HIS BALLERINA

Madison is trying her best to escape a life of poverty. Young, innocent, and guarded. She’s finally getting ahead when she witnesses a murder outside the dance studio and finds herself in deep with a dark and dangerous criminal.

Archer is smitten by Madison from the moment they meet. The protocol says to leave no witnesses behind, but he can’t imagine hurting her. Against his best judgment, he lets her go, but he can’t seem to get her out of his head. Like a stalker, he follows her, making certain she doesn’t spill about what she’s seen.

Then one night, he watches her through the window of the studio as she dances. She’s so beautiful and angelic. Archer decides then that no matter the cost or blood spilled, she will be his… his ballerina.

CONTENTS

1.  Madison

2.  Archer

3.  Madison

4.  Archer

5.  Madison

6.  Archer

7.  Madison

8.  Archer

9.  Madison

10.  Archer

11.  Madison

12.  Archer

Epilogue

Their Ballerina

About the Author

Also by Darcy Rose

1

MADISON

Y ou would think the sort of people who go to the gym regularly would care as much about their surroundings as they do about the condition of their bodies. You’d think they would, if not go out of their way to clean up after themselves, at least be bothered to toss their empty water bottles into the trashcan rather than letting them sit on the floor by the equipment.

Though considering some of the messes I sometimes find in the bathrooms, a few stray water bottles are nothing. It’s shocking what people will do in a bathroom they know they don’t have to clean.

I pick up the litter before emptying the last can, tying up the end of the bag and lifting it out with a grunt. “You want to take care of your body? Try cleaning up the gym after hours.” Who am I talking to? Myself, since the last gym member left half an hour ago along with the owner.

Is it the best idea to be all alone in the gym after hours? Probably not, all things considered. It’s not in the best neighborhood, though, compared to the block where my apartment sits, it’s perfectly safe. But that’s how it is when comparing any other place to the embarrassment where I live, the only apartment in town that I can actually afford.

I’ve never been even a little bit afraid, though. Does that make me naïve? I don’t think so. I know how things go. I know what I’m risking staying here so late, by myself.

What other choice do I have? It’s the only chance I get to do the one thing I love more than anything else in life. A girl makes sacrifices when the stakes are that high.

And what’s at stake now is whether or not I get to dance. I can’t clean this gym up fast enough, every second being one less second that I get to spend doing what I love.

Which is why it’s such a relief when the last can is empty. I’ve wiped down and mopped up the bathrooms, tossed the soiled towels into the wash before replacing them with fresh stacks, wiped down all the equipment, swept the floors, and taken out the trash. The fridge at the front desk is stocked with protein shakes and water for tomorrow’s early clients. There’s nothing else to do.

It’s part of the agreement I reached with the gym’s owner when I started working here. Joe can’t afford to pay me very much—this isn’t exactly a high-end facility—but I get free use of the space in the back, where fitness classes are held throughout the week. It’s empty in here now, of course, without the blaring of some nameless, upbeat song to keep students moving.

I change into my leotard before sitting on the floor to lace up my baby pink pointe shoes. Sure, they’re from Goodwill, and it would be better to have a pair of my own that I can break in to my liking, but I’ll take what I can get. Brand-new pointe shoes cost a hell of a lot more than I can afford right now, more than I’ve ever been able to afford.

Once the music is playing, none of that matters, and I warm up my muscles and allow myself to fly. That’s how it feels when I’m dancing, the way it’s always felt, ever since I was a little girl watching an old recording of the Nutcracker until I knew every movement, every gesture. I found the tape in one of my foster homes and watched it every chance I got. When I found out I’d be going to a new home, that tape was the first thing I ever stole, and the last.

I didn’t think of it as theft. That recording, that ballet was my lifeline. It was the door to a whole new world full of beauty and glory I could never have imagined on my own.

And it was all I had to tie me to the world of ballet since I sure as heck wasn’t taking lessons while bouncing from one foster home to another. I couldn’t even stay in one school long enough to make friends, much less find a ballet program. And then would come the fees, the costumes, the shoes…

Impossible, in other words. That was for other girls, girls who had a permanent home and at least one parent who gave a crap about them. Girls whose moms and dads made enough money to pay for lessons, to send them on trips to New York and Chicago and Philadelphia to watch the ballet companies perform.

Girls like me, well, we had to make do with what was available—just like I still do.

No one would ever mistake me for a trained ballerina, but I found a way to keep dancing. I’ve spent hours studying videos breaking down technique, training tips, even how to eat properly, so my body is at its peak. So I can soar.

It feels like I am, moving back and forth across the room, working on my traveling pirouettes with one eye in the mirror to check out my form. I would like to be able to afford a phone with a decent camera so I can record myself and then look at the footage afterward to see where I need to improve, but that’s not happening anytime soon. Still, it’s something to aspire for.

As usual, it’s not until my feet hurt that I realize how late it is. A check of the time tells me it’s past midnight—and I have the early shift tomorrow at the grocery store where I work as a stocker. I need to be at the store by six, which doesn’t leave me much time to get home, get a decent night’s sleep, and be out the door again.

Still, even with the sore feet, I hate having to turn off the music and call it a night. My cooldown takes fifteen minutes or so, and I’m in a hurry by the time I slide into my sneakers and pack up the shoes. As always, it stings a little to turn out the lights and turn my back on my dream until tomorrow.

I’m being an idiot, and I know it. I can even laugh at myself a little while turning out the rest of the lights in the building. My footsteps echo alarmingly in the otherwise empty space and send a shiver up my spine. This is when I inevitably regret being here so late, alone. Having to walk home by myself in a sketchy neighborhood.

What’s the alternative? Not being able to dance? No chance. It’s worth having my heart pound the whole way home. A day without dancing would be like a day without oxygen.

As usual, I cut out through the back, taking a shortcut through a series of alleys. They’re usually empty except for maybe one or two homeless people who make up beds behind hole-in-the-wall takeout restaurants and dry cleaners. Sometimes, if I have an extra bottle of water or a snack, I’ll leave it for them as I’m passing.

Most people would avert their eyes, shake their heads and click their tongues before hurrying past. Not me. I can’t ignore these people. I mean, I could easily be one of them. I know how close I’ve come to poverty—how close I always am, really—to ignore people who’ve had a run of bad luck.

I don’t have water or snacks tonight. Just sore feet to go along with the fatigue spreading to the rest of my body. But it’s a good kind of fatigue, the kind that comes after a hard workout. Sometimes I wonder why the people who come to the gym workout so hard and look so miserable while they’re doing it, or like they’re struggling through something terrible. I look forward to working out. Maybe they haven’t found something they enjoy yet.

My feet crunch on broken glass, and what sounds like a whisper on the evening breeze reminds me of where I am and how dangerous this part of town happens to be. There are a lot of desperate people around here, people in worse positions than me, and desperate people do desperate, violent things.

I need to get home—fast. Now I’m thinking it was probably stupid of me to hang around as long as I did—and even stupider considering I’m not carrying so much as a can of Mace to defend myself with.

It stinks back here, in these alleys, with overflowing dumpsters creating a nauseating stench even on a cool night like this. In the summer, it’s brutal enough to turn my stomach, and those are the nights when I choose to walk on the sidewalk rather than taking a shortcut.

I wonder as I walk with my head down and my shoulders up around my ears whether there will ever be a time when I finally make it. Will I ever be comfortable? Will I ever be able to fall asleep without worrying where this month’s rent is coming from? It seems like an eighteen-year-old shouldn’t have this much stress. I should be starting college, making new friends in the dorm, meeting guys. Not working three jobs, living in an apartment where my only roommates are roaches.

It’s the roaches I’m thinking about as I turn the corner, planning to cut down one last alley before taking the remaining three blocks on the sidewalk.

And what I find stops me in my tracks.

There’s a man up ahead—no, two men. One of them is wearing a tracksuit, kneeling on the ground, his hands in the air. He’s babbling, weeping. I’m not close enough to hear what he’s saying, but I can hear the cadence of his voice, the desperation as he begs.

Begs for what? Mercy? Did his gambling debts get to be too much? Maybe he robbed the wrong person, and it’s coming back to bite him. Either way, looking at him, it’s clear he regrets whatever he did.

It doesn’t take long before I figure out what he’s begging for—his life.

Because in the next instant, the man standing in front of him pulls a gun from his waistband. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, wearing black pants and a leather jacket. And he is absolutely not screwing around as he takes aim, positioning the gun’s muzzle between the crying man’s eyes.

My stomach clenches and my blood goes cold. I open my mouth, prepared to scream, to beg him to stop. Anything. But nothing comes out. I can’t even draw breath. I might as well not be here, might as well be a ghost witnessing this.

If I don’t get out of here, I might end up being a ghost before long. I know this, and my instincts are screaming, begging me to run. My skin feels itchy, my muscles are jumping. Run, you idiot, get out of here! Something tells me a man willing to blow another man’s brains out in an alley isn’t beyond pulling the trigger on an innocent bystander.

Still, I can’t move. I’m in shock, with part of me trying to believe this is just a dream. A nightmare. Things like this don’t happen in real life.

Only when a shot rings out, and the man falls on his side do I know this is very, very real.

And when I gasp, finally able to make a sound, the dark eyes of a cold-blooded killer land on me.

2

ARCHER

F uck. Fuck a million times over.

This was supposed to be easy. Uncomplicated, at least. The kind of thing I’ve done more times than I can count.

Tonight, something’s different.

There’s a witness.

Fuck again. But I knew I shouldn’t have done this out in the open, didn’t I? I knew it before I ever suggested the weak, whimpering, and now dead man in front of me join me outside for a little discussion; just a talk, a way to straighten a few things out.

People will believe anything when they’re desperate enough. I’ve seen it time and again. They have that fear in their eyes, that stone-cold terror that comes from knowing their time on Earth is about to come to an end. It’s when the memory of every stupid thing they’ve ever done comes rushing back—every poor decision.

Including the fatal decision to stab a member of my family in the back.

You’d think they’d know better by now. Who do they think they’re trying to kid, these morons who believe they’ve found a way to get around us, to steal from us, to pull the wool over our eyes? We might be young, my brothers and me, but we learned while sitting at the feet of none other than Paul Valentino. A man who once held this entire city by the balls.

Our father. Late father.

These assholes think that just because he’s dead, his sons will let bygones be bygones while the so-called tenuous hold we have over the city’s underworld commands all of our attention. Like we can’t multitask. Like we can’t clean house while solidifying control over the family’s interests, no matter what the media likes to report.

So sure, when I walked into the bar and found this tracksuit-wearing, sniveling little piece of shit, Trent wanted to believe there was nothing to it but a quick chat away from prying eyes and ears. People will believe anything when their life is at stake, and they don’t want to come to terms with it.

Well, I didn’t put it at stake. I didn’t double-cross us. He did. I only settled the score.

But now there’s this girl standing not thirty feet away, and I know she saw the whole damn thing. Why didn’t I notice her? Or at least hear her come up on us? I’m better than this. I’m smarter than this.

Obviously not, dumbass, or else you wouldn’t be staring at a witness to the murder you just fucking committed.

“Don’t move.” It’s a bark, a command, and nobody who’s ever heard that tone in my voice has ever dared disobey. She’s no different. Frozen solid, not even shaking, though her eyes are bulging out and her face is about as pale as milk.

A nice face. Angelic, even. The glow of an overhead lamp adds to that effect, I guess, making a halo around her golden hair. It’s pulled back in a messy ponytail, but I can tell it would be soft to the touch, flowing around her face like a cloud, framing those delicate features and those big, shining blue eyes.

Snap out of it, you dumb shit. I’m fast, but she’s small and toned, and she has the benefit of adrenaline on her side. The second she snaps out of whatever shock she’s going through, she’ll take off like a rabbit in her beat-up sneakers. I won’t stand a chance.

I’ve gotta get through to her. Or else I’ll have to kill her.

My entire body stiffens at the thought, but what other option is there? She’s a fucking witness, and I can’t leave fucking witnesses behind. She’s gotten a good, long look at me, too. No way she wouldn’t be able to identify me.

Focus. One thing at a time. I can practically hear my father’s voice in my ear. You can’t look at the entire problem at once, or else it’ll overwhelm you, and you’ll end up making stupid mistakes. Look at one thing at a time.

Okay. First thing, getting her away from the scene while being in control.

I take a step toward her, then another, careful to conceal the gun in my right hand. While sliding it into my waistband, I hold my left hand up, palm facing out. “I’m not gonna shoot you. Okay?” Even though I should. “Stay put. Don’t move a muscle.”

She lets out a little whimper. Pitiful, the sound, and something inside me hurts when I hear it. What’s that about?

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I swear.” With the gun tucked away, I approach with both hands up. “Just take it easy. Okay?”

Her eyes shift away from my face, over my shoulder. I take a step to the left to block the view of the dead man. “Don’t worry about him. He got what he had coming to him. So long as you play by the rules and do as I say, the same thing won’t happen to you. Got it?”

Her head bobs up and down. “Cat got your tongue?” I ask. Now that I’m standing closer, the stench of the alley is replaced with something sweeter. Her shampoo, I guess, though, there’s something else coming from her skin in waves, sweat. It’s not even that bad. In fact, it makes me wonder what she’d smell like once I got her good and heated up.

She shakes her head. “No.” Her voice is soft. Sweet. Just the way I would’ve imagined it. Nobody as angelic and fragile-looking as the girl in front of me would have a harsh, raspy voice. It wouldn’t fit.

“So, you understand what I’m saying? Tell me, you understand.”

“I understand. Only please, please, don’t—”

“Spare me.” I’ve heard it enough to make me sick. Please, don’t hurt me. Please, I’ll do anything. I have a wife and kids. My mom needs me. I didn’t mean to do anything wrong, I swear. Please, don’t make me pay for my stupid choices.

Her eyes go a fraction wider. “It’s just that I didn’t see anything. You know? Nothing at all, I’ll just go home and forget this ever happened.”

Right. Like that would be possible. I stop short of rolling my eyes at her, but just barely, before yanking the backpack from her shoulder before she has the chance to stop me. Not like she could if she tried, considering the size of her. “What’s your name, huh?” I make it a point to sound as menacing as I can because this girl needs to be afraid. Very afraid. It’s the only thing that’ll shut her up.

“M—Madison.” She wraps her arms around herself and trembles. So it looks like her body is finally waking up to what she witnessed. She’s starting to understand the trouble she’s in.

“Madison, huh?” Sure enough, the wallet I pull out of the front pocket of the bag confirms this. Madison Miller, age eighteen. She lives a few blocks from here.

“What are you doing?” It’s barely a whisper through chattering teeth.

“I’m learning what I can about you, Madison Miller.” I thrust the bag at her, wallet included. “And now I know where you live. You know what that means, right?” When she nods, I push harder. “Tell me what it means.”

Her brow furrows. “You’ll come to my place if you find out I told on you.”

I could laugh, I really could. She sounds like a little kid tattling in the schoolyard. Is she really that innocent? Or is shock turning her into this scared, whispering little girl?

Whatever it is, I have to take it and use it. “That’s right. I’ll come to your place—or, if you’re really unlucky, I’ll send somebody less merciful than me. You realize I could’ve blown you away by now, right? They won’t make it that easy, I promise.”

“I get it.” And oh, look here, there’s an edge to her voice. Not as sharp as it could be, but I hear it. And damned if I don’t respect her a little more now. She’s not as fragile as she looks.

Though she’s still a tiny thing, and this is a shithole of a neighborhood. I wouldn’t normally come here except to straighten somebody out. I look to the right, then the left. “You out here all alone?”

“Yes,” she gasps. “There’s nobody here with me.”

“What are you, stupid or something? For fuck’s sake. Who walks around out here on their own at this time of night? You’re practically begging to walk in on something like this.” I wave a hand in the direction of the dead man, his body half-hidden behind a row of trash cans, while I pull out my phone.

“What are you doing now?”

“Just shut up and stay where you are. Don’t forget what’s tucked in my pants. Got it?” She nods, trembling harder, as the call picks up.

“Talk to me. Is it done?” My brother, Ace, oldest of all of us. Now that Dad’s gone, he thinks he’s hot shit, the unofficial father figure, but it’s not easy to forget all the dumb shit a person pulled when they were a kid. I know him too well.

“It is, but there’s been a complication.” I glance at her, meeting her gaze. God, she’s got gorgeous eyes. I could fall into those eyes and drown. What would they look like if she was happy? If I made her happy?

“Like what?”

“Like I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. But I’m gonna need you to send somebody down here for clean-up.” I give him the location while watching Madison for any sign that she’s about to flee. While I doubt anybody would think twice about the double-crossing bookie turning up dead in an alley a few blocks down from where he was last seen, it’s not like we want the cops breathing down our necks. Especially when I was seen leaving the bar with him.

I don’t think anybody in there would be stupid enough to rat me out—still, no taking chances.

“On it. You sure you’ve got this covered?”

Sometimes he forgets I’m twenty-three, not thirteen. “Got it.” I end the call before he finds some other way to insult me or otherwise insinuate I might not have things under control.

Like this is my first hit, for Christ’s sake.

Once that’s taken care of, I take hold of Madison’s elbow. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Oh, my god…” Tears fill her eyes and spill onto her cheeks. I don’t know whether to slap some sense into her or comfort her, and the fact that there’s even a choice to be made terrifies me deep down inside. It’s like there’s something inside me that’s never been there before. Pity? Sympathy? Either way, I don’t like it.

“Shut up, for God’s sake. Stop blubbering. I’m walking you home, is all.” I pull her a few steps further away from the alley and the body there.

“Walking me home?”

“Are you a parrot? And stop crying, would you? There’s nothing to cry about. So long as you’re smart and remember what I told you. Think you can do that?”

She drags the back of her hand under both eyes and squares her shoulders. Something about that tiny gesture hits me hard. The girl has no reason to believe me after witnessing what I did a few minutes ago, but she’s willing to play along. She’s that brave.

And a fucking idiot. “Don’t you know how dangerous it is to be walking around out here in the middle of the night? All alone? It’s amazing this is the first hit you’ve ever walked in on.”

“Who says it’s the first?”

She surprises me into stopping dead in my tracks just before reaching the sidewalk. “It’s not?”

“No, of course, it is. I don’t even know why I said that.” She looks at the ground, where broken glass glitters like diamonds between weed-choked cracks in the concrete.

Something tells me I’m not going to be able to get this girl out of my head for a long time, and that’s a real problem. But it doesn’t stop me from continuing on with her, one hand on her arm in case she decides to do anything stupid.

3

MADISON

T  his is it. I’m dead, or as good as dead. No way this guy is going to let me live after what I saw.

His hand is tight around my elbow, a silent reminder that I can’t get away from him. I could fight, couldn’t I? Every bit of advice I’ve ever heard regarding personal safety flies through my head all at once, a jumble of warnings and tips.

Throw your wallet in one direction and run in the other direction. Well, he’s already had my wallet, and he didn’t seem interested in what was inside beyond the name and address on my driver’s license. So that’s out.

Scream fire. People are more likely to come to your rescue when they think their property might burn. There aren’t that many people around here right now, not at this time of night. Most of the buildings up and down the street are storefronts or used to be before they got boarded up. There might be people living in the apartments on the second and third floors, but what are the odds that any of them will come running? So I doubt that will help.

Kick him where it hurts. Sure, and I might even enjoy doing that, considering how scary he is and how intimidated I am after watching him murder a man in cold blood. But what good would it do? I doubt he would let me go. Even if he did, he could shoot me as I ran.

Besides, he knows where I live. What’s the point of fighting when he can just find me later? I don’t have anywhere else to go, no friends to stay with, no family. Sure, pretty much all of my possessions could be packed into a backpack, but the idea of living on the street doesn’t exactly thrill me.

Here I am, walking home, and my only options are to keep living in an apartment a cold-blooded killer could point out on a map or live on the streets. This has to be some kind of nightmare.

No, it’s not a nightmare. When his grip tightens before we step off the sidewalk like he’s making double sure I’m not going to make a run for it, it only solidifies the reality I’ve found myself in.

“You are going to hurt me, at least be honest.” What’s the point of playing word games, pretending this is all going to turn out happily? If I’m going to die, I think I deserve a little honesty.

“What makes you say that?”

“Come on. I’m not a child. I know how things go. And I know you could’ve killed me out there in the alley, but you didn’t, so I’m guessing you want to hurt me before you kill me?”

I glance his way, looking up since he’s so much taller than me, and I see his jaw tighten. A firm jaw, sharp, covered in just a little bit of dark scruff like he didn’t shave this morning. “I don’t have to force myself on women to get laid if that’s what you’re insinuating.”

He sounds so matter-of-fact about it, but then again, so do I. This is no time to get all emotional or start shaking again. “Then why are you walking me home?”

“This isn’t a question and answer session, Madison.”

“Then what is it?” I pause for a second, then ask, “What’s your name, at least?”

“Why do you need to know my name?”

“I guess I have a habit of wanting to know the name of the man who’s going to kill me.”

He snorts, giving me the first glimpse of a sense of humor. Murderers can have a sense of humor, I guess. “Remember what we talked about. There’s no reason you have to die, so long as you play by the rules. When you think about it that way, this is really all up to you.”

I have to stop short of thanking him for giving me the power to control whether I live or die. Something tells me this guy isn’t a big fan of sarcasm.

Besides, he’s lying. He has to be. This is all a ploy to get me to a second location, where he can do whatever he wants to me before ending my life.

I might be young, but I’ve watched a lot of TV over the years. Sometimes, it was all I had to distract me from the misery I lived in.

“I would still like to know your name. Just your first name. I mean, we’re talking, and you know my name, and it doesn’t seem fair.” Sure, I’m babbling, but it’s better than walking in silence. The silence is so heavy, thick, threatening to choke me. At least talking feels semi-normal.

He makes me wait a while, until I’m sure he’s decided there won’t be any more talking. “Archer.” He didn’t want to tell me, it’s obvious, and the word comes out slowly. Like he already regrets saying it.

“That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks,” he snorts. “Unlike this neighborhood.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the best I was able to do.” He doesn’t correct my using past tense, which only confirms my suspicions. I’m dying tonight. I almost wish he would get it over with, that he would end this little game he’s playing with me. Is he getting off on it? Is this exciting for him, holding my life in his hands, knowing he’ll be the one to decide when I draw my final breath? Some people are like that—killers who toy with their victims for the thrill of control.

“I’m only walking you home, Madison.”

It’s beyond surreal how protective he sounds. Like a father, almost. Granted, I’ve never had a father who cared about me, but it’s how I would always imagine a loving father would speak. Like he knows better than me, like he only wants what’s best for me even if I don’t understand his motives.

Incredible, the thoughts that will go through a person’s brain in their final minutes.

There was so much more I wanted to do. So much more I wanted to see. I was going to save up and take a trip to watch real, live ballet. I was going to buy a brand-new pair of pointe shoes. I was going to find a decent job, maybe something that would let me move to a better neighborhood, a job that would pay enough so I could stop bouncing from the grocery store to the diner where I waitressed to the gym almost every day. I would have more hours free to do what I wanted to do, which, of course, meant dancing.

None of it had been exactly clear in my head, just vague images, ideas. I didn’t even have time for those ideas to solidify into something real, into goals I could work toward.

We’re about to cross another street when a rusty old car with muffler problems comes flying up out of nowhere. Archer spits out a curse, pulling me closer, out of the car’s path. I don’t know if I want to be this close to him, but at the same time, I can’t deny the scent of leather mixed with what smells like whiskey coming from his breath and a spicy, musky cologne.

Most definitely not what I need to be thinking about right now. I don’t need to think about his broad chest, either, or the muscles under his jacket. But here I am.

“Assholes shouldn’t be allowed to drive.” Archer shakes his head, muttering some more profanity under his breath before pulling me along with him. I practically have to jog to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.

I guess he doesn’t want to waste any more time before he blows my brains out.

“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper as we approach my building. Half the windows are boarded up thanks to vandals breaking into the apartments on the first floor. Mine’s on the third, with heavy bars outside the windows to prevent that sort of thing from happening.

“People never get tired of saying that, do they?” It sounds like he’s talking more to himself than he is to me, and I have to wonder how many people he’s killed. Something tells me I’d better not ask. I might not want to hear the answer.

“But it’s true.”

“I’m aware of that. I’m not a fan of repeating myself, so don’t make me do it again.” When we reached the front door—heavy, metal, rusted—he jerks his chin toward it. “Go ahead. Unlock it.”

“Are you coming up with me?”

His brows draw together over the bridge of his nose. “Why can’t you get it through your head? What’s the crime in wanting to make sure a girl doesn’t get herself killed walking home alone in a neighborhood like this?”

I blink, staring at him. For the first time since we left the alley, it feels like he’s telling the truth. Like maybe I should believe him. But I’m afraid to believe. I don’t want to get my hopes up.

He looks around while I unlock the door, and I hear him muttering in what sounds like anger. When I look up at him again, hoping against hope that this really is what he says it is, he looks disgusted. “They should tear all of this down.”

“Where would the rats live?” Dear Lord, am I making jokes right now?

He looks me up and down, and I’m pretty sure he’s smirking, though it’s very dark out here with only half the streetlights working, and I can’t quite make out his expression by the time he takes one backward step, then another. “Go inside. Now.”

Something tells me to do as he says, so I dart into the building and close the door behind me with a slam. I barely even notice the smell of urine and mouse droppings as I fly up two sets of stairs, practically stumbling when my feet don’t move as fast as I want them to.

He doesn’t follow me. When I double-lock my apartment door, I press an ear to it just in case there’s noise out in the hallway. But there isn’t. It’s silent, except for the rush of blood in my ears.

I don’t know how long it takes for me to slide down the door until my butt hits the floor. It could be minutes; it could be an hour for all I know. Now that I’m alone, really alone with nobody chasing me up the stairs or trying to break down the door, I can try to get my thoughts together.

He must’ve meant it. He won’t come after me so long as I keep my mouth shut. Well, that’s fine by me. If it means the difference between life and death, I won’t breathe a word to anybody. I’ll forget I ever saw him.

Though something tells me it’s not going to be as easy as that. By the time I change into a T-shirt and shorts and crawl into bed, I’ve stopped shaking, but that doesn’t mean my thoughts have calmed down any. I end up tossing and turning until the bedsprings scream in protest, every noise on the street below, making me jump. My nerves are shredded, my legs shaking when I finally give up and get out of bed.

I don’t know why, but something compels me to look out the window on my way to the kitchen for a cup of tea to hopefully soothe my nerves. It overlooks the street in front of the building, and as usual, there’s nobody out there at this time of night but the occasional drunk staggering home from the bar.

Only tonight, there’s something else out there. A big, shiny, black SUV parked right out front.

My heartbeat quickens. That car is way out of place in this neighborhood. There’s only one person it could be.

So he didn’t go away, after all. He’s going to sit out there like some psycho.

I don’t know whether he’s watching me or watching out for me. Either way, there’s no chance I’m getting a wink of sleep tonight.

4

ARCHER

O ne thing is for sure: this girl doesn’t deserve the life she lives.

I don’t know what it is about her that makes me determined to follow her throughout the day, to watch her. She’s like a drug in my system, invading my organs, my blood, my brain. I can’t get her out of my head. I need to know her, to know everything about her.

Which is why I’ve been watching. I can’t stop watching.

First, she was out the door before dawn. I made the decision in the middle of the night to move the car further down the street, where I could still see her but where she wouldn’t feel afraid to leave her apartment. Sometimes, I have a tendency to come on too strong. I know that; I can admit it if only to myself.

Sure enough, when that rusty old door screeched open way before the sun rose, she crept out like a mouse and looked both ways before scurrying down the sidewalk with her shoulders hunched, her arms wrapped around herself. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I would’ve bet my bank account they moved back and forth constantly, sweeping the area. Watching for me, expecting somebody to jump out and blow her away.

I settled for following at a distance, and a few blocks later, I watched her slip in through the back door of a grocery store, by the loading area. There were crates stacked back there. A few minutes later, she came back out wearing an apron with the store’s name embroidered on the front and lifted one of those crates, carrying it inside before coming back out for another one.

When watching from the back of the store wasn’t good enough, I pulled the car around the front and parked across the street. She was stocking shelves quickly, efficiently, and nobody would ever have guessed she watched a murder take place not six hours earlier.

I never did find out what she was doing last night, walking the streets alone. Leaving her boyfriend’s house? I would fucking hope not. No man worthy of being called a man would let his girl walk home alone like that.

And if it was a boyfriend, I would like to meet him. Have a few words with him.

Granted, I would be the one doing all the talking since having my gun in his mouth would make it hard for him to speak up for himself. Not that it mattered. I wouldn’t want to hear any excuse he offered.

It’s almost nine o’clock when she emerges from the front of the store. Again, I see her looking both ways before she starts off on foot, and considering the direction she’s taking, it doesn’t look like she’s going home. “Where are you going now, Madison?” I whisper, starting the engine when she rounds the corner.

She’s completely out of place around here. To call this area depressed would be an insult to depressed areas. There’s garbage in the streets, spilling out from abandoned buildings, filthy alleyways. Homeless people huddle in doorways. Men call out to her, using all sorts of language, and my blood boils. Only the thought of what she would do if she knew I was following keeps me from jumping out of the car and blowing them away.

She seems to float through it. Like she’s there but not there. Like she’s somehow above it. And she is. She doesn’t belong here. She deserves more than this.

I’m about to ask myself what makes me so sure of her goodness, her sweetness, when my phone rings. The sight of ACE on the screen only makes me growl. “What?” I bark on answering.

“What the hell is wrong with you? You never went home last night.”

“How do you know I didn’t go home?”

“You didn’t disarm the security system.”

I forgot he can access my system through an app on his phone. He doesn’t love that I don’t live in the family mansion and wants to keep an eye on me. I don’t appreciate it, but I do appreciate how protective we all are in my family. We have to be. “For all I knew, you could’ve been lying in a ditch somewhere with a slug in your skull.”

“Obviously, that’s not the case, or I wouldn’t answer the phone.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious. So, where the hell are you? What gives?”

Meanwhile, Madison is walking into a little greasy spoon diner, one of those places that looks like an old train car somebody left in the middle of a neighborhood. Maybe if the chrome on the outside was updated and the neon fixed on the sign, it might look like a half-decent place. Right now, it looks like a rat buffet—a disease factory.

“Hello? Where’d you go?”

I growl again at my observation being interrupted. “Did it ever occur to you I have my own shit to deal with? Do I have to check in with you every minute of the day?”

“Hey, take it easy. Since when do you snap at me like that for asking a totally normal question?”

“Maybe I don’t feel like being questioned?”

“Then maybe you should stop doing weird shit like this. Since when do you disappear after a job?”

“I got the job done, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, then you sent somebody else in to clean up after you. That doesn’t happen. So I’m sorry if this sudden change made me wonder.”

I roll my eyes at the offended tone in my brother’s voice. “Listen, everything’s fine. That’s all I can tell you. I’ll check in with you later.” I end the call there since all Ace is going to do is ask more questions and demand I tell him the story.

Honestly, I don’t even know where I would start. What would he think if I explained? Hey, no big deal, but I met a girl last night. That is, she witnessed the hit. And instead of killing her, I’m following her around because I can’t stand the idea of her being alone in this neighborhood. It meant going the whole night without sleep and not leaving my car, but it’s what I have to do.

He’d have me committed.

And if I were in my right mind, I wouldn’t blame him. If this were any of my brothers, I would have to question their sanity after they took an about-face like this. Because this isn’t me. This isn’t who I am; it’s not what I do. I don’t skulk around in the shadows, trailing random girls.

I don’t trail any girls. They trail me. If I’m in the mood, I’ll fuck them. If not, I’ll ignore them. But it’s always my choice, my decision. And if they’re disappointed, that’s on them. I can’t even remember the name of the last girl I screwed—probably because I never asked for it. What difference does it make? It’s not like I’ll ever see her again.

She was a nobody, just like all the other nobodies. Madison might as well exist on another planet. Another galaxy.

It’s not ten minutes before I see her again through the window, and now she’s wearing one of those polyester waitress uniforms. She probably got it from an office in the back, and it’s at least two sizes too big. I don’t know whether I’m glad she didn’t go in there to eat or sad for her.

But she’s smiling. I can see it from here when she greets the booth full of men who just got out of a pair of trucks parked alongside the building. She’s warm, kind, the sort of kindness that shines out of a person. It’s not fake, not put on just for the sake of earning tips. One of the guys tells a joke, and she laughs, making the rest of them laugh with her.

I want to know what her laugh sounds like. I want to be the one who makes her laugh. My hands tighten around the steering wheel when I think about the guy who told the joke. Who does he think he is, speaking to her in the first place?

But they’re older guys, and I doubt any of them are seriously trying to pick her up. Besides, she might look small and weak, but there’s a core of steel inside this girl. I witnessed flashes of it last night. Something tells me she would know how to put a guy with the wrong idea in his place. She would probably do it with a sweet smile, with kindness.

Of course, not all men know how to take no for an answer. Which is where guys like me come in. I would more than happily wipe anybody who dared put a hand on her from the face of the earth. I know how to do it, so nobody ever finds them.

I meet my own gaze in the rearview mirror. The hardness in my eyes comes as a surprise, though it shouldn’t. All this thinking about her has my protective instincts running on overdrive. No wonder I look so intense.

It goes deeper than that, though. Down to the core of who I am. I’m not kind. I’m not sweet. I don’t have a gentle bone in my body. She is the complete opposite of me. Maybe that’s what makes her so irresistible.

She’ll be at it for a while, I’m guessing, so I decide to head home to shower and change before going back and waiting for her to finish her shift.

She’s still working when I return, and she doesn’t leave until seven. It’s dark, just the way it was when she first left home this morning, and I can’t help but feel sorrier for her than I did before.

Especially when she stops next to a pair of homeless people and leaves a Styrofoam container in front of them that I’m guessing holds food from the diner. Was she taking it home to feed herself? And she decided at the last minute that they needed it more?

How can she stay this way when she’s surrounded by so much misery?

Just when I think she’s in for the night, she comes out again around nine o’clock. The fact that I’ve spent the entire day watching her, waiting for her, doesn’t escape me as I follow once again. I would spend the rest of my life doing this so long as it meant being the angel over her shoulder, making sure no harm comes to her.

Though I doubt anybody would ever call me an angel.

She steps inside a rundown gym not too far from where we met last night. This is where she was coming from? The place must’ve closed way before we ran into each other—in fact, I wonder why she’s here at all since it can’t be open much longer. Sure enough, not long after she goes inside, a paunchy bald man comes out and locks the front doors before pulling away in an old beater.

What gives? Once the beater pulls away, I get out of my car, my head on a swivel as I approach the building. Most of the lights are off inside, though I can see somebody walking around in the half-lit weight room.

It’s her. And now she’s sweeping the floor, picking up empty bottles and cans and tossing them into the trash. It looks like she’s muttering to herself, and I can’t blame her. People are slobs.

And she has to clean up after them. God, can this get any worse? This girl works harder than anybody I’ve ever known, and her day isn’t over yet. How she doesn’t collapse is a mystery.

I wait in the shadows while she heaves bags into the dumpster behind the gym before going back inside. I can see her as she turns off the lights in the weight room, and I follow down the length of the building, coming to a stop when she does in what looks like a dance studio with mirrors on the walls.

I duck a little, careful to avoid notice. She sits on the floor and laces up a pair of those ballet shoes with the ribbons that go around the ankle, they look a little more beat-up than the kind you usually see dancers wear. Not that I’m a huge ballet fan or anything, but even I know these shoes have seen some wear and tear.

She’s wearing a leotard now, giving me an ample view of her body. Toned, tight, curves in all the right places, just enough to fill my hands as she rides me.

It seems wrong, even sacrilegious, to think of her that way, but how can I help myself? She’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen. Angel or not, I could make a life’s work out of memorizing every inch of her body, then worshipping those inches the way they deserve.

And once she starts dancing, arms and legs moving like water as she almost floats around the room, that perfection crystallizes in my head. She’s bewitching like she’s putting a spell on me with every move. Calling to me. Tempting, teasing. I can believe I’m the man she’s dancing for—ust me.

By the time I think to check my watch, I’m surprised to find it’s almost midnight. She’s been dancing since ten, which means I’ve watched her for two hours. What do I care? I could stand here all night, so long as it meant watching her do something she clearly loves.

No, she’s no professional. But she loves it. Her face, my god, it’s like the sun. She smiles at nobody, dancing alone, the sort of smile a person wears when they’re doing something they were meant to do. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way for a single moment in my whole life.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I’m feeling that way right now. Because as I stand here, watching through the window as this perfect, precious thing dances back and forth across the room, I can’t help but think I was meant for her. To protect her, to adore her. Forever.

5

MADISON

I t’s way too late by the time I get my stuff together to leave the gym. I should know better, especially after what happened last night, but I can’t help myself.

If anything, being able to dance tonight made it possible to work out all the tension I’ve been carrying around with me all day—the anxiety.

I’m pretty sure I saw that black SUV at least once, though I might’ve been paranoid about that. Isn’t it how life always goes? You see a black car, and all of a sudden, that’s all you see. It’s not that there are necessarily more black cars around. It’s just that you notice them now.

That was how my entire day went. Every time I glanced out the window at the diner—when I had the chance to do it and wasn’t too busy being overwhelmed by a busier-than-normal day—I noticed a black SUV sitting at the curb. Across the street, then further down later on in the day.

It could’ve been two separate drivers. Couldn’t it?

I’m still asking myself that question as I grab my bag and hurry out through the back door. I’ll take the streets and sidewalks tonight as soon as I make it out of the alley behind the gym. The front door is always padlocked by the time I leave, so I don’t have a choice of how I exit. All I have to do is lock the back, and that’s it.

After I do, I turn around, ready to sprint if I have to.

And I end up running straight into a chest covered in a black leather jacket.

My head snaps up, and I look straight into Archer’s eyes. They’re dark, stormy.

He’s pissed. Maybe I wouldn’t have run into him if he hadn’t been standing there, watching me.

“What is wrong with you?” It comes out as a bark. “Why can’t you get it through your head?”

“I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to bump into you.” And I would be running right now if it wasn’t for him holding my arms.

He blinks hard. “Huh?”

“If you weren’t standing here all quiet, I would’ve known you were there, and I wouldn’t have bumped into you so hard.” I’m starting to think again, now that the shock is wearing off, and it occurs to me that he must’ve been waiting.

Watching. Holy hell, he was watching me. Has he been watching all day?

His hands tighten to the point where I wonder somewhere in the back of my panicked brain if he’ll end up bruising me. “I was talking about you walking around here late at night, alone. Didn’t I already warn you last night? What does it take to get through to you? Don’t you know where you live?”

“Of course, I do, and you’re starting to hurt me.”

Just like that, the pressure from his hands eases. But he doesn’t apologize. “This place isn’t safe. The gym, the neighborhood, your apartment. Especially not your apartment. You have no idea what I saw last night when I was outside.”

So it was him. I don’t know what to think, what to say. Whether I should ask what he thinks he’s doing, stalking me.

One thing is obvious. He doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with it. He doesn’t even sound apologetic when he talks about sitting outside my building all night or embarrassed. He should be.

I doubt a man like him feels embarrassment over anything he does. Or guilt. I did watch him murder somebody in cold blood, didn’t I? What do I expect?

He looks me up and down. “You’re not staying here another minute.”

“Wh-what?”

“What did I just say? It’s not safe. Somebody has to look out for you if you won’t do it yourself.” I don’t know if he’s disgusted or determined. Either way, it’s enough to make him hold onto me and practically drag me away from the building, toward the street.

“Where are we going?”

“Until we find someplace better for you, we’re going to my place. You’re coming home with me.”

“With you?” I plant my feet. Even he can’t move me when I’m determined not to go. “What are you talking about?”

He tugs my arm with a scowl. “Stop wasting my time. You’re coming with me, and that’s that.”

“I’m not. You can’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”

When he cocks an eyebrow, my blood runs cold. “Can’t I? You don’t think I can make you do anything I feel like? You’re sure about that?”

“I—I mean—”

His eyes narrow, his jaw twitches. “Because I can. And I will. You’re getting in my car, and I’m bringing you home with me for your own good. Either you come with me, or I take you. It’s your choice.”

Not much of a choice. I can either go with him or have him force me into it. Either way, he’s going to get what he wants. All things considered, I would rather come out of this unharmed.

Though what could he do to me once we’re alone?

Couldn’t he have chosen to hurt me last night if he wanted to?

All of this goes through my head in a flash, the way thoughts tend to do when a person is terrified. “Okay, fine,” I decide. “I’ll go with you.”

“Smart girl.” He pulls me the rest of the way to the shiny black car, which I’m now sure I saw throughout the day. It just about swallows me up when I climb inside. I’ve never felt so small and defenseless in my life, which is saying something after everything I’ve seen and lived through.

We make the drive in silence, with my nails digging into my palms the entire time. Where’s he taking me? What’s he planning to do once we get there?

It doesn’t take long to find out. Before I know it, we’re in a much nicer part of the city. Skyscrapers tower around us. I could disappear here, and nobody would ever know. I’m nobody—less than nothing. And I can’t seem to get away from this man.

He pulls around to a garage behind one of those skyscrapers and slides the SUV into a spot close to the entrance. He helps me out of the car, though I don’t need the help, and walks me to a door at the far end of the garage. After typing a code into a keypad, the door opens, and we step into a lobby.

I have so many questions, like how he can afford an apartment in a fancy building like this, with security code access and marble floors in the entry and everything. Maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal to him, but it’s very much a big deal for a girl like me.

“Come on. Hurry up.” He tugs my arm when I slow down to take a look at everything around me, pulling me into the elevator and looking back and forth before following me inside. Like he’s on the lookout at all times. He probably is.

Maybe I’m assuming too much. “Do you live here alone?” Why am I whispering?

He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he hustles me out of the elevator and propels me to a door where another keypad stands between us and entry. I notice how he shields the keypad and wonder if it’s me he doesn’t trust or the rest of the world.

“Now I won’t have to worry about you.” He sounds genuinely relieved once we’re inside the spacious apartment. The man has money; that much is obvious. But it’s… cold. Not very homey. What did I expect? He doesn’t strike me as the warm-and-fuzzy type.

There’s no time for a tour, obviously. He’s all business, striding down the hall, past the sleek living room and open kitchen, coming to a stop, and flipping the light switch just inside an open door. I realize we’re standing in front of a bathroom bigger than anything I’ve ever seen before. It even has a tub and a separate shower stall that looks like it could hold five full-grown people at once. “It’s the size of my apartment.”

I didn’t mean to say it out loud. Archer snorts, going to the deep clawfoot tub and turning on the water. “I bet it is. Don’t worry. You won’t have to look at that place ever again.”

Before I can ask what he means by that, he turns to me and takes off his jacket. He’s wearing a black T-shirt underneath—it seems to be his color—and I can’t help but notice his broad chest, his thick biceps, the flat stomach, and slim waist. I once heard somebody described as being built like a brick shithouse, but I never understood what that meant until now.

This is a strong man. A powerful man. The sort of man a girl doesn’t refuse unless she wants a lot of trouble.

What does that mean for me?

His eyes travel over my body, and I can’t help but shrink a little when it’s obvious he disapproves. He reaches out and takes the bag from my shoulder, then starts peeling off my jacket.

“What are you doing?” I cross my arms over myself and try to pull away, but it’s no use.

“I’m getting you out of these awful clothes. They stink like that place. The grocery store, the diner, the gym. That rathole of an apartment.”

He must notice how hard I’m shaking now because something in his voice changes. He’s not scolding me when he takes my chin in the palm of his hand. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”

I wish I could believe him. I want to believe him. He’s just so… much. So tall, so gorgeous, so overwhelming. I wonder if a woman has ever told him no in his entire life.

I don’t know if I have it in me to be the first.

“Do you believe me?” His eyes lock onto mine, staring deep into them. Like he’s trying to stare into my soul. “Do you believe I’ll never hurt you, Madison? I need you to believe that.”

Even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t dare say it. Besides, what’s the harm in taking a bath? If he wanted to force me into something, to hurt me, he could’ve done it by now. Many times over.

When I nod, he continues sliding the jacket over my shoulders, down my arms. “Good. You’ll feel better after a hot bath. I bet you could use one after all the work you did today. You must be sore all over.”

Once the jacket’s gone, he starts to pull up my T-shirt. I have to draw the line there, crossing my arms over my chest again. I’m not shaking this time, even though my nipples tighten to the point of pain, and my skin flushes hot when I imagine him looking at my naked body. “I can manage the rest, thanks.”

He accepts this with a slight smirk. “Got it. I’ll find you something to wear. All you have to do is soak in the tub and wash off the grime of that life.”

That life. What other life is there?

Right after he leaves the room, I quickly undress. I almost leave my underwear on just in case he comes back, but decide it’ll to be useless anyway. As I sink into the steaming water, I can’t help but wonder what else Archer has in store for me.

6

ARCHER

Why do I feel like I’m getting this all wrong? Why is she so scared of me?

Well, that’s a stupid question. I did kill someone in front of her. A fact that I keep forgetting about. Something I definitely shouldn’t forget but do because Madison is taking up all my thoughts.

I hate that she feels like she has to cover herself up in front of me. Like she’s got to be on her guard. She doesn’t realize that I would never hurt a hair on her head, doesn’t know I would kill someone for causing her pain.

Just then, I realize how deep my obsession has gone, which is extremely alarming since I’ve only known her for a day.

Somehow, I manage to wait a while before knocking on the bathroom door. Just a gentle tap with my knuckles before I push the door open. Good girl, not locking the door on me. Though, it wouldn’t keep me out, either way.

She ducks in the water until it’s up to her chin. Still hiding. I leave a pair of sweats, a T-shirt, and socks on a stool next to the tub. “You can put these on once you’re finished. And here.” I pull a couple of towels from the linen closet and leave them for her, too.

“Thank you.” Her eyes are so wide, bulging like they’re about to fall out of her head. And they only get wider when I crouch next to the tub.

“What do I have to do to prove myself to you?” I reach out, taking a wet strand of hair—like gold now that it’s wet, darker than usual—and tuck it behind her ear. “When are you going to believe I only want to keep you safe? You need protecting.”

“Do I?” It’s hardly a whisper.

“Yeah. You do.” I want to do a lot more than touch her hair, but what matters right now is keeping her calm, like soothing a scared rabbit. So, I stand instead. “Take as long as you want. I’ll make you something to eat.”

“I don’t—”

“You haven’t eaten today. At least, not much.” I leave her there before she can argue anymore and go to the kitchen. I’m glad to find cold cuts and fruit in the fridge. Though I worry. Does she like cold cuts? What’s her favorite kind? Does she have allergies? I need to find these things out so I can stock everything she likes. I wish there had been more time to prepare, but what’s the alternative? Letting her go back to that apartment? I don’t think so. Not ever again.

By the time she’s out of the tub and dressed, looking like a little kid playing dress-up in Dad’s clothes, I’m carrying a tray of sandwiches and milk. “Come on.”

“Where are we going now?” Instead of answering, I lead her to the master bedroom at the end of the hall, facing out over the street.

“Wow.” It’s a breath, nothing more. She freezes in the doorway, looking around with her mouth hanging open. “This is gorgeous.”

She’s gorgeous. This is just an apartment. “My father bought it for me. He made sure we were all taken care of, my brothers and me. I didn’t wanna live in the family mansion anymore.”

“Why not?”

There isn’t enough time to explain why I needed a little space for myself. Just the fact that she’s so into the apartment and thinks it’s something great tells me she’s always lived the kind of life I’m trying to get her away from. “Here. Eat.” I leave the tray next to the king-size bed and wait for her to sit down.

She starts slow, but it’s obvious how hungry she is. One or two tentative bites, and all of a sudden, she starts wolfing it down. I have to hold myself back instead of reaching for her and pulling her close and telling her she’ll never be hungry like that again. She’ll never have to be afraid or lonely or so exhausted from working three jobs.

When she’s finished, I ask, “Feeling better?”

She nods with a funny little smile like she’s embarrassed, and I can breathe easier knowing she’s satisfied. I made that possible. “Yeah, much. I didn’t know how hungry I was.”

“That’s usually how it goes. Not until you start eating.” I take the tray from her and leave it on the dresser, watching her in the mirror. She’s still so tense, like she’s ready to bolt if she needs to.

I’ve never so much as had a woman in my home, much less kept one with me. I don’t know how to act, what to say. I know I can be a little intense, and she clearly doesn’t react well to that. I don’t know any other way to be, that’s the problem. Especially when there’s something I want as much as I want her.

“You must be tired.” I turn back to her, noting the circles under her eyes. It would freak her out too much if I mentioned the way she flipped the light on last night while I was watching from outside her building. Like she couldn’t sleep.

Of course, she couldn’t. She watched something that would make a normal person lose sleep. A civilian. Somebody in the other world, the so-called real world outside of the world I live in. For me, pulling the trigger is a job. It’s how I protect what’s mine.

Not so for her. The look on her face. The terror in her eyes when I turned and found her standing there, watching me commit murder.

Her mouth falls open in a huge yawn, and she giggles. As if she could get any sweeter. “Yeah, I am. Exhausted.”

“You should lie down.”

There she goes again, stiffening up. It’s enough to drive me crazy. “Come on. Relax. I told you, I don’t want to hurt you. All I want is what’s best for you, and right now, you need to sleep.”

Instead of thanking me, she frowns. “Why do you want to make sure I’m okay? What’s your endgame?”

I shouldn’t laugh at her, but I can’t help it. “Where would I even begin to explain?” She’s still frowning as I approach the bed, so I somehow find the strength to stop myself instead of pinning her to the mattress and ravishing her until she screams. It’s almost too much to fight against, but I manage it. “For starters, you deserve to have somebody to look out for you. You need somebody. Do you think you could last long, walking home in the middle of the night? You’ve been lucky up until now, but that was bound to end. That’s where I come in.”

I gesture to the bed. “Let me help you here.” She gets up, and I pull down the blankets, which she slips under before curling up on her side. Defensive, protecting herself.

“What are you doing?” She pushes herself up on one elbow when I walk around to the other side of the bed, dropping my jeans as I do, kicking off my shoes.

“What do you think?” I stop short of rolling my eyes, but just barely. “Don’t worry. You’re perfectly safe. But I’d like to get a little sleep tonight, too.”

“I don’t have to sleep here—”

“Yes. You do.” There’s no room for argument in my voice, and she must know that since she lowers herself to the mattress again. I turn out the bedside lamp, plunging us into darkness. “Go to sleep now.”

It takes a few minutes for her breathing to even out, to slow down like every passing minute in which I don’t grab her grants her a little more peace. Finally, she relaxes, and it sounds like she might have fallen asleep.

I can breathe easier, too, once she does. I don’t need to do anything but lie here with her, listening to her breathe as she dreams. This is enough. Being close to her this way, knowing she’s safe because she’s right here next to me, is enough.

The creaking of the bedsprings wakes me up. I don’t know how much time has passed, and I didn’t even mean to fall asleep, but Madison’s not the only one who didn’t get any sleep last night.

She’s trying to leave. Trying to sneak out of bed and leave. Was she planning on this? Or did she wake up, find me sleeping and decide at the last second to take a chance?

My growl cuts through the darkness and makes her gasp. “What part of you aren’t going anywhere, don’t you understand?” I pull her close before she can get up, her body flush against my chest. “You’re staying with me. You’re not leaving.”

“But—”

“No buts.” My arm is a steel band around her. She can fight all she wants, but she isn’t getting away. “You’re here with me now. That’s all there is to it, Madison.”

I can’t stand having her this close, in my arms with her tits pressed against my chest, and her heart hammering away. That sweet scent I noticed last night can’t be her shampoo since she washed her hair in the bath, and while I learned a lot about her today, I didn’t learn the brand she uses.

It must be her. Whatever it is that makes her so special. Whatever it is that makes her impossible to forget.

What the fuck is she doing to me?

Right now, she’s shaking in my arms. I don’t want that. I want her to be comfortable. To trust me. I slide a hand down her back. “Relax.” All she does is stiffen up and hold her breath. “I’ll never hurt you. I only want you to trust me.”

She’s trying, I can tell. But it’s not enough. I want her to melt against me. I want her to wind herself around me and cling to me and writhe while moaning my name.

Her breath catches when my hand skims the curve of her ass. But she doesn’t push me away—in fact, she moves closer, thrusting her hips against mine.

So, the angel isn’t so angelic. I didn’t think she would be under the right circumstances, with the right man touching her, exploring the curves of her body, testing the softness of her flawless skin.

I slide my hand under the waistband of her sweats and groan when I remember she’s not wearing underwear. That’s one thing I don’t have lying around, women’s panties. Good thing, since I don’t want anything standing in the way of touching her. Dipping into her heat.

“Archer…” It’s the sweetest sound in the world, a symphony. She arches her back, gasping when I find her slit. “Please…”

She’s so slick, dripping wet, and I want nothing more than to shove my face between her thighs and lick up every drop. The only thing that stops me is knowing she’ll freak out.

Right now, all that matters is getting her to relax. Getting her to rest. There’s nothing better for that than coming hard, and that’s what I’m going to make her do.

Her fingers bite into my shoulders as I part her lips, sliding my finger through her slickness, feeling how hot she is at her core—that welcoming heat, inviting me in, drawing me closer. Instead of pushing inside, I move up to the hard nub under her mound.

“Oh, my god!” She clenches around me, moving her hips, moaning as I tease her, swirling my finger around the very tip, circling, teasing out another moan and another. Learning how she likes it. How she needs to be touched. What lights her up, what makes her build and build until she—

“Fuck! Oh, Archer! Oh, my god!” She buries her head in my shoulder, spasming, thighs clamping around my hand as she comes apart. I’m hard as a fucking diamond and dripping precum in my boxers, but that doesn’t matter right now.

All that matters is holding her. Letting her ride it out. Kissing her forehead, her cheek, her neck as she comes down. Her breathing slows along with her heartbeat against my chest.

The most precious thing ever born, clinging to me, finally relaxing against my body now that I’ve made her come. She falls asleep without another word, and after a while, I do, too.

7

MADISON

T  hud-thud. Thud-thud. Thud-thud.

What’s that beat running through my head? Slow, measured, even. My head rises and falls a little. Then again.

Oh, my god.

My eyes fly open, and… yes, it’s as bad as I just imagined.

I fell asleep on Archer’s chest. How long have I been like this? Oh, my god, did I drool on him? I do that sometimes when I’m out cold, and I was definitely out cold until just now. I don’t think I’ve slept that soundly in months. Maybe years.

Because I was exhausted, right? Sure, that’s what I want to tell myself as my entire body flushes. I know better, though. He knocked me out cold.

And I can’t believe he did it. I can’t believe I let him do it.

More than anything, I can’t believe how much I wanted him to.

I was terrified at first. What was he going to do? How far would he go? He was too strong for me to get away and too fast. I wouldn’t have been able to stop him.

Turns out, I didn’t want to. Not when he touched me like he did. I never imagined that, not in my wildest dreams, the feeling of burning up from the inside out. Like I was going to explode, all because he brushed a hand over my—

The thought makes me blush even harder than before.

I’m careful as I raise myself up off his very firm, surprisingly comfortable chest. This is the first time I’ve ever shared a bed with anybody, man or woman. I hope I didn’t snore or anything worse. I don’t have the first idea of co-sleeping etiquette.

He’s still sleeping, breathing evenly. The scruff on his cheeks is thicker than it was when we first met. I have to resist the urge to reach up and run a hand over his face to test the roughness. Sleep is funny like that. Even the most intimidating person seems a lot less so when they’re asleep.

And he’s definitely intimidating. Controlling. Demanding. Oh, and a killer. I can’t let myself forget that part.

Shouldn’t I be terrified of him? I was once, just a few short hours ago, wasn’t I? Convinced he was biding his time before murdering me. Am I terrified now, though?

No. Not anymore. Do I feel completely comfortable? Absolutely not. Do I wish he would tell me what this is all about and why it’s so important for me to stay with him? Very much. I can’t make sense of any of this. Why I’m here, what he wants with me. To make sure I don’t tell, probably, but would that necessarily come with a bath and everything else that happened last night? No. He doesn’t have to be caring or even nice. He could lock me in a spare room if that was what he wanted.

None of this makes sense. He hasn’t hurt me… yet. He swears he doesn’t want to.

What does he want, though?

Then something else hits me—real life.

And right away, I feel that sick rush of adrenaline. “Oh, no!” I can’t believe this. I didn’t even think to check the time. The little clock on one of the two nightstands reads quarter to nine. I missed my shift at the grocery store and am now late for the diner. My heart starts to race and only gets worse when Archer sits bolt upright, eyes open wide.

“What is it?” He jumps up out of bed, and for a second, all I can think about is an animal ready to attack. Two seconds ago, he was fast asleep. Is this how he always lives? Never able to rest, ready to fight at the drop of a hat?

“Sorry,” I whisper. “It’s just that I’m gonna be late for the diner. I have to be in by nine.”

It takes him a second to process this. He scrubs a hand over his head, making his dark hair stand on end. This is the first time I’ve ever seen him look human. Like he’s not completely in control, a little groggy.

He breaks out of it fast enough. “That’s all? Don’t worry about that,” he scoffs.

I hate to break it to him, but not everybody’s daddy bought them a fabulous apartment to live in. “I have to work. I can’t afford to lose my job. Literally.”

He blinks hard. I don’t know whether he’s blinking away sleep or trying to understand me. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. Who do you think?” He sits on the bed with a sigh. “You’re okay now. That’s what this is about. You don’t have to ever work again—especially not where you were before. It’s amazing you were never mugged.”

“Actually, I was mugged before.” When his eyes darken, and his jaw tightens, I add, “It happened a long time ago, and I wasn’t hurt.”

“I don’t see how you can make jokes when it’s your safety on the line.” The tension in his expression eases. “Which is why it’s good that I came into your life when I did. If you won’t take your safety seriously, at least I know I will.”

Is he for real? This sort of thing doesn’t happen in real life. Movies? Sure. But I’m not a prostitute, and this isn’t Pretty Woman.

I wasn’t born yesterday, either. “What do you expect in return?”

“Nothing,” he says without hesitating, without blinking, without pausing to take a breath. “I only want you. That’s enough.”

“You can’t mean that.”

His eyes narrow as he laughs. It’s tight, not exactly uplifting. “I never say anything I don’t mean.”

But he can’t mean it. He can’t be serious. No, this is a ploy—a trick. Granted, it’s a lot of work to go through for the sake of a trick, but still. I can believe that more easily than I can believe he means a word he’s saying.

He lowers his brow. “You look like you don’t believe me.”

My mouth works, but nothing comes out, mostly because I don’t know what to say. All I can do is point to myself with my eyes wide. Me? You want me?

He nods, chuckling, and I have to say it’s nice to hear that. He sounds more human. Less intimidating. “Yeah, you. Why’s that so hard to understand?”

“How much time do you have?”

When he stretches out on his side, propping himself up on one elbow, I can’t help but notice his body. I’d have to be blind not to. Some of the guys at the gym could take a lesson from him. “For you? All the time in the world.”

I don’t know what to say as he stares at me, expectant like he’s waiting for me to list all the reasons why I’m not the girl this sort of thing happens to. Good thing the sound of the front door opening interrupts us.

Archer jumps to his feet, and I follow him out to the hall as two men walk in, and for a second, I think this is it. We’re done for. They are here to either arrest or kill Archer and maybe me simply because I’m here.

My fear scatters away when Archer only snickers at the sight of the men. “What are you doing here?” he asks while folding his arms over his chest.

They’re twins, obviously, practically mirror images. And then I notice how they both look like Archer: tall, dark hair, finely chiseled faces to go with their chiseled bodies. Dark eyes, too, and now the twins have started looking me up and down. I’m wearing Archer’s clothes, completely covered in enough fabric to make a dress if I wanted to, but I feel exposed.

“Whoa.” One of them points at me like he’s never seen a girl before. “You’re serious?”

“What’s she doing here?” the other one asks with a smirk.

Did he tell them about me? The girl who witnessed the hit? Why else would they be so surprised?

The first one answers that question before I have to ask it. “Since when do you let girls in the sanctuary? This has to be a first, right?”

Archer’s scowling when he looks my way. “Madison, my brothers. Kane and Cash.” He doesn’t specify who’s who, though they nod in turn when he says their names. They’re both looking at me like I’m a rare museum exhibit, anyway, so I can’t bring myself to care which of them is which right now.

“Madison, huh?” Kane snickers. “What’d you do to earn access to Archer’s place?”

Archer steps in while I stammer, putting himself between the twins and me. “She didn’t have to do anything, and you’d better watch your mouth.”

Kane holds his hands up, palms out. “Hey, hey, no offense. Just busting your balls, little brother.”

“Yeah, don’t get all defensive.” Cash cranes his neck to see me, looking around Archer. There’s a gleam in his eye and a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Like he’s trying to hold back laughter.

Honestly? I don’t hate knowing this is unusual for Archer. That he doesn’t have random girls up here all the time. That’s the last thing I want to be—another notch in his headboard or whatever.

I still wish I could understand why he’s doing this and what it all means.

“She’s better than that.” Archer looks at me over his shoulder. “She’s different. And she’s here to stay, so you’d better start learning how to talk to her. Not like she’s some random piece of ass. Got it?”

He wasn’t talking to me, but I end up gulping and blushing, anyway.

Here to stay. He’s so sure of himself.

Am I so sure, though?

8

ARCHER

“I ’ll be right back. Hang out in here for a little while, okay?” I want to discuss things with the twins that Madison doesn’t need to hear—besides, I know they won’t leave without grilling me over her.

I love my brothers, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t a real pain in the ass sometimes.

Once the bedroom door’s closed, they descend on me like vultures. “Who is she? What’s she really here for? Does she know who you are? Who we are?”

I’m not playing that game. They might be the older brothers, but I’m not a kid who gets pushed around. “One thing at a time, okay? Why are you walking in here uninvited?”

“Ever consider we might be checking on you because we’re worried? You went radio silent after you took out that—”

“Yeah, I know.” I don’t need the guilt trip, either. “I told Ace shit came up.”

Cash’s lips twitch. “No, kidding. Now we know what.” When I shoot him a warning look, he manages to straighten out his expression. But just a little. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Listen. We’re not here to fuck around.” Kane’s brows draw together. “There’s been talk out there. Dissatisfaction in the ranks, like Dad used to say. Bruno’s crew isn’t gonna stop with convincing a few low-level numbers guys to skim off the top.”

“They want to shake things from the ground up,” Cash explains. “Make our foundation unstable and watch the whole thing crumble.”

“Once word spread about Trent going missing,” we all exchange a look, since we know he’s a lot worse than missing, “the chatter got louder. They know we’re onto them trying to sabotage our numbers business and eventually take it over. I’m sure they know Trent’s in a landfill or the river by now.”

“Good for them.” My lip curls in a sneer. “If they were smart, they’d back the fuck off. Next time, it might end up being one of their guys in the river instead of one of ours.”

“Smarts aren’t what Bruno’s crew is known for, though.” Cash sits on the arm of the sofa, shrugging. “They respond to action. Especially that Deke bastard, Bruno’s cousin.”

His second-in-command. Word has it, he performed his first hit when he was ten years old and never looked back. He likes killing. He gets off on it.

“I’ll keep an eye out for him. For all of them,” I add when my brothers frown. “You don’t have to hold my hand. I’ve been looking out for myself for a long time now.”

“Yeah, but you never had a girl hanging out in your bedroom.” Cash’s grin is back. “So, who is she?”

I’m not getting out of this without giving them some sort of answer. I know that.

I also know I can’t tell the whole story. “She’s somebody you’ll be seeing for the rest of your lives. We crossed paths a couple of nights ago, and she’ll be living with me now. I can’t let her go back to the shithole she’s been living in. It’s a miracle she made it out of there alive.”

They know it’s a waste of time to keep hounding me. “Fine, whatever. Enjoy.” I have to pretend I don’t notice the smirk they exchange on their way out the door. Like they know something I don’t.

Let them think they do. Let them smirk and snicker about me. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the girl in my room, waiting for me.

She’s still there, sitting on the bed where I left her. Like she’s afraid to move. I don’t know if I love her shyness or hate that she feels like she has to be shy. “Come on.” I peel off my shirt and toss it aside. “Let’s take a shower.”

“What?” She clutches the blankets like they’ll protect her from me.

“A shower. You know, water comes down, gets you all wet?” Her cheeks go even darker pink than before. “What did I tell you? You have nothing to be afraid of. I need a shower, and I hate showering alone.”

When I hold out a hand, she places hers on top of it. I lead her to the bathroom before she can ask any more questions and turn on the water. By the time I’m out of my shorts, there’s steam billowing behind the glass door.

She’s slower than me. Hesitant, while I’m fighting to keep from tearing her clothes off. The last thing I want is to scare her worse, but by God, she’s testing the limits of my self-control.

Finally, she turns her back and drops her pants, then takes off the T-shirt. I feast my eyes on the body I could only imagine when she wore her leotard. The full hips, the tight peach of an ass. Slim legs, toned, she’s so beautiful it makes my chest ache—not to mention my cock, standing straight up and practically begging to slide into something hot and wet.

“Madison. Let me see you.” It’s not a request. It’s a command. “Get in here with me.”

She does, her eyes on the tile floor. I gulp at the sight of her full, perky tits, pink nipples tight. I lick my lips. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Stop.” She shakes her head, hair hanging over the sides of her face.

“You’ll believe me. I’ll make you believe me.” I reach for her, pulling her under the spray. “Let me touch you.”

She doesn’t fight me, letting me soap up my hands before sliding them over her slick skin. Gently at first, warming her up. Testing the weight of her tits, their firmness, letting my thumbs stray over her nipples until she leans in, silently begging for more.

“Aren’t you going to wash?” she whispers with a catch in her voice, eyes half-lidded.

“You do it for me.” I hold out the soap and squirt some on her palms, then groan at the tentative touch of her hands on my chest.

She’s not shy for long. Her breath quickens as her hands slide down my abs, brushing my straining cock. “Fuck.” It’s a groan, a plea, a prayer. I can’t take much more of this. I have to be inside her.

“Did I hurt you?”

Her innocence makes my eyes fly open, and for a second, I forget how desperately I’m burning for her. “No, baby. You didn’t hurt me.” I take her hand and place it on my cock, groaning again when her slick fingers close around the shaft and slowly work their way up its length. I might come here and now, I’m so close. All because she’s touching me.

Her slender fingers wrap around my throbbing dick a little tighter, and the smallest whimper falls from her lip. That’s all it takes for me to come undone. My orgasm crashes into me like a tidal wave threatening to pull me under. Ropes of sticky cum shoot from my cock and paint the title wall.

Even before the last bit of my release ripples through me, I know that this isn’t enough. I need more, so much more, all she can give me. I’m greedy for her. Starving.

My cock never even softens as I quickly rinse us both and turn off the water. Rather than dry off, I step out of the stall with her and lift her in my arms, carrying her to the bedroom and lowering her to the bed as gently as I can manage.

There she is. Looking up at me with want in her eyes, the way her tongue moistens her lips makes me want to take them. I need those lips. I need all of her.

My tongue darts over them before plunging into her mouth; she whimpers her approval, fingers threading through my hair, her body straining upward to meet mine. “So fucking beautiful,” I manage to say between kisses, tasting her throat, licking the hollow above her collarbone, taking her tits in my hands, and rolling my tongue over those pink peaks.

“Archer…” Her head rolls from side to side, wet hair fanned out around her. Lost in pleasure, undone a little more with every lap of my tongue, every scrape of my teeth over her sensitive skin.

More, more, I need more. Every taste only makes my appetite grow, my absolute, soul-shattering need for her. To own her, to make her mine and only mine. To make her beg me. “I could devour you,” I rasp against the smooth skin of her stomach, noting the quivering muscles, the goosebumps that rise.

“D-do it. Please.” She lifts her hips off the bed. Offering her sweetness, her heat, the juices glistening on her bare lips. “Please, Archer. Make me…” She can’t bring herself to say it, but it doesn’t matter.

And when I run my tongue up the length of her slit, she comes, screaming before I can indulge myself. My cock strains and drips, and I know I can’t wait. I’ve waited long enough. I have to be inside her. I’ll die if I’m not inside her.

I push her thighs apart with my knees, rough, greedy, before positioning my cock at her dripping entrance. My eyes close the instant before I roll my hips forward, pushing into her, not stopping until I’m balls deep.

And she gasps. Goes stiff. Her nails dig into my shoulders. I open my eyes and find her biting her lip, tears on her lashes.

Is she…

I don’t get the thought out before she squirms against me, and that little bit of friction urges me on. I’m too far gone now, enveloped in her tightness, and I pull back only to push forward again.

She grunts softly, jaw clenched tight. My lips skim that jaw before I whisper in her ear. “Be patient. It’ll feel good soon. I promise.” When she nods, I know I’m right. I just took her virginity.

And damn if that doesn’t make fresh need surge up in me, pushing me further, driving myself as deep as I can into her tunnel, grunting her name with every thrust. And before long, she’s moaning in time with my grunts, locking her legs around my waist, drawing me deeper still until I don’t know where I end and she begins. There’s nothing in the world but this—us.

“This is what I was made for.” I wait until she’s looking up into my eyes, flushed and dazed, rocking under me every time our bodies slap together. “You. Burying myself in you. Making you clench around my cock, making you milk me dry. And you were meant for this. To be mine. Say it.” Another thrust. Another.

She whimpers before crying out in a raspy voice. “I was meant for this!”

“To be mine.” Thrust. “Always mine.” Thrust.

“Yes. Yours. Oh, my god!” I make sure to grind the base of my cock against her clit because I want her to come again while I’m inside her. She lets out a howl, raking her nails over my back. “Archer, yes. Yes!”

“That’s right, baby. Come for me. Scream my name while you come.” I have to hold on, hold back, and make her explode around me before I let go.

It doesn’t take long. She grips my shoulders tight enough to dance on the line between pleasure and pain before howling one last time, my name ripping through the air before she falls back with a broken sob, and I roar out my own release. It’s ecstasy beyond anything I’ve ever known, ever dreamed of.

And even as I’m slipping out of her quivering, dripping pussy, I can’t wait to have her again.

But not yet. Not until we get something straight. I roll onto my side, pulling her trembling body into my arms. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve never done that before?”

Her face goes red an instant before she turns it away. “You didn’t ask.”

I take her chin in my hand, turning her face back to me. “I didn’t think I had to. I expected you would say something. I would’ve been gentler with you if I had known you were a virgin.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Damn it, don’t apologize.” I don’t know why this is making my chest tighten the way it is. Why I’m angry.

She flinches but doesn’t say anything. There’s pain in her eyes, though. I hate myself for putting it there. “You don’t have to apologize,” I tell her again, softer this time. “I want you to speak up for yourself. You don’t have to stay quiet when there’s something you want or need. And if we’re in my bed, naked, and I’m between your legs? Tell me if I’m hurting you because, Madison, I can’t control myself when it comes to you. I just can’t.”

She snuggles up against my chest with nothing but a soft sigh, and that’s good. This is where she belongs.

With me. Her first and only. I have to admit, knowing I was her first makes my cock stir all over again. She’ll never know what it means to go unsatisfied because I intend to wear that tight little pussy out every day for the rest of our lives. I’ll be the only man she ever knows. My cock will be the only one she ever sucks. And my name will be the only one she ever screams as she comes over and over.

God, I can’t wait.

9

MADISON

What am I thinking?

That’s the question I keep asking myself as I lie here in Archer’s arms, drifting in and out of sleep as the day continues outside the window. For once, I don’t care. I’m not in a hurry. I’m not thinking about my next shift or my tips. Just this. Only this.

What am I doing here? What am I thinking, giving my virginity to somebody I barely know? Somebody who, honestly, still sort of scares me a little.

Much less than before, though. There are two sides to him. The violent side I saw when we first met—no way I can forget about that, not a chance.

But there’s another side. A softer side. Gentle. Protective. Nobody’s ever wanted to protect me before. Nobody’s ever asked for nothing but me. Yet that’s all he wants. At least, that’s what he says.

I never say anything I don’t mean. I think I want him to mean it when he says he only wants me, nothing more. Even if I don’t quite understand how that’s possible. What’s so special about me? Nothing.

Yet here he is. Here I am with his heart beating under my ear.

“Can I ask you something?” He’s been quiet for so long, his voice makes me jump.

“Sure.”

“How’d you end up where you were? Living that way, working so hard?”

Past tense. He’s serious about wanting me to move on from the life he found me living. I still don’t know how to feel about that. For now, I’ll answer as truthfully as I can. “I lost my parents when I was little. I don’t remember them very much. I spent the rest of my life in foster care, going from one home to another, never staying long enough to actually bond with someone. I aged out of the system when I turned eighteen. You’ve seen the rest.”

He’s quiet for a minute, stroking my hair while he’s thinking. When he’s like this, I feel as if I can tell him anything and he’d understand. “It’s been really hard. You’re the first person who’s ever heard me say those words. I barely finished school—not because I didn’t like it or wasn’t any good at it. But I was in and out of so many schools, it was tough to keep up. I’ve never admitted that to anybody, either.”

“Then, I’m honored.” He’s not smiling when he takes my chin and tilts my face toward his. “Seriously. I’m honored that you trust me with that.”

I do trust him. As hard as it is to believe. I trust that I can tell him things. I trust he won’t hurt me. That doesn’t mean I’m totally off my guard, but I’m finding it easier to open up. To relax against him when I know, I can trust his hand won’t turn to a fist, that the arm around me won’t squeeze too hard.

“What about ballet? You seem to love that.”

“I do.” I feel myself warming up, smiling without even meaning to. All I have to do is think about dancing, and that’s how I respond. “It’s what I love more than anything else. I think I would die if I ever had to stop dancing.”

“I’ve never had anything in my life that meant half as much to me as ballet means to you. When I watched you and saw your smile? The way you glow? It took my breath away. I was even a little jealous, I guess.”

“Yeah? Of me?” It’s laughable, but he’s not laughing when he strokes my cheek with the back of his hand.

“Yeah. Of you.” He grins. “I don’t admit that to just anybody. Feeling jealousy. I’ve been above that all my life. I guess there’s something about you that makes me want to open up.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” He kisses my forehead, and that’s nice. I close my eyes and inhale the scent of him. The soap he used in the shower, the touch of sweat after what we just did together. It’s a nice combination—something I could get used to.

“Hell, is that the time?” Archer slides out from under me and sits up, running both hands through his hair and scowling at the clock on the nightstand. “I have an errand to run; I’d better get moving.”

“Where are you going?”

“Somewhere, you’ll come with me.” He smirks over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I would never take you anywhere there’s danger. Believe that.”

I believe he means it. I just don’t know if the people he associates with feel the same way. I guess I’ll find out soon enough since I know better than to disagree. He’d probably throw me over his shoulder and march out of the apartment.

Hmm. I don’t completely hate the thought of that. What does that say about me?

There’s no time to think about it when I’m busy getting dressed in the clothes I was wearing when I got to Archer’s. The look on his face tells me what he thinks about my jeans and blouse. “It’s either this or your sweats,” I remind him with a grin.

“Good point.” He looks me up and down as we leave the apartment. “Though you’ll need some new clothes. No offense, but there’s more to life than Goodwill.”

“None taken.” Though seriously, does he think I enjoyed having to shop there? I wasn’t being cute or thrifting because it’s trendy. I was surviving.

When we pull up in front of a club, I’m glad I went with the jeans, though nothing I own is exactly right for a night out. “What are we doing here?”

“Business.” He waves away a valet who approaches as he’s helping me out of the car. “I won’t be here long. Don’t touch it.” Archer then drapes his leather jacket over my shoulders before escorting me into the club through a pair of tinted glass doors. He ignores the pair of bouncers standing near the entrance, walking fast enough that I have to trot to keep up with him.

I don’t like this place. It hasn’t opened for business yet—either that or it’s not very popular—and the bartenders eyeball us the entire way across the empty dance floor. Music is still playing, a bass-heavy song turned up loud enough to make my ears hurt.

Archer leads me all the way to the far wall, where a door sits. It blends in so well I would never notice it if there wasn’t a tall, thick-necked man standing on either side with their hands clasped in front of them.

The way they look me up and down isn’t sexual. More like they’re sizing me up. Wondering who I am. Maybe they think I’m a threat? That would be funny, like a bear being afraid of a mouse.

“I’m here to talk to Bruno. Or Deke, if Bruno’s not around.” Archer spits the words at them. Defiant, angry. “Don’t bother telling me they’re too busy, either. The place isn’t even open yet.”

So Bruno and Deke are the owners? I wish he would’ve given me the rundown before we got here. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so totally lost.

One of the two men jerks his chin at Archer. “Who should I say is calling?”

Archer smirks. “Don’t waste my time. Just tell them I’m here to see them.” Meanwhile, I can feel the bartenders staring holes into the back of my head. There are a few girls in tight, barely-there clothes wandering around in the periphery of my vision, too. Waitresses? Whoever they are, they’re laughing at me.

If there’s one thing I got used to over the years, walking around in a school full of strangers and wearing clothes that never quite fit right, it’s being laughed at.

Suddenly, the door flies open, and a man who makes the two thugs in front of us look like they’re pre-pubescent fills the doorway. “What do you want, Archer?”

“Deke.” The disgust practically drips from Archer’s voice. “You know I don’t love coming down here and looking at you. But one of my boys has gone missing the past day or two, and I wondered if you’d know anything about that.”

Deke shakes his bald head slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Nope. No idea.”

“You mean you haven’t heard anything at all? Trent, his name is. You haven’t seen him?”

“And why would I know anybody from your crew? Why would I see them?” When he folds his arms, I’m sure the seams on his sleeves are going to pop from the strain. He must work out full-time.

“I don’t know. I heard some things.”

Deke’s eyes drift away from Archer and land on me, and oh, boy, I sure wish they wouldn’t. “I heard some things, too.” His smile is the scariest thing about him.

Archer’s arm tightens around my waist, and I find myself leaning against him. Cuddling up to him. No way would he let this overdeveloped meat bag put his hands on me. I’ve seen what he can do, and I know he’s capable of spending an entire day following me around to make sure nobody goes near me. He wouldn’t let this Deke person leave the building alive.

“Let’s not get off-track. I heard you and my boy Trent were getting friendly there for a while. You were seen together a few times—not only Trent, either. A few others from our crew. If you’re that desperate for friends, you should work on your personality. And you should find your friends elsewhere. Got me?”

“Maybe if I had the first idea what you’re talking about.” Deke nods his head to somebody behind us. “Now get outta here before we open for business. Wouldn’t want anybody calling the health department after seeing roaches running around here.”

Archer looks over his shoulder. I can see the man standing behind us out of the corner of my eye. Something tells me he’s not here to welcome us.

“Remember what I said.” Archer’s holding onto me almost as tight as I’m holding onto him as we back away. “Elsewhere. Or I might start having to trail my guys when they’re out on the street, just to be sure you’re not whispering in their ears.”

“Yeah. Do that and see how far it gets you and your family.” Deke glances my way one more time with a nasty little smirk before slamming the door shut. I can’t wait to be out of here.

And I don’t have to wait too long, either. We cross the dance floor again and head out to the sidewalk, and his SUV is waiting where we left it. “I didn’t touch it,” the valet makes sure to say before Archer helps me inside.

I can breathe now. We’re alone, and Archer will keep me safe. I know that. I feel it in my bones.

Once we’re on our way, he takes my hand and raises it to his lips. “I’m sorry I had to take you there. We’ll go home now.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” He kisses my hand again. “I’ll always do everything I can to keep you away from this part of my life. You don’t belong there. You’re too good for it. But sometimes, it’ll be safer to take you with me than to leave you unprotected elsewhere. Know what I mean?”

I don’t. Not exactly. All I know is he means it, and that’s enough for me.

10

ARCHER

What did I do to deserve this? To wake up with this incredible woman in my arms?

Is this how normal men feel? Men who live out in that other world. I always figured this sort of thing was beyond me. For men better than me. Men who don’t kill as part of the family business.

Turns out even dark souls like mine can sometimes stumble across heaven.

That’s what this is. Having her next to me, wrapped in my embrace, her hair spilling over my chest like a gold curtain. How is her skin so soft? It doesn’t even feel real.

She wiggles a little when I run a hand down her back, snuggling closer with a soft groan. “That’s nice.”

“You’re nice. I could touch you forever.”

“I wouldn’t fight you.” She raises her head, propping her chin up on the forearm, resting on my chest. Her eyes are shining, her hair mussed thanks to the hours we spent exploring each other last night. It’ll be a miracle if she can walk without wincing today.

The moment doesn’t last long, and she frowns. “It’s a shame that’s not how real-life works.”

“Isn’t it?” When she starts to raise herself up like she’s getting out of bed, the arm I’ve wrapped around her waist holds her still. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To work. Real-life doesn’t wait, Archer.”

“What’s this real-life you keep talking about? Isn’t this real? Right here, right now?”

“But I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ll lose my job if I don’t.” She blows out an exasperated sigh. “Look, it’s been great—better than great—but I can’t be here all the time. I have to leave eventually.”

“Why?”

“Why do you keep asking why? I’ll lose my job. I know it’s not much, but I need it. Those tips are—”

“Those tips are not even a fraction of what I can do for you. What do I have to say to make you understand? You don’t need to ever go back to that diner. Or the grocery store, or the gym, or that awful apartment.”

Her forehead creases when she frowns. “What if you change your mind? You barely know me. What if you decide you don’t want me anymore? Where would that leave me? On the street, without a job and not a penny to my name.”

“I would never do that to you, and I know I won’t change my mind.”

“You mean it?”

“Remember what I told you. I don’t say things I don’t mean, baby. I’m taking care of you from now on.”

“I want to believe you. I want to trust everything you say, and part of me does, but there is this little voice in the back of my mind saying that this can’t be real, that I need to get up and go to work or I won’t eat next week.” Her voice breaks at the end like she is overtaken by her own emotions.

“I know I’m asking you to put a lot of trust in me, but I promise I will not disappoint you. I will care for you, I will make sure you have everything you need, and I will never, ever get tired of you.”

She chews her lip. “It feels wrong. Like I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Please.” I roll my eyes before getting out of bed. “I’m the one setting the terms here, baby. All you have to do is enjoy everything you’ve missed out on. Including a decent wardrobe.”

“You really do hate my clothes, don’t you?”

I throw her a smile before ducking into my closet. “Hate’s a strong word. But it fits. Get dressed so we can go buy you some new clothes.”

“What?” Her question echoes off the walls, the ceiling. I don’t bother answering since we’re doing nothing but talking in circles. She’ll understand once we reach the mall.

Only she still doesn’t. Her arm is wrapped around mine as we walk in, her eyes wide as we pass one store after another. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“It is. Where do you want to go first? There’s a lingerie store.” I move my eyebrows up and down, which makes her giggle. “That’s a must-visit. There’s the department store at one end. The boutique coming up here. Two shoe stores.” I point to them. “And I guess maybe you might like girly things. Makeup and stuff like that. Whatever you want.”

“Archer. How can you afford this?” She stands in front of me, still holding my arm, her eyes wide and full of doubt—mixed with something else. Something I haven’t seen in those blue depths until now.

Hope.

“You let me worry about that—and I’m not worried,” I add when she flinches. The girl has been poor her entire life. It’ll take time for her to get used to this. “Decide where you want to go first, and we’re there.”

She bites her lip. “Could we… go to the shoe store first? My sneakers are falling apart.”

I noticed. “Next stop, the shoe store.”

It takes a while for her to loosen up, but I expected that. Once I convince her that yes, she deserves more than a single pair of shoes and no, she shouldn’t worry about the price tag, she starts enjoying herself a little. Pumps, flats, boots. Whenever something catches her eye, I encourage her to try it on. Before long, there’s a stack of boxes waiting to be rung up.

We’re only getting started, of course. After two hours, she’s tried on more jeans, dresses, skirts, and sweaters than she’s probably ever tried on in her life. The chairs set up in front of the dressing rooms are heaped with things she likes, things she looks fantastic in. With a body like hers, she can wear anything.

I can already imagine what she’ll do when I tell her she can have a brand-new pair of ballet shoes, too, but I’ll save that for last, like the cherry on top.

Her cheeks are flushed with excitement when she steps out of the dressing room wearing a fitted black dress that looks like it was made just for her. It hugs her hips, her ass, and her tits look good enough to eat as they peek out over the neckline. I don’t know if I want to tear it off her and fuck her until she begs me to stop or stand in front of her so none of the random guys passing the store see her.

She’s mine, only for me.

“You like it?” Her sparkling eyes tell me how excited she is. It must be like a dream come true for her—the sight of her being so happy thrills me.

It’s a drug. I want more. I’ll never stop wanting more of her happiness.

“I love it.” Leaning in, I brush my mouth against her ear. “I’d love it even more on my bedroom floor.” I take her hand and place it against the cock, straining to burst out of my jeans.

“Archer!” But her eyes never stop sparkling—if anything, they’re shining more than ever. I had a feeling the angel wouldn’t be so angelic given the right inspiration, didn’t I?

It takes a few hours more, but by the time we’re finished, both of us are carrying at least four bags apiece. Madison has a new leather satchel over one shoulder, too, and that’s full of what looks like half the makeup store’s stock: skincare, masks, makeup, girly stuff like that.

“This is just the start, baby. You’d better get used to living like this.”

She only snickers. “Every day can’t be like this.”

“Why not?” We stop short of the doors, and I turn to her. “You’re staying with me now. Forever. Why wouldn’t I treat you like a queen every day?”

“You can’t mean that.” Her voice is soft, like she’s talking to somebody she wants to let down easily. Or somebody in the grip of a delusion.

“I do.” I take a step closer to her, inhaling her scent, memorizing every line of her precious face. “I’m not letting you go. You’ll figure it out eventually.”

She will. I’ll make sure she does if it takes every day of the rest of my life. Making her as happy as she’s been today is my life’s purpose, plain and simple. Nobody has ever deserved it more.

11

MADISON

I f it wasn’t for the weight of the heavy bags in my hands and over my shoulder, I’d swear today has been a dream. The best dream. The sort of dream a girl has when she’s lying in bed at night, alone in a cold, bare room. Or when she’s on her way from one back-breaking job to another.

A shopping spree. Everything I could ever want, everything I could ever need. Even things I don’t technically need but the girl at the makeup store talked me into.

Granted, she didn’t have to try too hard.

“You happy?” Archer grins as he raises the back of the SUV to load the bags behind the seats.

“What do you think?” I’ve never been happier than I am right now. He’s making my dreams come true, one after another. I’m almost afraid to believe I don’t have to go to the diner anymore, that I don’t have to clean the gym bathrooms and stock countless shelves with boxes and cans. I don’t have to force a smile when a customer gets handsy or asks too many personal questions.

No more exhaustion. No more scrambling around, trying to make ends meet, skipping meals because I can’t afford to eat.

“I have to admit something.” I wait until he lowers the door, locking my treasures inside. “This is all happening so fast, so it’s not easy to get used to it all at once. It has nothing to do with not believing you. It’s just that…”

He steps closer, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes smolder when they meet mine, staring deep. “It’s just that you’ve spent so long telling yourself you can’t have even the basics that this is a lot to absorb at once.”

“It has nothing to do with you. I want to make sure you know that.”

He tips my head back and lowers his until our mouths are almost touching. “You never have to worry again. I’ll make sure of it. And you’ll get used to being safe and taken care of. I promise you that, too.”

His kiss is everything I dreamed a kiss would be. Deep, slow, like he’s exploring me while taking possession of me. Of my lips, my tongue. Consuming me. And all I can do is lean in, silently asking for more while heat unspools between my thighs and leaves wetness behind. All it takes is this, and I’m ready for him, wishing we were at his place or at least in the car where he could…

His head jerks up, the kiss ending suddenly enough to make me gasp. When my eyes open, the first thing I see is his snarl. Cold, vicious, terrifying. What did I do?

Instinct makes me fall back a step because I’m not sure I want to be near him when he looks that way. Like he’s ready to kill somebody.

His mouth opens like he’s ready to scream, and I realize he’s looking past me—behind me. I start to turn, wanting to see what’s wrong, what made him change that way.

“No!”

The strange, almost slow-motion sensation pops like a balloon when Archer bellows out that single word. All I manage to get a look at out of the corner of my eye is a pair of men dressed in black.

And one of them is holding something shiny, something the late afternoon sunlight glints off of.

Archer moves fast, grabbing me by the arm and yanking me closer to the car while throwing himself in front of me. I don’t understand what’s happening, what to do, or why he’s acting this way.

Until I hear the loud pop.

Until Archer flinches and falls back against me, pinning me between him and the SUV.

By the time I realize he’s been shot, he’s reaching into his waistband and pulling out his own gun. He’s firing on the men. Once. Twice.

People are screaming, running for cover, ducking behind their cars while I hide behind Archer. There’s no more shooting. My ears are ringing, my heart’s pounding out of my chest, and I’m about two seconds away from throwing up.

“What—why—” I can’t put a sentence together, and oh, no, there’s a scream threatening to tear itself loose in my throat.

Archer turns, and his eyes are wild as they go over me, checking like he’s afraid I’m hurt. “Are you okay? Did they hit you?”

I can only shake my head as the understanding that the men who shot at us are dead sinks in.

Followed by the warm wetness on Archer’s jacket.

“Oh, my god.” My fingertips come back red. “You were shot!”

He shakes his head, taking my face in his hands. “No, no, it’s okay. You’re safe. That’s all that matters.” His body has other ideas, though, since he stumbles against me with a tight groan.

I do what I can to bear his weight, looking around, my mind racing. There are so many witnesses, and the police will be here soon, and Archer’s hurt, and oh, god, I can’t let him die. Not when he threw himself in front of me to take that bullet.

He literally took a bullet for me. This man who swears he only wants me to be me, that I don’t owe him anything but myself. He’s bleeding and might be dying. I have to get him out of here.

“Come on. Help me.” I pull him to the passenger side of the SUV and open the door. “Get in, quick. I have to get you to the hospital.”

Once I’m behind the wheel, he grunts and shakes his head. “No hospital.”

“Archer! You need to—”

“Take me home. I mean, to the mansion.” His color is already fading, his skin turning sallow. He has his hands over his stomach, but I don’t know how much blood he could be holding back since it seems to be everywhere. “Take me to my family’s house. They’ll know… what to do.”

“Tell me where it is.” I throw the car into gear and peel out of the parking space, ignoring the people screaming at me to stop. “Stay with me, okay? Stay awake. I need you to tell me where to go. And how to drive this damn car.”

Is he actually laughing right now? “You’re incredible.”

“I’m not even kidding. I have a license, but I’ve never driven anything close to as big as this or as nice as this.”

“You’re doing just fine, baby. Just fine.” His voice is weak, but he’s fighting to stay awake. He’s still strong enough to do that. He’s strong enough to do anything.

What would I do without him? It goes through my head in a flash as I fly way too fast down the interstate, praying the cops don’t pull me over while Archer gives weak, almost whispered instructions. What will I do if he doesn’t make it? I’ve known him two days, and already I can’t imagine going back to life without him in it. No way. It wouldn’t be worth it.

I’m relieved to get off the interstate at the next exit, taking mostly empty back roads the rest of the way. His family lives out in the middle of nowhere, and I’m starting to understand why. When there’s a chance of somebody coming up out of nowhere and firing a gun at you…

My hands tighten around the wheel until it hurts, and there are tears in my eyes. I have to blink them away since getting Archer help is all that matters now. A lot of good it would do to crash.

Finally, we reach a wrought iron gate. “This is it. Turn in here… follow the drive up… to the house.”

I look over and find his eyes sliding shut. “No. No. Don’t you go away. Stay with me, please!” The gas pedal is practically touching the floor as the SUV rockets toward the house.

“Madison…”

“Don’t leave me. Don’t you dare leave me now. Not now. Please, stay.” The house appears ahead of me when I take a curve, and I lean on the horn the rest of the way, hoping to get somebody’s attention as soon as possible.

It works, too. By the time the car screeches to a halt, men are running from the house to see what the fuss is about. All I have to do is lean across Archer and open the door for them to understand. “He’s been shot!” I scream anyway, turning off the engine and almost falling out onto the gravel. My legs don’t want to hold me up, but they have to. I have to be with him.

“Cash, inside. Call the doc.” One of the men takes Archer’s shoulders and pulls his upper half out of the car. Another takes his legs once they fall out, and the two of them carry him into the house while I jog behind them.

“Who are you?” It’s the man holding Archer’s shoulders, the one who told Cash to call a doctor. His voice is dark, almost accusing, and for a moment, I’m scared that he is not going to let me into the house.

My eyes flicker to the other man, and I recognize it’s one of the twins. Kane. “She’s okay, Ace. Remember, we told you we met her.”

“Somebody tried to shoot me, and he got in the way,” I say again and again, as much for them as for myself. I can’t make any sense of it. He jumped in front of me so I wouldn’t get hit.

“She’s in shock.” Ace decides while he and Kane lay Archer across a bed in one of the upstairs rooms. “Get her out of here.”

Another one of the guys puts a hand on my shoulder, but I shake it off. “No way. I’m not in shock. I won’t leave him, so don’t bother trying to get me to do it. I want to help. What can I do?”

Ace looks me up and down before snorting. “Yeah, I can see what he sees in you.”

12

ARCHER

“I  think he’s awake.”

Yeah, and he wishes he wasn’t. Being awake means feeling the pain.

It’s not like I’ve never been hurt before. I’ve been in more fights than I can count. I’ve gotten my ass handed to me—though I’ve handed a lot more asses to their owners than the other way around.

But this? A slug to the gut? There should be a new word invented for that kind of pain.

It didn’t hurt right away. Adrenaline. The overriding need to keep Madison safe from Deke and his pal, whoever the fuck he used to be before I blew him away. Him and Deke both.

Nothing had mattered more than protecting her. Killing them for trying to kill her. Thinking they could blow her away to—what? Punish me? Send a message? So I could hold her in my arms while she died?

Not a fucking chance.

“Archer?” Her voice is soft. Low. Gentle, like so much about her.

Though I saw another side of her, didn’t I? That core of steel. The way she got me here, making sure I stayed conscious, driving like a bat out of hell even though driving my car scared her. How she managed to hold herself together is just one more in a list of reasons why she’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever known.

And she’s just about the only person in the world I’d open my eyes for right now.

She comes into focus slowly, and right away, I notice the circles under her eyes, the paleness of her skin. “You look tired.” I hate how weak I sound, how groggy.

Her smile makes things better. “You would notice that first, wouldn’t you? You took a bullet to the stomach, but you’re worried about me being tired.” She lifts my hand and holds it to her cheek, where tears fall against my skin. I think I hear her murmuring something that sounds like a prayer.

“Hey, brother.”

I turn my head—slowly, I’m still weak—and find Ace standing on the other side of the bed in my old room—the room where I grew up. Never thought I’d end up recovering from a gunshot here. “Hey.”

“You’ve looked better.”

I would snicker, but even that might put too much strain on my stitches. I can feel them, can feel the wound. The slightest movement pulls on it. “You, too,” I manage.

His brow lowers. “It was Deke.”

“I know. And a friend of his.”

“He got away, but word’s already out on the street. Bruno’s not happy.”

“No, shit.”

“No, you don’t understand what I’m saying. He’s working hard to distance himself from this, saying it was all Deke’s idea, and he had no idea what his cousin was planning to do. He would never have approved of this.”

I narrow my eyes, and my stupid brother understands right away. “Sorry,” he mumbles, looking across the bed to Madison.

“It’s okay. I’m getting used to the idea of what happened.” She strokes my hand as she speaks, soft and gentle.

And I hate that she has to get used to anything like this. She doesn’t deserve it. I should’ve known better than to let my guard down. At least I was carrying, which I wouldn’t normally do during a trip to the mall, but I had to keep Madison’s well-being in mind.

It came in handy, didn’t it?

“I’m gonna kill him for this,” I growl. Slowly, I add in my head.

“You don’t have to worry about that right now; we have Vincent on it. He is more than happy to take care of it.”

Ace looks at Madison again, then at me. “I’ll leave you two alone. She’s been waiting this whole time for you to wake up. Wouldn’t leave your side.” With a wink, he turns away and walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he’s gone, I reach for her. “Come here.”

“I can’t. Your stitches…”

“We’ll be careful. I just wanna hold you, is all.” I need to know she’s real, that I kept her from getting hurt or worse. Sure, I see her, I hear her, but it’s not enough.

She eases herself into bed beside me, avoiding my midsection, her head on my shoulder. “I’m so relieved you’re awake now. It’s been a long… God, I don’t even know how long it’s been. It’ll be dawn soon, I think.”

At least twelve hours, then. “What happened once we got here?”

“The doctor came and removed the bullet from your stomach. He gave you a bunch of drugs. Antibiotics and painkillers.” She strokes my forearm, and I realize there’s an IV there. “He said you should be okay. There was minimal damage. Is he your personal doctor?”

“If they called who I expected them to, yeah. We have him on retainer for situations like this, when we can’t go to the hospital.”

“Gotcha.”

“How are you, though?” I manage to twist my head around to kiss her. It’s worth the effort, even if the effort just about wipes me out. I lost a ton of blood. At the time, I thought it might be the end. That I wouldn’t survive losing that much. That Madison would have to watch me die.

That she wouldn’t have anybody to take care of her anymore.

“I’m fine. Tired, I admit. But you already pointed that out.”

I hear what’s under the joke she’s trying to make. “I’m sorry you had to see that. Experience it. I didn’t want you to ever have to go through that.”

“I know. It isn’t your fault.”

But it is. I should’ve known, should’ve predicted it. I let my guard down, and it might’ve gotten her killed.

It’s like she’s reading my mind. “Hey. Don’t you dare blame yourself. And don’t beat yourself up, like you let this happen, or you might’ve gotten me hurt. You weren’t the one who made the choice to follow us and wait for us out in that parking lot. You didn’t make the choice to shoot at me.”

“You’re right,” I whisper. “I made the choice to take that bullet.”

“You did.” There are tears in her eyes, in her voice. “Why did you do that?”

“It’s only what I already said I would do. Right? I meant it when I said I’d protect you. Do you believe me now?” I kiss her again, relishing the pressure of her mouth against mine. I was sure I would never feel it again, that the pure joy and satisfaction she brought my life was only meant to last a couple days before reality crashed in and took her away.

“I didn’t think you meant you’d literally step in front of me and take a bullet,” she whispers through her tears. “Why would I ever imagine that?”

“You don’t have to imagine now. Madison, I would die for you. I would even do that. You’re worth it. You’re worth the entire world, all of it. My life is only a small part of everything you deserve. And I plan on spending the rest of my life proving that to you. Giving you all the good things you deserve. Proving how much I love you.”

Her mouth falls open. “You love me?”

I touch her hair, letting it slide between my fingers. “What does a man have to do to prove he loves you?”

She lowers her chin and bites her lip. “I love you, too. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t live. I don’t think I’d want to live if you weren’t with me. Is that crazy? After only two days?”

“Baby, if it’s crazy, so be it. Because I feel the same way, and I’ve never been happier or surer of anything in my life. You’re it. You’re the only one for me, and I plan on spending every day for the rest of my life proving how much I love you. Devoting myself to what makes you happy. I want to see you smile. I want to hear you laugh and know I was the one who made you do it. I want you to have everything you want, everything you need. No matter what it is.”

“I only need you.” A yawn cuts her off, and she giggles. “Okay, and maybe some sleep.”

“Close your eyes, baby. Rest now. I’ll be fine, and we have the rest of our lives ahead of us. You don’t have a thing to be worried about.” When the weight of her head meets my shoulder, I think I must be the happiest man alive.

Weak, in pain, but the feeling stands. I’ve never known happiness like this. For a long time, I didn’t think I was worthy of this feeling—this sense of sureness, of peace. Knowing my heart found a place to land.

Knowing I have a purpose now. Madison. She is my purpose, from today forward.

I already can’t wait for tomorrow.

EPILOGUE

Madison

One Month Later

“Where are you taking me?” I poke Archer in the side, but he doesn’t flinch. The man might as well be made of steel.

Don’t get me wrong. That steely, strong body of his isn’t exactly a bad thing. I’ve done more than my share of enjoying it over the past month, in just about every way possible.

He’s done his fair share of enjoying, too. The man does things to me that make my nerves sing and my lady bits quiver. He plays my body like a fiddle and hasn’t gotten tired yet of learning every inch of me.

How did I get so lucky?

Right now, there are other questions on my mind. Such as why we’re taking this drive through the suburbs, maybe a half-hour from the apartment I’ve lived in ever since the night Archer took me home with him.

“Can’t you sit back and enjoy a beautiful day?” He’s teasing me, the jerk, and he’s loving it. I can tell from the way his mouth twitches at the corners.

“You’re impossible.”

“That’s not what you were saying when I bent you over the kitchen counter last night.”

Just like that, I’m wet. All he has to do is say the words. That, plus the memory of him bending me over the counter and taking me—hard, fast, almost brutal—is enough to make me consider asking him to pull the car over so we can go for Round Two in the back seat.

He’s basically turned me into a sex fiend. Not that I’d ever complain.

“You weren’t being an obstinate jerk last night.” I yank my hand away with a pout, but I don’t mean it. Being with him is fun no matter where we are, no matter what we’re doing.

And the more time I spend with him, the more I love him. The playfulness he only shares with me. His sense of humor. His way of looking at the world.

The way he treats me like I’m the most precious thing ever born. The way he holds me so tenderly and plants gentle kisses over my cheeks and forehead and nose even when we were both screaming and sweating and fucking like there was no tomorrow only a few minutes ago.

There are two sides to this man. The one I met that first night, the one who kills without mercy. Then there’s the side I’m with right now, the one who loves to get a rise out of me, who even tells corny jokes sometimes to make me laugh because he knows what a sucker I am for a bad pun.

Because he loves hearing me laugh.

Like I said, I have no idea how I got so lucky.

He slows down in front of a gorgeous colonial flanked by a pair of regal oak trees. “Wow,” I sigh. “What a house.”

“It’s nice, huh? Looks like it was just sold, too.” He points to a sign on the lawn.

“Lucky them, whoever they are.”

“Hey.” He takes my hand, running his thumb over the knuckles. “Are you unhappy at the apartment?”

I know how seriously he takes my happiness. Like he’s personally accountable for it. “No, not unhappy. But a house? That’s always been a dream, you know? I mean, obviously, I’ve never had one of my own. I used to watch TV shows where people lived in houses like this, and I’d imagine what my life would be like if I had a home.”

“Come on. Let’s do a little imagining.” He’s out of the car before I can even put two thoughts together, jogging around to my door.

“No way!” I’m shaking my head even as he helps me out of the car. “No, we can’t do that. This house belongs to somebody. It’s illegal.”

“We wouldn’t wanna break the law or anything like that, would we?” He’s being sarcastic, of course, since he doesn’t exactly live by the letter of the law. “Nobody will care. They haven’t moved in yet if the house was just sold.”

But still. It feels downright wicked, walking across the lawn and taking a peek inside the house. There are two picture windows, one to either side of the red front door, and roses grow in the beds underneath. I always did want to have a garden.

“Wow, look at that living room. It’s huge!” And there’s so much light from the front, side, and rear windows. I can see through to the kitchen and what looks like a breakfast nook by the windows looking out over the backyard.

Through the other window, we can see what looks like a study or an office. I always wanted to have one of those, too, just for the sake of having somewhere to curl up with a good book on a rainy day.

I don’t realize I’ve sighed until Archer leans in and kisses the back of my neck. “What’s the sigh about? You sound sad.”

“No, not at all. Just… it would be nice to have something like this.” His arms wind around my waist, and I smile. “But I have you, so I already have everything.”

“There’s a little additional building off to the side here.” He leads me to an attached structure that looks like it was put in after the original construction. “I wonder what’s inside.”

“No. Archer.” This is taking things too far; his hand wraps around the doorknob. “You can’t.”

“Oops. Looks like I did.” The door swings open to reveal…

“A dance studio?” I cross the threshold out of sheer curiosity. “Wow. This is incredible!” Three walls are completely mirrored from floor to ceiling. There’s a barre spanning one end of the room, a little sound system in one corner.

“I bet you could do plenty of dancing in here, huh? Is it everything you’d need?”

“It’s big enough, for sure.”

“So it’s what you need? I wasn’t sure how to set it up.”

Finally, his words sink in. I turn to him and find him grinning from ear to ear. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s yours. The house, the studio. All of it. I bought the house for you. And once the security cameras are installed like I’ve scheduled, it’ll be even more secure than the apartment was.”

A house of my own.

It’s like my birthday and Christmas and the Fourth of July all at once. I launch myself into his arms, laughing. “I love it! I love you!”

His breath is warm against my neck. “I love you, precious one.”

Is this real? I can’t believe it. That he would go to all this trouble for me. I have to do something for him—he’s been so generous, so thoughtful, in-tune with everything I want and need.

“Hey. Does this sound system work?” I go over to it, pulling out my phone—the phone he bought me and helped me load all my favorite music on.

“Sure. Everything’s ready for you to use. What do you have in mind?”

I cue up a song on my playlist and hook the phone up to the system. “Just sit down, and you’ll see.” I point to one of the mirrored walls, where Archer sits with his back to the glass while watching me.

This is my dance studio. Mine. Where I’ll be able to wear my brand-new shoes. Where I can put into practice the things I’m learning in the classes, Archer encouraged me to take. “You’re my ballerina,” he whispered the night he suggested I enroll. “My ballerina needs to dance.”

I’ll dance now. I’ll dance just for him.

He smiles once I start moving to the soft, gentle music. I’m not warmed up, but my muscles wake up a little more with each movement, with each stretch, every time I extend my arms over my head. I test the space, doing Chaîné turns across the floor until I’m in front of him again.

“I love watching you dance,” he murmurs over the music. “It’s what you were born to do.”

The music changes to something harder. Heavier on the bass.

And my dancing changes with it.

I turn my back to him, dropping down in a crouch before slowly raising myself with my butt thrust in his direction. “What do you think about that?” I run a hand over my ass before slapping it. “Was I born to do that?”

“Looks that way to me. What’s gotten into you?”

“What do you think?” I spin on one foot, sliding my hands from my thighs over my hips, tugging my shirt up a little as I run them over my sides, then cross them over my breasts. I let them linger there, kneading gently, while my hips swing slowly from one side to the other in time with the beat of the music.

“I think I’m about to bust this zipper.” His eyes are darker as he watches me now, his mouth open slightly.

My hands slide back down over my body, stopping at my waistband long enough to unbutton my jeans. I turn, sticking my butt in the air while slowly lowering them to my ankles. I know my lacy white thong leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Fuck, baby.” I can see Archer reflected in the mirror across from me. He’s rubbing himself now, eyes locked on me. I kick off my flats and then the jeans, running my hands up the backs of my legs as I straighten up. “I should buy you a house every day.”

My shirt comes off as I turn back to him, and I toss it his way before tossing my bra at him, too. I can see myself reflected in the mirror behind him, and I like what I see. A woman comfortable in her skin, dancing for her man.

“Get over here. Right now.” His tone is firm, no-nonsense.

I drop to my knees and slowly crawl on all fours across the floor, eyes locked on his. Once I reach him, he extends his legs to either side of me, and I run my hands up their length before reaching his belt and opening it.

He pulls me close, his fingers digging into my ass. “Will you dance for me whenever I ask?”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

His head dips, his mouth closing over one of my nipples, then the other while I open his jeans and reach inside to pull out his thick, throbbing dick. His teeth scrape my skin when I stroke him, making me hiss.

“I could live on the taste of your skin.” He yanks me closer, tearing my thong as he pulls it to the side so he can sink two fingers deep inside me. His thumb circles my clit as he fucks me with those fingers while his mouth moves over my neck, my breasts, nipping and sucking, tracing every curve with his tongue.

I capture his mouth with mine and moan into it as an orgasm builds quickly, growing every time I slam down on his fingers. When he hooks them and presses against my G-spot, fireworks explode behind my eyes. I’m gone, lost in him, in us, in what he does to my body—to my soul.

Before I know it, I’m on my feet with my back to the mirror, and Archer is pulling his shirt over his head, dropping it along with his jeans and boxer shorts. He picks up my thigh, draping it over his hip before spearing me with his dripping cock. “Oh, god, so sweet.” He groans into my mouth, our tongues clashing as he drives himself into me.

He lifts me slightly. “Wrap those legs around me, baby.” I do it, locking them behind his back before he takes over completely, punishing my sex with merciless thrusts. I bite down on his shoulder to hold back a scream of pure animal lust as another orgasm slams into me practically on top of the first.

I’m lost, undone, somewhere between heaven and Earth. Between reality and the hottest, sexiest fantasy I’ve ever had. Letting him use me while I use my arms and legs as leverage to bounce up and down on his cock.

“Oh? You like it like that? Show me.” He stands up straight, pulling me away from the mirror, bearing my weight with ease. “Fuck me. Ride my cock, baby.”

I do, gasping every time my clit grinds against his base. Wet slapping sounds fill the room, along with his name as I moan it over and over. “Archer… Archer… I’m gonna… oh, god, yes!” I slam down one final time, shaking and sobbing in his arms.

He doesn’t wait for me to come down. He’s too far gone for that, holding back for my sake. I’m on my feet before I’ve stopped whimpering from the final spasms, turned to face the mirror with my hands on either side of my head, holding myself up.

Now he can take me deeper than ever, entering me from behind. “Watch me fuck that sweet pussy, baby. Keep your eyes open. Watch yourself.”

I do what I’m told, staring into my eyes as Archer takes me slowly now, filling me with deep, grinding thrusts that make his balls slide against my juice-slick thighs. One of his hands kneads my breasts while the other slides over my mound, putting pressure against my clit once he parts my folds.

“Oh, fuck!” My senses are overloaded, pleasure threatening to tear me to pieces from the inside out as familiar tremors start in my core. I look at Archer’s over my shoulder, the tendons standing out on his neck as he fills me with every inch of his manhood again and again.

I’ve never seen myself like this. Mouth open, eyes half-closed with lust, hair hanging in my face. My breasts sway with each thrust, and I bear down on Archer’s hand, rubbing myself off on him while he fucks me. I’m like a stranger to myself, but I love it. I love what he turns me into.

“Fuck me,” I grunt. “Harder, Archer. Harder.”

“You like that?” He pierces me deeper than ever, sharp enough to make me whimper and mewl. “You want it hard? As hard as I can give it to you?”

“Yes!”

“You want me to use you like a fuck toy? Is that what you want?”

“God, yes! Yes, use me.” My legs buckle from the force of my final, shattering orgasm, but Archer holds me up long enough to come with a roar. My body is racked with delicious tremors while he fills me with his cum, pumping slowly until he’s spent. We sink to the floor, tangled together, sweaty and breathless.

And if he’s anything like me, so incredibly happy. Satisfied. Hopeful.

Because this is our home. Ours, together. Always.

And there are a lot more rooms left for us to christen.

Thank You for reading His Ballerina,

Their Ballerina is up next and tell the story of Archers brothers Cash and Kane

THEIR BALLERINA

Ballet is the only thing I’ve ever had, my only reprieve from my sad life after my father died and my mom turned to the streets.

That’s until the night I’m attacked. I tell myself it won’t happen again, but then it does, and this time I make the ultimate mistake. I fight back.

My only option is to call them: Kane and Cash Hale.

From the moment I met the two terrifying, yet gorgeous men, I knew to cross their paths would mean trouble.

I can’t trust the cops and I’m afraid I’ll end up in jail without their help.

Except their help comes with a cost… a cost that involves both my body and my soul.

Get Their Ballerina Now!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

If you like your stories short, taboo and kinky, then a Darcy Rose book is perfect for you. She writes about shy and innocent heroines, to match them up with dark and intense heroes who have only eyes for one girl.

ALSO BY DARCY ROSE

VOW OF REVENGE

Stolen

Captive

Bound

COMING SOON

His Ballerina

Their Ballerina

STANDALONES

Christmas Obsession

Table of Contents

Full Page Image

His Ballerina

Contents

1. Madison

2. Archer

3. Madison

4. Archer

5. Madison

6. Archer

7. Madison

8. Archer

9. Madison

10. Archer

11. Madison

12. Archer

Epilogue

Their Ballerina

About the Author

Also by Darcy Rose