by Ivy Layne
This door, in the library, was built into the paneling, nearly invisible if you didn't already know it was there. My great-grandfather had liked the idea of a secret passageway. It was impossible to open unless you knew the trick. Unfortunately, a lot of people knew the trick.
Crossing the room to the fireplace, I slid my fingers into a groove under the marble mantelpiece and pushed. A quiet click sounded. Behind me, the door to the staircase swung open. The lights in the library illuminated the first few feet of the secret passage.
I paused for a moment in the doorway, listening. Nothing. I flipped the light switch beside the door and started into the passage. Brass sconces with flickering bulbs lined the curved stairwell, giving it the look of a dungeon staircase in an old school horror flick.
Normally, I thought it was cool. Hunting an intruder in my house, I was annoyed by the way the steep, curving stairs cut off my sight lines and slowed my descent.
I knew how to move in complete silence. With every step, my ears strained for a hint that the intruder was still in the house.
Nothing.
If this guy was smart, he'd taken off the second Sophie had screamed. He was getting in and out of Winters House without setting off the alarm so he couldn't be stupid.
I reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped into the hallway that ran the length of the basement of Winters House. Empty. The doors to the theater room, immediately to my left, were closed, just as I'd left them the day before.
Further down the hall, the double doors to the gym were open, also as I'd left them. As it always was, the door to the storage room was shut. I jogged up the stairs at that end of the hall to check the laundry room. Empty and undisturbed.
I wanted to get back to Sophie. I needed to make sure she was all right. I was almost positive she was. She hadn’t been unconscious, and the hit probably hadn't been hard enough to give her a concussion, but I needed to see for myself.
I didn't like leaving her alone with Aiden.
It wasn't jealousy.
It wasn't.
Aiden couldn't protect her like I could. He didn't have my training. He could handle a weapon. We all could. I knew he regularly used the Sinclair's range to keep his skills sharp, but occasional target shooting wasn't the same as over a decade in special forces. Someone had hurt Sophie, and I needed to make sure she was safe.
Me, not Aiden.
First, I had to search the basement. Logically, this was the only place the intruder could have gone after he hit Sophie.
Methodically, I searched the kitchen storage room, marveling at the sheer amount of stuff Mrs. W had packed away to decorate, feed, and maintain Winters House. There were shelves of canned goods, extra kitchen equipment, and stacks of linens, neatly folded and wrapped in clear plastic. Two entire shelves of vases for flower arrangements.
I'd grown up in this house, but I'd spent more than a third of my life living in army barracks and in conditions that made the barracks look like Winters House. No wonder I was having trouble adjusting to being home.
No one hid in the storage room. Ditto for the gym and the theater room. Frustrated, I made my way back upstairs, turning off lights as I went. I did a second check of all the rooms on the first floor and found nothing. Amelia still slept soundly, and the other rooms remained dark and empty just as they'd been the first time I checked.
Fuck.
Frustrated, I went to the kitchen to grab a bag of frozen peas from the freezer before jogging back up the stairs. I entered Aiden’s suite without knocking. He sat in a chair beside the couch, talking quietly to Sophie. They looked way too cozy together.
“Did you find anything?” Sophie asked.
“Nothing.” Ignoring Aiden, I crossed the room and crouched beside her. “How's your head?”
Sophie tried to force a smile, but the lines bracketing her mouth and the furrow between her eyebrows told me she was afraid and in pain.
“Aiden gave me some ibuprofen,” she said weakly.
Sliding my hand behind her neck, I lifted her head carefully, placing the bag of frozen peas behind it. “Any blurry vision, nausea, loss of consciousness?”
“No, I'm okay,” Sophie said.
I flicked my eyes to Aiden for confirmation. He gave me a short nod. It was likely she didn't have a concussion, but that knot on the back of her head was going to hurt like hell. Rising from my crouch, I nudged Sophie deeper into the cushions and sat on the edge of the couch, taking her hand in mine.
I couldn't forget the sight of her, crumpled on the floor, the look of confusion in her eyes as she stared up at me. The thought that she'd been hurt in my house, under my protection, was intolerable.
Aiden watched us with an inscrutable expression.
Abruptly, I lost my patience.
“What did Cooper say about the alarm? This has to be the same person we heard in the library a few days ago. When the hell is Cooper getting out here to check the system?”
It wasn't like the Sinclairs to put us off. Our fathers had been best friends, and they were like family. Usually, if any of us had a problem, we shot straight to the top of their list.
Aiden's eyes fixed on my hand holding Sophie's, my thumb stroking her knuckles gently. Without looking at me, he said, “I didn't call him.”
I exploded off the couch, dropping Sophie's hand. “What the fuck do you mean you didn't call him? I told you there was someone in the house. I told you I heard something.”
It took everything I had not to throw a punch at Aiden's smug face. He sat there, arms crossed over his chest, and watched me with an appraising look as if he were waiting for something.
Probably for me to lose it—to start screaming, or jump him, or do something equally unhinged. I wanted to. God damn, I really wanted to. Adrenaline surged through my body, lighting my nerves on fire, demanding I act.
Aiden would've deserved every punishment I could mete out.
“Gage,” Sophie said, the low, smooth, sweet tones of her voice calming me, soothing me just enough to remind me of all the reasons I didn't want to beat the shit out of my cousin.
Well, not didn't want to. More like shouldn't. The first of which was it would probably scare the crap out of Sophie. She'd been through enough for one night.
Curling my hands into fists, I did my best to get myself under control. I hated this. This volatility wasn't me. I didn't have a temper. I was analytical and contained. Ice cold under pressure.
Tremors shook my muscles—adrenaline overload with nowhere to go. I paced to the closed door of Aiden’s suite and stood there, my back to Aiden and Sophie. I took a deep breath. Then another.
When I thought I could carry on a conversation with Aiden—without killing him—I turned back and said, “Explain yourself. I told you we heard someone in the house. You said you would call Cooper and get the alarm checked. Then you left town. You left us unprotected.”
Aiden had the grace to look ashamed, if only for a second. Sitting forward, he braced his elbows on his knees and leaned close to Sophie. My fist itched to put a few more feet between them.
“Sophie, I’m very sorry if anything I did or didn't do contributed to you getting hurt. I should've called Cooper.”
“I'm okay,” Sophie said.
But what the hell else was she going to say? I knew her well enough by now to know Sophie wouldn't complain. She definitely wouldn't accuse her employer of almost getting her killed.
I reclaimed my place on the couch, crowding Sophie further back into the cushions and taking her hand in mine again. The touch of her skin grounded me, reminding me what was important.
This bullshit tension between Aiden and myself was not the point. My unreasonable jealousy whenever Aiden got close to Sophie was not the point.
The bump on her head and the intruder in our home – they were the priority.
“Why didn't you call Cooper?” I asked, slowly and evenly.
Aiden gave me a long, measuring look before he said, “You've been err
atic since you got home.”
“You thought I made it up?” I asked in disbelief. “I was standing right there when Sophie said she heard the sound, too. Was she making it up?”
She squeezed my hand, and I knew she didn't want me dragging her into the argument. I gave her a squeeze back and said, “All you had to do was call Cooper.”
“You both said nothing had been disturbed,” Aiden said, finally looking a little uncomfortable. “This is a big house, and it's old. It makes noises at night.”
I gritted my teeth, fighting off the rage flooding me, threatening to send me off balance. Aiden had called me erratic. He wasn't wrong but damned if I was going to prove him right. Especially not in front of Sophie.
As calmly as I could manage, I said, “I grew up here. I know the house makes sounds. All houses make sounds. That's not what we heard.”
“It didn't sound like you heard much of anything,” Aiden shot back. “Not enough to justify a complete overhaul of the security system.”
“Someone was in this house,” I said, slowly, as if explaining algebra to a toddler. “Someone bypassed our alarm system and got in this house. They hit Sophie over the head. Do you have any idea what could've happened to her? Think about it for a second. Unless you think I hit her?”
I threw that last part out more in frustration than anything else. I wasn't expecting Aiden's pause.
Son of a bitch.
I hadn't been myself since I got home. That was true. But I'd never hit a woman in my life, and I sure as hell wasn't going to start with Sophie.
Sophie made a sound of distress in the back of her throat and started to sit up. My hand shot out and pressed her shoulder back. I stroked a thumb across her cheekbone and murmured, “Keep your head still, Angel. It'll hurt less if you let those peas stay where they are.”
In a strained voice, she said, “It wasn't Gage. Gage would never hurt me, but it wasn't him. I couldn't see much, but he was shorter than both of you and thinner than Abel.”
Our cook was a few inches shy of six feet and built like the proverbial brick shit house. Abel made ample use of the basement gym, and it showed.
Finally, Aiden said, “I'm sorry. I should've called Cooper. I take it you didn't find a sign of anyone.”
“No. Nothing.” Looking down at Sophie, I said to her, “I'm taking you back to bed. I don't think that bump is bad enough for a trip to the hospital, but you need to rest.”
“I thought you weren't supposed to sleep after you get hit in the head, in case you have a concussion,” Aiden said.
“That's an old wives tale,” I said. Carefully, I lifted Sophie from the couch, leaving the bag of peas. I'd get a new one from the kitchen after I got her to her room. “Call Cooper now. Have him send a guy over to watch the house for the rest of the night. I'm staying with Sophie.”
“You don't have to—” she started to say.
I silenced her with a kiss to the top of her head and said, “I'm not leaving you alone right now. Deal with it.”
I had Sophie settled in bed a few minutes later, a dish towel wrapped ice pack under her head.
“I'm not going to be able to sleep,” she said, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. I toed off my shoes and stretched out beside her, taking her hand in mine and wrapping both of our arms around her waist.
“That's okay. Just rest.”
She drifted off a few minutes later in the middle of a story about the time Aiden, Jacob, Vance, and I had tricked Holden and Tate into the secret staircase and locked them in. We'd all gotten grounded, but it had been worth it.
Apparently, the story was less entertaining in the retelling. When Sophie relaxed, her eyes slid shut and she was out.
Not long after, I heard the beep of the alarm system deactivating, the familiar creak of the front door swinging open, and low voices. I thought about going out there, briefing whoever Cooper had sent over.
I didn't move. The situation was simple, and Aiden was more than equipped to explain it. I wasn't leaving Sophie’s side until morning.
Chapter Seventeen
Sophie
I ran through the dark halls of Winters House, fleeing the nightmare that stalked me. The walls extended before me, wreathed in shadows, stretching longer and longer as I ran. In the distance, firelight glowed in the library.
If I could get to the library, I would be safe.
I don't know why I was so certain of that, but I knew it to my soul. Feet pounded behind me, hands reaching. I ran faster, my legs wobbling with fatigue, lungs burning. The longer I ran, the further the hall stretched, the firelight drifting away.
In the distance, I saw Gage. I cried out, calling his name. My voice was sucked into the vacuum of air around me, silent a moment after it left my mouth.
Fingers grazed the back of my shoulder, hooking in the collar of my robe. I screamed again, twisting free and running faster. Harder. For a second, it seemed like I was making progress. I passed a window in the hall, then another, moonlight spilling over the fountain in the courtyard.
How many windows were between my room and the library? Two? Three? In this fun house mirror of a hallway, it looked like a hundred.
The hand closed over my wrist, wrenching me back, spinning me on my heel and throwing me off balance. I landed hard, my head bouncing off the wood floor, screaming in terror as Anthony loomed above me.
I knew that carefully blank expression. The icy look in his eyes. I'd seen it before, far too many times. I rolled to the side and scrambled to my knees, ready to launch my body forward like a sprinter at the starting line.
Muscles coiled, I propelled myself away, that flicker of firelight and Gage’s shadow my goal, my finish line. If I could just get to the end of the hall I'd be safe.
With a burst of exhilarated relief, I flew forward, only to feel the belt of my robe cut hard into my stomach as a hand yanked me back. I fell face first and rolled to face Anthony. As he had been so many nights before, he was silent, his fury channeled through his fists. And, as I never had before, instead of laying there, mute and terrified, I screamed. I screamed out my rage and my pain and my fear.
Arms flailing, legs kicking, I fought with everything I had. I was done being his victim. He was dead, I was free, and I wasn't going back. Anthony would have to kill me first.
His blows never landed. I felt my hands striking flesh, fingers closing around my wrists, but there was no pain. He wasn't hitting me. Why wasn't he hitting me?
A voice echoed in my ear, rough and insistent. Calming. “Sophie. Sophie, Angel, wake up. It's okay.”
“No! Let me go. Let me go.”
Heavy weight settled over my legs, pinning me down. Strong fingers held my wrists together, pressing them down into my chest. An arm wrapped around my back, rolling me into a long, hard body. Lips grazed my ear, and a familiar voice said, “Sophie, I've got you. I've got you. You’re safe. Wake up. You can wake up now.”
Finally, I did. I opened my eyes to find myself wrapped in a cocoon of Gage, his leg over mine, his arm around me, holding me close.
I looked up at him, words crowding my mind. “What are you doing here?” I asked, settling for the least confusing and humiliating question.
Releasing my wrists, Gage lifted a hand to smooth damp strands of hair back off my face. “I couldn't sleep. I was checking the house, and I heard you scream.” He stroked gentle fingers over my cheek. “Are your nightmares usually that bad?”
I looked away. Of all the people I'd known in my life, Gage was the only one who would understand. He had his own demons, memories that haunted him and stole his sleep. He knew what it was like to wake in the middle of the night, heart pounding, filled with terror.
But Gage had been a soldier. He'd earned his demons because he was brave and because he put himself at risk to protect the innocent, to do what he thought was right. All I’d done was marry the wrong man and then find myself unable to leave him. Not exactly heroic stuff.
The callused pad of his thu
mb smoothed over my cheekbone, wiping away a tear. Gage said, “You don't have to talk about it, but I want to know if you want to tell me.”
Unable to meet his eyes, I pressed my forehead to his chest. When I finally worked up the nerve to speak, it was in halting whispers.
“He used to hit me. I never knew when. Or why. He would just be there, so angry, and start hitting me until he was done. He said he had a darkness inside him and the only way to hold it back was to give it to me.”
I heard what I'd said, and a sob choked my throat. It was pathetic. I was pathetic. How could I have married him? How had I not seen what he was?
Knowing Gage was probably wondering why I’d stayed with Anthony, I tried to explain, “I wanted to get away. I tried. He wasn't like that when I married him. He was sweet and attentive. Charming. Then we were married, and he wanted me to quit my job at the hospital. It was important to him, so I did. Then he wanted us to move. He bought a house without asking me, far out in the country on so much land. There was nowhere to walk to. I didn't have a car. And he had security. A guard. He said it was for my protection.”
“Why did you need protection living out in the country?”
“Anthony said it was his job. That he needed the peace and quiet to relax, but he wanted to be sure I had protection when he was away.”
“What kind of job did he have that he thought his wife needed protection?” Gage asked.
“He was an accountant,” I said quietly. Gage was silent. I knew it didn’t add up. The luxury cars, the huge house in the country, the 24/7 security. “I didn’t see how weird it all was until we were married. Before that, he was very careful to only show me what he wanted me to see. And when I tried to leave, the guards always brought me back.”
“Did they hurt you?” Gage asked in a careful, measured tone. His muscles had gone tight, his heart beating faster in his chest, thudding beneath my cheek. He didn't like what I was telling him. Neither did I.