The Gilded Cuff

by Smith, Lauren

  Fenn didn’t hesitate. He struck, sinking the knife deep in the leg of the man who’d carried him. The man bellowed and swung at him like an enraged man-eating black bear. Fenn ducked, and the man’s hand swiped the soda bottles off the counter.

  The sharp explosion of glass made everyone freeze.

  Everything happened so fast after that. The man with the gun skirted around the counter, caught Fenn by the throat, and ripped the knife away from his hand.

  “You little bastard!” He backhanded Fenn, but didn’t release him. Fenn’s head snapped to the side. A red hand-shaped mark quickly formed across his cheek.

  Trapped, immobile, silenced, Emery couldn’t scream, couldn’t move. He was unable to defend his brother. It was, to that point, the single worst moment of his life.

  The lively sounds of the party offered a haunting backdrop to the horror before him. Their parents and guests were only a short distance away, yet all were unaware of what was happening. His captor moved outside, walking past the other man, who once again lifted Fenn.

  Emery freed one hand, reaching for his brother.

  A brush of fingertips, the reflection of agony and pain in his brother’s eyes, and then they were ripped away from each other and stolen from their home.

  They left behind their last refuge, their world of adventure. Emery’s eyes blurred with tears as he fought for one last look behind him. The green glass from the bottles glinted and sparked in the waning light like emerald gemstones sprinkled with ruby drops of blood.

  * * *

  Emery’s lashes opened slowly. He had the strangest sense he’d awakened from a dream, rather than having just confessed the secret horror he’d suffered for the last twenty-five years. His gaze sought Sophie’s. Her chin rested on his chest, and large, diamond-sized tears hung precariously on the tips of her lashes. She blinked rapidly, cleared her throat, and spoke. Only a tiny waver betrayed the emotion she seemed desperate to hide.

  “What did the men look like?”

  “Two of them looked average. White men with brown hair and brown eyes. Could have been brothers. The third man…He was huge, or at least he seemed that way to a couple of eight-year-olds. He had dark hair with a hooked nose and black eyes. He had an accent. I couldn’t place it then, but now I know it was Italian. His name was Antonio. I never caught his last name, but I heard the others call him that when they thought Fenn and I were asleep.”

  Emery closed his eyes. He concentrated at first on Sophie. She felt good on top of him. The air was thick with the mix of her natural scent and the shampoo from her hair. But he had to let it go. Had to focus on the memories.

  “Where did they take you? Do you know?”

  “One of the crumbling mansions about eight miles from here. It was abandoned, condemned. No one would look there for us, or have a chance of seeing us.”

  “Tell me about the place they kept you.”

  He summoned the memory and spoke aloud as it unfolded.

  The walls were empty shells, the paint peeling and faded with the barest hint of color left. Trees grew between the cracks in the marble floors, the force of nature challenging the man-made structure. Ivy snaked up the crumbling banister of the stairs. Much of the second floor had been obliterated by the elements after so many years. Even as terror clamped vicious claws around his heart, Emery mourned the loss of the grandeur. It was like finding one of his favorite toys broken, knowing it could never be fixed, and the games he’d loved to play were forever ended.

  The thick scent of rotted wood and decay filled his nostrils, the pungent combination further tainted by the smell of Fenn’s blood as their captors dragged them to a door beneath the stairs.

  “Should we put them in here, Antonio?” One man asked the dark-haired leader.

  “Yes. Throw them inside,” Antonio barked.

  Emery and Fenn stumbled into the darkness and the door slammed shut behind them, a lock clicking into place. He immediately felt around until he bumped into Fenn, who sat on the floor.

  “You hurt?” he whispered.

  “My arm hurts a little.” Fenn lifted his arm in the dim light and Emery saw a streak of blood beneath the torn shirt.

  Both boys were quiet for a long while. A single shaft of muted light slid through the crack by the door.

  “I’m scared, Fenn,” Emery whispered, a shiver slithering the length of his spine.

  “Me too.”

  “Do you think Mom and Dad will look for us?” Emery wanted to believe their parents would search for them. He prayed they wouldn’t think he and Fenn had run away. If Nana was alive, she could tell them what had happened. If she was alive…

  “They’ll look. I know they will,” Fenn said calmly, but Emery could feel his brother shaking next to him.

  Emery forced his eyes open. The library ceiling was awash with an artist’s rendering of Mount Olympus and the Gods and Goddesses. It was such a contrast to the confined darkness he and Fenn had lived in during their captivity.

  Funny. He’d rarely looked at this mural over the years. It was only now, lying here with Sophie, that he noticed the painted heavens.

  “You must have been so scared.” Sophie shifted her head, bumping his chin. Her arms tightened around his chest.

  Scared? He’d been petrified. Terrified out of his mind. Thanks to that damned closet he became unhinged at the thought of being in an enclosed space, couldn’t sleep in any room with closed doors where there weren’t light switches within easy reach of his bed.

  “They kept us in the closet for the first two weeks.”

  Sophie gasped and raised her head. “They never let you out in all that time?”

  “They did. Separately. Just to go to the bathroom and to wash with cold water from a bucket. We only ever had a few minutes.”

  Icy water, the thick cold sponge raking over his skin. The piercing sunlight so sharp and painful after hours in the darkness.

  “The worst part was at night.” His skin crawled from the mere recollection.

  “What happened then?” Sophie’s eyes were wide, full of sorrow and worry. The emotions swirled like blue clouds over the silver of her eyes.

  “The bugs and rats came. Cockroaches got under our clothes, rats crawled over us while we tried to catch a minute or two of sleep.”

  Tiny paws scampered over his bare arm, the squeak of a rat shocked him and the painful pinch of tiny teeth sank into his forearm.

  A scream tore from his throat. Fenn grabbed his arm, hushing him.

  “S’okay, Emery,” he murmured. “Did it bite you?”

  “Uh-huh,” Emery replied in a half-whimper.

  “It’ll be okay. I’ll watch for them. Go back to sleep.”

  Even though it was too dark to see his brother, he found Fenn’s hand and clasped it in his own, the touch a simple and vital reassurance. They were together.

  “I got bit. A lot. After…after I got home, they took me to the hospital. The doctors were worried about infections and I remember getting several shots.”

  He shuddered at the memory of the way the hospital nurse had jabbed the needles repeatedly into his skin without warning. He’d cried. Cried for his mother, his father, for Fenn. He hadn’t been able to stop. And when he’d finally run out of tears and was only sucking in ragged breaths, he’d been forced to stay all night in the sterile hospital room. His mother had curled up around him on the hospital bed, holding him, while his father had slept next to him in a chair. Even though he’d been safe, he hadn’t slept a wink that first night. It was only when dawn arrived, washing the room out with its glow, that he’d drifted off to sleep and slept for nearly two days without waking.

  “Don’t drift away from me.” Sophie cupped his face in her hands, her elbows resting on his upper chest. “Keep talking, but don’t let the memories drag you back.”

  Her request sounded so easy, but it was impossible. He could no sooner stop the tides from pulling the sea out each night.

  “We’ve opened a can of worms
, Sophie. I’ve spent years trying to bury these memories. You wanted them; now you’ve got them.” He hadn’t meant to snap at her, but his reply came out clipped.

  Her flinch made his chest ache with regret. Determined to apologize, he curled his hands around her wrists just beneath her cuffs, his thumbs stroking the delicate skin of her inner arms, where he could feel the rapid fire of her pulse.

  “I’m sorry. It’s not easy to relive this. When I was a kid I convinced myself it was just a story, that all that happened wasn’t really to me. But telling you…it brings it right back inside me. I can’t stay distant.”

  Her lashes dropped, spiking over her cheeks as she closed her eyes. She sighed. “I know how you feel.”

  He laughed bitterly. “You don’t. People always think they understand. They don’t.”

  Her lashes flared up, revealing aggressive gray eyes. “Actually, I do.”

  “What?” He tightened his grip on her wrists.

  “I guess you haven’t read the file that Cody gave you?”

  Emery blinked. “No. Not yet. Why?”

  “Well, you should. It’s a real pager turner.” Sophie tugged her wrists free and rolled off him. The second her feet hit the floor, she walked away from him.

  The instinct to chase her down was strong, but his mistrust got in the way, kept him where he was. He sat up and rested his elbows on his knees as he watched her.

  Sophie paced the length of the library, her gaze taking in the room.

  “This place is so beautiful. Every room is like something out of a fairy tale.” She stopped before a shelf by one wall where a gilded picture frame sat. Inside was a picture of Emery, Fenn, and Brant. Brant stood in the middle, his arms locked around their necks in a fake chokehold. At eighteen, he’d been older and stronger, and he’d always pushed his younger cousins around.

  Thankfully Brant had outgrown his headlock phase. Of course now he was all about creating deadlocks with the company board. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Damn. Today was a string of disasters between the meeting with Brant, the fire at the stables, finding Fenn’s shoe. A moment of peace with this unique and haunted woman. That was all he wanted.

  He focused on Sophie, tracking her every move. Her breasts bounced just the slightest bit as she set the frame down and walked back a few steps. Hunger for her, for the pleasure she could give them both, made his body taut.

  “Sophie, come here,” he commanded.

  She eyed him warily and then walked over. He parted his legs and motioned for her to step between them. She came, obliging him, even if she was reluctant.

  “Straddle me,” he demanded.

  Rebellion warred with desire on her face, but desire won out and she complied. She placed her hands on his shoulders for balance as she lowered herself. Her knees parted, her legs sliding around to hug his hips. The action brought her close to him, their pelvises bumping. He didn’t miss the flare in her eyes, the spark of heightened awareness. He cupped her bottom, squeezed as she rocked forward with a tiny gasp.

  “Tell me what happened to you. What’s in your file that I should know about?” He leaned forward and when she tried to lean back, he put a hand on her shoulder blades, keeping her in place. She was at the perfect height for him to nuzzle her throat. He flicked his tongue out, relishing the faintly salty taste of her skin, even though he tasted soot as well. She needed to shower before dinner tonight. But right now he needed answers.

  “Talk to me.” He kissed a path up her neck to her mouth. Her body gave a little shiver, as though she were on the verge of coming undone.

  “Read the file.” Her tone was probably supposed to be impertinent but he chose that moment to smack her bottom and her words came out in a rush of fast breaths.

  “We are sharing, remember? I tell you something, you tell me something.”

  She wrinkled her nose and glared down at him. “I’m not ready to talk.”

  When she tried to distract him by grabbing his face and planting a kiss on his lips, he nearly laughed. Her attempt to dominate him was cute. But he was the dominant one. Clearly she needed a reminder.

  Emery snagged her wrists and wound them behind her back, pinning them there, and used his other hand to take hold of her neck and pull her face down to his. She squirmed, only making him more restless and hungry for her.

  “Stop wriggling or I’ll take you on the floor. With the mood I’m in you’d be in for a hell of a ride, and trust me, you wouldn’t like getting carpet burns,” he warned with a low growl.

  She tugged her wrists, but his hold didn’t let up. “I think you say things like that just to shock me.”

  She didn’t believe him? Her mistake.

  Holding onto her, he lifted her up as he stood and then he dropped to his knees on the thick carpet by the couch, efficiently pinning her to the ground beneath him. She was trapped chest to toes and couldn’t move, except for her head.

  “Still think I’m bluffing?”

  Sophie had the good sense to look hesitant before replying. “Okay, so obviously playing strip poker with you any time soon is out of the question, because I can’t read you at all.”

  “Strip poker? That’s an excellent idea for later. I’m damn good at cards.” He couldn’t resist leering down at her, and she laughed.

  “Oh good lord, you’ll be the death of me.” She blew out an exasperated breath and tried to dislodge his body from hers.

  “Hmmm,” he chuckled, enjoying her half-hearted struggle. “I’ll be preoccupied during dinner tonight, thinking of all the ways to get you naked. Whether it be cards…or otherwise.”

  “You’ll be thinking about sex with your parents right there?” The shock in her eyes and the delightful way she parted her lips made his erection harden to painful proportions. Seeing his chance for relief, he dropped his head and kissed her. Open-mouthed and hard, his tongue conquered hers. He swallowed her little sounds of pleasure. It was impossible to keep his hands off her. Dinner was a few hours away and he was already regretting calling his parents. Seeing them could have waited until tomorrow.

  Have to have her, now. He’d gripped the neck of her t-shirt, ready to rip it right down the middle to get to the feast of her breasts and stomach, when a voice disturbed them.

  “See, Hans? Like I said, humping like bunnies. Better get a hose and spray ’em down,” Cody sniggered from the doorway of the library. Hans, rather than looking amused, was frowning in obvious disapproval.

  “Get off me,” Sophie hissed, shame tinting her face as she shoved at his shoulders.

  Emery kept her pinned beneath him a moment longer, pushing his hips down, reminding her that he had every intention of staking his claim on her later. He bent, stole a kiss rough enough to leave her blinking in dazed surprise. Then he got to his feet and helped her up, loving the way she wobbled and fell against his side.

  “Why don’t you get cleaned up?” He swatted her behind and prodded her toward the door. When she left he made eye contact with Hans and flicked his head to indicate that the bodyguard should follow her. Hans returned the signal with a nod and trailed off after her.

  Cody leaned a hip against the nearest chair, looking entirely too smug about interrupting Emery’s seduction.

  “Cody, get me her file. It’s time to read up on my guest.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Chapter 11

  IN THE THREE MONTHS SINCE EIGHT-YEAR-OLD TWINS EMERY AND FENN LOCKWOOD HAVE GONE MISSING, NO RANSOM CALLS HAVE COME IN. NO ONE HAS SEEN ANY EVIDENCE OF THE CHILDREN SINCE THE NIGHT OF THEIR PARENTS’ PARTY.

  —New York Times, September 12, 1990

  Another shower. Sophie had taken one only a few hours ago, yet so much had happened since then. She looked a wreck. Soot blackened her nose, forehead, and neck, and her eyes were red from the smoke. She still wore her exercise clothes from tennis that morning. It marveled her that Emery had wanted to touch her, let alone kiss her. The man was unpredictable.

  And hot. Burning hot
and dangerous. She wanted him bad, so bad she had the shakes, like an addict during withdrawal, when he wasn’t nearby.

  If Cody and Hans hadn’t come in…they might have done the horizontal tango on the library carpet.

  Damn Cody. Then again, did she really want her first time with Emery to be on the floor, sweaty and covered in ashes?

  No.

  Sophie showered quickly and did her best to style her hair. Naturally it didn’t want to cooperate. It had to be a universal truth: a woman’s hair never cooperated when she was about to meet the parents of the man she was seeing. Well, she wasn’t technically seeing Emery. How was she supposed to define their relationship?

  She imagined the look of horror on his parents’ faces if she said, “Hi, I’m Sophie, I’m letting your son seduce me and in return he’s telling me about the worst moments of his life.”

  Yeah, bad idea. Perhaps she should leave the explanations to Emery.

  When she left the bathroom she was surprised to find a midnight blue dress lying on the bed, along with a pair of red flats with silver buckles on the toes. She picked the gown up and couldn’t help but admire it. The cut was A-line and the skirt flared out like a dress Grace Kelly might have worn, only there wasn’t a scratchy crinoline underneath. Instead it had a built–in, multilayered, silk underskirt. The bodice looked fitted and the waist would be trim. Sophie checked the tag and blushed when she realized it was her size. Who had purchased the clothes? And more importantly, how had they known her size? It was then she noticed the small note tucked inside one of the shoes.

  She pulled it out and read it silently.

  Sophie,

  The shoes and dress are my gift to you tonight. Wear them and nothing else. It will please me. Disobey and you will face punishment. I have been lax in letting you take control. Tonight I will remedy this.

  ~Master Emery

  Master Emery. It sounded so dark and sinful. It reminded her of that first moment she’d met him in the club. Domineering, sensual, powerful. She eyed the note thoughtfully. So he didn’t want her wearing anything underneath the dress?