for quite some time. Would you like me to find out?”

His fingers continued their maddening pace, forcing desire to swell where there should have been none, where there should be terror and anger instead. I couldn’t stop the breathy sound that erupted from my lips.

He laughed, low and husky. “You would like for me to taste you, wouldn’t you?”

My hips rose toward his hand of their own accord, wanting more from him. He froze and blinked, as if realizing what he was doing.

“Shit!” He rose up and fell back as if I’d burned him. He sat in the grass at my feet, looking at me like I was a live grenade.

I sat up, blood rushing to my cheeks at how I’d reacted to his unwelcome touch. I saw movement behind him. I shielded my eyes from the glare of the sun and saw a young man, late teens or early twenties, walking up. He had sandy blonde hair, much lighter than Vinemont’s, and his features, though similar, were softer, friendlier. He waved.

I dazedly returned it, not knowing what to do. Vinemont turned and saw the newcomer.

“Teddy, go back inside.” It was a command, but lacking Vinemont’s usual viciousness.

“What’s going on, Sin?” The young man kept on his path until he stood at Vinemont’s back. “Who’s she?”

“She’s none of your concern.” Vinemont stood and faced him. “Go on in. We’ll be in for breakfast in two minutes.”

Teddy looked from me and back to Vinemont. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s nothing. Trust me.”

Teddy’s gaze landed on me, no doubt taking in my disheveled appearance. “Okay, Sin, if you say so. It’s nice to meet you, um…”

“Stella. Her name is Stella Rousseau.”

“I guess I’ll see you at breakfast, Stella.” Teddy wrinkled his brow, but eventually took Vinemont at his word. I was glad to see I wasn’t the only one who made the same mistake.

Vinemont ruffled the boy’s hair as he turned to trudge back to the house.

Are you shitting me? A hair ruffle from Vinemont?

“Up, Stella. Now.” A growl for me.

I could either keep fighting and running or acquiesce. Vinemont had already threatened my father again. I believed him. He was serious, lethal. The thought of my father in prison grounded me, reminded me of what I had to do.

I had no choice. I’d signed it away. Running had been instinctive. Now, I needed to calculate, to somehow figure a way out of this mess and keep my father and myself alive.

Vinemont offered his hand with an irritated sigh.

STELLA

F ARNS GREETED US at the door. He didn’t say a word as we walked by, but he gave me a kindly smile. I followed Vinemont past the now familiar stairs and into the main hallway that led deeper into the house. We passed the dining room from the night before and kept going, the smell of bacon and biscuits increasing the farther we went.

“Try and behave yourself for once,” he grated, and turned left into a sunny breakfast room. The table here was smaller than the dining room’s, able to seat only twelve. Teddy, the young man from the yard, sat toward the far end and chatted with a pretty maid. When we walked in she stiffened and scurried away.

“You know that’s not allowed, Ted.”

“What? Talking to the staff is a bad thing?” He grinned.

“Talking, no. Anything else, yes. You’re a Vinemont. You can’t lower yourself.”

Teddy rolled his eyes. “C’mon Sin, I was just getting to know her a little. No big deal.” He forked a piece of pancake and stuffed it in his mouth unceremoniously. He pointed the tines at me and mumbled something around his food that could have been “who’s this?”

“I told you. Stella Rousseau.” Vinemont motioned for me to sit across from Teddy while he took the seat at the head of the table.

The young maid from earlier brought in two plates already piled high with grits, pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs.

“If you’d like more of anything, or something different, please let me know.” She curtsied and smiled, showing a youthful beauty. “Would you like coffee, tea, juice, or water?”

“I’d love some coffee.” My system needed a jolt of caffeine to recover from the run.

“Yes, ma’am.” She left and promptly returned with a coffee decanter and cups for both Vinemont and me. She asked my preferences on cream and sugar, but didn’t ask Vinemont. She already seemed to know his desires. Once done, she gave Teddy a small smile and returned through the door behind him, to what I supposed was the kitchen. Teddy winked at me. He was a flirt, for certain.

“Okay, now we’re alone. Tell me what’s going on. You’ve never brought a woman to breakfast. Honestly, I don’t think you’ve ever brought a woman to the house.” Teddy stuffed another piece of pancake in his mouth and smiled.

“If you must know, she’s my Acquisition.” Vinemont took a long swig of the coffee, even though it was still far too hot.

Teddy sputtered around his pancake before swallowing hard and almost choking. His face reddened, his eyes watering. “That’s us? It’s us this year?”

I listened intently as I sampled the array the maid had provided. The food was delicious and much needed. I felt like I hadn’t eaten in days. The information flying back and forth was even more satisfying.

“It is.” Vinemont ripped off a piece of bacon and chewed slowly.

“What is it, really? I know sort of what it is, but not the whole thing.” Teddy looked at me, all his prior flirtation gone.

“I’m not going to discuss this right now. I’m the eldest brother so it falls to me to take care of it. You don’t have to worry about it. Needless to say, I want you to treat her with respect, and also to respect my decisions as they pertain to her. Understand, Teddy?”

He put his fork down. “What does that mean?”

“That means you may disagree or even hate some of the things you see or hear, but she is my responsibility and these things must be done.”

“Why?”

Vinemont pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because they must.”

“Okay, but why?”

“Goddammit, Teddy!” Vinemont slammed his fist down on the table.

Teddy jumped and seemed genuinely uneasy. Had he never seen his brother act like this? I could give him a lesson or two about the real Vinemont.

Vinemont placed both palms flat on the table and took a deep breath. He seemed as if he were trying to hold himself together somehow. “Let me give you an idea of what I mean.” He turned to face me. “Stella, take off your clothes and stand on the table.”

I stopped mid-chew. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I looked at Teddy. His eyes were wide, the blood fading from his face as it did the same from mine.

“Don’t look at him, Stella. You’re not his. You’re mine. You will do as you’re told or you will be punished. Strip. Unless you’d like me to call Judge Montagnet?”

His threat spurred me into action. I stood.

Teddy did, too. “No, Sin.”

“Teddy, sit down. You need to learn how things are done. I’ve coddled you for far too long.”

Teddy backed away from the table as I lifted the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head with shaking hands. Tears burned behind my eyes, at the back of my throat, but I did what he said. I couldn’t risk not obeying.

“No, Sin, make her stop!” Panic filled Teddy’s plea.

“Sit. Down.” Vinemont’s jaw was tight.

Teddy obeyed. Just like I did. Just like everyone under this roof must.

I unbuttoned my pants and drew down the zipper before shimmying out of them. I took a deep breath, hatred burning in my breast for Vinemont, even though he wasn’t looking at me. He was focused on Teddy, where the real battle for control was being waged.

Now only wearing my bra and panties, I put a foot on the nearest chair to climb onto the table.

“I said all of it, Stella, or did you not hear me?” Vinemont’s cold voice was quiet.

Bastard. A sob tried to escape, but I wouldn’t let it. I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra, a single tear sliding down my face. My mind was screaming, roaring, crying. On the outside, I was placid. Only the uneven fall of tears gave me away.

I pulled my bra off and dropped it in the chair where I’d been sitting moments before. Teddy darted his gaze away. With shaking fingers, I pulled my panties down and kicked them aside.

“Look at her, Teddy.” Vinemont fixated on Teddy. “Look!”

Teddy turned his face to mine, his kind eyes now fearful.

“Up on the table. Stand there.”

I pulled a chair back and stepped into it before climbing up onto the table. The polished wood was slick and cold beneath my bare feet.

“Face me, Stella.” He still stared down Teddy, forcing the boy to watch my every move.

More tears escaped, landing on my breasts and rolling down to my stomach. I dropped my head, fixating on the table beneath me. Humiliation flowed through me like blood, or maybe more like gasoline, fueling my hatred yet explosive at the same time.

“Do you understand now, Teddy? Is it clear?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Now finish your breakfast.” Vinemont took another long swig from his coffee and attacked his food.

Teddy picked at what remained on his plate. “Are you just going to make her stand there?”

“I can make her do more, if you’d like.”

Teddy slammed down his fork. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“This is necessary. It’s what has to be done. Get used to it.” That was the Vinemont I knew, cold and unforgiving. Maybe he was right. Maybe the sooner Teddy realized his brother was a monster, the better.

Vinemont still hadn’t looked at me. Coward.

A whistle sounded at my back. Vinemont’s head whipped up, but he didn’t look past me. Instead, he focused on me, taking me in, taking everything from me. His expression turned from anger to something else. He stood and froze, tension rolling off him in waves.

“Lucius, glad you could join us.” Vinemont’s gaze travelled my body. His stare was possessive, desirous.

I wanted to cross my legs, cover myself somehow. I knew he wouldn’t allow it. So I stood, letting the degradation wash over me.

“So this is the Acquisition?” A man, his voice similar in tone to Vinemont’s, yet silkier.

“Yes.” Vinemont’s gaze was still on me, as if he didn’t want to give me up.

I maintained eye contact, damning him for doing this to me. I hoped he felt every flame of my rage. I hoped it charred his already black heart to ash.

A hand running up the back of my leg startled me and I jumped away. My foot tripped over the edge of the table. I hurtled down.

Someone caught me and set me on my feet. Vinemont pressed me into him, my face lying against his hard chest. For once, I was happy to be near him, happy to be at least somewhat covered. His hands were warm on my skin, his palms damp. Had he been sweating my forced exhibition?

“She’s skittish, huh?”

I whipped my head around. Lucius was tall, lanky, and had similar tattoos as Vinemont. He wore a blue plaid shirt, the buttons at the top casually undone and the sleeves rolled up. His hair was a tousled brown, slightly lighter than Vinemont’s and darker than Teddy’s. Another brother?

“She’s mine, Lucius. I was just teaching our little brother that lesson.” Vinemont’s voice rumbled against my ear.

Lucius arched an eyebrow before snagging a piece of bacon from my plate and devouring it. “I think all you taught Teddy was that a wanking is absolutely necessary ASAP.”

Teddy stood. “I can’t take any more of this mindfuck. I’m going into town for the day.”

He fled the room in a huff. I envied him.

Lucius kept his gaze on my ass, the one piece of me that wasn’t pressed against Vinemont. “She’s definitely a prize. Think you’ll get to be Sovereign? I’m still not clear on all the rules, by the way.”

“Only the firstborn knows the rules. You’re just guessing,” Vinemont growled.

The tension in the room took on another dimension, thickening the air like invisible smoke.

“Then tell me already.” Lucius pointedly licked the bacon grease from his index finger as he continued staring at my exposed rear.

Vinemont released his hold and pushed me behind him. I was beginning to agree with Teddy about the mindfuck. First he wanted to exhibit me and now he wanted to hide me?

“That would be breaking the rules. You aren’t a firstborn.”

I peeked around Vinemont.

“Fine.” Lucius shrugged. “I’ll just enjoy the show. I know enough from what Mother told us. This should get entertaining pretty fast. When’s the ball?”

“Friday.”

“You mean tomorrow? Damn. You waited pretty late to collar your Acquisition.” He sprawled in the chair next to mine. “Laura!”

The pretty maid hurried in but stopped as soon as she saw me. Vinemont put a hand on my hip, possessive. She recovered far more quickly than I would have in this situation and poured Lucius a cup of coffee before fetching a plate of food for him.

“Thanks, babe.” Lucius grinned at her.

She retreated, but not before casting another worried glance in my direction.

“I trust you’ll stay out of my way as far as the Acquisition is concerned?” Vinemont’s fingertips dug into me.

“Yeah, what do I care? It would be nice if you’d share, though you’ve never been particularly good at that.”

The pressure increased, his whole hand palming my hip. “Just stay out of my way.”

Lucius waved his fork in the air. “Fine. Carry on with your sadism. Ignore the man behind the breakfast plate.”

“Get your clothes.” Vinemont removed his hand, the warmth gone and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

I crept from behind Vinemont. Lucius watched every move intently as he chewed. I darted around behind him and snagged my jeans, shirt, bra, socks, and shoes, but I couldn’t find my underwear.

I pulled the shirt on over my head and hastily yanked on my jeans. Once covered, I peered around the base of the chairs looking for any sign of my wayward panties. They weren’t where I’d left them, and I couldn’t find them on the floor.

“Lucius, give them up,” Vinemont said.

“Give what up?” He shrugged and turned to me. His eyes were lighter than his brother’s, sky blue instead of the dark depths of Vinemont’s. Lucius gave me lascivious wink.

I didn’t think it was possible to like someone less than I liked Vinemont. I may have been wrong.

Vinemont stabbed his fingers through his hair and let out a particularly vile curse before turning toward the door. “Come on, Stella.”

I followed Vinemont, but before I left the room, I turned. “I haven’t had a shower yet today. Just so you know.”

Lucius smiled. “Mmm, I like it best when they’ve soaked a bit.”

Motherfucker.

“You’re only encouraging him.” Vinemont pulled me down the hall.

“Get your hands off me.” I yanked my arm away from him.

“Fine,” he snarled. “Just go the fuck upstairs. I can’t deal with this right now.”

“You can’t deal with this? Are you kidding me?”

“Stella, I’m warning you.” He advanced, crowding me back into the wall.

“I’m not afraid of you.” I tried to put the force of my conviction into my words. It was a lie. I was scared, confused, and more alone than I’d ever been.

His hand was at my throat in an instant. “You and I both know that’s not true. Get the fuck upstairs. Stay there until I come for you.” He squeezed for emphasis before letting me go.

I slipped away from him, stumbling over the edge of the hall runner before righting myself and hurrying away. I looked over my shoulder. He stood perfectly still and watched me. I got the strange feeling that I was one wrong move away from him pouncing on me.

He was a predator by nature.

Right then I knew. If he acted on instinct, he would rip me to shreds.

SINCLAIR

T  HE MEMORY OF her naked body was forever seared into my mind. I was weak, so fucking weak. I’d thought forcing her to stand on the table was a show of strength, some way to teach Teddy the realities of our lives. Instead, I’d made myself almost blind with lust and gave Lucius a reason to torment Stella. She was mine to torment, no one else’s.

I wanted to destroy every fucking thing in the house, then rage through the grounds like a tornado before lighting the woods on fire. Instead, I stepped out the front door and into the cool air. I needed a ride. Something to clear my mind and get me focused on the Acquisition trials.

I walked the few hundred yards to the shop out back. It was two stories of distraction. Fast cars, even faster bikes, and all the tools needed to repair each one of them. I ran my fingers down the McLaren, thinking it might be the one to take me far away from here—and as quickly as I needed. But the air was too nice to miss.

I snagged my leather jacket from the wall and chose Emelia instead. She was a revved up American stunner, a motorcycle my father and I had brought back to life years ago. I threw a leg over and cranked her up. She rumbled and purred beneath me. I tore from the shop, taking the road deeper into the Vinemont property.

The helicopter waited on the pad to my left as I cruised by. It wasn’t an option. I had to keep my feet on the ground. It would be a simple feat to climb into the cockpit and simply fly away from this house, my responsibilities, and my Acquisition. I wouldn’t. I needed to stay, to shepherd Stella through the trials.

Despite the setbacks, breaking her would be a singular treat. What I’d shown Teddy had only been a taste, just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. She had no idea what was in store. I wasn’t even sure how far I’d go, but I knew I had to win. Losing wasn’t an option.

I gunned the engine harder, rushing past the lake, the scattered cattails bleeding into a brown and green blur as I drove to the levee.

But the way she’d looked, the way she’d reacted to me in the grass, her smell, the way she fought. Fuck. I was screwed. I had to stop thinking about her as a her. She was an Acquisition—my Acquisition—and nothing more. If I didn’t get my head on straight, and get her outbursts under control, tomorrow night would be a disaster. The Sovereign needed to leave the party knowing that my Acquisition was the one to beat, literally and figuratively.

I’d never actually attended an Acquisition Ball, but Mother had told me plenty in her attempts to strengthen me. The depravity in her tales had shocked me, intimidated me. She didn’t go easy, telling me exactly what I’d have to do to win. In the process, she’d told me what she’d had to do to win during her Acquisition year. How a piece of her had died. She’d wanted me to endure, to make it through unscathed. To be even stronger than she had been.

I slowed to a stop in the middle of the levee, water sparkling on either side. My thoughts strayed back to the scars on Stella’s wrists and the knife she’d hidden in her nightstand. I’d almost taken it from her as she slept. My fingers had traced the handle, the blade. Somehow I knew it was the same one she’d used on herself. Ultimately I’d left it there. I shouldn’t have. Another mistake.

The engine roared to life beneath me and the bike ate up the smooth road through the woods and over the waterways. Wild turkeys scattered as I raced through their territory. I made the entire loop around the property before cruising down the winding lane and out to the front gate.

Approaching the bottleneck of woods and metal, I saw the glint of something metallic through the bars. A car sat on the outside, foolishly seeking entrance to my territory. I grimaced at the idiocy of the attempt, the sheer lack of understanding this visit revealed. Still, I knew he’d come.

I pulled to the right so I could stand broadside against the wrought iron. When I killed the engine, a heavy silence fell.

“Mr. Rousseau. Nice to see you.”

He peered through the bars and vines, his eyes red and watery. There was nothing to see. Only me.

“Let her go.” His wavering voice made me sick.

“No.”

“You, motherfucker!” A younger man leapt from the car and rushed over. “Bring her out or we’re coming in.”

I laughed. “That’s adorable. If there’s nothing else, I’d best be going. Pressing matters and all.”

He gripped the bars and tried to shake them. Nothing. This fence could withstand a lot more than some prep school prick in lacrosse gear.

“Dylan, stop. We can’t win that way.”

“Listen to the old man, Dylan.” I let the venom that had welled up inside me over the past twenty-four hours infect my words.

“Please.” It was a teary plea from Mr. Rousseau. “Just let her go. I-I’ll go to prison willingly if you’ll just let her go.”

Pathetic. “Too late. The deal’s done. If that’s all the business you have to transact, I’m sorry to say you wasted your trip. Goodbye, Mr. Rousseau.”

Dylan erupted in yells and a respectable amount of profanity.

I cut off his cries with the fire of my engine, and left them standing at the gate as I screamed along the smooth road toward the house.

They were fools.

She was mine. No one could take her from me. Not even her own blood.

STELLA

I  STAYED IN my room for the rest of the day. There was nowhere I could run, nothing to do. I took a long, hot shower. While I’d been out for breakfast—and the run across the lawn, and the nude exhibition—someone had come in and put luxurious shampoos, soaps, and other thoughtful amenities in my bathroom. The mental image of Farns daintily stacking tampon boxes actually pulled a laugh from me. So, that was something.

After my shower I lay on my bed, cooling off, wearing just a towel around my hair. I clicked on the overhead fan with the remote from the bedside table, letting the cool air waft down over me. The quilts along the walls ruffled with the breeze.

I was warm, relatively well fed, and had a modicum of safety in this room. It didn’t erase my unease as much as I would have liked. I was still caught in a web, even if the silken threads that bound me were soft and beautiful.

My eyelids drooped, the heat from the shower and the run from the morning pulling me downward into sleep. But I wouldn’t go. Whenever my eyes finally closed, I saw Vinemont’s face. His anger. And something else, too. The heat when he’d been on top of me in the grass, his hand between my thighs.

I knew it was a transgression. I shouldn’t have wanted it. His voice was a subtle poison, creeping into my system, luring me deeper into his hell. My nipples pearled as I remembered the feel of his hard shaft against my thigh. What would it feel like inside me?

I tried to swat the thought out of my mind, but my fingers crept down to my still damp pussy. I teased my hard clit with the tip of my finger, sending a jolt of need pulsing through my body. I tried to pull my fingers away, hating the image of Vinemont in my mind, looming over me, his mouth cruel and sensual.

How much of him was covered in the vine tattoos? How low did the ink go?

My finger disobeyed, dipping lower, swirling around my aching clit. My hips rocked up to meet each stroke, the tension rising like someone slowly pulling a string taut. My breaths came in quick pants as I continued working myself, visions of Vinemont’s face between my legs driving me wild with the need for release. When I imagined his eyes lit with desire for me and only me, I couldn’t hold back the wave of pleasure. I bit my cheek to keep from crying out, though I still made some high-pitched noises that couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

Something slammed somewhere nearby in the house, like a heavy book falling from a high shelf. Embarrassment and worry cooled my brief, blissful high. I whipped the blanket over my body. After a few moments, my breathing returned to normal. I wasn’t sated exactly, but I had cleared my head enough to remember that Vinemont was my enemy, nothing more.

I began to drift into sleep when there was a knock at my door. I sat up and glanced to the closet where my few clothes were hanging.

“It’s just me, miss.” A woman’s voice.

“Oh, come in?” I didn’t know who ‘me’ was, but she sounded harmless enough.

She entered, a middle aged woman in an understated maid’s uniform, black except for the white Peter Pan collar. Her hair was strikingly dark, cascading down her back in a shiny mane. If there were any grays, I couldn’t see them. She could have been no older than 45.

She smiled, warm and friendly, despite a distinct look of sadness written in the wrinkles around her dark eyes. “Welcome. I’ll be your personal maid during your stay with us. If you need anything, just ask for me. I’m Renee.”

“So you’re the one who put all the good soaps and things in the bathroom?”

“Yes, ma’am. I also took the liberty of ordering some more clothing items in your sizes. Of course, Mr. Sinclair assisted me in choosing for you.”

I frowned. The thought of Vinemont choosing my clothes was beyond irritating. I wasn’t his pet or a doll he could dress. I was a prisoner.

She folded her hands in front of her. “I know how you feel. It’s all more than a little off-putting, but things will fall together in time.”

I pulled the towel from my head and rubbed my temple with one hand, the other still holding up the blanket. “You know how I feel? Are you a slave, Renee?”

Her deep brown eyes lit for just a hint of a moment. “I am not, ma’am.”

“Then I don’t think you could possibly know how I feel. No offense.”

“None taken, ma’am.” Her gracious smile returned despite my barb.

I sighed. I’d been an Acquisition for less than a day and parts of me—the kind ones, the gentle ones—were already splintering. “I’m sorry,” I said as she retreated to my bathroom. “This isn’t your fault.”

I was the one who signed the contract. Renee didn’t force me into it.

She came back with a brush and sat down on the bed next to me. “Here.” She put her hands out, offering to brush my hair.

I scooted around to her, still keeping the blanket pressed to my chest.

“It’s fine. I’d be more surprised if you weren’t angry.” She started at the ends of my hair just like my mother used to do. “The path of least resistance” Mom used to call it, working out the kinks from the bottom up until my hair was smooth.

“How many of me have there been?”

She kept brushing with careful strokes. “How many Acquisitions?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say.”

I sighed and let my chin fall to my chest.

She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Two that I know of in the Vinemont family in the past twenty years. There were more before that, but I don’t know all the details.”

“So few? It isn’t an annual sort of thing?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You said ‘in the Vinemont family’? Are there Acquisitions in other families or something?”

“Yes.”

“But why? What’s the purpose?” Why would they do this? What could possibly be the reason for enslaving people just for the sake of enslaving them? Maybe that would be the best outcome—a kept slave for a year. No labor, no punishments, no ill treatment. I shook my head. It was all too good to be true. Fear crept up my spine as my question lingered in the air. Something told me there was more, far more to all of it than I could even guess.

“Just tell me why.” My tone had gone from curious to desperate.

She hesitated, the brush in the middle of my locks. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

“What’s tomorrow?” Dread settled like an anchor in my gut.

The brush continued, smoothing the waves as it went. “The Acquisition Ball.”

Lucius and Vinemont had spoken about a ball over breakfast, but I hadn’t realized I would be going.

“A ball? I’m a slave and I’m going to a ball?”

“I really can’t say any more.”

My mind was whirling. What was this ball? Was it the actual reason, however twisted, for Vinemont to have forced me into the contract?

She reached the crown of my head, still easing the bristles down through the strands. “There, I think we’re done.”

She rose and then stopped, noticing the photo of my mother and me on my nightstand. “She’s beautiful.”

I nodded. “She was.”

“Your mother?”

“Yes.” I studied the picture right along with Renee. I’d been trying for years to divine what she was thinking, why she would leave my father and me the way she did. I supposed I shouldn’t have looked too hard, especially given that I’d done the same thing. I just didn’t see it all the way through the way she had.

“I’m sorry.” Renee put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

She gave me a light squeeze and returned the brush to the bathroom. “I’ll have Laura bring your lunch in fifteen minutes if that’s all right. Or you can take it downstairs with Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Luciu—”

“Here is fine.” The thought of having to see either of them in the same dining room turned my stomach.

She gave a slight bow and left. I dressed in a t-shirt and some pajama bottoms and sank down on the window seat, letting the sun bathe me in afternoon light. The trees were starting to give away their leaves, a brown and orange carpet amassing at the edges of the grass expanse. I pushed the window open and let the cool breeze rush into the room. It carried the smells of grass and woods and water.

I breathed it in, reminding myself I was alive. Even if my life belonged to another for some ridiculous expanse of time, I was alive and I would fight to stay that way. I ran my hand along the scars on one of my wrists. I wouldn’t break. I wouldn’t go willingly into darkness. Never again.

I spent the rest of the day in my room. Thankfully, I was able to talk Laura into bringing me a sampling of books from the library downstairs. The books were older, but well worth reading, especially the few bodice rippers she’d found.

I’d wanted to wander around the house and investigate, but I kept getting the mental image of two knights in armor crossing their swords in front of me and blocking my way. More than that, the thought of running into Lucius without anyone else around was a chance I wasn’t willing to take.

Vinemont didn’t summon or visit me at all, which was a relief. He’d gone into town, apparently, to handle some official district attorney business. Sure. I supposed the work of railroading innocent citizens was a constant, thankless job.

When Laura brought my dinner, I asked if she could get me some painting supplies. She promised to make my request to Renee. If I were going to spend all my time hiding in my room, which was my game plan so far, then I would need plenty to keep me occupied.

The night passed without incident or even a hint of Vinemont.

The next morning, I was already up and dressed in a light sweater and jeans when the knock came at my door.

“Come in.”

Instead of Farns, it was Renee. She was still dressed in all black with the white collar, and her dark hair was arranged in flowing waves.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

“Morning, Renee. And please call me Stella. What happened to Farns?”

“He’s with Mr. Sinclair all day. I’m with you. I hope that’s all right.” Her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Oh, no, no. I didn’t mean it that way at all. I was just curious. I’m happy to see you again.”

After the words fell out, I realized they were true. I was happy to have someone to talk to. Maybe I could even call her a friend, such as they were in this new world.

She raised her face, her smile making her luminous in the morning light. “I’m happy to see you, too. I must admit, I asked to be assigned to you as soon as I heard about your arrival.”

“Why?”

She put her hands in her skirt pockets. “I just feel like we may have some things in common is all.”

“Oh, so you hate Sinclair Vinemont, too?”

She laughed. It was an open, inviting sound that held nothing back. “I certainly don’t, and I don’t believe you do either.”

I leaned back against my bedpost. “Pretty sure I do.”

“Well, in any case, you have a big day and an even bigger night. I’m here to help you through all of it.”

“You told me about the ball tonight. So, what are we doing today?”

“Getting ready, of course. Mr. Sinclair gave me explicit instructions on how he wants you prepared. He ordered your gown the night you arrived, and he picked out your jewels and accessories with me this morning.” She walked to me and took my arm. “You are going to be the most beautiful Acquisition they’ve ever seen.”

I pulled my arm from her grasp, anger rushing through me like a wildfire. “You’re excited? About putting Vinemont’s property on display before some other loathsome people just like him?”

She returned her hands to her pockets. “I was only trying to…” She shrugged and met my eyes again. “I can’t undo the contract. I can’t stop the ball or anything else that goes on, but I can help you if you’ll let me. I can see you through until the end when your year is up and you can leave. That’s all I want to do.”

The earnestness of her words struck me like a bolt to my heart. She was right. I had signed the contract and now I was bound to it. If she wanted to help, then I would be wise to let her. I only wished I knew more about the Acquisition. Still, I would take whatever allies I could get.

“I’m sorry, Renee. I’m just…”

Emboldened by my apology, she took my arm again. “I know. Like I said yesterday, I understand. Now, let’s get you to the spa.”

I almost fell back against the bed. “The spa?”

“Here on the property, of course. Mr. Vinemont called in professionals from all over the country for this. You’re going to get the royal treatment.”

She pulled me out into the hallway and down the front steps.

“What does this entail, exactly?”

“First, breakfast.”

I dug in my heels and stopped despite the angry rumble of my stomach. “I don’t want to see them.”

“The boys are already out and about today. Don’t worry.”

“Boys? You mean the two sadistic men who live here with their third clueless brother?”

She walked me into the thankfully empty breakfast room. “I’ve known them since they were wee ones, so I still think of them as boys.”

She called for Laura, effectively cutting off my incredulous commentary with the sight of a breakfast tray piled high with deliciousness.

Renee sipped her coffee as I demolished my breakfast. If she was right about having a big day planned, I certainly had a big enough breakfast to power through it.

I wiped my mouth daintily, though it did nothing to undo my earlier lack of manners.

Renee finished her coffee. “Ready to get started?”

I stood and stretched like a lazy cat. “Lead the way.”

“One more thing.” She showed me down the hallway, leading me deeper into the house than I’d been as of yet. “You are about to meet some new people. They’re outsiders. They wouldn’t understand what’s going on. It would be best if you told them as little as possible in order to avoid any unpleasant complications. They know you’re going to a ball. Just keep it at that.”

“So I shouldn’t tell them that I’m an Acquisition and utterly at the mercy of Vinemont?”

Her quick step faltered for a second but then she regained her pace. “Exactly.”

The spa was in a wing toward the back of the house. It was in what seemed to be a converted sunroom. The walls and ceiling were made of paned glass, letting in natural light and warmth. It was an open area with river stone floors, a sunken hot tub in the center of the room, a large wood sauna set to one side, and massage tables to the other. It smelled wonderful, like expensive bath oils and some sort of woodsy incense.

Two men and two women stood waiting for us. Renee went in first and introduced me down the row of staff.

“This is Alex. He’s from New Orleans. He’ll be in charge of your hair and makeup for the night.”

He was a young man with a bright orange faux hawk, multiple piercings in his eyebrows, peacock-colored eyeshadow, and colorful tattoos on each arm.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Rousseau. When I’m done, you are going to be the belle of the ball.”

I looked at Renee, my eyebrows high. “Does everyone know about the ball but me?”

Alex placed a well-manicured hand on my arm. “Oh no, honey. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement longer than my di—um, longer than my arm, just to get this job, and I still have no idea what you’re up to.” He winked. “I just know that whatever it is, you are going to look fabulous.”

Renee moved me along to the next person. “This is Juliet. She’ll be buffing your skin and doing your nails.”

“Buffing my skin?”

“Gets rid of all the dead skin cells, makes your skin look like an 18-year-old’s.” She ran her fingers down my neck and peered at me almost scientifically. “Doesn’t look like you’ve gotten much sun. Perfect. I’ll have you shined up like a new penny.” She took my hands in hers and examined my nails. They were permanently stained various colors from my paints.

She frowned, her blonde bob falling against her plump cheek as she surveyed the damage. “These will take some work. We may need to use gel to cover the staining.”

“Okay I guess?” I’d never really paid much attention to things like my fingernails.

She flipped my hands over and pushed up my sleeves, inspecting further. When she saw the scars along my wrists, she dropped my hands.

Her light blue eyes found mine. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. That was a long time ago.” I didn’t know these people. Still, they were people, and like Renee, they seemed to want to help me. I smiled at her. “It doesn’t bother me. You can look at them.”

She reclaimed my wrists and ran her fingers over the raised skin. “I think I may have a few tricks to make these less noticeable.” She returned my smile, seemingly at ease again.

The next woman had dark hair, a unibrow, and was by far the shortest person in the room.

“Yong will do your waxing.”

I whipped my head around to Renee. “Wait, waxing?”

Yong nodded and put a hand on my shoulder, pulling me down so she could inspect my face. “Brows need work…lip looks okay…I’ll do full face anyway. Everything else looks fine. When’s the last time you had a Brazilian?”

My thighs clenched together involuntarily. “The wax? Never. I don’t generally wax anything.”

Yong frowned, her unibrow like a dark caterpillar encroaching on her eyes. “I can tell. This will take some work. When I’m done, you’ll be smooth as a baby everywhere.”

“Um, thanks, I guess?”

She grinned. “I’ll go start getting everything ready. It’s going to sting some, but you’ll love the results.”

She passed through an adjoining door, walking quickly and with purpose.

“And this is Dmitri.” Renee introduced me to the last person in the row. He stood almost seven feet tall and seemed built of pure muscle. His head was shaved, though dark hair obviously grew there in abundance. He took my hand, his beefy palm swallowing mine whole.

“Very nice to meet you.” His Russian accent was so thick it made his words almost unintelligible. But like the others, he had a smile and warmth for me. I appreciated any compassion they had to offer.

“And what do you do, Dmitri?”

He released my hand and held his palms in front of me. “Massage.”

“Oh.” I swallowed hard.

“I no hurt you.” He squeezed my hand encouragingly. “Well, maybe a little. You like. Promise.”

“First, into the hot tub,” Juliet said. “I need your skin nice and pruny.” She stepped toward the massage tables. “Come on, get on in. We have a lot to do.”

“You want me to just strip in front of everyone?” I looked from Renee to Juliet and then up at Dmitri.

I crossed my arms over my chest. They could clean me up and dress me like a doll, but I wasn’t going to run around naked for their amusement.

Dmitri laughed, the sound filling the large room and making it seem somehow small. “Nothing new to me, Miss Stella. But I wait over there if make you more comfortable.” He shrugged and went through the same door as Yong.

“Needless to say, this”—Alex waved his hand up and down at my body—“does nothing for me. But I’ll still be a gentleman and wait in my booth. I’m going to need to send out for a bit more color, anyway. I’m thinking we’re going to make your red a bit more strawberry and maybe a touch of…” His words trailed off as he left the room.

Renee backed up and took a seat near the door before pulling a small book from her pocket. “I’ll stay with you in case you need anything. Just try to relax. Enjoy it. Mr. Sinclair has spared no expense.”

“First class ticket from L.A. and a sweet paycheck,” Juliet agreed.

I smirked. “Well, we definitely want Vinemont to get his money’s worth.” I stripped without ceremony and stepped into the bubbling water in the center of the room.

“I met him for all of five seconds. That man is absolutely dreamy.” Juliet knelt in a corner of the room and began removing various equipment from a large rolling case.

Was she going to use all that on me?

“Yeah, if you like tall, dark, and psychotic,” I said.

Renee snorted.

I slid further down into the enveloping warmth, and lay my head back.

“So are you really going to a ball?” Juliet asked.

“That’s what I keep hearing.”

Juliet squealed a little. “That’s just so, so exciting! And like, romantic. We don’t do stuff like balls in L.A.—I should have been born Southern. I wish I could go with you.”

“No, you don’t.” I closed my eyes and let my whispered words fade into the bubbling heat around me.

Four hours later, I was putty in Dmitri’s strong hands. I lay completely naked—my sense of modesty waxed away right along with all my body hair—and let his magical fingers work me over.

“You so tense, Krasivaya.” Dmitri had taken to referring to me as krasivaya. I didn’t know what it meant and I honestly didn’t care as long as he kept smoothing his hands over my body and making my muscles sing.

I’d been buffed, oiled, manicured, pedicured, handfed by Renee as my nails dried, and now I was being turned into a limp noodle by Dmitri.

“It’s almost my turn. I can’t wait.” Alex clapped his hands as he stood next to me. “You know, I’ve never really cared for the female form, but I might make an exception for yours. It’s actually pretty. If you had a dick, I’d definitely fuck you.”

I snickered as Dmitri’s large palm pressed into my lower back.

“Why so many girl-men in this country? In Russia, we have no such men. Only real men.” Dmitri moved to my ass and rubbed from there down to my thighs in strong strokes, as if squeegeeing my stress away.

“Is that so? I have an ex-boyfriend who came straight from Russia with man love. That St. Petersburg boy could power bottom like a son of a bitch.”

“Truly?” Dmitri squeezed and rolled my thighs.

“I had the orgasms to prove it.”

I moaned as Dmitri’s hands worked the tension from me. Had I been afraid of him? He was a massage god.

“Ah, hear that? That is what real men desire to hear. To make woman tremble with desire for him. You need to learn this. Then you be real man.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right to work on that.” Alex patted my behind. “You’re mine next. And I promise, unlike some real men”—he mimicked a Russian accent—“I won’t have a raging boner when I’m touching you.”

I giggled. I didn’t care if Dmitri was jacking off all over me, just so long as he kept pushing my tension all the way down my body and out my toes. I’d gotten massages before, but nothing compared to this. Not even close.

“How’s the Acquisition doing?”

Lucius’ voice undid Dmitri’s work and made my muscles seize.

Dmitri must have felt the change because he let out a litany in angry Russian. His hands rested possessively on my lower back as Lucius leisurely made his way to me. Whereas Vinemont was a methodical serial killer, Lucius was more of a smooth assassin. His fluid movements and swimmer’s body hinted at quickness and wiry strength.

Renee stood and pocketed her book, but didn’t move.

I couldn’t get up, because Lucius would see me fully naked. His seeing only my ass, once again, seemed like the lesser of two evils.

“Krasivaya doesn’t like you, comrade. You interfere with her pleasure.” Dmitri’s voice was a cautionary rumble.

Lucius stopped next to me, his black boots filling my vision. “I’m certain that’s not so. I could give her plenty more pleasure if we had this room all to ourselves.”

“Well, you don’t.” Dmitri stepped around the table and stood chest to chest with Lucius.

“What, because you’re here? A hired set of hands?” Lucius placed his hand on my ass and squeezed.

I tried to jerk away from him, but I had nowhere to go. Dmitri yanked Lucius’ hand away from me. I scrambled off the table and backed away from them, nudity be damned.

Dmitri and Lucius faced off against each other, neither man backing down.

Lucius smiled up at Dmitri, as if declaring a truce with the bigger man. Instead of walking away, Lucius struck quickly with a vicious haymaker across Dmitri’s jaw. A classic sucker punch. Dmitri staggered back. Rage lit the Russian’s face and he swung, catching Lucius on the chin and sending him reeling away. Instead of falling, Lucius seemed emboldened and charged the larger man.

Juliet and Alex each came to either side of me.

“Now this is entertainment,” Alex said. “I wish they hadn’t confiscated my cell. I’d post a vid of this hunk on hunk action and make a fortune.”

“Lucius!” Vinemont rushed into the room. He saw me and stopped, his mouth opening slightly.

I slung an arm across my breasts and crossed my legs, though it didn’t do much good. I was completely bare down there now, with nothing left to the imagination.

Lucius turned and looked at me too, his signature lascivious smile returning to his otherwise handsome face. Dmitri took the opportunity to get him in a headlock. They struggled against each other, Lucius trying to buck Dmitri’s vice-like hold around his neck. Lucius shoved an elbow back hard into Dmitri’s ribs, breaking the Russian’s hold and slipping away.

Vinemont appeared to come back to himself and darted between the two men. “Lucius, get the hell out of here!”

“This is my house, too, Sin,” Lucius said. “I can go wherever the fuck I want. We’re brothers, remember?” He glanced over his shoulder at me. “We share.”

“Not this we don’t,” Vinemont growled.

“We’ll see.” Lucius dragged his thumb across his chin, wiping the blood from his split lip. He squared off against Dmitri again. “You hit pretty good for a red.”

“You hit pretty good for a devushka.”

“Ya yebat' etu devochku pryamo pered vami,” Lucius replied with a matching accent. He glanced over at me again.

Dmitri took a threatening step forward, menace oozing from his pores.

I wanted Dmitri to smash Lucius to a bloody pulp, to wipe the self-satisfied grin from his face.

Vinemont pushed each man backward. “Stop!”

“Is it hot in here? It definitely feels hot in here.” Alex used his hand as a fan.

“Agreed.” Juliet’s hand was at her throat as she watched the men, her tongue darting at the corners of her mouth.

Vinemont jabbed a finger into his brother’s chest. “Lucius, I’m warning you. Get out.”

“You aren’t the Sovereign. Stop acting like you are.”

Vinemont advanced on Lucius until both men were almost nose to nose.

“Stand down, Lucius.”

The staring competition lasted for a few tense moments before Lucius blinked and backed away. “I didn’t know you’d get your panties so bunched over an Acquisition. I should have. You’ve always been a royal cockblock.”

Lucius sauntered toward the exit before glancing over his shoulder. “See you around, Stella.”

Alex let out a bated breath. “I want to see him around. More accurately, I want to see my mouth around his—”

“Stella, for Christ’s sake, cover yourself.” Vinemont didn’t move and kept his gaze trained on me.

Yong bustled in from the waxing room—or as I called it, the room of intense pain and humiliation—and tossed me a towel. I grabbed it and wrapped it around myself so fast I almost dropped it.

Vinemont watched every single movement, as if he were attuned to me on some primitive level. He blinked slowly and scrubbed a hand down his face. “How much longer before she’s ready?”

“Three hours,” Alex said.

“Have her ready in two. The seamstress should be here any minute to fit her. I don’t want any delays.”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”

Vinemont turned his wrathful gaze back to me. “Fine. Be ready in two hours. If you disappointment me, there will be a high price to pay and you will pay it.”

He turned on his heel and left, fury in his steps.

“That. Was. Intense.” Alex leaned on the massage table. “I kind of want to make you late just so you get some sort of naughty punishment. Sweet Jesus, do I want some BDSM lovin’ right about now.”

Juliet sagged with relief. “Both of those hotties want to get with you. You know that, right?”

“That first one does not deserve to even look at you, much less enjoy your kiska.” Dmitri’s face darkened anew with anger.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “my kiska is mine alone, if I take your meaning. By the way, what did Lucius say to you in Russian?”

I didn’t think it was possible, but Dmitri’s glower deepened. “He is, how you say, confident your kiska will be his.”

“Well.” Alex took my hand. “I may not have a taste for kiska, but if we only have two hours, you’re mine, sugar.”

Dmitri grumbled about not finishing the massage, and promised he would be back to take care of me.

Alex plopped me into his chair and got to work. He was a madman with scissors and chemicals that smelled like a mix of turpentine and overripe fruit. He foiled, heated, rinsed, and cut, turning my scalp into a beauty battleground. My hair was still the same red, but with highlights and lowlights to set off the color. He put it up in big hot rollers and sprayed it down with an obscene amount of hairspray.

He then set about to do my makeup. I was a bit worried, given the peacock colors above his eyes and his bright lips. He made it worse by not letting me look into the mirror until he was done. After what felt like over an hour of brushing, shadowing, highlighting, contouring, and coloring, I finally got a chance to see the finished product.

“Voila!” He whirled me around and held the swivel chair steady before the mirror.

I’d never thought of myself as a ten. I was self-aware enough to know I was pretty by most standards, but nothing about me said movie star or model. When I looked at what Alex had done, there was more than just a tinge of amazement in my stare. He’d highlighted my high cheekbones and plump lips. He’d given me dramatic eyebrows with a killer arch. Most of all, he’d brought out the deep green color of my eyes. They’d never looked so bright.

“Wow,” was all I could muster.

“Wow is right, honey. That right there is the money shot. That face, that hair. One in a million, trust me.” He smiled back at me from the mirror.

Renee walked in and clasped her hands in front of her. “This is… You are… I’ve never…” It ended in no words but a high pitched gleeful sound.

The reserved maid looked positively girlish. “You are absolute perfection.”

“Why, thank you.” Alex gave a small bow.

I laughed. I was beginning to enjoy my ragtag band of beauty assistants. I tried not to think about how I may never see them again after today. It was hard to think of a reason why Vinemont would send for them again. I couldn’t imagine going to too many balls. In fact, I had a suspicion that this “ball” was quite a bit more than it seemed.

It didn’t matter what it was. I would go. I would do what I had to so that my father would remain free and alive. There was no going back, only forward. And forward meant I had to get through the ball and the 363 days thereafter.

“The seamstress is outside.” Renee calmed herself and motioned for me to rejoin the others in the main room.

The seamstress was an economical woman in a pantsuit and flats, chalk in her fingers and a pencil behind her ears. What she’d brought me to wear wasn’t practical in the least. It was perched on a model form. I had never seen anything like it short of the pages in fashion magazines. It was a deep green gown with a plunging neckline, lace straps, and a ball gown skirt made entirely of black peacock feathers.

Alex gasped and ran to the gown. “Oh my god, oh my god. I have never seen anything as fabulous in all my years and, trust me, I’ve seen more than my fair share of fabulous things. Who’s the designer and when can I have one?”

“I designed it and, I assure you, it’s a one of a kind.” The seamstress eyed me. I got the distinct feeling she was somehow taking my measurements through my towel. She quirked up a corner of her lip, as if pleased. “I think it should be an almost perfect fit with a few tucks here and there.”

Alex was gushing as I gaped at the dress. It was extravagant, over-the-top. I wanted to sketch it, not wear it.

Renee walked around the garment, examining it with a hyper-critical eye. I couldn’t imagine what a woman who dressed in plain black, wore no makeup, and seemed to do nothing to pretty herself in the least could find lacking in the dream creation before her.

“I think you are very close, Enid.” Renee tapped her finger on her chin. “Where’s the vine detail?”

“Her cloak.” Enid snapped her fingers and what seemed like a harried assistant rushed in, glasses askew, pushing a wheeled mannequin ahead of her. It was covered in a black cloak with embroidered deep green vines twining all around the material.

“And her jewels.” Enid motioned the assistant closer. She held a red velvet box under her arm.

Enid took it and undid the delicate clasp, opening the box and blinding me with sparkle. Inside lay a silver necklace with emeralds arranged in the same vine motif. A pair of large emerald earrings completed the set.

Renee’s eyes brightened when she saw the fantastic jewels. “I haven’t seen these for twenty years.” She reached a hand out, as if to touch them, but simply held it above the priceless array.

Enid clapped her hands. “Well, we’re burning daylight. Drop the towel, let’s get you dressed.”

I shifted from one foot to the next. “Did you bring underwear? I’ll need to go to my room to get some before I can put all this on.”

Enid put her hands on her hips. “Do you think I’m going to let you ruin my splendid gown with some bunchy cotton panties?”

I put a matching hand on my hip. “I can’t go to a ball commando, now can I?”

“You can and you will.”

“What?”

“Strip.” Enid’s mouth was set in a firm line.

“Do it, do it, do it!” Alex tried to yank the towel off me. “I have to see it in motion. It may kill me from fashion overload, but I’ll die happy.”

I glanced over at Dmitri. He sighed, as if hoping I’d forgotten he was there. “Fine, fine. I won’t watch. Even though you let girl-man see.” He frowned at Alex and turned his back.

I finally let Alex tug the towel free and stepped toward the feathery cloud.

SINCLAIR

WHERE IS SHE? I waited out in front of the house in a black sports car. I was too on edge to even bother with my usual driver. I needed control any way I could get it.

Going to the Acquisition Ball was something I had never done before. All the preparation in the world likely wouldn’t ready me for what was about to happen. I would get through it. Making sure Stella performed—that she stood out—was my main goal. I gripped the steering wheel, trying to decide if I needed to go inside and drag her out, when the front door opened.

Renee stepped out first, and then I saw her. The late afternoon sun blinked off the jewels at her throat, barely visible above the dark cloak tied at her neck. Her dress was the signature Vinemont green, and Enid had outdone herself on the skirt. The black peacock feathers would turn more than a few heads. I only hoped one of them belonged to the Sovereign.

If that weren’t enough, Stella’s face was radiant. Even as she crossed the threshold, uncertainty painting her features, she made something inside me click into a higher gear. Her bright green gaze tried to ensnare me, tried to make me feel something. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.

Still, I wanted to see her—all of her. Damn that cloak. I imagined ripping it all off her except the jewels, and my cock thickened in my tuxedo pants. Fuck. Now was neither the time nor the place.

It was going to take everything I had to get through this night. It was going to take even more out of Stella. Once it was all over, she wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me. She probably already felt that way after what had happened in the yard yesterday. Tonight would seal the deal. Not that she’d have any choice. She would do as I told her. She cared about her father too damned much not to.

She wore a pair of breakneck high heels. I imagined how long her legs would look, bare and smooth, wearing nothing but her stilettos. I shifted in my seat. The large Russian walked out the door behind her and helped her down the front steps. He smiled easily as she spoke to him. I wanted to destroy him for even thinking of talking to what was mine, to take him down and show her I could do it. I could hurt, kill. I could do even worse.

She took the last few steps to my car, and the Russian bastard had the nerve to open the door for her. She maneuvered into the tight space, tucking her dress in and almost falling into the seat.

“Easy krasivaya,” he said.

A muscle ticked in my jaw as he called her beautiful. She was my pet. If anyone were to give her a special name in Russian or any other fucking language, it would be me.

“I see you when you return.” He closed the door and moved away from the car.

No, you won’t. I put the car in reverse and backed away from the house. Lucius stood in one of the downstairs windows and watched us leave. Actually, he didn’t watch us, his gaze was fixed on Stella.

“He creeps me out.” Her eyes were trained on the same window.

“Don’t talk about my brother like that.” He was blood. She was an Acquisition. Even if I wanted to beat the desirous look out of his eyes until all I saw was gore, some bonds were unbreakable.

“Fine.” She sank bank in the seat as far as she could and stared out the window. I glanced at her, taking in her stunning profile. Creamy, smooth skin, delicate nose, sumptuous pout… Her lips were painted a blood red, the perfect complement to the emeralds at her throat.

I wore classic black tie. I didn’t need to stand out. I was nothing more than background noise. Stella was the attraction, the star.

We fell into an uncomfortable silence as I cycled the gears, sped through the estate, and maneuvered out onto the road. The ball was held at the Oakman estate, and had been for as long as anyone cared to remember. This year’s affair promised to be even more extravagant than previous years, given that Cal Oakman was the current Sovereign.

The bastard was revered throughout our community. His winning Acquisition ten years ago had cemented him at the top of Louisiana society. I hadn’t attended that ball, despite the engraved platinum invitation. Now I wished I had. At least I would know more of what to expect. Hopefully my mother’s recollections of her Acquisition Ball twenty years ago would still hold true. They should. Tradition and ritual were the bedrock principles beneath the entire system.

“What’s going to happen?”

I ignored her question. If I described what I expected to go on at the ball, she might put up enough fight to be a problem. I needed her just as she was, a perfectly tantalizing morsel, wide-eyed and beautiful. I needed her eventual downfall to be spectacular. I needed to win.

Twilight fell as we sped along country roads, past vast estates hidden behind walls of trees and dark bayous.

“I won’t run.” Her voice was quiet, but resolute.

“What?” I downshifted as we came closer to the Oakman gate.

“If you tell me what’s going to happen, I won’t run. I know there’s nowhere to go and you’ll hurt my father if I do. So, just tell me.”

I pulled the car over so quickly she yelped. The freshly fallen leaves crunched under the tires as we skidded to a halt.

“You want to know what the most powerful people in the South, maybe the entire fucking country, are going to do to you tonight?”

She winced and then turned her wide, angry eyes to me. “Yes.”

“Remember how I said I would hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“Tonight, I won’t be the only one inflicting the pain. That’s all you need to know.”

I wanted to be the only one to hurt her, the only one to make her cry or bleed or scream. Instead, Cal fucking Oakman would be sharing the duties, and for an audience. She was mine—not because I cared about her, but because I owned her.

I hit the steering wheel and turned to her, pinching her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “You just have to get through it. No matter what happens.”

Her breaths came faster and she leaned toward me, her cloak falling to the side and revealing the swells of her breasts. “But you’ll be there? With me?”

She was drawing me toward her somehow until my lips were only a whisper away from hers. She smelled like rosewater and honey, a scent I’d chosen for her for the evening. It was meant to be intoxicating, to draw people in, but it wasn’t supposed to work against me like this. Her eyes closed, her lips in full bloom and ready for a kiss.

Once again, I was letting my family down. She was property. I needed to stop acting like she was anything more than that. But she didn’t make it easy. The day before when she’d lain on her bed and stroked herself, making quiet cries and grinding her hips against her hand, it took every ounce of willpower I possessed not to burst into her room and fuck her until she screamed my name. The memory went straight to my dick, making a bad situation even worse.

Her question came back to me. Would I be there with her? Yes. Would she be happy about it? No. Definitely not. Her lips begged for solace I could not and would not give. I pulled away and made a show of wiping my fingers on my handkerchief.

“You must be desperate if you think I offer you any more safety than the strangers you’re about to meet. I don’t.”

She recoiled, stung by my words, by my actions. Good. She needed to hate me. It would make it all easier.

I put the car back into gear and pulled from the shoulder. I was desperate to get out of this enclosed space, away from her eyes, her scent, her lips, her breath.

As I wished for an escape, the wide gates of the Oakman estate loomed ahead of us. Several cars passed through after their occupants showed the guards the distinctive engraved invitation—this year’s was solid gold. I hefted the plate from my inner coat pocket and flashed it before I was waved through to the tree-lined lane. The Oakman home rose from the landscape, a French chateau built in the style of Versailles. Stella took a deep, steadying breath beside me. Nervousness? Excitement? Dread? Any one of those, or all at once, maybe.

I mimicked her quietly, trying to calm my nerves right along with hers. So much was riding on this. On her. She would either save the Vinemonts or break us. Tonight was her first step toward either destiny.

STELLA

T  HE HOUSE IN the oak grove was ominous despite the fact that the outside was lit up as bright as day. Ballgoers climbed the wide stone stairs to the open and bright front entrance. I shivered.

I’d almost had him only moments before, but the iota of control I wielded over Vinemont wasn’t enough. My lips, my words, none of it was enough to make him change his course. I entertained the ridiculous fantasy that if I could get him to care about me, then he wouldn’t hurt me. I knew he wouldn’t let me go, not until the year was up. But maybe I could convince him to leave me alone, to let me paint, to let me do anything besides standing naked for his amusement or enduring any of his cruel intentions.

But then he’d pulled away, becoming his usual cold self. At the last moment, I’d lost him.

Even though I hadn’t been able to shake him, whatever lay within the chateau put Vinemont on edge. I didn’t think anything could make him nervous. He tried to hide it beneath his usual snobby veneer, but I saw it clearly. He could hide plenty from me, but not that. Even he didn’t look forward to the dark deeds that awaited in this place.

He pulled up to a valet. For the first time, I noticed all of the people walking past the car were wearing masks. I turned back to Vinemont to find he’d already donned a simple black mask covered with the vine motif, his blue eyes showing through the material like patches of dark sky. His jaw was tight, the clean shaven lines perfection beneath his disguise. He pulled a far more extravagant mask from behind my seat, made with the same black peacock feathers on my dress.

“Put it on.”

I slipped the ribbons around my head and tied them in the back. Alex would have had a fit if he had seen me so much as touch my hair. I felt a pang in my breast at the thought of never seeing my short-lived friends again. After Mom had died, I didn’t do much besides keep my father company, paint, and read. I had no friends to speak of, no one to notice I was gone.

Now that I didn’t belong to myself anymore, I realized what a sheltered, useless existence I’d truly had. I was utterly unprepared for the world, for Vinemont, for the shadows that threatened to smother the very life from my body. I could feel it, the darkness, swirling near me, taking the air from my lungs like a greedy parasite.

The valet had been holding his hand out for an awkward moment before I took it and allowed him to help me from the car. He wore a silver mask with what looked like an oak branch pattern in stark black lines.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the valet said. “Welcome to the Oakman chateau.”

“Not a scratch.” Vinemont threw the keys. The valet caught them easily.

Vinemont came around and offered his arm to me. I would have refused had it not been for the too-high heels strapped to my feet. As it was, I would need help climbing the wide stairs unless I wanted to break my neck.

I pushed my cloak out of the way and took his arm. Warmth radiated from him, seeping through his tuxedo and into my bare arm. With the shoes, I was tall enough to get a good look at his face, despite the mask hiding him from me. His jaw was tight, stress written in the tension.

We began our climb as others crowded around us. I tried to listen to the snippets of conversation.

“—picked this year?”

“I heard the same thing! Cal is apparently very interested in the new Acquisitions to the point he—”

“I hope the Witheringtons win. Have you seen their eldest? He’s still a bachel—”

The blood drained from my face. The tips of my ears went cold. I stopped even as Vinemont tried to tug me along with him. “This is some sort of sick competition?”

A couple of masked people near us turned to look.

“Her first ball,” Vinemont said cheerily.

“Oh, my dear, you’re in for a real treat!” A female ballgoer in a sparkling mask with a grotesquely long nose took my other arm.

She and Vinemont walked me up the stairs.

“This year is going to be especially interesting,” the beast at my other elbow trilled. “The three families are really the crème de la crème. Top notch. And Cal is going to be the greatest master of ceremonies we’ve ever seen if his Acquisition was any indication. He really set the bar high that year. Have you heard what he has planned for tonight?”

“Don’t spoil it for her,” Vinemont said with a smile in his voice. “I want her to get the full experience.”

I cursed him silently for cutting off my only flow of information.

We reached the top step and fell in line behind some other couples.

“In that case, I’ll say no more. See you inside. I’ll tell you one thing, though, this year’s Acquisitions are going to be much the worse for wear when it’s over.” With that, she giggled and rejoined her party.

I faltered, my heel catching as the corners of my vision darkened. Blood roared in my ears. Vinemont held me up and wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side.

“Keep it together, Stella.” His voice was low.

“Just tell me what’s going to happen.” Desperation colored my words, only hinting at the panic escalating in my breast.

He continued moving me inexorably forward. Panic rose up from within me, threatening to overtake the thin veneer of control I had. I wanted to scream, to run, to do anything but go inside this house with the monster at my elbow.

“Please, Sinclair, please.”

He stiffened as I used his first name. He pulled me to the side and let others pass ahead of us.

“Goddammit, Stella.” His voice was a low growl as his eyes flashed behind the black mask. “Stop asking questions. In fact, don’t speak again until you’re spoken to. Understand?”

“I’ll stop and I won’t speak if you just answer my question. Just tell me.”

He brought me closer to him, pretending we were embracing each other, solely for the benefit of the other ballgoers around us, no doubt.

His mouth was at my ear. “I haven’t told you for a reason, Stella.”

He put a hand to my throat before smoothing it around to the back of my neck in a move of utter possession.

“They will mark you.” He ran his fingers across the skin at the nape of my neck, making a vivid heat tear through my body from the points of contact. “Here.”

His other hand snaked under my cloak and around to the open back of my dress. His fingers played at my exposed skin. “And here.”

I shook so hard that he spread his large palm against my bare back and pressed me to him. “I warned you, Stella. I didn’t want you to know ahead of time. Fear is your enemy. Fear will make it hurt more than it has to. Now, look at you.” He slid his hand up my spine. “Trembling against me, the one who stole you away from your life, the one who’s going to take everything from you. You are cozying up to the spider you detest.”

His lips brushed my earlobe and the strange heat pulsed through me again, scorching a path straight to my core. His evil words weren’t igniting fear in me. They were making me need him, need his wicked tongue to do things other than taunt me with pain.

I knew I should be afraid. I was. But not of him.

He moved his hand around to the front of my dress and teased my hardened nipple with his thumb. He groaned low in his throat. The cloak hid his movements, but I felt every single touch. When he cupped my breast and squeezed, I hitched in my breath.

“You’d let me fuck you right now, wouldn’t you? In front of all these people. Right here.” He released my nape, grabbed my hand, and guided it to the hard length in his pants. “You’d take this.”

My heart fluttered even faster. I slid my hand along him and his hips jerked toward me. I couldn’t think, couldn’t waste my thoughts on fear when he created an inferno that scorched me in my most secret places.

“Yes,” I breathed. “I would.”

“And I’d take you, too. In fact, I will, but not here. Business first. Get through this, and I’ll grant you a reward.” With that, he let me go and backed away. His step was steady but his eyes were wild.

My skin was needy, demanding his touch and more. What was wrong with me? I hated Vinemont. Maybe it was because of what I’d done to myself. Maybe I felt like I deserved some sort of punishment for being so weak throughout my life? I didn’t know. All I knew was that I wanted him to rekindle the same fire in me, to make me burn for him, no matter the cost.

He held out his arm for me again. I took it and allowed him to escort me into the glowing hell of the Oakman chateau.

Masked greeters welcomed us and offered to take my cloak. Vinemont declined and swept me further inside the mansion. It was alight with conversation and alcohol. Servers in harlequin masks wove through the revelers, offering drinks and taking already empty glasses.

One whisked towards us, his tray laden with champagne.

“No, thank you,” I said.

Vinemont grabbed two glasses and handed me one. “Drink. It’ll help.”

I took a sip and then another. We walked further inside. Everything was gilded, golden, and sparkling. Dozens of chandeliers lined the high ceilings, and the walls were covered with intricate murals of romanticized scenes from the old South. It reflected a whitewashed history, the lighter paint hiding a bloody and violent past.

I waved my glass at the images of cotton fields and smiling slaves. “This is disgusting.”

“Thank you for your fascinating art critique. Now, drink,” Vinemont urged.

I swallowed another mouthful of the champagne, my stomach warming. And then the delicious liquid was gone. Vinemont handed the second glass to me.

“Finish it.”

I did as he instructed, suddenly thirsty and starving. My lunch at Renee’s hands seemed to have happened days ago.

“Good.” He passed the empty glasses to a particularly horrific server dressed in complete maudlin. His mask was skeletal even as the bells jingled merrily along his crown.

What sounded like a full orchestra began playing somewhere deeper in the house. Vinemont and I fell into the stream of masked strangers, some of them in gorgeous gowns that seemed to have come right off a runway. The men were all in staid black tie, the only things marking them as different were the varied masks that hid their faces. Some were pure peacocks, others in simple black. All seemed eager, almost excited. A buzz was in the crowd, elation at what came next, whatever that might be, creating an expectant energy.

A man plucked the edge of my cape and stared down at me.

I cringed back into Vinemont.

The stranger didn’t seem to notice, or care. “A Vinemont, I take it?”

The hum of the music grew, the whine of violins echoing down the wide marble hallway before the sound coalesced into beauty along with the other instruments.

“Yes.” Vinemont pulled me into his side, forcing the stranger to release my cloak.

The stranger smiled, his eyes lighting behind his midnight blue mask. “There are no female Vinemont heirs. So you must be an Acquisition.”

“I’m just—”

“She’s mine. Back the fuck off, Charles.” Vinemont tightened his grip at my waist, pressing the already tight dress into me even more.

The stranger laughed. “Nice to see you, too, Sinclair.” He stared down into my eyes again. “And I’m very much looking forward to seeing you, all of you, very shortly.”

The floor lurched beneath my feet. The only thing that kept me upright was Vinemont’s arm around my waist. He was a prison made of flesh and blood. My very own cage.

The stranger, Charles, stepped away and whispered something to the woman at his side. She frowned at me, giving me an up and down sweep with a critical gaze, her crimson mask turning her into a particularly vicious foe.

The orchestra was playing some elegant tune, one made for the opera or a symphony, not for this. It was so out of place that I wanted to laugh. I stifled my giggle as I glanced away from the crimson bitch.

I ignored the priceless canvases that graced the walls, and the ornate doors and moldings. Instead of letting the beauty of the house lull me, I stared into the masked faces, many of them now staring back at me as word spread that I was an Acquisition, whatever that really meant. Was I so rare? How many Acquisitions were there?

Though light glanced from every surface and sprang from the bright walls and polished floor, I was in a nightmare. The home was only gilded, gold covering the rotten core. I was surrounded by ghouls, all of them hungering for a piece of my flesh. The glitz and glamour did nothing to hide their true natures. No mask ever could.

The quick beat of my heart resounded in my ears, deafening even the smooth sound of the instruments. Vinemont didn’t stop, didn’t say a word, just kept moving forward. Toward what, I didn’t know. We passed through a wide set of high doors and into a ballroom. The floor was a light oak and shone like everything else in the vile mansion.

In the center was a high platform that towered over the ballgoers. It was circular and done in brilliant gold. A fabricated oak tree shot up through the middle, the leaves sprouting artificially green and full almost up to the ceiling, which must have been forty feet overhead, if not more.

Vinemont swept me through the crowd, moving closer to the tree. I wanted to dig in my heels, to stop his resolute forward momentum. It was no use. The nearer we drew to the platform, the louder my instinct screamed for me to run. Something metallic along the trunk caught my eye and my knees almost gave way. Three sets of silver shackles hung from the tree, each attached to chains that ascended into the branches above.

“No.” I pushed back against Vinemont.

“Calm down.” He changed course and led me around the tree and further toward the orchestra.

Another platform was set up toward the back of the room near the floor-to-ceiling windows. Three men sat atop it, each with a table in front of them at knee level. Each was shirtless. Every bare piece of their muscular skin was covered in ink—naked women, skulls, tribal, even flowers. One in a goblin mask seemed to pick Vinemont and me from the crowd.

“He’s staring at us,” I said. “The goblin, up there.”

“Everyone’s staring at us.”

Vinemont led me toward the goblin. I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to retreat and get any closer to the tree, either. We stopped midway between the two, far too close to the tree for my liking.

The orchestra suddenly quieted and then the hall fell utterly silent. All masks turned toward the platform where a man stood, his arms outstretched, a microphone in one hand. Someone worked up in the rafters of the hall, training a spotlight down on the apparent star of the show. His mask seemed to be an array of oak leaves, the same that decorated the tree behind him.

“Welcome to the twenty-fifth Acquisition Ball!” he shouted into his microphone.

A cheer went up from the crowd and then they all clapped as if they were at the opening of the Kentucky Derby.

After a ridiculous span of applause, the man held his hands out to quiet crowd.

“This year, we have an amazing slate of competitors.” He gazed around at the people beneath him, clearly a showman. “Though, of course, not as amazing as my Acquisition year. Cal Oakman for the win!”

Laughter sounded through the cavernous hall. Vinemont neither clapped nor laughed, just stood with me at his side. Tension was etched in his bearing just as fear must have been etched into mine.

“It has been an honor to be your Sovereign for the past decade, and I am pleased to say that any of the three firstborns chosen for this year’s Acquisition will make an excellent addition to the Sovereign legacy I leave behind. And now, without further ado, let’s introduce the Acquiring families!”

Another roar from the crowd.

The Acquiring firstborns were chosen? Vinemont hadn’t volunteered to ruin me, humiliate me? Of course he had. He was a cruel man who enjoyed hurting me. Wasn’t he? I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. And why were there three? I glanced around. Out of all these masked faces, only two could be my allies.

“First up. Robert Eagleton. Come on up, Bob, and show us what you brought with you!”

Someone moved through the crowd to our right. A middle-aged balding man in an eagle mask led a much larger man wearing a nearly identical mask. They took the stairs to the top of the platform and shared the spotlight with Oakman. The balding man puffed a bit, but the taller, younger man just stood and surveyed the crowd below.

“All right Bob, tell us who we have here.” Oakman should have hosted a game show. He held the microphone out for Bob.

“This is, well, this is Gavin. He’s my, um, Acquisition. And we will win this year.” Bob let out a sigh of relief, as if he’d gotten past the hardest part.

“Ready for the first reveal, everyone?”

Another bloodthirsty cheer. Or maybe the champagne bubbles playing in my mind just thought it was bloodthirsty.

Oakman removed the man’s mask. He looked to be in his early twenties, dark eyes, pale skin, short brown hair, handsome even from this distance. The crowd twittered and some wolf whistles rang out.

“Looks like we have a competition.” Oakman clapped Bob and Gavin off the stage along with the crowd.

“Up next, the Witheringtons. Red, you out there?”

More cheers.

Another man weaved through the crowd on the opposite side of the platform. He pulled a woman in a feather mask behind him, practically dragging her to the top of the platform.

The man, Red, took the microphone from Oakman. “This is Brianne, this year’s winning Acquisition.”

Red stripped her mask away, revealing a small, scared blonde. Her eyes were huge, and she visibly quaked under the spotlight.

“Oh, my,” Oakman stepped back and gave an over-the-top up and down look. “We’ve got some stiff competition, if you folks know what I mean!”

Hoots and whistles, mixed with laughter, echoed around the hall.

“We’re next.” Vinemont’s voice was in my ear, each syllable laced with rigid determination. Any hint of the heat he’d shown me outside was gone. He released my waist and took my hand. His palms were damp, the only indication that he was at all nervous.

Brianne and Red retreated from the platform.

“Now, last but never least, the Vinemonts. Counsellor Sinclair, show us your wares!”

He strode forward, confidence in every movement, and pulled me behind him. The tree loomed ahead, the shackles glinting in the spotlight. Foreboding rose inside me and blotted out my voice, my heart, and my soul. I followed. There was nowhere else to go.

We took the stairs one at a time, each step adding a weight to my shoulders, a rock to my stomach. Finally, we stood next to Oakman. Everything beyond the glittering stage was a dark blur. The spotlight was a blinding sun, focused on me as if by a cruel child with a magnifying glass.

“Her name is Stella, not that it matters.” Vinemont was cold, his words like frost in my mind.

He untied my mask and yanked it from my face. Then he ripped the cloak from me, my skin tingling from the sudden onslaught of open air. A collective gasp rose up from the crowd, followed by thunderous applause.

“Oh my, my. Now, Sinclair, you know I’ve always had a thing for redheads. And this is one is too choice to pass up.”

“I’ll tell you what, Cal, when I’m Sovereign, I’ll send you a new redhead each week,” Vinemont said to raucous laughter from the crowd below.

“I like the confidence. I’ve got my eye on this one, ladies and gents. Now, let’s get this party started right. Branding time!”

The orchestra started back up and Vinemont pulled me down from the platform. No longer hidden by the ornate mask or my cloak, I felt naked. The ghouls stared and leered as I walked past, Vinemont dragging me along through the pressing bodies.

Wait, branding time?

He was leading me toward the tattooed goblin again. The male Acquisition, Gavin, was already shirtless and lying on his stomach, one of the other artists inking him in front of the masked onlookers.

“Bigger,” Bob directed.

The artist nodded and continued free-handing the outline of an eagle on Gavin’s shoulder blade.

The orchestra changed to a waltz, and many ballgoers paired off to dance, skirts swirling, their laughter melding with the music.

Red led his Acquisition, Brianne, over to one of the tables and shoved her down onto her back. He pulled the strap of her dark purple dress down so her left breast was exposed. “Over her heart. My name.”

Her eyes were squeezed shut, tension written along her vibrating body. I took an unsteady step toward Red, prepared to do my best to knee him in the balls. Before I got the chance, Vinemont’s iron grip encircled my upper arm and pushed me up onto the platform in the same rough fashion. He dropped me onto the table in front of the goblin and pushed me down until I lay prone.

The buzzing noise of the two other tattoo guns, mixed with poor Brianne’s whimpers, reached my ears over the waves of music.

“What’s it gonna be, Sin?”

The goblin knew Vinemont?

“The traditional V,” Vinemont replied.

“Where?”

“Here.” Vinemont’s hand swiped the hair off my nape and let it hang down beside me in a curling cascade. He moved the emerald necklace up and out of the way. Then his cold finger traced a V on the back of my neck.

“Can do.”

I had never gotten a tattoo. I’d thought about it plenty of times, but never had the conviction to get anything in particular. I used my body to make art. I didn’t intend to be the art. And now, I was getting a tattoo forced on me. Nothing was my choice anymore. I’d signed it away.

For the millionth time since this ordeal started, I pictured my father. He was sitting by the fire in his favorite chair—safe, warm, no doubt sad, but alive. I would do what I had to do. I would cover my entire body in ink if it would save him.

Despite knowing this sacrifice was worth it, I wanted to go numb, to stop experiencing the horror of what was happening. I couldn’t. I felt the cold table beneath me, felt the eyes of the masked people watching me as I was “branded,” and I felt Vinemont standing next to me, no doubt enjoying my degradation moment by moment.

The goblin leaned down and whispered in my ear. “It’s going to hurt, but I’ll be as nice as I can.”

“Thanks.” Did I just thank my torturer?

The buzzing started close to my ear. I fisted my hands as the first stinging pain erupted at the back of my neck.

“Good girl,” the goblin said. “Just relax. I’m quick.” Some more buzzing pain followed, punctuated by Red telling Brianne to shut her fucking mouth. “Well, at least all the girls say I’m quick.”

Cruelty interspersed with sex jokes. This is what my life had become. I closed my eyes and let my arms fall, my knuckles brushing the floor as more pain ricocheted down my spine. I was an Acquisition, a possession to Vinemont. Nothing more. He would let the goblin mark my skin. He didn’t care. He was still the cold spider I’d known him to be since the first time I saw him. I was in his web now, caught and dangling as he fed off me slowly. How would he win this competition? What would victory entail? My death?

I let the pain flow into me, trapping it inside a box in my heart. I’d store it up, feed it, make it grow stronger until it turned into rage. Then I would let it out and bring Vinemont and the rest of these accursed people to their knees.

SINCLAIR

SHE’D GONE LIMP. Given up. Tony continued his work, making a better V than even the one gracing my chest. He was my personal tattoo artist. His shop in Mobile was the toast of the South. People came from all over the country, all over the world, just to bear his ink.

He finished up the last of the thorns, done in the same deep green as mine, when I leaned down and added a little something extra.

“I want a small spider.” I pointed to one of the inner curves of vines. “Here.”

I whispered it low enough that Stella wouldn’t hear it over the music and the buzzing. She always referred to me as a spider. Now, I would be on her body permanently.

“I like it, man.” Tony switched to a deep crimson ink and drew in the small accent. “Nice.”

One of the buzzing sounds stopped. Red’s Acquisition sat up and yanked her dress back in place over her bare breast. I almost pitied her. That little show of skin was nothing compared to what came next.

I pitied her more for the garish tattoo Red had forced on her—his name in bright red ink with blue flames licking the letters. What a fucking prick to ruin a beautiful woman that way.

I shook my head. No, Red has his head in the game. Ruination was the goal. I was over here dicking around and ensuring Stella’s brand was art, not something to mar her perfect skin. I’d told myself too many times to stop thinking of her as a person. But here I was, doing it again and letting my dick lead me around.

I’d already given in to her, promised her a reward for making it through this night. It was foolish. Still, if it worked even a little to keep her in line, it was worth it. This was spectacle, all of it. I needed the families, and especially Cal, to come away from this seeing me as the frontrunner for Sovereign.

Bob’s Acquisition didn’t fare much better than Red’s. At least the eagle on his man’s back had some artistry in it. It was nothing compared to Tony’s work, but it turned out far better than the travesty on Brianne’s chest.

“All right. She’s all done.” Tony sat back and admired his handiwork before rubbing some salve along Stella’s skin.

It was a wasted effort. Her tattoo was the least of her worries.

Stella sat up and gave me the most vicious glare I’d ever seen on her face. Not even after the day in the yard had she flashed at me with such hate.

“Here, angel, check it in the mirror. It’s not so bad.”

Tony handed Stella a mirror and held one up behind her so she could see the design. Her crimson lips fell open. “That goddamn V? And what’s the red thing. It looks like…” Her gaze shot up to my eyes. “A spider.”

“Yes, indeed.” Tony took her mirror and began packing up his tattoo gear.

“Head on out, Tony,” I said. “Money’s already in your account.”

Tony popped his head up and surveyed the room. “Sure I can’t stay and see if I can convince one of these masked freaky chicks to go home with me?”

Tony had no idea what was going on. I’d told him this was a fancy party with paid staff and entertainment, Stella and the other Acquisitions being the entertainment. He thought all this was voluntary and just a night of fun. If he stayed any longer, he would know just how non-consensual the whole thing was. I didn’t want to alienate one of the true friends I actually had, and nothing alienates like slavery and whippings.

“No, man. No offense, but you don’t have a chance with these women. Well, unless your bank account is bigger than I think.”

“Definitely not. Okay, then. I’m out. Thanks again, Sin. And it was lovely working on you.” He took Stella’s hand and kissed it. “I’d love to see you in my shop sometime. Color you in some other areas.”

She smiled at him. Actually smiled. “I’d like that.”

Something roared to life inside me. It ripped at my ribs and tried to claw through my chest. Jealousy. Petty, overbearing, jealousy. I took her hand from his.

Tony laughed and jumped down from the platform. He gave a salute and then cut through the crowd and out one of the side doors.

“Why did you smile at him?” The ridiculousness of the question hit me only after I asked it.

“Because he was nice to me and he clearly had no idea what sort of fucked up shit you all are doing out here,” She held my gaze, challenge in her bearing. “It’s not his fault you dragged him into it.”

“I didn’t drag him into anything. I paid him well to create art on your body, and that’s exactly what he did.”

She raised her eyebrows and straightened her back. “You think the taint of this place doesn’t rub off on people? You think he’s unscathed?”

I grabbed her by the elbow. “He’s a lot more unscathed than you’re going to be.”

“Fuck you.”

Shit. Her anger shot straight to my cock, even in the middle of this crowd of devils. Her eyes flashed at me in unbridled fury.

“In time.” I gave her the smile I knew she hated, the one that got under her skin.

She lifted a hand to strike me. I caught it and pulled it down, squeezing her wrist hard. “Do that again, and I’ll hit back much, much harder. Understand?”

I wanted her to do it again, to knock my mask off so she could see the real me, the one who wanted to make it hurt, to fuck her, to make her scream. Her fear was easier for me to deal with than her anger. Her anger made me want to push her further, to take her to the edge, to make her beg me for something, anything. Her anger spurred me on to break her. Her fear let me know I was getting close.

The music piped down, the circling vultures slowing to a stop as Cal climbed atop the central platform again. “All right folks, brandings are done. Looks like we’re ready for the big show.”

Masked servants rushed in through the side doors with various pieces of equipment and furniture. Whips, chains, clamps, dildoes, spanking benches, couches, and too many beds to count. Once everything was in place, a cavalcade of prostitutes entered through the doors. Masked and nude, there was something for everyone—thin, ample, old, and young; they stood like low-hanging fruit, ready for the taking. The ballgoers flitted out and picked this one or that one, dragging the choice morsels back to their chosen spot of depravity.

I glanced down to Stella. She stood mesmerized. She’d unconsciously stepped closer to me as the hall geared up for the main event. Now, she was frozen in her horror, perhaps unable to comprehend the well of the evil in this room. It was deep, far too deep for anyone to plumb its depths. Especially not her. Naiveté swirled around her like a priceless perfume. The vein at her neck fluttered in a distressed rhythm. It was beautiful, like the pale wings of a butterfly—and just as fragile.

The orchestra kept playing softly as the dance floor became a sea of debauchery. Only a center strip was left open. The parade route.

“Come on, Acquisitions, don’t be shy. Step on up. Time to really show us what you have to offer.” Cal was gleeful.

I took Stella’s hand and pulled her through the crowd, many of them already disrobing and setting on each other like wild animals. Fucking, biting, scratching. They left their masks on, as if it made any difference. The guest list was expertly curated. Any number of governors, wealthy socialites, business magnates, and others were congregated here tonight. The entire power structure south of the Mason Dixon was in this room, rutting like pigs and enjoying the show.

I dragged my sacrificial lamb behind me as she gasped at the spectacle all around her. Men and women clawed at her as she rushed past, their hunger bleeding over onto anyone and anything. Stella’s purity was like a beacon. I sensed it, too. I wanted to drag her down and feast on her just like they did. But that wasn’t what she was here for. Not yet.

We made it to the end of the cleared section of floor that bisected the entire hall and took our place behind Bob, Gavin, Red, and Brianne. The servants had quickly placed risers along the ground in a straight line so the walkway was elevated above the thriving mass of wickedness all around. Cries rose up and were drowned out by others. The orchestra continued playing as if nothing out of place were happening.

“Time to walk the walk, Acquisitions.” Cal was crowing atop the podium as one of the prostitutes sucked his cock.

I hated the idea of him seeing Stella, of any of them seeing her. She was mine. But I kept having to share her.

Bob pushed Gavin up the stairs. “Walk.”

Gavin obeyed, tentatively placing one foot in front of the other. Once he’d made it a little way across, he was emboldened, holding his head a bit higher, his shoulders back. It made sense. After all, walking was easy.

He picked up his pace. When he got to the end of the walk, he turned to come back. Two men grabbed him, stripped off his coat, and then ripped his shirt away. He started to fight them but stopped when one held up a cattle prod. The other one pointed back down the runway.

Stella trembled next to me as Brianne broke down into gut-wrenching sobs. Red grabbed her by the hair and shook her. She screamed, high and piercing.

Stella reached out, fast as a cat, and gripped Red’s arm, trying to wrest his grip from Brianne. Her small hands did nothing to stop him.

“Get your bitch under control, Vinemont, before I do it for you.”

I wrapped my arm around Stella’s waist and pulled her back. “Stop, Stella. You’re making it worse.”

She lunged at Red again as Brianne still suffered in his grasp. I held her back and away from him.

“What, you don’t like this?” Red asked and shook Brianne again. He used his other hand and ripped down the back of her dress, leaving her top fully exposed. “What about this? Stella, is it? Do you like this?” Red ripped her dress again until the fabric fell to the floor.

“You, son of a bitch!” Stella cried.

“Oh, look over here. We have a wild one.” Cal’s voice grated on my ears as it boomed around the room.

I put my hand around Stella’s throat and squeezed until she fell back against me gasping for air.

“Stop fighting,” I hissed in her ear.

“Motherfucker. You, motherfuckers,” was all she managed to get out.

Red sneered and stepped toward us.

“Back the fuck up, Red.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll stomp another mud hole in your ass, same as I did at your sister’s wedding last year. Remember that?”

“Fuck you, Sin.”

“Right back at you, Red.”

He returned to his toy, palming her ass so hard it had to hurt as she waited her turn. He leered at Stella as he did it, but she didn’t make another move.

“You’re all best friends, aren’t you?” Stella’s voice was quiet. “You’re all the same. Let me go. I’ll be good.” She put an acid inflection on the last word.

Her comment should have stung me, but it was true. Red and I were the same breed. He was just playing the game better than I was at the moment. That would be remedied before the night ended.

I released Stella, but stayed ready to hold her again. I didn’t know what Red would do if she actually managed to hurt him. It wouldn’t be pretty. Not that I’d let him hurt her. That wasn’t his right.

She stood in front of me, careful not to touch me. The back of her dress was open so I could see her smooth skin. She was so pale against the deep green of the dress. Flawless, radiant skin. I stared, knowing that it would never look this way again, not after tonight.

Gavin was on his final run, fully nude and halfway across the walkway back to us. Men and women rose from below to touch him. I froze at the thought of one of them touching Stella. But they would. There was nothing I could do to stop them.

“Go on, whore.” Red pushed the shivering Brianne up onto the walkway. She wore only heels as she made her way between the revelers.

Many rushed to her, their fingers reaching to touch her pussy, her ass, her tits. Towards the middle, one man actually pulled her down and threw her on the nearest bed before trying to force her legs apart. Her scream blended with the others. Two servants approached and pulled the man off before setting her back on the platform. Now her shoes were missing and she was sobbing as she walked.

She made it to the other end and tried to stay there. It took a near miss with the cattle prod to get her moving again. By the time she made it back to us, her makeup was streaked from tears and her body shook with sobs.

“Again,” Red demanded.

She shook her head. Red advanced on her with a menacing step.

“Go, just go. Get it over with.” Stella urged the girl to pass through hell one more time. “You can do it. You have to.”

Brianne focused on Stella who was nodding at her, encouraging her.

“I’ll be here when you get back, okay? The faster you go, the faster it’ll be done. And then it’ll be my turn.”

Red turned and put two fingers to his mouth in a ‘V’ before sticking out his tongue at Stella. “I can’t wait.”

I wanted to take out his knees, pound him into the ground, and then piss on his fucking corpse. Stella ignored him.

Brianne took the steps back up and made her final pass, far more quickly this time without heels. When she got back, Stella moved to embrace her but Red cut her off.

“Excellent work, whore. Maybe I’ll only beat you once tonight.” He turned to Stella. “Strip, bitch.”

I hit him. I dropped him. I didn’t even think. I just acted. Mistakes always seem to happen that way.

He rolled on the ground, hands to his face. He pushed his mask off and felt around his eye. “The fuck, Sin?”

Shit. This was not the plan. Getting angry and decking one of our number was definitely not part of a winning Acquisition.

Cal’s laughing voice boomed over the sound system. “Now that’s a show, ladies and gents!”

STELLA

RED PICKED HIMSELF up. He was shorter and smaller than Vinemont, but clearly angry. “You want to go outside?”

“No. But I may go over to your mother’s place and release some aggression later.” Vinemont smirked, clearly baiting Red.

Red swung. Vinemont backed out of the way easily and rushed forward, tackling Red to the ground. They devolved into a rolling, punching mass on the floor. I looked around. The nearest guests were focused on the fight. I took a few steps backwards, then a few steps more, then I was in the thick of the masked crowd. Some of them glanced at me and went back to their work. Others couldn’t tear their attention away from the fight.

I turned and ran. I had no thought except escape. It was as if a host of klaxons were ringing in my head, my heart, alerting me to the mortal danger. I cut through the reaching hands and past the servants around the edges. I ran through the first open set of doors, my heels almost going out from under me as I turned the corner. I sped faster until a man stepped in front of me. I slammed into his chest and he wrapped his arms around me.

“Going somewhere, Stella?”

I knew that voice. “Lucius?”

He dragged me sideways into an antechamber off the main hall and kicked the door closed behind us.

“The one and only.” He held me close to him, his hands pressing into the bare skin at my back. A deep emerald mask hid his face, but I could see his eyes, light yet piercing. “Where were you going?”

“J-just away from there.”

“Wouldn’t that kill your father?” He slid a hand lower down my back.

Guilt crashed down on me. I had run from pure instinct, just as if I’d pulled my hand away from the fire. I couldn’t do things like that. I had to leave my hand in the flames until it crisped and charred. My father’s life depended on it.

“Yes.”

“I could save you, you know?” His hand went lower, and slid beneath the fabric of my dress.

“What?”

“I mean, you’ll still be an Acquisition for a year, nothing to be done about that. But you could choose me. You could tell Sin you’d rather be mine.”

“You’re even worse than he is.” I tried to back away, but he held me fast and pinned me against his chest.

“Am I? Am I the one who threatened your father? Who prosecuted him? Who forced you into the contract?”

No. Vinemont had done all those things and more.

“See, Stella. I haven’t hurt you or trapped you.” His hand smoothed along my ass as he put his other hand at my chin and pulled my face up to his. “I could make this whole thing more bearable for you.”

“I don’t trust you.” My voice was so breathy, like he’d taken the air from the room with his seductive words.

“You shouldn’t.” He leaned down, his lips so close to mine.

The door burst open as Vinemont crashed in. “Stella?”

“Another time, then?” Lucius whispered to me.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Vinemont rushed to me, a trickle of blood flowing from his busted lip. “Get away from her.”

Lucius released me. “I was just talking to her.”

“Like hell you were.” Anger rippled off Vinemont. “She’s mine, Lucius. Leave her alone.”

Vinemont stood behind me and wrapped a possessive hand around my neck. “Mine.” It was more of a growl than a word.

Two servants rushed in behind Vinemont.

“I think you’ll find this man doesn’t have an invitation. You’ll need to escort him out. Roughly.”

“Come on, Sin.” Lucius smiled.

Lucius’s snake-like charm didn’t work on Vinemont.

“Out.”

Each servant grabbed one of Lucius’ elbows and hustled him from the room.

“Later, Stella,” he called. His voice echoed along the now-empty marble hallway.

Vinemont turned me around so I was forced to stare up into his unmasked face. “Did he hurt you?”

“Did he hurt me? Do you even hear yourself?”

Oakman strolled into the room. “Come on. Can’t wait forever. The natives are getting restless for her walk and the rest of the festivities.”

“Just another minute, Cal, if you don’t mind.” Vinemont didn’t even turn to look at the host.

“That’s all you’ll get.” The gameshow host tone drained from Cal’s voice like water through a sieve. “Tradition can’t be broken.”

He shut the door behind him as he left.

“You can’t run, Stella. I’ll catch you. They’ll catch you.”

“The only one who caught me was Lucius.”

“And you were lucky this time. You won’t be so lucky again. Trust me.”

This was such a mindfuck. He acted like he cared one way or another what happened, but I knew all he cared about was winning this twisted competition. He wasn’t fooling me. No one was. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. I stepped away from him and walked to the door.

“Where are you going?”

“To do my walk of shame. Are you going to help me out of this dress or what?”

I’d never seen shock on his face. If he weren’t a monster, it would have been almost cute. He followed me back into the ballroom, new debauches going on all around as the ballgoers got their second wind. I didn’t see the other Acquisitions.

Once lined up at the walkway, I reached behind me to unhook my dress. Then I realized I had no idea how Enid had put the thing on me.

Vinemont was at my back then, his fingers pulling the fabric together and unhooking the closures that must have held it together along the center seam. He moved his hands up to my shoulders and inhaled deeply before slipping his fingers beneath the lace straps and letting the dress fall to the floor in a feathery heap.

Cold air rushed over my body, and the nearest revelers stopped what they were doing to watch me.

Vinemont moved his hands down my sides, feeling my curves before his hands settled at my hips. His breath was warm against my shoulder. His familiar scent was oddly comforting.

I took one step, and then another. I kept my head high as I walked. I fixed my gaze far across the room on one of the particularly beautiful chandeliers. Crystal drops hung from it, multi-faceted and shimmering despite the mass of human ugliness beneath it. It was untouched by the hideous inhabitants of the room. Maybe I could be, too.

I slapped away hands and fingers, refusing to let them degrade me any more than they already had. I ignored catcalls and whistles. When I reached the end, I turned and repeated my travel, glaring at Oakman as defiantly as I could. He stared back intently before unzipping his fly and motioning for one of the women below to “assist” him.

I dropped my attention and caught Vinemont staring at me, fire in his eyes like never before. He didn’t look down my body, just held my gaze as I walked, as if he were pulling me toward him with some strange gravity. I reached him and turned, making the circuit one more time under the watchful eyes and the grasping hands.

I reached the far end where a wrinkled man with a protruding erection waited for me.

“Ms. Rousseau, so pleased to see you again.” He grinned, a red mask obscuring his eyes, while his date for the night—a handsome man of no more than twenty—stood close behind him.

I knew his voice. My stomach flipped and soured. “Judge Montagnet?”

The judge’s date reached around and began stroking Montagnet’s cock, though the set of the young man’s mouth was less excited and more apathetic.

“Well, I must get back,” Montagnet said. “I just wanted to congratulate you. Keep up the good work, lovely girl, and I certainly hope the Vinemonts prevail this year. Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on your father for you.” He disentangled himself from the younger man’s grip and knelt down on all fours on a nearby divan. I turned my head away before I saw anything more.

The judge’s threat was a strangling vine around my heart, choking out any love or warmth, leaving only cold fear. I was foolish, so foolish for running. Never again. I was captured, bound by the invisible vise of these people, their power. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to turn. I scanned the crowd, wishing I could burn the chateau down on their heads.

One of the servants motioned toward me with the prod. I took a deep breath and finished my walk. I kept my eyes up, trying to distance myself from the horror of the scene. I refused to give in to the helpless feeling of being nude and on display for the faceless horde. They thrashed around me like damned souls in hell, their breaths hot and their hands clawing at me. I fought them off and hurried my pace.

No one managed more than a brushing swipe against my bare skin. I counted it as a win. Vinemont’s gaze was still rapt, though every so often he would stare daggers at the ones who reached out to touch me.

When I made it back to him, he offered his hand to me as I stepped down. I didn’t take it.

“Well, now that we’ve got the easy parts over with, let’s get on to the main attraction!” Oakman, as ever, kept the entertainment fresh.

I glared up at Vinemont. “Wait, that wasn’t the main attraction?”

He showed no emotion, just held my gaze. He was somehow steady even as I felt the storm rising around me.

“Bring them on up,” the voice boomed.

Vinemont squeezed my arm and pushed me in front of him, toward the stairs and to the tree. Gavin and Brianne were ahead of me. As they made it to the top, I heard metallic clanging sounds above. Brianne shrieked.

“We haven’t even hurt you yet.” Oakman’s laughter infected the room until it was a cacophony of soulless mirth.

I took the final step. Brianne was sobbing again. Gavin just looked catatonic, as if none of this was registering any more. They were both chained, their fronts facing the tree. Vinemont guided me to the one empty spot against the trunk. He raised my wrists and clamped the shackles down around each one. He pulled the chain down from above and hooked it to the chain in the center of the restraints. Then he fastened my ankles with the restraints at the base of the tree.

I shook. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t stay strong in the face of what I knew was coming. Oakman stood and trailed the end of a whip through his hand lovingly. Moving slowly, I bet the leather was smooth and supple. Moving as he swung, it would tear my flesh. My tremor grew until the shackles were shaking, clanging against each other.

“Oh, I can fix that.” Oakman yanked on a chain hanging from a pulley next to him. It pulled our arms upward until all three of us were pressed against the tree, the metal digging into our wrists and ankles and our backs on display.

“Everyone, the years just keep getting better don’t they?”

A smattering of approval rose from below. Even with the spotlight in my face, I could sense they were all still, watching. A tremor roared through me at the realization. What could be so fascinating to stop the roiling beasts from clamoring and rutting?

I tried to turn, to look at Vinemont. To try and will him to free me, save me, let me go. I couldn’t see him. The blinding light and tight bonds mastered me. I was held fast, blood already running down my forearms from the shackles. The pain in my wrists and ankles was growing by the second, the metal cutting deeper with each of my breaths.

“Two-hundred and fifty years of pride. And this year is the best of all. Twenty-five Acquisition Balls, twenty-five strokes of the whip for each of our guests.”

The crowd roared with approval.

I couldn’t stop the sob that rattled up from my lungs. Brianne began screaming, her voice a high, blood-curdling shriek. It died away, muffled by Red’s handkerchief or some similar gag.

My thoughts scattered, unable to focus on anything. I clamped my eyes shut and forced myself to focus on why I was here. Dad. He was there on the back of my eyelids. Standing over me as I awoke in the hospital. He smoothed my hair from my face even as I was bandaged and strapped to the bed. Was this so different? I bled, I was bound, I was wavering between the world I’d known and one I could only imagine. But now, instead of breaking him, my suffering would save him. Tears slid down my cheeks and disappeared. I would endure it. All of it.

“Now, who wants to go first?” Cal broke through my memories.

“That’d be me.” Vinemont spoke, his voice harsh and strong.

“That’s my good man. Here you go. Make them count.” Oakman laughed.

Vinemont stood behind me and ran a lingering hand down my skin, the whip hanging from his other hand. His touch was warm, somehow gentle. I let myself feel it, if only for a second. Let myself imagine he cared for me, that his was a lover’s touch. That he wouldn’t hurt me.

The warmth disappeared. He backed away.

I held my breath. I felt like the entire room held its breath. And then I was awash in pain. I didn’t know I’d screamed until the sound died in my lungs from the force of the next hit.

“He’s really going all out. This may be your next Sovereign ladies and—”

I couldn’t hear his words, couldn’t hear anything except the sound of my pain. It was my scream, eating up the space inside me, bleeding out my ears. Agony like I had never felt before erupted along my back. Lines of destruction. I could feel my skin separating with each of his vicious strokes. Blood leaked and trailed down my legs. It felt the same as I remembered it from those years ago, the same way as my blood felt dripping from my arms. But this time the damage was bigger and offered no promise of release from this life.

I screamed until my voice left me, the air no longer cooperating with my lungs. I burned everywhere. My blood sprayed against Brianne whose stifled scream replaced my own.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. I was gone.

STELLA

M Y MOM STROKED her warm hand down my face. Even in the dark I knew it was her. She whispered comforting words to me, telling me the pain was temporary and would fade. The sharp stings were far away now. Everything beneath me was soft, warm. I was loved. I was content.

My back was cool, numb. What happened?

I tried to tell her how much I missed her, how glad I was she was back. She’d been gone so long. Where had she gone?

“Shh, sleep now.” Mom pulled a blanket up to my waist, making my legs toasty.

“Go ahead and push more before she feels anything.” She was speaking to someone else now.

Deep dreamless sleep.

The sound of birds pulled me up from the pleasant darkness. Light streamed in through the windows of the room. I faintly recognized the walls, the windows, the quilts, all jogging my memories. I was lying on my stomach.

I blinked the sleep away and lifted my head. An aching pain shot through my back. I dropped my head back down with a groan.

“Stella.” It was my mother’s voice. No. No, it was Renee’s. Mom was dead.

“Renee?” I could barely speak, my voice hoarse.

Is there a tube in my arm?

“I’m here. Don’t worry. You’re healing up nicely. Do you want to go back under again?”

“Under?”

“Asleep. The Vinemont family doctor has been staying for the past three days and keeping you asleep so you could recover. I can have him put you out for longer if it bothers you too much.”

My mind was having trouble clicking into the ‘on’ position. An IV was suspended above me, some clear liquid dripping through it at a leisurely pace.

I shifted my head so I could see Renee. Her concerned face brought the flood of horror back. The ball, the tortures, Vinemont flaying the skin from my back.

A sob rose up and stuck in my dry throat.

Renee wrung her hands. “I’ll fetch Dr. Yarbrough.”

“No,” I croaked.

I fought the tears back, though a few escaped and dropped onto my white pillow. We were silent for a long time. The ball replayed through my mind like a particularly vivid nightmare—the masks, the cruelty, the violence, and the pain. More than anything, I remembered Vinemont, how he’d volunteered to whip me first, how he’d swung harder and harder until I blacked out from the pain.

Had I actually almost felt something for him? Each lash killed whatever twisted emotion had grown in my heart. I was glad. My feeling of betrayal was replaced with rage, raw anger. I added these to the box in my chest, the one where I had hidden away my sadness. It was full to bursting with every negative emotion I possessed. Still, I stuffed more inside, poisoning myself by saving the bitterness and hate.

I tried to calm my breathing. Anytime my lungs expanded too fully, my back felt as if it would rip apart. Renee looked almost as white as my pillowcase and kept wringing her hands.

“Vinemont?”

“I haven’t seen him. Not since he brought you back. He was, well, he was in a bad way. Lucius and Teddy had to come get him.”

“Tired out from whipping me, was he?”

“No, not that. It did something to him. I don’t know.”

“Did something to him, huh?” I tried to yell, but it only came out in a hoarse burst of sound. The effort made my back scream.

“I meant. I-I meant—” She rose abruptly and came to take my hand.

I wanted to rip it away, but I didn’t dare move.

“I mean, I’ve never seen him like that. He kept begging me to fix it, to heal you. He tried to clean your wounds himself before Dr. Yarbrough arrived. He wouldn’t let anyone else touch you. He sat here with you and told you he was sorry over and over. He wouldn’t leave. Not until Lucius and Teddy came. Only Teddy could get through to him. I haven’t seen Mr. Sinclair since.”

I couldn’t imagine any of what she was saying. Remorse seemed a completely foreign emotion to Vinemont. The way he’d whipped me was an assault on more than just my body. He’d struck at my soul, instilling dread so deeply that I didn’t know if I’d ever recover.

When I’d hurt myself, it gave me a release, a chance at oblivion. When he’d done it, he trapped me even more inside myself. Every lash was a fresh set of bars, hemming me in and holding me captive. If he could do that to me, what else would he be willing to do to win the Acquisition? And what was even required to win?

“I know it’s hard. I know.” Renee’s voice broke through my shadowy thoughts.

“You know? No, you don’t.” I slid my fingers away from her, out of her warm grip.

She knelt by my bed, getting at eye level with me.

“I do, Stella.”

No you don’t.

“How? Have you been branded and whipped? Have you had a year of your life stolen? Have you had to endure a man like Vinemont?” My tears were flowing, making slight plops onto the pillow beneath me.

Renee’s dark eyes were troubled, a storm seeming to rage in her breast. She took a deep breath, as if she had come to a decision. She began unbuttoning her black shirt, her fingers nimble. Then she turned and swept her hair away from her nape. There in the stark green and black was the same ‘V’ that had been seared into me in ink.

She pulled her top down further so I could see the beginnings of lash marks crisscrossing her fair skin.

“What—”

“I was Mrs. Sinclair’s Acquisition twenty years ago.” She faced me again, her frank gaze disarming me.

If she had hit me, I couldn’t have been more stunned. A million questions tumbled through my mind, one building on the next before stumbling in front of an even bigger curiosity. Why would she stay? What had her year been like? Could she help me?

She stood and refastened her top. When she moved to step away from me, I reached for her. The pain shot like lightning down my back. It went so deep I wondered if my heart hadn’t somehow been lashed right along with my skin. I screamed and dropped my head.

“I’ll get the doctor. Don’t move, sweet Stella. Please don’t.” She rushed from the room.

My mind spun with revelations and harsh sensations. Renee had known all along. She knew what would happen to me at the ball. Why didn’t she warn me? Vinemont’s words came back to me—the more I knew, the more afraid I would be, and the more it all would hurt.

A dark figure rushed through the door, Renee sweeping in behind. Before I could protest—did I want to protest?—he fiddled with my IV and I was out.

This time I dreamed. Vinemont was in there in all of them—tormenting me or loving me. Were they one and the same? Then my father was sitting in his favorite chair telling me a story, though I couldn’t hear the words. Finally, my mother arrived, her hair up in the messy bun I remembered. She was sad. Always sad. Water flowed from her mouth and then it changed to blood, more blood than a person could lose and still live. She was drowning in the very thing that gave her life. I couldn’t save her. I couldn’t even save myself. I sat in a pool of my own blood, the droplets slowing right along with my heartbeat. Steps in the hallway—my father. I dreaded him finding me before it was over. I didn’t want him to see me die. The footsteps grew louder and then stopped.

“Stella?”

I knew that voice. It wasn’t my father’s. It was the voice of a demon, one that made me burn with desire and hate until both emotions mixed in a funeral pyre of black smoke.

I opened my eyes. He was here. Vinemont.

“Going to hit me again?” It came out as a whisper, but he winced as if I’d yelled at him.

“I don’t know.”

I was still lying on my stomach. My eyes finally adjusted to the dark. He sat near the door, his face unshaven, his clothes wrinkled and disheveled. He looked like I felt.

“What sort of an answer is that?”

“An honest one.” He leaned over, resting his elbows on his thighs.

“You sick fuck.” I refused to cry. I would not cry.

“Yes.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. The sound of his palm rubbing against his stubble was loud in my ears.

“What now? Are you going to hurt me some more? Maybe cut some fingers off and send them to my dad? Fuck you. Whatever it is, just get it over with.” Tiredness had settled into every muscle and bone of my body. It must have been the drugs. My back no longer felt so raw; only a low ache emanated from it. My skin felt as if it had stitched back together, but I could already sense the scars forming, solidifying, forever marking me.

“No, I would never…”

I laughed but it was a rough, ugly sound. “You would never? Never what? Never enslave me? Never strip me naked and make me bleed for an audience?” My eyes welled with unshed tears. The hurt inside me seemed too much for my body to bear.

He dropped his head, his defeat just as out of character as his unshaven face and mussed hair. “I can’t change what I did, Stella. I would do it again.”

I wanted to scream, to rage at him, to demand to know why he sat here appearing contrite, while at the same time telling me he would do it all over again if given the chance. Was this the mental torture to go along with the physical?

“Do me a favor. When you become Sovereign, how about you make your first decree for you to go royally fuck yourself?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t expect you to understand. I didn’t want—”

“Get out.” I turned my head away from him, my neck stiff and unused to the movement.

He stayed. I could sense him there, unmoving, his gaze still on me.

There was nothing more to say. He’d whipped me like an animal. Worse, really. The memory of Cal Oakman’s voice rattled around in my mind. The way he crowed over Vinemont’s fevered strokes that drew my blood so easily. My tears went from sadness to rage.

I was a furious tempest of hatred and loathing but I was trapped in my battered body. All I could do was wish my tears away and accept that Vinemont had damned me to this existence. This life of pain and hurt and darkness. So many shadows that I never even knew existed had eclipsed any faint light I may have once had. I had been snuffed out, destroyed by the man who now looked so lost.

After a long moment, the floor creaked, and I heard his retreating footsteps.

“Wait,” I said.

He returned with a quicker step, standing behind me now.

“You said I could have a reward if I got through the ball.”

“Yes.” His voice crackled, almost hopeful.

“I want to see my father and stepbrother.”

He shifted and another long silence fell like deep winter snow, muffling and burying us. He touched the edge of my bed, the hesitant movement making me angry, making me want to hurt him.

“Okay.” He sighed, resignation in the rush of air.

“You’re going to keep your word?”

He ghosted his fingers through my hair. I closed my eyes, wondering if he had any chance of calming the firestorm that raged in my breast.

“I always do.” His voice was as soft as his caress.

I wanted to believe this was truly who he was—the man who seemed just as wrecked by what he’d done as my tattered flesh. But which one of him was real? The destroyer or the destroyed? Either way, my tears still fell, my pain still stung, my heart still ached. He had done this and would do it again. I pushed any tender thoughts away.

“I want to see them soon. But not until I’m healed all the way. Or at least as much as I can heal from what you did. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

“You just tell me when and I’ll arrange it.” He gave my hair one last gentle stroke. He hesitated. Words were on his lips. I could sense them lingering there in the dark. Instead of voicing them, he turned and strode out, his pace clipped.

I was left alone with my pain, all the varying shades of it. I turned my head back to look at the chair where he’d sat. My gaze roamed further up and seized on the discordant quilt created by Vinemont’s mother. What sort of person made it through the Acquisition and won?

I heard more steps, and recognized them as Renee’s. She slowed to a quiet tiptoe by the time she reached my door. Her black skirt rustled softly as she sat and folded her hands in front of her.

“I want to get up.”

She rose and smoothed my hair over my shoulder. “Sunrise is in an hour. Rest until then.”

Comfort was in her movements, her touch. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted to stop crumbling, to shore up what pieces of me I had left.

“No, I’m done resting. Help me sit up or I’ll do it by myself.”

I couldn’t lie in bed for another minute. I couldn’t stand being helpless and weak. I wouldn’t be. Not anymore.

With Renee’s help, I recovered over the next few weeks. I didn’t see Vinemont or Lucius at all during that time. I would pass Teddy in the hallway sometimes. He would smile and exchange pleasantries. Underneath, I could sense he was troubled. I had too many problems of my own to even begin to care about his. He seemed like a nice guy, but he was born into a pit of vipers. It would be foolish to think he wouldn’t bite just as surely as Vinemont and Lucius did.

I began to realize he was the only one who knew less than I did about what was going on. Renee wouldn’t tell me anything new, only that Vinemont didn’t volunteer for the Acquisition. It was done on some sort of lottery basis.

I’d figured as much at the ball when the names of the families were called. Oakman made it seem as if it were some “luck of the draw” situation, though it seemed like a stroke of bad fortune to be chosen. Even so, I couldn’t forgive Vinemont. He didn’t have to choose me. He didn’t have to threaten my father and force me into the contract. I didn’t wish this on another soul, but I couldn’t excuse his turning a bad stroke of luck on his part into a year-long suffering on mine.

“I honestly still don’t know how they’re picked,” she said one day over a steaming mug of tea after I’d pestered her for the better part of an hour.

The weather had finally turned cooler, leaves swirling in the yard and the grass fading into a dormant brown. I preferred hot chocolate, and stirred the marshmallows around in the foam before taking a scorching sip.

“Well, tell me something, anything. What’s next? Is there something next?” I hoped there wasn’t. I hoped it would be just a year of captivity spent here with her. I wasn’t a total idiot, though. I knew that little fairy tale was too good to be true.

She set the mug down and stared into the rolling steam. “I’ll tell you this and no more. There are more trials. The next one is at Christmas.”

I raised an eyebrow at the all-around fucked up quality of holiday-based tortures.

“And then there’s another in the spring, and the final one in the summer. I won’t give details.”

After that revelation, she was close-lipped, and always answered my questions with a deflection or a suggestion that I get it directly from the source—Vinemont. No matter how many times she reiterated the fact that Vinemont didn’t choose to participate in the Acquisition, I couldn’t forget the verve with which he pursued the Sovereign title, the way he’d played to the audience of masked ghouls. I still didn’t know what it would take for him to win, but if the exhibition of my body and the whipping were any indication, it wouldn’t be a pleasant outcome for me. So, no, I wouldn’t speak to him.

Despite her stonewalling on the Acquisition process, Renee and I fell into a happy pretend friendship, as if we didn’t share a dark secret of slavery and sadism. She was more than happy to discuss just about any subject I could think of other than the one I was desperate to learn about. We’d spend time in the house’s library, reading quietly as the days faded. No one ever stopped us from exploring, and Renee showed me the ins and outs of the kitchen wing, the guest wing, and several other areas that had rooms upon rooms full of remarkable possessions and ornate furniture. Farns was always happy to see us, and gave us the history of various antiques and treasures scattered around the common rooms.

We even stopped in Vinemont’s room once. It had his scent, masculine and clean. It drew me. I wanted to know more about him, to pick him apart in an effort to find out how he ticked so maybe I could somehow gum up the mechanism.

His room was modest, more modern and Spartan than the rest of the house. A king size bed with white duvet, navy walls, and minimal furniture filled the large space. No photos of him or his family graced the walls. I wandered to his nightstand when Renee wasn’t looking and pulled the top drawer open.

Instead of skin mags or back issues of “Psychotic Monthly,” there was nothing except for a single black feather. I recognized it immediately. It had come from the dress I’d worn to the ball. It mocked me, reminiscent of the forsaken glass slipper. Except Vinemont was no prince. He was the devil.

I slammed the drawer shut.

Lucius’ room was more colorful, white walls covered with tons of art—much of it good, to my surprise. He was messier than Vinemont. Books and magazines were scattered across his desk. There was an iPod and earbuds that somehow managed to make their way into my pocket.

“Where are they anyway?”

“Mr. Sinclair is in town for work, I believe. Mr. Lucius is in South America visiting two of the sugar cane plantations. He’s in charge of the business while Mr. Sinclair handles the legal issues and keeps up appearances as parish district attorney. He never wanted the position, but the Sovereign decreed that Mr. Sinclair would take the post, and that was that.”

“I thought the parish district attorney was elected?”

Renee raised a cynical black eyebrow. “And I thought slavery was illegal.”

“Touché. What about Teddy?”

“He’s in school still, in Baton Rouge. I’m not sure what he intends to do. It’s not as if he has too many options.”

“How does a rich, handsome young man like Teddy not have many options?”

“Depends on what the Sovereign says. If Oakman decides Teddy should be a lawyer, then off to law school he goes. If he decides being a doctor would be better, then med school.”

“The Sovereign wields that much power?”

“More than you can even imagine. Who do you think decides the winning Acquisition? And it’s worse for the Vinemonts, really. Even though they’ve been part of the ruling faction for well over a hundred and fifty years, some families still remember that it wasn’t always so. The others try and lord it over them. The Vinemonts used to be poor sharecroppers and seamstresses. Worked for the Oakmans for years and years until…” Renee put her hand to her mouth as if that would somehow stop her words from spilling out.

“What? Until what?” I didn’t want her to stop. All this was news to me and I was starved for information.

“Oh, nothing. I shouldn’t have said. It’s all ancient history. It’s just, those things aren’t really talked about. Not in the house, especially.”

“If it’s ancient history, then why can’t you talk about it? What harm could there be?”

“Mr. Lucius should be home in a couple of days.” I’d learned that Renee’s subject change signaled the end of the conversation, despite my many unsuccessful attempts to make it otherwise.

There was only one part of the house we never visited—the top floor.

“It’s mostly shut off and dusty. No one goes up there, really. Not anymore.” Renee always led me away from the stairs to the third floor, even when I had placed a foot hesitantly on the bottom step. The steps weren’t dusty, and I got the feeling Renee’s hurried explanation was hiding something more. Then again, this house was full of secrets—Renee’s not the least among them.

A few days later Renee and I were whiling away the afternoon in the library. I still hadn’t set eyes on Lucius or Vinemont since my recovery. I sometimes caught myself wondering what Vinemont was doing, where he was. Then I reminded myself of the scars on my back and turned my thoughts elsewhere.

Renee sat under a throw blanket and read as I tried to paint. She had ordered every supply I could think of to get my art started again. But for the third day in a row, I just stared at the blank canvas.

Before, I would let whatever I was feeling meld itself to the canvas. Now, it was as if my emotions were in too much of a vicious muddle to do anything other than a Picasso imitation, my pieces scattered in ways that reflected how fragmented I was inside.

My back had healed. It no longer stung or ached, but I knew it was different, scarred. Renee smeared some sort of specialty cream she’d ordered from Juliet over my back every night. She said my scars had already faded much more than her own. Even then, she wouldn’t tell me about her Acquisition, about why she lingered here in this house.

While I was lost in my thoughts, my hands worked on the canvas of their own accord. Before I knew it, I’d drawn out a harsh line, then another, then another. I worked feverishly, sketching a body drawn impossibly tight and covered with the crisscrossing lines. I drew and shaded until the image came forth from the white background just as it had done in my mind.

The canvas was macabre even without color. The woman’s head lolled to the side. A hand with a whip reared back as if the aggressor stood where I did, on this side of the easel, ready to inflict more violence. When I finally changed to paint, mixing the colors with a rough hand, I realized it had grown late. Renee slept on the couch, a book resting against her softly rising and falling chest.

I woke her gently and sent her on to bed before returning to my work, intent on finishing what I’d begun. I smoothed on the crimson, letting the painting run in streaky rivers before sweeping through them with the edge of my brush. I let that part dry and worked on the edges and background. I swiped my hand on my long skirt, leaving a streak that I knew would never come out.

Vines in blacks and greens—matted, twisting, and snakelike—grew from my brush strokes. They looked as venomous as I’d intended, threatening from the canvas, seeking to taste the crimson of the foreground. They wrapped around the nude woman’s ankles and wrists.

When I finished, I stepped away, giving a critical eye to the piece. It was dark and needed a good deal of touching up, but it was my soul in pencil and paint. The darkness infecting me had leached onto the bristles and then the threads. Would getting it out keep the rot from going any deeper?

“You captured it.”

I whirled. Vinemont stood behind me, so close that I didn’t know how I hadn’t heard him. He was clean shaven again, well put together. He wore a suit, the tie loosened and his top button undone. His eyes, though, were haunted. They were still his deep, turbulent blue. Beneath them were gray circles, unease or worry having left its mark.

“You look well,” he said.

“Do I?” I crossed my arms over my chest, not caring that I got paint all over my shirt. It wasn’t the first time. “Maybe you should see my back. It might change your mind.”

He finished the job on his tie, pulling it loose so it hung open around his neck. “I did what I had to do, Stella.”

A burning rage erupted in my chest, my mind. My anger had simmered for so long that seeing his face forced it to boil over. But what made it worse, what really sent me over the edge, was that some part of me recognized a change in him. The things he’d said to me that night in my room, the way he looked now—none of it fit with what he’d said about willingly hurting me again.

“Why?” I met his gaze.

“Because you’re my Acquisition. Because I have to win.”

“So you’d do anything it takes to win, to be Sovereign?”

“To win? Yes.” His face hardened, becoming the cruel mask I knew so well. “I will do everything in my power to win.”

“Then why are you here? Why even come speak to me until it’s time for my yuletide whipping?”

“Renee told you?” He shook his head and anger flashed in his tired eyes.

“Yes. She told me I have a very busy holiday schedule over the next few months.”

“What else did she tell you?”

“Nothing. You’ve got her well trained.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair. “Not me.”

“Then who?”

He took a step toward me. I matched it, stepping backward.

A shadow crossed his face—pain? Then it was gone and he fisted his hands at his sides, hell in his eyes.

“Look, Stella, this is something that neither of us can avoid. I’m doing what I have to do. That’s all you need to know about it. Once your year is up, you can leave and never look back. Until that time, I need you to do as I ask and just accept it. No more questions. No more trying to run.”

“I’m not running.”

“Keep it that way.” He took another step toward me, menacing.

I held my ground. He could hurt me, but I wouldn’t give him the benefit of my fear. I stared into him, past the blue and deeper, watching as they turned from anger to heat. The air in the room shifted, like an electrical current hummed between us.

All the concern that he’d walked in with was gone. He looked…hungry, as if the moon had emerged from behind a cloud and revealed him to be some sort of ravenous wolf.

His gaze travelled my face, my body. When heat erupted along my skin as if he’d touched me, I knew I was damned. To want the touch of the devil was nothing short of a mortal sin.

I struck him, my open palm whipping across his face with a satisfying slap. He didn’t retaliate, just tilted his head to the side until his neck popped in the most unnerving fashion. What had been fire in his eyes was now a raging inferno.

He advanced, only inches from me now. I pulled my hand back to strike him again, but he caught it, squeezing my wrist painfully. I tilted my chin up, meeting his vicious encroachment with defiance. He wouldn’t frighten me out of this space. It was mine. I didn’t care if the entire place was covered in fucking vines, I would slash and burn them until I’d cleared an area for me, my paint, my books, and my own bit of freedom.

Quick as an adder, he put his free hand to my face. I didn’t flinch, though I expected him to strike me. The heat in his gaze spoke of something explosive—violence or desire, maybe a heady mix of both. When his palm touched my skin, my eyes closed involuntarily.

“So soft.” His voice was tinged with wonder.

I was down the rabbit hole, everything topsy-turvy and wrong, because his touch—god, his touch. It was like I’d been starving for it this entire time but didn’t know it. When I opened my eyes, he leaned down, his lips teasing mine with the bare millimeters of distance. He was a gorgeous villain, a predator dressed up as a man.

I raised my unrestrained hand to hit him again, but he caught it, too, and wrenched both of them behind my back. He pressed me into his chest, caging me with his body. I could feel the blaze emanating from him, the desire like a heat wave. Could he feel mine? His gaze held me fast, furious and possessive. He looked at me like I was his. Not because of a contract, not because of the Acquisition, but because the intensity of his desire made it so. He would have what he wanted. His gaze flicked down to my mouth and he dipped his head lower, his breath grazing my lips.

I burned to destroy him, to leave him in flames as I walked away from the ashes. But first … just a kiss. I pushed up on my tip toes.

Our lips met.

I was lost.

He wasn’t gentle. I knew he wouldn’t be. I still wanted him. His lips were soft and firm, taking everything and demanding more. His tongue probed against my lips. When he pulled my hair back, I arched into him and opened my mouth. His tongue was a wicked explorer, caressing mine and tasting me in a way no one ever had.

He groaned and wrapped an arm around me, crushing me against him. His scent was in my nose, floating in my lungs like a whirlwind, putting me even further under his spell. My nipples rubbed against him, the tips hard and wanting. They ached for his touch, his mouth. I had never known the sheer need that welled up inside me, the wetness between my thighs, the desperate feeling of wanting more and still more.

He lifted me and carried me to the sofa, laying me down and looking over his prize. He yanked off his blazer and pulled his shirt away, buttons flying as his hard abs were revealed. The same V as mine was inked over his heart, the intricate vines spreading and roping along his chest and down his arms.

I licked my lips, and his gaze went straight to the movement. He was the spider I’d always imagined him to be, lethal and beautiful.

He stalked on top of me, wedging himself between my thighs. His hands were at the hem of my shirt, pushing it up and peeling it off my body. He hitched in a breath when he saw I wasn’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck, Stella,” he rasped.

He pressed a hard kiss on each nipple. My stomach tightened and clenched.

I dug my fingers through his hair, scratching him as he took a nipple in his mouth. I arched my back off the sofa. His mouth was hot as he teased the hard tip. He circled his tongue around the pearled peak before pulling it in his mouth against his teeth. The sensation went straight to my pussy, making it pulse with want. When he sucked my nipple hard enough to bruise, I couldn’t stifle my cry. He was going to devour me, just like his eyes had always promised.

He relinquished my breast to move up and reclaim my mouth. His hard length rested against my pussy. It promised more pleasure than I’d ever felt. I dug my nails into his shoulders, wanting to hurt him, to mark him just as he’d done to me. I bit his lip, drawing blood. He groaned and kissed me roughly, making me taste his copper on my tongue. I was on fire, rage and hatred mixing with the most primal need. I wanted him bleeding, but I also wanted him buried deep inside me. I wanted him screaming in pain but also in the most resplendent pleasure.

As our mouths warred, blood welled around my nails where I broke his skin. He rocked his hips against me, making my clit buzz with the power of his stroke. He gripped my hair, pulling until I cried out. When I opened my mouth, he sank his tongue inside me, claiming me. I gave in. I opened for him, letting him taste me, letting him own me. He kissed me so ferociously that my breath was gone and I was breathing only him.

He slid a hand down to my neglected breast and palmed it as he rubbed a thumb over my nipple. I moaned into his mouth, his tongue swirling the sound around before he swallowed it. He was possessing me, branding me far more than any ink on my neck or any scars on my back. His touch, his insistent kiss marked me deeper, surer than any lash ever could. I was betraying myself. I knew it. I didn’t care. I didn’t want anything other than him, his hands, his body, his kiss. I had never felt more alive.

He pushed a hand between us, yanking my skirt up before roughly pulling my panties to the side. When he touched my wet core, he groaned. I wanted him inside me. I wanted him wild, desperate. I wanted him to come for me, only me.

“You are so wet,” he grated. He released my breast and gripped my hair, yanking my head to the side and sucking on the tender skin of my neck.

His fingers strummed me, playing me until I writhed beneath him. Wanton and desperate for his touch. He was the most delicious thing I had ever felt.

“You like that, Stella?” he murmured against me.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“How about this?” He sank a finger inside.

I gasped, the breath hitching in my throat at the unbridled pleasure. He withdrew it and pushed it in again. My hips ground up into him.

“Fucking my finger, Stella? Just wait until it’s my cock, filling every last bit of your tight cunt.”

I thought I might come just from his words. No one had ever spoken to me that way. I needed more.

He sat back on his haunches. “Don’t move.” A growl to match the animal look on his face.

He pushed my skirt up past my hips. With one hand, he ripped my panties away. Then he fixed his gaze on my pussy. I was bare to him, completely open and at his mercy in a way I’d never been, not even when I was chained and whipped. This was the most intimate moment I’d ever had.

“I can’t stop.” He slowly brought his gaze to mine. “I won’t.”

I swallowed hard, his taste still on my lips. “Don’t.”

SINCLAIR

I T TOOK EVERY remaining shred of self-control I had not to rip my fly open and shove into her. Her glistening pink flesh was something I’d fantasized about and now…to have it laid out before me like an offering was almost too much.

I drew down my zipper and pulled my cock from my boxers. It throbbed in my palm. I didn’t want my skin. I wanted hers. Every inch of it.

Her eyes grew wide as she saw my cock, hard and ready for her. I slid my tip against her slick folds and almost lost my seed all over her. I gripped up on the base, keeping myself in check.

She scooted back from me. Not happening. I dragged her back down beneath me and caged her throat with my hand.

“It’s too big, Sinclair. I-I don’t think I can.”

She said my name. I always wanted her to call me Sinclair, though she insisted on Vinemont. The former was a surrender, the latter a curse. All I needed from her right now was total surrender, submission. I would have it.

“I haven’t done this since Dylan and I—”

I silenced her by forcing two fingers inside. She moaned and closed her eyes. I didn’t want to hear about anyone else touching what was mine. After tonight, they would be erased. I would fuck her so completely that I was her first, her last, her everything. My cum on her—in her—would mark her as mine.

Still holding her fast with one hand, I stroked her clit with my fingertips. The fear drained from her as I worked her into a frenzy. Her clit was a delicious little nub that demanded to be sated. I would give Stella what she wanted, what she needed.

I swirled the tip of my index finger around her clit and rubbed it in increasingly strong strokes. She was going wild, her hips meeting my movements with more and more urgency. She ground against me, begging for a release she wouldn’t get until every inch of me was buried in her tight heat.

I brought my wet fingers to my mouth and licked her sweetness from them.

She watched, her eyes glazed with lust, just like I wanted her.

I slid my cock to her opening. Her flesh was no longer hot, but molten. The muscles along my back shook with the need to plunge into her, to take what I wanted just as roughly as I wanted it. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t hurt her. Not this time. Not yet.

“Sinclair.” It was a reverent prayer from her bruised lips.

I pushed inside, my head squeezing into her exquisite velvet. She moaned and clutched at my chest. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to push me away or pull me closer. Either way, I couldn’t stop. I needed her more than I’d ever needed anything in my life. I watched as I fed myself slowly into her, inch by inch. Further in, then out, then even further. When I was seated as deeply as I could go, her muscles clenched around me, pulling me farther inside. Still, I wanted more. I wanted it all.

I wrenched her hands above her head and pinned them as I drew back and filled her completely.

“Fuck.”

“Sinclair, please.”

I had never heard a sexier sound in my life.

“Please what?”

She rubbed up against me, her clit begging for release just as her mouth did.

“Please just, just…I want to come.”

Fuck. My cock pulsed inside her, perilously close to the edge. I steadied my breathing.

“Do you want me to make you come, Stella?”

“Yes.”

I pulled out and slid all the way back in before starting a slow rhythm. Her face was a mix of pleasure and pain as I slowly made her mine.

“Look at me, Stella.”

Her eyes were half mast, but locked on mine all the same. I wanted her to watch me as I brought her pleasure. The fucking barbarian who lived in my breast demanded it, demanded that she acknowledge I was the only one who could give her the release she was begging for.

I licked into her open lips before taking her mouth again. I claimed her fully, my cock and my tongue embedded in her and giving her gratification. I knew my seed was close to bursting, my balls drawn up tight against me. I wouldn’t come, not until she did. Once I felt her muscles milking me, I would coat her pussy lips. The picture in my mind almost sent me over the edge.

I pulled out to my tip and kissed down to her hard nipple. When I released her hands, she put them in my hair, pulling until it hurt and I growled against her tender flesh. I bit down on her nipple and fucked her harder, ramming my cock deep into her. Her hips rose up to meet me, marking my rhythm.

I knew she was close, the tension building in her as I’d intended. Each shuddering thrust went right to her clit. She arched off the couch, her gorgeous breasts shaking from my impacts as she rubbed her clit into me stroke for stroke.

“Don’t stop! Please, Sinclair. Don’t stop.” Her voice was sex, raw and low.

As if I had a choice. There was no stopping, not now, not when I was so deep in her slick pink.

“Come for me, Stella. I own this body. Now I want it to come.”

“Sinclair.” She thrashed her head from side to side.

I couldn’t tell if she was refusing me or lost in her own passion. Either way, she needed to focus on me. I gripped her hair and forced her to meet my eyes.

I plunged into her, my skin slapping into her with each vicious strike. The sound reverberated around the room. I fucked her like an animal, vicious and base. Her moans spurred me on harder and faster.

I gripped her hair tightly, the fine strands catching on my fingers. I wanted her to feel nothing but me, think nothing but me. “You’re mine. Come for me Stella. Now.”

At my words, her pussy convulsed and she cried out my name in a river of release. The sound was unbearable. I pulled from her and lashed her clenching flesh with ropes of cum. My release was ripped from me, my body seizing from head to toe as I fisted my length and coated her with my seed. Her gaze was fastened on me as I came. There in her eyes was something I never even imagined to see. It was possessive, proud even.

When my last ounce of cum rested on her perfect skin, I sat up and let my head fall back. I gulped in deep breaths as she panted beneath me.

“That was, that was…” She sputtered beneath me, her eyes glassy.

“I know,” I said.

As I stared at the ceiling, invisible guilt and responsibility crashed down on me. What had I done? Weren’t things already complicated enough?

“Don’t do that.” Her voice was soft now, the release liquefying her tension.

“Do what?”

“Regret it. Regret me.”

How could I not?

A sound like a gunshot echoed around the room, then another. I snapped my head back down. Lucius stood in the doorway, slow clapping. I fell back, grabbed my coat from the floor, and covered Stella.

“Very nice, big bro. I’m going to have to go rub one out after that.”

Stella covered her face with both hands.

“Don’t be shy, Stella. I really enjoyed the whole show. Your tits are, in a word, epic. And I can only imagine how sweet that pussy is for Sin here to bust a nut so quickly.”

“Get out.” I stood and yanked my pants up.

“I was just up for a midnight snack, is all. You can’t blame me for making sure there wasn’t a burglar. You know, the kind that fucks really loudly before robbing the place blind.” He smirked. I hated it, mostly because it was almost the perfect mirror of mine.

I advanced on him. He backed away laughing. “I’m going. Because, seriously, going to have to stroke it before I can even think of sleeping again. I’ll, of course, have to replace you with me in the reenactment, but I’m sure you understand.”

I stalked toward him, ready to murder my own blood. How fitting.

He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway, his smug laugh shredding my already non-existent composure.

I returned to Stella and used my coat to clean her off. She draped an arm over her tits and then pushed her skirt down to cover herself. When she sat up and turned to get her shirt, I saw the scars on her back.

My guts wrenched, the memory of that night making my stomach churn and bile rise into my throat. So much pain. Her blood had soaked into my clothes. As soon as the spotlight was gone and the ballgoers’ attention was turned elsewhere, I’d carried her out, clutched closely to my breast. I couldn’t bear for anyone else to touch her, look at her. Her blood soaked through the vining cloak, painting everything a gruesome crimson and scenting the air with copper.

Her blood still covered my hands, though only I could see it. And now I’d taken even more from her. Remorse wasn’t an option for me, not anymore. I’d set out to be this, to do this, to become the monster I had to be.

I reached out and ran my hand across one of the marks. She froze and glared at me over her shoulder. The accusation in her eyes was warranted, more than fair. It still struck me hard, embedding in my chest and spreading its barbs into my heart.

She yanked her top down, hiding what I’d done to her. Her cheeks were red, shame or some other emotion tingeing them with rose.

“It’s time for you to make good on your promise. I want to see my father and stepbrother.”

“What? Now?” I hadn’t seen that coming. I should have.

“Yes. You said you’d arrange it when I asked. So, I’m asking.”

I didn’t want them here, poisoning her against me. Though that was a ridiculous thought. I was doing it plenty well on my own.

She bristled at my hesitation. “Well, are you going to be true to your word or not?”

My mother would have struck her for such an impertinent question. I didn’t move. “I’m always true to my word. What day would you like to see them?”

“Tomorrow, in the afternoon.”

“Fine, but only for an hour. No more.”

“An hour? That’s not enough time t-to—”

“I never promised you how long they could visit, I just agreed that they could.” I hated the thought of her stepbrother here, speaking to her, thinking he had any sway over her. He didn’t. He never would again.

She stood and smoothed her skirt down with quick, angry movements. “You know what? I was wrong before. You should regret it. You should regret all of it.”

She left, never looking back and taking more of me with her than I should have allowed.

STELLA

I  FIDGETED WITH my hair, pulling it to the back and ensuring it covered the tattoo. I didn’t want Dad or Dylan seeing the permanent brand. I wore a simple black sweater and a gray skirt. To their eyes, I would no doubt look the same as I had a month ago. Only I knew that the woman they remembered was long gone.

The front door opened and footsteps approached. I stood, nerves making my movements jerky. I was desperate to see my father, but I worried he would get too worked up. He didn’t need to suffer any more than necessary.

Dad rushed in and embraced me. I didn’t realize my tears were falling until they rolled down to my lips, salty on my tongue.

“Daddy,” was all I could choke out.

Dylan stood a few steps back, bowed up with rage. Vinemont stood behind them, leaning against the wide doorway into the sitting room.

My father held me for the longest time. He stroked my hair and kept saying he was sorry.

I pulled away and looked into his watery blue eyes. “Don’t be sorry. I chose to do this. I would do anything to keep you safe.”

He shook his head, now covered in even more gray than I remembered. “That’s what I’m supposed to do. Not you.”

“We’re going to get you out of here, Stella.” Dylan crushed me in his thick arms, squeezing me to him.

“I will get you back,” he whispered in my ear.

I rested my chin on his shoulder and caught Vinemont staring daggers at Dylan.

Jealous, Vinemont?

I placed a chaste kiss on Dylan’s cheek and glanced at Vinemont. He fisted his hands at his sides, the impeccable suit and tie he wore doing a poor job of hiding the animal underneath.

Dylan set me back and looked me up and down. “Has he hurt you?”

“I-I—”

Dylan whirled and advanced on Vinemont who just stood and smirked. He was taunting Dylan, drawing him in so he could hurt him. I knew the power in Vinemont’s body, the way he could break even a man like Dylan.

“No one has hurt me,” I lied. “Please, just, let’s just sit down. We only have an hour. Please.”

He stopped only a few feet from Vinemont, and the men engaged in a testosterone-laden stare down. I went to Dylan and tried to pull him away.

“Come on, Dylan. Sit with me.”

He laid a hand over mine and an arm around my waist. Vinemont crossed his arms over his chest, muscles popping even through his dress shirt.

I led Dylan away before my hour was stolen with pointless violence. I’d already had enough of that for a lifetime.

Dad sank down in a fluffy side chair as Dylan and I sat on the floral sofa. Sun poured into the room, belying the chilly air outside. My father was thinner, though he seemed well put together, his clothes new and pressed. Dylan wore his usual rugby shirt and jeans.

Vinemont didn’t move from the door. I glared up at him, willing him away. He smiled back, daring me to ask him to leave. I knew it was useless. Instead, I put my hand in Dylan’s and laced our fingers together.

Enjoy the show, asshole.

From the corner of my eye, I saw him shift from one foot to the other, tension in his taut muscles. I’d seen them, intimately, closely. I brushed those thoughts away and focused on my father.

“How have you been?”

He looked at the floor before bringing his gaze back to mine. “I know I keep saying it, but I’m sorry. I should have just let him lock me up. I should have… You never should have come here.”

“I don’t want to talk about should haves or could haves. We only have a short time and I want to hear about you. How’s the house? Have you had any more trouble from your old clients? Did any of my paintings sell?”

I forced a smile to my face, encouraging my father to engage with me like we were normal human beings, not as a grieving father and an enslaved daughter.

“Oh, your paintings.” He almost managed a smile. “Yes, yes. The gallery called. Just a few days ago, some highbrow collector came in and bought every last one of your works.”

“Someone bought out the gallery?”

“No, not the whole gallery, just your pieces. It was the damnedest thing. Paid full for each one and had them shipped. I don’t know who it was, and the gallery kept their information confidential. But the check was real enough.” His gaze dropped again. “I put it in your account. It’ll be there when you get back.”

My heart soared at the thought of my art gracing some collector’s walls. I’d never sold more than a few paintings every so often. Certainly, no one had ever bought two at once. This news was like Christmas… Then I remembered what my real Christmas would entail.

My smile faltered a bit before I plastered it back across my face. “Dylan, how’s school?”

“Same old, same old. My lacrosse team is leading the SEC like it does every year…” He gave the broad strokes of his life outside, the start of a new school year. Instead of making me feel better, it only reinforced my isolation here at the Vinemont estate.

I resolved to get outdoors more, especially now that my back had healed. Renee had spoken of stables on the property. I’d always been a decent rider.

When Dylan wound down, my father leaned forward and took my hands. “Please tell me what you’ve been doing for the past month. I think about you every moment.”

I glanced to Vinemont. His gaze bored into me.

“I mostly stay in the house. I read and paint. There are others here. I have a good friend, Renee. And Vinemont’s brothers are pleasant, especially the youngest, Teddy.” Okay, I may have fibbed a bit—well, a lot—but I couldn’t exactly explain that I was whipped bloody and paraded around naked.

“Has he hurt you? Has anyone? I couldn’t bear to think of them hurting you.” The tears welled in Dad’s eyes again.

I shook my head in vehement denial. “No, no. They’re all very nice here. I’m fine, really. It’s like an upscale prison, really. Food’s good, too. Far better than anything you ever made, Dad.”

That would have made him laugh a month ago. Now, though, he only smiled sadly.

“If they just keep you around as a pet, what’s the point?” Dylan asked.

“I, um, I don’t really know.” Lies were rolling off my tongue more easily by the minute. “I think it’s just some sort of traditional thing they do here.”

“Why don’t you enlighten us, asshole?” Dylan turned to Vinemont.

“Oh, suffice it to say, I like owning beautiful things. As you know, your stepsister is particularly lovely, especially when unencumbered with trifles like clothing.” Vinemont didn’t miss a beat.

I gripped Dylan’s hand hard, keeping him next to me on the couch instead of challenging the devil in the doorway.

“I have an idea, Stella. Why don’t you show Dylan who you belong to?”

Ice water flowed through my heart. “What?”

“If he wants to know why I keep you and what I do to you, just give him a peek at your neck. I realize he’s slow, but maybe a little demonstration will help him figure it out.”

Dylan was already searching my throat with his gaze. “What’s he talking about, Stella?”

“Nothing.” I smoothed my hair down.

“Did he do something to you?” Dad asked. The sadness in his voice broke off a piece of my heart, leaving a bloody, jagged edge.

“No, he’s just talking.”

“Show them, Stella.” It was a command now, no longer a suggestion.

“No.” I pleaded with him, humiliation rising to color my cheeks.

“Is this a road you want to go down?” Vinemont looked from my father to me, the threat lingering in the air. “Do it.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Dylan’s anger mixed with the already-dangerous current of emotions in the room.

“No, I’ll show you. Just don’t antagonize him.”

“I’m not scared of him.” Dylan rose and faced Vinemont. “Of you. Let’s take this outside, motherfucker.”

“Wait, no, Dylan. He’s right. He owns me. I let him, okay? I’m his. Look.” I bent my head and pulled my hair to the side. “See? I’m his. I chose to be here, chose to be his.”

My father gasped. “No, Stella.”

“See, Dylan?” Vinemont’s self-satisfied tone made me want to claw his eyes out.

“All I see is a pussy who gets his rocks off hurting women,” Dylan snarled.

Score one for Dylan.

“Let’s not be so reductive. I enjoy hurting men, too, especially dumb brutes like you. Want me to show you?” Vinemont pushed off the doorframe and stood at the ready.

I smoothed my hair back over the mark. “Stop, both of you! Dylan, please, for me, just talk to me a while longer. Ignore him. Don’t you see? He wants you to go outside and fight him.”

“Time’s wasting, Dylan,” Vinemont added not-so-helpfully.

Dad dropped his head in his hands. I’d never seen him so defeated. I sank to my knees at his feet. “Please don’t, Dad. It’s going to be okay. All of it. Eleven months left? That’s nothing. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll never forgive myself.” He shuddered as a sob ripped through him.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said. “Please don’t torture yourself. I want you to be healthy and happy when I come home. I want you to be waiting for me with open arms. I’ll be there, Daddy. You’ll see. It’s not that long at all.” I pressed my forehead to his.

He offered no more words as his tears overcame him. I wrapped my arms around his shaking frame. I pulled from some deep well of strength inside myself—one I didn’t even know was there—as I held him.

“Time’s up.” Vinemont scowled at us.

“Look at him! Do you truly have no heart?” I hissed.

“In this case? No. No, I don’t. Now, gents, I suggest you get the fuck out of my house.”

“And if we don’t?” Dylan asked.

“Lucius,” Vinemont called.

His brother appeared, the two of them presenting a solid wall of muscle. They were almost a matching set. Both were glowering, their threat palpable. They could beat Dylan and my father senseless, and they would if given the opportunity.

“I’ll walk you out. Come on.” I refused to allow them to hurt Dad or Dylan.

My father rose with difficulty, and I helped him to the front door. Dylan took his other elbow as we maneuvered down the front steps. A black BMW waited out front.

“Did your mom get you a new car?” I asked.

“No, it’s his.” Dylan gestured to Dad.

“Oh.” I supposed his old, beat up Camry finally died.

I gave Dad another long hug. “I’ll see you again soon. I promise.”

He put a shaking hand to my cheek. “I’ll count the moments.”

Vinemont snorted as if Dad had told a joke. I shot him a corrosive glare.

Dylan and I helped Dad into the driver’s seat. Once he was in, I gave Dylan a long hug. Both Vinemont and Lucius smirked, no doubt feeling like they’d won some sort of victory. I’d show them.

When Dylan pulled away, I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him on the mouth. At first he was surprised, but then he deepened it, bending me back and clutching me to him. His tongue sank in my mouth, trying to get the fullest taste possible. It wasn’t exactly enjoyable, but when he pulled me back upright and I broke the embrace, the fire in the Vinemont brothers’ eyes was more than worth it.

“That was…” Dylan ran a hand through his hay-colored locks. “That was nice.”

“I’ll see you again soon.” I put my hand on his chest, playing it up like an Oscar was hanging in the balance.

He sobered. “I’ll get you out of here. I swear I will.”

I smiled at him, though I knew his oath would be broken. There was no getting out of here. Not for me. Not until my time was up.

Dylan walked to the passenger side and dropped in. I waved them away down the driveway. When the car disappeared in the glare of the sun, I turned and floated back up the stairs.

Vinemont grabbed my arm. “What was that?”

“What?” I fluttered my lashes innocently.

“You know what.”

I shrugged, enjoying the muscle ticking in his jaw. “I’m just an affectionate stepsister. What can I say?” I pulled my arm from his grasp and strode past an equally pissed Lucius.

“Good afternoon, boys,” I called, and closed the front door behind me, my heart full to bursting with my petty victory.

STELLA

T  HE NEXT MORNING, I breakfasted with Teddy. He was back from school for the weekend. We actually had a long discussion about his art appreciation class. Like Lucius, he seemed to have an eye for good art.

He started out throwing major shade at Jackson Pollack, but by the end of his second coffee, he was coming around to the idea that all art didn’t have to be still lifes and flowers in vases. I was growing fonder of him despite myself. He seemed so normal, like a young man trying to figure himself out and make his way in the world.

I wondered how such a well-adjusted person could have come from the likes of the Vinemont family. Then again, I’d only ever met Lucius and Sinclair. I didn’t know what their parents had been like.

“So, now that we’ve gotten your art classes straightened out,” I said, “I have a few questions of my own. I’m tired of being cooped up in here, and I think you can help me out. Are there horses I could ride?”

“Like here, on the estate?” He tore through a piece of bacon and winked at the pretty maid as she refilled my cup.

“Yeah.”

“Sure. I’ll take you. I can’t ride with you, though. I have to finish some homework, and then I have a date.” His gaze slid back to the maid, Laura.

“Oh? Something romantic?” I asked.

“We’ll see.” He stood. “Come on.”

I followed him out to the hallway.

“Hang on, Stella. You can’t wear tennis shoes to ride. Got any boots?”

I looked down at my outfit. “You’re right. I’ll meet you back here in five minutes.”

I rushed upstairs and threw on some jeans, a t-shirt, a light jacket, and boots before returning to Teddy. Laura scurried away when I hit the bottom step. Teddy smiled, his lips a little redder than they were when I left him.

“Don’t say anything to Sin, okay?” He led me through the kitchen and then out through a back hallway.

“I don’t intend to say anything to him, period. So that should be easy.”

“Yeah, you two have some kind of crazy thing going on. I don’t really understand it. I’ve learned just to not ask any questions anymore. They don’t tell me anything, anyway.” He shrugged. His hair was lighter than Vinemont’s but he was just as tall and almost as built. It was no wonder Laura had taken a liking to him.

He led me to some sort of ATV that was parked behind the house and motioned for me to get on the back. He swung a leg over and cranked it up.

“Where are the, um, helmets?” I asked over the sound of the engine.

“Scared?” He smiled, and I realized he was a lady killer hidden in the body of a young, sweet man.

I snugged up behind him and wrapped my arms around his middle. “Go fast.”

He laughed, a deep rumble I could feel through his back.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The day was uncharacteristically warm, but the breeze created by the speeding ATV was delicious. The smell of fall was in the air, crisp and familiar. Many trees still bore some seasonal color, while others had already given up, their branches bare and dormant.

He gunned it down the curving drive. I squealed with the pleasure of movement and freedom. The barn loomed up ahead, large and classically red. Bales of hay were lined up out front, and chickens pecked around from a nearby coop. It was a lovely picture, really—the sky mostly blue with a few fluffy clouds, the red of the barn, and the color in the trees, all working together to create something idyllic.

We flew past the barn and came to the stables, painted the same iconic red. He parked out front and helped me off the ATV.

“That was fun.”

He smiled again, beautiful. “Anytime. I’ll get you set up. Come on.”

We went into the stables and he disappeared into what I assumed was the tack room. There were several horses in the expansive enclosure. Two struck my fancy. One, large and dark. He nickered at me in greeting. I held out my hand and rubbed his nose lightly. He was proud but still friendly.

The next was a white mare, so light she looked almost silver. She watched me approach and nuzzled my hand.

“Oh, you’ve gone for Gloria. She’s my favorite. I would have picked her for you, myself.”

“Do you take care of the horses all the time?”

“No. I’d love to, though. Just don’t have the time with school. We have a stable master and a few grooms. They keep the horses and take them to shows and things like that. They’re out at a show right now. Should be back tomorrow.”

Teddy carried a saddle to Gloria’s stall.

“Come on Gloria, how does a nice ride sound?” She nickered and nodded her head.

I laughed. “She certainly knows how to get her point across.”

“You’ll never meet a smarter horse.” He threw a glance over his shoulder at the black gelding. “No offense, Shadow.”

Shadow didn’t respond.

“That’s Sin’s horse,” he explained.

“I should have guessed.”

Teddy led Gloria from the stall and got her all set up for me. Once the bridle was set, he helped me up and adjusted the stirrups.

“Feel good?” He ran a hand down Gloria’s mane.

“Yep. I think this is just right. Thanks, Teddy.” I loved being astride a horse. It made me feel so tall, powerful.

“My pleasure.” He led Gloria and me from the shady stables out into the dappled light.

“Now, like I said, I don’t know the deal, but I’m pretty sure I’d be in big trouble if you rode off into the sunset and never came back.” He squinted up at me.

“Not on your watch, Teddy. I promise.”

“All right then. Head that way if you want to ride past the lake and over the levee. There are some pulp woods over there if you want trees above you, or you could ride back toward the house. It’s up to you.”

“I think I’ll see the lake.”

“Good choice.” He looked up. “Don’t stay out here too long. When it’s warm like this, storms aren’t far behind.”

“I won’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve ridden. My ass will be sore in no time.” I blushed. What did I just say?

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

I set off at a slow trot, following the road. Teddy roared off on his ATV back to the house. I hoped his date went well.

He was right about the day being unseasonably warm. I shed my jacket and tied it around my waist. I spurred Gloria on a little faster and she was happy to oblige. Maybe she’d been cooped up for too long, just like me. She was a smooth ride, her pace perfect. Someone had clearly loved on her and trained her well.

Before long, we were racing through the grass. The wind whipped against my face and my hair flew out behind me. I loved every second of it. Fear mixed with exhilaration as I leaned down and gripped her mane. The sun bathed my face in light and delicious heat.

We’d sped for miles, the stables long gone and only the encroaching woods and the thinner strip of grass next to the road in our view. Out here, away from the house, the grounds were far less manicured, the grass high and wild.

We startled some deer in an open field as we hurtled past, sending them scattering for the trees, their white tails up in alarm. Gloria didn’t seem to mind. She powered ahead, free and fast, the wind a song of liberation in our ears.

After a few more minutes of a full-on gallop, I pulled back on the reins, slowing her down and sitting back upright. I guided her back onto the road and we clip-clopped over a bridge spanning a wide bayou branch. Fish swam in the waters beneath us and frogs sang in the trees. A few hundred yards ahead I caught the sparkle of a large span of water. The levee. We trotted up to the edge. It was a sizeable reservoir, the lake disappearing into wooded inlets far off in the distance.

On the far edge, I could just make out the straight lines of a cottage in the woods.

“Think there are alligators in there, Gloria?”

She nickered and nipped at the high grass.

Cattails grew along the sides of the water and lilypads floated here and there. A ramshackle dock and small wooden boat were abandoned nearby. The water darkened toward the center. How deep was it?

I guided Gloria further up the bank where a small retaining pond split off from the larger lake. A grassy berm separated the bodies of water. At the top, I dismounted and dropped to the ground. The last few cicadas of the summer played their song in the pines that hemmed in the water on all sides. I always associated the sound with hot days.

I let Gloria eat the high grass as I lay out on the ground, staring up at the passing clouds. I popped in the stolen earbuds and set Lucius’ iPod to random, listening to his eclectic mix of music as the sun smiled down, warming me with comforting beams.

I laced my fingers behind my head and closed my eyes.

Gloria’s loud whinny woke me. I must have dozed off in the warm sun. It was gone now, dark clouds hovering above, promising a downpour. A rumble of thunder had Gloria nuzzling at my head with her nose.

I got to my knees and then stood. “I’m up. I’m up. We’d better get back.”

I stowed the purloined iPod. As I clambered onto Gloria’s back, the clouds erupted, huge raindrops pelting us. Then the hail came, larger than anything that should ever fall from the sky. The size of golf balls, the ice hurt with each stinging impact. It would take half an hour, likely more, to get back to the stables. The only other shelter was the cottage in the woods I’d spotted earlier. I couldn’t see it anymore for the curtains of rain and the pelting hail, but it wasn’t far.

A piece struck my forehead and I felt warm blood running down my face.

Shit.

I couldn’t stay out in the open. I made my decision and urged Gloria toward the woods. We would have to ride the storm out in the cottage. The thunder grew louder, the booming reverberating in my chest as lightning streaked across the sky.

We made it to the tree line, the branches above blocking out or at least slowing down the balls of hail. Gloria whinnied as a streak of lightning led to a deafening crack of thunder. I stroked her mane.

“It’s okay, girl. We just have to make it to the cottage.”

I led her through the trees, heading to where I remembered the cottage sat. Or at least I thought I was. We were in the heart of the storm, gloom and sheets of rain cutting visibility down to nearly nothing.

I urged her on. The cottage had to be nearby. I hoped I hadn’t missed it in the murky woods. We went a little farther, but there was still no sign of the cottage. We must have just passed it. I turned Gloria around to double back.

The rain seemed to let up a little bit, a brief respite. Maybe the storm was passing and we could head back to the stables instead of trying to ride it out? Then, a strange sensation shot through my body, like a tingling. Oh, no.

“Gloria, go!” I cried.

Too late. Lightning struck so near us that Gloria reared back and threw me. I hit a tree trunk. The deafening boom of thunder was the last thing I heard.

SINCLAIR

I  MADE IT to the front porch before a heavy rain began to fall. Then came the hail. Good thing I’d parked in the garage. Once inside, I pulled my coat off and handed it to Farns before loosening my tie.

“She in the library?” I asked.

“No, Mr. Sinclair. I believe she and Teddy went out for a ride.”

“Not smart.” Teddy would take care of her, at least. An image of Stella in a wet t-shirt floated through my mind. The thought of her with Teddy was no longer so palatable. “I guess I’ll go see if they made it out of the rain.”

“Very good, sir.” Farns smiled.

I climbed the stairs two at a time to my room. I stripped out of my suit and dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. I was ripping a raincoat from its hanger when a rhythmic banging wafted to my ears.

Lucius was still at the plant. I’d spoken to him on the phone, so no one else should have been in our wing of the house. I yanked on some boots and headed down the hall, creeping along the runner so my steps were silent.

The closer I got to Teddy’s room, the louder the sound grew, and it was interspersed with grunts and feminine moans. My hands clenched. Fire laced around my heart, squeezing like a lasso of flames, drawing me inexorably closer to his door. The image of Stella was back, but this time she was beneath Teddy, writhing in pleasure as he fucked her. I had to lean a hand on the wall as my sight grew hazy, rage coloring everything a shade darker.

No. Well, Farns did say they’d gone for a ride. I would have laughed if anything were funny. Nothing was. Murder might be entertaining, but definitely not amusing. I gripped the door handle, steeling myself for what I was about to see. The cries grew louder and beneath them was the sound of skin slapping on skin.

I flung the door open. Teddy was on top of the maid from the kitchen, Laura. He rolled off her when he saw me.

“Sin!” Teddy threw his blanket across her naked body.

I let out a pent up breath. Relief washed through me, replacing the bitter taste of hate and rage.

“Don’t you fucking knock anymore?”

“Fuck, Teddy. I thought you were…” I shook my head.

“With Stella?” Teddy asked.

“I should go.” Laura’s voice quavered.

“No, stay.” Teddy smoothed a hand over her knee.

Her face looked pinched as she stared up at me.

I sighed. “I’m not going to fire you, Laura.” Though I should.

I should have ordered her to pack up and leave then and there. Instead, my mind was whirring away with where Stella was, what she was doing. Teddy’s discipline could wait.

She let out a pent up breath, the blood returning to her face with a vengeance.

“Of course he’s not going to fire you.” Teddy glared at me.

“Teddy. We’ve talked about this. You can’t fuck the help.”

“Just like you can’t fuck the Acquisition?”

I returned his glare. “Stella is none of your business. I told you to stay out of it.”

“It’s kind of hard for me to stay out of it when you force her to stand naked on the table or whip her so badly—”

“Teddy!” I barked. I glanced to Laura. She looked away, pretending to be deaf.

He shrugged and dropped his gaze. “You know what I mean.”

“Teddy, please believe me when I tell you that you don’t know shit about any of it. Not the Acquisition, and definitely not Stella.” I regretted the words as soon as they were out. Teddy looked stung. Lucius was fair game, but Teddy—he wasn’t like us. He had a good heart.

I balled my anger up and pushed it down before resuming in an even tone. “I’m sorry, Teddy. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I’d know more about it if you’d tell me. Maybe I could help.” He stood and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t seem to notice his half-mast dick was waving around.

“You don’t need to know. It’s only for the firstborn.” I’d had this conversation about six times with him ever since Stella arrived.

“Then why does Lucius know?”

“Lucius just thinks he knows. He doesn’t. Trust me. When you’re older and if you have to deal with this shit, you’ll know. And you’ll regret it, okay?”

He grumbled and sat back down. He shot a glance to Laura and his demeanor brightened the slightest bit.

The silence became more than awkward. Laura coughed.

“So, where’s Stella?” The question that had been on my lips from the moment I walked in the door finally broke free.

“She went for a ride.” Teddy turned to look out the window. “Shit. I didn’t realize that was thunder I was hearing. I thought it was—”

“Your bed busting through the wall, stallion?” I needed to break the tension. Teddy was worth protecting and I didn’t want him to feel like I did—caught in an unfair trap.

He smiled, blushing. “Something like that.”

I followed his gaze out into the downpour.

Fuck. If Stella was out in this, she’d be soaked through and lucky if she avoided the hail. The temperature was dropping now that the cold front was moving through. I needed to find her. Fast.

“She was heading to the levee, if that helps,” Teddy said.

“It does. Thanks, Ted. Sorry for the interruption.”

I swung the door closed. As I hit the stairs, the rhythm began wafting from his room again.

I dashed to the garage and started my car. The rain was a milky barrier and the hail pinged off the luxury vehicle. It was painful hearing the damage, but I was too worried to care. I broke through the sheets of opaque water and raced down the slick drive into the back part of the estate. I contemplated driving down toward the levee, but realized if I did and she’d gone off in the woods, I wouldn’t be able to find her. I pulled up into the stables and killed the engine.

I hoped she was inside, warm and dry, waiting for the rain to stop. I ran down the stalls, looking for her. She wasn’t there, and the mare Gloria was gone. Something unsettling and queasy swirled in my stomach. It was a feeling I wasn’t very familiar with, not anymore. Fear.

Shadow whinnied at a particularly loud blast of thunder and stomped his disapproval. The tack room door was open and a saddle was missing. I wasted no time getting my horse saddled and ready. He stood calmly as the thunder rumbled, as if desperate to get out for a ride, storm be damned.

“It’s going to be a wet trip.” I climbed into the saddle and spurred him out of the stables and into the rain. At least the hail had stopped.

The droplets stung as I urged Shadow into the deluge. We set a hellish pace. It wasn’t simply raining, the sky was jettisoning the water, throwing it forcefully earthward. Lightning split the sky above us, the flash and resulting sound making Shadow rear.

“Steady. Steady, boy.” I held onto the reins for dear life and eased him back down. “Keep it together.” I ran my hand along his nape, smoothing his mane as the rain soaked through me, the jacket doing nothing against the onslaught.

He resumed a moderate gallop, and I guided him onto the road as the grass along the sides became muck. It was harder on his hooves, but made it easier for him to maneuver, so he picked up his pace. I felt as if I were racing the clock—a burning need to get to Stella had settled deep in my gut.

What was she thinking going for a ride alone? If she wanted to ride she should have asked me. I would have taken her. Now, she’d gotten herself into a mess. Even as I silently berated her, that same queasy fear overcame my ire.

I saw movement in the gloomy sheets of rain ahead. A horse. My heart rose. I pulled back on the reins. I could lead Stella back to the stables and get her warmed up in no time. I ignored the intense relief that settled over me and squinted against the wall of water. A gust of wind pushed the watery curtain aside for a split second. My heart sank.

Fuck.

Gloria emerged from the downpour and flew past us, back toward the stables. She was riderless and beyond spooked. My momentary reprieve sent me into an even deeper state of panic once I realized it was nothing more than a mirage. Stella was somewhere out in the storm.

My thoughts came in a torrent to match the deluge all around me. Teddy said she went toward the levee. Where would she have wandered?

“Faster, Shadow.” I dug my heels in and he shot forward.

I ignored the bite of the water droplets lashing my face. The cold was seeping into my pores, leeching away my body heat as I urged Shadow forward. The streaking lightning and rolling thunder became just another part of the blur of scenery. We were full gallop, a breakneck pace, racing into the heart of the raging storm.

We crossed the narrow bridge leading to the levee. I pulled him to the left, up to the top of the knoll where I felt Stella may have tarried. We slowed and turned in a circle around the area. She must have been here. I could barely see, but the grass had been chewed, and some of the blades were smoothed down, as if someone had lain there recently. She’d been here. Where did she go?

Though I couldn’t see it, I knew the old hunting camp was nearby. She may have tried to make it to the log cabin. I spurred Shadow up and around the edge of the lake and into the pine woods. I kept a tight hold on the reins. Shadow was spooked, ready to bolt. I kept his gait slow. If Stella were trying to shelter under the branches, I couldn’t afford to miss her. Shadow’s feet were sinking in the muddy ground beneath the trees and he kept trying to move faster.

“Easy boy. Slow. Keep it slow.” The roar of the rain hitting every surface stifled my voice, but Shadow obeyed.

I angled him toward where I knew the log cabin sat in the woods. We’d gone about a hundred yards before the smell of ozone overcame the fresh scent of water in the air. A blackened tree, scarred and hewn in two lay to our right. It must have been struck recently.

Shit. Where is she?

We cantered a little further before I saw her. She lay in a crumpled mass on the ground. My heart, already racing, felt like it could have stopped altogether, never to beat again. I jumped from Shadow, keeping a hard grip on the reins as I dragged him to her.

“Stella!” I yelled against the rain, my voice barely carrying above the howling wind.

She didn’t move. Blood streamed from a wound along her brow and she was pale, far too white. I scooped her into my arms, the fear in my soul real, almost palpable.

She was breathing. When her chest moved against me, I carefully draped her limp body across Shadow’s back. With one hand holding her secure and the other still squeezing the reins, I led Shadow through the trees, the rumbles of thunder no match for the booming beat of my heart. I pushed forward, ripping my boots from the soaked and muddy ground again and again. After a while, my legs burned from the effort. I ignored the pain. Nothing would stop me from getting her to safety. I kept pushing until the cabin came into view.

I pulled Shadow up onto the wide porch and fastened his reins to the railing. “You’ll be safe here.” I hoisted Stella from his back and carried her inside.

The cabin was old, but we kept it up. Recently remodeled with modern amenities, it was much more than a usual hunting camp. I tracked mud onto the Carrera marble floors and laid Stella, dirty and bloody, onto the leather sofa. The storm still raged outside, but the cabin was like a cocoon, muffling the raw fury of the elements.

We were soaked. I brushed matted hair from her face and examined the cut along her temple. It was shallow, but bleeding like a son of a bitch. I felt around through her hair and discovered a golf ball sized knot on the side of her head. Fuck.

“Stella, wake up for me. Stella?”

She shivered. I set to work stripping her, yanking her boots off first before getting her down to her bra and panties. I checked her over, looking for blood or any broken bones. The dread left me incrementally, each piece of her that was intact wicked it away.

She seemed fine except for her head. Which was the exact opposite of fine, really. More than anything, I needed to get her warm. I picked her up and lay her down on the fluffy rug in front of the fireplace. I grabbed the remote from the mantle and clicked on the flames, forcing them higher and higher until warmth rushed forward and onto us.

I hurriedly stripped my clothes and pulled her close, her back to my front as we lay in front of the roaring fire. I pulled her hair away from her face and smoothed it down.

“Stella, I need you to wake up for me.” I ran my hand down her side. Her skin was clammy and cold despite the blast of heat.

I grabbed the edge of the rug and flung it over us. We were wrapped in sheepskin and directly in front of the fire. We would either warm up or burn to death.

“Come on, Stella.” I needed her to be all right. I told myself it was because I needed her for the Acquisition. It was a lie. I wanted her. I cared for her. And wasn’t that just a fucking problem of epic proportions.

I kept rubbing my hand down her side, willing my heat into her. Slowly, her skin warmed under my touch. She shifted, her eyelids fluttering, and I breathed a sigh that carried more angst than I knew I was capable of holding.

“Sinclair?”

“Yes. I’m here.”

“What happened?”

“You’ll have to tell me. I found you in the woods. How’s your head?”

“It hurts.” Her voice was small.

I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her around so she faced me. The cut had stopped bleeding, but red still remained along the edges of her hair and in her eyebrow. I ran my hand over the bump on her head. It seemed to have shrunk a bit. I tilted her chin up so I could look into her eyes. The pupils appeared to match. No concussion. Maybe.

I shook my head and pulled her closer to me so her head fell into the crook of my neck. “You are a mess.”

“You should see the other guy.”

I laughed. I hadn’t actually laughed from pure amusement at anyone except for my brothers in so long it felt odd, but also right.

“Mmm, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh. Well, maybe you do whenever you’re drowning puppies or something. I’ve just never heard it.”

I nuzzled into her wet hair. “Puppy drowning is every Thursday. You’ll just have to catch me at the right time.”

She giggled and draped an arm over me. The air between us expanded, somehow becoming bigger, fuller; maybe even a little expectant. We were lying on a rug in front of a fire while the storm raged outside. We should be drinking wine and laughing and fucking. But this wasn’t a romance or a fairy tale. She was my Acquisition.

“Stop thinking.” She lifted her lips to mine and brushed against them softly. A delicious tease.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“If I can then you can. After all, I’m the captive, the slave, the Acquisition, the one you whip and humili—”

I claimed her mouth because, fuck, I wanted to and to shut her up. Hearing her recite my long list of sins was too much truth. At that moment in front of the fire, I wanted the fairy tale. I wanted to be her knight instead of her demon. I kissed her like I meant it, like I felt something more for her than ownership. I let myself go. Just this one time.

She answered with more verve than I had any right to deserve or expect. She had surprised me so many times over the past weeks that I should have been accustomed to it. I wasn’t. When she brought her hand to my cheek and caressed it lovingly, I was caught up in her more than I could stand. I threw the rug from us and pulled her on top of me, never breaking our desperate kiss.

She straddled me, the fabric of her panties a maddening barrier between her delectable skin and mine. I unhooked her bra. She sat up and took it off, her nipples puckered and hard in the dancing firelight. I palmed her breasts, the weight of each perfect in my hands. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back as I touched and stroked and teased. I leaned up and caught one of the pearled tips in my mouth. She tasted like rain and sweat and sweetness. Perfection. I licked and sucked her in, rubbing the nub against my tongue. Her hips moved against my cock, giving me a glimpse of what awaited me beneath the fabric—hot, wet, and wanting.

I hooked my fingers in the side of her panties and ripped them. I did the same on the other side and yanked them from her. My cock jumped at the promise of euphoria her pussy offered. I knew it was tight, slick, perfect. She rubbed her needy clit over my shaft, giving herself a cheating pleasure just as she gave me the same. I wanted it all.

I gripped her hips and raised her. She wrapped her small hand around my cock. She’d gone from cold to scorching hot in moments, and her touch made me hiss.

“Fucking hell, Stella.” I could barely get the words out through my gritted teeth.

She teased me, rubbing my head against her clit as her hips rocked against me. I wasn’t waiting any more. I pulled her forward, positioning my head at her opening. When she slid down on my shaft, I groaned from the demanding need to thrust up into her. My fingertips dug into her soft hips. She gave me a sultry gaze, eyes green and partly hidden beneath her lashes. When she raised up and settled down again, pushing me as deeply as I could go, it took every ounce of willpower I had not to flip her over and fuck her hard and fast.

She leaned down over me, brushing her perfect tits against my chest. She set a slow rhythm, as if trying to get used to my length inside her. It wasn’t enough. I thrust up into her, meeting her strokes with pure animal lust to take everything she had. She was panting, each breath hot between her parted lips. I spread one palm over her ass and fisted her hair with the other.

I crushed our mouths together as our bodies melded into one. She moaned and sped her pace, gliding back and forth on my shaft and rubbing her clit against me. I wanted it in my mouth, but my cock wouldn’t relinquish her tight heat for anything. I was rough, claiming her mouth and pulling her hair. She dug her nails into my chest as she rode me, all reservations gone, surrendered to our mutual pleasure.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I flipped her onto her back and spread her legs wide beneath me. I sat back and fed each inch into her flushed pussy. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen, making my balls pull up even tighter against me.

“Fucking beautiful, Stella.”

“Sin,” she breathed.

She’d never called me that. I would put that one rasping word on replay in my mind every time I stroked off to thoughts of her tight body.

I rammed myself home, all gentleness gone. I needed her, all of her. She gasped as I lay on top of her and pistoned into her. She grabbed tight onto my shoulders as I fastened my mouth to her neck, the slight salt of her sweat delicious on my tongue. She dug her heels into my back as I ground my cock into her softest skin.

Her hips were pinned, but she still managed to push against me, adding even more roughness to our frantic fucking.

“You like that, Stella? My cock deep inside you?”

“God, yes,” she cried.

“Not god, Stella.” I gave her some longer, harder strokes, and my cock demanded I explode inside her.

“Sin.” She arched her back, rubbing her tits against me.

“Better.” I bent my head down and pulled a stiff nipple into my mouth, sucking it as I pounded into her.

She scored her hands through my hair. “I’m so close.”

I grazed her nipple with my teeth before I raised my head up to meet her lusty gaze. “Yeah?”

I smoothed my hand down her stomach and leaned back, watching her tits bounce beautifully with each impact. I pulled her hips further up to me so I could stay just as deep. Because I was a selfish asshole.

I put one hand on her hip to keep her pinned beneath me then licked my other thumb and pressed the pad against her clit.

She bucked when I touched her sensitive nub.

“Look at me, Stella. I want you to tell me when you come, and I want you to tell me who made you come.”

She nodded and gasped when I increased the pressure on her clit, still fucking her hard. My cock demanded release. I wouldn’t give in, not until she was clamping around me.

Her gaze locked on mine as I swirled my thumb around her clit in small circles. Her pussy pulsed, and I knew she was near the edge. I pushed her over, rubbing her clit faster until her wet walls tensed and squeezed.

“Sin!” She came with crushing pressure on my cock.

Her pussy convulsed as she gripped the rug and repeated that one word. My cock couldn’t take any more, not when I had this beautiful sight before me and her cunt milking me. I gave a final hard thrust and groaned as I shot into her, deep and hard. I filled her, each hot kick of my cock a blissful release until I was spent.

I let myself fall on top of her, feeling her last shudders as I remained buried deep inside.

STELLA

M Y BODY WAS sated. My soul, bereft. What had I done? This man who had just given me the most erotic moment of my life was hell-bent on my destruction.

I turned my head toward the fire as he dropped light kisses along my neck. A traitor was here in this room, and she lived inside my breast. I thought I was playing the game, making Vinemont care about me enough to keep me safe. But an ache in my heart, one that told me I’d taken these stolen moments in too deeply, was an accusatory slap in my face.

I tried to lure him to me, to make him care. I’d done the opposite, and my heart was the one caught in the trap. Even now, I wanted to taste his lips again, to make him hard and wanting under my touch. I let out a deep breath.

“Stop.” He dropped kisses along my jaw.

“Stop what?”

“Thinking.” He took my mouth again, gentle now, reverent.

I wanted him so much it twisted my heart. I wanted him to want me, to treasure me. But he’d always been upfront. Hell, he’d even told me he would gladly torture me all over again. He swept his tongue into my mouth, trying to erase all thought from my mind and nearly accomplishing it. His scent was all over me, marking me as his. I loved it and hated it at once.

I broke the kiss before I fell back under his spell. “I can’t.”

“My dick is still inside you, Stella, and now you can’t?” He moved his hips for emphasis, sending a thrill back to my clit.

I pushed on his chest and he withdrew, pulling from me. I wanted him back immediately. He took in my body, the bruises coloring my nipples where he’d bitten me, the marks on my neck, his fingertips imprinted on my hips. He still looked hungry. I wanted to feed him.

I couldn’t.

I pulled the fluffy rug up to my chest. He met my eyes.

“This was a mistake,” I said.

“I know.” He searched around, found his boxers, and pulled them on.

His words stung me more than they should have. The heat from the fire was oppressive now. He grabbed a remote and turned it down to a low flame. He ran a hand through his hair in what I now recognized as the classic “Vinemont man in distress” move.

“This can’t happen again,” he said. “None of it. We just have to make it through the year. That’s all.” He put a resolve into his words that I knew he didn’t feel. “This was just…circumstances.” He waved a hand at the windows where sunlight now poured through.

More pain bloomed in my chest. I ignored it because he was right. I was still his Acquisition, his plaything. He was still my captor. I dropped the rug and searched around for my clothes. He stared hard at my bare skin before looking away, his jaw tight.

The fire had mostly dried my clothes except for my jeans. I pulled them on anyway. He dressed, too, his movements quick and angry.

He led me through the front door.

Shadow stood on the front porch, his head almost brushing the rafters. He nickered as we emerged and nuzzled Vinemont’s hand. He was so gentle with the animal, obvious affection in his touches. Shadow responded, resting his head on Vinemont’s shoulder. They were a gorgeous set, dark and handsome.

Vinemont led him down the steps and into the wet grass. I followed, and Vinemont helped me up before seating himself behind me.

“Come on, Shadow, let’s go home.”

We rode in silence. A cold breeze had kicked up in the wake of the storm. Winter wouldn’t be far behind. I lay back into Vinemont for warmth, or so I told myself. He wrapped his arms around me, keeping at least some of the chill wind at bay. Shadow maintained an easy pace, none of us seeming to be in a hurry to return.

My thoughts couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the man at my back, his actions and words. I still wanted to believe something was different between us. That our stolen moments in the library and at the cottage meant something more than just sex.

I wondered what was going through his mind. Was he worrying just like I was? He was unreadable at best. I relaxed back into him more, snuggling against his hard chest. He pulled me in closer, barely holding the reins as Shadow leisurely walked home.

As we approached the stables, I remembered my own horse that had bolted.

“Gloria?”

“I’m sure she’s munching on some hay inside. She galloped past us in the thick of the downpour.”

The storm, my accident – Vinemont had seen me through all of it. “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For…well, for saving me.”

He leaned away. “I didn’t. I haven’t.”

He pulled his arms from around me, letting the outside chill seep into my bones for the short distance before we trotted into the stables.

We skirted a sleek black car, still wet and slightly dinged. Gloria waited there, just as he’d said, grazing on a hay bale.

Vinemont dropped to the ground and then helped me down. He dug in his pocket and handed me his car key. “Take it back to the house. I need to get Gloria and Shadow settled. You need to warm up.”

“I can stay and—”

“No. Just go.” It was a dismissal. He turned his back and started unburdening Shadow.

Asshole. I opened the fancy car’s door and slid into the driver’s seat. I glanced down at the transmission. It was a stick. I hadn’t driven a stick in years and wasn’t much good at it to begin with. I smirked at Vinemont’s broad back. This would hurt him more than it hurt me. I pushed the button on the ignition and the engine purred to life.

I depressed the clutch and easily put the car into reverse. I hit the gas and let off the clutch. It lurched forward and sputtered.

Not reverse.

Vinemont glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. I moved the gear shift into what was, most likely, reverse and tried it again. This time I slid backward out of the stables so quickly I had to slam on the brakes once I reached the smooth drive.

Vinemont had completely turned now, watching me with his arms crossed over his chest. I couldn’t tell if he wore a look of chagrin or regret. Either way, I was going to make the next gear shift hurt. I ground it into first gear, the transmission screaming an angry noise, and hit the gas. I was off like a shot, leaving Vinemont and the stables behind me.

I moved it into second gear, imagining the look on Vinemont’s face as I ground that one even harder, the transmission making a vicious metal on metal sound. I smiled and whipped the rest of the way to the house. I parked out front, satisfied with myself.

Renee was sitting in the library and followed me up the stairs when I dashed in. I stripped in my room as she entered.

“Where have you been? What’s happened?” Her curious gaze settled on my neck. “Are those love bites?”

“I, uh, I’m freezing. I need a bath and then I’ll tell you about it.”

She kicked into maid mode and ran me a hot bath while I tossed off my remaining clothes. As I soaked, letting the warmth soothe my aching body—some of the soreness from the riding accident, some of it from Vinemont’s attentions—I told her about my day. I left out most of the sexy details, but she got the picture well enough.

The hand wringing began almost instantly. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the tub.

“Is it really as bad as all that, Renee?”

“Yes, and worse.”

“Why?”

“If his mother finds out—”

My eyes shot open and I whipped my head around to her. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

“Vinemont’s mother is alive? You told me she was dead!”

Epic hand wringing ensued. “I never said she was dead. You just drew your own conclusions.”

Realization dawned. “The third floor?”

She nodded, a troubled look overcoming her features.

“Why does it matter? Where is she? Can she do anything about this, about the Acquisition?” My mind raced from thought to thought. Why was Vinemont’s mother such a secret?

“It matters, and no, she can’t help you. She wouldn’t even if she could. She was Sovereign for ten years, you see.”

I turned in the water so quickly it sloshed against the sides of the tub and splashed to the floor. “No, I don’t see. You keep all these secrets from me. How could I possibly have any idea?”

“It’s just that Rebecca doesn’t want to have anything to do with it, with the Acquisition. She can’t.”

“Why not?” This was the most Renee had told me about the Acquisition since she revealed the multiple trials. I needed her to keep talking.

She sank to the floor next to the tub, resting on the bath mat. “I don’t see why I should keep it from you anymore, not now that you and Mr. Sinclair have…”

“Tell me.”

“It’s going to make everything so much worse for you.” Tears welled in her eyes.

I was glad I hadn’t told her about what we did that night in the library. She may have had a total come-apart.

“Rebecca found me at a time in my life when I had no purpose. I-I…” She examined her hands. “I was young and was selling my body in New Orleans.” Red rose from her collar and flowed into her face.

“I’m not judging you, Renee.” I had no right to pass judgment on anything anyone did to get by.

“Well, she found me there. Just happened across me, really. It was almost time for the Acquisition Ball, and the Vinemonts had been chosen that year. She was the eldest, so it fell to her to go through the process. I didn’t realize it then, but she was desperate to find her Acquisition. I was it. I was desperate to get out of New Orleans. So, it was fate.” The sorrow in her voice, the sense of betrayal, tore at me.

“I’m sorry, Renee.”

“Oh, it was a long time ago.” She swiped a tear away. “It was just that Rebecca was so kind and caring. And she truly was, even though the Acquisition was hanging over her head. Her maid at the time became my ally and told me how Rebecca had always been a lovely, sweet person. She was also a doting mother. I saw that myself. The way she loved on those boys of hers was beautiful.”

She paused and took a deep breath. “And she was good to me, too. She really was, until she couldn’t be anymore.”

“The ball?”

Renee nodded and absentmindedly picked at her collar. “Yes, there and then Christmas.” She blanched. “And then spring and summer.”

“What happened, Renee? What happens at those trials?”

“It depends on the Sovereign. My year—” Her voice caught in her throat. “They say my year was one of the most brutal in Acquisition history. They say it with pride, like it was a feather in their cap to enjoy so much suffering.”

Though the water was still warm, chills ran up and down my spine.

“Each trial has the same bent—in accordance with tradition—but the Sovereign can choose to add little twists to ‘enhance’ the experience. Christmas was the worst for me.” Her dark eyes sought mine. They were haunted, immensely sad. “The worst for both of us, Rebecca and me. And now I’m afraid it’ll be the worst for you, too.”

“What happened at Christmas, Renee?” I needed to know but dreaded her answer.

“My year? My year, they chained us out in the cold. It was freezing. The three of us shivered and cried. Have you ever been truly cold, to the point where your skin goes numb, but underneath there are a million needle pricks?” Her voice took on a faraway tone, and I realized she was no longer looking at me. She was still chained, cold, and afraid.

“They sat in heated tents and watched, drinking, laughing, and giving in to their most basic desires while we suffered.” She ran her hands up and down her arms. “Then, when they were ready for us, they brought us inside. We were on the verge of hypothermia. One of us even lost a toe from frostbite, though I heard that losing body parts was a rule violation. Everything in moderation.” She laughed, high and desperate.

“They laid us out on the tables in their tents. I was glad to be in the warmth…and then I wasn’t. They took turns. There were so many.” A tremor shot through her.

Horror welled in me. Is that what Vinemont intended to do to me? Let me be raped by the masked ghouls from the ball?

“They hurt me. I can’t lie. They did. But at some point during it, I sort of…disconnected. I was gone, burned away for the rest of the trial and for quite some time after. Rebecca wasn’t so lucky. We had been, we were…”

I reached out and smoothed her hair away from her face with my damp hand. “It’s okay, Renee. It’s okay. I’m sorry.”

I regretted reopening her wounds, but I needed to know. It was now or never.

She rubbed her tears away on her sleeve. “I loved her. I was certain she loved me. But that trial, what they did to me. It changed her, made her cold, hard. That’s how they win. Do you understand? The only way to win is to become one of them, to really be the sort of monster that can rule the entire depraved aristocracy with an iron fist. Do you see? That’s what they’ll do to Mr. Sinclair. He’ll fall. He’ll break. But he’ll win. And when he does…”

Her sad eyes captured mine, foretelling my own dark future by retelling her past. “Rebecca won, but she lost herself.”

SINCLAIR

“I  CAN’T DO anything about it, Lucius.” I sank down into a chair in the study while Lucius paced around the room.

“I’m tired of the Sovereign taking such a huge cut,” Lucius said. “We work our asses off—well at least I do while you’re out playing public servant—and then fucking Cal comes in here and demands a goddamn ransom.”

“You know we have to pay.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “We’ve been over this a million times.”

Being Sovereign came with an untold number perks, the main one being a cut of all the income from the other ruling families. There was a yearly price and it was due within the month. Pay or suffer the consequences.

I was already dealing with far too many consequences to add non-payment to the list.

Lucius kicked the waste basket next to my desk. “We’re working the fucking Brazilians to death and putting even more pressure on our already troubled relations with our Mexican producers. Sugar cane isn’t as lucrative as it used to be. Even a fuckwit like Cal should be able to do the simple math.”

“I’m aware. It doesn’t matter. We have to pay Cal.” I couldn’t say it any other way. The facts were what they were.

He stopped pacing and stared out the window into the deepening night. “What else are we going to have to give him?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean, who I mean—Stella.” He turned to me, giving me the same pissed off look he’d worn ever since he realized I was the oldest and, therefore, in charge of him.

“Stella is none of your concern. She’s mine.”

His eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t have to be.”

I stood, suddenly seething. Did he know? “What are you talking about?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Mom told me some of the rules. She said if Stella chose me, I could take your place in the Acquisition.”

Fuck.

I was bone tired after the long day with Stella. I had a short fuse and Lucius was doing his damnedest to light it. “Oh did she? Did she tell you the rest of the rules? Did she tell you what happens if you lose?”

“You don’t get to be Sovereign.” He shrugged. “So what? That’s not a loss. We’d be in the same situation we’re already in.”

I hesitated on the verge of telling him the true penalty, the blood that would be required for us to keep our position. It was an exhausting secret, one that weighed more heavily on me every day. Maybe if I shared the burden, it wouldn’t be so crushing. I opened my mouth to speak the lethal truth when Farns knocked and entered.

“What?” I snapped.

“We’ve had a call from the hospital in town. It seems Ms. Rousseau’s father has taken ill. He is in intensive care. Her stepbrother has requested she come. I wasn’t sure what you would like me to do with this news.”

“I know what I’d like you to do.” Stella entered behind Farns, her quiet steps masked by Lucius’ and my argument. How long had she been listening?

“It’s probably some sort of trick cooked up by your stepbrother,” I said. “I forbid you to go.” Surely, she realized it was nothing more than a desperate ruse? Transparent and dumb, just like her stepbrother.

She strode to me and stared into my eyes, my soul. “You can’t forbid me from seeing my father in intensive care.”

I gave Farns a look. He took the hint and backed into the hallway and closed the door.

“I can and I just did. Go back to your room.” I wasn’t letting her out of this house again, not after what had happened in the cabin earlier. She’d gotten to me, lanced through my rotten core and into the one piece of true heart I had left. I didn’t even know it was there until she’d clawed her way in there, too. Goddamn her.

“I’m not going anywhere until I speak to my father.” She kicked her chin up and put her hands on her hips.

Lucius walked up behind her. “Sin, it’s her dad, maybe you should—”

“Maybe you should shut the fuck up, Lucius.” Seeing them together, standing like a united front against me, finally lit the powder keg. I grabbed Stella’s arm and ripped her away from him, pressing her back into my chest and putting my hand at her throat. She tried to scratch me, but I squeezed harder, cutting off her airway until she complied. I held Lucius’ gaze the entire time.

“She’s mine. All of this.” I slid my hand down her side, around her thigh, and cupped her pussy like the piece of shit caveman I was. “It’s all mine. So, back the fuck off.”

Lucius glowered and tensed. “I’ve had it with your shit.”

I held her fast, taunting him. “What, you want to fight me? Won’t you be embarrassed when I kick the shit out of you in front of your little crush here? Maybe then I’ll fuck her while you’re bleeding on the ground?”

Lucius raised his fists. “Let her go, and I’m going to knock your fucking teeth out.”

A sharp pain in my ribs shocked me out of our stare down. Stella had managed to sneak in an elbow while Lucius had me distracted. She pulled away from me and darted to stand behind Lucius, her hand on his arm. I thought I was a powder keg before. Now I was a fucking black powder factory going up in a blaze of heat and sound. He reached back, put a possessive hand on her hip, and smirked at me.

“I just want to see my father. That’s all. Please, Vinemont.” Her plea, delivered behind my leering brother, pushed me far past my limit.

“You do? Are you sure?” I turned my back and went to my desk, digging for a certain sheaf of papers.

“Yes, I’m sure. Please, I’ll come back. I promise. I just need to see him.”

“I’ll tell you what, Stella.” Venom laced every word. “I want you to do a little light reading. Then tell me if you still want to see him. If you do, you can go and visit him. How about it?”

“Fine.” She sounded relieved.

I laughed, the sound cruel and harsh even on my ears. I found the papers I was looking for and held them in my hand. She’d have to come to me.

“Hand them over,” Lucius said.

“Go fuck yourself. Stella, come here.”

She stepped out from behind him and tentatively approached me. She wasn’t fearful, but she wasn’t trusting, either. I gripped the papers tighter.

Lucius trailed his hand down her arm. I wanted to pummel his face until he was no longer capable of begging me to stop.

Her fear was back. I needed it. I ate it up. It reminded me of what I needed to do, what I had to do. Even so, it tore at my heart, leaving a part of me shredded and raw. I wanted to say I’d never hurt her. Never give her reason to fear me. But it would be a lie.

I passed her the papers and then held my hands up to show her I meant no harm. But I did. The papers were the dagger, her reading them would twist the blade deep into her back. She took them over to one of the sofas next to a bright lamp. Darkness had fallen outside, painting the grounds in somber gray tones.

She read the first page, then flipped to the second. I knew when she understood. I knew the exact moment when she read the words, when she flipped to the third page to see her father’s signature.

“He sold you to me, Stella.”

Her gaze rose to mine, horror shining in her eyes along with myriad other emotions—all black, all painful.

“Before you even came in that night, into the room where he and I sat, he’d already signed that contract in your hands. One million dollars. I was so pleased with my good fortune. That was a pittance for a woman like you. He eagerly agreed, signing the paper and sending you to me. He even told me how to phrase my offer to you before you came in. Very helpful, really. And it worked. Oh, how it worked. You came out to the car as planned. Then you came here, as planned. He knew you’d sacrifice yourself for him. The one man you thought loved you was actually the one man who sold you to me. And, just so you know, he was guilty of every single charge against him. I give you my word.”

Her hand rose to her face, covering her mouth as she gasped for air. I hadn’t hit her, hadn’t touched her, but I knew as surely as she sat there that I’d destroyed some deep piece of her heart. It was blasted away, spoiled so that nothing could ever grow there again. Loathing rose in me—for myself, for her father, for everything.

She dropped the papers and stood, turning her back on me and staggering to the dark windows. Lucius rushed to her, steadying her by the shoulder. I could do nothing but wish him harm and wish her comfort. After all I’d done and all I would have to do, I still just wanted her to look at me again the way she had in the cabin. It was only hours ago, but now seemed like a lifetime.

I thought I’d seen love in her eyes, or something like it, as if I knew. I didn’t know anything about that particular emotion, not really. But, I didn’t remember anyone ever looking at me that way, with so much genuine feeling. It was guarded, but it was there. I wanted it back. I’d strangled any fledgling feelings she may have had with the documents that now lay on the floor, but I still wanted her. I wanted her to come to me for comfort, for support.

Lucius pulled her into his side as her sobs rose and fell. I willed her to leave him and come to me, to return to me and throw her arms around my shoulders. I would hold her while she cried. I would whisper sweet words into her ear. I would soothe her and bring her out of her despair.

My heart swelled, as if drunk on her tears. I could make it right. Somehow. I would try.

Her sobs stopped and her breathing slowed. She lifted her head, staring out into the inky gray of night.

I would tell her. I didn’t care if Lucius heard. I was sorry, so fucking sorry.

“Stella—”

“I choose Lucius.”

“What?” Her words were a jolt to my system—unbelievable, false. She couldn’t mean it, not after what we’d been through, what we’d shared in the cabin.

She turned to me, her tear-streaked face bearing an expression that was a mix of heartbreak and hatred.

“I said I choose Lucius as my owner instead of you,” she spat.

“You can’t—”

“You heard her, Sin.” Lucius wrapped his arm around her waist. “She chose me. She’s mine now.”

She stepped back from him, pushing his arm away in disgust. “Don’t touch me. Leave me alone, both of you.”

She rushed through the room, running as if demons were at her heels. We both watched her go—one brother destroyed, and the other exhilarated.

She wouldn’t look at me, though she was all I could see. She retreated down the hallway, disappearing from my view. My soul seemed to have left with her; my legs were no longer strong enough to hold up the empty shell of my body. I sank into the chair.

What have I done?

After a few moments of silence, a door slammed somewhere far away in the house. Her door.

The sound jarred Lucius into motion. He followed Stella’s trail like a seasoned hunter, smooth and focused.

I wanted to stop him, to work the same violence on him that I had on Stella’s heart.

“Leave her alone, Lucius.” Though my soul was gone, my rage still burned.

He glanced over his shoulder, triumphant and vicious. “She’s mine now. I know the rules. I call the shots, and I have no intentions of ever leaving her alone.”

“I will fucking end you.” I forced myself to move and followed him into the hall.

He flipped me off and took the stairs two at a time.

“Game on, big brother.”

Click here to continue The Acquisition Series

ALSO BY CELIA AARON

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Kicked

Trent Carrington.

Trent Mr. Perfect-Has-Everyone-Fooled Carrington.

He’s the star quarterback, university scholar, and happens to be the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. He shines at any angle, and especially under the Saturday night stadium lights where I watch him from the sidelines. But I know the real him, the one who broke my heart and pretended I didn’t exist for the past two years.

I’m the third-string kicker, the only woman on the team and nothing better than a mascot. Until I’m not. Until I get my chance to earn a full scholarship and join the team as first-string. The only way I'll make the cut is to accept help from the one man I swore never to trust again. The problem is, with each stolen glance and lingering touch, I begin to realize that trusting Trent isn’t the problem. It’s that I can’t trust myself when I’m around him.

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Eden Rochester

When Jack England crosses my path and knocks me off my high horse, something begins to shift. Imperceptible at first, the change grows each time he looks into my eyes or brushes against my skin. He’s my assistant, but everything about him calls to me, tempts me. And once I give in, he shows me who he really is—dominant, passionate, and with a dark past. After long days of work and several hot nights, I realize the two of us are bound together. But my secrets won’t stay buried, and they cut like a knife.

Bad Bitch

Bad Bitch Series, Book 1

They call me the Bad Bitch. A lesser woman might get her panties in a twist over it, but me? I'm the one who does the twisting. Whether it's in the courtroom or in the bedroom, I've never let anyone - much less a man - get the upper hand.

Except for that jerk attorney Lincoln Granade. He's dark, mysterious, smoking hot and sexy as hell. He's nothing but a bad, bad boy playing the part of an up and coming premiere attorney. I'm not worried about losing in a head to head battle with this guy. But he gets me all hot and bothered in a way no man has ever done before. I don't like a person being under my skin this much. It makes me want to let go of all control, makes me want to give in. This dangerous man makes me want to submit to him completely, again, and again, and again...

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Bad Bitch Series, Book 2

I cave in to no one. My hardass exterior is what makes me one of the hottest defense lawyers around. It's why I'm the perfect guy to defend the notorious Bayou Butcher serial killer - and why I'll come out on top.

Except this new associate I've hired is unnaturally skilled at putting chinks in my well-constructed armor. Her brazen talk and fiery attitude make me want to take control of her and silence her - in ways that will keep both of us busy till dawn. She drives me absolutely 100% crazy, but I need her for this case. I need her in my bed. I need her to let loose the man within me who fights with rage and loves with scorching desire...

Total Dick

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I’m your classic skirt chaser. A womanizer. A total d*ck. My reputation is dirtier than a New Orleans street after a Mardi Gras parade. I take unwinnable cases and win them. Where people see defeat, I see a big fat paycheck. And when most men see rejection, it’s because the sexiest woman at the bar has already promised to go home with me.

But Scarlett Carmichael is the one person I can’t seem to conquer. This too-cool former debutante has it all—class, attitude, and a body that begs to be worshiped. I’ve never worked with a person like her before—hell, I’ve never played nice with anyone before in my life, and I’m not about to start with her. This woman wasn’t meant to be played nicely with. It’s going to be dirty. It’s going to be hot. She’s about to spend a lot of time with the biggest d*ck in town. And she’s going to love every minute of it…

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SINCLAIR

The Acquisition Series, Prologue

Sinclair Vinemont, an impeccable parish prosecutor, conducts his duties the same way he conducts his life--every move calculated, every outcome assured. When he sees something he wants, he takes it. When he finds a hint of weakness, he capitalizes. But what happens when he sees Stella Rousseau for the very first time?

COUNSELLOR

The Acquisition Series, Book 1

In the heart of Louisiana, the most powerful people in the South live behind elegant gates, mossy trees, and pleasant masks. Once every ten years, the pretense falls away and a tournament is held to determine who will rule them. The Acquisition is a crucible for the Southern nobility, a love letter written to a time when barbarism was enshrined as law.

Now, Sinclair Vinemont is in the running to claim the prize. There is only one way to win, and he has the key to do it—Stella Rousseau, his Acquisition. To save her father, Stella has agreed to become Sinclair’s slave for one year. Though she is at the mercy of the cold, treacherous Vinemont, Stella will not go willingly into darkness.

As Sinclair and Stella battle against each other and the clock, only one thing is certain: The Acquisition always ends in blood.

MAGNATE

The Acquisition Series, Book 2

Lucius Vinemont has spirited me away to a world of sugar cane and sun. There is nothing he cannot give me on his lavish Cuban plantation. Each gift seduces me, each touch seals my fate. There is no more talk of depraved competitions or his older brother – the one who’d stolen me, claimed me, and made me feel things I never should have. Even as Lucius works to make me forget Sinclair, my thoughts stray back to him, to the dark blue eyes that haunt my sweetest dreams and bitterest nightmares. Just like every dream, this one must end. Christmas will soon be here, and with it, the second trial of the Acquisition.

SOVEREIGN

The Acquisition Series, Book 3

The Acquisition has ruled my life, ruled my every waking moment since Sinclair Vinemont first showed up at my house offering an infernal bargain to save my father’s life. Now I know the stakes. The charade is at an end, and Sinclair has far more to lose than I ever did. But this knowledge hasn’t strengthened me. Instead, each revelation breaks me down until nothing is left but my fight and my rage. As I struggle to survive, only one question remains. How far will I go to save those I love and burn the Acquisition to the ground?

ACQUISITION: THE COMPLETE SERIES

Darkness lurks in the heart of the Louisiana elite, and only one will be able to rule them as Sovereign. Sinclair Vinemont will compete for the title, and has acquired Stella Rousseau for that very purpose. Breaking her is part of the game. Loving her is the most dangerous play of all.

*includes Sinclair, Counsellor, Magnate and Sovereign

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Cash Remington and the Rum Run

The Reaper’s Mate

This job. Boring is too colorful a word for it. I’ve been escorting humans to the afterlife for millennia. I’m over it. But when you’re the son of the two greatest reapers of all time, reaping is in your blood. My latest appointment is with one Annabelle Lyric, a twenty-eight year old New Orleans party planner. Snoozefest. But there is one bonus to this assignment: it’s Halloween night. In New Orleans. And she’s attending a posh party whilst unaware of her impending demise. I’ve been tasked with taking Annabelle’s soul right after the masked ball. The good news? I’ll fit right in with all the costumed partygoers. The bad news? That hits me when I realize Annabelle is much more than my next victim, she’s my fated mate.

Christmas Candy

A Christmas novella where everyone gets their just desserts.

Olive had a major crush on Hank in high school. She was the too-smart, slightly chubby girl who gawked as Hank ran track and made all the cheerleaders swoon. After high school, the two went their separate ways. Olive opened a yoga studio and swore off sweets while Hank traveled the world. No problem, right? At least there wasn’t a problem until Hank moved back to town and opened a candy shop across the street from Olive’s studio. Now, Olive will do everything she can to shut her old crush down. But Hank has other plans, and all of them end with an Olive sundae.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Celia Aaron is a recovering attorney who loves romance and erotic fiction. Dark to light, angsty to funny, real to fantasy—if it’s hot and strikes her fancy, she writes it. Thanks for reading.

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Table of Contents

Copyright

Free Book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Counsellor

Copyright

1. Sinclair

2. Stella

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