by Maisey Yates
He hadn’t been able to face it then. He could scarcely stand to recall what little he’d seen now. This was where the alcohol came into play. Blessed alcohol. It helped hold back some of the cold.
Ten years ago, at this very party, his life had been going perfectly.
Two weeks until Christmas, an end-of-term party that had been filled with toasts and slaps on the back. And then he’d come to the Treffen party. He’d stood next to his father, a proud Treffen, basking in the promise of a partnership in the prestigious firm, in the position he’d gotten in law school because of that name. The name that had opened every door to him for all of his life. That had seen him educated in the finest private schools, had given to him the very best connections.
A name he now had to see was destroyed.
His father’s. And his along with it, because it would be inextricably linked.
That was how it worked. That was how the media worked. It was how society worked.
The silver spoon that had gotten him through life would damn well choke him now. It only seemed fair, really.
Everything felt out of control. For the first time, things felt well and truly beyond him.
Which called for another drink.
He tapped the top of his tumbler and the bartender filled it again. Austin held it up and looked through the faceted glass and amber liquid. And he saw her.
Nothing more than an impressionistic vision at first. Obscured by the glass and the unsteady golden line.
Even then, he could tell she was beautiful.
He lowered his drink and stared past the crowd of people at the woman. Dark hair twisted into a neat bun, her skin pale, flawless, her lips a deep crimson.
It was her hair that had him truly transfixed. He wondered how long it was. What it would be like to unwind it. Wrap it around his hand and draw her to him.
Damn. That was the alcohol. He had more control than that. He knew better than to let his mind wander down dark alleys. Every so often, in the privacy of his own room, he indulged in a bout of shameful, illicit fantasy. But never with a woman.
Never.
He wasn’t the type of man to treat women that way. Because he knew better than to ever let the monster out of its cage.
And he knew there was a monster in him. In his blood, wrapped around his genes. He was a Treffen, and to most of the world, that meant something good.
He knew that name should only ever be synonymous with evil.
And once he, Hunter and Alex had their way, it would be.
He would go down with the ship. It was unavoidable. He was a Treffen, after all. In name, and in every other way that counted.
But right now, he was just a man, transfixed by a woman.
He set the glass back down on the bar and started across the room before he could think his next action through. He wanted to meet her.
She was something new in this stale, horrific memory. She hadn’t been there that night. She was a stranger. Separate from all of the insidious darkness that surrounded this building. That surrounded his family.
She looked up for a moment, her eyes meeting his. They were electric blue, a shocking contrast with her dark hair. It made him wonder if her hair or eyes were artificial. It was so unusual. So enticing.
She turned away and headed toward the other side of the room, her stride purposeful. Then Austin saw just whom she was headed toward.
His father. Jason Treffen.
She smiled, crimson lips parting and revealing straight white teeth. She looked down, then back up, the move demure and flirtatious. It made his blood boil. Just imagining the bastard’s hands on her...
He started toward them, then stopped. Reconciliation. Oh, yes, that was the name of the game tonight. He was supposed to be reconciling with the bastard, not introducing his face to the marble floors.
But he did not like the smile his father gave to the woman in return. He didn’t like the way she ducked her head again, like a child expecting a pat.
Maybe she was already one of his creatures.
He breathed in deeply, rage pouring through him. He couldn’t handle this. It was too much on a night like tonight. At the party where Sarah had died.
Why had he left his drink back at the counter? He needed more alcohol.
The woman turned away from his father and he saw something pass across her face. Anger. Sadness. Grief. He recognized the emotions because they echoed inside of him. Because they were with him, always. Amplified now as the truth about Jason’s treachery became clearer.
Files and files of women who were being paid for vague “services.” Interior design. Catering. Event planning.
Austin was still turning over the implications.
None of the possibilities made him happy. Except for the possibility that his father had used the design services of a couple of young women more than six times in a fiscal year. But he highly doubted that was the case.
Highly.
It was taken care of. They were compensated.
That last conversation played again in his mind.
He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to get his head together. He was drowning in air. His tie strangling him. Icy fingers wrapping around his neck.
Sarah’s, maybe. He deserved it. God knew he did.
He pictured the dark-haired beauty again, scanned the crowd for her and couldn’t see her. Where was she now? Was she waiting to meet his father? Would she end up as a name on one of Jason Treffen’s invoices? Payment for services rendered.
No. Not if he could do anything to stop it.
He’d let it happen once. He’d be damned if he ever let it happen again.
He started back across the room and swung by the bar, grabbing his scotch and knocking it back.
Hell, he was damned either way. But she didn’t have to be.
* * *
Katy Michaels sent up a silent prayer and hoped that, for once, someone was listening. She didn’t want to get caught, not now. All she wanted to do was verify that the invoices existed. She was armed with a tip and a key from Jason Treffen’s front desk attendant, Stephanie, a bright young girl with brown eyes that had permanent shadows beneath them.
Just looking at her made Katy’s skin crawl.
Her eyes reminded her of Sarah’s eyes. Haunted. Tired. Hollow, as if the hope had been carved out of her and an endless black hole was left behind instead.
She went into the office and stared down at the dark wood file cabinets. What an asshole. With his defunct filing system, all old and stately. It was like a big middle finger to everyone, to her, to the women he hurt, that he didn’t even bother to keep this information in cryptic folders. That he kept records at all.
Had to get his damned tax write-off. Even when he was paying for sex.
He was lucky she was pursuing legal action rather than going Batman on his ass and seeking a little vigilante justice.
“I am the night,” she muttered, going toward the third cabinet to the left, as instructed, and putting the key in the lock. She turned it and it gave, a small click in the silence of the room.
She pulled the drawer open and went for the folder marked “special services,” then she opened it and rifled through. It was one year. Just one year and it was filled with names.
Sarah’s name would have been in it ten years ago. So many women.
“Binders full of them,” she said, trying to smile at her own frail joke as she snapped a shot of
the first invoice with her phone’s scanner. Humor was all she had left to get her through this crap. She’d taken her other crutches away from herself.
Her parents’ drug use. Her sister’s death. Raising a younger brother—Trey—who was angry at the world. And it was much better to laugh when she was beating back her own demons with a stick.
And she definitely had her own.
Scanning invoice after invoice that represented a woman who had been abused by Jason Treffen.
She had to laugh or curl into a ball and give up on humanity. Or go back down the deep dark rabbit holes she used to hide in. Soothe her pain in the other ways she knew how to soothe it.
No. She wasn’t going back there. Not again.
She scanned every doc, then put them back in the folder, and back in the drawer, which she locked. Then she stuck her phone back in her handbag and made her way out of Jason’s office, dropping the key beneath a little potted flower on Stephanie’s desk, as she’d requested.
Katy let out a long breath and started walking back down the empty corridor, back to the party.
Back toward Jason Treffen.
Talking to that scumbag had just about made her lose her mind. It had taken everything in her not to grab his glass from his hand and pour it over his head. Then break the glass on his face.
She considered the man as good as her sister’s murderer, so she was short on charitable feelings where he was concerned.
The door to the ballroom opened and she froze, trying to affect an “I’m just coming back from the bathroom” demeanor. Whatever the hell that was.
Oh. Her breath left her in a rush, a current of electricity washing over her skin.
It was him.
The man who’d been drinking scotch. The man whose eyes were like an endless black hole, drawing her in, a force she couldn’t deny or control.
The man who had looked at her for a moment.
Someone looking at her wasn’t really that significant. It happened every day. Except when this man had looked at her, she’d felt as if she were grounded to the spot. She’d felt like he had looked and seen her.
Seen everything. More than that, she’d looked back and she’d seen him.
Had seen a grief in him. An anger.
It had been, in some ways, like looking into a mirror.
And in just a second, it had been over. She’d gone to find Jason, to put herself in his vicinity. Just because she’d promised herself she would. Because she’d promised herself she would look him dead in the eye one day, knowing she was going to destroy him, while he didn’t have a clue.
And so she had.
But it had been a sacrifice, because she’d had to look away from the man. It was a moment that summed up her entire life, really. Deny, deny, repress. Push on through. Don’t let the pain touch you. Don’t let the pleasure touch you, either.
“It’s you,” he said, his voice deep, smooth. Like really good chocolate.
“Yes, it’s me. I was...in the bathroom.” Oh, nice, Katy. That was very good.
He arched a brow. “Fascinating.”
“Not so much, I know.”
“I’ll let it slide because I was hoping to run into you.”
“Were you?”
“Yes,” he said, walking closer to her, his eyes burning into hers.
She’d never seen anything like his eyes. They were so intense she couldn’t look away.
And his body...perfectly showcased by his custom-made suit. Broad shoulders, trim waist and slim hips. Very expensive shoes.
Then there was his face. He was arresting. Dark brows, chiseled jaw, Roman nose. His lips were perfection. She couldn’t remember ever being fascinated by a man’s lips before. Even the men’s mouths she’d come into direct physical contact with hadn’t fascinated her.
His mouth was shaped perfectly. She found herself utterly obsessed by the thought of tracing his top lip with her tongue. Of letting the tip of it slide into the little V just beneath his nose.
Jeez. She needed help. A good night’s sleep. Something. This wasn’t normal. Not for her.
“Wh-why were you hoping to run into me?” she asked.
“Because you’re the most beautiful woman here. Why wouldn’t I want to see you?”
“I call B.S.,” she said. “There are models here.”
“So? You were the one who caught my attention.”
“You’re a flirt.”
“That’s the thing—I’m not really. So if I’m doing a poor job of it, it’s only because I lack practice.” He put his hands in his pockets, a wicked half smile curling that sinful mouth.
“Again, I call bull.”
“Again, you’re wrong.”
“You’re drunk.”
“A little.”
“Honest,” she said. “But I have to get back.”
She started to walk past him and he took her arm, stopped her progress. Her breath left her lungs in a rush, his grip shockingly tight. She looked up and met cold, dark eyes. “To who?” he asked, his voice gentle, an opposing force to the hold he had on her.
Her heart was thundering hard. But it wasn’t with fear. There was something about his grip, so tight, so certain, that made her feel...
She blinked. Oh, no, she was not getting turned on by a strange man in the corridor of a party she was technically coordinating.
But there was something about that grip. Commanding. Hard. It spoke to every secret fantasy that lived in the dark shadows inside of her. The parts of her that didn’t want a sweet kiss at midnight from Prince Charming. The parts that had always craved things she’d never quite understood.
The parts of herself that had looked at every man she’d even tried to date and found them lacking.
But not him. He wouldn’t be lacking. Something shivered inside of her, a whisper.
He would know what you wanted.
“None of your business,” she growled.
“Jason Treffen?” he asked, a tinge of bitterness to his tone.
“Why?”
“I saw you speaking with him earlier.”
“Guilty,” she said. “Now will you let go of me?”
“Will you stay for a moment?”
“What if I say no?”
His gaze flickered over her. “I’m not sure.”
Part of her wanted to dare him. Wanted to say no. Wanted to see if the grip would tighten. If he would take the control. “I’ll stay for a moment.”
He released his hold on her. “Good. Then I’ll work on being more interesting than whatever’s in that party.”
“Oooh,” she said, affecting a regretful smile, “they have cocktail shrimp.”
“I’m losing out to shellfish?”
“It’s prime. I hear they brought all the seafood from Maine.”
“Well, I’m not from Maine, so I’m not sure I can compete.”
“Where are you from?” she asked.
“Upstate.”
“Hmm. Vague.”
He lifted one shoulder. “Where are you from?”
“Originally? Somewhere in the Eastern Seaboard.”
“Also vague,” he said.
“Vague is okay. We’re just talking in the hall.”
“Are we?” he asked. He put his hand back on her arm, his fingertips hot against her skin.
She’d never really flirted much, either. Her last date had been long enough ago that she didn’t want to count. And her sex life? That was nonexistent.
A younger brother and parents who were usually passed out somewhere made a sex life impossible. Plus, dating someone implied letting someone in. Bringing them into that hellhole she called a life.
Anyway, there was no man she found overly appealing in that deadbeat town. All she’d ever wanted to do was leave it behind.
And since she’d left, she’d been working. Tirelessly toward the moment she’d just had. Toward getting herself in a position where she could be in this social circle. Toward looking Jason Treffen in the eye. Gathering evidence against him.
Suddenly she felt exhausted. She felt every missed opportunity in her life, every emotion she’d dulled or ruthlessly cut from herself, every moment she’d sacrificed, including that moment of eye contact in the ballroom with this man, so that she could have this revenge.
So that she could see justice done.
And suddenly, she didn’t want to go back into the ballroom. She wanted to stay in the hall, with him. With the man who carried a matching darkness inside of him. A man who she knew, instinctively, would want what she did.
She felt like he was the one. The one to tear the lid off all those fantasies that she kept down deep. Like he was the first one to offer real, serious temptation.
“Maybe it’s more than that,” she said. “If we’re being honest, I’m not especially up on the flirting game, either.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Why did you find it hard to believe I wasn’t?”
“Because you’re so forward.”
He shifted his weight, drew closer to her. “Oh, don’t mistake me. I might not be a flirt, but when I want something, I get it. When I want someone,” he said, lifting his hand and drawing it over her cheek, “I make sure I have her.”
She should hate this. She should shove him back. She should tell him to go to hell with all his proprietary male garbage. But she didn’t.
Because she didn’t hate it.
Because this wasn’t the game she’d been taught to loathe so much. This wasn’t the thing that Sarah had been caught up in. There was no artifice here. There was an edge of honesty to this man’s words. A rawness.
