by Eden Summers
I won’t scamper away and trigger any sort of predatory chase.
Luther’s son meets my gaze, his dark eyes scrutinizing. I quickly lower my focus, not wanting unnecessary attention as I place the tray on the coffee table and grasp two glasses of scotch. I hand the first to his associate, keeping my attention lowered to forgo another scorn-filled look.
I’m surprised when he grasps the offer gently, his large fingers smoothly wrapping around the rim of the glass. That doesn’t mean I don’t picture the same grip wrapping around a woman’s neck, the effortless glide becoming tight. Squeezing. Choking.
How many times has he tortured the defenseless?
I back away and hold the second glass out to Cole. Just like the other man, his intent toward my offering is slow and calm. There’s no rough grab or harsh snatch. He reaches out, preparing to take the scotch, then doesn’t grasp the glass. His hand only hovers close without contact.
“Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?” His tone holds the same arrogant authority as his father. The same superior self-worth I’ve come to despise.
I swallow over my hatred and chant a mental warning to remain civil.
“I’m Cole,” he continues. “Luther’s son.”
I’m sure he knows I’m well aware of who he is and what he’s capable of. This friendly introduction is merely a taunt.
I raise my gaze, answering him with a spiteful look. It’s impossible to play nice, especially when I’ve conditioned myself to be vicious to all men.
“Have we met?” He rakes his gaze over me, from head to toe and back again. “I’m sure I’ve seen you before.”
I don’t know what he’s angling for—familiarity? Kindness? Or worse, my vulnerability?
“You’re mistaken.” I shove the glass into his hand and backtrack. I’m ready to turn on my heel and flee inside when the glass door slides open and Luther ruins my chance of escape.
“Ahh, there she is.” He strides toward me, sickening pride ebbing off him in waves before he wraps his arm around my waist, awakening my bruises as he drags me into his side. I flow with the movement, not giving him an opportunity to scold me.
“I see you’ve already met my pretty Penny.” Luther tangles his fingers in my dress, reminding me my body is his to control. “I shouldn’t have favorites, but it’s no secret this woman has claimed all my attention.”
“I can see why.” Cole continues to eye me, the visual sweep a violation all on its own. “Is there a reason why I feel like we’ve already met?”
Luther pauses for a moment, glancing between me and his son. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve seen her on the television. Penny’s not from Oregon. But the news of her disappearance may have crossed state lines.”
“Penny?” the companion asks. “That’s her name?”
Despite knowing I’m not to be touched by anyone but Luther, my unease is high over my status as the center of attention. My position is precarious. Even though these men might not have their way with me, it doesn’t mean Luther can’t demand I put on a deplorable performance.
It wouldn’t be a first.
“Is something wrong?” Luther eyes Cole and grabs the remaining glass of scotch from the tray before taking a seat. “Have you two met before?”
“No.” Cole’s interest evaporates. “She must have a familiar face. That’s all.”
“I’m not sure about her face, but she has a truly unforgettable mouth.” Luther laughs. “Don’t you, baby girl?”
Humiliation burns holes in my chest as I smile and silently wish I had the power to slaughter them all. I picture myself grabbing Luther’s glass, smashing it against the coffee table, and stabbing the jagged remains into his neck.
I could do it, too.
I could kill him. I would kill him. If only I wasn’t scared of whatever new hell I’d be flung into when someone else claimed me as their possession.
I take a backward step, distancing myself from temptation.
“Where are you going?” He pats his lap. “Come here.”
My stomach twists.
I need to check on Lilly. I need these men to find another focus.
But I also need to remember I have no choice.
I reluctantly sulk forward, taking note of the strangers who track my movements.
“Come on.” Luther lashes out, grabbing my wrist to yank me down to him. “There’s no need to be shy.”
I stumble into his lap, my back ramrod as his calloused palm lands on my thigh to hold me in place. It’s a familiar scene—my ass against his crotch, his hand a tormenting reminder against my skin, his audience held captive.
He drags the material of my dress higher and higher with the slide of his palm toward the apex of my thighs.
My skin shudders with an outbreak of goosebumps as I brace myself for violation. Soon I’ll have to fight. To scream and kick and thrash because that’s all part of the performance.
As the seconds tick by to my opening act, I focus along the oceanic horizon. I try to make the picturesque scenery soothe me. But the hard stare of Cole’s companion from my periphery is a threat I can’t ignore.
He’s glowering at me, his nostrils flaring.
He wants me. I can see it in his eyes—the determination. The severity.
He barely blinks as he holds my gaze, not lowering his attention to the thigh Luther continues to expose.
Perhaps it’s because his lust is threadbare. Is he dying for a taste or a touch?
“I don’t mean to cock block,” he drawls, “but is that food still on the way?”
I stiffen, confused.
“I’m starving.” He turns his attention to Cole. “And you haven’t even eaten today.”
Luther’s hand pauses on my thigh. The filthy sense of approaching doom dissipates. I’m just not sure if I’m receiving a reprieve or merely being toyed with.
“Yes. Food.” Luther slaps my leg, the sting rushing through me as he shoves me from his lap. “We need to feed our guests.”
I stagger to my feet, baffled. The gift of my degradation has never been rejected before. My humiliation has always been a coveted prize.
I’m so completely caught off guard I have to force myself to snap out of the bewilderment and hustle to the door to slip inside.
But I don’t leave. I remain close to the glass, my heart in my throat as I listen to the disjointed conversation filtering through the barrier.
Their words are hard to hear over the rush of blood in my ears. There are references to a personal harem and I’m sure it’s Cole’s associate who announces he’d “part ways with a lot of money for just a taste.”
So why did he reject the full dose of my humiliation?
I nudge the door wider, hoping for clearer insight, only to panic at the soft footfalls approaching from behind me. I swing around, praying I don’t get caught snooping for a third time when Abigail creeps into the hall.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
I wither in relief and place a hand to my chest, hoping to soothe my ragged heartbeats. “Nothing. Where’s Lilly?”
“Chris got to her before we did.”
“And?” My turmoil returns faster than it receded.
She cringes. “He messed around with her a little but got frustrated with her tears. She doesn’t fight back anymore. She just lays there, playing dead. Now she won’t stop sobbing. What should we do?”
We should make him pay. Humiliate and violate. I could spend days—weeks—torturing him before I stole his final breath. But wishes are for those with luck and we have none.
“Get her out of bed. Make her shower. Then force her to eat. Keep her busy the best you can,” I explain. “If we occupy her mind we might be able to buy her more time.”
She nods and focuses outside. “Are you going to tell me what they’re talking about out there?”
“I don’t think we need to worry about Luther’s son.” I reach behind me and close the door. “Their focus seems to be food, not play.�
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For the moment, at least.
“Are you sure?”
“For now.” I walk by her, heading for the kitchen. “I need to prepare them something to eat. Take care of Lilly until I can get to her.”
I don’t look back. I’m too busy rebuilding my walls. Creating strength. Locking down emotion. I need to focus to make sure I’m ready for the imminent threats.
Abi sighs. “But—”
“Go,” I grate. “Hurry up.”
I stalk into the kitchen and pull open the fridge, struggling to juggle all the roles expected of me. I’m the savior and the victim. The leader and the servant. The nurturer and also so badly in need of nurturing.
And above all else, I’m a mess. Just like everyone else.
I grab an assortment of cheeses, along with grapes and pâté, placing them all on the counter when the sound of the sliding door brushes my ears again.
I keep my focus on the food in front of me, taking my time to place them on a serving platter as I wait for Luther to hurl abuse at me for being an unaccommodating host.
“Penny…”
I freeze at the unexpected voice, the tone far younger than Luther’s.
I don’t turn. I already know the low, husky cadence comes from the man with the stubbled jaw. The one who stopped the progression of a monster’s hand along my thigh.
“My name is Luca,” he murmurs. “I work for Cole.”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. My limbs tingle with the need to protect myself. His tone may be laced with kindness, but I hear it for the deception it is.
“I know who you are,” he whispers. “I know where you’re from.”
I stiffen as unwanted memories assail me, hitting like a slap across the face. I fight not to remember the long-forgotten place he speaks of—my childhood home. The friendly neighborhood I grew up in. The warmth. The love.
I place both hands on the counter, desperate for the smooth stability, and raise my attention to his. Up close I can make out the harsh hazel irises. They scrutinize me, trying to read my anxious thoughts.
“I know about your family.” He flicks a cautionary glance toward the entryway on the opposite side of the kitchen, then returns his gaze to mine as he steps forward. “I can help yo—”
“I think you’re confused.” I force a smile. “Luther won’t share me. So, whatever you’re playing at, whatever stunt you’re trying to pull, it won’t work. I’m not to be touched.”
His jaw tightens.
I’ve spoiled his plan. Or at least I’ve hit a sore spot. God only knows if this man is smart enough to listen to my caution.
He takes another step. “I don’t want to touch you. That’s not why I came in here.”
“Then stay where you are.” I back away. “Don’t move another inch.”
He doesn’t listen. In fact, he grows taller in the diminishing space between us, his presence taking up more room as he creeps closer. “Penny…”
My name on his lips is sickening, the tone placating and authoritative at the same time. “I’m here to help you,” he continues. “I can—”
“Stop,” I growl. “Whatever you have planned, you’ll get caught, then Luther will punish you. It doesn’t matter who you think you are. You can’t silence me. I’ll scream.”
His lips press tight. His nostrils flare. Pure frustration ebbs from him yet it’s not enough. I need his defeat. I have to know he won’t divert his sickening intent toward my sisters.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” I whisper. “Luther may act like he’s willing to share his harem, but believe me, he’s far from generous. As soon as you lay a hand on any of us you’ll be indebted to him and he always reclaims what he’s owed.”
“Luther doesn’t scare me.” His face softens. “And like I said, I have no desire to touch you.”
I glare despite the likely retaliation I’ll receive for my insolence. “So, you’re one of those role-playing types?”
Each monster has a different strategy. A well-greased kink.
Some enjoy boasting their horrors. And others, like this man, prefer to play nice, luring victims with honey to later strike with sickening poison.
“Don’t worry,” I add. “Luther enjoys the same type of games. Sometimes he pretends he’s had a hard day and wants someone to cuddle up against. But gentle cuddles always turn into vicious hands around a delicate throat. Or gouge marks along tender skin. He likes lulling victims into a false sense of security. I gather that’s what you’re doing now, right?”
His jaw ticks. “No.”
“No?” I quirk a brow.
He holds my gaze, those hazel eyes softening back to their deceptive look of concern. “I want to help you.”
“Help keep me in a sexual violation routine? Isn’t that what you were discussing earlier?”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
“Yeah,” I drawl, despite the pulse building in my throat. This man is getting to me. The initial damage he caused by mentioning my home is eating away at my defenses to leave me vulnerable. “I heard. So stop wasting both our time. I need to get this food outside.”
It’s a mistake to admit how far I intruded upon Luther’s privacy. The truth could come back to bite me. Hard. But the longer this man stares at me, his questionable intent putting me on edge, the more unsettled I become.
I want to believe the feigned sincerity in those eyes. I’d give anything to fall headfirst into his offer for help. If only it wasn’t a sickening game.
“You need to trust me.” He makes another cautionary glance toward both doorways, then approaches another step.
He’s so close the gentle scent of his woodsy cologne burns a trail down my throat to scorch my lungs.
He leans in, his gaze never leaving mine as he murmurs, “I know your brother.”
My heart stops, the harsh stab of déjà vu assailing me.
With effortless precision he attacks. Without physical connection. With barely audible words.
I have two brothers. Both of them the most caring, brilliant men in the world, and having this asshole use either one of them against me is despicable.
“Stop it.” I keep backtracking, needing to maintain the distance between us. I can’t let him push me into my past. I can’t fall into that trap. “Leave me alone.”
I stalk to the far cupboards and retrieve a packet of wafers. If I don’t get outside with food Luther will punish me, and despite his heavy hand being less painful than the thoughts of my family, I won’t open myself up to any more torture than I’ve already received in the last twenty-four hours.
“Listen to me.” Luca’s heavy footsteps approach, his presence closing in at my back, his hands clasping the counter on either side of my waist.
He traps me.
Cages me.
“I know you, Penny. I know how long you’ve been missing and that your brother never stopped looking for you until he thought he had evidence of your death.”
His words whisper into my ears. The message is pure torture.
There are so many aspects to fixate on. Too many facets to assail me.
My brother stopped looking? Which brother? What evidence? Was it the tooth Luther extracted from my mouth without sedation? Or the fist-fulls of hair that have been ripped from my head over the unending months?
No.
It’s all lies. All make-believe.
I don’t have siblings. I don’t have a past.
I suck in breath after breath, trying to ignore how he keeps goading me into a game I’m not equipped to handle. He’s deliberately pushing my buttons. This man is merely violating me with mental manipulation instead of physical.
Fuck him.
Fuck. Him.
I swing around to face my tormentor, his body so close, those eyes holding mine. I glare, and glare, and glare some more, but all he does is stare right back. There’s still no smirk. He’s devoid of the toxicity that usually forewarns of an impending strike.
; All he gives me is stony silence while he traps me in the cage of his arms.
“You’ve got the wrong woman.” I raise my chin, strengthening my resolve. “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but it’s not me.”
I rebuild my mental walls, frantically attempting to make them stronger and stronger as he remains a brutal force in front of me.
I have no family.
No weaknesses.
No vulnerabilities.
There’s only here and now. There’s only Luther and this unending hell.
“I know you’re scared.” He gentles his voice, the delicate sweep of his breath brushing my lips. “But I know who you are. There’s no mistaking it.”
His softness is foreign. The look in his eyes is, too. Everything about him screams of sanctuary, but it’s all a trick. A twisted, manipulative strategy.
“Stop it.” I glance away. Each inhale is pained, the air filling my lungs carrying tiny thorns to pluck me from the inside out. “Leave me alone.”
He’s triggering my hope and there’s nothing more dangerous to my stability. My hands shake from the internal battle of optimism and reality. I have to harden myself, to remember all the things I’ve endured and how the living nightmare never ends. There’s no savior. No peace to come.
There’re only beatings. And rape. And eventually, the peace of death.
“He lives in Portland,” he continues to stoke my insanity, making my pulse spike. “I’ve been working with him.”
“Stop.” I squeeze my hands into fists, digging my nails into skin. He’s filling my head, suffocating me with lies. I don’t want to drown. Not from this. Not from longing.
It’s too much.
My lungs squeeze.
My heart hurts.
“He’s been dating—”
“Stop,” I scream, my hand lashing out to slap across his cheek. “Stop.”
My palm burns with the contact, the pain quickly sliding into my chest, restricting my air.
Oh, God.
He snaps ramrod straight, his eyes blinking in a daze.
Oh, God.
I hyperventilate through the mania, not realizing the stupidity of my mistake until the dark red of my attack seeps across the left side of his face.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.