Not a hospital. Safe.
My mind clears. The bed is unfamiliar because it’s Gideon’s, the room only glimpsed in passing when he washed the paint off me two nights ago. I vaguely remember falling asleep on the couch last night—very, very late—after sharing a bowl of strawberries and a pint of chocolate gelato. The sheets next to me are rumpled, and I have a dreamlike memory of warm arms.
Nothing seems real.
“Dee.”
My head turns to Nate, who’s watching me with big, hesitant eyes. I scoot into a sitting position, wincing at the pull of overused muscles. The physical pain is accompanied by a barrage of sensory memories that warm my face and elevate the sting between my legs.
Definitely real.
I clear my throat. “Hey, little brother.” My wires cross, jumbling questions. “Where—I mean what, or how—”
Nate takes mercy on me. “Gideon’s in the kitchen frying bacon. I’m here because after your cryptic message to London last night, I called you a billion times when I got off work. Gideon finally called me back from your phone at six this morning. He said you left your purse in the car. Now, are you going to tell me what the fuck is happening?”
His fear permeates the room, my lungs, and dissolves the last of my mental fog. Memory of what I found at my condo last night flashes like neon in my mind. My heartbeat picks up tempo.
Reaching for Nate’s hand, I grip his cold fingers. “I’m sorry. So sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t bring my phone inside. I was… a little out of my mind. Something did happen.”
I tell him. No details spared. No emotion whatsoever in my voice. For his sake, my fear is locked in a tiny box and buried deep.
He almost bolts twice—an instinctive panic-response.
Flee.
Flee.
Flee.
I feel it, too, but dimly.
I’m too tired to run again.
“But…” Nate frowns, near tears, trying to understand the impossible.
“I know. I can’t explain it.”
We don’t speak, but our eyes share the same knowledge. We saw his death certificate.
“What does he want?” he whispers.
I close my eyes. Open them. Sadly, nothing changes in the interim. I have no clarity, no words of wisdom.
Just the truth.
“To kill us, probably. He had to have been badly burned. Revenge seems most likely, right? We destroyed his life.”
“He destroyed our lives,” Nate mutters, the words muffled by hands as he rubs his face roughly.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I touch his knee and wait for him to look at me. “Can you go somewhere? Out of town for a while?”
He pales further. “I know that look. No. No. I’m not leaving you.” Jerking to his feet, he begins to pace the bedroom. “I’m calling Dominic. He’ll know what to do.”
“No,” I snap. “No fucking way.”
He stops, faces me with a hard look. “He can help us. He’s ex-military. And there’s this friend of his, Liam, who found London when she—”
“No.”
I hate that I sound cruel, that he’s shaken and fearful. But all the darkness of the past, the secrets, the sins, scream at a deafening pitch inside me.
What will I do to keep Nate safe?
Easy—
Anything. Everything.
“What if I’m afraid of my own darkness?”
“Then I’ll set the world on fire to bring you light.”
Gideon…
Why did I meet him now? Is it karma? Punishment for my transgressions? If so, Mama would certainly be pleased.
“No one can know about this,” I reiterate. “Or do you want to risk spending the rest of our lives in prison?”
Nate pales further, shaking his head frantically. “What if it is him? We didn’t see… what if he got out somehow? This can’t be happening.”
Rushing to him, I wrap my arms around his slender torso. Memories of that night claw against my mind. They want to be seen and heard, to take me in their arms and dance with me inside the flames. Fill me with the hatred, the desperation, the vindication, the deep, glowing satisfaction.
And the final moment of hesitation, when he spoke through a gurgle of blood, when the lit match was in my hand…
“Kill me or not, my love, but I’ll never leave you. We belong to each other.”
“You belong in Hell.”
A bloody smile. “I’ll see you there.”
Nate’s grip on my shoulders brings me back.
“I’m scared,” he whispers.
Leaning back, I take his face in my hands. My confidence is an ill-fitting cloak held on by force of will.
“I’ll protect you.”
“But who will protect you? Please, let me talk to—”
“No,” I interrupt as gently as possible. “We have nothing to go on but a fear that should have died with him. I’ll do some digging.”
Nate bows his head, soft strands of hair tickling my cheeks. I say again, fiercely, “I’ll protect you.”
Then I pray to God my words are true.
Gideon’s voice projects to our ears from the kitchen, “Anyone hungry?”
I feel him in the words. In my body. My heart, which reels and drops. Aches with the loss of a gift so recently received and treasured.
“Dee…” Nate warns, knowing exactly what I’m thinking as I stare at the window in the bedroom.
“Don’t,” he continues. “It’s obvious he cares about you. And you’ve been happier recently than I’ve ever seen you. Engaged in your own life, smiling more, worrying less. Please—”
“Give me your pants, Nate. And your car keys.”
“Damnit, Dee. Just talk to him—”
I bark a laugh. “And say what?”
He looks away, frowning and shaking his head. “No. I won’t do it.”
“What?”
His eyes meet mine. If I wasn’t so fucking stunned by his refusal, I’d be proud of the strength I see there.
“I won’t help you shut everyone out. Not this time. You’re not a one-woman army, Deirdre, and I’m sure as shit not going to stand by while you blow your own life up to protect me. We’re facing this together.”
Neither of us noticed the bedroom door opening.
“Face what?”
Nate stares me down for a few more seconds, then brushes past Gideon. “I’ll check on you later, Dee.” His footsteps fade down the hallway. Not long after, the front door opens and closes.
Gideon leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed, stance relaxed. “Breakfast is on the table. You’re going to eat at least five bites. Then you’re going to tell me what the fuck is going on.”
30 annihilation
“And the men who did this to you... they were never caught?”
I gaze down at Gideon’s fingers, entwined with mine and resting on my thigh. He has broad, graceful hands, fingers strong and lean and brushed ever so lightly with freckles. Calloused fingertips stroke my palm. I don’t think he knows he’s doing it—offering physical comfort—or what it means to me. The last time someone took this kind of care with me…
I turn my mind forcefully to the present, to this conversation and the lies I’ve woven. If I look Gideon in the eye, I’m afraid he’ll see through the narrative I’ve given him, so I continue staring at his hand holding mine.
As far as Gideon is concerned, Nate and I were abducted under an overpass in San Bernardino by men who drugged us and held us captive in their basement for several months. It was an all-too-common fate for street kids—being kidnapped and sold into sex slavery. We couldn’t fight them or escape because they shot us up with drugs daily. But one day, a concerned neighbor called the police when she heard yelling, and the next, we were being treated for dehydration and weaned off opiates in the hospital.
Daddy taught me that the key to a perfect lie was to include just enough truth to confuse your own mind. If you believe it—even parts of it—so will your listen
er.
I’ve told Gideon some truth, but I’ll never tell him all of it. True evil is formless, immortal, and spreads through words just as easily as actions. I won’t let it touch anyone else. Not the police, not Dominic, not Gideon. If it means I take the truth to my grave, so be it.
“No,” I tell him. “They were never found.”
“And the note you found, you’re sure it’s from one of them? That would mean they held a grudge for, what, ten years? And randomly saw that photo of you in the Times?”
He’s skeptical, so I let him hear my confusion. Partial truth. Half-lies.
“It doesn’t make sense, I know. But one of them—the leader—he called us that. Mis muñequitas—his little dolls. No one would know that but him or his partner.”
Gideon slumps back into the couch, brow creased. “No wonder you bleached your hair.” He swipes a hand over his face. “And you won’t consider speaking to the police or a private investigator?”
“No.”
“Christ, Deirdre.” His fingers slip from mine. “How do you think this plays out? This stalker—whoever it is—just gives up? Come on.”
Telling the truth is impossible, but my mind blanks.
Thankfully, Gideon mistakes my silence for fear. “Never mind, you don’t have to answer that. I’m not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do, I just want you to be safe.”
I gape. “Really?”
He taps my lower lip. “You’ll catch a fly.”
I swat his hand away. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” In all the scenarios I considered, this one didn’t rank. Belatedly, I know it should have—Gideon is nothing if not unconventional.
His brows lift. “I haven’t known you that long, but I know if I pressure you, you’ll bolt. Am I wrong?”
Finally, I can tell him the truth.
“No.”
He smirks. “Thought so. But I do have a request. I want you to drop the rest of your clients and work for me full-time. And move into my guest room.”
A few seconds pass before my brain catches up with my ears. “Are you joking? Absolutely no—”
His fingers gently swipe over my mouth, silencing me. “Listen. I know you don’t need or want protection, or even help, but I want to give you some anyway. Do you think I didn’t notice how fucking scared you were when you showed up last night? It’s not safe in your condo. I’ll get a top-of-the-line security system installed here. Let me at least sleep knowing you’re safe in this house.”
Our closeness, the physical intimacy we shared last night and the emotional intimacy now, make me feel simultaneously weightless and claustrophobic. I shift away on the couch for some much-needed space and stare at the painting over the fireplace.
“I don’t know how to do this.” My voice is a hoarse whisper.
Be close to you.
Lie to you.
Tell you the truth.
“I know,” he says mildly. “But that’s the beauty of relationships, isn’t it? No one knows how to do it, and people who say they do are full of shit. We’re all fumbling around in the dark walking into walls. On good days, we find each other and hold on.”
My palm lifts to my chest, pressing against the sudden, searing heat there. The corners of my eyes sting. I’ve cried more in the last twenty-four hours than I have in years.
At last, I dare to glance at Gideon, to meet his sharp, clear gaze. “Is that what we’re doing?” I ask.
He spreads his palms, shrugging. “Considering that if Nate hadn’t said no to your request for his pants and keys, you would’ve gone out the window and I might have never seen you again… I’d say so. You’re still sitting here, aren’t you? It’s called communication and compromise, and you’re doing it even though you don’t want to.”
I can’t smother my smile. “You’re such an ass.”
“An incredibly intelligent, insightful ass, thank you.”
My sigh carries away the deepest ache inside me, soothes the fear of losing this man. I’m selfish. Irresponsible. I should adhere to my original plan. Get out of the city. Lure the threat away from Nate.
From Gideon.
Staying means putting them both in harm’s way.
I should go.
“Is that a yes? You’ll stay?”
I’m not ready to say goodbye. Not yet. If my life is on borrowed time, I want to live the remainder with him.
“Yes—”
His mouth covers mine as he guides me onto my back. My T-shirt is jacked to my neck, hands roaming, feeling, marking as my mouth is sipped, savored, swallowed. Unlike last night, this is a slow devouring that leaves more than my body aching. My mind and heart throb too, wanting more.
More.
Molten, mahogany eyes find mine. “Mon bijou, don’t leave me.”
Though it tears open a wound inside me, I tell him the truth.
“I’m not sure I can.”
31 denial
The color of my illustrious boss’s face matches his eggplant dress shirt.
“Say that again,” Maxwell demands in a near-screech, “because I’m sure I didn’t hear you right.”
“I’m handing my client list to Trent. He’s more than ready. Gideon Masters has hired me full-time.” I nod to the paperwork under his clenched fist. “He’s paying well above the normal rate for my services. It was a no-brainer. The end.”
My calm voice is what tips Maxwell over the edge. He lurches up from his seat and leans toward me. Spittle collects at the corner of his mouth as he whisper-shouts, “You’re out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m signing off on this. It’s career suicide!”
I cock a brow and cross my legs. “I’m not sure what your actual complaint is. It’s my decision. If you don’t sign off, I’ll go freelance and the agency won’t see a cent from that contract. Additionally, if you block Trent’s acquisition of my list, I’ll take my team and my clients with me when I leave.”
An empty threat, but he doesn’t know that.
With a wordless yell, Maxwell swipes a stack of papers from his desk to the floor. Outside the glass walls of his office, the entire staff stares at us, not even bothering to pretend otherwise. They can’t hear what we’re saying, but it’s a moot point. Especially since TMZ’s online article last night entitled, Playboy artist Gideon Masters gets up close and personal with PR Shark, Deirdre Moss.
The attached photos are from the night I mistakenly thought I was walking into a ménage à trois with Gideon and Finn. I remember the moment—braced against my car door with Gideon crowding me, his arms bracketing my head and his mouth at my ear. Finn watches us from the background, an inscrutable but focused look on his face. The photos aren’t damning or even overtly salacious, but no one cares about the truth in this city. Or the irony that Gideon and I weren’t sleeping together then, but we are now.
But the part of my brain that gives a shit about the rumor mill is shut down. Turned off. Gone. I have much bigger problems than gossip sites and my fuming boss.
Namely, the dead man stalking me.
“Look, Maxwell, it’s all or nothing.” I stand, pointing at the untouched contract. “Read it. Sign it. Or explain to the VPs why I walked out with some of the agency’s biggest clients.”
His beady eyes narrow, glittering with malice. I’m unaffected; after all, he’s a lamb.
I’m a wolf.
“I won’t forget this, Deirdre.”
“Good.” I head for the door. “I’ll expect the signed contract on my desk before day’s end. Have a great day, Maxwell.”
When I leave his office, twenty-plus heads swivel rapidly. Papers shift and keyboards start clacking. The only person to meet my gaze head-on is Skylar.
Color me not at all surprised.
“Well well well,” she says, voice pitched to carry. “Deirdre Moss, throwing her career away for some dick. Don’t worry—I’ll make sure your clients are well taken care of.”
There are assorted gasps and a few snickers but mo
stly stunned silence. Across the room, Trent steps out of my office, his face cut in angry lines. I catch his gaze and shake my head.
Skylar’s smile grows. She’s smug and satisfied, thinking about all the ways she’ll benefit from my demise. The demise she thinks she orchestrated. How cute.
I offer her a lazy smile. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out it was you who paid the pap and sold those photographs? A few calls was all it took. You’re not nearly as smart as you think you are, Skylar, and now everyone knows they need to watch their backs around you.”
Ashen under her spray-tan, Skylar glances around the room. Our colleagues eye her with varying levels of disappointment and disgust.
“She’s lying. Come on, guys, I’d never do that.”
“Yes, you would,” someone mutters.
Walking toward my office, I leave a wake of rising murmurs behind me. Trent closes the door as soon as I’m inside.
“Did she really leak those photos?” he asks once I’m seated behind my desk.
“Who knows and who cares.”
Trent whistles, long and low. “That’s savage.”
I shrug. “I told you I’d do whatever it took to make this a smooth transition. Skylar needed to be put down.”
After a pregnant pause, I look away from my computer screen to find Trent watching me. I don’t like what I see there, but there’s not much I can do about it. Nor about the words that spill from him next.
“What’s going on with you?” His rich voice is low and tense. “Talk to me, Deirdre. I have your back. I can help.”
I almost smile, and have the fleeting thought that if I were a different woman, I would have jumped at the chance for a date with him. But I’m not, and no matter how well he thinks he knows me, he doesn’t.
“You’re a good man, Trent. One of the best. But please don’t worry. This is the right choice for me. Gideon is about to make waves worldwide and he needs me full-time. That’s all. And let’s be real—with what he’s paying me, I can retire in five years. There’s nothing personal about this decision except realizing I want to spend the next thirty years on a beach somewhere.”
Art of Sin: Illusions Duet : Book One Page 13
