Table of Contents

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Adeline’s Playlist

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Epilogue

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

The Danger You Know: Copyright © 2020 by Lily White

Proofreader: Kim BookJunkie

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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OTHER BOOKS BY LILY WHITE

MASTERS SERIES:

Her Master’s Courtesan

(Book 1 of the Masters Series)

(Available on Smashwords and lilywhitebooks.com)

Her Master’s Teacher

(Book 2 of the Masters Series)

Her Master’s Christmas

(Novella in the Masters Series)

Her Master’s Redemption

(Book 3 of the Masters Series)

Her Master’s Reckoning

(Book 4 of the Masters Series)

STANDALONE NOVELS:

Target This

Hard Roads

Asylum

Wake to Dream

Four Crows

Crazy Madly Deeply

Rules of Engagement

Wishing Well

The Five (Also available in Audio)

Sin and Discipline

Dirty Girls

In the Garden of Discontent

The Vanity of Roses

The Danger You Know

ILLUSIONS DUET

Illusions of Evil

(Book 1 of the Illusions Duet)

Fear the Wicked

(Book 2 of the Illusions Duet)

ANTIHERO INFERNO SERIES

Treachery Prequel

Treachery – May 2020

Fraud – coming soon

Violence – coming soon

Heresy – coming soon

Anger – coming soon

Greed – coming soon

Gluttony – coming soon

Lust – coming soon

Limbo – coming soon

DARK EXCLUSIVE - Available only on LilyWhiteBooks.com:

The Director

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Although the story you’re about to read is a work of fiction, the disorder the main character, Adeline, suffers from is not.

Narcolepsy is a rare neurological condition wherein the sleep/wake cycle of those who have it is abnormal. The boundary between sleep and wakefulness is disrupted to a point where a person can dream while awake. A person without the condition gradually enters REM sleep. However, a person with the condition can go into REM sleep immediately at any time of the day.

Those with the condition often have vivid dreams, experience hypnagogic and hypnopompic hallucinations (dreaming while awake) just before falling asleep or immediately upon waking up. They’re conscious and aware they are dreaming.

Other symptoms include, but are not limited to, sleep paralysis, as well the possibility of parasomnias such as sleep walking, having full conversations while sleeping, and other physical activities without awareness that it is happening.

While narcolepsy can also include cataplexy, a condition wherein a person loses muscle tone suddenly at any given time, the two are often confused, but are not the same.

Enjoy the story you’re about to read, but keep in mind Adeline’s experiences are neither impossible nor unrealistic, and do occur for people living with narcolepsy.

I should know.

I have it.

Adeline’s Playlist

Send Me An Angel – Real Life

Sweet Dreams – Marilyn Manson

Volcano – Damien Rice

Pet – A Perfect Circle

Cheers Darlin’ – Damien Rice

Sour Times – Portishead

Potions – Puscifer

The Noose – A Perfect Circle

Something I Can Never Have – Nine Inch Nails

Common People – Pulp

The Package – A Perfect Circle

Mad World – Tears for Fears

Gravity – A Perfect Circle

Mr. Brightside – The Killers

Passenger - Deftones

Ari

When I remember that night - the first, the last - the beginning and end of it all, I don’t recall the details of the hit. The reason for Liam Kane’s death mattered little to me.

I was born for one task, my temperament honed in the flames of apathy, my morality in such things entirely absent.

The only details that mattered to me were that Liam had to die, and if it happened by my hand, my life would all the better for it.

I didn’t care if he was a demon who sold drugs that killed hundreds of people, or a saint who worked his ass off to donate millions to charity.

The facts meant little to me.

All that mattered was that he had a price on his head. Two million dollars to be exact.

The only details that I needed to know were that he was a heavyset middle aged man standing approximately six foot, that he lived in a gated community northwest of Hollow Lake, and that he’d be home for the night after ten p.m., alone in his first floor office where nobody would bother him for some time.

Nobody but me, at least. The man who would kill him. The interloper that couldn’t give a damn about why the bullet should be in his brain, just that it should be there.

And it was.

At fifteen minutes past ten, Liam took his final breath, his brain worse for the wear, a small hole at his right temple that led to a much larger one on his left.

By all accounts, Liam had been depressed, had held the weapon himself, had gunpowder residue on his hand to prove it. His body was left slumped at his desk.

I was nothing but a ghost, an unseen force that guided his hand. And I would have remained just that if his daughter hadn’t come to check on him shortly after I closed the window.

It was stupid for me to turn back when I heard her voice. I knew better. I never get involved. She was a detail I didn’t need to know.

But still, the scream that left her throat stopped me in place, the agony pouring out of her when she called her father’s name caused me to spin to look at her.

Breath leaked out of me, a white gust against the cold night air.

I wasn’t sure what I recognized in her that trapped me in the shadows to watch her for the first time, but that moment was the beginning of a mistake - the end of a life lived without concern for another person.

It was the first night I saw her, and the last I had the ability to walk without guilt for what I’d done.

Adeline Kane was sixteen years old when I first found her, a vision with raven black hair and skin so pale she would glow beneath moonlight. She had crystal blue eyes and red lips that defied every shade a lipstick could provide. And she had the bone structure of an angel, not the round cherubic type, but the ones fallen from Heaven and designed solely to punish a man’s soul.

I didn’t want to know she was an artist who preferred tragedy to romance.

It shouldn’t have mattered that she felt most comfortable when she was alone.

It wasn’t in me to care that she’d lost her mother only months before I killed her father and that she was the heir to the small fortune they left behind.

All that concerned me in the years I watched her was that she’d fractured the night her father died, that I’d left her at a moment when her life would spiral out of control. That I felt responsible for the girl becoming a woman. And that she pulled at something inside me I had never known before.

I was ten years older than her.

A trained killer.

A skilled assassin.

But I became one more thing on the night I first saw her:

A stalker.

A constant shadow.

And the man that would protect her from the world.

. . .

November 8, 2014

The last place I want to end up on a Saturday night beneath a full moon and shrouded in the first flurries of snow is outside a nightclub.

I can’t stand these types of places. Always with the garish lights, thumping music and pungent scent of youthful hormones mixed beneath a layer of alcohol and cigarettes. I’ve avoided the cramped quarters and brush of sweaty bodies for many years.

Only she can bring me to a place like this, The Black Orchid, a club that caters to those with a penchant for the macabre.

I have to admit, it isn’t your typical nightclub. The interior is designed to mimic a dungeon, the exterior a facade of fake stone like the walls of a castle. Every person standing in line is dressed in black on black, some pretending they’re vampires, others too stupid to know that fantasy is always more convenient than reality.

Yet, here I am, standing near a small tree planted in the center of a sidewalk, my shoulder leaning against the iron cage that circles it, my eyes set on a newly of-age woman who’s already had too much to drink tonight and is bouncing in place waiting to get inside.

Her idiot for a boyfriend stands next to her, a flavor of the week and nothing more. His skinny jeans and floppy hair annoying the living piss out of me. It is what it is. Adeline has no taste in men, but I won’t have to hate this one for too long.

Her boyfriends never last more than a few weeks or months because Adeline isn’t the type to commit.

Her habits and choices have driven me insane for the past two years.

I’ve watched her lose her virginity in the back of a car, have witnessed her run from one guy to another. I’ve been the silent specter that counts the boys and men she’s stumbled through without concern for her reputation.

Thirteen, not that I’m counting, and if you judge her for it, I’ll gut you and laugh while you scream.

It isn’t that she’s desperate for the attention, she just falls into it, and like most anything with a dick, they take advantage.

But she never seems to care, and for that I admire her more than I should. She’s a free spirit, a beam of light that manages to slice its way through the dark landscape of my careful life.

Adeline isn’t the type to attach herself to anything. She’s only seeking a release during painful hours, an escape to lessen the weight of a life spent misunderstood by everyone that knows her.

Everyone but me, that is. But then I’ve never met her, not formally, at least. Not in way that she would remember.

Still, I know everything about her.

I know that she’s a hellscape that can consume you before you realize what’s happening.

I know she’s turned on by dominance and fear, and that she hates fluffy romance that’s sweet and shallow.

I know she has fantasies that other people would consider immoral and wrong.

I know that she never shows herself to the world because they will judge her.

And I know there isn’t a single jackass she’s ever been with that appreciates how dirty and broken she really is.

They can’t make her scream.

Can’t make her come.

Can’t do much of anything but convince her to lie beneath them pretending she’s into the moment.

I won’t deny that last part amuses me, even if I won’t let myself do anything about it.

The woman has issues.

They are the same as mine.

Tonight is her eighteenth birthday and she’s waiting outside a club that you have to be twenty-one to enter. It’s so like her, the rebellion, a personality trait that would drive most sane people crazy, but that calls to me like a whispering lover.

I’m going to follow in behind her at some point, but for now, this spot by the tree will do.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out to see Lincoln’s name flashing at me.

“Where are you?”

He doesn’t bother waiting for me to say a damn thing before demanding answers I don’t want to give.

“Taking a walk,” I answer.

His deep laughter bursts through the phone. “Walking my ass. You’re watching her again, aren’t you?”

“She needs to be watched.”

He curses beneath his breath. “I won’t argue with you there. What’s the little psychopath doing now?”

“Waiting outside Black Orchid.”

Lincoln goes silent for a second. “She’s not old enough.”

“She never is,” I answer, amusement dripping from my voice. “But she has a fake ID.”

“I thought you took that from her.”

Three times to be exact but she keeps getting new ones. Eventually, I’ll have to kill the assholes giving them to her. I say as much and he groans.

“She’s out of control.”

“She’s hurting,” I argue, not that it should matter.

“She’s just a kid, Ari. You’re sick in the head to keep following her.”

He’s not wrong.

“She’s also going inside. It’s been great catching up with you. The pep talk was helpful. But I need to go.”

His laughter cuts off when I slam my thumb on the screen to end the call.

Asshole.

Lincoln Major is another killer like me, a pain in my ass since we kindled a friendship when I first started in this business. He’s the only person I trust to watch Adeline for me while I take jobs, and he knows she is a serious pain in the ass.

Much like the majority of patrons now inching their way into Black Orchid, I’m dressed in head to toe black, my hair as dark as my clothing, my eyes a hard, steel grey. I’m older than most of them by seven years, but I left my hair disheveled and my face unshaved for a few days so I can pull off the appearance of youth.

I knew Adeline’s birthday was coming up and I would be forced to blend in to this type of place.

Rather than getting in line like the rest of the plebeian hopefuls, I approach the door, pay the bouncer more than he makes in two weeks, and I’m walking inside to scan my gaze over the multiple dance floors, stages and cages, looking for one seriously fucking aggravating girl I can’t get out of my head.

My trigger finger twitches when I find her at the bar, the stick of a lollipop poking out from between her full lips while the idiot she brought with her has his hands on her ass and his face buried in her neck.

I have to restrain myself from marching over there and breaking every part of his body that touches her. Every single one of them.

Not that she enjoys it. He thinks so. But I know better.

The smile she’s giving him now is as fake as the stud glimmering in his ear. Cubic zirconia because he can’t afford diamonds. He has exactly two hundred, seventy-three dollars and twenty two cents to his name. Not that I’ve kept tabs on his accounts ever since she started dating him.

Okay, fine. I know everything there is to know about Jason Ayers, but only because I’m looking out for her best interests.

He chucks her chin with his finger before turning to grab the drinks she paid for.

My teeth clench and I watch as they wind their way through the growing crowd to set their drinks on a high-top table in the dungeon room, fake whips and chains adorning the walls while half-dressed women dance in the cages.

Jason remains near the table while Adeline takes her place against a pole close by, her hands lifting to grip the black metal above her as her hips begin to sway to the dumbass emo/retro/alternative shit music mix that makes my ears bleed…and that I will always associate with Adeline for as often as I find myself listening to it because of her.

The sight of her, though, it almost makes the music enjoyable. I’m as entranced in the way she moves as her no dick, no ass boyfriend, which only pisses me off more.

I feel like a pedo, but still I slip into the room, blend into a dark wall and watch Adeline move, her hips becoming liquid, her body becoming the music itself.

Real Life’s Send me an Angel is blasting through the speakers, the fast tempo forcing her body to sway, her arms to stretch out, her hips to move in such a way that desire rattles in my chest. Eyes jealous of the strobe lights that flash against her face and the colored lights that roll over her skin like a lover’s hands, I become engrossed, my head falling back against the wall while my tongue slides slowly across my teeth.

It doesn’t help that her mini skirt hangs low on round hips, the length barely traveling mid-thigh, or that the scrap of cloth she calls a shirt does nothing to cover her sculpted stomach. Tight over her chest, the shirt leaves nothing to the imagination, not that she takes issue with people knowing what she looks like.

Adeline likes being naked and I often wonder if she knows I’m watching.

She’s a temptress with tragic eyes and a black soul, her heart locked behind steel bars. Only I possess the key to it, but she doesn’t know that. And she never will.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch for what feels like hours. Her boyfriend keeps running for drinks - on her tab, I might add - and she keeps dancing while consuming them, the temptation of her drawing the gaze of many predators, all circling like the sharks they are.

Meanwhile, the idiot with too tight pants is oblivious to their attention, at least until one brave soul decides to stroll up and take a taste of what Adeline can offer.

He isn’t much older than her from what I can tell, a mess of spiky blond hair and facial piercings. A tattoo peeks up from under the back of his collar when he turns to face Adeline where she dances.

Her eyes flick open and she gives him the same hazy, fake smile she gives everybody else, the one that pins them as nothing special while they believe they are. The man’s hand cups her cheek and he leans in to kiss her.

I know what you’re thinking.

She should shove him off. Should tell him she has a boyfriend. Should mention that her boyfriend is standing only a few feet from her.

But she doesn’t.

Not Adeline.

Not a girl who doesn’t care about any of them.

Call her a slut if you want. Clutch your pearls over her lack of commitment. But she won’t give much of a damn about your opinion because she’s living her life as she feels.

The same can’t be said for ninety-nine percent of the world, those people who love the comfortable walls of societal cages.

Adeline will go to her grave without regret for the way she lives her life, only for the bullshit that same life handed her.

I respect that.

Embody it.

Find more truth in her than I’ve ever witnessed in another person.

It’s why I can never stop watching.

That and she’s always good for entertainment, especially in moments like this.

Rather than shoving the stranger off, she melts into him, her beautiful body still moving in a teasing rhythm, her mouth opening wide to accept his tongue. She kisses like I know she will fuck if anybody ever plays her body right.

Warm.

Open.

Unashamed.

I’m not jealous. And other parts of my body that react are merely natural. They can’t be helped. Like watching porn. They have nothing to do with me wanting her for myself.

She’s too young.

I’m the reason for a large part of her heartbreak.

And it would be selfish of me to take advantage.

So, why don’t I believe it when I tell myself that?

In a way I helped create her, was part of the bullshit she’s trying to escape now.

But, fuck, if she isn’t more beautiful because of the fractures.

My lips twitch when No Dick finally looks up from his phone to notice what she’s doing, my shoulders shaking with a bark of laughter to see his jaw go slack in surprise.

The poor guy just learned that he’s nothing more than a number, a pathetic placeholder for one moment in time.

Most would assume that Adeline is drunk and doesn’t know better, but I’ve watched her do this before. She knows exactly what is going on. No Dick made the unfortunate mistake of not paying attention and she slipped through his fingers like water.

Damn, I admire her.

It’s rare to find a woman so uncaring and unafraid, especially one as young as her.

Shifting my posture, I watch with a smirk as Jason shoots from his seat to lay claim on his now soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, but rather than confronting the guy with his tongue crammed down her throat like any real man would, he grabs her hair instead and jerks her sideways.

This is a moment when I should step in to help. And I would if I didn’t know Adeline as well as I do. She isn’t a victim - yet another reason she intrigues me so much. Jason has no idea what’s coming.

The random stranger she’s kissing walks away like a scared jackass, unwilling to help a woman being manhandled by someone twice her size.

Wrenching away from Jason’s hold, Adeline’s blue eyes fill with a fire brighter than a thousand suns, a fierce blaze that warns of her violence.

One punch and she knocks Jason back a step, her mouth opening to tell him off, her hand landing on a drink sitting on the table that she throws at him with significant force. Not just the liquid, but the glass, as well, before shoving him against a wall and telling him where he can stick his piss poor attitude.

That’s my girl...

The date is as good as done, Jason slinking off into the crowd with his tail between his legs, as Adeline stares after him, pure adrenaline causing her cheeks to tinge red and her pulse to flutter.

I grin.

She truly is amazing.

And instead of crying or giving much of a damn for the scene she caused, Adeline finds another drink she’d yet to finish, takes a sip, sets it down, and resumes dancing to the beat of a faster song.

Sighing, I shake my head and I’m glad I came to babysit her from afar. She’s now a drunken girl alone in a club. The sharks are circling faster and I have to make sure she doesn’t end up in the jaws of one she won’t be able to fight off.

Another few hours pass. In that time, Adeline drinks far too fast for her small size, sweat glimmering over her body as she dances. Her hair is a wild, dark mess from running her hands through it, her eyes closed as she loses herself to the music, her clothes sticking to her from how hot her skin has become.

Several men have approached her. Some danced and then walked off after realizing she didn’t really notice them. One tried to kiss her, but she’d actually shoved him off, surprising me. It was a typical night for her, the slow spiral of self-destructive behavior that makes her more a victim of herself than anybody else.

As the night wears on, I watch her stumble over her feet, her eyes becoming unfocused, the alcohol in her veins finally catching up to her.

And then another man approaches, this one about six foot two, over two hundred pounds easily, a bruiser I’d seen work another girl over earlier in the night. He isn’t interested in hearing the word no and Adeline is in no condition to fight him off.

She’s against the pole again, hips swaying, thoughts lost to whatever nightmare plagues her, and for the first time in the years I’ve watched, I know I have to step in.

The first thing the asshole does is trap her hands against the pole, his beefy fingers easily crushing the delicate bones of her wrist.

I step forward, hesitant to reveal myself, but also hoping she will be too drunk to remember.

The brute’s other hand goes to Adeline’s hip as I weave through the crowd to approach, her eyes opening and locking to his with intoxication behind them.

I see her mouth move to tell him to fuck off, see her body jerk away from him, but he isn’t the type to care what a woman has to say. He’s the type to pick on someone smaller than him when there is no one around to protect her.

Adeline won’t be able to fight this one off.

I shouldn’t have stepped away from the wall. Shouldn’t have intervened.

If only I’d minded my own damn business, I wouldn’t have made the mistake that dragged me even closer into her orbit, a mistake that I would regret for rest of my damn life.

A mistake that would make me an addict with the very first taste.

Adeline

Nobody sees me anymore.

Not that anybody really saw me in my life. Not the real me. Not the girl staring out from behind the normal facade, the one who pretends when she smiles and says all the expected things.

I’d had a family once. Friends. Little girls when I was younger who didn’t yet realize I was different, but more guys than girls now that I’m older.

Boys are easier.

They don’t invite me places I can’t go because I have issues that need to stay hidden.

Like sleepovers, the kind where girls braid hair and talk about clothes and boys. Those stopped when I was just a kid because I have sleep disorders that will cause me to get up and walk around, disorders that will trap me between the curtain of consciousness and dreams while I’m completely aware that something isn’t right.

Girls can’t handle that, but guys can. One of my best friends learned to wrap his arms around me when I would thrash, he learned to whisper softly to wake me up. He moved away, off to college. Now there’s no one to hold me still anymore.

I prefer friendships with guys because they’re easier to get along with, they’ll keep me company without expecting much in conversation.

I don’t like to talk, another strike against me when it comes to female friends. Not because I’m not bursting with a million different, vibrant thoughts, but because I’m afraid of what I might say.

People look at you funny when they tell you about their dreams and you admit you only have nightmares. They feel uncomfortable when they’re crying over a sick family member and you confess you’re jealous when people die. Most can’t understand when you tell them you were meant for another life, yet find yourself trapped in place.

I’m not depressed. Enough therapy visits have confirmed that. I’m not hollow. It’s the opposite, in fact.

I’m large.

I’m electric.

I have worlds colliding inside my head, but I have to keep it all tucked away to be polite.

I have to stay hidden so people won’t think I’m insane.

Nobody sees me because the world demands I wear a mask.

And I wore it. For sixteen years, at least. I’d strap it on every morning and rip it away at night. I walked the walk and talked the talk. I’m gifted when it comes to being someone I’m not.

People complimented me on the strangest things as I grew up, on expected things, while the real me was staring out at them with a grin on her face thinking Oh, you dumb fuck, you have no idea about me.

That was when my parents were alive, when they lectured me about reputation, decorum and feminine grace. I loved them dearly, it destroyed me when they died, but when their bodies last breathed and their ghosts were given up, they took my pretty wrappings with them.

Now, I’m just Poor Little Adeline, a girl with a reason to be sad, a girl with an excuse to spin wildly out of control because she is running from the pain.

Nobody knows that I’ve always been out of control. This is just the first time I’ve shown it.

I like the freedom. The excuse. I’ve done drugs when I felt like experimenting. I can drink most people under the table. I have sex with people I shouldn’t, in places I shouldn’t, and I don’t care when they leave.

There’s no reason to hold on to them. They never see me in the first place. They never pull back the curtain to see how badly I need something else.

It’s constant, that yearning. Overbearing at times. A drive for something that’s just out of reach, and the most frustrating part is I don’t know what I need.

I just know that I need it.

It’s what led me to this moment, the night of my eighteenth birthday. I’m alone in a club, lost to the driving beat of Marilyn Manson’s Sweet Dreams cover, surrounded by black walls and scary cages. I’m dancing with myself because I don’t need a partner, I’m dreaming of that which I crave.

It’s a given I’ve had too much to drink, especially after Jason decided to be a possessive ass and pull me by my hair. Had he just asked me to stop kissing another man, I would have. But instead he became aggressive. Like he owned me.

Like anybody as weak as him could own me.

I think somebody could own me if they were stronger than me. Not just physically, but mentally, too. Someone I could admit all my secrets to, and they wouldn’t run. Somebody who knows me and accepts I only want to be free.

Needless to say, I haven’t met that person yet, so when Jason took off, I didn’t get upset. I decided to enjoy my birthday with the only person I can trust:

Me.

It was going great until Mr. White Van skipped the part where he twiddled candy to lure me over and decided to put his hands on me instead.

The jerk has my wrists locked in his hold and his other hand on my hip. He thinks he can trap me when I try to jerk away. He believes he can ignore me when I tell him to fuck off. He smiles when he leans down to kiss me as if I don’t have sharp teeth and a temper that sees red.

I’m not a squeamish little girl that worries about hurting things.

I’m a righteous bitch who doesn’t appreciate guys who won’t take no for an answer.

The meathead hasn’t accounted for my knee, not until I catch him between the legs. And while the move would have toppled a normal man, would have sent him off holding his junk and limping badly, this asshole merely winces for a split second and grins.

My eyes round to realize I’m as good as fucked.

His fingers tighten on my wrist, and I can feel the bones crunch together, his hand that previously held my hip now slipping down to lift my skirt.

This son of a bitch has every intention of taking what he wants right here without concern for the crowd around us, and sadly I’m not sure I can scream louder than the music.

Not good.

Maybe I shouldn’t have drank so much. The room is spinning around me and there are three ugly faces staring down with the focus of a rabid dog, his fingers climbing up my thigh, knuckles dragging against my panties.

I try to jerk away again, but swallow hard when I can’t fight. My strength has waned, my bravery forgotten, and fear dances in to take up court and chill the breath in my lungs.

Ice water is my blood and all the sweat from dancing is suddenly too slick for me to tugs my wrists free. They just twist together, the bones aching, my heart doing a helpless tap dance in my throat.

Damn it. I’ve really gone and done it this time.

But then I’m yanked forward, the fingers clamped on my wrist letting go, my body tumbling down to the dirty floor where my hip strikes sharply, pain radiating across the bone.

Swiping the mess of black hair from my face, I glance up, not sure what I’m expecting, but it certainly isn’t to see the meathead held against a wall by another man who is just as tall. He has to be a bouncer.

Thank God he was paying attention.

The new man holds Meathead’s arm at a painful angle behind his back, a bicep flexing as his face comes to down to whisper to the asshole who thought he could push me around.

I’m not sure I’m seeing it right, adrenaline is now flooding in to mix with the alcohol in my veins, but I could swear I see the color drain from Meathead’s face in response to whatever the other man says.

He’s terrified, a wet trail soaking down the leg of his jeans.

The other man releases his arm to step back, and the jerk who had his hands on me runs off into the crowd, knocking a few people aside who were unfortunate enough to get in his way.

Then the new man turns around, my eyes lifting and out of focus.

He’s handsome, I think. Square jaw, dark hair, cruel lips, broad shoulders, tapered waist - that upside down triangle upper body that only lucky men are born with.

Either I’m drunker than I’ve ever been, or he’s gorgeous.

I have to be drunk.

Gorgeous men like that don’t work in Goth clubs.

He marches over to grab my arm and lifts me up, but I’m unsteady on my feet, the adrenaline-alcohol combo making it impossible to balance on my legs.

“Time to go, baby bird. You’ve had enough to drink.”

Baby bird? What the hell does that mean?

I open my mouth to ask, but his t-shirt brushes my face as he tugs me against him to walk me forward, the scent of his cologne so dark and decadent that I inhale deeply, rolling every note across my tongue.

He smells of fire and deep caverns, of spice and forbidden places, of mysteries and clandestine gatherings. Everything that haunts me and keeps me awake at night.

It’s an exquisite scent that reaches between my legs and whispers dirty words in my ear. My knees grow weaker as I lean against him.

“I’m not a baby bird,” I argue, unsure if he can understand my slurred words beneath the thump of heavy music.

His chest shakes with laughter as he draws my arm up to wrap over his shoulder.

“You are a baby bird. Out here flapping your wings when you don’t know how to fly yet.”

Whatever. He doesn’t know me. There is no way a stranger can see what even my closest friends never noticed. He’s just a bouncer pissed I caused a scene and is escorting me out.

On the outside, I’m a girl who had too much to drink. But on the inside, I’m dying.

Not from sorrow.

Not from pain.

But from something much deeper and more horrifying.

There is no easy way to explain what I feel when I stand still long enough to think of it.

The closest I can come is the feeling of being set free in space, what a person must feel if they are floating away watching the Earth grow smaller. They’re swallowed by the cold and the darkness, but instead of panic, you feel an odd resignation...an acceptance that you’ll never return home.

They say if you were to watch a person encounter the event horizon of a black hole that they would remain frozen in place forever, at least as far as you could tell, because time stops inside that hole. Just disappears.

And maybe that’s how I feel.

That I don’t exist in time.

That I’m stuck in place without hope of going back or moving forward.

It isn’t that I’m lonely. I prefer being by myself. Just that there is something missing, something I can’t name.

Not that he would know that. He’s only just met me.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re going home,” he answers, his voice a smooth baritone that vibrates against my ear. “I’m calling for a cab.”

The club feels too crowded all of a sudden, my stomach twisting over a lack of food and too much to drink. It’s far too hot now, the chill of fear abandoned for the heat of panic.

“I think I drank too much.”

“I know you did.”

We weave through the crowds, my feet stumbling, his arm tightening on my waist to keep me upright, the heat of his body comforting in a way. I won’t fall on my ass, not with a steel band locked around me.

Everything is closing in on me, so fast, so thoroughly.

The walls are caving in, the people blending together in one big lump of flesh. We bump into something. There is a jostling, a voice complaining, but that steel band never releases me as the room becomes a tunnel too narrow for me to pass through.

“I think...”

He moves us faster, but not enough. My legs are giving out, my head feels heavy and gross. There is no music now, just a steady thump of bass. I can’t keep my eyes open despite my best effort.

“I think I’m passing out.”

The man says something I can’t understand, my body giving out. A whispered curse, a hiss of sound, and as my legs became jelly and my body is heavy as stone, I begin to fall, only for another steel band to lock beneath my legs and lift me up.

My face turns into his chest, a hard plane beneath soft cotton.

Fingers gripping into the fabric of his shirt, I breathe him in again before the blackness swallows me whole.

“You smell so familiar...”

I’m not sure if the words really leave my mouth.

Ari

Well, this is unfortunate.

Not only does it look bad that I am carrying out a half-dressed girl who is barely conscious, but I am doing so after having stalked her for several years.

Not that anybody knows our history, but still, mine isn’t a face I want associated with Adeline Kane. And here I am, cradling her to my chest in full public view where any person can give a detailed account of me for a lovely police sketch.

I should have stayed home tonight. Hell, I should have kept going without turning back on the night I killed her father. But here I am, carrying his tragic daughter out of a nightclub she isn’t old enough to be in.

Woulda, coulda, shoulda, right?

Son of a bitch...

We broke free of the crowd and are approaching the front doors when the bouncer’s eyes slide my direction, his brow lifting in silent question. Only Adeline has the power to conjure my ghost and make it visible to the world.

And in my line of work, that is less than acceptable.

Spinning on my heel, I give him my back before he can dedicate my features to memory. Thankfully, he isn’t paid enough to give too much of a damn. Back into the crowd, I tuck my head low and push forward to find a service hall leading to another door.

Adeline is too still against me. Too quiet. It’s the alcohol, I know that. But it disturbs me more than I want to admit.

Even in sleep, she is too large for her skin. Even unconscious, she spreads out like wildfire and engulfs her space. Maybe even more so while sleeping because she can slip free from her restraints.

Adeline cries in her sleep. She talks. She screams. She fights. She never rests.

I should know. I’ve watched her.

But I’ve never allowed myself too close. I never enter her room while she is home.

You smell so familiar...

Her words come back to me, and I know it is impossible.

This is the first time I’ve touched her.

The first time I’ve ever been near her.

Except, that isn’t exactly true.

I was close to her once, but we were separated by a sheet of glass.

It was the first night I learned she walked in her sleep.

Adeline was still sixteen at the time, her father’s body not yet cold in the ground. I’d kept watch outside her bedroom, tucked in a shadowed corner staring in through her window like the creeper I am.

She was thrashing that night. Crying. Her fingers curling into her sheet as her body arched from the mattress. But then her eyes opened, and I thought she’d woken from the nightmare.

Her gaze didn’t contain its usual fire. Her stare was utterly vacant.

I’m not sure if you’ve ever seen a person sleepwalk, but it’s an eerie sight. Like watching a ghost go through the routine of the last moments of their life, completely unaware of everything around them.

But somehow that eeriness fit her.

Adeline was ethereal, transparent. At least to me.

She’d climbed out of bed and left her bedroom, and I circled the house to find her again in the kitchen. She walked up to a set of French doors with gauzy white curtains pulled to the sides, her eyes open and unseeing, her forehead pressing softly against the glass.

I knew she wasn’t aware, so I’d risked stepping up.

Her palm splayed over the glass, her fingers curling as if she were trying to hold on to something. And I’d pressed my gloved hand to hers, so close to touching, but still separated by glass. I’d stared at her face like she was looking at me. I’d pretended that we could know each other. Our breath fogged the only barrier between us.

I studied everything about her face, the crystal depth of her blue eyes, like a hidden oasis with only dappled sunlight. The soft curve of her jaw. The sharp blades of her high cheekbones. The blood red tint of lips that were swollen as if she’d been chewing them.

She does that when she thinks, chews her lips. And why do I have to fucking know that? I don’t want to know that.

That was when curiosity turned to obsession. And realizing that, I’d forced myself away from her to return to the shadows.

She sank to the ground as soon as I stepped away, her expression twisting in such raw, honest grief that my breath caught, my hand fisted.

I don’t like it when Adeline is still.

It’s why I’m in a rush to get her out of the club, why I storm down the dark service hall to kick open a back door into the alleyway. Why I carry her to my car because I can’t put her in the back of a stranger’s vehicle in the condition she’s in.

It would be too easy for someone to take advantage, and I’m not even sure she can tell the driver her address. I could, but that’s beside the point.

The girl is so far gone, it isn’t like she’ll remember anything. I’ve just never pulled my car into her fucking driveway before. I was always careful to park around the block and walk over.

This is too close.

But I do it regardless.

Thankfully, Adeline sleeps the entire way home, her tiny body curled up in the passenger seat, the seatbelt I’d strapped over her absolutely useless if I get in a wreck. Not that I will. I’m an excellent driver. You have to be to flee murder scenes without being caught.

She is safe.

From the world, at least.

For tonight.

I’m not so sure the same can be said about me.

I pull into her driveway just as she is stirring from that aggravatingly still sleep, her eyes blinking open, hazy from blacking out.

Killing the engine, I pull my seatbelt from the buckle and lean over to remove hers. Her breath is hot against my forearm, her body stirring again as she opens her eyes more.

“Where am I?”

Teeth clenched, I think about opening the door, rolling her out with my foot and backing away. It’s what I should do. But I answer her instead.

“You’re home.”

Her lips pull into a sloppy smile, her hips shifting over the seat so she can roll her head to look at me.

“Who are you?”

“Does it matter?” I cock a brow, challenging her to care.

She laughs, and it’s like music, free and unencumbered.

“No, I guess it doesn’t.”

We stare at each other for several quiet seconds, the beat of my breath matching hers. Her eyes are glassy and unfocused, her face so serene that I feel relaxed because of it.

“You’re pretty,” she says on an exhalation of breath.

Pretty?

Flowers are pretty. The sky is pretty. Women are pretty.

I am none of those things.

“You’re drunk, and I’m not pretty.”

Adeline pushes up to kneel in her seat and leans over the center console, her palm cupping my cheek as tender as a lover.

“Yes, you are. But you’re flawed. I can see all the mistakes. You’re gorgeous because of those flaws.”

My eyes widen, heart hammering. She needs to go. This is too much. Too close. How the fuck does she know that?

It’s the tragic artist in her. She looks for the cracks and fissures, the imperfections in anything she sees.

Her sloppy grin widens, pearly white teeth glimmering beneath.

“It’s okay. I’m flawed, too. Would you like to see?”

What a stupid question. I don’t need to see. I already know all her flaws. I could write a fucking book about them.

Adeline doesn’t wait for an answer before climbing over the center console to straddle my lap. And while I should open my door to jump away, I find myself sucking in a breath, my body going far too still.

She leans forward to press her mouth to my ear.

“I don’t even know your name, and all I want to do is kiss you right now. How fucked up is that?”

Extremely. It is just one of the things about her that drives me crazy. Don’t get me wrong; I love that about her. But I also hate it.

“We shouldn’t do that,” I answer.

“I like doing things I shouldn’t.”

Yes, yes she does. She really is a little monster.

“Why?”

Her lips brush the shell of my ear, and I ignore how my dick twitches.

“Because the world tells me no, and it makes me want to do it more. Why should I be bound to their rules? This is my life. I want to live it. I want to taste it. I want to explore every forbidden and unknown thing. Don’t you?”

Her hips roll over my lap, and my hand grips down to still her. She laughs against my ear, the sound of it breathy.

“Please.”

My eyes close and open again to find her unfocused gaze searching mine, her mouth slightly parted, top teeth scraping the bottom lip.

And then she presses her mouth to mine while her hips roll again, a groan crawling up the back of my throat because she tastes like fire and ice, life and death, like the arid heat of a desert and the immaculate violence of a summer storm.

The tip of her little pink tongue sweeps along the crease of my mouth, teasing, tasting, seeking permission.

Adeline is attempting to lead this dance. And many guys in the past had let her. But I’m not those guys. I know she needs more than that.

She doesn’t get off on polite, respectable fucks. She doesn’t enjoy sloppy, suffocating humping. She looks like she'll puke when a guy fumbles between her legs for only a few seconds before losing patience and diving in.

I’ve watched her shut down so many times, disappointed, but then smile and lie that she’d come.

The same wouldn’t happen with me. Not that it should happen at all, but tell my dick that...or my teeth.

And before you gripe and complain that I’m taking advantage of a drunk woman who doesn’t know better, you can fuck off. I never claimed our story would be pretty or safe.

I open my mouth to let her tongue slide in, but then I clamp down with my teeth, trapping the smooth muscle as a squeak of pain bursts from her throat. Grabbing both her wrists with my hands, I force her arms behind her back to trap them together with one hand while bringing the other around to her front.

My teeth release her, and I shove her back, a little beep sounding from the car when her spine hits the horn. She stares at me wide-eyed and afraid. I grin.

“Here’s the thing about fucking men you don’t know. You never can tell which ones are monsters.”

Another woman would have fought or screamed, but my little psychopath shudders as my hand dips beneath her shirt to sweep up and grip her tit. Squeezing her tight nipple between my thumb and finger, I twist until her mouth falls open, and her hips circle down against my lap.

And then I bite her again. Her full bottom lip that has mocked me for years. The same one she chews at all fucking hours. I punish her mouth for teasing me every chance it gets. For distracting me. For trapping me.

Adeline’s hips move faster, my cock swelling with the intent to take her, but I’m not ready for that. Not until she cries. Begs. Fucking slits an artery and offers me her blood if I will only promise to relieve the pressure.

My mouth consumes hers in the next breath, our tongues sliding together as the car beeps again because she can’t keep her body still. I suck on that little pink muscle, wishing it was smaller and between her legs, but my fingers will have to do.

Dropping my hand between her legs, I growl to find she is wet, absolutely dripping with the need she has to be filled.

I flick her panties aside, losing myself to that wet heat, my thumb circling her clit with a punishing force because she deserves to be punished for what she is doing to me.

This should not be happening.

But I drag my thumb down her slit, push it inside her tight hole and massage the circle of the opening before dragging it back up to play her clit again.

Adeline is panting, mewling, grinding down on me like she can’t get enough.

I release her mouth to run my teeth along her jaw, my lips down her throat, my mouth hitting her shoulder when she catches her breath enough to barely talk.

“I’m going to -“

Panting, she can’t get the words out, her body writhing.

“I’m going to -“

No. I won’t let her come yet.

I pull my hand away and shoot my stare to her face. The color in her cheeks has drained, her eyes unfocused and hazy.

“I’m going to be sick.”

My eyes round in understanding, and I shove my door open just in time for her to lean to the side and vomit on the cement.

Fucking hell...

Head falling back against my seat, I take a deep breath and catch up with myself, irritated to all hell that I won’t be working her body tonight, and also thankful that the alcohol interfered and stopped a colossal mistake.

She heaves a few times before finally straightening up to look at me, the back of her hand wiping her mouth just as her eyes cross and she passes out.

Her forehead lands on my shoulder, and I close my eyes, wondering how the hell I ended up here.

Exhaling slowly, I almost laugh at the moment. She is the most aggravating woman I’ve ever known, and I can’t get enough of her.

It’s difficult to maneuver both of us out of the car given that she is dead weight. But I manage to get her inside the house, tuck her into bed and am pulling the blankets up to her chin when her hand reaches out to grip my shirt.

Gaze going to her face, I wait for what she will do.

A smile softens her lips, but her eyes never open. She whispers, though, the words so utterly confusing.

“You stand over me at night. I see you at the side of my bed. It’s okay. I like it when you’re there.”

And then she is gone again, lost to sleep.

I peel her fingers from my shirt and stand straight.

What was she talking about?

I know good and goddamned well I’ve never entered her room while she was sleeping. And I also know she doesn’t have another stalker.

That would be fucking awkward. Right after running into him, exchanging schedules, and splitting up the week between his nights and mine, I’d have killed him for daring to think he could encroach on my territory.

It wouldn’t fucking happen.

So, what was she talking about?

It appeared that, not only is Adeline an out of control monster, she’s also certifiable.

And fuck if that doesn’t make me admire her more.

But still, when all was said and done, what happened between us tonight shouldn’t have been allowed. It shouldn’t have occurred.

After staring at her for another few minutes, I stroll out of her room, glancing back one last time, promising myself I will never let it happen again.

Ari

May 19, 2016

Adeline danced for three weeks after that night in my car. By herself, alone in a house too large for her. Always to the same song, Volcano by Damien Rice, the fucking thing on repeat in my ear while I listened from afar.

She didn’t remember a damn thing about the man who made her feel light on her feet for once, not consciously anyway. But something inside her was shining within the dark, a single flicker like a firefly.

She didn’t cry in her sleep. She didn’t scream. She smiled for once, even if her fingers still clutched the sheets as if she were reaching for something unseen.

Only for three weeks, though. After the feeling left her, she sank again, seeking out new problems to make her feel alive.

In that time, I’d snuck in and installed cameras and microphones. I’d bugged every computer, every smart device, her phone, her car. It wasn’t enough anymore to read her journals and watch. I’d needed to be there beside her in everything, even if she had no idea.

Even from a distance.

And I was there, for another year and a half, watching her, memorizing her, studying her like she was a science experiment I couldn’t quite figure out.

Every song she listened to, I downloaded to my playlist. Every book she read, I bought for myself. Every movie she watched, I forced myself to sit through. Every word she uttered, I analyzed. Every fucking food that burst against her tongue, I tasted so I could experience it as well.

She played three instruments: cello, piano and guitar. I bought all of them and had them in my penthouse even though I had no idea how to make them sing.

And every man she let near her, I refrained from killing. Not that I didn’t want to. It was a struggle of epic fucking proportions. Something had changed since the night I touched her, and instead of simply being amused by her frustrating antics, I was slowly coming undone.

Enough to worry Lincoln.

Enough for me to worry about myself.

So, I kept my distance. I watched, but I didn’t touch. I kept myself busy with jobs and asked Lincoln to babysit as much as possible.

I was casually involved in her life. An awareness that took no part in it, but knew everything about it. At least until the tables turned, and I received a phone call that caused my blood to boil.

I’m walking through the arrival terminal of a commercial airport, minding my own fucking business after having executed a particularly bothersome film producer who’d had his way with an underage actress.

Not that I gave a damn about his crimes, but that little girl’s manager took issue with a man in a position of authority who liked them young.

The problem was solved quickly and quietly. As far as anybody knew, his guilt had caught up with him and he’d decided to consume a cocktail of drain cleaner and bleach while watching the secret audition videos he’d made of his victims.

What they didn’t know was that he’d done so with a gun pointed to his head.

Personally, I would have chosen the bullet, but the man was an idiot who thought he might survive his stomach being dissolved by cleaning products.

His death had been excruciating, and I’d be a liar to claim I didn’t enjoy it. Had his victims been sixteen or older, I might have empathized. I was the creeper who’d stalked Adeline since that age after all.

But no, they were half that age, and for that, his death had been justified.

Not that it mattered.

I’d killed him for the money, not the crime. He could have done something as mundane as tossing a plastic bottle into a trash can instead of the recycling bin, and I still would have killed him, although maybe not as painfully.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I answer it while eating the distance across the terminal on a long-legged stride.

“What did she do now?”

Lincoln’s long exhalation is followed by the sound of his hand scrubbing against his face and the gravel of his deep voice.

“You’re going to lose your shit.”

My feet stop, the crowd around me parting and moving like a school of fish to the left and right, careful not to touch me, as if they know death itself is staring them down.

“I’m a very patient man, Lincoln. You know this. We need to be for our line of work. And while I stand here and wonder why you think I need an assessment as to my future psychological state, that patience is running extremely fucking thin. So much so, that I’m having preliminary regrets about cutting your tongue out of your throat to let it hang like a damn tie down your chest. So, I’ll ask this again and expect a better answer: What did she do now?”

His silence does nothing to improve my state of mind. I’d only been out of touch for the eight hour flight. In that time, I’ve known Adeline had gone out to a club, one I couldn’t monitor from a distance, not that the Wi-Fi on the plane would have allowed for live streaming even if I had cameras in every place she frequented, which I don’t.

“She met up with a guy. He hit her. She’ll have a decent shiner for a week or two. I thought I’d let you know before you saw her again and planned my death for letting her get damaged.”

My jaw ticks, and my body goes far too still.

“What did she do after that?”

He sighs again. “Told him to get lost. Caused a scene. Left and took an Uber home by herself.”

My left eye twitches. I scratch my jaw with my free hand then straighten the cuffs of my sleeves while pinning the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“Who was the guy?”

Another beat of silence.

“Ari, we do what we do for money, not for out of control little girls.”

Fuck his warning. Fuck his reminder. I’m seeing fucking red at the moment. The walls around me and all the faces of the people rushing back and forth are dripping in it.

I lick my tongue against the smooth surface of my top teeth, then scrape it against the sharp edges.

“Who was the guy?”

A sigh. “Jason Ayers. I guess she decided to give him another chance, again, although I have no fucking idea why. What is with this girl? I could watch daytime soap operas and witness less drama.”

Jason Ayers. That son of a bitch has been a problem since the night I touched her. Adeline is a stupid, stupid, little girl. Constantly going back to someone who obviously doesn’t know how to keep his fucking hands to himself. And up until now, I’ve stayed out of it. He is an asshole, yes. But he hasn’t caused any significant damage.

Until now.

Now he’s marked her.

Now he doesn’t deserve to have the hands he can’t keep to himself.

“Where is she?”

“Home,” he answers, sounding completely defeated since he knows exactly what is about to happen.

“And where is he?”

“Jesus, you’re going to do something, aren’t you?”

Annoyance flickers inside me.

“My name is not Jesus. I’m not feeling particularly forgiving or without sin at the moment, and that doesn’t answer my question.”

“He tried following her home. She wouldn’t answer the door. He took off. I don’t know where because I stayed to watch her.”

Lincoln doesn’t need to stay there any longer.

I’m home. And I am pissed.

“Take off and do whatever it is you’d rather be doing now. I’ll take care of the problem.”

“Ari-“

“Don’t ask questions, Lincoln.”

He curses under his breath, but ends the call without another warning that Adeline’s problems aren’t mine.

Except that’s where Lincoln is always wrong. From the moment I first touched her, everything in her life has been mine.

I leave the airport, go home, change into something less expensive than the suit I wore on the flight, and I’m on the road to Adeline’s house within an hour. I’m not sure why I know Jason will return to her house again. Maybe it’s because I know guys like him, weak motherfuckers that beat on women because they don’t have the balls to take on a man.

Parking in my usual spot a block away from her house, I round the street corner with a hoodie covering my head, the dark cloth hanging low to disguise my face, my gear bag slung over a shoulder.

Not that anybody will see me, I know how to move without being detected, but I will see him, and I don’t want Jason to know the face of the demon breathing down his neck until it’s too late for him to do a damn thing about it.

Just as I suspected, his car is parked in her driveway, his face lighting up from the glare of his phone. I pull my phone from my pocket, scroll to the tracking app connected to Adeline’s and see Jason is calling her over and over again.

She doesn’t answer, which makes her a good little bird.

But still, the fact he feels the need to harass her after bruising her face sends a fresh wave of anger burning through me like fire.

It isn’t long before I’m by his car. His face turns to me when I rip the door open. His body slumps in the seat when my elbow cracks his nose so hard blood splatters the steering wheel and windshield.

Not the cleanest job, but this isn’t about being professional. This is about making a point.

He passes out, and I lug his weight from the car, toss him in the back seat, bind him, gag him and I’m backing his car out of her driveway within two minutes.

Pet by A Perfect Circle is blasting from his speakers. I laugh at how appropriate the song is.

Jason wakes up again in the middle of a wooded lot, body stretched over the ground face up, bound wrists secured to the ground above his head by a tent spike, his ankles the same.

I’m crouched down beside him when he blinks open terrified eyes. His mumbled voice draws my attention to his face, his head lifting to lock eyes.

It’s impossible to make out exactly what he says, not that I care. I’m sure it’s something along the lines of Who are you? Why are you doing this? Let me go.

A bunch of boring, uninspired bullshit that is a waste of my time. I don’t care to hang out with him for too long, so what he says means nothing.

“I don’t like you,” I say conversationally, as disinterested as a person asking for the butter to be passed at the dinner table.

“And the fact that I’m out here in the middle of the fucking night after a long ass flight across the Atlantic makes me dislike you even more.”

He mumbles again, something along the lines of a demand I let him go. But that would be a problem. I’m not the type to leave witnesses. They’re too messy and need to be watched constantly. And since my schedule is already full with Adeline, I’m not inclined to add him to it.

“You know,” I say, pushing up to my feet, “usually I’m much less hands on. But I have an issue.”

Stepping up to his hands, I peer over my shoulder to see his head roll back to keep me in sight. If I were a nice person, I would tell him not to watch this part.

The toe of my boot presses down on his left pinky finger.

“I don’t like assholes who hit women.”

The fine bones of his finger crunch as I grind my boot against them, my ankle twisting left and right as a scream crawls up his throat.

Methodically, I move to each finger, explaining to him why his insignificant life is about to be cut short.

“I don’t like when people touch what’s mine.”

Another finger.

“I’ve always hated your skinny jeans.”

Another.

“Your hair has annoyed me since the minute I first saw you.”

The thumb of his left hand is last.

“And I really hate men who rely on women to buy their drinks for them.”

He screams the loudest on that one.

Crouching by his head, I catch the sparkle of cubic zirconia in his ear, and reach out to rip it from the lobe. Twirling it between my fingers, I add, “And I especially hate fake diamonds. Did you actually believe someone would think this was real?”

Jason is a sobbing mess at this point, but I’m sure he’s answering my question in his head. It would be rude not to.

“I’ll take that as a no. I’d be a sobbing, pathetic mess, too, if I was ever caught with this crap on me.”

I would have flicked the cheap jewelry away in disgust, but leaving evidence behind isn’t the best plan. I tuck it in my pocket instead.

Back to my feet, I work over his right hand, slowly, meticulously, crushing every finger before paying attention to the knuckles and the rest. If I don’t kill him when all is said and done, he’ll never use his hands again. Even the best orthopedist wouldn’t be able to create working bones from dust.

I circle around, stepping over him so one foot is planted on each side of his chest and stare down at a set of swollen eyes. He’s whimpering, his face a mess of snot and slobber, his body shaking from pain.

My hands are tucked casually in my pockets, the hood of my jacket no longer covering my face.

“Do you know why I broke your hands?”

Surprisingly, he shakes his head to answer.

I grin, happy to explain the reason he will die tonight. Everybody deserves to know why they will no longer occupy the same world as me.

“You hit Adeline Kane for the last time.”

I pull my gun from the holster at my back, allowing it to hang in my hand by my leg. His eyes go to it, widening just before he starts screaming again, his body jerking left and right.

There’s really no point in dragging this out. It’s late, and I have a body to bury, a car to strip and wipe down, and I want to check in on Adeline to ensure she’s all right.

“Remember to keep your hands to yourself in the next life.”

Silence when the bullet catches him between the eyes.

The job is done.

Another professional hit.

Except, Jason is the first man I’ve killed without the promise of money.

Of course, it would be Adeline that forces my hand.

Of course, it would be the woman I can’t let go.

Adeline

June 23, 2018

There is no way I’m this stupid. No fucking way in hell I would screw up like this, today of all days.

I’d been doing so good lately. I’d stayed out of trouble. I’d kept straight A’s in school. I’d managed to stay in a relationship almost two years.

I’d even exhibited my photographs at a small gallery show, a project I’d bled my heart and soul into for the past sixteen months. It wasn’t much. A visual account of the sleep disorders I suffer, but it had been a huge success. I sold every single shot within an hour of the doors opening on the first night. All of them, swept up for some ridiculous price even though I was an unknown.

And tonight, I will take another step into my responsible adult life.

I am getting engaged.

Not that I’m supposed to know it. Grant planned to surprise me tonight at dinner. He’s taking me to Mackinnon’s, a brand new restaurant that is impossible to get reservations. It sits on the eightieth floor of Hedgeman Tower, the exterior walls all glass that give every diner a three hundred and sixty degree view of the city below. I’ve been dying to eat there since it opened. How he got us a table, I don’t know.

His sister, Gloria, had called to warn me of his plans. Not because she thought I’d cut and run, but because she thought I should have a head’s up to get my nails done and also my hair. She was sure there’d be pictures and wanted to make sure it would be special.

Honestly, I am not the type for nails and hair, but I’d thanked her anyway, even if it did ruin the surprise.

But now it doesn’t look like I‘ll be getting there, not with my car being towed off in the middle of downtown, the damn driver refusing to release it from his truck when I ran up to apologize for remaining parked past the metered time.

Promising him cash didn’t help either, he just smirked in my direction, mumbling something rude about rich bitches, and off he went with my only way of getting home.

I thought to call for a ride, but my phone was in that car along with my purse, wallet, and camera. He refused to let me grab any of it because lowering the car would cost him time he didn’t have.

Asshole.

Yes, it was stupid of me to run off with only my keys in hand. It was also stupid to not actually put money in the parking meter, but I thought I’d only be inside the gallery for five minutes to sign a release for the exhibit photographs to be given to the buyer. I ended up being in there for an hour, promising Rebecca that I’d let her know when I have a new collection of photos to show.

A car honks behind me, and I spin, the driver obviously not giving a damn that I’m having a shitty day.

All he cares about is that I am standing in the only open parking space, and he guns the engine to let me know it.

His car lurches forward, and I jump back to dodge between more parked cars to make it to the sidewalk. A male voice calls out for me to watch it, and when I spin, a bike messenger is only feet from me, his eyes wide and his mouth open, telling me to move.

I am yanked away, my feet tripping backwards until my back hits a wall. And while my heart pounds a death metal beat inside my throat, my hand flies to my head to realize I almost went to the hospital with a dozen broken bones.

The city keeps moving around me, undisturbed by my near miss with death, and I turn to see who grabbed me.

An angry scowl meets me, my gaze drifting up to find grey eyes lined with thick, dark lashes, annoyance glimmering behind them.

“You almost got yourself killed.”

I flinch at the snap in his voice, the tone sharp and undercutting.

Running an accusing eye down his grey suit and black shirt, I pause for a moment on the flash of platinum cufflinks where his hands slide into his pockets and pull the front of his slacks taut.

You can tell the guy is in immaculate shape even with his clothes on. Either that or he paid a mint for the best tailor in the world. There isn’t a single stitch out of place, the buttons lying flat over his stomach, and the cut of his jacket is a perfect fit over broad shoulders.

He has money. At least, that’s what his clothes scream.

Judging by his less than patient tone with me, I assume he must be a business owner, some higher up like a CEO, who is used to snapping at the people beneath him.

Gazing back up, I see that he is still watching me, a single brow arched as if waiting for me to apologize, or thank him, or something.

“I’m having a bad day,” I finally say.

“It doesn’t give you an excuse not to pay attention to your surroundings. You never know what’s going on around you.”

He says this like he knows me, like he’s complaining. And, even though he isn’t wrong to assume I am oblivious ninety-nine percent of the time, it still angers me that he thinks he can lecture me like a child.

“You don’t know me.”

His mouth twitches, the corner of his lips curling as if this whole thing is funny. “Am I wrong?”

No. But I won’t admit it.

Not that I have to. His lips curl more, his eyes pinning mine with the knowledge that he’s called it perfectly.

“I didn’t think so,” he says, his words soft as if speaking to himself instead of me.

His eyes move to scan the sidewalk, tipping up to glance at the sky.

It is an overcast day, the clouds heavy with rain, wind blowing the branches of the trees lining the streets, dried leaves shuffling down the sidewalk to be crushed underfoot by the people milling about.

I should walk away. Should tell him I have places to be that are more pleasant than his grumpy ass, but I stand in place, studying him.

The man has black hair, so dark it is missing the common blue undertones. His hair is more like a void, a place where color can’t exist, where light is swallowed. It isn’t short, but not long either. A perfect cut for his face, the type you can run your hands through. It draws the eye to his features.

What beautiful features they are, all sharp angles and strong jaw. There is a stark quality in the lines of it. Nothing soft or pliable. I have an overwhelming urge to run my palm along the scruff of his cheek just to know if it’s as rough as it looks.

And his mouth. No matter how he holds it, I see cruelty in those lips, the kind that forces tears from your eyes or makes you scream.

I regret leaving my camera in the car. My fingers itch for the shutter button. I want to photograph his face just like it is. A candid shot when he isn’t looking at me, but is instead viewing the world around him.

He doesn’t miss a thing. I’m not sure why I know that, I just do.

Grey eyes flick back to me, and I jump in surprise, feeling busted for staring.

“Why are you having a bad day?”

I don’t want to answer him, thinking he might lecture me for being careless. Oddly, I find my lips parting, honesty pouring out of me because I can’t hide anything. Not from him.

“My car was towed. It had my phone and purse inside it. I’m stuck here with no way to get home.”

Lightning shoots across the sky, the crack of it a flash in his eyes as if his anger conjured it. But then the sky opens, a curtain of rain finally pouring to flood the sidewalk and street.

People run, some diving into stores and other businesses to escape the downpour. Others rush to climb in their cars. The man grabs my arm and drags me to a small covered doorway, the space barely big enough for both of us to fit, my clothes already soaked by the time we reach it.

He turns to face me since we can’t stand side by side and both be under the awning, his arm braced against the door above my head, his chest too close to my face. I crane my neck to look up at him, the rain so thick it feels like only he and I exist in the world at that moment.

My teeth lock on my bottom lip, and his gaze drops down to my mouth, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

I make the mistake of breathing, as if that can be called a mistake, but it is around him. He smells so incredibly good, his scent intoxicating, yet familiar in some way I can’t understand.

“I’m getting engaged,” I blurt, unsure why I say that, why it sounds like a confession ... or a plea.

For what?

The lapel of his jacket brushes my cheek. I shiver in place, telling myself it’s the chill of being soaked and not his proximity.

His lips part, eyes searching my face as if he is memorizing every detail about it.

“You aren’t looking at me like a woman who’s getting engaged to the love of her life.”

He’s not...

I blink, shaking off the instant response, the thoughts in my head that are the old Adeline, not this new version I am determined to be. The responsible version. The grown up Adeline that doesn’t kiss strangers and screw up her life seeking something she’ll never find.

Grant is a good man. Smart. Practical. Well established. He comes from an equally good family. I will be well taken care of, and he anchors me in place, keeps me from making stupid decisions. I love him, I swear, but it feels more like I am trying to convince myself of this rather than believing it.

The man leans forward, and my breath catches, his eyes trapping mine, his expression unreadable.

Voice soft against the crash of rain behind him, he says, “If I were the man you planned to marry and I caught you looking at another man the way you’re looking at me now, I would be upset. I might want to kill him.”

The air rattles out of my lungs. “Looking at you how?”

He leans closer, his breath a wash of heat against my lips. “You tell me.”

A drop of rain drips from the ends of his hair to slide down the line of his neck, my eyes chasing that drop, fascinated with how it rolls over golden skin.

My stare shoots up to see he is watching me intently.

“I - I don’t know-“

He leans in so far I think our mouths will touch, but then he pulls a phone from his pocket, brings it to his ear, rattles off the intersection closest to us, and I realize he is calling a cab.

The rain stops as well, gone as quickly as it started, and he steps away, reaching into his pocket again and pulling out a wad of bills. Peeling a fifty off the top, he hands it to me.

“This should get you home. The cab will be here in a few minutes. And next time you’re stranded in the middle of a city, don’t tell a stranger. You never know how he might take advantage of that information.”

With a bent finger, he taps the bottom of my chin. Then he turns and walks off, the sidewalk glimmering with rain, entirely vacant except for him.

My heart pounds as if trying to break free of my chest to chase after a man who hasn’t given me his name.

Moments later, I see a flash of yellow in my peripheral vision. It takes effort to pull my gaze from him to look at the cab. When I turn back, he is gone.

A hollow feeling takes over, something I haven’t allowed myself to feel in a long time. But it is there, as cold and desolate as ever. Haunting, if there can be a better word for it.

And while I want to stay in that doorway to see if he’ll come back, I know I have places to be.

I force one foot in front of the other toward the cab. My future husband waits for me. It is a night to celebrate my next step into the life I need.

So why do I want to take a step back?

Regardless, I get in the cab and return home. I call Grant from a landline and explain what happened with my car. He tells me he’ll take care of it, that I should only worry about getting ready for tonight.

He is reliable like that. Dependable. Unlike me. But that’s what I thought I needed. I thought he could be everything that was missing in me. That he could force me to grow up and let go of magical thinking.

Reality is so ugly compared to the fantasy we carry in our thoughts. It’s rash and unforgiving, so terribly boring and mundane that it’s painful to exist at times.

At least, to me, it is.

And maybe that’s because I’ve had a taste of conscious dreams. I’ve walked between the curtain of being awake and being asleep, and I’ve learned to love it there. To make peace with it.

Other people consider the experience disturbing when it happens once or twice in their life. But I’ve suffered it for so long that the in-between has become my kingdom, and the person that waits for me there is always large and overbearing. He is dark and disturbing. And he makes my heart beat like it never does when I’m awake.

He terrifies me.

And I love him for it.

Love that he stands over me...watching.

But he is also diaphanous, and I can never hold onto him no matter how hard I grip.

I often wake crying.

But none of that can matter, right? Fantasies are for children, and I have to grow up at some point.

Grant can help with that. He is helping, and I am a selfish brat for feeling what I felt today when the rain was falling so hard that I couldn’t see the world around me as a fantasy came to life.

It can’t matter.

I am getting married.

So why does it feel like I can’t breathe?

Ari

June 12, 2019

There’s really no reason I am who I am.

Most people, when learning that a man is a killer, when hearing that he has the ability to brutally and callously end the life of another, hope to delve into his past and find that he suffered some type of misfortune that can easily explain a switch being flipped in his mind that changed him from what is considered normal into what is essentially a monster.

They look for an explainable formula, a convenient checklist of events or influences that make the promise that not every person has it in them to be so heartless or cruel.

Trauma is often a likely excuse, a pretty wrapping that can be smoothed over and tied with ribbon to help soften or even cage the psyche of a man who lacks empathy or guilt. It helps make the monster more palatable, even if his crimes are still horrendous. It helps soothe the minds of those who wonder if they could also be in a place where they kill without concern for the value of another life.

I have no such trauma. No youthful symptoms that should have shed light on who I would become. No warning signs that were ignored and led me into a career where I kill for money...or that trapped me in an obsession that had completely taken over my life.

I came from a middle income family, parents that never divorced. I was an only child, spoiled because of it. I had pets that lived happily into old age. I was never bullied. I didn’t endure poverty, or hatred, or really want for anything.

Essentially, my life was ridiculously normal, textbook maybe for average America. I didn’t suffer, and I didn’t cause others to suffer. Maybe a better description for my life would be that it was utterly boring.

And maybe that’s the clue people missed.

Despite having what I needed, something essential was absent. Not at first. I’d lived the first ten years of my life completely content. I’d done what all little boys do: played, explored, behaved in all the ways I was taught.

But then it was like the world shifted one day, and I woke up with a part of me that was so bleak and hollow, it ached to be filled with something I couldn’t name. A piece was missing, as if it had fallen away when I slept that night and rolled under the bed or into the crack of a floor board, never to be found.

It needed to be filled.

As I grew older, I experimented. Partying, sex, sports, academics, hobbies, you name it. I tried everything, but was never able to fully satisfy the beast.

Until I found the value of easy money.

It was an accident that I even stumbled into the life. One job. One night where the inscrutable man I worked for at the time mentioned he had a side project for me. How he knew I’d accept without telling the police of his offer, I don’t know. Maybe like attracts like, or recognizes it, at least. But the offer was made:

If this man dies, this amount will be in your bank account.

My hand didn’t shake the first time, which is often how you hear of it. I didn’t care to ask details. I simply did what I was asked, and the money appeared in my account, easy as that.

And through the years, I’ve honed my skill. My name spread through networks. I made a career out of something most would consider horrifying, and I have no issues sleeping because of it.

It filled that hollow part inside me for a period of time, at least until the night I killed Liam Kane.

That night, the hollow part was ripped open worse than ever. I turned around at the sound of a voice and knew I was empty.

Seeing Adeline for the first time in her white nightgown, hovering over the body of her father, had stolen the delusion that I was sane and whole.

Because I wasn’t.

Not when it came to her.

An obsession with the young woman took hold.

Now I stand here, almost six years later, to see her in white again, except this time she is in the arms of another.

If I didn’t know better, I would swear Grant Cabot chose the venue especially for me. As if he intended to rub my nose in it. As if I hadn’t allowed this day to happen when I chose to let go of what had been mine all along.

St. Margaret Cathedral. A gothic revival style church that is garish and imposing...and just happened to be the first place you see when looking out the windows of my penthouse.

What the dumbass doesn’t know is that if it weren’t for me, he would never have found Adeline.

The elevator to my penthouse dings just before the familiar gravel of Lincoln’s deep voice echoes through the open space.

“I smell pussy.”

Not bothering to look over at Lincoln as he strolls into the living room, I grin.

“A woman hasn’t stepped foot inside this place since I bought it six years ago.”

“Then it must be you. Would you like some tissues to blot your swollen eyes?”

With a forearm braced against the sheet glass of the bank of windows that stand floor to ceiling to give me a view of my kingdom below, I stare down at the church where Adeline is getting married.

Wearing a pair of black slacks and a white dress shirt left unbuttoned, I hold a snifter of cognac in my hand to drink away the day I knew would come.

“She didn’t choose the venue,” I say, ignoring Lincoln’s taunt. “Something so large and flashy isn’t her. Adeline loves silently, privately. He must have forced her into it.”

“Or they made a decision together because that’s what couples do.”

No. She never would have agreed.

I know Adeline.

Know every odd thought and idiosyncrasy.

She is a woman who fights against the norm. One who should be lifted above the heads of the mediocre, but is instead pulled down and buried for daring to walk to the beat of her own drum.

“He’ll change her, and whether for the worse or better, I’m not sure.”

A sound of placid agreement. “Maybe he’ll finally tame that wild streak inside her.”

Eyes narrowed on the church, I still. “That’s what I like about her.”

“Or want for yourself,” he suggests, the words hanging in the air as a challenge. “You did the right thing by staying away. Don’t fuck it up now.”

A spark of anger snaps through me. My eyes shoot to Lincoln.

“At what point did I invite you here or ask for your opinion?”

He smirks from where he had settled on the large leather sofa, uninvited I might add, his arms stretched across the back as if he owns the place.

Had it been any other couch, any other penthouse, maybe he would. Messing with a man like Lincoln is a lesson in stupidity. His height and build on their own are enough to make any man think twice, but he has the constant promise of a quick death staring out from behind intelligent brown eyes, the color of them as dark as his hair.

“I had a feeling you needed company. That and I wouldn’t miss the little monster getting married. I feel like, with as much as you and I have babysat her in the past six years, we should be the ones walking her down the aisle.” He pauses. “Or maybe not. In the mood you’re in, you’d shoot her husband before she had the chance to say I do.”

“Too public a venue,” I muse.

He chuckles before a deep breath blows over his lips.

“She’s gone, Ari. Someone else’s problem. You can stop watching her. It’s time to let go.”

As if on cue, the cathedral bells ring their haunting melody, an announcement to the city that Adeline Kane is officially a wife.

My eyes turn back to the church. The front doors fly open, and the wedding party spills out to lead the bride and groom to their waiting car. They toss birdseed instead of confetti, some swirling wands dipped in soap to release bubbles that reflect the grey skies above their heads.

It reminds me of a day I can’t allow myself to regret, a day when I could have kissed her and stolen her away.

I’m getting engaged...

Her voice whispers in my ear, the memory forcing my hand to clench.

Why had she said that to me? And why did it sound like she was daring me to do something about it?

Another deep sigh sounds behind me.

“The way I see it, you have three things you need to do immediately.”

My brow arches, but I don’t ask. He tells me anyway.

“First, you can turn off this fucking music. Either you enjoy listening to dying cats, or you’re trying to depress me so much I put a gun in my mouth to make it end.”

My lips curl. He’s right. Damien Rice’s Cheers Darlin’ is playing now. Not that I’d intended to listen to a song so on point it was almost cruel. I’d just turned on a playlist Adeline often listened to during the past few years in order to fill the silence.

Twisting around, I grab the remote to the stereo and shut the shit off.

“Thank you. Now what you need to do is get rid of the shrine you’ve turned your penthouse into. To say this is creepy as fuck is an understatement.”

I turn, my eyes sweeping over the piano in the center of the room, the polished cello in its stand in a nearby corner.

Beyond that were the photographs, a series of shots I knew Adeline had worked on for weeks. Each one is a window into her mind, the fortune I paid for them a small price for the true value of the shots.

Lincoln studies the photos as well, his voice drifting into my thoughts. “I’ll admit she’s talented. Although, just as creepy as you.”

Settling my gaze on one particular photo, the corner of my mouth curls.

It’s my favorite of the series: Adeline lying in bed, a formless shadow standing over her, watching. The casual observer would see a threat in the dark presence, would believe disaster lurked. But I know the truth of that photo, understand that the only thing protecting her is an unseen force that she somehow knows is always close.

Mirroring my thoughts, Lincoln’s voice grabs my attention.

“It’s almost as if she knew we were there.”

I turn to see Lincoln is staring at the same photo. And while I agree Adeline sensed something, I don’t think it was Lincoln’s presence that haunted her.

Muted noise from outside grabs my attention, and I look down to the cathedral, a flash of white coming through the front doors becoming a vise strangling my heart.

“You need to get back to your old life, Ari. Take a contract or ten. Earn a shit ton of money while forgetting about her.” He laughs. “Hell, killing someone might be good for you.”

My eyes lock on Adeline’s new husband. “It’s not a bad idea.”

His quiet laughter shakes me to the core.

“Not him.” A pause, the silence pregnant with everything Lincoln doesn’t need to say. “You let this happen, remember? We both know the life you live isn’t good for her. It never will be.”

Swallowing the rest of my drink, I set the glass on a nearby table and force myself away from the window.

“You’re right.”

“I know I am. And since it’s been six fucking years, apparently, another thing your need to do is get your dick wet. We should go out and celebrate the monster’s wedding tonight. Get you back into the swing of things.”

Moving in front of mirror to button my shirt, I try not to notice the shadows beneath my eyes. I don’t need much sleep, but I spend too much time awake during the late night hours watching a woman I can never have.

“I said I haven’t had a woman up here for six years, not that I’ve gone without sex that entire time.”

“Dirty alleys behind bars?”

I glance over my shoulder at him.

“Better than bringing them here and dealing with expectations after.”

“I hear you. Then a bar, it is. Are you driving or am I?”

My hand stills where I’d been tucking my shirt into my pants.

“I’m not in the mood to go out.”

I know the minute his baritone laugh filters through the room that he will drag me out regardless.

. . .

Dulcetta is in full swing by eleven tonight. An upscale club, it caters to the wealthy, the powerful, the elite. Every inch of this place screams money, a redwood bar curved like a woman’s form against two walls, brass rails polished to a perfect shine.

Above our heads, accent lights dance against crystal embellishments, the shadowed ambiance an accessory against the croon of a Jazz band and the low, soulful voice of its female singer.

People mill about with drinks in their hands, the men in suits, the women in revealing dresses. I ignore the three people seated with me at the leather booth tucked away in a private corner, my eyes scanning a venue that is in stark contrast to the clubs Adeline would often drag me to.

I somehow miss the garish lights and thumping music, the toxic mix of sex and alcohol in a far less civilized setting.

Where is Adeline?

They’ll be arriving on their transfer flight right now...

My hand clenches the drink I’ve been ignoring, nerves on edge, my mind tracing the itinerary of their honeymoon flight.

Paris.

Milan.

Venice.

Athens.

Bali.

Only a handful of the places Grant will be taking her, keeping her out of my reach for three months.

It hadn’t been easy to steal the information. Grant’s life is locked down tighter than Adeline’s had been, but I managed to learn that much.

Three months without her.

Three months I can’t keep an eye on a woman I’ve watched for years.

Letting go is harder than I’d imagined.

A hand slides up my thigh, breath against my neck, a mouth brushing my ear. “Where are you right now?”

In New York, walking through JFK Airport en route to terminal B, Gate 32, International Flight 3569, destination: Paris, France.

My fingers curl against the cool glass. “Nowhere.”

Glancing over, I meet Lincoln’s concerned expression, his arm wrapped around the shoulder of a buxom blonde, fingers casually stroking her skin, eyes focused on me, disapproval evident.

“Ari’s having a bad night,” he explains, that far too observant gaze sliding to the brunette at my side.

She giggles. “Oh yeah?” A squeeze of my thigh. “Maybe I can make it better.”

I doubt it.

There has to be some overseas contracts I can take...

“Ari.” Lincoln’s eyes meet mine in warning. “Why don’t you take Regina somewhere more private?”

Turning my head, I lock my stare with a set of hooded green eyes, drop my gaze down to a set of lips that are pulled into a seductive grin. They aren’t blood red like Adeline’s, the shape wrong.

“Listen to your friend, Ari.”

Her hand squeezes my thigh again, fingers ghosting my cock. Promises. Promises.

My hand slips down to hers, grip brutal. She winces, her lips parting, white teeth glimmering. If she can’t take a little pain with her pleasure, she won’t survive me.

Something inside me turns feral, toxic. I’m not sure I have control of it. Control of myself. Visions of Adeline flash in my head. Her dancing. Her habits. Her photographs. That fucking music she always listens to that drives me completely mad. I am swimming in her.

Drowning.

I slam down my drink and push to my feet, sliding Regina out to stand behind me.

Lincoln calls out to me as we walk away. “Good boy, Ari. It’s about time you listen.”

Except, I’m not listening. I’m spiraling. Diving. Climbing. Spinning. Breathing. And fucking dying. Only to come back with a desperate gasp of air, my soul writhing as if half of it has been sliced away.

On the outside, I am calm. A predator sliding through the room, slick as oil. A ghost unseen. The crowd moves around us as we slip through, bending, ebbing, shuffling out of place. Regina’s fingers squeeze mine, anticipation warming her skin.

She doesn’t understand the danger that is holding her, the whisper of death. I’m not in my right mind, the headspace too vast, skies bleak, the distance fucking vacant.

Nothing can fill it.

Nothing that is in reach anyway.

Good boy, Lincoln had joked. Will he say that again if this woman doesn’t come back from the alley where I’m leading her?

He should have known to leave me home. To let me linger in the shrine I’d created.

Lincoln should have put a gun in my hand and pointed to my next victim. It would have been a hell of a lot safer than this.

Stepping out a side door, we find ourselves in a service alley. The air is sticky, steam rising up from grates in the cement, trash bins blocking one direction, and the scent of rotting garbage a perfume bursting against my nose.

A lone lamp flickers above our heads, fly control devices glowing blue on the brick walls, an electric snap each time a poor bastard flies too close.

Easy romance is never pretty, and the beautiful ones, the ones worthy of your time, those are cleverly disguised nightmares. They elude you while tearing you to shreds, refusing to let go.

Adeline is beautiful.

But this woman, she is easy.

The filth doesn’t slow Regina down, though. But then that’s how dirty fucks always work. The scenery never matters, just how quick you can get off and get on with life.

My back hits the brick wall, glossed lips dragging up my neck, tasting, teasing, settling over my mouth as her hands trail up my chest, across my shoulders, diving into my hair. Her tongue is hot and desperate, her tits pressing against my chest.

Fuck. I try to be in the moment with her. I try to ignore the setting. Try to forget an annoying little girl who still hasn’t grown into the woman she will become.

But you can’t will your body to respond when it doesn’t want to.

While Regina is hot and heavy in a seedy back alley that smells as filthy and dirty as what she’s trying to accomplish, I am boarding a plane to another country.

Regina’s hand slips down to grip my cock, her eyes opening as her mouth pulls away from me, a funny grin curling her lips.

Our eyes lock, and disappointment floods her expression.

“Let me guess: This is the first time this has ever happened?”

She pulls her hand away from my flaccid, uninterested dick.

A pained groan crawls up my throat, my head falling back against the brick. “I wish I could say that. You have no fucking idea how bad I wish I could say that.”

Adeline has ruined me, and I’ve only touched her once.

Stepping back, Regina cocks her head to the side, grinning. “They have little blue pills that will help, you know?”

Okay, now that is just offensive. “That’s not the problem.”

Her lips purse, a knowing glimmer behind green eyes. “Ah. I get it. Who is she?”

Holding my stare, Regina stumbles a little on her stiletto heels.

“I’m doesn’t matter. She’s gone.”

“Dead?”

“Married. On her honeymoon as we speak,” I answer, tugging my cuffs into place and brushing a hand down my shirt to smooth the wrinkles. Why I’m even telling her this, I don’t know.

A quiet laugh.

“She must be something else to have options better than you.”

“She never knew me. I wouldn’t let her.”

It’s as pretty a picture as I can paint of the truth. Regina is free to take it as she wants.

“So, you just let her get away, huh? Dumb move.”

Why am I even having this conversation? I need to take a contract. Kill something. Forget I know Adeline Kane so I can steal my life back.

“Yeah, well, we should get inside. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Before I can move away, she flattens her palm against my chest.

“I think you need some female advice.”

My eyes slide her direction, teeth grinding.

“Don’t hate me for saying this, but marriage isn’t forever. I should know. I’m barely thirty and have been divorced three times.”

Those are statistics probably best kept to herself.

I attempt to step away again, and she presses closer to me.

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Ari. Women can be fickle creatures. And while most of us will never admit it, we want to be chased. I don’t know your story -“

No, she doesn’t. She’d probably call the cops if she did...

“- but if you ask me -“

I didn’t.

“- you might think you’re done with whoever this woman is, but you’re not.”

Her gaze flicks to my crotch.

“Your body already knows it. Might as well accept it and do what needs to be done.”

What is this woman suggesting?

“She’s married,” I remind her, the argument made to her, but more to myself. I want Adeline gone. I need her gone. So why is this process so fucking hard?

Another quiet laugh before she lets me move past her toward the door.

Stepping up behind me, she speaks on a low voice.

“Yeah, so was I. And look what that got me.”

Pulling the door open, I ignore what she said. I’m letting Adeline go. I’m retiring my hoodie and stopping the bullshit stalking.

Don’t ask me why the first thing I do when we reach the table is order another drink and pull out my phone.

Don’t even dare try to judge me for flicking a thumb across the screen to check Adeline’s flight schedule.

Ari

One Month Post Marriage:

I move through my penthouse with a long-legged stride, my tux jacket tossed over the back of the sofa, my chin arching up as I button the collar of my white shirt before tying the ends of the black bow tie.

Outside the windows, the sun is setting, lights in the distant buildings flickering on like so many fireflies against the twilight. The usual symphony of rush hour traffic is muted beneath me, the jam of tires against concrete and cars honking.

Turning, I reach for my jacket to pull it on, my eyes catching the orange and pink reflection of the sky smeared against the ebony finish of a grand piano.

Adeline is in Italy by now, her Instagram account updating with photos of pasta and gondolas, of balcony views from the expensive suites her husband insists on staying in.

Grant Cabot is as high end as they come. I’ve often looked at the photos Adeline already posted and wondered how her younger self, who’d dreamed of backpacking across Europe while staying in hostels, is enjoying the privileged life she’d once detested.

It doesn’t matter. I have a job to do, and if I don’t leave now, I’ll miss my mark.

Slipping on my jacket, I grab a burner phone to slip in my pocket, my real one vibrating against the wood of a side table.

I know better than to check it. Know I should walk away and not worry about whatever it is she’s posted.

So close.

The door is open.

My keys are in hand.

I am halfway out when I curse beneath my breath and turn back.

Grabbing the phone, I swipe my thumb across the screen and hit the icon for the tracking app.

Trying new things!!!

It’s a photo of her dinner, a thin slab of meat lying over what looks like potatoes and asparagus.

Adeline is a vegetarian.

At least, a month ago she was.

A growl rattles my chest to see that, already, Grant is changing her into someone I don’t know.

Tossing the phone, I step out the door.

It doesn’t matter.

It can’t.

So why the fuck does it?

Two Months Post Marriage:

Mount Everest!! So scary! I can’t imagine climbing to base camp, much less the top!

My jaw clenches, eyes studying an image of the infamous mountain from a view safely tucked inside a luxury hotel.

Adeline is in Nepal, their tour of Europe and Asia two thirds finished. Slamming my thumb to shut off my phone, I slip it in my pocket and lift my eyes to meet Lincoln’s areyoufuckingkiddingme stare.

“So scary? She said so scary. Can you believe that shit? She wanted to climb that fucking mountain less than six months ago.”

His brow arches. “And let me guess, you would have donned a snow suit and climbed it as well?”

Heights never bothered me. And what if she slips while scaling the ice? Someone will have to catch her. The mountain is a fucking graveyard. Adeline is just insane enough to attempt something so stupid.

Lincoln shakes his head at my lack of response, his thumb tapping against his glass of scotch.

Around us, Dulcetta is in full swing again, women slowing as they pass our booth, most likely waiting for an invitation to sit down that they won’t get.

Taking a sip of his drink, Lincoln swallows and sets his glass down far too carefully.

“You need to take another job.”

I lean against my seat, running a hand through my hair. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any open contracts in Nepal, would you?”

Laughter shakes his broad shoulders.

“You’re fucking hopeless, Ari. Seriously. Get over this shit before you lose your damn mind.”

It’s too late for that.

But I won’t admit it.

Three Months Post Marriage:

This is getting fucking ridiculous. It may have been the amount of time she’s been gone, or maybe the distance, that is setting me so on edge, but I can’t stop myself from interrupting whatever I’m doing when my phone buzzes with a new post. Sometimes at the most inconvenient times.

Pulling out my phone to see what crap Adeline or her new husband wrote now, I roll my eyes at the litany of cutesy fucking emojis next to a status written by Grant.

Can’t believe it’s almost over. Tomorrow we return home to begin real life again!! Can’t wait for the flight.

The photo is of Adeline peering out across the distance, a scattering of stars framing the silhouette of her face against a clear night sky.

They are in New Zealand, their flight back to the states scheduled to take off in fourteen hours. To say I am thrilled she’ll be home is an understatement that fills me with both excitement and dread.

Nudging the guy next to me, I ignore the way he flinches when I show him the screen.

“What kind of man uses so many emojis? Seriously? A little plane, a heart, and what the fuck is that? Water drops and an eggplant?”

“It’s a reference to sex,” the guy says, his eyes dancing between the phone and my face, his body flinching again when I jam my gun tighter against his head.

I turn off the phone, look at him and sigh. “Makes sense. Probably some bullshit reference to joining the mile high club.”

He nods, the vat of oil beside us bubbling and steaming.

“You don’t have to do this. What have I done to deserve death? I don’t even know who you are.”

I search his face, my lips pulling into a thin line.

“It’s not my job to know what you did. But it’s getting late, and I need to get on with it. Thanks for the explanation of the emojis, though.”

He screams when I get tired of waiting for him to jump and shove him in.

Jeffrey Millard owns a manufacturing plant that has many dangerous places where one can slip to their death.

Accidents happen all the time.

It doesn’t matter what the poor bastard did to deserve his death.

All I know is I am now a few million dollars richer, and that Lincoln was wrong to think taking contracts would help me move past Adeline.

Fourteen hours and she’ll be back.

I’m not sure what I’ll do once she is in reach.

Four Months Post Marriage:

Lights flicker on and off through the mostly empty house. One month after returning from her honeymoon, Adeline has gone through the possessions of her former life and is now walking through each room to ensure she’s taken everything she wants.

I can’t be there during the day to see what is packed and what was thrown away, but my cameras are still installed, and I’ve watched from afar.

Some of her clothes are zipped in garment bags and stacked to be taken. She tossed the majority of it, the crop tops and short skirts she often wore to go clubbing.

Most of the electronics were donated, I assume since Grant has his own in the sprawling mansion twenty minutes from her former home. But she made sure to pack all her photography equipment. I am happy to see she won’t give that dream up.

It breaks my heart to watch her stand aside while movers from a charity also take the instruments she played and loved.

Why? I wonder. She should be taking them with her.

I expect to see a real estate agent walk through in the following weeks, but none show.

Curious about Adeline not selling the home, I check her phone conversations often. She never mentions it. Not that she talks to many people anymore. Just her husband and his sister.

Five Months Post Marriage:

Unsure what Adeline will eventually do with the house she’d lived in since the day I first saw her, I remove most of my equipment. And while I would love to transfer it to Grant’s estate, I don’t risk attempting to sneak past the security he has in place.

It shouldn’t matter.

Almost half a year since the day she gave her life to another man, I should be over the woman that was never mine to begin with.

Still, my thumb swipes the screen of my phone, my eyes studying a photo she recently posted of a dinner party they threw to welcome their return home.

Grant stands proudly with his arm around Adeline’s shoulders, a table set with the finest settings.

Adeline’s smile beams at the camera, her blue eyes bright, her hair falling in waves down her back.

She is happy, I tell myself. I have to let her go.

It’s the same thing I tell myself every night before falling in bed. The same lie I force myself to choke down.

Six Months Post Marriage:

Four more dinner parties.

A new post every day about her new life.

In each of them, I don’t recognize the person she is becoming.

Still, her smile is genuine.

So, I behave myself.

Take more contracts.

Refuse to let this obsession rule me.

Refuse to slip into my old skin.

Seven Months Post Marriage:

Leaning against the large windows facing out over a waterlogged city, I enjoy the cool glass against my back. I would feel relaxed if not for the thunder that rattles the sky and the lightning that flashes.

Rain lashes at the buildings and streets, the wind howling as it whips through the narrow alleys and through the trees.

But rather than witnessing the power of a storm that ravishes the city beneath me, my stare is glued to a still image glaring up at me.

Another dinner party.

Another new dress.

Another pair of expensive shoes Adeline made fun of once upon a time.

But it isn’t the clothes she wears that bothers me. Isn’t the table settings or the arm draped across the back of her chair by the man that calls her Wife.

It’s the smile I know so well.

The one she gives to all the assholes she doesn’t like.

The fake one that means she’s dying inside.

Tearing my eyes from the photo, I glance up at an empty penthouse filled with all the things she used to love.

It has to be a fluke.

She will flash that real smile again in the next post.

She has been happy up until now.

Eight Months Post Marriage:

“Son a bitch. Please tell me you’re not looking at her posts again. I thought you got over that crap four months ago.”

My tongue is scraping my teeth as I turn my head to see Lincoln stepping up to me. We are on our weekly date as I started calling them, two to four hours spent with him grilling me. His questions are always the same.

How many women have you fucked?

Plenty.

How many contracts did you complete?

Also plenty.

How close have you gotten to the Cabot estate?

Nowhere near it.

How many times have you checked her social media pages?

Only once.

All lies, every time he asks a bunch of questions that are butting in to my life.

I’d been too distracted this time. Anger a vibration beneath my skin. Concern like ice water dripping down my spine. I hadn’t noticed when he walked up beside me. Lincoln saw the screen before I could turn my phone off and slip it away.

“What is that?” he asks, his brows tugging together much like mine do. “Why is she holding so many pills?”

It’s a photo of her hand, six pills held in the palm of it. No chipper message with a thousand exclamation points and a hundred different emojis. No explanation as to why she’s holding a combination of pills that look like a drug addict’s wet dream.

I close the app and open another, a chain of text messages flying past as I scroll through them, my muscles locking even tighter over my shoulders with each one.

A low whistle blows over Lincoln’s lips as he shakes his head.

“It’s not your problem, Ari.”

She doesn’t text her husband often, which is why I don’t know how they’ve reached this point. And since I’ve been unable to get close to their house, I wasn’t able to watch what went on in the bedroom of a wealthy man and his blushing bride.

I’d given her that privacy.

And look what happened.

Lincoln’s voice is a low rumble barely breaking through the white noise in my head.

“Maybe she needs it. We both know she had a problem. Maybe this is what’s best for her.”

I flip back to the image of the pills.

Uppers. Downers. Antidepressants.

“At least four of those are addictive.”

“It’s not your problem,” he reminds me.

“She doesn’t want to take them.”

The texts read like a child begging her parent to love her again.

She has narcolepsy, the sleep study she underwent proved it. Her neurologist just gave her the diagnosis.

I knew it had to be something. I’d seen the signs of it.

But based on the argument between the supposedly happy couple, she didn’t show symptoms during the first few months of their marriage.

Not until the fake smile reappeared.

Not until she’d given up everything she once was.

And now, Grant refuses to sleep next to her. Demands that she take whatever the doctor gave her. Spends too many hours at the office, and Adeline complains when he doesn’t come home.

He blames her condition.

What the fuck is he doing?

Not even a year since I allowed him to marry her and he is already screwing it up.

She is begging him to understand that she doesn’t want to live her life dependent on pills.

He doesn’t care.

But I do.

Lincoln pushes my phone away, his intelligent brown eyes pinning mine.

“It’s not your problem.”

I nod my head as if I agree with him. We both know I’m full of shit.

Adeline is crying in her sleep again.

Fighting.

Screaming.

Only this time, there is no longer a protective presence standing over her. No longer a darkness that keeps watch.

It appears it’s time for me to come out of retirement, if only to talk to her once and see what new nightmares the little monster is facing.

Fuck what Lincoln says about it.

And it doesn’t matter that he would be right to tell me to back off.

I haven’t pulled that girl’s ass out of the fire more times than I can count just to let her sink beneath the waters to drown.

Slipping my phone into my pocket, I try not to think that I am happy Grant has given me a reason to draw close.

And how interesting is it that this moment should happen only a week before the anniversary of her father’s death?

It feels like coming full circle.

Adeline

He doesn’t see me.

I thought he did. At one time. At first. But, the more time I spend as the wife of Grant Cabot, the more I feel like that’s all I am:

The wife of Grant Cabot.

It took a few months for Adeline to slip away, for the woman I once was to respectfully bow out and allow this new person to step in with her expensive clothes and red soled shoes, with her China patterns and flower arrangements.

Now I spend more time arranging dinner parties than I do anything else. I haven’t taken a single photograph that wasn’t on my phone. I gave up my music. I haven’t danced.

All of that was in the past as Grant so often tells me, habits of youth that do nothing to enhance his image.

I understand he needs a wife that will help represent him when it comes to business and the social obligations it entails, but did he have to take everything?

In only a few months, I’d disappeared. Become unrecognizable. Saying and doing things I never would have done before I married him.

And I feel like a brat for even thinking these thoughts. I’d wanted to grow up, and he was helping me, but I didn’t think it meant so much would change. I didn’t believe he’d disapprove of so much about me.

Maybe he never saw me to begin with?

He saw a shell. Something that could be molded into what he wanted. Grant had looked at me and recognized potential, but he never wanted the girl I’d once been.

It’s my life now, regardless, and one I am determined to make the best of. He isn’t abusive or cruel. Isn’t neglectful or unattached. He just wants a wife that represents him, one who will make him proud when surrounded by his associates and friends.

Maybe this is what growing up means.

I fucking hate it.

But still, it is what it is, and despite our problems, I feel fortunate that I have a man like Grant. He takes care of me. Shelters me. Does what I assume husbands are supposed to do, even though I have no one to talk to or no experience to fall back on.

It’s what my father always did for my mother, and she’d been happy.

I think.

Grass blades run under my hands as I stare at the marble tombstone with my parents’ names carved on it. It is the anniversary of the night my father died, and I try to ignore the anger slithering inside me.

He was upset, that’s what I try to believe. Not in his right mind when he’d pulled that trigger. He’d left me without any family I really knew, my aunt officially fostering me until I was eighteen, even though she never spent many nights in the house.

It felt like a life spent horribly alone.

Now I have a husband. The promise of a family. So, why does it still feel like I’m standing in the center of nothing, my arms outstretched, heart begging for someone to take hold?

I am floating away from Earth again, almost sucked in by the black hole.

It must be why I am screaming in my sleep again.

Crying.

Fighting.

Reaching for something that isn’t there.

The symptoms hadn’t been there for the first couple months we were married. Hadn’t happened at all while we traveled for our honeymoon. I’d been in newlywed bliss and must have done a damn good job convincing myself I was happy.

Within a week of coming back home, I was empty again. Falling back on old thoughts and habits, behaviors that I never thought I’d escape.

Grant tried to understand at first, but after a few nights of it, he’d leave to sleep in the guest bedroom. I’d tried to explain to him what an old friend of mine would do to stop me, but rather than listening to what I was telling him, he got more upset that I was talking about being in bed with another man.

He was just a friend.

Grant didn’t care.

It’s been two months since he slept in the same bed as me. One since he stopped bothering to come home at all many nights.

He forced me to go see a doctor, to get tested, and now he is trying to force me to take a cocktail of pills I don’t want.

It’s been a week since I filled the prescriptions. I haven’t swallowed the first pill.

I lean against my parents’ headstone, the hard marble cool against my skin. Around me the day is beautiful. Clear blue skies stretch out, calm and languid, endless in every direction. Birds fly from one tree to the next, the sun a golden glow across the manicured lawns of the cemetery.

It’s comforting here. Quiet. Solitary. And while others might find it odd that I love this place so much, I try to explain it off as an appreciation for the sculptures and art, for the large mausoleums with their crawling ivy and ornate iron gates. It feels like walking into history.

This is also a place where I can think and have an excuse not to be home planning the next social gathering.

Grant has taken a lot from me, but not this. I often wonder if he saw it as too far a line to cross.

“You look like I feel.”

Twisting around at the deep voice, I see a man backlit by the sun, his face obscured by shadow where he stands in the next row of headstones.

Tall with dark hair, the man has broad shoulders and is dressed in a dark suit, his hands tucked in his pockets.

I don’t immediately say anything, and he shifts his feet, glancing up at the sky and back to me.

“Sorry, I just saw you sitting there and you look-“

His voice trails off as he shrugs a shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have disturbed you.”

“No,” I say, turning more so that my back isn’t to him.

“It’s fine. I didn’t know you were standing behind me.”

I think he smiles, but I’m not sure, the shadows across his face too thick. “These places tend to make people oblivious.”

A thread of recognition coils through me, of what, I’m not sure. Something about him is so familiar. “Do I know you?”

A shake of his head, black hair falling across his forehead. “I wouldn’t know from where.”

Neither would I. But still, there is something. “Do you come here often?”

He’s quiet for a second, but when he speaks again, his voice is playful, his head cocking to the side.

“Kind of an odd question to ask here, don’t you think?”

Well, crap. It did sound like a pick up line, in a cemetery of all places. My cheeks heat.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s fine. And yes. I’m here once a month at least. Sometimes more.”

That explains where I’ve seen him before. “Are you visiting family?”

“A friend. He died young and didn’t know many people, so I feel I owe it to him to be here.”

“Oh. Was he sick?”

Shit...Shut up, Adeline. You’re being rude.

I can’t help it, though. I’m drawn to this stranger, aggravated at the shadow that keeps his eyes hidden, that obscures his lips. Squinting doesn’t help, the sun is a fireball behind him, a brilliant light that edges around his body as if scared or unable to touch him.

“Mentally, maybe.” A pause as he takes a step closer. “He killed himself.”

I have an immediate visceral reaction to what he says, my body flinching, pain spreading out like a slow, agonizing rot through every cell. I try to ignore the slap of memory across my face, images of the night I found my father dead at his desk. The blood had been so thick across his desk.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” I say, interrupting him with a fake smile that I can barely force. “It’s not what you said. Well, it is. But -“

Breathe, Adeline...

“It’s just that we have that in common. My father-“

I can’t finish the thought, not sure that I’ve ever admitted the truth out loud.

“It’s an unfortunate thing to have in common,” he says, voice careful, quieter than it had been before.

What is it about tragedy that can pull two people together? A barrier has been dropped, and the man steps closer to me, the shadows finally slipping away to reveal a face that traps the air in my lungs.

I know him.

I am sure of it.

And if his friend is only a few feet from where my parents are buried, I must have seen him before without registering it.

It’s not a stretch to say I am always off in my own little world. I’m good with faces, though. Not so much with names.

But his face, it isn’t something easily forgotten.

The golden color of his skin is the only feature that proves he is alive and not a sculpture created by an artist’s loving hand.

His square jaw is strict, his skin dipping beneath cheekbones that are a blade beneath his eyes. A perfectly straight nose leads to a set of lips that are full on the bottom and carved on top. Cruel lips. Seductive.

I drag my gaze up to his eyes to see a grey so light and clear it is staggering against his dark hair. He has a stern expression, careful. Hesitant in a way.

Blaming the scenery around us for that hesitancy, I smile.

“My name’s Adeline Cabot.”

“I’m Ari.”

Another step and he is close enough to offer his hand. It’s a mistake to reach out and touch him, a shock of electricity shooting down my arm that forces the breath from my lungs.

His grip is strong yet gentle, fingers holding mine in such an intimate way that my gaze drops down to where our bodies meet, my skin tingling with...

Tugging away faster than is polite, I watch him pull his hand away, slowly tucking it into his pocket again, his body straightening, the shadow of it falling over me.

Slowly, I drag my eyes up to his, and I know I’ve lost the ability to hide my reactions from him. Ari is too strong of a presence, as if his energy can reach across the distance to whisper against your skin.

That energy doesn’t speak of anything easy or safe either, the hair on my arms rising in response to it.

I can’t look away, though. Not that I’m trying. He is too damn beautiful for words.

Hell, my thoughts must be written all over my face. The corner of his lips stretch with masculine arrogance I’m sure he earned through years of making women lose their minds to him.

“It’s nice to meet you. Given the less than desirable circumstances.”

Nodding, I struggle to find my voice. I swallow several times. Silently yelling at myself for acting like an idiot.

“Um, yeah,” I finally manage to say, hating how scattered I sound. But that’s what this man does. Scatters you. Stretches you out until all your parts are mixed up and out of order. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

His eyes tear away from mine, lifting higher to look out over a cemetery that stretches across verdant green lawns and is shaded by large trees, their bows hanging down as if mourning the loss of so many lives.

A gust of wind blows past, carrying with it the scent of late blooming flowers, a touch of cold in the air that warns of winter coming in the next few months.

Shivering against it, I hope it’s the wind that causes goose bumps to race across my skin. Somehow, I know it isn’t.

And while Ari looks out over the distance, I take the opportunity to study him. He has a nice body, that much is obvious beneath the suit he wears. The top buttons of his black shirt are undone, the buckle of his belt glimmering beneath the sun.

His profile draws my attention the most. He looks like a mystery wrapped in sin, a temptation that will cut if anybody dares to reach for it. His posture is strong, prideful, his focus so shrewd and intent, I wonder what he’s thinking, what he does for a living.

Returning his gaze to me, he tilts his head.

“The weather is nice, and I have nowhere to be. Would you like to take a walk with me? I’ve never explored the cemetery beyond this area.”

My instant thought is to say yes. To jump to my feet and walk at his side through nature and stone, across acres of heartache that are peaceful despite the wilting flowers and trinkets placed on graves.

This is the first time I’ve had to remember I’m married, had to pull back. My thumb rubs over the two carat diamond and white gold band on my finger, Ari’s gaze drifting down to the small movement and back up again.

What would Grant think if he caught me with another man, even if it was innocent companionship?

One thing about my husband I learned after we married is that he has a jealous streak. He can’t stand listening about my past. Would rather believe I’ve never known anybody else but him.

“I probably shouldn’t.”

His eyes trap mine. “It’s just a walk.”

He pauses, giving me the tiniest of smiles, but the curve of his lips are more sad than anything. “It’ll be nice to talk to someone who understands what I’ve gone through.”

Dropping a pointed look at my parents’ headstone, he hints to the shared trauma we’ve both experienced.

How can I say no to that? It isn’t like he’s asking me out on a date. Ari is simply looking for company, someone who can empathize with him.

The truth is, I want someone who understands as well. Grant certainly doesn’t. Both his parents are alive and well. Not that the family is very close to each other. All of them, in their own ways, are cold. If one of them dies, it will be handled like any other business transaction, their body tossed in the ground, a few expected words, and they will wipe their hands of it while dividing the assets.

My heart sinks to think of it.

But this man, he knows. His expression mirrors my pain.

“You know what? I have some time, too. And I happen to know this cemetery like the back of my hand. I’ve explored it from corner to corner.”

His brows shoot up, but that mouth of his, it doesn’t budge.

I wonder what someone like him would look like happy. Wonder how breathtaking he would be rumpled and free of the weight on his shoulders.

Angry at myself for daring to imagine what he would be like when stretched out over a woman in bed, I shake away the thought and push to my feet.

“Are you offering to be my personal tour guide?” There is a teasing hint to his voice.

I nod.

“I know where all the secret places are. Come with me, and I’ll show them to you.”

Ari falls into step beside me, his body close, but he is careful not to touch.

Attempting to ignore how my heart skips a beat to have him so near, I lead him on a tour of a place we have in common.

Ari

I’m a damn good liar. Always have been in life, the control I keep over my face and body ironclad while both truth and lies fall easily over my tongue.

Feeling not one drop of guilt for the method I used to convince Adeline to talk to me, I keep a slow pace at her side, my hands tucked safely away in my pockets, my expression neutral while she points out different pieces of art and large stone structures, her knowledge of the cemetery impressive.

It isn’t surprising. She’s an artist, or at least she was before she married. But while she rattles on about a bunch of crap I don’t care about, I pay attention to the changes I can see in her.

Even her mannerisms are different, the free spirit I’d watched for so many years gone. In its place is someone so ordinary I would never have noticed her all those years ago.

Dressed in a pale pink (Adeline hates pink) dress that falls to her knees, the collar high so that nothing of her shoulders show, she’s lost in her explanation of different features of the cemetery, their meaning, their age.

I barely hear a word she says, would have walked away from this conversation had it been anybody else, but it gives me the opportunity to study her up close, to seek out any flicker of the obsession I’ve had for so long.

I should be glad she changed, should walk off and see this as a point where I can let her go, but underneath the polished, proper, exterior, I know someone else exists.

Obviously, she won’t admit it to herself, but whatever is trapped is fighting back. She’s shedding the fake person in her sleep. Shoving away the husband I suspect is the influence forcing her inside a gilded cage.

With every intention to find out what Grant is doing when he doesn’t return home, I stare at the ground as we walk, lifting my head every once in a while to look at whatever it is she points out.

“And over there is the Rinehart Mausoleum. The last person was interred over a hundred years ago. An entire family. But we can go inside. It has several rooms, the walls carved with different symbols and words that represent each member of the family.”

I know better than to walk into the mausoleum with her. The amount of restraint it takes to keep my distance is already unbearable. Reaching out to touch her would be so easy. Tossing her over my shoulder and dragging her off into the shadows so fucking tempting.

And there she is, inviting me to be alone with her...without the first clue of who I am in her life.

Staring at her, I ask the questions in my head that would send her running if spoken aloud.

Do you know I killed your father?

Do you realize I’ve been watching you for seven years?

That I’ve seen you naked?

That I’ve watched you fuck?

That I almost fucked you myself on a night you don’t even remember?

But really, none of those questions matter as much as the one that sets my teeth together and makes a muscle jump in my jaw.

What have you fucking done to me that I can’t get you out of my head?

How dare she drag me in only to flip the script and become this bullshit shell of herself? How fucking dare she give me a taste of what she can be and then toss it aside for mediocrity?

I thought I’d found someone I could understand as well as I know myself. I thought, for once, there was another person in this world that is as tragic and empty as me.

Adeline stares back, innocent, a sweet smile pulling at those blood red lips as her question hangs answered. She doesn’t have the first fucking clue that a demon watches her, that I am the reason we’re standing in this cemetery in the first place.

“I’d love to see it.”

Lifting a hand, I motion for her to walk. “Lead the way.”

Her smile widens, and it’s the genuine one I know means she enjoys being near me. I’m pissed at her for that as much as everything else.

In all the times I’ve been close, she’s never given me the fake smile.

I need to walk away. For her good and mine, yet I find myself stepping up beside her again, my shoulders locked with tension while she rambles on about tombstone symbols and the different techniques of carving them.

She’s oblivious.

Just like always.

To the danger walking next to her.

To a presence that is darker than she could ever imagine.

The iron gate creaks when she pushes it open, dry leaves rushing along the concrete entryway from a breeze that pushes through the branches of a large tree overshadowing the place.

There’s only room for one person to walk through at a time, so I step back, follow behind her, my gaze dropping to run down a body I’ve wanted since the first night I saw her. My fingers curl into my palms, the urge to wrap them over those round hips almost impossible to ignore.

It would be so easy to shove her inside and take everything I want.

Once inside, she turns to look at me, her shoulder brushing against mine. Dappled sunlight paints her face, the blue of her eyes hypnotic, the shadow of ivy dancing over her skin.

“Isn’t this place amazing? You could get lost in here. Never found.”

She grins at the thought of being tucked away and secluded where nobody can find her. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it.

This.

This right here.

This is why I’ve spent seven years chasing after her to make sure she doesn’t fall victim to all the stupid decisions she makes.

Damn it, Adeline. I should spank you for driving me insane.

“It’s definitely big.”

Did I seriously fucking say that? It’s definitely big? What a moronic statement. But what else is there to say? We’re in a damn crypt with dead bodies tucked in the walls. This isn’t Disneyland.

You wouldn’t know that by looking at her, though. She’s like a kid in a candy store. Her eyes round and wide. Her lips curling with forbidden mischief. She’s coming to life right in front of me. Revealing the girl I’ve followed for so long.

It only proves I’m right. Adeline hasn’t changed since getting married. She’s drowning instead.

She continues to lead me farther into the structure, her feet light on the ground, arms swinging, her voice melodic as she points out different carvings.

“I’ve wanted to bring my camera in here for a long time. Take pictures of this place and process them to show what I see.”

Finally, she gives me an opening.

“You’re a photographer?”

She nods, but then the smile falls, the melodic quality of her voice dying.

“I was at one time. It’s been a while since I picked up a camera.”

Turning, I step into her space, directing her without making it noticeable. Her back presses up against a wall, our chests so close, I can feel the heat of her body.

Leaning in, I’m slowly losing the ability to keep my distance.

“Why?”

Our breath mingles, her eyes widening more as her face tips up to mine. Careful to hold her stare instead of sliding my hungry gaze down her body, I stay quiet. Wait for her to process that I’ve asked a question.

She’s scared.

Nervous.

Excited.

Not sure what to do now that she finds herself alone with a strange man in a very secluded place.

Good. She should have thought of that before inviting me here. I can do anything I want at this moment, and there isn’t a damn thing she can do to fight me off.

I’m not Jason Ayers or any of her other fuck boys. I don’t play games. Not the ones she’s used to, at least.

Still, she’s excited. I somehow knew she would be. Adeline would openly deny being turned on by the possibility of what could happen in a moment like this, but her journals say different.

Her dreams.

She stutters over the words. “B-because I d-don’t-“

Taking a breath deep enough for her chest to push out and brush mine, she shakes her head, gaining some control of herself.

“Because I haven’t had a chance.”

My stare drops to her lips. She’s chewing it again. I want to bite her for it. Punish her for the aggravating habit that is slowly driving me insane.

“I love photography,” I admit, “Collect it. If you’re any good, it would be a shame for you to let the talent go to waste.”

I pin her gaze with mine, lowering my voice so she has to give me her full attention to hear it.

“You should bring your camera here. Take those pictures. Do something with them.”

Be the fucking woman that drives me mad day after day.

Adeline blinks, her lips parting, her shoulders moving with every quick breath. How she doesn’t remember me while we stand like this is astounding.

We’ve been here before. In the rain. On a day I should have kissed her and claimed her as mine.

Here we are again.

The temptation is too fucking much.

I step back before I slip and push this further than I intended.

But then she surprises me...like she always does.

The little monster.

“Have you ever been photographed? Professionally, I mean. Not family pictures and phone stuff.”

The question catches me off guard. Voice dipped in suspicion, I ask, “Why?”

More mischief in a face I know can drive me to my damn knees when she gets a wild idea in her head.

“You have the look for it. That broody, dark, ‘I’ll strangle you in your sleep’ look. I’d like to photograph you.”

I blink. Slowly. Open my eyes again to stare at a woman who has no idea what she just said to me. Or how close to the truth she is.

“No, I haven’t.”

The twinkle in her gaze is disturbing. And that says a lot. I kill people for a living. Nothing disturbs me. But being on this girl’s radar drives a shiver down my spine.

She steps closer.

I step back.

What the fuck is going on?

“I’ll make you a deal. You meet me here tomorrow, and I’ll bring my camera.”

My brow arches. “Why would I agree to that?”

Seriousness bleeds into her voice. “Because you’re right. I do need to pick up my camera again. There’s just ... issues.”

Her gaze darts away as if she’s hiding something. I know there’s more to what she wants to say, but Adeline swallows it down before looking at me again.

“So, anyway, it would be helpful if you inspired me.”

She’s nuts. I know that. So why am I standing here looking at her like she’s grown a second head? Adeline doesn’t know me from Adam. She doesn’t realize she should be running away screaming and not begging me to come back here where we can be alone again.

But still, here she is. The woman I remember. Not the watered down version Grant is turning her into.

This is what I want, isn’t it?

Photographs of me are out of the question. I’ll find a way to avoid it, but I won’t be the person to jerk the ground out from under her and tell her no. Not when she’s daring to peek out from behind that fake persona.

Lincoln is going to kick my ass for this.

I’m going to kick my ass.

“I’ll be here. What time?”

Her smile lights up the interior of the mausoleum, so brilliant that I almost smile in return.

“Noon?”

What the fuck am I doing?

“I’ll see you then.”

Adeline

Grant didn’t come home that night. We got into an argument shortly after I left the cemetery. He demanded I take the pills my neurologist prescribed me, and when I refused, he told me he had to work late and that I should plan on eating dinner alone.

He also reminded me of a million and one chores I had to accomplish, like planning another stuffy dinner party for his Japanese investors, shop for a wedding gift for one of his associate’s daughters and remember to get my hair cut because it was getting too long for his taste.

He means well. Grant is an efficient, type-A person. He runs several businesses on his own, manages over a thousand employees and he does so with the expectation that I will step up and help out with the social aspects of our life.

It isn’t too much to ask, but it’s suffocating at times. Everything had been so different before we got married. So different on the honeymoon. He was relaxed. He joked. We spent hours exploring each other in bed.

But then we came back, and he became a different person.

For the past few months, I swore he didn’t know me for who I really am, but when looking at the entire picture, it can be said that I don’t really know him all that well either.

How do you go three years dating a person without learning who they are? I don’t understand it. But I’m living with it now.

Oddly, though, I slept well after talking to him. The usual anger and hurt I feel wasn’t there. My thoughts had drifted off into the hobbies I used to love.

I’m excited for once.

I spend the morning pulling my camera out from the closet where it has sat unused since the day I moved into the new house. Flipping open the heavy latches of the case causes my heartbeat to jump. Opening the lid makes me feel like a small child at Christmas. Pulling the camera itself from the foam padding eases the tension in my shoulders for the first time in months.

Brushing my finger over the shutter button, I power on the camera and pull off the lens cap. Looking through the viewfinder, I grin to be reminded how much I’d once loved this.

After snapping off a few shots of the inside of my closet, I forget about all the wife chores I have to do, my focus completely locked on finally photographing the mausoleum.

And Ari.

I can’t forget him.

Just the thought of seeing him again makes me nervous, my thumb moving to my wedding ring as if that alone can protect me from feeling what I shouldn’t be feeling.

Interest.

Curiosity.

Heat.

And longing. That’s the worst feeling. A very wrong feeling. I’m a married woman. I shouldn’t be thinking this way about another man.

“What exactly are you doing, Adeline?”

I jump at Grant’s voice, feeling like a kid caught doing something I shouldn’t. Setting my camera down, I turn to look up at him, shrinking back when I see his green eyes narrow on the equipment spread around me.

“What is this?”

His brown hair is a mess around his face, lines marring the normally smooth skin. Dark stubble shadows his jaw, his white dress shirt wrinkled and untucked from his slate grey pants.

Feeling guilty for the stress obvious in his shoulders and tired expression, I climb to my feet and stand in front of him.

“You look exhausted.”

Grant is a good-looking man. Tall, broad, in shape. He’s more lean than muscular, a runner’s body he earned running several miles every morning. He isn’t just strict with the people around him, he’s strict with himself as well.

Running a hand through his hair, he glances down at my camera again before turning away to walk toward our bed.

“Of course, I’m exhausted. I can’t sleep at home without my wife screaming and beating the shit out of me.”

With his back to me, he unbuttons his shirt, the fabric peeling away from his shoulders and down his arms. Dropping it on the bed, he turns back.

“And you refuse to do anything about it. A bit selfish, don’t you think?”

The tension returns, my spine locking in place. “We have guest rooms.”

“And I’m supposed to sleep in a fucking guest bedroom in my own fucking home?” he roars, the volume of his voice knocking me back.

No. We can’t be fighting like this. Not yet. We haven’t even been married for a year. He’s just grumpy when tired. Work has been busy. I’m having my issues. I can fix this.

Maybe it’s selfish of me to refuse the pills, but they’re a quick fix and nothing else. The doctor told me there were other ways. It would just take time.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, I step up to him, placing my palms on his chest. His heartbeat is so strong, I can count every pulse, can see the rapid pace of it in his throat.

“The doctor said there is behavioral therapy I can try. Other types of medications that aren’t addictive.”

His eyes pin mine, not a drop of mercy in them. “That’ll take months I don’t have.”

I run my palms up his chest to grab his shoulders. “I can sleep in the guest room until the symptoms calm down again.”

His anger boils over, hands coming up to grab my wrists. Shoving me away with such strength that I fall back onto the bed, he leans over me, not giving a damn that tears are stinging my eyes, his palms slamming down on the mattress on either side of my head.

“You’ll do this my way. I’m sick and fucking tired of waiting for you to figure it out yourself. If you don’t take those pills tonight, I’ll shove them down your damn throat. And I won’t feel bad about it, Adeline. This is what you need, and I’m not playing around anymore. I gave you a chance to make the decision yourself. Remember that.”

He shoves away, storms into the bathroom and slams the door so hard the walls shake.

Pushing up to sit on the side of the bed, I bury my face in my hands, fighting to stop the sobs rattling up my throat. The door opens again, the sound of the running shower becoming louder.

“And another thing. Put the camera away, and do the things I need you to do. The Nakamura contract is extremely important to me. You can’t afford to screw it up. Call Gloria and find out where she gets her hair cut. She knows what’s expected of a businessman’s wife. And deal with every other thing we need to keep the household running. You made those promises to me when we got married. Do your fucking job, and give up the bullshit interests you could afford to have when you were a child.”

Jerking my head up, I glare at him.

“You used to love those things about me. You met me when I was out taking shots. You approached me! Not the other way around. You supported me the entire time I prepared for my first show. Why now are you demanding I give it up?”

His lips thin, the steam from the shower rolling out from behind him. The ends of his brown hair curl with the moisture.

“It was charming then, but you were young. It’s not charming now.”

Turning, he slams the door again and leaves me to choke on the reality of married life.

Staring at his door as if my anger alone can knock it down, I feel the familiar thread of rebellion uncurl inside me. It would be so easy to walk away from this. So easy to pack it all up and go back to the house I still haven’t sold despite his demands I do so.

But that’s the old Adeline, right?

The very same girl who got herself in trouble every time she turned around.

Taking a steadying breath, I glance at my closet where the camera sits beckoning me forward.

I think of the man who will be waiting for me at the cemetery because I begged him to show.

I think of my husband. Of the man I made vows to on the day we got married.

How is it so easy for everything to spin out of control?

And what can I do to pull it back together again?

Pushing to my feet, I grab my phone and text Gloria to find out where I should go to deal with my hair. Then I text the caterer Grant likes to use to see what kind of menu should be arranged for a Japanese client.

Finished with that, I drop my phone to the table and stare at my closet again.

Grant’s exhausted. You can see it in his eyes. And maybe that’s why he’d lost his temper just now.

I know I can be difficult. Know it’s selfish to ask him to give up sleep so I won’t have to take those pills.

But no matter how badly I want to do what he asks me, I don’t want to become a walking zombie either.

My phone pings, and I glance at the screen to see Gloria’s name flash across it.

I check the message and text her back to make me an appointment as soon as possible.

Grant needs a wife, and that’s what I will give him.

The camera sits untouched while I get dressed and ready to go.

Ari

There have been times in recent years when I believed some ridiculous decision I made was the first indication I was losing my mind. All of those times were particularly true when it came to Adeline.

The stalking, obviously. Getting involved when it was the worst thing for me. Killing someone when it didn’t involve a hefty deposit in my bank account.

All dumb.

All inadvisable.

Stupid, if you want to put a more precise label on it. Actions without thought.

But none of those top this moment, this span of minutes I spend staring at a face so serene that it would calm a normal person, touch some frantic part inside them to smooth the wrinkles until they can believe it will all be okay.

Only, it has the opposite effect on me.

I’ll admit, she is beautiful. Hair in long waves down her back that flow like water, the ends curling where they fall over delicate shoulders.

The barely there dress she wears leaves little to the imagination, more akin to spider web than cloth where it drapes across her breasts and down her stomach.

Despite my presence, someone who will never be allowed past Heaven’s pearly gates, and in spite of the anger that shrouds me until even the birds and insects know to keep their distance, this woman won’t stop staring at me.

She’s mocking me with tranquil eyes and a full, pouty mouth, her fluffy wings rising up behind her as she mourns whoever lays dead beneath the ground.

This woman blames me.

Accuses me.

And she’s right to do so.

While I’m not responsible for the body buried beneath the ground she guards, I played a part in the burial of many others.

Still, I hate her.

This angel.

A cold, lifeless statue with no sentient thought.

I can barely restrain myself from marching over to take a sledgehammer to her placid face.

And that’s when you know you’ve lost it. When inanimate objects have the power to tip you over the edge while you wait for someone who clearly isn’t coming.

Here I stand, surrounded by nature that covers the dead, shadowed by tree branches that sway in a gentle breeze, staring at images of Heaven and the peace that would come with it.

I’m a stain on that serenity. A tumor. A smear of fury that taps its foot and disrupts the calm scenery.

My stare snapping to every tiny movement that occurs around me, I grow more impatient with every minute that passes.

Yet, rather than walking away, I check my phone, purse my lips, shift my posture, wonder how the hell I’ve ended up waiting for a woman who is a half hour late.

There has to be an explanation, and to find it, I tap the tracking app to scroll through the argument Adeline had with Grant the night before. I read through the messages I’d watched in real time as Grant leaned against the window in his high-rise office, tapping them out with furious thumbs.

There is nothing new to learn from that exchange.

What is new are the texts to Grant’s sister for a hair appointment. The text to a caterer for the next dinner party. The texts that show Adeline is slipping back into the proper shell. That she’d been handled. That maybe I’m wrong to think I can be some fucking hero swooping in to rescue her from herself.

I’m not a hero. Never claimed to be. But for one brief moment, I deluded myself into thinking...maybe.

Fuck...

My head falls back against the mausoleum, and I clench my eyes shut.

Perhaps a hero has never been what Adeline needed in the first place.

Thoughts drifting back to the photographs that gave a peek inside her fractured soul, I wonder if Adeline hasn’t been grasping at the villain the entire time.

I can be that to her.

I have been that.

It’s my fucking fault for pussing out and refusing to take what I wanted to begin with.

Word of advice: Never make decisions when angry.

They lead to mistakes.

To problems.

To actions and consequences that are impossible to escape.

Talking to statues apparently isn’t my moment of insanity, though. What I do next will be.

I push away from the wall intent on my new path. Giving the judgmental bitch for an angel the finger as I pass her, I’m halfway across the cemetery when my name is called.

Turning, I watch an obsession running toward me. Not a person. Not Adeline. Not a wife that should be at home with her husband rather than running to me.

An obsession.

A mental construct.

The actual proof that I’m losing my fucking mind.

Adeline’s black hair blows out behind her, blue eyes swollen and rimmed red, lips parted when she steps up to stand in front of me as if she has every right to be here.

“I’m sorry I’m late.”

You will be...

Adeline is wearing a white sundress, her pale skin like porcelain beneath the tiny straps on her shoulders.

I almost laugh at the choice.

White.

Of course.

Just like the night I first saw her. Just like the day I’d made the mistake of believing I could let her go.

A good man would have told her to walk the fuck away. To get lost. To go back to her husband.

It’s a pity that, between the time I’d arrived here this morning and now, I’ve forgotten what a good man really is.

Focused on blue eyes that glimmer, on the swelling beneath them that speaks of tears and pain, I circle her in my mind. Study her. Pull her apart and put her back together again so I can inspect all the individual pieces.

My gaze drops to her empty hands, back up to the way she stares at me with expectation written across her features.

“Where’s your camera?”

Adeline glances down, searches her palms as if that will conjure the reason we agreed to meet again. Not finding it, she tilts her face up to me, confusion swirling behind swollen eyes.

“I didn’t bring it.”

“Then why are you here?”

It’s a simple question, yet she winces to hear it. Not because the way it snapped off my tongue. Not because I step closer to steal the space around her.

But because it’s a question we both need to ask ourselves.

Why are we here?

I know the answer.

Does she?

Voice a whisper, she meets my stare.

“I felt bad for standing you up.”

I grin, only the corner of my mouth shifting to hear the lie that falls so easily from her lips. Adeline doesn’t give a fuck about disappointing people. She’s been doing it her entire life. I’ve watched her do it over and over again.

She can’t lie to a person who knows her better than she knows herself. Can’t lie to the man who looks beneath her games to see what exists inside. Can’t lie to a liar that will play those games better now that he’s accepted who he really is.

She stumbles in the silence that falls between us, my lack of a response shifting the ground beneath her feet. Filling it, she invites me back into seclusion like the stupid little girl she is.

“I thought we could look at the rest of the mausoleum.”

Stepping so close that she has to crane her neck to look up at me, I reach out to tuck a stray hair behind her ear.

“Is that what you thought?”

She swallows, nods. Heat dancing across her cheeks in a pale pink that fights against the redness in her eyes.

How unfortunate for the fly that she should invite the spider to its own web.

Adeline has been crying. A lot from what I can tell, her eyes still wet from salty tears.

No doubt from arguing with Grant, a man I should have known would never make her happy.

“After you.”

A shiver runs over her shoulders, a spark of interest, of indecision, her gaze meeting mine only to flicker away again.

I think she might change her mind. Do the right thing. Act smart. But instead, she nods her head again and turns her back to me to lead us to a building where shadows can hide the truth of bad decisions.

The hinges of the iron gate welcome us back, the interior wrapping us in a cloak of dappled sunlight and the dance of dead leaves. Ivy crawls across crumbling stone as the wind whispers promises and secrets.

Why are we here?

It’s not to discuss sculpture and carvings. To critique the use of different methods and tools to make the crypts. To photograph a place I know she sees differently than every other living soul because Adeline lives for the beauty of tragedy.

Adeline turns toward me, and I drop the shroud of a grieving man to show her what has been following her for far longer than she knows.

It’s the first time she really sees me, and she starts to recognize the monster that prowls.

I don’t miss the tiny instinct to escape, the way her teeth go to her bottom lip, the small step she takes to back away from me while her mind races to close the distance.

Stammering over words that mean nothing to me, she tries to point out a bas-relief image of a rose broken beneath a death’s head skull, its eyes hollow.

“Um, so this means a younger woman is buried here. Sometimes, the stage of the blossom indicates time, and while the flower isn’t a young bud, it’s not in full bloom either.”

I’m beyond the point of bothering to turn and pretend I give a damn about what she pointed out. My stare locks on her face, body far too still.

Nervous eyes flick my direction, to the wall, back to me.

She moves away, creeps deeper into the mausoleum while I follow behind.

“This room is my favorite. I’m sure you can tell why.”

It’s remarkable, I’ll give it that. Money poorly spent to mark a family as wealthy and important in their time.

The ceilings lift seven feet above my head, designed to mimic individual tiles with different heavenly references carved into each one. In the center of the room, a short wrought iron fence surrounds a plot of bare land, while box crypts line the walls. Small windows allow a touch of light into the deep shadows, the glass dirty, tiny branches tapping against the panes with each gust of wind.

“Samuel Rinehart is interred in the center. This was the original intent of the mausoleum. His resting place. But given the size, the family decided to use it as a family vault later on.”

I hope the Rineharts won’t mind me using it as well. Not for the same purpose, of course.

Even if they do, there isn’t a damn thing they can say about it.

I match Adeline’s every step, our path working a slow half circle around the center plot until we’re on the other side.

Pausing, she glances over her shoulder at me, my silence frightening her, as it should.

She flashes a wobbly smile, turning so that we’re facing each other. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

My voice is a low whisper. “I’m still wondering why you’re here.”

She grows quiet, head turning so that I’m studying her profile instead of her face.

I won’t let her hide.

I won’t hide.

Not anymore.

“To show you these-“

“Stop lying.”

Her eyes snap to me, round wider. I reach to rub my thumb beneath one of them.

“You’ve been crying.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Tell me why.”

Adeline stills, her thumb rubbing over her wedding ring, the small habit she probably doesn’t even notice, but that tells me everything she isn’t saying.

“I got into an argument with my -“

“Husband,” I finish for her.

Another panicked flash of blue as her eyes meet mine for a second.

She tries to step away from me, but I move to trap her against a crypt, her back pressing against the stone as eyes that have driven me to a point of madness lift with secrets swimming behind them.

My fingers snatch her chin before she can back away from me, my eyes pinning hers, silence lingering between us.

“Why are you really here?” I whisper, my body inching closer. I’m daring her to answer, daring her to remember, daring her to recognize the shadow that stands over her in every photograph on my walls.

She attempts to free her face from my hand, but it’s weak at best. Not really an attempt at all. Just something she does so she can tell herself that she hasn’t asked for what will happen.

I lower my head, search her face, bring my lips within a teasing inch of hers. Frantic breath colliding with calm. Frightened eyes battling determination. Soft versus hard. Light versus dark. We are opposites in every way, and yet still so very much the same.

“Why are you here?”

Another shake of her head, the denial so thick, I can slice it down the middle, watch it slide out from behind the meaty flesh.

“Tell me.”

Defiance blazes in her eyes. “I’m here to show you-“

My thumb presses against her lips. “Tell me the truth.”

Her gaze narrows, and I grin.

“It’s because he doesn’t make you happy. There’s your answer. So the new question is: At what point will you finally admit it?”

My lips brush hers, so soft it could have been an accident. But even that has been enough to shake her to the core, to widen those eyes still glimmering with old tears.

I’m done playing, my bonds free, my shackles left in the middle of a sunlit field where angels and headstones stand in silent repose mourning the hero that died the minute she stepped up to me.

“Answer me.”

A moment of indecision before she does. Not with words or excuses. Not with explanations or pretty stories. Not with anything but the girl I know lingers beneath the polished wrappings, with the monster that has the ability to drop me to my knees.

Her mouth presses against mine seeking permission. Soft. Hesitant. Unsure.

I won’t make it easy for her, though, won’t rush the first time she will betray her vows.

Adeline wants someone else to blame for what we both know she needs.

I won’t be her scapegoat.

However, I will meet her in the middle, my palm moving to cup her cheek, my body pressing against hers with the same need I feel vibrating just beneath her skin.

Dropping my hands, I grip her hips, lifting her to the crypt while my teeth trap her bottom lip. She startles, a momentary pause, a sound in her throat that threatens to destroy what little restraint I still have.

“Why are you here?” I whisper against her frustrated mouth, my neck arching up now that her head is above mine.

I will make her say it.

She needs to say it.

“Why do you keep asking me that?”

Locking my hand over the back of her head, I keep her from moving away from me. My fingers curl into her dark hair, our lips parted and brushing together as our breath combines into a stew of aggravating temptation.

“I just wanted-“

“Wanted what?”

She growls, and the tiny sound plucks at the corners of my lips, but then the monster in her comes out, Adeline’s rebellion against my attempt to control her knocking me so off balance that I lose the war when she presses her mouth against mine and sweeps her tongue out to snap the last thread of restraint I have left.

I should have known she’d come out swinging. It’s what always drew me to her in the first place.

Mouth wide open, she kisses with the wild abandon I always knew she would. I’ve tasted it before, experienced her insanity many years ago in a parked car.

But now, rather than fighting myself about how her body should be used, I surrender to the insanity right beside her, my hands slipping up her arms to pull the straps of her dress down, to free her tits so that my palm can explore them with the possession I feel.

Adeline’s legs fall open, and I press closer, the stone crypt she sits on hard against my body, the cold seeping past my shirt.

Moans crawl up her throat that are so wrong for where we are. We’re disturbing the dead. Violating their resting place. But the defilement feels right for us somehow, our interwoven pasts blending together into a storm of tempestuous sin.

Trapping her bottom lip between my teeth, I open my eyes and look up to find her staring at me, a shudder tearing through her as my hand slides up her thigh to shove away the skirt, my thumb sliding up her panties to discover them drenched.

Releasing her lip, I lick the sting away, run my mouth along her jaw, flicking her panties aside as she tilts her head to expose her neck. My mouth presses against her pulse point, my cock painfully hard as my fingers explore between her legs, her heartbeat a frantic pounding as I sink a finger inside her.

Adeline had been an obsession before this. But now, after touching her, after learning what it feels like to be inside her body, obsession is too weak a word for what I feel for her. I’m not sure a word will ever exist that can define what bloomed to life.

I need to claim her.

To possess her.

To crawl beneath her skin and make her mine.

I need to be the fire that roars to life inside her, need to be the shadow that she reaches for every time she closes her eyes.

Hands in my hair, Adeline cries out as my mouth drops to her breast, my tongue swirling the nipple on a tease. Sliding another finger inside her, I pump my hand while sucking her nipple into a painful point that I bite in punishment for all the trouble her body has caused me.

When my thumb brushes her clit, she curls her fingers into my hair, pulling my head up to kiss me, an orgasm coming on so fast and hard that I have to swallow the scream that bursts from her throat, her muscles locking over my fingers to keep them from pulling out.

Gripping my free hand in her hair, I yank her head back, running my mouth down the line of her neck until I trap the tip of her breast in my mouth, sucking hard as her body rides my fingers through the last waves of pleasure that slam through her.

Adeline’s body softens as she comes down from that high, her fingers relaxing in my hair. I’m two seconds away from apologizing to the Rinehart family while pulling her to the ground to claim all of her as mine when tension shoots across her shoulders, words whispering over her lips that I know are the beginning of the end

“Oh, my God...”

No, no, no, no, no...

I glance up to see a stricken look marring her face, guilt rolling through blue eyes that just seconds ago had been hooded and burning with sensual heat.

Reaching up to grab her face, I attempt to stop the runaway train of her thoughts.

It’s too late.

“I have to go.”

“Adeline-“

She shoves my hands away, panic blazing over her cheeks. Yanking the straps of her dress back in place over her shoulders, she struggles to push me away, her mind already so far gone that calming her down would be a fight.

“Adeline.” I grab her hips to hold her in place, my fingers bruising the skin for how tight I hold her.

“Let me go.”

“No.”

Her eyes whip to my face. “Let me the fuck go!”

Her foot kicks out and catches me between the legs. Getting kicked in the junk sucks, but when you’re hard and it happens? Holy fucking shit...

I double over, and she takes the opportunity to shove me away far enough to jump down and run toward the front of the mausoleum.

It was stupid of me not to remember she’s a fighter when she feels threatened.

Sucking it up, I ignore the pain running down my legs to chase after her, my hand gripping down on her elbow just as we reach the front gate.

She spins on me, eyes wild. “I have to go.”

“Talk to me.”

Her head turns left toward an older couple laying flowers on a nearby grave, her voice lowering to a hiss of a whisper when she warns, “If you don’t get your hand off me, I’ll scream. Don’t fucking try me.”

I let her go, hold my hands up as if in surrender. Adeline doesn’t hesitate to run off, my eyes following her as she races across the cemetery and away from me.

“Fuck!” I punch the iron gate, the loud metallic clang drawing the attention of the older couple.

Staring back at them, I lean against the wall of the mausoleum and stab my hands through my hair.

It doesn’t matter that she’s married. I don’t give the first shit about the fight she’ll put up against what I will do.

I won’t let her go again.

Flat out fucking refuse.

Adeline

It was bad enough returning home knowing what I’d done. Lost to a moment of weakness, a moment of passion - of lust - I could have crawled back on hands and knees back to my husband and it wouldn’t have been enough.

I cheated on Grant.

Those words repeated in my head over every mile between the cemetery and my house.

And even though I must have said them a hundred times in the hours I spent pacing the empty halls and sprawling rooms of his mansion, they never took hold. Never made sense. Never sank in deep enough that I could process what happened.

I was a wreck when he came home that night, the guilt igniting when our eyes met, and I looked down to see he’d brought flowers, jewelry, and wine.

Quick to apologize for what he’d said to me before I left to see Ari, Grant spent the evening promising to make it up to me, whispering against my ear that I deserved better than what he gave.

He didn’t force the pills on me like he’d threatened. He listened to me when I told him how to stop me if I fought.

I think it’s the peace between us that made the agreement unnecessary.

Two weeks since I cheated on my husband and I haven’t fought, cried or screamed once in the nights that rolled by.

“You look beautiful.”

Strong hands wrap over my shoulders, the tips massaging down into muscles that haven’t been free of tension since the cemetery.

Lifting my eyes, I meet Grant’s stare in the mirror. He takes the brush from my hand, his fingers carefully holding my hair as he runs the bristles through it.

“The new cut looks nice. It’s a much better length on you.”

Having to force a smile, I flick a glance at my hair, exhaling slowly because I hate how it looks. Normally I wear it long, the ends brushing the small of my back. But per Gloria’s demand, it now stops below my shoulder blades, layers cut into the length to make it lay flat.

“Thanks.”

He sets the brush down on the vanity and turns me around to face him. “What are your plans for today?”

The usual, I don’t say. It would have sounded ungrateful, like I don’t appreciate what he’s given me.

“I have to schedule the company event that’s to take place a month from now. I’ll probably drive out to the venue and meet with the vendors to ensure all the details are correct. After that, I need to pick up your dry cleaning, and then I’ll meet Gloria for a late lunch like I normally do.”

“Meet me instead.”

Surprise lifts my eyes to his. “I thought you had a meeting?”

His lips stretch into a practiced smile.

“I do. With a new investor. Harrison Nash is big money and not easily impressed. I thought having you along would make him warm up to me. I’m dying to bring him on.”

“What do you need me to do?”

Grasping my chin between his thumb and finger, he tilts my face higher, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on my lips.

“Sit there and look pretty. You do it so well.”

Ignoring how his comment rubs against every nerve inside me, I force another smile.

“Text me the details and I’ll be there.”

Releasing me, Grant straightens his body, his hands going to the knot of his blue tie to tug it into place.

“I knew I could count on you, Adeline.”

Green eyes meet mine. “I have to go. I’ll have Patricia send you the location and time.”

Patricia, his secretary. I’m not sure how I feel about my husband not having the time to send me the information himself.

I watch Grant walk out of our bedroom after grabbing his suit jacket to pull it on. It’s hard to name exactly what I’m feeling. Anger, maybe? Or doubt.

He sees me as a pretty face and a charming smile, a shiny trinket to be shown off and admired. I exist to make him look better, rather than doing anything for myself.

But still, if either of us has a reason to be angry, it’s him.

I haven’t told him about what happened in the mausoleum, and I never will. And every time I want to rage at something he says, or the way he sweeps me aside as nothing more than an accessory, I remember that I’m the one at fault in this marriage. That I betrayed him.

As promised, I spend the morning seeing to the details of the firm’s annual formal event. Everything has to be just right.

The event will cater to old investors and new as a show of power and wealth. It’s a social function, yes, but Grant explained the men would end up with cigars and cognac at some point, tossing money around while contracts are discussed. He needs them happy and impressed, relaxed and agreeable.

While he tends to business, it will be my job to ensure the wives, girlfriends and mistresses are entertained. It’s a bit of a problem for me. I’ve never made friends with women easily. I’m not just nervous about the event, I’m terrified.

I fear saying the wrong thing. Admitting to something that will embarrass Grant if it gets back to him through the rumor mills always present among the elite.

Thankfully, Gloria will be there to keep an eye on me, but she isn’t a true friend. More like a babysitter who will report back to Grant if I do something wrong.

The pressure is overwhelming.

“Was the menu to your liking, Mrs. Cabot?”

Startled back to the task at hand, I glance up at Derrick Lane, the head chef for the luxury hotel I’ve chosen as the venue. Kind brown eyes hold mine, his once dark hair now softened by grey. He wears his chef’s coat and a pair of black pants, ever the professional in a setting where perfection is expected.

“Yes, except there are no options for vegetarians on the menu. Could you add a fourth option for those that prefer to eat something that didn’t at one time have a face?”

Derrick flinches as if taking personal offense to the statement, and while I know it’s rude of me to make the comment, especially to a man who makes all forms of food an art to be devoured, I’m still clinging to my old ways.

Grant has a nasty habit of ordering my meals for me, most often involving a slab of something dead, but when I can find the chance to rebel, I take it.

Inclining his head, Derrick plucks the menu from my hands and asks, “Would a quinoa, avocado and sweet potato timbale do? I can also offer a potato cream with caramelized leek soup as first course.”

It’s a hefty amount of starch, but I trust his judgment. “That sounds delicious. Thank you.”

Another nod before he turns to walk off with his new assignment.

Relaxing into my seat, I survey the large ballroom where the event will be held. I spent the past few hours going over everything. Decorations, food, wine and champagne choices, music, and security details. Checklist complete, I check my phone to see if Patricia has sent me the information for lunch.

You would think I was one of Grant’s employees with how professional and cold the message is.

As it is, I have an hour to grab Grant’s dry cleaning, return it to the house and drive across town to get to the restaurant.

I stand from my seat and leave to manage my other wifely chores, arriving at Gardenia’s on time for the late lunch. A bit surprised by the choice, I pause in the front waiting area to examine the menu they have framed on the wall.

Grant is a meat and potatoes man, yet this restaurant caters to a vegan diet.

Eyebrow crooking at that, I wonder if my husband chose it for me.

A spark of heat blooms in my chest, but I won’t allow it to ignite into a flame of appreciation...or hope that my husband was finally learning to accept who I am rather than demanding I become who he wants.

Still, there is a touch of warmth. Why else would he choose this particular restaurant?

Speaking of the devil, a hand presses against my lower back, a soft set of lips lowering to my ear.

“You know, it’s strange. I stepped inside and was immediately drawn to a woman so beautiful, it was impossible to look away. I should have known it would be my wife.”

I turn and wrap my arms around him, pushing to my toes to peck his cheek. “Thank you.”

Green eyes drop to mine. “For?”

“Choosing a vegan place to eat.”

Brows tugging together, Grant glances up at the menu on the wall, his lips pulling into a scowl. “I didn’t choose it.”

My heart drops into my feet, the spark of hope I’d felt only a second ago doused in water. “Who did?”

Grant runs a hand through his hair and pulls away from me. “I left the choice up to Harrison.”

“Mr. Nash is vegan?” It makes me like this new investor more, also makes me happy to have an excuse for the vegetarian option I’d added to the menu earlier.

“Apparently,” Grant grumbles.

He flashes me his professional smile. “We should find our table. I’d hate to keep Harrison waiting.”

It’s the opposite, in fact, the minutes ticking by with Grant growing more aggravated where he is seated beside me as Harrison Nash keeps us waiting instead.

Still, my husband will smile and brush it off as no problem. When it comes to business, the investors are always right. Nothing they do is openly discouraged.

Instead, Grant brings his frustrations home to me where I’m lucky enough to suffer the bad moods and fallout.

My phone pings, and I pull it from my clutch to read a text from Gloria about additional details for the company formal. To my side, Grant mumbles finally and stands from his seat.

“Harrison,” he says with a voice that gives no hint of dissatisfaction. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”

Tucking my phone away, I glance up with a bright smile, ready to charm Grant’s newest investor. Ice water douses my veins when I’m met with light grey eyes set against hair so dark it absorbs light.

Dread sinks deep into my bones, my legs shaking as I push to my feet to shake the hand of a man I can’t believe is standing at the table.

Ari stares back at me, nothing in his expression giving away the fact that he knows me, only a minuscule quirk to his lips that nobody would notice but me. Heat blooms between my legs to see those cruel lips, to remember how punishing they’d been on my body. It only makes this moment worse.

Grant’s hand slides to my lower back.

“Harrison, this is my wife, Adeline. I asked her to join us for lunch today. I hope that’s not a problem.”

When our hands meet across the table, I feel a jolt of so many competing emotions that my stomach rolls on itself, a knot of anxiety growing in my throat.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, his eyes pinning mine for only a few seconds before he slides his gaze back to Grant. “And it’s not a problem at all. The more the merrier, right?”

Merrier, my ass. This is a fucking nightmare come to life.

I jerk my hand away, wiping my palm on my dress as if that will erase everything that occurred in the mausoleum.

It doesn’t help that he stands there looking like every woman’s fantasy. Dressed in black on black, his jacket falls perfectly over broad shoulders I know are packed with muscle, the buttons of his shirt undone just enough to give a peek at golden skin I’ve tasted.

There is nothing light and airy about him. Only a presence so robust that it sucks the breath out of me, choking me with the memory of one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had in my life.

“Shall we sit?”

Grant and Ari both wait for me to take my seat. I happily do so, my entire body trembling with nerves. Grant shoots me a funny look, but I smile at him, pretending like he didn’t just shake the hand of the man I’d cheated with only two weeks ago.

What the fuck am I going to do?

Ari slides his suit jacket off and tosses it over the back of the empty seat beside him. Sitting down, he’s careful to keep his stare locked to Grant, those cruel lips refusing to smile.

“I hope you don’t mind the restaurant I chose.”

Lying, Grant grins and slips into his business demeanor. “Not at all. Are you vegan?”

“I am.”

“So is Adeline. I’m sure she’s thrilled with your choice.”

Grey eyes trap mine, a slight grin tilting the corner of his mouth. “Then you can agree that it’s difficult to eat anything with a face.”

The words slam into me, my throat so dry that I have to take a sip of water before answering. I damn near choke on it.

“Funny, that’s what I always say.”

His mouth twitches as if he knows a secret. Unfortunately, I know exactly what the secret is, and I want this lunch to end as quickly as possible because of it.

We’re in the middle of an eye battle when Grant’s phone rings.

“Crap. I need to take this. If you two will excuse me for a moment.”

I rip my eyes from Ari and his teasing grin to glance at my husband. “Of course. Take your time.”

He’s pushing to his feet when he touches my shoulder. “If the server comes, order something for me you think I’ll like. I don’t know what half of this stuff is.”

Grant plays the comment off as a joke, but I see annoyance behind eyes as green as emeralds. I nod my head and watch him walk away, cell phone pressed to his ear. When he’s out of hearing range, my head snaps back to Ari.

He stares across at me as if this entire thing is an amusing joke.

“I thought your name is Ari.”

Another twitch of his lips, his eyes dipping down as he picks at a piece of non-existent lint on his shirt. Slowly those grey eyes return to mine, all the humor in his expression absent.

“It is. Ari. As in short for Harrison.”

My heart lurches, my gaze flicking to Grant in the distance before locking on Ari again.

“What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, the anger in my voice not bothering him. Relaxing in his seat, he drapes an arm over the back of the empty chair next to him. It’s such a masculine pose that it takes effort for me not to openly appreciate it.

“What’s the matter, Adeline? Are you worried I’ll tell your husband that, two weeks ago, his wife was riding her pretty cunt over my hand? Or maybe I’ll tell him how you scream when you come? So much so that I had to cover your mouth with mine just to keep people from finding us.”

My cheeks flame, lips pulling into a razor thin line.

His eyes track to Grant and back to me, holding me in place without an ounce of guilt for what he’s doing.

With a voice that speaks of sensual fantasy and darkness so thick it can make your mind spin, Ari says, “You have nothing to worry about, if that’s the case. I promise you, I’m a lot more discreet than that. Although, I should also mention before he comes back, that you ran away too fast. I had every intention of letting you ride my tongue next.”

My heart drops into my feet at the same time my thighs slam together.

I pray Grant will close this deal quickly. That they will make their agreement and I never have to do this again.

There is no way I will survive being around Ari for much longer.

Not if he keeps talking like that.

Ari

Adeline is fucking adorable when she’s mad. Heat chases pink across pale, pale cheeks, her blood red lips held so tightly together that I want nothing more than to bite them in a tease.

She stares across at me as if she might scream, her body trembling with barely contained rage, her eyes narrowing as I relax more and glance at her husband.

Thankfully, Grant is so busy with his urgent phone call that I have all the time in the world to continue poking at a woman that has no idea who she’s up against.

It was never my intent to see her today. Originally, the plan had been to meet with Grant, dangle a carrot in front of him that would set him on the chase, and then close in on Adeline at another time.

Checking her texts before I drove over, I was delighted to see she’d be joining us, and I made the decision to move up the timeline, push this game faster than I’d planned.

“You look upset,” I say, rubbing my finger over the top of the crystal water glass set in front of me. It sings just loud enough to make Adeline’s eye twitch.

Another quick glance at her husband before pinning those blue eyes on me. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it needs to stop. I’m a happily married woman, and what happened at the cemetery was a mistake.”

She can say whatever she wants. It doesn’t mean I’ll believe her. I know Adeline better than that.

Two fingers rubbing the lip of the glass, I watch as her eyes fall to the motion of the hand that had driven a body-shattering orgasm through her.

My lips curl. “So, what you’re telling me is that you haven’t thought about what we did since?”

“I haven’t.”

My eyes lift to hers. “Have you touched yourself while remembering it?”

Adeline flinches at the question, her gaze dropping to my hand again, the pink on her cheeks turning a deep red.

“That’s what I thought.”

Leaning forward, I lower my voice to a low croon.

“It’s okay, Adeline. I’ve thought about it, too. What we did has been an image in my head many times in the past two weeks while I gripped my cock in my hand. You don’t have to feel embarrassed about it.”

Her lips part, eyes round as she struggles to gather her composure.

“And as for what I’m doing here, I’m investing in your husband’s company. He’s an enthusiastic man, don’t you think? So desperate to pull in all the powerful people around him.”

In truth, Grant is ridiculously easy to manipulate. One call from a mutual associate bragging about my standing among the elite and Grant was on the phone with me within hours. I have no intention of actually investing a dime into his corporation, but have every intention of dragging him around for as long as it takes to steal Adeline from him.

I don’t tell her that, of course. It’s better not to spoil the surprise I have planned.

While Adeline fumes, Grant returns to the table, slips his phone in his pocket and takes a seat. He receives the fake smile from his lovely wife beside him as I turn my head to face him directly.

“I apologize for that. But you know how it is. No rest for the wicked.”

I grin. It’s like he stole the words straight from my mouth. “It’s no problem at all. Your wife is very entertaining.”

In my peripheral vision, I watch Adeline chug down her water, most likely attempting to chase the heat from her cheeks.

Grant smiles, an overly friendly expression with plenty of straight white teeth. “Did I miss anything?”

Relaxing back, I hold his stare, search the face of a man I have every intention of destroying.

“Actually, Adeline invited me to dinner at your house. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time today to discuss business and when I mentioned it, she all but demanded I come over to continue our discussions.”

Choking on her water, Adeline turns to cough. Grant’s eyes slide her direction, a look of concern on his face before he pats her on the back.

“Are you okay?”

She nods her head, shooting me a scathing look. “Yes, sorry. I swallowed down the wrong tube.”

“You should drink slower.” A scolding remark before he looks back at me. It takes restraint not to reach across the table and rip his throat out.

“Dinner at our house sounds wonderful. Adeline is such a gracious hostess. She enjoys having my business associates over.”

“Does she?” My eyes slip to her. “I’m sure she’s the best wife she can be.” Eyes back to Grant. “It’s so hard as a businessman to find someone that understands and sees to our needs in a spouse.”

A small groan sounds from where Adeline sits, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Despite her response, Grant nods his head in agreement, no doubt preparing to open his mouth and say something that will drag across my nerves like sandpaper.

“You and I think alike, Harrison. It took some work,” he looks at Adeline, smiling, “but she’s finally figured out a good routine that keeps her busy.”

Hand fisting on my lap beneath the table, I imagine all the ways I can kill him with the silverware sitting in front of me. I have a preference for the spoon, only because it would take longer and be more painful.

Fate prevents the slaughter when a server steps up to the table, interrupting our conversation with a practiced voice that is required of the staff in places like this.

“Welcome to Gardenia...”

The rest of what he says is white noise in my head, the specials and recommendations lost on me as I stare at Grant Cabot with a level of hatred I rarely feel.

Forcing my attention away from Adeline’s husband, I glance up at the server in time for him to ask if we’re ready to order. He’s a decent looking man, probably ten years younger than me, making him Adeline’s age. Dressed in a white dress shirt with black slacks, he has a white cloth napkin draped over his arm, his expression patient despite wanting to move us along.

Grant isn’t alone in having no idea what half the crap on the menu is. I’m not a vegan like I claimed, so rather than giving a damn what I order, I stab a finger at one the selections, the server’s eyes dropping before he nods and says, “Excellent choice.”

I should hope so. The dish costs fifty dollars and will amount to a salad sprinkled over whatever the hell smoked aubergine is.

As confused as me, Grant looks my direction. “What did you order?”

The server answers for me, “He selected the smoked aubergine salad. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”

His brows tug together, an apologetic grin stretching his lips. “You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, but what’s aubergine?”

“Eggplant,” Adeline answers and my thoughts go directly to the emojis Grant used to describe their return flight home from their honeymoon.

For fuck’s sake. I won’t be able to eat now without thinking of his dick.

“Why not just say eggplant?” he asks.

Good fucking question...

“You know what, never mind. I’ll just take the same thing.”

I shouldn’t have chosen this place, but I did it as a special fuck you to the asshole sitting across from me. As a passive aggressive stab at his efforts to change everything there is about Adeline.

But when I learned Adeline would be joining us, I saw it as a happy coincidence and a way to endear myself to her.

Now, I will suffer the decision with a fake smile on my face.

Adeline rattles off her order before the server walks away, and we return to the conversation.

“When do you think you’ll be able to join us for dinner, Harrison?”

I hate how Grant keeps saying my name. It’s a psychological trick, one used by people attempting to sell you shit by making you feel included and important. He doesn’t realize it, but I see through his every attempt to lure me in and manipulate me.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I scroll over the screen like I don’t already have a date in mind, AKA: as soon as fucking possible.

“How’s tomorrow night? My schedule happens to be clear.”

“Wonderful,” he exchanges a glance with Adeline and snaps his fingers at her. “Make that happen.”

He actually snapped his fingers. Like she’s a dog there to fetch his slippers or roll over for whatever treat he might toss.

Prior to setting up this charade as a potential investor in Grant’s company, I’d considered killing the man and being done with it. Two reasons stopped me from taking that course of action.

One: I’d already killed Adeline’s father and caused suffering in her life. If there was a chance she truly loved her husband, I didn’t want to repeat the same mistake.

And two: I may be damn good at my job, but there’s an inherent risk to it, one that can’t easily be dismissed unless large sums of money are involved. It’s the difference between an assassin and a murderer. The former is worth the time and effort. The latter is a lack of emotional control in a psychopath, which I refuse to become.

Grant simply wasn’t worth the risk. Not then. But now, after snapping his fingers in Adeline’s face, killing him is back on the table.

“I’ll make the arrangements,” she answers meekly, wearing the fake ass smile on her face that hides what she’s really thinking.

I almost feel bad for being part of this.

Almost.

Satisfied with his wife’s response, Grant turns to me and begins his sales pitch about the company, rambling on about sales figures, stocks, acquisitions, expenditures - a bunch of shit I couldn’t care less about.

I barely hear a word he’s saying as my eyes track to Adeline every so often, her body stock still in her seat as she stares at me with expected fury behind her blue eyes.

Fighting not to smile each time I see it, I’m saved from Grant’s boasting when the server reappears with our meals in hand, placing them in front of us as if he’d just unveiled a priceless artifact that we should offer our left nut for.

Unimpressed with whatever the fuck that is on my plate, I take immense pleasure in the scowl on Grant’s face. It makes the food more enjoyable, only because he hates it so much.

With my napkin tucked on my lap, I stab my fork into bite after bite, chewing slowly while Grant looks as if he might die right here in front of me.

He pats his mouth with his napkin a little while later, giving up on pretending he can stomach the food. I take far too much satisfaction in it. Unfortunately, his sudden lack of appetite frees up his mouth to continue his pitch, and my stomach sours immediately. This man loves to hear himself talk.

Thankfully, I thought ahead, the seconds ticking down until an alarm on my phone frees me of the nightmare. Grant is mid-sentence when the alarm finally rings and I lift to a finger to shut him the hell up.

Glancing at my phone, I feign apology. “Sorry, I need to take this.”

I’m on my feet and walking away from the table quicker than he can respond. Faking a conversation, I glance Adeline’s way to see she’s watching me closely, her eyes tracking me across the dining room while her piece of shit husband whispers something in her ear.

Her lips pull into a thin line, but she nods her head, taps out a note on her phone, and finally looks away.

This lunch needs to end. I’ve accomplished what I want for now. But there is still one last hook I need to bait before walking out the door.

Slipping my phone in my pocket, I walk back to the table and toss a hundred dollar bill down. Grant’s eyes lift to my face, his brows tugging together.

“I apologize, but something important has come up. It’s like you said: no rest for the wicked. I have another meeting I need to attend about another investment.”

A flicker of concern flashes in Grant’s eyes and I know I just sunk the hook into his lip. Now all that is needed is to tighten the string and reel the bastard in. It’s too bad for him that he’ll be chasing that string for a long ass time.

“This should cover the cost of my meal-“

He shoves the hundred toward me, a practiced smile stretching his lips. “No, please. Lunch is on me.”

Pausing, he sits back in his seat attempting to appear relaxed when he is anything but. I can see the desperation behind his gaze, the slight tick of his jaw that indicates frustration with the turn of events. Grant Cabot is not a man accustomed to taking no as an answer. He has no idea how truly weak that makes him.

“If you don’t mind me asking: who’s the other firm? I’m sure I can beat whatever they have to offer.”

I almost laugh. Unless this bastard is offering me his wife, there’s nothing else he has that I want.

Plucking the hundred from the table, I tuck it in my wallet. “I do mind, actually. But I’m still willing to hear what you have to say tomorrow night.”

It’s impossible not to look at Adeline next. When our eyes lock, she stills, a sheen of concern coloring her cheeks.

“As I said before, it’s been a pleasure meeting you. I look forward to when we see each other again.”

The color deepens, and I want nothing more than to chase it down her body.

Standing from the table, Grant offers his hand. Our palms lock in a grip that makes him wince. He thinks he’s a tough man - tough enough to treat his wife like shit, apparently - but he won’t last a second going up against a man like me.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, Harrison. I’ve given Adeline your information, and she’ll contact you with our home address and such.”

As if I needed it, but still, I nod my head, grab my jacket and stroll off.

In less than two days, I’ll have everything I need to win this game. There are only a few more tasks to complete before I have Adeline and her moron for a husband exactly where I need them.

Adeline

“What’s the cheapest phone you have and how quickly can service be set up? Also, is it traceable? I need something that nobody can link back to me.”

The store clerk looks at me with surprise, the pleasant expression he wore when I first walked in dissolving into suspicion that he is staring at a mad woman.

I don’t blame him. With no doubt, I look like a mad woman at the moment. Because I am mad. Fucking pissed, actually, but more terrified than anything.

After Ari left the restaurant, I had to hold myself together while Grant groaned and complained about not landing the new investor. And the entire time, all I could do was smile and nod, make little non-committal noises as if I were listening while, in truth, I was falling apart.

How I’d managed to make it through lunch was anyone’s guess, but I knew one thing: There is no way in Hell that I’ll make it through dinner at my house.

There has to be a way to get rid of Ari. Fortunately, Grant gave me his number to send him our information. Unfortunately, the conversation I need to have with him is not one I can risk my husband finding.

The store clerk clears his throat and runs a hand through his dirty blond hair. Peeking around the store as if there is somebody who might intervene and drag me out, he finds no security. The store is dead for the most part. Just me and him. The crazy lady who sounds like she’s about to commit murder and a store clerk who is desperate not to become a conspirator.

“Listen,” I say, attempting to appear calm despite the anxiety vibrating beneath my skin, “I don’t mean to sound crazy right now. I know how this must look. But my husband is slightly controlling, and I need something to use that he can’t find.”

Understanding finally dawns on him, a sleazy smile streaking across his face. “Oh, this is for...are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

What am I doing?

I really don’t know for sure.

But desperation is clinging to me like an insecure lover, and I’m acting without thinking, every instinct inside me set to autopilot.

It’s my turn to glance around, check for ears that can listen in. Not finding anybody in the cheap, pay-as-you go cell store located deep in a bad part of town, I’m not concerned that this could leak back to my highbrow husband.

“Sure,” I answer, adding a wink as if I just let him in on a dirty secret. “You must know how it is.”

His smile brightens. “I got you, girl. I know exactly what you need.”

With a new sense of camaraderie, the clerk spins to pull open a lower cabinet behind the counter, practically dancing in place as he selects three different choices. I figure he must enjoy the clandestine edge to what I’m doing, and I try to ignore his sudden vigor.

Placing the three choices on the counter, he glances at me with eyes of turquoise blue and taps a finger over each one.

“First choice, there is a no contract option, but data isn’t included unless you take the contract. Second choice, also no contract, data is included, but it costs a pretty penny for each gig you use. Third choice. Like the other two, no contract, but no data, meaning you can only text and call. However, by text, I mean words only. No naughty pictures sent to someone who isn’t your husband.”

He winks and I sigh, smiling politely because he’s far too eager to help me commit adultery.

“The third one will do. I don’t plan to send naughty photos.”

Disappointment flattens his smile. “But that’s the fun part,” he complains.

Another sigh. “While I’m sure that’s true, I only need the plain text option.” I pull cash from my wallet. “How much does it cost?”

He goes over the different price options with me, eventually giving up on the naughty photo argument and accepts payment for one month of service.

I don’t even need a full month. If I can convince Ari to walk away and stop fucking with my life, the phone will be tossed by the end of tonight, and I can forget this fucked up day happened.

The clerk is quick about setting up the phone for me, showing me the different features that I don’t care about, and I’m walking out the door within twenty minutes.

Once back in my car, I transfer Ari’s number into the new phone and fire off my first text.

What will it take for me to convince you to leave me alone and stop toying with my fucking life?

Straight. To the point. And if the asshole doesn’t figure out it’s me by the cryptic message, he’s an idiot. Unless, of course, mine isn’t the only marriage Ari is trying to destroy.

Still, for plausible deniability, I won’t include my name until he answers and admits he knows exactly who I am.

Almost immediately, little bubbles spring up to show he’s responding. They stop though. Spring up again. Stop. Over and over, until I’m about to scream. I’m expecting a paragraph for how long it goes on, but when the text finally comes through, all I get is:

Ari: I believe identifying yourself is what most people consider polite these days.

Asshole.

You know who this is. How do I get rid of you?

I can imagine him laughing wherever he is, those seductive grey eyes glimmering with pure evil. That cruel mouth tugging up at the corners with every promise of making my life Hell.

Ari: Let’s pretend I do know who this is. Why in the world would you want to get rid of me? I seem to remember you enjoying our time together very much, even if it was cut short when you ran away.

The hard part is he’s right. Although I will never admit that to him, I can’t deny the way my body responds to him. Every night, I’ve dreamed about what went on in that mausoleum, and even today at lunch I struggled to not stare at him, my body reacting with the memory of what his hands feel like, his tongue...his teeth.

But it doesn’t matter if I’m drawn to him. I’m a married woman. It might not be the perfect marriage, but it’s what I need. After getting burned so many times when I was younger, I learned that my choices and decisions aren’t always what is best for me.

I didn’t enjoy anything. Which is why I never want to see you again.

He answers within seconds.

Ari: Well, in that case, you’re not who I think you are. I mistook you for a woman who left my hand a sticky mess after she came all over it. So, either tell me your name, or send me a nice picture so I can know who I’m talking to.

A growl crawls up my throat. What is it with guys and pictures? And why does he keep slapping me down by mentioning how he made me feel?

I wouldn’t send you a picture, even if I could, which I can’t, because my phone plan doesn’t allow it.

More little bubbles bounce, the message coming through so direct with accusation that I drop the phone in my lap and scrub my hands over my face.

Ari: Burner phone. Very smart, Adeline. It’s almost like you know what you’re doing. I assume you’ve had plenty of experience running around behind other people’s backs. Which only means the game has just changed.

Tears sting my eyes, my frustration so bone deep that it hurts to move, to stay still. My muscles are locked in my shoulders and neck, my head pounding with each pulse of my heart.

I snatch the phone from my lap and tap out a message in all caps.

WHAT GAME?! AND CHANGED HOW?

Lifting my head to look out through the windshield, I lock eyes with the sales clerk inside the store. He winks. Gives me a thumbs up. Completely enjoying the moment while I can’t stop thinking that my marriage is as good as gone.

The phone pings, the message dragging a razor down my spine for how horrible Ari’s response is.

Ari: Before you admitted to knowing how to hide your tracks, I was going to go easy on you. But now that I see you’re just as devious as me, I’ve decided to raise the stakes. Meet me tonight, and we’ll talk about your unfortunate issue. Otherwise, you can expect to see a lot of me in the coming weeks.

Furious thumbs fly over the tiny screen, my teeth locking together tighter with every click and tap.

I can’t. Grant will be home and wonder where I am.

Is it possible to hear laughter through a text? I don’t have to hear Ari speaking to know the tone of his voice, the dark whisper of sound as if his mouth is against my ear teasing me with the destruction I know he wants.

Ari: I suggest you remove the leash your husband has attached to your collar. And beyond that, I suggest you stop lying. We both know Grant works late into the evening. He loves bragging to me about it. I’ll see you at the mausoleum at six. Don’t be late.

No. Any place but there. For whatever reason I can’t bear the thought of defiling my parents’ resting place more than I already have. The cemetery will always carry the stain of Ari now, but I still won’t add to it.

Meet me at my house instead. 6741 Golden Dawn Road.

Several minutes pass in tense, deafening silence before the final pings come through.

Ari: Interesting choice.

Another text.

Ari: See you there.

. . .

A few hours later, I find myself wandering an empty house. Without the furniture and rugs, the curtains and instruments, without the life that once existed here, it feels like walking through a skeleton that has desiccated down to nothing over time.

Ghosts haunt this structure. My mother’s after she passed at home from an illness that nobody could fight. My father’s after his sorrow for losing his wife pushed him to a decision that would leave me alone.

I was orphaned at sixteen, left to remain in a home that spoke of sorrow and death, in a place where shadows stood over me at night.

Despite all that, I survived. Barely. I became reckless and rebellious, meandered a slow path of self-destruction that somehow, some way, didn’t take my life.

Perhaps it was simple luck that kept me alive. We don’t all make it, though. I had friends that died from stupid things, mostly drugs and alcohol, or action without thought.

When we’re young, some of us can choose to believe that life is an endless journey, that youth in all its stupidity has a way of sheltering us from the truth of our own mortality.

I never had that belief, not with the disorders I suffered, and certainly not after losing both my parents, but my friends did. Some of them lived to tell the tale, but not all.

Not Jason. Although, with his issues, I’m not surprised. Nobody in my circle knew what happened to him. He simply disappeared one night, the same night we’d fought, and I’d refused to speak to him again. Maybe it had something to do with that, but I hope not.

To this day I wonder about the people I once knew who drove off into the night never to be heard from again.

Three, to be exact.

But maybe that’s another consequence of youth: friendships can be so fleeting. People come into your life for a handful of months and then are gone again as if they were never there to begin with.

For those reasons, I hate this house, and it’s why I chose it for this meeting. It’s already defiled by blood and pain, regret and nightmares. There is nothing Ari can do to make it worse.

Only a few minutes remain before he’ll be knocking on the door, and I use them to wander from room to room, memories assaulting me of nights spent alone, of waking up in weird places, of dreams that I was conscious of while having them.

Stepping up to the French doors in the kitchen, I lean a shoulder against the glass, allowing the side of my head to rest on the cool surface as I scan the shadows outside. It’s not entirely dark, but the large trees provide enough shade to block out the last burst of color beaming out from the setting sun, and I can just imagine that the dance of shadow and light are the ghosts of memories just out of reach.

I close my eyes from emotional exhaustion, my blood pressure at a dangerous high because I feel like I’m free falling through my life, one mistake leading to a moment when my marriage is at risk, the life I created for myself to balance the chaos is now threatened.

A quiet scream volleys from my throat when a sharp knock rattles the glass, my eyes flying open to see Ari standing on the other side, his hair and clothing blending perfectly into the darkness while his silver-grey eyes catch mine. He grins, just the slightest crook at the corners of his mouth. I wonder if he ever fully smiles.

A flicker of memory...

Staring at him, I have the weirdest sensation that we’ve been here before. Obviously, it’s impossible, but still, the feeling is there, like a dream just out of reach, the effects of it lingering.

But then anger slams down, and I wrench the door open, the cool evening air rushing in, carrying his scent with it. My knees weaken to breathe it in. He smells like a fantasy come to life.

His voice is a deep purr of sound, soft like velvet. “I thought you were asleep.”

Mine, however, is a streak of fury that slices through the spell he can so easily weave.

“How long were you standing there? And why are you standing there? The front door is on the other side of the house.”

Clearly amused, he leans a shoulder against the doorjamb. “You should pay better attention to your surroundings.”

Another flicker of memory...

My eyes snap to his, the collision of our gazes sending a shudder down my body that I try to ignore. Grant is a beautiful man, but standard and boring compared to Ari.

While Grant represents power, responsibility, precision and reliability, the space around Ari whispers of danger, of secrets, of hidden agendas and desires that are so utterly wrong they’re not spoken about by respectable people.

“Why would you say that to me?”

He searches my face, his expression so enigmatic that it drives me insane. He isn’t someone you can glance at and know what they’re thinking. I envy that mystery, find myself wishing to unravel it to discover all there is to know.

But then, that has always been my problem. I’m not controlled enough to leave well enough alone.

Before Grant, I was Poor Little Adeline, the girl who always ran in the wrong direction, who never made decisions that were good for her.

I was wild then.

And maybe the mistake I made with this man in the cemetery was a momentary backlash against how Grant continues to tame me. A step backward that needs to be corrected now.

Moving closer, Ari’s cheek brushes mine as he lowers his voice and whispers against my ear. “Twice now, I’ve been able to sneak up on you. The cemetery and here. Why do you never see the person standing right in front of you?”

I back off, placing enough distance between us that he can slip inside and shut the door behind him. He leans against it and crosses his arms over his chest, the bulge of his biceps fighting against the sleeves.

Still in black on black, he’s lost the suit jacket, but wears the pants that do little to disguise his strong thighs, and a button up shirt that showcases the breadth of his shoulders and chest that taper down to a toned waist.

Mimicking his posture, I reach for the rage I was feeling earlier, scrabble for it because, in the end, this man threatens the balance in my life. He threatens everything I’ve fought to achieve.

“Whatever. You’re the one who keeps sneaking up on me. If anything, that makes you a stalker and has no bearing on what I’m paying attention to or not.”

His lips curl, but beyond that he doesn’t react.

“Let’s get to the point of why we’re here. I want you gone. What happened between us won’t happen again, so I’d appreciate you leaving both Grant and me alone.”

“So eager,” he teases, the tone of his voice a sexual pulse blended with sensual cruelty. “But then, I think you’ve always been that way, even if you’re trying to hide it now.”

“You know nothing about me.”

Another twitch of a set of lips that promise exquisite pain.

“I know you’re allowing your husband to treat you like a dog. How often does he snap his fingers in your face, Adeline? Do you fetch his newspaper and slippers each time he demands it?”

It was a slap to the face, a vein of truth that untangles inside me to hear another person mention it. I was already struggling with Grant’s treatment, but to hear Ari point it out only drives the simmering doubt inside me to a boil.

“I would have thought you’d be stronger than to allow a man to dictate what you do.”

My eyes meet his, wide and defiant. “It’s none of your damn business. How do I get rid of you?”

“You don’t,” he answers without a second’s hesitation, his arms uncrossing as he slips his hands into his pockets.

“Then why are we here?”

An intractable mask in place, he answers, “Good question. Why are you here? I’m on pins and needles to find out.”

Frustration strangles me as I recall that he’d asked me the question before. I’d walked right into this mess, and all I could do was flail around, making it worse with every word spoken.

“I’m here because you said I had to meet with you since the game has changed.” Mocking his text with a bitter falsetto to my voice, I narrow my eyes when he grins.

Tilting his head, Ari is unaffected. It drives me insane how he can remain so calm no matter how I shove at him.

“I’ll help you out. You came running to me that day in the cemetery.”

Pushing away from the door, he takes slow steps toward me, each one emphasized by another reminder of what led to this moment.

“You kissed me first in the mausoleum.”

Another step.

“You bought a new phone to contact me this afternoon.”

Another step and his long-legged stride has devoured the distance between us.

“And you are the one who keeps lying to both of us. I’m only here because it’s what you want. Even if you won’t admit it.”

“You don’t know me,” I argue, though the sound of it is weak, even to me.

He leans in, his bent finger coming up to my chin to tilt my face as hot breath caresses my neck.

“I think I do know you. And what I know is that you are hiding something. A lot of things, really, but let’s start with the obvious. Why do you keep a residence separate from your husband’s, Adeline? If you’re so in love and happy that you truly see a future with the boastful fuck you’ve married, then why haven’t you sold this place?”

It takes effort to swallow, my entire body vibrating like a live wire to be so close to him. His voice is an echo of truth inside me, as if he has the ability to see past the curtain no other person in my life has bothered to pull aside.

I only just met him, but somehow, Ari has ripped out the lies I tell myself, only to shove them so far down my throat I choke on them.

A finger softly brushing my jaw, he traps me against the counter, one hand planted on the edge by my hip, the other holding my face next to his.

When he whispers, it sets my body on fire, calls to me in ways I never thought possible. He reminds me of the diaphanous shadow I’ve always reached for in sleep, the silent witness to my pain, my heartache, my every secret that is buried beneath the suffocating mask I’ve worn.

“You’re trembling. Care to tell me why that is, or will you continue being dishonest?”

His hand moves to my waist, and I realize I have no defenses against him. Nobody, not even my husband, makes me feel this way.

With Ari, I’m no longer trapped outside of time, my body shivering and cold. I’m blazing instead, an inferno of longing and lust, of fantasies and forbidden pleasures.

I’m everything I was seeking when I was younger, the hollow parts filled in so thoroughly that I shiver against the feeling of being whole.

And that’s what frightens me the most: I’m so used to feeling empty that I don’t know how to fight against a man that somehow fits inside me like the second half of my soul.

Even if he’s the worst thing for me.

Even if he threatens the stability I’d found in someone else.

How is it possible that I’ve just met him, yet he knows me better than the man I married?

Ari doesn’t wait for my answer before running his mouth along the line of my jaw, his scent seducing me, his heat enrapturing me, his spell so tightly woven that I’m helpless against it.

I came here with the belief I was saving my marriage.

And I know I’ll leave here with another heavy weight of guilt burdening my shoulders.

But there’s no question he’s right to keep asking me why I’m here.

For him.

For this.

To feel complete for once, even when I don’t understand how or why we fit together.

I don’t know him.

He’s a practical stranger.

And yet I feel like I’ve belonged to him since the day I took my first breath.

His mouth claims mine in the next second, a kiss so violent our tongues tangle together with consuming desperation. It’s a punishing kiss, a fight, one I’m losing as his teeth nip at my lip and his tongue tastes the sting.

Ari’s hands move to my waist, and as if I weigh nothing, he lifts me to the counter, his body coming between my legs, his hands moving to my thighs to slide the skirt of my dress up to my hips.

His thumb brushes the edge of my panties, and a jolt shoots through me, like lightning cutting through a midnight sky, like a razor slicing me open to reveal all the secrets I hide.

I can’t think. I can only feel. He’s a demon consuming me, darkness swallowing me whole.

He reminds me of what I’ve never had but always needed. That piece of me I’ve been seeking for so long.

And it’s wrong, so wrong to enjoy another man’s hands on me, so wrong to want him while hating what he does.

But still, I’m struggling to breathe as his hands explore me, my head falling back as he slides the tip of his tongue down my neck, and when he bites at the soft spot of my shoulder that forces a moan up my throat, he slips my panties aside to discover how wet I am.

Embarrassingly so, a masculine sound of approval vibrating in his chest, a wicked grin against my skin that tells me he knows what my body wants.

My hands slide into the black silk of his hair, and I’m pulling him against me while his fingers tease and taunt, while he stretches my inner muscles before rubbing his thumb over my clit.

I’m lost. Utterly and completely. I’m dirty because I shouldn’t be doing this with him. I’m filthy because I’m actually enjoying how wrong this is.

Ari chuckles as my legs fall farther apart, my body like clay that he shapes into what he wants. Cruel mouth against my ear, he breathes out as his fingers thrust inside me, his words shredding every lie I’ve let fall from my lips.

“Tell me you don’t want me now. I dare you, Adeline. Try to convince me you don’t want my fingers inside you, that you don’t want me to shove you down so I can take the first taste of this greedy little cunt.”

My eyes close, tears stinging the back of my lids because I can’t deny he’s right. His dirty words are as cruel as his fingers and mouth. They do nothing but turn me on. Ignite every nerve inside me. Soften my bones until I’m malleable to his will.

He’s overpowering me.

And it’s the first time I’ve ever known a man to have that ability.

Ari is vicious when it comes to taking what he wants, and I give into it so easily that my head spins.

When I don’t answer, he laughs again, the sound haunting and sharp. “Sometimes I think I know you better than you know yourself.”

His hands move to the back of my thighs, and he pulls my legs up. A startled cry shoots up my throat to fall back against the countertop, his body moving as he pulls my panties from my legs to toss aside, hooks my knees over his shoulders and covers my pussy with his mouth.

That wicked tongue laps at my arousal, dipping inside me to circle the opening. And every time I try to move against him, to take control of the aggravatingly slow pace he uses to take what he wants, his hands squeeze the cheeks of my ass, holding me in place, forcing me to submit to his cruel enjoyment of me.

But I need more, need him to go faster, my hips bucking against his tongue to chase the orgasm building inside me.

Ari slaps his hand on my ass, his lips moving against my skin when he says, “So eager, but I haven’t told you that you’re allowed to ride me yet. Not until I’m done playing.”

A frustrated growl shakes my chest, and he laughs against my skin, the vibration only pushing me more toward the release I need. His thumb moves to sink inside me as he nips at my clit and circles it with his tongue. Trapping the swollen nub between his lips, he sucks, his thumb teasing my opening as slowly as his mouth moves.

This was sensual torture, my fingers gripping the edge of the counter so tight that it digs into my skin.

But then his hands grip my ass again, that deep voice gritty when he gives me permission to take what I want.

“Ride my face, beautiful. Use my tongue to get yourself off.”

My hips move of their own volition, and it doesn’t take much, not when I open my eyes and look down my body to see his grey stare watching me with complete fascination.

Ari has conquered me, and he is savoring the view of a woman who can’t stop.

The orgasm hits and my head falls back, my fingers gripping tighter over the counter’s edge, my chest arching as he slides a hand up my stomach and over my ribs to take possession of my breast.

Fingers of staggering strength, he adds pain to the pleasure, his punishing grip creating an electric line of sensation between my breast and between my legs.

I’m shaking as stars burst behind my eyes, as the rush of blood through my body becomes white noise inside my head. My body is shattering apart and stitching back together again, sounds crawling up my throat that I’m not sure I’ve ever made before.

And when the aftershocks settle and I’m released from the storm of this man’s pleasure, Ari wraps his hand in the front of my dress, drags me up, locks his other hand behind my head and kisses me with such passion that it steals my breath, his mouth slick against mine from the orgasm he’d forced through me.

Pulling away, he presses his forehead to mine, his fingers tangling in my hair as our stares lock.

“Did you taste that?” he asks, temptation swirling behind eyes of the lightest grey.

Chest heaving with the struggle for air, I ask, “Taste what?”

His lips curl, not into a smile. Not him. But enough to let me know he’s just won this game. “How sweetly you surrender.”

My eyes clench shut and open again as he relaxes his hold on my dress, his fingers sliding down a lock of my hair to pull it over my shoulder. Studying the ends, he shakes his head.

“You’re gorgeous regardless, but I’m not a fan of the new length.” His eyes lift to mine. “Was the cut something you chose, or another demand by your husband?”

The comment stabs through me, anger flaring through my body to extinguish every lingering effect of the orgasm.

He grins as if that was his intent, to stab, to twist the knife as a reminder of why he is here.

Stepping away from me, his wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and straightens his sleeve cuffs, platinum cufflinks glimmering beneath the kitchen light.

“I hate to cut this short, but I have plans tonight, and they don’t include being here. I only showed up because it was surprising that you took no time to reach out.”

He crosses the room to the door, his hand gripping the handle as he turns to look at me.

“Be sure to send me the information for dinner tomorrow night. I’m looking forward to it.”

Hands fisting, I narrow my eyes on him, my body so tense I might snap. “You still plan on investing in my husband’s company?”

Ari sighs, tilts his head. “I plan on hanging around until I get what I want.”

But he just got what he wanted. Maybe not fully, but I hadn’t been the one to stop him. How fucking dare he keep this shit up?

“What do you fucking want?” I seethe.

Another of those enigmatic grins as he opens the door to step into the night.

“For you to stop lying.”

Fear slams into me, a line of ice chasing down my spine. “You want me to tell Grant I cheated on him, don’t you?”

He shakes his head, the evocative gleam of his hair so black that he blends with the shadows around him. All except those eyes. Ari can’t hide those. They glimmer like silver beneath the light that pours through the door.

“I don’t give a damn about what Grant knows.”

“Then what am I lying about?”

He stares at me for a few silent seconds.

“Everything else,” he finally answers before shutting the door and walking off to let the shadows consume him.

The guilt of what I just did sinks in, my thoughts becoming clearer now that his beguiling presence is gone. Jumping off the counter, I run to the door to chase him down and scream, but he’s gone by the time I reach it, nothing but darkness stretching into the expanse.

Tears prick my eyes, both angry and sad, my shoulders withering with defeat because I know he has me cornered.

Giving into the sobs that bubble up my throat, I slide to the ground and press my head against the cool glass of the door.

I’m ruined.

Torn apart.

And I know that no matter what I do, Ari will stay one step ahead of me.

But how can he know I’m lying about anything?

And why does the accusation hurt so fucking much?

Ari

I have to admit it was surprising when Adeline’s first text came through. I’d expected her to tough out the situation for longer than a few hours, for her to pretend she wasn’t affected even if the truth of it was written all over her face.

Not recognizing the number, I read the message and laughed to realize I’d rattled her at lunch. For a woman who is so good at hiding herself from the people around her, she has no suitable disguises when it comes to me. Everything she says and does speaks to what she’s thinking inside that messed up little head of hers.

Granted, it isn’t fair. I’ve been watching her for so long that I can tell you what she’ll do before she does it, at least I thought I could.

The burner phone was surprising, and it rattled me enough that I’d agreed to meet her at her old house, which, while enjoyable, was not something I’d intended to do this early.

It had taken strength to walk away from her. To step into shadows I knew could hide me and watch her crumble by that door.

Memories came back to me of another time I’d seen her cry like that, the first time I’d let myself near her when she was sleepwalking.

It hurt to see it. I can’t deny that. The last thing I want to do is cause her pain, but sometimes that’s what’s necessary when you’re stumbling through life and need somebody else to knock you back on course.

Adeline isn’t just stumbling, she’s falling, the hole she’s digging for herself swallowing every piece of her that makes her truly unique.

She’s exchanged truth for pleasantries.

Strength for weakness.

A colorful, vibrant soul for boring beige.

I can’t feel bad for hurting her because that’s what the universe does to a person when they’ve forgotten their path.

Only I’m not the universe, I’m just a man obsessed, a person who knows and loves her for all the crazy and charming behaviors her husband is intent to change.

A fucking Stepford wife, that’s what Grant wants, and I won’t let him take someone so unique just to bleed the life out of her until there’s nothing left but a dried out husk of who she once was.

Which is why I’m standing in front of a mirror right now, buckling a belt over my slate grey slacks, my black shirt still unbuttoned where it hangs over my tense shoulders.

The elevator to my penthouse dings, and I look up to see Lincoln stroll in, brown eyes that miss nothing locking to my face, suspicion arching his brow.

“A little fancy for date night with me, don’t you think?”

My jaw ticks. “I sent you a text cancelling.”

He leans a shoulder against the wall and watches while I button my shirt.

“You always send me a text cancelling, and I always show up to drag you out anyway. By the look of it, you have other plans.”

My hands stop, and I snap my eyes to him. “Didn’t I take your key to my place last time you were here?”

He grins. “You did, but I had copies made.”

Cursing under my breath, I finish buttoning my shirt and tuck it in, not bothering to look at Lincoln when I answer, “I have a dinner party to attend.”

“You don’t do dinner parties. Last I checked, you avoid all people unless they’re paying you money to kill someone, or they’re the person you’re killing.”

A pause, the silence filled with the accusation I know is coming.

“Fuck. You’re messing around with Adeline again, aren’t you?”

I won’t meet his stare. Instead, I turn around and grab my jacket from the back of the couch to slip it on.

“She needs a wake up call. I’m simply the person giving it to her.”

Lincoln steps up to me, his height equaling mine.

“Dinner party where?”

“Her house.”

Our eyes lock for several seconds before he laughs and shakes his head.

“You sly son of a bitch. I knew it wouldn’t last. That girl has been all you think about since the minute you first saw her, and now you’re weaseling your way in again. It’s driving you nuts you can’t keep close tabs.”

A roll of my eyes.

“Well, of fucking course. You think I actually want to eat dinner there? But, how else am I supposed to figure out their security system if I can’t get inside the house? Suffering through Grant’s bullshit for a few hours is worth what I get out of it.”

Another laugh as he scrubs a hand down his face. “Why not just kill him and get it over with?”

Grabbing my keys and phone from the side table, I stalk past him, the sides of my jacket flying out with the motion. Lincoln stays right on my feet as we step into the elevator, and I smash my finger against the button for the underground garage.

“I’ve killed enough people in Adeline’s life.”

“Four, if I’m right about the body count.”

Shooting him a look, I don’t answer. I’ve never admitted to any of the bodies I’ve racked up over the years because of her, but Lincoln isn’t a stupid man. When problems suddenly vanish around me, there’s a reason.

The elevator drops at a speed that catapults a person’s stomach into their throat, the silence in the car awkward because I know Lincoln is judging me. Not that I give a fuck about his opinion, but still, he’s thinking everything I should be thinking about myself.

Annoyed, I turn to him. “Just come out and say it.”

Brown eyes assessing, he doesn’t react to the aggravated snap in my voice.

“What do you plan to do with her? Break up her marriage? Then what? It’s not like you can give her a normal life. You kill for a living. How will you explain where you are for days at a time when you’re on a job? What happens to her if you fuck up one day and get caught?”

“I don’t fuck up.”

“There’s always a risk. You know it and I know it. What happens to Adeline if you misstep?”

“I won’t.”

We reach the garage, and the elevator doors part with a ding. I move to walk out, but Lincoln steps in my path, his wide shoulders filling the doorway.

“You have no conscience, Ari. You can’t have one and do the job you do. But, when it comes to this girl, for some fucking reason you do, and you feel responsible.”

He’s riding my last nerve, and my finger twitches in search of a trigger. Not that I would shoot to kill Lincoln. Maybe just put a bullet in his foot to distract him enough so I can shove past him through the door.

“Your point?”

“Will your conscience allow you to hide the fact that you were the person who killed her dad? How will you live in happy bliss with that hanging over you for the rest of your life? Every time she cries about him, when she grieves on his birthday, on Father’s Day, on the anniversary of his death, how the fuck will you sit there and hold her knowing you caused that? And we both know she’ll grieve. We’ve watched her for seven years.”

I thought it wise not to mention that I’d just taken advantage of her grief to approach her at the cemetery. I also thought it best to leave out that I lied and said I had a friend who offed himself like her dad.

Do I have a conscience when it comes to Adeline? I like to think I do. I care what happens to her. I’m just not willing to spend too much time thinking about whether stealing her from Grant would be because it’s what’s best for her, or because it’s what I want for myself.

I’m also not willing to consider if the lies I’m telling are beyond the pale. A man with a conscience wouldn’t do what I’m doing to her. Wouldn’t use her pain to get what he wants.

But she’s miserable, and Grant treats her like a dog. Regardless of where she ends up, it’s better he isn’t in the picture.

The questionable morality of what I do to accomplish that can’t be a factor.

I purse my lips, meeting his stare. “Are you done with your lecture or do I need to physically move you away from the door?”

“Please,” he scoffs, “as if you could.”

Lincoln moves anyway and tails me to the car, his quiet presence not helping matters.

“Think about it, Ari,” he says as I hit the key fob and open the door to my car. “Try to imagine what her reaction will be when she first steps foot into your penthouse and sees it’s covered with the proof you’ve been watching her for years. How the hell will you explain that?”

All valid points, but ones I’m not willing to waste too much time on in the present moment. “Are you finished?”

“No. How did you get an invite to their house in the first place?”

Smiling at that, I slip into the driver’s seat and let my head fall against the headrest.

“Steven Turner decided to help me out by putting in a call to Grant to rave about how badly he wants to pull me in as an investor. Grant, being the dick he is, couldn’t handle being the odd man out. He gave me a call a few hours later.”

Lincoln taps his fingers against the top of the car. “Why would Steven do that? You’ve done several jobs for him, yes, but he has no reason to care about what’s going on with your personal life.”

My smile widens. “I may have told him there is a hit on Grant, and I needed access.”

Lincoln curses under his breath as he steps away. “You’ve lost it, Ari. I hope you know that.”

Reaching out to grab the door, I meet his stare.

“I lost it a long time ago. The only thing I’m doing now is accepting what I’ve always known.”

“And what’s that?”

“That Adeline belongs to me. And I’m not willing to share her anymore.”

Slamming the door, I start the car and gun the engine to head out of the garage. It takes me twenty minutes to reach Adeline’s house and park in front of their large front porch.

Grant opens the door as I’m ascending the steps, a professional grin in place.

“I’m glad you found the place. I’ve heard that GPS systems tend to screw up the directions.”

I didn’t need a GPS, but I keep that to myself.

So far, I’ve discovered his gated community lacks proper security. While the front has a small station with a guard attendant, the back entrance only has a gate. All one has to do is wait for a resident to pull through and tail him into the neighborhood.

Not that I plan on physically stalking the house. It won’t be needed if I can figure out what kind of electronic surveillance he has. But still, any information is good to know.

Our palms lock, and he attempts a firmer grip than he gave me at lunch. I’m not sure if he’s trying to play me at my own game or what, but I grin and tighten my own, this battle of who has the bigger dick ending when his callous free, delicate businessman hand crunches beneath a grip that has strangled men to death.

Grant winces and pulls away, a fake laugh falling from his lips as he leads me inside the house.

“Welcome to my home. I’m sure it’s not as flashy as someone of your caliber is accustomed to, but I’m a humble man.”

Is this guy fucking kidding me?

The home is 30,000 square feet, boasts three floors, a billiards room, an in-home movie theater, a wine cellar, its own tennis court, private helipad and three pools, one of which is inside and situated next to a fully stocked gym. And that’s not all the features.

I’d found and studied the floor plan off the property appraiser website, then located old photos from when the property was last up for sale. I also knew Grant had spent three million in updates and renovations since purchasing the home, every one of them documented by permits pulled by his construction company which I plucked from city records.

But I’m not obsessed, or anything. Just well prepared. And thorough.

“It’s impressive,” I comment while wondering how so much money could be spent on a home this cold. Rather than walking into a place that looks lived in, I feel like I’m stepping onto the page of a design magazine, if they have those for places that are so white they’re clinical.

White marble stretches the floors, topped by beige area rugs with white patterns. The carpet rolling up the winding staircase is white, the furniture, the walls, the fucking drapes and architectural ceilings – all white.

You couldn’t so much as breathe in this place without leaving a stain, which makes me oddly happy that I neglected to wipe my feet before we walked in.

Not that Grant would be scrubbing the tracks, if I left any.

Our voices echo in the large space, and I’m led through two sets of doors to a sitting room where Adeline sits primly on a love seat, her dark hair and blue dress a splash of color against the room.

Unfortunately, the smile she gives me is the fake one, and I clench my teeth in response to it. Without doubt, she’s angry, and I attempt to remind myself of that fact, but I hate the fake smile unless she’s giving it to someone else.

She’s never given it to me before, not until I started messing with her life. Knowing she’ll give me the real one again eventually, I stand in place by Grant while she pushes to her feet.

“Mr. Nash,” she says with a voice so cold it freezes the blood in my veins, “it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

I accept her hand when she reaches out to me, my eyes trapping hers as my thumb gently strokes her skin. “Call me Harrison, please.”

Or Ari...in that way it sounds like a prayer when an orgasm tears your apart...

Adeline visibly shivers as if she can hear the thought, but snatches her hand away. “Harrison. Of course.”

Grant touches my shoulder, his deep voice driving needles into my skin. “Adeline, I think you’ve forgotten to offer Harrison a drink.”

He looks to me, feigned apology in his eyes.

“You’ll have to forgive her. Dinner was supposed to be ready for when you arrived, but Adeline wasn’t specific with the caterers. We’ll have to wait a half hour. And now she’s apparently forgotten to offer refreshments while we wait.”

His eyes snap to Adeline, mouth thinning as if silently warning her to mind herself in some trained behavior.

It makes me angry, but I decide to expose the asshole a touch more. “It’s so difficult to find good help these days,” I say matter of factly.

Grant nods and laughs. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

Sliding my gaze to Adeline, I search her expression for any sign she’s about to tell this asshole where he can stick his opinion. Finding none, the disappointment covers me like a shroud.

Not even a year married to this man and she’s a shell of who she’d once been. A ghost, really. And it only pisses me off more. I decide to keep poking the bear. Continue exposing the asshole for who he is, peeling him away layer after layer until the girl I remember can’t take it anymore.

Will it be hell on her? Yes.

But is it necessary? Also yes.

“What would you like to drink, Harrison?”

Normally I’m a scotch man, but rather than asking for it, I reach for a memory. “Vodka and cranberry, if you have it.”

It’s Adeline’s favorite drink, one I’d watched her consume far too many times in the clubs she frequented when she was younger. I would most likely have to choke it down, but I’m not here for a pleasant night out. I’m here to remind her of who she once was.

Grant, recovering from hearing the odd choice, snaps his fingers at Adeline when she doesn’t immediately spring to action.

She’s too busy staring at me, trying to figure out how its possible we’re so much alike, meanwhile I’m deciding how to accidentally break Grant’s hand if he snaps at her one more time.

We’re also having a silent conversation, one where she’s calling me an asshole instead of the man snapping his fingers at her. I intend to turn that aggression on its head.

“We should take a seat while Adeline prepares the drinks. Cognac for me.”

Sliding a hand into my pocket, I turn to follow Grant to a small seating area near a large stone fireplace. Flames roll languidly over the logs, not enough to heat the place, but more a nice touch of ambiance in a house with no soul.

He launches into another long-winded bid to secure my investment, and I make a concerted effort not to stare at Adeline while drowning him out.

Instead, I study the room, noting the lack of personal touches: art, photographs, anything that reveals Adeline had a hand in decorating the space. There’s nothing, her vibrant, chaotic style completely absent.

It’s depressing as hell, and I think back to her bedroom in her former house, the hours I’d spent exploring everything there was to know about her when she wasn’t home.

There’s no better way to describe it than eclectic. Take every culture, every style, every time period and shove it all together into a ticking bomb, then let it explode out onto the walls - that was Adeline’s room.

The mix of colors was pure chaos, but somehow worked with the patterned silk tapestries she had covering one wall, the Native American dreamcatchers next to impressionist statues and abstract paintings. Add to that the photographs she’d printed and hung with clothespins and string, the insanity of the dreamscape images she’d captured and manipulated.

There wasn’t anything in her space that made sense, and yet it was the lack of sense that made it brilliant.

Compared to this place, her bedroom had a frenetic pulse that made you want to touch, to examine, to study while recognizing the hint it gave into the head of the woman who’d tossed it all together.

There was warmth in Adeline once that is utterly lacking now.

My jaw ticks to realize it, my hand extending to accept the drink Adeline hands me with a scowl adorning her pretty face.

“Thank you.”

She nods and hands Grant his drink before taking a seat close enough to be available to jump when something is demanded of her, but far enough to be excluded from the conversation.

I won’t allow it.

“You know,” I say, cutting into whatever Grant was rambling on about, “I notice you don’t have much art in this room. It’s a shame, really. I think some photographs would be a nice touch with the design you already have in place. A splash of color, you know?”

Grant sits with his jaw slack while Adeline tosses a not so well hidden sneer in my direction.

Shaking himself of his shock, Grant smiles. “Are you a photographer, Harrison?”

“Me? No. But I do collect it. I’m impressed by people who are able to show the world what they see through the images they capture.”

A light goes off in his head, one I’d planted, although he’s too stupid to realize it. “My wife happens to be a photographer.”

“Really?” I turn to her. “Have you done any gallery shows recently?”

Blue eyes meet mine with enough hot anger behind them to melt a person to the ground.

“No,” she says simply.

“Actually...”

My gaze darts to Grant.

“Adeline did do a show before we got married. It was very successful from what I remember. The prints sold out within the first hour.”

I know they did because I bought them.

Eyes back to Adeline. “Which gallery? I might be familiar.”

Her lips move to answer, but Grant’s annoying voice interrupts. The asshole can’t stand not being the center of attention.

“It was the Weeping Willow, wasn’t it? A smaller place downtown. I believe Rebecca Oliver owns it.”

I take a sip of my drink and resist wincing at the bitter, yet sweet, flavor.

Eyes locked on Adeline, I ask, “Do you have any work you can show me? I’d love to see it.”

Her eyes flick to Grant to see if he’ll allow her to talk for once. When he manages to keep his big mouth shut, she brushes her hair over a shoulder and explains, “No. I haven’t used my camera in a while. I’m busy with other things.”

Like dinner parties and following orders.

I won’t let that continue.

Gaze sliding to Grant, my mouth tugs into a thin line of disappointment. “That’s too bad. I would have been so impressed to see her work.”

That’s the only hint Grant needs to believe he’s sinking a hook in me when really it’s the opposite.

“Rebecca offered Adeline another show if she ever wanted it.” His head turns to Adeline. “Why don’t you give her a call and set that up?”

Quiet for a few seconds, Adeline clears her throat. “I’m not sure I have time. The company event is coming up, and I need to see to the details-“

“Nonsense,” he dismisses, “Gloria can handle the rest of it. Do you think you can have a show ready within the next month?”

I can feel Adeline’s gaze stabbing me in the back, every hit coming with expert precision. Had it been actual knives, she would have taken out every vital organ I have.

Eyes back to her. “You wouldn’t happen to have a macabre taste, would you? It’s my favorite.”

“Her stuff was a little strange from what I remember.”

Brilliant is the word for it. Grant can fuck off.

Still pinning Adeline with my stare, I fire back with my own knives. “Are you familiar with the Hidden Lake Cemetery nearby? There’s a mausoleum there that would be a beautiful setting for anything you do.”

Adeline’s gaze snaps to her husband and back to me, heat coloring her cheeks. I know what she’s remembering, and the comment had been intended just for that.

“Isn’t your father buried there?”

Turning to her husband, Adeline answers, “Yes, and I’m familiar with the mausoleum.”

Proud of himself for finding yet another way to reel me in, Grant boasts, “Well, then it’s settled. You’ll be extremely impressed with Adeline’s work. I can’t wait for you to see it.”

Yes. That’s settled. But I’m still not done.

“What is this about a company event?”

Grant’s eyes widen, he takes a sip of his drink and swallows. “I’m surprised I’ve forgotten to mention it...”

Off he goes again on one of his long rants about how wonderful the formal event will be, how anybody who’s anybody will be there, and how amazing he is for all his wife’s hard work. Obviously, I’m invited because he would just love for me to see how much influence he can throw around.

No, he doesn’t say that specifically, but the hint is there, and I gladly accept the invitation. I intend to insert myself into the picture as often as possible, and Grant is the perfect opening for me to do so.

The man is a tool, and it’s a simple feat to unsnap the leash he has attached to Adeline’s neck to use on him.

He’s too arrogant to see it, but judging by Adeline’s expression, she knows exactly what I’m doing.

Good. When the time comes that she opens her fucking eyes to see this process was necessary in order to free her of this sham for a life, she’ll appreciate me more. Maybe even forgive me.

Or maybe not.

A half hour passes and Adeline announces dinner is ready. Happy for the interruption, I stand from my seat and follow them into the dining room.

Scanning the home as we pass through it, I take note of the cameras throughout, my lips kicking into a grin because Grant may have spent a pretty penny renovating the place, but he was cheap as fuck when it came to security.

It will be too easy to hack into the home’s system, and I’m chomping at the bit to get back to my place to do just that.

Unfortunately, before I can do so, I have to sit through another hour at least of Grant’s bragging.

It’s worth it, though.

It has to be.

For Adeline, I’d do just about anything, even kill this loudmouthed fuck if it ever comes to it.

Adeline

I’m going to kill him.

I’m not sure how, or when, or even if it’s possible, but in my head, Ari is as good as a dead man.

After manipulating Grant into practically demanding I pick up my camera and somehow manage a show worthy set within a month, Ari sat at our dining room table for over an hour continuing with his games.

His comments and remarks were all stabs at my marriage. When he wasn’t secretly reminding me of the two times I’d betrayed my husband, he was egging Grant on, making comments that highlighted and encouraged the way my husband treats me.

It was a relief when he finally left, but even that was short lived. Unable to close the deal again, Grant was in a foul mood, and he’d taken it out on me until we finally went to bed.

Needless to say, the night didn’t pass peacefully.

No. I was woken up to be screamed at for fighting again. For screaming. For crying.

Grant was back to demanding I take the medicine, his threats delivered to me with little room for misinterpretation before he left for work in the morning.

I’m not going to take them. I don’t care what he says. Everything was fine until Ari came back into the picture, and it will be fine again when I finally force him out. I just have to figure out how to accomplish it.

Not that I want him out entirely.

And that’s the part that scares me most.

Ari has an undeniable effect on me when he’s around, one I can’t pretend not to feel, even if I wish I didn’t. I find myself taking a little extra time doing my hair and makeup, feel an extra kick to the speed of my pulse when I know I’ll see him.

But that’s nothing compared to the hyper-drive of my heart when he finally walks into view, the way my eyes study him, as if dedicating every detail to memory, the way I feel full when our eyes meet, and I know he can somehow hear everything I’m thinking.

It’s disconcerting how alike we are. I’m not sure he knows how the tiny details he tells about himself remind me of the girl I’d once been. Things as insignificant as his choice in what to drink mimicking the years I spent careening out of control until Grant locked me down and demanded I change.

What type of man drinks vodka and cranberry? That should have been my question. But instead all I could think was he’s just like me.

Still, he’s the devil and he’s ruining my marriage. He knows it, too, if the wicked grins he flashes me says anything about it.

Ari is somehow breaking down and peeling away every illusion I’ve built to convince myself that Grant and I have a good marriage.

It has to end. I’m too scared to see what will happen if I walk away from my husband. Too terrified that I’ll end up back in a place where I’m looking for something I’ll never find.

Not that Grant is that something. He’s simply what I settled for when it became clear that the fantasies I’d constructed between the curtain of consciousness and sleep were just that:

Fantasies.

Of something I would never find.

Of a life I would never know.

Maybe that’s what it means to grow up. You have to let go of idealism and settle for the crushing defeat of what’s real, what’s available, what’s right in front of your face because longing for the rest of it will only drive you mad in the end.

I’m stuck in place again. In a life that makes little sense to me. And I can’t shake the feeling that Ari could be the more I’ve always looked for. The magic. The shadow that lingers when sleep finds me.

But then, that’s the thinking of Poor Little Adeline, the girl I’d once been and not the woman I’m becoming.

Regardless of the problems complicating my life, there is still a silver lining. I have a full month ahead of me to do what I love.

First thing this morning, I contacted Rebecca. She was thrilled to hear I’m planning a new set. She tossed me on the schedule immediately while asking me what theme I’ll choose.

At the time, I wasn’t sure, but now that I’ve thought about it, I know exactly what I want to do. It will take hiring a model, and I hope I can pull it off. The time limitations suck and I’m not exactly in practice, but I will try.

The first thing I need to do is return to the mausoleum to determine how exactly I’ll set up the shots. And the other backdrop will be my house. Even empty, it’s the perfect scene for the ideas I have in mind.

Grant will hate the series. Hell, he won’t understand it. But Ari...my lips curl at the thought of him understanding exactly what I’m saying.

Too bad for him he won’t be able to do anything about it.

The thought makes me chuckle as I grab my camera from the heavy case and pack it into a smaller, backpack style one. I’m walking out of my closet when an idea comes to me, a thread of rebellion, a step backward to remember who I was before Grant.

Grinning, I walk back in and push up on tiptoes to grab a box on top. Flipping the lid off, I grab my old iPod, a collection of songs I’d put together over six years spent out of control.

Deciding to charge it on the drive to the cemetery, I return the box to the top shelf and walk through the large house with my mind focused on the task at hand. I stayed in that zone the entire drive over, and I’m still there as I step foot into the mausoleum.

It’s impossible to ignore the memory of the last time I was here. A shudder rolls through me, followed by sorrow. I feel empty again and I don’t want to think about the reason for it.

The answer is too confusing.

Too wrong.

So dangerous and unreliable that I’m only hurting myself to give it thought.

I focus on my project instead, the mausoleum lighting up with each flash, the sound of the shutter button relaxing me as I document every square inch of the front room to study later and determine exactly how I want to portray the scene and how to create the best lighting.

Pausing for a brief second, I pop in my earbuds and hit the button to start a playlist it feels like I haven’t heard in years. Immediately, the seductive notes of Portishead’s Sour Times hits me, the corners of my mouth tugging up and my body itching to move. I find I’m in a zone within seconds, moving faster, inspiration slapping me with every shot.

It takes me a few minutes to finish the first room and work through the second, Puscifer’s Potions playing in my ears when I round the corner to the back and stop dead in my tracks.

I’m not shocked to find Ari here. The truth is, I knew he’d continue harassing me. That he’d find a way to stay in view for whatever reason he has. And, if I have to be honest, I think somewhere deep down, I was hoping he would do this. Not that I can admit it aloud. Doing so would feel like surrendering.

The music keeps pumping in my ears, the singer’s voice haunting me as I take a quiet step back to keep from drawing attention.

This is the first time I’ve had a chance to study him when he doesn’t know I’m watching, a momentary pause when I can look my fill, allow my thoughts to catch up to the impact of his presence.

Ari is sitting on the same stone crypt where he’d touched me for the first time. Dressed casually in a black t-shirt and dark jeans, the sleeves hugging his biceps, struggling against the chiseled bulge, Ari leans forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped where they meet between his spread legs, his head angled up so that I can follow the line of his throat, the knot of his Adam’s Apple a temptation I want to lick and bite.

He truly is beautiful, but in a sad way that’s difficult to interpret. And although I’d never define him as tragic - he’s far too powerful for that - I still see fractures splintering inside him. Mistakes. Flaws. Hollow crevices that speak of dark thoughts and the type of aching cold that sinks inside the bones until nothing can warm you again.

It makes him more captivating to look at, something I can’t quite name that whispers against the ear and strokes dangerous fingers against your nape, entwines in your hair with the decadent promise of pleasure...and pain.

Beyond a muscular body that moves like liquid, Ari has a face that should be impossible. No person has such symmetry to their features. Yet he has a bone structure that makes me want to run my fingers down it, skin that is warm despite how cold he looks.

He’s a shadow within the space, his hair and dark clothes helping him blend into the somber setting. I can’t see his eyes because his face is turned away, but I know they’ll flash silver beneath the scant light, that hypnotic gaze with the ability to see everything.

He’s not smiling, because he never does. I find myself wondering what that face would look like if he lost control, how his cruel mouth would curve into a blinding smile if he ever experienced the radiance of pure joy.

I bet he’d be beyond beautiful then. So damn mesmerizing that I would never want to look away. In a way, I’m almost relieved he never smiles. Seeing it would undoubtedly trap me even more than I already am.

Slowly, I reach to stop the music and pull out my earbuds, allowing the cords to hang over my shoulders. And while he’s lost in thought in a moment that’s so utterly human, I lift my camera for a candid shot. It’s a picture I want to keep, to study, an urge I can’t control to capture this still frame as proof that there is a person hidden behind the impenetrable walls he’s built.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

My finger hovers over the shutter button, my breath held as his deep voice echoes through the stygian space. He never turns to look at me, never moves.

“How did you know?”

Only the corner of his mouth curls in a tease of a grin. “I always know what’s going on around me. Unlike some people.”

I go to press the button in an act of rebellion, but he looks down at his clasped hands, a lock of midnight black hair falling over his forehead.

“I’m not kidding. What would Grant say if he sees the photo and wonders why you were alone with me to take it? You should be smarter about the things you do.”

A bark of laughter shakes my shoulders as I pull the camera from my face. “Grant would never see it. He couldn’t care less about my art. He’s only letting me do this to impress you.”

Silent for a few seconds, the tilt of his lips turns down into a scowl. “It’s sad that what you just admitted doesn’t bother you as much as it should.”

It’s a knife to the heart, his next words twisting the blade until there’s nothing left but pulp.

“How does it feel to be in a marriage where your husband has no appreciation for who you are?”

Anger rushes in to replace every good feeling I have about him. “Why are you here, Ari?”

Pulling his arms up, he grips his hands on the edge of the crypt. It only makes his biceps bulge more and spreads out the full breadth of his steel chest and strong shoulders. Ari moves with such lethal agility, long and languid, but I know if pushed the wrong way, that perfect body will become a weapon of such exquisite, heart-stopping violence.

Clenching my fingers into my palms, I fight the urge to walk over and explore his body with my fingers. To trace the ridges and valleys of his abdomen, to lift his shirt and drag the tip of my tongue across his skin.

Shaking that thought off, I blink my eyes to find him staring at me, an arrogant smirk adorning his face as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Adeline. It’s an invitation for me to take everything I want.”

I realize that even though he’s played my body into shattering apart twice, I’ve never touched him once.

Hating how husky my voice is, I point out the obvious. “You had the chance, but walked away instead.”

He chuckles at that, the sound empty of humor. “Maybe I’m trying not to destroy you.”

Stepping into the room, I lean back against another crypt, the short iron fence and burial plot of Samuel Rinehart between us.

“You have a high estimation of your skills in bed.”

He blinks, thick black lashes lining eyes of molten steel. “That’s not what I mean.”

An awkward silence falls, the tension stifling because rather than taking the opening and making some joke or dirty innuendo, Ari has responded with open honesty.

All I want is to round that fence and go to him, to wipe away the worry lines between his eyes, but I keep my distance because it’s safer for me this way.

It’s my turn to be honest.

“For some reason, I think you’re the type of man who would have as much concern for ripping out my throat as you would for crushing a bug. You don’t strike me as the type who cares who you destroy.”

“Normally, you’d be right.”

He jumps down from the crypt with the type of masculine grace that launches my heart into my throat. “But when it comes to you, you’re wrong.”

When he takes a few steps to walk off, panic grips me. I’m tired of the games he plays and the cryptic reasons he gives for playing them.

Before he can leave the room, I call out to him, my voice much stronger than it had been. “Why are you here, Ari? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

He stops, his hands tucked in his pockets and his face angled down. I study his profile as he takes a few seconds to answer. It sounds like a confession, something spoken more to himself than to me.

“You have no idea how badly I wish I knew the answer to that question.”

Ari leaves after saying it, disappearing into the shadows of the center room of the mausoleum, and I’m left leaning against a crypt wondering why he came here in the first place.

My instinct is to run after him, to demand answers, but I know it will be a wasted effort. He gives what he wants and won’t be pushed beyond that.

He begins the conversation where he wants and ends it where it wants, tossing out a few breadcrumbs while leaving nothing at the end of the trail you’ve followed.

Sighing, I bring my hands to the camera hanging from my neck and run my thumb over the shutter button.

At least I have this, I think. For now, anyway. I’m not willing to give it up.

With that thought, I place the earbuds back in my ears, start my playlist and get to work photographing the last room.

I know the perfect shots I need to tell my story, and I’m excited for the show, even if Ari will be the only person in the room who has any clue as to the photos’ meaning.

Ari

One thing is clear about the man Adeline married:

Grant Cabot, for all his posturing and lengthy rants about his status in the world, is nothing more than a pathetic human being who is as boring as he is insecure, and about as ruthless and terrifying as an earthworm.

Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem, except for the fact that he has an annoying habit of realizing his weaknesses, becoming enraged by them and then bringing them home to use Adeline as the target of his aggression.

I can’t stand men like that. Hate them, really. Want nothing more than to laugh while they choke on the blood bubbling up their throat after I’ve crushed their ribs in and made mincemeat of their organs.

Grant Cabot is not the type to fight fair, and for that reason, neither am I.

Hacking into his home security system was child’s play. After lying that my phone was acting up during the dinner I suffered through at his house, I’d asked for his Wi-Fi password.

Grant happily gave it to me, not realizing that he’d also given me access to all the cameras he had set through his house, one in each room, excluding the bathrooms, but including the guest bedrooms.

It made me wonder if he was as big a stalker as me, and did his guests know they were never truly alone in a house with pinhead monitoring devices throughout?

I can’t complain, though, because it gives me an unobstructed view into the private life of Adeline and her husband, a view that has only served to make me angrier with each passing day.

Adeline’s sleep issues are in full swing again, a point of contention between her and Grant that I’m sure isn’t helping matters.

Unfortunately, it’s a never-ending cycle of cause and effect. He comes home in a foul mood, she internalizes it and takes the verbal abuse, she fights and cries in her sleep, and his mood becomes worse.

It’s a powder keg waiting to explode, a ticking bomb that is difficult to watch without intervening.

But Adeline needs to remember how to throw a punch, needs to find the person she once was long ago and reclaim the spitfire attitude of a girl who once gave the finger to the world.

He hasn’t physically hurt her, though, so I keep my distance, only answering his calls every so often and giving noncommittal answers when he asks if I’m ready to invest yet. I’m sure that only makes the situation for Adeline worse, but my guilt for it is absent.

She doesn’t need a hero to swoop in and save her, she needs a villain who drags out the hero she has within herself.

I’m more than happy to oblige.

As for tonight, however, I have a formal event to attend, a few hours I’ll use to evaluate Adeline’s progress on her path back to who I know she is.

During the day, she works on her photos, both at the cemetery and her house, a model that looks surprisingly like me accompanying her. I only know that because I’ve pulled the hoodie from my closet, sneaking around to watch when I know she’ll be distracted and so aggravatingly oblivious of everything around her.

Letting her find me in the mausoleum had been a mistake. Not that I hadn’t intended it, just that it was a moment of weakness I shouldn’t have given into.

Keeping my distance is a battle within myself. The need I have to be near her a growing compulsion every day. I barely satisfy it by watching from a distance, and I keep myself in line with the promise that it won’t be forever.

She looks for me, though.

That I’ve noticed.

Her blue eyes tracking the scenery as if waiting for me to arrive.

I never do, of course.

Not as far as she can tell.

But she will see me tonight, that thought in mind as I run up the steps of the hotel while buttoning my jacket, the doorman inclining his head as he opens the door and allows me through.

A sign is set up directing guests to the ballroom for the company event, the low din of conversation filtering out as the door opens and closes, the soft hum of music that I know is not what Adeline would have chosen years ago.

Stepping inside, I scan my gaze over the growing crowd. Every person in here bleeds money, the show of it stitched into their designer tuxedos and sparkling gowns, the flash of fine jewelry adorning women who hang on the arms of powerful men.

I hate being social. A lot of people say that, but I mean it. People bore me the majority of the time, every one of them saying and doing the expected things, acting with a hive mindset, very few ever striking out with the audacity of being different.

That’s what drew me to Adeline, her audacity, the splash of color she becomes in any monochrome setting. That mischievous fucking grin of hers when she knows she’s doing something wrong.

Like now, for instance.

Stepping back to stay near a wall and out of sight, I watch as Adeline, wearing a dress that hugs every fucking curve just right, sneaks away from a small grouping where Grant is boasting yet again. She has a look on her face that means trouble, her eyes glancing back to ensure Grant’s not watching before she hurries across the room to disappear down a hallway.

I follow her, quickly passing through the large room to head down the hall. I turn a corner and find Adeline tapping her shoe with impatience, her finger hitting the call button of the elevator repeatedly.

What is the little monster up to now?

Curiosity gets the better of me. Sneaking up behind her, I stay close enough to run into the elevator behind her, but still far enough that she won’t notice me until it’s too late.

The elevator doors slide open, Adeline steps inside, and just before they close fully, I rush forward, stick a hand out to stop them and then slide into the car.

She has a busted expression, her eyes flashing annoyance as she steps back to keep as much distance between us as possible.

Leaning against the opposite wall from her, I arch a brow. “Where are we going?”

“I’m going upstairs,” she snaps. “And you’re going to stay in the elevator to let it take you back to the party.”

“What if I don’t want to be at the party?”

Her eyes flick to me. “Then you shouldn’t have come.”

“You would have missed me too much if I decided to stay home.”

She flashes me a scowl as the elevator comes to a stop and the door dings.

Rushing out, she warns, “I mean it, Ari. Don’t follow me.”

Well, of fucking course, I’m going to follow her. Just the way she marches down the hall like the building is on fire means that wherever she’s going is a hell of a lot more interesting than what’s going on downstairs.

I’m a silent shadow at her feet until we reach a room door and she pulls a keycard from her clutch to swipe the lock. It beeps, popping open, but she turns before I can force my way inside to see what the hell she’s up to.

“Please tell me you’re not cheating on Grant with two men.”

Her eyes round with anger, lips yanking into a scowl.

I know she’s not seeing someone else, but it’s still fun to mess with her. Plus, if she was, I would have already killed him because she’s mine and doesn’t realize it yet.

Poking a finger against my chest, she tips her chin up, her blue eyes pinning mine.

“I’m not cheating on Grant with anybody-“

“I beg to differ.”

Her cheeks flare red.

“Anymore,” she adds while poking me with her finger as if it’s a lethal weapon.

Snatching her wrist, I pull her hand to my mouth, and bite the tip of her finger before sucking the tip.

Adeline stills, her gaze dropping to my mouth.

Sliding her finger from my lips, I whisper. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Except there’s no strength behind the word at all. Her answer is breathless.

“Then let’s go in the room and find out if you’re telling me the truth.”

Wrapping an arm around her waist faster than she can react, I move us both inside and shut the door behind me, blocking it with my body so she can’t rush out.

She shoves away from me, backing up as if to keep me from walking into...

I look above her head.

...an empty room with nothing but the standard furniture and a large computer on a desk attached to her camera.

Lifting a brow, I almost laugh.

“Well, this is disappointing. Your private life is very boring, Adeline. I was hoping for more whips and chains and a naked person tied to the bed awaiting your return.”

She huffs and crosses her arms.

“I have two weeks to get these photos done, and I’m running behind. Grant has been unbearable over the past few weeks, partly thanks to you, and I would much rather be up here working than down there with a bunch of stuffy ass people who bore me to fucking tears.”

There she is...

I remember this girl. Not that she would remember me, but that’s beside the point.

The old Adeline is rearing her head, even if for very boring reasons. I can’t help but encourage it.

Scanning my eyes slowly down her body, I drag in a breath at the sight. Her black gown falls over her hips in a waterfall of silk, cinching at the waist before lifting higher into a bodice that does nothing to hide the sensual curve of her breasts. It’s held in place by nothing more than two sashes crossing just above the swell of her chest to tie around her neck.

One tug of the knot at her nape and she would be naked in front of me.

“Explain to me how you managed to sneak a computer into the hotel wearing that.”

A frustrated growl. “I snuck it in earlier today and rented the room using the trust account my parents left me. Every once in a while, I have a half hour when I can sneak away and get some work done, and you happen to be ruining this one.”

So devious, this girl.

She deserves a conspirator.

My eyes lock to hers again. “Why only a half hour?”

“Because I know at some point Grant will notice I’m gone. I’d stay away longer if I could.”

Stepping forward, I stand close enough to send a shiver down her body, but not close enough to touch. “Do you happen to have the burner phone on you?”

She looks away, but I tip my finger at her chin and tilt her face to mine. “I’ll take that as a yes, and even refrain from asking why you’re still carrying it around with you.”

Her cheeks flame.

“Why don’t I keep an eye on Grant, and I’ll text to let you know when and if he looks for you?”

Surprised excitement fills her eyes. “You’d do that for me?”

What the fuck am I agreeing to?

“Yes, but you’ll owe me for it.”

“Owe you what?”

The barest tilt to my lips as I lean forward to whisper against her ear. “Don’t worry about that. I happen to think you’ll be very agreeable when the time comes to pay up.”

The blush chases down her body, pale skin turning pink as my lips brush her cheek. She turns her head so that our mouths come within a teasing inch.

I step back to deny her that kiss.

She can fucking wait for it.

“Keep your phone where you can see it. I’ll send word if you’re missed.”

Without giving her a chance to respond, I leave the room and walk down the hall, an image in my head of how flushed she’d been before I left.

I have no problem doing Adeline the favor by distracting her husband, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the game.

After making my way back to the ballroom, I weave through the small groupings of people, nodding politely to those I pass, not recognizing any of them, thank fuck.

Being a social creature is exhausting, and the likelihood that I’ll meet one or two of these people in a less-than-social situation later on in life is high. But that’s how it is when your world is built on money. The minute someone threatens it, they’re taken out.

By me.

So, it’s best I keep as low a profile as possible.

Grant stands in a grouping of four men when I finally find him, his mouth flapping a mile a minute until he catches sight of me and waves me over.

Slapping my shoulder as I step up, he turns to his buddies and makes the introductions. I forget all their names as soon as he says them.

“Are you enjoying the party, Harrison?” His eyes flick down to my empty hands. “Where’s your drink? Let me grab someone.”

Snapping his fingers at a server who passes, he orders me a vodka and cranberry. I roll my fucking eyes that he remembered, but smile regardless because I’d created my own personal hell the second I decided to get involved with Adeline. I feel obligated to suffer the consequences.

Green eyes back to me. “You didn’t bring a date?”

“No, and I missed the dinner beforehand. My apologies for that. I had an unexpected business meeting. You know how it is.”

The truth is I intentionally skipped it for two reasons.

One, because Adeline put me down for the vegetarian option, and I wasn’t about to force that down my throat. And two, I was sure she’d stuck me at a table with the most obnoxious people she could find, because she’s a monster and that’s what she does.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answers, a fake smile on his face as he turns to his friends. “Gentlemen, let me tell you how hard Harrison is to nail down as an investor. I’ve been chasing him for several weeks now.”

The server comes back over and hands me my drink. I smile to take it from his hand, but refuse to pretend to drink it.

Causally setting it on a table close by, I pull my phone from my pocket while Grant and his friends discuss the company and all the money they’re making.

The coast is clear. Your husband is as annoying as ever and doesn’t notice you’re gone. I would have noticed. Just so you know.

While waiting for her response, I glance up and nod my head, pretending to be interested in the details of a luxury yacht one of his friends purchased. My phone vibrates.

Adeline: You notice everything, so that’s not saying much. Evil people always have to keep an eye out. Did you enjoy dinner, by the way? I’m sure the conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Huxley was a blast.

I have no clue who she’s talking about. But it only confirms she’d planned to make me miserable.

I missed dinner. I was too busy remembering how good your pussy tastes and took longer than I should jacking off.

Grant nudges me with his elbow and drags me back to the conversation.

“What do you say, Harrison? Would you be interested in a weekend aboard Henry’s yacht?”

My brows shoot up my head. “Sounds amazing. Just let me know when.”

Another friend pipes up about some plane he just bought, most likely to top the other guy, and I’m saved by Adeline’s answer.

Adeline: Are you still standing with Grant? Please tell me you’re not texting shit like that while my husband is right next to you.

The corner of my lip curls.

He’s right here. I’m actually trying to imagine what you would look like on your knees, naked, with your hands tied behind your back while I fuck your mouth. I bet you’d be beautiful. You’ll choke at first, but that’s okay. Eventually you’ll get the hang of it.

The little dots pop up that she’s responding. Disappear. Reappear. And are gone again. Meanwhile, I keep glancing up, pretending to listen, nodding at the appropriate times.

If I had a gun on me, I’d shoot myself just to end this.

Adeline: Not funny.

I grin.

You’re the one who owes me a favor. So, who’s laughing?

Her response is immediate.

Adeline: I’m working. Leave me alone.

Chuckling at that, I slip my phone away and feign interest in the conversation.

There’s only one person who can force me to suffer like this, but if it’s to help her find herself again, I’ll do what’s necessary.

It isn’t all bad.

Not when I pass the time thinking of all the ways she can make it up to me.

Adeline

Ari: You may want to come down now. Grant just asked his sister if she’s seen you.

I glance at my phone when it pings, half expecting another dirty message about what Ari wants to do to my body, but then panicking when I see what is says.

Two hours he’d somehow given me, but now that Grant is asking questions and Gloria is on the hunt, I need to make an appearance.

After slipping my heels on, I leave the room and hurry downstairs, my eyes meeting Ari’s as I sneak past a group of people to walk to the bar.

Champagne in hand, I begin making rounds of the room, engaging in small talk here and there as I slowly wind my way over to my husband’s group. They stand near the dance floor, most of them ignoring the elegant couples who are slow dancing.

I slip my hand into Grant’s, making effort to ignore Ari’s dark stare, and tilt my face up to smile at my husband.

“There you are,” he says, hand squeezing mine. “I’ve been looking for you all night.”

Liar...

It hurts to think he hadn’t noticed my absence until recently, but then, that’s Grant. Ever the businessman, his focus on generating money.

“I was making rounds. Ensuring the ladies are having a pleasant night.”

Giving me a brief smile intended to coddle, he releases my hand and returns his attention to the group.

Another ten minutes and I’ll be able to sneak upstairs again, just as soon as Gloria catches sight of me with Grant and goes back to whatever she’s doing.

Moving away so I’m not in the middle of his conversation, I startle when Ari steps up behind me.

He’s a wall of heat at my back, but manages to keep from touching me. Anybody who might look over won’t see anything wrong with how close we are, but to me it’s far too intimate a proximity to be comfortable.

“Did you get a lot of work done?” he asks, his voice a soft purr, like satin rubbing between my thighs.

I don’t turn to look at him, my stare locked on the dancers.

His scent wraps around me, and I wonder about the type of cologne he wears. It’s compelling, and I breathe deeper as my eyes close for a second, so earthy and distinctly male that I tremble against the memory of it.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you that your dress should be illegal. One tug and I’d have your entire body exposed. I’d take my time enjoying the view. And when I’ve finished memorizing every part of you, I’d spend another hour tasting every inch. I don’t think I’d stop until you’re a quivering mess that will let me do anything I want. So wet and ready that you’d beg to be filled.”

My heart is a drumbeat in my throat, my legs weak. I manage to appear unaffected, but on the inside, I’m already a mess. Already begging.

I quickly glance at Grant to see he’s oblivious to what’s happening, his attention focused solely on the group of men around him.

Clearing my throat, I whisper, “I’m a married woman.”

“You keep saying that, but I’m not sure I care.” A pause. “I’m not sure you care either.”

He runs a fingertip along the curve of my hip, and I jump, my throat slamming closed as I attempt to hide the reaction.

“Are you planning on having any fun tonight, Adeline? Or has your life become so boring, you’ve forgotten what it is?”

I don’t answer him, but it doesn’t stop Ari from having his fun.

Another soft slide of a fingertip, this time down the center of my nape, the secret touch hidden by the fall of my hair.

“I hope you know I plan to wrap my fist in this hair the first time I sink inside you.”

My entire body shivers, my lungs struggling to breathe as he pulls his hand away.

Voice a low croon, he asks, “Will you dance with me?”

Swallowing several times before I can answer, I lie to him. “I don’t dance.”

But it makes me remember when I used to lose myself to the beat of music, the hours I would spend happily working myself into a full body sweat, my hair wild, my heart pounding. I’d felt so free then. So unencumbered by the weight of responsibility that came with being the wife of Grant Cabot.

“I think you do,” he whispers.

“My husband doesn’t dance,” I say, my voice firmer because it makes me angry to admit it.

A soft chuckle. “Then it’s a good thing I’m not your husband.”

He steps away from me, and it’s like being doused with ice water, the loss of his heat leaving me cold and empty.

It’s unfair the way Ari affects me, the pull he has, as if he’s attached strings to every part of my body and can so easily manipulate me into a puppet who worships only him.

My eyes round with panic when Ari moves to stand beside Grant. “Would you mind if I dance with your wife?”

Grant, ever the sycophant who will do anything to land an investor, smiles, his eyes shooting to me before he answers Ari with a practiced, obsequious voice.

“Not at all. Please, both of you enjoy yourselves.”

Something glimmers behind his green eyes, though. I still at the sight of it, my head shaking on a weak refusal as Ari takes my hand and leads me to the dance floor.

Turning to look over my shoulder, I notice Grant’s stare following us, suspicion narrowing his eyes before the odd expression is gone and he returns his attention to the group.

I wonder if I imagined it as Ari pulls me close, his left hand moving to my lower back as his right grips mine. I melt against the heat of him, the hard planes of his chest pressing against the soft weight of my breasts.

We haven’t taken the first step yet, and already he’s the embodiment of raw sensuality, the rough, jagged promise of male sexual aggression that calls to something oh so feminine inside me.

And when we do finally begin to move, my head isn’t in this moment. Instead, I’m learning through the grace of his body just what this man would be like in bed.

It doesn’t help that his mind is in the same place as mine, the deep purr of his voice whispering against my ear, stroking me in places that are forbidden.

His knee brushes the inside of my thigh as we turn through a move, the room melting away around us. A bead of sweat slips down my spine, and I press closer to him without thinking of how it must look.

“Do you miss dancing?”

Nodding my head, I realize I’m lost.

“I miss a lot of things,” I admit, the level of honesty surprising me.

Ari’s hand slips down to tease the swell of my bottom, before lifting again so that no one will notice how he touches me.

“I think you should let go for once. Do something reckless.”

I smile against his cheek.

“I think you’ve already helped me accomplish that twice.”

He spins with me across the dance floor, and I cling to him, mesmerized, seduced.

“More reckless than what we’ve already done,” he answers, undisguised lust in his words. “He doesn’t notice when you’re missing, and although I wish I had hours to play with you properly, I can make do with a few minutes as well. There’s something to be said for fast and hard.”

The comment hits me right between the thighs, heat blooming.

I feel damp all over. Sticky. Needy in a way I’ve never felt before.

“It’s a pity this music isn’t faster,” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth brushing my cheek. “I’d like to watch you lose control. Watch you let go to something stronger than yourself. I bet I’d lose control, too. My hunger for you...”

Ari’s voice trails off, but he’s already achieved the damage he’s looking to cause, has left my will to deny him in a puddle at his feet.

“You make me vulnerable,” I admit, not sure why I’m telling him this. “I can’t hide from you.”

I feel the brush of his mouth against my ear, his heat surrounding me and drawing me in. Every place he touches me is a feather light stroke, but every one of them is a promise of sensual pain.

Ari isn’t the type to play fair. He isn’t the type to ask nicely either. I know that when this man wants something, he’s the type who will take it and refuse to apologize.

The song ends and grey eyes capture mine, his thumb rubbing against my hip. “Meet me by the restrooms.”

“I can’t,” I argue, the sound of it so ridiculously weak.

“I think you can,” is all he says as he slips away from me to wind through the crowd and out of sight.

I turn to find my husband isn’t concerned about me, his gaze focused on the potential money gathering around him in their designer tuxedos. He won’t know if I slip away.

Stuck in place, I look toward the back hall leading to the restrooms, indecision holding me in that one spot where Ari left me.

I hate him for this. Hate the temptation, but it’s still there. So undeniable that I’m swimming in it, battling myself about what I should do and what I want to do.

Why am I kidding myself? I’d already lost the battle before Ari took the first step away from me.

One last glance at my husband and I walk to the back hallway, my steps hurried, my head angled so my hair will hang down and hide my face.

I’m three quarters of the way to the restrooms when guilt consumes me, my feet stopping in place, my heart hammering hard beneath my ribs.

I can’t do this...

Not again.

This would be the last step to undoing all I’ve worked to accomplish, like this decision will be the disaster that decimates everything I’ve become.

Poor little Adeline wants Ari so bad she can taste it. But grown up Adeline can hear the ticking of a bomb, can sense the certainty that it’s only a matter of time before it explodes.

I turn around and head in the opposite direction, only to have fingers lock down on my arm, my body tugged down a darker, narrow hallway I hadn’t noticed.

My back slams against the wall before I can complain, a hand locking over my throat as Ari’s mouth closes over mine with such male possession that I open for his tongue to slide in, his taste like the sweetest of poisons sinking slowly into my veins.

Fingertips drag up the back of my thigh, and I tremble in place.

He takes without apology. Just like I knew he would.

When he breaks the kiss to drag his mouth down to my shoulder, my hands dive into his hair, the dark silk so soft between my fingers.

“We’ll get caught,” I whisper.

Ari speaks against my skin. “Don’t make a sound and we won’t.”

He bites the soft spot of my shoulder and my knees threaten to give out. “Someone will come down here.”

His hand flexes over my throat. “They won’t.”

“How do you-“

He tugs the knot at the back of my neck, and my dress falls down, the material held loosely at my waist where his hips press against me. All he has to do is step back and I’m in panties, the low murmur of the party only feet away, filtering down the hall.

We’re hidden in deep shadow. Nobody glancing down can see us, but I can see them, a person passing in one direction or the other as they move between the party and the restrooms.

“Ari...”

His hand moves from my throat to my mouth, silencing me as his head dips down to suck a nipple into his mouth, tugging hard until the nerves are too sensitive to bear.

My dress slides to my feet, and he uses his free hand to softly scrape fingernails up the back of one thigh, pull my legs apart and cup my soaked panties with his palm.

His head lifts as his mouth presses to my ear, his voice so fucking arrogant that I tremble against it.

“I knew you’d be dripping. This time will be fast and hard because we don’t have time for anything else. But next time, I plan to take hours exploring every inch of you, kissing every freckle, licking every hole.”

A breathless mumble against his palm. “Next time?”

I can feel him smile, and it kills me that I can’t see it. I know it’s beautiful. I know it’s blinding.

“There will be a next time, Adeline. I promise you that.”

His thumb slips beneath the side of my panties, tugging the soaked fabric down until it drops to my ankles. Quickly releasing me to slip them from my feet, he tucks them into his pocket as he pushes back up.

I hear his belt unbuckle as his breath pours down my neck, hot and fast, the lapels of his jacket brushing against my bare breasts.

Daring to reach between us, I run my fingers up the hard ridges of his abdomen, my hands exploring around his waist as he pulls his cock free and reaches into his pocket for a condom.

Ari tears the wrapper of the condom with his teeth, and then drops his hands between us to roll it down the hard length of him.

He grips my ass one handed and lifts me up, pinning me against the wall as he slides his hand down to notch the head of his cock between my legs.

With one hand locking over my mouth again and the other sliding under my ass to hold me in place, he thrusts inside me fully with one forceful stroke, a cry of both pain and pleasure volleying up my throat to be muffled by his palm.

He’s so big that I’m stretched apart, filled in such a way that all I can feel is him.

Ari stays still until my body has accepted the size of him, my frantic breath bursting against his hand.

Lips brush my ear, hot and teasing. “Remember to stay quiet. We wouldn’t want to get caught.”

Easier said than done when his hips move, his cock pulling out to the tip before slamming back into me.

Every thrust drives my back up the wall, my body sliding against the smooth plaster, the wet sounds of slapping skin forcing my eyes to clench shut just before he whispers his demand.

“Eyes open, Adeline. I want you to see who’s owning you right now.”

I force my eyes apart and I’m met with the chilling silver-grey of his possessive stare. I swear this man can blend perfectly into the darkness so that only his eyes shine through.

Like a ghost.

A phantom.

A shadow that hovers above me when I sleep...

Our bodies come together with pure desperation. An orgasm is already threatening to explode inside me as the back of my head rolls over the wall, my gaze falling on the hallway just feet from us where people are walking.

Gloria walks into view, the silver sparkle of her gown glimmering beneath the hall light. Terror races through me, Ari’s cock still thrusting hard. The combination of the two sensations is a detonator inside me, my orgasm blowing up, the pleasure like shrapnel tearing through me until I feel as if I’m being ripped apart.

While Gloria pauses for a second to search for something in her purse, Ari muffles the moans crawling up my throat with his hand, finally letting go to grip my chin, drag my face back to his and cover my mouth to swallow the sound.

His body moves harder and faster, skin slapping, my back being shoved up the wall as he drives deeper inside me and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to mine

“Fuck...”

His cock throbs inside me as he finds his own release, our breath beating between us so hard that I can’t think straight.

How he was able to keep that quiet, I have no idea, but my face hurts from how tight he’d kept his hand over my mouth, my teeth scraping against the inside of my cheeks from his fingers digging into the flesh.

After one more lazy, lingering kiss, he sets me back on my feet, his eyes holding mine, triumph swirling behind them.

I glance back at the hall and Gloria is gone. We managed not to get caught.

Ari picks up my dress. As he pulls it up my body, he presses soft kisses to my skin.

I take the sashes to tie at the back of my neck while he pulls the condom off, ties the end and slips it into his pocket.

“You’ll ruin your pants that way,” I say.

He grins. “It’s worth it.”

Eventually we get ourselves partially presentable, our eyes meeting in the dark space.

“You’ll ruin me,” I mention, truly believing what I said.

Tapping his finger against my chin, he plants a chaste kiss on my lips, speaking against them on a whisper that drives another shiver through me.

“I already have.” Another kiss. “Take your time fixing yourself in the bathroom. I’ll go out and distract your husband until you return.”

Guilt floods me, the pressure of it threatening to snap my bones. If Ari notices, he doesn’t say. He simply winks before walking off, his tux in place, the only hint something happened being the way his hair is disheveled like he just rolled out of bed.

It only makes him sexier.

But then I remember.

“Ari,” I whisper hiss, relieved when he glances back instead of walking away as if he hadn’t heard me.

“My panties. Give them back.”

The corner of his lips curl, his eyes flashing with amusement. “You still owe me for helping you earlier. I’ll keep them as payment.”

I watch him walk off with a liquid strut, his muscular body moving with such casual sophistication that I have to drag in a shuddering breath to remember what we just did.

I take my time leaving the hall to go to the bathroom, and after cleaning up, I fix my dress, makeup and hair.

On as steady steps as I can manage, I try to ignore the ache between my legs as I return to the ballroom to find Ari talking to my husband, his eyes catching mine as a reminder of what we did, but his expression revealing he feels no guilt for it.

“Adeline,” Grant says as his gaze meets mine. “Come, I’d like to introduce you to some of my new investors.”

I accept his hand and step up beside him, doing my best to play the part of the good wife.

The entire time, I’m hyperaware of the devil who stands on the other side of me, the one who is slowly tearing me apart, piece by piece, every time we’re in the same room together.

Adeline

Ari left shortly after what we did. It wasn’t a mad rush for the exit, nothing as obvious as that. But after another hour of mingling with Grant and his friends, Ari made excuses that he had to leave and managed to avoid me while doing so.

I don’t think it was because he intended to actually avoid me. But I was acting jumpy after having sex with him, and he was doing his best not to make the situation worse.

Once he was gone, I calmed down, and after the men grouped off to have their drinks, smoke their cigars and talk business and money, I remembered my duties as the host’s wife.

For the most part, the rest of the night was easy. A few women asked me about the mysterious man talking to Grant, making it clear that they appreciated the view, even when they had husbands of their own. But Ari has that effect.

He’s a dark star among all the glittering ones, the type of person you watch in your peripheral vision because you can never be too sure what he’s thinking.

While other men like to boast and brag, preening like peacocks to show off their pretty feathers, Ari draws you in through his casual indifference, his confidence that doesn’t require the flash of money or mention of success to prove he’s a man worthy of attention.

The party winds down eventually, and after all the guests have left, I ride home with Grant in the limo we hired for the night. He’s oddly quiet during the drive, but I brush it off as exhaustion and the alcohol he drank all night.

We’re almost home when his hand grips my knee and runs down my leg, his green eyes glimmering with the need for something I can’t stomach giving him.

What have I done?

I’m not sure, but I know it’s a different feeling. Grant’s touch is expected, cordial in a way. A boon of marriage that means he doesn’t have to try anymore. Just roll over and I’m there.

What’s odd is that I hadn’t noticed the change until now. Not until I remembered what it can be like to lose yourself in another person.

When Ari touches me, I burn. Every nerve ending on fire, my lungs struggling to breathe. He makes my mind spin, and I can’t imagine he would ever settle for a lazy fuck, something used to get off before rolling over to go to sleep.

He’s too darkly passionate for that.

Too dirty.

And I know this from only brief moments we’ve had together. I can’t imagine what he could do if he had hours to practice his sensually cruel torture.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” Grant says, cutting into thoughts I should not be having. His voice is deep, his words slightly slurred.

“Thank you. I’m glad you approved.”

His hand squeezes my leg. Not enough to hurt, but a warning.

“I’m your husband,” he says, a sharp edge to his voice, “of course I approve. I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.”

My eyes close at the hint that I’m a pretty ornament and nothing more.

Was he like this before we got married? I’m not sure. I try to think back and look for signs of it, but if they were there, I’d missed them.

I want to blame myself for that. I should blame myself for that. Sadly, I was so desperate to change my life then that I wasn’t paying much attention to the finer details.

With Grant, I saw security. Stability. Someone who, at the time, could help teach me responsibility.

It’s likely I’d mistaken his actions as concern when they were much more insidious than that. It wasn’t an overnight change, more of a slow roll, so languid that I accepted each step without realizing it was a step at all.

After we married, I allowed myself to be isolated. I stopped talking to friends, people I’d known for years. But I’d happily done so because they were my past, my club buddies, the people who had been bad influences. Grant’s dislike of them appeared to have a justifiable reason.

As for family, I have none. My aunt, but we were never close. She only stepped in on paper when I needed a guardian, but she was never there.

I have Grant and his sister, Gloria, for companions now. That’s it. But the process to finding myself in this position seemed natural.

Other changes occurred after. But they crept in like a disease rather than slapping me in the face with the sudden shift. That’s how you miss them, though. It’s never enough to draw suspicion because it’s so subtle.

Not even a year into our marriage and the behavioral modifications are almost complete. I realize that now. And although I’m not sure why Ari’s presence has helped rip away the curtain and show me what I’ve given up, the truth is that it has.

And it pisses me off.

I want my life back. Maybe not the wildest parts, the decisions that carried bad consequences. But the freedom...I miss that.

Dancing. My music. My art.

All the things that made me who I am have been packed up with the rest of the belongings I chose to keep when I moved into Grant’s mansion. They’ve been collecting dust while he molds me into what he wants.

And I let him.

Only because I doubted myself.

Only because I became skittish and stopped trusting myself.

I let him.

It’s a hard pill to swallow.

But I’m still not sure Grant is doing this intentionally. And that’s why I haven’t left yet. It’s also why the guilt is eating away at me even now.

I’ve cheated on my husband three times. And if Ari were here, I know I’d do it again.

Which means I have no choice but to avoid Ari.

The limo pulls up to the front of our house, and Grant’s hand slides higher up my thigh. It’s an invitation for what he wants. But I can’t welcome it.

Not while I’m still dirty from another man. And not when bile crawls up my throat at the thought of sex with my husband.

When the car comes to a full stop, I pull away from his touch.

“I think I’m going to go to our room and take a bath. My head hurts from the champagne, and my feet are killing me from wearing heels all night.”

Those emerald green eyes catch mine, his fingers curling into his palm, but he smiles and says nothing as the driver opens my door and offers me a hand to help me from the car.

We walk up the steps to the front door, and I wait as Grant unlocks it then holds it open for me.

“Go get your bath. I’ll bring you something to help with the headache.”

Another pang of guilt flashes inside me. It’s not often Grant offers to do anything for me, and to hear him do so now only rips open the wound I have on my soul for breaking my vows to him.

“Thanks,” I whisper before running down the hall to start the bath and step out of the gown I’ve worn all evening. As soon as I pull it off, I realize I’m completely naked, my panties in the pocket of a man I can’t get out of my head.

It only makes me feel worse, the ache between my legs reminding me of what I’ve done.

Trying not to think about it, I move back into the bathroom and pour salts into the water, let them dissolve and then step into a bath that smells like roses and lavender, the hot water soothing all the aches and pains.

Silence descends, the only sound breaking through is that of the water moving slowly around me as I shift my position to lay my head back against the lip of the tub, my body stretched out and soaking.

My eyes close, and I fight exhaustion. Mental and physical, my pulse pounding hard each time I think about what I’ve done.

Grant clears his throat as he comes into the bathroom, and my eyes snap open to look at him.

Still dressed in the white shirt and black pants of his tux, he holds a glass of water and some pills in his hands, his bowtie undone and hanging down from his collar.

He takes a seat on the wide lip of the tub next to me, handing me the glass and pills. I take them and smile.

“Thank you.”

A nod of his head as he twists in place to set the glass on a counter after I hand it back.

“How do you think it went tonight?” he asks, his voice calm, inquisitive.

Water sluices as I slide my arm beneath it, the surface coming up to my chin. Steam rises, carrying with it the soothing scent of flowers. My face beads with perspiration from the heat of the water, my muscles relaxing.

“I think it went well. Everybody appeared to have a good time.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his voice so silent that I open my eyes to glance up at him.

His green eyes are running a lazy path down my body, the water doing nothing to hide me.

“Harrison still hasn’t agreed to invest. It feels like he’s jerking my chain. His lack of commitment is pissing me off.”

I don’t like Grant’s tone of voice, rage simmering just at the edges of what he says.

Seconds pass, my mind falling deeper into relaxation, my body heavy from the heat of the water.

The last person I want to talk about is Ari.

“You’ll get him. You always do.”

His fingers begin brushing through my hair, a gentle motion that has my eyes closing again. I’m so tired suddenly, and I blame the weeks of activity between planning the event and preparing for the gallery show.

“Maybe it will take more than I usually offer to secure the deal.” A pause, the weight of it disturbing me. “Like my wife, for instance.”

My eyes crack open again. Not all the way. The lids feel too heavy, like struggling against sleep.

“That’s not funny,” I answer, my words running together. Swallowing, I attempt to shake my head of the hazy feeling that’s overtaking me despite the terror I feel at what he said.

His fingers continue playing in my hair, digging deeper, the tips softly massaging my scalp.

He stares down at me, not an ounce of humor in his expression.

“Harrison has a thing for you, I’ve noticed. It seems like he is bored out of his mind when talking to me, but the second you walk into the room...”

Leaving the thought unfinished, Grant runs another lingering look down my body before returning to my face.

“How’s the headache? Are you feeling better?”

There never was a headache. And as to how I’m feeling, I can barely open my eyes.

“I’m exhausted,” I admit, leaning my head back against fingers that are slowly seducing me into sleep.

“You’ll sleep soundly tonight.”

For how weird his voice sounds, I could have been under the water listening to him. My mind’s racing to catch up, to understand.

“And I’ll finally get some sleep as well.”

It clicks then, a vein of anger fissuring through me, of distrust...of understanding.

“You drugged me.”

The bastard.

“I’ve only given you what your doctor recommended is best for you.”

I should have known this level of exhaustion wasn’t normal. Should have suspected it.

Why hadn’t I looked at those pills closer?

His hand dips in the water to slide fingers over the inside of my thigh. One tug and he spreads my legs, his fingers inching higher.

I try to pull away, but he grips down on both my thigh and my hair. Recognizing the threat of violence, I still, my heart hammering in my throat.

“A wife should never deny her husband.”

Grip loosening on my thigh, he slides his fingers higher, a teasing brush between my legs. But his hand in my hair fists, the quiet threat a whisper against my senses.

Leaning down, Grant speaks against my ear.

“I’ll not accept a whore who flirts with another man to come home and deny me the same.”

His hand locks down on my leg and yanks, my head sinking beneath the water, his fist in my hair holding me in place.

Bubbles erupt from my mouth, my arms striking out as I fight to rip my head away and push above the water. But Grant is too strong, his grip too tight, and the drugs have already weakened me to a point where fighting is useless.

I stop struggling despite the panic, despite my lungs beginning to burn from lack of air, despite a heart that beats with heavy, fast thuds as oxygen is deprived from my blood.

It stings to open my eyes under the water, hurts to look up and see Grant’s calm stare locked on my face, the moving water causing the lines of it to ripple.

His hand jerks and I’m ripped up above the surface by my hair, my mouth falling open, lungs gasping for air as his lips press to my ear with every bit of cold rage he can bleed into his low voice.

“Do not play me, Adeline. I don’t react well to it. I’ve been in this business for far too long to be strung along like a dog.”

Coughing and still struggling to breathe, I can’t answer him, can’t ask what he’s talking about. I don’t need to, though. He tells me as he grips his fist tighter, strands of my hair snapping from my scalp.

“I don’t know for sure if you’ve concocted some game with Harrison Nash to get what you want, but I find it convenient he leads me on while, at the same time, manipulating me to give you the things you want. I didn’t see it at first, not until tonight, but now that I’ve given it some thought, I think there’s more going on than meets the eye.”

Attempting to shake my head, I only accomplish making the room spin. The effects of the drugs combined with my adrenaline rushing too fast, too hard through my veins.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I love you. You’re my wife. But if I find out you’ve been doing things behind my back, I will get even. This is just a warning.”

His other hand comes up to palm my breast, finger and thumb squeezing the nipple so hard that I yelp. My head falls back as his wrist tugs at my hair, his hand exploring my body with such a slow calm that tears escape my eyes.

Ari makes me burn.

But Grant...he now has the effect of turning the blood in my veins to ice.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I manage to whisper, the lie falling so easily from my lips.

“I certainly hope not. But you will do something right. When I make it clear you’re to spread your legs for me, there’s no denying me that. For everything I do for you, the least you can do is see to it that my needs are met.”

His hand slips between my legs, his fingers pushing inside me.

“Do you understand?”

Lips trembling, I nod my head as best I can.

“Good.”

It’s a purr of sound, no rage, no fire. Just the bone-chilling lack of emotion, a glacial tone that leaves no room for misinterpretation.

“I’ll help you out of the bath, as I’m sure you won’t be able to walk with the drugs you’re on. If I were an asshole, I’d drag you out of here and let you crawl to bed. Remember that.”

When I don’t respond, he tugs my hair again, his eyes meeting mine with a warning behind them. “Say thank you when your husband does something nice.”

My entire body trembles, but I find my voice within the terror. “Thank you.”

He grins, his hand releasing my hair as he sits straight, green gaze holding mine.

“You’re welcome. Pull the plug so the water drains, and I’ll carry you out.”

Hand shaking, I do as he says, the water quickly circling the drain, my exposed skin left cold, both from the lack of hot water and the chill of what Grant just did.

But as quickly as he threatened me, he reverts back to the man I know, his touch gentle as he helps me sit up, his arms hooking around my back and beneath my legs to lift me from the tub.

I’m dizzy, my muscles so loose I’m afraid I might fall. But he cradles me to his chest, carring me as my head falls against his shoulder.

Setting me on the side of our bed, he keeps an arm around my back to hold me up, his other hand grasping my chin to tilt my face to his. He kisses me, and I feel bile crawl up my throat, but I fake it anyway, pretend to want this.

Only because I’m too afraid to find out what happens if I say no.

Tears sting my eyes as his tongue dips inside my mouth, the taste of cigars and alcohol flooding me. I want to shove him away, but I wrap my arms over his shoulders, play my fingers in his hair.

His shoulders relax. He’s accepted he won.

An insidious whisper echoes in my head.

Maybe I deserved it.

I’m the one who cheated.

I was the first person to break our vows.

His mouth pulls away from mine, and his green eyes pin me in place.

“Lay back and spread your legs. Touch yourself while I undress.”

My lower lip trembles, but I do as he says, my legs like jelly, my movements uncoordinated.

As I push a finger down between my legs, his eyes lock on the movement, his hands working to strip off his shirt, unbuckle his pants.

He pulls his cock free and watches me while pumping it.

I can’t look.

Not after what he did to me.

Not after what I did to him.

Grant doesn’t care to hold my eyes, not like Ari. The connection isn’t what matters to my husband.

Just the sex.

Just getting what he wants.

He steps toward me, and my muscles lock as much as they can. My head swimming. A scream tearing through my mind with so much truth that I don’t want to accept I’ve been thinking it all along.

I don’t want this...

I don’t want him.

All I know is that this next step toward his control of me is one too far.

I have to get away.

Have to protect myself.

And as his body lays over mine and he thrusts inside me with one hard shove, I clench my eyes shut and accept the undeniable truth.

I don’t love my husband.

And my husband has never loved me.

Ari

Adeline is beautiful when she fucks. Absolutely breathtaking. A fucking angel that opens up and reveals what lingers beneath her skin.

The monster I’ve always known. The girl who welcomes freedom. The dancer who can move her body in ways that call to the aggression in a man...that can call to the monster in me.

It was reckless to take her like I did. In that hall. Where anybody could find us. Where her husband was only a room away, his friends and colleagues surrounding us.

But I couldn’t help myself. I’d lost control. I’d risked her in ways I probably shouldn’t have.

It only made me crave her more. Made the obsession worse. Made the killer inside me want to put a gun to the head of the man slowly pumping his cock while watching her touch a body that belongs to me.

I’m not sure what I’d expected when I left the event with her panties in one pocket and a used condom in the other.

That she would leave her husband?

That she would realize she was mine?

Maybe nothing that drastic, not after just one time, but I certainly wasn’t expecting this.

Adeline fucking her husband.

Hours after I was inside her.

The annoying son of a bitch practically rutting like a sweating pig against her beautiful body.

Touching something that no longer belongs to him.

Needless to say, it pisses me off. I can’t hold it against her. I’ve watched her fuck other men. A long time ago, granted, but it’s happened before. I’ll survive it. And the only reason I didn’t grab my gun and make a house call that would have ended in violence was because she wasn’t enjoying what the asshole was doing to her.

Just like all the others.

She lays there with her eyes staring at the ceiling, every bit of the wild, dirty soul she has trapped inside her head, unresponsive.

But still, they fuck.

That night...and every night after.

Every. Fucking. Night.

Almost like I was the aphrodisiac that restarted their marriage. But not for her.

For him.

I knot the tie at my throat and tug it tighter, watching the video of the first night for the twenty-seventh time.

Judge me for it. I don’t give the first fuck about your opinion. I haven’t been right in the head since the day I found her, and this is just another symptom of the insanity Adeline has caused.

It’s been two weeks since I’ve spoken to her. I’ve heard from Grant at least six times since then, but not her.

The silence is only pissing me off more.

Slamming the laptop closed, I cross the room to the mirror to ensure my tie is straight, black on a black shirt, before pulling the jacket on for my black suit, the absolute lack of color a bleak reminder of what I feel when she isn’t within reach.

I’ve taken a few jobs to fill the time. I’ve had dinner with Lincoln. But nothing has distracted me enough that she isn’t constantly on my mind.

Her show is tonight.

I glance in the mirror again.

And rip the tie off.

I fucking hate the things, they’re too restrictive. And with as aggravated as I already am, I don’t need the added annoyance. Plus, the likelihood I might use it to strangle Grant is high. Then again, I can make anything a weapon to use against someone if I want them dead bad enough. My leaving the tie at home doesn’t make him any safer.

Grabbing my keys and phone, I slip them both in my pocket as I take the elevator down to the garage, slip into the driver’s seat of my car and head downtown with a chip on my shoulder and a hell of a grudge.

I want to turn around, want to disappoint Adeline as much as she disappoints me, but I wind the streets regardless, find parking nearby and eat the distance to the gallery with a powerful stride.

Approaching the door, I nod my head at a young, blond woman at the door handing out brochures about the event. I take one to be polite. Not that I need it.

I’ve already bought every photo she has on display tonight, and I haven’t even seen them yet.

Thankfully, Rebecca was more than happy to accept my generous offer prior to the event, amusement in her voice when we spoke on the phone.

You remind me of my husband, she’d said, but didn’t elaborate on why. Not giving a damn who I reminded her of, I made sure nobody would walk away with a piece of Adeline.

She’s mine.

Every part of her.

Even the photos that are windows giving a clear view of what goes on in her mind.

Almost immediately when I step inside, I see Adeline standing with Rebecca. She’s beautiful, as usual. Her expression bright, blue eyes wide. Those blood red lips curve in a genuine smile while a third woman points to a photo I can’t see yet and makes some remark.

My gaze wanders the length of Adeline’s strapless black and silver gown, pausing over each curve where the fabric clings to her body.

Rebecca turns her head at that moment and catches sight of me, her hand touching Adeline’s shoulder as she whispers something and then walks my direction.

Part of the deal we made is that I’m an anonymous buyer. And just like I knew she would, she manages to slip away without drawing attention to my arrival.

“You look nice,” she says as she steps up to me as graceful as a dancer. I don’t bother to smile, it’s not my thing, but the lack of even the polite attempt doesn’t appear to bother her.

With an elegant hand, she sweeps her long strawberry blond hair from her shoulder so that it falls down her back, and she cradles her other hand beneath her round stomach before angling her head to the left.

“Come with me. We’ll talk in my office.”

Stepping inside, she closes the door and lifts a few catalogs from a seat to toss on a nearby table.

“You’ll have to forgive the mess. My daughter is due in four months and I’m falling behind with everything here.”

“It’s fine,” I say, taking a seat on one side of her desk while she takes a seat on the other. Blue eyes meet mine, amusement glimmering behind them.

“One million dollars is an awful lot of money for a few photographs.”

Her lips curve into a wicked grin as she pulls a ledger in front of her and opens it. “You only paid a quarter of that last time, if I remember correctly.”

I say nothing.

She grabs a pen and holds it over the ledger page without writing a damn word. When her blue eyes meet mine again, she grins.

“Why are you paying this much, Ari? You could have had them all for much less.”

Leaning back in my seat, I cross an ankle over a knee and stare back at her.

“Does it matter? Just fill out the paperwork and show me where to sign.”

“Have you even seen the photos?”

“No.”

“How long have you been in love with Adeline?”

A muscle in my jaw ticks. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about?”

A crook of her eyebrow as she looks down at the page and starts writing. “She’s married, you know?”

“To a dick,” I say, unworried that she’ll share my opinion with anyone else.

An odd expression crosses her face. “There’s something to be said for assholes.”

“Fun ones, yes. But he’s not the type.”

Glancing up, she laughs and slides the ledger my direction before dropping the pen on the page. “Sign there and the photos are yours.”

While I’m scrawling my name across the page, she sits back in her seat, her voice curious. “Are you a fun one?”

I drop the pen and shove the ledger her direction.

“No, I’m a dick as well, but for different reasons. Are we done now?”

A shake of her head. “Just like my husband.”

Standing, she cradles her stomach again, her free hand splaying over the desk to catch her balance.

“You can pay me when you pick up the photos. I’ll go ahead and walk out there. Give it a few minutes before following. That way nobody knows who the secret buyer is.”

Rebecca leaves the room, and I stab two hands through my hair, my fingers curling to pull at the ends of it. Frustration rides me like a cheap whore, and I consider walking out to leave entirely. Never looking back. Returning to my life like Lincoln has been begging me to do, and forgetting I ever knew Adeline.

Even while considering the thought, I know I won’t leave. I can’t. She’s a compulsion that ensnares me. A trap that I can’t free myself from unless I get desperate enough to chew my fucking leg off and crawl away bleeding.

She doesn’t enjoy being with Grant.

But she wants to be with me.

That has to count for something. So, rather than walking the fuck out of this gallery like an intelligent man would do, I push to my feet and crack the door enough to ensure nobody will see me leaving the office.

I slip from the room and casually stroll into the showroom as if I’d just arrived, my gaze catching Adeline’s when she turns to see the newcomer.

Again, she’s standing with Rebecca and the other woman I don’t recognize, a strange look on her face that I can’t interpret.

Over the years, I’ve memorized every expression, every habit, every reaction, everything there is to know about this woman.

And it kills me that I can’t read her thoughts now.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t approach. Doesn’t make any move that shows she’s pleased to see me.

Instead, she turns back to the people she’s with, Rebecca’s blue eyes lifting just enough to find mine, a slight tilt to her head directing my attention to the photos displayed.

I look at the first one and damn near march over to rip it from the wall.

Not because I want to destroy it. Not because it causes my pulse to become jagged, my muscles to go rigid, my eyes to become laser focused on every detail there is to see about it.

But because it’s a private moment I’m not willing to share with the world.

I step up to the large print, glancing at the title card to the side of it.

Defile.

That’s what she named it. And when my gaze returns to the image, I realize that no other title fits.

The shadow has a form now. No longer the black mass that hovers silently over her bed, she’s managed to give it a face, arms, legs, while at the same time hiding the finer features that would make it recognizable. Even with form, he’s still not solid, more like a dream - or nightmare - come to life.

These aren’t straight shots. Adeline doesn’t think like that. She manipulates the images, combines them, processes them until you’re staring at what could be a painting from a distance, the blending done so perfectly that you would expect to feel the rough ridges of brushstrokes if you were to reach out and touch it.

My gaze slides from the shadow to the woman in front of him, to Adeline.

For all the time I watched her from a distance, I never saw her include herself in the shots. Yet there she is, climbing up the crypt where she came on my fingers.

Except she’s not simply Adeline in these shots, she’s an angel, her wings shredded and torn, blood streaking down her legs and her arms, while the shadow uses the halo that should float above her head to circle her throat and hold her in place, choking her as it rips away her innocence.

And despite the violence, there is something raw and sexual about their pose, his hands gripping her hips, pulling her ass to him, his head lowered as if whispering in her ear, and her face turned just enough that you can see her lips parted, both pain and pleasure in the expression she wears, both hatred and want.

I move to the next photo, and then the next, the same theme in all of them, a steady progression as the shadow becomes a demon, still black and barely solid, but a symbol of the evil that is tearing Adeline apart.

When I approach the photo Adeline stands near, I make a wide circle around it, around her, keeping her trained in my peripheral vision to see she makes no move to watch me, her lack of notice so complete that I understand she’s intentionally ignoring me.

A hand lands on my shoulder as I move deeper into the showroom, a sudden slap from behind that causes my hand to fist, my bicep to bunch.

“I was wondering when you’d make it. What do you think of Adeline’s work?”

I’m going to kill this son of a bitch one of these days and it’s going to be for something as simple as putting his hand where it doesn’t belong.

Rounding my shoulder so that his hand will slip away, I turn to lock eyes with Grant.

“They’re brilliant,” I answer honestly. “She has a great eye for detail.”

He smirks, glances at the photo we’re standing in front of, an image depicting Adeline hunched over from behind, large gouges in her back where wings had once existed. The shadow lingers in the backdrop, a black mass with eyes of sparkling silver.

“They’re definitely something,” he comments before his professional smile is in place. “Come with me. I’d like you to meet someone.”

This shit with Grant needs to end. I’m too close to the edge. Bare centimeters from ripping his head off and spitting down his throat. I can’t stand him, and yet I find myself forcing one foot in front of the other to follow him over to where another jackass stands, a man roughly my height, with a slimmer, yet still powerful, build.

He’s staring across the room at Adeline’s group as we approach, but his eyes slide my direction, green like Grant’s, but there’s something else I see in that stare that sets my nerves on edge.

Not fear.

Never that.

But the need to watch my back because you can’t trust a person that has the ability to size you up in five seconds flat.

The man has his arms crossed over his chest, feet set shoulder width apart, still elegant in a tailored suit that undoubtedly cost a fortune.

“Harrison, I’d like to introduce you to Rebecca’s husband, Aiden Oliver. He’s been keeping me company while the ladies enjoy themselves.”

Aiden doesn’t offer his hand in greeting, and I don’t offer mine. Instead, we stare at each other, a mutual, narrow-eyed distrust. His assessing gaze scans me from head to toe, back again, before his mouth pulls into a sly grin as he inclines his head.

My hostility toward him is immediate. There’s something off about this asshole that I recognize...only because like recognizes like.

Meanwhile, Grant is blind to it, his voice filtering into the stare down, annoying as ever. We both turn our eyes to him at the same time.

“Aiden was just telling me that he bought this gallery for his wife.”

Our eyes slide back to each other. And we both relax, our mutual hatred of Grant somehow easing the strain between two shady as fuck characters.

“It’s nice to meet you,” I finally say, Aiden’s grin slicing a line across his face, dark humor at the edges of it.

“I was actually telling Grant that I met my wife in an art gallery. It’s a sweet story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you some time.”

Grant clears his throat because he can’t stand not being the center of attention. Our eyes slide back to him.

“I’m sure Adeline would love to hear the story. She’s mentioned how much she likes your wife. Do you come to these events often?”

My brow quirks when I realize that Grant isn’t actually curious about Aiden’s involvement with the gallery. He’s attempting to butter up another potential investor.

“Actually, no. But I have a thing for photography and came to this one.”

“Oh? Are you a photographer?”

Here we go...

Aiden smiles, but I can tell by the honed edge to it that he knows what Grant’s up to.

“I am.”

“I’d love to see your work.”

Another sly grin. “It’s a private collection. Nothing I show the world.”

The only positive of having Grant’s attention on Aiden is that I’m free to ignore the conversation and scan my eyes across the gallery. As usual, they land on Adeline.

Every so often, she glances our direction, her focus more on her husband and Aiden. It amuses me how hard she has to fight to keep from making eye contact with me.

It pisses me off, too. But I’ll get over it. Her fight is only temporary.

Hearing my name draws me back to the conversation.

“Harrison is about to invest in the company. I’ve been chasing him down for weeks, it feels like. Maybe I can take you both out for dinner after the show is over tonight-“

“Not interested,” Aiden says with no apology for cutting him off mid-sentence.

I feel a twinge of jealousy.

Grant clears his throat, clearly put in his place. I turn my head to grin, suddenly liking the asshole beside me more.

My eyes lock on Adeline again, watching her move from one print to the next, discussing them with several women.

“Yes, well, I have a feeling Harrison isn’t as interested in the company as he claims. I think his interest is in other things.”

I would have ignored the comment if not for the warning in his tone. Turning back to him, I meet his stare.

“And what interest would that be?”

The tension between us is climbing to dangerous levels.

Aiden glances between us, grin firmly in place, clearly enjoying the exchange.

Grant cocks a brow, but doesn’t answer. Judging by the look on his face, he wants to say more, but he’s also intelligent enough to know pushing me too far would be a stupid fucking move.

He’s smart to step away. “If you two will excuse me, I think I’ll spend some time with my wife.”

Grant emphasizes the last two words as his eyes lock on me in challenge.

I refuse to respond, remaining silent as he strolls across the room to stand next to Adeline. Hand lifting, he wraps it around the back of her neck, fingers tight against the muscle. I don’t miss how she stiffens at his touch, my jaw ticking with suspicion.

A low voice next to my ear. “I really can’t stand that dumb son of a bitch.”

Turning to meet Aiden’s stare, I say nothing. He only smiles more.

“Would be a shame if something happened to him.”

Ignoring the taunt, I return my attention to Adeline, noticing the distance she attempts to put between her body and Grant’s.

Something’s not right. But from what I’ve seen on his security cameras, he hasn’t done anything to hurt her. Why is she acting like an abused pet?

Aiden follows my line of sight, an odd sound rumbling in his chest, a step taken to stand closer to me as his voice drops to a low whisper.

“Do you want my advice?”

“No,” I answer, refusing to look at him.

He chuckles. “Too bad, I’m giving it to you anyway.” A pause before he says, “Sometimes when you want something bad enough, you just have to take it.”

Annoyed, I bark a response. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Except I know exactly what he’s talking about, and it takes effort to peel my gaze away from a woman whose existence makes me bleed.

Our stares lock, and Aiden cocks a brow.

“She’s married. But, so fucking what? You don’t seem like the type to let small details stop you. If you want her as badly as I can tell you do, man the fuck up and do something about it. Even if she kicks and screams at first. Eventually, she’ll come around.”

His eyes drift to Rebecca.

“Trust me,” he says, his hand slipping causally into his pocket. “The payoff in the end is worth it.”

“What the fuck do you know?” I ask, uncomfortable with what is now the third person to point out my interest in Adeline.

This is too close.

I’m getting way too fucking close.

His eyes slide from photo to photo, a knowing smile stretching his lips. “I think the exhibit tonight should be your answer. Some women are in need of a demon. And from what I see in those shots, it’s not her husband she’s talking about.”

With that, he walks away, a sophisticated stride as he approaches Rebecca and places his hand on her lower back. He bends to whisper in her ear, and she smiles, her eyes glimpsing up at me before returning to the group of people surrounding her.

A few seconds and a woman runs up to them with a bottle of champagne in hand, the top popping off as Rebecca tells Adeline that all her photos have been sold.

But rather than elation on Adeline’s face, I see relief…and that fake ass fucking smile she always wears.

Grants hand clamps on the back of her neck tighter.

And I’m about one second away from storming up to him to break every finger.

I’ve had enough of the night, and rather than stand in place staring at a man who drives my violence to dangerous levels, I do what’s smart and leave the gallery without drawing attention.

It’s clear Adeline has made her choice, even if something is telling me that choice wasn’t an easy one.

Deciding a new approach is necessary, I’m relieved to know I won’t have to pretend to be an investor anymore. But I also realize that the next time I come face to face with Grant Cabot, it’ll be a meeting he won’t walk away from.

Adeline

Three weeks. I kept telling myself that’s all I had to endure before I could leave Grant. Only three. Twenty-one long days where I would put up with the escalating abuse.

He’s smart, my husband. He doesn’t leave marks where they can be easily seen, each one small and discreet. The placement of them are in places covered by my clothing, each one of them given when I’m too drugged to remember exactly how it had gotten there in the first place.

Bruises. Teeth marks. Small cuts that have no explanation other than a desire to hurt me when I’m too drugged to fight back.

It became a pattern after that first night. Always while at home. Always in the bathroom. I’m not sure why he only hurts me in there, but it makes me fight to avoid walking into one.

A person can go only so long before nature calls, and I was becoming dehydrated as the weeks rolled on, only because I’m trying like hell to avoid it.

Not that it matters. He’s an inventive man. And after the first few nights I tried to refuse what he wanted, I learned it hurts less if I just give in.

Two weeks passed before the gallery show, and I was strong enough to survive it.

If I hadn’t depleted my trust account years ago, I would have left after that first time. I’d thought about going to my old house and sleeping on the floor, but I knew he’d find me there. Knew he’d drag me home.

I thought about calling Ari since he’s the only person I know who isn’t loyal to Grant. Every time I typed the first text, I erased it just as quickly, my fear justified, but for what reason I’m not sure.

If I’m to escape completely, I know I have to do it on my own.

So, I decided to do the smart thing and wait it out to come up with a plan.

I’m now only a day away from leaving my husband. Less than twenty-four hours and I’ll take what little possessions I can carry and flee the state. I used what was left in my account to purchase all the necessary tickets. A short flight, a long ride on a train, a bus to one town and then back on a plane.

I thought about leaving the country entirely, and I still might.

If it wasn’t for the sale of those photographs, I would have never been able to accomplish it.

One more night.

I can survive this...

I keep telling myself that as I sit on the side of our bed, waiting for the pills to take effect that Grant makes me swallow every night.

He walks in front of me, removing his suit jacket to toss over the back of a chair in the corner sitting area, unbuttons his cuffs and pulls at the knot in his tie.

“I haven’t heard from Harrison since your little gallery show.”

Green eyes catch mine from over his shoulder, his back to me as he pulls his wallet from his pocket to toss on top of a dresser near the closet.

Turning, he grins as he tugs at the top buttons of his pressed white shirt to loosen the collar.

“Guess he wasn’t that impressed.”

The knife hits where he’d intended, but I shrug off the sting. Those photos weren’t for Ari. They were for me, a clawing grasp at what I had before this asshole tricked me into giving up every part of myself.

I’ll take it all back eventually. I just have to escape.

“Even if he wasn’t impressed. Somebody was. I sold every piece.”

There is still a little rebellion left in me, only because I refuse to let him break me completely.

Slowly unbuttoning his shirt, he keeps a careful eye on me. Doesn’t react to what I said. He’s watching for my reaction to whatever cruel statement he’ll make next.

“You know,” he says, slipping the shirt from his shoulders to reveal a toned body I’d once found attractive, “I made some calls today I should have made a few weeks ago.”

Dropping the shirt into a hamper, Grant catches my eyes, holds them. “Nobody besides Steven Turner has ever heard of Harrison Nash. I thought it was interesting, so I made a few more calls.”

My shoulders stiffen as much as they can, the effects of the drugs already taking over.

“What I found is he doesn’t exist.”

Grant steps up to me and gently touches my chin, tilts my face to his. “You’re going to tell me who he really is.”

Heart sinking with one painful thump, I tell him the truth. “I don’t know.”

His mouth comes to my ear, hand sliding to my throat. “I think you’re lying.”

Grant’s fingers flex, the gentle grip tighter. He’s holding back, though. I can feel it in the way his hand shakes just slightly.

He’s only trying to scare you. Don’t panic...

“I think you’re going to tell me everything you know about Harrison Nash. And then you’re going to explain to me what the point of your little game is.”

“I don’t know who he is.”

It’s not a lie. If Harrison Nash doesn’t exist, then I have no idea who the man is that managed to seduce me into breaking my vows. It terrifies me to think I’d been so stupid. He could have been anybody, and I’d willfully been alone with him.

Maybe this is why I’d known better than to ask for his help. He’s not the person he pretended to be.

What the fuck happened to my life?

Fingers grip harder, but I hold my breath, wait it out. Green eyes pin mine, a warning rolling behind them that causes my pulse to thud, to race, to skip.

Then Grant smiles, the line of it hard.

“Is that so?”

He lets me go, and I draw in a breath as he crosses the room to his dresser to open the top drawer. What he pulls out causes my pulse to race even more, my breath to catch again. I can feel my heart pounding everywhere, the tendons in my neck pulling painfully tight as Grant turns to me fully and holds up all the proof he needs that I’ve done something wrong.

How the hell did he find it?

“While you were out running errands the other day, I had Gloria come to the house and take a look around.”

His thumb presses a button on the cheap phone, eyes narrowing, just before he cocks his arm and throws the phone at me so hard, it cracks against my face.

My hand flies to where it struck, pain radiating out from my cheekbone until tears are leaking from my eye.

“Pick it the fuck up and read me what the texts say, Adeline.”

I shake my head, knowing what he’ll do to me.

A low growl. “Pick it up. I’d like to hear it in my wife’s voice. The proof that she’s been fucking another man behind my back and using him to play a game on me.”

He takes a step forward, and I scrabble for the phone, my body sliding off the bed to the floor where my fingertips touch it and it spins away farther. Diving for it again, I pretend I’m doing what he says, my thumb moving over the screen as if scrolling to the top. Really, I’m going against instinct and reaching out for help.

Help me.

I type the message as fast as I can, delete it before Grant can cross the room and grab the phone from me. His fist swings down and catches me on the side of my head, my body falling to the ground from the force of it.

Grabbing me by the hair he pulls my body up, slams me against the side of the bed and shoves the phone to my chest.

“Read the fucking texts, Adeline, and for every fucking one you two sent, I’ll show you exactly what I think of them.”

He’s going to kill me before this is over. I can sense it, can feel the loss of control that rolls off him in waves.

And I can’t fight. Not drugged like I am. Not while blood is already leaking from where my skin was split when he threw the phone at my face.

Lips shaking, I beg. “Please, don’t do this.”

Wrapping my fingers over the phone, I take it from him.

“Read them. One by one. From the beginning.”

Grant’s voice is so cold it freezes me to the bone.

I don’t want to die...

I haven’t even lived yet...

Scrolling to the first text, I clench my eyes shut as tears roll down my face. Grant crouches in front of me, waiting.

His fist tightens in my hair, and I cry out from the pain, my eyes snapping open again, the tears obstructing the words that glare from the screen. I blink them away and open my mouth, the knot in my throat so large I can barely talk around it.

“What will it take for me to convince you to leave me alone and stop toying with my fucking life?”

The last word isn’t fully out as Grant backhands me, his knuckles cracking against my jaw, my body falling as the phone flies from my hand.

It spins where it lands, the room so quiet that I can hear the plastic scraping over the marble floors.

And then Grant’s footsteps as he moves to grab it. He brings it back to me. “Read his response.”

One after the other, I read the texts, only for Grant to hit me again after each one. I make it through the first day I bought the phone, my eyes swelling almost shut by the time I’m done, my lip split, blood dripping down to dot the floor beneath me.

Grant looks at me calmly, not an ounce of guilt for what he’s doing.

“You know, I would have believed my wife was being blackmailed if the conversation had ended there. I would still hate you, but I would have hated him more.”

He pauses, rubs a thumb over one of the areas where my skin is split, wipes the blood on his dark pants before gripping my face so hard the inside of my cheeks are being shredded by my teeth.

“But it didn’t end there, did it, Adeline? Give me his fucking name.”

“I don’t know it,” I whisper, unable to add any strength to my voice.

“Liar.” Another punch, this one to the center of my chest, my head snapping forward and back against the side of the mattress. “Read the rest.”

Sucking in a breath, I try to focus on the screen, but it keeps fading out. My body can’t take much more, and the drugs are dragging me into sleep.

Oh, God. I don’t want to read this one, my mouth opening and closing as Grant stares down at me with flared nostrils and bloodshot eyes. The tendons in his neck push out white against his skin, his fingers curling slowly into a fist as he waits for me to read aloud the proof I’d worked with Ari to deceive him.

After several attempts, I’m barely able to get the words out, my voice shaking, skin bleeding, my head pounding where it swells.

“The coast is clear. Y-Your husband is as a-annoying as ever and d-doesn’t notice you’re gone. I would have noticed. Just so you know.”

His hand wraps around my throat to drag me to my knees, his other backhanding me so hard, my neck wrenches left. I hear the bones in my spine crack, feel the skin over my cheekbones split wider.

He doesn’t drop me this time, doesn’t stop to pick the phone up that fell from my hand to clatter to the floor. He squeezes instead, and my air is cut off, white spots bursting in front of my open eyes as I reach up to scrabble at his hand with my fingers.

Grant is too strong. Too angry. He’s beyond reason after hearing me read what Ari said about him.

“I’ll tell you once more to give me his real name.”

Face lowering to mine, his breath is hot against my skin as he watches me struggle to breathe. “I suggest you don’t lie to me this time.”

Dropping me, he crouches at my side, completely still while my mouth opens, and my lungs drag in the first breath. I have nothing I can give him. I don’t know who Ari is.

The knowledge of that forces so much panic through me that I attempt to crawl away. All Grant has to do is grip down on my ankle, his fingers digging into the tendons until pain shoots up my leg.

He drags me to him, wraps his hand in my hair and lifts my head up until my neck is bent back.

“Tell me his name.”

“I don’t know it,” I cry, wishing like hell there was something else I could tell him.

“And I don’t believe you, Adeline.”

Slamming my forehead against the floor, he almost knocks me unconscious. My head is swimming, the room coming in and out of focus as my ears ring.

I only had another day to go before I could escape this man.

And unlike what I believed a short while ago, I now know I won’t survive it.

Ari

My phone vibrates over the surface of a table from across the room, the sound drawing my attention as I strip off the black fitted t-shirt I’d worn all day while navigating a city I wasn’t familiar with.

Outside the window, a parking lot sits half filled, neon lights flashing above a small, hole-in-the-wall bar that caters to the dregs of society.

I never stay in luxury when I take jobs, not unless it’s absolutely called for. It’s easier to rent cheap motel rooms that accept cash and don’t ask for names. Five star accommodations want credit cards and identification, which I have, but prefer not to use too much. Even aliases can be tracked if they keep showing up in places where powerful men are found dead.

The added benefit of cheaper places is the lack of cameras. Nobody gives a damn to record the crimes and activities of its customers. Would be bad for business.

My flight home doesn’t leave for another six hours, and while I could have gone directly to the airport, I chose this place instead so I could take a shower after introducing hotshot playboy and millionaire, Kennedy Porter, to the afterlife.

Not that anybody would suspect he was murdered. The man had a slight drug problem that wasn’t well hidden and the fatal overdose he took would soon be slapped all over the numerous news and social media outlets with lengthy articles mourning his loss while also discussing the dangers of addiction.

Sometimes this job is just too easy.

My phone vibrates again as I drop the t-shirt into the small bag I’d brought with me, and I ignore it to strip off my jeans on the way to the shower.

You couldn’t pay me enough to sit on the bed in this place, but the small chair in the room will do while I wait the short amount of time that’s left before my flight.

I brought my own towel, so I pull it from the bag, flinging it over my shoulder to walk to the bathroom, the phone vibrating once again.

Blowing out a breath, I turn to look at it, my dark mood not made better by the disturbance.

Ignoring it again, I take a shower, and I’m towel drying my hair as I step back into the room, finally grabbing the phone from the table and sliding my thumb over the screen.

Lincoln: You being a good boy?

I already knew it would be him. I didn’t bring my actual phone with me for this job, and Lincoln is the only person who has this number.

Fucker must have seen read on the message because the phone lights up in my hand when he calls.

I hit the green button and trap the phone between my shoulder and ear as I walk back to my bag to grab clothes.

“Where do you want me to put all these prints?”

Lincoln never bothers to wait for me to say a damn word before jumping on me with a question, accusation or taunt. But he was good for one thing today. He’d gone to the gallery for me to pick up Adeline’s photographs.

I’d paid for them before leaving on this trip, knowing I’d be gone for a few days.

“Just set them against a wall in the living room. I’ll figure out what to do with them later.”

A low whistle across the line.

“These are something else, Ari. How does it make you feel to know she sees you as someone tearing apart her life?”

Of course, he would go there. But I’m not sure that was the point of the photos. Adeline is cleverer than that.

“Fuck off,” I say as I grab my laptop and drop my weight into the chair. “I’ve stayed away from her for the past week.”

“Only because you’re distancing yourself so as not to be a suspect.”

My jaw ticks. The asshole knows me far too well.

After the gallery event, I realized just how close I was getting to Adeline, and just how badly I was hiding the obsession I had with her. Given Grant’s comment, and those of the gallery owners, I knew it was time to back off and put distance between Adeline and myself.

Not because I was giving up on her, but because if drastic action is required later on, the last person I want people to think about is me.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

He laughs. “Says the man we both know is still watching her.”

Flipping the computer open, I log into one of my bank accounts to ensure the transfer went through to the gallery. Seeing that it did, I log out of that and click on the software I use to monitor Grant’s security system.

The house is locked down for the night, alarm set, which means Grant has returned home from work. His usual pattern is to take a shower and force drugs down Adeline’s throat, not physically, but I’m sure through manipulation.

Following that, he tends to linger, eventually following her into the bathroom later on to coax her into bed.

I stop watching at that point, only because the slow torture is driving me mad. Although the temptation to text her and ask how it feels to take such a boring fuck to bed every night is one I can barely resist.

But then, that would clue her in to the view I have into her bedroom...which is a problem.

Flipping through the different views, I finally came to the bedroom.

And freeze.

Only for a second.

Only for enough time that my mind can catch up and understand what the fuck I’m seeing.

Rage tears through me with the need for violence, a fucking beast snapping its jaws inside me.

“Lincoln, you need to get in your car right fucking now.”

The sound of the elevator door dinging open is in the backdrop. “I’m on my way home now-“

“Go to Adeline’s. Take your gun. And break into the fucking house if you have to.”

“Ari-“

“He’s killing her,” I roar, “right this fucking second.”

Lincoln asks me something, but static distorts his voice because of the elevator.

My eyes are locked on the screen, my entire body rigid with the need to execute the son of bitch I can’t fucking get to right now because I’m three states away.

Adeline is on the ground next to the bed, her back against the mattress as Grant crouches in front of her. Already, blood is seeping from a small cut across her cheek, swelling on the other side. She’s reading something from the phone she holds, and he backhands her when she’s done.

Understanding sinks in at that moment. The fucking burner phone.

“I’m in my car,” Lincoln says, the engine starting as his voice finally clears up. “Where do you need me to go?”

He doesn’t need the address, but I quickly run him through how to access the neighborhood. While directing him to go to the back bedroom where French doors open onto a large patio, I rack my brain with how to stop the beating Adeline is taking.

For every hit, I’ll break one of his fucking bones. For every mark, I’ll cut out a pound of flesh. For every fucking word he speaks to her that I can’t hear, I’ll cut out his tongue and feed it to him before removing his eyes next.

“How fast are you going?”

“Traffic’s light. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

It’s too much time. Grant won’t stop hitting her. She looks like a rag doll with each blow, her face swinging left only for him to yank her up by the hair to hit her again.

I have to stop this. Stop him. Do something that will give Lincoln time to get to the house. Telling Lincoln shoot to kill if Grant comes after him, I grit my teeth together that it won’t be my hands ripping the asshole apart slowly for what he’s doing to Adeline.

My first thought is to call the burner phone, to tempt him to answer, but it will only enrage him more. There is too much of a chance he’ll take it out on her. I have to find something else, anything that will distract him.

And then it occurs to me.

Every door and window in his place are wired to a panic alarm, the wall panels in every room large enough to have lights indicating where in the house an alarm was tripped.

Opening another computer tab, I access the system, punch a few buttons that set off the house alarms, a light blinking to indicate a window near the indoor gym has been opened.

Grant’s head snaps up and he releases his grip on Adeline’s throat, her body slumping to the floor where she attempts to crawl away from him.

“I’m going through the back gate now.”

“Do you have your gun?”

A low laugh. “Are you fucking kidding me? Of course, I do.”

While I listen to his engine rev in the background, I watch Grant push up to his feet, his hand bloody, knuckles busted. He grabs a shirt and pulls it on before storming out of the room.

Adeline’s not moving.

“I’m coming up on their street.”

“Park a distance away. Go in through the side yard, their bedroom takes up the entire left hand side. You’ll find a patio and French doors. They’re likely locked, so break them down if you need to. I’ll shut off the cameras in that area.”

Lincoln breathes heavy over the phone as he moves, and I track Grant as he crosses his house to investigate. The alarms are still blaring.

“Please tell me you set those off.”

“It was the only way to get him away from her. Let me know when you get to the bedroom. And Lincoln, if she’s dead, haul ass and leave Grant alive. He’s mine.”

Grant reaches the gym to check the window, his jaw ticking wildly when he confirms it’s still closed. I set off another alarm near the billiards room upstairs, keeping him away from her and keeping him moving.

“I’m near the bedroom.”

I wait until Grant is in the billiards room before killing the camera to the bedroom. “You’re good. Go get her.”

A door breaks, wood splintering and then I hear Lincoln curse under his breath. Meanwhile, I’m tripping another alarm on the third floor. Grant will figure this out eventually, so Lincoln needs to move quick.

“Jesus Christ, she’s bad.”

I’m in business mode. No emotion. Only a laser focus on the task at hand. “Is she breathing?”

He pauses for a second, then answers. “Yeah.”

“Take her and haul ass.”

“I’ll call you when I get her to the car.”

The line goes dead, and I continue monitoring Grant’s progress through the house.

When he finds that the third alarm tripped for no explainable reason, his eyes narrow and he turns to run downstairs. Unsure whether Lincoln is out of view yet, I refrain from turning the bedroom camera back on, my breath held as Grant runs down the long hallway to return to Adeline.

The three minutes it takes for Lincoln to call me feel like forever. The second my phone rings, I answer and slam the computer shut, push to my feet and begin packing my stuff.

I don’t give a shit what Grant is doing now that he found his wife missing. More than likely he thinks she escaped herself and is searching the yard for her to drag her back in and finish killing her.

“We’re heading out of the neighborhood now. She’s fucked up, Ari, and passed out cold. What do you want me to do?”

The only downside of our lifestyle is a refusal to be seen where authorities linger. No cops. No fire departments. And no hospitals. If he has to take her there, it will be a quick dump and run, not because he doesn’t care, but because that’s how we stay invisible.

“Will she die?” I ask, not bothering to elaborate because Lincoln already knows what I’m thinking.

“I don’t think so. I checked for any sign her skull is fractured. She’s got a nasty knot, but the bone is intact.”

Zipping my bag closed, I make a decision that might end up killing her if she has internal injuries, but it’s what has to be done.

“Take her back to my penthouse. Put her in one of the guest rooms and keep her in there.”

“Ari, that’s not a good idea. She’ll figure out-“

My voice is a razor sharp blade. “Don’t you think I already know that?”

We both go silent, and I clench my eyes shut thinking about the shit storm this situation is about to become. I consider having Lincoln take her to her old house, but it will be the first place Grant looks, and while Lincoln could stay with her and kill the bastard if he shows, I’m too selfish to let that happen.

Grant Cabot is my prey to run down. Has been since the moment he laid the first hand on Adeline.

“Keep her in the guest room. There’s nothing in there that will give away what I’ve been doing. I’ll be home in a few hours.”

I end the call and step outside to cross the parking lot and get in the rental car. Peeling away from the parking lot, I hope like hell there is an earlier flight home.

Grant Cabot is about to meet the demon in Adeline’s life. And while that thought brings me so much joy I’m fucking swimming in the heat of it, a cold wave of dread washes over me like ice water.

He isn’t the only one about to come face to face with a monster.

Adeline is about to learn the truth of her demon as well. And there’s no telling how she will react to it.

Ari

I pace the airport like a caged tiger, the minutes ticking down while I wait for the flight to be called.

Around me, people keep their distance, their expressions wary, a few security guards eyeing me like I’m a fucking terrorist having some internal battle with myself about whether I’m willing to die for my cause.

In a way, I am. But it’s not random strangers I want to take out, it’s one particular man who doesn’t know he’s dead yet.

Once again, Adeline is causing me to act out of character. I know better than to draw attention to myself. Airports are filled with monitoring devices, and here I am, allowing them to record my rage.

I’m a smear against the polished floors and glimmering ambiance, a stain ruining the cheerful fucking music and fake as hell smiles adorning all the employees’ faces.

And I’m making people nervous.

I call Lincoln every five minutes, annoying the piss out of him because all he can tell me is that he cleaned up what he could on Adeline’s face and she won’t wake up.

Not that we want her to. I’m too worried. Grant has no doubt drugged her again, just like he always does, the pills keeping her in a far away oblivion before she’ll wake up to the truth of her life.

How the fuck am I going to explain it?

Eventually my flight takes off, and I’m surprisingly allowed on the plane, the entire flight a fucking nightmare because I’m cut off from keeping a distant watch on a woman who has turned me into a stalker.

Thankfully, they don’t put me in the emergency exit aisle. That would end badly.

In the mood I’m in, I’d pop the hatch and toss every asshole out at 35,000 feet because they looked at me funny, coughed, slurped their drink a little too loudly, or hell, just existed at a time I feel the need to kill, to shred, to fucking destroy and tear down the entire world if need be to get at Grant Cabot.

I’m not in a better mood by the time the flight lands, but I’m on the phone with Lincoln immediately to find that nothing has changed.

Adeline is still sleeping with no idea she’s locked in a space with her entire life surrounding her, some parts of it visible, others hidden.

The first step I take off the flight is made with the knowledge that it won’t matter what she thinks of it.

Adeline is mine now.

I have no plans to let her go.

I’m not the hero in our story. Never have been. And you need to remember that. I’m just a man with an obsession that’s lasted too fucking long, the truth of it carved into every bone, seared into every muscle, and spread out over my entire penthouse so that there’s no hiding it once Adeline wakes up.

Now, I’m in the back of a cab finally heading home, my foot tapping against the floorboard because the driver is following every traffic rule, playing it safe, driving me so goddamned mad that I imagine every possible way I can kill him quietly and dispose of the body.

The timing of this couldn’t have been worse. Had I not been out of town, I would have my car, I would be breaking every traffic law, and I would be inside my penthouse right this second.

But I’m not.

Fortunately, the drive only takes another fifteen minutes, and after I’ve mind-stabbed the driver every time he stopped at a yellow light or took too long at a stop sign, I pay him and climb out of the car, my stride eating the ground between the street and the elevator, my body practically vibrating as I insert my key, input the code and wait out the short ride with my teeth grinding together.

The elevator dings, the doors slide open, and my stare meets Lincoln’s where he stands in the hallway awaiting my return.

“She’s still alive.”

I shoulder past him without saying a word, drop my bag on the ground in the living room and head straight for the guest room. I won’t believe anything until I see it for myself.

The amount of bruises on her face and body are going to matter. I’ll count each one, dedicate them to memory, and be sure to return them to Grant before ending his miserable life.

His won’t be an easy death. More like the worst I can imagine. And the thought only brings me a little peace as I step into the shadow of her dark room and approach the bed.

Adeline lies motionless over the mattress, the blanket tugged up to her chin, but her face is so swollen, she won’t be able to open her eyes fully for a day or two.

He beat her to a damn pulp.

Rage blooms through me like algae in warm water. It becomes a virus racing through my veins, infecting every cell, locking every muscle in place as I stare down at her.

But I’m not just mad at Grant.

I’m mad at myself.

It would be ignorant of me not to realize I had a part in this.

And that just pisses me off more.

I hate it when Adeline is still. She hasn’t so much as twitched a finger in the time I’ve spent watching her.

It has to be the drugs.

She’ll never touch the fucking things again.

I turn and walk out of the room. A man on a mission. A blade that will gut Grant Cabot and feed his intestines to him as he screams and bleeds out.

There are so many different ways I can imagine his death that it’s difficult to pick just one.

“What are you going to do now?”

Shutting her door quietly, I pull my keys from my pocket and lock it from the outside. It’s fucked up, I know that, but I can’t have her waking up and stumbling into the living room where a new nightmare awaits her.

“I’m going to kill Grant Cabot.”

Lincoln follows me as I march into the living room, grab my computer from my bag, toss it on the surface of the grand piano and flip it open.

“Well, that’s obvious. But how do you plan on doing that without two and two being put together? People will remember you, Ari. A week isn’t much time for them to believe you’re out of the picture.”

“I’ll wait it out,” I answer as I access Grant’s camera again, my lips curling at the corners to see him standing with police in his foyer, an expression of feigned panic on his face.

“He’s called the cops,” I mention, scanning through the cameras in the other rooms to see a forensics team in the bedroom analyzing the broken French doors and photographing the blood on the floor.

Fucking dumbass. Doesn’t he know the first thing they’ll check is his security system? It might clue them in when they watch him beating Adeline. With that thought, I check the archives and curse under my breath.

“He’s smart.”

Lincoln cocks a brow in question.

“He erased the footage of the beating.”

I was a little surprised he had the forethought to do so, but apparently Grant thought along the same lines as me. I’d already erased everything from the night I went to their house for dinner so he had no record of me.

“Don’t you think the cops will wonder why it’s missing?”

I lick the front of my teeth, scrape my tongue against the sharp edges and grin.

“Not if I gave him the perfect excuse to claim the security system was malfunctioning by tripping all those false alarms.”

Son of a bitch. He was going to play this off as if someone broke into his house and abducted his wife.

Soon, Adeline’s face would be all over the news, her abusive fuck for a husband crying and begging for her safe return. I wondered briefly how he would explain his busted knuckles.

Although most would consider this a bad turn of events, I see it as opportunity. It only means Grant won’t be arrested any time soon, and he’ll be out there unprotected in the world where I can eventually find him.

I tap a few more buttons, returning to the camera monitoring the foyer to see Grant handing the police Adeline’s burner phone.

It would concern me if the number on it had been my actual phone. But, all they will find by investigating that particular phone is that it’s a cheap throw away, paid for in cash, with a fake name attached to it. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances.

Crossing the room, I pull open a drawer and fish around for the phone. Hitting the button to turn it off, I notice a text before it powers down.

Adeline: Help Me

A new surge of fury explodes through my body to see she reached out for my help.

I shut the phone off to prevent tracking and drop it back in the drawer.

“The only choice I have is to wait this out. A few months, if need be.”

It feels like too long a wait, but I’m a patient man. If it takes years to finally have a clear path to Grant, I’ll do it. This was never about him anyway.

It was always about her.

I have what I want.

Revenge for what he did to her is secondary.

When I turn back, Lincoln is standing with his arms crossed and his back braced against the side of the piano. His expression says it all. I’m in a seriously fucking bad situation, one he’s been warning me about for years.

No longer am I just an assassin and a stalker, I can now toss kidnapper on the list.

“What are you going to do with Adeline?”

“Keep her,” I growl as I head to the wet bar to pour a glass of scotch. Slamming it, I pour another.

“She’s not a stray pet, Ari. They don’t have babysitting services for abducted women while you’re out on a job.”

I grin at his comment. “Your services have worked out pretty well so far.”

Intelligent brown eyes pin mine from across the room. Between us, the place is littered with proof of the years I’ve watched Adeline. It’s littered with proof that I’ve intentionally fucked with her life.

The sun is rising outside the large windows, and it casts brilliant color over all that evidence, like fiery spotlights of accusation on each photo, each instrument, and over a bookshelf filled with everything she’s ever read.

Sadly, that’s not all of it. Only what can be easily seen.

“So, what? You’ll just keep her locked in a room until she comes around to the idea that she now belongs to you?”

Swallowing, I clench my fingers over the glass. “If I have to.”

He shifts his position, crosses an ankle over the other. “You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

He doesn’t know the half of it. The truth is, I lost my mind on the night I first saw Adeline. What’s occurring now is that fate has handed me a shovel and is forcing me to dig my hole deeper.

As much as that’s been happening, I’m already halfway to the other side of the world.

But Adeline will come around.

She has to.

Because there is no other choice I’m giving her.

The sun rises higher, and my energy wanes. I need sleep if I’m to deal with Adeline’s reaction when she wakes up in a strange room, her face so swollen she can’t see.

But she will recognize my voice, and I hope it’ll be enough to calm her down.

“You can take off,” I say to Lincoln as I set my glass down and make the decision to take a nap in Adeline’s room so I’m there when she wakes. “Thanks for helping me out tonight.”

Lincoln slaps my shoulder as I pass him, a low grunt sounding in goodbye before he dips down the hall toward the elevator.

After going in my room to change into a pair of loose sleep pants and a t-shirt, I grab a pillow and blanket to take to Adeline’s room.

I unlock the door and creep into the darkness, shutting it behind me quietly just as something heavy hits the wall near my head and shatters.

Spinning, I can barely make out Adeline’s small body crouched at the corner of her bed, her eyes bare slits staring at me and a collection of objects she’d found in the room on the mattress around her.

She picks up another object and launches it at me. Thankfully, she has shitty aim, and I’m able to dodge it.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I roar, dropping the pillow and blanket to step toward her.

Hand clenched over something bigger, she lifts it with the threat of swinging it at me.

I stop in place, stretch my neck side to side because I don’t have time for this shit.

“I saved your fucking life,” I tell her, figuring she’s hurt and confused and doesn’t realize who I am. “You know me. Put the lamp down.”

Adeline shakes her head, her expression unreadable because her face is one big, swollen bruise.

But her voice is clear, her words setting the tone for how much shittier this situation is than I realized.

“Your name is not Harrison Nash,” she says as she brings the lamp up to swing at me like a bat.

“I don’t know who the fuck you are. And if you take one more step toward me, I swear to God, I’ll take your head off for it.”

Adeline

He takes a step back when I shake the lamp at him. My entire body is in throbbing pain, and it’s anybody’s guess how I’m even able to move. Maybe it’s the adrenaline of knowing I’ve gone from one life-threatening situation to another.

Whatever it is, I refuse to let Ari anywhere near me.

Even if he somehow stole me from Grant.

Even if he’d gotten my text and managed to come running to save my life.

I was desperate when I sent it, and I certainly didn’t expect to wake up in a strange room with the door locked from outside.

“What are you going to do with Adeline?”

“Keep her.”

“She’s not a stray pet, Ari. They don’t have babysitting services for abducted women while you’re out on a job.”

“Your services have worked out pretty well so far.”

“So, what? You’ll just keep her locked in a room until she comes around to the idea that she now belongs to you?”

“If I have to.”

“You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

I heard the entire conversation after waking up and managing to crawl from the bed to the door. Slowly pressing on the lever, I’d found it locked, and I pressed my ear to the wood despite the pain of anything touching my face.

There is so much pain and I can barely open my eyes. The drugs Grant fed me are still running through my veins, but I’m fighting against them, my adrenaline too much. I refuse to let this newest threat get anywhere near me.

Fuck. I have no one who can help me. All my friends gone. No real family to speak of. The only people I can potentially call are Rebecca and her husband. They seem like good people, the type who will help a woman in my situation.

Not that I have their number without my phone.

Ari moves slowly to flip the light switch on the wall, the sudden brightness of it blinding me.

I lift a hand to shade my eyes and feel the lamp jerked from my grip, the rest of the crap I could find to defend myself knocked from the bed to clatter loudly against the ground. I didn’t even hear him move before he disarmed me.

I scream and cower into the corner, my back against hard plaster as my feet slide over the blanket on the mattress.

Raising my arms to protect my head, I go still, waiting for a beating that never comes.

Seconds pass in silence, my body trembling.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says softly from several feet away from me. “But I won’t tolerate you trying to hurt me either.”

“Who the fuck are you?” I scream. Not giving a damn about how much it hurts my throat, not caring that it causes the pounding in my head to become harder.

“I’m Ari. The same man you met in the cemetery. The same one you danced with at the company event. The same -“

“The same fucking man that got the shit kicked out of me by playing a game against my husband.”

Tears burst from my eyes, stinging everything they touch. I can feel the skin splitting open again beneath my bandages, dried blood tugging against the cotton as fresh drops seep from the wounds.

I expect him to deny it. Expect an argument that I’d chosen to cheat, and it was my fault what happened. But that’s not what he does.

“Your husband is going to die for what he did to you. I promise you that. And I’ll never forgive myself for having a part in it.”

He pauses. Lets his words sink in.

“But that’s not what’s important right this second. You need to calm the fuck down before you hurt yourself more.”

A burst of laughter flies from my lips, humor utterly absent. “Calm down?”

I crack my eyes open to see him standing near the bed, close enough that he could lunge and grab me. His face is a blank mask, grey stare locked on me with no emotion rolling behind it.

“How the hell can I calm down when I just heard you tell someone else that you have no intention of letting me go?”

“Fuck.”

The word comes out on a hiss as he steps back, his eyes never moving from my face, his stance broadening as if readying himself to stop me from running from the room.

When he doesn’t answer, I fill the silence.

“Who were you talking to?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

My voice hitches higher. “What is your real name?”

Silence. One beat...two...

“I can’t tell you that either.”

I crumple to the bed, my body shaking with angry sobs. I’m so fucked. So ridiculously fucked that I can’t believe this is my life.

Swearing the universe hates me, I remember all the shitty luck I’ve had. Every horrible thing that’s happened to me, whether outside of my control or a consequence of some stupid decision I made.

How is this even possible? How is any of this fair?

My voice cracks as I beg, “Will you please just let me go? I haven’t done anything to deserve this.”

He doesn’t answer immediately. Doesn’t move from where he stands watching me.

“I’m afraid I also can’t do that.”

Fuck him, I think. Fuck this. I’m tired of being a woman men like to push around. I’m sick of being their victim.

Renewed strength bursts through me on a burst of adrenaline. The need to fight. To survive. To escape the fucking chains people keep trying to attach to me as if I’m not a human being who has a right to her opinions or thoughts.

Launching from the bed, I attempt to run around him for the door. He catches me easily, pain shooting over my body as he traps me against a wall.

One of his hands cushions the back of my head so it doesn’t slam against the plaster, but the other grips the front of my shirt to hold me in place. I thrash against him, but he steps closer, pinning me with his body, his voice a deep warning.

“If you continue to fight, I’ll have no choice but to hurt you. I’m doing everything I can to avoid that now, but I only have so much patience for this shit.”

His hips hold my abdomen in place, his chest so close to my head that I can’t turn away from him.

Ari’s scent washes over me as he calmly holds me against the wall while I twist and jerk, trying and failing to get away from him.

It’s unfair that my nose breathes him in, that my body wants to soften against him even when he’s doing this to me.

But the body never forgets. And his scent is a lure that draws me to him like a moth to a flame.

Earthy. Masculine. A hint of spice that reminds me of exotic places and secret sin.

I tremble in response to it, tears streaming as his body heat holds me in place as much as his hands.

Only a fucked up person can want the man who’s holding her captive, yet I find myself melting against him finally, my will to fight lost.

Ari is such a silent strength, his arms coming around me with so much gentleness that the air catches in my lungs.

His voice a whisper above my head, he reminds me, “You texted me asking for help. And I’m giving it to you. The only way I know how.”

“By holding me against my will?” I ask against his chest, the words muffled.

Fingers brush down my hair and I stiffen in response to it. Not because it’s Ari, but because the last man who touched me like that hit me so many times afterward that I passed out.

Fear skitters down my spine on icy fingers when he finally answers.

“You’ve belonged to me for a long time, Adeline. I’m not letting you get away now.”

I don’t respond. Can’t respond. Because what the fuck do you say to that? I can try begging him to let me go again, but I know it will get me nowhere. I can try fighting, but he’s a hell of a lot stronger than me. I can demand answers, but I damn well know he won’t give them to me.

That leaves me with what?

A whole lot of nothing.

Especially in my current condition.

Once again, I have to play this smart, but look where the fuck that got me when I thought I was doing it with Grant.

I had one more day.

One...

And now I’ve somehow jumped from the frying pan directly into another psychopath’s fire.

I’m beginning to think everybody in my life is seriously deranged.

“You need rest, especially with your injuries, so I’m going to put you back to bed, change your bandages and let you get some more sleep. Later on, you can get a shower, and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

Another humorless bark of laughter. “Is that the plan now? You’ll take care of me and make all my decisions?”

I crane my neck to look up at his face, try to ignore how his eyes cause my heart to pound harder, how my thoughts race to remember what those cruel lips can do to me.

“Are you trying to be the hero now, Ari?”

A shadow passes behind his eyes, his mouth thinning into a line. He doesn’t look away from me, though. Just stares as if looking at me for the first time.

“I’ll never be a hero. Don’t ever fool yourself into thinking that. I’m the demon, remember? You depicted me perfectly in all those photographs.”

My heart beats hard with a painful thump.

Voice softer, he steps back. “Get in bed. I’ll bring you something for the pain.”

“I don’t want your drugs,” I snap.

“You’ll take whatever I give you.” His fingers capture my chin, gentle instead of hard, dominant instead of forceful.

Tipping my face up to his, he searches my eyes.

“I’m giving you ibuprofen for the swelling, but really, if it were anything else, what can you do about it? You’re not leaving this room, and you’re staying in bed until you’ve healed enough that you won’t hurt yourself more. Don’t mistake me for someone who won’t get what he wants. That would be a stupid decision on your part.”

A tremor runs through me.

“What happens if I fight?”

His eyes darken, mouth pulling into such an arrogant smirk I can feel it in my bones.

Dipping his head down, he speaks against my ear, his hand clamping down on my hip to keep me from moving.

“I’ll tie you down,” he whispers, voice deep and haunting.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll still fight.”

Ari grins against my cheek. “You don’t want to do that, love. Just the thought of it turns me on.”

My body goes still against his, the honesty of his threat making me burn in ways I shouldn’t. But then, Ari has always made me burn, even now that I hate him.

Fingers releasing my hip, he steps away again. “I’m the demon. Don’t forget that. Now get in bed. I’ll be right back.”

I want to tell him to fuck off with his demand, but I’m so tired and in so much pain, I lie to myself and pretend there’s no fighting against him just so I can crawl under the covers and close my eyes again without hating myself as much as him.

Everything hurts.

Even the parts of me that aren’t bruised and beaten.

Ari returns to the room so quietly that I jump when I hear him set a glass of water on the table beside me. The mattress dips as he sits down, his hand opening to show me the two pills he has in his palm.

I have a flashback of Grant and those damn sleeping pills he made me take every night, my stomach rolling with the memory.

Ari must intuit my thoughts. Then again, he can’t know why I’m thinking them. I’ve never told him what Grant was doing.

“It’s only Ibuprofen. I promise you.”

What does it fucking matter? It’s like he said earlier. He could be handing me cyanide, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it.

I take the pills, swallow down the water and hand him the glass.

Without saying another word, he changes the bandages on my face with tender hands, eventually getting up from the bed to take the empty glass and dirty bandages with him. I crack my eyes open and watch him cross the room.

He’s almost out the door when I speak again, my voice a whisper of sound splintered apart by my tears.

“I wasn’t always like this, you know?”

Ari stops, eventually turning to watch me with assessing eyes. “Like what?”

“A victim,” I answer. “There was a time in my life when I used to fight.”

Something unreadable flashes across his face, an unspoken thought that is there and then gone again.

“I know,” is all he says before leaving the room entirely.

The door shuts with a quiet click.

A lock slides home with finality.

Ari

I spend the following week paying penance for my crimes.

Every day I watch the news, listening to the bullshit sensationalist pieces about how poor Grant Cabot, millionaire and entrepreneur, had his sweet wife taken from him during a home invasion.

Pictures of Adeline flood the screen, ones taken during their wedding and honeymoon, others from her social media accounts during those first few months when she was being trained to schedule dinner parties while he chipped away at who she really is.

Grant claims to have fought the attacker, thus excusing his busted knuckles, but insists whoever has taken her was too strong.

That admission makes me a little happy because when the day comes that we meet again, he will find that there is the tiniest glimmer of truth to his bullshit story.

Per the news and every official briefing given by the police, they suspect a man had been blackmailing Adeline. The public is being asked for any information regarding Harrison Nash, a confirmed false identity that may still be in use while he smuggles Adeline across the country.

What the fuck ever. Adeline is right here, locked in a room in my penthouse, still barely speaking to me while she recovers from the beating her husband gave her.

Still, the media spectacle continues as they search for any video that gives a face to the name of the supposed attacker. Unfortunately for them, the hotel didn’t preserve their tapes from the company event, and when they approached the gallery, they were told no tapes existed there either.

The media descended on the gallery since it was the last place I was seen, but both owners refused to give a filmed statement, opting for a written one instead.

We wish we could be more help in locating the person of interest in this matter. However, any recordings taken during Ms. Cabot’s show have been accidentally erased. We at the Weeping Willow are saddened to hear of her recent abduction and wish to express our sympathies since it is our upmost belief that the abduction and exploitation of women in any capacity is reprehensible. It is our sincerest hope that Adeline Cabot is unharmed wherever she may be.

Like everything else, it’s a load of shit, but I keep up with the daily logjam of information, knowing my face will never appear in any of it. I’ve had years learning the art of covering my tracks.

This investigation was over before it ever really began.

The only possible connection the police had directly to me was Steven Turner. However, he had a run of bad luck in the days following Adeline’s abduction and was found hanging in his apartment with over ten million dollars in illegal gambling debt, as proven by receipts found in his high rise apartment.

Thank you very much, Lincoln.

I would have felt bad for Steven’s untimely demise, but that would require a conscience about these things. And considering Steven had been the reason for several other unfortunate accidents and deaths, he probably had it coming sooner or later.

Thankfully, he isn’t my only source of business, so I won’t have to regret a loss of income either.

All in all, it’s going well on that end. As for the situation in my penthouse, that’s a different story.

Six nights in and Adeline only says the same eight words. She hasn’t screamed. Hasn’t demanded information. Hasn’t asked a shit ton of questions. Only one.

“Will you let me out of this room?”

I answer no, and she lays in bed staring at a wall when she isn’t sleeping.

It’s when she’s sleeping that she screams.

Fights.

Cries.

Fists her hands in the sheets while her body curls over itself.

Every night.

For hours.

She got up once and tried to walk around while I stood in the dark watching her. I led her back to bed, but then backed away again to watch from across the room. It was the only instance in the time I’ve had her that she didn’t recoil at my touch.

And I deserve to suffer the absolute torture of watching her work through this mess.

A good majority of it is my fault. Just like last time when I killed her father and caused years of the same kind of problems for her.

I really am the demon in her story, and I have no fucking clue how to fix what I’ve done.

Although I also suspect part of the violence of her current sleep issues is a result of withdrawal from the drugs Grant was forcing her to take.

Stepping into her room after a particularly bad night, I stand against the door and stare at her with my arms folded across my chest, my hair still dripping from the shower I took to wake up.

We’re on day seven. Her bruises have turned a mottled blue-green, the swelling has gone down significantly, and from what I can tell, she doesn’t have any broken bones that altered the structure of her face.

Grant’s lucky for that. It meant I might go a little easier on him when killing him. And by easier, I mean I’ll still cut off his dick, but I’ll do it with something sharp instead of a butter knife.

“Will you speak to me today?”

She glances up at me with hateful blue eyes, not sparing me even the hint of a smile or a sneer, just pure distrust and absolute loathing that I’m in the same room with her.

I don’t blame her for the reaction, but I’m getting goddamned sick of it.

Almost seven years I’ve been chasing this woman down, and now that I have her here, I’m not letting her treat me like I don’t fucking matter.

Maybe I shouldn’t say what I say, but her anger is exploding against mine, the toxic stew of it setting my nerves on edge.

“Maybe I should treat you like shit and slap you around a little to get you to behave. That’s how Grant did it, right?”

Her blues eyes fill with rage, those blood red lips that have always driven me crazy pulling into a thin line as she glares at me with daggers slicing at my face. But I can slice right back.

“You’re going to talk to me at some point, or else you’ll stay in this room for however long it takes for you to scream, or yell, or fight or fuck. I don’t give a shit what you choose to do, but you’re doing something.”

“I’ll never fuck you again.”

Her voice is cold, like ice against my skin, but it’s words, at least. Even if they are utter bullshit.

“I told you there will be a next time. I wasn’t lying. You’ll change your mind about that. But that’s not why I’m here now.”

Her eyes hold mine, a hard stare like a clash of swords, metal grinding, her heart beating like a war drum beneath her chest, the heavy pulse of it a warning that she’s imagining my death.

“Will you let me out of this room?”

And there it is. That one fucking question. The same one she asks every day that pisses me off.

“No.”

Her anger shuts down just like the rest of her, eyes turning toward the wall.

I would force her face back to me if Grant hadn’t already fucked her up. But she’s healing, and this shit will eventually end.

“Jump in the shower, and I’ll make you something to eat.”

As I walk away, she speaks again.

“Why won’t you let me out?”

At least it’s a new question. Except, not one I can answer. I’m still not sure how to explain my penthouse, the years of her on display, the shrine as Lincoln calls it.

I’ve considered tossing all the shit before letting her out, but I refuse to do it. I don’t play the instruments. I’ve already read all the books. None of that matters. Her music playlist is the first thing to blast through my speakers when you turn the stereo system on. And those photos. Fuck, those photos...

They’re the first thing I see when I walk out of my room every morning and the last before I go to sleep.

My life for the past seven years has been Adeline Kane.

Not Cabot, because fuck that asshole. His name should have never been hers to begin with.

I won’t get rid of it. I’ll just keep her locked up until I figure out how to explain it. Which will be a while. Because there is no explaining it.

It’s why I leave the room without answering the question, go about making her breakfast and slip the plate onto her bedside table while she’s in the shower.

I drop some fresh clothes on her bed, casual stuff I’d asked Lincoln to buy and bring over.

And with my warden duties done, I leave the room, lock the door and pace my penthouse with my hands tucked in my pockets, my chest bare because I didn’t bother with a shirt this morning, and my eyes studying all the crap I have in this place that makes it a serious fucking problem.

It only angers me because I realize Grant is the sole reason I’m stuck in this position, which means we’re back to the butter knife idea. Maybe a potato peeler.

Stopping in front of the window, I stare out at a city that is alive with worry for a woman who’s being cared for better than her husband ever did. Who’s being coddled. Who’s being allowed to remain the fucking victim she’s become over the past year, and I hate myself for continuing to allow it.

Something has to give.

She has to be taught to fight again.

She has to be reminded of who she is.

I turn at that thought, my gaze tracing over the truth of the past seven years. A timeline that shows who Adeline has always been.

The day passes without incident, and after the sun sets, the night dragging on in an endless repetition, Adeline begins her usual fight.

I hear her screaming from the other room. It’s always like she’s talking to someone. That damn shadow maybe. Or me.

Pulling on a black t-shirt over the loose pants I’m wearing, I let myself into her room to witness her struggle against nothing, against the dark, against herself.

After a week, the withdrawal from the drugs should be complete, so I know this isn’t simply her body’s reaction.

This is her.

The problems she has.

The abnormality of a mind that gets lost between sleep and being awake. That sees dreams and nightmares while conscious of what they’re doing to her.

I take my usual spot against the wall across the room from her, my arms crossed, my shoulders tense. Her torture is mine. Her pain. Her loss.

And while I’ve researched her condition, I still find it hard to believe there’s nothing that can be done to cure it.

Every night drives me a little closer to insanity’s edge.

Every tear she sheds.

Every noise that crawls up her throat, giving me no choice but to listen.

Adeline sits up with eyes open that see nothing but what her mind conjures. Not the room. Not me.

It’s fucking weird. I won’t lie about that. But it’s her. The little monster.

When she slowly turns, I know she’s about to climb out of bed again.

Stepping forward, I move to guide her back. She stops as soon as I’m in front of her. So close, but not touching, just like the first time we found ourselves here separated by nothing but glass.

She inches closer while I stand still, her face to my chest, her eyes unblinking.

But then she breathes me in, her body sways, and my hands move to her shoulders to steady her as she reaches up to fist her fingers in my shirt.

“Ari...”

My hands release her shoulders but don’t move away. Just hover there on the sides as I tip my head down to look at her face.

Adeline is still sleeping as she presses against me, her fingers bunching my shirt more, her body heat combining with mine in a way I haven’t let happen in so damn long.

I know I can’t trust myself near her. Not like this. Not when the fight for self-control would be a losing one. Not when she’s wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt that falls to mid-thigh.

My hands lock over her shoulders again as I lead her to bed, lay her down, then attempt to stand up when her mouth opens with a sound of complaint and her hand fists in my shirt more.

Leaning over her, I plant my palms on the mattress on either side of her, let her pull my body down until our mouths are hovering a teasing inch apart.

She’s asleep.

She doesn’t know I’m here.

When her lips part on a whispered please, I forget the world has rules.

I may have a conscience when it comes to Adeline, but my sense of morality has always been skewed.

When she touches me like this, so innocent and ignorant of the shadow that looms over her, I don’t see what’s wrong in taking what I want.

Judge me.

Hate me.

I said you would.

But sometimes even the ugliest of stories can be beautiful, and ours has been fucked from the beginning.

My hands have already ruined Adeline’s pristine canvas.

There’s no point worrying about the dirty smudges now.

I brush her lips with mine, grin when her hand fists tighter, her other reaching blindly until locking on my shoulder to tug me to her.

Another soft kiss. Another. Her eyes close, but she’s still seeking something she can’t realize is above her.

I kiss her harder, my tongue sweeping out, dancing against hers as I lower myself down, giving her what she wants. My body. My weight. My heat.

Catching her tongue with my teeth, I trap and punish the muscle, small mewls vibrating in her throat as her hips buck against me.

Adeline’s legs fall apart so fucking far that she’s just begging to be touched, her back arching as her tits press up, her hips rolling, looking for anything to ease that need.

She’s desperate. Wanton. Wild.

There’s not one ounce of shyness in the way she moves, no inhibition, no self-conscious bullshit, just a drive for everything primal, everything filthy, everything raw.

She’s as open as I knew she would be. Unashamed. So fucking hot and bothered that I’m helpless but to take advantage.

I’m a bastard for it, too, but you already knew that.

I cup a possessive hand over her tit and she moans, the sound a siren’s call as it rolls from deep inside her to crawl up her throat.

It’s a damn good thing I’m already going to Hell because this night will certainly pack me on the first train out.

Making a mental note to add thief to my resume of crimes for stealing this moment, I bunch the hem of her shirt in my hand, ripping it up to her shoulders so I can watch her body writhe.

Fuck, she’s beautiful, her hips still rolling in search for a hand or cock or tongue, her back arching as her arms extend above her head now that my heat is against her.

And she’s not crying.

Not fighting.

Not screaming.

She’s not still. I like that the most.

Here, in this moment, she’s sixteen year old Adeline again. Unburdened by the consequences of her poor choices. No longer tamed by a husband that didn’t love her the way I always have.

She’s expanding. Unrestricted. Once again too large for her skin, her spirit spreading out like the wildfire I remember from a time when the weight of the world wasn’t balanced on her shoulders.

I want all of it. My greed for this woman so intense that I take every advantage I can, just like in the car on the night of her eighteenth birthday, just like when she was too drunk and stupid to know who I am.

Crawling down her body, I grip her hips in my hands, lowering my head until my nose is pressed up against the cotton of her panties, my chest expanding as I breathe her in. My jaw locks at the scent of her hot, wet cunt, seducing me into losing my mind.

Her hips buck at that tiny sensation, little tormented sounds falling from her lips. You’d think she’d combust if not filled soon, her body shaking with need.

I lift my head to stare up her body, her plump tits tight and round, the nipples hard peaks that are begging for touch, for pain, for pleasure, for any sensation that will get her off.

And I snap.

That last tiny thread of self-restraint is gone.

My fingers curl on her hips to pull a wet scrap of fabric down her legs and off her ankles as I stare up at a woman who has no idea what she’s done.

Reaching back, I tug my shirt off because I need to feel her skin against mine.

And then I launch forward, my shoulders catching the backs of her thighs, lifting her hips off the bed as my hands cup her ass and my mouth locks over her cunt, my tongue spearing inside her to a chorus of moans that roll off her pretty lips.

Fingers squeezing her ass, I lift her hips higher, her pussy a feast that I lick and explore, my tongue greedy for the taste, my lungs filled with her scent.

Her hips roll in my grip, dirty and desperate for more, bucking against my mouth as I drag my tongue to circle her clit, sucking in the swollen flesh so hard that she cries out with a shudder tearing over her entire body, her hands clenching the pillows above her head.

Watching her is, on its own, hypnotic.

I blow air over her wet skin and her back arches up, tits full and taut, her inner muscles gripping my fingers when I slowly slip them inside her.

For a moment, I consider waking her up, only because I want to taunt and tease, stretch this moment out until she’s crying and begging and threatening to slice my fucking throat if I don’t give her what she wants.

She comes apart, a burst of flavor on my tongue, my fingers so slick as I keep pumping my hand that the room is filled with a chorus of wet, sloppy sounds against a grunt as her body stiffens, her legs slapping together against my head as if that will stop me from pushing her further.

Fuck, she’s tight, so deliciously hot that I lap at her throbbing, swollen clit with a wicked tongue, my fingers curling inside her body to tease the sensitive flesh, and she falls apart right there in front of me, her body shaking so hard that the mattress bounces beneath us, her knees locking the sides of my head into a vice.

My cock is painfully hard, the head so full that just brushing against my pants causes my body to spasm, to clench.

Teeth grinding until pain shoots down my jaw, I dislodge my shoulders from beneath her legs, climb up her body with no concern for what I’m doing, shove my pants down my legs and thrust inside her balls deep, my mouth closing over a tight nipple, my hands slipping beneath her to wrap over her shoulders and tug her down so I can drive inside her deeper.

She gives it all to me, her legs wide open, her pussy gripping me, the muscles rippling over my cock as her tits press up, back arching, her head rolling over the pillow while her body seeks more.

And I realize that’s what this is. Her body. Not her mind. Her biology taking over so that she will give it all without thought, or care, or concern for the person taking it from her.

This is what her sleep does to her, and I swear she will never sleep next to anybody but me again.

Never.

And I’m not letting her go.

Ever.

This is mine.

She is mine.

I’ve worked my fucking ass off to possess her.

So, I take what’s mine...hard. Without apology, my hips slamming between her legs, my cock driving deep inside that tight, wet, greedy little cunt until her hips lift with each thrust, her body arching from the mattress, and her eyes opening to stare at nothing because she’s still asleep.

Ignorant.

Innocent.

It’s so fucking creepy to see that she’s not here, but it’s us. It’s always been us. The little monster and the shadow that watches her. The man that devours her. The demon that has toyed with her life for years.

She orgasms again, and my balls tighten with the loss of control. I pull out to come on her stomach as my mouth covers hers, our tongues dancing while heavy streams spurt and shoot, my body trembling as thoroughly as hers, my fingers gripping down against her shoulders with the knowledge that I’ll never let her go.

Ending that kiss, I press my lips to her forehead, feel her go still beneath me as deep sleep drags her down into its comforting hold.

I drop my forehead to hers and close my eyes, knowing that I have to rip the bandage off soon.

One fast rip as I pull the curtain back to show her who she is to me.

And even if she screams, even if she’s frightened, I realize she’ll have to come around to it eventually.

Even if it takes a fight for me to show her the truth, Adeline will soon know that she’s belonged to me all along.

Adeline

Waking up is like crawling from an abyss. A deep, dark canyon I’m not used to after years of chaotic dreams.

Normally, the images chase me to the very edge of consciousness. The faces I don’t recognize, the people with clawing hands dragging me back. I know I’m awake before the dreams stop entirely, and opening my eyes is difficult. It’s like peeling off the skin of one life to return to another. Sometimes I apologize.

I’m sorry, but I have to go...

I live two separate lives, both so real that you’re left wondering which one is actual reality, and which one is made up.

But not this morning.

This morning, I struggle to consciousness from a place of nothing, I stretch my body and feel the ache in my muscles, I drag in a breath...and smell smoke.

My eyes fly open to find Ari sitting in his usual spot on the floor against the wall.

He’s only wearing loose pants, his muscular shoulders and chest bare to my gaze, his abdomen with so many ridges, I curl my fingers into my palms with the need to trace them.

Legs bent and slightly apart in front of him, he leans his head back against the wall, his forearms balanced on his knees, a cigarette clutched between his fingers with wisps of white smoke swirling up like snakes.

His mouth opens and smoke slowly pours over his lips.

But his eyes are closed, so he doesn’t know I’m watching him.

“Since when do you smoke?” I ask, forgetting that I’ve sworn not to speak to him while he keeps me trapped.

The corner of his mouth curls, and I realize I still have never seen him smile.

“It’s a nasty habit,” he says, his deep voice edged with exhaustion. “One I partake in rarely.”

He drags in another puff, blows it out as those grey eyes that see everything open and turn my way.

“You fuck in your sleep.”

My eyes round wider, lips parting. And then I feel the evidence of what he said, the soreness, the moisture, the way my thighs stick together as if I’d been rode hard and put away wet.

He must see the anger in my expression, but he only grins, leans his head against the wall again and says, “I’m not apologizing for what I did.”

“You did that without permission.”

“And you haven’t slept that soundly since the second I dragged you into this place.”

Another drag, the smoke floating over his lips as he looks at me again. “Every night you scream and fight and cry. It’s been like that for years. I find it seriously interesting that after you get fucked well enough, you sleep like the dead. Maybe that’s what you’ve always needed.”

Years?

I mean, yes, he’s right about that, but how the hell would he know?

There are so many things wrong with what he just said that I don’t know where to start.

“I have a sleep disorder.”

“I know. Trust me,” he laughs, the sound dark and tired, “I fucking know.”

Wishing I could be angry, or at least deny the truth of what he told me, I know I can’t. I do a lot of things in my sleep. But that still doesn’t give him the right to take advantage.

Opening my mouth to say so, my words are cut off when he speaks again.

“What is it like? What do you see when you’re sleeping? Do you even know I’m there?”

Shocked by the questions, I close my mouth, stare at him with the answers sitting on the tip of my tongue.

Nobody has ever asked me that before. They never see past how my problem affects them to find out what I’m experiencing when it happens.

Allowing myself to think about how to answer him, a moment comes back to me, a vision that’s never happened before.

The shadow took form for the first time last night, my hands grasping him, finally catching that diaphanous shape and making it real.

And God, the joy that bloomed inside me, the memory of it filling me now. It was heat and sunlight and a weightlessness. It was destiny and triumph and lust.

Pure. Unbridled. Like finding the second half of my soul and finally making myself whole again.

What do I see? I’ve never mentioned it to anybody. Not even to my neurologist. At the time, I was too embarrassed to admit the truth.

I admit it now, maybe to shock Ari or to run him off.

To show him how messed up I am.

“I see something or someone I can’t touch. A shadow. It’s there, always there. Standing above me just daring me to reach out. Sometimes it has a face, but I can’t remember it. It has a voice, but its words fade when I wake up. I dream while I’m awake, and that must be what it is, but the dream is always the same. And it devastates me when I can’t hold onto it.”

His eyes move as he searches my face, but his expression is a blank mask.

I’m waiting for the typical response, the hint that I’m a nutjob that needs medication. Poor Little Adeline, she’s not just reckless with her stupid decisions, she’s certifiable on top of it.

When he doesn’t respond, I keep talking, only because the silence makes me tense.

“I feel like I live a parallel life. That I experience things very few other people can understand. And the worst part is, I prefer that strange place. It scares other people, but I love it. It’s happened to me for as long as I can remember.”

Those grey eyes are locked on my face, so many thoughts swirling behind them. But then his lips curl, and I think for a fraction of a second that he’ll smile, that I’ll finally see what his stern face looks like when it softens.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

Anger surges through me at the comment. At the laughter in his voice when he said it.

“Fuck you.”

Shaking his head, he tips his head back, and his lips stretch wider, the smile almost there. So close. Inwardly, I’m begging for it despite what he just said to me.

“Don’t feel bad about it, Adeline. I have a thing for crazy. It’s what’s doomed you since the beginning.”

His expression snaps back to the usual blank mask, grey eyes catching mine when he pulls his head forward and stares at me like I’m someone he’s known his entire life.

“I’m letting you out of the room today.”

Ari stabs the cigarette out in an ashtray sitting beside him, his body unmoving from where he sits against the wall. He’s so focused on what he’s doing that I take a moment to study his profile, to run my eyes down the strong line of his jaw.

Dark stubble peppers his skin, his hair disheveled as if he just crawled out of bed.

He’s beautiful, this man, even for as much of an asshole as he is.

Surprise fills my voice, “You’re letting me go?”

A shake of his head, his hair falling forward over his forehead. “No. I’m just letting you out of the room.”

For such a small thing, his demeanor is guarded, his shoulders tense.  I guess this is a step in the right direction, but his behavior is unsettling.

Pushing to his feet, he walks to the door and glances at me, something unsaid behind those clear grey eyes. “Get dressed and come out when you’re ready.”

I push up to a sitting position, the sheet sliding down to pool at my waist. Ari’s eyes follow the material as it falls, hovering there at my hips before lifting again.

“Why do I get the feeling I don’t want to leave this room?”

He’s scaring me for a reason I can’t understand, the hair on my arms lifting, goose bumps prickling across my skin.

“Because you don’t,” is all he says before walking out of the room. Except rather than shutting the door, he leaves it open, a hallway stretching out in front of it, light streaming through from another doorway to the right.

I watch Ari turn the corner, listen to his footsteps retreat.

Silence descends, and I hesitate before pulling the sheet from my legs to crawl from bed and go in the bathroom.

After taking a shower and getting dressed in the clothes that mysteriously appear on the counter near the sink, I take a deep breath and prepare myself for whatever it is he has waiting for me.

How bad can it be?

It’s probably best not to ask that question. I know nothing about this man except the fact that he likes to play games regardless of how they destroy me.

Fuck. I don’t even know his real name or where I am.

My legs are unsteady as I creep down the hallway on bare feet, the long t-shirt he gave me fluttering at my thighs. As usual, the jerk didn’t give me pants to wear, but the shirt covers enough not to feel completely exposed.

Reaching the doorway where the light pours through, I close my eyes and suck in a breath, my hand sliding against the wall as I turn the corner and force my eyes open.

The first thing I notice is a large wall of windows looking out over the city, Ari’s large form leaning back against it, his arms crossed over his chest and one ankle crossed over the other.

He doesn’t turn to look at me, just stares straight ahead. He appears so vulnerable at that moment, stripped bare. The usual darkness that clings to him gone as if he’s stepped out from where he usually hides to reveal the man he is.

And then I notice the gleam of sunlight over a black grand piano, my eyes scanning deeper into the room to see he lives in a penthouse that must cost a fortune.

Sunlight bathes the dark wood floors, shines brightly against built in bookshelves on a far wall, glimmers over the glass of several photographs displayed.

Recognition of those photos hits me immediately as I step foot into the room.

Walking up to the first, I touch the glass with my fingertips, my thoughts going back to when these were sold.

Over a year before I married Grant. Over a year before Ari appeared in front of me in a cemetery where I mourned my father.

Over a year...

I turn to look at him, and he continues staring straight ahead. He’s refusing to gauge my reaction, just allowing me to explore the space that I now understand is a story that goes much deeper than I know.

I move to the next photo, and the next. Turn to see the newest ones all piled up against another wall.

Standing in the center of the room, I turn slowly to see a cello in one corner, a guitar in another. My eyes drift to the bookshelf and I step closer to realize every book is one I’ve read.

All parts of my life. Pieces of me. This room is filled with everything that I am.

Fear douses me as realization comes flooding in. This man knew me before I ever knew him. He intentionally sought me out while pretending it was the first time he laid eyes on me.

“How long?” I ask, my voice shredding the chilling silence between us. I spin to face him. “How long have you been watching me?”

All he does is lift his hand to hit a button on a remote I didn’t see he was holding. The Noose by A Perfect Circle begins playing.

It’s my favorite song.

We stand several feet apart, both of us unmoving, my stare locked to his face while he refuses to look back at me.

And as the music pours through the verses on a crescendo of sound, the anger inside me builds with it, my feet storming across the floor as I march toward him to slam my palms against his chest.

“How fucking long?” I yell.

He doesn’t move, his body a cement wall beneath my hands, but those eyes swing to mine, so clear against the sunlight that bathes the room.

“You’ve met me before,” he answers with no emotion in his voice. “Think back.”

I hit him again, my hands slapping his chest as I lose control. “I have no idea who the fuck you are! How fucking long, Ari? Tell me!”

No reaction except for a slow blink of his eyes, thick dark lashes fanning against his skin before he lifts them. His voice is soft when he speaks again, haunting against the music that continues to play.

“Your car was towed downtown one day, and you almost got yourself killed when you stepped in front of a bike messenger. I was so angry with you. At first, at least. You never pay attention to what’s going on around you.”

The memory comes back to me in a flash, so sudden that I step back to look at him. His face makes sense in that moment, where I’d seen him before. It wasn’t from the cemetery, it was from a rainy sidewalk where I’d admitted to a stranger that I was getting engaged.

Oh, my God...

“Was that the first time you saw me?”

The tick of his jaw is my answer.

His head drops and he stares at his feet. “On your eighteenth birthday, you went to a club with your boyfriend. You got into a fight and then you drank too much. A man attacked you...”

My blood runs cold as he recounts the incident.

Eighteen.

So many years ago.

Backing away from him, I shake my head, refuse to listen as he admits how he drove me home that night, tucked me into bed. How we almost fucked in his car if I hadn’t gotten sick.

My hands are shaking, my heart pounding in my throat, and I continue stepping back as if the distance can save me from a man who has been stalking me for years.

A man who has me trapped.

A man who knows everything about me.

Every night you scream and fight and cry. It’s been like that for years...

What he said makes sense now. And terrifies me to the bone.

Stumbling on unbalanced feet, I can’t take my eyes off him. Not now that I’ve seen him in the light of truth. How long has he been planning this? What can I do now that he has me?

“I’m leaving,” I say, not knowing how I’ll accomplish it.

Ari’s eyes snap to me, anger rolling behind them, his jaw so tight it hurts me to look at it.

“You’re not. You can’t access the elevator without a key and a passcode, the walls are soundproof so screaming won’t do you any good. And unless you feel like breaking a window to jump thirty-five floors to your death, you won’t be going anywhere unless I let you.”

Stilling in place, I absorb his words, the finality of them like a period at the end of a sentence. You’re here. This is where I put you. You won’t get away now.

Rebellion blooms inside me, a brilliant red heat that infects every cell, my brain so full of it that I don’t give a fuck what he will do when I fight against him.

Another man tried to beat me down, and I’d survived that. I’m not worried about this asshole and his apparent obsession.

“You may have me trapped, but don’t you dare ever touch-“

He lunges forward and cages me against a wall, his body towering over mine, his head dipping down until his nose traces the line of my jaw, his breath hot against my skin.

“And what will you do about it, Adeline? Tell me? I’d love to hear all the ways you’ll keep me from taking what’s always been mine. It’s worked so well for you so far, hasn’t it?”

Ari’s fingertips drag up my thighs, pulling the t-shirt with them, but then he moves to grab the backs of my legs and lift them up, pinning me with his hips between them.

I tremble to feel the line of his rigid cock, to know how turned on he is. Tears slip from my eyes, and he stares down at me without caring what he’s done.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

Head dipping further he speaks against my ear.

“I know all your fantasies. All your secret thrills. You want to be torn open and dominated, want a man to take without asking. Want this demon to fight you into submission because that’s just the type of dirty little girl you are.”

His hips buck forward and my body is shoved up the wall, my breasts tight against his chest, my lips slightly open as a breath shudders out of me.

“You can’t hide from me.”

Ari grips my chin and forces my face to his, our eyes locking in battle, a grin tilting those cruel fucking lips that lie and lie and lie.

He’s not lying now.

I slap at him, my palm slamming his cheek so hard it vibrates down my arm. Ari’s head snaps left, but then slowly turns back to me.

“What else you got?”

Slapping him again, I claw at his skin, but he pushes into it, enjoys it, doesn’t care about the blood that trickles in tiny little rivulets.

He catches my wrist and pulls my hand from his face, glaring at me with explosive heat behind his eyes.

“You used to fight when you were younger. I watched it. Wanted it. Enjoyed it. And you can fight me now all you fucking want just as long as you know I will have you in the end. I will keep you. I will own you because I’ve been the shadow protecting you all these years from all the other pricks who only wanted to destroy you.”

Reaching between us, he rips my panties aside and pulls his cock from his pants. Our eyes remain locked, mine narrowing as he searches my face for any reaction to what he’ll do.

I refuse to give him one.

Mouth against my cheek, he nips at my jaw. “That’s it, baby bird, show me how much you hate me.”

He thrusts inside me, and my mouth falls open at the sensation of being filled. His stare drops to my lips, and he grins while keeping his body still.

“I’ll eventually fuck those lips when you get over your petty bullshit, but until then, your greedy little cunt will do.”

He holds my jaw in place as he moves his hips, his cock pulling out to the tip before thrusting in again. And he’s right. My body does love this, responding by getting so wet the sound of it drifts up to my ears as his eyes pin mine.

My body is a traitor, an orgasm just on the precipice, building as this man, this stalker, fucks me in a penthouse filled with my life, the music I hear all songs that I love, his scent dragging me into temporary submission because it is so fucking familiar now that I know where I’d first smelled it.

And as he drives into me so hard that my back slides against the wall, I watch his face while memories pour through me, little snippets in time where he is suddenly there...watching. Waiting. Building his complicated web that will eventually ensnare me.

He drops his mouth and bites my shoulder, and the pain sets me off, my body trembling with an orgasm that is filthy and wet, my pussy gripping him as my hands dive into his hair to rip at the black silk and drive the pain right back to him.

It only gets him off.

Pulling out of me, he comes down my leg, each hot spurt accompanied by a grin on his cruel lips and his eyes trapping mine.

Our hearts beat in tandem, our breath colliding between us.

“Do you understand now?” he asks, his voice a bare whisper.

When I nod my head, he releases me and yanks the waistband of his pants up over his cock.

“Good. Then I’m going to take a shower. Feel free to explore, Adeline. Open cabinets, go through boxes, take a good long look at the life you’ve lived while I’ve been watching.”

So sophisticated is his swagger as he leaves the room, his shoulders broad, his back tight with muscle.

He turns a corner, and I sink down to sit on the floor, my eyes staring at where he’d last been before they move over all the proof of how well he truly knows me.

The only thing I can think is that I still have no idea who the hell he is.

Ari

I stand in the shower absolutely dumbfounded over the fact that Adeline is, at this very moment, going through the truth of the past seven years, her curious little fingers pulling apart boxes where she’d find pictures and souvenirs, journal pages I’d ripped out and kept, the fake IDs I took from her when she was underage.

There was so much hidden in every corner, behind cabinet doors, in the pages of the books she read and wherever else I could secret it away. This obsession. This hellscape. The trap she’d set so many years ago when she ran to her father’s body after hearing the gunshot.

She wasn’t supposed to be in the house that night.

I’d been assured Liam Kane would be the only person home.

Yet, there she was. Crying for him. Her voice calling out into the darkness until I couldn’t walk away. I’d never seen the aftermath of the things I did. The murders I’d committed.

Sure, I saw the news, the fake, puffy faced bravery as the family thanks the public for their support, the usual generic words as people pay their condolences, the warnings of whatever supposed affliction killed the person.

But I’ve never seen the moment they’re found. Never heard a person crying over the body.

Never had a moment when I turned around to see the carnage I left behind.

I would kill the person who ordered that hit if he wasn’t already dead. Fucking strangle him for the years I’ve spent obsessing over Adeline.

And now she’s discovering the truth. And sadly, what she’ll find isn’t even the worst of it.

How long?

I’d tap danced around answering that question, hat shaking in one hand, cane in the other. A fucking vaudeville performance complete with jazz hands and fancy jacket to keep from admitting the truth that would destroy her if she knew.

My hand slams on the handle to shut off the water, and I stand dripping in place, my eyes closed against the steam, my mind racing through all the horrible things I still have to do to her.

We will fight.

She will remember herself.

And I’ll hate myself during every second of it because she never deserved what’s happened to her.

When it comes down to the root cause of it, Adeline has some seriously shitty luck in life.

Which means I have some seriously shitty luck in life. Because she’s mine. Every screwed up part of her.

Fucking hell...

But I guess it’s better the devil you know and all that. Or the danger, in my case. Because that’s what I am. A danger. A disaster that has been slowly creeping up on her in the darkness of night, in the cloak of shadow.

I won’t destroy her. Not fully.

Not like every other asshole in her life would have.

Adeline knows me.

She just doesn’t know she knows me.

She’ll thank me for this...eventually.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

Getting dressed, I dread having to go out there, but I put one foot in front of the other.

I’m prepared to find my entire penthouse destroyed in Adeline’s search for answers, ready to duck if necessary should she try to fight for her freedom, but when I poke my head around the corner to check for what weapons she’s gathered, all I find is her small form frozen by the windows, her eyes cast out over a city that doesn’t know she’s looking out at it.

Palms splayed against the glass, she stares unblinking, her naked legs poking out from beneath her t-shirt, her hair a mess from when I’d fucked her. She doesn’t turn when I walk up behind her, stopping just short of touching her.

Her line of sight is directed at the church beneath us, and I steal that moment just like I’ve stolen everything else because I refuse to let her bring that asshole into my penthouse. Even if just in thought.

Stepping up so that my chest is to her back, I place my hands over hers, trapping them against the glass, my head dipping down until my breath cascades down the line of her neck.

“You never have to worry about him again, and I would appreciate it if you forget you ever knew him.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her body unmoving, no fight to pull away from my touch.

“Did you watch me get married?”

And we’re back to the questions. At least this one I can answer.

“Yes.”

She becomes quiet again, her body thrumming with nerves, shaking even though she doesn’t move away from me.

“Not that it matters. He doesn’t exist anymore. The city you’re looking at doesn’t exist anymore. The only thing that exists in your world right now is me.”

Her body jolts at my words, anger a vibration just beneath her skin. Still, she does nothing to argue with me. To fight. To tell me where to shove my claim on her life.

I can see her face in the reflection of the window, just barely, just enough to know her brows have tugged together and she’s chewing her bottom lip.

“How long?”

“I’m not answering that question.”

Adeline rips her hands from mine, spins to face me and shoves her palms against my chest to knock me back.

“Fine. If you won’t answer that one, then tell me your fucking name.”

Anger blazes behind blue eyes, that fire I’ve missed so much. She’s coming back to me slowly, except I have to wonder what she will do when I lose my patience and fight back.

Grant fought her, the fucking prick, and she folded. This burst of hatred won’t last. I know it. She doesn’t.

“I’m not telling you that either.”

Another slam of her hands against my chest, the skin between her eyes crinkling. “Then what will you tell me?”

“That you’re mine,” I answer with a smirk. “That you’re here. And that you’re not leaving.”

“Fuck you,” she growls before ducking left to sneak around me, my body turning slowly to watch her storm across the penthouse to the hallway. “I’m leaving.”

Adeline marches down the hall, barefoot and in only a t-shirt, a violent stabbing at the elevator call button clickclickclickclicking so fast that I have to bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

I don’t bother following her, just lean my back against the glass and wait for her to give up.

She storms back, runs at the window as if to break through it and bounces off so hard that she falls on her ass.

It was funny before, but now she might hurt herself.

I step over her, one foot on either side of her body, staring down with every threat of spanking her ass.

“Attempt to break my shit again and I’ll bend you over my knee for it. And what the fuck were you going to do anyway? Fall thirty-five stories to your death? That would have really shown me, huh?”

Furious eyes glare up at me. “I would rather be a stain on the fucking pavement than spend another hour with you.”

She’s lost her fucking mind. Not that she had the best grip on reality as it was, but fuck.

Lincoln is right. She is a little psychopath.

My fist grips her shirt, pulling her up from the floor, her feet scrambling for purchase as I lift her higher.

Head falling back, she keeps glaring, her hands locking over my wrists, nails stabbing me, but it won’t do her a bit of good. I’m too pissed to care about the pain.

“I’ve spent too many years chasing your crazy little ass around just for you to break yourself in my house. You would have never made it through that window to fall since they’re built to withstand impact, but now you’ll have a nice bruise on your ass that I didn’t put there. So never try to break my shit again.”

She understands then. I don’t care about the window. I see her as my property, and I’ll be damned to let her destroy it.

Through gritted teeth, she says, “I’ll do whatever the hell I want.”

Oh, the fuck no she won’t.

“You want a bruise on your ass? I’ll give you one.”

Catching her wrists with my free hand, I tug them from the one gripping her shirt. She weighs practically nothing as I yank her to her feet, catch her around the waist and force her a few feet back to the leather couch.

A squeak bursts from her lips as I drop both our bodies down, maneuvering her so that her stomach falls across my knees, the hem of her shirt bunching at her hips.

She’s still fighting, still angry as a spitting cat, so I lock one hand down over the back of her neck to keep her from rearing up and catching my nose with the back of her skull. The other, I use to lift her shirt just before my palm slaps the firm flesh of her pale ass.

Another small shriek at the sting, but she stops moving, the threat firmly in place now that I have her pinned and exposed.

Leaning over her, I speak softly, my voice cold and controlled while she’s hot with fury. “Stop fighting me. I’ve already won.”

“Like hell you have.”

Another slap and she flinches over my knees. “I won when you went on that walk in the cemetery with me. I won when you chose me over your vows. I won when you told me you were getting engaged as if begging me to stop you. And I won so many other times you don’t know about or remember.”

Adeline’s body becomes motionless, my palm rubbing away the sting on her skin, slow circles that warn I will slap her again.

She can lie and pretend that she hates me, but her body thinks differently. It always has.

This is pushing the line a bit far to even admit it, but I’m dying to see her reaction.

Whispering against her ear, I reveal one of her truths she thinks nobody knows.

“If somebody was strong enough, I think they could own me. It would take a lot. I’m stubborn, I know that. But I know there has to be a man out there who can break me, who can understand me, who can seduce me by matching me toe for toe while somehow seeing all my parts and accepting them for who I am. He’ll be stronger, obviously, faster. But he would conquer. How messed up is that? I’m not looking for the type of love that makes a person feel warm. I’m looking for someone who will fight a battle, not to hurt me, but to show me I’ve met my match. I don’t think he exists. He can’t exist. They never do.”

Her body goes rigid as I recite a journal entry I’d found in one of the beat up books she’d stuffed full and tossed aside. I’d ripped the page out back then, kept it, read it so many times that I’d memorized every word until the paper was thinning.

My voice softens even more, the deep vibration of it moving over my lips to the shell of her ear. “He exists, Adeline. And you’re pissing him off.”

No response. She doesn’t give up her thoughts by accusing me of stealing her private confessions, by yelling that I let her go, by demanding answers. Adeline is disturbingly silent, her body frozen in place, her eyes hidden by the fall of her dark hair.

It’s a prick move on my part, telling her what I know about her, admitting that I’ve spent years studying her and examining her life when she didn’t know I was there.

But I’m not done.

Stupid. It’s fucking stupid of me to want her to know the truth of it. To want to punish her for trapping me in a spell she didn’t know she’d cast.

Just like that first night she cried and forced me to turn around, her silence now is forcing my hand until I’ve lost my mind.

My fingers flex on the back of her neck, a small grunt of discomfort over her lips as I pull her up, lock her back against my chest and shove her legs open so she’s straddling my lap. Her plump ass sits over my hardening dick, her hair falls over my shoulder, and I grip a hand over her knee before slowly dragging my fingertips up.

Red lines form in her skin from the hard path my fingers take, up higher until I’m tugging the bottom of her shirt up her body and yanking it from her arms.

Her tits bounce over her chest as her arms drop back to her sides, my arm locking around her waist like a steel vice to hold her back tight to my body, to scoot her ass even more over the rigid line of my cock.

Still, she gives me no response, a fucking pathetic rag doll who will take what I do to her without question or complaint.

It’s a defense mechanism, the same thing she did when Grant stripped her of personality, and I won’t accept it. I don’t want it. I want the aggravating girl she’d once been, the monster who pissed me off at every turn.

So, I remind her of that girl. Even if it means I’m admitting things that will push us too close to the truth of why I know her.

Adeline is mine.

She’s here.

And I finally get to play with her for as long as I want.

White cotton panties still cover her hips and cunt, but I want those on for now, want that tiny bit of modesty, that thin shred of fabric that lets her think I don’t have her completely naked and bared to me.

Except, she’s wrong in that.

Any man can strip a woman of her clothes and make her stand naked before him. But even then she’s not truly naked. It’s child’s play. Brute force. But he still can’t see all of her. And that’s where he loses. Not if her thoughts are still locked away in a mind he can’t have. Not unless she gives it to him.

I have Adeline’s mind. Her private thoughts. Her memories. All her successes and shames, triumphs and losses. Every single one. I was there watching them. Reading about them in her journals. Looking through her room at all the photos of her life before me, her life after.

I have it all. Body and mind.

And she still doesn’t know the first thing about me.

If that’s not winning, I don’t know what is.

Adeline can keep the panties for now.

Because I already see the parts of her that no other man has seen before.

All the parts she can no longer keep hidden away, no matter how hard she shuts down.

Adeline

I’ve felt fear before in my life. Tons of it. Enough to break even the strongest person. Enough to sink anybody beneath the surface of water and drown them in the consequences of life.

I felt it when my mother got sick and was dying. When I heard the gunshot on the night my father died. When I knew I was alone in a house filled with ghosts, and when I lost control of myself in the years that followed.

Fear and I are well acquainted. It’s been delivered by men who’ve hit me. By assholes who thought they could control me. By the days and nights I felt everything I loved being stripped away while I watched helpless from the sidelines.

I know fear. I’ve lived it. Slept with it. Cuddled up to it when a man beat me senseless because I’d broken my vows.

But this fear. What Ari is doing to me now. It sinks deeper, cuts sharper, the jagged lines of it fissuring through my mind and body while he holds me in place and admits all the secrets he knows.

His chest is a blanket of heat against my back, the soft cotton of his shirt rubbing against my skin, his scent, that musky, masculine spice of him, is seducing me into compliance.

The familiarity is startling, memories rushing back. Flashes of shadow I’d dismissed, the way my hair would stand on end when it felt like someone was watching.

We all feel it, that presence, those eyes on us, exploring and touching, examining and judging.

Deep down we know someone is watching, but we brush it off.

I shouldn’t have dismissed it as many times as I did.

Fingertips softly brushing up the top of my thigh, he tightens his arm around my waist and holds me still. I can feel every breath he takes, every steady beat of his heart, even though my pulse is chaotic and fractured, a trapped bird frantic to escape the confines of my ribs.

My body trembles as his lips brush my ear, as his fingertips climb higher on my leg. A sweep of his thumb over my panties and I shiver, my spine going straight.

“Four months before you turned seventeen, you started dating Kyle Warner. He was two years older than you, just graduated high school, a pencil dick nobody that you happily grasped onto because you stopped caring by then.”

My eyes close at the memory. I was only with Kyle for a few weeks. A flash in time when I let myself believe love at first sight existed.

Ari’s fingers trace the edge of my panties, a teasing touch as they slide down, sweep up, a barely there pressure that causes my hips to buck.

I feel him smile against my cheek, and all I want to do is turn to see it. But when I try, his hand comes up to lock over my throat, to hold me in place. Then sweeps down to rub soft circles over my nipple, enticing the flesh to tighten and bud.

“Two days and he convinced you to give him your virginity, and although you had an empty house, a clean bed, a place where he could take his time teaching you to accept his dick, you seduced him in the back of a car instead.”

His fingers pinch my nipple, twist it, his thumb flicking it before he palms my tit with fierce possession.

My mind races to the back of that car, to the way Kyle fumbled and was too eager. To the pain of him shoving inside me without knowing how to make me wet.

Ari’s hand slides down my body again, teasing the waistband of my panties before his fingertips slide beneath it. He pushes down until he’s just above my clit. His hand stops, and I want to complain, want him to keep going, but he doesn’t.

“Your face on that night, I watched every expression. You wanted so badly to get off, to experience an orgasm caused by somebody else’s hand. And I stood back and watched. A silent presence. My cock was so hard, but I wouldn’t touch it. Wouldn’t relieve the pressure building because of a girl who was way too fucking young.”

Teeth nipping my ear, he drops his hand lower, the pad of his finger grazing my clit. But when I move to rub against him, his arm locks on me tighter, reminds me to be still.

“We both walked away in pain that night. Unsatisfied. Unfulfilled. Kyle got what he wanted within the first three sloppy minutes. But we didn’t.”

His dick is a rigid line along the crease of my ass, every twitch a reminder of what he can give. But the man has such aggravating patience that my teeth slam together, my body a live wire he’s plucking sparks from with every teasing touch.

“So, you left Kyle, didn’t you? And moved on to the next. Benjamin Carter. Now he was a fucking loser. I was a little let down by the choice, but he was the first to spread these pretty legs and introduce you to a man’s tongue.”

He flicks my clit, a quick movement that sends a jolt of need through me. God, I’m so swollen for more, my panties feel wet.

“Except even that didn’t get you off. I saw your face. You fought for it to be enough. But the little prick had no idea what the fuck he was doing.”

Another flick and I want to scream for him to rub hard, to pinch, to slide his hand down farther and shove his fingers inside.

“But you moaned like he got you off. Pretended. Lied. Another two days and you’d sent him off. I’ll give you that much, Adeline. You never wasted too much time on them. Not back then, at least.”

I remembered the disappointment of that one time with Ben. Ari was making me relive it now by refusing to touch me the way I needed.

Ari’s hips move just enough to rub his cock against my ass. A taunt. A tease. A promise.

My body shudders so damn hard because he’s opening me up. Not physically, not in the way he touches me. But my thoughts, my emotions, my dirty little secrets that he toys with like pawns.

He’s right. I can’t hide from him, and for some fucked up reason, it turns me on more. I feel so exposed. So bare. So vulnerable.

And that sick side of me likes it. Not because he’s taken without asking. But because he’s giving me permission to reveal all my ugly parts without fear he’ll run from them.

He likes the ugly parts most.

He already knows them.

“Then you moved on to the next, and the next, and the next. Each time so let down by their failures that you were spiraling out of control. And what you didn’t know was that a man watched from the shadows, one who could give you the pleasure you sought. One who loved every filthy thing about you.”

His hand sinks lower and his fingertips brush over my opening. He circles the muscle, presses down just enough to make me squirm.

“I finally let myself wrap my hand over my cock and pump away at the sight of you when you sucked a man’s dick for the first time. You were horrible at it, all spit and no rhythm. But for some weird reason, it got me off.”

A single fingertip pushes inside me, my muscles gripping tight, needing it. But Ari has more self-control than me. He takes his time.

His voice is a hiss of sound, a warning, a threat.

“Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to steal you away from the little pricks you were fucking and show you how a real man gets you off?”

I shake my head, and he chuckles, clearly amused by my struggle.

“Do you want me to show you now?”

Knowing I shouldn’t want this, knowing I should hate him for the years he’d intruded into my life, I nod my head regardless, so needy and disjointed that the room with all the things about me disappears in that moment.

He’s all that exists. Just like he said he would be. Just like he shouldn’t be.

Ari isn’t just playing a game, I realize. He designed the board, carved the pieces and painted the dots on the dice.

It wasn’t good enough to linger in my world without my knowing it, he had to drag me kicking and screaming into his.

Yet, I still cry out when he sinks two fingers inside me and curls them to tease the flesh behind my clit. I still tremble and buck, moan and writhe over his perfectly swollen dick when he pumps those fingers slowly, the tip of his nose grazing my cheek, his eyes watching my face like they’ve always done.

Dropping my gaze down to my lap, I watch his hand move inside my panties, his knuckles pushing up against the thin cloth. I wish like hell he would just rip them off so I can see everything he’s doing.

Because he isn’t wrong.

Nobody has gotten me off like he has.

Nobody knows how to play my body to the point where I’m acting on instinct instead of thought.

And I want to be dirty.

Absolutely fucking filthy.

I want to open up like a budding flower to reveal all my sordid parts.

I want to be controlled.

Tamed.

Sexually, at least.

Conquered, like he’s doing to me now.

Mostly, I want a man who is just as fucked up as me, who wants me for who I am.

Ari’s fingers sink deeper, and my head falls against his shoulder, my back arching forward, my tits on open display as my legs spread wider across his lap.

Bringing my arms up, I drive my fingers into his hair, pull his mouth closer to my jaw, shudder against the nip of his teeth as my hostility is abandoned, my hatred tucked away to dwell on later.

I want to feel without thinking.

To enjoy without worry of judgment.

To be free. That’s what I’ve always wanted. The thrill of it lost on the day I decided to grow up.

It feels like I was judging myself so harshly, while Ari stood in the shadows loving everything I thought was wrong with me.

His arm tightens around my waist, and he tugs me tighter against his cock, the thick, hard length of it pushing up between the cheeks of my ass. His hand keeps pumping as he nips and licks at my jaw.

I finally turn my head and brush my lips over his mouth, sweep out with my tongue only for him to bite down and smile against my mouth, that tiny bit of pain enough to still me in place as his thumb circles my clit and sets me off.

The first wave of a small orgasm rolls through me, my pussy clenching his fingers, my come soaking his hand, the wet sounds a steady rhythm as he pumps and pumps and pumps.

I’m shaking all over, holding onto his hair like a lifeline, my tongue tugging to escape his teeth as his grey eyes pin mine.

Unwrapping his arm from around my waist, he grips my wrist as his teeth release my tongue. Ari drags my hand to my tit, captures my fingers and clamps them on the tip, his breath hot when his mouth presses to my ear and demands, “Pinch it hard, the way I know you like it.”

And fuck. I do. My hips going wild over his lap, an electric tether between where I pinch myself and his hand that is still slowly driving me until I’m dripping on his fingers.

I spasm at the feel of it, complain when he pulls his hand free and in one swift move, flips me off his lap to lay over the leather couch, his broad shoulders catching me behind the knees to lift my ass from the couch.

Sliding his thumb into his mouth to wet it, he gives me no warning before reaching down to wrench my panties aside and jab it into my ass.

The cotton pulls tight at my pussy, rubbing harshly against my clit as I continue molesting my breast, pinching and pulling because I can see how much he likes it.

But then Ari dips his head, drags his nose along my clammy inner thigh and bites the soft flesh...hard.

I squeal and try to pull away, tears stinging my eyes, but he traps my hips between his hands, holding me in place as his thumb works the tight ring of my ass and his teeth punish a spot so sensitive that I clench my eyes shut with the pain, wet heat dripping from between my legs even more.

When his teeth let me go, he licks the mark and lifts his head, his deep voice reminding me of the night he fucked me senseless against a wall with my husband only feet away.

“I told you the day would come when I’d have you all to myself for hours to play.”

Yes, yes he did. And I’m ready for the worst of it.

An arrogant smirk stretches his cruel lips, the words coming next sending me crashing back to Earth like a fucking boulder driven deep into the dirt.

“It’s too fucking bad you’re not the girl I remember. That girl turned me on. That girl would have been interesting for the time it took to force her into submission. This one, this shell you became for your boring fuck of a husband?”

He shakes his head.

“She’s not enough to get me off. I’m not excited by well-behaved women who live their lives to schedule dinner parties, follow instructions and take a good beating when it’s dealt.”

My heart slams still with a painful thud, my fingers falling from my breast, the tears now hot and thick as he shoves my legs away and pushes up from the couch.

When he glances down at me, all I see is cruelty in his eyes. The humor gone. The lust.

Cold anger ices my veins, denial weaving a lazy trail through my mind. “That’s not true. I’m who I’ve always been.”

Even I don’t believe the words, but I say them anyway. It’s an empty argument, and he knows it.

His stare is so condescending it hurts.

“The fuck you are. The Adeline I used to know would have torn this place apart already. She would have tried to beat me down with anything she could find. She wouldn’t toss herself at fucking windows because she finds herself trapped somewhere. The person I watched for years was more alive than that. What you’ve become is pathetic.”

He leans over me planting one hand on the backrest of the couch and the other next to my head.

“You’ve given up everything that made you unique in this world.” Running a callous eye down my body and up again, he laughs and cocks his head, “but I guess you’re still a slut.”

Shoving away, he storms across the room, opens a drawer and grabs a set of keys, glancing back at me with such a dismissive stare that it stabs me in the stomach.

“Find who you really are, Adeline, and maybe I’ll want to play with you again.”

I scream at his back as he disappears down the hall leading to the elevator.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

The only response I get is the ding of the doors opening. The soft hum of the motor when they close again, and he’s gone.

Tears stream down my face, my body bristling with barely restrained rage.

How fucking dare he?

Even more than the anger is the shame I feel, the truth of it slithering inside me like venomous snakes.

Ari isn’t wrong in what he said to me. And the evidence of that is in his penthouse, the parts of me on display.

Adeline

He isn’t kidding about there being no way out of his penthouse. After Ari leaves, I try the elevator again, realize there’s no getting out that way and then search the space for emergency stairs.

Fortunately, I find some. Unfortunately, that door is locked up tight, just like Ari’s bedroom door as well. If a fire occurs, I’m as good as dead, but it doesn’t appear he cares much.

Everything else is fair game though, but after he leaves, I can’t bring myself to look around. To run my fingers over the spines of all the books I’ve read, to pluck a string on the cello, to stare at photos I’d taken several years before I made my life the mess it is.

And that’s how it goes for several days after.

Every day, Ari leaves and I’m alone in his penthouse. Food is stocked in the fridge, clean clothes are left in my room, there’s a television to watch if I want, but that’s it.

He’s essentially trapped me with the relics of who I once was from the time the sun comes up to the time it goes down, and I refuse to touch any of it.

I spend my nights in bed sleeping soundly, waking up from a dark oblivion I’m not used to, but only because I also wake up each morning to find the sheets rumpled, my legs sticky and the telltale ache between my legs that someone had been there taking what they want.

Apparently, I can get him off despite what he claimed. But he prefers the sleeping version of Adeline. The one that reminds him of who I used to be.

Ari is right that I sleep better after a good fucking, what he doesn’t know is that I’m not completely unaware.

What happens to me while I’m sleeping occurs the same in dreams. And it kills me to realize that the diaphanous shadow I’d never been able to reach has solidified into a demon who has wrecked my world and stole me away as if he owns me.

But touching him, feeling the weight of him finally...it sets my heart at ease, and I’m not crying out anymore with the desperation to hold onto him.

I should be fucking terrified of what he’s doing. Angry. I know that. Ari is a stranger, if that’s even his real name. He’s a ghost. One that shows up when I’m not looking and is gone when the sun dissolves the shadows of the night.

In a way, this past week has been spent like all the years he’s followed me. I don’t know what he does for a living. Where he’s from. What his hobbies and interests are, even though, on that one, I can take a guess. I don’t know what he’s thinking or why he thinks what he does. I don’t know when he’s watching, and that’s the most fucked up part of all.

All I know is he’s a beautiful man, one who can drive my body to places it’s never been, and he’s obsessed with the woman he thinks I am.

The woman I used to be.

A fucked up young girl who was spinning out of control without knowing which direction to turn next.

Maybe I’m still that girl, because it shouldn’t be comforting to wake up every morning knowing he’d been there. It shouldn’t make me sleep better to know he’s standing over me.

I should be terrified.

But I’m not.

At least until the morning comes when I wake up to clean sheets and my pillow on the floor. To clean thighs and my blankets wrapped around my legs. To dreams that had me crying again because the shadow never came.

He never showed up. And that terrifies me more than anything.

Jumping out of bed, I don’t bother going to the bathroom first before running down the hall barefoot and in nothing but a t-shirt.

So many thoughts are colliding in my head.

Maybe he got in a car accident and is hurt or dead. Maybe I’m stuck here, and nobody will know to look for me. Maybe he slept somewhere else, found another woman to obsess over.

That last thought hurts the worst.

Turning the corner, I stop dead in my tracks when I’m pinned by a pair of brown eyes I don’t recognize. A short shriek tears from my throat to see a stranger, my body jumping back behind the wall as I peek out at him.

The man cocks a brow and reclines lazily on the couch, his expression stern, but the faint smudge of bruising under his eyes proving how tired he is.

“Morning,” he rumbles, his voice deeper than Ari’s, less smooth and cultured.

“Who are you?”

Reclining more, he tucks an arm under his head, stretches his long legs out in front of him over the floor and crosses an ankle over the other.

“Your babysitter.”

I’m not sure I believe him. “Where’s Ari?”

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he speaks against his palm. “On a job. He’ll be back late tonight. But he didn’t want you to be alone last night.”

His eyes meet mine again. “Now that you’re awake, I can get the fuck out of here and head home to get some sleep.”

I blink at that, my cheeks heating. “Were you awake all night?”

If he was, I know exactly what he would have heard. My crying. The tantrums I can’t control. I think it was worse last night. The desperation renewed now that I know what it feels like to sleep without it.

One golden brown eyebrow lifts, the man’s eyes watching me carefully. I can tell by looking at him that he’s every bit the mystery that Ari is.

“It’s not something I’m not used to with you.”

Suspicion creeps up my spine, simmering anger right there beneath my skin. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Don’t fucking tell me I’ve had two strange men following me around. Don’t you fucking -

“I’m the person who’s called in when Ari can’t keep an eye on you.”

His shit-eating grin says it all. Unlike Ari, who’d appeared vulnerable for admitting the stalking, this man wears it like a fucking crown.

His smile stretches wider, and he laughs.

“You going to attack me, too? Or should I toss some pillows near the window so you don’t bust your ass too hard?”

My eyes round, then narrow. Not giving a shit that I’m barely dressed, I step out from behind the wall.

His gaze doesn’t dip to run down my naked legs like Ari’s always do. Instead, he keeps it locked to mine, no interest in anything more than slapping me in the face with his knowledge of me when, again, I have no idea who he is.

“Who are you?” I ask the question a second time, not expecting an answer. It surprises me when he gives me one.

“My name’s Lincoln. I’m a friend of Ari’s, and I’ve been keeping tabs on you just as long. So, trust me, kid, there’s nothing about you I don’t already know. Hell, who do you think pulled you out of that house when your husband almost fucking killed you?”

My mouth drops open, closes again. “I thought Ari-“

“If it wasn’t for Ari,” he interrupts me with a deep voice that easily overpowers mine, “you’d be dead. Several times in your life, in fact. You’re a serious pain in the ass. You should know that.”

Although I hate the joy he’s taking in making a joke of what’s been done to me, I don’t begrudge his offer of information.

“How long exactly have the two of you been following me and why?”

His lips curl as he snatches a pair of shoes from the floor near the side of the couch and begins pulling on his socks. “Nice try.”

Fine. He won’t answer that question. Maybe he’ll answer a different one.

“What does Ari do for a living? What job is he on now?”

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

“Ha,” I say, not believing him. “Very funny.”

His eyes drift up to me as he tightens the laces of a shoe. “I’m not kidding.”

Taken aback by the honesty in his answer, a new stream of fear drips down my spine.

Lincoln ignores me to continue tying his shoe, the skin of his fingers turning white around the string for how hard he tugs.

Once finished, he sits up and locks his stare with mine.

“Here’s the deal. You have a fuck ton of questions. I won’t answer them, and neither will Ari. But you also have a fuck ton of answers displayed around you in this place. Some will piss you off. Some will make you think that maybe Ari is a good guy. He’s not. I’m not. Don’t fool yourself. But the answers are there. It’s up to you to find them, and it’s also up to you to accept them and learn to live with them. Ari won’t let you go. I don’t think you understand that yet. And it’s not my job to make you understand. I, personally, have been against this all along, and if I had my way, you would have been left in that house with Grant so that he could take care of the fucking problem.”

I take a step back as Lincoln pushes to his feet, all six foot five of him. He’s a big guy, broad like Ari, his gaze intelligent and assessing.

But there’s no warmth in his expression. No weakness in his posture.

“You should fear the man that has you. He’s not right in the head. And for as much of a bastard that I am, Ari has me beat. He can be a cold son of a bitch when he needs to be, and my only advice to you is to stop testing him.”

He turns to leave, and I want to call out to him. To demand he explain. But it will be as useless as all the demands I’d made of Ari. I’ll be left angry and in the same place I’ve always been.

Stuck in this place. Surrounded by answers I don’t want and a life I wish to forget.

When the elevator dings and the soft whir of the motor lets me know Lincoln is gone, I brace a shoulder against the wall and glance around the penthouse.

My eyes flick over a photograph from my first show, the backdrop my old bedroom with the chaos of color and style, all the crap I’d collected over the years that I threw away or donated when I married Grant.

I miss that room. Miss my old home. Miss a life that wasn’t scheduled into neat blocks of time and didn’t carry the demands of becoming a person I’m not.

Focusing on the shadow standing over me where I lay in bed, I imagine Ari’s face looking down. I wonder how many times that cold son of a bitch, as Lincoln said, was in my house, touching my stuff, reading my journals while stealing my private thoughts.

Obviously, he was everywhere. He knew the train of boys and men I went through in a blur. He knew my habits, my embarrassments, my fears.

He liked them. Wanted them. Wanted me.

But I’m still afraid to go through his place and see the truth of it. Especially now after what Lincoln said.

I’m fooling myself by not digging deeper. I’m letting myself believe this is all just some random thing that isn’t far more dangerous than an abusive, controlling husband.

This is a man who has been stalking me for years. Learning about me. Studying me. And I’m defenseless against him.

He’s a man taking advantage of me in sleep without apology.

And I still have no fucking idea who he is or how he knows me.

It’s enough to freeze any person in place.

So, rather than investigating and freaking myself out even more with the truth, I spend most of my day doing nothing.

Eventually, I find my way to the wall of windows and watch a city move beneath me with no idea I’m staring down at it. I know Grant’s looking for me. I heard his lies on the news. I know many of the people marching around like ants on the sidewalks have heard of the abducted wife, the one who most probably believe is already dead.

Day turns to night as I stare out, lights blinking on all over, my stare locked to a large church front and center to the window where I sit.

What was Ari thinking when he watched me get married? Why didn’t he try to stop me on the day I told him I was getting engaged? Why obsess over a woman only to come rushing in after she’s promised her life to another man?

I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand him.

And I’m not sure I want to.

He wants me to fight, but all I can do is feel sorry for myself. Feel scared. Yet, also hide.

Alone.

I must have fallen asleep while staring outside because I wake up to strong arms lifting me from the floor and carrying me to my bedroom.

Despite all the warnings, I wrap my arms around his neck to cling to the constant shadow that hovers over me.

But when he lays me in bed, he grabs my wrists with firm hands and tugs them from his body.

The bed is cold when the nightmares begin.

The sheets are clean when I wake up the next morning.

Ari

“I take it you didn’t get that asshole on your little excursion.”

My jaw ticks as Lincoln comes strolling into his living room, his eyes locking to mine as I sit hunched over a computer, my fingers tapping over the keys.

“No. I didn’t. He must know his number has been pulled, and it’s only a matter of time before he’s six feet under.”

A grunt of laughter. “If there’s enough of him left to be buried.”

He’s not wrong about that. The hatred I’m carrying for Grant Cabot is enough that after I’m done dismembering his body, I might torch him and roast marshmallows over the open flames.

Even in the midst of his missing wife drama, the man is focused on business, using the tragedy to foster more relationships and secure better investments. He’s a snake in the fucking grass. One that slithered away when I thought I could catch him off guard during his recent business trip.

“He kept people around him at all times, and his fucking suite at the hotel was locked down like Fort Knox. I’m sure it cost the asshole a pretty penny.”

Leaning back in my seat, I watch Lincoln drop his weight in a chair opposite me.

“You need to get some sleep, Ari. You look like shit, and if Grant is suspicious that someone’s after him, you need to be at the top of your game.”

My stare drops to the computer screen, at the different rooms of my penthouse that remain untouched and exactly as I left them.

Adeline is just waking up, her expression frantic as she pulls the sheets aside in search of God knows what. She cried all last night while I stood watching her.

It’s becoming a twisted experiment I’m conducting. I’ve watched her for years. I know what her sleep issues look like, but now that I can toy with them, I feel like I’m tearing her apart even more.

Good. She needs to be torn apart. Her bullshit sad girl routine is getting boring as fuck. Not once has she touched anything in the penthouse. She hasn’t opened the first drawer, ransacked the first cabinet. She hasn’t done anything but act like the beaten down wife of Grant Cabot.

Staying where she’s put. Doing as she’s told.

I hate it.

I’m taking advantage simply because I can. But I’m not enjoying it. Even a cat will walk away from the mouse it enjoyed batting around when the fuzzy little thing lies there limp and bleeding.

Dead prey is no fun.

And Adeline is dead in her behavior.

“What did you say to Adeline when you were at my place?”

He laughs. “As if you couldn’t watch on your cameras.”

Watch, yes. Listen, no. Not from where I was at the time their conversation happened.

“I told her the truth. You’re an asshole and fucked in the head. She either accepts it or she doesn’t.”

My gaze snaps up to him.

“Thanks for that.” And I mean it. Adeline needed to know.

Plus, I told him to tell her that. It’s all part of the plan. She won’t fight a hero, but she’ll sure as hell fight a villain. Once she starts fighting again, that is.

A shrug of his shoulders.

“She’ll figure it out eventually. All of it, Ari. I just wonder what she’ll do with that knowledge.”

Our stares lock. I catch what he’s implying but refuse to respond. Instead, I watch the cameras, tracking Adeline as she takes a shower, gets dressed and then goes into the kitchen to dig through the fridge. I stocked it with everything she used to eat when she was younger. I wonder if she’s noticed that yet.

She pulls out a tub of vegan yogurt, digs in a drawer for a spoon and then makes her way to the couch.

Just like always.

This is about as exciting as watching paint dry.

“What are you going to do when she hates you for killing her father?”

Lincoln’s voice drags my eyes back to him.

“I didn’t know her when I took that job.”

“You’re still the man who pulled the trigger,” he says as he reaches up to fold his arms back behind his head and stretch his legs over the floor.

“She’ll have no choice but to forgive me. I won’t give her another choice.”

His brow cocks.

Ignoring him, I look at the screen and still to see Adeline has gotten up from the couch to walk toward the piano. The tub of yogurt is in her hands, the spoon held in her mouth. She creeps across on hesitant feet, but reaches the keyboard of the piano and pauses.

I can’t figure out why she’s so afraid of looking at everything I left there for her. You would think the piano was trying to bite with the way she keeps distance between her body and the keyboard.

Pulling the spoon from her mouth, she drops it into the yogurt, places the tub on a nearby table and steps up to the piano to drag a fingertip across the keys.

My pulse picks up, eyes glued to every tiny move she makes.

Adeline pulls her hand away and glances down at the bench. Dragging it out, she lifts the seat to find all her old music. Her brows tug together, annoyance flickering across her face. I smile because it’s funny.

What else did she expect to find? She already knows I know everything about her.

Despite her annoyance, she grabs sheet music from the top, eyes the piano, the music, the piano again, and then she sits down, her hands hovering over the keyboard before she finally presses a key to play the first note.

I hit the volume button, music filling the silence in Lincoln’s living room.

Lincoln stares at me from where he sits, saying nothing for a few seconds before, “Is that the little psychopath finally coming out of her shell?”

Nodding my head, I keep watching her. She needs to be pushed more. Fought harder. She’s tipped a toe out from behind her battered curtain, but needs a good shove to get the rest of her soul out into the open.

I’ve been waiting for her to show me she’s ready for the shove. It’s a damn shame it’ll suck so much.

For her.

Not me.

I’ll enjoy it.

Closing the computer, I push to my feet. “Time to go.”

Lincoln eyes me warily. “You’re not going to give her even a second of coming out of her shell before attacking, are you?”

“No, I’m not,” I say as I shove the computer in my bag and zip it shut. Shouldering the strap, I turn back to him.

“Do you remember what Adeline was like when she was younger?”

He groans. “How the fuck could I forget? She was annoying as hell and ran headfirst into every stupid fucking thing a person can do to get themselves beat down or killed.”

Okay, he’s right, but that’s not the point I’m trying to make.

“Beyond that.”

A roll of his eyes tells me he won’t come to the answer I want.

“She’s a fighter. You and I both know it. Grant beat her down into submission the wrong way. He broke her and trapped her in a candy coated shell of compliance. Since I’ve had her, she’s refused to come out of it, and there’s no fun fighting a person who won’t fight back. But now, she’s showing herself again. I needed one sign. One. Which she’s just given me.”

“And you think her touching a piano is a sign she’ll fight back for once? Maybe she’s just bored.”

My lips curl. I know her a lot better than that.

“She’s healed. Physically, at least. Now I won’t feel so bad to bruise her ego and body in the way it should be done. I’ll draw her out.”

I’m across the room with my hand on the door when Lincoln speaks again.

“Why do you care so much, Ari? Why are you investing all this energy into her? Especially when we both know how this will end. She’ll never forgive you.”

Shooting him a look, I refuse to reveal the plans I have for her. The final fuck you that will be delivered when all of this comes to its end. It wasn’t until last night that I thought of it, but now that the idea is in my head, I realize it’s the only thing that will free her entirely.

If I can give that to her, I will. Even if she can never forgive me for what I did the first night I saw her.

“You let me worry about that.”

I leave his place and drive to mine, my mind set on the task I want to accomplish and the best way to go about.

Pulling into the underground garage, I park, kill the engine and roll the tension from my shoulders.

One thing about Adeline I can never forget is that when she thinks she’s cornered, she comes out swinging.

It didn’t happen with Grant. He’d broken her too much before the night he beat her to a fucking pulp.

But it will happen with me.

I may be a bastard but I don’t beat women.

Piss them off, spank their ass, force their hand. All yes. But beat them? No.

Only a pussy does that.

And he’ll pay for being a pussy.

But that’s later, and this is now.

It’s time to fix what that bastard has broken.

Adeline

The boredom is getting to me. For the first week I was here, I didn’t feel like moving. I was in too much pain, my body still healing. I slept mostly with Ari watching, but then as the second week rolled on, my energy came back. The bruises are fading. My head doesn’t pound anymore when I turn it too fast.

I’m okay.

Yes, there’s still some discoloration, but the swelling is gone, the splits in my skin and lips have fully healed, my bones don’t ache if I move.

And now I have too much energy. Cabin fever is setting in. My eyes moving a little too much over the instruments and photos, the cabinets and drawers.

There’s an entire story hidden here, and something inside me is still afraid to touch it, but something else wants to tear it all apart and learn what Ari has done to me.

I suppress the urge by focusing on other things first. The piano mostly. I haven’t played in so long, but the first few notes are a balm to my soul, and after playing through the first song, I choose another and another.

It doesn’t escape my attention that the music beneath the bench seat is all mine. Not copies, but what I used to own. I’d donated all of it when I moved in with Grant, so how Ari got ahold of it, I have no clue.

Yet, there it is, with all my handwritten notes.

It makes me wonder what else is hidden away.

Standing from the bench, my ears tingle at the sudden silence, caution hanging over me as I walk slowly to one of the photos on the wall. It’s my favorite, the shadow hovering over me. I’m always drawn back to it because it balances me in a way. Reminds me of all the fear I’ve faced and lived to tell about.

Back when I took the shot, that was the symbolism intended, that and what I see when I get stuck between sleep and being awake.

It emboldens me now, and I turn to stare at the built in bookshelves, my eyes scanning down to the cabinets that line the bottom.

Maybe one, I think. Nothing crazy. Just one.

It’s like creeping up on a skittish animal...or a wild boar. Anxiety wraps its fingers around my throat, and my hands start shaking. Settling myself on the floor in front of the cabinet farthest on the right, I blow out a breath, reach for the handle...then yank it open and flinch like something will shoot out at me.

Nothing happens, but you wouldn’t know that from the way my heart is knocking against my ribs.

Why am I so scared?

It pisses me off that Ari was right about this. I’m not who I used to be. Before Grant, I would have ripped everything apart by now. I wouldn’t be staring into a neatly organized cabinet terrified to take out the first box and see what’s inside.

So, fuck it.

Anger shoots my hand forward, and I grab the first box I see. It’s not big, about the size of the packaging for a phone. But it still takes me a second to work up the nerve to tear the lid off.

I freeze at the ticket stub that rests on top, a rock concert I went to when I was eighteen at a club not too far from here.

It was my first date with a guy named Tyler Dixon. I’d met him a few nights before at a bar I went to with another friend. I remember getting piss drunk at that concert. I was having a good time, and I thought Tyler was, too, but he said he was going to the bathroom and ditched me there.

“He was planning on taking you to a friend’s house after the concert.”

I scream and drop the stub. Shoving the box away as if that will hide the fact I’m snooping, I turn to find Ari leaning a shoulder against the wall.

My heart lurches at the sight of him. As usual his midnight black hair is a stylishly disheveled mess, his skin even more golden against the stark darkness of his clothes. He’s business casual today, a black button down shirt and dark slacks, but he still looks like he walked off the cover of some men’s fashion magazine.

And those eyes.

Fuck, his eyes.

They aren’t fair.

They see everything.

“How the hell do you do that?”

Amusement glimmers in his gaze. “Do what?”

“Move around without making a sound. I didn’t even hear the elevator.”

His cruel lips curl at the corners. “I never tell my secrets.”

My heart drops from my throat back into my chest where it belongs, and I reach for the box again, lift the stub and glance over at Ari.

“He ditched me that night. He wasn’t planning on taking me anywhere.”

Ari pushes away from the wall to walk over and crouch down behind me. His knees brush my arms, his chest touching the back of my head. Reaching around me, he doesn’t take the stub from me, but instead slides his hands over mine, holding the stub in place.

I lean back into him without really meaning to. I breathe him in because his scent is so familiar. I should hate him, but I can’t seem to conjure that feeling inside me. Even though I want to.

“Tyler Dixon and his friend had a home business you were almost part of. The game is to drug women, take them back to an apartment and film their rape. You would have been their newest star.”

I still in place, my mind racing to understand what he isn’t saying.

And then it connects, fear wrapping its cold arms around me as tightly as Ari holds me now.

“So, when I was ditched?”

He laughs softly, the deep baritone of it vibrating against my back.

“You made it home without incident. He didn’t.”

The stub falls from my fingers, and when I move to pull away from Ari, he locks his hands over my wrists before wrapping both our arms around me, my body tight to his.

A dip of his head, and his soft voice is against my ear. “What’s wrong?”

I try to swallow the knot in my throat. Fail. My body shivering despite his heat.

“What happened to Tyler?” I ask, not sure that I want the answer. And almost positive that I already know.

Ari spins my body around, shoving me back against the bookcase. My eyes lift to his, and I see an expression so utterly vacant of emotion that it scares me more than the night Grant had me cornered.

It’s one thing to have someone lose control, to see the truth of what they’re thinking and feeling written across their face. But to see nothing...

“I think you already know,” he says, his eyes studying my face.

You should fear the man that has you. He’s not right in the head...

Lincoln’s warning echoes in my thoughts, a whisper against my senses, a truth that is becoming clear.

His stare drops to my mouth, head tilting just a bit as he reaches to pull my bottom lip down with his thumb.

“You have an annoying habit of chewing your lip when you’re worried or thinking.”

The inside of my lip is raw, and the salt of his skin stings. I’ve been worried a lot, apparently.

Grey eyes lift to mine. “I don’t appreciate it when people break my things.”

I don’t think he’s talking about my lip.

More like he’s answering my question about what happened to Tyler.

Ari’s hands have killed. I know that now. I feel it. But is it wrong if he did it to protect me?

But you also have a fuck ton of answers displayed around you in this place. Some will piss you off. Some will make you think that maybe Ari is a good guy. He’s not...

Break my things. I brush aside the idea that Ari saved my life for my benefit. He did it for his.

His stare traps mine, cruel lips curling as if he can follow the direction of my thoughts.

“What will you do about it, Adeline?”

Another swipe of his thumb against my lip.

“If your previous behavior has anything to say about it, not a damn thing. And I still win.”

A sophisticated brow slowly arches above one grey eye, his lips stretching into such an arrogant smirk that it stabs like a knife to the gut, twisting so the pain is more violent.

“I have you trapped. Always have, really. The only difference is you know it now.”

Ari pushes to his feet and stares down at me. A subtle, dismissive shake of his head before he steps away to grab the bag he’d dropped near the doorway leading to the elevator. I watch him cross the living room to turn down the opposite hall to his bedroom, listen as the door unlocks, swings open, then closes again.

That’s when the tears start. I’m not just being held prisoner, I’m trapped by a man who kills.

My head falls back against the bookshelf, and I give myself a few minutes to feel the terror that realization evokes.

And sadly, I still don’t know the half of it.

Mentally, I start counting the number of my friends who disappeared. The strange coincidences and occurrences. The stuff that I used to lose all the time, placing it down somewhere and never finding it again.

My head rolls over the wood, and I stare down the line of cabinets, wondering if I might find all of it stuffed in boxes, bits and pieces of my life like a trail he’s followed for years.

Anger wells inside my heart. Pure. Violent. So damn hot that I can feel it on my skin, beneath my hair. My fingers curl into fists, and my teeth grind together.

How much of my life has he orchestrated? What paths did I run down that Ari had planned for me? Was I just a fucking puppet? My strings tied to the fingers of a stalker and murderer?

Pushing away from the bookshelf, I spin on it like the cabinets have personally offended me. Throwing them all open, I stare at the myriad of boxes and binders, notebooks I recognize as mine, photos, trinkets, little parts and pieces of my life that he’s collected and stored away.

Not giving a damn about the mess I make, I rip it all out, spread it across the floor, begin tearing open the boxes to find all the evidence of just how close he’s been.

I dump one small box to find all my old fake IDs, every one of them. The clatter of plastic against wood a hushed tone until the IDs lay flat with my photos staring up at me.

In another, I found neatly folded journal entries I’d made in the spiral notebooks I wrote in all the time. My private thoughts invaded. All the words scribbled out with hasty ink, the color smeared by the tears I’d shed writing them.

There are photos of me in random places, sometimes with a friend, most when I was by myself.

He’s stolen several articles of clothing, dumped them all in one box together with the panties he took from me on the night of Grant’s company event.

More concert ticket stubs and wristbands for bars come tumbling out of another box. And this is just the beginning of it.

I feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of crap he’s managed to take from me.

One box contains a wallet I don’t recognize, a fake diamond earring jammed into the leather, and I freeze when I remember where I’ve seen it before.

“Oh, my God.”

I’m too afraid to flip open the wallet, but I have to know. Have to see the truth of just how many of my friends who’d left me behind hadn’t been given the actual choice.

Ripping the wallet open, bile shoots up my throat to find Jason Ayer’s ID staring up at me.

He was a fucking abusive creep, but he didn’t deserve to die for it.

But he’d left that night after sitting in my driveway when we fought, and he never contacted me again.

Dropping the wallet, I sit back and run my eyes over all the stuff still tucked away.

How many people did Ari kill because of me?

Would he kill me, too, now that I know about it?

I have to get out of this place, have to get help. And the only way I can do that is to somehow get Ari’s keys. I still won’t be able to access the elevator, but I can unlock the stairs, run down thirty-five flights and beg somebody to help me.

It’s the only way.

With that thought in mind, I stop worrying about the stuff stacked up and hidden away that proves how well Ari knows me. I start looking around the penthouse instead.

I start deciding what will be the best weapon to knock him out and take his keys to escape him.

Having barely escaped a man who is dangerous in his own way, I’m not about to lie down and die for another who is a danger I never saw coming.

Ari

There she is.

Reclining against my headboard, I watch Adeline through my cameras, my laptop balanced on my thighs as she begins tearing through the cabinets to see what other secrets they might hold.

A lot. I’m not going to lie about that. I’ve always had a bit of a problem when it comes to her.

It didn’t take her long to start the process once I’d reminded her she’s trapped, her eyes rounding as she opens box after box, anger staining her cheeks pink as she discovers everything I’ve stolen.

The anger becomes panic the minute she finds the box with Jason’s wallet and earring. I shouldn’t have kept the mementos. It’s stupid to save any evidence that connects me to a crime. But after watching what it does to her to learn the truth of his disappearance, I’m glad I did.

It’s the truth that finally breaks her, not in spirit, not like Grant. He wanted to take away everything that strengthened her, and I’m simply giving it back.

She knows she’s facing danger, and with that in mind, she pushes away from the cabinets to start searching the penthouse for weapons.

Adeline never needed a hero, and she’s finally unearthed her villain. It’s enough to drag her out, enough to make her fight.

It’s about fucking time.

Still, I have the upper hand, and it amuses me to see her pace the large space, creeping from room to room in an effort to find anything she can use to hurt me.

My brow arches when she slips a butcher knife from the block in the kitchen, tests the weight in her hand, and then moves quickly to hide it beneath the couch, I assume just in case she needs it.

Stabbing me is a bit harsh. I’m the man that saved her life, after all.

Adeline then glances at the fireplace, runs over to pick up the iron poker, swings it once, then smiles.

It’s almost as if she’s enjoying this.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.

My lips curl regardless. If I wasn’t watching, she might have gained an advantage, but she’s already lost this fight now that I know what to expect.

I’ll let her think she has a shot, though. Build her up some before winner takes all.

After stowing the poker near the doorway leading from the hall, Adeline continues searching and gathering heavy objects to plant in corners and other places. She must be expecting a full on war given what she’s doing, but it won’t go that far.

Thankfully, she’s never had access to my bedroom where all the real weapons are stored.

Adeline pauses for a brief second, casts an eye across the room looking for anything else, and then begins the process of making changes to her battle plan, digging the knife out from under the couch, and jamming it in between the sofa cushions before doing the same with the iron poker.

Now, she’s ready, and feeling as such, she sits on the couch to wait for me.

It sucks for her that I’m ready, too.

I give her a minute to let the anxiety grow. Her foot is tapping a mile a minute, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. She’ll chew the damn thing off if I don’t start this process soon.

Sighing, I close the computer and roll my head over my shoulders. Pushing to my feet, I leave my room and peek my head around the doorway leading into the living room. She’s still on the couch, her blue eyes sliding to mine as soon as I step out and lean a shoulder against the wall.

“Did you have fun destroying my cabinets?”

She blinks in my direction, her shoulders tense, jaw set.

There’s still a mess all over the floor. Boxes torn open, paper scattered, everything dumped in place as if she’d intended to go through it and had lost the nerve. I make a point of looking at it, then back to her.

“Did you learn everything you wanted to know?”

“I learned enough,” she snaps.

Grinning at the hitch in her voice, I look at the mess again. “And are you planning on cleaning up the mess anytime soon?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

There’s challenge in her expression, the type that would have any person storming in her direction to force the issue. She’s luring me to where she’s armed and ready.

Very smart, Adeline...

“I guess that means I’ll have to make you clean it up.”

Her throat moves to swallow. “Guess so.”

I approach her with a ground-eating stride, one hand moving to knock away the knife she brings up with one hand, while I block the swing of the iron poker just enough to soften the blow with the other.

Shoved back, I give her enough room to lunge from the couch. She swings the poker again with a grunt, and I take the hit to the shoulder. It hurts like a bitch, but not enough to knock me down.

I fall onto my back anyway, only to give her a sense of accomplishment before the advantage I have is out in the open.

I’m calm while she’s frantic. I’m thinking while she’s only reacting on instinct and fear. Still, she’s fighting, and that’s all I care about at this point.

Adeline brings the poker up with two hands as if to swing down at my head, her lips pulled into a sneer, her eyes narrowed, but I reach up in time to grip the rod and pull her down with it, her hands finally letting go when I roll her over, straddle her hips and slam her wrists to the floor above her head.

Lowering my head down I bite the tip of her nose, chuckling when she bucks against me trying to dislodge my weight.

“Do you really think you can win?”

“Get the fuck off me,” she yells, still angry, her face a deep sheen of red.

I wonder when she’ll figure out I’m just toying with her.

“I’ll give you another chance. But if I win, I get whatever I want when this is over.  Is it a deal?”

“Get off me,” she roars, so far gone in her bid to kill me, she doesn’t notice the smirk on my face.

I roll off her and push to my feet, watching her scramble away before pushing to hers. She runs for the knife first, launching it at me so hard that I have to jump sideways to keep from being hit with it.

A glass vase flies past my head next to shatter on a far wall, followed by a heavy paperweight that would have hurt like hell if it hit me.

This is honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time, so I let her keep going, not giving a shit about what she’s breaking.

“You son of a fucking bitch,” she screams when throwing a heavy bookend at me. “Let me the fuck go!”

Dodging that, I smile and laugh to see the little monster rear her head.

The girl I once knew.

The nightmare.

The woman she’d been before Grant Cabot broke her down and drove the wild spirit out of her.

Adeline

Now?

Is he fucking kidding me?

Now is when he decides to finally stretch those cruel lips into a true smile? Now, when my anger and rage is at a boiling point, and I’m terrified of what he’ll do to me? Now is when he has an expression of such pure joy that I want to stop trying to kill him and soak in the moment?

What a fucking psychopathic prick!

I lob another heavy object at Ari’s head that he easily dodges, laughter shaking his shoulders when the object hits one of the photographs on the wall, knocks it loose and the frame crashes to the floor.

“Nothing about this is funny, you fucking lunatic!”

I throw more shit at him, the muscles in my shoulder and arm burning as we circle each other in the room. I can’t understand why he looks so proud of himself. And I absolutely hate how, beneath my rage, there is still a vein of attraction.

Because when Ari smiles, it’s fucking blinding. Staggering, really.  Dimples that I never noticed before indenting his cheeks, his grey eyes so bright and clear that they no longer terrify me. Instead, they draw me in.

He’s not supposed to be enjoying this. He’s supposed to be angry. Yet all he does is dodge each weapon I throw, moving his body in such a way that I’m forced to keep backing off until a point when he has me cornered.

Practically dancing through the chaos, Ari makes it clear he has every advantage. Dexterity. Speed. Strength. And a calm mind that is so true in its focus that it only serves to muddy the waters of mine.

And that’s when he attacks finally, when I’m so angry I’m seeing red, when I’m so out of control that I’m making mistakes.

Easily lifting me off my feet, he drops us both to the floor, his knees straddling my hips while he pins my body to the floor.

How he manages it without hurting me, I have no clue, but he does, as if this was his plan all along.

I never stood a chance against him, but rather than beating the shit out of me like Grant would have done, Ari stares down with amusement in his expression, the fight nothing more than foreplay to a man who has no morality at all.

He grabs my wrists and pins them above my head again, his body leaning over, his mouth so close I think he’ll kiss me. I lift my head to bite him, and he backs off just enough to stay close while protecting his face, that damn smile shining down at me as a tease.

“Are you done yet?”

“No!” I scream while he stays perfectly calm. I’m sweating and panting from the exertion, and he looks like he’s just come back from a relaxing vacation.

It only pisses me off more because anything would have been better than seeing the wicked determination he has to turn my own rage against me.

My head falls back against the floor when that realization hits.

He’s doing this on purpose. Again. Making me his puppet. Again.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

I manage to yank one of my wrists free, and I punch him in the face, his head whipping left before he slowly turns back to look at me, his jaw stretching from side to side to ease the pain of the hit.

He catches my arm before I can punch him again, his fingers clamping down tighter as he adjusts my wrists to hold them down with one hand, his other reaching between us to trap my chin and hold my head in place.

“Doing what? Tell me exactly what you think it is I’m doing to you.”

“You’ve killed people,” I yell, my throat sore from the volume of my voice.

“Let’s talk about who I’ve killed. I think we’ve already covered Tyler Dixon, his crimes, his victimization of women. Was I wrong for ending his life? And what about Jason Ayers? That asshole made it a game to use women and abuse them. You weren’t the only one, even though you thought you were. When he bruised your face, I was fucking done with him.”

Tears well in my eyes, hot and thick. Knowing he killed people is hard enough, but to hear him admit it with no guilt at all? It’s terrifying.

“Why? Because you don’t like people breaking your things?”

The smile fades, his gaze caressing my face with such tenderness that my heart warms at it. I’ve never had a person look at me the way Ari does. And I know it’s fucked up to enjoy it. But the heart is a fickle fucking creature that bends the mind. Defies logic. And spits in the face of everything that is wrong and right.

Ari looks at me like I’m valuable. Like I’m some rare, mythical being. Whether that’s from his insanity or mine for even seeing it, the expression is still there. The truth of it.

But that still doesn’t excuse what he’s done.

Does it?

“I don’t like it when people hurt you. I won’t apologize for that. Ryan Knox, let’s talk about him.”

Ryan? Holy shit. He killed Ryan? I always wondered why he suddenly up and left. Even his roommate didn’t understand. Nobody ever reported him missing, I don’t think. We just assumed he took off because of some messed up drug deal.

“Ryan was your supplier for a good several months. That alone pissed me off, and I stole as many of those drugs from you as I could.”

My eyes round. Son of a bitch. I thought I’d misplaced those.

“But then Ryan decided to take on a new client. A thirteen year old girl that he intentionally knocked out with the drugs he gave her before fucking her while she was passed out. She couldn’t go home and tell Mommy what happened, not without admitting why she was there. And the asshole knew that. He squealed like a stuck pig when I decided to end his career.”

Anger sparks inside me, not at the fact Ari killed Ryan, but instead for what Ryan did to that poor girl.

Fuck! What is he doing to me? This is not okay.

“And the only other friend of yours that I’ve killed is Preston Cotter. Would you like to know what he had planned for you? What he had done to other women before you?”

Preston. Crap. I try to put a face with the name, but I’m drawing a blank. Ari must know that. His lips curl when my brows tug together in confusion, his eyes searching mine for some tiny spark of recognition.

Finding none, he tells me what I can’t remember.

“You were drunk one night at a bar with your friend, Melanie. She took off with a guy several hours into the night and left you with Preston. What you didn’t know is that he had three other friends at that bar, and when he offered to take you home, he never intended to actually take you there. Fortunately for you, his group had a dumb habit of discussing their plans when people were around who could hear them talking.”

I feel deflated by what he’s telling me, by how close I’d come to being hurt or worse because of the constant partying when I was younger.

Ari’s hand moves so that his palm is warm against my cheek, a gentle touch. “If protecting you was wrong, then it is what it is. You were wild, Adeline-“

“Which is why I needed to grow up!”

He blinks at the interruption. “Which is why you needed to be smarter, but you were young. I saw past that. I watched out for you.”

“You stalked me! How can you not see the problem with all of this? What kind of devil are you that you can think any of this is acceptable?”

Grey eyes glimmering, he brushes a thumb over my bottom lip, his gaze locking to it for a moment before lifting to mine again.

Ari’s voice is a deep vibration over my skin when he answers, “I guess that’s the thing with enticing a devil to love. We’ll go to the depths of Hell for you without any concern for whether it’s right or wrong.”

Another brush of the pad of his thumb over my mouth and I shiver at the feel of it, my anger bleeding out while something else takes over. I’m suddenly hyperaware of the feel of his fingers on my wrists, the masculine scent of him that is a balm to my soul. The weight of him against my body, the heat that rolls over my skin from where he leans over me.

I want to hate him. Fear him. Be angry at him for what he’s done.

Ari has always been a presence I wasn’t aware I knew about. A freaking shadow hovering over me, fighting for me, watching out for all the other dangers staring me in the face.

Still, it doesn’t make sense.

“Why me? Why not some other woman?”

A slow blink, dark lashes framing eyes that should be illegal, his mouth pulling into that arrogant smirk that does crazy things to my body.

“Are you kidding me? Give me the name of some other woman like you. You’ve been a pain in my ass, Adeline. For far too fucking long.  Don’t play stupid that you don’t know you’re different from the rest. You’ve filled out a hundred journals about it. Your pen shredding paper about finding someone who can see all your crazy thoughts and secrets and want you because of them. You’re fucking nuts. But so am I. So, now you have that man staring you in the face and you want to question him about it? All those parts that Grant wanted to strip from you were the parts I loved. And I’m giving them back. Because you aren’t you without them.”

Tears roll down my cheeks, partly because of the adrenaline still choking me, but also because I shouldn’t feel this way about a man who has done so much wrong.

But I can’t help it. I can’t deny it. Parts of me burn when Ari touches me. The anxiety quiets, and it feels right in a way that is so utterly wrong.

He stares at me silently, his gaze tracing the lines of my face.

“Are you done fighting me now?”

I want to be. But there’s something inside me that won’t stop. Something that keeps telling me this is so insanely wrong that I’d be an idiot to accept it.

“No,” I whisper, both hating and loving how the answer returns the smile to his face.

“Good,” he croons, his voice a seductive purr. “I like it when you fight.”

His mouth brushes mine and I snap my teeth at him. It only makes him smile more. Fingers locking over my jaw to keep me from doing it again, he bites down on my bottom lip, licking the sting before kissing me so deep that I’m helpless to the slide of his seductive tongue against mine.

Ari breaks the kiss and stares down at me,  something unsaid curving his lips in a tempting tease. My pulse pounds in my throat, the rush of blood like thunder in my head until he releases my wrists and pushes to his feet.

Confused why he would let me go, I crawl back, my hands searching for anything to throw at him even if I know he’ll just dodge it.

Despite the fight we’ve already fought, Ari looks perfectly put together, so damn beautiful that I’m angry with myself for noticing.

Eventually, I find the strength to stand up, to back away. The way he stares at me sends a dark shiver down my spine because I know he’s waiting for me to attack.

I run away instead, my feet slipping over the floor as I round the corner into the hall leading to my room, my shoulder slamming against the wall as I regain my balance and pump my legs to get away.

He catches me just as I’m going through the door, his arm locking around my waist as my back is tugged against his chest. Hand gripping my chin, he turns my face enough that he can whisper against my ear.

“Winner takes all, Adeline.”

Dragging me back, he leads me into his bedroom, spinning me toward the large bed in the center of the room as he slams his door shut with his foot.

The space is as dark as he is with grey walls and black sheets, the wooden floors near black in color. Curtains block the sunlight from shining through the windows, a single lamp on a bedside table illuminating the space.

I barely have time to take in all the details of his private domain before I’m being directed to the bed, my body stretched over the mattress as he captures my wrists again and straps them to the headboard.

My eyes lift to his, my body trembling with both want and fear of a man who is still very much a mystery.

“Why do I have the feeling you do this often?”

He laughs softly as the corner of his mouth quirks. Glancing at me, he tilts his head just slightly.

“Why is it so impossible for you to believe that you’re the only one?”

Ari walks to a dresser and opens a wooden box on top. He removes the cufflinks from his shirt and drops them in before closing it. Turning back to me, his nimble fingers slowly unbutton his shirt, his grey eyes peering over at me while the shadow around him licks his skin like a lover.

It’s a fight to keep my eyes on his face when he strips the shirt from his broad shoulders to toss it over the back of a chair near a closet.

Every inch of his body appears carved from granite, the hard ridges and shadowed valleys just begging for a woman’s fingers to explore them. The golden color to his skin must be natural because I see no tan lines that speak of hours spent beneath the sun.

Not that I can see Ari that way. He’s a man more comfortable at night.

Crossing his arms over his chest doesn’t help ease my fascination, the strong pectoral muscles flexing, his biceps bulging from the pose.

And while I take my time exploring down to where his pants sit just below the definition of his abdomen and oblique muscles, he stares across at me knowingly.

“You’ve always been a fighter,” he says, drawing my attention back to his face. “Since day one. Awake, in your sleep, it doesn’t matter. You never let someone push you around. Not even Jason, though he tried. But the first time he bruised you, you left him behind. Went to your house. Refused to answer his calls.”

A bark of laughter shakes my shoulders, the movement tugging my wrists against the restraints.

“I would have kept refusing his calls if you’d given me the chance.”

His lips curl. “He would still be alive today if you realized he was a dick long before that and stopped going back to him.”

It’s chilling how casually he can talk about murder.

Crossing an ankle over the other, Ari leans back against the dresser. “But this isn’t about him, it’s about you. The why of what I’ve done.”

I shake my wrists. “We could have this conversation without me being tied up for it.”

“As if you’d stay still long enough for me to talk. It’s easier for me this way.”

My hands drop to the mattress above my head.

“I admired the way you fought. But that was only one point in your favor. Another was that you didn’t give the first fuck about how people saw you. You danced, Adeline, in clubs, at home, wherever you fucking felt like it and you became lost to whatever music you heard. It would be stupid of you to think I was the only one watching. Everybody saw you because the freedom you found in those moments is something very few people ever experience. There is purity in that. You had the ability to give the finger to the world and do what you wanted to do. I admired that, too.”

His gaze travels down my body, over the t-shirt I wear, along my bare legs. I can feel his stare, like fingertips gently exploring my skin.

“And let’s not forget the thoughts and desires inside that screwed up head of yours. I admired that about you most.”

I want to argue he has no idea what he’s talking about, but he’s read every journal I wrote. Stole those thoughts. Apparently memorized them.

His eyes flash with the knowledge of those thoughts, his body pushing away from the dresser to approach the bed.

“So, let’s talk about them.”

Knowing what he’s about to do, I realize I’m officially fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Ari knows it, too, if the way his eyes lock to mine say anything about it.

The mattress dips at my feet when he sits down, the tip of his finger brushing up the bottom of my foot so softly it makes me flinch.

“You wanted a man who knew all there was to know about you. That was what you always wrote in one way or another, on every other page it seemed.”

Brushing his finger up the bottom of my foot again, he doesn’t glance over to look at me when my leg kicks, my knee bending for just a second before straightening again. Tracing the tip of his finger down the top of my foot, he brushes several over my ankle, a subtle warning that he could grip down and hold me still.

Goosebumps erupt over my skin, the hair on my arms standing on edge from both the threat of him and the way he knows just how to touch me to drive shivers down my spine, to cause heat to bloom between my thighs.

“You wanted a man who wouldn’t run when he learned just how crazy your thoughts are. What you see in sleep. What turns you on.”

His mouth stretches at that thought, the beauty of his profile breathtaking. A brow arches above his eye, as he trails two fingertips up the inside of my calf to my knee.

“I have to admit, I appreciated those thoughts the most. I’m not one for fluffy romance either.”

His head turns to look at me, so much heat behind that gaze that I feel it in my belly.

“You wanted a man who will bend your will while making you beg for more. Who is stronger. Someone who appreciates how dirty and broken you are and will want you because of it.”

My eyes close to hear the words I’d written so many times.

Ari’s hand creeps high enough up the inside of my thigh that the back of his fingers brush the hem of my shirt. I tremble at the touch, my fingers gripping over the straps as if that could still me in place.

“You found him,” he says. “Or I guess the truth is that he found you.”

My shirt slips slowly up my thighs as his hand progresses, the restraints at my wrists becoming tight as I shiver against his touch.

The bastard is right. Every word he says. Every truth he spills out about the thoughts inside my head and the wishes I’ve made that I never believed could come true.

Dragging my t-shirt up my body as he moves to prop his body up on an elbow beside me, Ari pushes the material up to just beneath my breasts.

His gaze focuses on my stomach where he toys the tips of his fingers gently over the skin, soft circles around my navel and beneath the line of my rib cage.

My arms are shaking and it’s a fight not to move, not to show him how badly I just want him to stop playing around and take what I know he’s after.

That damn smirk is on his face again. I can’t hide what I’m feeling. He already knows.

Voice soft, Ari continues teasing my skin, his eyes focused on the path of his fingers.

“Why fight against the one thing you’ve always wanted?”

His grey eyes shift to mine. “Why not just enjoy it?”

Against my better judgment, I give in, my hips rolling in a circle over the mattress as his hand drops down to trace the edge of my panties.

His lips tug wider, not the rare smile that captivates me each time I see it, but the one grin he’s always worn when he knows he’s won.

Shifting over the mattress, Ari straddles my body again, careful to keep his weight from crushing me as he lifts that devilish grey gaze to mine with every promise of sin rolling behind it.

“Would you like me to show you what I do to you when you sleep?”

My wrists tug at the restraints because what I’d like to do is touch him. He must know it because his eyes flick to the movement, something dark rolling across his expression that drives the air from my lungs.

Voice a gritty whisper, he says, “Maybe I’ll show you all the things I’ve wanted to do instead. I’d feel bad for leaving marks when you weren’t conscious to enjoy them and know where they came from.”

My body shudders just before he tugs my shirt up, easily slipping it over my head and up my arms. Wrapping the fabric over my hands and tying it in place, he lingers as my face is to his chest, my mouth so close to his skin that I know he can feel my breath against it.

He smells good. He always has. Like something forbidden and mysterious, a scent that captures my senses and reminds me of how dangerous he is. Not because he’s killed. Not because he’s watched me since God knows when. But because he has the power to seduce me even when I fear him.

Settling back, he hovers over me, his powerful legs still at my sides as he palms my face, uses his thumb to drag my lower lip down and kisses me so violently that our teeth hit and scrape, his tongue sweeping into my mouth to trap mine. I can’t pull away, not with the way he’s holding me, not now that he feels no need to restrain himself.

Heat blooms between my thighs, my panties soaked so quickly as Ari fucks my mouth with his tongue, his teeth catching my bottom lip as his eyes lock with mine.

Letting it go, he says, “I plan to punish that lip a lot more in the coming days. Just thought you should know.”

Bracing a palm on the mattress near my head, he holds himself up while looking down my body.

“But first, I’ll torture the rest of you for a while.”

He moves quickly to my feet, locking his hand over the bottom of one to bend my leg and push it out. Running taunting lips over the ankle and up my calf, he takes his time nipping at the skin, his breath so fucking hot that my leg shakes and trembles.

I hate his patience, only because it drives me mad, the calm control he claims while I’m clinging to sanity, and when he works his way to my inner thigh, he clamps his teeth down on the sensitive skin and sucks.

I can feel it like an electric shock traveling up and settling at my core. I jerk away on instinct, but his hand locks down, holding me in place as he bruises the skin with a sensual kiss.

He releases it with a pop, flicks his tongue over the mark and grins against my leg.

“Number one,” he teases, his voice soft yet gritty.

“You’re a son of a bitch,” I breathe out, my voice weak as my body shivers.

Ari laughs, his mouth trailing up the rest of my leg, brushing over my pussy where he breathes me in, the tip of his nose pushing against the wet cotton of my panties, his hands locking on my thighs to shove my legs apart.

My hips lift on their own, my body no longer connected to thought, just the absolute need I feel for him to fill me, the lust that vibrates beneath my skin, forcing my spine straight as my head rolls over the pillow.

He works his way down my other leg, another sensual kiss given to my inner thigh, another mark, another bruise, another aggravating, slow torture that forces my hips to move and my back to arch.

Fuck...

He warned me about what he would do when he had me to himself, and now I wish for that dark hallway, the rush to drive our bodies together, the lack of patience because there wasn’t time.

Ari nips my ankle, and I squeak, the zone made erogenous because my entire body is hyperaware, over-sensitive, buzzing with the need for a harder touch, a firmer grip.

He’s toying with me. Playing my body like an instrument he can use to drive me to insanity.

“I’m going to kill you when you let me go.”

With one swift move, he flips me on my stomach, the restraints tighter now that they’re twisted, his body moving as he licks and nips a trail up the back of my thighs.

Speaking against my skin when he reaches my ass, his breath is a cascade of sinful heat.

“Good. I’m always up for another fight.”

His teeth nip the cheek of my ass right where it meets my thigh. “Just remember, winner takes all.”

And then his teeth lock down harder on the soft flesh of the cheek, his lips closing over and sucking deep as he marks me again. I bury my face in my pillow to muffle the noises coming up my throat, but I know he can hear them anyway.

His chest shakes with quiet laughter, his body moving again as he kisses a slow trail of the line of my spine, his hands teasing my sides, brushing my breasts where they’re crushed against the mattress.

When he reaches the nape of my neck, he wraps the length of my hair around his hand and moves it to kiss me on the soft spot just below the hairline.

I can’t control my body’s reaction, the way I jump at his every touch. It’s almost painful how bad I need him in other places, my thighs sliding together as if that can stop the pulse of my swollen clit.

Using my hair to tug my head to the side, he presses his mouth to my ear.

“I bet if I splay your legs open right now and slide my fingers inside your pretty cunt, I’ll discover it’s not fighting you want.”

I whimper, fucking whimper, at the need he’s driving through me.

“I bet I’ll find that all those dirty thoughts you had when you were younger were meant just for me.”

Fingertips trace down my spine, slipping beneath my panties and along the crease of my butt. He dips his fingers down lower to find I’m practically dripping, and his lips stretch into a grin.

Gently teasing my slit, he refuses to push his fingers inside, my hips bucking against the mattress as if to force him.

“I happen to love how much of a slut you are. How much you love to be ridden hard.”

Two fingers slide inside me, and I cry out, my muscles clenching over them, demanding he pump his hand and find that spot inside me that drives me mad.

When his hands start pumping, he keeps talking, his voice as slow and sensual as his touch.

“You have no inhibitions when you sleep. No concern for what I see, or touch or taste. I hope you know that. You spread your legs so fucking wide just begging to be filled. I’ve never seen something so pretty.”

His fingers push deeper, and I’m riding them, not caring how wet it sounds, not giving a damn at all about Ari knowing how wild he makes me.

“If I get you off now, will you spread the same for me while awake?”

I nod my head, my eyes clenched shut because he’s intentionally teasing my pussy with his fingers without pushing deep enough.

And I can feel it, that smile. The bastard only feels joy when torturing me, apparently.

A sensual whisper. “Do you promise to behave?”

Another nod. “Please, Ari. Just...please.”

“Please what?”

“Make me come,” I beg, no longer concerned for what he’s done. I just need this, need him, need that push over the edge he’s been teasing for what feels like hours.

“My pleasure.”

His fingers pull out to slip down and circle my clit, to pinch, to tease before sliding back to pump inside me and find that spot that shoves me over the precipice of control.

His body presses to mine, the hard ridge of his erection against my hip as he torments me with a hard thrust of his fingers, stretching them apart to widen me before thrusting them inside deeper.

Moans fall over my lips as my body jerks with such a violent orgasm that I bounce over his hand, riding his fingers as I chase it like a wanton whore.

I can feel the slickness of his fingers, know I’ve made a mess, but I can’t speak through the tremors, can’t see anything but the stars bursting behind my eyelids.

He continues pumping his hand until my body relaxes, until I’m so out of breath I’m panting over the pillow.

Teeth lightly nip my ear, and he pulls his hand from my panties to lift them to his mouth.

After sucking his fingers clean, he moves again, flips me to my back and runs a possessive eye up my body.

“Take off your pants,” I beg, my voice shaky, my eyes capturing him with the desperation I feel to see all of him. Every part.

He grins. “I was getting to that. I didn’t take you as the impatient type.”

“You’re torturing me on purpose.”

“Observant, too,” he says as he drags the panties from my legs, stepping off the bed while he pulls them from my ankles.

“Show me how good you can be.”

When my knees lock together, he cocks his head to the side and lifts a brow.

I shove my legs apart and his gaze dips down. “Wider.”

Rolling my eyes, I suck in a raspy breath and push wider, the air crashing against my pussy so cold that it makes me realize how wet I am.

“Beautiful,” he comments while unbuckling his belt.

I watch as he slides the leather from his pants in a snapping sound as he pulls it free and then loops it in his hand.

Eyes rounding at what he intends to do with it, I squirm over the mattress.

His eyes flash with an idea. “I think you’d like this, wouldn’t you?”

He drops it on the bed, leaving it there as a taunt while he unbuttons his pants and steps out of them. His erection pushes heavy against his black boxer briefs, popping free when he shoves them off and turns to toss them over the back of the chair where his shirt is.

The muscles in his ass are rock hard, flexing as he moves to face me again.

“Do you approve?”

I’m drooling is what I’m doing, and I was right about the golden color of his skin being natural. There isn’t a tan line on him.

It isn’t fair how beautiful he is. Every feature carved from stone. A predator in both mind and body that has been studying me for so long.

The words fall out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying. “I want to taste you.”

His eyebrows rise up, his teeth brushing over his bottom lip as his stare drops to my mouth.

“I’m not sure I can trust you not to bite.”

“Please.”

He blinks, and his eyes trap mine again.

Ari climbs onto the bed and crawls up my body, his hand gripping the belt. Straddling my chest, his knees dip the mattress at my sides as he wraps the leather around my throat and pulls the buckle down.

It’s an idle threat, the soft pressure on my neck causing my breath to catch, my nipples to harden.

His cock is right there for me to taste, the tip glimmering, the shaft thick.

“It’s just an insurance policy,” he says as he wraps the end of the belt around his hand. “Bite and I pull.”

I open my mouth, and he slowly dips his cock into my mouth, the salt of his skin a burst of flavor on my tongue, the head driving deeper when I prove I’ll be good.

“Fuck...” He breathes out when I take his length and width, my cheeks sinking in as I suck.

“You really are as dirty as I imagined.”

His hips move as he thrusts inside my mouth, the buckle pinching my skin against my throat, but still I take him as deep as I can, spit leaking from the corner of my lips, his eyes watching as he fucks my face with a rhythm that is sinful.

Damn it. I like the belt. Not that he’s pulled it tight, but just the threat of it. The control.

Ari pulls out when I’m struggling to breathe around the girth of him, his eyes staring down at me with pure, ravenous lust.

There is something so dark in his expression that I can’t blink, can’t tear my eyes from the beauty of this dangerous man above me.

“You are such a tempting creature.”

I shiver at the depth of his voice, the rugged edge of it.

He pulls the belt from my neck and moves down my body, slaps it over my tits, and I cry out from the sensation. My nipples tingle, and I arch my back, demanding more.

Instead, he grips a nipple between his teeth and sucks so hard I pull at my restraints, my fingers curling against the straps as he moves to the other breast.

Another bite on the side of my breast, and I know he’s marking me again. But I don’t care. He can mark every inch of me as long as he promises not to stop.

My skin tingles when he pulls his mouth away, his patience back in play as he nips at my stomach, dips his tongue in my navel and works his way down.

Shoving my legs apart farther, he breathes me in again before covering me with his mouth to thrust his tongue inside me.

I moan, my entire body rolling as his fingers trap my clit, his tongue teasing the walls of my opening.

“God, please just fuck me already.”

He looks up and grins. “So eager.”

I stare down at him, not giving a damn how desperate I seem.

“If you don’t shove your cock in me in the next three seconds I swear to God, I’ll find a way to murder you when you release me.”

He nips the inside of my thigh and moves to notch the head against my pussy, his body leaning down and his mouth claiming mine as he pushes inside me with a slow thrust, stretching me open until he’s so deep that he fills me.

I can taste myself on his lips and tongue, his hips moving to pull back and thrust inside again.

My body breaks apart in less than a minute, the second orgasm tearing me apart as he moves faster and deeper.

I’m swept away by the strength of it, his name rolling off my lips as my eyes clench shut.

Eventually Ari is lost to his need, his hips moving faster, his cock driving deeper, and when a third orgasm shatters me beneath him, he finds his own release, pulling out fast enough that it spills on my stomach.

I open my eyes to see him staring down at me. And for the first time, I think that I like when he watches me.

Despite it all.

Despite his questionable morality.

I’ve always sensed him around. Always felt comforted by it.

And I’m no longer sure I want him to stop.

Ari

While Adeline takes a shower, I slip into the living room to check up on Grant’s latest dramatic pleas for help.

Dropping my weight on the couch, I scroll through local news on my laptop, watch the video clips of Grant feigning concern over his wife who’s been missing for weeks now, watch an interview with both him and his sister where they discuss the love Grant shared with Adeline, the devotion he claims they had for each other.

It’s a load of shit I’ll shove down his throat when the time comes. He’ll learn the definition of devotion when he sees what I’m willing to do for her.

“What’s your real name?”

My head snaps up to find Adeline hovering in the doorway leading from the hall, her dark hair wet where it falls down her back, the t-shirt she wears hanging down to mid-thigh.

Grant’s voice continues droning on from my computer as my stare locks to hers, and I groan at the question.

“I can’t tell you that.”

She blinks, dark lashes framing her blue eyes when she glances at the computer and back to me. “Why not?”

There’s no point in dancing around the truth anymore, not when I’m focused on ending this mess once and for all.

“Because then I won’t be able to let you go when this is over.”

Her eyes round for just a second, blood red lips pulling into a line before she takes a step into the living room and glances down to watch where she walks.

Shattered glass and other objects litter the floor from when we’d fought, her bare feet unprotected against it.

I think she’s heading to me as she crosses the room, but instead she goes to the bookshelf, sits on the floor and begins picking through the mess scattered on the floor, the pieces of her life I’d stolen.

For a few minutes, she says nothing as she flips through the pages of an old spiral notebook she’d used as a journal.

“You’re letting me go?” she finally asks, her voice soft, her stare locked to the words she’d written many years ago.

Tapping a few keys on the computer to find more information on her soon to be dead husband, I answer, “That was always my intent. I just can’t do it now.”

“Why not?”

Adeline turns her head, blue eyes lifting to mine, the dampness of her hair soaking her shirt until I can see the outline of her breast beneath it.

Closing the computer, I set it aside.

“Because if I send you home, your husband will find you. He won’t let you live for too long. Only long enough for him to use you for whatever you’re worth to promote his business, and then he’ll find a way to make sure you can’t talk about what he’s done.”

Her eyes drop to the journal in her lap, her hair moving to conceal her face. “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

I would think the answer to that is a given. But she still wants to believe what I’m doing is wrong. And maybe it is. Stalking and murder are technically crimes. But I live more in a grey area where one has to consider my reasons.

It’s why I prefer grey areas. There’s never a definite answer as to what’s right and what’s wrong.

“He’s going to die,” I answer simply, leaving out my ideas on how it will happen.

She doesn’t look at me, her body slouching forward as she focuses on the journal in her lap. I know she’s overthinking this.

“He would have killed you if Lincoln didn’t get you out of that house. And what’s to stop him from trying again? Even if it isn’t you, what’s to stop him from marrying again and doing the same thing to another woman?”

Her head lifts, and she turns her body to face me fully. “It just seems wrong.”

I shrug, my eyes drifting down to where her shirt rises up her thighs, to where her panties peek out, the bruises on her inner thighs. She notices and tries to cover herself with the book she holds.

Grinning, I glance back at her face. “Wrong and right are subjective in my world.”

“What is your world, Ari? I feel like you know everything about me, and I don’t know the first thing about you.”

Because she doesn’t. Nobody knows much about me. Not even Lincoln.

“Tell me your real name. Give me that, at least.”

“If I do that-“

“You can’t let me go regardless,” she says, her eyes pinning mine. “I know where you live. If I really planned to turn you in for everything you’ve done, I can direct them to your door.”

Excellent point, and one I wish she couldn’t make. I would give anything to go back and change the events that led her here.

It also removes any argument I have as to why she can’t know who I am.

“I can’t tell you everything about me. There are things you won’t want to know.”

My thoughts go to the way I’d wronged her, to the one sticking point that has doomed us from the very beginning. She still doesn’t know what happened with her father, and despite having thought about it, I have no good explanation for what I’ve done.

Her father never threatened her. Never harmed her. His death was solely about money.

Dropping the journal to the floor, Adeline pushes to her feet and crosses the room. Her hands lock over my shoulders and she lowers her body to straddle my lap. She brushes her fingertips down over my bare chest, traces the muscles in my abdomen as she studies me.

I study her back, watching the way her eyes move over my skin, every tiny change in her careful expression.

“I should hate you. And I do fear you. But at the same time, I want to know you.”

Gaze lifting to mine, she pins me in place. “How crazy is that?”

My pulse is steady beneath her hands, but still it feels as if my heart is ripping through my chest. To have her so close. To hear her speak to me as if she knows exactly who I am. It’s something I’ve denied myself for so long.

“It’s insane,” I answer, my voice rough.

Her head tilts just slightly, her mouth pulling into a teasing grin. “Isn’t that what you’ve admired about me?”

My hands grip her thighs, a warning in the strength of my fingers. “You’ve always had the annoying habit of putting yourself in bad situations.”

Smile stretching, she cups my cheeks with her palms, holding me in such a tender embrace that I realize I’ve never allowed any woman to touch me like this before.

“Tell me your name. Give me one question a day to learn about you. We’re both already screwed in this. You can’t let me go, and you know it.”

Quieting for a moment, she sighs. “And I’m not sure I want you to.”

Fucking nuts. But then, she wouldn’t be Adeline if she wasn’t.

My teeth clench at the thought of being honest. I haven’t told anyone my real name since the day I first killed someone. It feels too close to the truth of who I am.

But if it’s honesty she wants, it’s honesty I’ll give her.

“When you learn all there is to know about me, you’ll change your mind. You’ll run. Why ruin this?”

She ignores the warning and hits me with a question that strikes right where it should, one that I’ve never bothered to ask myself in all the years I refused to approach her.

“Why are you afraid for me to know you?”

The simple answer is I killed her father. I think any person might find that objectionable.

“What makes you think I’m afraid of anything?”

Her eyes dart to the mess near the cupboards and all the evidence of my having stalked her for years before they return to me.

“Why follow a person for as many years as you have and not say hello? I would have stopped to talk to you.” She laughs. “Actually, I guess I did several times. You were the one who walked off.”

My lips purse because I’m cornered. Admit the truth, or lie? Or a mixture of both. This is where the grey area and lack of morals comes in handy.

“I didn’t think you’d want to know me.”

Not the full truth and not a lie. My conscience is clear.

“Your name, Ari. Just tell me that. Or tell me when you first saw me. I deserve to know.”

My hands lock tighter on her thighs and she winces at the hold.

“You deserve to have your life. That’s what I’m giving you. The rest is inconsequential noise you don’t need clogging your head.”

Anger flashes behind her eyes, but I don’t feel guilty for it.

“Then I guess it’s back to us hating each other.”

She moves to crawl off my lap, but I lock my hands to her waist, holding her still. Her eyes narrow, and I stare at her fury without giving her any sign it bothers me.

“First, I’ve never hated you. So, you can hate me all you want, but know it’s one sided. And second, you’ll do as I tell you for now. After Grant dies you can do whatever the hell you want.”

Our stares lock, hers incapable of hiding what she’s feeling or thinking while mine is cold. There is no negotiation in this.

“Don’t come in my room when I’m sleeping anymore. Don’t touch me.”

She tries to move again, but I hold on. I’ve always held on when it comes to her.

Tilting my head, I allow my mouth to tug into a taunting grin. “That’s not what you said an hour ago.”

Her hands slam against my shoulders as if that could dislodge me. I pull one hand from her waist to grasp the back of her neck. Tugging her face to mine, I bite her bottom lip, a playful sting that casts red across her cheeks.

“So, you’d prefer I stand there and listen to you cry and fight all night? Don’t you find it odd that I’m the only person who can calm you down? That my presence is what helps you sleep? Stop being a child, Adeline. Your temper tantrums don’t affect me. At least, not in the way you hope they will.”

“It’s not fair! I know nothing, and you know everything.”

“Life isn’t fair. But you’re alive and safe at the moment. Get the fuck over it.”

She tries to move, but my hands lock down harder, our battle still not over despite the momentary truce. To make matters worse, the silence between us is broken by the hum of the elevator motor, the telltale ding of the doors opening when an uninvited asshole arrives.

Lincoln’s deep voice echoes through the space as he rounds the corner. “I came to make sure you two kids are still alive.”

I hear his footsteps stop in place behind me and watch Adeline’s gaze lift to look at him over my head.

“Your place looks like shit, Ari. Do I even want to ask what happened?”

Without looking away from the pissed off woman on my lap, I answer, “We had a slight disagreement.”

He moves into the room, his boots crunching over broken glass. “I can see that.”

Slowly pulling my hand from Adeline’s neck, I drop it to her thigh, her body flinching at the contact.

She jumps away immediately, tugs her shirt down and carefully winds her way through the carnage to go to her room. The door slams shut before Lincoln steps up to where I can see him.

Turning my head, I stare up at the asshole. “We were in the middle of something. Calling ahead would have been polite.”

Brown eyes meet mine, his mouth curling at the corner. “Nice bruise,” he says, rubbing at his jaw to indicate what he noticed.

I stretch my jaw and sit back against the couch. “She has a hell of a punch.”

Lincoln walks to grab my computer from the couch, tosses it in my lap, and drops his weight on the sofa beside me.

“Your boy has upped the stakes. You might want to stop pissing her off for the fun of it and check out the latest news. Grant has put out a two hundred thousand dollar reward for information on Adeline. And they released a nice police sketch of your face.”

Son of a bitch. That’s the last thing I fucking need. Opening the computer, I run hasty fingers over the keys, eventually staring at a sketch that looks nothing like me.

Thank fuck for that.

“Who the hell would describe me with a forehead that big, a wide nose and no chin?”

Lincoln laughs. “Only you would be worried that the sketch looks like an ugly motherfucker. Unfortunately, that’s just what he’s done out in the open. On non-official channels, Grant’s offered three million for your head. Adeline’s, too. It’s better for business if he can cry about a dead wife. Guess that also works out to keep her from telling the world what he did to her.”

And here I thought I couldn’t hate Grant more than I already did. The method of his death keeps getting worse and worse for him, the special fuck you I have planned a cherry on top.

My eyes snap to his, lip curling. “Are you here to kill me and collect?”

Laughter rumbles his chest. “If it had been ten million, I might have considered it.”

Cocking a brow, he glances around the penthouse, a low whistle blowing over his lips. “I take it you got her to fight.”

“I’m going to teach her to kill, too,” I mention as I log in to Grant’s security system to see what he’s doing at home. If I’m going to have people gunning to take me out, I need to know who to expect. Not that many people know me, and the ones that do aren’t stupid enough to attempt it.

“What the fuck are you up to now, Ari? She’s a kid. Not one of us.”

“She’s twenty-three years old.”

“Still a kid.”

Glancing at him, I admit, “I killed my first man at her age.”

Lincoln’s jaw ticks. “She’s not a heartless bastard like you. I have a feeling I already know what you plan to do, and it won’t work. She won’t do it.”

He pauses, eyeing me with far too much intelligence behind his gaze. “And even if she does, it won’t make her understand your life any better. Take Grant out. Torture the asshole for days, if you want. But leave Adeline out of it.”

Before I can answer, Adeline comes out of her room and stares at us from the doorway leading into the hall. Her hair is beginning to dry, but still damp, her face a mask of contempt aimed directly at me.

While I stare back at her, refusing to give ground on the newest battle we’re fighting, Lincoln fills the silence.

“Why do you never wear pants?”

Her blue eyes release the hate stare from my face to flick to Lincoln. “Because the jerk sitting beside you never gives me any.”

He turns to me. “I bought her some when you asked me to. Where are they?”

Adeline’s eyes are back to hate staring me while Lincoln continues glaring a hole in the side of my face. I focus on the computer in my lap and decide they’re never allowed to be in the same room together again. Fuck this teamwork bullshit.

Grant sits in his living room with three men I don’t recognize, a cognac in one hand, cigar dangling from another. Fucker doesn’t have sound, but I don’t need to hear them to know they’re enjoying whatever conversation they’re having, shit eating grins adorning each of their faces.

What interests me more is the woman lingering near where Grant sits. It’s not his sister, and judging by the silk robe she’s wearing that’s open enough to reveal the side of her breast, she isn’t there to discuss investing.

“There are shorts in the same dresser in Adeline’s room where the t-shirts and underwear are that I’ve been giving her. If she’d bothered to stop acting like a scared bunny and looked, she would have found them over a week ago.”

A few taps of the keys and I’m looking at Grant’s bedroom to see the bed linens are rumpled as if someone had been there recently.

I’m not surprised, but it still pisses me off to see him continue playing the grieving husband on television while he’s already replaced his wife.

Adeline makes a disgusted sound at what I said and storms off in search of proper clothes. Let her be mad. I’m not here to coddle her, I’m here to build her up again.

I take the opportunity to turn the computer in Lincoln’s direction for him to draw the same conclusion as me about Grant’s activities.

He curses under his breath. “Are you going to tell her?”

I glance up at the now empty doorway where she’d once stood. “Think it’ll be enough for her to stop being a kid and do something about her abuser for once? We can’t take care of her forever. Not if she learns the truth about me and runs.”

“You want her to pull the trigger, don’t you?”

Nodding, I tap my thumb against the computer. “I want her to take back her power. If she hates me, I’ll have to let her go. Completely this time. She can’t be afraid to take care of herself.”

Our eyes meet, and Lincoln shakes his head. “Might as well mention Grant put a price on her head. It may be enough.”

The only problem with mentioning that would be that I’d also have to confess how I happened to have that information.

Guessing now is as good a time as any to rip back another curtain, I glance up to find Adeline staring at us from the doorway again, her eyes jumping between us as the skin between them crinkles in question.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern touching her expression.

I breathe out, mentally preparing myself for this conversation. Sadly, the fact I kill people for a living isn’t the worst of it.

“Come here, baby bird. There’s something I need to show you.”

Adeline

Two men stare at me from where they sit on the couch. Both are practically strangers, men I wouldn’t have recognized a few months ago had I passed them on the street. Yet, in a way, I feel like I know both of them.

They’re opposite in many ways. Where Ari is so dark shadows appear to cling to him even beneath the lights above his head, Lincoln is lighter, his skin tone more pale, his hair and eyes a golden brown.

Ari, it seems, is always the picture of sophistication, even when dodging whatever I happen to throw at him, while Lincoln is rough around the edges, a brute strength compared to Ari’s savage grace.

Both men are much bigger than me, their shoulder spans equal, their height about the same. Even now, they fill up the space around them, their long legs stretched in front of the sofa, Lincoln’s legs slightly spread while Ari crosses his at the ankle.

Even their voices contrast. Both deep, Ari’s is a smooth baritone that whispers at the ear with subtle warning and a seductive taunt, and Lincoln’s is a gritty rumble, the blunt tone the kind that kick-starts a woman’s heart.

I should fear both of them. I know that. Obviously, I know nothing about them, but you can’t look at these men without realizing you’re outgunned. Maybe it’s the way they carry themselves, so at ease amidst violence. I can almost picture them walking calmly through battle, Ari laughing at the gore because everything is a joke to him, while Lincoln snaps the necks of everyone they pass.

They’re hot and cold. Their confidence - their arrogance - enough to make any intelligent person think twice before crossing them.

And they’ve both been watching me since I was a teenager. The only question I have is why?

“What do you need to show me?”

I cross my arms over my chest, still attempting to rebel against the beautiful jerk who makes it his life mission to piss me off. Although I bristle at him calling me a baby bird, I still at the tone of his voice.

It’s missing the usual teasing quality he always takes with me, the game he’s playing lost in the way he called me over. Whatever they’re looking at is enough to make them both hesitant to show me, and I want to turn and run instead of walk over there.

Ari pats the couch cushion beside him before looking at Lincoln, smacking him at the back of the head and demanding he scoot over to give me room.

I laugh before I can stop myself only because it’s comforting to see the easy friendship they have with each other. Glaring at Ari like he’s about to smack back, Lincoln shoves his body to the farthest seat, giving me plenty of space between them.

Wondering how much a woman would pay to sit in that spot between these two men, I take slow steps forward, careful to step around the broken glass on the floor.

Ari keeps his stare locked on my face, something vicious rolling behind his grey eyes. Still, I drop my gaze to the line of his cruel lips, my body tingling as I step closer.

Dressed in only a pair of dark pants, Ari’s upper body is bare to my eyes, the smooth, golden color deepening to a shadowed copper in the valleys of his muscular physique.

My eyes run down the ridges of flexed muscle, the tight washboard of his abs and tapered waist, the bulge of his biceps and his corded forearms. It’s hard not to look at him.

When I drag my gaze back up, his mouth tugs into an arrogant smirk. He knows how my body reacts to his, the way I want him even when I wish I could wrap my hands around his throat to choke him for the games he plays.

“Sit. We won’t bite,” he jokes.

I have the bruises that say different, every one of them tingling in reminder of where his mouth has been. On my inner thighs, my breast, my butt.

Finally taking a seat, I tug my cotton shorts down to cover one of those bruises, Ari’s eyes flicking to the movement while Lincoln’s arm stretches around my shoulders.

Ari immediately shoves Lincoln’s arm away, the two men leaning back to stare at each other.

Lincoln smiles while Ari narrows his eyes, and I laugh again to see someone screwing with Ari as hard as he screws with me.

The stare down ends when Lincoln chuckles and pulls his arm away, Ari giving him one last warning glare before turning the screen of the computer in his lap to me.

Pointing at one person in view, he asks, “Who is that woman?”

My attention doesn’t snap to the woman he’s pointing at, instead my brows tug together at the recognition of the room several people are sitting in, the black and white camera feed flickering just slightly.

“Is that Grant’s house?”

Ari taps the screen on the woman again. “Who is she?”

“How do you have cameras inside Grant’s house?”

A vein of anger unravels inside me. How long has he had these?

“That’s not what’s important. Just tell me who she is.”

“How long have you had cameras in his house?”

My head turns, and I stare up at him. Grey eyes pin mine, his face so close that I can feel the heat of his breath against my cheek.

“Why do you always want to look at me like I’m the bad guy? Stop worrying about what I’ve done, and start paying attention to what I’m trying to show you.”

Because he is the bad guy. He just refuses to see it. “How long, Ari? Have you been watching us this entire time?”

“They’re Grant’s cameras. I simply borrowed them.”

“That doesn’t excuse what you’ve done.”

Lincoln speaks at my back, interrupting the argument.

“Your husband has two rewards out on you, Adeline. One for information on your whereabouts and safe return, and one for someone to kill you. Would you like to know which reward is higher?”

A cold chill rolls down my spine at what he says. I don’t have to ask which reward is higher. I already know my husband wants me dead.

Peeling my eyes from Ari’s face, I look down at the screen and feel a new wave of anger for an entirely different reason. “That’s Patricia. Grant’s secretary.”

“Ah, well, that explains the late nights at the office he blamed on your sleep issues.”

“How do you know he was doing that to me?” My head snaps up again.

Ari stares at me with such a placid expression, the lack of morality of his stalking not a concern at all.

“We should continue this relationship on the basis that I know everything. Stop asking stupid questions.”

His finger taps on the screen, drawing my attention down again. “Who are these three men?”

Not recognizing them as business associates, I shrug. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen any of them before.”

Ari taps a few keys to zoom in on their faces and take a screenshot.

“Then that’s for me to figure out. Most likely they’re the people who knew how to get the word out there is a price on your head. Hiring an assassin isn’t exactly easy to do.”

Assassin? What the hell have I gotten myself involved in? How do Ari and Lincoln even know about a reward for my death if they aren’t somehow involved in whatever fucked up underground network this is?

“How do you two know about him offering money for someone to kill me?”

Lincoln answers, his voice calm. “Because I’m one of the people who got the call.”

When panic at that thought strikes through me, I try to jump up from the couch, but Lincoln puts his arm in front of me, knocking me back.

“Listen, kid, you probably just figured something out that I wish you didn’t know about us, but it is what it is.”

“You both kill people for money,” I guess, hoping like hell they’ll deny it. Their silence is deafening, and it’s all the answer I need.

Ari is the one to break the silence first. “I like to think we solve problems and get paid very well for it. But that’s not the point.”

I can’t do this. None of it. I can’t sit here and calmly accept that I have two paid murderers sitting next to me. Can’t accept that those two murderers have been watching me.

My stomach rolls, and I think I might puke, my body jumping forward again so I can run across the room.

The instant my foot hits glass and rips the skin, I yelp and start to fall, a set of arms catching me as Ari’s deep voice hisses against my ear.

“Dammit, Adeline, what the fuck were you thinking?”

He picks me up and carries me to a table where he sets me on the edge. Grabbing my foot, he crouches down to examine the damage.

“You’re lucky this didn’t go very deep.”

“I’ll grab a first aid kit,” Lincoln grumbles as he pushes up to his feet. Ari waits for him to disappear around a corner before looking up at my face.

“You wanted to know who I am, and I told you to let it go. This is why.”

Tears well in my eyes at the anger in his expression. “What else should I know? Why not just get it all out now so I know what to expect? You kill people for a living, and both of you sit there acting like it’s no big deal. That’s fucked up.”

He smirks. “A lot in life is fucked up, baby bird. Eventually, you’ll grow up and learn to get over it.”

My blood trickles down the side of his hand, his eyes holding mine. I try to tug my foot away, but his fingers clamp down.

“I’m grown,” I argue.

“No. You’re not. But I don’t hold it against you. Your parents died when you were young, and then you flailed for several years before Grant came along and attempted to take over. You’ve yet to establish your own footing in this world, and that’s why you can’t look past what I’ve done to see that I’m the only reason you’re still breathing.”

Plastic slaps down on the table beside me, and I jump at the noise. Turning, I see Lincoln cock a brow at me before he walks back to the couch to drop his body down on the leather. Stretching his arms over the backrest and his long longs over the floor, he says nothing as Ari grabs the first aid kit, flips the lid and begins digging around for supplies to tend my injury.

The alcohol pad stings my skin, drawing my attention back to a man who refuses to see my point in this screwed up situation.

Without looking up at me, he keeps talking.

“So, here’s where you either hate us and make judgments about us without looking at the entire picture, or you can pop whatever bubble you’ve lived in that led you to believe the world is a pretty place with well-defined borders between right and wrong.”

He rubs ointment over the cut and wraps my foot with a bandage before glancing up at me again.

“Your husband is trying to kill you. That’s what you need to worry about now. And I’m the man who is going to ensure he doesn’t succeed and that he never has the chance to hurt you again. We should focus on that before worrying about all the other details about me.”

I don’t like it, but I know better than to argue with him. When it comes to all this, I know nothing about hired killers and vengeful husbands intent on murdering their wives.

Setting aside all the questions I have about Ari, I ask another one instead.

“What do you need from me to help you?”

Ari’s eyes glimmer, a ghost of a grin stretching his lips.

“I need you to tell me everything there is to know about Grant. The places he goes to, the business associates he has, the codes to all his safes and whatever else you can think of. The man has secrets, and I need to know them.”

Ari

Adeline truly knows nothing about her husband. I’d assumed he’d kept some information from her, but not all of it.

After an hour of Lincoln and I questioning her like she was undergoing a police interrogation, we all sit back frustrated, and we’re nowhere near closer to figuring out how to corner Grant when he least expects it.

Lincoln scrubs a hand down his face and glances at me, nothing good in his exhausted expression.

I turn to look at Adeline where she sits on the piano bench, her face angled to the floor, her hands wringing in her lap.

“He really just had you scheduling dinner parties and shopping the entire time you were married, didn’t he?”

Her shoulders slouch forward, and I realize we just made her feel like utter shit for the amount of control she’d given her husband over her life.

“That and I had to meet with his sister for lunch every day,” she answers bitterly, her voice as crushed as her spirit.

I never appreciated the full scope of how much he’d changed her in so short a time. This wasn’t the girl I knew. Adeline may have been out of control, but she wasn’t weak.

Unable to hide my anger, I ask, “Why would you let him do that to you? What could possibly have motivated you to give him everything without demanding anything in return?”

She shoots me a look, and I instantly regret the question. “Our situation is different.”

Adeline rolls her eyes.

“I was broke for the most part. I mean, that’s not the only reason I married him. But I was flailing, like you said. I thought Grant would balance me. Teach me to be more like him. He was responsible and successful and had his shit together when I felt like all I was doing was digging my hole deeper.”

“Being inexperienced doesn’t mean you need to give up on yourself, kid.” Lincoln stares over at her with sympathy behind his eyes.

A weak shrug of her shoulders. “My father always took care of my mother. I assumed that’s how it worked. It’s not exactly like I had either of them around to ask questions.”

And now I feel like even more of an ass for being the cause of that problem. At the mention of her father, I know we need to change subjects pronto.

Shifting my position on the couch, I run a hand through my hair before stretching my arm over the backrest and tapping my fingers on the leather.

“Well, that explains why you looked dead inside in all your photos online a few months into the marriage.”

Adeline’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing to glare at me.

Before she can bitch, I say, “Stalker, remember? I know everything. Moving on.”

Lips pulling into a thin line, she looks away, goes back to twiddling her fingers.

All three of us fall into an uncomfortable silence, but then Lincoln breaks it with a thought I’d already considered and shot down several times.

“Maybe we should use Adeline to draw him out.”

“No,” I say immediately. “Absolutely not. I’m not risking her life for this.”

Adeline dances her gaze between both of us, not following the train of thought that can go careening off the side of a cliff for as much as it’s not happening.

“Hear me out, Ari. Her life is already at risk unless you plan on keeping her in your penthouse for the rest of her life.”

I’d considered it. It wasn’t a bad plan. Sure she might get bored every so often, but I could pack her in the car, drive her around town, let her see the sights, maybe allow her to crack the window just a bit so she gets some fresh air.

Lincoln must have intuited what I was thinking. “Give it up, Ari. It’s not a good plan, and you know it.”

Silence falls again, my jaw ticking like a fucking bomb. “What’s your idea?”

“She goes to the cops. Creates a big media storm about it, given how everybody in this city knows of her abduction. Adeline can tell them her husband nearly beat her to death and she ran away for her own safety. It’ll piss off Grant, make him want to shut her up, but it will also back off anybody looking to take him up on the offer to kill her. At least for a couple months. Nobody will want to touch that while she’s in the public eye. You know it, and I know it. Three million isn’t enough for that high a risk.”

Pursuing my lips, I hate to think he’s right. If I were hired to do the job, I’d wait until the media frenzy died down, take her out quietly and stage it as something else.

“Grant won’t be able to handle it,” I say. “He’ll want something done to her immediately.”

Lincoln nods. “Which means he’ll try to do it himself.”

“Bringing him to a place where he’ll want to be alone,” I finish for him. “Fuck. This pisses me off, but you’re right.”

My eyes stay locked on Adeline. Risking her is so far outside my comfort zone that my shoulders tense at the thought of it.

“What do you think?” I ask her, my voice cautious. She’d just started fighting again, just started finding herself beneath the wreckage that Grant left of her.

I hate to think exposing her this much would send her running back to the safety of her scared bunny shell.

Her blue eyes meet mine. “Where would I go after the police?”

“Home,” Lincoln answers for me. Adeline’s stare doesn’t waver from mine, though. She’s looking to me for strength, for the promise of my protection.

“I’ll watch you the entire time,” I promise.

She smiles at that. “Why am I not surprised?”

“We’ll just call the past few years practice for what we have to do now.”

“Well, shit, you two aren’t leaving me out of this equation,” Lincoln grumbles. “Guess we’ll take shifts like old times.”

“I’ll need a week at least to prepare,” I say, looking at him. “You can escort her to the police since Grant won’t recognize you. And while you’re doing that, I’ll head to Adeline’s house to wait.”

Adeline’s voice draws my attention back to her. “Do you think he’ll show up the first night?”

“No,” I answer with confidence. “Grant is too smart for that. He’ll wait a week or so.”

“And I’ll be alone at my house for that amount of time?”

“Not while Grant’s alive, no. But you’ll start putting your life back together in the meantime. Get new furniture. You can have the instruments from here, if you want. I can’t play them.”

Something unsaid flickers behind her gaze. I want nothing more than to hold her down and demand she tell me everything she’s thinking, but I don’t.

It’s an eventuality that Adeline will return home and build a life for herself. I was never guaranteed to be a part of the equation. Not after she learns the truth of how I know her.

It kills me to think that despite all the promises I made myself about refusing to let her go, it’s what I’ll do in the end. Especially if it’s what’s best for her.

But not before I annoy the shit out of her some more and draw out the person she once had been. A few weeks tops and she’ll be back to giving the world the finger.

It’s too bad I’ll be part of that world.

“Then it’s settled.”

I don’t like it. Hate it, actually. But if it removes the threat to Adeline, I’m willing to go along with it. Plus, Grant and I have an appointment with fate. The sooner I get to him, the better.

“One week,” Lincoln agrees. “Do what you have to do, and I’ll -“

“What if they don’t believe me?”

We both turn at Adeline’s voice, scared blue eyes staring back at us. “The cops, I mean. My injuries are almost healed. In a week, you’ll barely be able to see the discoloration. What if they don’t believe Grant almost killed me?”

“They won’t,” I answer. “It’ll be a he said/she said situation. Which is why Grant won’t be arrested immediately. Perfect for us. Not so much for him.”

“Then why tell them about what he did?”

My brow cocks in question. “I don’t follow.”

What the hell was the little monster getting at now?

Spinning over the bench, Adeline faces us both, her shoulders rounding back as her spine straightens. I see the faint glow of her wild spirit glimmering behind her eyes, the hint of a mischief in her expression.

“I may not know all my husband’s business dealings. And I may have been blind to the fact he was apparently fucking his secretary. But I do know my husband is a jealous son of a bitch, and if you want to piss him off to the point of murder, the best way to do it is to embarrass him. He’ll claim I’m lying about what he did, and most will believe him. He has influence, money. You know how that is. It’ll be swept under the rug.”

“Your point?” Lincoln asks.

Shrugging a shoulder, Adeline smiles. “Grant will brush off the abuse claim by pointing out a lack of evidence.”

I sit forward to brace my elbows against my knees. “There is evidence. Your blood was all over that room.”

Blue eyes snap to me. “But wouldn’t it be a better story that he caught me in bed with another man? That a fight occurred because of it. And that I left him for Harrison Nash? I know Grant well enough to know his ego can’t handle that. You want me to be who I used to be, right?”

Hesitantly, I nod my head.

“Then why resurface as a victim? Why not resurface as a girl who was quick to ditch her boring fuck of a husband to move on to the next guy? Not only does that hit him where it really hurts, his precious ego, but it also does away with any police investigation, which means Grant doesn’t have to wait as long to come after me.”

My lips curl at the appearance of the Adeline I used to know.

“There will still be an investigation. Grant claimed a home invasion.”

Her smile widens. “Only to cover up his embarrassment of being second choice to you. That’s his problem. And it will only piss him off more. Embarrass him more.”

Sitting back, I scratch my jaw and stare at the devious creature in front of me.

Is it wrong that my first thought is I want to bend her over the side of that bench and fuck the mischief right out of her?

“Actually, that’s a damn good idea.”

My head snaps to Lincoln.

“It still creates the spectacle, which will keep any contracted killers at bay, but Grant won’t be able to sit back and let it happen. He’ll want blood for the bruise to his ego.”

Oh. The Grant thing is what he meant. Not the fucking. For a second I wondered if the asshole can read minds.

His brown eyes meet mine. “It appears the little monster is back.”

Which means he needs to leave.

Now.

I’ve always wanted to play with her when she’s like this.

Pushing to my feet, I turn to Lincoln. “We have a plan. One week and we’ll start the process. Not much more we can do tonight.”

Mouth cocking into a grin, he lifts his gaze to mine. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”

More like an order. Either he walks out willingly, or I toss him. Both options are fine with me.

Taking the hint, Lincoln stands from the couch, chucks Adeline beneath the chin with his finger in a big brother gesture as he passes her, and takes too fucking long to casually stroll from the penthouse to leave.

The hum of the elevator’s motor hasn’t stopped before I turn to Adeline, a surge of pride inside me to see her gaze lift to mine with strength behind it rather than the broken look she’s given me for the past few weeks.

“I’ve always admired your devious nature.”

A hesitant smile pulls at her lips. “Wish I could say the same for how I feel about you.”

Stepping up to her, I grip her chin and tip her face up to mine. “You’re welcome to admire my nature as well.”

“And what nature is that?”

“The kind that’s watched out for you for a long time now. I may have fucked up ways of doing it, but the intent was always the same. To protect you.”

She blinks at that, dark lashes falling over blue eyes that have haunted me since the first night I saw them.

“Just tell me your name. Give me that. It won’t mean I’ll excuse everything else and forget about it. I still want to know other things. But for now, at least let me know that much about you.”

I was already giving up more than she realized by agreeing to the plan she put in place against Grant. Once my face was made public, my career in this city was done. Unless of course, there is a way to pull this off without my mug being in front of all the cameras.

“My name is Sean Hayden.”

Surprise widens her eyes, and something worse than that.

Hope.

For what, I can’t be entirely sure, but I have my suspicions. And she has no idea how quickly that emotion will be crushed beneath the truth I have yet to tell her.

“Where does Ari come from? Is it just another made up name like Harrison?”

“No. It’s short for my middle name.”

“Which is?”

I grin. “That, I never tell. Only my parents know it.”

I can see more questions racing through that insane mind of hers. But before she can ask them, I guide her to her feet and look down at a monster that will most likely destroy me in the end.

“You need sleep.”

Her complaint falls on deaf ears. “The sun has barely gone down.”

My mouth tugs at the corner. “Yes, but by the time I’m done making sure you sleep soundly through the night, it’ll be well into the early morning hours.”

Adeline can hate me all she wants, but she can’t hide her reaction to that sensual promise.

“Fine, Sean. But you’ll have to catch me first,” she taunts before taking off at a run toward the back hallway.

Somehow, she manages to miss all the broken glass on her way.

I’ll still spank her ass for risking it.

And for calling me Sean.

Adeline

The next week passes slowly. I’m not exactly sure why. It probably has something to do with the anxious nerves that keep building with each passing day, the majority of those days spent by myself while Ari deals with what he needs to out of the penthouse.

Every night he spends in my bed, or drags me to his. But in the mornings, I wake up alone, the heat from where he’d barely slept absent from the mattress.

Still, his scent lingers, and when I wake up this morning, I pull his pillow to my side to wrap my arm around it and bury my face against the cool linen that smells like every woman’s fantasy.

Daylight shines brightly in through the window, my stomach twisting instantly because I remember this is my last day in the penthouse.

Tomorrow, I’ll turn myself in to the police, explain I was out of state and didn’t see the news broadcasts, and then laugh it all off with the explanation that I left Grant for another man, and I’ve been happily shacked up with him for the past month.

Which isn’t exactly a lie. Not even the happily part. And that’s been bothering me the most.

Ari hasn’t given me any more information about how he knows me and why he’d been stalking me all these years. He’s too focused on the situation with Grant, the typical teasing humor missing behind his eyes when he comes back after whatever it is he does all day.

By the time he returns, there something dark about him that concerns me. I often wonder if this is what he’s like when planning for a kill, if this is the man he doesn’t want me to know for fear that I’ll run.

Rather than questioning him about it, I let him take me into his arms and work out whatever frustration he’s feeling on my body.

I haven’t slept this well for so many days in a row ever in my life.

He’s the shadow that comforts me.

The demon that claimed me as his own while punishing those who tried to hurt me.

I do admire that aspect of his nature, even for how aggravating it is, but still, I don’t understand why he chose me. I’m not sure I ever will.

With that annoying thought in mind, I get out of bed, get a shower and get dressed. It’s already late afternoon, which surprises me. Normally, I’m up at the crack of dawn, but I’ve been sleeping so well that my circadian rhythm is haywire. But the bags under my eyes are completely gone now, my skin back to its usual porcelain complexion, free of ugly blue and green bruises that faded to yellow before disappearing entirely.

Staring in the mirror, I realize I look young again. My hair is still cut in a style I can’t stand, but it will grow out.

It’s a little shocking to see myself now compared to what I’d looked like before escaping my husband.

The stress of being Grant’s wife had sucked the life out of me, was aging me a year for every month I was married to him.

I have Ari to thank for reminding me who I was before falling victim to a controlling husband. And I guess I owe it to him to do something with the life he’s handed back to me, even if I doubt he’ll be in it.

Not because of me, of course. I want to explore the man who has been nothing but a mystery since the day he stepped into my life. I just get the feeling Ari plans on walking away once he knows I’m safe again.

Just thinking about it hurts. So much so that I refuse to talk to him about it, refuse to so much as broach the topic because I don’t want to spend my last hours in his penthouse knowing that, when I leave here, I’ll be returning to a life I live alone.

I’m sure there will be boyfriends and maybe even another husband someday.

I’ll still be alone because Ari is the only person I’ve ever known who is interested in what I see when I sleep. Every night he asks me what I dream, and every night I answer him because I believe it actually matters to him to know that side of me.

Losing that...I can’t begin to think what it will be like to go back to the girl who’s afraid to talk for fear of what people will think of her.

But it is what it is. I’m regaining myself and that’s all I can do.

Walking into the living room of the penthouse, I run my fingers over the piano keys as I pass it by, my bare feet padding over the wood floor. The wall of windows let me look out onto a city I haven’t seen up close for almost a month now, my eyes tracking the people strolling down sidewalks, the food vendors with their steaming carts, the cars in gridlock traffic now that the workday is done and people can return home to their families.

I’ve spent hours looking out across the buildings over the past few days wondering where Ari is and if he’s part of the chaos of the city below me.

It’s like playing a game of Where’s Waldo that I’ll never win, a game that ends tomorrow morning when I leave this place to return to my old house full of its ghosts and bad memories.

Gah! I can’t stand it, and I can’t stand the silence surrounding me now.

Heading over to Ari’s stereo, I run my eyes over the myriad of flashing buttons that I have no clue do what, eventually hitting one that brings the system to life, speakers set in the walls throughout the entire room blaring the same song Ari played when he revealed this room to me for the first time.

The lyrics are far too poignant at the moment, too real, too close a description for how I think of him, that I hit a button to go to the next song, laughter shaking my shoulders when Nine Inch Nail’s Something I Can Never Have blasts through the speakers.

That son of a bitch has my entire playlist cued up, one song after the other. I’m not surprised, though, given everything else he’s stolen from me.

Talk about depressing. Listening as the first notes of the song roll through the room, I’m beginning to wonder if it isn’t my music that had me spinning so far out of control back then.

But still, it takes me back to the nights I used to party, and I eye the wet bar Ari has set up on a far wall, my bottom lip pulling between my teeth when I think fuck it and decide to have some fun while Ari’s gone.

One drink won’t hurt.

While the haunting piano melody of the song plays and the singer’s pained voice begins crooning the lyrics, I traipse over to the bar to grab a bottle of vodka, then run to the kitchen to find cranberry juice in the fridge.

At first, I reach for a small glass in the cabinet then tilt my head, chew my lip, and another fuck it moment happens when I grab a tall glass and fill it one third with vodka and the rest cranberry.

The bitter taste bursts across my tongue on a rush of memory, the nights I’d spent dancing until sweat dripped down my skin, my hair wild around my head, my cheeks hurting from how wide I smile.

Turning, I watch the sunlight expand across the horizon in a spectrum of color, the reds, orange and deep pink painting the sky as lights flicker on in the buildings, the city preparing for night.

It’s just one thought, really, just one that has me racing across the room to turn off the lights, the scenery outside the window the only illumination. And as one song transitions into another, I dance in front of the window, my drink sloshing in the glass, my mind lost to the easy movement of my body in front of an entire audience beneath me who will never see what I’m doing.

Another song comes on that I love.

Another and another and another.

I’m on my third drink by the time Common People by Pulp plays through the speakers, my lips stretching into an grin as I dance to the beat of it, memories of Black Orchid and all the other clubs running through my head.

For the first time in a long time, I’m having fun on my own, remembering who I’d been before Grant broke me down.

Laughter bursts from my lips as my hips sway and my hand runs through my hair.

I can do this, I think. Be alone again. Be the kind of person who trusts herself enough to never let any person control her.

Smile stretching wider, I sway some more, taking a sloppy sip of my drink because I’ve already had too much and should probably dump the rest. But it’s too enjoyable, this moment, this freedom.

Ari was right about that as well. I’m truly free in moments when it’s just me and the music, the world fading off into a blur that carries no importance or meaning.

The lights of the city are a pulse against the window, flickering and flashing, the music pounding, my body moving in shadow where the lights don’t touch me.

When I spin as the chorus of the song repeats again, I open my eyes and stop in place, the rapid rate of my pulse beating like a drum in my throat.

Ari leans against the kitchen counter like a predator on the hunt. With his strong arms crossed over his chest, and one ankle crossed over the other, his grey eyes that see everything are locked on me with enough heat behind them to melt a glacier.

Dammit, I hate how he does that. Moves without me seeing him.

How long has he been standing there?

Dressed in his typical black on black, a t-shirt and jeans in a casual look I rarely see with him, Ari’s mouth is pulled into a smirk that promises pleasure and pain, his stare so focused on me that I can’t breathe.

The first thought in my head is to wonder how many times he’s stood just like that on nights when I had no idea who he was, watching me silently just like now.

A shiver runs down my body. Not because it scares me. But because of how much I like it.

So, I do what the old Adeline would have done...I dance to tease him, dance to seduce him, dance to lure him over like I used to do to guys in the clubs. I pretend I don’t see him, don’t want him, that I’m too good for him anyhow.

Setting my drink on a nearby table, I sway my hips and run my hands through my hair, my body moving in time with the fast tempo, my feet inching back until the cool surface of the window is against my back.

I shimmy against it, hips rolling, my ass pressed tight against the glass.

Ari doesn’t move from his spot in the shadow, he just keeps watching me with an unreadable expression on his face.

It’s insane how much this turns me on. I can feel his eyes everywhere, my body trapped by a focused grey stare that I can’t hide from.

Not that I want to.

Not anymore.

Not when I realize how this man loves the person I am and has fought to give her back to me.

The song ends and another begins. The Package by A Perfect Circle, another from an album that will always be my favorite. He must have the entire thing on this list, a part of me he’d stolen and kept safe until I was ready to take it back.

I stop dancing, the music and lyrics touching me deep inside, so perfect for the person staring at me now like the darkest of demons who’d protected me from all the others.

Ari truly is the devil.

In everything he does.

He moves suddenly, his powerful yet graceful stride eating the distance between us, his hands cupping my face as he leans down to claim my mouth with his, a violent, aggressive kiss that holds nothing back, a mess of teeth and lips and tongue.

I’m possessed by the hunger vibrating beneath his skin, Poor Little Adeline, a girl once lost until found by him.

A growl erupts in his chest just as my hands reach up to slide over the back of his neck.

He breaks the kiss, tugs my wrists to pull my arms down and spins me, my cheek and chest pressed to the glass as his lips run down the line of my neck, breath hot, hands forceful as he shoves my shorts and panties from my hips to let them slide down my legs.

Fingers skate up my stomach to palm my breast, and I kick the shorts off my feet as his mouth comes to my ear.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve watched you dance and wished I could fuck you right there in front of everybody? Just splay you open and force my body between your legs.”

I tremble at the deep tone of his voice, the rough edges. He pulls my shirt off me, shoving me against the glass once it’s free so that my breasts press against the cold surface of the glass.

“Keep dancing, Adeline. Tease me some more and see what happens. I’ll always take what’s mine, this body, your thoughts, every breath that fills your lungs belongs to me.”

I dance for him, my ass grinding against his hips, the hard line of his erection thick against me. Ari’s hands grip my waist to pull me tighter to him before he braces one against the glass above my head and uses the other to grab my wrist and slide my fingers down my body to guide them between my legs.

“You know what else I used to watch?”

My fingertips reach my clit, and he presses them down to circle the sensitive flesh.

“These fingers exploring every inch of the body I wanted, diving inside as you dreamed of the man who would one day own you.”

He pushes my fingers down farther until they slide inside, our skin slick with my arousal, his teeth nipping at my jaw.

“Such a dirty girl for never closing her curtains. It’s like you knew I was watching.”

I shudder against him, our fingers pumping together as the song fills the room, a driving beat, the singer’s voice harsh with lyrics that mimic the thoughts in Ari’s head, the words he whispers against my ear.

“What would you have done if I’d given in to the need to let myself inside your house and drive my cock inside you to replace your naughty fingers?”

He bites the sensitive part of my shoulder, and I tremble beneath it, soft moans crawling up my throat, the frenetic beat of the city beneath us an audience to the wicked way he plays my body.

“Why don’t we find out now?”

Ari turns me back to him, one hand gripping my ass to lift me up and press me against the window. My legs wrap around his waist as his mouth forces mine open, his other hand diving into my hair to yank at the dark strands.

I lift his shirt, my palms exploring his abdomen, sliding up his chest to grip over his shoulders as he releases my butt to undo his jeans and shove them off his hips.

The second he thrusts into me with the unspoken aggression of a man claiming a woman, my fingernails sink into his shoulders, a cry escaping my throat that he swallows, his hips moving to the hard beat of the song as my back slides against the cool glass.

I realize only I can do this to him.

Strip him of self-control.

Drive him to such a furious need that he acts on instinct to possess, to destroy, to devour.

Legs tight as an orgasm wrecks my body, I see stars. My inner muscles grip him, a low sound of masculine approval rising up his throat as he palms my breast and runs his teeth down to where my pulse beats frantically in my throat.

The instant I go slack after the orgasm ends, he chuckles against my skin. “Not yet, baby bird. I’m not nearly done with you.”

Ari pulls me away from the window and carries me to the couch to toss me down on the cushions on hands and knees. One hand grips my hip and pulls my ass back to him, his cock thrusting inside me again as he grips my hair and tugs my head back.

“Touch yourself, Adeline, just like when I used to watch.”

It’s haunting, the knowledge that he’s seen everything, but I do as he says, my fingers sliding down between my legs to circle my clit as he continues to own my body with such powerful force that I’m driven to that edge again, the thickness of his cock sliding against my fingers, another orgasm coming on so strong that I scream his name.

He leans over me as the shockwaves tear through. “That’s my girl. Always so fucking dirty.”

Eventually, it becomes too much for him as well, his cock driving in deeper, faster, harder until he pulls out to come on my back, his fingers moving from my hip to rub it onto my skin, to mark me as his.

I collapse against the cushions, all my energy gone, but Ari picks me up to cradle me to his chest, grey eyes staring down at my face with adoration behind them.

Reaching up, I cup his cheek, feel the rough stubble against my palm.

“Thank you,” I say without thinking.

His brows tug together. “For what?”

“Taking care of me. For watching me like you have.”

Cruel lips tug into a cocky grin. “You’ve had too much to drink.”

I smile at that...at him. “Maybe.”

Shifting my weight, he carries me through the room. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I’m still not done.”

My head falls against his shoulder and I revel in the feeling of safety to be with him, but as we pass through his bedroom door on the way to the shower, the thoughts I’d chased away before come rushing back.

How long will I be able to hold on to this man?

What will happen when Grant is gone?

Why do I get the feeling that Ari plans on letting me go?

And when it happens, will I ever feel this safe again?

Adeline

I wake up the next morning to something very strange.

Ari is still lying next to me, his large body sprawled face down across the bed, the sheets tangled in his legs, his arms wrapped around the pillow beneath his head.

Blinking my eyes open, I push up on an elbow and run my gaze down the smooth expanse of his skin, my fingers curling with the need to explore the ridges of muscle in his shoulders and back, the bulge of his perfect, tight ass.

Outside, the sun is still a faint glow on the horizon, the city quiet in the early morning hours. Nerves woke me up, the idea of what I would do today eating at the lining of my stomach. The tension inside me is like a stretched rubber band ready to snap, but I fight to push it aside so I can enjoy this one peaceful moment.

He’s like a tempting buffet laid out beside me, every inch of him toned and lean. I’m surprised he’s so still, that he didn’t wake up the instant I moved next to him.

Maybe, for once, I found a moment when he isn’t watching. A moment when I get to observe him while he has no idea what I’m doing.

Reaching out, I almost touch his skin, but pull my hand back, afraid to wake him. My eyes drag down again, a wicked thought whispering in my head.

Payback is a bitch, and Ari deserves a taste of what he’s done.

Inching down as carefully as I can, I glance up at him to make sure he’s still asleep, a mischievous grin stretching my lips to see his eyes are closed, and he’s breathing deeply and evenly.

Leaning over, I open my mouth and bite down on the left cheek of his perfect ass, my lips closing on the skin to mark him like he’s marked me.

His hand locks in my hair immediately, my eyes lifting to find his staring down at me from the pillow, his brow cocked as he moves just enough to free his skin from my teeth.

The rough sound of his voice sends a shiver down my spine. “If you’re looking for something to put in your mouth, I’ll happily turn over.”

Eyes narrowing on him, I purse my lips. “I only thought it would be fair for us to have matching bruises.”

Ari grins, just the corner of it peeking up from the pillow against his face. “Am I allowed to choose which part of my body you bruise with your lips?”

“Dammit,” I say, laughing. “I should have known you’re awake. You’re always watching.”

His fingers untangle from my hair as he shifts to sit up against the headboard. “Only when it comes to you.”

Grey eyes slide to look at the window, the rising sun brightening his face. “Are you ready for this today? There will be a lot of cameras and reporters.” His gaze slides back to me. “Will you be able to handle it?”

There’s a heaviness on my shoulders and heart, my nerves spitting like live wires. “Are you sure you can’t go with me?”

He blinks, his thick lashes so dark against the light color of his eyes.

“I have something else I need to do. Lincoln will be with you. Plus, I can’t exactly introduce myself as Harrison Nash since he technically doesn’t exist.”

I hate it, but I nod my head. “I guess I should get ready. Lincoln said he’d be here first thing.”

Ari nods and breathes out, his eyes running an assessing gaze across my face. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

I always do when he’s next to me. My episodes still occur, my mind becoming conscious of my dreams, but the shadow is a physical presence now, no longer out of reach.

“Yes. I’m nervous, obviously, but I’m not exhausted. I’ll be fine today.”

Another nod. “There are a few bags on your bed. I bought some clothes and other things you’ll need to get ready.”

Of course he did. It’s just like him to think ahead. Ari is always a few steps in front of everybody else. Always ready with plans A, B and C, while the rest of us walk blindly into his traps.

Crawling from the bed, I leave his room and go to mine. By a few bags, he means ten, a sigh blowing over my lips as I look inside them one by one, my skin bristling as I find that not only has he found the perfect outfit for me to wear, he’s bought makeup in the exact brands and shades I’ve used through the years, the exact curling iron that had been my favorite, and an expensive perfume I’d wanted a year ago but wouldn’t allow myself to buy due to the price.

It shouldn’t surprise me. He knows everything, but what kind of man studies a woman so well that he can do something like this?

I laugh at the absurdity of it, especially when trying to imagine Ari inside a large cosmetics store, his dark presence moving through the aisles with his little pink hand basket, picking out lipstick in a shade called Sexy Vixen and powders actually light enough for my skin.

“You don’t need any of it. I hope you know that. I happen to think you’re most beautiful when your natural features shine through.”

I spin at his voice to find him leaning against the doorframe, his chest bare and his legs covered by a pair of black pajama pants. The sight is enough to make me drool, especially with his hair a disheveled mess around his face and a day’s worth of dark stubble peppering his strong jaw.

“How did you do this? It’s a bit creepy, Ari.”

Just a hint of a grin. “I never tell my secrets.”

“Well, I’ll need all of it if I’m going to piss off Grant. Hopefully, the asshole has a heart attack as soon as he sees the news reports. It’ll save you the job of having to kill him.”

With a tilt of his head, Ari’s eyes narrow. “Now why would you want to deprive me of something I’ve been looking forward to?”

I think I’m falling in love with him.

Or maybe I have already.

But it still sends a chill down my spine to hear him speak about murder so calmly.

He nudges his chin at the bags. “Get a shower and get ready. I’ll make some coffee and wait for Lincoln.”

Taking my time, because, let’s face it, I’m not in a rush to have reporters shouting at me and the police asking questions, I run through the usual drill of getting ready.

It almost feels foreign to do this, a month of isolation knocking me out of practice with curling my hair just right and applying my eye makeup.

Once that is done, I dig out the dress Ari bought for me, a simple, black strappy dress, professional yet cut in such a way that it will hug all my curves. There’s also a bra and underwear set, black silk and lace, as well as a pair of red-soled shoes that must have cost a fortune.

I’m in shock staring at myself after putting it on. If being a hired killer doesn’t work out for Ari, he can make a different kind of killing being a personal shopper.

Grant can eat his heart out when he sees me like this. Strong, proud, beautiful. Not a mark from where he hurt me, my eyes bright and focused. My lips curl at the thought of how pissed off he’ll be when he hears the story I have to tell the media.

When I walk into the living room, a low whistle sounds across the space. I turn to see Lincoln looking dapper in a pressed white shirt and black slacks, his brown eyes glimmering while Ari’s peek over at me from above the rim of the coffee mug he’s sipping from.

“Will this do?”

Lincoln’s gritty voice booms. “Damn, kid. I may have to bring a few weapons to keep you safe.”

Meanwhile, Ari sets his mug down on the counter with far too much care, his eyes running slowly down my body and up again. He clears his throat and shifts his posture.

“I think you look perfect. Your husband is about to learn exactly what he’s missing.”

It’s impossible not to squirm beneath his stare. “Let’s hope so. I’d like to get all of this over with as quickly as possible.”

Lincoln grumbles and checks his phone. “Guess that’s a good thing because it’s time to get moving.”

He heads for the elevator, and I take a step toward Ari, hesitant to walk out of his penthouse because it feels like I’ll never come back again.

“Will I see you after?”

He nods. “I’ll be at your house. Lincoln will bring you to me when you’re done.”

This is awkward. Are we at a point where we give goodbye hugs? Unsure what to do, I dither in place, finally breaking free of my hesitation to march over and wrap my arms around him.

Slowly, he wraps his around me, his cheek resting against my head when I bury my face against his neck.

“You’ll be fine, baby bird. Lincoln won’t let anything happen to you.”

Except that’s not what worries me. That’s not the reason for all the anxiety racing through me.

“You’ll be at my house?”

His arms tighten around me. “I won’t leave you unprotected.”

It’s not about that for me. I need him close. Need him where I can reach out and hold him any time I want. But I’m too nervous to tell him that, to be honest about how I feel.

Instead, I say nothing as I slip from his grasp, my eyes meeting his before I turn to follow Lincoln to the elevator. The second the doors close, tears sting my eyes and Lincoln wraps an arm around my shoulder to tug me against him.

“It’s going to be all right, kid. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Slapping the tears away so they won’t ruin my makeup, I stare at my reflection in the mirrored door, my heart flying into my throat when the elevator begins its quick descent.

Within a half hour, Lincoln and I are walking into the police station, the receptionist’s eyes widening when she recognizes my face and picks up a phone to call someone.

By the time we reach the desk, she points a finger to a set of double doors and says, “Go right through there. Detective Bishop will be waiting for you.”

I nod my head and do as she asks, a flurry of activity erupting around us as we walk through the doors to find five uniformed officers and one in a suit walking toward us.

“Mrs. Cabot,” the man in the suit says, his eyes casting a weary glance at Lincoln before landing on me. “We have a conference room where we can talk. You’ve made quite the impression on the city as of late.”

Looking him square in the eye, I round my shoulders, my voice startlingly strong when I tell him what I came to say.

“You’ve made a mistake, Detective. I wasn’t abducted from my husband’s house. The truth is I left the bastard for another man when I found out Grant was fucking his secretary.”

Ari

My little monster has grown up to be quite the impressive woman.

Adeline looks fierce as she descends the large half circle steps of the police station, her shoulders back and chin tipped high. Approaching the wall of microphones and reporters without the slightest hint of fear or aggravation, her smile is wicked, her eyes shining with the revenge she’s taking on her husband.

Watching the reports on television in real time, I also have my computer logged in to Grant’s cameras so I can monitor his reaction to the breaking news that Adeline Cabot has been found.

“Mrs. Cabot! Mrs. Cabot!” The reporters yell over each other, all jostling to be up front for their feature stories. Adeline ignores them all while stepping up to the podium. She gives Lincoln one glance as if needing the support, then turns to the microphones and cameras.

“I’ll give one statement as to the situation I’m facing at home as well as my recent whereabouts.”

My gaze flicks to the computer to see Grant standing stock still in front of the television, his expression as tight as his shoulders.

“I apologize to every person who has been burdened with the report that I was abducted. Unfortunately, my soon to be ex-husband, Grant Cabot, has lied to the entire city, for what purpose, I can’t tell you, but what I can say is that I was not abducted by Harrison Nash.”

Eyes back to Grant, I watch as the tumbler of cognac slips from his hand, the glass shattering over the white marble beneath him.

“The truth is that I discovered my husband was having an affair with his secretary, Patricia Myers. And after making the discovery, I allowed myself to enter into a relationship with Mr. Nash that was a hell of a lot more exciting than being the wife of Grant Cabot.”

Grant’s face darkens with a rush of blood, his hands curling into fists. I watch as his jaw ticks wildly, his eyes staring at the television screen with every plan to kill his wife.

“I left Grant for Mr. Nash and have been staying with him at a secluded property that he owns. We are in love and plan to marry just as soon as I can finalize a divorce with Grant.”

This is so much fun, the real time destruction of a man who insists on giving the appearance of having his shit together. It’s not as fun as fighting with Adeline, but it definitely runs a close second. I grin as I watch Grant pace through the room, his eyes wild as his hands stab through his hair.

“I want everyone to know I apologize again because it seems that my husband made this entire thing up to protect his precious ego. But I can assure all of you that I’m alive and well.”

She grins, the little minx.

“In fact, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. Let’s just say Mr. Nash has been able to make up for all the failings of my husband.” She sticks out her pinky finger as if referencing the size of Grant’s cock.

Laughter bursts from my mouth, and I glance over to see Grant destroying his house, his mouth opening on a roar I can’t hear due to his shitty security system, but I can imagine what it sounds like as he swipes his arm across the entire wet bar in the room, launching all the liquor bottles over the ground where they burst into a mess of broken glass and liquor at his feet.

I’ll have to save this footage before he calms down enough to erase it. The replays alone will be hours of entertainment.

“So again, thank you all for your concern, but at this time, I’d like things to go back to normal. I’m returning to my home and rebuilding my life. It’s my hope that Grant will be smart enough to do the same.”

Oh hell. It’s a good thing Grant doesn’t have any weapons at his disposal. With the way he’s yelling and carrying on, he might put a bullet in his own brain and ruin all my fun.

Adeline steps away from the microphones, and Lincoln leads her through the crush of reporters and flashing cameras. The video follows them as they get into the back of a black car he rented, the screen returning to the shocked face of a reporter once the car pulls away.

I turn off the television and hurry to save all the footage of Grant losing his mind, my feet practically dancing in place from my excitement to show it to Lincoln and Adeline.

Knowing they’ll be at the house in less than twenty minutes, I shut my computer, taking it from the top of the piano to slip into my bag on a nearby sofa.

I spin in place to take a last look around at the new furniture I ordered and had delivered today, as well as the instruments I had moved from my penthouse. It’s as close as I can make it to what her house used to look like, every room furnished according to what I can remember after the years of watching her here.

The only thing I can’t replicate is the insanity of her prior bedroom, the mishmash of color and styles, the chaos that is Adeline’s head when decorating her space.

She’ll have to accomplish that on her own, but for now, I had it furnished with a king size bed, the headboard an intricate iron design with plenty of places for tying her hands up.

It looks nothing like her old bed, but I took the liberty of deciding on the improvement.

The house is done as far as I can tell, and I added heavy light blocking curtains on every French door and window that she’ll learn to use if I have to beat the habit into her.

Stepping outside, I lean a shoulder against one of the porch pillars and wait for their car to arrive.

The black Lexus pulls silently to the curb, the driver stepping out to run around and open the door for Adeline. She steps out looking absolutely incredible, a broad smile stretching her face as she waves at me and moves to let Lincoln out.

Without waiting for him, she walks quickly in my direction, her eyes holding mine before she ascends the steps to wrap me in a hug. I glance over her head and nod in Lincoln’s direction, letting him know I have her. He climbs back in and the car pulls away, the silence of the early evening wrapping around Adeline and me where we stand.

“I did it,” she says against my chest, her body tugging away just enough to glance up at me.

“You did. I’m proud of you. The added pinky reference was a nice touch.”

Her grin is pure mischief, the twinkle in her gaze stunning.

Stepping back, I grip her shoulders and say, “I have a surprise for you.”

That’s when I see it again, the hope in her expression. It stabs me in the gut every time because I know I’ll smother the light inside of her, that I’ll rip the rug out from beneath a set of feet that have just found their balance again.

I want to hope she’ll forgive me, but after years of seeing the world for what it is, I know better than to believe in fairy tales and happy endings.

“Come on, monster. Let me show you what I’ve done.”

Opening the door, I let her walk in ahead of me, damn near colliding with her back when she stops in place. The expression on Adeline’s face is one I can’t interpret.

I’d expected happiness.

Gratitude, maybe, or surprise.

Instead, it looks like someone ran over her puppy...twice. Backing up again to be sure to make the scene more grotesque.

“You don’t like it.”

She blinks, looking at me and back at the room before stepping through to look into all the individual rooms leading from the foyer.

“When did you do this?”

There’s sorrow in her voice, the sound of it tugging my brows together.

“Today. I can have it all returned. I just thought this would be better than sleeping on the floor.”

“No, it’s not the furniture. Everything is beautiful, it’s just-“

Her voice trails off, and I stand there like a jackass with my hands tucked in my pockets.

Another glance around before she spins back to me. “Are you planning on leaving once this is all over?”

How the fuck do I dance around this question? Same way I always do, I guess. Tell a half-truth and hope she doesn’t dig any deeper.

Breathing out, I lock my stare with hers. “It’s not my intention to, no.”

Because it will be her choice in the end. And knowing what I know, the choice will be one I’ll have to live with.

“Are you sure? Because I-“

Looking away, she takes a few steps into her father’s office, her body going still as she stares at the desk.

“I don’t think I can handle it if you leave. Not after everything.”

It’s safer to keep my distance, to give her the space she’ll need when I finally spill the truth of how I know her.

“I’m not a good person, Adeline. I never lied to you about that. You should want me to leave when you’re safe again.”

Her hand brushes over the surface of the desk.

Fucking hell. Why did she lead me in here of all places? Right into the heart of the crime I’d committed against her.

Fingers shaking, she touches the back of the leather chair as she rounds the desk, pain so evident in her expression that I want to kill the man that put it there.

Me.

“There are ghosts in this house, you know? I guess I should tell you that since you’ll be staying here. My father-“

Her voice chokes up, a shake of her head as she straightens her shoulders searching for the strength the memory she’s reliving has stolen.

“My father killed himself in this room.”

Eyes lifting, she asks, “Do you know my dad killed himself? Did you know me then?”

And...shit. This conversation has careened straight down Fucked Up Lane after turning the corner at Ari is a Lying Asshole Trail.

I give her another half-truth. “You told me about your father in the cemetery.”

A nod of her head, the half-truth enough to suffice. Adeline slaps at a tear and gives me a shy smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to jump directly into the most depressing conversation of all time. It’s just hard...coming back here is hard.”

Reaching out, I grab her hand and pull her from the room. “I think I have something that will cheer you up.”

“You do?” Blue eyes lift to mine glimmering with the tears she fights back.

“Yes. I recorded Grant’s reaction to your news broadcast. I thought you might want to watch how your words affected him.”

At that, her smile returns, pure evil lighting up her eyes. “Actually, that makes me feel a little better.”

I lead her into the kitchen while grabbing my bag from the floor, and after cueing up the video, I watch her face as she grins to see Grant so angry.

It’ll be a week at least before the asshole makes a move, but I can’t feel excited for it, only because I know what will happen after.

Still, I go through the motions of a man who loves the woman who cast her spell on him when she was an out of control teenager, and with that plan in mind, I show her the rest of the house after the video, feeling like a fucking dick the entire time because I know how the truth will ruin her.

But it is what it is.

You can’t script reality. And as much as any person would like to go back and rewrite certain passages, the ink is permanent on the pages of our life.

My pages just happen to be written in blood. In the lives I’ve taken and the families I’ve destroyed. Including Adeline’s.

Accepting it and learning to live with it is the only option we have when truth becomes unbearable and secrets are revealed.

It’s too bad my secrets are exactly what make Adeline’s dreams of what I am to her impossible.

Adeline

One thing I should have known with Grant is that he’s not stupid.

Bad tempered? Vain? Egotistical? A lying, cheating bastard? All yes. But stupid? No.

Not my husband.

Grant has too much to lose in all of this, and although his pride took a hit with the public statement I made, his control didn’t snap like we hoped it would.

Everything he does is calculated. Just like Ari. And rather than flying off the handle to be outed as a liar, a cheat, and a shitty husband, Grant made a public statement of his own, lighting a fire under Ari and me in the process.

Who is Harrison Nash?

It’s a question buzzing around the city with only dead ends. Ari assures me that there’s a paper trail the police will follow, leading them to a different country and the appearance of legitimacy, but he was like a tiger caged for the first few weeks, pacing the rooms of my house with an expression on his face that made him unapproachable.

Rather than taking the hit, Grant spun the investigation up again. Called me a liar. Claimed I was in on a game with a man nobody can find. He accused me of being a criminal, although with what motive, nobody is sure.

According to Grant’s most recent interview, he believes I married him for his money while in a relationship with Harrison all along.

Unfortunately, his power and influence make him more of a believable character than me, the police often coming to my door with more questions.

All I can do is tell them that I no longer speak to Harrison, that he left me after he saw my public statement, and that I have no idea where it was he took me when I left Grant.

Playing it off that I was in an emotional state, I claimed I hadn’t paid attention. I just knew the flight took three hours and the drive after we landed took several more.

I wasn’t aware. I hadn’t cared. I slept through most of it, on the way and when coming back.

I have no clue, is what I told them. And, having no evidence of a crime I’d committed, the police had no choice but to slink away to investigate it on their own.

The scrutiny of my life made it difficult for Ari. He can’t be at my house during the day, and when he comes at night, it’s usually through a back window or door after ensuring I’m not being watched by police. Sometimes, I am, and he doesn’t come on those nights.

I wake up in sweaty, twisted sheets the next morning when he’s not here, my throat sore and my eyes swollen from crying.

He’s the only person who can help me sleep, but when he’s gone, my disorder is worse than it’s ever been.

Stress is a factor. The constant worry that he’ll be caught.

But mostly it’s the feeling I have that he’s distancing himself from me. That he’s walking away when he told me he had no intention to do so.

My shadow is diaphanous again, hovering just out of reach.

After two months of this nightmare, I know I need to move on with my life. Grant isn’t coming after me, not in the way we thought he would.

Instead, he’s destroying my life through the media and his public influence, and I refuse to sit back in a pretty cage while the rest of the world moves on without me.

It’s why I’m in a car now, heading downtown. I didn’t contact Ari for permission, didn’t tell Lincoln. Fuck them both. It’s not like they’re bending over backwards to stay in touch with me.

My babysitters will have to deal with the fact that their little monster has remembered she’s the type of girl who isn’t told what to do.

“That’ll be twenty-six even.”

The car idles near the curb as the driver turns to look at me. Smiling back at him, I swipe my card and add a ten dollar tip. I have money now after Ari bought my last set of photographs, so I’m not destitute without the means of taking care of myself.

Saying “thanks” as I let myself out of the car, I walk the sidewalk with my head lowered and my hair hanging down to disguise my face as much as possible.

The media frenzy has made it difficult to get around town without people staring, but fortunately nobody approaches like I’m a celebrity or anyone of importance. They just whisper to each other and move along.

Air conditioning sweeps out as I let myself in to the Weeping Willow, my eyes lifting to see Rebecca standing in front of a photograph on the wall, her perfectly shaped brows tugged together in the center as she scrutinizes the piece.

I step up behind her and startle at the dark and sensual shot.

Taken from behind, the line of the woman’s body is curved back, her hands bound above her head in black leather as she’s kneeling on the ground. Red lines are evenly spaced down her back, wisps of blood leaking over pale skin, a subtle pink handprint on her naked butt.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, my head tilting slightly as I make sense of it.

She spins at that, her hand going to her chest. “Shit. You scared me.”

“Who’s the photographer?”

Her cheeks glow pink. “Uh, it’s nobody. This is for a private show.”

Hand gripping my shoulder, she hurries me away from the shot as much as she can with how pregnant she is.

Once we enter her office, I take a seat and nudge my chin at her belly. “Any day now, huh?”

“A few weeks,” she smiles and relaxes back in her seat, manicured fingernails steepled and tapping against her chin. “So? You were abducted. How does it feel to be free again?”

There’s an odd glint behind her eyes, not the sympathy or worry a person would expect with such a morose topic.

“I wasn’t abducted. I simply left my husband for -“

“Harrison Nash. I know. He’s a stunning man. A bit sharp around the edges. I assume he’s the demon from your last show.”

My eyes flick away. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve parted ways.”

“Have you?” she asks, her voice conspiratorial. “That’s a shame. Men like him are rare. They’re not the easiest to live with, but they’re fierce in their possession of you. It’s a fire unlike any other.”

She doesn’t know Ari, apparently. He’s too cold. In a way, he’s exactly what I always feared when I was younger and stood still. Like the black void of space swallowing you whole as you float away from Earth.

“Well, I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you. But it makes me glad I got in touch. I’d like to do another show with your work. Your recent chaos would be amazing to see from a visual standpoint. How about we schedule it for six months from now?”

It’s not a bad idea. My gaze darts back to her.

“Are you sure you’d want that? I’m a bit of a pariah in the city currently. The gold digger that played a game on her husband.”

Her lips curl. “That makes you even more interesting. Let’s set a date, and you can spend the next six months creating the perfect shots. Maybe even use the show to tell your side of the story.”

Excitement sparks inside me at the thought of taking back my life. My art. My heart and mind. “Let’s do it.”

After setting a date, I leave the gallery and wander around the city for a little while. People stare and whisper but leave me alone for the most part, keeping their distance as I spend a few hours re-familiarizing myself with the life I had before Grant and Ari.

It’s dark by the time I return home to an empty house. As usual, Ari is nowhere to be found, but I know that doesn’t mean much. He can be anywhere, hiding in shadow, lurking under my bed, impersonating a hanger in my closet for all I know.

He’s reverted back to being a person who watches without taking an active role in my waking life, choosing instead to appear in the dead of night and leaving again before the sun rises the next morning.

I’m getting sick of it. Fucking angry, actually. That fury a scratchy blanket wrapping around the pain I feel in my chest.

But what else did I expect? That he would become a doting boyfriend? That he would give up his life to become a person that lives his life in the light instead of shadow?

Absolutely ridiculous, that thought.

Men don’t change, and I was stupid to think that Ari would be any different.

Still, the anger is there, frustration, the aggravation of not knowing a damn thing about him except his real name. If that even is his real name.

How much can I really trust about him? Certainly not that he’ll stick around. He’s done a damn good job of keeping his distance since I’ve returned home, and I can’t help but think he’s engineered this, can’t help but remember that in his own subtle way, he’d warned me this would happen.

He took what he wanted. Achieved what he’d set out to do, and now that Grant is no more a threat than the character assassination he’s committing against me in the media, there’s no reason for Ari to stick around.

And given the questions surrounding his false identity, there’s even more of a reason for him to stay away.

I get angrier just thinking about it, so I try to go through the motions of making something to eat, forcing it down and getting a bath after.

Wrapped in only a towel as I leave the bathroom, my mind is on the tasks I’ll need to complete to prepare for my next show.

I have nothing, all my equipment still at Grant’s, which means I’ll need to buy a new camera, a new computer, all the processing software and everything else.

Dropping my towel in a hamper, I pad barefoot to my dresser to grab a pair of underwear, my feet slipping out from beneath me as my body slams against a wall.

A wall of heat is at my back, the brush of a man’s shirt against my naked skin. My heart is in my throat as a deep voice whispers, the tip of his nose running along the line of my jaw.

“Do you think you’re allowed to be out wandering the city?”

Although my body reacts to Ari’s scent in a way that makes me melt, my anger at him bristles and snaps.

“It’s better than being home alone all the time,” I argue, my voice tight.

A soft laugh, the sound dark and without humor. “You should pay better attention to your surroundings, Adeline. How the hell is it possible for me to sneak up on you when you know there’s a man out there who wants you dead?”

He’s angry, too, apparently, his words razor edged.

Fuck him. I’m not playing these fucking games anymore. If he wants me to behave, he can do the same.

Jerking away from him, I’m able to slip free, my gaze snapping to his for only a split second before I storm to my closet to grab a shirt to pull on.

“He wants to ruin me,” I answer, “but I highly doubt he’s planning on coming here to do anything about it.”

Ari stands in the center of my bedroom, his arms crossed, his feet at shoulder width. He’s a dark presence in the black clothes he wears, a shadow that can take a fucking hike if he doesn’t start answering my questions. A girl can only take so much heartbreak and indecision before she snaps.

The tilt to his head is mocking. “Are you certain about that?”

It only pisses me off more.

“It’s been two months, Ari. Two fucking months that I’ve been trapped in this place by myself. Meanwhile, you’re free to run about and do whatever the hell it is you do.”

I’m marching toward him before realizing my body is moving, my rage coming out as I slam my hands against his chest, not that the hit budges him at all. He’s too big. Too strong. But I hit him again for the hell of it.

“Where have you been? What do you fucking care? Your life hasn’t been screwed up by this. Do you like keeping me trapped like a baby bird in a cage?”

It hits me then that he does. That he’s always kept me trapped. All Ari does is steal from me without offering anything in return. And it hurts. It fucking hurts to realize it.

Stepping away, I glare at him.

“And I still know nothing about you. Not one goddamned thing. So, until you’re ready to fess the fuck up and answer my questions, you can go back to wherever the hell you came from. Leave me the fuck alone, and forget about me. Not that you haven’t been doing that already. I’m not here to be your amusement. And I’m sick of your damn games.”

I’m a pot boiling over at this point, all the questions and frustrations I’ve been stuffing down over the weeks I’ve been with him finally bubbling to the top. Maybe it took being alone for me to finally look at the full picture. But now that it’s there in front of me, I can’t let it go.

Silence falls, the seconds ticking by as tension builds between us. Ari’s voice is a bare whisper as he takes a step toward me, but stops.

“Is that what you think?”

Tears well in my eyes. “Yes. That’s what I think. You’ve done nothing but screw with my life without permission. And the entire time, you can’t even be bothered with giving something back. Yes, you protected me when I was younger, but if you really gave the first fuck about me, you’d tell me why. Who the hell am I to you, Ari?”

I’m shouting now, my hands shaking. He only grins to see it. Not the friendly expression I used to get from him, but something harder, sharp like Rebecca called him.

They’re fierce in their possession of you...

Her words drift back to me and I scream again.

“I’m not a fucking possession! You don’t own me, and you never will!”

He moves quicker than my mind can process, his hand fisting in my hair as he pins me against the wall. Ari’s grey eyes have a lethal edge, his cruel lips pulled into a thin line.

“Ask your question, then,” he says, his tone devoid of anything comforting. It almost sounds like a dare.

My gaze pins his because I refuse to look away. I won’t let him scare me. Not now. Not after everything.

“How the fuck do you know me?”

Here it is. The moment of truth. The last chance he has to either make this right, or tear the illusion apart that I’ve ever mattered to him.

“I killed your father. I first saw you when you ran to his body. And I’ve been watching you ever since.”

Ice runs down my spine, my heart lurching with a painful thump at him daring to make a joke of my life.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” he answers, his voice matter of fact. “You wanted the truth, so I’m giving it to you. I’m the man who pulled the trigger when your father died. Are you happier to know that? Does it make you feel closer to me somehow?”

I’m going to throw up, my entire body shaking now as he continues staring down at me with no guilt for what he claims to have done.

Leaning down, he levels his stare with mine. “I’ve told you from the beginning that I’m no hero. I’m the villain in your story, Adeline, but you refused to believe me.”

Pausing, he searches my eyes, his hand gripping my hair tighter when I try to pull away.

“Do you have any more questions? Or does that satisfy your curiosity?”

I can’t process this, can’t do anything but fight the bile that crawls up my throat to coat my tongue. My blood is a toxic mix of emotion. Rage, sorrow, fear.

How dare he lead me on to believe that he gives a damn? How dare he pursue me and touch me like he has any right to my body when he’s the asshole who destroyed me?

“Get the fuck out of my house, Ari.”

He doesn’t answer, just stares at me as if my pain doesn’t affect him. His eyes are so cold, they freeze my skin, so utterly absent of concern that my hands clench into fists.

“Get the fuck out!”

He lets me go and steps back, but that stare is still on my face, that arrogant fucking grin.

“I told you not to dig too deep. I warned you, Adeline.”

“Out!”

Something flickers behind his gaze, but it’s gone before I can interpret it.

My father didn’t kill himself.

Ari killed him.

This man that I’d given my body to. All my thoughts. My fucking dreams were wrapped around him, and he did this to me.

Tears burn my eyes as I lunge from the wall to slam my hands against him again, my fists beating against his chest while he just stands there and takes it without moving away or trying to stop me.

“Get the fuck out!”

Licking his teeth, Ari inclines his head and turns to leave my room. I follow him all the way to the kitchen doors, staring out as he crosses the yard to the tree line, Lincoln stepping out of the shadows to glance back at me once before stepping up next to Ari to leave.

And I sink to the ground when they disappear from my view, my body wracked with violent sobs, my shoulders hunching forward as I scream for them to never come back.

The cool night air blows in to crash against my face, my stomach heaving as the bile climbs faster, my abdomen clenching with the warning that I’m going to puke.

Pushing to my unsteady feet, I slam the doors closed and run to the bathroom, fall to my knees and vomit, my body heaving as my dinner comes up while tears race down my face.

He broke me.

Without concern.

Without guilt.

Without anything.

He’s destroyed my life.

Made me a game.

Stole from me when I didn’t know he was there.

And just like the first night he claimed to have seen me, Ari left me a shattered mess in a house I can’t escape.

Except this time when he walked away, he took my heart with him, just one last thing he needed to steal before vanishing entirely.

Adeline

One Month Post Ari

I’m not okay. I wish I could tell you that I pulled up my big girl panties and only cried for a day or two before picking myself up and moving on. But that’s not what I’ve done.

Instead, I’ve festered. Wallowed. Cried, fought and screamed. My sleep is a never-ending nightmare, my waking hours no different. It’s all blending together until I’m an absolute mess that can’t function.

Poor Little Adeline has become Poor Pathetic Adeline.

A wasted person, a shell of herself that crawls through her days barely eating, dreading sleep, living behind locked doors and drawn curtains, the sunlight too obnoxious because it reminds me of the world beyond my misery.

Grant served me with divorce papers, and I haven’t been able to look at them. I haven’t turned on the television to watch his bullshit interviews to see how he’s dragging me through the mud now.

If I didn’t know better, I would swear Grant and Ari teamed up to ruin me. That this had been their plan all along.

My heart feels like it’s going to shatter every time I let myself think of Ari. The shadow has a face in my dreams, but I can never reach him.

He’s out there. Somewhere. Probably hoping to watch me crumble so he can see the results of everything he’s done.

So, I hide. Refuse to let him look inside my house if he is sneaking around. Refuse to walk outside for fear he’ll be watching.

The Adeline show is over.

He took everything from me.

He stole it all.

And still, I can’t let him walk through my thoughts without the painful desperation I feel to reach out for him.

How fucked up is that?

How fucked up am I for feeling it?

My eyes close when the tears start again. My hair rips when I bury my hands in it to fist my fingers.

Two Months Post Ari

“Who is Harrison Nash?”

I stare across the desk at an older man with dark hair silvering at the temples. Behind thin, wire-framed glasses, he stares back at me, a shrewdness in his eyes that I assume is necessary given his career.

Jerome Warner is supposedly one of the best divorce attorneys in town, a man who didn’t blink an eye at the team Grant had hired to represent him. It made me feel better at first. But, the truth is I couldn’t care less what I get out of the divorce. Jerome keeps insisting I go for what’s owed to me, but I’d rather just give it all up and forget I ever knew Grant Cabot.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, my voice soft and sheepish. “He played me extremely well. Led me to believe I mattered to him while stealing me away from Grant.”

“Can you tell me where he took you when you were gone?”

“No. Does it matter? I only want to sign on the dotted line and be done with this. I want to move on.”

Jerome leans back in his seat and drops the papers he’s reviewing to the surface of his desk.

“I know you’re frustrated, Adeline. And this was a short marriage, so it’ll be easy enough to rush the divorce through, but Grant has demanded this information in interrogatories, documents I can’t ignore. Answers are required regardless of whether you want to wipe your hands of this or not.”

Anger sparks inside me. Quickly blinking my eyes to fight off tears, I cross one leg over the other and try to remain calm.

“Then give him my answer. I don’t know. Harrison was obviously a fake name. Why does everybody think that I know more than that? I’m not getting anything out of this, so it shouldn’t matter.”

He eyes me, not believing what I say.

“You know nothing about the man you spent an entire month with? The same man you had an affair with while living with your husband? I find that hard to believe.”

I know he killed my father, I don’t say. I know he stalked me for years, toyed with my life and destroyed me in the end. I know that.

“I know nothing. I was just a game. One I’m sure he enjoyed playing until he grew bored with it.”

Sympathy softens his expression. “I’m sorry to hear you went through that.”

Me too.

“Is that all? Are we done?”

He nods his head and stands from his seat, offering his hand across the desk to shake mine.

Pushing to my feet, I grasp his palm weakly.

“Call me when you know we have a final hearing. I’d like to have this finished as soon as possible.”

“It’ll be a while, but my secretary will be in touch.”

“Thank you.”

I leave his office without another word, take the elevator to the bottom floor and cross through the lobby. My heels click against the ground as I push through the revolving door and step out onto the sidewalk.

Cathedral bells ring, grabbing my attention, the church where I married Grant only a block away. I’m not sure why I walk in its direction, but by the time I reach it, I see a bride and groom running through the front door, the wedding party outside clapping and cheering as they toss birdseed into the air.

It’s not the wedding that bothers me, though. It’s the building across the street from the cathedral. Turning, I lift a hand to shield my eyes from the sun and stare up at the windows on the top floor, wondering if Ari is staring down.

Anger possesses me, more questions racing through my head that I’d been too upset to ask the last time I saw him.

Why did he kill my father? Who ordered the hit? Who else out there is responsible for the shitshow my life has become? He owes me those answers, at least that’s what I tell myself as I march across the street and into his building.

Elevator banks are on either side of the lobby, one leading to the lower floors, the other a private entrance to the penthouse. I know I can’t access it without a key and a code, so I walk to the front desk, tapping my hand on the counter when the woman behind the desk doesn’t immediately look up at me.

She lifts her head at the sound, a forced smile on her face. “Can I help you?”

“I need to speak with the man living in the penthouse. Can you buzz up and tell him he has a guest?”

Her brows tug together as she stands from her seat.

“I can’t do that, but I can speak with the building manager. If you’ll just wait for a moment, I’ll bring him to you.”

They return a few minutes later, the manager approaching me to speak low enough that the people passing through the lobby can’t hear.

“Ma’am, I’ve been told you’d like to have a message delivered to the penthouse.”

Turning to him, I smile as innocently as I can. I’m not sure it helps. Surely, he can see the pain and hatred behind my eyes.

“Yes, I lived with him a little while ago and left some personal belongings. I need access so I can run up and grab them.”

The building manager looks like a kind man. He’s older, his hair entirely white. Confusion bleeds behind his brown gaze.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but we won’t be able to help you.”

“It’s just a phone call,” I insist.

He smiles, the expression not reaching his eyes. “I’d like to help you, but it’s impossible. Mr. Shepherd vacated the penthouse three months ago. He’s left no contact information or forwarding address. There’s nothing we can do.”

My heart sinks at what he tells me, and it doesn’t escape my notice that he’d lived in this place under yet another assumed name.

Three months?

That means Ari left before I saw him last. He’d been gone a full month before he told me the truth of how he knew me.

“Thank you,” I say before rushing off. I don’t want him to see me crying, don’t want anybody to see me shatter.

It happens anyway, the tears falling as I reach the sidewalk, my body shaking as I brace myself against a wall just to hold myself up.

Ari knew he was leaving me.

He’d known the entire time.

Three Months Post Ari

Every day is getting easier. I’m not fracturing anymore when I wake up, even if I’m still fighting in my sleep.

Things have returned to normal for the most part. I still remain conscious of my dreams, still wake up in weird places every so often, still see a shadow hanging over me that will never go away. But the face is gone. The name. The hope that I’d foolishly felt that a hired killer could be the man that would save me.

Normal for me is now the daily routine I go through to get ready for the gallery show coming up. I’ve surrendered myself to the project, using it as a method of stripping myself of a certain demon who ended up being the devil himself.

That’s my theme. The truth about Ari. I never show him as a person. Just a figure with horns that waits for me in secret places, a destroyer of all that is good and pure in the people he runs across.

The photos are turning out wonderfully. But they make me cry when I finish them. Each one is me letting go of him a little more. Each one is a representation of regaining my life and discovering who I am.

Today, I’m in the cemetery where Ari first introduced himself, and after spending an hour at my parents’ graves, I grip my camera in hand, Mad World by Tears for Fears blasting through my earbuds as I brave the chaos I know the mausoleum will create in my heart.

Blowing out a breath, I approach the iron gates and step through, my pace slow as I weave through the rooms, my heart stuttering to a dull thump as I walk up to the stone crypt where he’d first kissed me.

I know the shots I want to take here, and I should have turned around to leave the instant the idea was in my head, but my feet are rooted in that spot, the happy, upbeat song changing to another on my playlist, one that is a cruel trick of the universe to play right now.

I can’t breathe as the first few notes of A Perfect Circle’s Gravity play, the song making me think about everything that’s happened. Everything I’ve lost and have to regain again. I have work to do. I know that. But still, the pain is there. The reminder.

Our entire relationship flashes through my head and I stand here crying while staring at the place it feels like it first began.

I knew better than to come here. Knew better than to add this album to my playlist. But maybe that’s what it takes to get out from beneath a weight that is slowly crushing you.

Maybe you have to tear yourself apart so that when you’re free of it, you begin the process of stitching yourself back together.

It’ll take a lot of thread to mend the damage Ari created. But I can do it.

I have no other choice.

Four Months Post Ari

Green eyes stare over at me, so much hatred behind them that it takes me back to the night Grant almost killed me in our bedroom.

I can feel every slap, every punch, every time he grabbed my hair to jerk me back up so he could hit me again. I can feel my head slamming against the floor, the tightness in my throat every time he made me read another text so he could punish me for it.

Every moment of that night is front and center in my thoughts right now, his lethal stare doing nothing to scare me anymore.

I’m stronger than that now.

Smarter.

Less willing to hand over any part of myself to a man who can’t appreciate the gift I’ve given him.

“It seems all the paperwork is in order, and I assume based on the parties’ mutual agreement that there are no unresolved issues that will prevent me from finalizing the divorce today.”

The judge looks up at Grant’s team of attorneys and then over to mine. “Is that the case, gentlemen?”

Everybody nods, the courtroom silent thanks to Grant demanding the final hearing be closed to the public. It’s the first thing he’s done since I escaped him that I can agree with.

Even now, he continues using our drama to drum up business, to present himself as the loving husband that was played by his cheating whore of a wife.

Whatever. As long as I never have to see him again, I’m perfectly happy going along with it.

“Well, then I guess there’s nothing left to do other than hear from Mr. Cabot and Ms. Kane.”

The judge looks to Grant first. “Mr. Cabot, do you agree with the terms of the Marital Settlement Agreement and also agree that your marriage is irretrievably broken?”

Grant straightens his spine, rolls back his shoulders and shoots one more scathing look in my direction before pasting on his professional grin to answer the judge.

“Yes, Your Honor. My wife is a lying, thieving whore, and I want nothing to do with her.”

The judge’s eyes widen a bit at his statement before sliding to me.

“And Ms. Kane, do you agree with the terms of the Marital Settlement Agreement and also agree that your marriage is irretrievably broken?”

I glance at Grant, smile sweetly, and turn to bat my eyes at the judge.

“Yes, Your Honor. I discovered after being a lying, thieving whore that there are men out there who can give me multiple orgasms, one after the other, unlike Mr. Cabot who has no clue that it takes more than a pencil dick poke to get a woman off.”

My attorney’s head falls forward as he lifts a hand to cover his face. His shoulders are shaking, whether from tears after dealing with me or laughter, I’m not sure.

Grant, on the other hand, looks like he might have a stroke with all that angry blood rushing to his head.

I smile again. Flip him off even though nobody can see my hands.

With a shake of his head, the judge signs the Final Order and dismisses the courtroom. I stick close to my attorney’s side as we leave, just in case Grant has any ideas.

Thankfully, we reach my car without any drama, and Jerome shakes my hand before waiting for me to climb in the driver’s seat and take off.

As I pull out of the courthouse garage, I glance in the rearview mirror, happy to leave that chapter of my life behind.

I’m slowly healing.

Slowly gaining my footing again.

Another few months and I should have my life where I want it.

Poor Little Adeline is now a force to be reckoned with.

And I did it by myself, without the need of anybody helping me.

Five Month Post Ari

Black Orchid is thumping tonight. I’m standing outside among the line of people, my arms wrapped around my body and my legs bouncing as if it can chase away the chill outside.

Beside me, everybody is dressed in the typical black, and I have to laugh to think I’m actually old enough to be here for once.

How long has it been since I let myself go wild for a night?

Too long, my behavior changing when I met Grant and dated him before getting married.

But I’m back, dammit! My smile stretches wide at the thought that I’m finally in a place I like, that I’ve suffered many years of stumbling and losing myself, but I found her again, that girl I’d been before my entire world fell apart.

I want to celebrate her. Celebrate myself. Celebrate that my photos are done in time for next month’s show. Celebrate the routine I’ve developed that keeps me busy and happy. Celebrate surviving the worst this world had to throw at me.

I survived.

I’m a fighter.

And tonight, I’ll drink and dance. Tonight I’ll find that freedom I’ve been chasing and learn what it means to laugh again.

However, I’ll be smart about it. Water between each drink so I don’t get too drunk, and I won’t be going home with random strangers.

I’m here for me. For what I love.

Not for all the men who would use me to get off.

The line moves forward, and after paying the bouncer and flashing my identification, I let him stamp my hand before going in the door.

The place hasn’t changed a bit. It’s exactly how I remember it.

I order a drink at the bar and take a sip when the bartender finally slides it over to me.

Weaving my way to the side room with all the cages, I find an empty high top table in the back, finish my drink instead of just setting it down where anybody can mess with it, and I move to the music pounding the room, one song transitioning to the next, a mix night with a blend of old music and new, dark and happy, the DJ perfectly blending so many different types of music that I fall in love with the utter chaos of it.

I’m sweating by the time I return to the bar, order a water and another drink, slamming both before I return to my spot and dance within the crowd around me.

A few men approach me, but I politely decline and dance away from them, this night is for me and nobody else.

One more drink and another hour of dancing and I’m feeling amazing, sweat dripping down my skin, my hair a wild mess, my body moving through every song as I sway my hips seductively and spin.

The Killer’s Mr. Brightside starts playing, and I smile and begin to move, the upbeat music and lyrics reminding me of when I was young.

But then it happens, the hair standing up on the back of my neck, the feeling I get every now and then that someone is watching. I used to ignore it in the past, but now it’s enough to stop me in place, to make my feet move as I spin in a slow circle to study every person in the room.

The song is just hitting the chorus when I spot a tall man in the back of the room. He leans against a wall, a black jacket covering his broad shoulders, his face concealed by shadow, his dark hair a mess around his head.

Do you have any idea how many times I’ve watched you dance and wished I could fuck you right there in front of everybody? Just splay you open and force my body between your legs.

No.

It can’t be.

I hate to admit how my heart bursts at the thought of seeing Ari again, how the first thought in my head is elation that he is still watching, instead of hatred for what he did.

As soon as I stare at his face, he moves to leave, weaving his way through the crowd as he turns his shoulders and slips past a tight group of people.

Chasing after him, I collide with a few people before finally finding a straight shot through the crowd, my feet moving quickly as I yell stop! at his back.

Practically running, I catch up to him just as he’s approaching the front door, my hand slamming on his shoulder to turn him around.

A smile lights up my face as he spins to face me, the expression melting into a frown when a set of blue eyes look back at me.

“Sorry,” I mumble, the joy bleeding out of me. “I thought you were someone else.”

The guy shrugs before turning to leave.

I’m left standing in a sea of moving people, my heart choking on the realization that despite everything, Ari is the only person I still need.

Six Months Post Ari

“These are beautiful, Adeline. Absolutely stunning. I can tell you poured your heart into these shots.”

Standing near a far wall in the gallery, I turn at Rebecca’s voice, her long strawberry blond hair falling in waves down her back, her black sequined gown shimmering.

The night is winding down, only a few stragglers left wandering the gallery to view my art.

Glancing down at her figure, I’m astonished to see she’s lost all the weight from her pregnancy, the dress hugging all her curves in such a way that she’s a knockout.

“Thank you,” I answer, unable to hide my shock.

She grins at me and bumps my shoulder with hers. “It’s easy to lose the weight when you’re working out constantly.”

“I can’t imagine you in a gym,” I remark.

“That’s because I consider it more a playroom.” There’s a twinkle in her eye as she says it, something secret and dirty behind that crooked grin.

“How’s motherhood treating you?”

Another grin. “Our daughter is amazing. I’m absolutely in love with her, but her father is having a hard time with it.”

“He’s not used to the late nights and all the crying and screaming?”

A thoughtful look. “No. He’s used to that kind of stuff. He’s just not used to worrying about what will happen to her when she grows up and starts dating. He’s already threatened to kill any man that touches her.”

Her eyes move back to the photograph in front of us. “So, he’s the devil now, is he? You keep upgrading him.”

The photograph is of me walking through the woods, a dreamy shot, hazy and gothic. I’m wearing a dark gown as the devil himself approaches me, his coat flying out, his horns prominent.

“He’s something,” I say, no strength to my voice.

“Do you miss him?” she asks.

Only truth rolls over my lips. “Every day. Even though I shouldn’t. He did something unforgiveable to me.”

Rebecca’s hand touches mine. “A bit of advice: if you have the opportunity and there’s a chance to try again, try to look past what he’s done. It’s not easy, but sometimes men like Harrison don’t know any better until they find the right woman to teach them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I answer before silence falls between us for a few seconds.

Finally pulling her eyes from the photo, she looks at me. “Well, you’re two million dollars richer. I’ve been meaning to tell you all night. Every photograph has been sold.”

My skin bristles at the amount. “Let me guess. An anonymous buyer?”

Her lips curl into a grin. “Yes, and I’m bound by contract not to reveal the name.”

Not that it would be his real name, anyway. Probably just another one of his thousands of aliases.

Still, it warms my heart to know he’s paying attention. Two million dollars. A few more shows like this and I’ll be set for a long time.

“It’s getting late,” Rebecca comments. “Do you need someone to walk you to your car?”

“I’m fine.”

We give each other a hug before the lights in the room brighten, signaling the end of the night.

Leaving the gallery, I walk the city streets that are now mostly empty, only a few people passing by on their way to the bars.

I’m lost in my thoughts as I make my way to my car. Parking was a bitch when I arrived, so I’m a few streets down and around a corner, my heels clicking on the cement.

I’d hoped Ari would show up tonight, that it would be that moment in all the happy endings where we see each other across the crowded room and I cry and we talk and everything works out.

But it didn’t happen, disappointment riding my heart. I know he’s still out there, still watching. He has to be because nobody else would have paid so much for those photos.

Yet he doesn’t approach. Doesn’t care enough to try and argue why I should forgive him.

Rounding the corner, I pull my keys from the small clutch I’m carrying, my head lifting up when I notice movement in the shadowed alleyway beside me.

My heart beats hard, hope bursting inside me, but when I turn to see a pair of grey eyes looking back, I see green instead.

Grant’s lips pull into a sick grin. “You stupid fucking whore.”

Before I can move to get away from him, he reaches out to tug me into the alleyway, his hand covering my mouth so I can’t scream, his body slamming mine against a brick wall that scrapes the side of my face.

“Thought you could get away from me didn’t you? You thought you could embarrass me like you did and get away with it.”

His hand sneaks up my front to tear down the front of my dress and squeeze my breast. Tears burst from my eyes from the pain, my legs kicking to dislodge him.

It’s no use. He’s bigger than I am. Fucking enraged while I’m choking on fear.

Hot breath skates down my neck when he presses his mouth to my ear.

“Shouldn’t have made fun of the way I fuck you, Adeline. Where I’m taking you, I’ll have hours to show you what a good little whore you are. Your precious boyfriend won’t be able to save you this time.”

His arm lifts and something hard catches me in the side of the head. My clutch drops to the ground, my keys clattering beside it.

My body falls next, my eyes closing against my will as Grant picks me up to carry me.

Adeline

“What do you see when you sleep?”

Ari used to always ask me that. Usually when I was naked beside him, my body curled to the side of his, his fingers playing through my hair while he stared at the ceiling or wall and I was fighting my eyes closing.

It was hard, those nights. I wanted to stay awake forever, to not fall into the oblivion only he could lure me to. I didn’t want to miss a moment, probably because I knew it wouldn’t last.

You can’t hold on to a shadow. They exist in places where light can’t touch. In their world, nothing good exists, just the failures of modern society. Greed, lust, money, power.

I’m not sure they can ever truly love.

“What is it like? Do you open your eyes? Do you see the room? The person who’s in it? What do you see?”

Oddly, I do see those things. I’m aware of them. But my mind, it’s hazy. Like a dream you remember when you wake up that’s missing parts, fuzzy around the edges.

Sometimes I see myself lying down on my bed or wherever I happen to be sleeping. I stand above myself looking down. I know I’m asleep. Know that my mind is conjuring images, but it feels real. Like I’ve stepped out of my skin and exist in a parallel universe.

Like now.

“You were doing so well for a while there.”

I spin at the familiar voice, a slow turn that brings my bedroom into sharper focus. There, in the corner near the window, a shadow lingers.

“What do you mean?”

Ari steps out, his grey eyes looking me over before lifting to mine. My heart can’t take it. I can smell him, that dark, forbidden scent that I’ve always loved.

He doesn’t approach me, just stands there with his hands tucked in his pockets. It’s a stance I’ve seen him take a thousand times.

His broad shoulders roll back, and he fills the space around him. It’s hard to breathe when he’s around because you feel so small in comparison.

All male, this man. Strong. Controlled. Proud. A million times larger than most people can ever hope to be.

I know I love him. And that’s what makes him dangerous. The hold he has on my heart, the pain I feel from losing him. It’s worse than anything I’ve gone through before.

He’s the worst danger of all. Not the type that threatens to take my life, but the kind that snuck up behind me, made me feel, made me live again, all while seducing me to know only him.

How will any other person ever compare?

“You’re paying attention to your surroundings for once. You finally learned to do that.”

It feels so real, this moment. But it’s only a dreamscape, I know that. Clocks don’t work right and sounds echo, movement is slow and disjointed, and I feel weightless. The room isn’t quite clear, as if fog clings to the ceiling, the floors, the walls.

His lips tug at the corners.

“You almost caught me once or twice.”

His expression softens a second later. “But you weren’t paying attention this time.”

“I was thinking about you,” I admit while lifting my hand to touch the back of my head. It’s pounding from where I was struck, and Ari’s eyes flash with heated anger.

“It’ll hurt when you wake up.”

“Not as much as it’s hurt for the past six months. Nothing can hurt like that.”

Another step toward me, his eyes hesitant, but still laser focused. I close the distance for him, throw my arms around him and melt against the heat of his skin, the steel of his strong frame.

Slowly, his arms wrap around me in return, his cheek pressed against the top of my head.

“You should have moved on.”

My eyes close, heart hammering like a drum. It feels so real, like he’s here holding me.

“I tried.”

God, it hurts.

“You left me alone.”

“I had to. You needed to rebuild yourself, baby bird, find your own wings without clinging on to someone else. I told you it would happen, you just never listen.”

Actually, I do listen. Regardless of what he thinks. I just didn’t want to believe he would go.

“You said you would protect me. But Grant got me anyway.”

Ari’s arms move, his hands gripping my shoulders. Lifting my head, I lock my eyes with his, see a flame of cold rage behind them.

“He won’t get the chance to do it again.”

Ice coats my spine at the lethal edge to his deep voice.

“Lie down and go back to sleep, Adeline.”

Tears well in my eyes. “I’m sleeping now. I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to wake up.”

Directing me to the bed, Ari picks me up and lays me down, his hand brushing over my hair as he stares down at me.

“I forgive you,” I say, my voice broken by the pain I’m holding back.

His lips press softly against my forehead, a tender kiss, the goodbye we didn’t have the night I made him leave.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I like doing things I shouldn’t.”

Soft laughter, a begrudging sigh, his thumb sweeping softly down the line of my jaw. “You’ve told me before, and trust me, I know.”

Ari moves to step away, but desperation shoots my hand out, my fingers fisting his pants, refusing to let go.

“You used to ask me what I see when I sleep.”

Turning enough to look down at me, he says nothing.

“I see you, Ari. I always have.”

His hand covers mine, tugs it from where I hold onto him. “It’ll hurt when you wake up. But you’ll survive it. You’ve always been a fighter.”

He’s gone after that, the room empty, my heart shattering apart.

I slip into the oblivion only he can give me, my thoughts whispering it’s just a dream.

Sometimes I wonder if that’s really all it is.

Ari

Fucking hell, I hate the cold. Mostly when it’s wet, the chill sinking into my bones, freezing them so thoroughly that it’s impossible to move without pain creeping across every muscle, stretching the tendons until they’re ready to snap.

Shouldering the strap of my bag, I walk briskly along a dirt path, the trees above my head doing fuck all to block the drizzle of sleet that will only get worse as the storm moves in.

Despite how I hate it, I couldn’t have asked for better weather. It’s just one more barrier preventing anybody from stumbling onto a scene that I’ve been looking forward to for the past six months.

The cabin door creaks as I let myself in. A vacation spot rich assholes use to reacquaint themselves with nature, it’s secluded and silent in a stretch of woods an hour outside of city limits.

I couldn’t have picked a better place myself, but thankfully I didn’t have to. When the paper trail is followed, it won’t be my door the police are knocking on.

A soft glow draws my eyes to a room off the main hallway. Following it, I survey the room as I step in, my voice a cold fury as I ask, “What part of don’t let him damage a hair on her head did you not understand?”

Brown eyes tip up to mine, a brow cocking arrogantly.

“He moved faster than I expected. It all worked out, though. The little monster is fine, and we have what we want.”

I glare at Lincoln, resisting the urge to knock his ass out for letting Adeline get hurt.

“I gave you one job. One.”

He grumbles, his eyes sliding left to stare at the other asshole in the room.

“You can waste your time fighting me, or you can do what we came here to do. After the amount of time we’ve waited, I assume you’d like to get started.”

The strap of my bag slips from my shoulder when I drop the heavy weight to the floor, my gaze sliding to Grant Cabot where he slumps forward in his seat, his hands and ankles tied, his body bound to the chair.

The son of a bitch has a world of pain coming, not only for what he’s done to Adeline, both physically and mentally, but for making me wait as long as he has.

I’m a patient man - to a point - but this particular piece of shit has been playing games that bought him far too much time.

We’ve known he was planning something. A man like Grant Cabot doesn’t sit back and take public embarrassment lightly.

He handled it well, surprisingly. Turning the tables on Adeline and the elusive Harrison Nash put me in a position where I had to cover my bases quickly, pick up and muddy any trails that could lead to my true identity.

Leaving the penthouse had been the first step, just in case Adeline broke when questioned. I didn’t go far, however. Simply moved to another luxury high-rise a few blocks over.

But it was enough that if she did finally give in and reveal what she knows, they would find an empty space that had been leased under an assumed name, the trail for that leading to another foreign country and a fake business setup.

I know you might think I’m a dick for what I did to her when I left, the way I did it. And you can fuck off with that opinion. You don’t know her like I do. You don’t understand that Adeline needed to shatter in order to piece herself back together.

By herself.

Without the crutch of another person.

And the little monster did exactly what I knew she would do. She stitched those wounds, worked through that anger, and came out swinging when the truth of her life had her cornered.

That accomplishment is something she’ll remember her entire life. Something she’ll fall back on when it gets hard again. Something that will always be in the back of her mind when she hits another barrier and has to choose whether to lay down and die, or fight through it to come out stronger on the other side.

It’s something every person eventually has to learn to do alone because, in the end, the only person you have to rely on is yourself.

I don’t care what the fairytales and happily ever afters tell you, this is life, and it’s fucking brutal.

But Adeline survived it.

Without me.

Without anyone.

Still, it didn’t make it easier for me, not with what Grant was doing, not with the way he destroyed her in the public eye while at the same time protecting himself from what I wanted to do.

He’s smart. I’ll give him that.

After Adeline’s return, he boosted his personal security, bought a better system for his house - this one with sound - and hired a team of bodyguards that practically sat at his bedside while he slept and shadowed him everywhere else. Getting to him either at home or during business hours was impossible.

I could still watch, though, because the dumbass never changed his Wi-Fi password. Ilovemoney69. Fuck, I hate this guy.

It’s how I knew he was still trying to hire someone to take out Adeline for him. Unfortunately for him, a warning had spread through the underground that Adeline Kane was under protection. Nobody would take the job. Three million dollars wasn’t enough to cover the risk of ending up six feet below ground.

Grant laid low for a while, gave the impression that he was letting it go. I knew better. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when he started the process of finding a secluded place to take his ex-wife once he got his hands on her.

We weren’t exactly sure when he would choose to strike, and I’ll admit it surprised me he did so tonight. Adeline’s show put her in the public eye. There were plenty of people surrounding her. I thought she’d be safe at least until she got home.

It’s why I let Lincoln tail her for a few hours while I dealt with other things.

It’s why she got hurt before Lincoln could intervene.

Now she’s safe at home where I delivered her.

She talks in her sleep. Full conversations I never told her she has. Freaky and insane, my girl. But she knew I was there tonight, and what she said was enough to break me all over again.

Leaving her the first time hadn’t been easy. Hurting her had destroyed me. Returning to the shadows where I’ve watched from a distance has been a lesson in self-restraint.

I can’t count how many times I almost lost the ability to stay away. To hide. To watch without claiming the woman that has always been mine.

But I held firm, clenched my teeth, fisted my hands and remained out of view, even when she chased after the wrong person in Black Orchid, even after seeing the pain in her expression when it turned out to be the wrong man.

I did everything for her.

Protected her.

Loved her.

Gave up what I wanted so that she could find herself again in the way that was best for her.

And now it’s time to kill her ex-husband.

Then again, I always knew this would be the fun part. His death is the prize at the bottom of the cereal box, the reward for everything I’ve done over the last seven years.

Crouching down in front of Grant’s slumped body, I tap his cheek.

“Wake up, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to meeting again. It feels like Christmas.”

Grant groans as he blinks his eyes open, his green gaze unfocused, his expression twisting in pain from the beating Lincoln already gave him for touching our girl.

Blood trickles down the side of his head, his left cheekbone broken if the swelling has anything to say for it. His ugly mug will be pulp by the time I’m done.

“Grant, seriously, shake it off, and wake the fuck up. We’ve got work to do. It’s no fun if you’re asleep for it.”

Shaking his head, he grimaces, his eyes meeting mine and narrowing with recognition. I smile in response.

“Looks like Adeline’s precious boyfriend can save her this time.”

He sits up straighter in his chair as I push to my feet, his stare sliding between Lincoln and me before he begins thrashing against the rope holding him in place. I give him a minute, let him get used to his situation. Eventually, he settles and pins me with a glare.

“Why not just put a bullet in my head and get it over with?”

My lips curl. “That would be far too easy. There are games we need to play first.”

Fear dances behind his eyes before anger slashes red over his cheeks. Ignoring that, I slip my old phone from my pocket and toss it into his lap.

“The first game we’re playing is the one you played against Adeline. There’s a series of texts on that phone I’d like you to read to me.”

Grant bucks his body to launch the phone from his lap, the plastic clattering against the wooden floorboards. My eyes follow it, mouth curling more. It’s impressive he was able to fling it so far.

“You can fuck off. I’m not playing your games.”

I tuck my hands in my pockets and mock him with the tilt of my head. “That’s a shame.”

Turning, I look at Lincoln. “Do you mind helping our friend out?”

After giving me a look that speaks volumes, Lincoln stretches to snatch the phone from the floor, hits the button to turn it on, then thumbs the screen to get to the first text.

“What will it take for me to convince you to leave me alone and stop toying with my fucking life?”

The back of my hand catches Grant in the jaw. His head twists left, the sound of bone breaking, the chair tipping just a bit before righting itself. He rolls his neck over his shoulders and glares up at me, not amused by the love tap I’d given him.

“That’s all you got?” His speech is slurred, but then it is difficult to talk with a broken jaw.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’re just getting started.”

I turn to Lincoln. He rolls his eyes, but scrolls down. With each text he reads from my first conversation with Adeline, I punch Grant again, his lip busted by the third text, the sound of a loose tooth spit on the floor by the fifth. One eye is swollen shut, but he refuses to beg for me to stop.

He must know I won’t.

Lincoln’s rough voice booms through the room.

“The coast is clear. Your husband is as annoying as ever and doesn’t notice you’re gone. I would have noticed. Just so you know.”

Holding Grant in my stare, I grin like the cat who stole his canary. “You must remember that night. I was standing right next to you while seducing your wife. That’s got to sting.”

He spits blood from his mouth, looks up at me. “She was a fucking whore-“

His chair tips backwards when I punch him, blood bursting from his nose. Grabbing him by the hair, I right him again, then turn to Lincoln, waiting for the next text to be read.

Brown eyes meet mine. Clearly he isn’t amused. “You seriously want me to read this? She’s like my little sister.”

A shrug of my shoulder. “It’s the best one. Plus, I was standing right next to him when I sent it. You can’t possibly know how fun that was.”

Cursing under his breath, Lincoln reads the text.

“He’s right here. I’m actually trying to imagine what you would look like on your knees, naked, with your hands tied behind your back while I fuck your mouth. I bet you’d be beautiful. You’ll choke at first, but that’s okay. Eventually you’ll get the hang of it.”

My eyes slide back to Grant. “Just so you know, she did look beautiful with my cock in her mouth. It took her a little bit to adjust to the size, but that’s to be expected after the disappointment you had to offer.”

His chair tips left when I punch him again. Before righting him, I crouch down and say, “I fucked her against a wall that night when you were only feet away. Your sister almost caught us. When I shook your hand goodbye, I had your wife’s panties in my pocket and her come still on my hand. She was never yours, Grant. You were simply a placeholder.”

“Are we done yet?” Lincoln asks.

Righting Grant’s chair with my hand fisted in his hair, I stare down at the piece of shit.

“With that part, yes. That was for what you did to Adeline. The rest is all for me.”

I cross the room to crouch at my bag, unzip it and pull out the sledgehammer that made it so heavy. Normally, I’m not this messy with my kills, but the bastard has it coming.

Grant’s one good eye widens when I spin back, piss dribbling down his leg that puddles near his feet. I glance down at it, cock a brow and look back at his face.

“For every time you hurt her. For every time you raped her. For every insult, every snap of your fingers in her face, for the control you took over her life, I’ve added another bone to break. You won’t survive this, Grant. But you will feel every fucking second of it.”

One swing and his left shin shatters. He screams like a stuck pig, tears finally leaking from his eyes.

“No! Stop!”

I swing again, his right shin shatters. Another two swings and his feet are crushed. Two more and his femurs snap apart. His arms are next, his hands and fingers. Both fucking shoulders, the violence of the swings knocking his chair to the floor.

The cabin is filled with the tortured voice of a man dying slowly, the loudest one coming when I swing the hammer down between his legs. The only parts of him I’ve left intact are his chest and head because I want him conscious for every moment of this.

Blood leaks across the wood floor, pieces of the chair broken where the sledgehammer cracked down against his body.

He’s barely aware at this point, the pain too much, his body going into shock.

Leaning over him, I pressed my mouth to his ear, smiling at the way he shakes.

“I’d planned on cutting off your dick and feeding it to you. But there’s not much left of it now, is there? Good luck in Hell, Grant Cabot. I’ll be sure to meet you there when it’s my turn to die.”

Pushing to my feet, I break every rib, his sternum, crush his throat before finally swinging the hammer down at this head.

The screaming stops. The cabin so quiet that it’s foreign to my ears.

Of course Lincoln would be the one to spoil the moment. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”

Glancing down at the blood and bits of brain matter splattered on my pants, I laugh and turn my head to look at him.

“I’m not done.”

His brows tug together. “I’m not sure you can kill him a second time, Ari. Not unless you have a voodoo doctor tucked in that bag who can bring him to life again.”

My brow cocks. “Damn. I should have thought of that. Now you say something.”

Rumbling laughter fills the space as I push to my feet and cross the room to grab the bottle of lighter fluid I brought and a pack of matches. Setting them on the floor next to me, I grab the rest of my supplies, hearing Lincoln curse under his breath when he sees them.

After dousing Grant’s body, I toss matches at him until one finally catches, then I hold out the stick I’d brought, the marshmallow stuck on the end browning nicely.

“You’re not actually going to eat that are you?”

I bring it to my mouth, blow out the flame, and bite down, laughing as his face turns a shade of green.

“You’re fucking sick. Let’s get out of here before the entire place goes up in smoke.”

Quickly packing my bag, I shoulder it and walk with Lincoln out of the cabin. We’re at the end of the long footpath leading to the waiting car when the propane tanks we’d left behind explode into a violent blast that lights up the sky behind us.

“Do you feel better now?” Lincoln asks casually as he climbs into the passenger seat while I take the driver’s side.

“A little. Thanks for asking. But I’ll feel a hell of a lot better when they trace the cabin and car rental back to Grant’s sister.”

I turn to glance at him as we pull away, another explosion rocking the dead of night.

“Were you able to plant the phone in her house? Or did you fuck that job up, too?”

His eyes slide to me, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“Things should be interesting tomorrow. The stupid bitch will have no idea what’s coming.”

Smiling at that, I weave through the forest roads, turning onto an offshoot that will keep us far away from fire engines and police cars on their way to handle the blaze.

“Think the little monster will know we did it?”

A sense of sorrow hits me that I hadn’t expected. “I think she’ll know it’s done. She can move on with her life now.”

“And you’re going to let that happen? Why do I not believe you?”

“I’ll do whatever is best for her,” I answer honestly.

“Even if it’s not what I want.”

Adeline

“It was revealed at the murder trial of Gloria Cabot today that a sexual relationship existed with victim, Grant Cabot. Text messages were read to the jury detailing the incestuous relationship between brother and sister, the details of which were too risqué to air live. As a result, presiding judge, Mark Kinsley, requested that all cameras be shut off during this part of the prosecution’s presentation against Miss Cabot.”

Leaning against the piano in my family room, I’m eating a bowl of cereal while watching the latest news on Gloria’s trial.

It’s been a little over a year since Grant’s body was found bludgeoned and burned, and while the police immediately suspected Gloria due to the evidence they found, I have my own suspicions of who set this entire thing up.

“Gloria was reported to be shaking in her seat while the messages were read aloud, the jury members visibly disturbed by the depraved sexual acts detailed in the messages. It was revealed that Mr. Cabot had a preference for playing the female role in their sexual encounters, making demands that Miss Cabot use inanimate objects to penetrate his body.”

Chuckling at that, I’m convinced Ari and Lincoln did this. It has their names written all over it.

“The prosecution is expected to rest their case tomorrow after presenting additional evidence that Miss Cabot planned the brutal murder of her brother after he threatened to go public with their relationship as proof that the claims of his former wife, Adeline Cabot, were untrue. According to the texts read today, however, Gloria agreed with Adeline’s assessment of her former husband, which led to the falling out between brother and sister.”

I almost choked on my cereal to hear that. Of course, Ari would go there. It’s not enough to simply kill Grant in what I learned was a slow and torturous process, but he had to spit on the grave by destroying Grant’s reputation even after death.

Although I find it a bit harsh what they did to Gloria, I understand. She’d helped her brother abuse me the entire time I was married to him, had looked away when it was obvious he was treating me like property instead of a wife.

Karma is a bitch, and unfortunately for her, she got tangled up with the worst of it.

Grabbing the remote, I turn off the television and walk into the kitchen to put my empty bowl in the sink. I’m exhausted after the first day of my new job, a photographer for an up and coming online magazine that promises to be the next big thing in entertainment.

Already they have me running around to take candid shots of the numerous celebrities, authors, politicians and other notable people giving interviews within the city, my camera snapping away as those same people give me tours of their private domains and illustrious lives.

I finished five shoots today and still have to go through the shots to choose the best ones to turn in tomorrow. But even though the work is more exhausting than I imagined it would be, it’s fulfilling.

In every way that counts, I’ve arrived. My life is better than I imagined it could be. I’m stable, still know how to let loose and have fun, but I’m smarter about it now, no longer chasing oblivion to escape pain.

I’ve made peace with my past and everybody who hurt me. Mostly, I made peace with myself. With my strange likes and dislikes, my habits, my disorders that will always plague me.

There’s no cure for what I have. No magic pill that can make it stop. Not that I’d take it if there were.

My shadow still watches over me. He’s diaphanous, something I can’t grasp, but he’s a reminder, I guess. To keep fighting. To remain true to who I am. To never let another person take advantage of me or change me.

As for Ari? Who knows where the hell he is. Every so often I feel someone watching, the familiar tingle across my skin that makes me stop, look around, pay attention.

It breaks my heart every time I don’t see him, but I’ve learned to live with that as well.

Knowing him, he’s still out there, cold and heartless as ever, making money ending the lives of powerful men. But I like to think he still visits me every once in a while, checks in, ensures I’m okay, that I’m breathing, that I’m safe.

Water streams down into the sink as I soap the bowl and scrub it, the small window in front of me open to the yard outside my house. While turning to place the bowl in the drying rack, a flicker of motion catches my eye. Everything stops except my pulse which speeds faster, my eyes lifting without turning my head to see if I can catch it again.

There.

Behind a grouping of trees.

That shadow isn’t natural.

I’m careful to appear as if I don’t notice, even though every instinct I have is to run out and chase him down. But I know better, know he’ll slip away if I make it obvious I see him.

Rather than running out, I turn and pretend I’m getting ready for bed, flicking off lights in the rooms as I pass through them, making my way to my bedroom once the house is dark.

But then I backtrack and exit a side door on the other side of the house, tiptoeing out until I’m hidden by the plant life and bushes.

Creeping around, I peek out from the corner of the house, my breath held. I’m so scared to make a sound.

Dashing across the only open space until I reach the thin line of woods on the other side of my house, I creep slowly once I reach them.

Almost there.

So damn close.

My foot hits a raised root in the ground, and I go tumbling, an oomph sounding from my throat as I land face first in a pile of dry, dead leaves.

“You would make a shitty stalker, kid. I hope you realize that.”

I recognize the gritty voice just as Lincoln grabs the back of my shirt and tugs me up to my feet. Chuckling as I brush the leaves from my clothes, he steps around to look down at me.

“I’ve been tracking you since the second you walked out of your house. Although, I have to admit, the army crawl behind the bushes was amusing.”

His brown eyes glimmer with warmth when I look up at him, his arms stretching out as I lunge forward to give him a hug.

“I thought you were Ari,” I say against his chest.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not because he would never let you live that down.”

I step back from him and crane my neck to look up at his face. “Did he send you to spy on me?”

Something unsaid rolls behind his eyes and I feel a pang of worry about it, my heart constricting painfully in my chest.

“Has something happened to him?”

Ari’s job isn’t the safest, and although I know he can take care of himself, I’ve never considered the danger he was in. God knows how many people are looking for the person who has a habit of making men disappear.

“He’s still functional, but that’s about it. And he doesn’t know I’m here.”

Blinking at the cryptic statement, I wait for him to explain.

“Sit down, kid. Let’s chat.”

“Wouldn’t it be more comfortable if we go inside?”

He glances at the house and back to me. “That’s not a good idea. He’ll see us on his cameras.”

Annoyance flickers through me, but not surprise. “Of course he has cameras.”

“He’s Ari,” Lincoln explains, as if that should excuse the behavior.

All this time. An entire fucking year. And the asshole had an eye on me constantly. I don’t know why I even bothered to close my curtains.

“Sit.”

We settle down on the ground, and I lean back against the thick trunk of a tree.

“I’m not going to dance around what I came here to tell you. So, the long and short of it is you need to forgive Ari. I know he told you what he did, but if I know him well enough, he didn’t give you the full story. Most likely because he wanted to spare you the truth.”

I did forgive him, I think. At least, I remember telling him I did. It had been a dream, but he had to have been in my house that night. How else would I have woken up in my room when I knew damn well Grant found me? I had the lump on my skull to prove it the next morning, the scrape on my cheek, the pain.

It pisses me off to learn there’s more to the story than what he gave me the night I kicked him out of my house, to think there’s more pain I have yet to suffer. Why not just tell me everything? Rip the full bandage off while he was ripping my heart out?

“What more can there be? He killed my dad. Made it look like a suicide.”

Lincoln rolls his eyes, shifts his posture and breathes out. “That’s what I thought. Ari is never the best at giving the full story. Your dad did kill himself, kid. But he couldn’t pull the trigger. He needed help. I don’t think he could do that to you, but the pain was too fucking much. At first, he approached me to do it, but I refused. I knew he was messed up from the death of your mom, but I refused to be the man that pulled the trigger and left you alone.”

My brows tug together. “What?”

Resting his forearms on his bent knees, Lincoln looks me in the eye, his expression soft, stare assessing.

“You’re strong enough to accept this now. A strength I’m proud to see, by the way. I wanted to kill you several times when you were younger just to make my life a little easier.”

I laugh at that, and he lifts his brows to silently tell me he’s serious.

“Oh. Well, sorry.”

A crooked grin. “It’s fine, seeing where you’ve ended up makes it worth it.”

You know, it’s strange when I stop to think of it. I’m sitting in the middle of the woods outside my house because I have to avoid secret cameras inside my house, and I’m talking to a man who kills people for a living, yet all I can feel is warmth for the pride in his eyes and the genuine praise he’s giving me.

If you’d have told me years ago I would end up like this, I would have told you to lay off the crack pipe because it was getting to your head.

Lincoln scrubs a hand down his face, blows out another breath.

“What Ari didn’t tell you is that your dad ordered the hit on himself. In fact, he’s the reason Ari and I know each other. We worked for him. I was the first guy your dad hired to take care of problems, but after Ari started at his firm, like recognizes like, you know? We both could tell Ari was a cold son of a bitch who would be excellent at this job. So, he was brought into the fold.”

“Wait,” my mind struggles to process this. “You’re saying my dad-“

“Used hired killers to get ahead in life, yes. You’ve met me before. You were just a kid and probably don’t remember, but I’ve known you since you were ten or eleven. Your dad had me to the house a few times, and I watched you dance around the living room in a tutu, driving both of us crazy.”

Unsure how I feel about this information, I realize it doesn’t surprise me. My father wasn’t exactly the huggy-feely type of person. He’s was a softy when it came to me and mom, but a hardass on everybody else. I can’t count the number of times I’d overheard him in his office chewing someone out.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So you’ll forgive our boy. He did what he was paid to do, and he didn’t see you until that night. I have a feeling if he’d known you ahead of time, he would have refused. Your dad got to him before I could. Ari did the job and regretted it immediately. It’s the only one he’s regretted. And I think it played a huge role in why he set out to watch over you. He was paying penance. He just happened to fall in love at the same time.”

Letting all of that information absorb, I tried to make sense of it. Sadly, I wasn’t sure that any of it mattered. Not anymore. What’s done is done. Ari more than made up for it.

“I forgave him already,” I admit. “My dad was fucked up after my mom died, I get that. None of this surprises me. I just wish Ari would have told me the entire story the night I kicked him out. I wouldn’t have hated him so much.”

Shrugging, Lincoln casts his gaze over the expanse. “He needed you to hate him. It was the only way to ensure you’d let him go and learn to rebuild your life on your own.”

Pausing, his eyes return to me.

“He’s cold again. Which was who he was before you. I’ll admit that. But it’s different now. All he focuses on is work, and he can’t keep going like this. He won’t approach you on his own because he thinks this is what’s best for you.”

It breaks my heart to know he’s hurting. I thought Ari left because that’s what he wanted. I never imagined it’s for me.

“What do you need me to do? Just tell me where he is, and I’ll go talk to him.”

He chuckles. “Good luck getting close to him. Unlike some people, Ari is not the easiest to sneak up on.”

“So, what do I do?”

His mouth stretches into a wide smile.

“Ari is due back from a job tomorrow night. And lucky for you, I just happen to have a key to his penthouse.”

I finally catch on to what he’s suggesting. “You want me to be waiting for him when he gets home?”

The smile stretches wider.

“It’s the only place you’ll have him cornered. He won’t be able to resist you.”

My mouth stretches to match his grin. “Then let’s do this. Cornering Ari sounds like fun.”

“He’ll kick my ass for this. But if you ask me, the asshole has it coming. He’s been toying with your life for a long time. It’s about damn time you step up and demand he makes up for it.”

I can’t agree more. But I don’t think going to his place is the best way to do it.

If Ari is going to accept we belong together, he’ll need to make that claim himself.

And I know a better game to play on him.

“Actually, I have another idea, if you’re willing to help me.”

Lincoln’s brow arches, and I smile.

“Ari always did admire my devious nature.”

At that Lincoln laughs. “Okay, kid. Out with this idea of yours.”

I tell him my thoughts, and after an hour of working out the details, Lincoln and I settle on how we’ll corner a man who is a master game player himself, both of us smiling to know just how well the plan will work.

Ari

Setting my bag down as I walk into my penthouse, I flip on a few lights and head to my room to change clothes. Being out in bumfuck North Dakota for four days wasn’t worth the four million I was paid for the job, but in the end, I got it handled, regardless of how much of a pain in the ass it was.

Why anybody would want to traipse around the goddamned wilderness to shoot at fucking bighorn sheep is beyond me, but that’s what Bradley Stroud liked to do in his free time, and it set up the perfect scenario for how he died.

Hunting accidents are always so tragic. But they’re also common, so once Bradley’s body is found and the media erupts over the dangers of hunting alone, his company will be no longer, freeing up space for the man who hired me to sweep in and fill the vacancy that is now open.

Yes, it’s a fucked up reason to have to die, but it is what it is. Nobody who climbs the corporate ladder to the top is innocent of having screwed over everybody they stepped on to get there. Every one of them is a sociopath only concerned with money and power.

I just happen to take that from them every once in a while. My conscience is clear.

After stripping off my dress shirt and slacks to pull on a t-shirt and jeans, my phone vibrates over the surface of the dresser, Lincoln’s name flashing on the screen.

I grab the phone and thumb the screen to answer.

“We have a problem.”

The past comes back to slap me in the face, memories of the hundreds of times he’s said that before, mostly about Adeline doing something fucking stupid.

“And that is?”

“Your girl has relapsed, it seems. She’s in Black Orchid now, getting shitfaced.”

My jaw ticks, disbelief flooding me. “She was doing so well-“

“Yeah, she was. But she’s not anymore. You might want to get your ass down here and handle this.”

Why the fuck was Lincoln even there in the first place, and why do I need to do something about it if he’s there already? I ask him those questions, and he gives me his usual grumbling response.

“I was watching your cameras like you asked last night since you were in the middle of nowhere and couldn’t do it your damn self. Adeline had an...episode. And since this is your fucking fault, this is now your fucking problem. I’m not getting involved more than I already am. This is your shit to fix, Ari. You left her like this, you deal with it.”

Already halfway across the living room, I grab my computer from my bag, toss it on a table and key into the cameras I have set up in Adeline’s house.

Tabbing back to the night before, I freeze in place when I see her destroying her room like a woman possessed. Tears drip from her chin, and she rips framed photographs from the wall to throw to the ground before picking up whatever happens to be handy to throw in another direction.

I tap a button to unmute the scene, and it’s my name she’s screaming, her pain evident as she curses and yells, fucking livid that I chose to leave her.

What she doesn’t know is I didn’t make the choice for me. I’ve been miserable keeping my distance from her. But all of this seems so out of character for how well she’s been doing. She finally got a job. She’s being responsible. She’s growing up.

What caused this? I try to zoom in on her face to see if she’s sleeping, but I can’t get a good view. Her head tilts down during most of it, and it’s impossible to see if her eyes are focused or not.

“You still there?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “I’ll be down in fifteen minutes. Keep an eye on her. If she does anything too fucked up, step in and stop her. Otherwise, hang back. I’ll call you when I get there.”

“See you in a few.”

Pursing my lips, I watch the tape for another minute or two. I mean, I’ve always known that Adeline is nuts, but this is so out of character for her. Something must have occurred, but it’s impossible to know what triggered this type of behavior.

Snatching my keys, I leave the penthouse and take the elevator down to the underground garage. Traffic isn’t bad, so I make it to the club in less time than I told Lincoln.

Calling him as I approach the front door, I wait for an answer before heading inside. Once I’m in those doors, the music will be too loud to hear him.

“You here?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll come out to the front. Just wait for me.”

He comes out the door a few seconds later, his expression grim.

“She’s had enough drinks to knock out a horse, and she’s up in one of the cages doing a strip tease. You might want to get your ass in there now before she’s fucking the next guy that goes in after her. I’ve already had to dissuade more than a dozen from approaching.”

My eyes meet his. “How’d you accomplish that?”

He grins. “By standing in the only path that leads to the cage and explaining to them how bones sound when they snap, especially delicate fingers that touch things that don’t belong to them.”

For fuck’s sake.

“All right. Take off. I’ve got her.”

He stabs his finger at my chest.

“Fix this shit, Ari. For good this time. I’m getting sick and tired of babysitting a psychopath. I told you from the beginning to leave her alone, and you chased after her anyway. You created this mess. You clean it the fuck up.”

Brushing his hand off, I ram my shoulder against his as I pass him, pay the door guy, growl at him when he tries to stamp my fucking hand, and then storm into the place ready to rip the heads off of every son of a bitch watching Adeline act like the little monster she is.

Weaving my way through the crowd, I stay to the wall as I turn into the side room, my gaze lifting to a cage in the far back where one certain little psychopath is dancing far too seductively for the fast tempo song.

I’m instantly hard just looking at her, but the need I feel competes with the rage pumping through my veins for the slutty little outfit she’s wearing. It would be enough to cover her if she wasn’t running her hands up her body to drag the tiny little skirt high enough to flash her ass cheek, or lifting her shirt up to flash a tit.

A group of guys stand just beneath the cage looking up, their shoulders bumping as they decide which asshole is going to climb up the steps to approach her.

Whichever makes the move is walking straight to his death because that particular cocktease is mine.

All mine.

Every inch of her that she’s happily showing anybody who will look.

You can tell she’s drunk. Her movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, but she still rolls her hips with the promise of a dirty fuck.

I’m going to kill her.

Or spank her.

Probably fuck her.

After dragging her ass home.

One meathead breaks away from the group after knocking knuckles with his buddies. Moving quickly, I force my way through small groupings of people, flipping off one fuckwit who complains because he spilled his beer.

Not my fucking problem. He should have known I was coming and got the hell out of my way.

Just as Meathead approaches the steps leading up to the cage, I step around him, my size easily topping his. Thankfully, he’s not stupid.

Holding up his hands in defeat as soon as he notices the lethal expression on my face, he backs the fuck off, his gaze lifting one more time to look at Adeline.

I’m up the stairs and in that cage before she has a chance to disrobe entirely, my hand landing on her shoulder to drag her out.

She turns around and lifts those beautiful blue eyes, her dark hair a wild mess, her skin sweaty, her blood red lips all pouty and perfect.

And then she winks.

Fucking winks before grabbing the front of my shirt to pull me down to her.

Hot breath cascades against my cheek, and the scent of alcohol I’m expecting isn’t there.

“It’s about time you show up. I thought I’d have to actually strip to get you into the cage.”

My body goes still and our eyes lock, her mouth twisting into a devious grin as my brows tug together.

“What game are you playing, baby bird?”

Her smile widens. “I’m not a baby bird.”

“You’re in a fucking cage.”

The sound of her laughter seduces me. My hands wrap over her gyrating hips, my heart hammering beneath my ribs to be so close to her again.

A teasing shrug.

“Just thought you might want to make good on all your threats. Wasn’t it you who said you watch me dance and want to fuck me in front of everybody? Well,” her eyes drop to my mouth and back up again as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, “here’s your chance. Unless, of course, you’re all talk and no action.”

Lincoln is a fucking dead man when I get my hands on him. I’ll miss him. Kind of. And maybe I’ll even pay out of pocket for a nice casket and grave plot.

My hands tighten on her hips, but I don’t answer. I’m still trying to make sense of the fact that Adeline and Lincoln fucking teamworked me again.

Never, and I mean never, are they allowed to have any further contact.

When I don’t move, she shrugs another shoulder, her wicked little hips wiggling against my palms.

“Guess you’re all talk. It’s a shame. I thought you were more man than that. I’ll have to find somebody else who can own me.”

And then she turns to grip her hands over the cage bars and dances to the music like I’m no longer standing there.

Who in the ever loving fuck does she think she is?

My fingers grip the back of her neck as I tug her away from the bars and spin her to face me. Gripping her chin, I lean down to claim her mouth with mine, biting her bottom lip until she squeaks before sucking on her tongue as my hand slips down to grab her ass and lift her up against the bars.

Her legs wrap around my waist as her arms fall over my shoulders, her body tight against mine as cat-calls and shrill whistles erupt from the audience.

Hand sliding up so my palm is against her bare ass, I kiss her like I was meant to own her, one hand fisting her hair as her hips roll against mine, teasing my dick with the promise of what’s under her tiny skirt.

Only when I have to breathe do I pull away from her, my forehead pressing to hers as my hand squeezes her ass.

“I’m taking you home, Adeline. And when we get there, I’ll show you exactly who owns you.”

A wicked grin stretches her lips, blue eyes twinkling as a blush races over her pale skin.

“You should have done that a long time ago. Would have saved us a lot of drama.”

I can’t help but smile because, in the end, she’s right. Had I claimed her when I first had the chance, everything that happened with Grant could have been avoided.

“I’ll be sure never to make that mistake again.”

“You better not.”

Kissing her one more time, I ignore the hoots and hollers sounding around us. Fuck them all. They can watch if they want. Take detailed notes.

When it comes to Adeline and me, the rest of the world is just useless noise.

Everything about her life is mine.

Which is the way it always should have been.

Adeline

“I’m surprised you’re donating all this furniture. It looks brand new. Has this ever been used?”

Standing at the large bay window in my father’s office, I turn to Mitchell Jones, an older gentleman who manages an abused women’s shelter in the city.

He stares back at me with astonishment behind a set of kind blue eyes that I’m sure have been an indirect witness to the wives, girlfriends, daughters and the children who suffered beneath the hands of men like Grant Cabot.

“The furniture in this room has never been used, no. I hope someone will be able to enjoy it.”

He runs a hand through his white hair, his blue bow tie crooked at the collar of his white dress shirt.

“I know a young woman who just bought a new home she’ll share with her two children. They’re moving out of the shelter next week. Both her kids are starting school, so this can be a place for them to do homework.”

Smiling at that, I watch as he jots down notes on his clipboard.

“I think this is the last of it. Are you moving out of the city and that’s why you’re letting all of this go?”

I glance around the room, the image of my father pacing the floors clear in my mind. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, but then, forgiving ghosts is just as important as forgiving the living.

It’s when you hold on too tight that you become haunted, and I’ve been trapping my parents in this house as much as their deaths trapped me.

“No. I’m just letting go of the past. Moving forward. Fresh start and all that.”

A proud grin. “That’s what I tell the people I help. There’s wisdom and strength in that. Good for you.”

“It took some work,” I admit. “For a while there, it felt like I was losing my mind.”

His expression softens.

“It’s a process, Ms. Kane. None of us have a perfect scorecard. And many of us can fall victim to all the unfortunate circumstances life has to throw at us. You’re standing tall now. That’s what’s important. Hopefully you had some good people around who helped.”

Chuckling at that, I think about who had helped.

Two contract killers, both who worked for my father, one who killed him, both who stalked me, and one that made my life a living hell because he knew me better than I knew myself.

I needed to fight a battle to find my footing. Needed to pick up my own pieces and fit them together again.

Ari, for all his fucked up ways of doing things, had given me the kick in the ass I’d needed to fight that battle.

In doing so, I found the true Adeline. Not the prim and proper version my parents wanted. Not the beaten dog version Grant wanted. Not Poor Little Adeline like the rest of the world saw.

Just me.

With all my idiosyncrasies.

With everything unusual that makes me unique.

A flourish of a pen stroke before, “Well, I think that covers everything. I’ll have a team of movers here tomorrow to pick up the items you’ve donated. Thank you again, Ms. Kane. I’ll show myself out.”

I smile as he leaves the room and then turn back to the window.

It would have been through here that Ari first saw me when I came running after hearing the gunshot. I was supposed to be at a friend’s house that night but hadn’t felt well. Dad didn’t know I was in the house. I was in my room when he’d come home.

How would my life be different if one of them had seen me before the trigger was pulled?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. For as chaotic as my life became following that night, it all worked out.

A knock at the door draws my attention, and I turn to see Lincoln stepping into the room.

“Hey, kid. I just finished ripping out all of Ari’s cameras, so I’m taking off.”

“Where is Ari?” I ask, annoyed that, again, he’s disappeared.

Lincoln grins and shrugs. “Probably installing cameras in his place. He’s Ari.”

As if that is all the explanation that’s needed.

Sadly, it is.

Cocking his usual brow in question, Lincoln eyes me.

“What are you thinking about, kid? You have that sad puppy look.”

The same question that has been repeating in my head ever since I agreed to move in with a man whose career is less than honorable.

Ari, with the dented and scuffed halo he wears for what he did for me, still has to answer for so much. For the past few weeks, I’ve tried to make peace with it.

I can’t change him.

Nobody can.

And I’m left with learning how to accept him for who he is, just like he accepted me.

“How do you do it, Lincoln? How do you do what you do and sleep well at night? How does Ari? People are dead because of you.”

He blows out a breath as he crosses the room to lean on the edge of the desk.

“We’re not out there killing saints. Every single one of the men we’ve taken out was responsible for the destruction of someone else. We all have our crimes, just some of us hide it better.”

“And that’s how you justify it?”

Giving me a look that leaves no room for question, Lincoln crosses his arms over his chest.

“We don’t need justification. Ari doesn’t give a damn, and neither do I. You’ve already been warned of that. We’re not good people. But for whatever reason, you’ve become a soft spot for Ari. The only one I know of. It is -“

“What it is,” I finish for him. “I know.”

Quietly, he says what I’ve already figured out.

“You just need to take him as he is. Who knows? Maybe you’ll rub off on him someday. Most likely not. But there’s a chance.”

Ari is the definition of stubborn. I highly doubt anybody could rub off on him. He’s too set in his ways. Too controlled.

Snapping fingers cause us to turn to the door where Ari stands glaring at us both. Humor dances behind his eyes as he points at me and then Lincoln.

“What have I told you two about talking in places where I can’t keep an eye on you? No teamwork. That shit is done.”

A low grumble sounds from Lincoln’s chest. “And you’ll do what about it, exactly? I’d love to know.”

The two men stare at each other, and it makes me laugh. One day I’ll learn to push Ari’s buttons as easily as Lincoln.

“I’m taking off anyway,” Lincoln says as he pushes away from the desk. “The house is clean, and the realtors can start doing their thing tomorrow.”

I’ve decided to finally sell the house. Some part of me knew to keep it when I married Grant, but now that I’ll be moving in with Ari, I know there’s no reason to hold onto it anymore. I won’t be coming back.

Outside, the sun is beginning to set, the day insanely long while I packed what I wanted to keep and decided what would go. It wasn’t as difficult this time as it had been when I moved in with Grant. Over the course of the last year, I haven’t collected too many personal things.

The instruments were all moved to Ari’s new penthouse, the furniture donated. What’s left is just my clothes and a few odds and ends that will most likely stay in boxes since my style doesn’t quite match the strict lines of black and chrome that make up Ari’s place.

Staying quiet until it’s just Ari and me left in the room, I relax against him when he steps up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist. His scent soothes me, just like it always has.

Despite our differences, Ari is the missing piece in my life, his sharp edges fitting perfectly with mine.

He’s a killer, yet the only person who helps me sleep. He’s been the constant shadow, once again within my reach. It doesn’t make sense, but then nothing in life really ever does. Especially when it comes to what matters. What we choose to keep. And what we choose to let go.

“I was standing right by that tree on the night I first saw you.”

My hands slide over his, our fingers tangling together. “Did he say anything that night?”

Ari sighs. “Not a word.”

“And you didn’t find it odd he’d asked you to do what you did?”

Silence for a beat, and then, “It mattered little to me. I was doing a job. Just like any other.”

I don’t answer, and he presses his lips against the side of my neck, his breath warm against my skin. “Do you want to stay a little while longer?”

Thinking back on all the nightmares, all the pain, all the ghosts of the past that kept me spinning out of control, I realize now that I’m finally free of them, my hands letting go, my heart softening with what it means to forgive.

“No. I’m ready to leave.”

Not just physically, but mentally and emotionally, too.

Ari grasps my hand tight as he leads me through the house and out to his car. Opening the door for me, he waits until I’ve buckled my seatbelt before shutting the door and running around to the driver’s seat. I watch the house grow smaller in the side mirror until we turn a corner and it’s gone entirely.

I’m not sad to see it go.

Ari pulls out onto the highway and floors the gas, Deftone’s Passenger blasting from the speakers, yet another song he’d hijacked from the playlist I’d built through the years he’d watched me.

Cars fly past on either side of us, Ari smoothly weaving through traffic, lights from the street lamps sliding across his skin as he focuses on the road.

“Is there a reason we’re going a thousand miles an hour?”

My hand grips the handle on the door, my heart climbing into my throat. He drives like a maniac.

“I’m an excellent driver. You have nothing to worry about. Nothing can break my focus.”

I cock a brow at his arrogance, the corner of my mouth curls with a devious idea. “Nothing?”

“Not a thing,” he says, grinning that damn smirk of his that drives me mad.

“Ah, well, in that case, I guess you won’t mind if I have a little fun.”

Determined to prove him wrong, I undo his belt and pants, my hand slipping down beneath his boxer briefs to slide a fingertip over his cock. It’s just like Ari to grow hard immediately. The man is always ready to go.

Watching his face, I don’t see any indication that his focus has wavered, so I up the stakes, lean over and take him into my mouth.

“Fuck...” he breathes out, one of his hands moving to my head, his fingers curling into my hair.

I feel the car shift but straighten again, my tongue running up the line of his shaft before I take him deeper to prove my point.

The engine revs as he speeds up, his voice rough when he teases, “Is that the game you want to play, baby bird? Let’s see who’s the better player?”

Wind whips into the car as the windows roll down, the privacy I’d relied on with the dark tinted windows lost. Ari’s fingers guide my head as he says, “There’s a truck next to us at the moment.”

I feel the car slow as he paces whoever is beside us, his voice still teasing me.

“They’re looking at what you’re doing.”

I hear them hoot at what’s going on, male voices egging me on from outside the car.

My lips pull into a smile as I pull up enough to release his cock and say, “Let them watch. You won’t stop me. I don’t care who sees us.”

He growls as I take him into my mouth again.

“You’re fucking nuts. It’s like you were made for me,” he laughs as the car speeds up, smoothly changing lanes as he drives us home.

The car shifts again just a touch when I softly drag my teeth over his skin, his fist tightening in my hair.

“Such a dirty girl. I’m going to spank your ass for this. I hope you know that.”

A few quick turns, and I hear the familiar echo of the underground parking garage at his penthouse, the car rolling to a stop as I tease him, taking him deep before pulling up until just the tip is between my lips.

A low growl. “You’d better climb over my lap right this second, baby bird. Otherwise, I’m coming after you.”

I smile and lift my gaze to see a set of grey eyes staring down at me, heat blazing behind them.

Just looking at him sends a shiver down my spine. I’ve never felt this way for anybody besides Ari.

Pulling my head up, I brace my hands on his strong thighs.

“I won’t fit.”

Ari reaches down the side of his seat, the entire thing shifting back as he runs his thumb over spit on the side of my mouth from what I’d already done.

“You’ve fit before, you just don’t remember.”

He guides me to straddle his lap, his hands making quick work to flip up my skirt and shove my panties to the side. People walk around the parking lot on either side of us, an audience that neither of us care if they can see. The world dissolves when we’re together.

It’s just Ari and me as my body sinks down over his cock, our eyes locked together, the horn beeping when I lean back against the steering wheel. The sound echoes through the garage, but it feels too good to care, my hips rolling as I bounce on his lap, his eyes darkening with pleasure as his hand cups my breast.

“Always such an eager girl,” he whispers before pulling me forward, our mouths colliding while our bodies move in tandem.

Every part of me trembles as an orgasm tears through me, his teeth biting down on my lip as he finds his own release.

As we’re catching our breath, I look around the parking lot and laugh. “How the hell did you get us here so quick?”

“Like I said: excellent driver. Now hop off, I have a surprise upstairs for you.”

My brows tug together. “Is that where you were all day?”

He stares at me thoughtfully, his fingers softly brushing down the nape of my neck. “I couldn’t bring you home without giving you something I know you’ll need.”

Surprised by the statement, I blink. “What more can I possibly need?”

“You’ll see,” he says as he taps my thigh.

We both fix our clothes and get out of the car, his hand locking protectively over mine as he leads us to the elevator and types in the code.

After we step in, it shoots up fast enough to sink my stomach to my feet, the doors dinging open to the penthouse, a bank of windows to our left revealing the lights of the city beyond.

Ari walks me past the piano, all my photographs adorning the walls with small lights above them to reveal the images.

Guided down the hall, I think we’re going to the master bedroom, but Ari stops at a guest room door and opens it to reveal a space that takes my fucking breath away.

I step inside, unable to speak while looking at the tapestries on the walls, the statues, and different paintings. Photographs hang on a string that lines one wall, clothespins clipping them in place.

Absolutely stunned, I know by now not to ask, but I turn to him anyway. “How did you do this? This is everything from my old bedroom.”

His mouth crooks at the corner. “I believe we’ve discussed my secrets and the fact I won’t discuss them. Must I always remind you?”

Throwing my arms around him, I breathe out as he holds me. Still, I don’t understand why he did this.

“Why?”

“We’re not always going to see eye to eye. We’re too stubborn for that. But I’ll never accept you running off. Not where I can’t get to you. Never again. So, when I piss you off, which I will because I enjoy doing it, you have this door to slam in my face.”

I laugh and look at the door. “Why is the lock on the outside?”

He glances at it and back to me. “That’s for when you piss me off. Keeping you prisoner had its benefits.”

A shake of my head. “Just don’t lock me in alone for too long. I can’t sleep without you.”

He smiles. The real one this time. An expression that is so rare, yet blinding when it occurs.

“You’ll never have to worry about that again. Your shadow is real, Adeline. And now that he has you, he’ll never let you go.”

It’s strange, this new reality, this place where we’ve ended up. In so many ways, it should have never led to this, for him or for me, but yet it’s the only place that’s right.

Ari, for all his screwed up acts, has proven he’s the man I’d written about when I was younger. The man who couldn’t exist, yet was always nearby.

Watching.

Waiting.

Protecting me even when I didn’t know he was there.

Speaking of which...

“Let me guess, you also installed cameras today?”

Another wicked grin. “I’m Ari. I’m sure you remember me. I’m kind of hard to forget.”

As if that’s the only explanation needed.

In the end, it is.

He will always be a damn stalker.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Ari

Two years later...

I’m going to go broke if Adeline keeps doing these gallery shows. Every couple of months, she comes up with a new set that Rebecca can’t help but show off immediately, the images sometimes dark as fuck, but others so hopeful it makes my heart bleed.

How we’re making this work, I’m not sure. It’s not like our lives go together. I still kill people for a living, and she keeps living in a happy little bubble believing everything is good in the world.

Sure, she’s gone through some shit, parts of which were caused by me, but there’s a light in Adeline that can’t be snuffed out, a glimmer of truth that makes it damn near impossible for me not to feel hopeful, too.

It sucks. I won’t lie. I’m much better off being a bitter son of a bitch who can’t care less about the world around him.

Staring at her like this, seeing her in her element surrounded by other women in their fancy gowns discussing the imagery she’s created about the life we live, it’s astounding to me.

My little monster has grown the fuck up. She’s blossomed into a woman that I can’t live without. She’s become something that makes me believe there might be a reason I exist other than for the express purpose of fucking up people’s lives.

“How much did you pay for these shots?”

“Five million,” I answer, my gaze sliding to Lincoln where he stands next to me. The asshole looks good in a tux, not as good as me obviously, but he runs a close second.

His deep laughter rumbles. “Can’t you just get her to print them out for free?”

“That’s not the point.” I glare at him. “We have a system. Stop questioning shit.”

His mouth crooks just as two men step up to stand beside us. My skin bristles immediately because like recognizes like.

Both Lincoln and I turn to lock eyes with Aiden Oliver and the darker haired man that stands next to him. Aiden grins, just the corner of his lip curling up like he knows a secret.

“I was hoping you’d be here tonight. I’ve wanted to talk ever since you abducted Adeline from Grant Cabot.”

Lincoln and I answer in unison. “She wasn’t abducted.”

Aiden grins again, his slimy expression stuck in place as he glances at Adeline and Rebecca across the room.

“If that’s the story you’re going with, I’ll pretend to believe it.”

My eyes narrow on him as his friend offers a hand in greeting. “You must be Ari. I’m Anthony Bernal.”

My eyes lock with his, but I refuse to shake his hand. It doesn’t matter that he’s the picture of sophistication, complete with foreign accent and all. There is something unsettling about these two.

Lincoln introduces himself as well, and once the introductions are done, Aiden leans in to speak with a low voice.

“Did she kick and scream much?”

I lick my teeth, my fingers stretching out in an effort not to fist my hand. “I didn’t abduct her.”

Aiden and Anthony give each other a pointed look before they both laugh and relax their postures.

“Fine. I’ll accept that you didn’t abduct her, but please tell me you were the reason Grant met such an ugly end.”

Shoulders tense, I answer, “That was his sister.”

“Sure it was. From what I heard, every bone in his body was shattered to dust, his skin split and head cracked open like a watermelon. That doesn’t exactly scream murder-by-female to me.”

Anthony glances over at us, his expression unreadable.

I’m starting to hate these shows.

Adeline needs to find a new gallery.

“Listen, all I’m saying is that I like your style. If you’re ever up for hire, you let me know.”

Glancing at him, I size him up.

“You seem like the type that takes care of his own problems.”

“I am, but I also have a daughter now. That doesn’t give me a lot of time.”

Pulling a business card from his pocket, he hands it to me.

“Give me a call. With the way you’re blowing money on your girlfriend’s photos, you’ll need the extra cash.”

With that, Aiden and Anthony incline their heads and walk off. I pocket the card and look at Lincoln.

“Do they rub you the wrong way, too?”

Lincoln’s distrustful gaze follows them across the room.

“It’s getting late, we should get Adeline out of here.”

We walk toward the group of women, and my hands slides over Adeline’s lower back.

“I think it’s time I take you home, baby bird. I have all sorts of wicked plans for tonight.”

Lincoln says his goodbyes and slips ahead of us, nodding at me once before stepping through the door to walk outside.

Head against my shoulder, Adeline looks up at me with heat behind her eyes. “Let’s go.”

We make the rounds of bidding farewell and are walking down the street toward my car. Adeline’s hand is warm in mine, her gown fluttering apart where the split runs up her thigh.

“Do you remember that night at the company event when you pulled me into a hallway and fucked me against a wall?”

Glancing down at her, I cock a brow. “How could I forget? I have a thing for sex in public. Dirty alleyways have their benefits, too.”

Pure mischief lights her eyes. “Like the one we’re walking up to now?”

She doesn’t have to say another word, the predator in me coming to life as I tug her to the side, drag her into the shadows and lift her up to pin her against the wall.

My mouth runs down the line of her throat as my hands explore up the damn slit in her dress that has been driving me crazy all fucking night.

Adeline moans as my fingers flick her panties aside and thrust inside her, our mouths colliding sloppily, all teeth and lips and tongue.

She’s fighting to undo my pants, her dirty mind going straight to the prize as she frees my cock and slaps my hand away to notch it at her body.

One thrust and I’m inside her, the city moving all around us, but we don’t give the first fuck about being caught.

This is us.

Wild and slightly mad.

Fucking filthy and so starved for each other that it will never be enough.

Her body slides up the wall with every thrust of my hips, her hands burying in my hair as her inner muscles clench.

Mouth sliding to my ear, Adeline is breathless when she says, “You’ve always been dangerous for a girl like me, Ari. I never stood a chance.”

But that’s where she’s wrong.

The danger was never what I would do to her life, it’s what she did to mine.

She swept in and stole everything I am. Changed me in ways I could never have imagined.

Breathed warmth into a soul that knew only cold.

It’s never the dangers that lurk in the shadows you have to worry about, it’s the ones you know. The people who can turn your world upside down without any effort at all. The terrifying monsters that sneak up when you least expect it to steal your heart and drive you insane.

Gripping my hand in her hair, I devour her mouth as we both reach a release at the same time.

“I was never the fucking danger,” I growl against her ear. “The only danger in my fucked up world has been you.”

She grins at that, and I laugh at the blush running across her cheeks.

Adeline Kane has always been mine.

And I feel fucking sorry for any idiot who tries to challenge that.

I may not be the hero in this story, but I’m definitely the demon that rocks her world.

Nothing will ever touch her again.

Nobody will hurt her.

Not while I’m watching.

THE END

(Keep reading for a sneak peek of Treachery (Book 1 of the Antihero Inferno Series)

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ANTIHERO INFERNO SERIES

NINE RUTHLESS MEN. NINE UNREPENTANT SINNERS. NINE IRRESISTBLE MANIPULATORS YOU’LL HATE TO LOVE…

FIRST CIRCLE (LIMBO)

MASON STROM

SECOND CIRCLE (LUST)

JASE KESSON

THIRD CIRCLE (GLUTTONY)

SAWYER BLACK

FOURTH CIRCLE (GREED)

TAYLOR MARKS

FIFTH CIRCLE (ANGER)

DAMON CROSS

SIXTH CIRCLE (HERESY)

SHANE CARTER

SEVENTH CIRCLE (VIOLENCE)

EZRA CROSS

EIGHT CIRCLE (FRAUD)

GABRIEL DANE

NINTH CIRCLE (TREACHERY)

TANNER CAINE

A betrayal of trust; deceptive action or nature

Never listen to the people who tell you evil doesn’t exist in this world. Never smile and nod, never pander, never walk off with the belief that you’re guarded against everything that can go wrong. I can give you that advice because I’ve been the stupid woman not to follow it. I can promise you that evil does exist only because I’m the woman who has stared it in the moss green eyes, the same woman who dared it to do its worst and stood dumbfounded when it delivered.

Tanner Caine is just one of the deceptive and tantalizing demons waiting to be summoned at the crossroads. He is an underground giant forged in fire and stamped with the Devil’s personal seal of approval. He is a man barely challenged and a barrier never crossed. He is also a specimen of the male form that is a siren song to the unlucky women who run across him.

I’ve seen better woman ruined because they dared to play a game with him they had no business playing. I’ve seen smarter women on their knees before a man who managed to remain one step ahead while laughing to watch them fall.

You see, that’s what happens when you make a deal with evil. Everything goes fine until the day comes when he calls in his debt. Tanner doesn’t mess around with interest rates or repayable loans. No. If he does something for you, you can bet he’ll extract his pound of flesh in the most creative of endeavors.

We are all pawns to be played in Tanner’s world. Man or woman, it doesn’t matter.

I didn’t know what would happen when he waltzed back into my life after running from him in law school. But what I did know is that, where Tanner is involved, yours is a story that can never end well.

. . .

Luca

“Go with the white booty shorts, Luca. You have the ass for them. Mine’s a little too flat.”

A sigh burst over my lips as I dug through my roommate, Everly’s, closet. Standing in here was like searching through a fashionable slut’s dream, everything way too short, dangerously tight, and designed specifically to highlight a woman’s curves.

Her style was opposite to mine. Never one to cater to what men wanted, I preferred casual clothes, my comfort taking precedent over what most would consider sexy.

The deep bass of some popular rap song pounded behind me, Everly’s shoulders bouncing in my peripheral vision as she sat at a makeup table to apply what had to have been a third layer of foundation.

“I don’t know about this, Evy. Maybe you should go alone tonight. I have some homework to catch up. It’s probably best I spend the next few hours in the library.”

“Shut your hole, Luca. You’re coming with me. This party is all everybody has been talking about on campus and there’s no way in hell I’m letting you miss out all because you’re scared of being social.”

Grabbing the white shorts she’d suggested, I pulled them from the hanger and held them up to my hips. These were more suited to be a bathing suit for how tight and short they were.

My head spun to look at her just as she turned to glance at me. “Plus, Clayton will be there. And I know you have the hots for him.”

She had me there.

Clayton Hughes was a big man on campus. Not as big as the Inferno boys, but he ran with them all the same.

Normally, just his association with the Inferno would have put me off and sent me running the opposite direction, but we worked together on a mock trial and had gotten to know each other better.

He was the son of a Senator and had money coming out his ears. Not to mention he was hot as fuck…and intelligent, which was a bonus in my book.

After working together, we’d hit it off and had been texting back and forth for the past week.

But that didn’t mean I had to go to this party just to see him.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I didn’t go. I’ll see him in class on Monday.”

“Shut. It.” Everly spoke in time with the music’s beat.

“I have a hot night planned with Jase, and you, my bookworm friend, are going to be my wingwoman.”

Rolling my eyes, I sat in a chair just outside her closet to tug off my jeans.

“If you already have a hot night planned, then you don’t need a wingwoman.”

Shaking my head, I couldn’t believe she was stupid enough to get involved with any of the nine men who lived in the Inferno house.

All of them were bad news, each one a known manwhore that couldn’t keep it in their pants long enough to carry on a week long relationship with one woman.

Evy had been sleeping with Jase for a full week, however, and it made me wonder how in the hell she’d pulled it off. I suspected she wasn’t the only ass he was getting.

As if reading my thoughts, she answered, “He might have some stupid bitch all up on him when we get there. You know how he is.”

“I’m surprised you put up with that,” I commented under my breath. She heard it regardless, her lips kicking up into a grin.

“He’s Jase Fucking Kesson. Are you kidding me right now?”

Laughter poured over her lips.

“I’m determined to tame that man, even when everybody else assumes he can’t be.”

Yeah, except Jase Kesson, also known as Lust in the Inferno circuit, was just one of the nine guys who practically ran the school.

Each one was someone I wanted nothing to do with and had, until now, been able to avoid. I’d never actually met any of them, which was surprising, but after tonight, I’d finally know what they looked like.

It was akin to meeting a celebrity…or a character from a fable. You know they exist, but actually meeting them in person makes them more real.

Shrugging a shoulder, I leaned back in the chair.

“I’m not comfortable being around them. I’ve heard horrible things-“

“Rumors,” Everly laughed. “Don’t let it get to you. They’re actually pretty cool guys once you get to know them. Gorgeous, too. All except…”

My eyes snapped her direction.

“All except what?”

Her hair fell over her shoulder when she shook her head and dropped the tube of deep red lipstick on the desk. Turning off the lights of the makeup mirror, she spun in her chair to look at me.

“It’s like I said: every one of them is sex on a damn stick, but Tanner gives me the creeps. There’s something about him. Like his chest is empty of a beating heart and instead of being warm to the touch, his skin would be ice cold. I have no idea how any girl climbs into bed with him, but he’s never without, you know? Those idiots line up to be with him and I don’t understand it. Thankfully, he hasn’t said so much as two words to me, and I’m fine with that.”

Pausing, Everly checked her makeup in the mirror one last time before pushing to her feet.

“Just avoid him and you’ll be fine. It’s time to go.”

She flashed me a wicked grin and I groaned.

Grabbed by the arm and pulled from my seat, Everly walked me out of our dorm room. We were halfway down the hall when I asked, “How the hell am I supposed to avoid this guy if you’re forcing me to go to his house?”

Laughing, she tugged on my arm, leading me down a back stairwell past a group of girls climbing up to our floor.

“That’s easy. You suck face with Clayton the entire time and then you won’t have to worry about coming face to face with Tanner.”

“And how will I know which one is Tanner?”

Another laugh, “Oh, trust me. You’ll know him when you see him.”

She wasn’t wrong.

There was no mistaking Tanner Caine when we walked into a large room in the Inferno House. And just as she’d described him, the man had a way of sending an ice cold chill down your spine the second you laid eyes on him.

After paying the driver of the Uber we’d taken to get to their off campus house - a sprawling three story monstrosity of a mansion, complete with winding driveway and manicured lawns - Everly led me inside the front door and dragged me through a rowdy crowd that was packed wall to wall through the rooms of the first floor.

Reaching the stairs, she continued leading me without saying a word until we reached the third floor, swung a left and walked down a hall to a large room at the end.

People lingered outside the doors of the room, talking and drinking, laughter rising up their throats as Everly shoved between them to drag me along behind her.

As soon as we passed the doors, her eyes scanned the men seated on chairs and couches, my eyes immediately taking in the half-dressed women dancing and sitting on their laps.

The scent of pot smoke filled the room, loud music pounding the walls with a steady bass beat.

“There’s Jase,” Everly whisper-yelled against my ear. “And of course, some bitch is all up on him. It’s time to teach these sluts who the Queen Slut is around here.”

Leaning into her, I answered, “I’m not sure you should brag about that.”

She laughed and tossed her hair back. Rounding her shoulders, she set her eyes on Jase, her lips pulling into a grin that meant trouble.

“Clayton should be here soon. Stick around and I’m sure you’ll find him.”

Off she went, leaving me awkwardly hovering by the doorway, my eyes scanning the room before turning to watch her approach Jase.

It wasn’t hard to see why she was practically tripping over herself to get with the guy. Relaxing on a leather sofa with legs spread and his arms stretched out over the backrest, Jase was any girl’s wet dream.

Rugged and sculpted in ways that would have made the Greeks jealous, he had disheveled brown hair that framed his face. I couldn’t see the color of his eyes, but his nose was straight, leading down to a set of lips that tipped up at the corners as if he knew a secret.

Wearing a tight black t-shirt that struggled to contain broad shoulders and a strong chest, he lifted his eyes to Everly as she crossed the room toward him, a hint of his trim waist and perfect abs peeking out from beneath his shirt when the girl straddling him ran her hand up his abdomen.

How Everly put up with that shit, I didn’t know, but it was entertaining for me to watch what she would do about it.

I stared at the scene curiously, noting how Everly approached with a clipped stride, her gaze meeting Jase’s when she was within reach. Leaning down, she whispered something in the other girl’s ear before straightening and curling her lips into a devilish smile.

The girl quickly crawled off Jase’s lap, red burning her cheeks as she turned to leave immediately. The girl brushed past me on her way out the door, tears glimmering in her eyes, barely visible beneath the low lighting.

Across the room, Jase just shook his head, crooked a finger and grinned as Everly took the former girl’s place, her hands running up his chest as soon as she was settled over his lap.

To each their own, I guessed, making a mental note to ask her what she’d said to the other girl that had her running from this room like it was on fire.

Pulling my eyes away from them as soon as she leaned forward to press her mouth to his, and his hand moved to cup her ass, I scanned my gaze over the rest of the room, noticing the four other guys that sat around, all of them with drinks in hand while women giggled and danced beside them, one set of cold dark eyes catching my attention in particular because they were focused directly on me.

It’s common courtesy among strangers to look away during moments of unwanted eye contact, but the one staring at me now didn’t seem to give a damn about courtesy. The hard lines of his face tightened as soon as our eyes met, his glare boring into mine with a ferocious intensity.

He had a devil may care curl to his full lips, shadows dipping down beneath high cheekbones that gave him an aristocratic air.

In front of him, a pretty girl danced in only a short skirt and bra, her body on display as dark red hair fell down her back in a waterfall of waves.

Even with the eye candy he had bouncing around in front of him, those dark eyes remained locked to mine, a glimmer of some unspoken thought flashing behind them.

I knew instantly that I was staring at Tanner Caine, a man known as Treachery among his friends.

Giving in to the wordless exchange between us, I was the first to look away, my arms coming up to wrap around my stomach as if to chase away the chill he conjured inside me.

Despite not looking at him, I could feel his eyes on my face, somehow knew he hadn’t let me out of his sight while I stood waiting, my legs shaking beneath me because I was suddenly terrified.

Cursing Everly beneath my breath for dragging me here, I considered leaving the room, but then worried I wouldn’t find Clayton and would end up spending the night wandering among drunk students grinding against each other.

As for this room, I felt like I’d walked into a damn orgy, all the woman slowly losing their clothes while the five men who sat around like kings in their damn harem smoked joints and sipped from glasses of different liquors and alcohol.

No, the rest of the men sat like kings in their thrones, but not Tanner. He sat in the center of the room against a far wall, his demeanor that of a dark god.

I needed to get out of here, but as the seconds ticked by, a poisonous glare pulled me back to him, my head turning just enough to see that Tanner was still staring me down, the half dressed girl no longer dancing now that she’d crawled to straddle his lap.

Running her fingers through his hair, she leaned over to kiss the pulse point in his neck, but his attention was focused on me despite the promise of sex grinding against his crotch.

And fuck me, that man was beautiful, unlike anybody I’d seen before.

With dark hair and cold eyes, he had the face of a cover model. His cheekbones were blades that ran beneath his focused stare, his cheeks sinking in to darken with the days worth of black stubble that peppered his jaw. His lips parted just enough that I could see the bottom was full, and he had soot black hair that was shaved on the sides while longer on top.

It looked like silk running through the woman’s fingers, his arms casually relaxed on either side of her body.

When our eyes met again, his narrowed just a touch from where he was watching me over her shoulder.

Knowing better than to stare, I couldn’t seem to pull my gaze away from him a second time. It was like being stared down by a predator, cornered and shaking while he licked his chops with every intention of taking a slow leisurely bite of me to make it as painful as possible.

Where his eyes were tiny slits with a cunning soul staring out from behind them, mine were wide and anxious, my arms tightening around my center as if they could protect me from whatever it was he was thinking.

It was stupid to keep staring, but I couldn’t ignore my morbid fascination, and before I could snap out of it to do what any intelligent person would do, like turn around and haul ass, Tanner broke our locked stare to glance across the room, his chin nudging in someone’s direction just before the music suddenly stopped and the room was bathed in jarring silence.

I turned to see what happened, my gaze slowly drifting back his direction to see he was once again staring at me.

If that wasn’t bad enough, his beautiful lips parted, a deep tenor voice floating across the space that stilled me in place.

“Either join in or leave.”

Everybody in the room turned to look at whoever Tanner was talking to, my neck twisting left and right to realize that person was me.

Swallowing down the knot of apprehension clogging my throat, I looked back at him, his eyes now blazing with menace, the girl straddling him still rolling her hips as she ground against his lap.

It was then that I noticed she’d abandoned her bra to the floor at Tanner’s feet, her full breasts shamelessly displayed to the entire room.

She was oblivious to the fact he had his eyes on another woman...that his dead stare was locked directly on me.

Opening my mouth, my voice came out as a weak croak. “What?”

The corners of his lips curled, a feline smile from a cat that couldn’t wait to pluck the feathers from the bird it had trapped.

“Are we entertaining you? Getting you off while you stand there deciding whether to touch yourself just to pretend you’re on one of our laps? Why be shy? I have enough cock to go around. Strip off your clothes and climb up.”

He shoved the girl away, a cry of surprise falling from her lips when her ass hit the floor.

Shaking my head, I couldn’t find my voice to respond, not that I would have known what to say even if I had.

Desperate for help, I turned to where Everly was watching me from across the room, her expression worried. Leaning down, she whispered in Jase’s ear and he laughed softly.

Jase took a hit off the joint he held pinched between two fingers, rolled his head over the back of the couch and said, “Leave her alone, Tanner. She’s Everly’s friend.”

“I don’t give a fuck who she is,” Tanner barked in response. “She wasn’t invited here and now she’s watching everybody like we’re fucking Pornhub or some shit.”

His eyes snapped back to me.

“So, what do you say, Everly’s friend? Are you going to join in or get the fuck out? There’s space on my lap if you’re feeling neglected.”

Laughter filled the room, all eyes on me while I stood dumbfounded. Terror rolled down my spine, anger chasing after it that I couldn’t seem to grasp onto enough to defend myself against the asshole.

He smirked, his voice a dark croon. “That’s what I thought.”

Tilting his chin toward me, he demanded, “Walk your ass out of this room if you’re not willing to take part.”

Mortified, I looked to Everly again, but she shook her head, a silent plea that I do as he said without arguing.

He didn’t have to say another word for me to get the hint that I wasn’t wanted.

On unsteady legs, I fled the room, ran through the hall and downstairs, people chuckling and whispering as I passed them.

Bursting through the front door, I ran down the large half-circle steps. Reaching the bottom, I sucked in air to cool my burning lungs - fear, anger and embarrassment rolling through my veins to mix into a toxic poison.

Face flushed, I leaned against the half wall that lined the steps, a faint yellow glow beaming from an exterior gas lamp by the side of my body.

Tears pricked my eyes and I smacked them away while music filtered out from the windows of the house.

Hugging my body with trembling arms, I finally calmed down enough after several minutes to breathe evenly again.

There was no chance of me going in that party to look for Clayton. Choosing to wait outside for him instead, I glanced up at a window to see a familiar set of cold, dark eyes staring down at me.

Need More? The Treachery Prequel novella is available on Amazon NOW!! Get it here:

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Table of Contents

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Adeline’s Playlist

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Epilogue