by Cassie James
Someone knocks at the door.
I hesitate with my notebook in my hand. The worn notebook where I’ve been keeping careful notes for months of anything that could help me in my quest to ruin my father. I lift the edge of the mattress and shove it underneath before going to the door.
“Package for you,” a smiling orderly says, handing over a lightweight box.
I handle the box gingerly as I push the door closed behind me. No one should be sending me packages here, but it feels like a bit of a stretch to assume the worst. As if someone would be sending me a bomb or something.
I put the box on the bed and study the tag. It’s made out to me at the Banner-Hill address, but there’s no return address on it.
Knowing it doesn’t do any good to put off the inevitable, I peel up the edges of the tape and lift the flaps to open the box. There’s a weird sense of foreboding as I open it, even though it’s not like I would expect my father to be shipping anything here. I doubt he’d risk sending any threats through certified mail. He sure as fuck isn’t sending a gift.
The only other person who knows I’m here is Murphy.
And speak of the devil.
I lift the notecard to read his chicken scratch handwriting. Consider us even. I would know that handwriting anywhere, thanks to Christmas cards and birthday presents. Murphy never missed one. Not even from prison, though how in the hell he pulled that off I’ll never know. It’s better not to ask.
Now, with my curiosity piqued, I pull back the tissue paper. When I see what’s inside, I close my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose. Family politics just got a whole other layer of fucked up. Tucked beneath the black tissue paper is red lingerie. The kind of lingerie an uncle should definitely not be sending to his niece.
I lift the sheer bra and panty set and lay them out on the bed. Then I snatch the tissue paper out of the box as if maybe the lingerie is just hiding the real gift. Or a clue or something.
Any explanation besides my uncle sending me slutty lingerie.
But there’s nothing. Fuck.
I press my knuckles against my forehead, trying to ease the tension headache building. Surely there’s more to this gift, but I cannot for the life of me figure out what the fuck it might be. I’m not sure what ‘consider us even’ is supposed to mean either, considering I thought we already were even. What the fuck was I doing visiting him in jail if not making us even?
This is becoming too tangled a web even for me.
There’s only one way to potentially make sense of this, but I don’t like the plan even as I think of it. It’s nearly dinnertime, which means almost everyone will be leaving their rooms to go down to the dining hall. I could be in Logan’s room and out again before he’s even finished unfolding his napkin. I can’t guarantee I’ll find the phone but I do at least remember all the best hiding spots we found as kids.
I can’t risk trying to call the prison from the official phones, and it’s not like I can go around asking if anyone else has a contraband phone. I’ve already taken a big swing by coming here, what’s one more?
Leaving the lingerie abandoned on the bed, I open the door to the hall and stick my head out, peering out to make sure the hall is cleared before I take one hell of a stupid risk. There’s no sign of anyone aside from some stray voices carrying from another room down the hall. Apparently I’m not the only one skipping group mealtimes. Still, it’s not enough to dissuade me.
I lock my door before I creep across the hall, down several doors until I reach the one marked Wilder. It’s how I found him so easily yesterday morning.
I pause for a second, listening for any sign of life inside the room, and only push the door open once I’m sure there isn’t any. Once again, to my complete lack of surprise, the door isn’t locked. It’s amazing really that he forgoes that luxury. Not many rehabs let you lock the doors—but this one makes staff carry a master key for emergencies so that we can be afforded every privacy that money can buy.
Logan’s parents are probably paying good money for him to be here leaving his door unlocked.
It works in my favor, at least. I close the door quietly behind me and let my eyes study the space in a way I couldn’t when I was in here before. Last time I needed the element of surprise. This time I need a shrewd eye.
Where would Logan hide a phone?
He might be ballsy enough to leave his door unlocked but I’d put money down that he’s not so stupid as to leave it out in the open. Not in any of the drawers, then. I walk a line across one side of the room and then the other, testing the floor for a hollow spot between the boards. Nothing.
I eye the ceiling above the bed. One of the few things about this place that actually looks like a medical facility are the ceiling tiles. They’re an expensive, glittery kind meant to hide some of the gaudiness.
If I was going to hide something in this room—it’s an easy choice. Which also makes it a shit choice for me and my snooping. There’s too many tiles. It’ll take me too long to search them all.
I mutter a string of curses under my breath as I pull out a desk chair and climb onto it. I use my fingertips to lift the nearest panel, then use my free hand to check the perimeter of the hole. There’s nothing, which I expected. There’s got to be at least thirty, forty, maybe even fifty of these panels in the room.
A loud laugh from the hallway startles me, nearly sending me careening off the chair.
A wave of paranoia washes over me as I steady myself. Moving as silently as possible, I get off the chair and dart for the closet just as the door handle to the room starts to turn. Whatever tenuous self-control Logan has had with me will be gone if he finds me in his room again.
I can see part of the room through the slats in the doors, just enough to see the edge of Logan as he comes in and plops down on his bed. If he suspects anything, there’s no sign of it.
I hold my breath and plead to every god or deity that I can think of that Logan isn’t planning to stay in his room the rest of the night. I even send out a quick prayer to Mother Nature for good measure.
As I stare through the slats in the door, Logan picks a book up off the bedside table and starts to read. I’ve got a clear view of the bed from here, so I stand there staring at him like a creep while he breezes through the pages. I forgot he liked to read. I hate that seeing him do it now almost makes him seem human.
Something slams—the door, I assume, since footsteps follow right after. Logan puts his book back down and stands, walking out of view. I hear the door close again but there’s no time to get my hopes up that maybe he’s leaving.
A woman’s voice speaks up, “I don’t appreciate being summoned, Wilder.”
There’s shuffling and then Logan throws his head back with a laugh as he comes back into view. “Truth or dare, Romas?”
There’s a little growling sound in response that would almost be cute under other circumstances. It takes me a second to realize what he just said. Romas. As in, Siobhan Romas. I can’t imagine there’d be another Romas here. I’m pretty sure the infamous killer only has the one daughter.
I shudder a little to think about it. Arlo Romas has been presumed dead for more than a year, but the name isn’t one easily forgotten.
“Truth.”
Siobhan steps into view, her arms crossed over her chest. She’s turned slightly so I can’t see her face but the tension in her shoulders screams discomfort. It’s hard to imagine Arlo Romas’ daughter uncomfortable with anything.
“What happened with Natalie?” Logan growls.
My spine stiffens as he says my name. It’s not like I said much of anything to Siobhan, but I don’t like the idea of Logan sniffing around about me. If he’d done his job of protecting Killian in the first place then there wouldn’t be an issue.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why did reality TV’s biggest train wreck confront me about Killian yesterday? What does she know? Was she snooping around?”
Siobhan turns slig
htly, giving me a good look at her face, which is impressively blank. “That’s more than one question. You only get one.”
“My original question is just one. You’re the one that needed clarification.”
Logan’s voice is vicious. Based on how uninterested Siobhan seems in answering, I’m surprised she doesn’t just leave the room. It’s not like she’s getting pinned to the wall or choked in the bed. As far as Logan goes, this whole interaction seems pretty tame.
“I’ll take the punishment.”
Logan’s face turns red. “What? What the fuck do you mean you’ll take the punishment? It’s a simple question.”
Siobhan shrugs.
“I swear she’s been here two minutes and already screwing everything up,” Logan mutters just loud enough that I know Siobhan hears it because I hear it too. “Get on the bed, then.”
Clearly, I’ve been gone for too long because as Siobhan drapes herself over Logan’s bed, it becomes abundantly clear that I do not understand the dynamics of Banner-Hill anymore. Logan unbuckles his belt as Siobhan lays like a corpse in his bed.
I’m about to watch Logan fuck someone as some sort of punishment. I think I’m going to be sick. I have to hold back a gag.
“Just tell me this.” Logan stares down at Siobhan with his own lack of enthusiasm. “What’d she offer you that you’d take a fuck for her? Because we both know you never take the punishment. Especially not to protect someone else.”
Obviously, the signs were there, but I don’t put two-and-two together until he says the words. For whatever reason, Siobhan is protecting me by refusing to tell Logan that I was snooping. It wouldn’t even have mattered to me if she did tell him, but she’s still choosing not to throw me under the bus.
I’m about to do something really stupid.
I shake my head at myself even as I throw the closet door open. Two pairs of startled eyes turn to stare at me. Siobhan stands, her hands smoothing down the skirt of her dress.
Logan’s eyes narrow. “What the fuck are you two playing at?”
“She didn’t know I was here.” I lock eyes with Siobhan, trying to stare through her like I might come up with some explanation. If she’s refusing to tattle to Logan on me for something so simple, there must be a reason. I look at Logan. “I’ll take the punishment.”
Someone clearly dropped me on my head as a child. Uncle Murph, probably.
“You can’t just—” Siobhan starts to protest but Logan cuts her off.
“Only people in the game can take a punishment for someone else.” His lips curl up into a smirk. The bastard already knows I’ve backed myself into a hole here.
Siobhan tries to catch my eye so I make a point to keep my focus on Logan. “Looks like I’m playing, then.” There’s no way in hell I’m leaving Siobhan to get fucked when clearly I’m the focus of Logan’s anger.
Whatever just happened, it’s clear she protected me. And I don’t like to owe anyone—which means I have to return the favor.
“The game is truth or dare. If you refuse the question or dare given to you, the third option is a fuck. You fuck the person you refused. No outs. No do-overs. And once you’re in the game, the only way out is leaving Banner-Hill,” Logan explains. He raises an eyebrow at the end, intent clear on his face. He thinks this is his golden ticket to send me packing.
I try not to think right now about the last time I played this game.
Instead of responding to him, I pass Siobhan and take her vacated spot bent over the bed. My teeth grit in anticipation, already knowing what’s coming.
For what feels like forever, Siobhan and Logan stand in a silent stand-off. This stupid game of theirs, it must be taken pretty damn seriously because finally it’s Siobhan that caves first. She starts for the door, glancing back once. I give her the slightest nod of reassurance. Nothing about this is fine, but I’ve made my bed and now I—quite literally—have to lie in it.
She disappears out the door as Logan releases a low laugh.
“Of all the stupid things…” He trails off, footsteps tapping the floor until he’s close enough to reach out and run a hand over the bare stretch of thigh exposed by my shorts.
“I’ve done stupider,” I mutter.
“Stand up.”
I swallow down the part of me that naturally wants to disobey. I rise from the bed, acutely aware of Logan’s body heat against my back.
“Now turn around.”
He’s barely laid a hand on me and already a cold sweat is breaking out along my hairline. I hate how calm he looks as I turn to face him. Only the tic of his jaw gives away that he’s not unaffected by my presence.
“Kiss me.”
I recoil, stepping back from him so that the backs of my knees hit his mattress.
“No.” I don’t want to give him this, this thing he always wanted that I denied him. “The punishment is sex. Not kissing.”
“Kissing is a part of sex, Natalie,” he growls out, his frustration seeping out in his voice. He starts to unravel instantly, his hands forming fists by his sides as his body tenses. “You don’t get to pick and choose which parts you like. You’re the one that chose to take the punishment.”
“Would you have kissed Siobhan?”
The way his face blanches is answer enough.
“You can set the terms when it’s my punishment, but you can’t change the terms for me taking someone else’s.” I have no intention of getting stuck playing this game with him. There’s no question I wouldn’t answer. No dare I wouldn’t do. I plan on avoiding the hell out of him after this, but in the event he comes looking for me, I won’t be fucking him again.
“Trying to make up your own rules. Why am I not surprised?”
“Yeah, well it’s just like you to prefer the rules work only in your favor. So I’m not surprised either.”
We stare each other down, neither of us wanting to cave to the other. Eventually, he tilts his chin up in the slightest nod. I’m sure he realizes I would stand here all night not to bow to him on this. He steps around me and sits on the bed, gesturing for me to hurry up with his finger.
“Start stripping.”
I bristle. “You weren’t making Siobhan strip.”
“Siobhan was wearing a dress. Do you think I’m going to fuck you through the leg of your shorts? We both know my dick wouldn’t fit.” He rolls his eyes at me. Asshole.
The last thing I want to do is make this whole thing sexy for him, but I’m slow to unbutton my shorts anyway. My body trembles with an anticipation that I resent. I’ve been so busy planning for my inevitable freedom that it’s been months since I’ve had a proper fuck. The last two men I’ve been seen out with were purely for show ratings.
And my arrangement with Rodney was purely for show. He took one line off of my collarbone and we called it a night. I wouldn’t dare fuck him—despite Megan’s best efforts to film us together last season—he’s been pining after some other woman for years.
I hook my thumbs into the sides of my shorts and slip them down my legs, leaving them bunched in a pile on the floor. Logan watches with hooded eyes as I grip the edges of my panties and let them follow.
Logan’s eyes move to my thin, white t-shirt, but I shake my head.
“This is just a means to an end. You don’t need to see my tits to get off, and you sure as hell weren’t planning to see Siobhan’s. Take what I’m giving you and savor it, Logan. This is an encore you’re only getting once.”
He drags his shirt over his head.
“You talk a big game considering the last time I saw you, you were running with your tail between your legs. Running home to daddy so he could fix all your problems for you.” The disdain in his voice is heavy even for him.
“My father doesn’t fix problems. He creates them.”
Logan pauses with his jeans unbuttoned, zipper halfway down to show off his black briefs. He studies my face, looking for answers he won’t find. I have one hell of a poker face, and I can’t afford to tip my han
d. Not on this.
“Yeah? Tell me more about your daddy issues. I love foreplay.” He gives me a cocky grin that’s downright infuriating.
“Patronizing bastard,” I mutter plenty loud enough for him to hear me.
“You know what? I’m done playing with you.” Logan grabs a fistful of my shirt and yanks me onto the bed beside him. He stands to shed his pants and briefs, leaving him completely nude while I lay in the middle of the bed naked only from the waist down.
This is going too far.
“I think you’ve proven your point, Logan,” I admit quietly.
“What point is that?” He leans over the bed, planting his hands near my hips and lowering his face obnoxiously close to mine.
“You own this place. You’ve made that abundantly clear. I promise you I won’t be staying a moment longer than necessary. This can be your home, but it’s never going to be mine again.” I don’t want to stay here long enough to wind up being taken out in a body bag.
Logan huffs out a laugh, his breath teasing my skin.
“You’re right, I do own this place. This place and everyone in it. Which, for right now, includes you. So turn the fuck over so I don’t have to keep listening to your pathetic attempts at reasoning with me. You should already know I have no interest in being reasonable.”
My mind quickly runs through weighing my options. I couldn’t outrun Logan, even if I was willing to dart into the hallway only half dressed. He’s right that he can’t be reasoned with. And un-fucking-fortunately that leaves one option. An option I really don’t like, despite the fact that I walked right into it.
Submission.
Of course the one thing Logan most wants from me is the one thing I don’t want to give him.
Apparently, I don’t comply quick enough for Logan’s taste. His throat vibrates with a strangled sound as he grabs a fistful of my hair in one hand and my right thigh in his other. He flips me over himself, his fingers tangling painfully in my long hair. He squeezes my thigh so hard that he leaves behind red marks where each of his fingers were.
