I screamed and cried, fighting against him to no avail. Soon, I was lying at his feet, a naked, shivering mess. “Please,” I begged. “No.”
He reached into his jacket again, pulling out something long and black. It looked familiar, but before I could think it through, he brought out a small blowtorch and new horror dawned.
Despite being chained, I scrambled up and away until the chain forced me back and I fell on my knees. Then I tried again.
Behind me, the sounds of the blowtorch firing up kept me clambering away. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him hold out the long black thing in the center of the blue flame.
No, no, no...
I ran again, throwing myself at the green puddle, but my fingers were just out of reach. Out of desperation, I rushed back, diving at the hammer he’d almost beat me with. When my hand closed around the handle, I cried out with glee.
Finally. Finally, I could help myself.
My forehead bounced off the floor when he shoved my head down. I bucked, but he straddled me, sitting on my body. My naked torso pressed against the plaster, scraping open and stinging with pain. His hand forced my head back down, the flesh above my eyebrow ripping open. Blood welled in my eye. His body anchored mine.
White-hot, surging pain made me squeal. My God, it was so intense I wondered how in the world no one heard me howl.
The scent of burning flesh and singed hair masked that of the decaying body.
I couldn’t have told you which was worse.
I wailed until my voice gave out. And even then, I wailed silently. He pinned me down, branding me with whatever it was he held until the red-hot metal melted my flesh, robbed my voice, and finally turned cold.
My skin tore farther when he finally pulled the iron off my body. I lay there half conscious, my own vomit a pillow, and a sticky burning sensation at my back.
I wished I was all the way unconscious.
Not because of the pain, but because if I had been, I wouldn’t have heard his whispered words.
“I own you.”
* * *
Woo-o-woo-o-woo!
The brash siren cut through the memory, waking me from the dream state I was in and forcing me back to reality in a cruel way.
In the midst of running, I spun, trying to make sense of my surroundings when I tripped and fell onto my hands and knees.
It was dark and everything was foreign. Still struggling in the web of dreamlike reality, trying to grasp anything else was virtuously impossible.
Woo-o-woo-o-woo!
The sound was so disruptive and loud. Slapping my hands over my ears, I struggled to rise to my feet. On my knees, I looked up, seeing a dark figure rush toward me.
“No!” I cried, slamming my eyes shut and tumbling back onto the ground.
“Zoey!” A voice that didn’t scare me cut through the chaos. Nick dropped to his knees beside me, his warm hands covering mine where they pressed against my ears.
“Turn that fucking thing off!” he mouthed to people I didn’t see.
His hands were warm, and mine felt so cold.
The piercing noise cut off, leaving behind only the sound of my breathing and the pounding of my heart.
Prying my hands away from my ears, Nick took my hands in his. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
“Where—” I gasped, but then I remembered.
I was at his house. Nick’s. Where it was supposed to be safe.
His big body surrounded mine when he lifted me up into his chest. Cradling against him, I heard the timbre of his voice speaking to people around us, but I kept my face hidden in his neck.
Oh God. My face.
I whimpered, and his arm came up around my head, shielding me.
“Make sure the place is secure just in case.” It wasn’t his words that soothed me. It was the sound of his voice.
I felt like I was floating when he carried me away. The muscles in his chest and arms rippled as he walked, my clammy skin sticking to his.
We went into a room that had no light, but he moved around with utter familiarity and confidence I found soothing.
Cool sheets hit my back and legs, the crispness of the cloth surprisingly enjoyable. Nick stepped back, the night swallowing him whole.
I called out to him. Anxiousness made my hands curl into the blankets.
“I’m right here.” He promised, nothing but steadiness in his tone.
The opening and closing of a drawer was brief, and then he was back, sliding an arm beneath my back, helping me sit up.
“Put this on,” he murmured, holding out some clothes.
Slapping myself in the chest, I gasped, realizing I wasn’t wearing a shirt, just a bralette and a pair of shorts. “Where the hell is my shirt?”
“It wasn’t me,” he said, mild humor in his voice.
Sighing, I picked up the shirt he offered. It was a lightweight tee, but it had a hood.
It had a hood.
The gesture—probably something he hadn’t even thought of—hit me right in my most vulnerable place. I was already shredded open from that dream, and now here he was offering me some dignity, offering me some shield.
A sob caught in my throat.
Weepy and still shaken, I sat in the center of the bed, doing everything I could to hold it all in. Gently, he reached out, making sure the hem was tugged down and then lifted the hood over my head.
The sob I’d been fighting broke free, filling the room with sorrow.
“All right now,” he murmured, sitting close and wrapping an arm around my frame.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his skin was smooth beneath my cheek.
“Do you sleepwalk often?” he asked, not letting me go.
“No, I can’t really run off...” I sat up and looked down, remembering I’d gone to bed with the prosthetic in place. Bowing my head, I stared at my leg through the dark. “I was having a nightmare.”
Realizing the chaos I caused, I reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. Since I didn’t want to look at him, this was the next best option.
“I’m sorry.”
He made a soft, amused sound. “It keeps the guards on their toes.”
The guards. “That was who I saw running toward me,” I mused.
“You opened the back door, set off the alarm. He was afraid you were going to fall into the pool.”
The mention of a pool made me shudder violently.
“Hey,” he said, then gentled his voice. “Hey...”
“This is why I shouldn’t stay here,” I said, pain masking my voice. “I do better with familiar surroundings, places I can trust.”
“What about familiar people?”
Forgetting about my face, I lifted my head. When I remembered, I flinched and lifted my hands. But he wasn’t looking. His face was turned away.
I whispered, “What did you say?”
“Are familiar people just as good as places?”
“I-I don’t know,” I said honestly. “No one’s ever—” I stopped there before I could sound any more pathetic.
“C’mon, lie down,” he urged, sliding me back against some cloudlike pillows.
“Where am I?” I said, realizing this wasn’t the room I’d gone to sleep in.
“My bed.”
Stiffening, I sat up. His palms caught my shoulders, stopping me from running away. “You’re safe here, angel. Just lie down.”
I relented, lying back once more, the scent of him rising around me in a fragrant cloud.
“I thought you didn’t sleep with this on?” I felt him looking at my leg.
“I wanted to tonight.”
Walking around to the opposite side, Nick slipped beneath the covers, bringing his body close to mine.
“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”
“No.”
Settling onto his back, one arm reached for me. “Come here.”
Rolling onto my side, I stared. He stayed where he was, open and waiting. Timidly, I scooted forward. O
nly then did he fold his arm to bring me right against his side.
“No more nightmares tonight, angel.” He spoke like his words held the power to banish all the bad. “The guards are watching the house, and though it’s unfamiliar, I’m not.”
“You’re not?” I echoed.
I felt him shake his head, his hand palming mine. “I’m right here.”
I wanted so badly to rest my cheek on his chest, but I didn’t want him to feel the texture of my skin.
After a few minutes of lying in quiet, I slid closer, lifting my head and pulling the hood around so it was a barrier between my skin and his. The moment I settled, a deep sigh went through me like a strong gust of wind.
Even though there was fabric between us, he was still closer to me than anyone had ever been.
It was true I did better with familiar surroundings, in an environment I could trust.
Did that apply to people?
As my eyelids grew heavy and my body wondrously calmed, I found the answer.
Yes. Apparently, it applied to people... or at the very least, to Nick.
She was so familiar to me. From the first moment I saw her, something inside me recognized her. I couldn’t understand why or how. We’d never met previously, but it didn’t matter.
We were connected in some way. The more time I spent with her, the more I was sure.
What was it that drew me to her?
How could I feel so connected to someone I’d just met?
“You really need to make a decision soon,” said a voice I didn’t recognize.
“I’ve already turned this down. Twice,” declared a voice I was much more acquainted with. The stubborn frustration he spoke with? Not so much.
Leaning a little more against the wall, I settled in to eavesdrop.
What? A girl could be curious.
In fact, as I stood there listening to the hum of voices going on in Nick’s kitchen, I realized I didn’t know much about him at all. Every time we had a conversation, it was about me. Or the movie.
“That’s a kneejerk reaction, and you know it. This movie will be huge.”
“I said no!” Nick yelled, his anger silencing everything else.
Stiffening, my shoulder blades pressed against the wall, tension tightening my muscles.
“It really fucking offends me, Rick, that you come here and bring this up again. We’ve worked together a long time. I thought by now you would think of me as more than just a goddamn paycheck.”
“This isn’t about money.”
Nick made a crude sound. “You sure about that?”
“I keep bringing this up because I know you. I don’t want you to have regrets when this releases. And it’s going to whether or not you’re involved. That’s a guarantee. Frankly, if you were anyone else, the studio would have already told you to shove it and started filming. But your family—”
“My family has suffered enough.”
“Which is why you need to do this. Make sure this is accurate. Make sure the world sees what this did to your family. Use this as a chance to—”
“And what should I tell my mother?” Nick’s voice was strained.
“You haven’t talked to her about this yet?”
Nick was silent, which was a clear denial.
The man sighed heavily. “The studio is going to reach out. All the more reason for you to involve yourself. You can be a buffer, the representative of your family. Minimize her role.”
A strangled laugh erupted out of him, making my fingers curl against my palms. “Minimize? They’ll want to drag up everything she went through and ask for personal details the press doesn’t know.”
What in the world were they talking about? Was someone trying to make a movie about Nick’s family? Why? Was his mother famous too?
Preston. I searched my brain for any kind of scandal I could recall involving the Preston family, but I couldn’t think of a single thing.
“It’s happening, Nick. With or without you. Get in front of it. Put it all to bed once and for all.”
Nick said nothing, but the atmosphere was charged. I could tell he was upset without even being able to see him. Guilt crept up on me, making me feel like a dirty sleaze for listening to what was quite clearly a private and painful conversation.
Nick didn’t deserve this from me. He’d been nothing but a pillar of strength, going as far as giving me enough peace to actually sleep well two nights in a row.
When I woke up this morning, everything was foreign, his room a completely new place for my eyes to take in. I didn’t panic. I found myself gathering the blankets and holding them up beneath my chin. They smelled like him. Somehow, Nick’s scent had become a source of comfort, and though everything was pretty much a wreckity-wreck these days, the storm inside me was calm.
Straightening away from the wall, I stepped around the corner, clearing my throat. Nick was turned away from me, both his palms flat on the marble island. The width of his shoulders seemed imposing.
Hearing me, his surprised eyes glanced around, almost as if he’d forgotten I was here.
Funny. I’d always worked so hard to be forgettable. Seeing that look on his face now made me bitter.
“You’re up.” His voice was far different than it was when he’d been conversing with the man standing across from him.
“I can, um, come back later,” I said, gesturing back the way I’d come.
“No.” When he came toward me, the fierceness in his body and spirit made me falter.
I was a brave woman. While often afraid, I was very good at looking fear in the face and moving forward. And Nick didn’t scare me. He never had.
Intimidate? Maybe. I mean, he was the sexiest man alive, for crying out loud. But since I’d spent a little bit of time with him, I couldn’t even say that.
This was a new side to him, though, one I didn’t know.
Sensing my urge to retreat, Nick stopped in front of me, spreading his legs a bit to lower his body to match my height. I felt the man behind him watching us, but I couldn’t look away from Nick’s piercing green gaze.
“I want you to stay.” His voice was soft. “Come on. There’s tea. And the chef made you breakfast.”
Whoa. “You have a chef?” I echoed, wonder in my tone.
He half smiled. “Who else do you think cooks my plates of sadness?”
I grimaced.
Grasping my chin between his forefinger and thumb, he gave me a little shake and chuckled. “Ah, don’t freak out. I told him to make you something that actually tasted good.”
His hair was slightly damp, the golden strands a little darker than usual. It was all pushed back off his face, falling over to one side of his head. The T-shirt he wore was white and slim fitting. His biceps seemed to challenge his sleeves. Lowering my eyes, I noted the gray sweat shorts with white drawstring and his bare feet.
I wrinkled my nose. “How long have you been up?”
“Long enough to be tortured by my trainer, shower, and have a meeting.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?” I wondered as his palm settled at the small of my back to propel me farther into the kitchen.
Leading me to the stove where there was a hot kettle of water already waiting, he stopped at my back, caging me in with his frame to reach for a mug out of one of the cupboards above me.
After placing the mug in front of me, his fingers dragged across my arm as he pulled away. So close to my ear, he whispered, “It wasn’t easy getting out of bed with you lying between the sheets.”
I sucked in a breath, shocked he would say such a thing in front of some man!
Chuckling low, he turned away. “Rick.”
“Tell me that’s not the makeup artist burning up the Internet,” the man named Rick entreated.
“Her name’s Zoey.” Nick corrected.
He groaned. “Are you trying to make my life hell? What the hell are you thinking spending the night with her?”
After putting a tea bag into the hot
water, I turned. Rick gave me a squinty-eyed look and rubbed a hand over his forehead.
“She’s staying here for a while.” Nick delivered the news like he was talking about a stale piece of bread.
Rick gawked while Nick helped himself to a mug of coffee, setting it down to step up to a massive fridge to get some cream.
A high-pitched laugh erupted from the man, and he smacked the counter with his hand. “Good one, Nick. Good one.”
“I’m not joking. The press broke into her place.”
Rick sputtered, then groaned. “No. Absolutely not.”
Lowering the mug from his lips, Nick raised an eyebrow.
“Do you have any idea what a shit show this will be if the media finds out she’s here? When I said we needed press for the new movie, this was not what I meant!”
“No one needs to know she’s here.”
Rick laughed again. “That’s rich. You know what bloodsuckers they are. They’ll know by dinnertime.”
Nick made a sound. “You plan on telling them?”
My God, these two were like bickering fourth graders!
“Um, who are you?” I asked, trying to sound polite but probably failing miserably.
Rick pointed to himself like I’d offended him. Lowering his finger, he answered, “I’m the guy who is going to have to clean up this mess!”
Nick turned to me. “This is Rick. He’s my manager-slash-agent.”
Closing the space between us, I offered my hand over the marble-topped island. “I’m Zoey Halston, makeup artist on the set of—”
“I know who you are,” he deadpanned. “Everyone knows who you are.”
I gulped, nervous energy surging down my spine.
Still feeling his scrutiny, I looked back.
He squinted. “I thought your face was damaged.” He waved a finger toward me.
The blood drained from my head.
“What the fuck?” Nick burst into the conversation, somehow putting himself between me, the island, and his manager. “We’re friends, Rick, but I have my limits.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he sputtered. “I apologize if that came out insensitively.”
Poking my head around Nick, I asked, “Is there a polite way to ask someone where they are disfigured?”
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