by Skye Warren
I want to tell her she’s in love with her stepbrother. Or in hate with him. I understand how thin that line can be now that I’ve lived it myself. It consumes you, leaving no room for other men. Definitely no room for boys. Instead I type, Maybe you’re growing up.
You’re right. It’s time I find a sugar daddy.
That makes me laugh. She’s richer than God, thanks to a daddy who ran Wall Street and a mom who married three other men like him. And her stepbrother, Christopher, makes sure her large room of gold keeps growing.
I send her an emoji of an eggplant and a pot of gold.
She replies with a stream of water droplets, a little pink bow, and what appears to be a judge’s gavel. I’m a little afraid to ask for clarification. We go back and forth for a while, which is a nice consolation for the fact that I’m basically alone. Somewhere Mrs. B will be cooking or cleaning. Guards will be guarding, but I don’t want them.
I’m alone all day and late into the night, when Gabriel always returns.
Good night, she types. Don’t let the bedbugs bite, unless his name is Gabriel.
My lips quirk as I set the phone aside, closing my eyes for only a moment. As prisons go, there isn’t a more beautiful one, a more luxurious one than this. It’s built like an old French chateau, but recently enough that it has every modern convenience. Unlike my mother’s house with its secret passageways and its hidden horrors, Gabriel’s mansion has state-of-the-art security.
Already he had the points of entry monitored—the windows, the doors. That was how he knew when Justin came to my window that one time. Now he’s added the human element, as he calls it. Armed guards that patrol the perimeter. It seems like overkill. Or it would if I hadn’t seen firsthand what Jonathan Scott is capable of.
I trust Gabriel. I believe that no one can get inside.
That knowledge doesn’t stop the nightmares.
Flames lick my skin. Smoke curls around me, stinging my eyes.
From far away I can hear my mother calling. “Avery! Stay there! Whatever you do, stay inside!”
I can’t stay inside. I can’t breathe here. The doorknob burns my skin. I yank my hand away.
“Little Avery James, all grown up.” The voice comes from behind me. It’s Gabriel. I whirl, but there’s nothing there. Only fire. Only smoke. I stumble back, hitting the door. There’s no way out.
A scream erupts from my throat.
Chapter Two
I come awake with blinding suddenness, the lamp on the nightstand abnormally bright, my heart pounding as if I have been running instead of lying down. I must have fallen asleep.
My phone screen comes alight. Midnight.
The last part sounded so real, it feels like someone else is in the room with me. It’s not the first time I’ve heard a voice in the walls, but it’s the first time it sounded like Gabriel. Little Avery James, all grown up.
Then again, he said that to me. Maybe it was just a memory.
Maybe it was just a dream.
That’s what I decide. A dream.
I can’t be going crazy, can’t deal with the doubt that my mother faced. Can’t surrender to the dark waters that lap at my mind, ones that threaten to drown me.
The room looks like it did before, bathed in soft light, my laptop screen dark. The bedcovers are barely rumpled from where I slept on them. Empty. Gabriel isn’t here. I’m tempted to text him, but something draws me back to the window.
And there he is, standing on the marble veranda. He’s taken off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves. Wind moves softly through his hair, hiding the angles of his face.
I’m halfway down the stairs before I realize I’m not dressed for the outdoors. The pale pink nightgown barely reaches my thighs, the lace dipping low between my breasts. The magnetic pull of him compels me to the balcony. I’m desperate enough for any company right now, after all day alone, but there’s something about Gabriel. Something about the set of his shoulders, the solitary silhouette of him, that tells me he needs me.
He doesn’t turn when I step outside, but I know he hears me. It’s strange, the way his senses are finely honed. Something you would expect from a hunter in the woods or a soldier on the battlefield. It was a kind of war, the way he grew up in a brothel, forced to fight far too young. The streets of Tanglewood have seen blood spilled. Is that what happened tonight? Is that why he vibrates with dark tension?
I slide my hands across his back, smoothing away the invisible ripples. He’s pure muscle beneath my touch, strung as tight as I was after my nightmare. Except that had been a dream.
“What happened?” I ask softly, resting my cheek against his back.
“Nothing you need to worry about.”
A sigh catches in my throat. He tries to protect me, but at what cost? “I won’t break, you know. If you let me in. If you tell me what’s happening. I might even be able to sleep better.”
He turns suddenly, capturing my arms with his large hands. “You had another one?”
A nightmare.
Sometimes I wake him up with my thrashing, with my cries. He looks haunted when he finally shakes me awake, his voice hoarse as if he had been afraid, too. They make me feel weak, those dreams, as if I’m really a fragile princess. That’s how he treats me. I’m terrified he might be right.
I shrug, taking his place at the balcony, the curved stone cool against my palms. I would rather pretend it was a nightmare than a hallucination. That’s what drove my mother to her death.
His chest shields my back, warming me despite the chill in the air.
He presses his face into my hair, breathing deep before he speaks. “It’s always been a fight.”
I don’t think he’s talking about his friend. “You seem different, though. More tense.”
“Because you’re here now,” he says, voice low.
“I don’t understand why Jonathan Scott even cares about me.”
“He doesn’t need a reason. Every once in a while a man like him climbs out of his hole to snatch someone pure, someone rich, just to prove he can. And then with your history…”
A shiver runs through me. “My mother.”
I read the end of the diary, the part where my mother recognized that Jonathan was playing mind games. She went to confront him that night, not to run away with him like my father assumed.
“Maybe he really did care about her,” Gabriel says, his voice distant. “A man like him, he’ll always destroy what he cares about most. A man like me.”
My breath hitches. “Not like you. You’re protecting me.”
His hands tighten on my arms. “Is it protection to keep a flower in the dark, away from water and light? To watch it wilt in front of your eyes? No one else can see it.”
“Is that what you’re doing?”
“No one can ever take it away.”
I try to turn, to face him, but he holds me in place. I can see only the perfectly manicured hedges holding up an inky night sky. “I’m not wilting.”
“You’re not happy, little virgin. Locked up in your tower.”
“Then let me out,” I beg softly. “Let me come with you, at least. I’ll be safe with you.”
His hesitation gives me hope. “Jonathan Scott isn’t the only danger. He has dark connections. Foreign ones. His power diminished over the years, and for a while he seemed content to operate in the shadows.”
A shiver runs through me. “And now?”
“He wants to rule the city again.”
My throat tightens, and I face him. “Justin turned away from his father. He told me he’s working with someone who wants to beat him, someone with deep pockets.”
Gabriel’s expression darkens. “Selling secrets?”
“He did it for me,” I say softly. “So that he could buy us a new life. I should warn him.”
Danger sharpens the air around us. “No, little virgin. Whatever he got into, that’s on his head. He either understood what they were doing or he’s too stupid to help.”
/> I turn away, looking out over the darkness. There’s no point in arguing. Anything I say will only convince him that I still love Justin…and I do, in an innocent way. I may not want to marry him anymore, but I still care what happens to him.
Gabriel captures my chin, lifting my face. “You miss Justin?”
“I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt.” He already took my mother. My mother’s house. And it feels like the fire still rages, burning everything in its path.
Only a matter of time until it reaches me.
“A lot of people will get hurt,” Gabriel says gently. “That’s the nature of war.”
Fear must show on my face, because he brushes his thumb over my cheek. “The important thing is that we win. Then you’ll be able to leave here.”
Will that ever happen? Wars like this never really end.
A fist clenches my heart.
I know there’s something a little dark about the way Gabriel locks me away, a little foreboding, but I’m too glad to have someone who cares enough to do it. Too afraid that I need the protection my mother didn’t get. She left that night to confront Jonathan Scott, even though she must have known what he was capable of. Wasn’t she scared?
Did she think he wouldn’t hurt her?
It’s a blind trust that can only come from love. It makes me wonder if I have the same fatal flaw. Except it isn’t Jonathan Scott who could hurt me. It’s the man keeping me here.
“Tell me, Gabriel. What would happen if I walked out the front door?”
“Try it,” he says softly, but it doesn’t sound like an invitation. It sounds like a warning.
“Am I your prisoner?”
“If you want something, only ask. If you dream of something, I’ll find it for you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t bring you.”
That means yes, which is disturbing.
And strangely comforting. To have every wish granted as long as I don’t leave. What woman would leave that paradise? What woman would stay?
Maybe that’s the curse my mother and I share—to bat our wings against the cage, relentless in the pursuit of freedom. Only, the true danger lies when we find a way out.
Chapter Three
Every night the sex lasts from the moment we touch the smooth sheets to the first fingers of morning light streaming between the curtains. Before that, we play chess.
It’s a little strange to have the same nightly tradition with Gabriel that I had with my father. Looking back I know that Daddy felt pride for my wins, but he also used the game as a shield, keeping me from delving too deeply into his past. Gabriel uses the game the opposite way, as a key to his secrets.
And Gabriel is a fierce competitor, brutal in his attacks, swift in retribution. He wins more than I do, pulling secrets from my body as his prize.
Tonight I’m determined to win.
“The stakes,” I tell him, turning away.
“Stakes?”
“Of the game. You said they were getting higher.”
He sounds wary now. “Yes.”
“And I’d like to double down. If I win you have to take me out. For dinner. A date. You can take whatever security precautions you want, but I get to leave.”
His eyes narrow. “And what do I get if I win?”
Apprehension circles in my stomach. I don’t want to promise this, but I know I can’t demand that kind of prize if I don’t offer something equally desirable. “I promise to stay here until Jonathan Scott is found.”
“Done.” Golden eyes glitter, determined that I should lose.
Unlike the hand-carved wooden set in the library, the set on the wide balcony is made of marble. The white pieces are perfectly pale, with even lighter striations running through them. The black pieces gleam on the other side, a perfect counterpoint.
It rests upon a stone table, flanked by two iron chairs.
Gabriel takes a seat behind the black set. It’s a silent gift but also a statement of confidence. With a solemn nod I sit opposite him, accepting the first turn. It’s a small advantage but sometimes a crucial one. It’s pride that makes him so sure he’ll win—and I want to see the look of surprise when he doesn’t.
I start by moving my queenside pawn, the most basic of openings. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment as he mirrors my move, putting our pawns face-to-face.
“Your father passed a letter to you.”
My hand pauses over my bishop. I try to control the rapid thumps of my heart. “I don’t want it.”
“The third one this week.”
“Throw it away,” I say, making a bold stretch across the board.
I haven’t had any contact with my father since the night of the party, when he claimed my mother was insane, hearing voices. And we proved him wrong. Machinery in the walls. People inside the walls.
It never should have gotten that far. He was her husband. He should have believed her. He should have helped her, so that she wasn’t forced to confront Jonathan Scott alone.
He moves his knight to meet my bishop, unconcerned. “Are you angry at him for selling you?”
And then there’s the contract he made with Gabriel Miller, well before I showed up at the Den, long before I auctioned my virginity to him. “Maybe I’m angry at you for buying me.”
“Should I have let someone else win the auction?”
I lift my chin. “Maybe so. I would have spent my month with him. And then I would have been free.”
“Free,” he murmurs, examining the board as if it contains the answers. “Like this pawn.”
“There are times a pawn can be more valuable than a king.”
He picks up his bishop and gently knocks over my pawn. “Not alone.”
My eyes narrow. “I could be a queen, then.”
“Without me?”
“I could be.”
“I don’t doubt that, little virgin. I don’t doubt that you could captivate any man you set your mind to. You captivated me before you even knew I existed. You’re my queen.”
My breath catches. It’s seductive to believe that might be true. I know better than that. With a sense of reckless longing, I advance my queen out of the safety of the pawns. It’s early in the game to release her. Dangerous. “She can go anywhere.”
“Not safely,” he counters, launching his knight in threat.
I skirt easily out of the way. “Maybe she’s stronger than you think.”
“Or maybe the danger is stronger than you know.” He moves his bishop again. “Check.”
My knight blocks the threat. “So why don’t you tell me more?”
“Because I want to protect you. I want to protect you the way I could never do for the women in my father’s brothel. They were trapped—by money, by power. They were trapped by me, understand?”
“So you try to atone by keeping me safe?”
“Is that wrong, little virgin? I want you in my bed. That’s not a secret.”
“It’s not enough.”
“What, then?” he demands, moving a piece without looking. “What do you require in payment?”
“Everything.” His body. His soul.
Most of all, his heart. If I spelled it out he would claim he didn’t have one.
He sucks in a breath. “You’re asking me to break into pieces. What do you think shards of glass will do to you? You’ll be cut, little virgin. You’ll bleed.”
“Then I want to bleed. That’s the payment I require.”
He stands abruptly, walking toward the edge of the balcony. He rests his hands on the balustrade. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
I move one final piece before following him. “Then show me.”
He whirls. “God, do you think I don’t want to? That I don’t want to hurt you? That I don’t want to see your pretty skin marred with my fingerprints? Smeared with blood?”
There’s something strangely seductive about his threats. It’s the same feeling I get when he checkmates me—feeling cornered, feeling grateful. My wing
s want to beat against a cage.
“I could make you bleed,” I whisper.
He cocks his head, his eyes molten lava. “Could you?”
I take a step closer, my gaze downcast. It’s better that he underestimates me. The world already does. “I don’t know. I could try.”
His fingers beneath my chin are gentle. He lifts my face to his, meeting my lips in a kiss of wanting and warmth. There’s no violence in his touch, only his heart. His tongue darts out to taste me, the movement thorough with possession. As if emboldened by my flavor he groans, pulling me closer with a hand behind my neck. His embrace crushes my arms against his chest. I can’t move, but I feel the power I have over him. The urgency in his kiss, the hardness against my stomach.
“What will you do to me?” I whisper against his lips.
“The railing. Put your hands on it.”
As suddenly as we came together, we’re standing apart. I sway in the cool night air. It feels like a dream as I move to obey him, but the stone beneath my palms is solid enough.
He doesn’t immediately cover me with his body, not like I thought he would.
“I’m going to lift that silk around your thighs. I’m going to taste how wet you are for me. Are you wet, little virgin? Or will I have to slick you with my tongue?”
My inner muscles clench. “Gabriel.”
“I’ll torture your clit until you come, crying my name, loud enough the men patrolling the boundaries can hear you. I want them to know who you belong to.”
“Please.” I shiver, not from the cold but from his words. From wanting.
“I want your juices sliding down the insides of your thighs. And I’ll lick it up, because you taste like heaven.” His voice is tight. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”
My head rests against the cold stone, but even that can’t fight the fire inside.
“And when you’re begging me to stop, to give you a moment to rest, a second of peace, that’s when I’ll fuck you. It will feel like too much. I know that, little virgin, but that’s how I want you.”
Silky fabric whispers along the backs of my thighs. The brush of his hand sends a shiver through me. He groans when he finds my intimate skin exposed.
