A SINGLE GLANCE

W WINTERS
 CONTENTS
Also by W Winters
Synopsis
Dedication
Prologue
1. Jase
2. Bethany
3. Bethany
4. Jase
5. Bethany
6. Bethany
7. Jase
8. Bethany
9. Jase
10. Bethany
11. Jase
12. Bethany
13. Jase
14. Bethany
15. Jase
16. Jase
17. Bethany
18. Jase
19. Bethany
20. Jase
21. Jase
22. Bethany
Sneak Peek at Merciless
Chapter 1
About W Winters
Also by W Winters
 ALSO BY W WINTERS

Sinful Obsessions Series:

It’s Our Secret
Possessive
A Kiss to Tell
Start Carter & Aria’s saga with Merciless, today for 99c!
Merciless
Heartless
Breathless
Endless
Jase’s story is coming February
A Single Glance
Standalone Novels:
Broken
Forget Me Not
Sins and Secrets Duets:
Imperfect (Imperfect Duet book 1)
Unforgiven (Imperfect Duet book 2)
Damaged (Damaged Duet book 1)
Scarred (Damaged Duet book 2)
Willow Winters
 Standalone Novels:
Cards of Love: Three of Swords
Second Chance
Knocking Boots
Promise Me
Burned Promises
Forsaken, cowritten with B. B. Hamel
Valetti Crime Family Series:
Dirty Dom
His Hostage
Rough Touch
Cuffed Kiss
Bad Boy
Highest Bidder Series,
cowritten with Lauren Landish:
Bought
Sold
Owned
Given
Bad Boy Standalones,
cowritten with Lauren Landish:
Inked
Tempted
Mr. CEO
Happy reading and best wishes,
W Winters xx
 SYNOPSIS

I saw her from across the bar.

My bar. My city. Everything in that world belonged to me.
She stood out from the crowd, looking like she was
searching for someone to blame for her pain.
That night, I felt the depths of my mistakes and the scars they
left behind. With a single glance, I knew her touch would take
it all away and I craved that more than anything.
I knew she would be a tempting, beautiful mistake.
One I would make again and again… even if it cost me
everything.
 DEDICATION

Dedicated to both TJ and Gem. In no particular order.

Your love for my books and these characters knows no
bounds. You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you
guys fighting over who licked Jase first. I love you both… and
I’m staying out of this one!
MUAH!
 PROLOGUE

Bethany

I’ VE LEARNED to love the cold. To love the heat that comes

after. To love his touch. Whatever bit of it he’ll give me.
Only when we’re in this room though. Outside of it, he’s
still my enemy. And I’ll never forget that. But when I’m tied
down and waiting for him to use me as he wishes… I live for
these moments.
The edge of the knife drags down my body, the blade
running along my bare skin and taking the peach fuzz from
every inch of me. It doesn’t cause pain, but it leaves a sensitive
trail that awakens every nerve ending it passes. Making me
feel alive, so desperate and so conscious of how good it feels
to long for something.
The knife travels down my collarbone carefully,
meticulously, leaving a chill in the air that dares me to shiver
as the sharp knife glides lower, down to the small mounds of
my breasts. It’s so cold when he’s not hovering over me. The
icy bite of the air alone has never brought pleasure, but
knowing what’s to come, the draft is nearly an aphrodisiac.
All the heat I need is buried between my legs, waiting for
him to move the knife lower, bringing with it his hands, his
breath… his lips.
The desire stirs deep in my belly, then lower still. With my
legs spread just slightly, my thighs remain touching at the very
top, closest to my most bared asset. The temperature in the
room is low, low enough to turn my nipples to hardened peaks.
Sometimes he drags the tip of his knife up to the top of my
nipples, teasing me, and when he does this time, I let my head
fall back, feeling the pleasure build inside of me. The smallest
touches bring the largest thrills.
He tortures me just like this; he has for weeks. At one
point, it did feel like suffering, but I crave it now. Every piece
of it. I only feel lust when I think about being at his mercy.
“I love you naked on this bench.” Jase’s deep voice is so
low, I barely hear him. But I feel his warm breath along my
belly as he moves his tongue to run right where the blade has
just been.
He does this first every time, teasing me with the knife,
shaving any trace of hair before moving on. He always takes
his time, and part of me thinks it’s because he doesn’t want
this to end either. Once the flames have all flickered out and
darkness sets in, and the loud click of the locks in the barren
room signal it’s over, that’s when reality comes rushing back.
The war. The drugs. All of the lies that leave a tangled web
for me to get lost in.
I don’t want any of it.
I want to swallow, the need is there, but I know to wait
until the blade is lifted, leaving me cold and begging for it
back on my skin. Teasing me. It’s only once he pulls it back
that I dare to swallow the lump in my throat and turn my head
on the thick wooden bench to look at him.
Jase Cross.
My enemy. And yet, the only person I trust.
Fear used to consume me in these moments, but as the
rough rope digs into my wrists, not an ounce of it exists. His
dark eyes flicker, mirroring the flames of the fireplace lining
the back wall of the room.
My gaze lingers as he swallows too, highlighting the
stubble that travels from his throat up to his sharp jawline.
That dip in his neck begs me to kiss him. Right there, right in
that dip, as if he’s vulnerable there.
With broad shoulders and a smoldering look in his dark
eyes, Jase is a man born to be powerful. His muscles rippling
in the fire’s light as he looks down at me force my heart to
flicker as well.
The gold flecks in his irises spark, and I’m lost in a trance.
So much so that I freely admit what I never have before as I
say, “I love it too.”
I swear I see the hint of a smile tugging the corners of his
lips up, but it’s gone before I’m certain.
I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have given him more
power than he already has.
Jase Cross will be my downfall.
 JASE

One month earlier

I T ’ S A SLOPPY MISTAKE . I never make a mistake like this.

Never. Yet, staring at the bit of blood still drying on my
oxfords, I know I’ve made a mistake that could have cost me
everything.
And it’s all because of her. She’s a distraction. A
distraction I can’t afford.
The thick laces run along my fingertips as I untie them,
and as I do, a bit of blood stains my fingers. Pausing, I
contemplate everything that could have happened if I hadn’t
seen it just now. I rub the blood between my fingers, then wipe
it off with a napkin from my desk. Carefully, I slip off my
shoes, shoving the napkin inside of one before grabbing a new
pair from behind my desk and putting them on.
The pair with evidence of my latest venture will meet the
incinerator before I leave my bar, The Red Room, tonight.
Where all evidence is meant to be left.
“What do you think?” Seth asks me, and I turn my
attention back to him. Back to the monitors.
She’s gorgeous. That’s what I think. With deep hazel eyes
filled with a wild fire and full lips I’d silence easily with my
own, even if she’s screaming on the security footage, she’s
nothing but stunning.
Her anger is beautiful.
 The bar and crowd would normally take my attention away
from her, but I was there that night and I only saw her. The
patrons from last week get in the way of seeing her clearly on
the security footage though. I can barely make out her
curves… but I do. Even if I can’t fully see them here, I
remember them. I remember everything about her.
If I hadn’t been with my brother at the time and in a
situation I couldn’t leave, I would have been the one to go to
her. Instead, I had Seth throw her out. No one was to harm her,
which isn’t the best example to set, but I wanted to tempt her
to come back. I needed to see her again. If for nothing more
than to serve as a beautiful distraction.
Running my thumb over the fleshy pads of my fingertips, I
lean back in the chair, crossing my ankles under my desk and
letting my gaze roam over every bit of her as he leads her out.
My voice is low, but calm as I comment, “She’s different
here than she is in the file.”
“Anger will do that. She lost her fucking mind coming into
your bar talking about calling the cops.”
Although my lips kick up into an asymmetric smile, a
heaviness weighs down on me. There’s too much shit going on
right now for us to handle any more trouble.
She’s a mistake waiting to happen. A delicate disaster in
the making.
“How many days ago was this?” I ask, not remembering
since the days have melded together in the hell that this past
week was.
“Eight days; she hasn’t come back.”
“What do you want me to do?” Seth asks when I don’t
respond.
“Show me the footage again.”
He’s my head of security at The Red Room, and over the
years I’ve come to trust him. Although, not enough to tell him
what I really want from her. How seeing her defy the
unspoken rules of this world, seeing her slander my name,
curse it and dare me to do anything to stop her… I’m harder
than I’ve been in a long fucking time.
“She’s irate about her sister,” Seth murmurs as the screen
rewinds, then plays the footage of her parking her car,
storming into the place, and demanding answers from a
barkeep who doesn’t know shit.
None of them could have given her the answer she wants.
I recognize every movement. The sharpness of her stride,
the way her throat tenses before she even says a damn thing. I
bet she can feel each of her words sitting on the tip of her
tongue, threatening to silence her before she’s even begun.
Even still, I find her beautiful. There is beauty in
everything about what she did and how she feels.
“She lost her fucking mind,” he mutters, watching along
with me.
Seth is missing something though, because he doesn’t
know what I know. He doesn’t see it like I do.
She’s not just angry; she’s lonely. And more than that,
she’s scared.
I know all about that.
The days go by so slowly when you’re lonely. They drag
on and bring you with them, exaggerating each second, each
tick of the clock and making you wonder what it’s all worth.
I can’t deny the ambition, the desire for more. There’s
always more. More money, more power, more to conquer. And
with it more enemies and more distrust.
It’s a predictable life, even amidst the chaos.
“I can understand why she’s looking for someone to
blame.” I pause to move my gaze from the screen to Seth, and
wait for him to look back at me. “But why us?” I ask him,
emphasizing each word.
He shakes his head as he skims through the file he’s
holding, an autopsy report and photographs of a body catching
my eye in particular, although you can barely tell that’s what
she was after washing up on shore. Dental records were
needed to identify her, the poor woman.
“She thinks you and your brothers are responsible.”
“No shit,” I answer him, waiting for his attention before
adding, “but why would she think that?”
Again he shakes his head. “There’s nothing here that
would lead her to that conclusion. We didn’t touch the girl.
Her sister wasn’t a threat to anything that we know of.”
My fingers rap on the desk as I think about Jennifer, the
girl who died so tragically. I met her once, and I can imagine
she got into far more trouble than she could handle.
“I’ll figure it out, Boss,” Seth tells me and I immediately
answer, “Don’t go to her.”
His brow raises, but he’s quick to fix the display of shock.
“Of course,” he replies.
“I’m arranging to see her shortly. Dig up everything you
can on her and on her sister’s death.”
“Will do,” Seth says as he slips the papers back into the
folder and then glances at the monitors once again. The paused
image of Beth shows her leaning across the bar midscream,
demanding answers. Answers I don’t have for her. Answers
she may never get.
“The other reason I wanted to see you… I have those
papers you wanted,” Seth says, interrupting my thoughts.
“What papers?”
“The ones about your brother.”
My brother.
There’s always someone to fight. Someone to blame.
It never stops.
 BETHANY

Bethany

P eople mourn differently. My mother would turn in

her grave if she knew I went to work last night
instead of going to my sister’s funeral. My sister,
Jennifer, was the only family I had left.
And instead of watching Jenny be put in the ground, beside
my mother who’s been there for a decade, I worked.
Yes, my mother would turn in her grave if she knew.
But that’s because my mother had never been able to stand
on her own two feet whenever there was a loss, or any day of
the week, really. Let alone take on a sixteen-hour shift to avoid
the burial of a loved one. The last loved one I had.
As I let out a flat sigh, remembering how she used to
handle things, I watch my warm breath turn to fog. It’s not
even late, but the sun has set and the dark winter night feels
appropriate if nothing else.
The laughter coming from inside my house doesn’t though.
My heart twists with a pain I loathe. Laughter. On a night
like tonight.
Gripping the door handle a little harder than I need to, I
prepare myself for what’s on the other side.
Distant relatives chattering in the corner, and the smell of
every casserole known to man invade my senses.
 The warmth is welcoming as I close the door behind me
without looking, only staring straight ahead.
Even as I lean my back against the cold door, no one sees
me. No one stops their unremarkable conversations to spare
me a glance. Bottles clink to my right and I turn just in time to
see a group of my sister’s friends toasting as they throw back
whatever clear liquor is in their glasses. My glasses.
With a deep breath, I push off the door. Focusing on the
sound of my coat rustling as I pull it off, I barely make eye
contact with an aunt I haven’t seen in years.
“My poor dear,” she says, and I notice how her lips purse
even while she’s speaking. With a wine glass held away from
her, she gives me a one-armed hug. “I’m so sorry,” she
whispers.
Everyone is so, so sorry.
Offering her a weak smile, and somehow not voicing every
angry thought that threatens to strangle me, I answer back,
“Thank you.”
Her gaze drifts down to my boots, still covered with a light
dusting of snow and then travels back up to my eyes. “Did you
just get done with work?”
I lie. “Yes. Did the scrubs give it away?” The small joke
eases the tension as she grips my shoulder. This isn’t the first
time I’ve ventured to the bar before coming home. Although,
this is the first time the house isn’t empty. And it’s the first
time I’ve felt I truly needed a drink. I need something to
numb… all of this.
“Would you like a drink?” she offers me and then tells a
group of people I’ve never met goodbye as they make their
way out of my house.
“How about some red wine. A nightcap, since it’s almost
over?”
It’s. Is she referring to the evening? Or the wake?
The tight smile on my face widens and I tell her, “I’d like
that.” My gaze wanders to the living room and I spitefully
think that I’d like the four-year-old rummaging through the
drawer of my coffee table to get out. They can all get out.
That thin smile still lingers on my lips when she brings me
a glass and I nod a thanks, although I don’t drink it. Not
because I don’t need one, but purely out of spite.
“Did the caterers bring everything?” I ask her politely,
nodding a hello at a few family members who offer a pathetic
wave in return. My mother was the black sheep of the family.
Because of that, I couldn’t name half of the people in here
even though I recognize their faces. She got a divorce when
my dad skipped out on us, and the family essentially divorced
her for not “trying harder” in her marriage.
So the majority of the people here, I’ve met only once or
twice… usually at funerals.
“They did,” Aunt Margaret answers and I’m quick to add,
“I’m glad everyone could come.”
I hate lies, but tonight they slip through my lips so easily.
Even as the emotions make my throat swell up when I see the
same group of girls doing another round of shots.
Maybe it makes me a hypocrite, seeing as how I just came
from drowning myself in vodka and Red Bull at the bar down
the street, Barcode. I tend to swing by after a lot of hard shifts,
but that particular group doesn’t need any more drugs added in
the mix.
“The funeral was beautiful.” My aunt’s words bring a
numbness that travels down my throat and the false expression
I’m wearing slips, but I force the smile back on my face when
she looks up at me.
I take a sip of cheap Cabernet and let the anger simmer.
Beautiful.
What a dreadful word for a funeral.
For the funeral of a woman not yet thirty. A woman who
none of these people spoke to. A woman I tried so desperately
to save, because at one point in my life, she was my hero.
The glass hits the buffet a little harder than I wanted.
 “Sorry I didn’t make it. I’m glad it went well.” My voice is
tight.
“It was really kind of you to pay for everything… I know
there’s nothing in the estate or…” she says, but her voice drifts
off, and I nearly scream at her. I nearly scream at all of them.
Why are they doing this? Why put on a front as if they
cared? They didn’t come to visit any of the times she was in
the hospital. They didn’t pay a cent for anything but their gas
to attend the funeral and come here. And whatever those
fucking casseroles cost. All the while I know they were
gossiping, wondering about everything Jenny had done to land
herself in an early grave.
They’re from uptown New York and all they do is brag on
social media about all their charity events. All their expensive
dresses and glasses of champagne, put on full display every
weekend for the charity that they so generously donated to.
I’m sure that would have been so much better.
Or maybe this alternative is their charity for the weekend.
Coming to this fucking wake for a woman they didn’t care
about.
I could scream at myself as well; why open my door to
these people? Why tell my aunt the reception could be held
here? Was I still in shock when I agreed? Or was I just that
fucking stupid?
They didn’t see what happened to her. How she morphed
into a person I didn’t recognize. How my sister got sucked
down a black hole that led to her destruction, and not a single
one of them cared to take notice.
Yet they can comment on how beautiful her funeral was.
How lovely of them.
“Oh dear,” my aunt says as she hugs me with both arms
this time and I let her. The anger isn’t waning, but it’s not for
them. I know it’s not.
I’m sorry they didn’t get to see those moments of her that
shined through. The bits of Jenny that I’ll have forever and
they’ll never know. I feel sorry for them. But her? My sister?
I’m so fucking angry she left me here alone.
Everyone mourns differently.
The thought sends a peaceful note to ring through my
blood as I hear footsteps approach. My aunt doesn’t pull away,
and I find myself slightly pushing her to one side and picking
up a cocktail napkin to dry under my eyes.
“Hey, Beth.” Miranda, a twentysomething string bean of a
girl with big blue eyes and thick, dark brown hair, approaches.
Even as she stands in front of me, she sways. The liquor is
getting to her.
“Do you guys have a ride home?” I ask her, wanting to get
that answer before she says anything else.
She blinks slowly, and the apprehension turns into hurt.
She shifts her tiny weight from one foot to the other. Her
nervousness shows as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear,
swallowing thickly and nodding. “Yeah,” she croaks and her
gaze drops to the floor as she bites the inside of her cheek.
“Sorry about last time,” she barely whispers before looking me
in the eyes. “We’ve got a ride this time.”
It’s when she sniffles that I notice how pink her cheeks are
– tearstained pink – not from drinking. Fuck, regret is a spiked
ball that threatens to choke me as I swallow.
“I just don’t want you guys getting into another accident,
you know?” I get out the words quickly in a single breath, and
pick up that glass of wine, downing it as Aunt Margaret turns
her back on this conversation, leaving us for more… proper
things maybe.
Miranda’s quiet, looking particularly remorseful.
I don’t mention how the accident was in front of my house,
five fucking feet from where they were parked. Miranda
passed out after getting drunk with Jenny and some other
people nearby. Her foot stayed on the gas and revved her car
into mine, pushing both cars into my neighbor’s car until mine
hit a tree. She could have killed them all. All four of them in
the car, high and drunk and not caring about the consequences.
Consequences for more than just them.
Her voice is small. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. It was a bad
night.”
A bad night? It was a bad month, and the start of me losing
my sister. That night, I couldn’t turn a blind eye to it any
longer.
“I just wanted to say,” she begins, but raises her voice a
little too loud and then has to clear her throat, tears rimming
her eyes. “I wanted to tell you I’m really sorry.” Her sincerity
brings my own emotions flooding back, and I hate it. “I loved
your sister, and I’m…” This time I’m the one doing the
hugging, the holding.
“Sorry,” she rasps in a whisper as she pulls away. I look
beyond her, at the groups of people in the dining room and
past that to the kitchen. There are maybe twenty or thirty
people in my house. And not a single one looks our way.
They’re too busy eating the food I paid for and drinking my
alcohol. I wonder if they even feel this pain.
“She had this for you.” Miranda pushes a book into my
chest before running the sleeve of the thin sweater she’s
wearing under her eyes. Black mascara seeps into the light
gray fabric instantly. “Right before she went missing, while
she crashed at my place, she couldn’t stop reading it.”
It takes me a moment to actually take the book from her.
It’s thick, maybe a few hundred pages… with no cover. The
spine’s been torn off and my name replaces it. Bethy. That’s
what Jenny used to call me. The black Sharpie marker bled
into the torn ridges of what the spine would have protected.
“What is it?” I ask Miranda, not taking my eyes from the
book as I turn it over and look for any indication as to what
story it is. I can feel creases in my forehead as my brow
furrows.
Miranda only shrugs, the sweater falling off her shoulder
and showing more of her pale skin and protruding collarbone.
“She just kept saying she was going to give it to you. That you
needed it more than her.”
My gaze focuses on the first lines of the book, skimming
them but finding no recollection of this tale in my memory. I
have no idea what the book is, but as I flip through the pages, I
notice some of the sentences are underlined in pen.
He loves like there’s no reason not to. That’s the first line I
see, and it makes me pause until the conversation pulls me
away.
“Before she died, she told me things.” Miranda’s large
eyes stare deep into mine.
Jenny told me things too. Things I’ll never forget.
Warnings I thought were only paranoia.
As Miranda’s thin lips part, my boss, Aiden, walks up to us
in a tailored suit and Miranda shies back. My lips pull into a
tight smile as he hugs me.
“You’re dressed to the nines,” I compliment him with a sad
smile, not bothering to hide the pain in my voice. Miranda
leaves me before I can say another word to her. She ducks her
head, getting distance from me as quickly as she can. My eyes
follow her as Aiden speaks.
“You okay?”
My head tilts and my eyes water as I reply, “Okay is such a
vague word, don’t you think?”
He’s older than me, and not quite a friend, but not just a
boss either. The second my arms reach around his jacket,
accepting his embrace, he holds me a little tighter and I hate
how much comfort I get from it.
From something so simple. So genuine. My circle is small,
but I like to keep it that way. And Aiden is one of the few
people in it. He’s one of the few people I can be myself with.
“I heard you didn’t go… that it was today?” he asks me,
although it’s more of a statement, my face still pressed against
his chest.
I won’t cry. I won’t do it.
 Not until I’m alone anyway. I can’t hide behind anger then.
There’s nowhere to hide when you’re lying in bed by yourself.
“I couldn’t bring myself,” I tell him, intending on saying
more, but my bottom lip wobbles and I have to pull away.
He’s reluctant, but he lets me and I find my own arms
wrapping around myself. Looking back to where Jenny’s
friends were, I notice they’re gone, along with a lot of the
crowd.
Maybe they heard my unspoken wishes.
“You need to take time off.” Aiden’s words shock me.
Full-blown shock me.
My head shakes on its own and I struggle to come up with
something to refute him. Money seems like the most logical
reason, but Aiden beats me to it.
“There was a pool at work, and the other nurses are giving
you some of their days for PTO. You have your own banked,
plus the bereavement leave. And I know you have vacation
time too.”
“They don’t have to do that…” My voice is low, full of
disbelief. At Rockford, the local youth mental hospital, I know
everyone more than I should, especially the night shift. But I
wouldn’t ever expect any of them to give me their time off. I
don’t expect anything from anyone.
“They can’t do that. They’ll need those days for
themselves.” They don’t even know me really. I’m taken
aback that they would do such a thing.
“It’s a day here and a day there, it adds up and you need
it.”
“I’m fine-”
“My ass you are.” Aiden’s profanity draws my gaze to his,
and the wrinkles around his eyes seem more pronounced. His
age shows in this moment. “You need time off.”
Time off.
More time alone.
 “I don’t want it.”
“You’re going to take it. You need to get your head on
right, Fawn.” His voice is stern as my body chills from a gust
of air blowing into the dining room when my front door opens
once again. More guests leaving.
“How many days?” I ask him, feeling defeat, so much of
it, already laying its weight against me.
“You have six weeks,” he informs me and it feels like a
death sentence. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach as my
front door closes with a resounding click.
With his hands on my shoulders he tells me, “You need to
get better.”
Holding back the pain is a challenge, but I manage to
breathe out with only a single tear shed. Six weeks.
The next breath comes easier.
I tell myself I’ll take some time off, but not to get better.
My breathing is almost back to normal at my next thought.
But to find the men responsible for what happened to my
sister.

MY EYES ARE BURNING and heavy, but I can’t sleep.

I’m exhausted and want to lie down, but my legs are
restless and my heart is wide awake, banging inside of me. I
need to do something to take this agony away. Staring back at
The Coverless Book beside me on the side table, I lean to the
left, flicking on the lamp while still seated on my sofa.

The Coverless Book

Prologue
I’ M INVINCIBLE . I tell myself as I pull the blanket up tighter.
My heart races, so fast in my chest. It’s scared like I am.
Jake is coming.
 He’s going to see me here in my house, and then where
could I possibly hide from him? Where could I hide my blush?
Maybe behind this blanket?
“Miss?” Miss Caroline calls into the room, and I perk up.
“Yes?”
“Your guest is here,” she announces and I give her a nod,
feeling that heat rise to my cheeks and my heart fluttering as
she gives me a knowing smile and I hide my brief laugh.
Caroline knows all my secrets.
Before I can stand up on shaky legs, he’s standing in the
doorway, tall and lanky as most eleventh-graders are. But
Jake is taller. His eyes softer. His hands hold a shock in them
that gets me every time he reaches for my calculator in class.
“Jake.” His name comes from me in surprise as I struggle
to lift myself.
“Emmy.” The way he says my name sounds so sad. “I
heard you were sick.”

I READ the prologue and the first chapter too before falling
asleep on the old sofa that used to belong to my mother. I’m
cocooned in the blanket I once wrapped my sister in when the
drugs she’d taken made her shake uncontrollably.
The only sentence Jenny underlined was the one that read,
“I’m invincible.”
Jenny, I wish you had been. I wish I were too.
 BETHANY

M y eyes feel so heavy. So dry and itchy.

Rubbing them only makes it hurt worse.
I would have slept better had I worked. I know I would
have.
My gaze drifts back to the book. I’m only a few chapters
in, but I keep walking away from the pages, not remembering
where I left off and starting over each time.
Knowing I can’t focus on work, knowing it’s been taken
away, has brought out a different side of me.
The side that remembers my sister.
Not the way she was in the last few years, but the way she
was when we were younger.
When we were thick as thieves, and my older sister was
my hero. Those memories keep coming back every time I read
the chapters written from Emmy’s perspective. She’s young,
and sweet, but so damn strong. My sister was strong once.
Held down by no one.
Once upon a time.
Letting out a deep breath, I stretch my back, pushing the
torn-up book onto my coffee table. I sit there, looking out the
front bay window of my house. The curtains are closed, but
not tightly and I catch a glimpse of a car pull up.
A nice car. An expensive one.
 All black with tinted windows. Jenny came home in a car
like that once, shaken and crying. Back when all of her
troubles started. My blood runs cold as the car stops in front of
my house.
If it’s someone she was associated with, I don’t want them
here.
Anger simmers, but it’s futile. You can only be angry for
so long.
Once it’s gone, fear has a way of creeping into its place.
My pace is slow, quiet and deliberate as I head to my coat
closet and reach up to a backpack I haven’t used in years. I
figured it would be the perfect place to hide the gun. The one
Jenny brought home for me, the one she said I needed when
she wouldn’t listen to me and refused to stay. I was screaming
at her as she shoved it into my chest and told me I needed to
take it.
It was only weeks ago that my sister stood right here and
gave me a gun to protect myself, when she was the one who
needed help. She needed protecting.

Jase

I CAN ’ T HANDLE one more thing going wrong.

My keys jingle as the ignition turns off and the soft rumble
of the engine is silenced.
Wiping a hand over my face, I get out of the car, not caring
that the door slams as my shoes hit the pavement. The
neighborhood is quiet and each row of streets is littered with
picture-perfect homes, nothing like the home I grew up in.
Little townhouses of raised ranches, complete with paved
driveways and perfectly trimmed bushes. A few houses have
fences, white picket of course, but not 34 Holley, the home of
Bethany Fawn.
 Other than the missing fence, the two-story home could be
plucked straight from an issue of Better Homes & Gardens.
Knock, knock, knock. She’s in there; I can hear her. Time
passes without anything save the sound of scuttling behind the
door, but just as I’m about to knock again, the door opens a
few inches. Only enough to reveal a glimpse of her.
Her chestnut hair falls in wavy locks around her face. She
brushes the fallen strands back to peek up at me.
“Yes?” she questions, and my lips threaten to twitch into a
smirk.
“Bethany?”
Her weight shifts behind the door as her gaze travels down
the length of my body and then back up before she answers
me.
The amber in her hazel eyes swirls with distrust as she tells
me, “My friends call me Beth.”
“Sorry, I’m Jase. Jase Cross. We haven’t met before… but
I’ll happily call you Beth.” The flirtatious words slip from me
easily, and slowly her guard falls although what’s left behind is
a mix of worry and agony. She doesn’t answer or respond in
any way other than to tighten her grip on the door.
“Mind if I have a minute?”
She purses her full lips slightly as the cracked door opens
just an inch more, enough for her to cautiously reply,
“Depends on what you’re here for.”
My pulse quickens. I’m here to give her a single warning.
Just one chance to stay the hell away from The Red Room and
to get over whatever ill wishes she has for my brothers and
me.
It’s a shame, really; she’s fucking gorgeous. There’s an
innocence, yet a fight in her that’s just as evident and even
more alluring. Had I met her on other terms, I would do just
about anything to get her under me and screaming my name.
But after this past week with Carter and all that bullshit, I
made my decision. No distractions.
 The swirling colors in her eyes darken as her gaze dances
over mine. As if she can read my thoughts, and knows the
wicked things I’d do to her that no one else ever could. But
that’s not why I’m here, and my perversions will have to wait
for someone else.
I lean my shoulder against her front door and slip my shoe
through the gap in the doorway, making sure she can’t slam it
shut. Instead of the slight fear I thought would flash in her
eyes as my expression hardens, her eyes narrow with hate and
I see the gorgeous hue of pink in her pale skin brighten to red,
but not with a blush, with animosity.
“You need to stay out of the Cross business, Beth.” I lean
in closer, my voice low and even. My hard gaze meets her
narrowed one, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead she clenches her
teeth so hard I think they’ll crack.
With the palm of my hand carefully placed on the
doorjamb and the other splayed against her door, I lean in to
tell her that there are no answers for her in The Red Room. I
want to tell her that my brother isn’t the man she’s after, but
before I can say a word she hisses at me, “I know all about
Marcus and the drugs and why you assholes had her killed.”
The change in her tone, her expression is instant.
My pulse hammers in my ears but even over it, I hear the
strained pain etched in her voice. Her breathing shudders as
she adds, “You’ll all pay for what you did to my sister.” Her
voice cracks as her eyes gloss over and tears gather in the
corners of her eyes.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her as
the rage gathers inside of me. Marcus. Just the name makes
every muscle inside of my body tighten and coil.
The drugs.
Marcus.
Before I can even tie what she’s said together, I hear the
click of a gun and she lets the door swing open, throwing me
off-balance.
 Shock makes my stomach churn as the barrel of a gun
flashes in front of my eyes. She leans back, moving to hold the
heavy metal piece with both hands.
Fuck! Lunging forward, still unsteady as dread threatens to
take over, I grip the barrel and raise it above her head, shoving
her small body back until it hits the wall in her foyer and she
continues to struggle, pushing away from me and getting out
of my grasp.
Bang!
The gun goes off and the flash of heat makes the skin of
my hand holding the barrel burn and singe with a raw pain.
Her lower back crashes into a narrow table, a row of books
toppling over and a pile of mail falling onto the floor as I
stumble into her and finally pin her to the wall.
My chest rises and falls chaotically. My body temperature
heats with the adrenaline racing through me.
Her small shriek of terror is muted when I bring my right
hand to her delicate throat. My left still grips the gun. I can’t
swallow yet, I can’t do anything but press her harder against
the wall, smothering the fight in her as best as I can.
She struggles beneath me, but with a foot on her height
and muscle she couldn’t match no matter how hard she tried,
it’s pointless. Her heart pounds hard, and I feel it matching
mine.
“Knock it the fuck off,” I grit between my teeth.
She yelps as I lift the gun higher, ripping it from her grasp.
Both of her hands fly to the one I have tightening on her
throat. On instinct, like I knew she would. Did she really think
she could get one over on me?
“You tried to shoot me.” I practically snarl the words,
although they’re nearly inaudible.
Struggling to catch my breath, I don’t let anything show
except the absolute control I have over her. The door is wide
open and I’m certain someone could have heard, although it’s
a Monday and during work hours. It’s why I chose this time to
pay her a visit.
 A faint breeze carries in from behind and I take a step
back, pulling her with me just enough so I can kick the door
shut and then press her back to the wall. Her pulse slows
beneath my grip and her eyes beg me for mercy as her sharp
nails dig into my fingers.
The way she looks at me, her hazel eyes swirling with a
mix of pain, fear and anger still, makes my chest ache for her,
because I see something else. Something that fucking hurts.
She doesn’t want mercy. She wants it to end. I can see it so
clearly. I’ve seen it before, and the unwanted memory is
jarring in this moment.
A second passes before I loosen my grip just enough so
she can breathe freely.
Through her frantic intake, I lean forward, crushing my
body against hers until she’s still. Until her eyes are wide and
staring straight into mine. The sight of her, the fear, the
desperation… I know I’m not letting her go. Not yet.
“You’re going to tell me everything you know about
Marcus.” I lower my lips to the shell of her ear, letting my
rough stubble rub along her cheek. “And everything you know
about the drugs.”
My mind is whirling with every reason I should walk
away. Every reason I should simply kill her and leave this
mess behind. She tried to kill me; that’s reason enough.
But I don’t want to. I need more.
With a steadying breath, my lungs fill with the sweet smell
of her soft hair that brushes against my nose.
I comb my fingers through her hair and let my thumb run
along her slender neck before I lean into her, letting her feel
how hard I am just to be alive. Just to have her at my mercy.
“And because of that little stunt you just pulled, I’m not
letting you go.”
 JASE

F uck! The palm of my hand bangs on the

steering wheel, sending a sharp pain radiating
up my arm. Fuck! Over and over I slam my
hand against the wheel while gritting my teeth to keep from
screaming out profanities.
Even with the adrenaline still racing and the anger still
present, I force myself to sit back in the car, listening to the
dull thuds coming from the trunk.
I shouldn’t have done that. What the fuck was I thinking?
I put cuffs around her wrists, her ankles too, and then
gagged her to keep any more screams for help from crying out
between those beautiful lips of hers.
I backed my car into her garage and dealt with the kicks
and her feeble attempt to fight back as I forced her into the
tight space.
I can only imagine what she’s thinking with the handcuffs
digging into her wrists as she’s trapped, dark and alone and
having no idea what’s going to happen.
Thump. The sound reminds me—I shouldn’t have done
that shit.
Her garage door opens with an abrupt, jerky motion and
then slowly rises, bringing with it a vision of the suburban
street, lit by the warm glow of the inevitable evening. A
sarcastic huff leaves my lips as I pull away, gently stepping
down on the gas and blending in.
 Knowing she’s bound and gagged in the trunk, unable to
do a damn thing until I decide what to do with her, time slips
by as I drive down her street, thinking about how the hell I’m
going to fix this shit.
The second I give her freedom again, she’ll go to the cops,
which is fine, since they’re in our back pocket.
Every way I look at this, I know she’s going to have to go.
A threat is a threat is a threat. I underestimated her, but now
that I know what she’s willing to do, there’s no excuse for
keeping her alive.
No reason except for that look in her eyes.
The blinker ticks as I round the corner, turning right out of
her neighborhood and down the main drag. I’m not taking her
to the back of The Red Room. I don’t want a damn soul to
know about her pulling out a weapon. She’s merely a
nuisance, nothing more.
No one can know. If they find out and I don’t silence her,
they will.
“Call Seth.” I give the command and instantly the cabin of
the sedan fills with the sound of a phone ringing. Before it
finishes the second ring, Seth answers.
“Boss,” he greets me.
“I need you to do something.”
“I’m listening.” I can hear the shuffle of papers in the
background and then it goes quiet on the other line.
“Drive out to the address you gave me yesterday. You
know which one?” I ask him and keep my words vague. I’m
careful not to risk a damn thing, not when calls can be
recorded and used against me.
“Of course,” he answers and I can practically see him
nodding his head in the way that he does. Short and quick,
with his eyes never leaving mine.
“I went over there and I may have made a mess.”
 “Just clean it up?” he asks. “Anything in particular to look
out for?”
“The hinge on her door broke, and there’s a bullet hole in
her ceiling, but everything’s fine otherwise. No one will be
there, so lock it on your way out.” A thought hits me as I get
closer to my own home and my fingers slide down to my
house key, dangling from the ignition. “I’m going to need you
to make me a copy of a key too.”
“For the address I gave you yesterday?” he clarifies and I
nod while answering, “Yes.”
“Anything else?” he asks and I’m silent for a moment,
thinking about the next step and the one after it.
Seth is a fixer. Every fuckup I make, or better yet, any
fuckups from my brothers, he cleans up. He’s also my right-
hand man when I want to keep things from Carter.
“If anyone asks or comes looking, let them know you were
hired to fix it.”
“No problem.”
Thump, thump, THUMP! My gaze lifts to the rearview
mirror as I listen to Beth trying to escape. The trunk can’t be
opened from the inside; she’ll learn I’m smarter than that. She
caught me off guard once, but it won’t happen again.
 BETHANY

M y heart won’t stop racing. It’s pounding hard

and fighting back from inside my chest; I can’t
imagine I’ll survive this.
It’s throbbing so loud, it takes me a moment to realize the
car’s stopped. The hum of the engine has vanished and there
isn’t a damn sound other than my own chaotic heartbeat.
I hear a crunch, I think, and my head whips around to the
side, so sharply it sends a bolt of pain down my already aching
shoulder. Traveling up and down my shoulders is a dull fire
that blazes. Between the way I was forced in here, practically
thrown in, and lying on my arms with them cuffed behind my
back, my shoulders are in absolute agony. The metal bites into
my wrists and ankles, and I know I’ll have bruises on my
knees from slamming them as hard as I could into the top of
the trunk. My entire body is cramping.
Every trunk has a latch somewhere on the inside. It’s to
save children from being locked within and trapped. I know
because I once played hide-and-seek with my sister and tried
to get in the trunk, only to have my mother scream at me. She
said it was dangerous, and the neighbor girl we were playing
with told my mother what her mother had told her. That there
was a latch on the inside. Sure enough, there was. My mother
still didn’t let me hide in the trunk though and after she
grabbed me by the hand and brought me inside, I didn’t want
to play anymore.
Since being dumped in here, I’ve spent all my energy
maneuvering through the pain to search for the latch. I can’t
fucking find it. So I resorted to bucking my body in a
desperate attempt to force the trunk open or to kick out a
taillight. Anything. Anything at all to get the hell out of here.
No luck. And now it’s too late.
It’s funny what you think of while you’re waiting for the
inevitable. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, a way to take your
mind elsewhere when darkness is looming. Or maybe my
memory was simply triggered by the lack of a handle and how
I learned such a thing should be here because of hide-and-
seek. Maybe that’s why as I close my eyes and listen for
something, for anything at all, my mind takes me elsewhere. I
hear my sister call my name down the hall of our childhood
home.
I’m in the closet upstairs, and it’s so hot. I buried myself
under all the blankets my mother stored on the floor in there
and carefully laid them on top of me, hoping that when Jenny
opened the door, searching for me, she wouldn’t see me.
She was always better than me at everything—every game,
every sport, every class. But today, when she opened that door,
and I waited with bated breath, she closed it and continued
silently searching the house.
With the smugness to keep me company, I stayed there
under those blankets and I must have fallen asleep. It was
Jenny’s voice that woke me and when I came to, I felt so hot. I
was absolutely drenched in sweat and the blankets felt so
much heavier than they did before.
“Jenny,” I cried out for her, feeling an overwhelming fear
that didn’t seem to make sense, but I knew I needed to get out
from under the blankets. I couldn’t shove them forward
though, the door was closed and I couldn’t lift them up
because a shelf was above me. “Jenny!” I cried out again.
Louder this time, as I tried to wiggle my way free under the
weight of the pile. I didn’t have to free myself alone though;
Jenny opened the door and helped me out, telling me I was
okay all the while and when I did crawl out into the hallway, I
knew I was okay, but it didn’t feel like I was.
 I never hid there again. I don’t think I ever played hide-
and-seek again at all.
There’s another loud crunch, and another. My eyes pop
open and suddenly I am very much in the present, leaving the
memory behind. I’m listening to the sound of shoes walking
along small pieces of gravel maybe. The beating in my chest
intensifies and I can’t breathe as I hear the steps get closer. I
even squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could make myself
disappear, or go somewhere else. Like I used to do when I was
a child. As if this could all just be a dream or I had somehow
gained impossible abilities.
I would try to scream, but the balled-up shirt in my mouth
is already threatening to choke me as every small movement
sends it farther into my mouth. Any farther, and I think I’ll
throw up.
When the trunk swings open so loud that my instincts
force me to look up, the light’s bright, almost blinding.
I wish I could beg; I wish I could yell. I wish I could fight
back when I see him towering over me and taking his time to
consider me.
“That looks like it hurt,” he says as if he finds it funny. The
words come out with condescension as he reaches down to let
his fingertips glide over my already bruised knees. Even the
small movement makes me buckle, forcing my weight back
onto my shoulders and it starts a series of aches cascading
throughout my body all over again.
The agony begs me to cry, but in place of tears, I find
myself screaming the words, “Fuck you,” over the gag in my
mouth. The soft cotton nearly touches the back of my throat,
and for a moment I think, if I were to vomit right now, I’d
choke on it.
I won’t die like this. Not like this.
My gaze doesn’t leave his as he angles his head, reaching
up to grip the hood of the trunk with both of his hands. The
sun’s gone down and wherever we are, there are trees. Lots of
trees.
 Staring up at him, searching for a clue as to where we are,
it’s hopeless. Yellow light slips through the crisp dead leaves
above us, giving way to a deep blue sky that’ll soon turn to
black night, and there isn’t a damn thing else to see.
Nothing but his handsome face, and the way his broad
shoulders pull that jacket a little too tight.
Let him think you’ve given up. Don’t die like this. Use him.
Use him to find out what happened to your sister.
The voice in my head comes out as a hiss. And with the
reminder of Jenny, tears prick at my eyes. Through the glossy
haze, I see the man’s expression change. Jase’s hardness, his
cockiness, it all dims to something else.
My breathing slows, and the adrenaline wanes.
My fight isn’t over, but I’ll give in for now.
“We’re going to have a conversation, Bethany.” Jase’s
words sound ominous and they come with a cold gust of wind
from the late fall air. Both send a chill down my spine and
leave goosebumps in their wake.
“Nod if you understand.” His hardened voice rises as he
gives me the command. Loathing him and everything he
stands for, I keep perfectly still, feeling the rage take over
anything else. His eyes blaze with anger as he grips the hair at
the nape of my neck, pulling my head back with a slight sting
of pain and forcing me to look at him. “You need to play nice,
Bethany.” If I could punch him in the throat right now, I
would. That’s how nice I’m willing to play.
He lowers his head into the darkness of the trunk, sending
shadows across his face that darken his stubbled jaw and force
his piercing gaze to appear that much more dominating.
A heat flows in my blood as my breathing stutters and he
brings his lips down to my neck. They gently caress my skin
and with the simple touch, a spark ignites down my body. A
spark I hate even more than I hate Jase himself.
His next words come with a warm breath and another tug
at the base of my skull as he whispers, “You’re going to listen
to me, Bethany. You’re going to do what I tell you…
everything I tell you.” The way he says the word everything
dulls the heat, replacing it with fear, and for the first time, I
truly feel it down to my bones. Standing up a little straighter,
but still keeping his grip on me, he asks with a low tone
devoid of any emotion, “We’re going to have a conversation,
isn’t that right?” He loosens his grip on the back of my neck as
he waits for my response.
I wish his gorgeous face was still close to mine, so I could
slam my head into his nose.
With a tremor of fear running through me and that image
of him rattling in my head, I nod.
As a small smile drifts along his lips and he nods his head
in return, I welcome the cold gust that travels into the trunk.
He may think he can use me, but I swear to everyone,
living and dead, I’ll be the one using him.
 BETHANY

H ope is a long way of saying goodbye.

I told that to Jenny a few weeks ago. No, it
was longer than that. It doesn’t matter when, because by then,
I’d lost my faith in her. Disappearing for days on end and
talking about a man who had what she needed … my sister
was never going to get help. I begged her to come back home,
and she just shook her head no, and told me to hold on to
hope.
I wanted her to stay with me. To get better.
I could have helped her, but you can’t help those who don’t
want to be helped.
I can still feel her fingers, her nails just barely scratching
the skin down my wrist as I ripped my hand away.
The memory haunts me as I think in this moment – this
terrifying moment of waiting for his next move - I think, I
need to have hope that it’s not over. I need to have hope that I
can get the fuck away from this man. That I can make him pay
if he had any part in her death. Jase Cross will fucking pay.
The last thought strengthens my resolve.
“You’ll be quiet,” he tells me as if he’s certain of it, a hint
of a threat underlying each syllable, and I nod.
I nod like a fucking rag doll and try not to show how much
it hurts when he rips the duct tape off my face in one quick
tug. The stinging pain makes me reflexively reach for my
mouth, but I can’t; that act only exacerbates the cuts in my
wrists, still cuffed behind my back. I try not to heave when he
pulls the wet cloth from my mouth, finally giving me the
chance to speak, to scream, to fucking breathe.
My body trembles; it’s not from a cold breeze or the
temperature though, and not from the fear I know is
somewhere inside of me. Instead it’s from the anger.
His eyes stay fixed on mine as he reaches down and lifts
me into his chest before heaving me over his shoulder.
My teeth grit as he slams the trunk shut, turning to the side
and giving me a view of a forest. All I see is a gravel drive and
trees. So many trees. My heart gallops, both with that tinge of
fear and with hope. I could run.
Fuck that.
I’m not running. I’m not giving up this chance to find out
more about the family name I’ve heard so much about lately.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I see my sister, and I
hear her too. The Cross brothers, she whispers. She mentioned
them so many times on the phone. He knew her. Or one of his
brothers did.
As time stands still while I wait for the verdict I’m about
to receive and what this man has in store for me, I remember
the week my sister first went missing. I started with Miranda
to try to figure out where my sister had gone. It made the most
sense because Jenny told me she’d crash at a friend’s place
whenever we got into a fight. Miranda and she were close. But
Miranda didn’t have any idea what happened to her, only that
she went out for drinks at The Red Room before she
disappeared, a place I’d heard Jenny mention before. A place I
knew I was headed to next.
All I had were two names and a single location. One name,
Marcus, proved elusive—no one had any information on him
at all. Not a single person inside The Red Room had any idea
who he was. They wanted a last name, and I didn’t have one.
He was a dead end.
I’d spent hours at that bar, waiting for something. Waiting
for anything. Any sign of her, or for anyone who knew them.
Everyone knew of Jase, but no one knew him. They couldn’t
tell me anything about him. Nothing more than the dirt I dug
up online.
They said he was one of the Cross brothers. The owner of
The Red Room.
They said you don’t cross a Cross; they laughed when they
said it, like it was funny. Nothing was funny to me then.
And when two men appeared from the back of the club,
heading toward a side entrance, the woman next to me pinched
my arm and pointed as the side door was opened for them.
“Those are the Cross brothers,” she said and then bit down
on her bottom lip as she sucked it into her mouth. She was
skinny like a model, with the straightest black hair I’d ever
seen. Her icy blue eyes never left the two of them and I stared
at her for far too long, missing my chance to catch the Cross
brothers. The thick throng of people kept me from making it to
them, and by the time I got outside, they were nowhere in
sight.
I stalked that place for four days straight, waiting for Jenny
to show up. An aching hollowness in my heart reminds me
how it felt, sitting there alone at the bar, praying she’d walk up
to me or someone would message me that they found her.
It was late on that last night, and hopelessness was
counting on me to give up so it could take over, but I never
would.
It was 1:00 a.m.; I remember it distinctly because I had an
early shift the next morning, and I kept thinking I wouldn’t
make it through my twelve-hour shift if I stayed out any later.
All the time I’d spent in the bar hadn’t given me any new
information. Countless hours had been wasted, but I didn’t
know what else to do or where else to go.
It was that night I got a better view of Jase. Only his
silhouette, but it grabbed my attention and held me in place.
The strength in his gaze, accompanied with a charming smile.
He was handsome and beautiful even. I remember thinking he
was the kind of man who could lure you in so easily and you
wouldn’t know what hit you … until he was gone. He had that
pull to him, a draw that made you want to go to him just to see
if he’d look your way.
He came and he went and I sat on that stool, knowing my
sister wasn’t coming.
That was then. This is now.
A grunt of pain slips from me as he hoists me up higher on
his shoulder, one hand wrapped around my waist to keep my
body from falling backward, and the other hand swinging
easily at his side.
Every step hurts, and the agony tears through me with my
hands still restrained behind my back. Biting down on my
bottom lip, I don’t scream, and I don’t try to fight him. Not
like this.
I’ll be good until I’m uncuffed. Then this fucker will get
what he has coming to him.
His hand splays on my ass, immediately heating my core
as I hear the jingle of keys. Craning my neck, I get the first
view of where he’s taken me.
A house in the forest. A big fucking house, to boot. It’s
three stories with white stone leading all the way up. My body
reacts on its own; the need to run takes over, as if I could still
run, cuffed like I am.
“Don’t struggle.” Jase’s words come out hard, and I bite
down harder on the inside of my cheek to keep from telling
him to go fuck himself. If I could struggle, really struggle, I
would.
He holds me tighter with both of his hands this time, and
the sharp metal of the keys digs into my thigh. Even when I
keep myself perfectly still, he doesn’t let go.
With a tight throat and resentment flowing through my
veins I attempt to answer him, but I can’t think of anything to
say. Maybe it’s the blood pooling in my head, or maybe it’s the
pain finally taking over, but I have to close my eyes just to
keep from passing out. The moment I do, he takes his hand
away and I hear the keys scrape into the lock along with a
beep from something that startles my eyes open, followed by
the telltale sound of a door opening.
The beep… There’s some sort of alarm beyond the key. It’s
then that I see my purse swinging. He brought it with him, and
I force myself to think about everything in that bag that can be
used as a weapon.
Knowing that and gathering information keeps me calm.
Anything that can help me fight.
The warmth is welcoming, even as I bid farewell to the
forest that leads somewhere to freedom. I intend for the
goodbye to be temporary anyway.
I don’t expect him to be careful as he sets me down in
what looks like a foyer. But he is.
Thud. My heart flinches as the jangle of keys being tossed
somewhere to my right hits me. And then I see him again.
His back is to me as he removes his jacket, revealing more
of him. Everything is in place. The cuff links, the neatly
trimmed hair on the back of his neck. He screams wealth,
power… sex appeal.
My eyes close slowly at the thought, hating myself for
recognizing that primal urge. They open just as slowly when
his footsteps grab my attention. Even the sound of his steps
hints of elite status. He walks toward me and my eyes stay on
his, even though the depth of his stare dares me to defy him.
My stupid heart races, dying to get away.
He makes me feel weak and I hate him for it.
“I hate you.” The hoarse words come from my throat
unbidden. The fact that they only make him smirk as he
crouches in front of me, pisses me off that much more. It hurts,
though. I can’t deny it does more than aggravate me to be at
the mercy of this man.
Craning my neck and straightening my back so I can bring
my eyes to his level only forces more weight onto my hands.
I seethe through clenched teeth, giving away the pain and
that’s when he breaks his stare.
 I turn away from him to my right as he reaches behind me
and uncuffs my hands first. He reaches for the pair on my
ankles, but pauses.
“How much?” he asks me, his voice deep and husky.
My gaze flickers to his as I pull my hands into my chest,
my fingers gripping around the small cuts, trying to rub some
feeling back into my wrists. I hesitate only for a moment,
confused by his question. “How much what?”
“How much do you hate me?” he asks, and my heart does
it again. It scrambles in my rib cage, wanting so desperately to
escape. The heart is a wild thing, meant to be caged after all.
I try to swallow, swallow down the spiked lump, but I can
hardly do it. Staring into his eyes, I answer him, “It depends.”
“On what?” he asks, letting his fingers drift over the metal
cuffs, his eyes roaming from mine down my body. He tilts his
head, looking back at me once again when I answer, “Whether
you tell me the truth or not.”
Thump, thump. My heart hates me.
“You’re in no position to question me.”
“What makes you think I’m not?” Somehow my words
come out evenly; controlled and daring. I revel in it as his dark
eyes flash with the heat of a challenge, but then he moves his
hand away from the cuffs, the small key still resting in his
palm.
I could try to reach for it, but I wait.
When he peers down at me, I stare back without flinching,
but the second his eyes are off of me, my gaze scatters across
every inch of this place. Every window, every door. Every way
out.
“You’re not getting out of here until I let you out,” Jase
says absently when he catches me. So casually, as if he doesn’t
care.
My lips purse as I wait for more from him. If he thinks I
won’t try to get out, he’s dead fucking wrong.
 “You don’t believe me?” he asks with a trace of humor
lingering in his tone. I can feel my heartbeat slow, my blood
getting colder with each passing second.
“There’s always a way out.” My words come out low,
barely spoken, but he hears them and shakes his head before
crouching in front of me again.
“Every window and door requires a fingerprint and a code,
Bethany.” The way he says my name sounds sinful on his
tongue. I wish he’d take it back. I don’t want him to speak my
name at all.
My jaw clenches as I take in this new information and then
ask him, “What do you want from me? Are you going to kill
me?” The second question catches in my throat.
He runs the pad of his thumb along his stubbled jaw and
then up to his lips, bringing my eyes to the movement as he
says, “I went to your house with decent enough intentions. I
wanted to tell you that you weren’t going to get anywhere and
whatever rabbit you were chasing was only going to lead you
down a dead-end road and get you hurt, or worse.”
I have to grab on to my fingers, squeezing them as tight as
I can to keep from slamming my fists into his chest, to keep
from slapping him or from punching him in his fucking throat
as he gets closer to me.
“I don’t have the answers you’re looking for. I’m sorry
about your sister,” he says and my stomach drops, it drops so
quickly and so low I feel sick. “I don’t know how she died and
I sure as shit didn’t play a part in her death…” He pauses and
inches closer to me, a hint of sympathy playing at his lips
before he adds, “She owed us far too much money for me to
kill her.”
Dread is all-consuming as he stands, leaving me with a
chill and turning his back to me. “I was being nice, giving you
a warning and then you tried to shoot me.”
He takes three steps away, three short steps while staring
down at his own shoes as if contemplating. The hard marble
floors feel colder and more unforgiving as I struggle with
whether or not I believe him.
He’s a bad man. Jase Cross, all of the Crosses are bad men.
I don’t believe him. I believe what Jenny told me.
She’d said the name Cross over and over again. Cross and
The Red Room were my only real clues to go by. At that
thought, there’s a prickle at the back of my neck and I struggle
to stay calm as the exhaustion, the sorrow, and the hate war
with each other.
“I don’t believe you,” I whisper weakly but with his back
to me, he doesn’t hear me.
“I’ll be nice again. Only because you remind me of
someone I once knew.” Looking up through my lashes, I wait
for him to continue.
His dark eyes pierce me, seeing through me and causing
both the need to beg for mercy and the need to spit on him,
simply for not having the answers I crave.
“If you’re lying to me… you’ll pay,” I utter and keep
going. “I’ll… I’ll,” I attempt a threat, but my last word cracks
before I can finish.
Without warning, Jase closes the distance between us in
foreboding steps I both loathe and refuse to be intimidated by.
So I react. All I’ve been doing is reacting. I spit in his face the
second he lowers himself to tell me off.
The shock from what I did is enough to outweigh the fear
as Jase wipes his face, his expression morphing into fury as he
stares at my spit in his hand.
Before I can say anything, he grips my throat. His large,
hot hand wraps tightly around my neck, and my own hands
reach up to his in a feeble attempt to rip his fingers off of me.
The heat from his body engulfs my own as I struggle to
breathe. My nails dig into his fingers. His body is heavy
against me, practically burning me. His entire being
overshadows mine with power.
 “I’ll allow you to ask questions,” he says and pauses,
letting the air leave my lungs and the panic starts to take over,
thinking there’s no air to fill them, “but you will never,” he
pauses again for emphasis, staring into my eyes as they burn
while he concludes, “threaten me again.” Small lines form at
the corners of his eyes as he narrows them, gazing at me and
squeezing just a little tighter. So tight it hurts, and I struggle,
scratching at my own throat in an effort to pry his grip loose.
My head feels light as my body sways in his grasp.
Just as I think he’s going to kill me, that I’ll die like this,
he releases me.
Heaving in deep gulps of air, my shoulders hunch over.
I practically suffocate on the sudden rush of oxygen. My
clammy palms hit the cold floor and my body rocks on its
own.
“Don’t make me regret this, Bethany.” He does it again,
saying my name like he had to spit it out of his mouth.
I grind my teeth against one another so hard that my jaw
aches from the pressure. I have to stare intently at the spiral
staircase behind him to keep from saying anything.
Time passes, the ticking of my heart somehow finding its
normal rhythm once again in the silence.
“Your sister owed a debt, and you’re going to pay it.”
 JASE

L ies. I hear the word in my head over the sound of the

armoire crashing to the bedroom floor. I turn the
speakers down, but continue to watch her trash the
guest bedroom.
I’m not surprised she’s destroying everything she can.
As I dragged her to the guest bedroom, she never stopped
fighting, and I never stopped hearing the hiss in my head. Lies.
Never tell a lie, my younger brother, Tyler, once told me. I
was fucking around with him about something when we were
kids. I don’t remember what, but he looked up at me and the
words he spoke stuck with me forever.
A lie you have to remember. So never lie, it will only fuck
you over.
I can still see the smug look grow on his face as I felt the
weight of his words. He was an old soul and had a good heart.
Never tell a lie. He’d be ashamed of the man I became.
The screaming that comes from the faint sound of the
speakers brings me back to now, back to the present where I
keep fucking up.
One mistake after the other, falling like dominos.
I stare at her form on the screen as she pounds her fists
against the door, screaming to be let go. Bethany Fawn’s throat
is going to hurt tonight. It already sounds sore and raw from
her fighting.
 It’s useless. Part of me itches to hit the release on her door
to let her roam throughout my wing, struggling with every
locked window, with the doors that will never open for her.
Just to prove a point.
I can’t blame her though and as she falls to her knees,
violently wiping away the tears under her eyes as if they’re a
badge of dishonor, I hurt for her. For the woman she is, and for
the woman I once knew who did the same thing.
She fought too. She fought and she lost.
It’s so easy to hide behind anger, but it gets you nowhere. I
can help her though. I need this too. The very thought of what
I could do for her makes my blood ring with desire.
“I hate you!” Bethany’s words are barely heard through the
speaker, seeing as how I’ve turned them down so low.
In an attempt to ignore the thoughts and where they’re
headed, I check my phone and notice a flurry of texts, coming
one after the other.
I text my brother, Carter, back without reading much of
what he wrote. I’m busy. Can we talk tonight?
His response is immediate. We need to talk about how
we’re going to deal with this situation.
This situation … meaning Romano. The next name on a
list of men I’ll put ten feet in the ground.
A grunt barely makes its way through my clenched teeth as
I write him back. Push him out of his window, his own
property.
Let his body fall onto the spiked fence surrounding his
estate.
Make an example of him.
I keep messaging him as the thoughts come, one line after
the other.
Carter’s answer doesn’t come for longer than I’d like. My
gaze is drawn again to Bethany, lying exhausted on the floor,
and covering her face to hide the pain.
 Fuck. I don’t know how the hell it came to this.
Finally, he answers. It’s not that easy. There are
complications.
I stare at my phone, but my attention is brought back to the
security monitors when Bethany finally stands, making her
way to the bed. She stares at the door for a long time, sitting
cross-legged and tense.
Jase, we need to wait for this one.
I don’t have time for complications. I don’t have patience
for this. I don’t have a desire for any of this. He should be
dead already.
I turn off the phone, unwilling to spend another second
dealing with this shit.
I want to get lost and find myself somewhere else.
Glancing at the screen, I watch Bethany pull a book into
her lap. She must’ve gotten it from her purse. I went through
the contents of her bag before I retrieved her from the trunk.
Everything’s there, except for her keys and a pen. I’ve seen
both used in more violent ways than one could imagine.
She brushes the hair away from her face, showing me her
vulnerability as she closes her eyes, and calms herself down.
I can get lost in her.
I lock the door to my office as I make my way to her,
letting the keys clink against one another. My thumb runs
along the jagged teeth of the key to the guest room as I think
about stealing the fight from her, dragging it out of her and
giving her so much more.
I’m careful with the lock, even more careful as I silently
push open the door to her room. I don’t stop at a crack, I keep
pushing until the door is wide open and I can easily step
through the threshold. It’s quiet, so quiet in fact, that at first I
don’t see her.
Her small form is still on the bed, and only the sound of a
page turning alerts me to where she is. With the overturned
dresser, splintered wood and ripped curtains, she could have
been hiding anywhere in here.
She ripped out every drawer. She threw two across the
room, denting the drywall and cracking the walnut furniture.
Fragments of wood litter a corner of the room where she
demolished a drawer, slamming it on top of another.
What a waste of energy. She should’ve saved it for this
moment.
Instead the poor girl is still, curled up in a ball, and has her
nose buried in the book.
She still doesn’t see me, not even as I take a step forward,
carefully stepping over a broken drawer.
The empty dresser, thick damask curtains and neatly made
bed with bright white linens were all that were in the room.
And now the fabric is heaped on the floor, the curtains ripped
from the oil-rubbed bronze finishings and the armoire is …
wrecked.
And little Miss Bethany sits in the middle of the bed, worn
out and oblivious.
Her hair’s a chaotic halo around her shoulders. The faint
light from the setting sun casts a shadow around her, but it
highlights her hair and when she tucks a strand behind her ear,
it hits her face. Her fair skin’s so smooth, it tempts me to brush
my fingertips against it. The light falls to the dip in her neck,
to the hollow there and it dares me to kiss her in that spot.
My cock hardens as I wonder what sounds would spill
from her lips if I were to do just that.
“Looks like you had some fun.” My voice comes out
harder than I anticipated, startling her. She practically screams
and slams her book shut as her body jostles.
She stands abruptly, backing off of the bed and clutching
the book to her side as she squares her shoulders. “Let me go.”
The huff comes back to me, but this time it’s with a hint of
humor.
 “You’re good at making demands when you have no
authority, aren’t you?” I question her, feeling a smirk play at
my lips.
Silence. It’s so fucking silent in this room, I think I can
hear her heart pounding.
“Did you think destroying your room would … upset me?”
I ask her with a deliberate casual tone to my question.
Rounding the bed, moving closer to her, I kick a scrap of
broken wood away from me. I follow her gaze as she glances
at it, and then to the chunk of wood she left on the bed where
she was sitting.
“Leave it there.” I give her the command and watch her
resist the urge to lunge toward it.
Her plump lips tug into a feigned smile. It’s faint, but it’s
there. She is a fighter. There’s no denying that.
“Did you want to anger me, Bethany?”
She flinches every time I say her name. That hint of a
smile vanishes and the smoldering hate returns.
“I don’t care what you do with this room. I won’t be
cleaning it up.” I shrug as I add, “I hope it calmed you down to
make such a mess.”
With a gentle shake of her head, she huffs a humorless
laugh at me then says, “Whatever you do to me, know that it
won’t hurt me. Whatever it is, I’ll give you nothing.”
She practically sneers her words, even as her eyes gloss
over.
“We need to come to an agreement, and seeing as how
you’ve gotten some of your… displaced anger out of the
way-”
“Fuck you. I’m not agreeing on a damn thing with—”
“Not even to get the hell out of here?” I ask and cut her
off.
The anger wanes from a boil to a simmer as her glare
softens. “Just like that?” she asks skeptically.
 “I don’t want to keep you locked up… breaking all my
shit.” I make a point of kicking a piece of broken wood to the
side. “I didn’t plan this. And I want something else.”
“So you’re going to just let me go?”
“Once we come to an agreement, that’s exactly what I plan
on doing.”
Shock lights her eyes, but so does skepticism.
“Do you think you can be reasonable this time?” I ask her,
feeling I have the upper hand via the element of surprise.
“You fucking kidnapped me,” she scoffs, the control
leaving her in an instant. I watch as her knuckles turn white
from how she grips the book so damn hard.
I take another stride forward to the end of the bed, and now
only a few feet and a puddle of cotton linens stands between
us.
Bethany takes a half step back, but when she tries to take
another, her heel hits the balled-up curtain on the floor behind
her. The wall is next.
“You tried to shoot me.” My words cut through the air,
leaving no room for negotiation as I add, “You should be dead
for trying something so stupid.”
At my last word, she steps behind the bundle of fabric at
her feet, pressing her back to the wall. Her body trembles even
as she utters the words, “Fuck you.”
“I’m sure a well-read woman such as yourself has a wider
vocabulary to choose from,” I taunt and then nod to the book
in her hand. “What is it?”
She breathes in and out, staring at me and refusing to
speak.
“What book are you reading?” I ask her with less patience.
“I don’t know,” she answers, not taking her eyes from me.
“Now you’re deliberately pissing me off,” I tell her
without any attempt at hiding the irritation.
 “I don’t know,” she repeats, raising her voice, and her
words come out hoarse. All that screaming she did caused
more harm than good.
“Bullshit,” I grit out and reach for the book, pissed off that
she’s being so stubborn, so resistant. With a single lunge
forward, I grip the book in my hand, the other finding her hip
to pin her against the wall.
“No!” she screams out at me, ripping the book away, and
the thin pages on top nearly rip off without the cover to shield
them. She turns her small body away from me as I press my
chest against her. Barely managing to turn herself to face the
wall, she cradles the book against her chest with both hands,
concealing it from me. “It’s my sister’s.” Her words are more
of a cry than anything else, but the tone of them holds her
explanation. “It’s the last thing she gave to me,” she bellows
against the wall.
“I just got it yesterday; I don’t know what book it is.” Her
voice lowers as her shoulders shudder. “There’s no cover and I
don’t know what it is.”
So this is what it takes to make her cower? An attempt to
steal a book from her?
She’s a trapped, scared, wild creature with nowhere to run
and not sure how to fight, holding on to defiance because she
has nothing else. I see her so clearly.
One breath, and then another. I stand there and just let her
breathe.
“I believe you. Calm down.”
“Calm down?” she shrieks at me, her voice wavering.
“Lower your voice or you’ll stay in this fucking room until
I feel like letting you out.” I practically hiss the low threat,
backing away slightly, but still remain close enough that she
doesn’t turn around. “Let me see it,” I demand, holding out my
hand. “I’ll give it back.”
She’s still and quiet for a long moment as my hand hovers
in the air.
 “There are times to fight and times to give in,” I say
calmly and then add, “I might know what book it is.”
Thump. My heart pounds in my chest as she still doesn’t
react. Hope starts to wane, but before I have to decide what to
do with her, she turns to face me, and hesitates only a second
more before giving me the book.
“Do you read a lot?” she asks me as I skim the first page
and then turn it over to examine the back.
Before I can reply, a small sigh of amusement erupts from
her lips and then she covers her mouth. I can’t help but to
watch as her fingers trail down her lips before she lets her
hand fall to her side. “Sorry,” she says. “That’s a ridiculous
question.”
“It’s a ridiculous situation, so it’s a fair question,” I answer
her evenly, letting her see how easy it could be if she just gives
in.
Holding the book out to her, I shake my head and say, “I
don’t anymore, and I don’t recognize it either.”
Her fingers barely brush against mine as she takes the
book back, and the heat in her touch is electrifying. So
magnetic, I nearly slip my hand forward, desperate for more.
Her lashes flutter as she moves away from me, pulling back as
much she can and wrapping her arms around herself. “What do
you want from me?”
The immediate response is disappointment, and something
else. There’s a twisting feeling inside that feels like a loss, but
I would have had to have possession of her in the first place to
justify this feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.
“I have an offer for you and then I’ll let you go,” I tell her
simply, acutely aware of the way each word sounds controlled.
“Is that a promise?” she asks as her gaze lifts to mine and
she shakes her head in disbelief.
“Only because you’ll be coming back.”
In return she bites her bottom lip, effectively silencing
herself, but the rage is clearly written on her face.
 “You want to hate me.” I address her anger before anything
else.
“Yes,” she answers quickly and honestly.
“That’s only going to hurt you.” The rawness in my words
comes from a place I don’t recognize.
She answers me, but she chokes up as she says, “I’m fine
with that.”
The twisting in my gut gets sharper. The seconds pass, and
the air changes subtly between us, each of us staring at the
other and waiting for the next move.
“What do you know about Marcus?” I ask her pointedly.
She shrugs like none of this matters, as if she isn’t
breaking apart. “I heard my sister say his name. He had
something for her.”
“What else?” I push her for more.
“Nothing.” She looks me in the eyes and says, “All I had
was his name and yours when she left.”
“Nothing else?” I finally ask her when I judge her response
to be sincere. “Nothing about the drugs?”
“You’re all drug dealers,” she bites back.
“Now Marcus is a drug dealer?”
“He must be. Just like you must be.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because my sister bothered to learn your name.”
“What name is that?”
“Cross.”
“So when you said you know all about Marcus and the
drugs…”
“I wanted to …” She can’t finish. Her lips press into a thin
line before she finally says, “I wanted it to sound like I had
you.”
Time moves quickly as I stare at her and she stares back.
 “I wanted you to feel like you weren’t going to get away
with it,” she whispers, breaking the silence and rubbing her
arms.
“That’s all you know?”
“One of you had her killed.” She croaks the quick response
and I can see the frustration on her face from not being able to
keep it together.
“It wasn’t me or anyone who works for me,” I tell her
calmly, keeping my voice low and steady and looking her in
the eyes just like she did me.
When she doesn’t react, I add, “You have questions; I can
give you answers.”
“What happened to my sister?” she asks me without
allowing a second to pass.
“I don’t know exactly, but I can find out. And more
importantly, it’s not going to happen like this. I have a way of
doing things and a desire to handle things in a certain manner.”
She stares at me like I’m the devil and she’s searching for
a way to escape. There’s no escaping from this though.
“You’ll get the answers you want and pay off the debt your
sister owed.”
“What do you get?”
“It will be tit for tat. I seem to remember you mentioning
Marcus and something else about drugs?” I press and she
blanches. “But I like things done a certain way. When I have
questions to ask and I need to make sure the person giving me
an answer is telling the truth.”
“What way is that?” she asks in a single breath. The nerves
are making her shoulders shake slightly.
There’s no way I can tell her; I have to show her instead.
“Every ten minutes is a hundred dollars.” I make up the
amount on the spot and before I can calculate anything else,
she questions, “Ten minutes of what?” She doesn’t bother to
hide the trepidation in her voice.
 I can see her nervousness, the anger barely hidden.
“I’m not going to lie, Bethany. One of the reasons I didn’t
kill you where you stood in your foyer is because I find
you…” I trail off as I debate on the next words I want to say,
but take a risk.
“I think you’re beautiful and I love the way you fight me.”
Her lips part, her breathing coming in short gasps, and her
chest flushes with a subtle blush that trails up her neck. The
compliment leaves her more amenable. Her eyes widen, the
depths of the darkness taking over as what I want sinks in.
“And what do you expect me to do?” she asks and her
words are rushed as if she doesn’t already know.
“You’ll see.”
“I’m not a whore.” Her barb is immediate and raw. “I don’t
care what my sister owed you.” She lowers her voice to add, “I
don’t owe you anything.”
A smirk tugs at my lips and I lean forward, letting my
palm rest against the drywall just above her right shoulder.
Bringing my lips to her ear, I tell her, “I don’t have to buy sex
and if and when we do fuck, it will be because you’re begging
me to be inside of you.”
“Fuck you.”
“Those words again.” I tsk and then add, “You do owe
me.”
“I don’t owe you shit. The person who killed my sister
owes you, not me.”
With her raised voice, the tension rises as well until I tell
her, “Three hundred thousand dollars.”
“I don’t… my sister…” She struggles to finish her
sentence, choking on her words, letting the number hit her.
Three hundred thousand dollars.
That’s more than she’ll make in five years of working her
ass off at the mental health hospital. I know what she makes,
and every cent she has to her name was in the file Seth gave
me.
I can see the way number piles on top of her; the very idea
that she would have to pay that amount suffocates her. Stealing
the life from her for only a moment before she tries to back
away from me, but there’s only the wall behind her. Nothing
more, and nowhere to go.
“You have no choice.”
“Jenny couldn’t have…” It’s not the debt that causes grief
to settle in the depths of her eyes, it’s the very idea that her
sister owed that much money to men like my brothers and me.
“You have questions and want answers. I want my bar to
be free of your bullshit.” Although my words are harsh, my
voice is calm, as soothing as it can be given the situation.
Her gaze whips up to mine, and she battles the need to
hold on to the anger as my eyes roam down her body. The
sleeve of her shirt is ripped, probably from her own doing. Her
nails are chipped—again, probably from the way she’s
struggled in all of this and then destroyed everything she could
get her hands on.
“You have aggression and you need a release; I can give
you that.”
She breathes a little heavier then says, “I want to leave.”
“I want an answer.”
Silence.
“You have a debt, an inherited debt and I’m giving you a
way to pay it, free and clear.”
“I don’t owe you shit,” she whispers, her pain laced in
between each word, woven in the air between us. But more
than that… I can hear the consideration evident by the lack of
her animosity.
“It’s your house, Thirty-four Holley Drive? Your sister was
on your deed, wasn’t she? I’m guessing she helped you get the
loan before she fell down the path that took her away from
you?”
 I’m an asshole, a prick. I’m going to fucking hell for this.
With every second that passes, Bethany struggles more and
more to fight, because she can barely hold herself together.
“She used your home as a marker for this loan. It’s going to be
paid.”
It’s cruel how I stand here, watching these words strike
Bethany over and over. Each time taking a larger piece of her
sister’s memory and changing it. Changing how she
remembered her. And how she feels about her now.
I am the devil she thought I was.
“It’s not about the money for you though.”
My statement brings her gaze to me as I add, “And I’m not
interested in taking from you what you don’t want to give.”
Her lips part, bringing me closer to getting what I want.
“You want to do it, Bethany. You will do this. The
curiosity will win out. And if you don’t go through me, if you
go back to pounding down doors and calling the police…” I let
the unspoken threat dangle in front of her, allowing her to
come to her own conclusion. “I’m a powerful man, but even I
can’t save someone from themselves.”
My words seem to strike a chord with her, stealing what’s
left of her composure.
“I just want- “
I cut her off and say, “I can give you what you want. And
you can give me what I want too. Or you can pay me three
hundred thousand by the due date, which is in…eleven days.”
I make up a date, and then regret the fact that I didn’t say
tomorrow.
 BETHANY

I don’t know how long I’ve sat here, wondering

why he let me go. I know I should be dead after
what I did. He’s a criminal, and he could have
done whatever he wanted with me. Before or after I shot that
gun. He’s strong enough to, and he has the means to do it. I’ve
learned that much.
The sun’s gone down, leaving my small living room
bathed in shadows. My eyes burn, and my left ankle is numb
from sitting on it for so long.
There’s a bus that runs from the next block over all the
way to Jersey City. I’ve been thinking about that too. And
whether or not I would be able to use my credit cards, or if
he’d be able to track me. I don’t have enough cash to live
without cards. I barely have any cash, in fact. There’s a lot of
debt in my name if I were to run and somehow try to come up
with a fake ID.
I guess I can add three hundred thousand more to that debt.
My stomach sinks at the thought, somehow finding its way to
my throat even though it’s in the opposite direction.
I’ve been waiting for some miraculous plan to smack me
in the face. An easy way out, or even a difficult one.
Something tells me Jase Cross will find me though. He’ll find
me wherever I run.
I can hear my back crack as I slowly rise from the sofa.
My body is so stiff and sore, an obvious reminder of what
happened. I need to give in to sleep and rest, but I can’t bring
myself to do it. To go lie in my bed when I’m so fucked.
Three hundred thousand dollars. What did you get yourself
into, Jenny?
I have nothing. No money saved, only debt from school
and from bailing Jenny out countless times. No answers to
what happened.
He has answers. The nagging voice reminds me of that
fact as I walk around my coffee table, leaving the book where
it sits, and heading to the kitchen.
He wants to use me and pressure me into this when I don’t
deserve this shit. And he’s the one with all the power. The one
with all the answers.
Answers that belong to me. If he wants that debt to be
paid, he’d better hold up his end of the deal. He’d better give
me answers.
Grabbing a glass from the dishwasher and one of the many
open bottles of red wine from my fridge left by all my
unwelcomed guests, I decide on a drink. A drink to numb it
all.
It’s what I relied on last night too, after hours of searching
my sister’s old room for anything at all. Drugs she could have
bought, cash she stored somewhere. I have no fucking idea
how she owes so much, but her room was barren.
When Jase Cross dropped me off and told me he’d be
seeing me soon, that was the first thing I did. Then I searched
everywhere else. I searched and dug until my body gave out.
And then I drank, somehow finding a moment of sleep, only to
wake up with a pounding headache and that sick feeling still in
my gut.
The way he said he’d be seeing me soon, before unlocking
the car doors and walking me to my front door, the way he
said it was like a promise. Like a promise a long-lost lover
makes.
Not at all like the threat it really is.
 The cork pops when it comes out, that lovely sound filling
the air, followed by the sweet smell of Cabernet.
One glass quiets the constant flood of questions and
regrets.
Two glasses numb the fears and makes me feel… alive.
Free? I don’t know.
Three glasses and I usually give in and pass out and
everything’s better then. Until I wake up and have to face
another day with nothing to take this emptiness inside of me
away.
He has answers.
Jase fucking Cross.
Ever since he let me go, my wrists and throat have felt
scarred with his touch, and his voice has lingered in the back
of my thoughts.
I hate that he makes me feel so much. There’s a spark
between us I can’t deny. He doesn’t hide it, and that only
makes this all hotter. It’s in the way he talks to me, his candor
and tone. The way his gaze seems to see through me while
also seeing all of me, every bare piece of me. There is nothing
that isn’t raw in the tension that ties us together. Raw and
thrilling… and terrifying.
I shouldn’t find the arrogant prick so hot. He’s a criminal
and an asshole.
It doesn’t matter if I want to fuck him. I still hate him. I
hate what he does to earn a living and what he stands for. I
hate that in her last months, he may have seen my sister more
than I did.
Hate doesn’t do what I feel toward him justice.
He has to know there’s no way I can pay him three
hundred thousand dollars.
He has to know and that’s why he’s given me this “out” –
it’s coercion at best. I could take him to court, but I already
went to the cops. And going to them got me nothing. Not a
damn thing but Jase fucking Cross knocking at my door.
 “I don’t trust him,” I whisper to no one, letting my
fingertip drag along the edge of the wine glass before tipping it
back, gulping down the chilled liquid. “I don’t trust anyone
anymore.”
I almost called the cops. The very second I shut the front
door after saying goodbye as if he was an old friend, not a bad
man wrapped in a good suit, and pushed my back against it. I
almost did it and then I remembered doing the same damn
thing yesterday, and the day before and the day before that. No
one can help me.
Jase has answers. The voice doesn’t shut up. I slam the
glass down hard on the counter. Too hard for being this sober.
Barely caring that the glass isn’t broken, I grab the bottle and
pour the rest of it into the glass. It’s more than enough to help
me pass out and to leave me with a hangover in the morning.
With both of my hands on the counter, I lean forward,
stretching and going over every possibility.
If I stay, he’s either going to try to fuck me or kill me. And
I must be insane, because I think it’s all worth it if I get
answers.
I’m willing to risk it just to feel something else –
something other than this debilitating pain. “I’ve lost my
fucking mind.”
Just as the words leave me, I hear a ping from the living
room and turn my head to stare down the narrow walkway of
my kitchen.
My gaze moves from the threshold, to the fridge and I
purse my lips before making my way to where the other
bottles are hiding from me.
My bare feet pad on the floor and it’s the only sound I hear
as I grab the next partially drunk bottle from the fridge, the
glass from the counter, and move back to where my ass has
made an indent in the sofa.
Pulling the blanket over my lap, I sit cross-legged and read
the text. I’m trying to prepare myself for any number of things.
The trepidation, the anxiety, both are ever constant, but
dampened with yet another sip of the sweet wine.
It’s only Laura, though. Seeing her name brings a small bit
of relief until I read what she wrote.
Where the hell are you?
Home. What’s wrong?
I went there yesterday. What happened to your door?
That sick feeling creeps up from the pit of my stomach and
rises higher and higher until I’m forced to swallow it down
with another gulp. This wine is colder, and it gives me a chill
when I drink it.
Lie.
Just lie.
I know I should. I need to. I won’t bring her into this
bullshit. It’s my problem, not hers.
You know I’m Italian, I answer her. Hoping the bit of
humor mocking my hot-tempered heritage will lighten her
mood.
You broke your door?
Italian and Irish, can’t help it. Even I smirk at my answer.
My mom used to tell us we’re mutts, a mix of Italian and Irish,
so people should know we’ll hit them first if they’re coming
for us, and we won’t stop hitting until we hit the floor. She was
a firecracker, my mom.
The memory of her, of us, stirs up a sadness I keep at bay
by filling my glass again. Three glasses, in what, twenty
minutes? Even I can admit that’s too much.
What happened? Laura asks.
Staring at the full glass, but not taking a sip, I settle with a
half-truth. My boss told me I have to take time off.
Is it paid?
I get a little choked up thinking about how everyone
chipped in to donate their PTO and debate on telling her the
details, but hell, I can’t deal with all this shit right now. I’ve
never felt so overwhelmed in every way in my entire life. So I
keep it simple.
Yeah. It’s paid.
I miss you, she writes back. Thankfully, not continuing a
subject that’s going to push me over the edge.
I’m teetering on the wrong side of tipsy, exhausted,
mourning, angry and in denial of fear and loneliness. And
being coerced into … probably sex, by a man I thought was
going to kill me.
Fuck any kind of therapeutic conversation right now.
Whether it’s with Laura or anyone else. I don’t have the
emotional energy for it.
I miss you too.
We should go drunk shopping next weekend. Laura’s
suggestion sounds like a good way to have a minor public
breakdown and max out my credit card. Which is fine if I do
decide to leave town on the bus to Jersey City.
We can start at the mall, hit the restaurant bars in between
the department stores? she suggests. The best times I’ve had
with Laura were on the edge of a barstool holding a bag in one
hand and a drink in the other, all while laughing about old
times.
Hell yes, I answer her, because that’s how I always answer
her. Whether I’m going or not, I’ll let her think I am so she
feels better.
I promised I’d make you go out, so boom. Look at me
keeping my commitment. I can practically hear the laughter in
her voice from that text.
Who would have thought drunk shopping was a
commitment you could keep, I joke back.
Seriously though, we haven’t talked. How are you? Do you
need me to come over? Laura’s message makes me pause. But
I can’t hesitate for too long. She’s sent me that message
before, do you need me to come over, when in reality she was
five minutes away and already headed here. She’s notorious
for just dropping in on people like that and thinks it’s cute. In
all honesty, I’m glad she’s done it in the past, but I can’t
tonight. I will break down and tell her everything.
Don’t come, I’m fine. I think I needed the time off, I admit
to Laura after writing several messages and deleting them all.
If she came over… it would be disastrous.
Life moves too fast. It’s whirling around me, demanding,
taking, and I don’t even have time to do an inventory of what’s
left of me. I don’t know how to be okay, and I want someone
to hurt for what happened to Jenny. I want someone who
deserves it to be in this pain.
Someone other than me. It’s so easy to blame myself. I
deserve some of it. I can admit it.
I don’t tell Laura any of that though. A small part of me
knows she already knows I blame myself. No matter how
many times she’s told me you can’t help someone who won’t
help themselves. It doesn’t change the fact that Jenny was my
sister. It doesn’t change the fact that I keep thinking if only I’d
been with her, or if I’d followed her, if I’d pushed her more,
maybe she’d still be with me.
I don’t even realize I’m crying until I feel the tears on my
cheeks.
Angrily, I wipe them away and toss my phone across the
coffee table. It makes the glass clatter against the table as I
cover my face with my hand and force myself to calm down.
I just need to know what happened. I need to know.
Jase Cross will get me answers.
The very thought has my eyes opening, and the need to
mourn subsiding.
My gaze wanders to the foyer. To the small table that sits
right where it should, but was pushed to the side only hours
ago. To the wall he pushed me against. The scene plays out in
my head, complete with the bang of a gun and his husky voice
whispering against the shell of my ear.
 As I remember his words, shivers run down my shoulders.
I’ll blame some of them on the wine.
He may not have hurt her, but he knows who did, or he
knows someone who can find out. He knows something about
the side of my sister I never fully knew.
I want it. I need it. I need to know.
As my phone pings with another text, there’s a knock at
my door.
Fucking Laura. I love her, but I cannot deal with life right
now. I don’t bother picking up the phone to see what she wrote
this time.
Instead I’m focused on one glaring thought that won’t
leave me alone as I stand up. I know nothing about the world
my sister inhabited. I know nothing about the life she led.
All I know is this, my work, my small circle, and the daily
patterns that haven’t changed in years.
But Jase Cross knows it all.
Making my way to the door, I come up with every excuse I
can to make her go away; looking down past my baggy pajama
shirt all the way to the stains on my old sweatpants, my very
appearance is excuse enough. I need to pass the hell out and be
alone.
I’m already telling her to go home when I open the door,
wide and easily, not even considering for a second that it isn’t
her.
“You aren’t touching my wine-” I start to joke with her, but
then my jaw drops open and my heart stutters. My body heats
with both fear and desire, making my grip on the doorknob
slip as Jase stares down at me.
He’s taller than I remember; how is that even possible? His
shoulders are wide and dominating as he stands in my
doorway. A ribbed black Henley under a thick wool coat and
dark jeans are all he wears this time. For some reason,
comparing the two sides of him, this casual man with an edge
of seduction and the buttoned-up powerful man of control… it
stirs a heat in my core.
“What do you want?” My words are rushed and I try
desperately to hold on to what little sense I have.
“You look surprised.” His voice is smooth like velvet,
caressing every one of my senses.
“What are you doing here?” I question him, feeling panic
rise inside of me.
With a sexy smirk kicking up his lips, he runs the pad of
his thumb down the sharp line of his jaw before telling me,
“I’m here with your contract.”
 JASE

S he’s less than sober. The winestained lips tell me

that.
She hasn’t slept, judging by her messy hair and the
darkness under her eyes.
And I can tell by the response of her body when she looks
into my eyes that she needs to be fucked. Hard and ruthlessly.
Fucked into her mattress until she can’t do anything but sleep
away everything that plagues her.
Good fucking timing for me. I’ve never given in to these
desires. It’s only been a fantasy. I know she’s hurting and so
am I. There is a certain kind of pleasure that can soothe such a
deep pain. I fucking need it. Right now.
The thoughts run wild in my head as I wait for her to let
me in.
The foyer is just how I remembered it. A classic ‘50s
house with a mix of modern and antique furniture that give it a
comfortable feel. She’s eclectic. Or at least her belongings are.
The chill of the winter air moves with me as I take a long
stride inside, forcing Bethany to take a step back. Her stride is
shorter though and she bumps her ass into the hall table,
turning around as she startles, and I take the moment to close
the door.
“I didn’t say you could come in.” She breathes out her
words and stumbles at finding her anger and her strength to
keep me away. I almost feel bad catching her off guard. But
then again, that’s how she caught me yesterday.
 “We got off on the wrong foot.” I ignore her statement,
taking a step toward her but making sure to be as
nonthreatening as I can. With my hands slipping into my front
pockets I meet her questioning gaze, and each passing moment
it heats with an anger she’s barely concealing.
“I apologize,” I offer, seeing that fight come and go inside
of her. She has no idea what to do, and my apology gives her
whiplash.
Her lips part, but no words come out. Her hands move
behind her, gripping the small table and I swear I can hear her
heartbeat loud and clear. As if it’s pounding inside of her just
for me.
Still no words have come but her lips stay parted, and her
gaze remains questioning.
“I shouldn’t have come in here like I did, making
demands. I think we can come to terms in a civilized manner.”
A crease mars her forehead as Bethany brushes the hair
from her cheek and tucks it behind her ear.
“You’re a criminal,” she speaks lowly to the floor, but her
eyes rise to mine as she adds, “You think you can force your
way into getting what you want and if that doesn’t work,
charm will?” Although she poses the statement as a question, I
know she believes what she said wholeheartedly.
She’s not wrong, but I won’t give her that satisfaction.
“I’ve never been called charming, Bethany,” I tell her,
playing with the way I say her name. Softening it, letting it fall
from my lips gently, as if simply whispering it allows it to
hang in the air, hinting at all the things we’re leaving
unspoken.
It takes her a moment to say anything at all. The force in
her words is absent, and she doesn’t look me in the eyes.
“Apology accepted, please leave.”
“We have unfinished business.” My response is immediate.
I watch as she swallows, hating me but knowing I push
more boundaries than just anger.
 “I stand by what I said, you owe a debt.” Her gaze snaps to
mine and her exhale is forceful. I continue before she can
object. “I wrote up a contract I think you’ll find agreeable.”
She’s silent as I pull out the folded paper from my back
pocket, along with the pen I lifted from her purse.
Her gaze narrows as she recognizes it. “You’ll need to sit
down for this. Standing in the hallway isn’t how I conduct
business.”
Silence.
Ever defiant.
I fucking love it. I relish standing here while she makes me
wait, as if she could actually control what happens next. Our
story is already written, and she knows it. She’ll give in. She
knows that too.
Without saying a word, she stalks to her living room, her
arms crossed over her chest until she sits.
Although I haven’t been in the living room, I’ve already
seen it. And the kitchen and dining room. I’m prepared for
what’s in every drawer. Seth took care of that for me.
There’s a heavily poured glass of wine on the table, and
she pours it back into the bottle rather than downing it like I
thought she was going to do when she grabbed it.
“You can sit wherever you want, intruder.”
“Intruder?” I question her and the only acknowledgement I
get is a firm, singular nod in time with the glass being placed
gently on the coffee table.
“All right then, attempted murderer,” I quip back and take
a seat on the armchair beside the sofa.
Her mouth drops open and then slams shut, her jaw tense
as she stares back at me as if I’ve said something offensive.
“Just calling a spade a spade,” I say and hold her gaze as I
raise my hands, palms toward her in defense.
She hesitates to respond and I know I see remorse in her
eyes. I know what it looks like; I see it every fucking day.
 “I would have done the same, just so you know,” I confide
in her and her tense shoulders ease a bit. Only a fraction
though. “I don’t blame you.”
She’s still silent for a moment, assessing me and
everything she’s dealing with.
I’ll be gentle with her, I’ll give her what she needs. I can
be that man for her. And she can be what I need.
“What do you want?” she asks after a moment. “What
contract?”
Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and lace
my fingers together. “You have questions, needs, and so do I.
You owe me a debt, whether you like it or not, and I can give
you something you never knew you wanted.”
Her thighs tighten as she swallows thickly, tensing her
neck. She pulls the blanket closer to her and asks, “Did you
know my sister?”
“Not personally, but I know things she was doing. She got
into some trouble.”
The reaction is immediate, her expression falling and for
the first time I came in here, the pain shows, but she’s quick to
hide it.
“I’ll answer your questions,” she says softly, gaining
control of her composure before looking at me and finishing
her negotiation. “And you’ll answer mine?”
A sorrowful smile plays at my lips. “That’s not how this
works.” Her bottom lip wavers and her fingers dig into the
comforter on her lap. “I want more.”
The tension thickens between us with every passing
second of silence.
The paper crinkles in my hand as I unfold it and read it to
her.
“For the payment of three hundred thousand dollars, not a
penny will be paid in currency. The party agrees that sessions
will take place, in which Bethany Fawn allows Jase Cross to
question her as he sees fit, questions she will answer honestly
to the full extent of her knowledge, and in a manner that will
entail no physical harm whatsoever to Miss Fawn. The ability
for Bethany to stop all proceedings whenever she wishes,
verbally, will halt the session, allowing Miss Fawn to leave as
she wishes.”
I watch her expression, noting how she squirms
uncomfortably and pushes her hands into her lap and she then
reads the last line.
“Every ten minutes is equivalent to one hundred dollars.”
“That’s thirty thousand minutes total, that’s five hundred
hours,” Bethany says aloud with no indication in her tone as to
what she makes of that sum.
“Correct.”
“I couldn’t possibly… that’s a full-time job for a quarter of
the year. I won’t let this interfere with my job.”
“It won’t. We can add in a line if you’d like, stating that it
will come second to your occupational needs.”
“I would be in debt to you for a year at least.”
“Yes,” I say, and there’s no negotiation in my tone.
“What about my questions?”
“They’re yours to ask, but not a part of this contract.”
“That’s-”
I cut her off. “Not necessary to be included in a contract
regarding how you’ll be paying me back.” I lean forward,
holding her gaze. “I choose to answer your questions as a
gesture of goodwill.”
“And you’ll continue to?” she pushes.
“I don’t have a single problem answering every question
you have. Tit for tat.” She gives a small nod of
acknowledgement, but nothing else.
Time passes and Bethany chooses not to push for that to be
in writing.
 “How will you be questioning me?” she asks and a warmth
flows through me, the tension lighting slowly, crackling
between us like a smoldering fire.
“Sign first,” I answer, swallowing thickly as I pass the
paper to her, followed by the pen. Her fingers brush against
mine, gentle but hot. The sensation travels from my knuckle
all the way up my arm, the nerve endings coming alive with
heat.
My throat’s dry and my blood hot just thinking about her
allowing me to show her.
“You realize I’ll never believe I owe you anything?” she
questions me, a simple statement, so matter of fact.
“You owe me your life for that stupid shit you pulled.
Whether you want to believe that or not.”
She picks at some indiscernible fuzz on the blanket before
whispering, “I’m sorry.”
Remorse and conflict swirl in her gaze, but she’s quick to
hide it from me.
“I like that you’re less angry.”
“That happens when I greet the bottom of a green glass
bottle with a label that reads Cabernet.” Her tone is muted, but
she gives a small huff of a laugh, and lets a smile kiss her lips
for only a moment.
“I need to know what you’re going to do to me,” she says
before clearing her throat. “I’m not naïve. I know … I know
you can do what you want. I know you may lie to me, hurt me,
fuck me, whatever it is you intend to do, I’m not stupid.” I can
hear her swallow and then she adds, “But what if I did go
along with it? Would you really tell me what happened to
her?” Her eyes gloss over and her voice softens.
“A question for a question,” I tell her. “An answer for an
answer.”
“You’re going to be disappointed with my answers,” she
says with a weary note to her voice. “She barely told me
anything. I was speaking out of anger when I saw you.”
 “You came to my bar, you looked for my family. You tried
to shoot me.” With every sentence, she cowers more and more.
“There’s a reason for those actions.” She nods solemnly.
“What are you going-”
“Just sign,” I cut her off and she moves her focus to the
empty glass. My pulse is racing, my nerves on edge. And yet,
she looks so … unaffected by the weight of what’s to come.
Like some part of her has given in.
“I need this as much as you do.”
Her huff is nothing but sarcastic. Easy, I remind myself.
Go easy on her now. It will be different later.
“It will be an escape from the pain if nothing else. You
need it,” I tell her and this time her expression changes
slightly, as if she’s so very aware of the agony that mourning
is. It’s also an aphrodisiac. There is never a more relevant time
to be touched, or to be loved than when someone you love is
gone.
“You want another glass?” I offer with a slight teasing tone
to lighten the mood, an asymmetric grin pulling at my lips
when she peeks up at me through her thick lashes.
“I may have had more than enough already.”
The sofa groans as she leans back on it, reading the single
sheet of paper once again.
The faint light from the disappearing sun kisses her skin as
the loose shirt slips down her shoulder and she has to readjust
it. She doesn’t look back at me as she does. With her legs bent,
her bare feet resting on the edge of the sofa and a thin blanket
thrown over her lap, she looks far too casual for this moment.
As if that exposed skin of hers wasn’t everything I’ve been
thinking about since I first saw her across the bar. As if I don’t
want to rip that shirt off of her and devour every inch of her
body with open-mouth kisses, dragging my teeth along her
skin and making her that much more sensitive for what I’m
going to do to her.
 There are moments in time, pauses in your reality, where
you realize this instant will be a memory forever. Something
that will never leave you. I’ll remember this one forever.
I hope I never forget how the adrenaline is rushing through
me, how eager I am. I want to remember it all. Every single
detail.
I’ll remember it, and I’ll have to, because I’m going to lose
her. She’s not meant to be mine.
That doesn’t mean I won’t take her, though.
“If I say no?” she asks, her wide hazel eyes searching mine
for something.
“It doesn’t happen.” There’s no hesitation in my answer.
“If I say stop?”
“It stops.”
“Why do it then? Why would you do this?” she asks with
her brow furrowed.
“Because I know you want it. I know you need it.” She’s
silent in return.
“This would never hold up in court,” she says, finally
breaking the quiet.
“I have no desire to ever see you in a courtroom, Miss
Fawn. I didn’t even intend to write this down; I only did it
because I thought you would respond better, maybe even listen
to what I’m offering, if it was written in black and white.”
“And what is it you’re offering exactly, Mr. Cross?”
“Answers, and an escape, a way to pay a debt I know you
can’t afford.” My gaze stays on hers, holding her in place until
she gives me an answer. “This is a world you know nothing
about, Bethany, and I’m willing to bring you into it. I’m
willing… and you’d be wise to take this deal.”
“Call me Beth.” She corrects me without looking at me as
the pen scribbles her signature, right on the line next to mine.
 Desire sinks into my blood in an instant, surging through
every fiber of my being as the paper and pen find themselves
on the coffee table. Signed on the dotted line.
“I’ll go easy on you,” I tell her as I stand up, preparing
myself to show restraint. She stays where she is, pretending
not to be affected in the least.
“Is that right?” she asks as I pour a glass of wine. She
stares at the dark liquid swirling before speaking out loud.
“I’m already a little further than the right side of tipsy, Mr.
Cross.”
I fucking love the way she said my name. My cock
stiffens, immediately hard just from having her obey me,
having her speak to me like this. There’s something about a
fiery woman submitting that makes me lose all control and
focus, giving it all to her.
“It’s for me,” I point out and take a sip. It’s cheap wine,
but decent enough.
“Don’t confuse me going along with this for something it
isn’t,” she says a little harder, with more resolve than I expect.
“Oh, and what isn’t it?”
“I’m not just going to let you do what you want and get
away with it. I’m not that easy, and I’m not submitting to your
every wish if that’s what you think this is.”
A beat passes before I ask her, “Then what are you doing?”
“I’m simply learning the ropes of your world, Mr. Cross.”
“This is how you’ll learn. You’ll do what I say. I ask the
first question, then once I’m satisfied with your answer, you
can ask me whatever you want. Those are the ropes, Miss
Fawn.”
Her long brown hair brushes against her shoulders as she
nods, making her shirt fall once again and a shiver run across
her skin. She’s quick to lift the thin fabric back into place, as if
it will be staying there.
“Lie down.” I give her the first command and just like
yesterday, in the guest bedroom when I waited for the book
she held so tightly, she hesitates, testing me before obeying.
“I’d like to address an important matter first,” she states
innocently enough, arching a perfectly plucked brow at me.
“What’s that?”
“It’s seven seventeen,” she tells me and I grin, letting the
rush of desire take over.
“I already started the clock at six fifty-two when I pulled
into your driveway.”
Surprise widens her eyes.
“Lie down.”
“I’ll say no if you tell me to spread my legs for you.”
The determination in her voice is surprising, considering
how badly she wants me.
Although I don’t speak the sentiment out loud, I make her
words a personal challenge.
“You’d spite me to deny yourself a basic need?” I ask her
and before she can respond I add, “I have no intention of
fucking you today, but I know you need to be fucked long and
hard … both that mouth of yours and your cunt.”
Indignation flashes in her eyes, darkening them, which
only makes the golden hues that much more vibrant.
“If I put my hands between your thighs, would I find you
hot and wet for me?” My voice is calm, although my dick
leaks precum, throbbing from the very idea that her cunt is
ready for me.
“You’ll never know,” she says offhandedly before lying
down, covering herself with the blanket and resting her head
on the one pillow that was tucked in the corner of the sofa.
“I asked you a question.” My words are hard, and her hazel
glare whips to mine. “Is your cunt soaking wet for me?”
“No.” She answers savagely and begins to ask her own
question, but I tell her, “I’m not satisfied with that answer.”
 I drop to my knees one by one to get closer to her, feeling
her heat, but not touching her. Not yet.
Somehow I keep my voice low and controlled when I
repeat my question, “Is your cunt soaking wet for me?” My
breathing is short, my palms hot with desire raging inside of
me.
Give in to what’s to come, my cailín tine.
The Gaelic phrase fits her, everything about her, perfectly.
My cailín tine. My fiery girl.
Lifting her head and staring boldly into my heated gaze,
she answers, “You’re an attractive man, Mr. Cross. I’ve been
wet for you since you pinned me against my foyer wall.” Her
blink is slow and deliberate. When she opens her eyes, she
stares at the ceiling as if her heart isn’t racing out of her chest,
as if the blush on her cheeks is only from the wine. With her
hands on her chest, she gently places her head on the pillow
and asks politely, “Is it my turn to ask a question?”
Sitting back, I rest my hands on the rustic wood floors on
either side of my thighs, forcing myself not to touch her. It’s so
cold, and a much-needed reminder of how hot I burn for her.
“You aren’t in the position I want yet, but yes, I did say I
would go easy on you this first time.”
“Who killed my sister?” Her words are blurted out and her
body tenses. “I want a name,” she adds quickly.
“I don’t have a name, but I’m looking into it and when I do
– which I will, I promise you – when I do have a name, I will
tell you.”
“So you’re saying you had nothing to do with it?”
“That’s another question, Miss Fawn. I’ll gladly answer it
now, but then I get two in a row.”
Her wild eyes search mine for a moment as she clenches
her jaw before nodding in agreement.
“Not only did I have nothing to do with her death, neither
did my brothers or anyone who works for me. I have no idea
why she was killed… yet.”
 She swallows thickly and her forehead scrunches as she
wars with whether or not to believe me.
All I can think about is the one night at The Red Room. I
bet her sister told her about that night and that’s why she came
searching for me and knew to go to my club.
“Move your hands above you, to here,” I say then reach up
and pat the arm of the sofa. She’s slow to obey, but she does.
Her nails sink into the fabric and that loose shirt slips down
her shoulder again, showing me more of her soft skin. I run a
finger along the curve of her arm, leaving goosebumps along
my path.
“I don’t know-”
I cut off her objection. “I want to know when you’re lying
to me, and I’ll do as I see fit.” My words are barely spoken,
because my focus is on how flushed her skin is already from
such little contact.
I take my time, moving her hair to the side so I can see her
slender neck and the dip in her collar.
Reaching into my left back pocket, I pull out a simple,
black silk tie and tell her, “Your wrists will be bound.” Her
eyes flash to mine, and I take another sip of her wine. It’s so
much sweeter the second time, not unlike herself.
Although she watches as if she’d like to object, she
doesn’t. Instead all she says is, “Seven thirty-four.”
“One thing you’ll find benefits you greatly in this
arrangement is that I enjoy taking my time,” I tell her, picking
up her left wrist, wrapping it and then the other before tying
the two together. “Your body will tell me if you’re lying to me.
Your body will tell me everything.”
All the while I watch her body. How her back arches
slightly, how slowly she’s blinking, how quickly she’s
breathing. I’m captivated by her and I couldn’t give two shits
if every word out of her mouth is a lie.
“You said you’d stop if I want you to?” she asks me and I
answer with a question of my own. “Are you already having
doubts?”
 “Just checking,” she whispers as I tighten the knot and
place her wrists back on the arm of the sofa, above her head.
The nervousness colors her every move. She can’t hide
anything from me like this.
I don’t ask her or warn her before I pull the blanket down,
exposing her to the cool air, so at odds with her heat.
I’ll go slow. I’ll be gentle this first time and ease her into
what I want.
Her hips dig into the sofa as if she’s trying to get away or
hide, before ultimately relaxing. Her thighs are pressed firmly
together, all the way down her legs to her ankles, barely
covered by the thin sweatpants. With her shirt pulled up from
the way she’s laying, there’s a sliver of her midriff exposed.
“Let me tell you a secret.” My fingers fall to just above the
exposed skin, playing along the hem of her shirt and gently
lifting it higher. “I often have to get answers from people. It’s
what I do; it’s what I’m good at.”
It’s because of me that Carter was able to create this
empire so quickly. Everyone had secrets and I was able to get
them all. With a knife and ruthlessness he didn’t have quite
yet. Power is limited if you don’t have the knowledge to
enforce it.
Her body stiffens and the breath she releases is strained.
“When someone is put in a state where they can’t control
their body, their emotions,” I say, watching her as she stares at
the ceiling, waiting for her eyes to find mine before
continuing, “their pain or their pleasure, they give so much
away.” I let my words linger in the air before my fingers
finally fall to her exposed belly. I run the tips of my fingers
just inside the waistband of her sweatpants. Just barely
venturing lower. “I intend to tie you down, to push your limits,
and to enjoy every detail you give me about whatever it is I
want to know.”
“I can say no,” she gasps as I slip my hand lower, finding
the elastic band of her underwear. The way her shoulders rise
and hunch with every quick breath reveals her desire just as
much as it displays her need to run.
“Of course you can, but why would you deny yourself if
you have nothing to hide?”
“I don’t have anything to hide.”
“Prove it,” I tell her.
“You just want to touch me.” Her words fall carelessly
from her lips.
“I want to do more than touch you,” I admit to her and feel
a pang in my chest. A longing that’s desperate to be spoken.
“You aren’t the only one in this room who’s in need.”
At my words, her gaze drifts lower, down to my zipper and
I’m sure she can tell how hard I am for her. Her mouth parts
slightly and she looks away, not commenting but showing her
cards all too easily.
My gaze wanders to the crook of her neck, and as she
breathes, a lock of hair falls right where I’m looking.
Leaning forward, I brush it to the side and bring my lips
closer to her ear. Intent on whispering, intent on sharing a part
of me I haven’t shared with anyone.
I want to run my lips along her neck, kissing and sucking
and confessing all my sins, begging for forgiveness.
Her chest heaves as if she knows I want to kiss her.
None of that happens though, because she turns her head
just as I start to make my move, and she steals the kiss from
me.
Her lips brush against mine at first, soft and hesitant. Yet
she nips my bottom lip before I can deepen it. The gentleness
of her touch is at odds with how my hands reach up to her hair,
gripping it at the base of her neck and pulling her head back to
expose more of her throat.
With my breath stolen, once again caught off guard, and
with the desire running rampant in my blood, I stare down at
her. Her eyes half lidded, her breaths coming in short pants as
if I’d just devoured her and it wasn’t at all a tempting taste of a
kiss.
I’m drunk off her.
Breathing in her lust and not breaking her gaze, I lower my
fingers to her swollen nub, spreading her arousal up to it, and
then circling it. “What was that for?” I ask her and she tells
me, “I wanted to take it first. I deserve that much at least.” Her
last word skips in the air, like a flat rock thrown across a
summer lake. Her speech moves from a higher pitch to a
whisper as I move my fingers lower, playing with her and
watching every reaction she gives me.
“How many lovers have you had?” I ask and my question
catches her off guard as she struggles to hold back her gasps.
“Few,” she answers in a strained voice as I circle her clit
again.
“Recently?”
“Not since college.”
“Did they touch you like this?” I ask her, imagining a
younger version of her under the sheets in a dorm room,
letting some dumb fuck put his hands on her.
“Yes,” she breathes with her eyes closed and I gently press
down on her clit and then smack it.
She sits up and when she does I aim for another kiss, but
she bites down hard on my mouth. Her teeth plunge into my
bottom lip, the bite sending a pain shooting through my body.
It’s hard enough to draw blood and I swear to God it does
nothing but make me that much harder for her.
She releases me all too soon, sucking in a deep breath with
her mouth still open, her chest heaving and her eyes pinned on
me.
Lifting my fingers from her heat, I bring them to my
throbbing lip.
“No blood,” she murmurs and a soft smirk plays on that
pouty mouth of hers. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Mr. Cross.
Even if the thought of you getting me off makes me all hot and
bothered, I still hate your fucking guts.”
My dick responds, getting harder by the second as she
utters the threatening words so sensually, words that would get
others killed.
Her anger’s at war with her desire, but it’s losing the battle.
Maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but I can give
her desire the upper hand.
I watch her every move. The way she clenches her hands
and struggles to keep them motionless above her head. The
way her skin flushes and goosebumps run up her chest, then
down her arms. She’s fucking gorgeous like this. Bared to me
without reluctance. Without a single hint suggesting she’s
hiding a damn thing.
She’s lost in the lust.
I spread her arousal around her swollen nub before
bringing my middle finger back to her opening. With a gentle
press, her lips part, and the word stop is there, just behind her
clenched teeth. The hiss of an S was coming.
I push her, barely sliding the tip of my finger into her hot
entrance, and her jaw drops open, the word lost somewhere
and remaining unspoken.
Bringing my fingers back to her clit, I let her come down
from the high, simply toying with her as she regains her
composure.
“That’s your limit?” I ask her, bringing my fingers back up
to her clit, watching as her eyes go half lidded and she exhales
with pleasure. My fingers drift back down and press against
her slick entrance slightly before she nods a yes to my
question.
Her control is as surprising as my restraint. If I hadn’t
decided I wasn’t going to fuck her tonight, not until she truly
begs for it, she’d be screaming my name as I ravaged her on
the carpet beneath me. Maybe bent over the coffee table to
leave bruises on her hips as a reminder. Making sure she’d feel
it tomorrow, so it would be all she could think about.
 I need to be gentle today. I’ll ease her in until she’s
drowning in the pleasure I’m so desperate to give her.
She can barely breathe. Her gasps and held breaths are
making her body tremble just as much as my touches are.
“Cum.” My singular word bites through the air as I land a
hard smack on her clit and then capture her scream of pleasure
with my own kiss. My kiss is more ruthless than hers as I let
my tongue delve into her hot mouth. It’s quick like hers
though; I pull back both the kiss and my touch, just as soon as
it began.
She can barely keep herself still, her body begging her to
move away from the sensation, but she needs more. Pulling
her shirt down, I move her bra so it pushes her breast up, and
before she can object I lean forward and swirl my tongue
around her nipple. Her thighs move together and stagger to the
side.
Still sucking on her, I smack her thigh with the back of my
hand, pushing her legs open and moving my hand to cup her
pussy.
Letting her nipple out of my mouth with a pop, I pull back
to tell her, “Your cunt is soaking wet for me,” and rub ruthless
circles around her clit, making her brow pinch, her mouth
open and her body shudder with another climax.
Her entire body spasms with the second orgasm. And I can
barely fucking stand to watch with how hard I am. Everything
in me begs me to shove my cock down her throat.
Still panting and struggling, Bethany lets her hands fall
forward and then quickly moves them back into place on the
arm of the sofa. Her eyes search mine for direction with a
desperate apology to forgive her swimming in their darkness.
In answer, I pull the tie loose. She came, she let me touch
her. I need to get the hell out of here before I fuck her and ruin
it all before it’s even begun.
“Next time will be more intense. You should prepare
yourself.”
 Her first words as I reach for the contract, still on the table,
bring a genuine smirk to my lips. “You didn’t ask your
question.”
“I know.”
It’s quiet for a moment as I tuck the contract into my back
pocket.
“Why are you doing this?” Her bright eyes are wide and
full of fire. Full of an intense desire and a curiosity that are
addictive. Every look she gives me brings out more life, more
heat, more passion in me to coax more of this from her. She
burns like wildfire and I want to add fuel to her flame.
“I wanted you to see why I let you live. What I wanted
from you against that foyer wall after you pulled that trigger.”
Although her chest rises and falls rapidly, the memory of
yesterday adding fear into the cocktail of emotions she’s drunk
on, the golden flecks in her hazel eyes stay lit. Her lips part
slightly, and I know the memory only gets her off just like it
does to me.
“It was an accident,” she admits to me.
My smirk widens into an asymmetric grin. “Is that
supposed to make me feel better about it?” I ask her and she
simply shakes her head, pulling her shirt down and reaching
for the thin blanket to cover herself. Her skin is still flushed,
the pleasure still rocking through her, but her eyes are focused
on the digital clock below her television.
Ever a reminder.
My smile falls as I tell her, “You’re reckless.”
“You’re the one who was almost murdered by someone
like me. So who’s really reckless?”
“Maybe I’m just reckless for you,” I answer without
thinking, barely hearing my words before recognizing them.
I warn her, “Next time I won’t ask for your boundaries.”
“I would have—”
 “Next time I’m going to fuck you like both of us want me
to.”
 BETHANY

I feel like I’m drowning. Like I’m in over my head,

and I don’t know how I ventured into the dark
abyss of the ocean, sure to swallow me whole.
I dreamed of him. I dreamed of Jase fucking me, taking me
ruthlessly on the sofa. I dreamed of telling him no, only to
have him pin me down and take me regardless.
The thought sends a blush of desire to grace my skin,
kissing it and leaving a shiver in its wake. The way Jase did
last night. Every small touch brought more and more heat,
more sensitivity, more life. I felt alive under him.
And I want more. I’m not ashamed to admit I want more of
Jase Cross.
Bringing my fingertips to my lips, I remember the kiss I
drunkenly stole—thank God I can blame it on the alcohol. He
tasted like bad decisions and lust. A sin waiting to happen.
When did my life become like this?
Working every day has kept my thoughts at bay. And now
I have nothing to occupy my time. Nothing but a debt to Jase
Cross and unanswered questions I have no way of answering
on my own.
The only thing I’ve been working on is looking up every
detail I can on Jase Cross. Hardly anything comes up at all
about any of his brothers. All I can tell is that they were a poor
Irish family, raised in the hellhole that is Crescent Falls. Back
then they were nothing. And now they’re everything.
 There are only four pictures of Jase that I could find. Two
had the same woman in them. In one, she’s in the background,
laughing at something. It’s a candid photo and it seems
harmless enough. But in the second, her arm is around him. It
was taken nearly five years ago, and Jase looks much younger.
I have no fucking clue who she is.
Although, she looks a little like me in this picture, the
second one. Only slightly. But the resemblance spreads an
eerie chill over my body when I think about it.
Is this who I remind him of?
Was he with her? The fact that I feel any hint of jealousy is
ridiculous.
I haven’t been touched since college, and I haven’t wanted
a damn thing from a man since that catastrophe.
Maybe I’ve always been jealous like this, and I just didn’t
know it because I had nothing to be jealous of. It only took the
strike of a single match to ignite a blazing desire to overtake
every piece of me.
Maybe this is what it was like for Jenny. One small
change, and everything fell from there. Addiction is like that,
isn’t it? No matter what your addiction is.
The sound of my phone vibrating on the kitchen counter
saves me from the downward spiral of my thoughts.
It’s only Laura, checking in again since I didn’t respond to
her last night.
A few quick texts and I’m free of her prying questions,
plus I’ve booked a date with a bottle of tequila, her, and the
outlet mall next weekend.
The phone clatters on the kitchen counter when I toss it
down, staring at it and wondering what that night will end up
being. A few drinks, and I’ll tell her the sordid details.
I know I will.
I can see it unfolding in front of me.
 She won’t judge me, seeing as how she’s had a few one-
night stands. She’s gone backstage with an out-of-town band
before, only to be seen again at 2 p.m. the next day, walking a
little funny but smiling so hard that it didn’t matter.
It’s not the judgment that concerns me. I couldn’t care less
about what people think of me.
If Laura thinks I’m in danger though, she’ll get involved.
The very thought makes me let out a slow quivering breath,
calming the rush of anxiousness.
I can’t keep Jase my dirty little secret, but some things will
have to be just that. A secret. I’ll let him use me, and I’ll use
him. Every encounter with him is a step closer to the world my
sister lived in before I lost her. It’s closer to where she was and
closer to finding out what happened. At least the thought is
somewhat calming.
Knock, knock, knock.
Three raps in quick succession sound through the first
floor of my house. I’ve never been so grateful for a distraction
before.
Looking out through the peephole, I see a man in a gray
wool coat, a man I don’t recognize.
Maybe he has a package, or maybe he’s a neighbor. I
hesitate to open the door, my hand gripping the knob tight as I
consider getting the gun. That didn’t turn out well last time
though, and I refuse to live in fear.
It’s just a man. Not everyone is a villain.
The last thought firms my resolve and I pull open the door
halfway, wincing when I feel the sharp coldness in the air.
“Hello,” I greet him easily, immediately struck by how
handsome he is.
Classically handsome with striking blue eyes and a
charming smile. This man has definitely left broken hearts
behind in his wake.
The small smile from the thought fades.
 Nervousness pricks along the back of my neck. Every hair
is standing on edge when I glance behind him, only to see a
cop car.
He’s a fucking cop.
“Ma’am, I’m Officer Cody Walsh,” he tells me, taking off
his gloves and reaching out his hand to shake mine.
Every ounce of me is consumed with fear, nausea, and the
suspicion that this is a setup. I shake his hand without
thinking, without considering a damn thing.
Even though he was wearing gloves, his strong hand is ice
cold and I feel the chill flow from his touch straight to the
marrow of my bones.
It’s not until I swallow my nerves, nearly ten seconds after
shaking his hand while he only stares at me curiously, that I’m
able to speak.
“Could I see your badge?”
He’s quick to take it out, passing it to me and when he
does, his fingers brush against mine. The physical contact is a
little too close I think at first, but then I peek up at him and
he’s all business. It’s all in my head.
“Sorry, I just didn’t expect to see any more cops now that
the funeral’s passed,” I tell him, whipping up the excuse on a
dime and praying it explains my hesitation as I pass back his
badge. Again his fingers brush mine and although I’m well
aware of that fact, he doesn’t show any sign that he noticed.
“The funeral?” he questions and I feel the blood drain from
my face.
“My sister’s; isn’t that why you’re here?” My voice is
calm but drenched in sorrow. Real sorrow. I stand there
pretending I know nothing of the past few days but my grief. I
think back to what I felt the night my estranged family left me
alone and I had to sleep knowing Jenny was really gone. That
the world has accepted that, and I needed to as well.
I’m only a sister in mourning. That’s all I choose to be
right now.
 “I’m sorry to hear about your loss.” He clears his throat,
bringing his closed fist to his mouth as he looks to his right,
away from me and then adds, “I’m here on different matters.”
Finally, he looks back at me, and at the same time I feel
my heart pounding, filling with so much anxiety, it feels as if it
will burst.
As I grip the edge of my door, letting him see the nerves
and apprehension, he asks, “Do you mind if I come in?”
A second passes as I look past him to his cruiser. The
pounding inside my chest intensifies.
I don’t know what to do, and I’m terrified to make the
wrong decision.
“Is this a bad time?” he asks when I don’t answer, his
voice carrying my attention back to him.
The light blue eyes that pierce into me tell me it’s all right,
there’s a kindness there, a caring soul somewhere deep inside.
A small voice inside my head is screaming at me to tell him
about Jase. The voice says I’ll be safe. There will be no debt,
and all of this will be over.
But a bigger side, the side of me that’s taken over, the side
I don’t recognize, isn’t ready for this to end. Already I love
being touched by Jase Cross. I crave for that powerful man to
use me, and I’m determined to use him in return to get
answers.
I can practically hear his sinful voice, luring me into a
darkness I may never come out of.
And that’s why I tell him, “I’m sorry, it’s just a bad time. I
wasn’t expecting anyone.”
The officer nods his head in understanding, but his eyes
are assessing and my body tenses. Just go. Please, go.
“I’m new here,” he tells me. “I came down from upstate
New York.”
I nod, blinking away the confusion. I anticipated him
saying goodbye and apologizing, but instead he shuffles his
feet on my porch, shoving his hands into his pockets as he
speaks.
“I wanted to come to a smaller city, somewhere with fewer
problems and a slower pace.”
A genuine, soft sound of amusement comes from me,
forcing the semblance of a smile to my lips. “You aren’t going
to find that here,” I tell him.
“So I noticed. Born and raised?” he asks, and I nod.
“My mom moved here when she was pregnant with my
sister, before I was born. It was just us three for the longest
time.”
“Your sister who just passed?” he asks, inflecting his tone
with an appropriate amount of sympathy as his voice lowers,
and again I only nod. With the small movement comes a pang
in my chest. Every reminder of her is like hearing the news
that she’s missing all over again. Or worse, the news that they
found her and my worst fear was realized.
“I’m sorry. I lost my brother a while ago. We were close,
so I can understand the loss.”
I have to look up to the sky, letting out a slow exhale to
keep from tearing up. He doesn’t know. No one could know
what we went through this past year.
“I’m getting the lay of the land here, and it seems like
there may be a bit of trouble from a man who owns a vehicle
spotted at your address recently.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip and I try to keep my
expression neutral until I can ask, “Who would that be?”
“Jase Cross. His entire family and a few others are
associated with murder and drug rings, along with other
criminal activity.”
Silence.
It’s a long moment that passes, a frigid gust of wind
traveling between us before I tell him, “Like I said, this isn’t a
good time for me.”
 Officer Walsh takes a large step forward, coming close
enough to startle me. Staring into my eyes as my lungs are
paralyzed, he lowers his voice and says, “I can help you,
Bethany. All you have to do is tell me that’s what you want.”
Thump. Thump.
Staring into his light blue eyes, feeling the authority that
comes off him in waves, I can’t speak. I only know when I do
say something, no matter what I say, there’s a very large
probability that I’m going to regret the words that come out of
my mouth.
 JASE

T he door opens before the knuckles of my

loosely curled fist can even hit the hard wood.
The bite of the cold night nips at my neck at the
same time the warmth of Beth’s home welcomes me into 34
Holley Drive.
I’m only slightly aware of either, and neither could beckon
me inside the way Bethany’s eyes do. Wide and cautious, but
curious more than anything. In this split second, the way she’s
breathing, heavy with anticipation—nothing’s ever made me
so fucking excited.
“Jase.” She murmurs my name, but not in a greeting. It’s
more like an omen.
As I take a step inside, dropping the duffle bag just inside
the foyer, she takes a step back, releasing the door and
allowing me to close it. It’s quiet; the only sound is the
foreboding click of the door shutting.
Bethany nervously picks under her nails as she waits
silently.
“You scared?” I ask her and she responds with a huff of a
sarcastic laugh and the faintest hint of a smile that comes and
goes.
“Is that your question?” she asks me and it’s then that I
catch something’s off. Something happened. Squaring my
shoulders, I peek behind her. The front hall leads to the kitchen
in the back, with the living room to the left and the dining
room to the right. It’s all quiet, all dark with the exception
being the living room.
“If it’s my turn to ask a question … who do I remind you
of?”
My gaze returns slowly to her. I let it travel down her
body, noting that she’s in sweats and a baggy t-shirt that reads,
Coffee Solves Everything.
“No questions yet,” I answer her and then brush her thick
locks of gently curled hair behind her back. “You need to see
what I want from you first.”
She leans her weight onto her left heel, tilting her stance
and the nervousness wanes some. That’s better.
“I think I got a good idea of that last night,” she says and
tries to hide the breathiness that came with “last night” and the
rosy blush that slowly rises to her cheeks.
My smirk kicks up, and a warmth flows through me. I
knew she needed it. I knew she’d love to be played with.
Lowering my lips to hers, but just barely keeping our
mouths from touching, I look her in the eyes and tell her,
“That was hardly a nibble of what’s to come.”
Instead of stepping back slightly as I expect her to do so
I’m not in her space, she stands her ground and shrugs as she
replies, “No need to hold back tonight.” Her words caress my
face, causing a longing desire to travel down my body, all the
way to my cock.
Keeping my gaze pinned on her, I stand up straighter and
gesture to the living room. “After you then,” I offer.
“Not in the bedroom?” she comments under her breath as
she walks ahead of me, and I don’t hesitate to grab her hip in
my left hand and pull her back into my chest. Her yelp of
surprise only makes me harder.
With my lips at her ear, I whisper, “The bedroom is
reserved for the nights you beg me the second I walk in to fuck
that pretty little cunt of yours.”
 The second the words are spoken, I let her go and she falls
forward slightly. Barely catching herself although she plays it
off, just like she tried to hide her lust for me as she walks
ahead of me. I watch her wide hips sway and grab the black
duffle bag I’d dropped by the door.
“What’s that?” she asks when she sees it, taking a seat on
the sofa easily. As if she’s not nervous at all, and that moment
a few seconds ago never happened. It’s cute that she thinks
she’s playing hard to get when she’s nothing but eager.
“Rope, for starters.” Her eyes flash, but she says nothing
more.
The bag drops with a thud and as the sound of the zipper
opening fills the room, she leans closer, attempting to peek
inside.
“Ethanol?” she questions with a hint of hesitancy as I pull
out several feet of thin nylon rope.
“I’m not sure we’ll need that tonight,” I tell her absently as
I let the rope fall to a puddle on the floor and move the coffee
table out of the middle of the room. It drags along the floor,
and in true Beth fashion she focuses on the bag, walking to it
and taking into account everything inside.
A bottle of ethanol, a lighter, candles, a torch, balm, four
sections of nylon rope, two large flame-retardant blankets, a
weighted blanket, and last but not least, a knife.
Her lips purse as she stiffens by the bag. The worst thing
that could happen is that I scare her off. I’ve never wanted
anything more than I want this right now.
“Don’t be scared,” I tell her softly with a bit of humor I
know will challenge her.
“I’m not,” she bites back, even though she is. I can see it.
“If you could supply a bucket of ice, I think you’ll be
grateful for that.”
At my words, she turns her head slowly toward me.
“What exactly is this?” she asks softly, backing away from
the bag.
 “I’m going to show you.”
Her eyes move to the digital clock and she says, “Eight
fourteen…”
“We’ll start the clock at eight if you’d like,” is all I offer
her.
When I stand up, the coffee table now repositioned, her
arms are crossed and she’s staring down at the bag.
“Your reluctance is understandable, but I promise you, you
want this.” My last word hisses in the air, the tempting snake
that led Eve to the apple.
“I want at least one question answered first,” she tells me,
lifting her gaze from the bag to meet my own.
“One.”
“What kind of business is done at The Red Room?” she
asks and a glimmer of a smile pulls at my lips.
“Once you’re tied up with your hands behind your head,
I’ll allow you to ask the question again, and I’ll answer it
completely.”
The skepticism is there, the hesitation, but slowly she
stands tall and leaves the living room, heading to the kitchen.
Presumably she’s getting the ice.
I lay down the first flame-retardant blanket and leave the
second within reach.
Beth makes her way back into the room holding a glass
wine decanter filled with ice. “I don’t have an ice bucket,” she
admits to me while I’m still on my knees, fixing the corner of
the blanket.
“You nervous?” I ask her, reaching for the decanter.
“You fucking know I am.” She rushes her words like she
can’t get them out fast enough, and a deep, rough chuckle
leaves me.
“I’m going to need you naked for this,” I tell her as I set
the ice down next to the folded-up blanket.
 “Of course you are,” she says skeptically, turning away
from me and breathing out deep as she shakes out her hands.
“If you want to stop, it stops. I’ll learn your limits. You’ll
still get your answers and your debt paid.” I start with
addressing her logical concerns, but move to the other side of
her thoughts. “The exotic becomes the erotic. Have you ever
heard of that?” I ask her.
“I understand temperature play and that this is meant to be
…” she trails off and swallows as she turns to face me, her
features riddled with a mix of nervousness and fear. “Why like
this?”
“Because I crave this,” I admit to her without thinking
twice. “It soothes a part of me that isn’t easily kept at bay. I
will enjoy every second of this. It’s worth more to me than
secrets and a debt.” I didn’t realize how much I needed this,
how much I coveted her body beneath mine as I brought out
the most intense reactions from her until those words were
spoken.
Her eyes close and her body trembles.
“Does this excite you?” I ask her and when I do, her hands
move under the hem of her baggy shirt, to the top of her
sweatpants and she slowly pushes them down, stepping out of
them and then opening her eyes.
Her lips part slightly, ready to answer. But she closes
herself off, shutting her mouth and balling her hands into fists
at her side. Clearing her throat, she looks away and I remind
her, “I’ll answer your question tonight, the single question. But
after tonight, it’s tit for tat. Tonight is so you can see what I
want.”
She nods her head once and then again, standing only feet
from me in nothing but her socks and a t-shirt. “Yes, it excites
me,” she finally answers and as she does, the radiator kicks on
behind her, making her jump slightly.
“And it scares you?” I ask, although it’s more of a
statement. She doesn’t waste a second to answer, nodding
furiously.
 “I don’t like not being in control. Tied up and…” She
doesn’t finish her thought, and swallows thickly.
“You’re thinking too much,” I tell her and her gaze
narrows. All the jitters leave her in that instant and I have to
smile. “There you go, just remember how much you hate me
and this should be easy.”
With her lips pressed in a thin line, she removes her socks
first and then reaches behind her back to unhook her bra,
revealing a simple white cotton bra with no lace, no frills, no
padding.
And with her arms crossed in front of her, she prepares to
lift her shirt over her head, but I stand abruptly and stop her,
gripping her wrists.
Her skin is hot to the touch.
“I want to do it,” I tell her softly. Slowly, she releases her
grip on the hem and I circle her, taking my time to observe
how the shirt, hitting just below her ass, is more tempting than
I’m sure she thought it would be.
“You didn’t try to impress me, did you?” I ask, although
the light in the room shines off her freshly shaved legs, smooth
and glimmering.
“This is business, Cross,” she tells me and I simply nod.
“It is.”
Making sure not to touch her skin, I grip her hem and lift
the shirt above her head, revealing one inch of skin at a time.
The movement is achingly slow. Her body quivers as I let a
single finger run along her side. The lone touch causes such a
strong reaction in her, and it only makes me that much harder
for her.
She doesn’t look at me; instead she stares straight ahead,
but she doesn’t cover herself either.
She’s fucking beautiful. Every inch of her. From the
freckle on her lower stomach, to the pale rose pink of her
nipples. Her hips are wide enough to grip during a punishing
fuck, and her ass begs me to smack those perfect curves.
 Time ticks as I circle her one more time. “You’re
beautiful,” I whisper and the small compliment does wonders
in relaxing her stiff posture. “How long has it been since
someone’s told you that?” I ask her, standing in front of her
and allowing my gaze to roam to her hazel eyes.
She blinks and her lashes seem thicker, her lips fuller, her
chestnut hair ready to be fisted as I kiss her. Everything about
her is fuckable and desirable.
“I don’t know,” she whispers. Her eyes drift to the blanket
and then look back to me. “It’s been a long time.”
I search her expression for an idea of just how long, but
she doesn’t give an answer.
“Lie down on the blanket.”
Her shoulder brushes my arm as she obeys.
The blanket moves under her slightly, but her entire body
is positioned in the center of it.
Using the longest section of the thin rope, I lift up her
thighs, making her knees bend so I can lay the middle of the
rope under her ass. I secure her hands with the remainder of
the rope on either side of her with a simple bondage knot. I’m
effectively making sure she won’t be able to reach up. Half the
rope is knotted around her left wrist where it slips under her
thighs, right below her plush ass and the other half is knotted
around her right wrist. Perfect.
“I’m going to put a weighted blanket across your ankles,” I
tell her as I pull it out of the bag, reaching past the sealed
bottle of ethanol and one of the two candles.
“Why?” she asks, and I answer easily in an attempt to calm
her nerves. “So you’ll have a resistance to lifting them up. It’ll
make everything feel more intense.”
With the weighted blanket laying across her ankles, she’s
bared to me, bound and somewhat calmer than I imagined.
“You fought very little tonight,” I note.
“Learning the ropes,” she answers softly, opening her eyes
for the first time since she looked down and saw the rope
twined around her wrists.
“You’re going to enjoy this,” I tell her, lightly brushing my
fingers down her stomach. When I do, I hear the weighted
blanket rustle, but her legs stay still, immobilized from the
weight. Her shoulders shudder and her head lifts slightly
before falling back down into a halo of brunette hair.
“I’m ready for you to answer my question,” she says
confidently. As if we’re in an interview and she’s not bound on
her living room floor, available for me to do whatever I’d like
to her.
Her breasts are perky and full; taking them in my hand, I
play with their weight and bend down to suck her nipple into
my mouth. I moan around her nipple and then let my teeth
drag up them. One, and then the other.
Bethany lets her back arch and her body sways to the side,
moving further from me as she puts her weight on her left hip.
Pushing her back down on the blanket, I blow across her
nipple, chilling the moisture I left there and she sucks in a
shuddered breath, her head falling back and a sweet sound of
rapture leaving her lips.
“I’m going to take my time touching you, playing with
you,” I say without acknowledging her earlier remark. “Does
that scare you?”
“What are you going to use from the bag?” she asks me
and a slight laugh slips from my lips.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“My answer relies on it.” Her eyes darken, her pupils
dilating as she answers me honestly. I can see the plea in her
eyes to not push her boundaries, to not touch the bag of
supplies.
She should know better than that.
“Everything, Bethany. I intend on taking full advantage of
tonight.”

Bethany
I’ M SCARED , I can’t deny that. My entire body is alive with
both fear and something else. Something sinful.
Every tiny hair on my body, from head to toe, is standing
on end. My nipples have hardened and every touch from Jase
sends a trail of goosebumps down my body that makes me
shiver with hunger for more.
More of his warm breath on my chilled skin, more of his
fingers barely touching my sides as he brings them down to
my hips.
But only if he answers me. He’d better fucking answer me.
We have a deal.
“What kind of business do you do at The Red Room?” I
ask him as he turns his attention away from me and reaches to
the decanter of ice.
He makes me wait for my answer, but not too long.
“I first created The Red Room as a place to conduct other
business. My brother’s business, really.”
His voice is far too low, too soothing and seductive for the
information he’s relaying. The ice clinks in the glass before he
places a single piece at my lips.
I part my lips, intent on sucking the ice, but he moves it
too soon, tracing my lips and then bringing it lower. A cold
sensation flows over my skin in a wave.
“Eager thing, aren’t you?” he teases me.
“Fuck you.” The words come out quickly but his are just
as quick as he says, “Only when you beg me, cailín tine.” I
don’t know why he calls me that, cailín tine. Or what it means.
And I hate that I swallow down my curiosity rather than ask
him. But I want him to answer my damn question.
“My brother was dealing. Drugs, guns, all sorts of things,”
he tells me and my focus returns to the one reason I have to
allow this. The one logical reason I’d ever willingly put myself
in this situation. Jenny.
 I ready myself for another question to clarify, but Jase
places a finger over my lips. His touch is so hot compared to
the ice. “I’m still answering. Let me tell you everything,” he
whispers.
He runs another cube from the dip just below my throat,
down the center of my chest. His hand brushes my breast until
he brings the ice farther, all the way to my belly button,
circling it and then moving lower still, letting it sit just where
my thighs meet.
The ice itself is numbingly cold, sending a spike of
awareness through my body. But it’s the path that I’m so
highly aware of. Each trail leaves a bit of water behind and the
air cools it, causing every nerve ending there to prepare to
spark.
Even though he lets the ice linger at the top of my pussy,
he’s quick to repeat the pattern, and I don’t know how it’s
possible, but it makes my body feel even hotter. My toes curl
on the third round, and my core heats.
All I can do is turn my head, close my eyes and my fists,
and try not to let the ice excite me.
It’s an impossible feat, though.
In between every round, he gives me more information,
and occasionally asks me insignificant things. Things I don’t
mind answering, all the while Jase promises to tell me more.
It’s not quite tit for tat, since he’s giving me more and more
information about The Red Room and what happened to make
it become what it is, all while asking me simple questions that
don’t require more than one-word answers. But he’s gauging
how my body reacts when I tell the truth. Taking the time to
learn my body. My only response to that is that I’m not a liar. I
don’t have the time to tell him that though as he continues to
feed me information.
“I enjoyed the control. Knowing when and where everyone
would meet up. Giving them a space where they could enjoy
themselves, and observing them in the meantime. I wanted to
know the ins and outs of every partner we had. I wanted their
secrets…”
 I can barely breathe as he gives me his past so easily, all
while bringing the mostly melted ice down farther than he ever
has to my pussy, and gently pushing it inside of me. My lips
make a perfect O as every nerve ending in my body lights.
He continues his story as my lips part, feeling the rush of
desire spark inside of my body. “So we could blackmail them.
I used the bar to set everyone up to owe us in some way, or to
have information we could use against both our partners and
our enemies. In this industry, everyone is an enemy at some
point, and we would be ready the second anyone thought they
could turn their backs on us.”
It’s exhilarating.
Both his touch, and the tale of how they rose to power.
Creating a place for divine pleasures and allowing everyone to
taste, for everyone to fall into their grasp to be controlled and
their actions predicted so easily.
He lowers his lips to the crook of my neck, letting his
warm breath be at odds with the chill that’s slowly melting at
my core, being consumed with his criminal touch.
“I sell every addiction possible and I don’t have rules
within those walls.” As he speaks, he pushes his fingers inside
of me, dragging them against my front wall and bringing me
closer and closer to the peak of an impending orgasm. I close
my eyes tight, trying not to give in although I know it’s
useless. My toes have curled and the pleasure builds inside of
me so quickly like a raging storm, unstoppable and demanding
its damage be done.
“Every corner of that place is defiled; every square inch
has been touched by sin. That’s the kind of business I conduct
in The Red Room.”
My neck arches as I give in to the need, a wave of pleasure
rising from my belly outward, followed by another, a harsher,
more severe wave crashing through me. I can’t move an inch
as Jase grips my throat with his free hand and continues to
torture me, fucking me with his fingers and drawing out every
bit of my orgasm. I wish I could move. I want to get away
from the third wave threatening to consume me, but I’m
paralyzed as it rages through me.
Every nerve ending in my body ignites, my body
shuddering and trembling as my release takes its time,
wandering through my body and slowly dissipating. Jase
removes his fingers carefully, and I gasp in pleasure as he
circles my clit before bringing his fingers to his mouth.
My arousal shines on his fingers as he sucks it off, one by
one. I can’t bring myself to look away when he groans in sheer
delight.
Even as my heart races and adrenaline and excitement race
through me, fear freezes my body when Jase picks up a knife
from his bag. It’s only a pocket knife.
It’s just to get the ropes off, I tell myself. It’s amazing how
the sight of it destroys the previous moment. I close my eyes,
waiting to hear the sound of the blade sawing at the rope, but
Jase doesn’t allow me to.
“I need your eyes open for this. You need to stay still and I
don’t want the touch to startle you.” He sounds so calm and in
control as he splays a hand on my chest. His elbow rests on
my shoulder and pins me in place as my heart lurches inside of
me, ready to escape.
My gaze begs him to explain, to stop, to reconsider
whatever he’s doing as he brings the knife closer to me.
“It’s only to shave the small hairs from your body,” he
says, answering my unspoken questions. “I won’t hurt you,”
he tells me soothingly as the blade just barely touches my skin.
He drags it slowly across my breast, all the way down my
mound and then back up, avoiding my sensitive, swollen nub.
“Can I let you go?” he asks me, gently lifting his elbow.
“Or are you going to move?”
I can only swallow, I can barely even comprehend what
he’s saying since the panic is so alive within me.
“If you move, it will cut you,” he tells me.
 “I’ll be still,” I whisper and as the blade lowers to my skin
I consider the word, stop. So easy to say. I could say it; it’s
right there, waiting to be spoken. But Jase drags the knife
along my chest before I can utter it and then he kisses the
sensitized skin. An open-mouth kiss that feels like everything.
Like this is the way a kiss is meant to be, and every other way
is wrong.
My head’s fuzzy and a haze clouds it as he scrapes the
knife along my body, leaving a pink path occasionally, but his
kisses and the ice make the evidence vanish.
It’s all overwhelming and agonizingly slow. By the time he
gets to my pussy, I’m on the edge of another release. My
impending orgasm is waiting for the knife, for his touch, for a
kiss. But it doesn’t come.
After the longest time, my body feels his absence and I
open my eyes. He pours ethanol onto a rag, then wipes down
my body in one swift stroke and before I can say anything, a
flame lights on a candle and he lowers it to the ethanol,
lighting my skin ablaze.
The scream is trapped in the split second, but before its
escape, his hand follows the path, quenching the heat and
leaving me wide eyed and breathless.
So hot, and then so cold.
With a pounding heart, I take in the reality. “You lit me on
fire.”
“No, I lit the alcohol just above your skin on fire.” He does
it again and this time hot wax drips with it and I suck in a tight
breath, my hands turning to fists from the slight pain, the
immediate heat, and the cold absence that comes afterward.
My head thrashes from side to side as he does it again and
again. The pain morphing to unmatched pleasure makes my
body feel alive in a way I never knew was possible.
Every climax feels higher and more unbearable than the
last. My words fail me as Jase moves down my body, not
sparing any inch of my skin.
 The alcohol, the fire, his touch. Over and over. He
massages the wax onto my breasts before using the knife to
pick it off, and the third time he does it, I cum violently.
The pleasure rages through my body with no evidence of it
even approaching until the blinding pleasure rocks through
me, from my belly to the tip of my toes and fingers.
It’s as if my body has rebelled, choosing his touch and this
heat over any sense of calm. It prefers the chaos, the unknown,
the absence of all control and stability.
With my bottom lip still quivering and my belly trembling
as the tremors of the aftershock subside, Jase kisses me, madly
and deeply. I feel all of him in this kiss and it kills me that I
can’t lift my hands up, keeping him where I want him.
I’m at his mercy. Fully and truly, and that very fact plays
tricks on me. Telling me I love it. Telling me he knows what I
need more than I do.
With every pleasure still ringing in me, he pulls away and
stands up, removing his shirt and the light from the candle
plays along the lines of his defined muscles. I can see his thick
length pressing against his zipper and when he palms it, I have
to look away. I’m so close to another orgasm. My clit is
throbbing; I feel swollen and used, but he’s hardly touched me
there.
The sound of a zipper makes me look back at him and the
instant I do, his pants, along with his belt, drop to the floor
with a clink and a thud and his dick is all I can see.
His girth is so wide I’m not sure I could wrap my hand
around him. I can practically feel the veins pressing against
my walls and pulling every ounce of pleasure from me,
practically imagine his rounded head sliding back and forth
over my clit. Oh my God. He’s massive. He grabs his cock and
rubs the glistening precum over the head and that’s when I lose
it.
Cumming again, and he didn’t even touch me. That’s how
much power he has over me. Just the thought of what he could
do to me, how he could ruin me, how he is so much more than
any boy I ever thought of letting touch me… all of it is fuel
that ignites a raging fire inside.
Jase groans deep in the back of his throat, dropping to the
floor so quickly and so hard, I know it will leave bruises on his
knees. “Cum again,” he commands me breathlessly, leaning
over my body to kiss and bite the crook of my neck as he
pushes three fingers inside of me and ruthlessly fucks me with
them.
The waves of my last release have barely left me when the
next orgasm crashes through me, harder and higher than any of
those before. My scream is silent, my body stiff as it
commands attention from all of me. My body, my soul.
And Jase doesn’t stop, even as my arousal leaks down my
ass, he continues. Even as I feel myself tighten around his
fingers, he doesn’t stop.
I can’t. I can’t take it. I can’t breathe.
I can’t move. I can’t speak.
I’m helpless and consumed by fire and lust.
I try to focus on Jase when he whispers in my ear, but my
body won’t stop shaking and my neck is rigid. “When you
look at me, know this is what I want from you. Only I can give
you this.” His words hiss in the air, crackling and demanding
to be burned in my memory.
Jase Cross destroyed me and what I thought was pleasure.
And where I thought my boundaries lied with him.
 BETHANY

M y eyes open quickly, the darkness consuming

me except for the moonlight from the bedroom
windows. My heart’s racing and it’s then that I
realize the trembling isn’t a dream. I can’t stop shaking and
I’m so fucking cold.
“Shhh.” Jase’s voice is anything but calming. After the
initial shock of realizing he’s in bed with me, I barely turn
around before the bed groans and he pulls the weighted
blanket up and around my entire body.
Frantically I try to recount it all, every moment that I can
remember.
“What did you do to me?” I ask, and the question comes
out viciously. I’m fucking freezing, and I can’t stop trembling.
“I brought you to bed,” he says lowly, a threat barely there,
warning me to be careful but fuck that.
“What did you do?” The words are torn from my throat.
It’s not even the fear that’s the most overwhelming. As my
throat dries and a sinking sensation in my stomach takes over,
I look him in the eyes and realize how much trust I had in him.
It wasn’t just business. I gave up more than I should have, and
he did something to me. He hurt me.
How could you? I want to say the words, but I can’t bear to
bring them up and admit to the both of us that I thought he
wouldn’t hurt me. That I was that fucking naïve.
Jase’s arm is heavy and pulls me closer to him, even
though I attempt to push him away as he says, “It’s just the
endorphins crashing.” Although his words are drenched with
irritation, there’s something else there, something buried deep
down low in his words that I can’t decipher. “You’re okay,” he
nearly whispers and then pulls me in closer, dragging my ass
to his groin, my back to his chest and nuzzling the nape of my
neck with the tip of his nose. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”
His voice is a calming balm. Even as I continue to shake.
As my fingers feel numb and then like they’re on fire. Cold
again. “I’m so cold.”
I almost expect my confession to turn to fog in front of me.
Like warm breath in the winter air.
“You were on a high,” Jase tells me and then presses his
arm against mine, pushing it closer to me and acting as if I’m
not trembling uncontrollably. “It’s all coming down. I thought
you may have a little aftershock. That’s why I stayed,” he
explains.
Aftershock. Endorphins.
He didn’t drug me. It’s not drugs. I can barely swallow for
a long moment, trying to make it stop, but my body’s not
listening.
“Does this happen all the time?” I ask him, attempting to
let go of the anger, swallowing my regret that I immediately
assumed the worst of him. It was my first instinct, and shame
hits me hard as I realize he did quite the opposite.
I’m a bitch. I am an asshole. An embarrassed asshole.
With sleep lacing his words he tells me, “Not often, but I
imagine that was your first?” and I instantly clench my legs.
Remembering the ice, the cold, his touch, the fire.
My shoulders beg to buck forward, my eyes closing at the
memory and the heat flourishing in my belly.
“Was it?” he teases me, nipping my neck and just that
small touch threatens to push me over again.
“I can’t,” I say, and the words leave me in a single breath.
A single plea. Instantly a chill creeps up my neck, the open air
finding its place there as Jase moves his head to the other
pillow.
A shaky breath leaves me as I turn my head to peek at him,
craning my neck as my back is still positioned firmly against
his chest. “Did we have sex?” I ask him, feeling a weight press
down on my chest.
Jase merely gazes back at me. The depths of his dark eyes
deepen as I stare into them. Licking my lower lip first, I
explain, “I don’t remember everything.”
“We didn’t. No,” he answers me, and his expression
remains guarded. “I told you, you’d have to beg me for it.”
His warmth calms me and slowly I stop trembling as hard.
Very slowly, but the tremors are still there.
“For all I know, I did tell you to fuck me,” I tell him.
“You could barely look at me, let alone speak.”
“Holy shit,” I murmur beneath my breath.
“When I fuck you, trust me when I say you’ll remember
it.”
His words force a shiver of pleasure through me when I
remember I saw … I saw all of him. “Why am I shaking so
much?”
“From you getting off so many times. Your body can only
handle so much.”
“I can’t believe it can feel like that,” I say, thinking out
loud.
“Sometimes the things that cause you pain can bring you
so much pleasure.”
“Not everything that brings you pain.” The hollowness in
my chest expands at my thought, drifting to darker places.
The shaking and trembling stop altogether, but Jase doesn’t
let me go and I’m happy for that. There’s so much comfort in
being held right now.
 “Tell me something,” I ask Jase, resting my cheek into the
pillow, feeling the warmth come back to me and the lull of
sleep ready to pull me under once again.
“Tell you something?” He ponders and then readjusts on
the bed, making it shake slightly. “What do you want to
know?”
“Anything,” I answer as my eyelids fall heavily without
second-guessing and my eyes pop open wider, remembering
all the bits and pieces he told me about The Red Room.
“Maybe about your brothers?”
Once again Jase’s lips find my neck, and this time he
leaves an open-mouthed kiss there. I’m starting to love those
kinds of kisses. I think they’re my favorite. “I had four
brothers, now I have three and I recently learned that my
younger brother, the one I was closest with…” He hesitates
and again that small space on my neck feels the prickle of the
air instead of his warmth. “I found out his death wasn’t an
accident; it was murder. And it was supposed to be me, not
him.”
“Oh my God,” I whisper, completely shocked. My heart
breaks in half for him. I know the pain of losing a sibling, the
agony of blaming yourself. But knowing it was supposed to be
you instead? “I’m so sorry.” I put every ounce of sincerity into
my words and pray it doesn’t come out the way everyone else
says, like the people who say it simply because they don’t
know what else to say. “I’m really sorry.”
Jase doesn’t say anything at all. Not for a while until he
requests the same from me. “Tell me something.”
“I can’t figure you out, Jase,” I answer him almost
immediately.
“You already know who I am, cailín tine. Don’t let me fool
you.”
I look over my shoulder to ask him, “What’s that mean?
Cailín tine?”
He gives me one of those smirks, but it’s almost sad and
short lived. “Fiery girl.”
 My entire body betrayed me earlier, and so does my heart
in this moment, beating just for him with a warmth I’ve never
felt before.
As I nuzzle back down into the pillow, I remember Officer
Walsh and I spit out the words before I hide them forever. “A
cop came asking about you today. He knocked at my door.”
Nerves prick down my neck, but Jase’s touch remains
soothing and his voice calm when he asks, “What was his
name?”
“Cody Walsh,” I answer and then feel Jase’s nod as his
nose runs along my neck.
“He won’t be a problem. He’s just new.”
“Don’t you want to know what I told him?”
“If you want to tell me.”
“I didn’t tell him anything.”
His response is to kiss my neck. Then my jaw. He tries to
lie back down, leaving my lips wanting but I take them with
my own. Reaching up to grip the back of his neck, and pulling
myself off the comfort of the bed.
It’s a quick kiss, but it was mine to have. And mine to
give.
“What was that for?” he asks me, and I answer him
honestly. “I wanted you to have it.”
Turning my back to him, I lie back under the covers. There
are no more questions or conversations. With my eyes wide
open, I pretend to sleep. After a short while, the bed protests
under the weight of him moving, the covers are shrugged off
behind me and I listen to him leave. Across the wooden
floorboards, down the stairs. I can only faintly hear him in the
living room, but I recognize the sound of the front door
opening and closing.
All the while, there’s this vise wrapped around my heart.
Keeping it still, not allowing it to move the way it used to.
 JASE

“W hat happened to her? To Jennifer Parks?”

Seth hesitates. Seated across from me,
he slides forward to readjust before leaning back into an
auburn leather armchair. It’s silent in the back of The Red
Room. Not a single beat of the music or murmur of the guests
makes its way through these doors.
Nothing makes it out of them either.
It’s a decadent but vacant space. A simple, but too-
fucking-expensive iron and driftwood desk with no drawers
stands in the middle of the room. My chair is at one end, while
two matching chairs are on the other side. Not a damn thing
else in the room.
The stubble on my jaw is rough; I’m way past due for a
shave as I run my hand along my jaw as I wait for Seth’s
answer.
“I’m still working on it, but let me tell you what I’ve got
so far.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” The rage is inexplicable as
I slam the edge of my fist down on the desk. It jolts and I
clench my jaw, hating that something like this can get to me.
I focus on calming my shit down, ignoring the irritation
and Seth’s questioning gaze.
All day I’ve been on edge. Ever since I left Bethany’s
place, the second the sun rose.
 “It goes deeper than you think, Boss.” His voice is low,
testing my patience and apologetic even.
“Let me have it,” I speak and gesture for him to get going.
“She went missing on December twenty-eighth, but before
then she was in and out of her sister’s home and several
friends’ places. It was January seventeenth that the burned
remains, including several of her teeth, were found in a trunk
at the bottom of the Rattle River on the west side of town.”
I remember the flash of an image I found myself, searching
through the archives at the downtown station hard drive. It was
all the information Kent, one of the detectives we keep on our
payroll, had to give.
“Fucking brutal,” I murmur. The remains were charred, but
some of the bones were broken before being burned.
“She was tortured, but time of death couldn’t be
determined.”
“I already know this. Get to something I don’t know.”
He starts to speak, but before he can even suck in the air
needed for the first word, I ask, “Did you find anything on the
sister?”
My fingers rap on the desk, one at a time with brief pauses,
one after the other. As if it’s only a casual conversation.
“Bethany Fawn?”
At my nod, he begins. “Jennifer was born out of wedlock
to a Catherine Parks. Shortly after her birth, her mother and
father got hitched, then conceived Bethany. Not long after her
birth, the father took off. Leaving their mom with no job, a
toddler and an infant.”
“Where did he go?”
“Nebraska, where he died of a heart attack in a casino
three years ago.”
“Did they keep in touch?”
“Not a word,” Seth answers professionally, but his eyes are
questioning.
 “Go on.”
“Bethany Fawn, the younger of the two, did well in school.
And it seems like that was all she was interested in. She’s a
nurse on the psych ward at Rockford. She’s worked there since
she graduated. Apparently her mother had issues in the last
years of her life and she chose this path because of it. Her
sister—”
“What issues?” Again, I cut him off midbreath.
“Alzheimer’s.”
“How old was she?”
“Bethany? Twenty. Her mother was fifty-two when she
died.”
I watched my mother die slowly, but I was young. Cancer
is a bitch. I can only imagine being more aware and having to
go through that. Being old enough to understand. Back when I
was a kid, I was sure Mom was going to get better. Knowing
there is no getting better and having to watch someone you
love slowly die? That’s a cruel way to live. A cruel way to die
as well. But that’s life, isn’t it?
“One thing you may find interesting is that she was spotted
with you recently,” Seth says and sits back further in his seat.
It’s the only note on her in the entire department. “A possible
associate.”
“And who put that in? Our new friend, Walsh?” I surmise.
“You got it,” he says and snaps his fingers. “And you two
aren’t the only ones doing some digging. Miss Fawn’s search
history is interesting … limited, but interesting.”
“Is that right?” I ask, bringing my thumb up to run along
my chin.
“Little Miss Fawn was looking you up and Officer Walsh
after he paid her a visit.”
I shrug impatiently, and Seth continues.
“She didn’t find much, obviously, since there’s nothing on
the internet to find… although it seems she’s interested in
Angie. She’s searching for pictures of her, doesn’t look like
she knows her name. Jase Cross with brunette. Jase Cross
lover. Jase Cross date. Things like that.”
“Angie?” The only piece of information that surprises me
so far is this. “Why?”
“I guess she saw her with you in pictures online. But she
doesn’t have her name, or any information on her.”
Who do I remind you of? I remember her question last
night. That’s why.
“Shit.” I breathe out the word. “Anything else?” I ask him,
ignoring the dread, the regret, the deep-seated hate for myself
because of everything that happened four years ago. All of
those ghosts belong in the past. They can stay there too.
Seth passes me a folder; opening it up reveals six profiles.
All are of women in their late twenties, and two I recognize
from the club. Jennifer is the first. The second is Miranda.
She’s gotten thrown out a handful of times. Too high to know
she was messing with the wrong guys. Causing problems that
aren’t easy to fix.
“She ran with quite a crowd,” I comment as I sift through
the papers, reading one charge after the next and notes about
the men they each were associated with. Men I don’t trust or
like.
“You could say that. It was all recent though. She only
came into the scene this past year,” Seth comments and leans
back in his seat. The leather protests as he does. “College grad
who struggled to keep a job after school. Taking one after the
next. All had nothing to do with her degree.”
“Quit or fired?”
“She quit them all. Everyone I talked to said they loved
her, but they knew she wasn’t going to stay long. It wasn’t
interesting enough for her,” he says but forms air quotes
around the word “interesting.”
“You think that’s why she quit them? Boredom?”
 “I’m guessing she just needed to pay her bills.” He shrugs.
“From what I gather she was eccentric and wanted to solve the
world’s problems. The last job she had was working at The
Bistro across the turnpike.”
That particular information catches my attention and I look
up from the papers to see Seth nodding. “Romano’s place?”
“The one and only.”
Just hearing that name makes me grit my teeth. “He’s a
dead man.” My throat tightens as I speak. All I can see when I
hear the word Romano is the picture of Tyler, dead on the wet
asphalt; the water soaked into my hoodie he wore that day.
It was supposed to be me.
“Damn right,” Seth says and I check my composure.
Refusing to let that fuck get in the way of this conversation.
“So, The Bistro,” I say to push Seth to continue the
conversation, picking at the pages in the folder, and trying to
rid my mind of the sight of Tyler. He was a good kid. That’s
the worst part. No one really deserves to die, but if anyone in
this world could have been spared, it should have been him.
Tossing the folders down onto the desk, I lean back, letting
the information sink in. “So she’s got debt from college, can’t
get the right job yet so she’s bouncing around to pay the bills.
She lands a job at The Bistro and something there’s leading
these girls down a dark path.
“We have eyes down there; what’d they say?” My voice
rises on its own, demanding information.
Seth winces slightly before telling me, “You aren’t going
to like this.”
“Don’t be a little bitch,” I tell him, losing my patience.
“They said she was there and gone. She was friendly and
nice, but then up and quit. Miranda was working there at the
same time and quit with her. No reason. She didn’t stand out
and nothing did about the two of them leaving. Just two open
waitress spots to fill when they left.”
 “So they’ve got nothing?” I ask as my heart rate rapidly
increases and the blood rushes in my ears. “We have a group
of women,” I enunciate each word and Seth takes the
opportunity to butt in.
“Two of them working there at the same time and quitting
at the same time,” he adds and I meet his gaze, daring him to
interrupt me again.
“A group of women with no prior history of any of this
bullshit, getting hooked on some shit, all of them racking up
charges in the past year and some of them stepping foot into
my club. And you’re telling me the boys we’re paying to
watch that shithole have no fucking idea what happened, or
who influenced this shit?” I slam the bottom of my oxfords
again on the inside of my walnut desk, kicking it as hard as I
can on impulse. Needing to get out the rage. My muscles are
tense, my body’s hot and I need to beat the shit out of
something.
I have no fucking impulse control, no restraint today. Not a
damn thing keeping me under control.
Moving my chair back into place, I set my elbows on my
desk, lower my head and smooth my hand over the back of my
neck.
“I’m losing my patience,” I tell him. Staring at my desk, I
admit the obvious. “I don’t like not having answers when I
want them. She’s one girl. A girl we’ve seen; a girl we’ve
watched before. We should know who the fuck killed her and
why.”
Seth grips the armrest, looking away from me, toward the
blood-red leather walls that line the room.
“It’s like someone’s hiding it,” Seth speaks quickly.
“Hiding?”
“I can’t find a damn thing on her after she started working
there other than what we had already with the sweets,” he
says, and his frustration grows with each word.
“We know she was buying our shit in bulk, high on what
was obviously coke. She gave the name of a fake brother when
we questioned her, that was early December. Then there’s not
a trace of her.”
“She ever come back after that night?” I ask him. I
remember that night. Carter came down here, looking for
answers about his drug. It hardly sold shit, it’s something that
puts you to sleep. We only push it on addicts that can’t handle
any more. It knocks their asses out as they go through
withdrawal. They always come back though, but never for the
sweets.
Not until recently.
“No. She never came back and the demand for the sweets
dropped simultaneously.”
“She was buying for someone,” I remark. “Someone who
backed off when they found out we were onto them…. maybe
that’s who did this? He wanted her silenced so there were no
loose threads?”
“It’s not Romano, we have ears on him, we would know.
I’ve been through every fucking recording from December
twenty-seventh to the fucking week she was discovered. He
didn’t say a word about it. I don’t think she’s on his radar.”
“So it’s just a fucking coincidence that all her shit starts
going downhill when she starts working for him?” I raise my
finger, feeling the lines in my forehead deepen with anger.
“He got her hooked; I think he did. Or someone there did. I
think that’s when it started, but her dying… whoever it was,
they got to her at his place, and Romano doesn’t know about it
or even realize someone’s taking those girls from him.”
The pieces of the puzzle fall slowly into place, giving me
the rough edges of a watered-down image someone doesn’t
want me to see.
“It would be easy if it was Romano; he’s already a dead
man.”
“As soon as this new cop is off our fucking backs, he’s
dead,” I tell him, opening up the folder again to see Jennifer’s
profile on top and Beth’s name listed as her only living relative
staring back at me in black and white. “If Officer Cody Walsh
doesn’t watch his step,” I say and lift my gaze from Beth’s
name, where the tips of my fingers still linger to tell Seth,
“he’s a dead man too.”
 BETHANY

The Coverless Book

Third Chapter

I’ M PRETENDING NOT to be tired. Like the weight and pull of

sleep isn’t a constant battle tonight. Every day after seeing the
doctor, it’s like this. Well, every day for the past five years
except today. Today will be the exception, because of Jake.
He makes me smile, and just smiling reminds me I still have so
much left in me.
“I’m really happy you do this for me,” I tell Jake, pulling
the blanket around my shoulders a little tighter. We’re having
a picnic in the backyard overlooking the hill. The spring air
brings a strong scent of lilac and I breathe it in. As much as I
can, and for as long as I can.
This is what living feels like.
“The soups were perfect,” he comments and adds, “I
didn’t know it’d get this cold at night.”
“The summer nights are warmer,” I tell him easily and
then feel embarrassed. Of course they are, I think inwardly
and my stomach stirs with nerves.
“We’ll have to do it again in summer then.”
The nerves turn to something else and they spread higher
up to my chest at Jake’s words.
 “I’d really like that.” I almost whisper the words and then
have to clear my throat. As he picks two blades of glass, no
doubt to whistle with them again like he showed me earlier, I
take a chance.
“Maybe even before summer?” I ask him and lean close to
nudge his shoulder with mine. Just a nudge, then I sit back
upright, but he’s quick to nudge mine against his.
“Definitely before summer too.”
Time passes and the sun sets too quickly. I know time is
almost up, and that’s so bittersweet.
“Are you really sick? Like… like, sick sick?” Jake’s
question pulls the smile from my face in a single swoop. And
the nerves settle back in my stomach. I pick two blades of
grass, thinking maybe I could whistle too. But instead I let
them fall, and the wind takes them.
“The doctor said I was sick years ago…” Instead of letting
any bit show of what I felt that day Mama cried and cried in
the car, I actually let out a small laugh. It’s only a huff of
laughter. Even though I’d like to pretend I’m not affected by
the pain of the memory, my eyes gloss over.
“Why are you laughing?” Jake sounds truly concerned,
and I’m quick to put a reassuring hand over his. That small
moves changes everything. The electric spark, the sudden
heat. I’m quick to take my hand back.
“Sorry, it’s just a little joke I tell myself,” I explain,
shaking off both the memories and the touch with a quick sip
of water.
“What do you tell yourself?” he asks skeptically as I set
the cup down. I can’t take my hand off of it as I nervously
peek at him and answer, “That I’m invincible.”

H IS SMIRK IS slow to form, but it grows quickly, turning into a

grin. “I like that.”
His smile is contagious, and I find myself telling him, “I
like that you like it.”
 I’m still biting down on my bottom lip and hoping I’m not
blushing too hard when he looks me in the eyes and responds,
“I like you, Emmy. I think I more than like you.”

T HREE DAYS CAME AND WENT . I got lost in the pages of The
Coverless Book, falling in love with both Emmy and Jake,
rooting for them as he fell in love with her and she with him. I
spent all of yesterday checking in with my patients at work
before Aiden told me that wasn’t what my leave was for. I
spent every waking hour trying to occupy my thoughts and
time. All so I wouldn’t think about Jase Cross or my sister, and
every moment in the months that I lost her.
Every moment I wish I could have changed.
Between the two, I thought about Jase the most. Because it
felt better to think of him than her. Choosing pleasure over
pain.
Three days went by, and I thought of him every morning
and every night. I started to think I’d made it all up because I
didn’t hear from him, not one word. Not until this afternoon
when I got a text from a number I didn’t know, giving me an
address signed with “J.” Followed shortly by the number of
hours we’d already spent together. Eleven. I imagine he
must’ve included the time he was in bed with me. One
hundred dollars every ten minutes, six hundred dollars an
hour, so I’ve barely made a dent in the time I owe him.
And I haven’t gotten anywhere. I have no new information
that sheds light onto what happened to Jenny. He says he
didn’t do it; I already knew The Red Room was a place for
drug deals and a criminal hangout.
Nothing new. Time is stagnant and I can’t hold on much
longer. I can’t rely on someone who isn’t coming through.
I made it down the long winding path around the massive
estate and parked in the back where Jase told me to; I made it
all that way without breathing.
Maybe that’s why I feel faint as I shut my car door, the
thud echoing in the depths of the thick forest I stared into only
days ago. The dark greens are covered by a slight dusting of
white as the snow falls gently, creeping into the crevices of
everything.
Pulling my scarf a bit tighter, I take the steps one by one to
the front door.
Answers. I will get answers. Even if it’s only one question
at a time. He has to know something.
The bite from the wind creeps up quickly as I raise my fist
to knock on the door, only to hear a beep and a click before I
even touch it. Someone else grants me entry. He already
knows I’m here.
Warily, I push the large, carved wooden door open, and it
glides easily with the softest of pushes.
Thump. My heart slams as I remember the last time I gazed
at this wood, but the engravings were upside down as I
dangled from Jase’s shoulder.
It’s only been days, but it feels like everything’s changed.
The massive foyer greets me with warmth, but not much
else. The lighting of the wrought iron chandelier reflects on
the shiny marble floor, radiating wealth with the spiral
staircase, but that’s all this room contains. It’s empty and even
in the warmth, even coming in from the blustery weather, it’s
cold in here.
Click.
The door shuts behind me, and the small sound startles me.
My quick gasp echoes in the room.
Clenching my fists, I inwardly scold myself. Pull it
together.
He’s only a man. A man with answers. A man who will
bring me justice. Justice Jenny deserves.
A man who is not here. I have no idea where he is. But I’m
alone in the foyer.
My lips purse as I breathe out, letting my heavy bag drop
to the floor. It’s topped with the weighted blanket Jase left.
 My gaze moves from window to window, to the heavy
front door.
I can’t help but to test Jase’s statement. That the doors are
locked on the inside and there’s no way out. Something about
Jase makes me feel like he wouldn’t lie. Like he doesn’t make
threats, only promises of what’s to come.
I think it’s the severity of his presence. The confidence in
his banter. Everything is always just so with him. It’s how he
wants it to be, and everything is exactly that. How he wants.
It’s the impression he gives me and that impression is why
I pull off my gloves and shove them in my coat pocket.
Gripping the knob with both hands, I turn and pull. I yank it
harder when it doesn’t give, feeling the stretch in my arms
from tugging on an unmoving door.
Huffing the stray hair out of my face, I glance up at a small
black square, smaller than the size of a sheet of notebook
paper. It’s digital. Whatever lock he uses, it’s digital.
“Fingerprints and hand scans,” Jase’s voice bellows from
the empty hall behind me, forcing me to whip around to face
him, my hand on my chest. “That sort of thing,” he adds,
slipping his hands into his pockets.
“Jesus fuck,” I gasp with contempt. “Are you trying to
give me a heart attack?”
My heart thumps a yes, my core clenches with affirmation
and my gaze drifts down his body, agreeing with the two of
them.
He’s not wearing a suit today. And he looks damn good in
his perfectly fitted suits. In jeans and a t-shirt stretched tight
across his shoulders, showing off those corded muscles in his
arms… he’s doing that shit on purpose.
Swallowing down my heart, I try to relax again. “Just
testing what you said…” My explanation dies in the air as he
stalks closer to me with powerful strides and in a dominating
way that almost has me stepping back, bumping my ass into
the door. Almost, but I hold my ground.
 “Well then, I’m relieved you weren’t leaving already,” he
comments, the words spoken lowly as he stops right in front of
me.
The air between us crackles like a roaring fire.
How does he do this to me?
“I like it better when you’re an asshole,” I speak without
thinking. I’m rewarded with a charming smile, and a deep
rough chuckle.
“I’ll remember that, cailín tine.” Holding out his hand, he
commands me, “Come.”
As I reach for my purse, Jase leans down, grabbing the
handle before I can. His blanket is in plain sight on top and
before I can speak, he comments, “You could have kept it with
you; it may help you sleep.”
One step in front of the other I follow him, with only the
sounds of our footsteps keeping us company while I try not to
think too much about what he said and why.
He doesn’t care about my sleep.
He doesn’t care about how I’m feeling.
He wants to get his dick wet. He wants to tie me up and do
with me what he wishes.
All of this is simply to keep me amenable.
Jase Cross may have the upper hand, but I’m doing this for
me.
The echoes of my footsteps get louder in the narrow
corridor as I think, I’m doing this for Jenny.
One step, one beat of my heart, one tick of the clock.
I have my questions lined up in a pretty row. Without
warning, Jase halts and unlocks a door, but how? I don’t know.
It simply clicks the moment he stops in front of it and with a
flick of the handle, it opens.
I’ve never seen wealth like this before. And I imagine it
shows in my expression, judging by the smug look on Jase’s
face when he opens the door wider and says, “After you.”
“Where would you like me?” I ask him the moment he
opens the door and I step in before taking a look. “Oh,” I
murmur, and the word leaves my lips without my conscious
consent.
The click of the door closing behind me is followed by a
dull thud of a lock, some sort of lock, moving into place.
My belly flips in a way I don’t understand. Almost like
when you’re driving down a hill too fast, or on a roller coaster.
The anticipation of the fall, the sudden drop of reality making
your stomach somersault.
As I spot the table in the middle of the room, that’s exactly
what I feel. Followed by the same exact cold prickling I
remember so well from three nights ago traveling along my
skin.
“What do you think?” Jase asks me, and at the same time
he reaches up to my shoulders to take my coat. I anticipate the
feel of his fingers trailing along my skin as he does, but he’s
careful not to touch me. I think he does it on purpose.
I think he does more things with intent than I first realized.
“It’s not at all like your foyer,” I comment and then drag
my eyes back to the wooden bench in the middle of the room.
It’s at odds with the large plush carpet that takes up most of
the space. I have to look out further to the edge to note that
under it is a barn wood floor, or something like it. A darker
wood, with wide planks. The cream rug is the brightest thing
in here, and thank goodness it’s large. Even with the three
chandeliers at varying heights with a mix of iron and wood,
the room has a soft, airy feeling. Dim and romantic even.
As my coat falls off my shoulders, I take a half step
forward and touch the wall. It’s a thick wallpaper in a damask
cream, but it’s darkened by the blood-red pattern within it.
Besides the bench and a matching dresser, there’s a
whiskey-colored leather chaise lounge and a white crystal
fireplace that would certainly be the focus, if not for the
wooden bench dead smack in the center of it all.
 With the flick of a switch from behind me, I hear the gas
turn on and the fireplace roars to life. Jase’s hand is still on the
switch when I peek behind my shoulder.
I dare to step forward and touch the edge of the wooden
bench, noting it’s lined with padding upholstered in a soft
black leather.
“It’s beautiful. It’s primitive and raw. Elegant, yet
seductive in a way that borders on decadence.”
He doesn’t respond to my comment, although his eyes
never leave me as I walk around the table. “The wood won’t
catch on fire?” I ask him, remembering how the flames felt
like they consumed everything. I’ve never felt so alive.
“It’s for fucking, not fire play.” Jase’s words come with
authority and a heat that could match that raging from the
fireplace behind me.
My lungs still as I’m pinned by his gaze. “Is that what you
think you’ll be doing today?”
Thump, thump, thump. The pace picks up.
“I think you’d enjoy it and my temperament hasn’t been…
appropriate. I’d appreciate a good fuck.”
“I can say no,” I remind him, feeling the warring need to
give in, to have it all, and to keep my head on straight.
“You could.” His dismissive nature would piss me off if it
weren’t for the way he looks at me. Like he can see right
through me, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to see me.
“I don’t fuck every man I find attractive. Even if I’m
willing to admit,” I pause a moment, wondering if I should say
it out loud. It brings the truth to life when you speak it, but he
already knows. This cocky bastard is well aware of what’s
between us. “Even if I’m willing to admit there’s chemistry
between us and I like what you do to me. If it weren’t for the
fact that I have questions and a debt you’re holding over my
head… I wouldn’t give you the time of day.”
The heat sizzles between us, although the nerves rack
through my body. He intimidates me. Maybe it’s something I
hadn’t admitted to myself before, but in this moment, as he
stares down at me, making me wait for a response, I’m so
sincerely aware of how much he intimidates me.
“Business then?” Jase asks with an arched brow; his
expression doesn’t hold a hint of emotion, or amusement. He’s
a man in control and nothing more.
Standing toe to toe with him, I swallow as I nod. “It’s
business.”
“I have the first question, you have the next.” He speaks as
he turns his back to me and strides to the dresser, laying my
coat over the top of it. He stands there a second too long. The
silence is only broken by the pop of the fire to the left of him.
The bright light sends shadows down the side of him, and
when he turns around those shadows make his jawline seem
sharper, his eyes darker and every inch of his exposed skin
looks taut and powerful.
He exudes raw masculinity.
“Strip.” He gives the command and whatever hint of
defiance had come over me flees in an instant.
I have to lean down to unzip my leather boots, then slip
them off. I’m ashamed to say I put more effort into this outfit
than a woman with self-respect would. The dark denim skinny
jeans take a little more effort to shimmy out of, and all the
while Jase stands there with his muscular arms crossed in front
of him as he leans against the dresser, watching in silence.
I can’t even look at him as I second-guess everything in
this moment.
I’m not a whore, but that’s exactly what I feel like. I can’t
pretend it’s anything else.
When I’m left in nothing but my silk undershirt and lace
bra, both covered by an oversized, cream cashmere sweater,
Jase’s steps destroy the distance between us. It only takes three
steps until he’s in front of me, his hands at the hem of my
sweater. I’m quicker than he is, my hands wrapping around his
powerful wrists. My arms are locked and my nails nearly dig
into his flesh as I glare into his prying gaze.
 “I can do it myself,” I say, pushing the words through
clenched teeth.
“I’m paying very well for this time with you. I intend to
enjoy every minute. If you’d like for it to stop, you know how
to tell me just that.”
There’s no reason I should feel a sudden stab of emotions
up my throat, drying it and tightening it. Or the hollowness
that grows in my chest.
“It’s just business, isn’t it?” he questions and with another
thump of my treacherous heart, I release his wrists, waiting for
him to undress me like he wishes.
Whore. Whore is the first word that comes to mind, and
how I made it this long without feeling like one is beyond me.
“May I ask a question then? I know you have yours first,
but I’d like to ask one, if you’ll … allow it.” I keep my tone
professional as I can, holding back the desire to smack my
hand across his arrogant, handsome face.
Jase doesn’t touch my sweater. Instead he walks around
me to stand behind me, leaving only the fire for me to look at.
His voice hums a “mm-hmm” behind me. His chest is so close
to my back, I can feel the vibrations of it, even if he’s not
touching me.
“Are you looking in to who did that to my sister? If she
owed anyone anything?” My words waver in the air and I wish
I could hold them steady. I wish I could sound as strong as I
feel on my best of days. Not in this moment, not when I’m
acutely aware that I’m whoring myself out to this arrogant
bastard who could be using me, lying to me and toying with
me just for his own sick pleasure. All so I can chase the ghost
of whoever hurt my sister. Whoever took her from me.
“I already told you I was.” His answer is clear and lacks
the arrogance and dismissiveness he’s given me so far today. I
don’t have to ask him to expand on his answer, since he does
that himself. “Her death has caused ripple effects. When I have
a name and a reason, you will too.”
 I can’t help that I flinch when he lays a hand on my
shoulder. I can’t control the way I feel, and I struggle to hide
that from him.
I’m so alone. In a room with this man I’ve been thinking
about for days, I feel so fucking alone. Maybe I made the
memory of that night more than what was actually there.
I stare at the flames lingering among the pure white
crystals. I let them mesmerize me and tell myself I don’t have
to go through with this. I don’t have to rely on Jase Cross.
But the alternative crushes me; I can’t risk never knowing
what happened and having to say goodbye without giving her
justice.
His left hand finds my hip and he rubs soothing circles
there over the sweater. Which only makes me hate him more
until he lowers his lips to my ear and whispers, “Does it make
a difference to you… if I admit I feel that chemistry too? That
I have a desire to be near you?”
With a gentle kiss on my neck, that hard wall around me
cracks and crumbles.
“It’s no longer only business for me, cailín tine.”
His words are a soothing balm. One I didn’t realize I
needed. My hand covers his, and I lean back into his chest,
where he holds me. This man holds me because he wants to do
just that. And I lean into him, because I want to do just that.
“I like it when you touch me,” I whisper into the room,
hoping it will keep my secret.
“And I like touching you,” he says softly and runs the tip
of his nose down the back of my neck, causing my eyes to
close, my head to loll to the side and the pain to drift away
slowly.
I don’t want to be alone. I almost speak the realization
aloud.
“I promise you, I will find out who hurt her.” His words
cause my eyes to open and when they do, I stare at the fire as
Jase pulls my sweater over my head. It falls to the floor and
then he whispers against the shell of my ear, “I will make them
pay for what they did. And you will know every detail.”
 JASE

W hen she turns in my arms, I don’t expect her to

devour me with a kiss full of need and hunger.
She can only hold up the hate routine for so
long before her arms get weak and tired, and her body gives in
to what it needs.
Pressing her lips to mine and spearing her fingers through
my hair, she pulls me lower to her, standing on her tiptoes and
holding her body against mine.
My tongue dives into her hot mouth, feeling the heat and
need and lust she has to offer.
Her head falls back so she can breathe, deep and
chaotically. I don’t need air. I need to devour her.
With my arms wrapped around her and my lips traveling
down her neck, down her bare shoulder, I take in every inch of
her. Inhaling her sweet scent, memorizing the alluring sounds
she lets slip from her lips. Dragging my teeth back up her
neck, I hear her hiss my name, “Jase.”
“Make me forget,” she whimpers against my lips before I
can ravage her.
Make me forget.
I don’t speak the only response I can give her. I will, if you
do the same for me.
Slamming my lips against hers, I grab her ass and lift her
into my arms. Her legs straddle my waist as I carry her to the
table.
 Her hips need to be nestled against the padding, and the
strap is meant to keep her in place. But I have no time for any
of it. The urgency of our heated kiss fuels a primitive side of
me with the need to have her under me as soon as possible.
With her heels digging into my ass, spurring me on, I
groan in the hot air between us, “I need to be inside of you.”
Her lips part, and I can almost hear her say the words. I
know what she’s going to say before she says it, I need you
too.
But her gaze lingers, time pauses and the truth is lost in a
haze of want and need.
Instead she kisses me, long and deep. Massaging my
tongue and taking everything she wants with our kiss.
With her ass supported by the bench, I unbutton and unzip
my jeans, letting them fall as I stroke my cock.
“I need you,” she whispers into my mouth and then kisses
me reverently again.
She’s already wet, but so tight. Pushing two fingers inside
of her, I stretch her until she can take three. “Your cunt was
made for me to fuck,” I tell her as I drag my knuckles against
her front wall.
Her grip on the edge of the table nearly slips as her pussy
spasms around my fingers.
I don’t stop fucking her until her release is passed and her
chest heaves for air and her face is flushed.
“Flip over,” I command her but it’s unneeded. I take the
task on myself, gripping her hips and butting them against the
bench.
Moving the head of my cock to her core, I press against
her gently, not pushing in just yet.
A deep groan leaves me as I bend over her, my chest
against her back. “You feel so fucking good,” I whisper
against her and just as she lifts her head to respond, I slam
myself inside of her. Every inch of me in one swift stroke.
 Her mouth drops open with a scream and her nails dig into
the wood. Fuck, she’s tight, so tight it almost hurts and I have
to clench my jaw and force myself to slam into her over and
over again.
Her small body jostles against the table and I know there
will be bruises tomorrow. I’ll be a happy man if she can’t even
walk.
A strangled noise leaves her as she gets impossibly tighter,
cumming all over my cock.
“Jase,” she moans my name, arching her back and
scratching the wood as her body stiffens with her release.
With one hand on my shoulder, keeping her arched, and
the other on her hip to pin her against the table, I ride through
her release, taking her savagely and with no mercy.
It’s more than just fucking her, this is about owning her
and I don’t know when that happened.
She adjusts to me soon enough and my thrusts pick up, my
balls drawing up with the need to release, but I can’t give in
just yet.
A desperate moan, loud and uncontrolled, fills the air. In
an attempt to silence it, Beth covers her mouth with both
hands as I thrust again and again.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” The words leave me at the same
time that I grab her arms, pulling her hands away as I continue
to fuck her with a ruthless pace.
Her upper body sways with every hard push of my hips
against her ass.
“I want to hear every fucking sound.” The words come out
rough, from deep in my chest. “Scream for me.”
 JASE

“I think I should leave.” Bethany’s cadence is soft

and innocent, and it doesn’t hold any of the
regret I’m sure she’s feeling.
She’s been silent since I brought her into the bedroom.
Limp, well fucked, and sated.
And questioning everything.
I know the war that rages inside of her. I feel the same.
It’s not just business. And there’s no justification for the
two of us being together.
She knows it. I know it. It’s easy to get lost in each other’s
touch, but when it’s over, what’s left?
Beth turns in my bed, careful not to disturb the sheets to
face me. Her small hand rests against my chest and I lift mine
up to hers, holding her hand and bringing it to my lips so I can
kiss her knuckles.
I don’t know what this is. Or where it’s going. All I know
is that we shouldn’t be doing it. She knows it too.
“Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” she asks, not even
looking me in the eyes.
I nod, forcing her to peek up at me, and the well of
emotion I’m feeling sinks deep into the soft browns and hints
of green in her gaze.
I move to lie on my back as she scoots to the edge of the
bed and quietly picks up her sweater from the pile of clothes
we carried in from the den. I watch the dim light kiss the
curves of her body until it’s covered by the soft fabric.
Listening to her bare feet pad on the floor, then the flick of
the light switch and the running water, I stare at the ceiling,
knowing I need to give her an answer to her unspoken
question, but the moment I do, I may lose her forever.
“You take medication?” Beth’s question brings my
attention to her as she stands in the threshold of the bathroom.
One hand on the door, the other on a bottle of unmarked pills.
“No,” I answer her, feeling the tension thicken.
Her weight shifts from one foot to the other. “So… you
just keep your product in your bathroom then?” she dares to
speak.
“My product?” I’m quick to throw off the covers and stalk
toward her. My shoulders feel tense, hearing the confrontation
in her voice. Maybe she just wants to pick a fight. Something
she knows will end whatever it is between us and she can go
back to pretending, it’s just business. Bull-fucking-shit. I won’t
allow it.
“For a moment, I forgot. For a moment,” she says under
her breath, shutting the medicine cabinet. She turns around
before I get to her and looks me in the eyes as she takes a step
forward to meet me. “I was looking for Advil. And I
thought…” She trails off and swallows hard, pulling her hair
into a ponytail before continuing to speak. “For a moment, I
forgot and I don’t know how that’s fucking possible.”
I expect anger, but all I see in her features are
disappointment and sadness. “Of course you have drugs here.
You’re a drug dealer.”
Even as she stares at me, her eyes gloss over. She’s so
close to the edge of breaking. Looking for anything to push
her over so she doesn’t have to deal with the real cause of her
pain.
Reaching around her, I open the medicine cabinet door and
pull out the pills. “They’re for sleeping,” I tell her, and my
voice comes out hard.
 She tries to maneuver around me, but with my other hand,
I grip her hip and keep her right there. “That’s all they are. I
don’t do drugs and I don’t like what I do, but I have to do it.”
“You don’t-”
My finger over her lips silences her. Her eyes spark and
rage, but beneath the anger there’s so much more.
“You don’t have to understand.” She pulls my hand away
from her mouth just then.
“Yes, I do,” she says and shakes her head. “You don’t
understand. I am not okay.” Her last word cracks. “I don’t
know when I became this woman, or if I was always like this
and never knew it because I was too busy solving someone
else’s problem. But right now, I have nothing.” She swallows
thickly, holding on to her strength. “I feel like my life is on the
precipice of changing forever. And I don’t want to go back to
the girl I was, but I don’t like where this is headed either. I
don’t have answers, and I need answers.”
Her hand is still firmly gripping my wrist, and I stare at it
until she loosens her hold.
“What answers do you need?”
My patience with her is higher than it should be. I’m softer
and more willing to be gentle with her.
“I don’t like what you do.”
“That’s not a question to be answered.”
“Well I don’t like it. I don’t like that I like you.”
I let her raised voice and condescension slide. For now.
Only because it’s true. She’s only being honest, and I get it.
“Someone’s going to do it, Bethany. There will always be
someone in my position. You can’t stop that. I can at least
have control if I’m that someone.”
“You sell drugs?” she asks, staring at the door to the
bathroom before looking me in the eyes.
“You know I do. That answer isn’t going to change.”
 “Why?”
“It’s a long story,” I say, keeping my voice firm.
“I have time.”
“I don’t want to tell it right now.”
“Why are you making me pay Jenny’s debt?” Her wide
eyes beg me to give an answer that will calm her fears. I can
see it clearly. “You didn’t mention it when you came to the
house. It wasn’t until after you brought me here. And you
don’t need the money, that’s for damn sure.” Her gaze searches
mine, looking for the only words she wants to hear.
“I wanted to let it go,” I lie, hating myself for every word
that comes out of me.
“How could she even owe so much? What did she use the
money for?” she continues, not finding my answer satisfying
enough.
Every question is another cut in the deepening gouge.
“You already got a question. Mine first.” It’s the only thing
I can think of to hold her off for a moment. She quiets,
watching me and waiting. Willing to give me whatever answer
I need.
“How did you know about The Red Room? Why is that
where you went to find answers?”
I already know the truth, so all while she speaks, I grasp
for what answer I can give her in return.
“Jenny; she used to talk about it. The back room of The
Red Room. All the time. I heard her on the phone.”
“Who was she talking with?”
“I don’t know.” She’s quick to add, “That’s another
question.”
“Semantics.”
“Answer my question!” Bethany pushes her hands into my
chest. Not to hit me, not to push me, but to get my attention, to
demand it. My blood simmers simply from her touch. “Why
did she owe you so much money?”
“She owed it to Carter,” I answer her, unable to deny her at
this point. Blaming the debt on someone else like a coward.
“He didn’t want to let the debt go and be made to look like a
fool.”
“I don’t understand what she did with all that money,” she
nearly whispers, looking past me as she searches through her
memories for answers. Answers she’ll never find.
“Debt adds up fast.” I try to keep my tone gentle as I
speak. “I can tell you I met her once,” I add, and my
confession brings her gaze to mine. “She was looking to buy
that drug you just had.”
“Sleeping pills?” She looks confused.
“Sweets is what they call it. Sweet Lullabies. We mostly
use it for addicts to wean them off, put them out during their
withdrawal.” Bethany stares up at me, hanging on every word
as I speak. I only wish this story had a better ending for her.
“She was strung out on coke; every telltale sign was there.
And she was buying too much of the sweets. It didn’t make
sense. It wasn’t for her. When we questioned her, she said it
was for her brother. She left and never came around again.”
“We don’t have a brother.”
“I know. We could tell she was lying to us, so we sent her
away.”
“That’s what you know of my sister?” Shame and sadness
lace her words.
“That’s the only time I met her,” I answer her and her gaze
narrows, as if she can see through my truth to the lies I just
told her moments ago. But this is the truth.
“I don’t know who she was buying it for, or if it has
anything to do with why she was killed.”
I’ve lost a piece of her in this moment. I don’t know how,
but I did.
 “Don’t judge me, Beth. I’m the one who will pay for this.”
She stares up at me, but she doesn’t say a word. Still
assessing everything I said, or maybe trying to see her sister as
she was in her last days.
“You’ve got to calm down.”
“I don’t just calm down,” she says, wrapping her arms
around herself and I think she’s done, but she tells me a story.
“I was a preemie when I was born, and I almost died. My
mother told me she thought it was God punishing her. She
hadn’t wanted my sister; she almost gave her up. Not that she
was a bad person,” she adds, quick to defend her mother. “She
didn’t think she’d be a good mom to her, and had broken up
with my father just before she found out she was pregnant. She
came very close to giving her up, but my father came back
around and wanted to try to make things work. And then a few
years later, they wanted to have me. And she told me she’d
thought God was going to take me away. My lungs didn’t
work and the hospital couldn’t do anything, so they put me in
a helicopter and sent me away to a hospital that could save me.
My mom couldn’t come at first, because she lost a lot of
blood.
“My grandfather used to say I came into this world
fighting and I never stopped. He told me once, ‘You’ll leave
this world fighting, Bethy. And I’ll still be so proud of you.’”
Tears cloud her eyes, but she doesn’t shed them. Not my fiery
girl; she holds on to every bit of her pain.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, rubbing her arm and then holding her
when she falls into my chest.
“I’m sorry I’m a bitch,” she tells me, sniffing away the last
evidence that she may have been on the verge of crying. “I
don’t know why I’m always ready to fight. I just am.”
“It’s okay, I already told you that.”
“Why is it that when you say that, it feels like it really is?”
The way she looks up at me in this moment is like I’m her
hero. It’s nothing but another lie.
 “Because I’ll do everything I can to make sure it is okay,
maybe that’s why?”
She sniffs once more and takes a step back to the counter
as she says, “I should leave.”
“I want you here. I don’t want you to leave tonight.”
“Why?” she asks. “Why do you want me to stay?”
“Do you really want to go to bed alone?”
“No,” she whispers.
A moment passes between us. The look she gave me a
moment ago is coming back.
“Jase, promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t hurt me.”
I lie to her again, knowing that I hurt everyone I touch.
Knowing I’ve already hurt her, although the truth of that hasn’t
revealed itself yet. “I won’t hurt you,” I tell her. I would have
told her anything. Just to get her to stay.
 BETHANY

O ne thing the kids at the hospital do all the time is lie.

They lie about taking their medication. They lie
about their symptoms. They lie for all sorts of
reasons all the time.
It’s my job to know when they’re lying. I can’t save them
if I don’t know the truth.
When Jase looked me in the eyes hours ago, he lied to me.
I don’t know what piece of the conversation contained the
lie. I don’t know how much was a lie. I don’t know why.
But I know he lied to me. And I can’t let it go. The
nagging thought won’t let me sleep. He fucking lied to me. I
put it all out there, allowed myself to be raw and vulnerable.
My imperfect, broken, bitchy self. And he lied to my face. The
worst part is that I’m sure it had to do with my sister.
That’s what hurts the most.
Every minute that passed after seeing that look on his face
when he lied, every minute I thought of how I could get it out
of him. How I needed to get it out of him. How I was failing
Jenny by letting it happen. How I was failing myself.
I’m careful as I slip off the sheet. I haven’t slept at all, but
he has. His breathing is even, and I listen to it as I gently climb
out of the bed. My body is motionless when I stand up,
listening to his inhales and exhales.
I already have my excuse ready in case he wakes. I never
got that Advil, after all.
 Every footstep is gentle as I move to the dresser, opening a
drawer as silently as I can. The first drawer proves useless and
as I shut it, Jase breathes in deeper, the pace of his breathing
changing. I stand as still as I can, holding my own breath and
praying he falls back asleep.
And he does. That steady, even breathing comes back.
With the rush of adrenaline fueling me, I move to his
nightstand quietly, slowly, wondering if I’ve lost my fucking
mind. I’m so close to him that he could reach out and grab me
if he woke up. I watch his chest rise and fall as I open the
drawer. The sound of it opening is soft, but noticeable. All the
while, Jase sleeps.
I watch his chest for a steady rhythm; I watch his eyes for
any movement. He’s knocked the hell out.
The faint light from the room is enough to reflect off the
metal of the set of cuffs. I only have two, but if I can get one
wrapped around his wrist and linked to the bed, I’ll have him
where I need him.
Trapped, until he tells me the fucking truth.
I almost shut the drawer, almost, but then I realize he
would be able to reach it, and nestled inside are both a gun and
a knife.
The metal gleams in the night and I carefully pick up both
weapons and move them to the top of the dresser on the other
side of the room, away from his reach.
Thump. Thump. The heat of uneasiness creeps along my
skin. My own breathing intensifies, my hands shake slightly
and the metal of the handcuffs clinks in the quiet night.
Freezing where I am on the other side of the bed, I wait.
And wait. Watching him carefully. If he woke up right now, I
don’t even know what he’d do to me.
But it’s better to suffer that consequence than to accept
him lying straight to my face, all the while, I fall for him …
him and his lies.
 It’s what my mother did. She accepted my father’s lies.
And it left her a lonely woman. I won’t be with a liar. I don’t
care about any debt or any other bullshit reason. I can’t trust a
liar.
I don’t realize how angry I’ve become, not until Jase rolls
over slightly in bed and my heart leaps up my throat.
The thought runs through my mind not to do it. That I’m
out of my element and this world is more dangerous than I can
handle. This isn’t the person I am.
But he lied to me. …About Jenny.
Biting down on my bottom lip, I creep back up onto the
bed and close one of the cuffs around an iron post of Jase’s
bed. There are four metal posts that surround his bed. The soft
clink of the locks goes by slowly, clink, clink, clink and I
swear he’ll hear it, but his chest rises and falls evenly while he
shows no signs of waking.
As I lean closer to him, closer to the other side, and ready
to slip the other cuff through the post on that side of him, I
gaze down at his face. In his sleep, he’s still a man of power.
But even with his strong stubbled jaw, there’s a peacefulness I
haven’t seen.
He’s only a man.
It fucking hurts to look at him. When someone can hurt
you, it means you care. I have lived my life making sure not to
care, so that I won’t be hurt. And yet, Jase Cross pushed his
way in, only to lie to me.
It solidifies my decision. I’ll be damned either way.
Clink, clink, clink. With both handcuffs in place, I know
securing the one on the left to his wrist will be easy. His wrist
is close to the first cuff already. I’m sure he’ll wake and then
I’ll be fucked, but I have to try. I’ll have him where I want
him.
With that thought, I go through with it, not second-
guessing a thing.
 I grab his wrist and it’s by sheer dumb luck that he wakes
up and grabs my throat with that hand. His dark eyes open
wide and he stares daggers at me. Pinning me with a fierce
look, the fear I knew I held for him deep down makes me still.
The look he shows is of startle and shock, and I don’t let it
distract me, even if I do scream out of instinct.
I drop my head down, shoving my face into the headboard,
feeling the burn rising over my head from hitting my nose, and
slip the metal around his wrist, scraping it against his skin as
he screams at me, locking it into place.
“What the fuck are you doing?” his voice bellows in the
room. His grip tightens for a moment, right before releasing
me altogether.
I can still feel the imprint of his hand on my throat, the
power he has to hurt me. I can feel it as I kick away from him,
fighting with the sheets to get far enough away.
Scrambling backward, I fall hard off the bed onto my back,
gasping for breath as my heart attempts to climb out of my
throat.
Jase rips his arm back, yelling in vain as the metal digs
into his wrist and the bed shakes, but he remains attached to it.
Cuffed to the bed. He does it again and again and each time I
lie on my back like a coward, my elbows propping me up on
the floor as I wait with bated breath to see if I have trapped the
beast.
“What the fuck did you do?” he jeers. “Where’s the key?”
he asks in a snarl.
Silence. Did I really do it? Thump.
“Where’s the fucking key!” he screams until his face turns
red. The anger seeps into the air around us as I slowly stand.
“I have the key,” I manage to say somehow calmly, still in
disbelief. He blinks the sleep from his eyes, breathing from his
nostrils and slowly coming to the realization of what’s
happened. The way he looks down at me, like I betrayed him
—I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t kill something inside of me.
 I ruin what I touch. I should have known this would end
with him hating me.
“Give it to me,” he requests with an eerily calm tone, one
that chills me to my bones.
“No,” I say, and the word falls from me easily. More easily
than I could have imagined as I stand up straighter, walking
slowly around the edge of the bed. Not unlike the way he does
to me when I undress for him.
His dark eyes narrow on me. “Don’t do this. I won’t be
mad. Just give me the key.”
Thump. Thump. Fear burns inside of me. The fear of both
repenting, and the fear of going through with it.
I keep walking, slowly making my way to the dresser and
Jase’s eyes move to it before looking back at me. “What are
you doing?” he asks me, and then I hear him swallow. I hear
the hint of fear creeping into his voice. “Give me the key.”
I ignore his demand and pick up the gun. I don’t aim it at
him, I merely hold it and tell him, “Put the open cuff around
your other wrist.” Although I lack true confidence, the gun
slipping slightly in my sweaty palms.
“And how would you like me to do that?” Jase questions, a
lack of patience and irritation are the only things I can hear in
his voice. Like I’m a child asking for something ridiculous.
“You’re a big boy,” I bite back, “I’m sure you can figure it
out.”
All the while I watch him and he watches me, my heart
does this pitter-patter in my chest making me think it’s giving
up on me as it stalls every time Jase looks back. Using the
pillow and occasionally leaning down to hold the cuff between
his teeth, he struggles to lock it. I don’t trust him enough to do
it myself though. There’s no way he wouldn’t grab me.
My heart beats faster with each passing second as he
attempts to close the cuff himself.
Every moment his gaze touches mine, questioning why I’d
do this, I question it myself.
 “I don’t want to hurt you,” I whisper when I hear the cuff
finally pushed into place. He rests his wrists against the iron
rod, pushing it tighter and securing it.
“Then put the gun down,” he urges me and I listen. I set it
down on the dresser where it sat only minutes ago and
hesitantly turn to him, each wrist cuffed to his bed.
“You can still uncuff me,” he suggests with more
dominance than he should have. Especially because I lift the
knife at the end of his sentence.
“More cuffs.” I speak the words and fight back the bile
rising in my stomach from knowing my own intentions.
Jase’s eyes stay on the knife as he answers me, “In the top
drawer of the dresser. To the right side… with the ropes.” His
voice is dull and flat. “You’re going to cuff my ankles?” he
guesses correctly and I nod without looking at him, simply
because I can’t.
Thump. Thump. My heart feels like it’s lagging behind as I
pick up the cuffs from the drawer, right where he said they
were.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks me; any hint of
arrogance or even anger is gone.
I can barely swallow as I move toward him. With the sheet
barely covering him but laid haphazardly over his groin still,
the rest of him is fully exposed. He is Adonis. Trapped and
furious, but ultimately mortal.
“I want answers,” I say, and I don’t know how I’m able to
speak. “You lied to me. I know you did.”
His only response is to stretch out his legs, not fighting,
not resisting. Putting his ankles close to the rods.
He’s helping me. Or it’s a trick. I decide on the latter,
moving closer, but hesitantly.
“Go on,” he tells me, staring down at me.
I stand back far enough away from the footboard, cautious
as I click the first cuff into place.
 “Go ahead, cailín tine,” he tells me, staring into my eyes.
His nickname for me breaks my heart. Even as I look away,
feeling shame and guilt consume me even though I know I
have a good reason to do this. But it doesn’t make it hurt any
less.
With the last cuff in place, and Jase half sitting up in bed,
leaning against the headboard and staring at me, I observe him
from where I stand.
“What are you going to do now?” I ask him.
“Wait.”
“You lied to me.” I whisper the ragged words and turn the
handle of the knife over in my hand.
“When?” he questions, and the muscles in his neck tighten.
A sad laugh leaves me and I’m only vaguely conscious of
it when I hear it.
“So you did lie?” I ask weakly, feeling the weight against
my chest. “And here I was hoping I was just crazy.”
“I’d be hard-pressed in this moment to call you sane,” Jase
comments, and my eyes move to his. “Yes, I lied to you.”
“What was a lie?” I ask him and take a step closer to the
bed. The floorboard creaks under my step and I halt where I
am, taking it as a warning.
“I don’t want to tell you. It doesn’t matter.” He speaks a
contradiction.
Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, still
holding the knife, I walk closer to him, gauging his ability to
move, even though he’s still as can be.
“I don’t think you could do anything,” I start to tell him as
I stand right in front of the nightstand, “if I stand right here.”
Holding out my arm, I gently place the blade of the knife on
his chest, not pushing at all, but letting him see how far away I
can be while still capable of hurting him. “What do you
think?” I ask him, wondering if I truly am crazy at this point.
 “What do you want to know?” he asks, not answering my
question.
“What did you lie about?”
“It’s irrelevant.”
“Anything relating to my sister is relevant.” I grit out the
words, pushing the knife down a little harder. Enough so the
skin on his pec surrounding the knife, tightens under the blade.
“Did you hurt her?” The words come out unbidden.
“No, I told you that.”
“And you told me you lied,” I counter.
“I lied to protect you, Bethany.” He almost says something
else, but instead he rips his gaze away from me, gnashing his
back teeth to keep him from talking.
Before I can continue, he tells me, “I have a name, but it’s
useless.” His dark eyes lift to mine. “We think he got her
hooked, intentionally or not, but he can’t be tied to anything
else. Nothing ties him to her death.”
“Give me his name.” The strong woman inside of me
applauds my efforts, rejoicing in the fact that it took this much
to make him speak and that I was able to push myself to this
point.
And that I have a name.
I have someone I can blame and punish, someone I can
make pay for what they did to my sister. They tortured her.
Broke her body. She was gone for so long, I don’t know how
long it went on. And then they burned her. They left nothing of
her for me.
There will be nothing of them left when I find them.
“No.” His answer dies in the tense air between us. It takes
me a long moment to realize what he’s even saying no to. My
mind has gone to darker places, and tears streak down my
cheek thinking about what she went through and that I wasn’t
there. I couldn’t save her.
 “Tell me who it was,” I say as I move a bit closer, holding
the knife with both hands, barely keeping it together. I let the
tears fall with no restraint, and no conscious consent either. “I
want his name!” I raise my voice and even to my own ears it
sounds violent and uncontrolled.
Jase stares straight ahead, ignoring me, not answering.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” The confession sounds
strangled.
“You don’t have to,” he answers.
“Give me the name, Jase!”
“You’ll get yourself killed!” he yells back at me and the
sound bellows from deep within him.
“You don’t understand what they did to her!” I scream at
him, feeling the well of emotion filling my lungs. I remember
the fear when she went missing. “She would text me every day
when she woke up, regardless of what time that ended up
being. Sometimes she forgot. But every day, there was at least
one text…” I trail off, remembering how angry I’d been when
she messaged last. She wouldn’t come back after I made her
admit she had a problem. She refused to come back and get
help. But she still messaged me every day. Until she didn’t.
“And then there was nothing,” I speak so softly, using
what’s left inside of me as the tears fall freely down my face.
“For days and then weeks, there was nothing but fear and
hope. And fear is what won. Every day she didn’t text me. The
fear won.” As I try to regain my composure, I wipe
haphazardly at my face and focus on breathing.
“I waited in silence for nothing. The first forty-eight hours,
no one did anything at all,” I say and my words crack. “Why
would they? She was reckless and headed down the wrong
path.”
The knife is still in my hands, still pressed to his skin when
I tell him, “I knew something terrible had happened to her, and
I could do nothing. She was still alive then. I know she was. I
remember thinking that. That she was still out there. That I
could feel her.”
 I’m brought back to my kitchen, crying on the floor, hating
myself for pushing her away, regretting that I yelled at her, all
alone and praying. Praying because God was the only one left
to listen to me. Praying he could save her, because I couldn’t.
“I had no name. No one had a name for me. But you do.” I
twist the knife just slightly, and suddenly feel it give, but I
don’t dare look. I don’t look anywhere but into Jase’s eyes,
even as he seethes in pain.
“Give me the name.”
“He’ll kill you, Bethany.” Sorrow etches his eyes and I
know his answer already even before he says, “I won’t do
that.”
I scream a wretched sound as I pull back the knife. It slices
cleanly, so easily, leaving a bright red line in its path. Small
and seemingly insignificant, but then blood pours from the
wound and he bites back a sound of agony.
It’s bright red. And it doesn’t stop.
What have I done? Jase’s intake is staggered but he doesn’t
show any other signs of pain.
“Fuck!” The word leaves me in a rush. “Jase,” I say, and
his name is a prayer on my lips. “No,” I think out loud as my
hand shakes and the knife drops to the floor. There’s so much
blood. There’s so much soaking into the bed as it drips around
his body.
It doesn’t stop.
“Jase,” I cry out his name as I ball up the bed sheets and
press them to the laceration.
He breathes deep, staring at the ceiling. Silent, and
ignoring me as I press more of the cotton linens to his chest,
only for it to be soaked a half second later.
There’s so much blood.
“I’m sorry,” I utter as I rip the sheets out from under him,
desperate to make it stop. “I’m so sorry.”
 The blood soaks through the fabric within seconds,
staining my hands.
Staring down at the blood that lines the creases of my
palms, I take a step back and then another.
What have I done?
 JASE

I t’s like when you wake up from a nightmare.

There’s a moment where it all feels real and then,
sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, reality
comes back to you. The horror stays, the damage done, the
terrors in your sleep lingering as you walk down the steps of
your quiet house to get a drink of water. And sometimes those
monsters stand behind you. You can still sense them, even
when you know they’re not real.
That’s what this feels like as the slice on my chest rips
agony through my body. Like I can’t get away from the ghosts
in her eyes, even if she’s woken from her dream. Even if
disbelief and regret are all she feels, all she sees, all she
recognizes.
The ghosts will still be there, waiting in the dark.
Every time she presses the sheets to the wound, a renewed
sense of pain spreads through my body, but I refuse to make a
sound. My hands turn to fists and I pull against the cuffs,
feeling the metal dig into my wrists.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t… I didn’t mean…” she says,
choking on her words.
“I told you I would tell you,” I remind her, flexing my
wrists and breathing through the pain. I’ve had worse shit done
to me. “When I know who it was, I will tell you and I will
make them pay.”
Besides, I fucking deserve this.
 “I’m not going to give you a name without knowing for
sure,” I confess to her, letting her believe that’s the only thing
I’ve withheld, the only lie I’ve spoken. “I promise you.”
Her beautiful hazel eyes lock onto mine, begging and
pleading for forgiveness but more than that, an out. A way out
of the nightmare she’s in.
There’s no way out of this shit though. This is what life is.
It’s what mourning is. A waking nightmare.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out before turning her back to me
and running to the bathroom.
I hear her open the medicine cabinet and when I do, I push
the escape lock on the cuffs with my thumb. It would be all
too fucked up for her to have found the cuffs in my car; the
ones I put on her, the ones I keep in my car. And not these
safety cuffs I intend to use when I light her ass on fire with my
paddle. The ones for play sold at sex shops.
Maybe I shouldn’t have let it go on for as long as I did, but
I think she needed this. She needed to get it out of her system.
I’m quiet as I unlock the ones on my ankles, taking my
time to put them away, gritting my teeth every time the sharp
pain reminds me that she cut me.
With the drawer open, I drop the cuffs in, one by one when
I hear her close the cabinet and I wait.
Her gasp is telling and I turn around slowly to see the halo
of light surrounding her from the bathroom door. A bandage
and gauze in one hand, and hydrogen peroxide in the other.
Horror plays in the depths of her eyes as she freezes where
she is. She’s a beautiful, broken mess.
I take a single step toward her; the floor groans and the
only other sound is the hushed gasp she makes.
“Jase,” she pleads, not hiding her fear. She doesn’t hide
anything; it’s a big part of what I admire about her.
“Jase,” she says again and this time my name is strangled
as it leaves her. So much begging in only a single word as I
take another step.
 She trembles where she stands. I reach out for the
bandages, and her arm drops dead to her side as she awaits her
sentence. I place the bandage over the cut without sparing it a
glance and wipe up the remaining blood with the gauze before
tossing it behind her into the bathroom and onto the floor.
And she flinches from the movement. From my arm
moving her way.
It fucking kills me. My chest doesn’t feel a goddamn thing
from the cut. But it feels everything knowing that she thought
I was going to hit her. That I would strike her.
Everyone deserves punishment for their sins. And I accept
mine. But I won’t accept losing her.
Her eyes never leave mine, and mine never leave hers.
She doesn’t beg for mercy; she doesn’t try to run.
The world is full of broken birds and pain. I won’t add to
it.
Not her. Not my fiery girl, my cailín tine.
“Jase.” She says my name thickly and swallows after a
second passes of silence. Just the two of us knowing the
other’s pain, knowing what’s happened wasn’t a nightmare, it
was real.
“I’m sor-”
I cut her off with my own apology. “I’m sorry I can’t bring
her back.” The emotion wells in my throat as I add, “If I could,
if I had that power, I wouldn’t be feeling the same shit you
are.”
The tense air changes, and everything falls around us. For
me it does. Nothing else exists for me but her.
“If I could, I would,” I tell her as I brush her hair off her
shoulder and lower my lips to hers. It’s all done slowly. I’ll be
sweet with her tonight.
Her lips brush against mine gently and then she deepens
our kiss.
 Her fingers are hesitant at first, as if she’s still expecting
me to snap like she did.
I have all the time in the world for her tonight. To see
what’s really here. To know what’s between us.
I can show her, and I do. Slowly, gently, and with every
small touch, I chip away at any armor she has.
I don’t want the hate; I don’t want the fight.
Not tonight.
Tonight I make her feel loved.
A part of me knows it’s selfish, because I don’t deserve her
or any of this. But tonight I need to feel loved too.
 BETHANY

The Coverless Book

Fourth Chapter

“D O you think Mama will be okay with it?” I ask Caroline,

nervously peeking up at her. The silk is like water under my
fingers. So smooth and easily flowing. “I’ve never worn
anything like it.”
“It’s perfect for your first date,” Caroline tells me with
that sweet Southern charm.
I turn around fully to face her, repeating my question, “But
do you think Mama will be okay with it?”
Caroline’s expression falters.
“I think your mama would love it, Emmy,” Caroline says,
forcing that false smile to her lips. She’s worked for our family
since just before I got sick. I know all her tells and that smile
she’s plastered on her face is only there to hide the truth. She
hates my mother, but I don’t know why.
“She’s sick too,” I whisper defensively. “That’s why she’s
not here.” The excuse falls flat, just like it does every time.
“She’s not sick like you. She’s just in pain,” Miss Caroline
corrects me.
Those in the most pain, cause pain. My mother told me that
once. It was a while ago and she said that’s why she doesn’t
see me very much. She doesn’t want to hurt me. I know it kills
her inside to know what’s happening to me. “Pain is a
sickness, isn’t it?” I ask Caroline.
The false smile wavers as she reaches down to pick up the
pair of shoes. “Your first pair of heels,” she states and
pretends she didn’t hear me. She does that sometimes. She
doesn’t answer me when I ask questions. I know they’re
insignificant, but I have no one else to talk to. Some days I
wonder if I’ve spoken when she does that.
I only know I have when I hear her sniffle. They don’t like
to see me like this, frail and losing weight and muscle like I
am. No one does. I’m not just sick; I’m dying. That’s what the
doctors say.
Smoothing the ruby red silk fabric with my hand, I turn to
the mirror thinking, Jake will like me in this dress. He won’t
mind seeing me sick. He doesn’t cry when I tell him I’m
invincible, not like Mama and not like Miss Caroline.
Jake thinks I’m pretty. He thinks I’m sweet.
“Soup, Emmy,” Caroline calls out and I can hear the
spoon clinking against the porcelain.
“Is it- “
Before I can finish, Miss Caroline nods and says, “Of
course it is. I had to make your favorite for today. Drink up,
baby, you need to be strong.”
“I already am strong,” I tell her with a smile, feeling the
excitement of tonight. “Haven’t I told you? I’m invincible.”

T HE STORY GRIPS me as the pages turn. A young boy and a

sick girl, falling in love even though they know it won’t last. I
can’t help but to think it’s not that simple. I hate her mother
and I like Miss Caroline, but I feel sorry for Emmy. It’s funny
how they feel so real when I curl up under the blanket and let
the night disappear in between the pages of The Coverless
Book.
Lines of a dark blue ink run along the pages. And with
every line, I add it to the list in my notepad.
I’ M INVINCIBLE .

Those in the most pain, cause pain.

I don’t feel sick when he looks at me like that; I can only
feel cherished with his gaze on me.
Agony is meaningless; only love can relate.

T HERE IS NO PATTERN . No reason to think there’s a hidden

message lying inside. But I do. I can’t help but to hope that
I’m missing something. Anything. I just want my sister to tell
me something.
Or at least I did. Days ago.
Before that night with Jase. The night everything changed.
Somehow, he took my fight away, but with it, there’s relief.
It’s been two days and he hasn’t messaged me, and I
haven’t messaged him either.
I don’t know how it happened, but everything feels
different now.
With every thrust against his bedroom wall, he forced the
air from my lungs. He took it, he made it his. The air, my
body… and more.
Forgiveness and understanding can do something to a
person. Especially when you don’t feel worthy of it.
When I stepped out of that bathroom, not knowing what
the hell I was going to do or what the hell I was thinking when
I cuffed him, I wouldn’t have fathomed he’d be there facing
me.
What did I think would happen even if I did get a name
from him?
That somehow he would let me out of his gilded cage after
he admitted what he lied about? That he wouldn’t hold it
against me that I’d cuffed him up and threatened him?
 I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. I’ve never been
sorrier for hurting someone. I can’t believe I did that.
There will be consequences, I remember Jase’s words last
night. Just before I fell asleep, he told me the night wasn’t
forgiven wholly, until there were consequences.
And I accept it. Whatever those consequences may be.
I don’t know what happened to make me think I could, and
that I should, lay a knife to his skin.
The only way I can justify it, is that I think it happened for
a reason.
I think we were meant to have that moment. The moment
when he kissed me, and he made it feel okay to let go. He
made me feel like if I was with him, everything would be the
way it should be.
He made me feel like I wasn’t as broken as I thought I
was.
And I gave him everything I had to give. Even if it’s not
much.
I would give him everything and anything from this day
forward.
His forgiveness and touch are worth more than I’ll ever
have.
Ping. My phone goes off with a text message, followed by
another.
Are you okay?
How are you feeling?
Two different texts, from two different people. And I’m
grateful for the distraction.
One’s from Laura and one’s from Jase.
I’m feeling good, how are you? I text them both the same
thing. I don’t even realize it at first.
I just haven’t heard from you. Anything new? Laura writes
back first.
 I write a few words and delete them. Write some more and
delete those too. I finally settle on, Maybe. I’ll know more
when we go out this weekend.
My heart does this little pitter-patter thing and my head
tells it that it’s naïve.
The three dots at the bottom left of the screen tell me she’s
writing something, but before she can finish, Jase messages.
I was hoping to see you tonight. But things came up.
Tomorrow.
He doesn’t ask. He tells.
I debate on what to say, focusing on the first part and then
the second. He was hoping to see me. The butterflies Emmy
feels … I feel them too. They kind of scare me. Everything
that’s happening scares me.
Before I can respond to him, Laura writes back.
What’s new? I can’t take the suspense. You know I thrive
on instant gratification.
Shifting on the sofa, I pull the blanket up my lap, hating
the draft coming from the old window and focusing on that
rather than the butterflies.
I pick up my mug and take a swig of it; the decaf tea is
lukewarm, but still satisfying.
I don’t know exactly what it is yet, I tell Laura. But when I
do, I’ll let you know.
I press send and then realize I sent it to the wrong fucking
person. The mug slams down onto the table when I realize, but
thankfully my tea’s almost gone so none of it splashes out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter under my breath, feeling
my heart race.
Sorry, I meant that for someone else. See you tomorrow. I
type out the response quickly, before Jase can respond. My
heart’s a damn war drum as I copy and paste what I sent him
to send to Laura.
 “Fuck a duck,” I say out loud, letting my head fall back on
the sofa. I am … a mess. A living, breathing mess.
Omg that’s so exciting! Tell me everything! Laura writes
immediately.
You don’t know what “what” is? What is “what?” And
who are you talking to? Jase writes back. Fuck, he knows. It
doesn’t take a genius to know what I’m talking about.
“Shit, shit, shit,” is all I can think and say as I stare at his
message.
Rubbing the stress away from my forehead, I decide they
can get the same message again.
I’m heading to bed. Sorry, we’ll talk later. As soon as the
text is sent, I toss the phone on the other side of the sofa and
stare at it as it goes off. Again and again. Taunting me every
time. And with each one, I wonder if it’s Jase, or Laura.
Fuck both of those conversations. It’s late, and I’m
obviously not with it. I’m tired, but I haven’t been able to
sleep. They can wait. Everything can wait.
Rubbing my eyes, and ignoring the sick feeling I have
inside, I finally get up off the sofa and wonder if I should grab
another cup of tea, or just pass out like I said I was going to
do.
My mind won’t stop with all the questions though. So
sleeping is nonexistent.
I don’t know what we are. Jase and me. I don’t know
where this is going. And I don’t know how I’ll be all right if I
don’t have Jase in my life. I owe him a debt, and the hours are
numbered. It will come to an end. I’m fully aware of that, and
it’s terrifying.
Sleep doesn’t come easy for me and with that thought in
mind, I pick up the small bottle of pills from my purse. The
handwriting on the back merely says, All you need is one.
I can add assault and theft to my résumé after what
happened two nights ago.
 Before I left Jase’s home, I swiped the bottle of sleeping
pills from his medicine cabinet. I don’t know if he knows yet,
or what he’ll do when he finds out, but he can add them to my
tab.
This goes against everything I know; everything I’ve ever
done. Both the stealing and taking the drugs. They’re only
sleeping pills, I remind myself. And I desperately need sleep.
Holding the pill up, I see it’s a gel capsule with liquid inside.
Just like an Advil.
But everything about this week is more than morally
ambiguous. And everything has changed.
The phone pings again and I check to see what they said
after getting a glass of water and a single pill.
Laura wrote back a novel. Text after text demanding I give
her every detail. To which I reply, I still love you! I’ll tell you
all of it soon!
And Jase wrote back, Sleep well. To which I reply, You too.
And feel far too much just from being able to tell him
goodnight.

I T ’ S SO COLD HERE . At first I don’t know where I am. Sleep

came too easily. I remember feeling my entire body lift as if I’d
become weightless, right before falling so deeply into
darkness. Even now I can remember it, as if I could touch it
and relive it. Although I know it’s already passed.
I fell and fell, but it didn’t feel like falling. Everything else
was moving around me until I landed in this room. A small
room with dirty white walls. There’s a radiator in the corner
with a thick coat of paint, or maybe many coats of paint. It’s
white too, like the walls. The thin wooden boards on the floor
are old and they don’t like me walking across them. They tell
me I don’t belong here. They tell me to go back.
But I hear the ripping.
Something is being torn behind the old chair. It’s a tufted
chair, and maybe it was once expensive, but faded fabric is
being torn down the back of it.
Rip, another tear and I hear something else. The sound of
a muffled sob. A shuddered breath and the sound of gentle
rocking. Just behind the chair.
I take another step, and a freezing prick dances along
every inch of my skin. It’s so cold it hurts, like an ice pick
stabbing me everywhere.
It doesn’t matter though. Nothing does. Because I see her.
She’s there, Jenny’s there. Sitting cross-legged on the floor,
rocking back and forth with a book in her hand. The Coverless
Book.
“Jenny,” I cry out her name and try to go to her, but the
chair doesn’t let me; its torn fabric holds me where I am,
making a vine around my ankles. My upper body tumbles
forward, falling onto the back of the chair. “Jenny!” I scream
as I reach out to her. But I can’t reach her, and she can’t hear
me.
Her hair is so dirty, long and stringy now. The tears on my
cheek turn to ice.
“Jenny,” I whisper, but her name is lost in the cold air as I
try to move from where I am. How is it holding me back? Let
me go! She’s my sister! She’s here!
I fight against it all, but my hips are now tied down as
well. I can’t move to her; I can’t even feel my legs. Please, let
me go. I have to go to her!
The book falls, and the sound whips my eyes to her once
again as Jenny covers her face to cry. Her arm has a marking,
is it a quote? A tattoo?
What is it?
Her shoulders shake as tears stream down her cheeks and
I tell her not to cry. I tell her it’s okay, that I’m here. Her wide,
dark eyes look up at me. Her pale skin is nearly as white as the
fog from her breath.
It’s so cold here.
 “You shouldn’t be here,” she says, staring straight into my
eyes. Both pain and chills consume me.
“Come with me,” I beg her, licking my chapped lips and I
swear ice coats them after. “Come with me, Jenny!” I scream,
feeling the bite of a chill deep in my lungs, and she only tilts
her head as if she doesn’t understand.
The torturous feeling of being trapped makes me scream a
wretched cry. And Jenny only stares at me.
“I just wanted them to be okay,” she tells me as if she’s
apologizing. “Someone needs to be okay.”
“Who?” I beg her for an answer. “Who did this to you?
Where are you?”
Her voice cracks and she tells me repeatedly, “You
shouldn’t be here.” Over and over in the same way, all while
she shakes her head and rocks. “You shouldn’t be here.”
Darkness descends, like a storm brewing inside of the
small room. “Jenny, come with me!” I scream again, “Jenny,
come with me!” as the room stretches, tearing her away from
me. No!
“Don’t believe them,” she whispers and I hear it as if she’s
next to me. As if she’s whispered it into my ear.
“Don’t believe the lies. They’ll all tell you lies.”
Even when she’s gone and there’s only darkness left, she
tells me, “Don’t believe your heart; it lies to you too.”
 JASE

“W hat happened?” I ask her the second I shut

her front door. I’ve only just gotten here,
intent on implementing consequences, and
I’m already changing my mind.
Her eyes are bloodshot, and her skin is pale. Hugging her
knees into her chest, she’s seated on her sofa, staring at
nothing.
“Nothing,” she’s quick to tell me. “I didn’t think you’d be
here in the morning. I thought you’d come at night,” she adds
and then wipes under her eyes as she tosses the blanket to the
side of the sofa.
“I don’t like it when I ask a question and you lie to me,” I
speak as I walk into the living room. Not a single light is on
and the curtains are shut tight. It’s too dark.
That gets her attention, and a hint of the girl I know shows
herself when she answers smartly, “Oh, it’s not the best
feeling, is it?”
The sarcastic response leaves her easily, and she watches
me as I narrow my gaze at her. From bad to worse, the air
changes.
“Something happened from the time you left me to just
now.” I speak clearly, with no room for argument and Beth
crosses her arms, staring just past me for a moment before
looking me in the eyes.
She’s in nothing but a sleepshirt that’s rumpled, and dark
circles are present under her eyes. Even still, she’s beautiful,
the kind of beautiful I want to hold on to.
“Are you going to tell me?” I ask her, not breaking our
stare.
Time ticks by and I think she’s going to keep it from me,
but finally she looks to the kitchen and then back at me. “Over
coffee,” she tells me.
She turns toward the kitchen like she’s going to walk there,
but then pauses and looks over her shoulder. “You coming?”
she asks, and I follow. Watching every detail, noticing the way
her movements lag, the way she sniffs after a long exhale, like
she’s been crying. The way she leans against the counter after
putting the coffee grinds in the pot, like she can barely stand
on her own.
“What the fuck happened?” I ask her and lean against her
refrigerator. Standing across from her, we’re only feet apart
but it feels like so much farther away. I should know
everything that happens. I’ll correct that mistake immediately.
“Where do we stand on the debt?” she asks and then clears
her throat as the coffee machine rumbles to life.
“I wrote it down; don’t have it with me.” I give her a
bullshit answer and ask again, but harder this time, “What
happened?”
Lifting up her head to look me in the eyes, her lips pull
down and she tells me in a tight voice, “I wasn’t sleeping…
not at all since Jenny…” She leaves the remainder unspoken.
“So I took those pills you had.” She crosses her arms, looking
down at the coffee pot and licking her lower lip before telling
me, “I’m sorry. It was shitty of me and I don’t know why I’m
doing so many shitty things, to be honest.”
Her arms unfold and she rests her elbows on the counter,
like she’s talking to the coffee pot instead of me. Her fingers
graze her hairline as she keeps going. “That drug doesn’t
work; I’ll tell you that.” As she speaks her voice is dampened,
although she tries to keep it even. “I had the most awful
dream, but it felt so real.” I take a tentative step forward,
getting closer to her, but am careful to keep far enough back so
she won’t feel threatened.
She reminds me of a caged animal backed into a corner.
One who’s given up and given in, but still frightened and not
ashamed to admit it. One who would still try to hurt you, and
you’d be the one to blame, because it warned you so.
“It was so real, Jase,” she whispers and before I can ask
what her dream was, she tells me. “Jenny was there, ripping
the cover off the book.” She turns around to face what little of
the living room she can see from this angle. Her hand falls to
her side as she peeks up at me.
A deep well of emotions burns in her gaze, enrapturing me
and refusing to let me go. “She said I didn’t belong there and
she wouldn’t come back with me.” She has to whisper her
words, her voice is so fragile. Like she really believed it
happened.
“I’m sorry I stole from you, and I’m sorry I even took it. I
don’t know what’s happening to me.” Bringing the heels of her
hands up to her cheeks she wipes at the stray tears and that’s
when I hold her, rocking her in my arms and shushing her.
“I hate crying… why am I crying?” Her frustration shows
as she holds on to the pain, still not having learned to let it go.
The coffee pot stops, and I can’t hear anything. She’s stiff
in my arms, not crying, but not getting better either.
She’s stuck in that moment. The monster in her dreams,
following in her shadows.
“You want to go upstairs?”
She doesn’t answer right away and I add, “You need to
sleep.”
It takes a moment, it always does with her, ever defiant,
but she nods eventually. She pushes off from the counter,
leaving the black coffee to steam in the mug where it sits,
knowing it’ll go untouched and turn cold.
Her arms stay wrapped around her as she walks up the old
stairs, and I follow behind her, listening to the wooden steps
creak with every few steps.
I keep a hand splayed on her back and when we make it to
the bedroom, she stops outside of the door. “You don’t have to
babysit me,” she tells me, craning her neck to look up at me in
the dimly lit hall.
“Maybe I want to lie in bed with you, ever think of that?” I
ask her softly, letting the back of my fingers brush her cheek.
She takes my hand in both of hers and opens the door to
her bedroom. It’s smaller than mine, but nice. Her dresser
looks older, maybe an antique like the vanity she has in the
corner of her room.
Everything is neatly in place, not a single piece of clothing
is out, nothing is askew. Nothing except for the bed. It looks
like she just got out of it. The top sheet’s a tangled mess and
the down comforter is still wrapped up like a cocoon.
“When did you get up?” I ask her.
She shrugs and pulls back the blankets, fixing them as she
answers, “I think around three… I don’t remember.”
“It was almost midnight when you said you were going to
bed.”
“Yes,” is all she answers me.
“Come here.” I rip her away from straightening the sheets
to hold her, and she clings to me. “It wasn’t real,” I whisper in
her hair.
“I wish…” she pauses, then swallows thickly before
confessing, “I wish it was in some way, because at least I got
to see her.”
Her shoulders shudder in my arms. I don’t have words to
answer her, so I lay her in bed, helping her with the blankets
and climbing in next to her.
The kisses start with the intent to soothe her pain. Letting
my lips kiss her jaw, where the tearstains are. Up her neck, to
make her feel more.
 And she does, she breathes out heavily, keeping her eyes
closed and letting her hands linger down my body.
Slowly it turns to more. She deepens the kisses. She holds
me closer and demands more.
“You’re still in trouble,” I whisper against her lips,
reminding her that she needs to be punished. Her response is
merely a moan as she continues to devour me with her touch.
“Not tonight, but it’s coming.”
Her eyes open slowly, staring into mine and she whispers,
“I know.”
“Tell me what you want.” I give her the one demand,
wanting her to control this. Giving her something I haven’t
before.
“Don’t make this harder on me. Please,” she begs me and I
nearly turn her onto her belly, to fuck her into the mattress like
I’ve wanted to do since the day I first laid eyes on her, but then
she says, “I don’t want to beg you for something like…
like…”
“Like what?” I ask, not following.
“I don’t want to consciously ask… for… for this,” she
whispers and opens her eyes to look back at me.
It takes a long moment to feel how deep that cut me.
Maybe it’s the disbelief. “To ask for something … like for me
to fuck you?” My tone doesn’t hide a damn thing I’m feeling
as I sit up straighter in bed. “Is it offensive? Or do you just not
want to admit that you want me?”
“Jase.” Bethany wakes in this moment, her eyes more alive
than they were downstairs. Brushing the hair out of her face,
she sits up straighter, and blinks away the haze of lust.
“Tell me what you want.” I give her the request again.
Waiting. Every second the fucking agony grows deeper and
deeper.
“Jase,” she pleads with me. But I ask for so little now. I’m
trying to give her everything to make it right, but I need this.
“Tell me,” I say. The demand comes out hard and her
expression falls.
A moment passes and she takes my hand, but her grip is
weak.
“Please,” she begs me, “I don’t want to be alone.”
“I know that, but you don’t want to be with me either. Do
you? We shouldn’t be doing this anyway.” I say the words
without thinking. I know we’ve both thought it. That what this
is today isn’t what it was that night I had her sign the contract.
And two nights ago, we should have parted ways. It’s volatile
and wrong. Being with her is going to be my downfall, I
already know it.
And yet here I am waiting for her answer, because she’s
the only one of the two of us who has the balls to admit out
loud that we shouldn’t be together.
She hesitates, although she doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t say
anything. The silence grows between us, separating us and
making it seem as if the last time we were together never
happened.
Thump, there’s the dull pain in my chest. It flourishes
inside of me as I stand there in silence.
“After what I did for you, I deserve better than that,” I
snap back. It fucking hurts. There’s a splintering sensation in
my chest as if the absence of her words truly injured me more
than that cut she gave me the other night. Only one will scar.
Her lips turn down as she swallows, making her throat
tight. Her inhale quivers but instead of saying anything, she
shakes her head, her hair sweeping around her shoulders as she
looks away.
Nothing. She gives me nothing and with that I turn my
back to her, slamming the door shut behind me. As hard as I
can. The force of it travels up my arm, lingering as I walk
away from her.
I could tell her she still owes me; I could tell her that. But
right now, I don’t want to.
 An awful sound travels down the hall, following me. A sob
she tries to cover. The kind you hope comes out silent, but it’s
ragged and fierce. My footsteps thunder behind me as I take
the stairs as quickly as I can.
The kind of sobs that you can’t control. The kind that hurt.
Both the pounding of my shoes as I leave and the evidence
of her misery, both are uncontrolled and painful.
I have seen so much brokenness in my short life. I hate it. I
hate how easily everything can be destroyed and wasted. It’s
so useless to live day by day, not just seeing it all around you,
but making it so.
Standing at the bottom of her stairs, with one hand on the
wall and the other gripping the banister, I listen to her cry.
Crying for me? And the pain she’s caused me? Crying for
herself and how alone and empty her life truly is? Crying for
us?
And it takes me back to the time I heard similar cries. A
time I left.
And I remember what was left of me when I came back to
see the damage done.
My body tenses and my throat dries as I stand in between
the man I was before and the man I’ll be tomorrow.
Tonight is mine regardless and knowing that, I turn on my
heels and make my way back up the stairs as quickly as I can,
pushing her door open without knocking. Her wide eyes fly to
mine as I kick the door shut behind me.
“Jase?” She whispers my name in the same way the snow
falls around us. Gentle and hopeful the fall won’t last for long.
She moves on the bed, making a spot for me easily enough
although her eyes are still wide and searching for answers. She
stays sitting up even though I climb in and lie down back
where I was, pulling the covers over my clothes.
It’s too hot, but it’s better than taking the time to do
something other than lie down with her.
 Patting the bed, I tell her to lie down, noting how gruff my
voice is. How raw.
“Are you angry?” she asks and I tell her I’ve always been.
Molding her small body to mine, she rests her hands on my
chest, still wary, still exhausted. Still hoping for more. “I’m
sorry,” she whispers and I tell her so am I.
Hope is a long way of saying goodbye. Even I know that.
Her hair tickles my nose when I kiss the crown of her
head. The covers rustle as I move my arm around her, rubbing
soothing circles on her back.
Time marches on and with it the memories of long ago
play in my mind. Making me regretful. Making me question
everything.
“Why did you come back?” she asks me before brushing
her cheek against my chest and planting a small kiss in the dip
just beneath my throat.
I confess a truth she could use against me. Even knowing
that, still I admit, “I don’t want you to be alone either.”
 JASE

T he snow’s falling. It’s only a light dusting, but it

decided to come right this moment, right as my
brother leads his love across the cemetery.
One grave has been there for half her life. The one next to
it has freshly upturned dirt. The snow covers each of the
graves equally as Aria silently mourns, her body shaking
slightly against Carter’s chest.
I spoke to her father only days before he met his death. A
death he knew was coming. A death that always comes for
men like us.
The powerful man asked me to find a way. Swallowing his
pride when he thought his daughter was going to die because
of him.
Talvery wasn’t ready to lose his daughter. She swears he
was going to kill her.
That’s the irony in it all.
He was a bad man. And that’s the crux of the problem. She
expected him to do bad things, even if she loved him in his last
days, although I don’t believe she did love him anymore.
She swears he was going to shoot her, but there was only
one gun cocked and it wasn’t her father’s. She heard it, she
speaks of it, but she doesn’t realize what really happened and I
don’t have the heart to tell her.
The man who pulled the trigger confessed to me. He said
in the old man’s last breaths, he laid down his gun and said
goodbye to his daughter. But she didn’t see, clinging to a man
she loved and not to the man who gave up fighting to ensure
she would be loved one more day.
That’s what this life brings. A twisted love of betrayal. A
reality that is unjust and riddled with deceit.
Aria lays a single rose across her mother’s grave, but not
her father’s, even though when he called me, he said he would
give up everything right then and there, if I promised we’d
keep her safe.
There was no negotiation we could offer.
Her father had to die. And Aria was never in harm’s way.
The man had nothing to barter with, not when he knew we’d
take it all. I never told Carter. And I never will. The perception
that her father was a ruthless crime lord past his date of
redemption is what makes it okay. It makes it righteous that
she only lays a rose down for her mother, a woman who
betrayed everyone to benefit herself.
Watching Carter hold her hand, kiss her hair and comfort
her, only reminds me of what could have been. If the gun
cocked had been Talvery’s and my brother was in that grave
instead.
Bright lights reflect a section of falling snow. Headlights
from a cop car pulling in across the parking lot I’m sitting in.
Gripping the steering wheel tighter, I take into account
everyone here. It’s only me, still in the driver’s seat waiting for
Carter to bring Aria back and the sole cop parking his vehicle
across from mine.
Before Carter has a chance to look behind him, taking
attention away from Aria, I message him. I’ve got it. Stay with
her.
A second passes, and another before Carter looks down at
the message, back at me, and then to the cop, who opens his
door in that moment.
Officer Walsh.
 The sound of his door closing echoes in the vacant air. It’s
hollow and reflects its own surroundings.
As I open my car door, welcoming the cold air, breathing it
in and letting it bite across my skin, I nod at Carter, who nods
in return, holding Aria closer, but not making a move to leave.
The snow crunches beneath my shoes, soft and gentle as it
falls. It vanishes beneath my footprints as I make my way
around to the front of my car, leaning against it and waiting for
him.
As I take in the officer, a crooked smile forms on my face.
We’re wearing the same coat. A dark gray wool blend. “Nice
coat, Officer Walsh,” I greet him and offer a hand. He’s
hesitant to accept, but he does.
Meeting him toe to toe, eye to eye, his grip is strong.
“So you’ve heard of me?” he asks. I lick my lower lip,
looking over my shoulder to check on Carter one more time
before I answer him, “I heard someone was asking about me,
someone who fit your description.”
“Funny,” he answers with a hint of humor in his voice,
although his pale blue eyes are only assessing. “I heard the
same about you.”
“That I was asking about you?” I ask with feigned shock as
I bring my thumb up to point back at me. “I only asked who
was asking about me and my club.”
“The Red Room.” The officer’s voice lowers and his gaze
narrows as he speaks. He slips his hands into his coat pockets
and I wait for more, simply nodding at his words.
Some cops are easy to pay off. They need money, they
want power, or even just to feel like they’re high on life and
fitting into a world they could only dream of running
themselves.
I can spot them easily. The way they walk, talk—shit, even
the clothes they wear on their time off. It’s all so fucking
obvious. The only question that needs answering is: how much
do I need to pay them until they’re in my back pocket?
 Not Cody Walsh.
“What is it that you want, Officer?” I ask him and then
add, “Anything I can help you with?”
“Anything you had in mind?” he asks in return, tilting his
chin back and waiting.
The smirk on my face grows. “I don’t dislike having
conversations with cops.” I follow his previous gaze just as he
looks back at me and see Carter and Aria making their way
back to the car that’s still running. “But I don’t really like to
start a conversation either.”
He’s playing me. Thinking I’ll try to bribe him for nothing.
What a fucking prick.
“Is that his wife?” he asks me, and I tell him the truth. “His
fiancée.”
“Aria Talvery,” he comments.
“You know a lot of names for being new around here.”
“It’s my job,” he answers defensively.
“Is it?” I rock back on my shoes as I slip my hands into my
pockets. My warm breath turns to fog in the air. “You know
everyone’s name who you pull over then?” I ask him.
“Not unless their name is in the file of the case I’m
working on.”
“A case?” I ask him as the cold air runs over my skin,
seeping through my muscles and deep down into the marrow
of my bones. I feel the shards of ice everywhere, but I don’t
show it. “It’s the first time I’m hearing about a case.”
“A house burned down, killing over a dozen men,
explosives.”
“Aria’s family home,” I remark, acknowledging him with a
nod. “What a tragedy.”
“It was arson, and one of a string of violent crimes that
leads back to you and your brothers.”
 With the sound of the car door opening behind me,
indicating Carter is helping Aria into the backseat, my
patience is gone.
“If you have questions, you can ask my lawyer.”
“I don’t have any for you,” he tells me and I huff a
humorless laugh before responding, “Then why come to pay
this visit?”
“I wanted to see her reaction; if she was remorseful at all.”
“Aria?” The shock is apparent in my tone and my
expression, because I didn’t hide it in the least. I shouldn’t be
speaking her name. I shouldn’t even engage with this fucker.
And that’s the only reason I’m silent when he adds, “Knowing
she’s sleeping with her father’s killer…”
He shakes his head, although his eyes never leave mine.
“Is that all then?” I ask him.
A moment passes, and with it comes a gust of cold wind.
Each day’s been more bitter than the last and with a
snowstorm coming, the worst is yet to come.
“That’s all,” he says and then his eyes drift to my
windshield before he adds, “And pay your parking tickets.
Wouldn’t want that to be what gets you.”
All I give him is a short wave, right before snatching a
small piece of paper off the windshield. It’s not a parking
ticket, it’s a thick piece of yellow paper folded in half. It’s
been here for a while, partially covered by the snow. And
knowing that, I look back to see if Walsh is watching. His eyes
are on Carter, not me. Thank fuck.
I don’t know who the fuck left it, but I’m not going to
figure that out while under the watchful eyes of Officer Walsh.
Lacking any emotion at all, I bid the man farewell. “Have
a good night, Officer.”
With my back to Walsh I share a glance with Carter, who’s
waiting by the backseat door on the driver’s side, one hand on
the handle, his other hand in his pocket.
 “You too,” the officer calls out in the bitterly cold air,
already making his way back to his car.
It’s silent when I close the door. Aria tries to speak, but I
hear Carter shush her, telling her to wait for the officer to
leave. Peeking at her in the rearview mirror, worry clouds her
tired eyes.
“Everything’s fine,” Carter reassures her and she lays her
cheek, bright red from the frigid air, onto his shoulder.
My gaze moves from the cop car, reversing out of the spot,
to the note. The sound of the thick paper opening is all I pay
attention to as Officer Walsh drives away, leaving us alone in
the parking lot.
A sharp ringing in my ear accompanies my slow breaths
and the freezing sensation that takes over when I glance at the
note, a script font I recognize as Marcus’s.
How the fuck did he leave a note? And when? I read his
message and then read it again. The psychopath speaks in
riddles.

Y OU TOOK MY PAWN . I have another.

The game hasn’t stopped. It’s only changed slightly.
Just remember, the king can only hope to be a pawn when
his queen is gone.

E VERY HAIR on my body stands on end after reading the note,

knowing he was here. How the fuck did I not see him?
“What’s wrong?” Carter asks me as I reach for my phone,
needing to tell Seth and everyone else what happened and get
security footage immediately.
But Seth’s already texted me.
And I sit there motionless in my seat, reading what he
wrote as Carter bites out my name, demanding an answer I
don’t have to give.
WE FOUND THE SISTER .

She’s alive.
Marcus has her.
 BETHANY

I can’t stop reading. When I do, I have to face

reality and I’m not ready to face the consequences
of my decisions yet. I’d rather get lost in the
pages.
Every time they kiss, I think of Jase Cross.
I think I love him.
I love my enemy.
Why couldn’t I be like the characters in this book? Why
couldn’t I be like Emmy and fall for the boy who loves her just
as much and the only thing they have keeping them apart, is
whether or not they’re both still breathing?
Why did I have to fall for a villain? Maybe that’s what I
deserve. Deep down inside though, I don’t think I even
deserve him.
Books are a portal to another world, but they lead to other
places too. To places deep inside you still filled with hope and
a desperate need for love. Places where your loneliness doesn’t
exist, because you know how it can be filled.
Jase isn’t a good man, but he’s not a bad one either. I
refuse to believe it. He’s a damaged man with secrets I know
are lurking beneath his charming facade, a man with a dark
past that threatens to dictate who he will become.
And I think I love him.
I can’t bring myself to tell him that. I just had the chance a
moment ago when he told me he wasn’t able to come tonight
because he was with his brother and Carter needed him.
But he still asked if I needed anything. I could have told
him I miss him. I could have messaged him more. Instead, I
simply told him I would be ready for him when he wanted me.
The constant thumping in my chest gets harder and rises
higher. I have to swallow it down just so I can breathe. This
was never supposed to happen. How could I have fallen for a
man like him?
I’m drowning in the abyss, and he’s the only one there to
hold me. That’s how. I need to remember that.
He made it that way, didn’t he?
The sound of the radiator kicking on disrupts the quiet
living room. I take the moment to have a sip of tea, careful not
to disturb the open book in my lap. The warmth of the mug
against my lips is nothing compared to Jase’s kiss.
With my eyes closed, I vow to think clearly, to step back
and be smart about all of this. Even though deep inside, I
know there is no way that means I could ever stay with Jase
Cross, and the very thought destroys something deep inside of
me. Splintering it and causing a pain that forces me to put the
cup down and sink back into the sofa, covering myself with
the blanket and staring at the black and white words on the
page.
It all hurts when I think about leaving him.
That’s how I know I’ve fallen.

The Coverless Book

Eighth Chapter
Jake’s perspective

“K ISS ME AGAIN ?” Emmy’s voice is soft and delicate. It fits her,

but she’s so much more.
 “You like it when I kiss you?” I tease her and that bright
pink blush rises up her cheeks.
“Shhh, she’ll hear us,” she says as her small hands press
against my chest, pushing me to the side so she can glance
past me and toward the hallway to the kitchen.
“Miss Caroline knows I kiss you.” I smile as I push some
strands of hair behind her ear, but it falls slowly. It should be
her mother who Emmy’s afraid will catch us. But her mother is
never here.
“Maybe go check on her?” Emmy asks, scooting me off the
chair. “See what she’s doing and if we have a little more
time?”
It’s her elation that draws me to her. There are some
people in this world who you love to see smile. It makes you
warm inside and it feels like everything will be all right, if only
they smile.
That’s all I can think as I round the corner to the kitchen.
I’ve only been here to Emmy’s house twice, but I know the
help’s kitchen is through one of these two doors. I’m right on
the first guess and there’s Caroline, hovering over the large
pot with a skinny bottle above it. Clear liquid is being poured
into the steaming pot of soup.
Although I’d planned to offer to help, just so I can gauge
how much time we have, my words are stolen.
The glass bottle she’s holding doesn’t look like it belongs
in a kitchen. I feel a deep crease form between my furrowed
brows and I stare for far too long as she pours more and more
into the pot. She’s humming as she does. A sweet tune I’m sure
would lull babies to their dreams.
Emmy has soup every night. Every night the caretaker
makes her soup. And Emmy stays sick, every day.
“What did you put in there?” My question comes out hard
and when Miss Caroline jumps, the liquid spills over the oven
and the bottle crashes onto the floor with her startled cry.
I DEBATE on grabbing the notebook from the kitchen counter
where I left it. Just so I can add to the collection of underlined
sentences. I’m reading without really paying attention, just
letting the time go by.
My gaze skims the page, finding four sentences underlined
this time and none of the four hold any new meaning. One is
the same as it’s been for a while now. I’m invincible.
If it weren’t for the distraction of this story, the suspense
and the emotion, I’d feel hopeless. I’m hopeless when it comes
to Jase.
If hope is a long way of saying goodbye, hopeless can only
mean one of two things. As the thought plays in my mind, my
thumb brushes along my bottom lip and I stare at the page.
And that’s when I see it. What I’ve been waiting for. What
I was so sure was here.
A chill spreads across my skin as the mug slips from my
hand, dropping to the floor, crashing into pieces. If the letters
weren’t staring right at me, I never would have seen them.
It’s not the underlined sentences. It’s the lines below them.
The first letters of the sentences beneath the pen marks. C. R.
O. S. S. She buried the message so deep, I didn’t see it before.
At first it hits me she left me a message, and there’s hope.
And then I read the word again.
C. R. O. S. S.
“No.” The word is whispered from me, but not with
conscious consent. My head shakes and my fingers tremble as
I stare at the evidence.
C. R. O. S. S.
She did leave a note. My blood turns to ice at the thought.
Jenny left me a message in this book, and it has to do with the
Cross brothers.
“No.” I repeat the word as I lay the book down, although
not gently, but forcefully, as if it will bite me if I hold it any
longer. I nearly trip over the throw blanket in my rush to get
off the sofa.
 Thump, thump, thump. Ever present and ever painful, my
bastard heart races inside of me.
My limbs are wobbly as I rush to the kitchen, searching for
the notebook. I need to write it down. “Write it all down,” I
speak in hushed and rushed words as I pull open one drawer in
the kitchen, jostling the pens, a pair of scissors, and papers and
everything else in the junk drawer. It slams shut as I bring the
notebook to my chest, ready to face the book. To face the
message Jenny left me.
Knowing she wrote something about the Cross brothers.
Knowing Jase Cross lied to me.
They had something to do with her murder. Maybe even
him.
Tears leak from my eyes as I stumble in the kitchen.
“No,” I whisper, and force myself to stand. It will say
something else. I tell myself it will, and the sinful whisper in
my head reminds me, Hope is a long way of saying goodbye.
Swallowing down my heart and nerves, I push myself to
stand, only to hear a creak.
Thump, goes my heart, and this time the beat comes with
fear.
I couldn’t have heard that right. No one is coming. No one
is here, I tell myself, even though my blood still rushes inside
of me, begging me to run, warning me that something’s wrong,
that someone’s here who isn’t supposed to be.
I keep silent and hear the sound of my front door.
Thump. Terror betrays my instincts. Stealing my breath
and making me lightheaded.
The foyer floor creaks again and the front door closes,
softly. A gentle push. A quiet one meant not to disturb.
The creaking moves closer and I listen to it with only the
harsh sound of my subdued breath competing with it.
And I’m too afraid to even whisper, “Who’s there?”
 Jase and Bethany’s book continues in … A Single Kiss.
Preorder now!

T HERE ARE many moving parts in this world. If you haven’t

read Carter’s saga, starting with Merciless, I highly suggest
you do that now. His story is just as intense and a tale that will
stay with me forever. I hope these words stay with you as well.
Read on for a sneak peek!

H ERE ’ S to love stories keeping our hearts beating.

The timeline of the Sinful Obsessions world is as follows:

Sebastian’s story: A Kiss to Tell
Daniel’s story: Possessive
Carter’s story: The Merciless Series (Merciless, Heartless,
Breathless , Endless )
Jase’s story: A Single Glance, A Single Kiss.
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Winters’ Wildflowers for special updates and lots of fun!
 SNEAK PEEK AT
MERCILESS

From USA Today bestselling author W Winters comes a heart-

wrenching, edge-of-your-seat gripping, romantic suspense.

I should’ve known she would ruin me the moment I saw her.

Women like her are made to destroy men like me.
I couldn’t resist her though.
Given to me to start a war; I was too eager to accept.

But I didn’t know what she’d do to me. That she would change
everything.
She sees through me in a way no one else ever has.
Her innocence and vulnerability make me weak for her and
I hate it.
I know better than to give in to temptation.

A ruthless man doesn’t let a soul close to him.

A cold-hearted man doesn’t risk anything for anyone.
A powerful man with a beautiful woman at his mercy …
he doesn’t fall for her.
 CHAPTER 1

CARTER

W
years.
ar is coming.
It’s something I’ve known for over two

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

My jaw ticks in time with the skin over my knuckles
turning white as my fist clenches tighter. The tension in my
stiff shoulders rises and I have to remind myself to breathe in
deep and let the strain of it all go away.
Tick. Tock. It’s the only sound echoing off the walls of my
office and with each passing of the pendulum the anger grows.
It’s always like this before I go to a meet. This one in
particular sends a thrill through my blood, the adrenaline
pumping harder with each passing minute.
My gaze moves from the grandfather clock in my office to
the shelves next to it and then beneath them to the box made of
mahogany and steel. It’s only three feet deep and tall and six
feet long. It blends into the right wall of my office, surrounded
by polished bookshelves that carry an aroma of old books.
I paid more than I should have simply to put on display.
All any of this is a façade. People’s perceptions are their
reality. And so I paint the picture they need to see so I can use
them as I see fit. The expensive books and paintings, polished
furniture made of rare wood… All of it is bullshit.
Except for the box. The story that came with it will stay
with me forever. In all of the years, it’s the one of the few
memories that I can pin point as a defining moment. The box
never leaves me.
The words from the man who gave it to me are still as
clear as is the memory of his pale green eyes, glassed over as
he told me his story.
About how it kept him safe when he was a child. He told
me how his mother had shoved him in it to protect him.
I swallow thickly, feeling my throat tighten and the cord in
my neck strain with the memory. He painted the picture so
well.
He told me how he clung to his mother seeing how
panicked she was. But he did as he was told, he stayed quiet in
the safe box and could only listen while the men murdered his
mother.
It was the story he gave me with the box he offered to
barter for his life. And it reminded me of my own mother
telling me goodbye before she passed.
Yes, his story was touching, but the defining moment is
when I put the gun to his head and pulled the trigger
regardless.
He tried to steal from me and then pay me with a box as if
the money he laundered was a debt or a loan. William was
good at stealing, at telling stories, but the fucker was a dumb
prick.
I didn’t get to where I am by playing nicely and being
weak. That day I took the box that saved him as a reminder of
who I was. Who I needed to be.
I made sure that box has been within my sight for every
meeting I’ve had in this office. It’s a reminder for me so I can
stare at it in this god forsaken room as I make deal after deal
with criminal after criminal and collect wealth and power like
the dusty old books on these shelves.
It cost me a fortune to get this office exactly how I wanted.
But if it were to burn down, I could buy it all over again.
Everything except for that box.
 “You really think they’re going through with it?” I hear
Daniel, my brother, before I see him. The memories fade in an
instant and my heart beat races faster than the tick tock of that
fucking clock.
It takes a second for me to be conscious of my facial
expression, to relax it and let go of the anger before I can raise
my gaze to his.
“With the war and the deal? You think he’ll go through
with it?” he clarifies.
A small huff leaves me, accompanied by a smirk, “He
wants this more than anything else,” I answer him.
Daniel stalks into the room slowly, the heavy door to my
office closing with a soft kick of his heel before he comes to
stand across from me.
“And you’re sure you want to be right in the middle of it?”
I lick my lower lip and stand from my desk, stretching as I
do and turning my gaze to the window in my office. I can hear
Daniel walking around the desk as I lean against it and cross
my arms.
“We won’t be in the middle of it. It’ll be the two of them,
our territory is close, but we can stay back.”
“Bullshit. He wants you to fight with him and he’s going to
start this war tonight and you know it.”
I nod slowly, the smell of Romano’s cigars filling my lungs
at the memory of him.
“There’s still time to call it off,” Daniel says and it makes
my brow pinch and place a crease on my forehead. He can’t be
that naïve.
It’s the first time I’ve really looked at him since he’s been
back. He spent years away. And every fucking day I fought for
what we have. He’s gone soft. Or maybe it’s Addison that’s
turned him into the man standing in front of me.
“This war has to happen.” My words are final and the tone
is one not to be questioned. I may have grown this business on
fear and anger. Each step forward followed by the hollow
sound of a body dropping behind me, but that’s not how it
started. Y can’t build an empire with blood stained hands and
not expect death to follow you.
His dark eyes narrow as he pushes off the desk and moves
closer to the window, his gaze flickering between me and the
meticulously maintained garden stories below us.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” his voice is low and I
barely hear it. He doesn’t look back at me and a chill flows
down my arms and the back of my neck as I take in his stern
expression.
It takes me back years ago. Back to when we had a choice
and chose wrong.
When whether or not we wanted to go through with it
meant something.
“There are men to the left of us,” I tell him as I step
forward and close the distance between us. “There are men to
the right. There is no possible outcome where we don’t pick a
side.”
He nods once and slides his thumb across the stubble on
his chin before looking back at me. “And the girl?” he asks
me, his eyes piercing into mine and reminding me that both of
us survived, both of us fought, and each of us has a tragic path
that led us to where we are today.
“Aria?” I dare to speak her name and the sound of my
smooth voice seems to linger in the space between us. I don’t
wait for him to acknowledge me, or her rather.
“She has no choice.” My voice tightens as I say the words.
Clearing my throat, I lean my palms against the window,
feeling the frigid fall beneath my hands and leaning forward to
see Addison beneath us, Daniel’s Addison. “What do you
think they would have done to Addison if they’d succeeded in
taking her?”
His jaw hardens but he doesn’t answer my question.
Instead he replies, “We don’t know who it was who tried to
take her from me.”
 I shrug as if it’s semantics and not at all relevant. “Still.
Women aren’t meant to be touched, but they went for Addison
first.”
“That doesn’t make it right,” Daniel says with indignation
in his tone.
“Isn’t it better she come to us?” My head tilts as I question
him and this time he takes a moment to respond.
“She’s not one of us. Not like Addison and you know what
Romano expects you to do with her.”
“Yes, the daughter of the enemy…” My heart beats hard in
my chest, and the steady rhythm reminds me of the ticking of
the clock. “I know exactly what he wants me to do with her.”

Click here to keep reading Merciless!

 ABOUT W WINTERS

Thank you so much for reading my romances. I’m just a stay at home mom and
avid reader turned author and I couldn’t be happier.
I hope you love my books as much as I do!
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 ALSO BY W WINTERS

Sinful Obsessions Series:

It’s Our Secret
Possessive
A Kiss to Tell
Start Carter & Aria’s saga with Merciless, today for 99c!
Merciless
Heartless
Breathless
Endless
Jase’s story
A Single Glance
A Single Kiss
Standalone Novels:
Broken
Forget Me Not
Sins and Secrets Duets:
Imperfect (Imperfect Duet book 1)
Unforgiven (Imperfect Duet book 2)
Damaged (Damaged Duet book 1)
Scarred (Damaged Duet book 2)
 Willow Winters
Standalone Novels:
Cards of Love: Three of Swords
Second Chance
Knocking Boots
Promise Me
Burned Promises
Forsaken, cowritten with B. B. Hamel
Valetti Crime Family Series:
Dirty Dom
His Hostage
Rough Touch
Cuffed Kiss
Bad Boy
Highest Bidder Series,
cowritten with Lauren Landish:
Bought
Sold
Owned
Given
Bad Boy Standalones,
cowritten with Lauren Landish:
Inked
Tempted
Mr. CEO
Happy reading and best wishes,
W Winters xx