My heart was not fluttering.
My stomach was nauseous, and all those broken shards inside me were stabbing me anew.
Jessica lifted her chin, all her perfect blond hair falling behind her like a waterfall. Gently, Nick palmed her jaws, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone while eating her alive with that smoldering green gaze.
My hand balled into a fist, squeezing until my knuckles ached. Backing away from the set, I went deeper into the darkness. I didn’t want to see this. I couldn’t look away.
“I love you,” he whispered.
A collective breath released from all the people standing around, and his lips were on hers, his mouth firmly claiming hers.
Chest squeezing, my eyes fell to the floor. The kiss seemed to go on and on... and on. I stood there averting my gaze until the director called cut and everyone seemed to come back to life.
Bending down, I arranged some things in my kit, trying to ignore the prickly way I felt. Tears burned the backs of my eyes, and it horrified me.
Now was not the time to cry about everything that had happened today.
You aren’t crying because of everything that happened today. You want to cry because of one thing only.
“Can you touch me up?”
I jerked around, nearly falling back onto my butt at the sound of the chipper voice.
“Jessica.”
She smiled. “I need a touchup. My lipstick wore off.” Using a perfectly manicured finger, she pointed at her lips.
The lipstick was indeed smeared.
My stomach revolted.
“Sure thing,” I said, forcing myself to sound normal. I was good at that. I’d been doing it a very long time.
Lifting the kit, I carried it over to a rolling cart, set it down, and looked around for the right shade.
“Maybe I should get the exact color from Laura,” I said, wondering why she hadn’t just gone to her in the first place.
“Whatever you have is fine,” she said, moving to stand beside me. The silk blouse she wore brushed against my arm. “Oh!” she said, reaching into my kit. “It’s this one.”
Taking it, I grabbed a lip brush and uncapped the product.
“How did we look?” she asked, parting her lips.
“Pardon?”
“Nick and me? How did the scene look?”
Swallow. “Ah, it was beautiful. I think it will look really great on film.”
She smiled while I brushed the color onto her lips. “You know,” she said, making me lift the brush so she could speak. “The casting director was so thrilled with our pairing. He said we have chemistry like he hasn’t seen before.”
“You both are very talented actors,” I murmured, going back to work.
Lightly, her fingers pressed against my wrist, once again pausing my work. “Oh, it’s more than just acting. You can’t fake this kind of chemistry.” Leaning in, she whispered, “I think soon, we will be Hollywood’s royal couple.”
I sincerely thought about accidentally painting lipstick on her teeth, but then she’d have to come back over here so I could fix it for the camera.
“There you go,” I said, pulling back and forcing a smile. “Looks perfect. Like you never even kissed.”
“Guess I’ll just have to have him mess it up again,” she said, winking.
I turned back to my kit. My throat felt tight, and the ramen I’d eaten wasn’t settling properly.
I thought she would walk away.
She was still there when I turned back around.
“Powder?” she inquired.
I grabbed the correct one and dutifully powdered her face.
“Let’s run through that again!” the director called.
Jessica perked up. “Gotta go! To think, most women dream of kissing Nick Preston, and here I am going back for seconds.”
“Have fun,” I said, waving at her with the powder brush.
When she was gone, I felt drained and climbed onto a nearby chair, letting the back support my weight. Purposely, I stared into my lap, not wanting to watch them kiss again.
Those eyes, though. That smolder. It beckoned me even when I actively tried to avoid it. Reluctantly, I lifted my gaze, not even having to seek out what was summoning me. Briefly, our stares collided, his unreadable but intense.
I looked away almost immediately, unwilling to even try and understand what it was he wanted to silently convey.
What the fuck was this, everyone talk to Zoey day?
It was getting on my damn nerves.
I was a good actor, but my ability to pretend was fading fast. She was avoiding me, something I wasn’t used to. Usually, I was the one avoiding other people, trying to slip past them without a big production or signing an autograph. Or twelve.
She’d allowed me to hold her for a few minutes. She clutched me like she wanted to climb beneath my skin. I thought for sure she’d be unreachable the rest of the day.
It’s not your fault. It’s his, she’d whispered to me.
And then a switch inside her flipped.
I’d never seen anything like it. Not even among the country’s best actors. Zoey shoved down all the pain and whatever else was going on inside her, pulled away from me, and went back to work.
She didn’t acknowledge it, and it was almost as if she dared anyone else to either.
The only time I felt the self-imposed force field around her slip was when we were on set... when I was kissing Jessica.
I wanted to talk to her, but there were too many watchful eyes and too much work I had to do. Finally, filming was done for the day, and what did I find?
Josh Landen sitting in her makeup chair like it was his own personal throne.
I didn’t like it.
Carson was leaning against the counter, one leg crossed over the other, his hands waving around like he was signaling a plane. But really, he was just talking.
Zoey was bent down close to Landen, the back of his head blocking her face from view.
“I really appreciate this, robo-girl,” he was saying. “Since filming ran late, me showing up to the shoot already in hair and makeup is a huge lifesaver.”
“Anytime,” she answered, straightening up.
The sponge in her hand paused. Her stare flicked to me immediately, sensing my presence. Spotted, I prowled farther into the room. Her attention slipped away almost as fast as it arrived. Turning back toward her cart, she grabbed something else and leaned back toward Landen.
“I haven’t seen anyone wear these since elementary school,” he teased, tugging on one of the straps on her overalls.
His action made her giggle, and jealousy bit into me like razor-sharp teeth. A bitter, tangy sensation washed over my tongue.
“You’re still working?” I stopped just behind Landen’s chair, towering over him, but directing my words and eyes at Zoey.
Glancing around, Landen seemed surprised to see me. “I thought you left for the day.”
“I’m waiting for Zoey.”
Carson made a sound, and Landen’s eyes widened.
Looking back at Zoey, he said, “You should have told me you had plans. I could have had Carson fix me up.”
“We don’t have plans,” she said, directing the words to me.
I really wasn’t in the mood for this. “My car is right in front of the trailer.”
“I am not going home with you.”
“Zoey!” Carson hissed like a mother scolding her kid at the grocery store. Glancing at me, he smiled. “She’s had a long day.”
“You said I could stay with you.” Her eyes turned on her friend.
“Why on earth would you want to stay with me when you could stay—”
“Why do you need somewhere to stay?” Landen interrupted.
Zoey began packing up her tools. “The press has been staking my apartment... and someone broke in last night.”
“While you were there?” Landen asked, concern darkening his tone.
I stepped forward, a sil
ent reminder he didn’t need to be worried for her.
“It’s probably best if I don’t stay there for a while. Especially after this afternoon...”
“I wasn’t going to bring that up,” Landen said.
“The press saw you with Carson earlier. They’re probably already watching his place.”
Carson pressed a hand to his chest like he was shocked. Then, with flair, he spun toward the mirror. “I better make sure I’m ready for the cameras!”
Zoey rolled her eyes.
Landen spun the chair to look at me. “And you said she could stay with you?”
“It’s my fault the press is hounding her, and I’ve got good security.”
“The last thing I want to do is give the press more reason to think we’re... linked somehow,” she said.
We are linked. I can feel it.
“Stay with me.” Landen dropped the words into the center of the conversation like an earthquake.
We all reacted at the same time in three very different ways.
Carson: Dude swooned against the counter like he might fall to the ground.
Zoey: “What?” Shocked surprise.
Me: “Hell no!”
Landen seemed to like my reaction best of all, settling his gaze on me for a brief moment before smirking and looking away.
“I have good security too, and the press wouldn’t suspect you being with me.”
Taking a threatening step toward him, I intoned, “What the fuck are—”
Landen slapped a hand on my shoulder, interrupting my words. “What do you say, Zoey? Want to stay with me?”
Her mouth worked, but no sounds came out. The sudden urge to grab her by the arm and drag her away was so strong I took another step. The hand on my shoulder squeezed. My eyes slanted to Landen.
The look on his face stopped me.
—I’d like to insert here that it was not because I was intimidated.—
“I, ah... I’ll go to a hotel.”
Landen made a sound. “Probably not the best idea. Most of the employees at those places have side deals with tabloids for information and photos.” He shook his head regrettably. “Can’t trust anyone these days.”
Zoey blinked. I could see the weariness in her eyes, the tired set of her shoulders. All the anger and jealousy drained out of me, replaced with honest worry.
Shaking off the hand on my shoulder, I angled so Zoey was blocked from everyone’s view but mine.
“I’ve already doubled my security. Let’s go.” The words were quiet as I reached for her kit, hefting it at my side.
“Who’s it going to be?” Landen stepped forward.
Her stare bounced between us, but strangely, I was confident. There’s no way she’d pick him over me. Not after last night. Not after I slept beside her and kept my word not to look.
Landen knew it too. He might not know that we’d spent time outside of this set together, but he could sense Zoey trusted me more than him. Her wariness was something palpable. Out of the corner of my eye, I stared at him. Did he offer up his place to nudge her toward mine?
Zoey took a small step toward me, and victory was mine.
“If you change your mind, my door is open,” Landen said, sincerity in his voice.
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Palming the small of her back, nudging her, I said, “Get your bag.”
Carson had it ready, handing it over before she could even step away. “Take care of my girl,” he said.
The second we approached the door, two bodyguards moved into action, one heading outside first and the other waiting at the door for his word. The second he gave it, we stepped out of the trailer and right into the back seat of a black SUV with windows so dark no one could see inside.
“They opened a back gate on the lot,” one of the security guards informed me. “No one knows about it yet, so we should be able to leave tonight without anyone seeing.”
“Good.”
“Straight to the house?” the driver asked.
“My bags,” Zoey said, sitting up.
Gently, I pushed her back. “They’re already at my place.”
The SUV drove forward, and she glared. “I told you I wasn’t staying with you.”
“Then why didn’t you go with Landen?” I countered.
Falling silent, she turned to stare out the window.
Because even if you don’t want to admit it yet, you trust me.
The distinct sound of the spotlights flipping on made my eyes pop open. There was no such thing as restful sleep here. There was only the body and mind giving out just enough so it could wake to fight all over again.
He was here.
His footsteps were silent, his breath barely there. But the shadow he cast in the bright beam of light seemed unnaturally large.
Whenever he stood like that, hovering somewhere above, close enough to present his shadow but far enough to stay out of sight, a fear unlike anything I’d ever known roused inside me, silencing nearly all my humanity and making me question if I was already dead.
My eyes strayed toward the body, the smell so putrid and thick one would think I wouldn’t even need to look. There was no way anything alive could smell that way, but still, his presence made me doubt.
As if he were the devil himself, come to rouse his handmade demon, I expected to see that decaying, rat-ravaged corpse rising to meet her master, joining him in whatever depraved deed was next.
As if she were a puppet, he was the master, and soon, I would also be on his strings.
Despite the filthy, urine-drenched state I was in, my fist found its way into my mouth. I knew it didn’t matter how quiet I was, but still, I made a valiant effort.
Those bright spotlights filled the wooden rafters with shadow and highlighted the thick dust swimming in the air. Seeing it float so lazily in the light made me want to cough and gag, but I averted my gaze and pretended it was snow flurrying down on a fresh winter’s night, cleansing the air instead of crowding my lungs.
Exposed wires draped from the ceiling. Cracked tiles had fallen off the walls. The plaster shaping the pool was chipped and jagged. Puddles of stagnant green water with floating debris occupied a couple corners and the center of the uneven deep end.
I’d thought about drowning myself in those puddles every day since I’d been down here. Seven days of hell. Seven days of torment.
It didn’t seem like very long in the grand scheme of time.
But, oh... these past seven days had completely changed what had taken me nineteen years to become. How quickly everything could be eradicated. How quickly someone who previously loved life could wish to die.
Drowning wasn’t an option for me. He’d made sure my shackles didn’t allow me to go that far. It was another form of torture, wasn’t it? Knowing there was an escape right there, staring at it every second of every day, but it being just out of reach.
The prone shadow shifted, and everything inside me went on high alert. I might sit down here and wish to die, but never at his hands. I would die a thousand deaths if a thousand of them could be granted by anyone but him.
Trembling against the wall, the shadow shifted and changed. A long shape seemed to grow right out of his arm, lengthening down toward the ground, the end wide and thick, the handle extending into his hand.
He swung it like a pendulum, my time running out.
His footsteps echoed when he stepped near. Fear closed my throat. Through unsteady, blurry eyes, I watched and waited. The shadow disappeared, but the man creating it came close. Leaping from the side of the pool, he landed on both feet, one catching the edge of the nasty water, splashing it across my skin.
I knew it was cold, but my skin was colder. I knew it was dirty, but I was filthier. I was dehydrated and it was wet, so prying my hand out of my mouth, I rubbed in the few splatters, hoping my skin would soak it in.
Unfolding from the position he’d landed in, he straightened to his full height. His shoulders were wide, his body s
tocky. The boots he wore were made for hiking, and the hood pulled over his head concealed his face.
The hammer in his hand made my stomach knot. Unhurriedly, my captor came forward, walking to me like he was taking a midday stroll. I had no way of knowing what time it was. If it was night. If it was day.
Hell didn’t have a clock because in hell, every minute was the same.
When he lifted the hammer above him, I shielded my head, cowering in the abandoned pool, anticipating the blow. Rearing back, he brought the weapon crashing down. My piercing scream stopped him. Inches from my face, the wide, rusty hammer halted, and his head tilted.
“Please,” I begged. “Let me go.”
His head tilted in the other direction as he lowered to one knee before me. I whimpered, recoiled, but there was nowhere to go.
Reaching out with a gloved hand, he stroked the side of my head like I was some kind of beloved pet. I shivered, peering into the hood, trying to see his face.
Sensing my curiosity, his fingers knotted in my hair. I cried out when he yanked my head back and it cracked off the unforgiving concrete wall.
It took a moment for my vision to clear, but the pain still throbbed. I wondered if when he finally pulled his hand away, he would have a chunk of my hair in it.
The hammer thudded onto the floor, and his other hand grabbed the side of my face. The chain shackled around my ankle rattled and shook when he dragged me forward, my bare toes cutting open on the shoddy floor.
My hands dug into his arms, and I struggled to stand up, not completely under his command.
When he shoved me down, I fell backward, expecting a blow.
Instead, he reached into the black leather coat, withdrawing a folded white cloth. He held it almost lovingly, caressing the frilly old-fashioned-looking material and holding it out to me like I was being bestowed a gift.
When I didn’t take it, he kicked me, the hiking boot cracking at least one rib. Wheezing, I folded in on myself as pain rattled my middle. Holding up one thick finger, he waved it at me like he was scolding a very bad child.
He came forward. I skittered back.
His hands were rough when they ripped the clothes off my body. The harsh sound of his breathing made me think he was excited as he ripped every last scrap of cotton from my limbs.
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