The Rebel Series
Lyric
Lock
The Redemption Series
Blackbird
Firefly
Nightshade
The Thatch Series
Letting Go
To The Stars
Show Me How
The Sharing You Series
Capturing Peace (novella)
Sharing You
The Forgiving Lies Series
Forgiving Lies
Deceiving Lies
Changing Everything (novella)
The From Ashes Series
From Ashes
Needing Her (novella)
The Taking Chances Series
Taking Chances
Stealing Harper (novella)
Trusting Liam
Stand-Alone Novels
I See You
Coming Soon
Brewed Series
Copyright © 2019 Molly McAdams
Published by Jester Creations, LLC.
First Edition
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the publisher.
Please protect this art form by not pirating.
Molly McAdams
www.mollysmcadams.com
Cover Design by RBA Designs
Photo by ©Regina Wamba
Editing by Ashley Williams, AW Editing
Custom Illustrations by DeepFriedFreckles
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Names, characters, places, and plots are a product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Print ISBN: 9781950048991
eBook ISBN: 9781950048984
Contents
Prologue
1. Sutton
2. Sutton
3. Conor
4. Sutton
5. Zachary
6. Conor
7. Sutton
8. Sutton
9. Sutton
10. Conor
11. Sutton
12. Zachary
13. Sutton
14. Conor
15. Sutton
16. Conor
17. Sutton
18. Conor
19. Zachary
20. Sutton
21. Conor
22. Sutton
23. Zachary
24. Conor
25. Conor
26. Sutton
27. Conor
28. Conor
29. Zachary
30. Conor
31. Sutton
32. Conor
33. Sutton
34. Zachary
35. Conor
36. Sutton
37. Sutton
38. Conor
39. Sutton
40. Conor
41. Conor
42. Sutton
Epilogue
The End
Zachary
One Year Ago . . .
“Sutton?” I called out, a cruel grin on my face.
Silence met me.
And I loved it.
Craved it.
This empty feeling that filled the house and was laced with anticipation and the knowledge that my wife was somewhere in this house waiting for me to find her.
And that slight hint of fear that clung to the walls? That only made this all the sweeter.
Made my blood roar and my cock strain against my pants.
“Oh, Sutton . . .”
I climbed the stairs slowly, dragging out these minutes the way I knew she liked.
Taking the time to roll up my shirt sleeves and loosen my tie as I hit the top step before turning to make my way down the hall to continue this game we played.
She ran, and I hunted.
She pretended to be afraid, and I found her.
I always found her. There was nowhere she could go where I would not follow.
Hunt her.
Stalk her.
Claim her.
Sutton had always been mine, and nothing or no one would take her from me. Including herself.
“Sutton.” Taunting colored my tone as I strolled past the framed pictures and closed doors. My heart raced faster and faster as I drew closer to her, and I knew she felt it too.
The anticipation.
The thrill.
The way even the walls betrayed her, telling me exactly where she was.
I curled my fingers into a fist and hit it against the wall with a low thump, letting her know I was coming.
After another couple of feet, I hit the wall again.
And again.
And again.
I could practically see her shaking in fear.
The way she’d fight.
The way she’d beg me to stop.
The way she’d succumb.
Fuck.
My eyes rolled back and I fought the urge to grab my throbbing dick.
I passed the room she was in to tease her, to give her a moment’s relief, to give her that split second of belief that she’d fooled me before I silently slipped into the room, through the bathroom, and up to the closet.
Step by taunting step.
Fear radiated through the wood.
Her frantic, panicked breaths crawled under the double doors.
I fucking loved it.
I dropped my forehead to one of the doors with a soft thud. My mouth curled up when I heard her low gasp.
There was no point in trying the handle, I knew, because I knew her.
It was all part of the game.
Always for the game.
Still, I gripped the handle and twisted, my feral smile widening when I felt the resistance from the lock.
Placing my hands on the barrier separating us, I said, “Sutton . . . open the door.”
Seconds went by without movement from the other side.
Little tease.
“Open the door.”
My chest heaved with a harsh, irritated breath when nearly a minute passed, and I slammed my hands against the surface. “Open the goddamn door, Sutton!”
Sutton
Two Months Ago . . .
I blinked slowly.
And then again.
The whole room spun. The women’s tittering voices sounded far away and too loud all at the same time.
I was going to throw up.
I scooted my chair back, quicker and louder than I meant to. Then I had to sit for a few moments with my hands pressed to the table until I knew I wouldn’t fall to the floor the moment I stood.
I didn’t realize until I stood on unsteady knees that the room had gone quiet and every set of calculating and judgmental eyes had shifted to me.
“Excu—” I swallowed back the bile that rose and cleared my throat. “Please excuse me.”
My stiletto-covered feet hadn’t made it out of the formal dining room before the guests’ hushed voices filled the room.
Speculating. Assuming. Teasing.
Bitches.
I kept my shoulders back and my spine straight until I rounded the corner and was out of their sight, and then I grabbed my stomach and hurried toward the kitchen, praying the little I had forced down would remain where it was supposed to.
“Nadia,” I called out as I pushed through the pristinely white swinging doors. “Nadia.”
“Yes, Mrs. Larson?” she asked, her tone both worried and anxious. The latter wasn’t for me.
It was for this day and the pressure that had been put on her and the rest of the staff.
Pressure my husband had put on them by putting it on me.
&
nbsp; “You’ve been hiding away too long, feeling sorry for yourself because you have a headache, or some shit. We have appearances to keep up, Sutton. An image to maintain. Do your part.”
Appearances.
My entire life had been about keeping up appearances—my marriage included.
Nadia’s eyes widened when she got a good look at me. “Oh?”
With one hand, I clutched my stomach, with the other, I pressed the tips of my fingers to my forehead, which was beaded with cool sweat. “I feel faint and—” I staggered against another wave of nausea. “Sick. To my stomach. I need something.”
Worry creased the corners of her eyes. For a few seconds, she simply stood there watching me. With a delicate clearing of her throat, she murmured, “Yes, Mrs. Larson. I’ll find some sparkling water for—”
“Sparkling wat—what? No. I need . . . I need . . . God. Medicine. I need that medicine to make this stop.”
“Go back to the luncheon, I’ll bring you a water.”
“I don’t want water, Nadia.” I was nearly shouting.
The catering staff instantly froze. Five heads tilted in our direction.
“I don’t want water,” I repeated on a wavering whisper. “This has been going on for too long. I need something to make it stop.”
“Sutton.”
The tone was low.
Harsh.
Disapproving.
As it had been my entire life.
I turned to face my mother, who was standing just inside the kitchen, the doors closed tightly behind her.
I tried to stand tall. Tried to appear unaffected. But the room was spinning, and I just needed to get my hand on that bottle of pills.
My mother moved toward me until she and I were nearly nose to nose. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you do not make a scene the way you just did at a luncheon—especially one you are hosting. And speaking of hosting, have you forgotten how? I am beyond disappointed in you, Sutton Jean—Sutton. Sutton.” She snatched my arm when I stumbled into the wall and lowered her voice even more. “What the hell is wrong with you? Have you been drinking? It isn’t even noon.”
I took a shaky step away when she tried to smell my breath. “Jesus, mother, I’m not you. I just . . .”
Just what?
My husband dismissed my worries or said I was being dramatic again whenever I mentioned what was happening.
My housekeeper continued to downplay it by saying I only needed water.
Telling my mother would only make this worse than it already was. She believed in never letting others know you were anything less than perfect. Staff knowing you didn’t feel well was doing exactly that.
A show in front of a luncheon? That was just unacceptable.
I’d already seen multiple doctors this year. I had been told the same thing—I was stressed.
Whether or not I was, not one of those doctors had done anything more than tell me their diagnoses.
No vital checks. No tests. No prescriptions. No nothing.
The last one, however, had cornered me in a store last week and gave me a bottle of nausea medication.
She hadn’t said a word or even made eye contact.
Just stepped up beside me, slipped it into my hand, and left.
“Here you go, Mrs. Larson,” Nadia said, appearing beside me with a goblet of bubbling water. “Why don’t we get you back to the luncheon?”
I reached for the goblet on impulse, my weak words contradicting my movements. “I don’t want this, I need—I’ll get it myself, it’s fine.”
I pushed past my mother and headed toward the cabinet where we kept our medicines, not realizing until I got there that Nadia was attempting to stop me while asking if she should send everyone home.
“Well, that’s absurd, don’t you dare do such a thing. Sutton, pull yourself together and walk back into that room with me.”
My mother was still talking, trying to make herself heard over Nadia, but I wasn’t hearing either of them.
I was staring blankly at the medicine cabinet that was full of spices and oils.
I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head before looking straight ahead. Nothing had changed.
“Where’s the med—Nadia, what . . .” I took a step back and looked around the kitchen, confusion pulsing through me as I wondered if I was in the right place. One after another, I opened each cabinet, my frustration growing each time I slammed one shut.
Nothing.
Whirling around, I demanded, “Where is everything, Nadia?”
Her expression was set in determination as she stared at me.
“It’s as though you were raised by savages,” my mother continued without taking a breath. “I don’t even know you anymore.”
I shoved the water at her, not waiting to make sure she had hold of the glass before lifting a trembling hand to point at the cabinets.
“Tell me,” I said to Nadia, my voice a mixture of confusion and frustration.
After nearly an eternity of neither of us giving and my mother ranting, Nadia nodded her head in concession. “Mr. Larson asked that all medications be removed from the house.”
If I hadn’t felt faint before, I would have then.
My knees buckled, but I managed to grab ahold of the counter before I fell.
“He what?”
It was a breath.
A pained denial.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you have a dru—I can’t even bring myself to say it. After all we did for you? Your father is going to have a heart attack. What will the members at the club say? Oh, for Christ’s sake, I forgot about the women in the—”
“Mother.” I turned my head slowly to set my glare on her. “Will you please, for once in your life, shut up?”
If it weren’t for the situation, I might have taken that moment to soak in the horrified look on her face so I could memorize it.
But I couldn’t.
All I could hear were Nadia’s words on repeat.
“Nadia, I need those nausea pills,” I whispered pleadingly.
Her brow furrowed. “Mrs. Larson . . .”
“I don’t care what my husband said, I need those to get through these spells.”
“What spells? Are you pregnant?” My mother covered her shocked gasp with a hand to her lips. “Why you waited so long after having Lexi, I’ll never understand. But it is what it is, we’ll have to do an announcement.”
“Christ, Mother.” I slanted something that felt like a glare in her direction before focusing on Nadia again. “Where’s the prescription?”
“Prescription?” Nadia said, as though the word were foreign.
I nearly grabbed her when I shouted, “The prescription, Nadia. The one in that cabinet. Where did it go?”
Her head shook as if the movement were an afterthought. “Mrs. Larson, there were no prescriptions in the house.”
I jerked back. “I put it there last week. I took one yesterday!”
Nadia’s head continued to move in slow shakes of denial. “There were only the usual over-the-counter medicines.”
“Then someone stole it.”
Hurt flashed across Nadia’s face. “Mr. Larson gave me the job, and I took care of it. If you are accusing someone, then you are accusing me, Mrs. Larson.”
Never . . .
Nadia had helped raise me because her mom had kept my parents’ house—still did. When Zachary and I had finished building this house, Nadia had moved in and had been here ever since.
I trusted her with my life . . . with Lexi’s life. She could be holding the bottle of pills, and I still wouldn’t believe it was her who had taken them.
“Of course, I don’t think it was you,” I whispered and reached for her hand. “I’m sorry for the insinuation. It’s just that this nausea and vertigo are getting worse every day, and those pills were a godsend. Maybe I misplaced them.”
Except I knew I hadn’t.
And one other person had known about them.
&n
bsp; He wouldn’t.
He wouldn’t.
But even as denial swam through my veins, there was a small voice in my head whispering that he would. Urging me to search the house.
Because I knew the monster Zachary could truly be. I knew the games he liked to play. Dismissing what was happening to me and then making me feel like I was going insane would be the least awful game yet.
The sickening feeling twisting my stomach worsened until I was sure I would lose it right there on the floor.
“I think this has been a very big day for you,” Nadia said in a gentle voice. “Why don’t you get some rest, and I’ll see to it that your guests are taken care of for the rest of the luncheon?”
My mouth popped open to refuse, but the words that came out were the opposite of a refusal. “Yeah, okay.”
“Out of the question,” Mother snapped. “Bright eyes, bright smile, and walk back in there as if nothing has happened.”
I simply stared at her for a few moments, wondering if she ever heard the words she said. Wondering if they were her mother’s or if they were all a product of a life she’d wanted to create for herself.
A life she’d forced on me.
“Women are allowed to be imperfect, Mother.” A defeated laugh fell past my lips. “If the women in that room can’t understand that . . . well . . . well, they can go fuck themselves.”
I turned around, wide-eyed, and walked quickly out of the kitchen and away from the formal dining room. The entire time, I half-expected my mother to follow me and reprimand me for my lack of manners first, and my language second. When she didn’t, I was positive that hell had frozen over.
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