Burn (The Sinclair Falls Novels Book 1)

by Shae Mallak

  "Home, sweet home," Jonah commented behind me. I heard the trunk slam shut and gravel crunch as he carried my luggage inside.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to ten while I stared at the tiny town of Sinclair Falls far below us. It felt unreal. Surely I would wake up from the crazy dream and be home again, alarm blaring, ready to roll out of bed and get ready for a long day's work.

  "You coming?" Jonah grumbled. I took another deep breath then finally turned around and stared at the house that was to be my new home.

  "This is where you live?" I gaped.

  The stone house on the mountain was a great deal smaller than what I imagined for a wealthy man like Jonah. It looked to be a little smaller than the ground floor of my house, built entirely out of beige stone. It almost looked like a cottage from a fairy tale except instead of vines crawling up the walls, it sported a glass ceiling and what looked like a large glass window that took up most of the north wall.

  "You coming?" Jonah asked over his shoulder. He strode to the front door and fished a ring of keys from his pocket, shoving an old skeleton key into an ancient looking lock and flinging it open.

  "This is where you live?" I repeated, slowly following him to the threshold.

  He glanced back over his shoulder with a wry grin. "What were you expecting?" he chuckled. "A mansion? A palace?"

  "Not a glass cottage," I replied. I stepped inside, tipping my head to stare at the glass ceiling above me. The sky was brilliantly blue and dotted with fluffy cotton clouds and from the window to my right I could see the evergreen trees where the clearing faded into forest. "Quite the view, though," I admitted. "But why didn't you build the window facing the cliff?" I asked curiously, glancing behind me through the open door.

  "Maybe I'm scared of heights," he retorted.

  "Hah!" I laughed. "I didn't think the infamous Jonah Carson was afraid of anything!" Jonah didn't comment, dropping my suitcase in the middle of the room and sauntered over to an old refrigerator that looked like it was from the fifties. "I'd think you would at least have enough money to upgrade your kitchen," I remarked.

  He tugged open the door with a snort and grabbed a beer from the shelf, twisting it open and taking a long pull before kicking the door shut with his foot. "If it ain't broke, why fix it?" he shrugged. "If it works, it works," he said.

  "A surprisingly ordinary statement," I scoffed. "For a man so..." I searched for the right word as I glanced around his strange house, an odd mixture of vintage and modern.

  "Extraordinary?" he offered with a smirk, holding up his beer bottle like he was giving a toast.

  "Not the word I would use," I shot back, rolling my eyes. "Manipulative, maybe. Calculating. Too powerful for his own good."

  "Why do you say that?" he asked. He leaned against the kitchen counter and took another swig of beer and studied me curiously.

  "You think you can throw money at a problem and it will magically fix everything," I replied.

  "It does most of the time," he admitted. "Humans are greedy creatures."

  "Yourself included," I muttered.

  "I never said I wasn't," he shrugged. He set down his beer bottle and crossed the room and stood toe to toe with me, looming over me like a cat about to pounce on its prey. A big-ass cat. "Tell me, Evelyn Aberdeen," he whispered. He trailed a finger lightly down my arm, leaving burning tingles in its wake. "What else do you think of me?"

  I tried to ignore the heat emanating off of him but it was making me dizzy and it was difficult to concentrate. I took a step back and Jonah chuckled like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. He probably did.

  "Well?" he prompted. "What do you think of me?" he asked again.

  "Just what I said," I muttered. "Manipulative. Calculative."

  "Powerful," he smiled.

  "It's not a good thing," I remarked. "Power corrupts. A quick glance at your career tells me it’s done exactly that to you—corrupted you."

  He scowled at me for a few long seconds before stomping past me out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

  "Not to mention your temper," I mumbled.

  SIX

  In Jonah's absence, I was able to explore my new surroundings freely. It felt like snooping but I told myself that if Jonah was wanting to hide something from me he shouldn't have brought me to his little cottage on the mountain where there was literally nowhere to hide. I stared at the glass wall, awestruck all over again by the simple beauty before me. Reluctantly, I forced myself to explore the rest of the house.

  It was built like a large studio apartment or an extra-large tiny home. There was a serviceable kitchenette complete with full-size fridge, oven, and an apartment-sized dishwasher. Across from it, next to the glass wall was a square table seating four with an uncharacteristically feminine bouquet of wildflowers in the middle, using an old tin can as a vase.

  On the far side of the house was the loft and a small living room area. The bathroom below it was the only area in the place with any privacy. The bed upstairs was large and, I noticed with a groan, the only one.

  "I guess someone will be sleeping on the couch," I muttered. Knowing Jonah, I was pretty sure it was going to be me. At least, if I wanted to spend the night alone.

  There wasn't much else of consequence in the house except a few stuffy books on business and law—and one volume of Shakespeare—and, disconcertingly, a photo of me hanging on the wall next to his desk. He didn't have much by way of decoration, the only evidence he even tried being the matching sofa set and a large painting of the Ash Mountain Dragon, an old, local legend of Sinclair Falls. Everything else was mismatched from the antique desk to the sleek flat-top stove and every era in between. Despite the incongruities, it was...nice. In an odd, eclectic way. And completely different from what I expected from Jonah Carson.

  A little more snooping produced a small closet under the stairs and a few well-placed nooks and crannies for storage. There was a bottle of pills in the bathroom along with a few bottles of aspirin and, I noted with a smirk, a box of tampons. It seemed he thought of almost everything. There was even a few empty drawers in one of the nightstands and some space cleared in the wardrobe.

  I found a box of condoms in the nightstand next to an unopened package of birth control pills. It was clear he meant what he said about getting me into his bed. I slammed the drawer shut with a growl of disgust and stomped angrily down the stairs.

  I wasn't sure where Jonah went but I was fairly certain he didn't go far. He promised, after all, not to let me out of his sight. "Until I'm certain," he said. "Certain you're in love with me." Hence the condoms, I scowled.

  I didn't have a phone to call home on—even if I did, the only one there was Dad, and I didn't feel like talking to him. The laptop on the desk was locked with a password and there didn't seem to be a television anywhere. What the hell was I going to do for the rest of my life? Twiddle my thumbs?

  I hauled my suitcase upstairs and unpacked it as slowly as possible, neatly tucking away the few belongings I brought into the empty drawers. I tested out the Jacuzzi tub and found a radio in the storage closet that only got one station, the same station playing in Jonah's car during the entire drive. I blared it while I soaked in the bathtub with one of his law books, reminiscing a little about my college years.

  I was only in school long enough to barely dip my toe in the legal waters, but there was something comforting to me about reading the stuffy books. Maybe it reminded me of home—back when home was a place where I felt safe and protected. Before Mom died. Before Dad lost himself in grief. Before I was hauled away to a glass cottage on a mountain. Before everything and everyone I knew and loved changed. Maybe forever.

  There was no way to go back. My father would never return to the man he once was. I was never going to see my mother's smile or hear her laugh. Addis and Ava were growing up and changing into teenagers before my eyes...well, not anymore. They would grow up without me. They would grow up and become smarter and stron
ger and better and I—I would be stuck on a mountain with a slightly-criminal man whose only desire, it seemed, was to lure me into his bed.

  I stood in the middle of the main room and stared at the front door. Beyond it was the road that would lead down the mountain and bring me home again. But I couldn't go back. I hated to admit it, but Jonah's stupid contract did fix a lot of our problems. The only sacrifice was...well, me. No, I couldn't go back. Which begged the question—where did I go from here?

  I shifted my gaze to the glass wall and the view of the forest's edge. Evergreens swayed in the wind, their branches bending and shaking like they were dancing. It really was a beautiful view. I imagined in the winter, covered in snow, it was spectacular. I wouldn't have to imagine, I reminded myself. I would be here to see it. Probably for many winters to come.

  As I stared I saw a cloud of smoke rise above the trees creating a large gray column that climbed into the sky like a skyscraper. Panicked, I ran from the house, still staring at the smoke, knowing from years of warnings that where there was smoke, there was fire. And in a forest of evergreens, a fire could spread lightning fast.

  I tried to think quickly—I had no phone to call for help and the keys to Jonah's car were gone with him wherever he disappeared. Even if I tried to run to town I would never get there before the entire mountain went up in flames.

  As I gawked at the smoke, Jonah emerged from the trees, smoke trailing behind him in gray wisps like the ground he walked on was burning.

  "Jonah!" I shouted, pointing at the column of smoke. He turned, glancing behind him, then kept walking toward the house.

  "I saw it," he mumbled as he neared. "It's taken care of."

  "Wha—? What do you mean?" I stuttered. He stalked into the house and I stumbled after him, completely confused.

  "I mean no more fire," he grunted. "Don't worry about it." He went to the fridge again and pulled out another beer.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," I moaned. "Did I trade a gambler for an alcoholic?" Jonah slammed down the bottle and it shattered, spraying glass and beer across the counter and the floor. "Jonah!" I cried. "What the hell!"

  He stared at the glass and beer pooled around his shoes in surprise while his hand bled all over the counter. I cursed and grabbed the tea towel hanging from the oven handle and grabbed Jonah by the wrist, wrenching his bleeding hand toward me and pressing the terry cloth into his palm.

  "Keep pressure on it, idiot," I muttered. I knew from my earlier exploration that the Band-Aids in the bathroom cabinet weren't sufficient for his cuts.

  "Whiskey," Jonah grunted. His feet shuffled on the tiles, crunching glass under his shoes as he pivoted and pointed to a cabinet. I frowned at him. Was he seriously asking for more booze? "Antiseptic," he grunted at me.

  "Oh! Right," I replied, feeling a little stupid. The bottle was on the top shelf out of my reach and I had to scramble onto the counter to reach it, hopping down to hand it to him, but Jonah shook his head.

  "Open it," he bade, taking away the towel. The cuts were still bleeding and I winced. It looked damn painful. "Pour it over my hand."

  "Are you—sure?" I asked, bottle poised over his palm. He nodded. I tipped the whiskey bottle and amber liquid splashed over his hand, hissing when it hit his skin like water on a hot surface. Jonah cursed loudly and I pressed the tea towel back into his palm and curled his fingers around it in a fist.

  "Sorry," I murmured. "You don't have any gauze," I pointed out after a moment.

  "This will work fine," he grunted, clamping down harder on the towel.

  "You'll need something more long term than just a towel," I snarled.

  "I'll be fine," he growled back.

  "Fine!" I threw my hands up and stomped away. "It's your damn mess, clean it up your damn self. You can bleed out all over the carpet for all I care!"

  I grabbed the law book from where I left it on the kitchen table and stalked off to the living room, hating that there wasn't a proper place to storm off to in the house. I kept my back to him and curled into the corner of the sofa. I didn't actually open the book, just cradled it in my lap staring at the cover. It was a boring cover—navy blue with gold lettering, Law and Ethics of Sinclair County, followed by a date—1924.

  Jonah grumbled and cursed under his breath behind me. I heard more glass crunching followed by the sound of sweeping and more cursing. I stubbornly kept my back to him, trying not to feel sorry for him. He did it to himself, after all. He was the idiot who broke the bottle in the first place like he was in some bar brawl in an old western movie. Why? Because I made a silly comment about his drinking habits? How was I going to live with that man and his temper in such a small house for the next ump-teen years? It was no wonder he was never seen with a girlfriend of any sort—the man was impossible. Infuriating. Completely—

  "I'm sorry," Jonah mumbled. He came around and sat at the other end of the sofa and, damn him, he looked genuinely regretful. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that," he said. "I'm...I'm trying to be better."

  "Try harder," I grumbled.

  "Look, I know you think you hate me—"

  "I do hate you," I corrected with a scowl.

  "But I really am trying to protect you," he finished, ignoring me.

  "By breaking bottles and sulking off into the woods?" I sneered. "I feel very safe."

  "I know you don't understand yet—"

  "Then enlighten me!" I exclaimed. I sat up and slammed the law book down on the cushion between us emphatically. "Tell me how exactly this is protecting me?"

  "I—I can't tell you that," he sighed. "Not yet. You just have to trust me." He raised apologetic, pleading eyes to me and my breath caught for just a moment.

  "Why on earth would I trust you?" It came out as a whisper although I meant it to have more sting. Why did it sound like I was crying?

  "Because I'm the only one you can trust," he replied. "I'm the only one who can protect you."

  "From what exactly?" I pressed.

  "Its...it's complicated," he sighed.

  A complete conundrum. Jonah Carson was a complete, infuriating conundrum.

  SEVEN

  It'd only been half a day on the mountain and already I was bored out of my mind. Jonah kept busy at his desk making phone calls and working on his laptop. He didn't attempt to hide anything he was working on from me, although it would've been difficult to do if he tried in our confined space. I didn't understand most of the disjointed conversations except that there was some sort of important buy out or merger or something happening. I didn't really care about Jonah's businesses or his money. I cared about his contract.

  I requested another copy of it to read in more detail, which he willingly provided. It wasn't as if there was anything else pressing for me to do. I tried to remember everything I learned about law and legal documents from school and from Dad, but I didn't find anything new. No loopholes I could find, anyway, to get me out of the deal. It was airtight; completely clear about the conditions of his loan. If Dad or I broke it in anyway, not only would Dad double his debts—to his original debtors as well as Jonah—but he would be slapped with a fine for breach of contract. A hefty one. He would never be able to pay all the money back in his lifetime and the burden would fall to myself and Addis and Ava upon his death. At least, with Jonah's agreement, there was a chance for a better future, even if a small one.

  "Hey, Jonah..." I frowned at a particular section, crossing to his desk as I reread the sentences to be sure they said what I thought they did. Or, as the case may be, what they didn't say. Jonah was a clever man. I wanted to hit him for it.

  "Yeah?" He clicked save on whatever he was doing and gave me his full attention, flashing a smile that, to his credit, seemed genuine. His hand moved like he wanted to reach out to me then changed his mind and rubbed his palm over his knee like a nervous school boy. It was weird thinking of Jonah as nervous about anything.

  "This section—" I pointed to the part about breach of contract and tried not to
stare at his thick, muscled thighs or think about the fact that I wanted to reach out and take his silly, nervous hand in my own just to feel the hot tingles shoot through my body and make my stomach flip. "It says..." I refocused my attention to the page, hoping he didn't notice the flush on my cheeks from where my thoughts had wandered. "It says the loan will be rescinded," I said slowly, reading through it again. "But it never says anything about rescinding the..." I scanned for the correct term. "'right of protectorship'" I quoted. He nodded slowly, shifting to avoid my gaze and reopening the file on his computer. I frowned at his shoulder and continued. "I mean, technically, according to this, even if I wasn't living with you...it'd still be valid until noted otherwise—cancelled or transferred or whatever." His nod was small, his jaw clenched. I wanted to slap him. "So, what? You go on having legal ownership of me—"