Primal

ALTA HENSLEY

Copyright © 2024 by Stormy Night Publications and Alta Hensley

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.

www.StormyNightPublications.com

Hensley, Alta

PRIMAL

Cover Design by Emily Wittig

This book is intended for adults only.

Dedication

To the readers who want more. Who crave…

Chapter 1

Braken

I recognize her the minute I see her. I never forget a face, a name, or a story—especially if the story is laced in darkness.

But tonight isn’t about her past. It is about right now. The present.

She stands on her front porch, beneath the red light, with a certain confidence that only those who have seen their fair share of horrors possess. It’s as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but is determined to keep moving forward, no matter what the cost.

I watch from afar, hidden in the dense forest.

Stalking.

Planning.

She has signed up for The Hunt, and the night is ready to begin. By turning on her porch’s red light, dressing in her white nightgown, she has given her only signal of consent. Every year after the Harvest Moon, primal play is the only thing that exists on this island. It nearly consumes us all.

Women sign up to be chased with the knowledge that a basket full of money and gifts will await them in the morning on their porch—a fucked-up version of the Easter basket.

The men wear stag bone masks and hunt the women down with the sole intent to fuck them however they choose—an even more fucked-up version of the Easter bunny.

Every weekend, The Hunt happens until winter comes. It’s the way of Heathens Hollow. Always has been.

Raw.

Savage.

Depraved.

She will be my prey, and I the predator.

A game of submission... or is it?

I know from the moment I see her that she differs from the rest. Her eyes hold a certain fire, a passion that burns bright despite the darkness that surrounds her. It’s as if she dares me to come closer, to take her on and see what she is truly made of.

I creep through the trees, my heart pounding with excitement and anticipation. This is what I live for, the thrill of the chase, the rush of the taking.

This is why I do The Hunt. Why I embrace every part.

As I draw closer, I take in the way she holds herself, the way she stands tall and proud despite the danger that lurks around every corner. It is a challenge, a dare, and I am more than ready to accept it.

I whistle in warning. An eerie sound the hunters give.

She isn’t a novice to the rules of the game, so she’ll know it means I am near.

I step out of the shadows, and my eyes lock on hers. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down. Instead, she holds my gaze, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. It’s as if she knows what is coming, as if she is ready to face whatever fate has in store for her.

A fierce determination blazes in her eyes, a burning fire that refuses to be extinguished. It’s as if she is daring me to take her down, to break her.

For a moment, we stand there in silence, each sizing up the other. Beneath my bone stag mask, I part my lips and say one word.

“Run.”

Without a word, she turns and sprints, in mere seconds disappearing into the forest, her body a blur of motion.

The hunt is on, and I am in pursuit. Her bare feet slap down as she runs, leaves and branches rustle as she dodges through the trees. I am hot on her trail, my senses sharp and alert.

As we run, glimpses of her reveal her long, dark hair whipping behind her, her body in a white nightgown moving with a fluid grace. A wave of desire washes over me, a primal urge to catch her, to have her. This is more than just a hunt, this is a game of seduction, of desire and passion.

I chase her deeper into the forest, the trees and foliage rushing by in mayhem. We move as one, predator and prey, locked in a dance of danger and desire. I feel the heat of her body, the scent of her sweat and fear driving me onward.

For a moment, we are two animals in the wild, fighting for survival, but I am the stronger of the two, the one with the upper hand.

I lunge at her, gripping her hair and pulling her back. She lets out a scream that echoes through the forest and sends blood straight to my cock. But I don’t stop. I keep moving, dragging her deeper into the darkness.

She fights back, her fists pounding against my chest, but I enjoy the struggle. It only makes the prize sweeter at the end.

I throw her to the ground and mount her, pinning her wrists above her head. She looks up at me with a mixture of fear and defiance. It’s as if she is waiting for my next move, unsure of what will happen next.

I lean in close, my breath hot against her skin. “You’re mine now,” I whisper. She can hear every word.

She doesn’t respond, but the fire in her eyes burns brighter than ever before. She reaches up to trace her fingertip along the ink on my tattoo. A moment of intimacy. A moment of connection.

“Mine,” I repeat, as if she needs to hear it again.

The rules of the game are to keep the mask on, but the bone disguise gets in the way of what I want to do. I want her to see me. To see the man who is going to fuck her tonight like no one has ever done before.

But then something shifts in her expression, and I realize I have underestimated her. She isn’t going to just spread her legs and allow me to do anything I please.

She uses the moment of distraction to twist her body and kick me off, sending me tumbling backward. She springs to her feet, and for a moment we are evenly matched, both panting and sweating from the chase.

“Is that the best you got?” she snaps with defiance in her posture.

The thrill of the hunt courses through my veins once more. This is no longer a game of submission, but a battle of wills.

We circle each other, our gazes locked. It’s as if we are both waiting for the other to make the first move—a move I am glad to initiate.

I lunge at her, hoping to catch her off guard. She expects my move and ducks beneath my grabbing hand, her fist contacting my neck, her knuckles grazing my jugular.

The pain only fuels the fire that burns in me, and I grab her wrist with one hand, and her throat with the other.

She lets out a pained scream, scratching my neck, just below the mask. But I’m undeterred, my grip tightening around her throat.

She tries to fight me, but it’s no use. I am stronger than her, and this is my game.

I tighten my grip on her throat, cutting off her air supply. She opens her mouth to scream, only to let out a surprised gasp. She tries to pull away, but I’m strong, and I won’t let her go that easily.

As she struggles, I pull her closer, my lips brushing against hers. She tries to pull away, to give herself some space, but it’s no use.

I bring the bone mask close to her. “You’re mine,” I repeat, my voice deep and firm.

I am a broken record, but those are my favorite words when it comes to her right now.

I tackle her to the ground. Before she has a chance to react, I have her wrists pinned above her head, my body on top of hers.

“No use fighting.” I brush my lips against her ear, my voice low and husky.

“I don’t belong to anyone,” she counters, a challenge.

I grin. “Oh, but you do.”

Our bodies shift, her small frame moving beneath mine, twisting and turning to free herself from my grip. Her hips move restlessly beneath mine, sending a rush of blood to my cock.

I flip her over onto her belly, pushing her face into the dirt like the primal beast I have morphed into tonight. I pull out my cock, rip off her white panties and bury my dick deep inside her cunt, digging my fingers into her hips.

“Oh god,” she moans, her voice muffled by the ground.

She bucks her hips, her body fighting against mine, as if she wants us to change positions. But I won’t let her free. I am going to fuck her like the animal I have become.

I grin into the darkness as I hold her there, pinned to the ground, my cock pounding into her like a jackhammer.

The Hunt. The night where we both can release the primal urges locked inside.

“Say it,” I command, gripping her hair and pulling back her head. “Say you’re mine.”

She doesn’t respond, but I don’t care. I won’t give her a choice. I’m going to fuck her until she submits to me.

I spank her ass, hard, a punishing warning.

“Say it.” My words rise in volume.

She shifts beneath me, her hips bucking and moving, her body responding to my touch, to the feel of my cock hammering into her.

That’s enough. I lean in close to her ear, my lips brushing against her skin. “Say it,” I demand as I spank her ass again.

“Never,” she answers between her pants.

A wicked smile masters my face as I come deep inside of her. “Oh you will, my fawn. Trust me. I like a challenge, and I crave the hunt.”

Chapter 2

Fiora

There’s a secret on Heathens Hollow.

A truth.

The haze, the fog, and the suffocating gloom does everyone a favor.

The thickness of it all silences the noise.

Poison thoughts used to rattle my brain until I moved to this island.

I used to be so cold, numb, frigid. I felt nothing until I participated in The Hunt. Last night, the blood in my veins flowed as the masked man hunted me through the mossy, mist-shrouded forest.

I want it again and again. No matter the cost.

Getting out of bed, I instantly notice my pussy aches from last night. Grimacing as I peel back the sheet, I know that my body will crave those feelings of intensity and vulnerability before I even recover fully. It doesn’t matter how terrified I was last night as the stranger fucked me harder than I had ever been fucked before.

As the sky outside begins to lighten with the approach of day, I stare at the window, wrestling with my thoughts.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Why would I do this?

What sane woman would consent to this?

But The Hunt has awakened something within me, a ferocity that has lain dormant for so long, and I couldn’t resist then just as I’m not sure I can resist in the future.

I dress quickly, wrapping my robe tightly against the cold morning air that seeps into my small cottage. The ache in my pussy only grows as the robe touches the sensitive skin, reminding me of the entirety of my experience the night before. My thoughts swirl with the possibility of doing The Hunt again tonight, despite the fear and uncertainty that has haunted me the entire time.

As I venture out into the morning fog to check the front porch for my basket of goodies left behind as my reward from the hunter, I try to push back the feelings of selling my body for the items of luxury that will no doubt be left for me. On the porch, a small wicker basket tied with a red ribbon waits. Curiosity piqued, I hurry back inside and into the warmth of my cottage.

Within the small wicker basket, glinting in the early morning light, is a beautiful ruby necklace resting in a black velvet box. The ruby is deep and vibrant, the color of freshly spilled blood. A fitting gift considering my hunter practically fed off me last night like a vampire would his prey. There are other gifts as well—an envelope full of hundred-dollar bills, an expensive bottle of wine, a pair of Prada sunglasses, and a gift certificate to the local spa on Heathens Hollow for a full day of pampering with whatever services I desire.

Some women would say the basket of wealth is the reason for participating in The Hunt. And, though I certainly appreciate the gifts that play a big part in the reason I continue, there is more to it. The thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline rushing through every inch of my body, and the feeling of being completely vulnerable yet powerful simultaneously, is what keeps drawing me back.

I can forget about everything and everyone. That is the reason I came to Heathens Hollow to begin with.

My phone rings, breaking me out of my thoughts. I don’t need to look to know it’s Storee calling. Other than the catering company owner I work for, who wouldn’t be calling me this early anyway, she’s the only person who has this number.

I also know why she’s calling.

“You did The Hunt last night, didn’t you?” she says the instant I answer.

I sigh, knowing there is no point in lying. “Yes, I did.”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and I can almost feel her eyes boring into me through the phone. “I thought so.” Disapproval tinges her voice. “I know I have no place to talk since I did it, too, but it’s dangerous. I got hurt the last time I⁠—”

“I’m being careful,” I say, “and besides, not everyone can find true love like you did. I need something to keep me busy while you’re off playing house with Locke.”

Storee is quiet for a moment. “Well, did you at least get a good basket? Was it worth it?”

I let out a small laugh. “Always.” Another silence stretches out before I add, “I miss you.”

“I know. I miss you, too. I’ve been so busy with the opening of the gallery and with Locke—but… come to The Vault tonight. Meet me there.”

“What? Really? The Vault!”

“Yes, really,” Storee insists. “Locke said I could come with him tonight, and I’ll make sure your name is on the list so there are no issues getting inside.”

“Are you sure? The last time we snuck into The Vault, I thought Locke banned us?”

“I’m sure. He’s softening… sort of,” she says with a chuckle.

The Vault is one of the most exclusive sex clubs on the West Coast, and getting in is nearly impossible without connections. But I suppose being best friends with the girlfriend of one of the owners puts me in the connected category now.

I smile to myself, excitement bubbling up inside me at the prospect of a night out at The Vault. “Okay, I’ll be there. Thanks for thinking of me.”

After hanging up, I pour myself a glass of the expensive wine from the basket and settle onto the couch. It’s five o’clock somewhere, after all, and I earned the drink after last night. Despite the lingering ache between my thighs, a sense of contentment washes over me. The thrill of The Hunt still lurks inside me, that delicious combination of fear and power. Not to mention doing something that would give my father a fucking stroke.

I know the dangers, of course. Storee’s warning echoes in my mind. But something primal awoke within me last night, a fierce need to surrender control while also seizing it for myself. It’s intoxicating in a way I can’t quite explain.

As I sip the rich wine, I replay the previous night’s events. The way the hunter stalked me through the dense forest, his hungry gaze raking over my body. The pounding of my heart when he finally struck, tackling me to the mossy ground. The thrill of struggling against his weight, knowing escape was futile. And then, the blazing pleasure-pain as he claimed me, taking what he wanted with a forcefulness that should have repulsed me but instead ignited a fire low in my belly.

I squeeze my thighs together, the ache intensifying as memories flood my mind. Part of me can’t wait for tonight’s hunt which I know deep down I can’t resist. Another part wonders if this newfound hunger will ever be sated.

One thing is certain—after sampling the forbidden fruit of submission and dominance, I can never go back to my old, boring life. The woman I was is gone. In her place is someone brutally awakened, something beyond the norm. Beyond the expected. I can’t be black and white. I can’t go back.

I can’t be her.

Rules. Structure. Orderly compliance. Living the life of a robot.

Hollow.

There is a reason I left. And yes, I miss certain people, but I needed to get away. I needed to breathe. To be me. To find out who me really is.

Chapter 3

Braken

The music’s thumping bass fills the room, vibrating against the walls and floor. The occasional moans and cries of pleasure are audible over the steady beat, adding to the tantalizing atmosphere.

And then I see her.

Fiora Delaney. Or at least that is the name she is using now.

There is no mistaking who this woman really is and how I know her.

Nose and several ear piercings, black hair with a bleached white stripe, and wearing all black, she moves with a feline grace across the dimly lit club, her every step radiating an aura of confidence and allure. The shimmering dark fabric of her dress clings to her curves, accentuating the sway of her hips as she approaches the bar. Her striking features, framed by thick, raven locks, draws the gaze of every soul in the room.

I watch, transfixed, as she leans against the polished counter, ordering a drink with a coy smile that could disarm even the most hardened of men. The bartender, clearly smitten, fumbles with the bottles, his cheeks flushed with desire.

Why the fuck is she here alone?

She shouldn’t be alone!

Fiora moves her head side to side, scanning the crowd, eventually locking onto someone I can’t quite make out. She waves the person over, and I eventually see that it’s her friend, Storee—my best friend’s girlfriend.

Okay… so at least she isn’t alone. Thank fucking god. The Vault is no place for a woman like her to attend by herself.

Fiora’s lips curl into a devilish grin as Storee approaches, her movements exuding an air of mischief. The two women embrace, their laughter mingling with the music’s pulsating rhythm. Storee leans in, whispering in Fiora’s ear and eliciting a playful smirk from her friend.

The women truly have a friendship which is a shame… considering what I now know about who Fiora truly is.

Drinks in hand, they make their way through the throng of bodies on the dance floor, hips swaying in sync with the beat. The crowd parts before them, as if the clubbers know the importance of these women and how they are connected to the owners of The Vault.

Fiora and Storee move toward the heart of the dance floor, their bodies swaying sensuously to the hypnotic rhythm. The pulsating lights cast flickering shadows across their faces, accentuating the alluring curves of their figures. As they dance, their movements become more fluid, more intimate, a tantalizing display of feminine power and grace.

Locke approaches our usual owners’ booth we always sit at, whiskey in hand. I was the first to arrive, Merrick and Soren not at the club yet.

Locke sidles up beside me, his gaze fixed on the two women. “I swear, Storee’s going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his whiskey. “I questioned letting her come tonight.”

Locke’s gaze is transfixed on the two women, his knuckles white from gripping his glass. Tension radiates from him, a primal hunger simmering beneath the surface. It’s no secret that he harbors a fierce desire for Storee, one that borders on obsession.

The air is thick, a heady brew of lust, possessiveness, and the ever-present undercurrent of danger that permeates our lives. Fiora and Storee are oblivious to the storm growing around them, lost in their own intoxicating world of forbidden desires.

“I want to wait until Merrick and Soren get here,” I start, “but we have a problem on our hands.”

Locke doesn’t take his gaze off his girlfriend, but he’s paying attention to my words at least. “Problem? With what? The Vault?”

“No. I have information.”

Across the room, Merrick and Soren slip through the array of revelers, their eyes instantly drawn to the display of people either fucking or coming damn close to fucking all around them. The night is getting off to an early, lust-filled start, and it will end with another hunt.

“Looks like the night’s already off to an interesting start,” Soren murmurs as he slides into the booth next to me, his voice a low rumble that barely carries over the pounding bass.

Merrick offers a wolfish grin in response, his eyes never leaving Fiora and Storee’s undulating forms. “You let your woman come out and play?” he asks Locke, who doesn’t seem the least bit amused.

I lean back, taking a sip of my drink as Merrick and Soren settle in and order their drinks.

“Gentlemen, we have a situation,” I begin, my voice low and measured. “Storee’s friend Fiora. She shouldn’t be here, not with the information I know about her.”

Soren’s brow furrows, his gaze shifting from the dance floor to me. “What information?”

The music seems to swell, the bass vibrating through our bodies as I lean forward, my expression grave. “She’s a Godwin.”

Locke’s stare shifts from Storee to me. “Explain. What do you mean she’s a Godwin. Her name is Fiora Delaney?”

“Fake name. And why she is hiding the fact that she is Hector Godwin’s daughter, I’m not sure.” I continue to watch her dance like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “But the Godwins are looking for her. She disappeared one night, and though the Godwins are keeping it on the down low, Hector currently has a missing daughter.”

Beneath the surface of her captivating dance, a dark undercurrent lurks, a truth that threatens to shatter the illusion of carefree abandon she radiates.

Heathens Hollow is a place where secrets run deep, and the line between reality and nightmare is often blurred beyond recognition. Fiora wouldn’t be the first person to hide away on this island, running from her demons. She most certainly isn’t the first ghost to walk our shores, a person determined to simply disappear in the fog of our banks.

“She’s a goth girl with a septum piercing,” Soren says. “No way is that a Godwin. They are all snooty rich fucks.”

“I agree. No way is she a Godwin. The Godwins know everything, and they most certainly would know if one of their own was living in some crappy cottage. Why would she choose Heathens Hollow to hide? The island is owned by the Godwins. Why?” Locke returns his gaze to the dance floor.

I lean back, taking a sip of my drink as I gather my thoughts. “Hiding in plain sight.”

“She does catering for the Godwins. They’d recognize her,” Soren points out.

I shake my head. “There are two branches of the mighty Godwin tree. One has the patriarch as Troy Godwin, and the other branch—the Poseidon branch—is Hector Godwin. Those brothers haven’t spoken or interacted in decades. Fiora would be cousins with Apollo, Athena, and Phoenix, but they wouldn’t know each other. Fiora would be a stranger to them.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Soren parrots. “If she is on the run, the people looking for her would never think to come here. Smart.”

“She didn’t even change her first name. Bold,” Locke adds.

Merrick’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenched. “Or stupid. Are you certain it’s her? How would you even know what she looks like?” Merrick turns to Soren. “You used to work for the Godwins. Do you recognize her?”

Soren shakes his head. “I never met Hector’s children.”

“You all know I don’t forget a face, and I know the Godwins. All of the Godwins,” I answer. “I cross-referenced her identity with multiple sources when I had my suspicions when she first came to The Vault with Storee. Then I hunted her last night so I could get a better look. And well… no doubt about it. That woman on the dance floor is Fiora Godwin.”

The tension hangs thick in the air as the realization of Fiora’s true identity sinks in. I watch Locke’s expression darken, his eyes burning with a mixture of anger and concern for Storee’s safety.

“Fuck! We need to get Storee away from her, now,” Locke growls, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “If Hector Godwin catches wind of his daughter being part of The Hunt, being in our club… his family won’t hesitate to strike, and Storee could be caught in the crossfire.”

“The Poseidon side of the Godwin family are goddamn assholes. They act first and ask questions after,” Soren adds.

Merrick’s gaze flickers to the dance floor, his jaw set in a hard line. “Agreed. We can’t be associating with someone who’s associated with the Poseidon side of the Godwins. It’s a potential death sentence.”

“We all consider Apollo Godwin a friend,” Soren begins. “Maybe we go talk to him, explain the situation.”

Locke shakes his head. “Poseidon is his uncle’s side. They aren’t friendly. Family or not, I doubt Apollo could help, nor would he appreciate being pulled into a mess that isn’t his.”

“We need to handle this delicately. If Fiora is indeed hiding out here, there’s bound to be a reason.” I narrow my eyes as I study the oblivious woman on the dance floor. Her movements are fluid, sensual, betraying no hint that she is a spoiled little rich girl pretending to be someone else.

Locke slams his fist on the table, startling the other patrons nearby. “I don’t give a damn about her secrets. All I care about is keeping Storee safe. Get Fiora off the island tonight and back to Daddy. I don’t want to get caught up in this crap at all.”

I nod, understanding the gravity of the situation, as well as Locke’s obsessive need to protect. “I’ll take care of Fiora, but we can’t just kick her off the island and think this all goes away.”

Soren nods, his expression serious. “Plus, we aren’t bastards. She’s still a human being, and maybe there is a good reason she is hiding under a different name.”

Merrick leans back in the booth, his gaze thoughtful. “And the Poseidon fucks are asses. We don’t owe them a thing.”

“Let’s not make any decisions quite yet.” I need to calm the escalating tension. “We don’t know the full story yet. Yes, Fiora’s presence here could pose a threat to Storee and by extension, all of us. But we can’t just throw her to the wolves either.”

Locke’s gaze softens slightly as he looks at me. “I understand where you’re coming from, but my priority is Storee. I can’t risk her safety.”

“And I respect that,” I reply, “but why don’t you take Storee on a little trip? Someplace romantic. Allow the three of us to watch and observe. See what intel we can get on Fiora, the situation, and how deep this shit could be if it blows up in our faces. A couple of days is all I need to dig more. Soren, Merrick, and I won’t let her out of our sights.”

Locke looks skeptical but says nothing, his gaze shifts back to the dance floor where Fiora and Storee are still lost in their dance.

“The Godwins are known for sending in their cleaners,” Soren chimes in. “Hector is going to feel stupid as fuck that his precious daughter was here… playing. And that we all know about it⁠—”

“Means they won’t hesitate to clean us up,” Merrick adds.

“They’ve been looking for a reason to get their hands on The Vault for a long time,” Locke says.

I nod. “This would give them the perfect reason to attack, and no one would blame them. They could spin this narrative to where no one would blame them for going after our heads.”

Locke’s expression remains grim, but he finally nods in agreement. “All right, I’ll take Storee away for a few days, but you better keep me in the loop, and if anything changes or if you find out that she’s a threat, I want to know immediately.”

“Of course,” I assure him. “We’ll watch her every move.”

“She’s doing The Hunt tonight,” Soren says. “I saw her name on the list.”

I nod, aware of this information. “I know. I claimed her.”

Merrick gives his classic wicked grin. “Maybe we all should. Since we all are keeping a close eye on her now.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Soren muses, his grim expression lightening slightly.

“Not yet,” I say, harsher than intended.

Locke raises an eyebrow, studying me carefully. I’ve never been possessive about any of my toys before. I have never claimed anyone beyond just The Hunt.

I take a deep breath, trying to wash away the jealousy and rage at the thought of Merrick and Soren fucking Fiora. I push those thoughts aside. I can’t afford to get attached. I have a job to do, and I can’t let my emotions get in the way.

I must tread carefully with Fiora. There is something about her that has drawn me in, something that makes me want to protect her and keep her all to myself. But that is impossible. That’s not the way we do things. It’s not the way I want to do things.

Soren claps me on the back. “She’s all yours tonight, if that’s what you want. No worries, man.”

“Just tonight. I want one more time with her. Alone. After that, she’s fair game for all of us.”

Chapter 4

Fiora

One more night.

I’ll stop after tonight.

No more sex with a stranger—a masked stranger.

I seem to say this every time I stand under the red light, waiting for the hunter to come. The fear never goes away. In fact, it seems to get worse because I know what to expect now.

The whistle from the forest will signal his arrival. The masked man will emerge, and I’ll run in nothing but a thin white nightgown.

And though I’ll run as fast as I can, he’ll catch me. He’ll toss me to the ground. And he’ll hurt me. He’ll hurt me in a way that will set my body on fire and make me beg for more. It becomes a vicious cycle, one from which I am too afraid to break free. The fear of him is eclipsed by my own desire for his touch.

So although I say this is the last time, I am also a fucking liar.

The whistle comes, and I watch as the trees part and the masked man steps into the clearing, his eyes from behind the bone mask locked on mine.

There is no guarantee I’ll have the same masked man for each hunt, but this man keeps coming. I recognize the mask. His stance. His smell, and the way he growls his words to me. He has a tattoo of a Kraken on his neck. I’ve seen it before, and I see it now.

I’m happy it’s him, but I am also terrified. It will hurt.

I draw a deep breath, my heart pounding as I turn and flee into the darkness, the thin fabric of my nightgown offering little protection against the night’s chill.

His footsteps are behind me, each one sending a fresh wave of fear and excitement over me. I know what’s coming, and yet I can’t help but crave his hands on my body, how he makes me feel alive in a way nothing else ever can.

I run. I run fast. Sticks and stones tearing at the soles of my bare feet.

I hear him gaining on me, his footsteps growing louder and more urgent. I can’t outrun him, and I don’t want to. I want him to catch me. I want to feel his hands on my body, to be pinned beneath him as he takes what he wants from me.

He catches me quickly, his arms encircling my waist as he pulls me close, his hot breath against my ear. “I’m going to teach you to stop turning on the red light,” he growls, and I moan in pleasure as he prepares to claim me once again.

His teeth sink into the flesh of my shoulder, marking me as his, and I shudder in response. My back arches against him, pressing my body closer to his as he pins me to the ground, his weight a comforting presence that grounds me in the here and now.

“You like that, don’t you?” he growls, his voice low and rough with desire. “You like it when I hurt you.”

I can’t deny it. The pain is a part of the rush, the adrenaline that fuels my need for him.

Maybe I’m broken.

Maybe all that is left of me is a million little pieces.

But right now I feel whole.

And so I nod, biting back a whimper as he trails his lips down my neck, his tongue tracing a path of fire along my skin.

He chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through my chest as he continues to explore my body, his fingers leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “Beg for it,” he demands. “Beg for me to hurt you.”

The masked man’s grip on me tightens, pulling a gasp from my lips as he rolls us over, his body now covering mine. His hips grind against me, the hard length of him pressing against my core through my nightgown’s thin fabric. His desire for me is hot and heavy between us.

“Please,” I beg, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please hurt me.”

His eyes blaze with a feral hunger. I have pushed him past the point of no return. He’ll take me now, claim me as his own in the most primal of ways.

And I want it. Need it. Crave it with every fiber of my being.

With a growl, he tears at the fabric of my nightgown, rending it to shreds as he exposes my body to him. His fingers trace a path down my chest, pausing to tease my nipples into hard peaks before continuing their descent.

He cups my sex possessively, his fingers delving into my wet folds as he strokes me in long, languid strokes. Each touch sends a bolt of pleasure coursing through me, lighting me up from the inside out.

I writhe beneath him, desperate for more as he continues to tease me. He knows what he is doing to me, and he obviously revels in it.

“Please.” My voice is hoarse with need. “Please.”

With a wicked grin, he slides a finger inside me, pumping it in and out with slow, deliberate strokes that have me crying out in pleasure.

And then he is inside me, filling me completely as he begins to move with a relentless rhythm that drives me wild. Each thrust sends another wave of pleasure crashing over me, until I’m mindless with need.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper as I meet him thrust for thrust. His cock is big—too big. So big that my pussy stretches to accommodate him, the feeling painful but so, so good. I climb higher and higher, my body tensing as I near the peak.

His fingers find my clit, flicking it, pinching it, leaving me breathless and trembling beneath him.

“Mine,” he growls against my lips, his possession of me clear and undeniable. “But next time I share. I share what is mine and will always be mine.”

I cling to him, my nails digging into his back as I ride out the waves of pleasure. Each word he speaks only serves to heighten my arousal, the thought of being shared sending a new thrill of excitement.

Share. To be shared…

He continues to thrust into me, each stroke drawing a moan from my lips as he takes me higher and higher. The tension builds inside me, coiling tightly in my belly as I near the edge.

With one final thrust, I shatter, crying out as I come hard around him.

He follows quickly after, his own release triggering another wave of pleasure that leaves me soiled, filthy, and spent beneath him.

We lie there for a moment, our bodies slick with sweat as we catch our breath. And then like the times before, he rolls off me, pulls up his pants and leaves me lying in the dirt alone. Hunted and then taken.

But then he pauses, looks over his shoulder, and says, “You’ve made mistakes, fawn. Consequences happen for those.”

Chapter 5

Soren

Merrick’s tongue traces the shell of my ear before he nips at it lightly. “I told you I’d come with you,” he growls quietly into my neck. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold alone.”

I turn to face him, our eyes locking in an intense gaze. The moonlight casts long shadows on his face, turning him mysterious and almost sinister. “There’s no reason for both of us to freeze our asses off.”

I return my attention to the cottage, noticing movement inside. Fiora really should close her curtains. Is her front door ever locked? Dangerous men could be outside watching—like right now—and she’d have no idea.

Merrick wraps his arms around me, pulling me close as he sits down and settles in next to me. I feel the warmth radiating off his body, a stark contrast to the icy air around us. His scent envelops me, a comforting and familiar smell that normally would have me burying my cock deep within his ass.

But tonight we have a job to do.

“Braken wanted to go to Seattle to follow up on some disturbing news he received in regards to Fiora. He called me and asked if I could come sit outside and keep watch earlier than we planned,” I murmur, my eyes never leaving the movement inside the cottage.

“I don’t know,” Merrick begins. “I think we’re playing with fire here. You used to work for the Godwin family. You know how dangerous they can be. And if this girl is one of them, and we got her involved with⁠—”

“We told Braken we’d keep watch over her, and that’s what we’ll do,” I say.

He’s right, however. The Godwins are a powerful, unforgiving family, notorious for their ruthless tactics and vengeful nature. I advanced my way up the ranks and made a shit load of money working for their company Poseidon. I then used that money to go into partnership with Locke, Merrick, and Braken with The Vault. I rarely cross paths with the Godwins now, and I prefer it that way. Washing blood off my hands is a distant memory—one that may forever haunt me, but still in the past.

But Fiora had captured Braken’s attention for some out-of-character reason, and he is determined to help her, despite the risks. He may be trying to play it cool when it came to Fiora, but I sensed something the minute he wanted to fuck her one more time without Merrick and me getting involved.

We have never been territorial over a woman before.

“So explain to me how Braken got to fuck her, Locke gets to go off on a romantic vacation with Storee, and you and I get the fucked job of having to babysit in the woods during one of the coldest nights this fall,” Merrick grumbles, pushing his body closer to mine as if searching for heat that had long left mine.

I chuckle. “Low men in the pecking order, I suppose.”

Merrick sighs, his warm breath tickling my neck. “All right, but we’re not taking any unnecessary risks. We’ll keep our distance and only intervene if necessary.”

I nod in agreement, my eyes still fixed on the cottage like a goddamn stalker. The curtains remain open, revealing Fiora’s silhouette as she moves around inside. She seems oblivious to our presence outside, engrossed in whatever she is doing.

Merrick pulls the collar of his coat up and around his neck. “Jesus it’s cold out here. I think we’ve lost our minds sitting in the forest like two creepers. How long are we going to stay?”

“Just until the sun rises. Braken hired a man to keep tabs on her today, and the first chance we get, we’re going into her place and installing hidden cameras. That will eliminate the freezing stalking from outside.”

The ground is hard and cold beneath us, but I don’t mind. I have endured much worse conditions before. Growing up homeless most of my life hardened the flesh. Cold can’t penetrate me like it does with others. Whether I’m wealthy now or not, that shield of hardship has never gone away.

“What if we’re walking into a trap?” Merrick asks. “We don’t know what Fiora’s involved in. Or who she’s involved with other than the little that Braken has told us.”

I sigh, rubbing my hands together for warmth. “We’ll have to play it by ear, but I trust Braken. If he thinks this is something we should handle, then it is.”

Merrick is quiet for a moment, then he asks, “What do you think Braken sees in her? He’s hunted her multiple times now.”

I noticed that as well. Braken has never fucked the same girl more than once. He doesn’t like attachments.

I turn to face Merrick, my eyes meeting his in the dim light. “I don’t know.”

Merrick nods, his expression serious. “I just don’t want to see any of us get fucked, we have a lot to lose.”

He’s right. We have come a long way from our humble beginnings, and we have worked hard to build The Vault into the successful business it is today. We can’t afford to let anything jeopardize that. And that is assuming the Godwins won’t murder one of us before that.

As the hours pass, and the cold seeps into my bones, my thoughts drift to darker places. To the days before I met Merrick and the others. I wasn’t a good man… hell, I’m not exactly a man of model behavior now. But back when I worked for the Godwins…

I know them. I know exactly what they do to those they believe have wronged them. Whatever reason Fiora fled to Heathens Hollow and hid still remains a mystery, but I know enough about the Godwins. Don’t get involved with them. Stay the fuck away.

And yet… where am I now? Idiot.

Merrick and I sit huddled together, our breath forming clouds in the frosty atmosphere, and I feel guilty for putting him in this position. Merrick hasn’t come from crime. He has come from money and a shitty family. His parents cut him off completely, no longer willing to tolerate his behavior. Without money or support, Merrick has had to fend for himself. He truly became self-made without illegal activity. Yes, his business partners aren’t so squeaky clean, but Merrick is. I hate whenever my dark shadows neared him.

“This is complete bullshit,” he finally says. “We aren’t going to freeze our balls off for anyone.” He stands up and reaches for my hand. “The sun will be up soon, and frankly, if Fiora’s not located by a Godwin yet, or an enemy, or whatever else she is running from, a couple hours aren’t going to hurt her.” He glances back at the cottage. “That fucking shack isn’t going to keep her safe anyway. We need to come up with a better idea of keeping watch and protecting her than stalking her as she sleeps.”

“We promised⁠—”

“Fuck that. We’ll regroup and come up with a better plan than this,” Merrick says, attempting to pull me from the place where I sit.

Merrick isn’t one to be the aggressor. He rarely plays the part of dominant in our relationship, but when I see the look in his eye, I can tell I’d be wise to follow his lead.

“All right,” I cave, rising beside him. “We’ll go home and figure out what our next steps are once Braken returns.”

Chapter 6

Soren

I unbutton my coat and let it fall to the floor. “Braken owes us for that one,” I say as I enter our apartment, rubbing the cold from my hands.

Although the interior is luxurious in design and furnishings, it is a far cry from the mansion Locke owns and lives in, or the yacht and mansion Braken calls home. But it is ours, and it is enough. The high ceilings and expansive windows make the space feel even more grand, and at times too big for me. Merrick would have liked a more spacious place, but I’m not ready. I still need the sense of a bachelor pad. I don’t want to play house with the white picket fence and the dog running laps in the yard. That I live with anyone at forty years old is surprising to me. If you would have asked the twenty-year-old, or even the thirty-year-old me, the idea of playing house with another man would have been laughable.

“He asked because he knows you’ll say yes,” Merrick states as he turns on the gas fireplace and looks straight into my eyes. “We both know that.”

“You sound jealous,” I tease as I stand next to him near the fire.

“Not jealous. Cold.”

“Then let me warm you up.” I give him a wickedly playful grin.

I move closer to unbutton his shirt and push it off his shoulders. The fire flickers and heats behind us as I trail soft kisses down his chest. Merrick sucks in a sharp breath as my hands find the button of his jeans. He isn’t cold anymore.

“I’m not jealous,” he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “I just know that when Braken calls, you come running.”

“And you don’t?” I smile, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

“Maybe…” Merrick’s voice trails off as I lean in to capture his lips with mine. Our kiss is slow and deep, a familiar dance that we have perfected over the past few months.

We haven’t lived together for long. Before, we kept our sexual encounters to The Vault, and kissing never played a part. But as of late… I fucking love the change.

The taste of his lips is intoxicating, a heady mix of whiskey and something dark and untamed. I wrap my arms around his waist, pulling him closer, letting his body heat flow through me.

“But I don’t fuck Braken,” I say between the kisses. “I fuck you.”

Merrick’s eyes sparkle with a mix of desire and amusement as he pulls away slightly, his lips brushing mine. “Damn right, you do.” He lowers his hand to my cock and takes hold. “You want this inside me?”

My breath catches as I nod, unable to form words.

Merrick’s smirk deepens, a knowing expression. He leans in to whisper in my ear, his hot breath against every sensitive nerve ending. “Then prove it to me.”

I grip his waist tighter, feeling the muscles beneath my hands flexing as I hold him close. “Get naked,” I command, my voice hoarse with need.

Merrick steps back, his eyes never leaving mine. He reaches for his belt, unsnapping it and pulling it loose before letting it fall to the floor. He drops his hand to the waistband of his pants, working the button and zipper with practiced ease. As the fabric parts, I glimpse his lean hips and the bulge that strains against the fabric of his briefs.

I swallow hard, my mouth dry with anticipation. “Show me,” I urge, my need to dominate growing with every second.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Merrick pushes his pants down to reveal his erection, thick, jutting out from a nest of curly dark hair. My gaze is drawn to it, and hunger swells.

A fire burns in my veins, and I lunge forward, wrapping my lips around the tip of his cock. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of salty and sweet that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. I swallow, feeling him throb in my mouth, and can tell by the way his knees nearly buckle that I am having the desired effect.

Determined to show him just how much I want him, I increase my pace, using my tongue to tease and tempt him. Merrick’s breaths come faster and harder until I stop and stand.

“Now hand me your belt,” I command, “and bend over the couch.”

Merrick’s eyes widen at the request, but he knows he is at my mercy. He fumbles with his pants before finally freeing the belt and handing it to me. He does as I instruct, bending over the edge of the couch, presenting himself to me in a way that sends a surge of heat straight to my cock.

I wrap the belt around my hand and step back to admire the sight before me. His toned body, expertly marked with the tattoos from the most sought-after artists in the world glistens with a thin sheen of sweat, revealing how much this is affecting him.

The desire to dominate consumes me, and I’m losing control, so I take a deep breath and step forward, running the belt up and down the cheeks of his ass, feeling the power inside me as I mark my territory.

As the belt makes contact with his flesh, he lets out a low, guttural moan. I bring the leather down again, harder, and then even harder the next time. Small welts are left behind from my savage lashing, but Merrick likes souvenirs from our play.

Merrick moans again, his words a strained, “Yes, please, more. Give me more.”

With a burst of energy, I increase my pace, the belt biting into his skin but leaving behind a beautiful, intricate pattern.

His body shakes, his breaths shallow and heavy. Merrick’s sounds of discomfort blended with desire are music to my ears, the evidence of a man surrendering not just his body, but his very essence of power and dominance to me.

I need this.

He needs this.

And we’ve stopped trying to figure out why.

This is us.

Unraveling.

Giving in completely.

The lines between pain and pleasure blurred to oblivion.

I reach for the side table by the couch and pull out the lube as I shed my clothing, the time for restraint and patience over.

Merrick remains bent over as I position my slick cock at his entrance, holding my breath for a beat before pushing forward. A gasp escapes Merrick’s lips as I fill him, inch by slow inch. His body tenses around me, drawing a guttural groan from deep within my chest.

I reach for his hand, interlocking our fingers and grounding us both as I push deeper. A hiss escapes through his clenched teeth. His grip on my hand intensifies. It’s a silent plea, a connection only we share.

His body submits to mine, the pleasure visible in his trembling form. The slaps of our bodies colliding fills the room, echoes bouncing off the bare walls of the apartment. Merrick’s moans grow louder, hungrier. He is clenching around me—a clear sign of his impending climax.

“That’s right.” I hum into the shell of his ear, and he shudders beneath me at my praise. “You’re doing so well. Take it all for me.”

I snake my free hand around his abdomen to wrap my fingers around his straining cock, slick with precum. I mirror the thrusts of my hips with slow, torturous pulls on him.

“M-more...” he stammers. I couldn’t have stopped even if I wanted to.

His ass constricts around me, making me groan loudly, my grip on his cock tightening. Matching his rhythm, I stroke him faster and harder, the coil in my stomach constricting. My own release is fast approaching, the raw need building within me.

“God...yes!” His breaths come out in ragged gasps as his climax washes over him. His seed spills over my hand, an intimate token of our connection—hot and sticky but proof of his surrender to me.

He clenches around me one last time pulling me over the edge with him. I let out a guttural sound that’s halfway between a moan and a growl as I empty myself inside him. Panting heavily, I collapse onto Merrick.

Merrick turns to face me, a satisfying smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes are soft but filled with raw emotion—contentment mixed with a sense of fulfillment that makes my heart swell.

I pull away just as my phone buzzes and lights up on the nearby table. It’s Braken. He wouldn’t call at this hour unless…

I pick up the phone, and before I can even say hello, Braken says, “Can you guys meet me at The Vault? It’s important. Our situation with Fiora Godwin just got a lot fucking worse.”

He hangs up before I can even reply.

“Fuck.”

Chapter 7

Merrick

I’m not happy. I’ve now been awake for twenty-four hours, I just got fucked, and am more than ready to fall into a deep slumber. This little game of playing bodyguards, or stalkers, or saviors, or whatever else we’re supposed to be doing for a Godwin is getting old really fast. And now we are entering The Vault when the only people around are the janitorial crew cleaning from the night’s party—a party that I didn’t even get to fully enjoy because I was too busy freezing my balls off.

“It’s late—or early,” Soren tells Braken as we approach him.

Braken looks about as tired as I feel and is standing behind the bar, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “You’re telling me.” Braken rubs at his red-rimmed eyes, and his gruff voice echoes slightly in the empty, cavernous space. “But this can’t wait. I confirmed some information regarding Fiora.”

“Care to elaborate?” Soren says curtly. We are all running on adrenaline and exhaustion, patience wearing thin.

“Her brother—Mason Godwin—was murdered,” Braken announces as if someone getting killed is a normal piece of news to get at 6am. “And it happened on Frost property. Which makes my family look extremely guilty in playing a part.” Braken speaks without any change of expression, as if announcing the weather or a stock market trend; the accumulated fatigue has drained all emotions out of him.

Soren and I share a glance filled with dread and shock. Mason Godwin wasn’t merely a figurehead for one of Seattle’s most powerful families; he was a beacon, a symbol for someone you don’t fuck with. Ever. And now he’s dead.

“Did your father order the hit?” Soren breaks the silence, his voice strained, edgy.

Braken clears his throat, his gaze fixed on the steaming cup of coffee in his hands. “No. But optics are still bad.”

“Is that why Fiora is hiding out on Heathens Hollow?” I ask.

Braken shakes his head. “The hit just happened. It was a car bomb, and I don’t think Fiora is even aware of it yet. No way could she know if the Godwins have no way of finding her.”

“So, what happens now?” I ask.

Braken stares into his coffee for a long moment, as though the answer might appear in the black liquid. “It’s time I confront Fiora and let her know we all know who she really is. I need to tell her about her brother, and make sure she knows I’m not the enemy. And, somehow, I need to convince her father that the Frost family has no issues with the Godwins.”

Soren crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the bar, his expression grim. “Easier said than done. Your father and Hector Godwin have not always seen eye to eye.”

“I know. I’ve tried damn hard to stay out of all that family vendetta bullshit. I just want to run The Vault, oversee the hotels in Seattle, and keep my head down. But sadly, I think I have to step out of the shadows on this one. I’m going to do everything I can to make sure The Vault and all of you don’t get pulled into this.”

Talking about murder, family vendettas, turf war, and the seedy underbelly of the rich and dangerous is still foreign to me. Although my business partners have all tried to maintain a much lower profile than they all once led, they are still as night from day different to me.

I grew up rich, but the kind of rich that involves playing tennis and attending charity dinners. The only type of crime my family and friends would engage in is maybe lying on your taxes a little.

By comparison, I’m a god damn Boy Scout.

The only thing that I have in common with these men is that we all share an equal stake in The Vault. I would stand by their side in the bloodiest of wars if I had to. Legal or not, I wouldn’t say no to anything asked of me.

Locke, Braken, and most definitely Soren are my new family. My found family.

They don’t care where I put my cock, or how I choose to live my life. Unlike my own blood family, my new family would throw themselves on the sword for me. Of that, I have no doubt, and they get my undying loyalty because of it.

“Any idea who ordered the hit, if it wasn’t your family?” Soren retrieves a bottle of whiskey from the shelf behind him. He pours himself a generous glass, ignoring our incredulous looks. “What? It’s been a long night.”

“Too long,” I grumble, accepting when Soren passes me the bottle. I take a swig straight from it. The burn of the whiskey shooting down my throat is oddly comforting.

Braken watches us both, his eyes hardening as he takes in our exhaustion and the alcohol. “No idea yet,” he says, breaking the silence once more. “But it’s only a matter of time before we find out. Word is getting around. Mason Godwin was a mean son of a bitch and had just as many enemies as his father. Frankly, I think more people wanted to see Mason dead over Hector.”

I lean back against the bar to study Braken. “If Hector Godwin thinks you had anything to do with Mason’s death⁠—”

“He’ll have my head on a spike,” Braken finishes grimly.

“All of our heads,” I add. “He’ll burn The Vault to the ground. No doubt about that.”

Soren nods, draining his whiskey glass before setting it down onto the counter with a soft thunk. “I’m going to have to call Locke and let him know what’s going on. Yes, he’s having a romantic getaway, but he wouldn’t want to be kept in the dark on this.” Soren grabs his phone and walks away so he can make the call while Braken and I continue talking.

“Do you think Fiora’s life is in danger?” I ask.

Braken lifts his gaze to meet mine, the soft glow of the bar lights reflecting in his eyes as he shrugs. “There’s no real way of knowing yet, but she’s a Godwin, and her brother was just murdered. So, I’d say she isn’t exactly safe, but regardless, someone needs to break the news to her, and I feel it needs to be me.”

Chapter 8

Fiora

I need to figure out what I’m doing with my life. I’ve never been one to be impulsive, and yet, here I am, hiding out on Heathens Hollow. It’s only a matter of time until my father finds me. I know this, even though a part of me feels he doesn’t care I’m gone. At least not yet. Because if he truly did care… he’d be standing on my doorstep.

No one can escape a Godwin.

Every creaking branch outside my window or rustle of leaves in the wind causes my heart to leap into my throat. Because truth be told, no matter how far you run or where you hide, there’s one thing you can never truly escape—your past.

Any now I don’t even have a future. I’m in this fucked purgatory.

When a knock sounds at my door, I jump, half expecting it to be my father simply because I’m thinking about him.

Peeking out the side window, I see it is not my father, nor is it any of his minions. Instead, it’s… Braken Frost? The owner of The Vault.

It takes me a few seconds to process why this man would be standing on my doorstep, and I can’t think of a possible reason why. I saw him last night at the club, but we didn’t speak.

Cautiously, I open the door, standing behind it for protection. Braken is the last person I’d expect to be showing up on my doorstep.

“Braken – what are you doing here?” I croak out, my voice sounding much more fearful than I mean it to.

He seems taken aback by my nervousness, or maybe because I know who he is. “We’ve never been formally introduced,” he begins. “I’m Braken Frost.”

“I know.”

An awkward silence passes before he speaks again. “Listen,” he begins, his voice softer now, almost apologetic. “I have some news, and… can I come inside so we can talk?”

Hesitant, I manage a nod and step aside to allow him to enter. He steps into the cottage as he takes in my cozy space. I close the door quietly behind him, my mind already racing with possibilities of why Braken Frost would come all this way to visit me.

He’s much taller than I assumed when I saw him at the club, towering over me as he stands in the middle of the room. A tattoo on his neck peeks out from his collar, and I freeze.

I recognize the tattoo.

A cold shiver runs down my spine, and I feel nauseous. I fucked this man, and yet… we aren’t supposed to know that we did. Or at least I’m not supposed to know.

He eyes the room for a few moments before he turns back to me, his gaze serious. “I don’t know how to say this. But I have some bad news.”

“Bad news?” I echo, my voice flat.

Braken hesitates, searching my face for something he seems unable to find. “Yeah, it’s about your brother...” His tone is bordering on gentle, a stark contrast to his imposing figure and the overwhelming sense of doom that radiates from him.

My heart plummets into the pit of my stomach, and I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “What about him?” I struggle to keep my voice steady.

He runs his hand through his hair, a clear sign of his discomfort. “He...uh... he’s been murdered. And I know you are here in hiding, so there is no way for your family to reach you so… I’m here to let you know that you need to reach out to your father.”

A wave of panic washes over me at his words. My brother? My father? Murder?

“How do you know who I am?” I somehow squeak out.

“Fiora Godwin,” he says. “I know who you are.”

With those words, the room goes quiet. So, he knows my real name, he knows who I am. His eyes are filled with understanding and a deep sadness that mirrors my own.

“Mason? There has to be a mistake,” I begin. “My brother⁠—”

“There was a car bombing,” he begins. “He was inside.”

The silence that follows is deafening. The world outside seems to move on as if nothing has happened, while inside this room, I can hardly breathe.

My mind is racing, scrambling for answers to a thousand questions. How does Braken know where to find me? How does he know about my brother?

I open my mouth to speak but close it again.

Braken watches me silently, his stern face betraying no emotion. He’s a rock in this storm of confusion and grief that is washing over me. His presence is an invasion, yet oddly comforting in its solidarity.

“I... I don’t understand. How...” Half-formed questions die on my lips as tears prick at the corners of my eyes.

Braken drops his gaze before he looks back up at me. “I can help you get back to Seattle. I’m sure your family is looking for you.”

“I don’t think...” I start, my voice shaky. It’s hard to concentrate, hard to form a single coherent sentence while the world crumbles at my feet. “I don’t think I can face them...not yet.”

“They need to know you’re safe.”

I cross my arms, hugging myself tightly. In some corner of my mind, I am aware of the absurdity of my situation—finding solace in the arms of a stranger while the world around me descends into chaos.

He’s right, however. Of course he’s right. I can’t hide anymore. I can’t run.

“I can do it,” I finally say, feeling the floodgates getting ready to erupt, but refusing to let them. “I can get back to Seattle on my own.”

Chapter 9

Fiora

Mason’s urn is solid gold and shimmers in the parlor’s lighting.

My brother always loved gold. He wore a gold hoop in his left ear since I could remember, even when I told him it was no longer fashionable. He didn’t care. He did things his way, and no one dared to question him.

He was a male Godwin, which meant he could do what he wanted.

Gold made him feel powerful, I suppose.

The only time he took off his gold Poseidon Trident necklace was to shower. Three gem-infused gold rings adorned fingers on both of his hands because, as he always said, “Three’s a party, but four’s a crowd, Fiora. It’s the perfect amount.”

That jewelry was the only way to identify his body after someone fucking murdered him.

The funeral parlor is full of people offering condolences, but I only know half of them. I’m not privy to the full details of the Godwin business dealings because I’ve never needed to be. So much good that has done me. Mason was the heir to the family and the only man out of the four of us. Now that he’s gone, I’m next in line… I suppose.

Which means my whole life changed the second that car bomb went off.

I turn away from the urn before I decide to pick it up and throw it across the room. Ever since I got that dreaded visit from Braken, I’ve been so angry. Angry at Mason because why did he go to that baseball game? Angry at whoever decided my only brother was better off charcoal than human. And mostly angry at myself, because his killer is still out there, and I’m stuck in here, smiling at people I don’t give a shit about, not when my entire world has been flipped upside down.

“Fiora,” someone with a deep voice calls from my right.

I turn to face my father. Hector Godwin is as tall as he is menacing. There’s a reason the Godwins run the Pacific Northwest and even beyond, and the proof is in the large scar on his jaw and callused hands. His salt-and-pepper black hair is slicked back, almost as slick as his black Armani suit. The sight of it turns my stomach. This is his funeral suit, saved for only the worst of occasions. It hadn’t been worn in such a long time. Why did it have to be for Mason, of all people?

“Yes, Papa?”

“It’s time for the eulogies. Round up your sisters so we can speak.” He narrows his eyes, and his jaw tightens. “Unless you don’t think you can stick around long enough to do that. Care to run off again before we lower your brother into the ground?”

He’s still angry I left, but I suppose I should feel lucky that he hasn’t raged on me yet. Mason’s death has taken up all his time, and when I returned home, he only asked where the hell I had been, and why should he let me back in now. But then he didn’t give me a chance to answer before he stormed out of the room I stood in.

He lowers his eyes to my septum piercing. “The least you could have done is remove that ridiculous thing for your brother’s funeral.”

I touch the jewelry. “Oh… yes, sorry. I will.”

I don’t know why I feel the need to cater to his every request. The grip he has on me…

I want to argue. Scream. Make a scene. Tell Papa that I don’t think I can get through my speech for Mason without bursting into tears and embarrassing our family. That’s the one thing I was always taught not to do. Any embarrassment reflects badly on all of us.

Papa gets pulled away by someone I don’t recognize but somehow seems important, so I have time to look through the sea of people to find Jescie and Sable. Sable is in conversation with one of her school friends, while Jescie stands by the back window, gazing out to the dark clouds and rain, holding a half-drunk glass of wine. No doubt it’s one of Mason’s favorites in his honor. In Jescie’s mind, it wouldn’t be right to have a remembrance without. She has always been the sentimental one in the family.

I’m halfway across the room when I feel it. Eyes on the back of my head as sharp as a laser. I turn and see what my gut already told me was there. Braken Frost stares at me from across the room, a shadow to his strong, angular face. His brown hair is neatly combed and gelled back, and he holds onto his black suit jacket, his white dress shirt practically molded to his muscular frame. His facial hair is neatly trimmed, and his tattoo I recognize so well on his neck dips into the unbuttoned top of his button-up.

Second son of the Frost family and famous hotel entrepreneur, Braken is no stranger to fame and wealth. The editorials featuring his smiling face as he stands in the lobby of one of his new Seattle-area hotels are sleek, polished, and Photoshopped to hell. Here, on the ashes of my brother, he’s rugged, masculine, and much more dangerous.

Because Mason died on Frost soil.

Flames rush through my veins when he offers me a slight nod. How dare he show his face here? Someone from his family could have been the one to kill Mason. Papa said so himself when he told us to watch our backs. We don’t know who to trust anymore, and even so, the Frosts aren’t at the top of my list.

And if Papa discovers how Braken and I first met… he’ll kill him right here on the spot.

Since I can’t flick him off without incurring my father’s wrath, I do the only thing I can. I ignore him, turn around, and walk away.

Jescie greets me with a raise of her glass and a forced smile. “Is it time?”

“Unfortunately,” I answer with a heavy sigh.

I snatch the wine glass from her before she can stop me. My youngest sister doesn’t protest as I down it in two gulps. We both need a little extra liquid courage to get through this.

“I was jealous you got away,” Jescie admits. “I mean… I knew I’d miss you, and I was happy for you, but I was also green with envy. You did something I’d never have the courage to do.”

“All it did was piss off Papa. Look at where I’m at now. Still here.”

“Where did you go?”

“Not far enough away, apparently,” I mutter.

She glances over at Papa. “Are you staying?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice now that Mason is dead.”

The eulogies go in order from youngest to oldest. The room is so packed there’s no room to sit, let alone breathe. Jescie stands there, a portrait of our deceased mother with her wavy, shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes that don’t waver as she tells stories of Mason from childhood. Sable goes next, recounting the time Mason burst into her room and found her halfway through his birthday cake, which she then scarfed down before Mason could get a bite. The story makes the crowd chuckle, but Sable’s smile is far from genuine. She dabs at the tears at the corner of her eye and steps down, long black ponytail bouncing in time with her Louboutins.

Now it’s my turn.

Standing in front of the crowd is nearly paralyzing. Every pair of eyes is on me, but I can’t tell which are friends and which are foes. Most likely none of them. Being a Godwin is a dangerous game where the pieces always shift before there’s time to complete the puzzle. Being Hector Godwin’s daughter means I should hold almost all the cards, but there could always be someone waiting to put a target on my back.

Just like they did with Mason.

“I’m not sure why we’re here when Mason would much prefer to be at a Seattle Mariners game,” I joke to start my tribute.

The room laughs and resounds with agreement, but my mouth runs dry. I wish it were just a joke. But Mason spent his life at the Seattle Mariners’ stadium, all the way up to his dying moments.

The rest of the eulogy is a blur, mostly because of the tears that line my eyes and voice. Between the stories of us accidentally breaking our father’s car window during baseball practice to us losing our voices from screaming during the many baseball games he dragged me to, it feels like Mason is alive in the stories I tell. How am I supposed to let him go?

I finish with a quiet, “Love you, Mason,” and take my seat, staring at the ceiling lights until my eyes burn.

I can’t cry in front of all these people. Any move I make as a Godwin is plastered all over social media before I can blink. Word gets around when your family is powerful and well-connected. Mason’s death was front page on Page Six before his car even finished smoldering. The last thing I want is my red-splotchy face posted above some disgusting caption reading “DEVASTATED! Socialite Fiora Godwin cries at her brother’s funeral and looks good doing it.”

My father speaks of Mason’s fire, loyalty, and talent. But Mason’s murder isn’t just a death. It’s a warning. Someone is out there threatening to knock down the tower he spent so long building. And his words are clear that he’ll find out who and make them pay.

By the time the respects are over, I’m exhausted. My eyes burn from trying to stop my tears. My chest is tight from the constant reminders that Mason is gone. There are so many people here that I want to scream or smoke a whole pack of Marlboros—something I haven’t done in years.

I need air. I don’t want to chance reporters or paparazzi outside just in case, so I make for the funeral home’s back door, bowing my head politely to people who greet me as I pass. As I step out of the parlor, I feel it again. A pair of eyes watching my every move. But when I turn to look back, no one is paying me any mind, giving me a chance to make my escape.

The breeze is cold on my feverish skin, cooling me down. It wasn’t supposed to rain today, but maybe the sky is crying with us. As the only male in the family, Mason was always Mom and Papa’s favorite. Maybe he’s Satan’s favorite, too. There is no way Mason ended up at the pearly gates. In fact, I can imagine him playing poker with the demons, swindling them out of everything they had and laughing about how Hell is going to be a fun ride.

It brings a smile to my face.

“It’s good to see you smiling again. It’s good to see you period. I started to wonder if you’d return.”

My body goes rigid before I recognize the voice. Marco. Just the person I need most right now.

I was worried he wouldn’t come, but he strolls up to me as casually as ever, hands stuffed into the pockets of his rain-splattered trench coat.

Screw the tabloids. I hurry down the back steps of the funeral home to fling myself into his arms. He’s warm and smells of mint and apple from the cologne I bought him for his birthday. He crushes me to his chest so close I can practically feel his heartbeat.

“Sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he mumbles into my hair.

“Or through the front door?” I say, weakly. It feels awful to smile and joke on such a sad day.

Marco chuckles as he lets me go. “Probably for the best I don’t.”

I can’t exactly refute him. A cop at a Godwin’s funeral is bound to raise a few eyebrows, after all.

“Do you want me to get my father?”

Marco shakes his head, shaggy brown hair falling over an eye.

“I’ll talk to Hector later. Gotta head back to work, but I wanted to see you. I was happy to hear you returned to Seattle, even if it was because of this.”

I glance behind him to see his car still running. The gesture warms me. Marco has been by my side since we took the same Intro to Business class at the University of Washington years back. He’s also one of the only ones who didn’t pressure me for my familial ties when he found out the truth. I’ve had plenty of friendships crash and burn once they realize that Hector Godwin isn’t just a shipping mogul. But Marco has stuck with me through it all, even risking his job to pledge loyalty to the Godwin family.

If only we could be together. Law and Godwins don’t mix well.

“It was foolish to think I could break away from… all this.” I glance down at the ground and then back up into his eyes and smile. “But it’s good to see you again.”

“Are you gonna be okay without me?” Marco asks.

The question makes me chuckle. He always asks this before he leaves, and my answer is always the same.

“As okay as you are without me.”

“Okay, but if you need anything, you let me know, and I’ll come running. Got it?”

I nod. “Got it.”

Marco leaves with a two-fingered wave, the same as always, but I can’t help feeling like something is different. Maybe the world has shifted now that Mason is gone, or maybe I’m the one who’s shifted. I can’t tell.

The only thing I know for sure is that everything is going to change from this moment forward.

Chapter 10

Braken

I barely hear my bodyguard Jasper call for me over the sound of the power drills.

Construction for my newest hotel only started yesterday. Delay after delay set back my plans. First, it was convincing the old asshole to sell me his broken-down, unusable parking garage and land, and I paid way too much for it. Then it was getting approval for the restaurant I planned for the first-floor lobby. I hate red tape and dealing with the government, but I’m the only one who can get this shit done. And the truth is I really prefer to spend my time on Heathens Hollow and running The Vault, but family loyalty still is a fucking noose around my neck.

Then came the death of Mason Godwin on our fucking turf. We own that stadium, and what happens there falls on us. His murder does make us look shady as fuck.

There are clear boundaries between the Frost family businesses and the Godwins. Seattle is the prime area for hotels, but so much of it belongs to the Godwins. But somehow the two families have been able to live in peace.

But now…

All that burned to a crisp, along with Mason Godwin.

Now my father thinks we all need bodyguards. Hello, Jasper.

Jasper calls my name again and flashes my phone. I grimace. I gave it to him earlier because I didn’t want any more interruptions on the first day of work in what feels like forever. If another setback springs up, I will bulldoze the damn cement parking garage myself.

“Your father, sir,” Jasper says with a bow of his head.

This can’t be good. Ever since news of Mason’s death, he’s been on edge. Silvano is not an easy man to shake. He has my grandfather’s stubbornness and my grandmother’s temper, making him a walking time bomb. Usually, it’s directed at my brother Sam, but I’ve been on the tail end of his fists a few too many times. For him to be this affected signals bad news.

I walk away from the machinery to hear better.

“This is Braken.”

“Are you in Heathens Hollow or Seattle?”

“Seattle working on the⁠—”

“Good. Come to Mastro’s by noon,” he orders. “Don’t be late.”

The command is simple yet fills me with dread. A last-minute demand like this means something is wrong.

I check the time on my watch. I have forty-five minutes to get to downtown Seattle, so I’ll be cutting it close with afternoon traffic. I unbuckle my hard hat and pass it to Jasper, ordering him to grab the car and get going ASAP. Getting an earful from my father is not how I want to start this week.

Mastro’s is completely empty. The steakhouse doesn’t open for lunch, but money talks, and my father has plenty of it. An attractive waitress who offers me a flirtatious smile as I pass by leads me upstairs. My father sits at his usual table by the window overlooking the classic brick buildings that make up the charming neighborhood. When he’s here for dinner, he reserves the other ten seats to have a little privacy during a good meal. A lunch booking is for private Frost business.

Today’s business is none other than Hector Godwin.

I try to keep my shock from appearing on my face. I can’t remember the last time the two of them met. There hasn’t been any reason. We stick to our territory; the Godwins stick to theirs. That was how it was supposed to be until the heir of the Godwins became nothing more than dust in the wind.

“Braken, there you are.” My father gestures to the open seat next to him.

I don’t see any signs of distress or annoyance on his face, but he’s always been hard to read. Especially during negotiations, which I have a funny feeling is happening now.

But what’s that have to do with me?

Before I can slip into my chair, Hector stands and offers his hand. “Braken.”

“Hector,” I answer politely and shake it. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Trust me when I say I felt the same until last week.” Hector’s smile is shrewd as he gestures to the empty chair. “Sit.”

I sit next to my father, and a waiter is immediately next to me with a bottle of Caymus Cabernet Sauvignon Special Selection. There is no menu, wine list, or pricing. All my father does is hand over his black card, and everything’s taken care of.

Which means business can proceed.

“I want to thank you for coming to Mason’s funeral.” Hector sets down his wine glass and swirls it a few times. “Especially under the circumstances.”

Hector’s dark brown eyes flick between the two of us. He’s reading all he can in the way we move, speak, and act. Waiting for us to crack. Maybe hoping for us to slip up. Unfortunately for him, that won’t happen because we’re as clueless and pissed off as he is.

“The circumstances?” My father’s lips quirk down into his typical pondering frown.

Hector leans back in his chair and gestures toward us with both hands. “The way I see it, there are two reasons you showed up. Either you’re with us in standing against whoever ordered the hit, or you’re against us and were there to gloat. Seeing as how my boy died on your soil…”

He clicks his tongue. The answer is obvious anyway. He doesn’t trust that we didn’t have a hand in Mason’s death. The waiter brings out the appetizers of sautéed shrimp and a dozen half-shell oysters, but none of us makes a move to grab any. Tensions are so tight that one sudden movement will snap the wire and send it all tumbling down. Even the smallest misunderstanding can start an all-out war. All over some fucking over-priced oysters.

“If it was us, you would have known by now,” my father offers. “We’re too busy with our own shit to start some with your family.”

Hector reaches out to pick up his steak knife, turning the blade back and forth a few times. “Forgive me if I say I can’t trust it. There was no secret you didn’t care for Mason and the way he did business in this city. The murder happened in your territory, after all, so you either prove your loyalty, or we’re going to have a problem.”

My father mutters an Italian curse word under his breath. That’s the first sign his anger is spiking. The second is a pink tint to his neck, which springs up just above the collar of his black shirt. If he opens his mouth now, whatever peace we had over the past decade will be as cooked as the uneaten shrimp.

I speak for the first time since the conversation began. “Father, if I may.”

Silvano looks at me and gives me a terse nod.

“We want to find the culprit as much as you do,” I offer Hector with an easygoing smile. “We don’t take too kindly to people who use Frost property to do their business. If the stadium gets labeled as a bad neighborhood, then that doesn’t help us, now does it?”

“What’s your offer?” Hector challenges, still holding onto the knife.

“We’ll look into the murder ourselves, find the culprit, and dispose of them.”

“The police are already looking into it.”

My father laughs so loud it’s like a bark. “That’s a good one, Hector. Police actually doing their jobs?”

“Trying to lighten the mood,” he shoots in return before gesturing his chin toward me. “You’ll be on it yourself.”

I nod. “You have my word.”

“Words don’t mean shit without a little collateral.”

Hector opens his phone, fishes through a few things, then pushes the phone across the table.

On the screen is his eldest daughter, Fiora Godwin.

I recognize her immediately. How can I not remember the woman who has damn near been haunting me since I first hunted her in Heathens Hollow? Her narrowed dark eyes were full of lust and wild abandon. Here, they’re more playful and happy. Her long black hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and her white shirt fits to her full, perfect frame. She is an attractive woman, someone who is worthy of being on my arm.

But women like her are a dime a dozen in Seattle. Rich women with too much money and too much time. Women who call the paps just to keep their names in the tabloids. I can name two off the top of my head who would practically jump on my dick if I gave the word. Yes, she has something darker and more interesting lurking beneath the surface. Something that had her participating in The Hunt and even hiding out from the Godwin family. But the fact remains—she’s still a spoiled rich girl belonging to a family with far too much power.

When I take too long to answer, Hector taps Fiora’s face. “Here’s how you prove your loyalty.”

I know what he means immediately. Tying our two families together with an arranged marriage. It’s an enticing offer. The Frosts have a lot of Seattle, but the Godwins have more. Much more. Meaning, with a direct tie to the family, I could expand our line of hotels further. Sam and Dad could get a few extra businesses to ship their goods. The Frosts would have extra backup with the Godwin name behind us.

But it also means answering to Hector Godwin.

“How’s this prove our loyalty?” I ask.

“By putting up a united front.” Hector skewers a shrimp with his fork before taking a bite, speaking between mouthfuls. “Cementing power over most of Seattle. I offer my daughter; you offer your pledge to my family.”

“Does she know about this?”

“She doesn’t need to,” he answers with a laugh. “It’s my call to make, not hers. You know how this is done, and so does she.”

I turn in my chair to regard my father. He’s been awfully silent, but that’s no surprise. He and my mother had an arranged marriage that brought him to the city in the first place. Marriage in wealthy families doesn’t mean love, butterflies, or any of that bullshit. It means money, power, and the right to rule.

I’ve somehow avoided marriage at my age, but doesn’t mean it’s avoidable forever. When I turned forty, my mother cried and lectured me on the importance of bloodline and lineage and other bullshit I tried to block out of my head. Owning The Vault and marriage don’t exactly go hand in hand.

But things could turn awful, and fast, if I refuse.

The Godwins own Heathens Hollow. We simply lease the space. They could destroy The Vault, and my business partners would suffer all because I couldn’t follow through on something that is inevitably my fate.

Fiora’s stare flashes through my mind again. She’s got a fire to her—one I can’t wait to tame if I am truly honest. One that, when she becomes my girl, can be used in plenty of creative ways.

I smirk. “Set it up.”

This is going to be fun.

Chapter 11

Fiora

I’m halfway through putting in my dainty gold hoops when my phone rings. It was back to ‘classic beauty’ now that I had returned to living in my father’s penthouse. I took out the ‘ridiculous’ nose piercing and dyed the white stripe of my hair to its natural black.

Anything to keep Papa happy.

Even if it means me feeling like someone has taken hold of my neck and is squeezing normalcy, compliancy, and fucking boring into my battered soul.

I’m trying so hard to forget my escape and stint in Heathens Hollow. It was the first time in my life I ever truly felt free. I wasn’t a Godwin. I didn’t have expectations. I was just a young woman living alone and figuring out who she was.

Will I ever be able to know the answer to that question now?

I stare at the name lighting up the screen and don’t move. Papa. He hasn’t spoken to me since Mason’s funeral on Sunday, but I’ve expected him to call eventually. I’m sure he was busy hunting for information and tying up loose ends.

Loose ends like me.

I let it ring three, four, five times, then finally click the green answer button.

“Hi, Papa.”

I try to sound measured when inside, my heart thunders in my rib cage. I have an inkling as to what he’s calling for, and I dread hearing it.

“Cancel your plans,” he demands. “You’re coming to dinner.”

I frown. Tonight is the Spinster’s Silent Auction at The Moore Theater. I bought a ticket to get back to the life of a daughter of a Godwin as I know is expected. It’s supposed to be something to take my mind off the ache that’s been in my chest since the car bombing.

“I have an event,” I say carefully.

Of course, it means nothing.

“Who do you think pays for your events and appearances, Fiora?” My father’s dry laugh cuts deep into my bones. “I wasn’t asking. It’s time you start paying for all those frivolous nights you waste. I’ll send a car. Don’t embarrass me.”

He hangs up before I can answer. I throw my phone on the vanity where it knocks my makeup palette off the side. It crashes onto my hardwood floor and scatters shades of brown across the room.

I’m already dressed for the occasion in a blood red cape dress, hair curled and pinned around my ears. My father said not to disappoint, which means this isn’t some simple family dinner. I switch out the gold hoops for Mama’s diamond teardrop earrings and throw on a few extra rings and bracelets. If it’s his wealth he wants to flaunt, then I’ll give it to him.

I make sure to pack the auction ticket in my Christian Dior clutch, along with a few other essentials. Just as I slip into my heels, my intercom buzzes and signals the car is already waiting for me.

I take the elevator down the twenty-one stories, and the doors open to Vincent, my father’s personal driver. Papa must be worried I’ll ignore his demand if he’s sent Vincent. Either that, or whoever is joining us for dinner is too important to skip. Either way, there’s no getting out of this one.

He bows his head and leads me toward the front revolving glass doors. Just as I’m about to pass Paul, the sixty-something security guard who mans the front of my building, I stop.

“Evening, miss,” he says cheerfully with a nod. “I hope you have a good night.”

“Unfortunately, not,” I respond with a stretched smile as I dig into my clutch. “Your daughter likes parties, doesn’t she?”

“She does. A little too much if you ask me.”

I laugh and pull out the auction ticket, along with a stack of one hundred dollar bills I prepared for this event. “If she’s free and can get ready in an hour, give this to her.”

Paul glances down, eyes widening when he sees my offered ticket and money. “Nah, miss, I can’t accept this. That’s awfully generous of you but it’s too much.”

“She would be doing me a favor. I already made an obligation to go but something came up.” I hand out the stack toward him again. “Tell her to go and bet on Item 36 for me. It’s an all-inclusive trip to Puerto Vallarta for two guests to be used in June. This should be enough to cover it.”

Paul doesn’t look convinced, even after my explanation. Getaway trips like those are the easiest to win bids on. Charity or not, no one who attends these auctions is going to overspend on vacations to tourist traps they can get for much cheaper.

I offer a kind smile. “She’s going to have a great time, I promise. Someone should enjoy the night.”

“If you’re sure, miss.” He finally reaches out to take the ticket and cash and tucks it into his inner coat pocket. “I’ll make sure she knows what to do.”

“Thank you, Paul. Oh, but before I forget, there’s one extra condition.”

“What’s that, miss?”

“Don’t for a second let them make her sit through a boring timeshare presentation. She has my full permission to say a few unladylike words and walk away.”

Paul’s laugh echoes in the vaulted and sleek lobby. He’s already on the phone with his daughter by the time I step outside. Vincent opens the car door for me, and I give him a quiet thank you before slipping in. Once I’m in the safety of the backseat and the partition is rolled up, my smile drops, and I let out a few unladylike words myself.

Of course, someone should enjoy the night because it certainly won’t be me.

Chapter 12

Fiora

The car stops just outside of Serafina, and Vincent opens the door for me before driving off. I’m left alone, staring at the name on the sign against the brick building. This is one of the few restaurants my father will set foot in. It reminds him of his childhood summers in Italy and traveling the Mediterranean, which his family always did. He has kept that tradition alive with me and my siblings until my mother died. Once she was gone, every family tradition died with it.

I give myself only five seconds to let the autumn breeze wash over my heated cheeks before I step inside the busy restaurant. Papa doesn’t like to be kept waiting.

As soon as I mention Godwin, I’m ushered into a private room near the back of the restaurant. I know it’s the right one because my father’s bodyguard, Alonso, stands nearby and nods to me as I pass. When I enter the room, my father is the first person I see, seated at a four-person table that already has full glasses of wine poured. Silvano Frost sits across from him, looking dapper in a pinstripe suit, his thinning hair slicked back out of his angular face.

And, to my dismay, Braken Frost sits next to him, green eyes watching my every move as I enter.

I try not to let annoyance twist my face. What are the Frosts doing here? They are the last guests I expect seated at a table with my father. Out of all the other rich families in the Northwest, they are the top of my shitlist. I can’t trust anything to do with them. Why should I? I’m still not entirely convinced they aren’t the ones responsible for Mason’s murder.

But if they are innocent of that, they are still guilty. Mason would still be here if they had even an ounce of security present on their turf. People should know not to mess with anyone on Frost territory. If they are as powerful as Silvano Frost boasts, then a hitman wouldn’t dare commit a crime where they do business in fear of the ramifications. People should fear the Frost name. But their failure to do that has ended with blood on their hands.

A small part of me is hopeful this dinner is an excuse to get to the bottom of Mason’s death, but there’s a knot in my stomach and a weight on my chest. I know the truth. I know why I’m here. I’m just not ready to admit it, even to myself.

“Fiora, sit down,” my father orders with a snap of his fingers. “You’re late.”

I’m not, but I don’t argue. Don’t embarrass me, my father’s voice replays as I step forward to kiss his cheeks. That means looking pretty and shutting the hell up.

“I’m sorry for keeping you all waiting.”

I can feel Braken’s eyes on me as I shift around my father and take my seat. Braken doesn’t hide that he’s been ogling me. His gaze bounces from the curves of my waist and chest, to the diamonds on my fingers and ears, and finally lands on my face. Tonight, he looks like he stepped out of one of his magazine photoshoots. His dark brown hair is pushed to the left, and his light gray suit is crisp and well-fitted, showing off his broad shoulders. The top button of his dress shirt is undone, and that tattoo on his neck and collarbone is once again visible. It’s dark in the room thanks to the mood lighting, but his smirk is obvious.

I want to snap at him to keep his eyes off me, but I have to settle for a sarcastic smile.

“I didn’t expect these to be your guests, Papa,” I say. Thank God the wine is already poured. I’ll need a lot of it before the night is over.

“Say hello to your fiancé, Fiora,” my father says with zero emotion. “The Frosts have graciously offered to join our family in union.”

I knew this was coming, but the knot in my stomach drops anyway now that it’s been spoken. Fiancé. Married to the enemy. Handed over like livestock. What about Marco? I spent years trying to get my father to accept him, and after a few hot tips led to the discovery of spies within our business empire, he was beginning to trust the cop.

All it took was one second for everything to get turned upside down.

“Do you think this is a good idea, Papa?” I offer. He told me to be quiet, but I won’t sit here and accept this without a fight. “It’s so soon after Mason left us. Shouldn’t we be looking for who did it?”

His eyes burn with a fire hotter than Mason’s car bomb. “That is none of your business.”

It’s a firm warning to shut up and look pretty. I don’t bother answering him. Instead, I reach for my wine glass and take a large gulp.

“The only business you need to concern yourself with is having sons.”

My father claps his hands together twice, and the door slides open. Alonso enters, bows nearly ninety degrees, and fishes a manila envelope from his inner coat pocket. My father gestures toward Braken, and Alonso hand-delivers whatever is inside to him.

“These are from two weeks ago. She’s in perfect health. Clean. Ready to bear children as soon as you’re married.”

I stare at the envelope in horror. My private medical records. My cheeks burn in anger and shame at the audacity.

“How did you get that?” I question a little harder than I intend.

“That doctor works for me.” My father claps his hands together. “I always keep a close eye on my investments. It’s high time you pay me back for years of your allowance. Go ahead and check for yourself, Braken.”

Braken pushes the envelope to his left and doesn’t pick it up. His jaw is tight, and his eyes seem to darken as he sits there. He’s clearly angry, but I’m not sure why. Is he as upset about this arrangement as I am?

Why doesn’t he refuse? He’s a grown man? He’s successful in his own right. Why would he do this?

Why would I do this?

I don’t have to… and yet… why do I feel I do?

“That won’t be necessary,” he says, his eyes locking with mine. “I know what I’m getting myself into.”

My father and Silvano laugh at Braken’s words, which only further flames my face. Asshole. The worst part of all this is he does know everything about my medical history and that I’m on birth control. It was a requirement of participating in The Hunt. He already had access to everything, and his little secret—our secret—burns me alive. I don’t like that he has that power over me. One slip of the tongue, and he can reveal where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing to my father.

I’m so embarrassed. I can’t believe I’ve already slept with this man. Multiple times. And in the most primal, filthy ways. If my father found out, he’d die of a stroke right here at this table.

I narrow my eyes at him, but Braken Frost is completely unfazed. He reaches into the pocket of his designer coat to fish out a small black box, setting it on the table next to his wine glass. All I can do is exhale through my nose. Everyone already knew about this but me. It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

A large diamond sits between smaller diamonds arranged to look like leaves, all of them glinting as Braken pushes it my way. It’s a test. He won’t slide it on my finger himself because it’s meant to be my answer. As if I have a choice in the matter. My job as first-born daughter is clear: marry to strengthen the family and be grateful for it.

I take the ring from the box and slip it on my finger without saying a word.

“I must say, this arrangement benefits me more.” My father laughs as he lifts his wine glass in a toast. “As soon as you’re married, her $10,000-a-month allowance is your problem.”

“That’s a lot of shopping trips.” Silvano laughs and takes a sip of his wine. “What would our women do without our funding?”

“Be stuck walking the streets, I’m sure. Youth today always have to rely on our handouts,” my father adds, not congratulating or even acknowledging that his daughter just had a huge life moment becoming engaged.

A knock on the door heralds a waiter who enters carrying a tray of appetizers. It’s the perfect excuse to escape the room before I explode. I excuse myself to “freshen my makeup,” clinging to my clutch as I rush to the bathroom. As soon as I’m locked in one of the stalls, I throw myself onto the lid and begin the breathing technique I learned a while back. Inhale one, two, three. Hold one, two, three. Exhale one, two, three.

I do that a few times until the burning anger in my veins lessens to a smoldering flame. All I can think of is Mama, who once smiled at my innocent childhood question of why she married Papa.

“Sometimes we have to do things out of obligation,” she told me with a kiss to my forehead. “And I got four perfect kids out of it.”

Now it’s my turn to fulfill my obligation.

When I’m composed enough, I pat my cheeks, take one last deep breath, and step outside.

Only to run directly into Braken Frost himself.

“What do you want?” I snap.

“Just wanted to check on the woman who’s meant to bear me a fuck ton of sons.”

The comment immediately stokes the fire I just tried to put out. First Mason’s death, and now this arranged marriage. The entire week’s worth of pain, anger, and embarrassment accumulate into an incredulous scoff.

“Funny. I might be healthy, but what about you? Do you even know how to please a woman without chasing her down in the forest and fucking her with a mask on? I doubt it, seeing as how you’re—what was the name of that article you were in last week? Oh yeah, ‘Married to Business’. My father just signed me over to a lifetime of shitty sex with a prick who probably never had a woman actually willingly have sex with him, hence why you run The Hunt. Go fuck yourself.”

I expect to see anger or hatred in response to my tirade, but his lips lift into an amused smirk. He finds this funny. Braken takes two steps forward and traps me against the wall next to the bathroom door. He’s close enough now that I can smell his woodsy cologne when he leans in.

“First of all, I was joking about giving me a fuck ton of sons in hope of lightening the mood. And I was going to play nice, but you just burned all your bridges. I hope you’re ready to sit on your knees and beg for my forgiveness because you’re going to need it.”

I swallow down my nervousness. I refuse to back down to the likes of Braken Frost.

“Says who?”

“Me.” He snatches my left hand and brings it close to my face, letting the engagement ring catch the dim light of the hallway. “This ring proves who the fuck you belong to.”

I snatch my hand from his grip. “This gaudy thing? I have more expensive ones sitting in my vanity at home. You’ll need to do better than this low-quality piss-yellow ring. Proof that money doesn’t buy taste.”

Braken chuckles. “I guess you would know jewelry with how much of Daddy’s money you spend on it a month. For a minute in Heathens Hollow I might have mistaken you as someone other than a spoiled little rich girl, but it’s clear to see your true colors now.”

He doesn’t know a thing about me, yet he speaks like he does. It makes my blood boil even more.

“Don’t worry. Once we’re married, I’ll use your money to buy me something actually worthwhile. So go fuck yourself.”

Fuck. I do sound like a spoiled rich girl. I’ve never been good at fighting and standing up for myself, and I’m proving that right now. He’s winning this battle of wills, and I need to get out of here.

I push at his shoulder, and to my surprise, he takes a step back and gives me space to leave, but he doesn’t let me go without a last warning.

“Foul language on delicate lips. This pretty little mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day. Maybe you should think of different ways to use it before it’s too late.”

“It already is too late,” I counter dryly. “Since I’m tied to a bastard like you.”

I stomp off before he can answer, but the smell of his musky cologne clings to me, reminding me that there’s no way to escape him.

Chapter 13

Braken

“What. The. Fuck!” Soren says loud enough that I have to pull my phone away from my ear. “Married? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You’re getting married?” Merrick parrots. It’s obvious now that I’m on speaker phone.

“Fiora Godwin?” Locke adds. “You’re marrying a Godwin? Have you lost your mind?”

I sigh. “You guys know how things work in families like mine.”

“You’re fucking forty years old, Braken!” Soren snaps. “You don’t have to do what Daddy says anymore, you know.”

“I’m not doing this because of my father,” I argue. “I’m doing it for me and for us. We can’t afford having Hector Godwin as an enemy. He could destroy what we’ve built, and if he really wants to, he could really fuck with my family, too.”

“We’ll figure out a way so you don’t have to marry someone,” Locke says. “Fuck the Godwins. We’ll rebuild if we have to. Just because they own the island, doesn’t mean they own us.”

“I get that. And trust me, I’m not scared of Hector, I’m just choosing the best path—the easier one. It’s complicated, and frankly, I think this isn’t exactly a bad thing,” I say. “I know you guys think I’m crazy, and I’m sure I am to some degree, but for right now, this is what I want. I need you all to back me on this.”

“And this Fiora girl is just going to marry you?” Merrick asks. “She isn’t putting up a fight?”

“Sadly, she was brought up the same way I was. It’s almost like this type of arrangement is built into our DNA. Doesn’t mean it’s right, but it’s just what we do.” I check my watch and see I’m going to be late if I don’t end this conversation. “Listen, I’ve got something to do here in Seattle, and then I’m heading back to The Vault. I need to have you guys do something for me. I want hidden cameras set up in Fiora’s old cottage.”

“You think she’s coming back here?” Soren asks. “We just assumed that now that her identity is blown, she would have no reason to.”

“I’m going to push for her to stay near me,” I say. “Her father is a fucking asshole, and I don’t think she’s happy living under his roof, even for the short time until we are wed. I want her out from under his thumb and verbal abuse. So, I’m going to suggest she stay in her cottage until then. But I also want us to keep a close eye on her. I don’t think she’s safe. Without us knowing who killed Mason and why, I still want to keep around-the-clock tabs on her. Can you guys make that happen?”

“We got it covered,” Merrick assures.

“We’ll still watch her,” Sorens adds.

“Thanks,” I say. “I got to go, but I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

The ground is still scorched from where Mason’s car blew up.

Retracing Mason’s steps the morning of the murder doesn’t yield much. He woke, he ate, he called his dad, he went to a Thursday afternoon Mariners game. As he was leaving the parking lot after the game, his car exploded into a fiery inferno, taking several empty parked vehicles with it. It was all over the news for two days straight, and the cops gave some useless speech about figuring out more details as quickly as they could.

That fizzled out as quickly as it came. No updates and no press conferences vowing “ultimate justice” have been forthcoming. My call with the precinct in charge this morning was a joke. It doesn’t surprise me. Cops are notoriously useless for shit like this. If they’re already in someone else’s pockets, we can kiss that investigation goodbye. But that begs the question: if it’s not us, who the fuck is paying off cops in our territory?

Mason was a motherfucking Godwin.

I glance around the lot and check for any security cameras. There’s one to the north and one to the southwest. Both are a bit far, but one of them will have picked up something. If I can get my hands on that footage, I can see if anyone suspicious was at the scene of the crime. Anyone smart wouldn’t be, but most people are one step away from handcuffs. Or in our case, a quiet concrete grave where they won’t be missed.

I nod to Jasper, and he hands me my phone. I scroll through my list of contacts until I reach the operations manager. The Frosts aren’t the only owners of the T-Mobile Stadium obviously, but we are large investors, so I have some power here. As soon as I say I’d like to meet, I’m welcomed to the stadium “at my earliest convenience.”

I leave Jasper behind with the car to head to the stadium. Janet greets me not even ten minutes later, ushering me into a private, personal tour around the arena. The middle-aged woman spouts information about what they’re doing with recent renovations, to which I only smile and nod. The money we give works two-fold. I can pull strings like this to get what I want, and it’s easy to obtain zoning permits around the stadium to build my hotels. During the season, I make a pretty penny from rich baseball fans who come to see their team play. The area around the stadium is prime real estate, and the money we invest is a drop in the bucket to have a majority control over it.

Once the tour is over, I make my ultimate request and ask to see the security team. Janet leads me there without question. The office is stuffy and smells like a mix of body odor and stale chips. A multitude of cameras on the wall watches over the entire stadium. I trail my gaze over a few showing the parking lot, but I’m not able to find the one I need before I’m accosted by a younger man decked out in Seattle Mariners merchandise.

“Janet! What can I do for you?” he asks, eying me up and down. “Special guest?”

“I’m Braken Frost.” I hold out my hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you.”

“Matt Follins, head of the security team.” He returns my handshake. “Do you need something?”

“Mr. Frost is one of the investors to our operations,” Janet explains with a smile, and a glare as if trying to silently tell him he should know this. “I’m just showing him around.”

“Please, call me Braken,” I placate. “Mr. Frost is my father.”

A phone rings, and Janet fishes into her pocket before excusing herself to take the call outside. Perfect. It gives me time alone with Matt to convince him for a sneak peek of last week’s footage. Security cameras keep records for at least thirty days, so it should be easy enough to get it.

Matt looks barely over twenty, his blue Mariners cap on backward and his security badge hanging off a new jersey. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed he was a fan who got lost in the tunnels. Clearly, he’s a superfan, so I’ll have to use that to my advantage.

“You look a little young to be head of the security team here,” I begin.

A proud smile lights his face. “Yeah, it’s a dream come true. I got the job right out of college and have been here for a few years now. They apparently like my enthusiasm for the job.”

“I can see that.” I gesture to his clothes and return the smile. “No dress code?”

“The more decked out, the better. That’s easy for me.” Matt takes a seat on top of a desk against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “Been a Mariners fan since birth. My dad’s mancave is covered in memorabilia. He threw me a literal party once I got the job.”

I don’t care about this kid’s love for baseball. I don’t have much time before Janet comes back and ushers me elsewhere, and I need this damn footage.

I point with an open hand toward the plethora of cameras on the wall. “I bet you’ve seen some crazy stuff in your time here.”

“Oh yeah. Beatings, carjackings, sex. You name it, I’ve seen it.”

“What about car bombings?”

Matt regards me with a raised scraggly eyebrow. “Like the one last week? It’s the first time I’ve seen one, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’d be interested to see it, too, since it’s my brother-in-law that was killed.”

Matt inhales through his teeth and pushes off the desk. “Hey man, I’m sorry for your loss, but I can’t show you without a warrant. I got some strict orders when all this happened. Police, news reporters. I was told I couldn’t do shit.”

Annoyance pricks at my skin and makes my face drop. A damn warrant? Is he kidding? I don’t have time for this shit.

I dig into the pocket of my beige trench coat to pull out my wallet. “Listen, I need to see that footage. Name your price.”

Once Matt sees the wad of bills in my wallet, he holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Whoa. I don’t need any of that. Like I said, I can’t show you unless the cops are involved.”

“Everyone has a price,” I respond steadily, keeping the wallet out. “Whether it’s monetary, protection, or something they need.”

My veiled threat sails right over his naive head.

“I got everything I need here,” Matt says with a cheeky smile. “This is my dream job, and I don’t want to jeopardize it. I wish I could help.”

There are plenty of other ways I can make him give me the tapes. I’m one of the motherfucking owners, although not a major one, so this could get messier than I want, and I don’t want to pull others into this if I don’t need to. I really do hope to keep this little investigation of mine on the down low if I can help it.

Janet returns and offers to show me the new VIP lounge, and Matt becomes distracted with something else on his phone. I’m not going to get very far with these two, and my idea of simplicity just burned right along with Mason’s car.

Chapter 14

Braken

By the time I make it back to The Vault, I already have someone working on falsifying a warrant for the footage. There is no time to waste, and I’m not going to sit around and wait for the cops to suddenly be good at their jobs. We have enough detectives and cops in our pockets that they turn a blind eye to most Frost and Godwin business. but I’m not willing to involve them this time, especially not if someone is working to cover up the murder.

Something in my gut is telling me that someone—or someones—want this entire murder case to go cold.

The parking lot is empty, so I know I’m the first of my partners to arrive. This is a good thing as I need time to gather my thoughts before I no doubt will have to answer their tirade of questions and field their unwanted advice. Not that I blame them, however. If one of them told me they were getting married—well other than Locke, since he’s hopelessly in love with Storee—I’d be acting the same way.

Especially considering that Merrick, Soren, and I played together. Rarely do we fuck someone where one of us isn’t in the room and part of the action. The only time we really do any solo sex is during The Hunt. I loved the way their cocks look going into a wet pussy, or even when they fuck each other. I also crave having them watch me drive into a woman screaming my name.

My cock loves an audience.

I’ve never had sex with either of them, however, but I fucking love every part of watching and showing. It has been the three of us in many ways, and now I’ve casually announced I’m getting married.

What does that mean now?

I am bringing a woman into the mix.

Not just a woman. A wife.

I don’t make it more than three steps before the bartender who is setting up for tonight’s party calls my name.

“Mr. Frost, I sent your guest straight up to your office.”

My guest? My face drops as I stare her down.

“I’m not expecting any guests.”

She shrinks under my heat-filled glare. “She said she is your fiancée, sir? Showed me the ring, and I remember seeing her here at the club with Storee and you and…”

My fiancée, huh? My anger is replaced with a laugh that’s more like a scoff. Fiora has guts, I’ll give her that. Waltzing right into The Vault and the office I share with my three business partners without even waiting. Getting pissy about the “terrible” ring but flashing it whenever she needs it. Refusing to be tied to me but setting foot into my domain without considering the consequences.

She’s a spoiled brat who needs to learn a good lesson.

“Thank you, Ana.” I flash her a smile and watch her cheeks go red. “You can let her in without the fuss from now on.”

“Of course, sir. Have a great day.”

I continue toward the stairs leading to the office and step inside, shrugging off my trench coat and tie with a desperate need to shed from the corporate role back to the Heathens Hollow much more casual role I prefer. I’m halfway through undoing my cufflinks and rolling up my sleeves when I see Fiora seated on a cushioned chair on the far right side of the large room, already nursing a glass of red wine.

She keeps her eyes on me as I join her, the glass to her lips.

“My father says you’re looking into Mason’s murder,” she opens.

“I told him I would,” I retort and finish rolling up my sleeves.

She smiles dryly and sets the wine on the side table. “Feeling guilty? Trying to cover your steps? Or genuinely curious?”

I don’t answer, instead studying her. Today, she’s wearing a tight black dress that stops at her knees. The thin straps barely support her tits, the neckline dipping dangerously low. Her hair is thrown up into a messy bun, pieces of raven hair falling to her collarbones. A jeans jacket is thrown across the armrest of my leather sofa. I step closer. She’s as attractive as she is a pain in my ass. I’m just going to have to teach her who’s boss around here.

I smirk and put my thumbs in the pockets of my slacks. “Why are you here, Fiora? Ready to practice for the wedding night?”

Her face twists in displeasure. “I want to find out who killed my brother.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Where did you go today?” She rises from her chair. “Do you have any leads?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” I growl and take a step forward.

She doesn’t back down. “It’s my family, so of course it concerns me. If anything, it’s none of your business. I wouldn’t doubt if your family had something to do with it.”

Hearing her accusation only stokes my anger. I narrow my eyes, stalking even closer.

“You come into my business and throw around baseless accusations? Are you trying to play with fire?”

“I play with fire every day. I’m a Godwin. Adding another log to the flame means nothing to me. And this may be your business. But it sits on my land.”

Fuck me. I wish she didn’t know that.

“Why aren’t you in Seattle… shopping or getting your nails done?”

She flinches as if I slapped her. “Fuck you.”

“I told you to watch your mouth,” I remind her quietly, taking another step forward. There are only two steps between us now, and I relish the way her breath hitches at my proximity. “Do you know what happens to little girls like you when they push boundaries?”

“Do you think I care?” Fiora crosses her arms over her chest. “If you won’t help me, I’ll just ask Marco.”

Oh, so she’s trying to piss me off, and doing a damn good job of it. Mentioning another man in my damn office? I clench my jaw to try to contain my fury. I don’t know what she’s playing at, but my patience only goes so far. If she keeps pressing my buttons, she’ll be bent over that chair before she can blink, my handprints on her ass to remind her that she’s mine.

“Who the fuck is Marco?” I set my hands on my hips.

She smirks, pretty red lips quirking in infuriating confidence.

“The man who should have been my husband.”

Chapter 15

Fiora

The way Braken’s face contorts in red-hot rage brings a smile to my face.

Ever since Mason’s death, I’ve lost control over my entire life.

Living in Heathens Hollow, even for the short time, has been the only taste of control I’ve ever had. And now it’s gone.

In one short week, I’ve been bound to a man to unite two families, used as a pawn as if I’m worth nothing more than that, and left out of the investigation to get justice for my brother.

Marco is the only leverage I have.

He’s the only thing stable in this whirlwind, and the only one I can trust. Everyone else is using me for what I’m good for. Marco is the one who supports me without anything in return.

He’s also the one whose ring should be on my finger, not Braken Frost’s.

The silence stretches long and heavy, but we don’t take our eyes off each other. Within those green depths, a sizzling anger burns hotter and hotter.

Good.

Bringing up Marco is a low blow, but it is worth it. Now Braken knows exactly how I feel.

When Braken answers, it sends electricity racing down my spine.

“I’ve been lenient until now, Fiora.” His words are rough and scratchy, his arms flexing so hard the veins pop out, pushing against the sprawling tattoos on his skin. “But you’re pushing your luck. I suggest you think carefully about what you’re going to say next or else there will be consequences.”

The threat doesn’t scare me. If anything, it thrills me.

A wave of heat flashes through my body at the look he gives me. Angry. Dark. Dominating. His large hands clench by his sides and for a second, I wonder what they would feel like on me. Pinning me down against the couch, pulling at my hair and calling me a brat. My pussy clenches at the thought before I bury it deep inside me.

What am I even thinking? The minute I let his dick hypnotize me, it’s all over. He’ll have the upper hand.

“He can get information from the inside,” I offer after quick consideration.

Braken looks even more pissed off, tilting his head at me like I’m a bratty child. “So, he’s a cop.”

Shit. He got that just from one sentence? I need to be more careful.

“He works for us. He’ll do whatever we ask.”

“And if I ask him to fuck off?” An emotionless smirk rises to Braken’s face. “You won’t be meeting any other men, Fiora.”

“Oh?” I stand up straighter. “Even if it can help you?”

“I can handle this myself.”

I’m about to argue, but Braken takes another step forward and practically traps me against the chair and wall. Up close, he’s so big. Large shoulders, large hands, and a large shadow that smothers me and makes me shiver. He’s wearing the same cologne from yesterday. The earthy, rich scent warms me and makes it hard to breathe. Having him so close is disorienting. I want to push him away, but my body is screaming to pull him even closer. If he shifts, I’ll be able to feel his body against mine and a warmth I sorely need. Merely the thought makes me want to crumble.

Which means I need to get out of here.

I move to grab my purse from the top of his desk so I can get my phone. I don’t even get to grab it before he wraps his hand around my wrist and pins it down against the desktop.

He leans his body into mine so I’m forced down on the edge of the desk. His chest presses against mine, so close his warm breath fans my face when he speaks.

“I bet you’re used to getting everything you want.” His voice is threateningly quiet, but it rings in my ears as if he’s shouting. “Using Daddy’s money to parade around like a princess and meet with your flings. You use that money on Marco? Get him to fuck you for a little extra salary?”

The accusation brings heat to my cheeks, and I try to fight against his grip. “Not even close. I’m not like you, I don’t need money to get laid. But what I do with my money is none of your business, asshole.”

“If I remember correctly, you did The Hunt for those baskets. Plenty of money inside them.”

“Who says I did The Hunt for the baskets? Maybe I do The Hunts for the exact same reason you do.”

He pauses, stares into my eyes, and the intensity nearly steals my breath.

“You’re mine now.” His voice is husky and dangerously low, laced with the same heat racing throughout my body. “Every single move you make is my damn business. And if you want to be treated like a princess, you better be ready for everything it entails.”

“Like what?” I shoot back. There’s a pause where we only stare at each other, challenging the other to break first. When he takes too long to answer, I scoff. “I dare you to try it.”

My words are a challenge, and Braken Frost immediately rises to the occasion.

He shifts me so I’m fully seated on the desk, but a firm hand on my shoulder keeps me from rising. With his other hand, he tugs up the fabric of my dress until my black panties are completely exposed.

I should push him away. I know I should. Giving my body to a man I barely know is not my style. And yet ever since moving to Heathens Hollow, that is exactly what I’ve been doing. I should resist. I should find some inner purity and strength, but when his rough hand begins trailing from my knee to my thigh, electricity zaps through my veins and takes the words from me.

He trails his hand up the inside of my right thigh, inching closer and closer to my throbbing pussy. I slightly close my legs, the last of my fading resistance.

Braken doesn’t like that. He grabs onto the meat of my thigh, forcing my legs apart, and gives my inner thigh a light slap for good measure. The sting of my skin makes me gasp, but I don’t tell him to stop. My body is throbbing for another smack to take my mind off the hazy lust clouding my judgment.

“Keep your legs open for me,” he demands, “or I’m going to spank this ass of yours until you can’t sit for days.”

His voice is right in my ear, vibrating straight down my core. When he doesn’t start moving again, I realize Braken is offering me an out. I can push him away, go home, and grab my vibrator to relieve this tension myself. Or I can stay, let him have me, and lose myself in hateful, spine-tingling pleasure.

The latter sounds so much fucking better.

I don’t answer but I open my legs as far as I can and keep him there. A smirk lights his face at my obedience, and I’m rewarded with his knuckles grazing my cloth-covered cunt.

That’s all he gives me, two knuckles running up and down until the fabric is wet with my essence. I try to lift my hips to meet his infuriating slow touch, but he smacks my thigh again, the sound ringing in his office.

“Princesses take what they’re given,” he growls. With the light from his office windows shining on his back, his already dark face is completely shadowed. He looks like a wolf ready to devour his prey, and it’s all thanks to me.

“I think you have the wrong idea about me,” I retort, but it’s breathless, wispy, lost in the way my chest heaves for more.

Braken smirks and grabs onto the elastic of my panties, snapping it against my flushed skin. I lift my hips without him even asking, and it only makes his smirk grow.

“Pretty sure I don’t.”

My comeback dies on my lips as soon as a firm hand cups my pussy beneath my panties. Braken massages two of his fingers up and down my slick folds, his hawk-like eyes watching my reactions. I try to swallow back my vocal pleasure. I don’t want him to realize how badly I want him to bend me over this desk and fuck me until my mind is blank. But as soon as he pulls my folds apart and sinks his middle finger into my pussy, I can’t stop the soft mewl that escapes.

His low chuckle both pisses me off and makes my core throb. His body traps me, keeping me firmly under his control. Braken leans forward, mouthing at my exposed collarbones as he slowly pumps his finger in and out. It’s agonizingly slow, but I don’t want him to stop, especially when his thumb gently grazes my throbbing clit with the most featherlight touch.

As hard as it is to do, I keep my hips still so he doesn’t stop. Braken rewards me with a light kiss to the column of my throat, his facial hair tickling my sensitive skin and drawing a soft moan from me. His middle finger speeds up and begins circling my clit in quick, practiced strokes with his thumb.

I’m already so wet, the sound of my slickness even louder than my heavy breaths.

Braken pushes a second finger into me and pushes me even further against the desktop.

It’s uncomfortable and awkward, but I don’t even care. I cling to the edge, giving in to the rising pleasure in my bones. He presses against my clit as he moves faster, curling his fingers as he finger-fucks me until I’m a gasping mess. I don’t want to give in to him, but that doesn’t stop him. Braken takes me anyway, biting at my neck until he leaves his mark, fingers working me to the brink.

My release is right there. Toe-curling pleasure floods my body and makes my entire body tingle. My walls clench down around his quick fingers, and it’s so hard to keep my hips still, but I do because I’m right there.

And then he stops.

Braken fucking stops.

He pulls away as quickly as he came, darkened eyes sharp and staring at the mess he made. I can swallow my cry of annoyance. The wave of pleasure fades back into a warm buzzing, my clit pulsing angrily in desperate need of an orgasm.

“What the fuck?” I gasp.

“There’s that filthy mouth of yours again,” he muses idly.

My taunting at the restaurant yesterday comes back to haunt me now. Fuck. Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut.

“Figures,” I grind out in annoyance. “Why don’t you prove you know how to please a woman instead of leaving her like this?”

“If you want it, you’ll have to work for it yourself.”

Braken pushes his fingers into me again, slipping in with no resistance. But then he doesn’t move at all. He keeps his hand completely still, bracing next to my head on the desk with his other.

When he shifts, his hard cock beneath his pants presses up against my thigh, making my walls pulse again. He’s enjoying this game of cat and mouse as much as I am. I want to smirk, but all I can do is groan in annoyance.

Why isn’t he moving?

“What was it you said to me at the restaurant, Fiora?” he taunts so scathingly it makes me shiver. “I think it was something like, go fuck yourself?”

Me and my goddamn mouth.

I clench my teeth to hold my composure. “And?”

“Your turn.” He laughs and it vibrates into my skin. “Go fuck yourself, Fiora.”

I don’t move at first. I don’t want to play his stupid games. I want him to make me come so hard I can’t think, but he has the restraint of an iron statue and keeps completely still. If I want to release, I’m going to have to listen.

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I lift my hips and roll them down. Desperation keeps me from starting slow. I match his earlier pace, rocking into his unmoving hand to get a little friction. Every time I move my hips down, Braken’s thumb catches my clit, and I grunt. My heels dig into his desk as I fuck myself on his fingers to chase that lost high.

The desk beneath me creaks with every movement, and it’s so loud I think it might break. But I don’t give a shit, not when the fire ignites in my stomach again with every pump. But the fire never burns as hot as it did when Braken worked me into a frenzy.

It’s not enough. I feel on edge, but I can’t get there. No matter how I angle my hips or slam down on his two fingers, my release remains elusive. I let out a frustrated groan, and Braken laughs, leaning forward to graze the hollow of my throat.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” he mocks.

My face burns hotter with his words, but so does my pussy.

“And you’re not?” I shift my legs so my knee brushes his hard cock. “Looks like someone is having fun.”

There’s a pinch of pleasure on his face one second that disappears the next. “Not as much fun as you, princess. You’re practically dripping on my floor. Do you want to come that badly?”

I refuse to beg. I might be splayed out on his desk, my arousal and desperation fully on display, but I won’t cross that line. I only stare at him, biting my lip to keep my damn mouth shut.

Braken leans forward, mouthing at the light red marks he bit into my skin as he travels up.

“If you beg me, I’ll let you come. Go on, Fiora. Beg for it.”

The words are right there, but I swallow them back. I won’t.

Instead, I lean up and try to kiss him.

It’s a move he isn’t expecting.

Our lips manage to brush for only a mere second before he puts a hand on my throat. He presses his thumb into my windpipe and keeps me pinned against his desk. He stares down at me, smoldering eyes studying every heaved breath that falls from my lips. His grip on my throat is firm and commanding. It’s not to hurt me but to remind me.

My pleasure is in his control.

It’s infuriating.

And so fucking hot.

He moves his fingers again, resuming his previous pace. His thumb immediately finds my swollen clit and starts a relentless pace. My moan is cut off by a squeeze of my throat, and my head swims with overwhelming pleasure. My entire body is aflame, so close to the edge. I can’t take it. I match rolls of my hips with his fingers, working myself closer and closer to climax. It’s right there. My spine tingles, my toes curl, and⁠—

—Braken pulls away for good.

My hazy eyes snap open and take a second to focus on him. He’s two steps away from me, a shit-eating grin on his chiseled face.

I’m going to scream.

I have a few choice words for this asshole, but they all die as soon as he pops his wet fingers into his mouth. He swirls his tongue to clean my juices, his eyes on me the entire time. My already-aching body pulses again, begging for him to come finish the orgasm he’s denied me for a third time.

“Only good girls get to come,” Braken says gruffly as soon as he’s done licking my juices off his fingers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Learn to behave and control that mouth of yours or you’ll keep being disappointed,” he taunts before turning and ignoring the complete mess he made of me and my throbbing pussy.

Braken stalks off toward the main part of the club, and I’m left extremely frustrated and extremely horny, sticky and sweaty from an orgasm I didn’t even get.

As I make myself presentable again and stomp out of his office, I already have a few plans on how I can kill Braken and get away with it.

As I storm by him, wondering if I can catch the last ferry to Seattle in time, he says, “Stay at your cottage tonight. I want you near.”

I freeze and look over my shoulder. “My old place?”

He nods. “Stay on Heathens Hollow. I’ll have security placed on you, your cottage is secure, and that’s where I want you to be until we get married.”

“I have things to handle and events in Seattle,” I begin, never actually considering staying on the island but also liking the idea. I had loved living here and away from my father’s constricting grip.

I rushed back to Seattle so quickly after hearing about my brother’s death I didn’t even pack. Everything I own is still in the cottage, all the way down to my toothbrush. It would be easier than going to Seattle at least for tonight and⁠—

“Then you’ll commute to Seattle when you need to,” he says as he goes behind the bar to pour himself a drink. “I’m not asking, Fiora. You’ll be staying on Heathens Hollow.”

Chapter 16

Fiora

What will my father say when he finds out I’m staying on Heathens Hollow? Will he even care? Does he already see me as Braken’s responsibility?

I should be happy to not have to go back into that penthouse where I’ll be scrutinized by a man who cannot truly love me. Shared bloodline or not. Love doesn’t exist in the Godwin family. Not after my mother died. Yes, I love my siblings, but we are all in survival mode and always have been. Which means we live solitary, almost selfish lives. We must worry about ourselves. We aren’t far from being wild wolves, and only the strongest will survive. And frankly, I’ve never felt all that strong. It’s shocking, actually, that my brother appeared to be the strongest out of all of us but was the first to die.

A part of me also feels I should refuse to stay at the cottage on principle alone. Simply because Braken demanded it. I shouldn’t start off this marriage following his dictates as these might set the precedent that I will always follow what he says. But…

I really do want to stay.

Movement across the street and in the forest catches my eyes. It takes me a few moments to figure out what is out there. Tonight isn’t a night of The Hunt. There are no red lights on, no girls in white nightgowns, but two men in bone masks are still lurking in the distance.

And I know exactly why.

“You’re not even trying to be subtle that you both are stalking me anymore,” I say when I storm up to the tree line outside the cottage. “I saw you both the first time you were out here. And you can remove the bone masks. I know who you are.”

I saw them outside a few days ago but assumed they were either part of The Hunt and watching out of interest of possibly hunting me in the future. Or I thought that they were under Locke Hartwell’s payroll watching me because I was friends with Storee, and he wanted to keep tabs on who I was and if I was any danger to the woman he loved. I wasn’t so blind as to not see that I was being watched.

But now, I know I’m being watched, and by who, and why.

Merrick and Soren trade glances, their bone-clad faces devoid of expression. A silent agreement passes between them before they reach up to remove their masks.

They are both extremely sexy in their own, different ways.

Merrick has a chiseled jawline and a sharp nose that gives him an intimidating air. His dark hair, neatly combed back, complements his pale skin. His eyes, cold and calculating, hold a mysterious allure that’s hard to resist.

Soren, on the other hand, has a more rugged look. His messy brown hair falls on his forehead in an endearing way. His skin is tanned and appears salt-beaten from the Pacific Northwest air, and his blue eyes convey an intensity that draws your attention and never lets go.

Soren clears his throat, his baritone voice breaking the silence. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he says, scratching at his unkempt beard. “We’re not stalking you. We’re protecting you.”

I squint and cross my arms over my chest, skeptically eyeing the pair. “Protecting me?” I sound more amused than I feel. “From what, precisely?”

“Braken asked us to watch over you when he can’t,” Merrick says.

“Braken?” I let out a surprised laugh. “Like he cares about my safety?”

“He’s going to be your husband.” A hint of impatience creeps into Soren’s voice. “And his enemies are your enemies now, too.”

Merrick folds his arms, tilting his head as an intrigued smile plays on his lips. “And it sounds like you have your own enemies, being a Godwin.”

“Enemies.” The weight of the word settles on my shoulders. “I think everyone forgets I’ve managed just fine before this little arranged marriage.”

Soren and Merrick exchange another glance before Soren speaks. “I think your brother would have said the same thing.”

I shift my gaze between them, considering their words. It’s all a bit much to process—being watched over by two attractive men, getting married to a man against my will, and the Godwin name strangling me like a noose around my neck.

Merrick steps forward, breaking the invisible barrier between us. “We don’t mean to scare you,” he admits, almost reluctantly it seems. His dark eyes meet mine, and for a moment I see something other than cold indifference there.

“I’m not scared,” I reply defiantly, but my voice wavers slightly.

“You should be,” Merrick murmurs.

Soren intervenes again, giving Merrick an exasperated look before focusing on me. His gaze is softer, kinder than Merrick’s. “What he means is... you’re in danger.”

I can’t help the scoff that escapes my lips.

Soren shakes his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “You’re as stubborn as Braken claimed you were.” His voice holds a note of admiration.

I ignore the thudding in my chest at the reference to Braken. “Well, Braken hasn’t had much time to study me,” I retort, but I can’t entirely wipe out the blush blooming on my cheeks.

Merrick arches an eyebrow at me. “We all know he’s had enough time.”

“Actually.” Soren steps even closer to me now. His breath sends a ticklish sensation up my spine. “We’ve all had plenty of time to study you.”

I bite my lower lip, unable to tear my gaze away from Soren’s hypnotic eyes.

This is not happening. Not right now, when my mind is a whirlwind of peril and chaos. When I’m being forced into a loveless marriage with a man who seems indifferent to my existence, when I’m being stalked—sorry, protected—by two men I don’t know, who also happen to own a sex club.

“It’s late,” I say, feeling as if I need to take control of the situation. “I’m going inside, and you both can go back and tell Braken that I don’t need masked babysitters. I’m good.”

With that, I turn and march toward the cottage. I don’t look back to see if they move to stop me. They don’t, and the silence of the night seems to swallow their presence whole.

As I push open the front door, goosebumps rise on my arms. It’s not the chilly evening wind that makes me shiver, but the knowledge that no matter what I say, these men are going to keep watching me. I’m not so naive as to think they’ll simply walk away because I told them do so.

I slide out of my shoes and enter the kitchen, where I pour myself a generous glass of wine, trying but failing to shake off the knowledge that those men are most likely still in the woods across the street. I place my glass on the counter and move toward the window, peering out into the darkness. From here, I can barely make out their silhouettes in the moonlight. Even at this distance, Merrick’s arrogant posture and Soren’s calm demeanor are unmistakable.

The nerve of Braken Frost.

For all the arrogance and indifference he showed during our previous encounters, he has the audacity to send bodyguards to patrol my home. He mentioned security, but this is taking it too far.

Masked men. Who does that?

I draw a deep breath, trying to calm my pounding heart as I slowly sip the wine. The red liquid soothes my nerves marginally.

I force myself away from the window with a sigh, deciding to ignore them for tonight. It’s not like I really have a choice in the matter.

I mean… I could run. But the fact that they wear masks—the same masks you wear during The Hunt—tells me all I needed to know.

If I run, they will chase.

Chapter 17

Fiora

The burger joint is loud, which is a good thing, because it drowns out the memories of Braken and my masked stalkers who, though they are no longer wearing masks, are nearby. They were watching me when I left the cottage to walk over to Main Street for my meeting.

My body is still buzzing. I’m so wound up from everything swirling in my mind that I snapped at the waiter who offered me a solo table. As soon as I left Braken’s office yesterday, I called Marco and asked to meet for lunch. He was a bit hesitant at first, not wanting to travel all the way to Heathens Hollow, but eventually said he’d come as soon as possible.

I’ve been waiting ten minutes, and each feels worse than the last. Marco and I are unspoken. There was a time in college when we messed around a few times. Stolen kisses here, some fingering and blowjobs there. But we never went all the way and could never make it official.

“Your dad would kill me if he found out,” Marco said, laughing when I asked him to be the one to take my virginity. “I want to do this the proper way. Get his blessing and all. You’re worth waiting for, Fiora.”

Thanks to this ring on my finger now, it will never happen.

Fuck, the ring.

“Fiora!”

I turn to see Marco approaching, hand raised in a happy wave. Before I greet him, I knock the engagement ring off my finger with my nail and stuff it into the pocket of my jeans jacket. He doesn’t need to know about the engagement yet. If he does, we’ll get sidetracked. Right now, the most important thing is finding who killed Mason.

I stand to give him a hug and let him hug me for just a bit longer. He’s not as tall or sturdy as Braken, and he smells like cigarettes that he chain-smokes when he doesn’t have any leads.

A vision of Braken’s cock pressed against my thigh flashes through my mind and I must clench my thighs to stop the aching. Goddamnit. Now is not the time for this.

“Sorry, was working on something,” Marco says when he lets me go. He offers an apologetic smile. “Been waiting long?”

“If I waited any longer, the waiters were going to give me a pity drink on the house,” I joke and retake my seat.

He takes the chair across from me and shrugs off his jacket. “Oof, that bad, huh?”

“I think that means you now owe me a pity drink.”

“Sure, but I get to choose.”

After the waiter comes and takes our drink and appetizer order, I lean my elbows on the table and smile at him.

“Thanks for coming. I know things have been hectic lately.”

I need to get him talking about Mason’s murder so I can glean any information he has. But I don’t want to make it seem like I’m just using him for it. I enjoy his company, and right now, I need a friend to confide in. We sit in silence, taking in our surroundings as the awkwardness grows.

As soon as the waitress sets down our beers, Marco takes a large swig and smiles.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve had a meal together like this.”

“That’s because some of us are busy working our way up the ladder,” I tease, pushing my beer to the side. I’m not a big beer fan but it’ll go well with the fried goodness I ordered for lunch. “Is that promotion any closer?”

“Should be.” Marco sighs and sets down his already half-empty beer. “But there’s always someone who’s a friend of a friend who could get chief before me.”

The police and the mob aren’t too different in that regard. It’s all about who you know and with whom you place your loyalty. One wrong move, and you’re up shit creek without a paddle.

“I’m sure you’ll get it. There’s no one who works harder than you.” I sigh wistfully, placing my chin in my palm. “It honestly feels like yesterday that we were even talking about you becoming a police officer.”

“Are you getting sentimental on me, Fiora?” Marco jokes, reaching over the table to flick my nose with his finger. “Thinking about yesteryear?”

I scrunch my nose and lean back. I hate when he does that, but he never listens. We return to awkward silence, and I wonder if it’s always been this way between us. Hard.

Our appetizers arrive, and Marco immediately digs into the boneless wings before the waiter even places down the napkins and utensils.

“I mean, when I first met you, you didn’t even know what major you wanted.”

“It was a waste of thousands if you ask me,” he says, mouth half-full of chicken. “That school is insanely expensive. Some of us don’t have Godwin-type money, you know.”

Normally, I can brush off his good-natured jokes and answer with a quip of my own, but something about it this time stings. Using Daddy’s money to parade around like a princess, Braken’s voice rings in my mind. It’s louder than the other patrons and the pop music playing over the speakers. I shiver, running my hands up and down my jacket-covered arms to ward off goosebumps. I worked hard to get my degrees, even if my father paid the hefty university tuition for it.

“Yeah,” I say, reaching out for the last piece of chicken before Marco can finish it off. He’s already halfway through the cheesy nachos by the time I’m done. “But still, it’s nice to see you achieve your dream and all.”

Especially since mine died a long time ago. All that studying, and for what? To be a socialite who hopped around parties in Seattle, spending Daddy’s money and waiting for the day I’d get to use my multi-thousand-dollar degree. Now it is even more useless because I am doomed to become nothing more than Braken Frost’s trophy wife. At least Jescie and Sable aren’t getting married right away. They still have a little time. To Papa, we aren’t anything more than cattle he can sell off whenever he feels like it.

All for the family.

“Yeah, it’s kinda crazy. I’m getting so much more responsibility and all that. But everything’s been on hold since… you know.”

Since the day my life changed. Since my brother was taken from me. Since our family lost everything.

“I know,” I answer quietly, setting down my fork. “Actually, I was wondering about that.”

Marco narrows his eyes at me, and I pause. For some reason, he looks angry, and I can’t place why. Is asking about my brother’s case really a crime? I blink and the look is gone, replaced with a lopsided grin. Did I just imagine that?

“I don’t know anything, Fiora,” he says. “I’m as clueless as you.”

“No one’s talking about it?” I lean forward across the table. “It’s a pretty big deal. It was all over the news.”

“The Feds are doing their own investigation.” Marco throws an arm over the back of his chair. It’s an awkwardly casual position for discussing my brother’s murder. “I’m Seattle police, so I have to take a step back.”

“Can’t you offer help? Have both sides work together?”

“And step on the wrong toes?” His question is incredulous, and so is his laughter. “Listen, I’m high up, but the big brass won’t hear of it. It could get us in trouble.”

I think of Braken, who, despite changing the subject, never refuted me when I asked about leads. That means he’s looking into the murder himself and bypassing the useless Seattle cops. The information should soothe me, but if anything, I feel colder. Marco is the one who should be helping me, but it’s a literal stranger who knows how to work my pussy until I’m⁠—

I reach out for my beer and take a few large gulps to ward off that thought. But it’s too late—my body flushes hot at the memory of Braken’s hand between my legs. I need to focus.

“Whoa, calm down there, Fiora,” Marco chuckles. “You want another?”

I shake my head, setting down my nearly empty drink and dabbing at my lips.

“Our main dishes should be here soon⁠—”

“No one’s come to talk to me,” I press on. I won’t let him change the subject. “It’s almost been a week. Shouldn’t I be interviewed or something?”

“We’re still on this?” Marco sighs like I’m some annoying student, and he’s my teacher. “Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Because I⁠—”

I slam my mouth shut. Guilt eats away at me, clawing against my throat and threatening to burst. I haven’t told anyone, and I don’t want it to come spilling out over bad beer and greasy burgers.

“It’s my brother,” I finish instead. “Of course I’m hung up on it. You’d be the same if it was your family. It’s only been a week, Marco.”

Marco’s face softens slightly, and he taps his fingers against the table. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, but I don’t know what they’re doing over there, so maybe you should call them yourself.”

“Can’t you call them for me?” I question. “Say you’re curious how the investigation is going. If they interviewed anyone or checked any footage. Stuff like that. Not as a cop, but as a friend.”

“No,” Marco answers so harshly that my heart drops. “Look, I can’t lose my job over this. You know how hard I’ve been working for the promotion. One wrong move, and I fuck up my entire career, Fiora. Is that what you want for me?”

Of course not. I know how hard Marco has worked for both the police and as a double agent for my father. He’s gone out of his way to get information or find shipments or traitors whenever my father asks. So why can’t he do the same for me just this once?

“You said if I need anything to let you know.”

Marco’s face falls. “Fiora.”

“Don’t ‘Fiora’ me,” I snap in annoyance, throwing my thick napkin onto the table. “So, was that just a lie to make me feel better?”

“I want to help you, I really do, but I can’t. Not everyone has the weight of the Godwin name and money behind them to get what they want, you know. You sound like a spoiled rich girl upset she isn’t getting her way.”

The barb feels like knives cutting my skin over and over. I thought Marco saw me as more than a Godwin, but maybe I was mistaken. Marco knows he fucked up, because his mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish out of water before he sighs.

“Look, that came out wrong. What I mean is⁠—”

“Buffalo burger with seasoned fries,” our waiter cuts in, dropping the plate onto the table in front of us. “And a cheeseburger, hold the pickles, extra mustard.”

I stare at Marco the entire time the waiter serves our food, speechless for the first time in our seven-year friendship. Between Braken’s dismissal and edging earlier and Marco’s refusal to even make a simple phone call, I’m one more stupid roadblock from exploding.

Once the waiter is gone, I grab my handbag, retrieve my wallet, and toss down a few twenties on the table before Marco can stop me. He reaches for my hand, but I pull away, and throw my bag’s strap over my shoulder.

Marco stands when I do. “Hey, wait, Fiora, come on. Sit back down. I’m sorry.”

“Give whatever is left over to the waiter as a tip.” I flash him a sarcastic smile. “What’s a few burgers to the Godwins, after all? I’m spoiled, rich, and”—I glare at him one last time—“go fuck yourself, Marco.”

I leave Marco behind as he calls my name over the ruckus. I don’t turn around and step out onto the street. I sense eyes on me, but I ignore it. Even in my heels, I’m close enough to walk, and the cool breeze feels good on my flushed skin.

Braken won’t tell me anything. Marco won’t help me. Papa certainly won’t offer any information, even if I begged. Then who can I go to? Jescie? Sable? Would they know anything? Doubtful.

Maybe I can retrace Mason’s steps. Meet with his friends to get his schedule before the Mariners game. I whip out my phone and scroll through my contacts to find just the person I’m looking for and press call.

As the phone rings, I make a vow to myself.

No matter what anyone says, I won’t stop hunting for the truth.

Chapter 18

Fiora

When my phone rings, my gut already knows who it is before I even pick up.

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days,” Storee says the moment I answer. “What the hell is going on?”

“I—”

“Locke told me you are a Godwin,” she interrupts. “Care to explain? And he said your brother was killed, and that you’re engaged to Braken Frost! I had to hear all this from him!”

I knew this day was coming, and I hated that I had to lie to my new best friend. My only best friend.

“I’ve been meaning to call to explain, but everything has been happening so fast and⁠—”

“Why did you feel you had to hide the fact that you’re a Godwin from me?”

“I wanted to get away from everything. Life. I wanted to become someone new and— I don’t know. I shouldn’t have lied. I’m sorry. I really am. It’s hard to explain just how suffocating my life was and why I so desperately wanted to get away.”

There’s a pause followed by a heavy sigh. “I shouldn’t be making this about me,” she says softly. “I’m sorry. You just lost your brother. How are you?”

“Numb, I think. My brother and I weren’t exactly close, but… my life feels like I’m churning in the sea right now.”

“Braken? Marriage?” she asks.

“Yeah… welcome to my life as a Godwin. See why I wanted to run away and be someone else?”

“You have to marry someone you don’t even know? This sounds so archaic.”

“It is. But now that I’m the oldest…” I release a sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “My father is a man that… I wish I could describe this better. It’s just a mess.”

“I like Braken. He’s a great guy and one of Locke’s best friends,” she offers. “I guess it could be worse.”

Flashbacks of him hunting me in the forest, fucking me in ways I didn’t know was possible, come flooding in. “Yeah, I suppose it could be worse.”

“But…” she begins. “You do realize who Braken is right? I mean… he owns The Vault. Runs The Hunt.”

“Yeah, I know.”

After an awkward silence, she adds, “And you know he is in some sort of relationship agreement with Merrick and Soren?”

“What do you mean? They are all together?” This is news to me. I’ve seen them all three together at the club, but I didn’t know he was with them.

“No, not like that. Merrick and Soren are an item, or as much of an item as the two of them are willing to go. But the three of them have always shared and had group sex and stuff. I don’t know all the details, but I know that Braken is about as far from vanilla as one could get.”

“I’m not exactly vanilla either.”

She chuckles. “I suppose none of us are, but I just wanted to give you a heads up that things may be a tad messy with the three of them.”

“I appreciate that, but one thing about being a Godwin is that everything about us is messy. So Braken and I have that in common.”

“Why Heathens Hollow?” she asks. “You could go anywhere.”

“I didn’t want to use my father’s money or credit cards. He’d track me down. So, I needed to go someplace I could afford. Paris or London would be out of my price range.”

“You worked for the Godwins,” she adds. “All the catering jobs we did. I don’t understand how they didn’t know it was you.”

“My father and Troy Godwin don’t speak unless they have to. My cousins and I don’t know each other.”

It was nice to be able to view them from afar and not have the weight of being the hated Godwin cousin or niece hang over me. With the number of Godwin family members, most people assume that we are all close. They possibly picture huge holiday parties and massive birthday celebrations. The reality is very different… and very sad. Unity is not a word that goes with Godwin.

“Storee,” I say then pause, searching for the right words. “I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m not usually a liar, and it’s a trait in people I normally detest. I just… I was trying to reinvent myself.”

“I get it. I do. I know our friendship is real.”

“It is. I swear that,” I say. “I don’t have friends other than you. I’d hate to lose that.”

“You want me to come to Seattle and be with you?” she asks.

“I’m actually here in the cottage. Braken suggested⁠—”

“Oh, then I’ll come over.”

I glance out the window and notice the rain. “Stay put. A storm is happening, and I don’t want Locke to stress out with you being caught in it. I’m fine. We can catch up tomorrow.” I notice something else while staring outside. I blink a few times because, surely, they wouldn’t stand out in a storm…

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. We’ll catch up more, I promise,” I say before we say our goodbyes and hang up.

I reach for my rain jacket and boots then head toward the two madmen getting drenched.

Chapter 19

Merrick

“It’s raining,” Fiora says, “so you idiots can stand out here and get soaked, or you can come inside.”

Soren and I exchange a glance before we follow her into the warmth of her cozy cottage. The interior is rather quaint, with an attractive, rustic charm to it. Fiora disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with a pair of towels, which she tosses at us without a word. We take them gratefully.

“So why does Braken have so much control over you? You both have literally stalked my every move. Don’t you have lives?” she asks.

Soren is the first to break the silence. With a half-hearted smirk, he wipes his drenched hair with the towel, his gaze never leaving Fiora. “You don’t see either one of us complaining. Maybe we like stalking your every move.”

Fiora crosses her arms over her chest, leaning against the door frame as she considers Soren’s words. The kitchen light casts a soft glow around her, sending shadows dancing across her face. Her expression is guarded yet curious, a strange mixture that intrigues me.

“I can’t tell if you’re flirting or not,” she says. “You do know I’m engaged to marry your buddy, right?”

“He shares,” I answer with a shrug.

Soren snorts at my comment, shaking his head as he continues drying himself. His eyes flicker to mine, a silent understanding passing between us. Fiora’s eyebrows furrow at my words, her gaze narrowing on me.

“Shares?” Her voice is incredulous. “Do you really expect me to believe that Braken is okay with sharing his fiancée?”

I chuckle at the genuine shock written all over her face. She’s so delightfully innocent in her outrage, it only makes me want to tease her even more.

“Well, we do have an... unconventional relationship,” Soren says lightly. “Besides, I thought you didn’t want this marriage?”

Fiora opens her mouth to respond but hesitates, as if considering her next words carefully. Her gaze drifts between the both of us before she sighs in resignation and turns away.

“I don’t,” she concedes, sounding weary, “but that doesn’t mean I want to be caught up in your twisted games either.”

The room falls into silence for a moment before Soren chuckles softly, breaking the tension.

“Well,” he says nonchalantly, “I guess we’ll just have to convince you otherwise then.”

Fiora doesn’t respond, but the slight blush creeping onto her cheeks tells me that maybe, just maybe, she’s intrigued, despite herself. As she leaves the room with a dismissive wave over her shoulder, I share a knowing look with Soren.

This isn’t going to be as straightforward as Braken led us to believe. In fact, this could be the most challenging job we’ve ever had—as simple as it seems on the surface. Something about Fiora captivates us, something more than just her fiery rebellion and her refusal to fit into the roles our society imposes on her. She’s alluringly stubborn and fiercely independent, qualities that are simultaneously both refreshing and challenging.

“Maybe we should just leave her for Braken. Maybe stick to monogamy for those two?” I say as the sounds of Fiora’s movements echo from the other room.

He shrugs, leaning against a wooden beam, the corner of his mouth curling up in a smirk. “And what? Ruin our fun? I think not.”

I roll my eyes at him. He has always been the more reckless one, but I can’t really disagree with him. This is different, exciting even. After all the casual sexual encounters we’ve had, a little something with more flavor like Fiora might be exactly what we need.

“We can’t afford to get distracted and forget why we’re here, Soren. We have to keep her safe. Braken would have our heads if we let anything happen to her,” I offer to counter his cavalier attitude.

Soren waves me off, settling comfortably into one of Fiora’s plush armchairs.

“It’s just a babysitting job. We could do this in our sleep,” he murmurs, confidence coloring his tone. “And, besides, do you really think I’m going to lose focus?” He raises an eyebrow at me, a playful glint in his eyes suggesting just the opposite. “I’m extremely focused when I play.”

“Ha-ha,” I say, with a roll of the eyes.

“It’s your turn for patrol tonight. Do you want me to stay?” Soren breaks into my thoughts. His question is quiet but certain, his gaze still on Fiora who’s now bustling around, tidying up before bed. “I don’t mind, but I was thinking I’d go check in on The Vault. We’ve been neglecting our business lately. And Locke and Storee just got back from their getaway, so I know Locke is busy with his other business dealings.”

“I got it. You’re right. You should go make an appearance and make sure there aren’t any fires that need putting out.”

Soren nods thoughtfully, pushing himself out of the plush armchair with a sigh. He stretches lazily, like a cat who’s just woken from a long nap. “Braken should be by in a couple of hours. I’ll see you at home. We both need some rest.”

I smirk. “Yeah, rest.”

After gathering his belongings, Soren strides toward the door, pausing for a moment to glance at Fiora, who’s still busying herself around the room. “Don’t drive him too crazy,” he warns her with a teasing wink.

Fiora rolls her eyes at him but doesn’t respond, and moments later the front door closes behind him.

“Well,” I say, throwing a sidelong glance at Fiora, who has now stopped her tidying and is observing me pointedly. “Now it’s just you and me.” I look toward the door. “I don’t have to stay inside. I can go back outside and⁠—”

“Stay. It’s storming out there.” She swallows. “And I could use the company.”

Regardless of her stubborn facade, she’s got a soft side; it’s just buried deep under layers of pride and self-reliance. Something about seeing that vulnerability softens my resolve.

“All right.” I move toward one of the empty chairs. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stay inside for a while.”

The storm outside rages on, the wind howling and lashing at the windows like some ferocious beast waiting to break in. But inside, there’s just calmness and quiet. Fiora doesn’t seem as tense as before. Maybe because she’s no longer outnumbered.

A loud crackle of thunder reverberates through the room, making Fiora jump. I can’t resist chuckling. She shoots me a glare that would have anyone else cowering in fear, but all it does is amuse me more.

“Heathens Hollow can have some crazy storms,” I say.

“What is it with you two?” she asks, her gaze meeting mine with curiosity and something else—intrigue maybe? “Why are you so intent on protecting me?”

“We told you. Braken⁠—”

Fiora rolls her eyes at that. “I know that,” she says with a hint of exasperation as she crosses her arms over her chest. “But why did you agree?”

I pause for a moment, taken aback by her question. It’s not something Soren or I have ever considered. Braken’s orders were pretty straightforward, and we’d simply followed them without question. But there’s something in Fiora’s gaze, an earnest need for answers I can’t very well ignore.

“Well”—I lean back against the armchair, my eyes never leaving her face—“it’s a fair question.”

Her reaction to my answer—a small lift of her eyebrows, as if she hasn’t expected me to entertain her curiosity—makes me smile. I shrug casually, even though my heart is pounding. “You’re valuable to him,” I say, “and that makes you valuable to us.”

She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously. “That’s it? No ulterior motives?”

“Ulterior motives?” I feign shock, but a grin is tugging at the corner of my mouth. “We are men of honor, Fiora.”

She rolls her eyes at that, but the ghost of a smile is evident on her face. It softens her features, makes her look less like the hardened woman she portrays herself to be and more... human.

“There might be one more reason,” I add, after a moment.

She raises an eyebrow at me, intrigue sparking in her eyes. “And what would that be?”

I lean forward in the chair, my elbows resting on my knees as I meet her gaze head-on. “Well, maybe we want a taste before you become a taken woman.”

Her surprised laugh echoes around the room just as another strike of thunder shakes the house. Neither of us jumps this time. We’re too engrossed in our conversation for that.

“Why does that matter? You both said that Braken shares.” She leans back in her chair and studies me before adding, “I think you want to fuck me.”

I nod. “Observant.”

“But I also think you want to fuck Braken,” she adds.

I raise an eyebrow at that, taken aback by her bold statement. “That’s quite a leap.” I lean back in my chair again, running a hand through my hair. “But why do you say so?”

She smiles at me, a slow coy expression that hides something deeper. “Am I wrong?”

My heart gives a flutter at her words, but I maintain my nonchalant facade. “Soren and I like to fuck everyone.”

Her eyes widen slightly at my response, a soft chuckle escaping her lips as she shakes her head. “Good to know.” There’s a teasing glint in her eyes now, and that same spark of intrigue from before.

The woman is full of surprises.

Just when I think she’s going to ask another provocative question, a sudden gust of wind shakes the house again, followed by another deafening roll of thunder. Her momentary amusement fades, replaced by that same vulnerability from before. The power flickers, causing the lights to dim before returning to their usual glow.

Fiora pulls her legs up onto her chair, wrapping her arms around them as she continues to watch me. There’s a haunted look in her eyes now, as if the storm outside has brought back memories she would rather forget.

“What is it?” My voice is barely audible over the violent winds.

She doesn’t respond at first, just bites her lip and looks away. When she speaks, her words are soft and distant. “I used to be scared of storms. I used to be scared of everything. Until I got old enough to know what it meant to be a Godwin. I was invincible. I was a God among men. Nothing could touch me. And then… my brother was killed. Reality sunk in. We’re all mortal. Even Godwins.”

That’s when I notice the slight shudder of her shoulders, the quick intake of breath every time a particularly loud clap of thunder echoes through the house. In that moment, my resolve hardens once more. This time not because of an order from Braken or because there’s something in it for me, but because Fiora needs me.

“You’re safe here.” I rise from my chair and move toward hers.

She doesn’t pull away when I kneel in front of her, reaching out to gently take hold of her hand. Her eyes meet mine then—deep, dark pools filled with uncertainty and fear hidden underneath a front as violent as the storm outside.

I thread my fingers through hers, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You have nothing to fear while you’re with us. Braken is working hard on finding out who killed your brother, and when he does— We will make them pay,” I finish, my voice a low, dangerous growl.

The surety of my words stirs a small change in her expression. Is it hope? Relief? I can’t quite tell.

Her fingers tighten around mine, and she gives me a small nod, acknowledging my promise. For the first time since we’ve met, I swear I detect the faintest flicker of trust.

I let the silence fill the room, allowing her to process my words and let the soothing rhythm of the rain against the window do its work. There’s a strange intimacy in this moment, and I’m instantly uncomfortable.

Soren and I aren’t exclusive. Far from it. We fuck, but we don’t get intimate with people. That’s the unspoken rule we have. And sitting here, touching Fiora is… well… it’s borderline breaking a rule.

Without warning, a loud crash comes from somewhere in the house, followed by an eerie whistling as wind finds its way through an unsecured window or door. Fiora jumps at the noise, her eyes widening as she looks at me—a silent plea for reassurance.

“I’ll handle it,” I say. “Why don’t you go on to bed. Braken will be here in a few hours. I’ll wait for him on the couch.”

Fiora nods, her gaze lingering on me a moment longer before she rises slowly, releasing my hand.

“Goodnight,” she says.

“Goodnight,” I repeat when I see that the back door has blown open but there is no damage from the storm.

Left alone, I take a deep breath, trying to shake the peculiar warmth still lingering from our exchange. This is not what I signed up for. We are tasked to protect the Godwin heir, not to console or offer comfort. Maybe fuck her. Maybe.

But not to do anything beyond that.

Chapter 20

Merrick

“Did you fuck her?” Soren asks as I enter the apartment.

I freeze. “Why would you ask that?”

He shrugs, not the slightest bit bothered. “Because why not? You were both alone and⁠—”

“We don’t fuck people alone,” I snap, not appreciating his nonchalance. “It’s our rule. You know this. We only fuck each other alone.”

Reading my anger, he approaches with hands raised in a placating gesture. “Hey, I was just asking.” His voice is smooth and comforting in a way only he can do. “There’s no need to get worked up.”

I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. “Everything about Fiora and Braken, and then us… it’s not sitting well with me.”

“Are you saying you’re jealous?” Soren’s eyebrows arch, his eyes glinting in curiosity.

“I’m not sure,” I admit.

“We always said we’d talk about it if and when something like this happened. We need to figure out how to navigate through this.”

I look up at him, swallowing hard. His face is unreadable, his eyes level with mine. “I don’t want to like her, but I do. I also don’t want Braken to like her, and we both know he more than likes her.”

Soren heads over to the kitchen counter where he quietly pours himself a tumbler of whiskey. The amber liquid shimmers in the dim light of our apartment as he raises the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip. He traces the rim thoughtfully with his fingers, his gaze never leaving mine. “Things are changing. Our dynamic is changing, and that’s what’s eating at you.”

“We already lost Locke to Storee, and now I think we are going to lose Braken to Fiora,” I murmur.

“Braken is marrying Fiora, but he said it himself that we aren’t changing. It’s still the three of us when we want to play.”

“Four of us now,” I correct.

“More the merrier,” he says with a devilish grin.

He puts down his glass and moves to me, closing the gap until he’s standing inches away. The leather sofa pressed against my thighs is the only thing buffering me from his imposing presence. Soren lifts a hand to brush away a wayward strand of my hair; the simple gesture calms me.

“You’re overthinking again, love,” he whispers. The gentle tug at the end of his sentence reminds me of how much I crave his reassurance. He’s always been my rock, the one who straightens my thoughts and fears into a semblance of order.

“I can’t help it.” I let out a resigned sigh. His hand brushing down my arm slowly is comforting in a way that nothing else is. “You guys are the only family I have left.”

His eyes bore into mine, as if trying to understand my turmoil. “And none of us are going anywhere. Yes, Braken is getting married. But Braken was never ours. Not truly. Not like you and me. You and I are the couple, he was the add-on. And I mean that with love. So what if he wants to get married. Look at this as a good thing. A fun thing.” He leans forward to kiss me. “But I’m not going anywhere. He’s staying the same, as he’s always been. And all of us will figure out the new dynamic.”

“And what if Fiora doesn’t want you and me around them?” I’m voicing my deepest fear.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Soren’s gaze is steady. “But do you really think Braken would let that happen?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “He’s already pussy whipped. You can see it.”

Soren gives a short laugh at that, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear. “Ah, the classic scenario. Man meets woman, man falls head over heels, man forgets about the other two men he likes to watch fuck.” His tone is teasing, but the gentle squeeze he gives my shoulder grounds me. “But remember,” he continues in a more serious tone, “Braken chose to be with us before Fiora came into the picture. That won’t just go away.”

Soren reaches out to pull me closer into his chest. His heart beats steadily under my cheek, the rhythm soothing and familiar.

“And besides,” Soren adds after a few moments of shared silence, “I thought you liked Fiora?”

“I do,” I admit reluctantly, “but not more than I like us,” I add quickly.

Soren leans in and presses a soft kiss onto my forehead while rubbing soothing circles on my back—a silent reassurance that despite everything changing around us, our bond remains unbroken.

“I’ll tell you something I do know without a doubt,” he says.

I pull back and look into his eyes.

“I want you down on your knees sucking my cock,” he says with a lift of his lip.

Soren has always had a way of cutting through my worries with crude humor or unexpected bouts of tenderness. He’s always been good at knowing what I need, even when I don’t.

His fingers trail under my chin, lifting my gaze up to meet his again. His eyes are darker now, filled with desire that mirrors my own. He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear as he whispers, “Now.”

With an unspoken understanding, I drop to my knees in front of him. There’s something almost ceremonial about it, like a knight pledging his loyalty to a king. Pure submission to his dominance.

I smirk up at him, taking my sweet time unzipping his fly to reveal his arousal. His body tenses when I run my tongue along the length of him, his grip on my hair tightening.

“Don’t tease,” he growls, though there’s no real anger behind his words. “Put that cock in your mouth.”

I flash him a challenging look before obliging, wrapping my lips around him. He groans in pleasure, his fingers threading through my hair, as I set to work pleasuring him. The taste of him is both familiar and intoxicating, reminding me that though Braken and Fiora are an uncertainty in our lives, Soren is my stability. He’s my constant. Always.

Chapter 21

Braken

Warrants are so easy to fake.

All it took was a call to a contact in the Seattle Police Department and I had a document in my hands that would fool the best of detectives. Based on the conversation I had with him, the Seattle Police aren’t doing shit. You would think the murder of a Godwin’s son would spur them into action, but if anything, it’s been the opposite. There’ve been no follow-ups, no interviews, and no questioning. Hell, even the tabloids and news have stopped talking about it. Mason Godwin’s death was a blip on the radar.

That means figuring this shit out is up to me.

I walk back into T-Mobile Park with a woman named Louisa at my side. She’s been working for us for a few years now, ever since she needed money to pay off her nursing school loans. Having a nurse on call has been a godsend to mend little nicks and cuts that are a part of the job. It gets tough to explain how you got stabbed in the side during a scuffle without someone prodding for the truth. Louisa shuts up and does what she’s told, no questions asked.

That’s why I’ve chosen her to help me get that damn footage.

Matt’s in the security office, and by a stroke of luck, he’s alone when Louisa and I stroll in. Good. The fewer people who know we’re here, the better.

It’s a gamble coming here in person, but a risk I’m willing to take. I could have asked Louisa to pull tapes and bring them to me, but that would lead to a digital footprint I don’t want to mess with. It’s much easier to have Louisa flash her fake badge, give a false name, and walk out of here as just another part of a boring day.

For a nurse, Louisa is also a good actress. She has the fake Seattle PD badge on her belt and digs into her wallet to pull out the fake ID I handed her this morning.

“Sarah Collins,” she says gruffly and pulls out the warrant but doesn’t unfold it. “Got that warrant you asked for.”

I expect Matt to ask questions, but he doesn’t. He’s too busy ogling Louisa and the way her shirt clings to her curves beneath her beige blazer. Louisa is an attractive woman who looks like she stepped right out of a telenovela. Even though she looks basic with her policewoman facade, anyone would be lucky to be at her side. I’m sure her girlfriend thinks the same thing.

“All right, yeah. Um, for the fifteenth, right? You need a copy?” Matt swivels in his computer chair and begins clicking on the computer to find the right date. “I heard Janet gave you a signed baseball, Braken. Man, I’m so jealous. Those things go for a pretty penny to scalpers and Ebay sellers. Me? I’d give it to my dad. He’s got a Mariners shrine in his office. My mom hates it, though⁠—”

“The video?” I cut him off. If he keeps talking, we’re never going to get out of here. “Sorry, we’re a bit busy.”

“Oh, right, right. Let me see… the afternoon of the fifteenth… yep, here it is.”

Matt clicks a file, and it pulls up the surveillance footage from the afternoon of the murder.

It’s strange to be watching the tape knowing that it ends in tragedy. So many people go about their lives without a clue about what happens in a few minutes. There are a ton of cars in the parking lot, but the one I care about is the Rolls-Royce Phantom parked just at the bottom of the video.

Mason doesn’t take long to appear. He saunters into frame a few seconds later, on the phone with someone before he ends the call. Maybe whoever was on the other end has answers. Too bad getting phone records is much harder than faking a warrant and that his phone burnt to a crisp with his body. Maybe Fiora will have an idea.

He steps into the driver’s seat and pulls out of the lot, making it to the exit. Just as he’s about to turn left out of the lot, his car explodes. It’s so bright it makes my head jerk back in surprise. Usually, car explosions have a telltale sign before it happens, some kind of leak or smoke as a precursor. This was so sudden and so quick it’s shocking.

Even more shocking is another vehicle that appears next to Mason’s burning car and squeals out of the parking lot, veering off to the right before disappearing out of frame.

What the fuck?

“Go back,” I demand.

Matt goes back a few seconds, and I watch Mason’s car burst into flames one more time. This time, I’m not focused on the explosion but on the car that appears right after. Everyone else visible on the screen is screaming and panicking, with some people already on the phone calling for help. The car that appears is extremely out of place and immediately raises my suspicions.

It could be a coincidence, but I highly doubt it. Either the perp is extremely stupid and detonated the bomb manually, or they stuck around to see their work in action.

I tell Matt to pause the video just as the strange car starts to turn right. The video is decently grainy and a bit far away, but with a few clicks back and forth for better freeze frames. I’m able to make out a license plate number. I just need to hope that the number is in the system and my contact to find the owner.

“Thank you. We’ll be in touch,” Louisa says, stuffing the warrant back into the pocket of her blazer now that it’s not needed anymore.

“Yeah, any time. And, uh, I mean any time. If you’re free, I can get really sweet tickets for cheap. We get a discount.”

“We’re not,” I answer for Louisa with a forced smile, “but I do want to thank you for your help.”

Matt holds up his hands and grins. “Not necessary. Just following the law, you know?”

“Of course, but if you give me your address, I can send you that ball. As a gift.”

“The signed ball?” He lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “No way. You’re serious?”

I nod. “Since you were a big help today.”

Matt eyes me from his computer chair. Unlike the previous meeting, this threat doesn’t go over his head. I keep the smile on my face, arms at my sides so he doesn’t see me as menacing. I can’t bring my guns into the stadium, but I don’t need a gun to take on this scrawny kid. There are plenty of ways to keep him quiet. This one is just the easiest.

He considers my bribe for a second before he nods, turning back to his desk to scribble his address down on a Post-it note. I tuck the note into the inner pocket of my jacket, give him a knowing nod, and leave the truth behind.

I send Louisa off with my thanks and a large stack of bills, then head back to where Jasper parked the car. He stands in front of my car talking on the phone. As soon as he sees me, he ends the call and bows his head.

“She left Heathens Hollow three hours ago, sir.”

I exhale through my nose. Fiora. Ever since she showed up at my club, I’ve had eyes on her every move. I don’t trust a few things about this situation. One, that she’s meeting with another man beneath my nose, especially a damn cop. Two, that she isn’t the next target. We don’t know whether this perp will stop at Mason. It’s been a week, but they could be plotting their next move.

And three, that she isn’t getting finger fucked by someone who isn’t me.

It’s only been two days, but I can’t stop thinking about how her cunt felt around my fingers. How she tried to mask her moans and gasps but couldn’t. How she shook beneath my touch, walls practically sucking in my fingers.

And how absolutely turned on and pissed off she was when I denied her orgasms. The fire in her gaze replays in my mind every time I close my eyes and brings a smirk to my face.

“Where is she going?” I ask.

“It seems she’s meeting a friend for lunch at Seattle Brewing Company.”

I hum. That’s a small brewery close to my office building. What’s she doing in Seattle? She won’t willing leave Heathens Hollow unless there is a reason, so it begs the question: who the hell is she meeting?

“Take me there.” My tone is much rougher than intended.

Jasper bows his head and opens the rear door for me so I can slip in. As soon as we’re on the way to the restaurant, I pull out my phone and flick to my files. The background check on Marco Pollozo arrived last night but I was too busy going over permits for my new hotel that I didn’t get to check. Now that I have the time, I pull up the file on Fiora’s so-called “trustworthy” cop.

Beady dark eyes stare back at me as soon as I open it. He’s wearing a Seattle PD outfit and badge, but there’s no light in his eyes or smile on his face. He’s a completely normal man. Millions of guys who look like him are on the street. By the time I flick away from his picture, I’ve already forgotten him. He’s lived a completely innocent life. Two parents, one sister. Went to University of Washington for a semester a few years ago before he dropped out and became a police officer. A late bloomer, because he turns thirty next year. That’s three years older than Fiora.

He has no criminal history and no marks on his record. He’s just a normal cop without a blemish to his name. But the cop part is the problem. Sure, all-powerful families have police under their thumbs and in their pockets. Cops are the ones who turn a blind eye to the more wicked side of business, and in Mason’s case, ignore straight murder altogether. They are mostly points of contact and not close friends with a Godwin daughter. Marco’s dark eyes flash through my mind. Something is fishy. Everyone has their own motivations. Their own secrets. Until I get to the bottom of it, Fiora won’t be seeing him.

I go through Marco’s background check one more time for anything I missed before Jasper clears his throat.

“We’re here, sir. But…”

At his hesitation, I look out the tinted window. Fiora sits at a table on the outside patio, the unusually warm autumn sun shining down on her face. She’s in a long burgundy sweater dress, her black hair pulled over her left shoulder, diamonds dangling from her ears. The man sitting across from her looks more like a frat boy than a friend, and there is even a golden retriever sitting at his feet. But then the man leans over and pats Fiora’s hand, and heat rises to my neck.

When is she going to learn?

I open the back door and step out onto the street, eyes directly on the back of Fiora’s head.

It looks like she needs another lesson.

Chapter 22

Fiora

I didn’t want it to come to this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m pretty sure I got away without my two babysitters noticing, but as I scan the area, I’m still not sure. I didn’t see them on the ferry, but knowing The Vault’s owners, I wouldn’t put it past them to hop on a helicopter and be here waiting for me.

Bobby sits across from me at the restaurant, eying me like a piece of juicy meat. Although he just turned twenty-seven, he still acts like he’s back in college. Popped collars, chains, douchey sunglasses that went out of style years ago. I asked him to meet two days ago, and he brushed me off because “the yacht won’t sail itself, Fiora.”

But Bobby is Mason’s best friend—or should I say was his best friend? It’s still so hard to think of him in the past tense. He should be right here with us, blocking Bobby’s lame attempts at flirting with me and getting us drunk on mimosas so we can head to a weekday afternoon game. Instead, I’m forced to listen to Bobby recount the tales of “babes on the boat” before I can even ask about anything else.

At least he brought his cute dog, Millie.

I scratch at the golden retriever’s ears as Bobby talks about perfect weather for skinny dipping and how one-piece swimsuits are totally a crime against humanity. The only reason he has those “babes on the boat” is thanks to his rich father. Bobby is a trust fund baby through and through, coasting off the fame and money of his father’s tech business. He used those funds to link up with the most prominent people in the city, including my brother.

When there’s a break in Bobby’s story, I finally get my chance to cut in.

“It looks like you’re doing okay.” I smile. “Thanks for coming to the funeral.”

“How could I miss it?” He leans back in his iron chair. “I had to give Mase my proper goodbyes.”

My heart twists at the word ‘goodbye.’ I don’t want to send Mason off anywhere. I don’t want to say goodbye. Grief comes in cyclical waves. Sometimes I can act like nothing is wrong. Other days, memories of my brother choke me and make it hard to eat or speak without crying. Today, determination keeps the tears at bay. If anyone has information about Mason’s personal life, it will be Bobby.

“Didn’t you meet him for dinner a few nights before… you know?” I press.

Bobby picks at his teeth with his pinky nail. “Yeah, we went to that new place down in Pioneer Square. What was the name? Anyway. We didn’t stay long; we went out on the town after. Man, Mase always had mad game. Two girls on his arms and another on deck.”

I frown. I’m not very interested in my dead brother’s pussy power. All I want to know is if he had any enemies or someone on his tail before he died.

“Do you know if anyone had it out for him?” I grab my mimosa.

“Nah, no one could stay mad at Mason.” Bobby pauses for a second before he shrugs. “Though there was one guy who kept bugging him.”

“Who?”

“I dunno. He didn’t tell me. Just kept cursing about some asshole who wouldn’t leave him alone.”

Ugh. What am I supposed to do with that information? It’s practically useless. Any douche in Seattle could fit the bill.

My phone rings, and for a split second, my brain betrays me and thinks, what if it’s Braken? I freeze with the mimosa glass to my lips. Why am I thinking of him? The last time I saw him, he was two knuckles deep in my pussy. My body buzzed for a whole day until I finally gave in and finished myself off, but it wasn’t even close to the same. I can still feel his body on mine and the press of his hard cock on my thigh. Add “leaves a woman hanging” to the list of reasons I can’t stand Braken Frost.

But it isn’t Braken, it’s Marco. Again. He’s called me multiple times over the past two days, and I haven’t answered. I’m sure he’s panicking. This is the first time I’ve outright ignored his attempts at reconciliation after a fight. I don’t want to talk to him right now.

The call ends, but I get a message a few seconds later. The preview shows “When are you going to call…” before it cuts off for being too long.

I finish my mimosa with a large, annoyed swig and set it down. Just as I do, Bobby leans over and places his hand over mine.

“I hope you’re okay,” he says. It’s the first time we’ve talked about me all day, and the softness in his tone is almost touching. “I know you and Mason weren’t exactly close, but he was still your brother.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” I answer, because how am I supposed to respond to someone calling you out for your dysfunctional family relationships? “I’m doing all right.”

“If not, you’re always welcome aboard my boat. A party might just be what you need. Captain Jack Morgan and I are always here for you. In fact⁠—”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Why do I expect him to be sincere? He just wants to get in the pants of his ex-best friend’s little sister. Gross. I turn to flag down the waitress for another much-needed mimosa when I lock eyes with the man of the hour.

Braken Frost.

What the hell is he doing here? His body reads casual as he strolls over, but his gaze is anything but. I can tell he’s pissed off before he even opens his mouth. It’s written all over his stupidly handsome face and in the way his broad shoulders are slightly too tense beneath his black jacket.

Goddamnit. Just what I need, another annoying man to deal with.

“Fiora,” he calls in lieu of a greeting.

My body flushes hot. The last time he said my name, he was telling me to beg for him. The worst part is I almost did. But my pride is much stronger than my horniness. Even if the Frosts had nothing to do with Mason’s death, Braken is keeping me in the dark and forcing me to find other avenues of information.

Based on his scowl, Braken is not too happy about my sleuthing.

I snatch back my hand from Bobby and wipe it on the bottom of my sweater dress.

“Braken. What a pleasant surprise.” My clipped tone makes it clear it’s in fact the opposite.

He comes to a stop directly in front of our table, cutting off any path for me to escape.

“I could say the same, but I’m not sure it would be the truth,” Braken drawls. Which part is a lie, the pleasantness or the surprise? I don’t have time to ask. He turns to Bobby and offers out a hand. “Braken Frost. Fiora’s fiancé.”

“Fiancé?” Bobby’s eyebrows go as high as his forehead. “Why didn’t you say anything, Fiora?”

I lift my left hand, showing off Braken’s ring, the diamonds shimmering in the afternoon sun. Bobby whistles and finally returns Braken’s handshake.

“Well, I’ll be. I’m Bobby Thompson, nice to meet you.”

“He’s Mason’s best friend,” I add quickly so Braken doesn’t get the wrong idea. A streak of cold lightning crashes in my ribs at the thought. Why do I care what Braken thinks of my relationships? “We were exchanging stories.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your reminiscing,” Braken says politely, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat and wiping the hand that Bobby shook. “But Fiora and I have an engagement.”

“Sorry,” I breathe with an apologetic smile to Bobby. “Wedding stuff, you know.”

I don’t want to follow Braken back to his car and I definitely don’t want to slip into the backseat with him, but I’ll do anything to finally get away from Bobby and his boats. Plus, I don’t want to make a scene, and something about Braken tells me that though he’s being polite now… he won’t hesitate to speak his mind and act however he chooses, regardless of who is watching.

“The helicopter is waiting,” he says, the lack of emotion in his tone making me nervous. “We’re going back to Heathens Hollow.”

Chapter 23

Fiora

Being back at The Vault makes my body flush.

Although I ask to be taken back to my own place, Braken merely tells his driver and bodyguard Jasper to drop us off outside the old bank building. He hasn’t spoken a word the entire car and helicopter ride, and still hasn’t said anything, even as he inputs his door code. It’s still the same code from a few days ago. I don’t have time to think about what it means, as Braken turns to me and orders me inside.

I slip inside without responding, shrug off my jacket and toss it on the couch like before. The evidence of our tryst is gone. The desk is once again pristine and practically sparkling. Braken throws his coat over the back of his sofa as he heads toward the bar in the left corner of the room, leaving me standing there like a fool.

He pours himself a glass of whiskey on the rocks and only acknowledges me after taking a sip. “Care for a drink?”

“I’d rather not.” My body is already hot, and I don’t need another problem blocking my good judgment.

Braken sets the glass down then calmly asks, “Then care to tell me what the fuck you’re doing, Fiora?”

The way he glowers at me makes me swallow. He plays with a few rings on his fingers, giving me a good look at the tattooed sleeves. Dark ink covers from his wrists to his shirt cuffs, a mix of roses and thorns that stands out against his tan skin. His brown hair now falls over his eyes, shadowing them even more. For a second, I forget what he asked, too lost in how fucking hot he is.

I come back to my senses. Who cares if he’s hot when he’s a dick?

“I’m finding answers.” I cross my arms over my chest and return the angry stare. “Since no one wants to include me.”

“Have you ever thought you’re not included because you might be next?”

The question is chilling. My body goes stiff as Braken takes another swig of his drink. Of course, it’s crossed my mind. Hits against crime families aren’t usually one and done. I could be the next one on the chopping block, here one day and gone the next, just like Mason.

“That doesn’t mean I’m just going to sit here while the murderer is still out there.”

“And if they get you beforehand?” Braken pushes off the bar and begins stalking around its top, eyeing me like he’s a lion, and I’m his prey. “You think you can fight off someone if they come for your throat? If they stab you from behind? If they get a jump on you and snap your neck? What about if they shoot you and leave you to bleed out on the streets of Seattle?”

He stops right in front of me, voice low and body dangerously close. “This isn’t a fucking game, Fiora.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I shoot back. My quiet response trembles with the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “I know clearly since I was supposed to⁠—”

I stop. Braken eyes me curiously but gives me time to finish my sentence. I don’t. Braken doesn’t need to know about the guilt that keeps me up at night.

Instead, I say, “I bet you think you’re in charge of me.”

A shit-eating grin blooms on his face. Braken takes another step closer until our bodies are barely touching. Each slight movement makes my skin tingle.

“I am. Who was in charge of your body last time, princess? Who made you drip all over my desk? Tell me, did you go home and fuck yourself thinking of me? Did you make yourself come and scream my name?”

His husky questions go straight to my core and make it throb. Heat races up my spine, but I hold back my answer by biting my lip. He’s right, but I won’t let him know it.

Two can play that game.

“What about you?” I shoot back with a smirk, reaching out to grab his dick through his pants. He’s already half-hard. I don’t know what’s come over me, but I relish the power that surges through my veins. “I wasn’t the only one having fun last time, and it looks like you’re enjoying the show now.”

Braken’s mask slips slightly when I squeeze his cock to emphasize my point. My adrenaline spikes into something hotter, deeper, and more sinister. I want to make him feel the exact same way I did two days ago. I want to push his limits and show him he doesn’t own me completely.

Before he can hit me with some smartass answer, I push him back by the hips. He takes a step back until his ass hits the top of his couch. I hold his gaze as I unbuckle his leather belt, then undo the button and drag down the zipper of his slacks. His cock is fully hard now and twitches when I drag a knuckle over his boxer briefs. A little wet spot on the black fabric makes me smile, because who has the power now?

Braken lifts his hips so I can tug down his pants to his knees, but I don’t do the same with his boxers just yet. His skin is covered in the same sprawling tattoos, and I trace the patterns up his thigh with featherlight touches that make his cock twitch again. Wordlessly, I get down on my knees between his legs, ready to give him a taste of his own medicine.

At the first drag of my tongue up his covered shaft, Braken exhales. With the second, he grunts. I do it again and again, until his boxers are damp with my saliva and his precum, and my mouth waters to get a taste.

I inhale as soon as his boxers are down, and I get to see his cock for the first time. This is no longer The Hunt. It’s not dark. He’s not masked. And he’s not aggressively fucking me in the dirt.

Fuck. I knew he was big, but I didn’t know it would look so damn good. Braken’s dick is long and decently girthy with a hook that makes my pussy throb.

No, I need to focus. This is about revenge, not pleasure. I need to make him weak, damnit, even if my body screams to hop on his cock and make us both happy.

I circle my tongue around the tip, and Braken’s exhalation is harsh and makes my core throb. I take the tip of his dick into my mouth and suck a few times until the saltiness of his precum lands on my tongue. The taste makes me moan, bobbing as I take his full length into my mouth. Apparently, that’s not enough for Braken, because his hand rests on the back of my head and forces me down to take even more of him.

Fuck, I should be mad, but it’s so hot.

What I can’t take in my mouth, I instead wrap my hand around the base of his throbbing cock, squeezing as I lick and suck. I let out a small whine every time he thrusts his hips and fills my mouth. Thank God I don’t have a gag reflex, so I take all his length.

But I won’t let him control this—this is his punishment for last time.

I pop off his wet cock and shift down to take his balls into my mouth, my hand pumping in tandem. Braken must not expect it because he curses under his breath, fingers digging harder into my hair. I squeeze his cock in response, dragging my thumb over his slit and smearing his cum. I move my hand faster, sucking on his hard sacks with a smirk. He watches my every move like a hawk, shadowed and full of dark want. It takes everything in me not to rip off my panties and give all to him before I can change my mind.

Instead, I withdraw my hand and take his dick into my mouth again, speeding up my pace. I should tease and make him beg for it, but my mind is hazy with overwhelming lust. My body sings every time he grunts, or whenever his hips jerk into my mouth. I savor the taste of his early cum, nails digging into his thighs to keep them spread as I work him.

His cock throbs in my mouth and spurs me on. My mind screams at me to remember why I started sucking his dick in the first place, but it’s drowned out with a harsh growl when I hollow my cheeks. It gives me a sick thrill to know I’m the one making him lose it. I’m the one in charge. I’m the one making his thighs flex, his dick twitch, and his eyes narrow with pure lust. I move even faster, the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat with each bob and suck.

“Fuck,” is all the warning he gives before he’s pulling at my hair so hard I whine.

Braken explodes hot and white in my mouth, his fingers tightening in my hair and holding me close.

Fuck! I wasn’t supposed to let him finish. I meant to regain a measure of control and blue ball him to high heaven. But glancing up at him, maybe I did get back some control. His forehead is sweaty, hair sticking to his skin, and his chest heaves. He inhales sharply when I swallow his cum and open my mouth, showing him there’s nothing left.

“Good boy,” I say and stand.

My knees are weak, and my jaw hurts, but I don’t give a shit because Braken’s expression is priceless. He looks absolutely gobsmacked. Maybe it’s because I just sucked the life out of him, or maybe I’m the first woman to call him a good boy. Either way, I drink it in, so I’ll never forget it.

I leave Braken in his office, pants still down and flaccid cock still wet. Braken might think he owns me, but I’m not going to sit back and let him lead. He may be the boss, but I’m the boss’s future wife, and I have plenty more ways left to remind him.

Chapter 24

Braken

It only takes three days to get a call from the hacker I keep under my employ. I know him as Nexxor, and he does anything I ask for the right price.

“Easy work you brought me this time. Car belongs to some old lady named Martha Viscant. She lives in Tacoma. I’ll send the address.”

“Payment will be at the usual spot,” I answer and hang up.

With a few extra calls, the payment for his services sits in a black duffel bag in the kitchen of a boat tied to the Marina Yacht Harbor. Cash makes it easy to pay off my contacts. I don’t put my name to anything that can be linked back to me. The boat I use for handoffs is under someone else’s name. I have a burner phone where Nexxor sends his information when needed. If someone demands to meet me in person, I send Jasper instead. Even the smartest men fall because of a digital slip-up. I won’t be one of them.

As soon as Nexxor sends the address, I order Jasper to grab the car and take us there.

I highly doubt a little old lady in Tacoma is the culprit. The Godwins are technically in the shipping business, and I can’t see them screwing over some grandma enough to make her bomb the eldest son. That goes double for their real dealings. It could be a grandkid who borrowed the car, or even some car thief who took it for a murder ride. Hopefully, Martha has answers or else I’m at a dead end.

A short while later, we pull up at a little rundown house on the outskirts of the city. The grass outside is overgrown, and the stairs leading up to the front door are cracked and lopsided. The front window is open, and a TV is blaring an afternoon court show as I approach the entrance. There’s no car in the driveway nor is there a garage, so that means someone probably stole it. Shit. If that’s the case, it will be hard to track down.

I knock on the door, but it’s drowned out by the loud TV. I knock three times before someone calls, “What do you want?”

“Old lady” is putting it nicely. Martha is just over half my height, bent over a cane that matches her frail legs. She squints at me from behind huge glasses as she opens the squeaky screen door. A hearing aid in her left ear is barely visible between her tightly permed white hair.

“Who are you?” she demands.

I put on my best businessman smile. “My name’s Braken, and I’m about the⁠—”

“I ain’t selling the house, so get off my porch.”

“I’m actually here about the car.”

“Already sold it, so scram.”

Martha’s about to slam the door in my face when I grab it and keep it open. She stares up at me half-pissed, half-curious, and lets go of the metal handle.

“You seem like a straight-forward person, so I’ll cut to the chase. Your car was used in the murder of my brother-in-law.”

Martha’s eyes go wide before she narrows them again in suspicion. “What’s that got to do with me? You a cop?”

“Not quite.” I open the screen door further and keep it propped open with my side, fishing for the burner phone in my coat pocket. “I just want to know who you sold it to.”

“It ain’t none of my business.”

“The car is still in your name, which would make it your business if I called the cops here, wouldn’t it?” I pull the phone from my pocket and shake it to prove my point. “The choice is yours.”

Martha hesitates for a moment before she grumbles at me, motioning into the house with her head.

Her house reminds me of my grandmother’s, with pictures and knick-knacks everywhere and years of history piled up in every corner of the room. The house smells like a mix of potpourri and moth balls. A cabinet full of old china stands next to a dining room table covered in newspapers, old books, and mail.

Martha leads me to the living room and starts rifling around an old oak desk as she rants.

“I told my granddaughter you can’t trust no one from the internet, but she insisted Craigslist was safe. Made the post for me and all. And now I’m on the hook for murder? No, sir, I ain’t never been in trouble with the law in my life. Except for that one time in ’77 when I got booked for weed, but that was all on the coppers.”

Martha grabs a huge notebook that looks like it’s seen better days, barely held together with rubber bands and tape. I’m sure it’ll fall apart as soon as she slams it on top of the desk.

“Wild life you live,” I muse as she rifles through the papers.

She hums before continuing to look through her papers. “You can’t trust young people these days. I told that boy to transfer it out of my name before using it. I signed the papers and everything. I’m not allowed to drive anymore, doctor’s orders. Bad eyesight and all that. It’s why I sold the car in the first place. He gave me cash, but I made a receipt anyway. That’s just smart business.”

These days, it’s more like concrete evidence to put your ass in jail, but I keep my mouth shut.

Martha pulls out a piece of paper from somewhere in the middle of her journal and hands it over. It’s a handwritten receipt for the sale of an old 2002 Toyota, from Martha Viscant to a guy named James Porter. It’s a basic-as-hell name and could be an alias, but the same name is signed on the bottom of the paper on a dotted line. It’s dated for four days before Mason’s death and the license plate matches the one from the footage.

I fold up the receipt and tuck it into my coat pocket. “You have my thanks, Martha.”

“You’re lucky I had that. My grandkids always say I keep too much stuff. They want me to throw it all out. Probably don’t want to clean up after I die. They can fight over this house. Sell it to some rich guy, I don’t care, but no one’s takin’ it before I pass. No sirree.”

Before Martha can start another tirade against her ungrateful family, I take my leave. Jasper opens the door for me, and I slip into the backseat and out the burner phone. I text Nexxor the name of the chimp who bought the old car and offer double for a rush job.

His answer comes almost immediately.

Triple since it’s a basic ass name. Might take me a few days.

I agree to his terms but demand the information before the end of Monday. I don’t wait for him to answer before turning off the phone and placing it in my pocket.

“Where to, sir?” Jasper glances at me from the rear-view mirror.

That’s a good question. My work is done, paperwork and permits for my new hotel are finally settled, and it’s Friday night. Another hunt is happening tonight, although I feel my hunting days are over now that I’m an engaged man. A drink doesn’t sound too bad, however, but it’s even better with someone to share it with.

Fiora. She’s the first person who pops into my head. I haven’t been able to forget the way she looked with my cock in her mouth, or the annoyance I felt when she called me a good boy and walked out.

Good boy.

Is she fucking kidding? I have half a mind to bend her over my knee and make her regret those words. She would look perfect with my handprint on her cherry-red ass cheeks crying out my name for mercy.

“Do Merrick and Soren still have eyes on Fiora?” I question.

“No, sir. They informed me that she was heading to Seattle for an event, but we’ve kept tabs on her the entire trip. She arrived at your West Seattle hotel about ten minutes ago.”

My eyebrows lift. The only thing happening at that hotel is a charity auction for children’s shelters in the area. Fiora doesn’t strike me as the charitable type. A 10,000-a-month allowance from Daddy is a drop in the bucket to a woman like her, and there isn’t a penny left over to spare. So, what the hell is she doing at an auction of all places?

“Is she alone?” I ask.

“Yes, sir,” Jasper responds. “It is the only place she’s gone all day.”

I tap my fingers against the door’s armrest. My best guess is that she’s defying my wishes again and meeting someone related to Mason. It’s clear she will never listen to me and will keep researching on her own. But I don’t want her involved with my investigation. As soon as I find out who James Porter is, there won’t be a James Porter to speak of. I’ll rip his teeth out one by one until I get the information I need, then feed him to the seals in the Sound. Not exactly the place for a lady, even if Fiora has enough spitfire to rival the sun.

The only thing I can do is go and drag her out of there my damn self.

“Take me there.”

Chapter 25

Fiora

Usually, I don’t attend two auctions a month, but this time, I’ll make an exception since the last one was so rudely interrupted.

As a socialite, I’m expected to make appearances. I field calls, messages, and DMs all the time inviting me to some opening or event. Or at least I did before I tried to escape and hide in Heathens Hollow.

As the daughter of a famous family, my presence is an endorsement and a bump in sales. I don’t bother with half of them. It’s usually some scam product, detox tea, or crappy musician who calls me a useless bitch when I decline.

Auctions are my favorite events.

There are usually no paparazzi or people waiting to post my picture on social media. The only photos being taken are the ones from the organizers themselves, which I easily avoid as I enter the ballroom where the auction is being held. At these auctions, I’m not Fiora Godwin. I’m an anonymous donor, offering my family’s dirty money to people who need it much more than I do.

Too bad today’s event is at Braken’s West Seattle hotel.

It’s like I can’t escape him. His stupid fucking smirk flashes through my mind far too often. He’s never even texted me, but I check my phone anyway, expecting a message demanding I come meet him. At the very least, I deserve a courtesy call for swallowing his cum. Instead, it’s been radio silence, and it pisses me off that he hasn’t bothered to reach out. And then I’m even more pissed that I even care.

Then to top it off, I see his sexy-ass boyfriends wherever I look. They don’t even try to hide that they are watching me now. Their eyes bore into me, smirks hint at promises I’m not sure I’m ready to face, and all I can focus on is how they told me that the three of them share.

So, if I’m with Braken—married to this man—what does that mean with the two of them?

And the craziest thing of all is that I’m not disgusted by the idea. I should be, but then again, I just spent time willingly running barefoot through the woods with a masked man hunting me down with the intent to fuck me. It’s fair to say I may have lost my mind a long time ago.

Thank God my ticket gets me a free glass of champagne. I hand my ticket to the doorwoman, accept my glass, and take a large swig as I enter the ballroom. This auction isn’t as fancy as the ones I usually attend, but it’s still decent enough. Small tables covered in white tablecloths are littered around the room. One large table has free hors d’oeuvres, but refills of drinks cost a small donation I will gladly give.

At the front of the ballroom are today’s auction items. From the back of the room, I can see a few trinkets, signed photographs, and even a new artist’s tablet. The main prize is a blown-up picture of a certificate to this hotel, including the VIP suite, a massage, and all-you-can-eat room service for two.

Did Braken offer that himself, I think before I can stop myself. I huff and finish my champagne in two gulps. I don’t want to think of him right now, if ever.

“Fiora!” someone calls.

I turn to see Levanta Dali approaching with a large smile. I return the smile and give her a hug when she gets close. Her father owns a frozen food company that delivers all over the world using Papa’s shipping, so we run in the same circles. I wouldn’t call her a friend, but we’re friendly. It’s not like I can call many people close friends. The real Godwin business makes sure of that.

Not counting my new friendship with Storee, Marco is the only friend I have, but I’m still not happy with him. I’ve only sent him a simple text that I need time. That doesn’t stop him from calling and texting with annoying frequency. I have his number on silent for the night. I don’t want his persistence ruining my evening.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I say when we pull apart. “And looking extremely sexy while you’re at it.”

Levanta is wearing a floor-length satin dress, the gold complementing her deep bronze skin. The front of the dress dips to show off a ton of cleavage, but she’s got the rack to pull it off. She’s got an Angelina Jolie look going on, the slit in the skirt displaying her long, thick legs.

“You think?” She bats her gold-colored eyes a few times in jest. “I can say the same for you. Damn girl. Are you here to auction yourself off?”

I laugh. “If only the buyers were so lucky.”

“Are you going to bid on anything?” Levanta leans against an empty table and flags down a passing waiter for two drinks. She hands one to me with a smile. “I opened a tab so drink as much as you want. It’s my dad’s card, so don’t feel bad about it.”

I thank her and take a sip. “Is your father here?”

“No, I’m here in his name. He donated the signed picture of Barry Manilow. I told him no one was going to bid on it because none of these people will know who he is, but he insisted he’s still popular enough. Couldn’t he get a picture of Taylor Swift or something?”

A Barry Manilow picture might just be the perfect cover for my donation later tonight.

“My father loves Barry Manilow, actually. It must be an old man thing.”

Levanta snorts, setting down her glass on the white tablecloth. “What about you? Are you here instead of Braken Frost?”

I freeze halfway into setting down my drink. Levanta smirks like she knows. But how does she? I haven’t told anyone. I didn’t want our engagement to become headline news while Mason’s killer is still out there. Once the murder has been solved, the tabloids can run wild with conspiracy theories about us. Until then, I’ve kept my mouth shut and my ring off in places I might be photographed.

I resist the urge to touch the necklace I have the ring chained to, hidden behind the top of my dress. Levanta watches me like a hawk for any reaction.

“Who said that?” I ask carefully and finish setting down my drink.

“For as much as my father rags on the women in our family for being gossips, he gossips more than all of us combined.”

Damnit. Papa must have said something to Levanta’s father during a business call. I’m surprised he hasn’t called me to push the marriage forward faster, though he must be too busy trying to figure shit out after his only son died.

Levanta’s smirk grows bigger as she leans forward and whispers, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

It sure isn’t. As soon as Levanta walks out of here, she’ll be calling every person she knows with the news. I need to squash this before it gets too big.

“Thanks. We’ve been waiting to announce since… you know.”

Sorry for using your death for my gain, Mason. At least that works. Levanta’s smirk softens into a smile, and she pats my velvet-covered upper arm.

“I’m sorry about your brother. I totally get it.”

“Levanta!” one of the photographers hollers from near the front door. Thank God. “Can we get a picture with you for the website?”

“Of course. Be right there.” She squeezes my arm one more time before letting go. “Have another drink on me. Celebrate! It won’t be long before you’re an old maiden.”

I playfully roll my eyes and push at her arm as she goes. If anyone’s an old maiden, it’s her. She’s been married since she was eighteen and has four kids, yet somehow still looks like a supermodel. I can only hope the same when Braken and I⁠—

Nope. I chug my drink and let the alcohol wash away that thought. I don’t need to be thinking about Braken and his large cock in my mouth, or about how his fingers feels so good inside me, or how he looks like he belongs on a damn runway and smells like he robbed a cologne store. Or how there are two other men waiting for their turn⁠—

“Stop it, Fiora,” I chide myself under my breath. Another drink sounds great right now.

Only when I turn, there’s a champagne flute right in my face, and the person I least expect to see is holding it.

Marco.

Shock must be written on my face because he awkwardly laughs, handing out the drink toward me.

“Hey. Looks like you could use this.”

I hesitate to take it, but when he tilts it in my direction again, I oblige. What is he even doing here?

And more importantly, how did he know I was here?

“I texted you that I was coming.” He stuffs his hand into the pocket of his slacks. “Did you not get it?”

“I haven’t had the chance to look at my phone,” I lie easily and take a drink. “Why are you here?”

“Making an appearance as head member of the PD. You know, big, important stuff.” Marco winks at me and gestures toward his suit. “Do I look the part?”

He’s wearing a fitted navy suit and leather shoes, his silver Tissot shining in the light. I bought him all those things for his birthday last year. I had the suit and shoes imported from an Italian shop owned by a family friend and personally fitted at my father’s tailor. The watch was his Christmas gift. I wanted to give him something more expensive, but he flat out denied my first suggestion of a TAG watch.

Normally, my heart would skip a beat seeing him so dressed up. His dark hair is slicked back, he’s clean-shaven, and his police badge hangs from a clip on his front pocket. He looks like he stepped out of those yearly “Sexy Policeman” calendars.

And yet I feel… nothing.

I ignore this by taking another sip of my champagne.

“You dress up nicely.” I set down the alcohol. “I didn’t know the police sponsored such events.”

“They usually don’t, but it’ll look good on our record. Plus, knowing you’d be here is an added bonus.”

Marco is all smiles, but a strange feeling blooms in my stomach that I can’t place. The champagne isn’t sitting right, and I tap my fingers against the top of the table next to my flute. Something itches at my brain and tells me to go, but I force it away. It’s just Marco. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had time to really process our fight, and I’m not ready to talk it out so publicly. But still… my intuition is on high alert, which means something isn’t right.

“How did you know I would be here?” I question slowly.

Marco pauses mid-drink and blinks at me in confusion. “You mentioned it.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.” He sets down his drink next to mine and leans his elbow on the table. “When we met for lunch. You know, before the fight.”

I try to think back on what we talked about before Mason’s death came up, but I draw a blank. The only thing I remember is how he shot me down so quickly and told me I’m only as good as my name. These auctions are my little secret to keep. Nobody knows about them in detail, not even Marco. I wouldn’t have told him… right? But maybe I did. Ever since Mason’s death, I’ve been so focused on solving it that my mind has been fuzzy with other matters.

“Did I?” I ask more to myself than him.

Marco answers anyway with a toothy grin. “You did, right before our fight.” He doesn’t give me time to think back before he sighs. “Listen, Fiora, I know you’ve been avoiding me. I mean, I’d avoid me, too. What I said was stupid. I was a jerk. Can you forgive me?”

I hesitate, glancing to my left toward the front doors where Levanta keeps talking with the photographer. No one is close enough to hear our conversation, but I’m on edge anyway. I don’t want to discuss this here, but I feel trapped between the way Marco half-blocks a possible exit and his apologetic smile. I haven’t thought about what I want to say to him.

“You know I don’t think that about you,” Marco continues in my silence. He taps the bottom of my chin with a finger and smiles. “So, could you cut me a break? I miss you. I miss us. We haven’t fought like this before, and I’m going crazy here. I have your favorite florist on speed dial and a truck load of Ferrero Rocher waiting as an apology.”

“Ferrero Rocher isn’t my favorite,” I answer with a frown. He should know that.

“Yeah, but you can’t get Venchi Chocolates in town.” Marco leans in. “But I’ll fly to Italy and buy you some if it means you’ll forgive me.”

My head is too jumbled to formulate a response. I want to say that he could buy Venchi Chocolates at a little shop in Seattle, but the chocolates aren’t the issue here. Tonight was supposed to be a fun, relaxing night for me to get away from all my stress, and one of the worst cases just strolled up to hand me a drink. I turn away from the door to stare at the items for auction across the room. I’m so close to snapping but need to keep appearances. I don’t want “Fiora Godwin Blows Up and Ruins Charity Event!” all over the internet tomorrow.

“I need time,” I respond softly.

Marco clicks his tongue, his usual sign of annoyance, but doesn’t press the matter.

“I get it. Like I said, I was a jerk. But can we forget all that just for tonight? Let me be your date for the auction. I promise it’ll be a good time.”

That’s the opposite of giving me time, I want to scream but suck it down with the rest of my champagne. God, I need another. Or maybe I should cut myself off. I think I’ve had too much to drink, because the air suddenly smells woodsy and rich. Braken’s cologne. Why is he on my mind now? Fuck, this is all so annoying.

“Marco—”

“She doesn’t need you to be her date.”

My head immediately snaps back. I wasn’t imagining Braken’s cologne after all. The man stands behind us, impeccable in his fitted black Italian suit. His angular face is even sharper with the way he clenches his jaw, and his eyes are sharp and full of malice as he stares Marco down—literally.

Then he turns to me and smirks. “Because I’m her date.”

Chapter 26

Braken

I didn’t expect much based on the photo in his background check, but Marco is even less intimidating in person.

This is the asshole I’ve been worried about?

He looks like he’s playing dress-up with his daddy’s clothes. His suit and shoes are Italian made, no doubt a gift from Fiora herself, but he doesn’t fill them out. Marco comes up to my Adam’s apple, and his glare is weaker than a chihuahua. All bark and no bite. I’ve dealt with old Italian grannies with more spunk than him, and it’s only been three minutes.

Fiora stares at me, her pretty brown eyes wide in shock. She looks absolutely ravishing in her green velvet dress, a little window in the fabric giving a perfect view of her cleavage. The buttoned collar and her high ponytail only accent how long her neck is.

Perfect for me to mark my territory since she’s not wearing her fucking ring.

I turn back to Marco and offer a hand. “Braken Frost.”

He takes it. Even his grip is weak. “Marco Pollozo.”

“I know.” I drop his hand like a hot potato. “I didn’t expect a police officer to come to such an event. Did Fiora invite you?”

The anger that burned in my veins when I saw them together flares when Marco smirks. As soon as I set foot in my building’s ballroom and saw them standing together, I slapped double the ticket price into the doorwoman’s hand and stalked over.

Fiora meeting this bastard is one thing, but to do it in my own damn hotel? They have balls.

“Yes,” Marco answers at the same time Fiora says, “No.”

I regard her with a side-eye. She doesn’t look pleased at his answer, her lips pursing in annoyance. So even Fiora doesn’t want him here.

Time to take out the trash.

“I hope you enjoy tonight’s festivities,” I say to Marco with a bow of my head. “You probably won’t be able to make it to many others.”

“I’m sure I can,” Marco shoots back, slamming the rest of his champagne and sliding the glass away. It tips over and falls against the white tablecloth. “The world is free after all.”

“Yes, but money isn’t, and my hotel is a bit out of your price range.”

“Braken,” Fiora scolds like my mother.

I turn to her with a shrug. “I’m being welcoming to your guest, Fiora.” Then I turn back to Marco and fish into the inner pocket of my coat for my wallet. “Since you’re here, you might as well drink on my behalf.” I pull a business card out of it and hand it out to him. “Though I’m afraid a room is far out of your price range. There’s a Motel 6 down the street though. I hear they leave the light on for you.”

Fury lights up Marco’s face, and he clenches his jaw so hard he might start shaking like a rabid dog. He snatches the card from my hand and crumples it in an angry fist. Fiora mutters under her breath but it’s covered up by Marco’s exaggerated movements as he pulls out a similar business card.

“Since you’re so good at sharing,” he mocks.

I glance down at the business card in his hand. Marco Pollozo, Assistant Chief of the Seattle Police Department, marcopolo@seattlepdgov.org. It doesn’t offer me any information I didn’t already know from his background check. I don’t reach out to take it.

“I’m very selective on my sharing,” I respond coolly, looking at Fiora. “And she is busy for the rest of the night, so why don’t you run along now?”

“Are you going to let him treat me like this, Fiora?” Marco demands, gripping his business card so hard the paper looks about to rip in half. “Really?”

Fiora hesitates, glancing from me to Marco and back again before sighing.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready, Marco. We need to talk, but this isn’t the place.”

“I see how it is.” He slams his business card on the table before laughing, the sound full of venom. “I guess I’ll wait for your call, Fiora.”

Marco stalks off like a bull in a china shop. He barely avoids the event’s photographers and a few attendants as he disappears outside. As soon as he’s gone, Fiora exhales loudly and turns to me.

“Did you enjoy your dickwagging contest?”

“It ended a bit prematurely,” I answer with a grin. Her eyes only narrow at my joke. I lean over her to pick up Marco’s business card, look at it for another second, then throw it away to be forgotten. “I was doing you a favor, you know. You looked like you didn’t want him around.”

“I don’t want you around either,” she hisses before moving to go. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Is that how you’re going to treat your fiancé?” I ask.

She pauses mid-step and turns back to me. Her gaze is calculating, bouncing from my hands and back up again, but she doesn’t say anything. I lean against the table with an elbow and a smirk. “Or have you forgotten who you belong to, since you refuse to wear your goddamn ring?”

Fiora fishes into the window of fabric on her chest. From the right side of her bra, she pulls out the engagement ring on a thin chain. Her eyes don’t leave mine as she tucks it back and hides it away like it’s some dirty secret.

“Tonight, I’m not Fiora Godwin, so don’t bother calling me that name.”

I don’t follow her at first. She stalks over to the auction goods, where she keeps her back to me as she studies them. What the hell does she mean she’s not Fiora Godwin? Who else would she be? Curiosity keeps me rooted to that table, watching her linger around all the prizes. She is particularly interested in and even signs her name on two of them: a huge gift basket of spa items that is full of pink fuzzy shit and a signed picture of Barry Manilow. I don’t take her for the type to enjoy ballads. But then again, I didn’t take her as the type to come to a charity auction either. There’s a reason she insists on being here and pretends to be something she’s not.

“The auction will close in five minutes! Everyone, place your last bids to win your prizes!” one of the hosts announces.

This causes a tidal wave of people running toward the back of the room. Most auctions I’ve attended are the silent type with constant bids, but this one seems more low-key and basic, with people signing up via a list. The crowd murmurs excitedly as they place their last bids, but people glance at the list for the gift bag and picture and pointedly walk away. Has Fiora placed a bid on those? And how much did she put down?

Once the five minutes are up, the ballroom’s lights dim, and the doorwoman takes the stage. She’s changed into a sequined dress reminiscent of a disco ball, a pair of huge aviators on her face. She pulls them off and throws them toward the crowd with a loud cheer like she’s pumping up a concert and not a group full of rich donors.

“Welcome everyone and thank you for your generous donations to the Kids Crisis Center! I would go on and say how much this all means to us, but I’m sure you’re all here for one thing.”

My one thing stands by a table at the front and politely laughs at the lame joke.

“Well, let’s get to it! First prize—a beautiful 1950s candelabra—goes to…”

I keep staring at Fiora, sure she’ll turn to me, but she doesn’t. She claps when the winners of their bids take the stage with a cheer, show off their loot, and leave the stage.

“And the third prize—an amazing bath set—goes to…”

Fine. I’ve been more than accommodating to her bullshit so far, but I’ve had about enough. She’s not going to come into my damn hotel and ignore me like I’m that prick Marco.

I start to head toward her when the host laughs.

“Braken Frost!”

I pause mid step and turn toward her with a confused look. The fuck? I sure as hell didn’t bid on anything here, let alone a bath set. The entire thing looks like a unicorn vomited into a wicker basket and wrapped it in a pretty pastel-pink bow. The only thing I can see clearly is a large, fuzzy pink robe and matching slippers.

“Everyone, please give a hand for Mr. Frost! He graciously let us use his hotel for this event and has bought this item for $5,000!”

I sure the fuck did not. I’m about to shout that someone is playing a practical joke when the slightest movement catches my eye. Fiora is laughing behind a champagne flute, and when she notices me staring, she wiggles her fingers in a small wave.

That little minx.

If she wants to play games, we can play games.

I fix my tie, take the stage, and accept the spa basket. It contains a few bath bombs, some facemasks, a bar of dollar store soap, and those little candles that can float on water. If Fiora thinks she’s embarrassed me, she has another think coming.

“Can I say a few words?” I ask the host with a smile. “Only a few seconds.”

“Of course, of course!”

She holds the microphone up to my lips to let me speak. I turn to the small crowd, making sure to smile for the photographer who takes my picture.

“I’m sure it looks strange for me to be standing here with a robe that’s about two sizes too small. It is my color, though.” I wait for the chuckles to subside before I continue. “But this gift is actually for the future Mrs. Frost. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

A few gasps rise from the crowd with murmurs of excitement. The cameras keep flashing as I head off stage holding the godforsaken gift basket. Fiora stares at me dumbfounded as I pass her table, but I don’t look her way. I haven’t said her name, and I haven’t even looked at her. If she plays her cards right, no one will know it’s her. But if she messes up, her little secret is out of her own accord.

I return to the empty table where I stood previously and set down the gift basket. Fiora glares at me from across the room, but this time, I’m the one ignoring her. This game is fun for me. I love seeing the fire in her eyes, especially when it’s directed at me. The last time it happened, my dick was in her mouth, and I certainly won’t mind it happening again.

“And now for the signed Barry Manilow picture, coming in at a whopping $5,000! Congratulations Amy Fitzgerald!”

No one moves or comes up to claim their prize. That’s the item Fiora wrote down for, but she doesn’t move a muscle. Who the hell is Amy Fitzgerald?

“Amy Fitzgerald, are you here?”

I fish the burner phone out of my pocket and shoot off a text to Nexxor. Look up Amy Fitzgerald while you’re at it. Give me the info in five minutes.

You’re lucky I’m at my computer, the answer comes soon after.

“Maybe Amy is too busy listening to Barry Manilow songs in her car to claim her prize?” the host jokes. “You know, my dad took me to one of his shows in Vegas when I was younger, and…”

The phone buzzes in my hand as the host rambles about her memories.

No registered Amy Fitzgerald in Seattle. Did find the name on a few websites though. Here you go. Add it to the tab.

I open the attachment Nexxor sent. It’s a small list of dates and charities spanning back two years. Every charity is different, and every one is worth $10,000.

“I guess we’ll move on if Amy isn’t coming!”

Amy won’t be coming because Amy doesn’t fucking exist. It’s Fiora Godwin. What was it her dad said at our engagement dinner?

As soon as you’re married, her $10,000-a-month allowance is your problem. That’s a lot of shopping trips.

Except I’ve never seen her decked out in excessive jewelry. Her outfits are expensive but not $10,000-a-month expensive. She looks hot as fuck, but her hair and nails aren’t done ever, and she doesn’t carry name brand purses. But even if she did, that’s a drop in the bucket for 120,000-fucking-dollars a year. Not to mention that she practically lives in poverty in Heathens Hollow and was working catering gigs to pay for it. I questioned where all the monthly money was going…

Is she really giving away that entire stack of cash to charity every damn month? And why doesn’t she do it under her own name?

I weave through the clapping crowd until I’m at Fiora’s side.

“I underestimated you.” I have gotten her completely wrong. I assumed she was a spoiled rich girl. Just another Godwin, and yet…

She glances up at me, cheeks rosy with drink and eyes shimmering with curiosity.

“You know, when you swallowed my cum, you called me a good boy, but I could say the same about you.”

Her cheeks only grow more red. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re the good girl, Fiora Godwin. Or should I call you Amy Fitzgerald? Maybe even Mother Teresa?”

The crowd keeps clapping as we stare at each other, each refusing to be the one to break.

Chapter 27

Fiora

God-fucking-damnit.

Why couldn’t Braken have left it alone? Why did he have to show up now and wreck my privacy? Why does he have to look at me like I’m a present to unwrap whenever he feels like it?

Thank God the crowd bustles and talks now that the prizes have all been handed out. This is when the party will start, but I’m ready to head home and say forget it. Between Braken’s “Mrs.” bath earlier and my secret being out, I’m not up to celebrating.

I need air. Thanks to my annoyance, I’ve had one glass of champagne too many. I’m not even close to drunk, but my big mouth will get away with me if I stay here.

“I’m going for a walk,” I say simply and brush past Braken.

His heeled dress shoes follow much too close behind me. “Trying to run away?”

His voice holds so much sarcasm and humor it makes me spin to face him. Though I’m wearing heels, he’s a few inches taller than me. He’s so close even a slightly deep breath will allow my tits to brush against his chest. My body warms at the proximity, reminders of his office, and the woods during The Hunt floating through my mind. I want to be mad at him, but it’s so hard when he looks like he’s about to devour me.

And to my dismay, I realize I’d willingly let him.

Blame it on the years of pent-up sexual frustration. If a man lays a hand on me and Papa finds out? He’d be dead before his dick gets hard. Being a Godwin means there are restrictions. For all the glitz and glamor, if I step out of line, my father won’t hold back.

Now I wonder if the punishments are up to Braken. My skin prickles at what kind of punishments he could offer. If they’re anything like the fingering on his desk, maybe marriage won’t be so bad.

Wait, what the hell am I thinking?

“Where I go isn’t any of your business,” I shoot back.

“I already told you it is. You are my business, Fiora.”

The velvet in his voice makes me shiver. I draw a deep breath and shake my head. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

“The one in the back hallway is barely used. Less cameras and people.”

I turn and eye him. What’s he playing at? Braken is sporting his usual smirk, but it’s strangely amused instead of annoyed.

“Since you don’t want people to know about you or our engagement.”

I cross my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes at him. “These events are about charity. Not gossip.”

Braken shrugs his right shoulder. “I didn’t realize our engagement was gossip, Fiora. Are you embarrassed to announce it?”

“You are infuriating,” I hiss and push past him to head to the bathroom.

I need to clear my head. It’s swimming with way too many thoughts to keep up with, but the loudest one screams to shut him up in any way possible. Maybe a method that includes my lips on his or his cock inside me.

That’s it. I’ve had too much to drink. I need to lay off the champagne.

I smile as I pass through the excited crowd. Levanta wiggles her eyebrows at me as I pass, trying and failing to discreetly point behind me. Ugh, is Braken following me? I wish he wouldn’t. It’s his fault I’m such a disaster tonight.

The hotel hallway is cool on my flushed cheeks, but my body still feels so warm. It’s completely dead back here. The bathrooms are further up, and I can hear workers in a kitchen at the end of the hallway. Other than that, I’m alone.

Except for Braken fucking Frost.

“You didn’t answer my question, Fiora.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I turn to face him. In the hallway’s dim lighting, he looks shadowed. Mysterious. Dangerous. He takes another step toward me.

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Of you? Or of my family’s dirty money?”

“Both.”

I exhale through my nose and set my hands on my hips. “If my name gets tied to these large donations, people will start to talk. Words have weight, Braken. If the public thinks these organizations have ties to the shady Godwin money, they’ll lose status and funding.”

Braken doesn’t look convinced. “So, you’re playing Batwoman, are you?”

His scorn heats my neck. “Someone has to undo all the evil people like Papa and you put on this city. Now if you’ll excuse me, fiancé.”

I don’t make it more than two steps before Braken’s hands are on my shoulders, spinning me around and trapping me against the wall next to the bathroom. I yelp and drop my clutch, chest heaving as I stare up at the big bad wolf I want so badly to eat me right this second.

“What the fuck do you know about me, Fiora?” Braken’s voice is so low, it resonates down to my bones.

“I know enough,” I snap. “Because I’ve seen enough.”

“I’m not your father. Stop making assumptions about what I do and don’t do in this city.”

“What did I get wrong?”

“Everything.” He tightens his grip on my shoulders so much that I gasp. “And here’s one of them.”

His mouth is hard against mine, hard body pressing against me and leaving me with no escape. Not that I want to. The champagne and his powerful kiss leave my head spinning. I throw my arms around his shoulders and pull him even closer. When his tongue runs along my bottom lip, I open willingly to let him in.

Tonight, I belong to Braken Frost.

His tongue pushes against mine, hands tugging at my long green skirt. There’s an urgency in his movements that has my body singing. He wants me as much as I want him. Enough that he’s willing to fuck me out in the open at one of his hotels, since he isn’t bothering to move anywhere else. He bites onto my bottom lip and tugs, making me moan. By the time he’s done ravishing my mouth, my lips are swollen, and my vision is glazed with want.

“Fuck me,” he whispers before forcing my head to the side and attacking my neck.

I tug at his suit jacket and shirt, trying to open them enough so I can feel his skin. His tattoos peek out from his clothes, and I dig my fingers into the black ink around his neck. It’s a reminder of whose mercy I’m at, and that only makes my core throb even more.

Braken finds my panties with his fingers, but there’s no playing like at his office. He rips them down my legs with a few tugs, and I kick them off as best I can with his large body pinning me down. I still have them around my right ankle when he pries apart my folds.

Fuck, I’m so wet that one finger easily slides inside. With just a few pumps, he adds another. His strokes are fast and deliberate, meant to make me arch against him and scream his name. And it fucking works. I moan his name as soon as he touches my aching clit, and I feel him smirk against my neck. With his other hand he gropes at my covered breasts, squeezing and rolling through the fabric until my nipples are hard.

Everything is so overwhelming. My head spins with the heat, my walls clenching down around his fingers. I whine when he curls them and cry out when he tugs on my earlobe with his teeth as he presses hard against my throbbing clit with his thumb. I’m putty under his touch, hips rising to get him deeper with more of that delicious friction.

“Are you gonna come for me, Fiora?” he whispers into my ear. His low, throaty voice makes me flush. “Have you been a good girl?”

“Fuck you, Braken,” I answer breathlessly, nails digging in so hard to his skin I’m sure I leave marks.

Braken, for all his bullshit, has mercy on me. He pulls my hips further off the wall with his other hand so he’s at the perfect angle to make a mess of my pussy. I drip down his fingers, each thrust bringing me closer and closer to the brink. His thumb speeds up on my clit, matching the furious pace of his fingers. A few more rubs, and I come undone. I throw my head back as I yell out in pleasure, my world going white. Days of sexual tension wash over me, and I tremble with each pulse of passion.

For a second, I’m floating. Then Braken brings me crashing back to earth by pinching my swollen and sensitive clit. I gasp and try to squirm away from his fingers, but he doesn’t let me. He maintains that sadistic smirk as he brushes my throbbing clit with his thumb again and again, his wet fingers patting my slick folds.

“I think you mean fuck me, Braken.” He smacks my folds a few times, the sting making me gasp. “Go on. Say it.”

I bite my swollen lip. Saying it means giving myself to him completely. Making me his girl in every way. Claiming my body and my innocence. Can I really do that?

Clearly not liking my hesitation, he flips me around and spanks my ass over and over, igniting my flesh and sending jolts of pleasure to my core.

“I’m going to spank this ass of yours until you do,” he says, continuing the spanking, each swat harder than the last.

If someone were to walk in on us right now and see this man spanking me⁠—

“Fiora,” he warns, and I crumble.

“Fuck me, Braken,” I repeat, more of a sigh than actual words. “Now.”

He continues to spank me, hard enough that I’m going to feel this tomorrow, and clearly not wanting to act on my command. With the intensity of the slaps, he’s showing me one thing—spank after spank.

Braken Frost is in control.

He flips me back to facing him. His smirk only grows as he smashes his lips to mine. His kiss is demanding and dominant, all teeth and tongue as he sucks, licks, and bites to leave his mark on my mouth.

Just as I’m about to weave my fingers in his hair, he roughly grabs my hips and spins me around, making me face the wall again. I’m bent over a full ninety degrees, my long green skirt thrown haphazardly over my back. The swish of his clothes and the clink of his belt follow, and when I turn my head to look back, his hard cock bobs by his stomach in between his unzipped slacks.

God, is he going to fit inside me? He has before, but it hurt each time.

It stretched me to unbelievable limits, and I felt him for days.

I almost tell him to be gentle, but the words don’t form. I don’t want him to be gentle. I want him to fuck me so hard I can’t think right in the middle of this hallway. Again, my body flushes hot at the thought that someone could see us.

Let them.

The secret will be out soon enough anyway.

I brace my hands against the cold wall as Braken lines up the tip of his cock with my entrance. Though I’m wet, the first push stings. Each little choppy thrust to get inside stretches my walls with the perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts. “And so fucking wet.”

His deep voice sends shivers down my spine. My walls pulse around him and suck him in until he’s completely inside me. Braken gives three shallow thrusts to get me used to his size, but that’s all I get. He grips my hips, and his fingers bite into me as he starts really fucking me.

Toe-curling pleasure replaces the pain every time his dick hits deep inside me. My entire body is on fire whenever his hips buck into mine. I can’t stop moaning, fingers digging into the wallpaper as I cling to the wall. Fuck, it feels so good. Braken presses on my back to make me arch even more and holds me steady as he fucks me even deeper. My legs shake and burn with the position, but I don’t dare move. He’s so deep, filling me so perfectly until I can’t breathe.

I move one of my hands from the wall and down my body, but before I can touch my clit, Braken grabs my hand and pins it against the wall.

“I don’t fucking think so,” he mocks. “Don’t touch what’s mine.”

I’m about to complain that I need more, that I need something to bring that high again, when his hand lands firmly on my ass. The sting hurts but is so good. He does it again, the ringing on my skin louder than the snaps of his hips. Braken gives me a third slap, and my gasp turns into a moan the second that hand wraps around and finds my clit. He rubs in time with his sharp thrusts, his dick dragging against my walls, and my swollen clit throbs with the need for release.

I push my hips back against his, chasing that high for another time. Braken’s dick hits that spot that makes me whine, his fingers working me into a sweaty, dizzy mess. I squeeze my eyes closed as pleasure mounts. I teeter on the edge of my second orgasm, a desperate plea on my lips. So close, so close, so close…

“Come, Fiora,” Braken growls, huffing for breath and pressing hard on my clit. “Come for me.”

His growled command sets me off. My toes curl, pleasure running up and down my spine, my body shuddering and shivering as I come. I don’t know if I yell or moan or scream; my mind is lost in a white-hot haze. My trembling body is kept upright by a firm hand on my hip.

I’m still swimming in pleasure when Braken slams into me a few more times and grunts something that sounds like my name.

His warm cum paints my walls and fills me to the brim. Shit. He’s done it on purpose. He’s marking me in every way, making sure I know I’m his. Thank God I’m on birth control.

Our mixed juices drip down my folds when he pulls out. As soon as he lets me go, I collapse against the wall, my skirt falling and sticking to my sweaty legs. I turn back slightly to check around us. No one. It’s still only Braken and me in this back hallway that now smells of sex and sweat.

Braken stuffs his still-hard cock back into his underwear and zips up his pants, that stupid smirk on his face. Goddamnit, what did I just do? And why am I sad his dick is back to being covered up?

“Believe whatever you’d like, Fiora.” Braken fixes a few sweaty hairs from his forehead. How can he look so fucking perfect? I hate it. “But just know whose cum is dripping from you every step you take.”

Then Braken walks off and leaves me catching my breath against the wall.

Bastard.

Chapter 28

Soren

We pull up to the abandoned building in the early morning hour.

Late last night, a text message from Nexxor greeted Braken with an address of a workplace in Seattle, a picture, and a few arrest records. James Allen Porter, aged thirty-one. A long rap sheet of possession and selling of drugs, the most recent a few months ago. Pulled over a week ago for speeding on a street close to the stadium. The file has plates that match the car in the footage.

That’s your guy, Nexxor wrote.

I don’t want to guess how many energy drinks went into finding this bastard so quickly, but the money Braken placed on the boat will buy decades’ worth.

It was hilariously easy for Jasper to convince him to come see Braken, who then asked Merrick and me to join him. All Jasper had to do was walk into the grocery store where he works as a cashier, buy a bag of pretzels, and slip an extra fifty in with the total. The offer of more money for easy work could entice even the biggest skeptic, especially when they’re flashed a wad of hundreds. James willingly finished his morning shift, slipped into the back of Jasper’s car, and walked right into what could be his death sentence.

This is why Braken asked me to help him with this task. This is what I used to do. I got information for the Godwins at whatever cost. I was damn good at it.

Too good.

Although I’ve retired from the Godwin empire, and my focus is now only on The Vault, there is still nothing I won’t do for the people I care for. And since I can count the number of people on one hand, it also means I’ll go to whatever extreme to help.

I don’t want Merrick here, however, but he insisted. I could have spent all morning fighting about it and most likely lost the battle anyway, or I can accept that Merrick is now a part of me, and part of what I do. Good or bad.

This is a fact I haven’t truly come to terms with or even understand. One thing I do know is the man isn’t going anywhere. His loyalty is undying.

The little patch of land near the lighthouse has been in my possession for years now. I originally bought it to build rental cabins, but it’s much better as a place for other kinds of business. There are no cameras, no prying eyes, and thanks to the dense forest, basically no cell reception. Once an old cannery, the structure still standing provides the perfect shelter from whatever… storm I bring here. It’s the perfect place to make people disappear.

Unfortunately for James Allen Porter, he might be the next to go.

We step into the abandoned cannery business and make our way down the two flights of steps toward the decaying boiler room. It smells like damp mildew and rusted iron from the old machines and the lingering smell of blood. The only thing that still works in this heap of broken glass and rubble is the HVAC system. It’s older than me and barely functional, which means it’s loud and perfect to mask the screams.

The man of the hour is already chained up to a thick pipe attached to the ceiling, half-slumped over against the HVAC base. Blood drips from a cut on his forehead down his haggard face, and several cigarette burns are vivid on the inside of his arms. Back in the day, since I’ve worked with Jasper. The man is… vicious. That’s Jasper’s favorite place to put them. More sensitive, he says.

I say do whatever gets the job done, and based on James’s broken expression, he’s about there.

“Nice of you to join us.” I crouch low enough so James can look me in the eye. “Thank you for coming to meet me.”

Merrick and Braken stand off to the side. I don’t want to see their faces when I do this. And frankly, I don’t want them to see mine.

When James spits at my shoes, it’s full of blood. “Asshole. Let me out of here!”

I take a handkerchief out of my front pocket and wipe the tops of my leather shoes. “I suppose you’re not ready to talk yet. Jasper.”

Wordlessly, Braken’s bodyguard steps forward and grabs hold of James’s chin. The man struggles and tries to bite at the bodyguard, but he’s done this plenty of times and knows how to keep wild animals in check. Because that’s what men on the verge of death always become: wild animals that lash out when they think there’s a way out and whimper when cornered.

I take a seat in a fully rusted chair and watch as Jasper pulls out a pair of pliers from his pocket.

“Stop! Stop, please stop!” The pleading is desperate; the man will crack without us having to go any further. The piss running down his leg tells me as much. 

I raise my hand to get Jasper to stop.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“Please, I don’t have the money, but I can get it, I can get whatever you need, I just need time, you see, I got this hookup⁠—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap. “Do I look like a street dealer? Jasper.”

“No, wait⁠—”

James’s scream is hoarse and broken up with his angry sobs.

“What do you want?” he cries, blue eyes bloodshot with tears and tan face covered in blood.

“For you to think,” I respond evenly, crossing one leg over the other. “Why are you here?”

Silence fills the room. I feel like a schoolteacher waiting for a student’s answer as I stare at him. Time drags on as James struggles to think, and I snap my fingers for Jasper to pull out a tooth.

“No, wait, just give me a fucking second to think!”

“Now,” I demand.

“The car,” James says, then lifts his head up and screams, “the fucking car!”

I clap my hands a few times in mock congratulations. “Bravo, James. Well done. Looks like you have a brain after all.” I glance at Merrick and Braken but not long enough to try to read their faces. I can’t let them get in my head. I can’t soften.

I’m the monster right now.

I must remain that way a little longer.

I can’t allow them to soften or tame the beast inside of me.

I push to my feet and reach into the pocket of my longcoat, pulling out my leather gloves. Even if the cleaners come and make sure there’s no trace of James after this, I don’t want any latent fingerprints left behind. Even the smallest piece of hair, sweat, or skin can fuck everything up.

“Do you even know who you killed?” I ask as I take two slow steps forward.

“Does that matter?”

“It does when he’s Hector Godwin’s son.”

A wave of realization washes over James’s face even larger than the pool of blood at his feet. His bottom lip trembles as he thinks of what to say, but by the time I step in front of him, careful not to step in the pool, he’s still come up empty.

“Wait! Wait, listen, I didn’t know!”

“Didn’t know?” Braken asks from behind me.

“I was contacted on WhatsApp about two weeks ago. It was a picture of me selling drugs to some kids on the street. I don’t know how he got it⁠—”

“He?”

“The bastard who messaged me. He goes by Mr. Silk. I don’t know anything about him other than that.” James whimpers and tries to pull at his restraints to no avail. “Fuck, it hurts to talk.”

“It’ll hurt even more if you don’t keep going.” I gesture to Jasper with my chin. Jasper holds up the pliers and starts to move closer, but James shakes his head.

“Okay, man, listen, I couldn’t go back to jail, all right? The judge said if I was caught again, it’s a lifetime sentence. I got a kid to think about.”

I snort. All people are the same. They’ll make up some outlandish lie to win my sympathies and change my mind. If they didn’t want to be punished, they should have thought about that before murdering someone. James is a fucking dumbass for trusting some guy on WhatsApp, of all places.

But that begs the question: who the fuck is Mr. Silk?

“That’s what they all say. Try again, James. With the truth this time.”

“I’m serious!” He jerks his handcuffs so hard it rattles the pipe and nearly drowns out his words. “Check my phone. It’s in my front pocket. You’ll see! He messaged me to buy that old broad’s car and then place a little electronic box under a car at the stadium. Mr. Silk had everything set up. I didn’t know it was a bomb, man, you gotta believe me. I wouldn’t have done it if I knew. It’s why I ran for my life, man.”

That explains why James’s car took off after the explosion and ended up getting caught. It doesn’t explain why the dumbass still has the car in the first place.

I bend down and smirk so James can look me in the eye. “But you’re still using the car anyway, aren’t you, James?”

His blue eyes can’t meet mine as he mutters, “A man’s gotta get to work somehow.”

“Jasper, grab the phone.”

Jasper reaches into the front of James’s jeans and pulls a new iPhone from his pocket. He hands it to me, but when the screen flashes, the TouchID screen comes up in front of a picture of him and a young girl. Poor kid. It’s too bad she has a dumbass for a father.

“I need a thumb,” I tell him before turning away.

“Yes, Boss,” Jasper says.

“Wait— Wait! Wait, where are you— No, you motherfucker! Stop!”

“Be happy we’re going to let you walk out of here with your life and only missing a thumb,” I say as I motion for Merrick and Braken for us to leave. “But I’d leave town if I were you. Once the Godwins hear what you did, you’re a dead man.”

“You think it’s wise keeping him alive?” Merrick asks as we exit. I know he’s not asking because he wants me to the kill the man. Judging by the relief in his eyes the moment I motioned for us to leave, I’m pretty sure he’s thrilled he doesn’t have to witness a murder. He’s scared of what this man could do once freed.

“It’s not our fight,” I say. “Whatever the Godwins decide is up to them. We agreed to get information, and that’s what we did.”

We exit the boiler room without stopping, James’s blood-curdling screams echoing behind us.

Chapter 29

Fiora

My body is so sore I can barely get out of bed.

But I can’t say I regret it. Something about me feels lighter. Better. Maybe finally having sex with Braken—without a mask, and without the games—took away all my tension. Now that I’m not wound up, I can see things more clearly.

I need to do something about Marco. That much is clear. Whenever I thought of him before, I would get this little smile on my face that, according to Jescie, “makes you look like an absolute doofus.” I would get excited to see him, or even send him little texts during the day like our little secret. Now all I feel is a looming sense of dread at having to press the dial button to call him.

What changed? Was it taking a break and running off to Heathens Hollow to find myself? Or that he doesn’t seem to care that I did? When I told him I needed to get away for a while, he seemed completely fine with that. He didn’t even ask where I was going.

Not to mention all it took was a few sentences to have our relationship folding like a house of cards. Some of us have to work for a living. The sentence still makes me cringe.

Has everything he ever said to me been a lie? Does he really see me as nothing more than a Godwin? Papa paid for my schooling, but the hard work was all me. I earned a master’s in Public Policy, all on my own, damnit, even when everyone told me it was a waste of time. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. But I always wanted to be just Fiora to someone. Not Fiora Godwin, not Braken’s fiancée, not a pawn to use for political favor. Just Fiora.

Marco was supposed to be that someone, and now I have no one.

I can’t tell if his refusal to help with Mason’s death is clouding my judgment or if my feelings died the second he became like everyone else in my life. Realization strikes me like a lightning bolt and fries my nerves. The only person in my life really trying to help… is Braken. And maybe his buddies, if you count them wanting to keep me safe by watching over me. And Braken’s hand was forced thanks to the agreement made by our fathers.

Fucking great.

This is something that needs to be discussed in person. I can’t keep running forever. If I don’t sort this out now, it will never get done.

Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone and dial Marco.

He answers on the fourth ring.

“Well, well, look who decided to finally talk to me,” Marco drawls, sarcasm dripping from every word. “Remembered us plebs now that you’re not surrounded by Daddy’s money? Braken not wealthy enough?”

I thought I might feel hurt, but it pisses me off. God, he’s like a child throwing a tantrum. I let him throw his worthless insults, knowing my silence and last night’s events hurt him. This upcoming lunch, if he accepts, will be even worse.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long,” I say. “I think we left last night on the wrong foot.”

“Oh, you think?”

“We should meet and talk.”

“On your dime, right?” Marco lets out a biting laugh. “Since you’re still a Godwin for a little while.”

Marco has never spoken to me like this. It’s disorienting. Maybe I’m not the only one who changed after our conversion at the burger joint.

I ward off my anger by gripping my bedsheets and drawing a deep breath. “Of course. You can pick whatever you’d like.”

“Then I’ll see you at Maxwells at noon. My days going to Heathens Hollow for you are over.”

I slowly rise from bed to get ready. And once again, I need to figure out how to get back to Seattle without my men finding out and hunting me down.

I arrive at the restaurant first and am seated at a two-person table close to the front entrance. There isn’t an empty seat in the house, the air filled with the spice of pasta sauce and the sweetness of afternoon wine. At least if anything goes wrong, I’ll have plenty of witnesses. Papa won’t be too happy if I start a scene in such a popular restaurant, though. I’ll have to play my cards right.

I’m on my second glass of wine when Marco is escorted to the table.

And he’s wearing the exact same outfit he was last night.

I try not to show any emotion as he slips into his seat. He’s doing this to play with me. Either as a redo of last night or a reminder. As soon as he grabs his glass of wine and smirks, I know it’s the latter. Have I been blind to who Marco Pollozo is for our entire friendship?

“Thank you for coming,” I say.

“Of course.” Marco takes a large swig of his drink. “I couldn’t keep my favorite girl waiting. Or wait.” He leans forward and mockingly says, “Wouldn’t that make you a cheating whore?”

The words sting. Marco has never called me a name before, but it’s certainly not the first time I’ve heard it. It will take much more than that to rattle me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I respond evenly and set down my drink.

Marco chuckles. “If you’re going to be this stupid, you could at least take the ring off, Fiora. Or cover up your damn hickeys.”

My hand freezes on the wine stem. Braken’s engagement ring sits pretty on my finger, a flashy reminder that I’m a taken woman, just like the marks on my neck. I have nothing to be ashamed of, but my cheeks heat anyway. The story is bound to get out some time soon, but this is really fucking bad timing.

“You and I are not an item, Marco.” I match his narrowed eyes. “In case you’ve forgotten, you never wanted to put a label on it.”

“Ah, right, because this is all my fault,” he mocks, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. Even in his best suit, tie, shoes, and expensive watch, he looks like a child playing dress-up rather than a near thirty-year-old man. “You’re never blameless, are you?”

“What would I have blame for?”

“For fucking embarrassing me last night,” Marco hisses, voice dangerously low. “I guess a little dick is all it takes for you to forget your manners.”

If I didn’t need to contain my anger, this expensive wine would be all over his face and suit. Instead, I have to drink it and pretend I’m not burning up on the inside.

“What I do is none of your business,” I answer. “You embarrassed yourself by showing up uninvited.”

Marco laughs so loudly, he catches the attention of the table next to us. “Uninvited. Right. Because that’s all I am to the Godwins, isn’t it? Dirt beneath your shoes.”

“Dirt has a use, Marco,” I shoot back, sliding my finished wine glass onto the table. “What good is a police officer who won’t even look into a murder?”

“Fuck off, Fiora,” Marco seethes. His entire face contorts in anger and makes me sit back in my seat. I’ve seen so many of Marco’s emotions over the years. Pain after getting shot in the line of duty, sadness when a friend died in a shootout, but I’ve never seen this look. It’s full of malice and hatred—all directed at me. “Why would I help you? You have to offer something to get something in return, and since you’re used goods, you can’t do shit for me.”

Heat flames my entire neck and face. So that’s all I am to him? A trophy to be conquered, a pussy to be had? If only I had more wine because I want to drown my stupidity in cabernet sauvignon.

“I can’t get back all that time and effort I wasted on you,” Marco spits, swirling his wine around in his glass. “So, I might as well enjoy the spoils, huh?”

That’s rich, because I’m the one who wasted so much of my time and love on someone who only saw me as a means to an end.

“It seems we’re in agreement then. A waste of time,” I respond, dabbing my lips with my napkin. I already ordered appetizers for us, but I’m not in the mood to eat a meal with this asshole. “Enjoy it while you can.”

“Right, ’cause you got a bit of rich dick and suddenly don’t have time for anyone else anymore.” His laugh is as icy as the glare he gives me. “I should have taken you when I had the chance. At least gotten something for my troubles. But no, I had to keep you pure for Daddy. After all that, I’m not good enough for you and Daddy anymore?”

A few of the patrons around us whisper and stare, and I try to block them out. I guess this is why he wanted to have lunch here. He merely wants to embarrass me and my family in front of people who know exactly who the Godwins are.

“You’re a little slut, Fiora. That’s all you are. Giving blowjobs to the first man who shows you attention.”

Marco lifts his hand, and I instinctively flinch back. The murmuring grows louder around us, but it’s drowned out by the rush of blood to my ears. I stare at the open palm he has above my head with wide eyes. Is he going to hit me? His hand is shaking with rage, and he flexes his hand into a fist above the flower centerpiece. Oh my God, he’s going to punch me. He wouldn’t… would he? His reputation would be ruined, and he’d miss out on the promotion he’d been working so hard for.

But the absolute fury radiating off him is unmistakable.

After a few tense seconds, Marco lowers his hand and lets out a bitter laugh. “Hitting you would be an even bigger waste.”

“Do we have a problem here?” a man with a deep voice cuts in.

When I realize who it is, my fear becomes paralyzing. It’s one of my father’s men, who clearly just witnessed the entire scene. Shit, he’s going to tell Papa that I’m with Marco. That I just embarrassed the family. That people are talking about us. What if there’s a reporter here?

“No problem.” Marco straightens out his suit jacket and flashes a smile. “I was just leaving. You gonna be okay without me, Fiora?”

If my father finds out about this…

And if Braken finds out about this⁠—

Fuck, Braken can’t find out about this. At least not from anyone but me. This could look like something it isn’t.

I swallow down my fear of being in the middle of an explosive scene and nod once. I don’t bother with the usual response. I don’t think my voice would come out correctly if I tried.

Marco takes the time to drain the rest of his wine before he tilts the empty glass in my direction as a parting greeting. He stomps out of the restaurant to stares and whispers while I sit there in shock. My father’s man says something to me that I brush off. I must nip this in the bud before I’m dead by twilight.

As soon as I’m alone, I pull out my phone and for the first time ever, shoot a text to Braken.

I need to see you right now.

Chapter 30

Braken

My phone pings just as I leave The Vault to head home. I’m exhausted. The incident with James in the cannery took all that was left out of me. I’ve been working nonstop, and when I’m not working, I’m trying to get to the bottom of a god-damn murder. My nerves are frayed, and the only thing that sounds good to me right now is showering, pouring myself a stiff drink, and then possibly jacking off to Fiora as I watch her in the security footage she has somehow not figured out is hidden everywhere in her cottage.

I need to see you right now.

I smirk. It’s only been a day, and Fiora wants seconds? Based on how hard she shook when she came, I knew it wouldn’t be long. But a day is a new record, even for me. My cock twitches when I remember how her pussy clenched around me and how she tried to keep herself from screaming my name. I certainly won’t say no to a replay of last night, especially since it’s so early in the day. Gives me plenty of time to make my name the only thing she can think of.

I’ll come over now, I text back.

Her response is immediate.

I’m in Seattle catching the ferry. So give me time.

I try not to lose my shit. What the fuck is she doing in Seattle? And why don’t we know about this? Although flashbacks of my morning where the three of us were distracted rush in.

Go to the helicopter. I will tell them to expect you. It’s quicker. I’ll come by your place once you’re home.

I stare at my phone as Jasper opens the door for me. It rings with a different call. My father. So far, he’s been leaving me to do the investigation on my own, but it’s been only a matter of time before he’s wanted an update. I gesture to Jasper to close the door so our conversation stays private.

“Any updates, Braken?” my father says in lieu of a greeting.

“We’re getting closer.” I glance out toward the sea. “We found the hitman. Just not the person who hired the hit yet. It won’t be long until we’ve cleared our name and know the answers.”

“Good. Hector asked me about it last night, and I told him you’d have answers soon. Hector also mentioned there has been no formal engagement announcement yet and that he’d be speaking to his daughter on that.”

“Yeah, we’ve been letting the dust settle after her brother’s death. Doesn’t exactly seem right to announce something joyous during a time of grieving.”

My father huffs. “I seriously doubt the Godwins are capable of grieving. That would require them to actually feel something.”

I would have agreed one hundred percent if it weren’t for the fact that Fiora has been surprising me with just how much depth this little rich princess has. Her charitable donations sent me spinning.

Generous is not a word I’d use to describe a Godwin. And yet… she is. Not only that, she is giving without expecting or even wanting recognition and validation.

“I need to get going,” I say. “I have work to catch up on, and I’m heading over to meet with Fiora in a bit. We’ll talk wedding some, and I’ll keep you updated on that as well.”

When I hang up, I signal for Jasper to take me home so I can get some work done there.

I still need a shower, a drink, and I’ll have to save the jacking off for another time.

I can hear music blaring from the TV before I even knock on the door. Knowing there is no way she’d hear me anyway, I step inside the cottage without waiting for an invite.

Fiora is dancing around the living room to the Spice Girls, singing at the top of her lungs to “spice up her life!” Her dark hair is pulled up into a messy bun, and she holds a glass of nearly finished wine. One glance at the bottle on the coffee table shows it’s half gone.

She wears a university sweater and a pair of drawstring shorts. It’s baggy as hell, faded in a few places, but surprisingly looks great on her. Who knew a hot mess could be so enticing?

Fiora doesn’t notice me as she finishes her drink then throws her hands over her head to keep dancing. It’s only when I pick up the remote on the side of the couch and turn off the TV that she spins toward me.

“Oh, hello,” she greets with wide eyes. “Just let yourself in, why don’t you.”

“You said you needed to see me,” I say as I throw my trenchcoat and suit jacket over the couch. “How much have you had to drink?”

“I’m not drunk,” she argues, though her flushed cheeks offer a different story. “I’ve just had enough to have fun.”

“Have fun?” I unbutton my cufflinks and begin to roll up my sleeves. “In Seattle? Should I even ask with who?”

“Jealous?” she bites back with a laugh. “I don’t know why you care. This is all for show. And arrangement. Because that’s all I’m good for, isn’t it? A little whore getting married for the good of her family.”

What the hell happened? Between her text message and her current state, obviously something big came up, but she’s not making any damn sense.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Fiora?”

I begin to approach her, but she holds out the empty wine glass like it’s some kind of shield keeping her safe.

“What difference does it make who I marry? You or some family in New York, it’s all the same. I’m only as good as my Godwin name. And money! I wasted it all on school and work and bullshit when I could have just…” Fiora pauses long enough to stare at me, a few tears lining her eyes. “Died. I should have died.”

“What?”

“I blew Mason off, you know,” she says quietly before yelling, “I blew him off!” She accidentally throws the empty wine glass onto the couch when she flings her hands up. “We had those tickets for a long time. He bought them early so he could get it on our ‘busy schedules’. I was supposed to be at that game with Mason, but I ran off to go hide from everyone. Even him. I didn’t even bother to cancel. If I had, maybe he would have, too, but now my brother is fucking dead.”

“And you’re not.” I step closer. She doesn’t back up and merely stares at me with red-lined eyes. “Being here in Heathens Hollow saved your damn life.”

“And what a life it is. Only good enough for being a pawn and nothing else. And I won’t even be that once my father hears about what happened at Maxwells.” I don’t have time to ask her what the hell she means before she laughs bitterly and points at me. “Sorry you’re getting such a useless slut of a wife.”

God, she’s a fucking irrational drunk. Before she can react, I grab her wrist and jerk her closer. She crashes into my chest and clings to my dress shirt to keep herself upright. When Fiora lifts her head to yell at me, I bend down and press my lips to hers in a searing kiss. I tangle a hand in the back of her messy bun as I ravish her mouth. She responds instantly, moving her tongue against mine, clinging to my shirt.

When I pull back, she’s breathless and staring up at me like I’m either her savior or her demon.

“Don’t you ever say that shit about my woman again,” I growl and tighten my grip on her hair. Her gasp makes my blood sing. “Or I’ll punish you for it.”

“Go on then,” she breathes. “Do it.”

I smirk. That’s the only permission I need.

Chapter 31

Fiora

Braken’s body is so heavy on mine I fear he might break me in two.

He pins me against the top of a side table with his entire weight so I can’t move. Not like I would. His kiss has me in chains, the searing heat from his mouth and tongue against mine leaving me dizzy. I wrap my legs around his hips to keep him close, fingernails digging into the back of his neck. His hard cock presses against my pulsing core, and he only pulls back for a gulp of breath before claiming my mouth as his again.

I should stop him since I’m drunk and a hot mess, but my mind is hazy. I want him so fucking bad. Yesterday wasn’t enough. I don’t give a shit about morals, contracts, or ex-flings. All I want is Braken’s cock in me, pounding away all the jumbled thoughts in my mind.

His hand jerks on my bun, forcing up my chin and exposing my throat. His wet mouth creates a slick trail down my throat, sucking and licking until my skin is marked. I shiver when he forces my legs apart until they burn, his hips moving against mine for delicious and oh-so-needed friction.

Braken sucks on my collarbone, no doubt leaving signs of his claim, and my moan fills the room.

Maybe I should thank my father after all, since he⁠—

Fuck, my father.

The thought zaps me back into reality, and I push Braken away as best I can with too many glasses of wine flowing in my system.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” he growls, about to dive into my neck again.

“Stop,” I command, and to his credit, he does. He looks pissed as hell and ready to shoot me for even daring to say it, but he stays completely still.

I take the moment to catch my breath before I sigh out, “We need to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Braken mutters, making sure to roll his hard cock into me for emphasis. “We have better things to do.”

It’s almost enough to throw me off, but I shake my head. This is too important.

“I need to tell you what happened at lunch.”

Braken frowns so hard it wrinkles his entire face, but he takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest. “Speak.”

I do. Everything comes tumbling out so quickly that half my sentences don’t even make sense. I mention Marco, his demands to meet at Maxwells, and how my father’s men saw it all. I throw an apology in there for meeting Marco in the first place, though I’m not sure why. Braken never told me I couldn’t meet my old friend, and yet, under his intense stare, I feel like it is the worst mistake I could have ever made.

When I finally finish, Braken continues to stare at me without saying anything. I shift under his gaze, now extremely aware of the fact that I’m in comfy home clothes not meant for public consumption, hair an actual disaster, his handiwork all over my throat and shoulders.

Braken clears his throat and saves me from my misery. “And?”

I blink. “And?”

“Why the fuck would I care?”

The simple question leaves me stunned. Why would he care? Isn’t it fucking obvious?

“Because—” I stumble over my words for a better way to say ‘Braken, you actual dumbass.’ “Because you’re marrying a Godwin? And Mason was murdered on your turf? That’s the only reason you’re helping find his murderer.”

Braken starts laughing. Laughing! It’s a deep, throaty sound that makes me flush. What exactly is funny?

“Are you accusing me of whoring out for your family ties?” His laughter turns into quiet chuckles. “I don’t need your damn ties, Fiora. The Frosts have enough power. If anything, your father needs me.”

“Then…” I try to piece it together, sitting up on the side table. “Why the hell are you helping if it’s not for us? This is a mark against you.”

“It’s not a mark against me until you have the Frost last name.” Braken smirks. “We’re not husband and wife yet. Your brother’s murder has nothing to do with me. I’m helping for you.”

The admission leaves me dumbfounded. “For me?”

“I could have said no at any time.” Braken steps closer, and my breath hitches. Darkness is brewing in his eyes, something I should be scared of, but if anything, it makes my blood race. “I may have agreed to your father’s terms, but that doesn’t mean shit. I chose to make you my girl.”

I don’t know what to say. My head swims with the wine and his confession. This whole time, I thought he was in this to embarrass me. That he wasn’t serious about finding Mason, because it was just a stepping-stone to claiming part of the Godwin power. But he’s been in this for… me? Maybe I misunderstood him from the beginning.

“Then?”

Braken comes even closer, stopping dangerously close to my electrified body. He’s so close that I can reach out, grab his button-up, and pull him between my legs again. I consider doing it, too. Maybe another intense orgasm will be just the thing I need to clear my messed-up mind.

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Fiora,” he chastises in a voice so low it goes straight to my soul. “You’ve been mine since I laid eyes on you at Mason’s funeral.” He pauses. “Actually, fuck that. You’ve been mine since the first time you turned on the red light, and I hunted you.”

His bold claim makes my stomach flip. I should refute. I should kick and scream and tell him he’s wrong. But the truth is: he’s not. Braken Frost owns me in heart and body. His ring is on my finger, and his dick has tainted me for the rest of my life.

So, fuck it.

I reach out for his shirt and tug him back to where he belongs. I wipe away his smirk with a hard press of our lips. The fire between us ignites again, even stronger than before. He’s as desperate as I am, as we tear at each other’s clothes, pawing at buttons and ties to get as close as possible. His tongue pushes into my mouth and wrestles with mine, swift fingers already inside his shorts and cupping my pussy.

It’s only been a day since he took me at his hotel, but my body already sings for him. My hips jerk into his touch, my head falling back as he kisses down my throat. He laps at the marks he made last night, still bruised blue and red against my skin, before making more to join them. His fingers push into my panties, and I moan as soon as he starts running them along my wet folds.

“God, you’ve ruined me,” I whine, hurrying to finish unbuttoning his shirt.

“There’s no running back to little Marco now.” He laughs against my skin.

The mention of Marco makes me sigh and sober up fast. “You have to bring him up now?”

He pushes his finger into me, drawing a moan from my swollen lips. “All I’m saying,” he teases, just as his fingers tease me with a slow rhythm, “is that you won’t be crawling back to his dick.”

“I’ve never been with Marco,” I inform. “At least not to that extreme.”

He freezes, studies my face, and then smiles in what I can only assume is relief or satisfaction. “I don’t know why I assumed you had.”

“And I won’t be crawling back to any dick,” I add with a huff, throwing open his shirt. God, how is he so fucking sexy? This is my first time seeing him shirtless, but I hope to God it’s not the last. His abs ripple when I drag my nails over them, the sprawling tattoos on his arms covering his pecs and his sides. I stare at the heave of his chest when I mutter, “Unless you really plan on sharing me like you and your little buddies have suggested.”

Braken immediately stops. I whine for more friction, but he rips his finger from me and holds my hips down against the side table.

“Careful, Fiora. You don’t want to open that door unless you’re ready to walk through it.”

I scrunch my nose in confusion at the warning on his face. “You all have made it sound like I don’t have a choice in the matter. Or is it all for show? All talk?”

“Things between the three of us have always been… fun. No rules. No restrictions. No boundaries, or at least not unless we set them.” Braken steps back and runs a hand through his messy hair. “You coming into the picture complicates things. I’m not going to deny that.”

“Do you want it to be the four of us, or the two of us?”

“It sounds so simple when you ask it like that,” Braken says, his eyes locked with mine. I get the feeling he’s trying to read me, see if it’s possible to get into my head. “But we both know nothing is simple in our lives right now.”

“Just because our fathers control who we marry, and even a big portion of our lives,” I begin, “doesn’t mean they can control who we fuck. I say that is up to you and me.”

Braken squints at me in thought before he huffs out a laugh. I want to ask why he’s laughing, but his hands are on me again, jerking down his shorts and my panties in one tug. I lift my hips so he can fling them elsewhere, sitting before him in my oversized university sweater with my bare pussy on display.

“If I would have known this was truly an option for you,” he begins, forcing my legs further open so he can settle in between. “I would have added them to the mix a long time ago.”

Braken lowers himself down to his knees, keeping my legs apart with a strong grip on my inner thighs. My breathing picks up when his breath hits my folds. “I would have worshiped this pussy all last night, and then had them do the same when I had my fill.”

He drags his tongue up my folds and makes me whine. When he pulls away, I try to buck my hips for more, but he holds me down. I’m under his control now, and he’s going to make sure I remember.

“I would have made you scream my name, so everyone knows who you belong to,” he says, prying apart my folds with two fingers and swiping up with his tongue. I shift on the table but don’t dare do more. “But then had you also cry out their names as I watch them make you come over and over again.”

“And what if I want to be the one to watch,” I counter breathlessly, chest heaving at how hard it is not to break and beg for his cock. “I’ve always wanted to watch men fuck.”

“Merrick and Soren are quite the sight.”

“I want this, Braken. I do.”

His face darkens as he reaches for his phone and begins texting. For a second, I fear I’ve taken it a step too far. He’s asking them to come. I don’t need him to tell me that is exactly what he’s doing.

Then Braken leans forward and finally puts his mouth on my pussy.

His tongue is even better than his fingers. He swipes up and down along my folds, fingers keeping my pussy stretched for him. When he dips into my folds, my head falls back against the wall, and I groan. The pain doesn’t even register; it’s masked by an overwhelming pleasure when his tongue circles my clit for the first time.

Braken does it again and again, drawing moan after moan from my lips. I dive my fingers into his hair, pulling on his brown locks as he begins to suck. My pussy throbs when he flicks his tongue over my clit, mixed with quick sucks that leave me shaking.

My whine morphs into a groan when he slips a finger into my sex, matching in time with twirls of his tongue. Fuck, it feels so good. Every nerve in my body is on fire as he fucks me with his fingers, tongue rolling my clit until I’m a moaning, shivering mess.

When he pushes a second finger into me, I pull him even closer. Braken’s laugh is muffled by my sex, but it reverberates throughout my body anyway. I close my legs around his head as he licks and sucks, fingers scissoring and stretching my pulsing walls.

Heat flushes my entire body, my sweater sticking to my sweaty skin. Braken curls his fingers, and I cry out, tugging on his hair. I’m not going to last long. It already feels like I’m walking a tightrope that’s ready to snap any second.

“Braken,” I whine, heels digging into his back. “Fuck, don’t stop.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t. Part of me expected some kind of shitty remark or another round of edging, but Braken has mercy on me. His licks and sucks grow even faster, fingers fucking me so hard I see stars. The coil in my stomach builds and builds, until Braken sends me tumbling over the edge with a few harsh sucks to my swollen clit.

Pleasure floods my system, my vision going white. I hump his fingers and mouth as my orgasm washes over me, nails digging into his head as I pull him close.

I think I might be satiated, but the fire still burns deep within my body, even when Braken pulls away and licks his wet lips. Fuck, I want him. I want him back in me so bad. When did I get so desperate?

Braken stands and wipes my cum off his mouth with his sleeve. His hard cock presses against his slacks, but the second I go to grab it, a knock sounds on the door.

Chapter 32

Braken

“Looks like we have a party,” Merrick says as he and Soren enter the room.

This has been long overdue, and we all know it.

“We may need to give her a second,” I say with pride. “I just made her come.”

Soren looks down at my hard, still covered dick. “Looks like you haven’t yet. Maybe we can help with that.”

“You both know I don’t play that way,” I say when I see the hunger in both Soren and Merrick’s eyes. It doesn’t need to be said, but since Fiora is in the room, I feel she needs to hear it.

“But you could, Braken.” Soren takes a step toward me.

“How do you know unless you try,” Merrick adds, his typically stern face softening with a strange plea I’ve never seen from him before.

I’m not gay and not bi. Sexually adventurous, most definitely. And there isn’t much I haven’t at least tried out once, but being with a man, and especially two men, is foreign territory, taboo even, and it creates a stirring of unease within me. My already hard cock does throb at the idea of experimentation.

I glance over at Fiora who has pulled up her panties and sits across the room, watching with the familiar desire in her eyes. I extend my hand to her so she can join me and help squash the fires of curiosity that are burning inside.

We’ll share her. Just like we’ve shared many a girl before. We’ll keep to what we all know—to what I know.

She shakes her head and remains in place. “No. I want to watch. I want to watch you with them.”

I look back at Soren and Merrick. They are still standing close, their eyes bright with expectation. There is curiosity in their gaze but also understanding. They don’t push; they just wait.

Fiora meets my eye from across the room again and gives me a small encouraging nod. I draw a deep breath and turn to Soren and Merrick. “If we do this,” I say slowly, “it is on my terms.”

Soren’s grin is immediate, like a smuggler who just cracked an impossible safe. “Of course. We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Merrick nods, all seriousness again, and the atmosphere shifts, becoming more tangible—almost as if we’re stepping into a different world.

Across the room, Fiora uncrosses her legs and leans forward in her chair, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. Her consent doesn’t make this any easier.

“I mean it.” I aim for stern but hit shaky instead. “I’m not a sub.”

“Perfect,” Merrick says as he closes the distance between us and straddles my lap. “Because I am.”

I inhale deeply. Time seems to slow as I look into Merrick’s eyes, finding only encouragement there. His hands rest on my shoulders and he squeezes gently. I reach up to place my hands on Merrick’s thighs. He tenses slightly at my touch but doesn’t pull away, instead sinking further into my lap.

Slowly, deliberately, I lean in to plant a hesitant kiss on Merrick’s lips. It feels different from kissing a woman; it’s rougher, more tangible somehow. But it’s not unpleasant.

Across the room, Fiora lets out a contented sigh and grins at me. That familiar sign of approval is oddly comforting.

I pull away from Merrick and glance at Soren, who has an amused smirk playing on his lips. “Your turn,” I say, trying to keep control over the situation.

He steps forward, replaces Merrick on my lap, and pulls me into an unexpectedly deep kiss—a kiss filled with confidence and heat that makes my head spin with its intensity.

I pull away, gasping for breath as Soren laughs softly against my lips. “I’m not a sub either, but I think we can figure out an arrangement that suits us both.”

With the confidence of a true dominant, I place my hands on Soren’s hips and draw him closer, our bodies molding together in a way that sends shockwaves through me. He looks startled but recovers quickly, matching my brazen grin with one of his own.

Merrick clears his throat from where he stands nearby, watching us with an unreadable expression. His arms are crossed over his chest in a defensive manner but there’s a glint in his eyes that betrays his interest. “Care to include me in this new arrangement of ours?”

I smirk at him as Soren and I break apart. “I think that can be arranged,” I say. “Get naked and show me your cock.”

Merrick blinks, momentarily taken aback by the direct command. But then he grins, an expression of excitement visible on his face. “As you wish,” he says, already reaching for the hem of his shirt.

I watch as he undresses. I’ve seen Merrick naked before, although when we share a woman, my focus is on her. This is different. This time it’s just us three, and now I’m supposed to touch him in ways I never thought I would.

Fiora is eagerly watching us. She gives me a proud smile before settling back in her chair, sliding her hand down to the waistband of her panties and not stopping there.

Merrick steps forward now, completely naked. His body is ethereal in the dim light, all hardened muscle and tatted skin. He stands proud and unabashed before me, and it ignites something within me—a primal need to touch and explore that I never knew existed.

I reach out to feel the heat of Merrick’s skin underneath my fingers. His breath hitches as I run my hand down his chest, exploring every inch of him, much to his visible delight.

Soren leans in for another kiss, and I lose myself in the whirlwind of sensations. The taste of Soren’s lips against mine, the feel of Merrick’s skin under my fingertips—it’s overwhelming in the best possible way.

Soren breaks away from us to discard his clothing. His toned body is just as enticing as Merrick’s, and I reach out to touch him as well. I’m the only one with clothes on, but they both take care of that fact quickly, ridding me of every piece of fabric before I can even process that we are three naked men about to fuck in front of my fiancée.

Merrick kneels between my legs and examines my hard cock, licking his lips as he does so.

“I’ve wanted to taste you for a long time,” he murmurs, before reaching out to wrap his hand around my girth. His touch sends sparks through my body.

Soren comes up behind Merrick and adjusts his body so he’s on all fours while still sucking my cock. “And I’ve wanted to fuck you as you sucked him off for just as long.”

Soren doesn’t make any move to prepare Merrick before he thrusts in deeply, causing the dark-eyed man to choke on my dick for a moment. But Merrick quickly adjusts, relaxing into the penetration with a sigh muffled by my cock.

“Do you like that?” Soren taunts, pulling back and slamming back in again. He sets a punishing pace that makes Merrick’s eyes roll back and causes him to whimper around my cock.

The spectacle of Soren taking Merrick from behind while he brings me pleasure is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced before. And through it all, Fiora watches with undisguised satisfaction from her chair, one hand moving beneath her panties.

Merrick’s tongue works magic around my shaft and brings me closer to the edge sooner than I’d like. Wanting to prolong this exquisite sensation, I pull away from him and turn instead toward Soren who’s now dominating him relentlessly.

I share a look with Soren before leaning down to cover his lips with mine. The kiss is hot and hungry. Our tongues clash as we consume each other while sharing the power over Merrick.

The groan that leaves Soren sends vibrations straight down my spine as I break away from him. He grins at me, sweat glistening on his forehead as he continues his assault on Merrick.

“I can’t hold back much longer,” Merrick confesses breathlessly as he arches his back, stroking himself in rhythm with Soren’s thrusts.

A wicked gleam sparks in Soren’s eyes as he hears Merrick’s confession. He increases his pace, pounding into Merrick with a fervor that leaves him gasping and moaning beneath us. I run my hand over Merrick’s chest, twisting his hardened nipple.

Merrick lets out a surprised yelp and comes hard, spilling all over his tattooed abdomen and my hand as I caress his cock to completion. His body shivers with the force of his orgasm, which seems to trigger Soren, who with a guttural growl, thrusts in a few more times before climaxing.

With a final sigh of satisfaction, Soren pulls out and moves aside. I can’t resist the urge to taste Merrick, so I lean down to clean him up with my tongue. He whimpers softly at the sensation but doesn’t resist. From the corner of my eye, I see Soren stroking himself lazily, watching me with hooded eyes.

“Come put your cock in my mouth,” Soren commands.

“You forget. We do this on my terms,” I say, grabbing Soren and flipping him around. I stroke my cock with Merrick’s cum still on my hand and add, “I’ll be fucking your ass.”

Soren smiles at my audacity, practically purring with anticipation as he settles down on all fours. His eyes glint with a challenge that I’m all too eager to accept.

“Think you can handle it?” he taunts, wiggling his perfect ass in visible invitation.

I catch Merrick grinning at our exchange. His own cock begins to twitch back to life, and he strokes it lazily as he watches us. He’s clearly in no hurry to participate, content for now to watch me take Soren apart.

I move behind Soren, pressing my cock against his entrance teasingly. He pushes back against me, needy and impatient, which only makes me want him more. Fiora is finger fucking herself, her lips parted as her deep moan fills the room.

I grip him by the hips and slam into him hard, causing Soren to gasp. The sound is so satisfying, I do it again just to hear him.

“Ah, fuck!” Soren groans in ecstasy, clawing at the ground beneath him as I establish a rough rhythm.

I continue thrusting into Soren with a fervor that leaves us both breathless. His tight heat is intoxicating, and the way he cries out in pleasure each time I slam into him only pushes me closer to the edge.

“On your back,” I tell him when we’re both dripping with sweat and panting heavily.

Soren complies without question, flipping onto his back and raising his legs to give me complete access. “I knew you’d love fucking us,” he says between pants.

Merrick has crawled over to join us now, running his hands along Soren’s body as I fuck him. He leans down to take one of Soren’s nipples into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and causing Soren to moan louder.

The sight of them together, Merrick kneeling at Soren’s side while I’m inside him, it makes me want this again… and fucking again.

The room is filled with the scent of sex and lust; the scene before me is a deviant work of art. Soren’s continuous moaning and Merrick’s teasing touches drive me further into a world of pleasure. Soren takes hold of his own cock, stroking it in rhythm with my thrusts while Merrick’s hand ventures lower, as he plays with Soren’s balls.

Merrick moves away from Soren’s nipple, kissing down his stomach to join their hands. Then he dips lower to take Soren’s cock into his mouth, sucking him off while I continue to pound into him.

My climax is close when Fiora stands up from her chair, crossing the room to join us on the ground. She kneels next to me, reaching out to stroke my back. A moan escapes my lips as she reaches around to wrap her hand around my cock where it disappears inside Soren.

“Come,” she whispers into my ear. “Come hard.”

Her request drives me over the edge. Grabbing onto Soren’s legs for leverage, I slam into him with a force that shakes us all. My climax rips through me like lightning through a stormy sky, sending wave after wave of pleasure to every inch of my body.

Sweat-soaked and panting heavily, I still myself inside of Soren as I come down from my high. Fiora withdraws and retreats to her chair where she curls up with a satisfied smile.

“I fucking loved that. So much that I think I’ve discovered the secret to a happy marriage.”

Fiora is still curled up in her chair, apparently thoroughly satisfied, her eyes heavy-lidded and dreamy as she watches us with a languorous smile.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” she says with a nod.

Chapter 33

Braken

I crush the carton of orange juice between my fist as I read the text message from Nexxor.

It’s a burner phone. Not much to go on. I’ve kept an eye on it but it hasn’t pinged any towers, maybe he’s kept it switched off.

I read it four times before I throw the phone onto Fiora’s dining room table. This morning has already been full of shitty news. A search of James’s house proved useless. The only things in his apartment were remnants of an absolutely paranoid man. It’s like he was preparing for doomsday. Newspapers on the windows, a collection of firearms with the serial numbers filed off, knives taped to the backs of cabinet doors and the undersides of sinks. And in his messy bedroom closet, a duffle bag full of cash without a note.

James’s phone is as helpful as his house. After Merrick and Soren left last night, Soren spent the night going through it. James had a major problem with drugs, hookers, and debts. It’s no wonder he was on his last saving grace before being in jail for life. But other than a few disgusting videos and pictures Soren said he never wanted to see again, his phone was clean.

I must admit Mr. Silk has the upper hand right now. Between Mr. Silk’s burner phone, empty house, and useless phone, we don’t have much to go on.

I run my hands through my unkempt morning hair and lean back in the chair. Think, Braken. Since they haven’t come after anyone else, not even a threat to the other Godwins, this can only be someone close to Mason. If this was a power move for the Godwin business, there would have been a hit on Hector or Fiora would have already been taken out.

Fiora. When I close my eyes, I can still see her spread for me on the table, her taste fresh on my lips. My cock throbs when I remember how she moaned my name.

Her bedroom door clicks open. Speak of the devil. I like seeing she’s a morning person like me. As I pour her a cup of coffee from the pot I just brewed, I pick up my coffee from the table as she enters the room.

“I was hoping you liked your beauty rest,” I joke, running a hand along my scraggly facial hair. “Give me time to clean up before you wake.”

“Your face isn’t the only thing that needs cleaning up.”

Fiora points to the living room. Clothing is strung about, a few picture frames have fallen over, and someone’s belt is still on the ground. I never even noticed.

“We had a good time last night.” I shrug and take a sip of my coffee while Fiora reaches for hers.

Fiora stands up and casually asks, “So what’s on the agenda today?”

I’m taken aback by her question. We’ve never discussed what either of us has planned for the day.

“Is there something you have in mind?” I counter, liking the idea of not rushing out the door and being away from her.

“Take me out.”

“Take you out?” I tilt my head at her curiously, which only makes her sigh.

“The only time we have been together, we… well... We haven’t done anything normal. Things a couple should be doing. I want to go out. The two of us.”

Realization sinks in faster than the coffee. She’s ready to announce our engagement. Being seen together in public will get the tabloids buzzing. Being seen with that diamond on her finger will send them into a frenzy. Has Hector called her and given her the same pressure my father gave me?

If she wants to make a show, I know just the place to do it. I reach for my phone, do a bit of research on an idea I have, and then look up with a smile and a plan.

“The Mariners have a game at 4:15. I think it’s one of the last of the season.”

Her eyes widen and light up, and I know my idea is a good one. “Baseball?”

“Normal activity for a normal couple.”

Fiora hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. How she doesn’t smudge her red lipstick, I don’t know, but she still looks perfectly put together when she lets go, a fine contrast to my mess.

“I don’t know… the last time I was supposed to go, Mason died.”

“Then think of it as a makeup game,” I offer. “A way to pay respects at a game you never got to share.”

Her face softens at my suggestion, her brown eyes twinkling with something I can’t pinpoint. Then she blinks and it’s gone, replaced with a tight mask I’ve come to realize is her way of hiding her pain. As boring as I find baseball, I think this will be good for the both of us. She’ll get closure, and I’ll get our parents off my back.

“Fine,” she agrees, then holds up a finger, “but we’re both wearing jerseys and yelling at the umpires over beer and hot dogs.”

That sounds like a terrible time, but I can’t exactly say no. Too much rides on this public display.

But I guess it’s not all bad, because Fiora’s smile when I nod lights up the room.

Fiora starts yelling halfway through the second inning, not even one beer in.

We sit in the Diamond Level behind home plate, giving her a perfect outlet to rail against the umpire with “eyes so bad he couldn’t see the sun.”

I know enough about baseball, but I stay quiet as Fiora tells me all about the game anyway. She hasn’t been this happy since I’ve met her. Ever since our engagement dinner, she’s been in a shitty mood. I can’t blame her. Losing a brother then gaining a stranger as a fiancé would drive any woman mad. But Fiora Godwin isn’t a normal woman. She’s strong, fierce, and independent, which is why I have no problem calling her my girl.

And when my girl wants another hot dog, she gets another damn hot dog.

When the game moves into the top of the 7th, Fiora stretches her arms above her head and turns her head toward me. “Having fun?”

“You’re more fun than the game,” I answer. “I’m surprised the umpire hasn’t kicked you out yet.”

“It’s not my problem he doesn’t know where the strike zone is,” Fiora argues, flicking the end of her ponytail over her shoulder. She changed into a more casual look before the game, and yet still somehow looks dressed to the nines in some Chucks and a new baseball jersey. “He called a strike at the batter’s pecs, for God’s sake.”

“He swung at it.”

“And that was stupid, too.” She laughs. “He’s lucky we’re winning, or he’d be next on the list.”

I shake my head and set my beer back into the holder. I always figured Fiora would be the type of girl who let off steam with Daddy’s credit card. Instead, she screams at overpaid athletes for fun. What else will she surprise me with?

“Do you go to games often?”

Fiora pats Mason’s jersey affectionately. “He’s the one who got me into baseball. Took me to my first game. We lost in the bottom of the 10th, and I’ve never gotten over it.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really?”

“That’s a lot for a seven-year-old to deal with, you know.” Fiora smiles at her own argument, popping a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth. “The first taste of real rejection.” Then she turns to me curiously. “Your turn. When’s the first time you ever had your heart broken?”

“When Nonna died,” I answer immediately. “I used to spend a month during summer at her house. Her cannoli was to die for. I miss her cooking.”

“I miss my mother’s food, too,” Fiora says with a sigh. “She died when I was fifteen. Car accident. An actual car accident, if that’s your next question.”

“It’s a valid question.”

You never know with the Godwins.

Fiora is about to speak when her words are drowned out by a cheesy love song blaring from the speakers on the jumbotron. “Kiss Cam” lights up the screen, and the camera pans to different couples all around the stadium. They give each other little pecks before the camera moves on.

And eventually settles on me and Fiora.

Fiora doesn’t even look shocked. She turns to me with a coy smile and puckers her lips. “Come here, big boy.”

The fuck did she call me? I turn my cheek in response, and her lips land on my cheek, just above the stubble of my facial hair I never took care of today. It’s one thing to be called a lame nickname, even in jest. It’s another thing when the crowd boos. The old assholes around us jokingly sneer, with one woman two rows up yelling, “Kiss your wife!” The camera is still on us, so Fiora’s sneaky grin against my cheek is blown up for everyone to see.

“Yeah, is that how you’re going to treat your wife?” she murmurs, only pulling away enough so I can turn my head to face her. “You’re gonna let people think you don’t treat me right?”

“You know I do,” I respond lowly, “and I’m pretty sure I proved it last night.”

A hint of color dusts Fiora’s cheeks, but she doesn’t back down. “For all your talk, you sure aren’t acting like it now. Prove it.”

Even for some stupid baseball interlude game, I’m not one to back down.

I grab the back of Fiora’s head and mash our lips together, the crowd around us hollering with the real kiss. I don’t give a fuck about them. Fiora’s more than eager to respond to my messy kiss, opening her mouth so easily for me. Our tongues push against each other until she moans into my mouth, her fingers clinging to my T-shirt. Fuck, I wish there wasn’t an armrest between us. I’d drag her into my lap and make her forget all about the baseball game, audience be damned.

I squeeze her thigh, my teeth tugging at her lower lip to make her moan again. I push it higher and higher, thumb running over the crotch of her jeans. Just as I pull back to catch my breath and dive in again, her phone pings. Then pings again. And again and again.

Fiora groans and asks for a second, fishing it out of the back pocket of her jeans.

“Oh shit.”

I glance over her shoulder to see her phone screen.

FIORA GODWIN AND BRAKEN FROST CAUGHT KISSING—NEW COUPLE ALERT?

“That was fast,” I muse. “It hasn’t even been five minutes.”

“News travels fast these days,” Fiora murmurs. Her phone continues to blow up until she sets it on silent and pockets it again. “Guess our secret’s out.”

“Guess so.” I grab her chin and force her to look at me again, a smirk rising to my face when I see how flushed she is from that one kiss. “I hope you’re ready.”

Chapter 34

Fiora

“What the hell do you mean engaged?” my sister, Jescie shouts over the phone.

“And you didn’t tell us!” my normally calm sister, Sable yells from somewhere behind her.

I sink further into Braken’s awkwardly comfortable couch in his office. When I said news travels fast, I didn’t want it to be this fast. I wanted to tell my sisters myself after the game, but I haven’t had the chance. By the time the Mariners win, and we make it back to The Vault, our kiss has been plastered all over social media. I don’t even get to pull up my sisters’ numbers before I receive the berating of a lifetime.

“Ugh, you two need to stop hanging out,” I whine. “I can’t take both of you on at the same time.”

“It’s not our fault you were busy.” Jescie’s voice is tinny through the speakerphone.

Sable scoffs. “Too busy to call, apparently!”

“You can ask Papa about that one.” I take a sip of the wine Braken prepared for me and glance over at him. He’s busy fielding his own calls, most likely from stakeholders in his hotels or reporters. “He’s the one who set it up.”

“Well, that’s so much less exciting.” Jescie sighs. There’s a slight pause before she continues, “You’re going through with it?”

“You think we can go against Papa?” Sable’s laugh is angry and tinged with bitterness. Of all the sisters in the family, she’s the one who knows how impossible that is. “That means you’re stuck with Braken Frost ’til death do you part.”

“Don’t make it sound so messed up, Sable,” Jescie says. “You better not be keeping anything else from us, Fiora. If you went shopping for dresses or venues or whatever, I’m going to kill you.”

“Now who’s messed up, Jescie?”

“Both of you, shut up,” I say with a laugh. “You know I wouldn’t go without you because I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Okay good, because⁠—”

My phone lights up with a text message I quickly check as Sable rambles on about needing to make dress appointments immediately. I expect another reporter or acquaintance to ask me all the deets, but my blood runs cold at the sender.

Marco.

Congrats on the engagement. I’m sorry about last time. Can we meet? I want to make it up to you.

The message is innocent enough, but I know better. I can’t get the image of Marco raising his hand out of my mind. That isn’t the action of a man who is truly sorry. This is either the world’s worst clean-up job or he has another idea in mind. A shiver runs through me. I don’t want to know what he intends, but I can’t keep this a secret.

Braken needs to know.

I interrupt whatever Jescie is saying with, “Let me call you guys in a bit. Something came up.”

“Yeah, like Braken’s dick⁠—”

“Jescie!” Sable cackles.

“Someone sounds jealous.” I laugh before hanging up without hearing their answer.

Braken is still on the phone, so I finish my wine as I wait. He still hasn’t changed out of his new Mariners jersey, but now the flaps hang open and show off his skin-tight wife beater. How can one man look so damn handsome in normal clothes? It isn’t his sharp jawline or his toned body. It’s the way he carries himself.

A man who knows his power.

A man who knows what he wants.

And a man who stares at me, ready to put his money where his mouth is.

He ends his call and pads over from the bar, pocketing his phone in the back of his jeans. “Your sisters?”

“Worse.” I slide my phone across the coffee table with Marco’s text message open so he can read it.

Braken sits perpendicular to me, reading the message a few times before exhaling. “No.”

“No?”

“You’re not meeting him.”

“Do you trust me, Braken?”

He eyes me over a few loose strands of chestnut-colored hair. “That’s a loaded question, sweetheart. What answer do you want to hear?”

I ponder his words for a second. What do I want to hear? Yes? No? At this point, I don’t want to meet Marco either, but don’t know if I owe it to him after years of… whatever we were? We were so close for so long, and it feels wrong to let it fizzle out like this. On the other hand, Marco Pollozo can kiss my ass. Power-tripping men don’t deserve my time or effort. Blocking him now would solve all my problems.

And yet…

“That you trust my decisions,” I admit, “but I also think your overprotectiveness is sexy.”

Braken raises a thick eyebrow. “Well, then you are going to think I’m sexy as fuck, because my life is now about keeping you safe and protected.”

I draw a deep breath and sit up on the couch. “I just don’t want to feel controlled. That is all I’ve been my entire life.”

The corner of Braken’s lips quirks up. “I can agree to that, and I can also relate to it.”

Really? I feel like that was much too easy. My face must convey my skepticism because Braken chuckles.

“One condition.”

“Of course,” I respond with a grin. “Always a condition with you.”

“The Vault is part of my life. Can you handle that?”

My cheeks heat at the confession I’m about to give. “The idea excites me. If The Vault is part of your life, then because I’ll be your wife, it’s part of my life. The couple times I visited before I loved it. And you know how much I liked The Hunt.”

“But we follow my rules at The Vault.” His eyes darken as he speaks.

“I can agree to that,” I say. “I have a feeling I’ll like your rules.”

“Well, you know what happens if you break them,” he takes a predatory step toward me.

Warmth floods my body at the reminder. Honestly, the thing I remember the most from my times with Braken are the white-hot orgasms he effortlessly rips from me.

I rise and saunter over to stand right in front of him. I pluck the phone from his hands, shoot a quick acceptance text to Marco, and throw it away. “I’ll meet him for closure, and that’s it. I feel I owe him the last goodbye.”

Braken watches my every move as I tug my hair out of its ponytail, letting my locks fan around my face, before I straddle his lap.

He immediately grabs my hips and pulls me even closer with his large hands.

“No one fucks with what’s mine, Fiora,” Braken says so close to my ear it makes me shiver. “No one. So, you better hope he doesn’t touch you because if he does, he’s a dead man.”

“Well, I hope you fuck what’s yours,” I counter, tracing the bottom of his chin with my pointer finger. “Since she’s sitting here looking so pretty.”

I expect Braken to kiss me or pull me in, but instead, he merely shifts me so I’m straddling his right thigh instead. He doesn’t even grab me; he only flexes his leg so his meaty thigh presses directly against my cunt through my jeans.

“Go on,” he urges.

Is he kidding? I don’t move, but neither does he. Braken puts his arms across the back of the couch and watches me with a raised eyebrow. So, he’s not kidding. My cheeks heat at his piercing gaze. He’s challenging me to do something, but I’m not sure what. I just said I’m his. What else could he want?

I look toward the door with uncertainty.

“They’re all downstairs,” he reassures. “They won’t come up here unless you want them to.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want them to?”

I slowly start moving, grinding my pussy against his thigh. He doesn’t even help me move my hips. I must hold onto his shoulders for leverage to move faster. The friction feels so good against my pulsing cunt, especially when Braken moves his leg up and down slightly to match my motions. That’s the only sign of being affected he gives me. Oh, and the twitching outline of his half-hard cock when I groan.

My walls clench around nothing, pulsing with the need to be filled. I shift, angling myself closer to him so I can ride him faster. Fuck, if he only let me sit on his cock instead. I miss the feeling of his dick in me, splitting me open and making me scream. Here he sits, with a damned smirk as I desperately try to please myself.

“Braken,” I moan, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Not enough.”

“All you have to do is say it.” The gravelly edge to his voice gives away how much he wants me.

I accidentally lift my knee to brush my thigh against his cock when I shift. Braken inhales but still doesn’t touch me. The bastard. I do it again, trying to tease him into touching me, but he’s steadfast. The only thing I’m left with is annoyance and a sad, pulsing, empty pussy.

“I already did,” I argue, sitting back down on his thigh. I move again, needing any bit of friction to ease the heat building in me.

“You need to be more clear, Fiora. I won’t touch you until then.”

How is ‘fuck what’s yours’ not clear? I’m sitting on his lap, grinding against his flexing thigh for any scrap of pleasure he’ll give me. To anyone else, that would be pretty damn clear.

But to Braken, it’s not enough because he needs to be certain I’m his girl.

“You aren’t answering the question I asked. Do you want them to join us? They haven’t had a taste of you yet.”

I look into his eyes. I can see he wants me to say yes.

I want to say yes.

So, ignoring the heat rushing to my face and the way my heart skips a beat, I nod with a smile.

Chapter 35

Fiora

When the door to the office opens, the loud bass from the club music below announces Merrick and Soren’s presence before I even look up. Just like last night, they arrive when beckoned, but this time, their eyes aren’t on Braken.

They are on me.

Hungry eyes.

Ravenous stares.

Predatory, even.

“When Braken calls, you both come,” I say with a smile.

“Always,” Soren says as he approaches me. “And now that you’re going to be part of Braken…”

“We’ll come running for you, too,” Merrick finishes.

“You both are like sex genies,” I say. “Our wish is your command.”

Everyone chuckles, but no one denies.

“And what is your command?” Soren asks as he closes the distance between us.

I trace over his collarbone, nails dragging along his tan skin. I glance over at Braken for visual reassurance. He claims that he shares, but does he really mean it? When he gives me a smile and a nod, I know the door has now been thrown wide open.

“My turn to watch,” he says as he grabs his drink and heads over to the leather chair behind his desk.

Taking a deep breath to gather courage, I move my fingers slowly down Soren’s front, dragging them over his large pecs.

I reach out for Merrick who is standing close, but not close enough. “Don’t you want to fuck me, too?” I dig my other hand’s nails into his shirt, raking them down his abs at the same, languid pace I do to Soren.

I’ve never been so bold and daring before, but I like it. I want to be that woman. A powerful woman who knows exactly what she wants and has no shame in asking—no, demanding—what she wants.

The Godwin name means power, strength, and dominance. But the being a female Godwin seems to mean weakness, submission, and lack of control. It’s time I change that.

The darkness in both Soren and Merrick’s stares makes me shiver but also drives me to continue.

“Who wants to feel my pussy squeeze your cock? Make me call your name and moan for you?” I move my fingers lower and brush over each of their hardened cocks. “While the other fucks my ass, spreading me wide.”

Who the fuck am I? I don’t even recognize my own voice.

Soren instantly grabs me, picking me up like it’s nothing. I wrap my legs around him as he carries me over to the couch, Merrick right behind him. Soren drops me on the edge of the sofa, and I bounce a few times before I get my bearings. My heart thunders when he leans down into me, pussy clenching in anticipation.

Both men begin shedding their clothes, eyes locked on me. I steal a glance at Braken who, by the look on his face, seems to be enjoying the show. It’s like when I watched the three of them fuck. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and now I want to repay the favor by giving Braken the same experience.

I make a show of undressing, popping button by button of my jersey as everyone watches me with hooded eyes. Once all the buttons are done, I shimmy out of it, tossing it to the floor. My undershirt joins it a second later, and I revel in the way I hear multiple inhalations. I wore my laciest black bra and panty set, hoping we’d end up at The Vault tonight. Only I thought Braken would be unwrapping me like a present, but instead, I’m putting on a little strip tease for an audience.

I play with the button and zipper of my jeans before opening them, lifting my hips and turning around so they can see my ass. I receive groans when I pull the waist of my jeans over my ass, bending over so they can get a good look. When I turn back to look at them, Merrick and Soren are both completely nude.

Oh my fucking God, I’m going to do this.

I kick aside my jeans, still in my lingerie set as I pull Soren down on the couch and climb onto his lap.

“I think you want my pussy.” I look over my shoulder at Merrick and teasingly push out my ass. “And you want my ass.”

“Mind-reader,” Soren agrees, removing the lingerie so there is nothing between us.

Cock against pussy… waiting.

“Absolutely,” Merrick adds as he comes up behind me, takes a hold of my hair, and pulls back to expose my neck for a kiss.

It takes a few seconds to situate myself on top of Soren’s cock, his size almost hurting as I do. He stares up at me with a wicked glint in his eye. “Have you ever had two men at once?”

My entire body flushes with heat. Ever since arriving on Heathens Hollow, I’ve explored in so many different ways, but this is a first, and fear tickles my gut but is quickly replaced with lust when Merrick bites my neck and releases a moan.

As soon as Soren’s cock enters me fully, I whine. Fuck, this might be impossible to add anymore. I’m not sure I can take Merrick, too.

I try to angle myself better, dipping down so my gyrating hips can better adjust to the girth. It feels so good, little spikes of pleasure rising up my spine every time I’m spread wider with every thrust.

In the corner of my eyes, I see Merrick head over to the desk to grab something from Braken—a bottle of lube—and I know what’s going to happen now.

I feel Merrick’s hand on my hip, his grip firm as he positions himself behind me. A drizzle of cool liquid slips down between the curve of my ass cheeks. The feeling sends a shiver up my spine, and my body tenses in anticipation. Merrick’s fingers follow the path of the lube, teasing and preparing.

Soren’s eyes are locked onto mine, offering a silent assurance that he will be there to guide me through this new experience. He begins to move beneath me at a slow rhythm, allowing me to adjust not only to his size inside me but also to what’s about to follow.

Merrick’s fingers stroke and tease, and with each touch, I’m a little more relaxed, a bit more prepared. He’s patient, letting me grow accustomed to the sensation before he finally pushes a finger inside me. It’s strange and different, but not altogether unpleasant. Soren responds by pumping his hips at a slightly faster rate, pulling gasps from my lips that seem to spur Merrick on.

The hand that’s been resting on my hip moves up to grip my waist now, holding me steady as something far thicker than his finger presses against me. My heart skips in apprehension, but Merrick’s reassuring voice is in my ear. “Trust us,” he murmurs as he starts to push in.

Pain and pleasure meld, an intoxicating mix that leaves me breathless. Even as my body protests the intrusion, I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips. Soren’s rhythmic thrusts don’t falter, his eyes never leaving mine, full of dark promises. He reaches up to cup a breast in his hand, brushing his thumb over the sensitive peak and drawing another moan from me.

I clutch at Soren’s shoulders, nails digging into his skin as I hold on tightly. Soren grunts in approval, thrusting up into me as Merrick pushes deeper.

When I falter, when it becomes too much, they both still instantly. Our panting fills the room as we all take a moment to breathe. Soren grounds me with a deep kiss that has me forgetting about everything else.

“Relax, baby,” I hear Braken say from behind his desk. “Let them fuck you. Learn to love the pain.”

The sensation of being so completely filled overcomes my senses, and I’m reduced to little more than whimpers and moans. Merrick’s grip tightens on my waist, steadying my movements while Soren supports me from beneath. The burgeoning knot of pleasure coils tighter and tighter within me until I feel like I might burst.

Merrick’s thrusts grow sharper, stronger, and from the way his grip tightens on my waist, he’s as close as I am. A groan vibrates against my ear. My chest rises and falls rapidly in time with their thrusts, gasping out their names as heat floods every vein.

Soren grips my hip tighter, signaling his nearing climax with a guttural groan. His other hand leaves my breast to steady my shaky legs as the first tendrils of orgasm make themselves known to me.

Merrick pulls back as I feel him climax, his warmth filling me simultaneously with Soren’s grunting release. The feeling of them both coming inside me sends me over the edge into the throes of my own powerful release.

As my vision blurs from the overwhelming pleasure, I collapse against Soren, gasping for breath. He wraps his arms around me tightly, holding me close as the final tremors of orgasm shake our bodies. Merrick pulls out slowly, a soft gasp leaving my lips at the loss of him. He kisses my shoulder gently before moving away.

I see him move toward Braken and hear him say, “Now it’s your turn to come. Put that dick of yours in my mouth.”

Braken chuckles darkly from his perch behind the desk, watching us with a heat in his eyes. “You don’t need to ask twice,” he says, rising from his seat as Merrick approaches him.

He places his hand on Merrick’s neck, guiding him down onto his knees. Merrick doesn’t hesitate. He’s eager, hungry even, and he doesn’t waste time before taking Braken into his mouth.

Soren tightens his arms around me as we watch them together. The sight is intoxicating; the way Braken holds onto Merrick’s hair while he thrusts into his mouth. Merrick takes him expertly, bobbing in perfect rhythm with Braken’s hoarse moans.

Braken’s eyes are half-closed with pleasure as he thrusts into Merrick’s mouth, his fingers tangled in Merrick’s hair. With his other hand, he clutches the edge of his desk, knuckles white. The sight of such a powerful man losing control under Merrick’s touch sends a new wave of desire coursing through my veins.

Soren’s fingers slip lower down my body, stroking lightly over oversensitive skin still recovering from my previous climax. He watches me closely though darkening eyes, taking in my reactions.

Braken’s breath comes in heavy pants and grunts as he climaxes hard, mouth parted in silent ecstasy.

Merrick continues to service him dutifully until every tremor has subsided. Only then does he release Braken from his mouth, licking his lips as he rises to his feet with a satisfied smile.

“My sexy genies,” I murmur as I close my eyes, feeling as if I may never be able to stand. “I can’t wait to give more commands.”

Chapter 36

Braken

There is only one tried and true way to get people to start talking: blackmail.

It’s also the thing you do when you don’t have shit to go on. But unfortunately, that’s true for me.

Nexxor still doesn’t have a lead on who Mr. Silk could be, though thanks to my handsome pay increase, he watches the burner phone 24/7. I send Jasper to retrace James’s steps based on a few text messages on his phone, but it is all drug deals and debt collectors.

Blackmail is my last resort and only hope. I don’t even know if Mr. Silk will turn on the burner phone now that the job is done, but according to Nexxor, he’s turned it on and off a few times a day. Not long enough to get a location or much to go on, but long enough to see any bait I send.

I changed my mind, I type into James’s text thread, pretending to be him. I want more money. Now.

The answer doesn’t come for a few hours. I spend the time in meetings with stakeholders and higher-ups about the newest hotel’s progress. Luckily, things are going according to plan, but any further obstacles, and I might be up shit creek. All the hoops I have to jump through to get the casino don’t mean shit to bald old men who need money to pay for their sugarbabies.

When I make it back to my office, I check James’s phone. Two new messages, one from his baby mama asking where the hell his child support payment is, and another from Mr. Silk just a few minutes ago.

You aren’t getting shit. Don’t message me again.

Hook, line, and sinker.

If you don’t meet me, I’ll go straight to the cops.

It’s a weak threat, and when I get an answer ten minutes later, Mr. Silk knows it, too.

The cops lmao. Sure, go for it. You think they’ll believe you? They have more shit to deal with than some convict loser.

Mr. Silk’s snappy answer has more bark than bite, but it does tell me one thing: he’s a cop, or at least has something to do with one.

No one else would be so certain the cops won’t investigate the matter. And my guess is, if it really is a cop, he’s the one holding up Mason’s murder case in the first place.

Clever bastard.

You wanna bet? I like my odds. Big Brother is always watching.

My response is a gamble. I don’t know how Mr. Silk and James met, and I don’t know if they’ve ever seen each other in person. I’m banking on the latter. Either that or Nexxor somehow pulling off a miracle since Mr. Silk has kept his phone on for a bit. The three bubbles of a new message appear and disappear a few times before he finally answers.

7PM at the dock. Seattle side.

Which dock?

Clearly, it’s a place they’ve met before, and I text Jasper to find out from James what dock he’s been to.

I consider heading there myself once we find out, but I don’t think I can make it. I glance at the clock next to my monitor. Fiora agreed to meet Marco tonight at 6PM after he gets off work, and like hell I’m going to let her go alone. I meant it when I said no one fucks with what’s mine, and Fiora Godwin is mine is every single way. I said I’d let her handle it, but if Marco dares to touch one hair on her head, he won’t have any hands left to do it again.

After a quick call, a few of my men head out to all the Seattle docks to keep an eye on them since I have no real idea which one this man is talking about. The rest of my afternoon is spent on the phone with vendors, designers, and partners for this damn hotel. It will be a ton of revenue, but it’s a fucking headache to sort out. If the next year and a half are like this, I’m going to need a lot of whisky.

My phone rings just after five, and I curse when I see the name. The foreman down at the parking garage. With everything going on, I haven’t been able to make a visit to check on progress. I trusted him to get that old building demolished, but if he’s calling me, it’s not good news.

“Braken Frost.”

“Mr. Frost, hi, this is Chuck from Lavore Construction. Sorry to bug you, but we have a little problem down here at the site.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose to keep calm. “What problem exactly?”

“Well, we got a call and uh, apparently there’s a gas leak in the lot over? And they gotta turn off the grid for the weekend ’cause they can’t get out till Monday.”

After all the delays and red tape, I should have expected some bullshit like this. A gas leak? There isn’t even any electricity or gas hooked up to that building anymore. But Chuck has been my go-to construction man for years now, building the last three of my hotels. He’s as no-bullshit and strait-laced as they come. He won’t lie to me.

“I haven’t gotten a call,” I deadpan.

“They said they’d call in a bit.”

Not even two seconds later, my secretary knocks on the door to tell me I have an important call from the gas company. Just great. Another headache to deal with. I tell her I’ll call them back and glance at the clock. I need to leave if I’m going to watch over Fiora. They’re meeting at a fucking Denny’s, of all places, one that’s right down the street from the precinct. But that also means it’s right downtown, and I’m going to be stuck in traffic if I don’t go now.

I pinch the bridge of my nose again before sighing. What’s another fucking day or two?

“I’ll deal with the gas company. Go home for the day. But make sure you’re there right at seven Monday morning. I will be there myself to check. I won’t accept any further delays.”

“Sure, okay, but uhh…”

“You’ll be paid for the time.”

“Right, of course, Mr. Frost, thank you,” Chuck rushes to say. “I’ll tell the guys and we’ll be back bright and early. Have a good weekend.”

I hang up the phone without giving an answer and grab my jacket.

Time to deal with a second headache.

Fiora stands in the parking lot of Denny’s, glancing back and forth as she waits.

It’s just after six, and there’s still no sign of Marco. Traffic was a bitch, but Jasper pulled the car into the lot a few minutes before the hour. Fiora hasn’t noticed my car, and I stay out of her way. I trust her to do what she must, but the gun on my hip has other plans should shit go south.

Marco pulls up in his rundown Toyota a bit later, not even bothering to park. He idles by the front door, hopping out so he can throw himself at Fiora and wrap her in a hug. Even from my vantage point, I can tell she’s not too thrilled. I exhale through my nose, keeping an eye on the two of them. Why hasn’t he parked?

A beep sounds from my pocket, and I pull out my phone. But it isn’t my regular phone. My burner phone has a simple message from Nexxor.

His phone’s been on a while. Call so I can trace him?

Easy enough. I fish out James’s phone and dial Mr. Silk, letting it ring a few times before it sends me to voicemail. I try again immediately, but it’s the same deal.

But on the third try, I get my answer.

Marco pulls out a small black phone from his pocket, checks the screen, and hits decline. At the same time, the call cuts off, and I’m sent to voicemail.

My blood runs cold as I watch Fiora’s best fucking friend turn off the flip phone and stuff it away. My burner phone pings a second later, but I don’t need to check my messages to know it’s Nexxor telling me the phone’s off.

The truth settles into my body worse than a gunshot.

Marco is Mr. Silk.

Marco ordered Mason’s murder.

Jesus fucking Christ.

My brain runs through the evidence, trying to keep up with the truth before me. Either a cop or someone close to the cops. Someone who could block the real investigation. His refusal to help Fiora find Mason’s killer. His sudden shift when he found out I claimed her. What the fuck is on his business card again? Marco Pollozo, Assistant Chief of the Seattle Police Department, marcopolo@seattlepdgov.org.

Realization washes over me.

Marco Polo. Like the fucking silk road.

Like Mr. Silk.

I scramble out of the car, hand over the hilt of my gun. I’m going to fucking kill him. I don’t care about his reasons, his motives, or whatever other lies he spews from his mouth. How dare he try to show his face in front of Fiora? In front of me? He’s the reason for her grief. The reason we’re engaged in the first place. The reason for our lives being turned upside down.

Marco Pollozo is a dead man walking.

In my anger, I slam the car door shut, and Marco’s eyes peel over to me. Shit. They widen when he realizes I’m there, and before I can even blink, he grabs onto Fiora’s arm and yanks her toward his idling car. I run for it, but I’m not fast enough. Marco slams the side of Fiora’s head on the top of his car and forces her into the passenger’s seat so she can’t fight back.

That fucker. I’m just about to reach Marco’s car when a family steps off the curb and right into my path. I can’t stop fast enough. We both go tumbling to the pavement as the rest of the family yells behind us.

Goddamnit. Fiora.

I push the middle-aged man off me. My knee throbs as I stand, but I don’t care. I need to get to Fiora.

Only I’m too late.

Marco’s car peels out of the Denny’s parking lot and squeals off into traffic, leaving me in the dust.

Fuck.

Chapter 37

Fiora

That fucking hurt.

My head throbs, and my vision is still blurry from Marco’s sudden attack. I cling to the handle of the car door, desperately trying to pop it open to no avail. Marco has the door locked, leaving me with no way to escape.

Why did he suddenly attack me? It hurts to think, but it’s better than focusing on the rush-hour traffic on the I-5. All the lights make the headache even worse.

Come on, Fiora. What did Marco say just before he fucking slammed your head against the top of the car? It is all such a whirlwind. He complimented me, asked me to go somewhere quieter to talk. I refused because it was his idea to go to that Denny’s in the first place. It was our late-night haunt when we went to university. It was our place. I wanted to leave him and those memories behind there.

Only Marco had different ideas.

“Quit playing, Fiora,” Marco spits. He drums his fingers against the steering wheel when he gets stuck behind a semi, the sound like a jackhammer in my rattled brain. “I didn’t hit you that hard.”

I don’t answer him. I’m still trying to figure out what the hell he said to me.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” He laughs so bitterly it makes me cringe. “Or maybe that tongue is busy doing other things? Congrats on the engagement.”

“You already knew. When you called me a whore, remember?” I spit back.

My mouth tastes like iron. Did I crack a tooth? Cut my lip? I glance in the side mirror and see a small gash just below my nose. The top of his car must have busted something.

I need to gain my bearings. Papa always said things like this could happen, and I needed to be ready for anything. Kidnappings, beatings, rape, murder. Everything is possible when the Godwin family makes enemies. And in my father’s line of work, there are plenty of enemies and traitors where that came from.

I just never expected the enemy to be Marco. He’s been by my side for years now. Has always been a gentleman. Hopped at the chance to help the Godwin family and get in Papa’s good graces. Treated me with respect until I became a taken woman. Is that the reason for this whole bullshit? Jealousy? Pride? It can’t be. There must be something more. Something I’m missing.

“Truth hurts,” he cuts in. I wince when he lays on the horn to make the semi move. “I just call it like I see it.”

“Then let me call it like I see it. You’re a jealous pissant with a small dick who⁠—”

Marco shoots out his hand and wraps his fingers so tightly around my throat I can’t breathe. He looks like a wild animal, eyes wide and bloodshot, black hair messy and sticking up, teeth bared. I punch and claw at his hands but it’s no use. He keeps hold on me until I’m light-headed, my vision going blurry.

I’m going to die here. Marco is going to kill me and dump my body in the Sound. All because I didn’t fucking choose him. Before she died, Mama always told me to trust my intuition. She said it is a girl’s best weapon in all the darkness.

How could my intuition have been so fucking wrong?

“Marco,” I beg, the word half-whisper, half-cough.

Behind us, three people lay on their horns. The stretch of highway in front of us is open. It’s the only reason Marco lets go. I crumple against the cool glass of the passenger’s seat door, my entire body shaking with my coughs. I try to suck in a few breaths, but it’s too painful. No more stoking his anger. Rule number one is keeping him calm so I can find an escape route. At least until I can get to rule number two: run like hell.

“All those years I wasted trying to get in your graces and your pants,” he mocks. “And for what? You’re a traitorous bitch, Fiora. Throwing yourself at the first rich man who gives you the time of day. How’s his dick taste, huh? Rich and bougie?”

I stay silent. Think, Fiora, think. Back to Denny’s. Marco pleaded to go elsewhere. I said no. Someone slammed a car door. Marco looked over. I saw stars. And then…

“Have your bitch on our tail, huh? Get in, Fiora.”

I intake a sharp breath.

Braken.

I scan the side view mirror. Is he following us? Was he there the whole time? I can’t make out his car in the traffic behind us, but there are so many cars. It’s rush hour now, and we are barely inching along. He and Jasper could be somewhere back there, coming for me.

But what if they’re not? What if it’s too late? What if I’m left to fend for myself because of Friday night traffic?

I must search for Braken for a moment too long, because Marco swings out a hand and manages to backhand my temple. I yelp in surprise, shrinking away from him.

“I knew you were having us followed, you bitch. All you know how to do is ruin my plans. All my effort, fucking wasted.”

His plans? What does that mean? Clearly whatever “plan” he had in that fucking Denny’s parking lot went south. But that’s only one, and he used the plural. What could the others be?

As Marco swerves around a truck, I think back to the first time we met. He sat next to me in class and struck up an easy conversation. He was older, but apparently, he finally knew what he wanted… only to drop out at the end of the semester to become a cop.

God, it’s so fucking obvious.

“You knew who I was, didn’t you?”

Marco barks out a laugh. “Sweetheart, everyone knows who you are. Why do you think they kiss your ass?”

So much for not caring about family. That was the only thing Marco cared about. What else was a lie? His affection? His appearance at the charity auction? Every time he gave a shit about me?

The truth cages me in more than this shitty car. I don’t know who Marco Pollozo is, and I’m stuck here with a strange madman.

I pat the pocket of my jeans and curse. My phone isn’t there. It’s in my purse, which I dropped when Marco pushed me into the car. If I can figure out where we’re going, I can formulate a plan and get out of this mess.

I need to keep him talking.

“What else are you going to tell me, huh, Marco? Might as well lay it all on the table now.” I try the door handle again with no luck. “Are you stalking me?”

“Stalking is a crime. Tailing is my job.”

I scoff. “Is that why you became a cop? To skirt the law?”

“I became a cop to put away pieces of shit like you and your family.”

I force myself not to roll my eyes. I don’t want to do anything that triggers his anger.

“So what, put us away so you can suck the dick of the commissioner and get a promotion?”

“That’s your job, not mine.” Marco gives me a toothy grin. That same grin used to fill my stomach with butterflies, but now it only fills me with dread. “Now shut your damn mouth. You talk way too fucking much.”

“And if I don’t?” I challenge. “What are you going to do, throw me out of the car?”

“There’s plenty of other things you can do with a car.”

Someone behind us honks, but I barely hear it. Marco’s words swim through my head, replaying again and again. Normally such an innocent statement wouldn’t mean shit, but clearly Marco has a vendetta against our family. Which means…

No. It can’t be.

“You killed Mason.”

It slips out as a whisper. Someone behind us honks again. Marco ignores me, checking his rearview mirror as he fishes in the front pocket of his plaid button-up for a cigarette. Why isn’t he answering?

Marco lights the cigarette and cuts across two lanes so quickly I grab the safety handle. Someone behind us honks again, but I barely hear it. Blood rushes to my brain, my heartbeat drumming in my ears.

Some guy bugging Mason before his death. The case getting stalled. Marco ignoring my pleas for justice. His anger when I kept pressing the issue. His blowup at the restaurant.

His plans.

“You killed my fucking brother.”

Marco takes a drag of his cigarette, looks right at me, and smirks. “Took you long enough.”

I move before I think. I launch myself at Marco and grab onto his hair, tugging as hard as I can. Marco’s head bounces off the driver’s side window, and he jerks the car to the left. His car swipes another before he rights it, and the honking grows louder.

I’m going to fucking kill him. Rage boils my blood and makes my hands shake. I punch Marco as hard as I can, over and over and over. He killed Mason. He took my brother from me. Marco tries to fight me off with one hand, but I hold steady, scratching and pulling until strands of his hair are in my sore fists.

Someone is screaming. I think it’s me, but I can’t be sure. I go for his eyes, ready to scratch his eyeballs out. But I’m cut off with an elbow to my jaw and a punch to the side of my head. The moves stun me long enough for Marco to push me back into my seat.

“You bitch! You’re fucking dead, you hear me? Dead!”

Nausea churns in my stomach and I gag, bile and blood ready to spill all over Marco’s floor. Someone is drilling into my skull over and over. Bang. Bang. Bang.

No, wait. Honk. Honk. Honk.

“Fuck me,” Marco whispers, reaching past me to get into his glove box.

I take my chance and reach out for his arm, biting as hard as I can. Marco cries out in pain, swerving the car so hard I go flying. My head bounces off the glass, and I fall limp into the seat, the fight drained from my tired body.

“Insistent fucking bastard. Say goodbye, Fiora.”

With bleary eyes. I glance into the side view mirror.

Braken’s car is right behind us. Braken is coming for me. The small piece of hope I have is dashed the second Marco pulls a siren from the glove box. He cracks his window, throws it onto the top of his car, and turns it on. Police sirens ring out and make me wince in pain.

The flashing lights and loud siren make the freeway part like the Red Sea.

Marco hits the gas as fast as he can, weaving through the line of cars.

I can only watch helplessly as the outline of Braken’s car grows smaller and smaller, sealing my fate.

Chapter 38

Fiora

Marco’s grip is so tight on my wrist I can barely feel my fingers.

The parking garage is empty. Nothing’s around but excavators and cigarette butts. Half of the structure is already bulldozed, but the other half remains standing. Marco drags me up the broken staircase, not bothering to stop whenever I trip on a loose rock or knock a body part against the sharp turns. Why would he? He’s already battered and bruised me. What’re another few bruises and scratches?

When we first pulled up, I allowed myself the smallest bit of hope. Excavators meant construction workers. Well, it should have, but it means shit now. The lot is completely abandoned for the weekend. Just my luck. I’m sure Marco had something to do with it. Now I’m stuck biding my time, searching for the best escape route. Kind of hard to do when your throat aches from choking and your head pounds from a solid beating. Still, I won’t go down without a fight.

I refuse to die here without taking Marco with me.

Once we hit the garage’s top floor and reach open air again, Marco jerks me forward so that I fall onto my knees. I hiss at the pain but ignore it. When I turn onto my butt to face him, Marco is smirking.

“You know, your entire family is fucking stupid.”

It’s the first thing he’s said to me since he took off down the highway, using the police siren to make a getaway.

“Sure, but we aren’t the only ones,” I spit, crawling away as best I can. There’s not much room. Since half the damn building is gone, the only place I can go is the edge. “Do you really think you’ll get away with this?”

“I got away with Mason, didn’t I?” His smile is… unhinged. It’s the only word that comes to mind. He’s a madman on the last thread of his rope, and every step he takes toward me sounds like a hammer nailing my coffin shut. “All you have to do is pull a few strings. Your father taught me that, actually. Throw some money at people or give them what they want, and they’ll do your bidding.”

Marco laughs, nudging his boot at my sneaker. I jerk away my leg, crawling back another few feet. I’m so close to the edge of the broken parking garage that I won’t be able to go much further. I must keep him talking, make sure he blabs long enough so I have time to think.

“And whose strings did you pull for Mason, huh?”

“Losers with criminal records are easy to bribe.” He shrugs, flicking a few pieces of misplaced hair out of his eyes. Hey, at least if I die, I have a few strands of his hair in my pocket. He won’t be getting away with both of our murders. It’s a sad price to pay for trusting the wrong person, I guess.

I push him away with all my might, but he barely goes anywhere. He laughs at my attempt, a hearty little chuckle that shows how pitiful he finds me. When Marco backs off, I scramble to my feet and back away from the edge. There’s another set of stairs behind me. If I can slowly inch that way, I might be able to make a break for it. Maybe grab a piece of concrete I can use to knock Marco over the head. I need to find the right moment.

“What do you want?”

“That’s so cliché,” Marco tsks. He takes another cigarette out of his front pocket and lights it. I inch toward the rear stairs when he takes a long drag but stops when his eyes land on me. “I thought you’d do better than some petty criminals, but I guess all you shady Godwin assholes are the same.”

“And all you fame-hungry assholes are the same,” I hiss. “Using the Godwin name for your own gain. Just so you can get some promotion.”

“Dream bigger, Fiora. Washington is just one state. Imagine what the arrest of Hector Godwin could do for my name and career. Senator Pollozo has a good ring to it, doesn’t it?”

I laugh. It hurts thanks to my aching throat, but I can’t help it. The thought is ridiculous. Sure, most senators are complete asshats with muddy backgrounds, but murder? That’s a new one.

“You know,” Marco chides, clicking his tongue as he starts stalking toward me again. “It would have been a lot easier if Mason had listened to my proposal.”

Marco’s confession confirms my earlier suspicion. Marco was the one bugging Mason before his death. God, it’s all so obvious now. How could I have missed it?

“Your proposition must have been shit then.”

Marco’s frown is sour, his words laced with heat. “He wanted your father out of the picture just as much as I did. We could have made a good team.”

Does Marco expect me to believe that shit?

“That… that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Aw, does the truth sting, Fiora?”

Marco lunges in my direction, and I yell, taking another step closer to the edge. He laughs and laughs like it’s a funny joke, but my heart beats so hard I feel faint. Fuck. He’s cornering me toward the edge of the parking garage again. Is that his plan? Make me jump? Push me off?

“Don’t you think he was tired being under Daddy’s shadow? You were the coward to run away. He was the one who had to stay and face the man. And we could have made a good team. But your stupid brother refused.” Marco takes on Mason’s baritone when he repeats, “My dad might trust you enough, but I don’t. Get the fuck away from my sister. I know what you’re doing, you pathetic little bitch, and I won’t let you have her.” He scoffs, pointing at me. “You know what I did after that? I went home and asked you for a sexy pic. And you fucking sent me one. You sent me one! So really, who is the pathetic one here?”

Mason knew? Fuck, he knew. He knew Marco was a piece of shit and protected me as long as he could. It wasn’t Papa who denied our relationship, but Mason. And how did I repay him? I ran off to Heathens Hollow without telling anyone.

But that guilt I’ve felt since I learned of my brother’s demise morphs into red hot, blinding anger. What do I have to be guilty for? It’s Marco’s fault Mason is gone. All this time I’ve been blaming myself, and for what? If I attended that game with him, I wouldn’t be here to figure out the truth. Marco would go on a free man, using our murders as a stepping-stone to further his career.

There’s a reason I’m still alive, and it’s to make sure Mason gets his revenge.

Gravel crunches somewhere below us, and when Marco turns to look, I take my chance. I sprint toward the stairs behind me as fast as I can. Freedom is right at my fingertips, but I don’t make it into the stairwell before Marco grips my hair. My scalp screams when he jerks me back, and I collide with his chest with a painful grunt. He wraps his arm around my neck and squeezes so tightly that I choke. I scratch at his arms, flailing and fighting for my life, but it’s no use.

“Oh, come on, Fiora.” His rough voice next to my ear makes me shiver. “I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

“I’m not,” I gasp, clutching onto his sleeve and tugging so I can get some air. My head hurts so badly, and it’s barely enough to breathe, but I’m not dead yet.

“Well, if that’s the case.”

Marco drags me toward the edge of the parking garage, cool autumn wind whipping at my cheeks. God, is this the end for me? It’s a shitty end if so. Thrown off the edge of an abandoned parking garage to rot all weekend before being found. All because I trusted—and frankly loved—the wrong person for years. Tears burn my eyes, cascading down my cheeks as I stare down death. I always knew death would come for me early, but I’m not ready to die at this asshole’s hand.

“You won’t get away with this,” I try next as my last resort. “My DNA is all over your car.” Under my fingernails and in my pocket, too.

“See, that’s the thing, Fiora. I will. Because I’m not killing you. You’re killing yourself.”

“What?”

Marco jerks me forward, nearly dangling me off the side of the garage. It looks so far down. I’m dizzy with the height and slow supply of oxygen. There isn’t a soft place to land anywhere. It’s all jagged concrete, broken pieces of flooring and piping, and so much gravel. God, it’s going to hurt. Maybe the Devil will have mercy on me and kill me in one go.

“Grief is a very strong emotion,” Marco muses. “Between announcing an engagement you don’t want and losing your brother, it was too tough on you. You couldn’t bear it anymore. I tried to stop you, I really did. But you fought me so hard, I had to pull over here, and by then, it was too late.”

Fuck me, he has the perfect coverup story already. And with no evidence to push back against his bullshit story, he’s going to get away with it. How long has he been planning this? I struggle against him even harder, but his arm only tightens, cutting off my air for good.

“See how easy it is? You should thank me, you know. I saved you from⁠—”

I don’t know what the fuck he “saved” me from, because his sentence is cut off with a pained grunt. We both go flying to the concrete, and someone elbows me so hard in the stomach I’m breathless. One of my legs hangs off the edge of the parking garage, and I push myself back, gasping and sputtering for breath. My lungs and throat burn, vision fuzzy from the lack of oxygen.

Two shadows roll around on the ground next to me, moving so fast I can’t tell who is who. Is it Braken? Has Braken come for me? When I catch my breath and my eyes focus, I look up to see who it is.

Too late.

The gunshot cuts the air, and warm blood splatters all over my face and neck.

Chapter 39

Braken

Bang.

I stop walking halfway up the third-floor stairs.

I’m no stranger to gunshots, both triggered by my hand or buried deep within my body. I still have a shell casing in my side from a firefight a few years back.

But I am a stranger to the sick feeling of dread that seizes my legs and lungs.

Fuck. Whose gunshot was it?

And who the fuck is hurt?

As soon as we pulled into the lot, I sent Jasper ahead. We lost sight of Marco on the highway, but I knew deep within my soul where he was going. The gas leak isn’t a coincidence. Marco set that up so he could be alone with Fiora on my damn property. And the answer is clear why: he’s setting me up. The question is, for what? Battery? Death?

Murder?

Now that his meal ticket is gone, Marco Pollozo has completely lost it. Plenty of men fall victim to the Godwins’ and other dangerous, powerful families’ flashy lifestyles. Who wouldn’t? Money, power, girls, drugs, weapons. All of it sounds enticing until you’re staring down the barrel of a gun because you fucked the wrong man’s third bitch. You become just another body buried beneath the cement blocks of a new hotel.

Who will we be burying tonight?

Fuck, I hope it’s not Fiora.

My legs are shaky as I hurry up the stairs. I skip two at a time to make it there faster, tugging on my leather gloves as I go. I don’t give a fuck if Marco is police. If he touched a hair on Fiora’s head, I’ll enjoy watching the light drain from his eyes as I choke the life out of him.

I skid onto the top floor of my dilapidated parking garage and walk right into Marco’s hand.

He holds onto Fiora’s upper arm, a gun pointed right at her temple. She’s covered in blood, dark red smeared all over her pale skin and white hoodie. Jasper’s blood. My bodyguard and driver lies unmoving at Marco’s feet, a spreading pool of blood trickling from his gunshot wound.

Fuck. Jasper’s been with my family for years now. Proven loyalty to the Frost family time and time again. He’s supposed to be getting married next year. There are no guarantees in our world, but he deserved better than this bullshit.

I’m gonna kill that son of a bitch.

“Nice of you to join us, Braken,” Marco teases. He thinks he has the upper hand because he’s got a goddamn gun pointed at Fiora’s head and a dead man at his feet. “I knew you’d show up.”

“This is my building.” I chance a step forward. Marco doesn’t move the gun nor does he take his eyes off me. “But why the hell are you here?”

“Enjoying a night with my girl.” Marco chuckles like a dumbass. “That’s right, my girl. Since I had her long before you.”

A rebuttal is on the top of my tongue, but I swallow it back. Now’s not the time to talk about their lack of sex life.

“You should probably ask her since it’s her choice.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Marco snaps and presses the gun closer to Fiora’s head.

Fiora winces at the move. Her eyes lock on mine, and the fear and desperation in them make me clench my jaw. Now that I can see her more closely, she’s completely fucked up. Dried blood is caked in her hair, her ponytail is a mess, she’s got blooming bruises on her cheek and jaw, and her body shakes—she seems barely able to stand. And are those Marco’s fingerprints on her neck? Oh, this motherfucker is dead and buried. I just need to find a way to get the gun away from her temple.

“Well, clearly you wanted me to come.” I try to avoid any wild gestures that would make Marco trigger happy, but I keep shuffling closer, one tiny-ass step at a time. “You have something to say to me?”

“Not really. Just wanted you here for the show.”

“The show?”

“Fiora,” Marco says simply, pulling the gun away from her temple to gesture to the rocky ground below. “There. On your property, nonetheless. What do you think the cops will say when they catch wind of that?”

“Whatever you tell them to say,” I respond, fingers flexing. I have a gun strapped to my back belt loop, but I don’t dare reach for it.

Fiora keeps her eyes on me, her gaze sharpening when I catch it again. She mouths something I can’t make out, but she isn’t able to try again before Marco jerks her into his chest.

“Maybe I should have tried to get into the Frost family’s good graces,” the bastard muses.

He looks decently fucked up himself. His hair is all over the place, he’s got scratch marks on his cheeks, and there’s a little bruise near his jaw that might be gross stubble. Fiora fought back. And based on the look she gives me when she stares again, she isn’t ready to give up yet.

I shrug, placing my hands in my pockets. “We don’t have any women you can use to fuck your way to the top.”

“Put your hands where I can see them!” Marco yells, flashing the gun at Fiora’s temple again.

Shit. His finger on the trigger means he’s serious. One wrong slip and she could be joining Jasper. I pull out my hands to show Marco I don’t have anything in them. I’m going to have to play along with his game until the right moment.

“I don’t want to get to the top of your organization,” Marco spits. “Assholes like you are ruining the country. I’ll be perfectly happy watching you all rot in prison. A blowjob or two is just icing on the cake.”

Fiora doesn’t react to his crude comment. She makes the smallest gesture—a jerk of her head toward Marco’s chin—and mouths something again. What the fuck is she trying to tell me?

“If a blowjob’s what you want, you should have just asked,” I joke. “Though I can’t promise you’ll get it before I kill you.”

“You think you have the upper hand here, Braken?” Marco nudges Fiora’s temple with the barrel.

I must take a few deep breaths to keep my anger in check. It will be good to hear Marco scream for mercy—mercy I won’t fucking give him. Fiora and I aren’t as helpless as Marco wants to believe. Because men with the upper hand get big heads, and people with big heads make even bigger mistakes.

Fiora’s glare at me grows even sharper. She jerks her head again, accidentally knocking the top of her head against Marco’s. He pushes her slightly and smacks her across the back of the head with the pistol. I take two steps forward, but Marco flashes the gun at me, and I stop. I’m close enough now that I can charge him. Well, if I had a few seconds, at least. All I need is a slight distraction.

A distraction. When Fiora looks up again, it clicks. That’s what she’s offering. She will throw herself back against Marco to give me that window. Shit. Will it be enough time? If she does and he recovers too quickly, we’ll both bleed out on this rooftop. But if it works…

Fiora mouths something to me again and I finally catch this one.

Ready.

She’s ready for whatever it takes to make it out of here alive.

That’s my fucking girl.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I question, attention bouncing from Marco to Fiora. I need to give her a signal somehow. If she moves too early, she’s fucked. If she moves too late, I’m fucked. But if we don’t do anything, we’re both fucked.

These aren’t very good odds, but it’s better than a bullet to the head.

“Why would— Why wouldn’t I?” Something about my question must have triggered him, but Marco starts ranting, drawing his gun up in the air as he does so. “This is what’s wrong with you fucks. You always think you’re better than everyone else. That you get off scot-free. Newsflash, you fucking don’t. I knew full fucking details of Mason’s shit, and I still couldn’t pin anything on him. So, you know what I did? Hired someone to fix that for me. It’s that easy.”

Even with his rant and his gun, Marco looks fucking pathetic. If he had any guts, Fiora and I would have already been dead. Dead men don’t tell tales and all that. But Marco lays it all out like we’re on some TV show, and this is his moment to shine.

Dumbass.

Fiora motions down with her chin toward Marco’s bottom half. I glance down and see that she’s positioned between his legs at the perfect angle to kick him in the balls. That would certainly buy me more than a few seconds. Fiora gestures with her head like she’s lolling forward, then slightly jiggles her leg again to show me she’s ready to kick.

Then she slowly and clearly mouths: Three.

Damn, she’s got more balls than Marco. No wonder I chose her.

I nod once but cover it up by stretching out my neck.

“So what, you’re just gonna cover everything up with murder?” I ask. I signal a “one” to Fiora with my pointer finger then stretch them by my sides.

“Why not? I’ll take one out of the Godwin’s playbook.”

“Maybe you should take two.”

At my signal, Fiora takes a quiet but deep breath. Marco’s face scrunches up in confusion.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he asks.

“Our second rule,” I assert. “Never count a man out. Three.”

As soon as the word leaves my lips, Fiora reels her head back and slams it into Marco’s chin. I charge forward at the same time, gravel crunching under my boots. Marco hisses and holds onto his chin, pushing Fiora away from him so hard she stumbles forward onto her knees. He swings around the gun, but I’m already there. I grab his wrist before he can point it at her and send my fist straight into his nose.

Marco folds back only slightly, recovering quickly enough to shoulder check me in the middle of my chest. I stumble back but cling to his wrist, twisting to make him drop the gun. My gun sits heavy on my back, but I don’t have time to grab it. Marco wraps an arm around my neck and drags me forward, kneeing at my front as best he can. He barely hits my arm, but it’s enough to make me loosen my grip on his wrist.

There’s a feminine cry from somewhere behind me. Shit. Is Fiora okay? Is she hurt? I must protect her. I won’t let this bastard take her from me.

Marco flexes the wrist in my grip and struggles against my hold, slightly lifting the gun.

“Braken!”

Another gunshot rings out in the quiet night.

Chapter 40

Fiora

The air smells like iron and sulfur.

A long moment passes, then another, and another. It’s as if the world freezes before me. Did Marco’s bullet hit Braken? Is he okay? Maybe Marco shot himself. That would be the best-case scenario.

But Braken grunts, and my heart plunges into my stomach.

Shit, where did he get hit? He’s still rolling around but when he stops and shields his face from one of Marco’s blows, he’s sporting a pinched and pained scowl.

It can’t be. I must do something. Anything. But why can’t I move? My legs are shaking and too weak to stand. Mostly because I’m sitting dangerously close to the dead man from where Marco pushed me.

God. I can’t even look at him. Vomit threatens my stomach and throat. I push away from him, trying to ignore his mangled hair and lifeless body. I can still see the way his head ricocheted with Marco’s shot. Feel his warm blood and brains covering my face. Hear the ringing of the gun when Marco pulled the trigger. It shouldn’t have ended like this.

No, it can’t end like this.

Braken risked his life to charge Marco. He could have been just like this man. Could have been flung off the top of the rooftop. Could have gone out protecting me. And honestly, he still can. I don’t know how badly he’s injured, but it means I must act quickly.

Braken headbutts Marco, and when Marco jerks back, he grabs Marco’s wrist and twists. Marco’s gun clatters to the ground uselessly, but when Braken tries to grab it, Marco slams Braken’s back into the rocky rooftop and gets in a clean punch. Braken barely even reacts. He kicks Marco off, forcing a knee into his side so he can get on top.

The gun. A wave of strength washes over me, and I scramble to where it dropped. If I can shoot Marco, I can end this whole thing now. But can I get a shot off without hurting Braken even more? I’m no stranger to guns, but it’s not like I’m some trained sniper. I’m just a rich man’s daughter. I’ll never forgive myself if I fuck up and take Braken’s life.

I stand, the gun warm between my clammy hands. I can’t tell where Braken ends and Marco begins. It’s a flurry of movement. Hands, feet, clothes, hair. It’s a struggle for control, and I’m not sure who’s winning. There’s no good opening for a shot. They roll around like two schoolboys fighting on the playground, but this isn’t some simple spat. This is a fight to the death, and I won’t let Braken be taken from me.

If I can’t shoot at the men, I’ll shoot the air.

I fire the warning shot high, hoping it startles Marco enough for Braken to get his bearings. Well, I thought it was a good idea anyway. But Marco doesn’t even flinch. It’s like he doesn’t even realize I’m there. Fury radiates from his red, sweaty face. If I thought he looked unhinged before, that’s nothing to the twisted, murderous look on his mug now.

More blood coats the ground. Is it Braken’s? Marco’s? Mine? I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. I lift the gun again, but this time point it to the space above Marco’s head. The shot splits the air, the bullet burying itself in the concrete.

It’s enough to break Marco’s concentration. When he blinks and looks at me, even for that instant, Braken pounces.

He pushes Marco down, straddling his waist and attacking. Punch after punch after punch. Braken deals blow after blow to Marco’s face, the dull sound of leather on flesh nearly buried by Marco’s gurgled and blood-filled grunts. Even when Marco stops moving, Braken doesn’t let up. He keeps punching like a man driven mad by bloodlust.

I must stop him. It’s the only way I’ll be able to save his life.

“Braken.” My voice is broken, hoarse, more like a frog than a human.

Braken keeps hitting and hitting, Marco’s blood splattering all over his black button-up.

“Braken!” I try again. Still, he doesn’t listen to me.

I drop the gun and throw myself at Braken, squeezing his neck hard to bring him back from the darkness. He tries to fight me, but I hold steady, using what strength I possess to pry him off of Marco. Braken grabs onto my arms and squeezes so tightly I hiss. But I still don’t let go, even when Braken shoulders me to try and get me off.

“Let go, Fiora,” he growls. “I’m going to fucking kill him. He’s dead.”

“You can’t.”

“He put his fucking hands on you!” Braken rages. His face is marred by bruises and blood, his normally perfect hair a blend of dirt and sweat. “He killed your goddamn brother. He doesn’t deserve mercy.”

“He doesn’t, but you do.”

My subdued answer quiets him. He pulls back enough so he can regard me with narrowed eyes. Below him, Marco grunts but barely moves.

“Our story won’t hold up if you’re the one who kills him.” I squeeze Braken’s shoulders in reassurance. “I don’t want this pinned on you.”

“Our story, huh?” Braken tries to smirk, but it looks more like a grimace. “You’re already thinking that far ahead?”

“We need to be.”

I look down at Marco. Sad, pathetic Marco who thought he had the upper hand. Who used me for my connections like everyone else when I thought he was different. Toyed with my emotions just to go behind my back and kill my brother. The one who planned to end my life here today under the guise of suicide.

Why not give him a taste of his own medicine?

“He’s going to kill himself from grief,” I say. Braken narrows his eyes but he doesn’t say anything. “He asked to meet me and kidnapped me. Brought me here against my will, but I fought back. You showed up to save me⁠—”

“Me and Jasper showed up to save you.” Braken exhales and glances back at his fallen man. “One of the best men I had.”

“We’ll give him a proper burial.” I brush a lock of hair from Braken’s eyes and offer a soft smile. “Something fit for a king.”

Braken grabs my hand and squeezes. His touch is cold from the leather gloves and makes me shiver. “He’d hate that. Always loved deep sea fishing.”

“An at-sea burial then,” I promise and take a breath. “After Marco shot Jasper, you exchanged words, some blows… and when he realized it was all over and he could never have me… he jumped.”

It’s true enough. It will also explain all our injuries and why our blood is everywhere in the parking garage. It also explains why there’s a dead man near our feet.

Braken doesn’t respond to the end of our joint story. He holds my gaze for a long, calculating moment before he grabs Marco’s collar. He drags Marco’s near-lifeless body over to the edge of the parking garage, right where I recently stood and contemplated my death. Marco doesn’t put up a fight at all. His eyes are swollen shut, and his entire face is black, blue, and bloody.

I get one last good look at Marco, the man I used to love, now battered, bruised, and bound for Hell.

Braken stands him up, faces him outward, and throws him off the side of the building.

“Look away,” he tells me. “I don’t want you to see this.”

I don’t. I want to see. I want to face the demon head on.

The thud of Marco’s body on the gravel and pipes below makes me cringe. Even without being nearly beaten to death, there’s no way he could survive that five-story fall. I don’t need to check to know Marco is gone.

Whatever adrenaline kept me upright disappears, and I fall onto my aching knees, letting out a long breath. I stare at my trembling hands that are covered in dirt, blood, and bruises. Not even two hours ago, I held onto Marco and prepared myself to let him go. But not like this. I only meant to cut him off, not see him killed. It’s his own doing, but for some reason, my heart still thunders pathetically.

A rugged, leather-covered hand covers mine and squeezes. Braken bends down in front of me and brings a cold leather glove to my face.

“Are you okay?”

His question snaps me back to reality. I cling to his wrist, checking him all over for any further injuries.

“Are you okay? Marco shot you!”

“Grazed my arm.” Braken motions down to a jagged cut in the fabric of his coat. “Stings like a bitch, but I’m fine.”

“You know how to make a girl worry, you know,” I tease half-heartedly. It feels wrong to joke when I’m sitting in someone’s drying pool of blood. “Do you think the police will take Mason’s death seriously now?”

“No,” Braken immediately answers. “They never planned to in the first place. They protect themselves and that’s it.”

I frown. With Marco dead, there’s no one to impede the investigation. But Marco was a high-ranking officer, so I’m sure the cops won’t be too happy with our story. I hope they at least give me the decency of a shower before hours of grueling interviews.

But let them. I have nothing to hide. Marco played with fire and burned himself to the ground.

I lean into Braken’s touch. “You can rest easy now, Mason.”

Only a soft breeze answers me, but I pretend it’s Mason responding. I’m sure he’d be proud of me for kicking Marco to the curb… literally.

Braken picks up his phone. “Hey,” he begins. “I’m going to need you, Merrick, and Locke to cash in every favor you can and work your magic. Get my father involved, too. There’s a high chance I’m going to get arrested by the end of the night, and I’m going to need you to help make sure that doesn’t happen.” Braken then quickly tells Soren the events of the night, the fact that Marco killed Mason, and how it ended in Marco jumping to his death.

I hear Soren ask if I am okay, which fills me with warmth. He sounds genuinely alarmed and scared shitless.

“She’s fine, man. Beaten up, shaken, but the girl is one of the strongest bad asses I know. She didn’t need me. I needed her.”

Braken ends the call and seems content that his friends are going to take care of the situation.

“I’ll call the police next.” Braken exhales through his nose, running two leather-clad fingers along my mangled hair. “Then get you home. And don’t even think about leaving bed for the next two days. You need rest.”

I feel like I won’t be able to. My body is so sore and tired, but my mind is alert, running through the scenes that just played out before me. But I nod anyway. I know better than to question Braken Frost.

Braken pats my head and steps away to call the police. I hug my arms close to my body, setting my chin on my knees. Sirens wail in the distance, sounding like the angry cry of lost souls.

These sirens might not be coming for me, but others will be. It’s only a matter of time.

I can never escape who I am.

Chapter 41

Braken

Detective Ralph Finnegan looks and smells like he smokes two packs a day.

The interrogation room is small and cold, and the steel chair is extremely fucking uncomfortable. Especially now since I’ve been sitting in it for over four hours, recounting the same exact story, word for word, every time this bastard asks. I’ve already been in this room countless times, but they keep calling me back. I do dance, however, because with all Soren, Locke, and my father’s favors cashed in, I’m still sitting here a free man. A cop is dead, and I’m not in jail. I’ll consider that a win and answer every question over and over again if it makes these assholes feel like they are doing their jobs. But this is getting ridiculous.

Yes, I’m sure Marco kidnapped Fiora. Why don’t you check the cameras? No, I’m not 100% sure it was Marco who called in a fake gas leak, but it’s pretty convenient, don’t you think? Do you want to question Fiora again? Because our stories haven’t changed. Can I have another glass of water? No? Okay, well, fuck you, too, then.

My lawyer sits to my left, looking as annoyed and pissed off as I do. He’s been with our family for decades and has seen way more incriminating shit than this. He also knows not to ask questions. We pay him and his firm enough money to keep his mouth shut.

It’s been a week since the events on the rooftop. The incident has been all over the news. Having a hotel mogul and shipping heiress almost die sells a lot of damn papers. There’re interviews with police informants, with Marco’s family, with my business associates, with Fiora’s acquaintances. People hound my hotels for information or paparazzi photos. Visitors want a glimpse of a “cop killer”, and there are those who offer quiet nods of solidarity.

“You really expect me to believe this?” Ralph asks for the seventh time. “He died on your property.”

He wants me to crack, to show that I have a temper, and that he got me on some weird technicality. I inhale through my nose and slowly exhale. They’ve got nothing. If they did, I’d already be locked up behind a jail cell. Fiora and my stories haven’t changed. The evidence corroborates our story. But he keeps asking the same questions over and over, hoping I offer the slightest slip-up.

This stinky douchebag should know better.

“You can believe what you want, but the evidence points to the truth. Which I’ve willingly told you.” I tap the cold metal table with my fingers a few times. “Do you have any more questions for me, Detective?”

“Plenty,” Ralph answers.

But his angry frown only deepens when he realizes he’s got jack shit on me. I came here willingly and no charges have been brought against me—something my lawyer has reminded him of twice now since we started.

“Are we done here?” My lawyer grabs his briefcase. “I believe my client has made his story clear.”

“This isn’t over.” The detective points to a picture of me that’s been clipped to his file. “Keep your phone on, Frost. I’ll be in touch.”

“Of course.”

I try not to roll my eyes when we stand and shake hands. As if I’d want to shake hands with this neanderthal. But I don’t want him to mess with me any more than he already has, or interrupt any of my business. Though I have to say, being in the news has been a big boost for my hotels. Funny how people know the name Frost now more than ever. All it took was a douchebag putting me and my woman on his murder list.

That very woman stands against the wall of the precinct, arms crossed over her chest. The bruises and cuts on her face and neck have not faded completely. They still peek out from behind her makeup if I look hard enough. Fiora doesn’t let that stop her. She’s a bombshell in her skintight black dress, standing between unwashed criminals and whispering cops. If she hears their bullshit or sees their furious glares, it doesn’t show.

When she sees me, she removes her sunglasses and wiggles her fingers in a wave.

“Nice to see you. Finally.”

“How long have you been waiting for me?” One of the criminals looks over and checks Fiora out. As I walk by, my hand accidentally smacks him across the side of his head. He yells from behind me, but I ignore it and hold out my arm.

“Way too long,” she mutters and takes my arm, curling into my side. It’s a show of solidarity, but it’s also a shield. Glares and a few heated words follow us out of the precinct. The law might be on our side, but the cops aren’t. “I thought I’d surprise you before my hair appointment to get ready for tonight.”

“There are much better surprises you could give me, Fiora.”

She doesn’t miss a beat when she squeezes my upper arm and murmurs, “If you’re a good boy at the engagement party.”

We stop just outside of her car. The driver opens the back door for her, but Fiora doesn’t climb in. She turns to face me with a wicked smile.

“7PM tonight.”

“At Maxwells,” I confirm. “I’m meeting Soren and Merrick, and we’re heading over there together. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Hector arranged this engagement party for us a few days ago, which I’m sure is not a good sign. The last time he set up a meeting, I was blindsided with an engagement. It’s probably not the best time since the cops are breathing down our necks, but I can’t exactly say no to my future father-in-law.

“Look your best because I will,” Fiora jokes, squeezing my arm. “Now, aren’t you going to send your bride off right?”

I chuckle and jerk her closer, mashing our lips together. She clings to me, fingers digging into my hair, moving her lips against mine. I push her against the side of the car, trapping her there as I ravish her mouth with my teeth and tongue. God, I can fuck her right here. Throw her up on the car’s trunk and make her scream my name in this parking lot. We’re already on the news, and the cops already hate us, so why not?

Fiora moans against my mouth and shifts so her thigh is against my cock. Based on the way she starts grinding against me, she has the same idea. My cock twitches when she presses just right and whines. Fuck this stupid engagement party. There’s no better way to show Fiora belongs to me than making her show up with my cum in her pussy and my teeth marks all over her neck.

Something vibrates in my pocket, and for a second, I think it’s Fiora. But then it vibrates again, and I curse, pulling away from Fiora to check. She grunts and keeps hold on my shirt, eyes clearly telling me to deal with it quickly.

Only, when I see my father’s name on the screen, I know this won’t be quick at all.

“Go to your hair appointment,” I say gruffly, reluctantly prying myself from her. “We’ll continue this later.”

Fiora looks like she wants to argue, but she swallows with a nod. Once she’s in the back of her car and rolling out of the precinct parking lot, I answer the phone.

“Father.”

“I just got word that they are going to stop pursuing you. Closing the case,” my father says. “Hector seems satisfied that we didn’t have anything to do with the murder of his son, too.”

“Great,” I mutter. “Maybe we can all move the fuck on now.”

“I still think the marriage to a Godwin is a good idea. Even though technically you don’t need to do it to prove we didn’t have anything to do with his death, and Fiora is not in danger. But I still feel⁠—”

“I’m marrying Fiora,” I interrupt, “because I want to. This isn’t even open for debate or discussion.”

Chapter 42

Fiora

The restaurant is overflowing with people I know and way too many I don’t.

This engagement party was my father’s idea, a way to put the whole Marco situation behind us and show people nothing can stop the Godwins. Something to celebrate after a long time of death and darkness.

Being a Godwin often means death and darkness, which is now something I’ve experienced firsthand, although Braken has promised me over and over that nothing like this will ever come near me again. And due to his overprotective nature, and that Soren and Merrick have barely left my side since the incident, I don’t doubt I will forever be safe.

I’m not complaining. Not only do I have Braken as my future husband to look forward to, but I also get the package deal of Merrick and Soren.

I’d call this a happily ever after, for sure.

And I won’t turn down a party, especially when Braken, Merrick, and Soren look the way they do on the other side of the room.

Their dark suits are tailored and dripping in wealth, fitting perfectly against their strong bodies. Their hands sport several rings, flashing in the light when they hold their drinks up toward me.

They’re watching me.

Always watching me.

There’s a knowing smirk on each of their chiseled faces as they sip their whiskey. I’m sure they’re thinking the same thing as me. All I want to do is rip them from this party, pull them down to some hallway, and have each of them fuck me so the whole party can hear.

Yes, we are here to celebrate Braken and me, but there is a secret in this room. A secret only the four of us know.

Braken and me equal Merrick and Soren, too.

“Ugh, can you stop?”

I turn to my sisters. Jescie is wearing a low-cut green velvet dress that hugs her curves in all the right ways. Her long chestnut brown hair is pulled into a perfectly styled and curled ponytail, her neck and ears dripping with silver chains. She’s always been the artsy one of us, and that goes for fashion, too. She’s also the one who looks just like Mama, all the way down to the glare she gives me from behind her champagne flute.

“What?” I ask innocently.

“Leave the room if you want to shoot a porno,” Sable complains. She stands next to Jescie at our little table, much more modest in her short-sleeved, red-lace gown. When she lifts her arms to take a drink, she reveals a new scar on the inside of her arm from where hot oil must have jumped from the pan when she cooked.

“But where’s the fun in that?” I joke and lift my glass in a toast.

“It’s like Mason never even left,” Jescie murmurs good-naturedly. “We’re all smiling.”

Just a month ago, a comment like that would have stabbed my heart or made me cry. But now it only fills me with a sad warmth. Now that his death has been avenged, I’m able to mourn him in my own way.

“We should make our rounds,” I say with a sigh. “Papa will be mad if we don’t.”

“We’re definitely not going toward Braken. I’ve had enough of Fiora undressing him with her eyes,” Sable teases.

I laugh and sip my drink. If they only knew that it wasn’t just Braken I was undressing. My sisters would die if they knew my plans for tonight. Or who I planned on doing tonight. I’m only making my way through the crowd to get this party over faster and get their dicks back inside me.

“We could always head over toward Papa.” There’s a wicked smile on Sable’s face when she leans over the table and drops her voice. “He’s been talking to Braken’s father nearly the entire night, and it looks intense.”

Jescie raises her perfectly waved brows. “So?”

“Aren’t you curious what they’re talking about? He never tells us anything!”

“This is why you got sent to the convent.” I nudge Sable back with two fingers to her forehead. “Always getting in trouble.”

“It was a private Catholic girl’s school, idiot,” she returns. “Only like half my grade went on to become nuns, okay?”

Both Jescie and I snort, but as much as Sable is just in it for the gossip, she has a point. Papa and Silvano Frost have been in talks near the open bar for almost the entire night. There’s plenty to discuss. Marco’s involvement, my kidnapping, the future of our family union. And no matter how useful this marriage is, I know that doesn’t extend to me. We’re all commodities for his whims, used however he sees fit. We won’t get information any other way unless I can pry it out of Braken later.

“You ladies need to find an escape hatch,” I urge, tapping my fingers on the table before straightening up. “I’m sure Papa will try to marry both of you off soon enough.”

“We all can’t run off to Heathens Hollow,” Jescie argues.

Sable grabs her half-drunk champagne. “Or maybe we can. It seems to have ended well for our sister.”

We engage in small talk a little bit longer, and the entire time I feel three sets of eyes on me. I don’t have to look over to them to know they are watching my every move. Even though, like me, Braken is working the room, I know I’m not far from his thoughts and his grip if he needs to reach me in an instant.

When my sisters get pulled away to other guests, I head off to make my final rounds. I greet people, thank them for coming, and accept their congratulations with a smile. The people here are all on our side, or at least they are to our faces. They wouldn’t dare show up in front of two powerful families and start something tonight. But that doesn’t mean much. Marco’s deception proved that.

“Fiora,” Braken calls, gesturing me toward him with a wave of his hand. “We’ve been apart for too long.”

Merrick and Soren are standing near him, as are Storee and Locke.

“I say we call it a night,” Braken says to everyone when I snuggle up to his side and he kisses me on the forehead. “Shall we all take the helicopter back to Heathens Hollow together?”

Storee looks to me. “Do you feel you can break away yet?”

I glance over at my father and then back at Braken. “I make my own decisions now. Not my father.”

Saying this out loud feels good. I don’t know if I truly believe the words, at least not a hundred percent, but I’m going to work hard at my independence and breaking free from the Godwin name every day until I do.

“You know…” Soren says with an arched eyebrow. “If we head back now, we’ll get back in time for the last hunt of the season.”

Everyone’s faces light up. Storee blushes as she glances at Locke with hooded eyes. I smile at Braken who has a devilish smirk, and Merrick reaches out and takes Soren’s hand in his.

“I like the way you think.” Locke pulls Storee up against his side and kisses her cheek.

“Fiora?” Braken asks me, allowing the decision to be up to me.

“Let’s go home,” I say. “Heathens Hollow and The Hunt are waiting.”

Chapter 43

Fiora

I never imagined I’d be turning the red light on again, especially as an engaged woman, but I suppose this is going to be my new normal since I’m marrying Braken Frost, and he and his best friends run The Hunt. You won’t see me complain one bit.

With the red of the bulb illuminating the porch as the signal of what’s to come, I’m ready.

The Hunt.

I stand in my white nightgown, waiting. Waiting for the masked man. The three masked men.

There is something wild, something ancient in the air tonight.

The soft crunch of boots on gravel echoing in the quiet night, followed by the eerie whistle. It’s time.

Run!

I suck in a deep breath, willing my heartbeat to quit its furious tempo. I bolt from my porch toward the woods, knowing they will be right behind me. And when the catch me, it won’t just be one of them fucking me this time. It will be all three.

Raw.

Savage.

Primal.

My bare feet slap against the cold ground, each step giving life to my excitement. The only reason I’m running is because I know they will catch me. I want this. I fucking want this.

I dodge a low-hanging branch as I race deeper into the woods, but my foot catches on a root and suddenly I’m tumbling forward. I hit the icy earth with a gasp, hot pain radiating from scraped knees.

But there’s no time for pain.

No time for fear.

Run!

I scramble to my feet, darting a glance over my shoulder just in time to see their shadows stretching in the moonlight. My nightgown flutters around my legs like a ghostly reminder of safety and comfort far behind me.

A strong hand grips my wrist, yanking me back with such force that I lose my footing and stumble backward into a firm chest.

I attempt to pull away, but the grip around my wrist is unyielding.

“Don’t fight,” another says behind his bone mask, low and dangerous in my ear.

I’m surrounded by all three now, each of them taking hold of my body.

The man on my right is silent. He glides his hands over my shoulders, then down my body to my thighs. He lifts me, easily as if I weigh nothing. He carries me deeper into the woods—away from the light, away from any trace of sanity.

My heart beats wildly, and every fiber of my being screams to break free and run, but another part of me thrills at what’s to come.

I twist in the man’s arms, writhing against his grasp. Without warning, I’m released, tossed to the ground like a rag doll. The forest floor is hard against my back, twigs and leaves digging into my skin through the thin fabric of my nightgown. I gasp as the cold ground sucks the warmth from me.

One of them drops to his knees beside me; his fingers trace a path from my knee to my thigh. His eyes meet mine through the slits in his mask—an unspoken promise of what awaits.

Fingers encircle my wrist, pinning it above my head as he thrusts his cock inside me while the other two masked men look down upon us.

There are no words, just the raw sounds of our bodies meeting, echoing through the silent woods. I watch as one of the others unzips his pants, his body language full of anticipation. He steps forward, kneeling next to us on the forest floor.

He pushes his dick into my mouth while the last of the three frees his cock and kneels on my other side. He then pushes his cock to my lips as well and the two men take turns.

The sensation is overwhelming, their bodies pressing into mine simultaneously as they begin their rhythmic movements. Sweat trickles down my body as I try to keep up with the rhythm, my senses on fire from the raw, coarse energy encircling me. There is a roughness in their motions that makes every nerve inside me scream for more.

My eyes are wide open in this darkness, unblinking and refusing to break the contact. It’s not fear that keeps them locked, but a deep, lustful desire, a craving for submission that makes every bit of this adventure wildly irresistible.

The man fucking me is driving deeper and deeper, punishing in his movements. I can hear their grunting as they work in tandem, their bodies grinding against mine in a primitive tango of lust. An orgasm is building within me, racing down every nerve ending until it floods my veins.

I lick and suck two dicks at once.

Hands roam over every inch of my exposed skin, touching, pulling, rendering me open and helpless in their grip.

I can taste them on my tongue, salty and tantalizing, their animalistic grunts filling up the darkness around us. It’s intoxicating. Overwhelming. A sensory overload that has me teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

The masked figures become blurry as pleasure rockets through me, each thrust sending jolts of satisfaction that has me gasping for breath. My body convulses beneath them, the pleasure so intense it steals away my breath.

With a final thrust, the man grunts heavily as he finds his release inside me, his cock pulsating with every spurt of warmth that fills me. The other two follow suit, their bodies tensing and then releasing with a primal, guttural grunt as they empty themselves into my mouth. Their taste fills my senses, completely raw and heady, sending me spiraling even deeper into the throes of pleasure.

My body trembles beneath them, the remnants of my orgasm still coursing through me as they finish. One by one, their grips on me loosen, their bodies pulling away from mine to leave me shivering on the forest floor.

Before I can regain control of my senses or even remember to draw breath, one of them picks me up and carries me back toward my cottage, the other two follow close behind, silent and watchful.

Always watchful.

They project an eerie sense of calm despite the raw debauchery that has happened in the forest. As the door to my cottage creaks open, I am released and led inside where light from the single lamp in my room pools onto the wooden floor.

Standing there in the warm light, they each remove their mask.

Braken is the first to speak. “There’s no running from us.”

Merrick approaches me and kisses me on the lips. “Because if you do, we’ll come running.”

Soren then steps to me, pulling me into his arms. “And you’ll have the three of us to deal with.”

And the darkness continues on…

Tangled in the vines of this mighty family tree, the Godwin family rules over Heathens Hollow. They are gods who walk the earth. They are the monsters, the beasts, the villains in the story. They are the vipers who strike their enemies when they least expect it. The Godwin family wields the mighty thunderbolt like Zeus, and yet they have secrets. Dark, even deadly secrets.

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Villains Are Made

Villains Are Made

Apollo Godwin

“You shouldn’t have come,” my brother says as I approach, not trying to hide the sound of my boots mucking their way across the rain-soaked ground.

Ares Godwin stands where I expect to find him. He’s stoically planted with his hands in his pockets on the edge of the cliff overlooking the Salish Sea. Olympus Manor—our family estate—to his left, and the tree of forgiveness to his right.

He doesn’t turn to face me, but keeps his eyes focused on the water crashing into and over the rocks below. “Does the family think I’m going to skip out on bail and leave the country? Is that why they sent you?”

I huff as I stand next to him, mimicking his stance. “Hardly. And they didn’t send me. You should know better than that.”

Through the corner of my eye, I see the side of Ares’s mouth lift in a smirk. “Scared I’d jump to my death then?”

“I wouldn’t blame you.”

“But you knew I wouldn’t.”

He’s right. I know he won’t. He’s a Godwin. Godwins don’t give up.

We are gods who walk the earth. We are the monsters, the beasts, the villains in the story. We are the vipers who strike our enemies when they least expect it. The Godwin family wields the mighty thunderbolt like Zeus, and yet… somehow the powerful have fallen.

There is a chip in our shield. A crack in our protection. We are vulnerable now, and for the first time in my life, I see my family is human. Flawed. Even weak. Everything has changed.

My brother—my identical twin brother—is going to jail for the rest of his life for murder.

“But you were an asshole for taking the helicopter by yourself. I had to travel here by boat like a true savage,” I say, trying to cut through the thickness of the air with jest.

The island of Heathens Hollow, hidden in the fog of the Puget Sound, beckoned to my brother in his last hours of freedom, and I can completely understand the pull. I knew he’d come, and regardless of how far I had to travel, I’d always be here by his side.

He sighs. “Part of me wishes they’d insist on the death penalty. I think that’s far less severe than having to live in a cage for the rest of my life. Hard to imagine I’m never going to see this view again.”

I turn my head and look at the old willow tree that has stood on the edge of this cliff for centuries. “Have you asked the tree for forgiveness yet?”

Ares chuckles. “I’m not in the mood to whip myself or kneel on rice hours before sentencing, thank you very much.” He shifts his weight, releases a deep breath. “What I’ve done, even that tree can’t forgive.”

The tree of forgiveness… The bane of my siblings’ and my existence. Both our parents forced us to come to this tree to punish ourselves whenever we did anything wrong. They didn’t believe it was their duty to teach us the lesson; rather it was our job to search our inner selves to find the lesson and learn from it ourselves.

I walk over to the leather strap still hanging from the lower branch. “Maybe I should be the one to whip myself.” I look over my shoulder at Ares. “I should be the one going to jail today. Not you.”

“Stop,” he snaps. “We’ve had this conversation over and over, and I’m sick of it.”

“You didn’t kill that man. I did.” There’s a part of me that wants to throw myself off the cliff just so I don’t have to live with this guilt any longer. “I can’t let you take the fall for me. I don’t care what you, Athena, or our father says. I can’t.”

“I’m not going to jail because of you,” Ares adds, his attention going back to the sea. “I’m going to jail because my sins caught up with me.”

“You’ve sacrificed your entire life for this family. There isn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them. But you don’t have to for me. I’m not asking you to.”

“Listen to me,” he says with a voice of fire as he storms toward me. “I’m going to say this one last time so we can put this topic to rest. I’m not taking the fall for you. When they first thought I killed that man, they got my DNA. They were able to trace me back to all the murders I did do in the past. I’m going to jail for all those hits, regardless. Not just the single one you did. There is no reason for you and me to both go to jail. It’s inevitable I’m going down. You don’t need to.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t be the family hit man and not expect to get caught, eventually.”

“You can tell me this until you’re blue in the face, but if I hadn’t killed that man at Medusa Enterprises—in the goddamn boardroom—you’d never have been arrested. It’s because of me you got caught. I was the reckless one.”

“No, it’s because someone was setting you up. Someone took video of that incident and went to the authorities with it. You had no way of knowing you weren’t safe in our building. You had no way of knowing. If anyone is to blame, it’s Medusa security. Footage of you killing someone should have never gotten out the front door. Our family business, our family empire, should have been impenetrable.” He clears the distance between us and places a hand on my shoulder. “This isn’t on you.”

Ares looks over his shoulder at Olympus Manor, and my eyes follow. There is slight movement from the curtain that hangs from the attic window. I smile knowing the manor’s ghost is watching two brothers discuss life and death matters. I wouldn’t expect anything else. This island is full of ghosts. They are the backbone of Heathens Hollow. It’s almost as if the dead rule over all of us.

However, hundreds of people live and do work on the island and have for centuries. But the Godwin family still owns Heathens Hollow. The land is ours and the people merely lease it. The Godwins have owned this island since the Victorian era. It’s a fishing town, just under four hours from Seattle, that houses the rich, the middle class, the poor, and then the Eastsiders. The people who live on the Eastside of the island don’t even have enough to be considered poor.

Though the island is so close to such a big and thriving city, the fact that it remains cloaked in hazy fog for most of the year keeps it somewhat of a secret. Rarely do people speak of this secretive place. Tales are told, but reality is never known. The truth of what happens on this island is… murky. The only way to reach the island is by sea or air, and the isolation only adds to the hidden shadows of this place. It’s dark, dank, gloomy, and even after a rain, a rainbow never forms. This island is not for the fragile or for the man who can’t endure a harsh storm. The full-timers are weathered, cut to the bone, and if someone really wants to know Heathens Hollow, all they have to do is look into the eyes of one of the old fishermen who work the boats at the harbor. Everything you want to know is expressed.

And then there are the wealthy. Not Godwin family wealthy. No one can match us. But there are the second vacation homes, the mansions only visited when the occupants want to swim in dark seclusion. There are still parties fueled by fame, liquor, and sex, but on this island the pace is often slower. The heartbeat of the Pacific northwestern island pauses, beats loudly, then pauses again.

Heathens Hollow is the island of gods and monsters. Innocence is drowned early in life by the crashing waves. Heathens Hollow is… home. Though we live and run our family empire—Medusa Enterprises—from Seattle, Heathens Hollow will forever be our resting ground.

Olympus Manor has served as a beacon, a legacy, a symbol of our family lineage. Though we all have houses in Seattle, this is most definitely our family home. Our ancestors haunt the hallways of the house, they wander the grounds, and they stand over us in protection, even now.

“Remember when we were kids, and we’d stand here on the cliff and howl like we were wolves?” Ares says, clearly reflecting on his past in his last hours of freedom.

“Father hated that,” I say as I see the vision like it was yesterday. “He hated when we acted feral.”

“He hated a lot about us. We weren’t allowed to be kids.”

“We were Godwins. The expectations were⁠—”

“Unrealistic. Always have been,” Ares interrupts.

“You know there still may be a chance Father gets you out of this,” I say. “Troy Godwin never loses.”

Ares smirks. “Maybe. But doubtful. I think the inevitable is pretty set in stone on this one.” He looks down at my left hand and notices what’s missing. “Where’s your wedding ring?”

I run my thumb over the bare skin of my wedding finger. “It’s complicated.”

“Simplify it for me. What’s going on with you and Daphne?” he asks. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit that I clearly didn’t get the memo.”

“No memo… Things are just shit between us,” I confess. “We both want out. A divorce.”

“But you know you can’t,” he finishes for me.

“Godwins don’t divorce,” I parrot the words of my father. “But we’re both tired of living this lie. We don’t love each other, and I don’t think we ever did. I married her so I’d have arm candy at events, and it felt like what society wanted. She married for money. It was essentially an arranged marriage. We want to sever the agreement but can’t.”

He points to my hand. “Taking the ring off makes you feel better?”

“It felt like it was scorching my finger,” I admit. “But we aren’t here to discuss my lame issues. A shitty marriage is nothing compared to what we need to face today.”

“Still… I’m sorry, man. I thought Daphne was one of the good ones.”

“She is,” I confess, not wanting to bash someone who truly has a good heart. “I don’t hate her. I just don’t love her. And she feels the same.”

“That sucks. I hope you can figure it out. Because as you said, Godwins don’t get divorced.”

Hating how the helpless feeling of our fucked-up lives threatens to suffocate me, I take a step back and examine my brother’s appearance and the fact that he’s only wearing casual slacks and a black T-shirt. “Tell me you aren’t wearing that to court.”

Ares looks down at his clothing. “Who cares what I wear. I’ll be in an orange jumpsuit soon enough.”

“Unless Father somehow works his magic.” I loosen my tie and pull it over my head. “In which case, you need to look good. Here, we’re going to switch outfits.”

Ares and I, though twins, couldn’t be more different. He’s the ruthless hitman in the family. The rebel, the dark and mysterious. I, on the other hand, am the chief financial officer of Medusa. Strait-laced, always in a suit, and never a hair out of place. Numbers are my life, and money makes my dick hard. Ares is the brother who cleans up the messes, even though he’s dirtier than all of us combined. We were both born and groomed for these roles. Our father had a master plan for this family, and we are merely soldiers in his war of domination.

The one time I stepped out of our roles and killed someone before Ares had a chance, our empire fell to the ground. I’m the reason for the demise. I should have kept to the numbers.

“I’m not wearing your clothes,” Ares says, shaking his head, but smiling at the idea.

“Yes, you are. Because we’re going to take that chopper back to Seattle, and the minute we land, the press is going to be surrounding us and focused on you. You need to look like a Godwin. Power. Prestige. You are not a broken man. We rise above.” I hand him my tie and then take off my suit jacket. “Strip.”

When he takes my coat from me, he notices the extra weight and reaches into the pocket. Pulling out my passport, wallet with my ID, and a large wad of cash, he shakes his head and says, “I’m not leaving the country. I’m not going to run. It will destroy our family and Medusa, and you know it.”

I continue undressing, ignoring his words.

“I’m not leaving,” he repeats. “Medusa is powerful, but it won’t survive the shitstorm me being on the run will cause. As it is, you guys are going to have your hands full trying to pick up the pieces by having a serial killer in the family. I don’t need to keep the wound open by being on the run. Plus,” he adds, “none of you need the Feds breathing down your throats. We don’t want Athena sharing a cell with me, and you and I both know that she’s damn close to being there.”

When I’m standing in nothing but my underwear, I finally say, “I had a feeling you’d say that. But I had to try.” I point to him. “Get undressed, fucker. I’m cold.”

“Fine,” he says. “But we’re going back to Seattle. I’m going to face this head on.”

I sigh deeply and give a clipped nod. “I still have faith we’ll figure a way out of this.”

“I love you, brother,” Ares says to me. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be so…sensitive, but then again, his life’s about to end.

“I love you.” I point to the tie that he’s ignoring. “You’re a Godwin.”

“What does that mean? Have you ever asked yourself that?” he asks as he does what I say and places my tie around his neck.

“I think you’re about to show us.”

“We need to head back to Seattle,” Ares says, inhaling deeply. He’s taking in the last of Heathens Hollow into his lungs.

I look to Olympus Manor as we slog through the mud to the chopper. “Do you want to go in and say goodbye?”

“I already did. Frankly, that house may be more of a prison than the one I’m going to.”

Ready for more of the Godwin family?

Villains Are Made is next.

About the Author

Alta Hensley is a USA TODAY bestselling author of hot, dark and dirty romance. She is also an Amazon Top 10 bestselling author. Being a multi-published author in the romance genre, Alta is known for her dark, gritty alpha heroes, captivating love stories, hot eroticism, and engaging tales of the constant struggle between dominance and submission.

She lives in Astoria, Oregon with her husband, two daughters, and an Australian Shepherd. When she isn't walking the coastline, and drinking beer in her favorite breweries, she is writing about villains who always get their love story and happily ever after.

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Also by Alta Hensley

Gods Among Men Series:

Villains Are Made

Monsters Are Hidden

Vipers Are Forbidden

Heathens Hollow Series:

Heathens

Primal

Secret Bride Trilogy:

Captive Bride

Kept Bride

Taken Bride

Wonderland Trilogy:

King of Spades

Queen of Hearts

Ace of Diamonds

Spiked Roses Billionaire’s Club:

Bastards & Whiskey

Villains & Vodka

Scoundrels & Scotch

Devils & Rye

Beasts & Bourbon

Sinners & Gin

Standalones:

Sucker Punch

Gold In Locks

Sick Crush

Secret Bride

Captive Vow

Ruin Me

Delicate Scars

Evil Lies Series:

The Truth About Cinder

The Truth About Alice

Gilded Decadence Series:

Ruthlessly His

Savagely His

Brutally His

Reluctantly His

Unwillingly His

Dark Pen Series:

Devil’s Contract

Dirty Ledger

Dangerous Notes

Chicago Sin Series:

Den of Sins

Rooted in Sin

Breaking Belles Series:

Elegant Sins

Beautiful Lies

Opulent Obsession

Inherited Malice

Delicate Revenge

Lavish Corruption

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