“What the hell are you going on about?”
“Halo chose Bridget to win,” I say. “That much you know. But you don’t know that the AVPR1A receptor gene has different variants. One phenotype has a short promoter region, and one has a long promoter region. Or am I wrong? Did you know that, Tom?”
“I … ”
“Did you know that in prairie vole and montane vole studies, AVPR1A expression has proved to be highly susceptible to epigenetic influence? Did you know that, if you swap a long promoter for a short one, you can make a monogamous animal into a player? Did you know that if you do the opposite, you can turn a player into a lover with a single bonded mate?”
“I can’t possibly see how — ”
Now I’m rolling. I blast through Welty’s words, imagining a punch to his face.
“And did you know how influential oxytocin is on gene expression? Do you understand how a vole … or, as it turns out, a person … can become more sensitive to it over time?”
“The fact that you can spew jargon at me doesn’t change the fact that — ”
“Bridget shouldn’t have won!” I shout, loud enough to make Bridget wince. “Halo said she won, but she didn’t! Can your closed fucking little mind understand that?”
The first note of hesitancy enters his voice. All of a sudden, Welty’s no longer so sure he’s correct, because he very much isn’t.
“I have two sets of test results. One of my and Bridget’s AVPR1A sequence and oxytocin levels before we met and one that was taken after we’d been together. Oh, you should see them, Tom. Bridget? She was a mess. You didn’t need a psychiatrist to know how fucked up she was. You could see it right there in her gene expression and hormones. I wasn’t much better, I’m a bit ashamed to admit. Looking at our test results all those months ago, it’d be obvious to any trained neuroscientist that we were two very broken people. ‘Incapable of trust,’ they might call us. ‘Unable to bond.’ ‘Unable to love.’”
Welty sort of coughs. I feel his wariness across miles and miles of open air.
I faux-soften my voice. “But oh, Tom. The after test results. You should see those. Now Bridget and I are like a Hallmark card made of nucleic acid base pairs. Our oxytocin levels test like a love potion. You’ve never seen such a turnaround. We’re like two rundown shacks lovingly restored to mansions.”
Hesitantly, Welty says, “I don’t see how … ” This time, he trails off instead of me needing to interrupt.
“Halo said Bridget won. But Halo knew full well that the winner would go with Trevor and be with him forever, forsaking all others. But she’s mine, Tom. Bridget is mine, and I’m hers. So she can’t win. And if you did similar tests on Jessica and Trevor, I’m sure you’d see the same: just as Bridget couldn’t win because she’s meant for me, Jessica couldn’t lose because she’s meant for Trevor.”
“It’s just … it’s circumstantial!”
“Close. It’s circumstances that rewrite who we are.”
“You’re bluffing. You’re — ” But he’s lost, and doesn’t know where to go. I almost pity the man.
Almost.
“I’m not bluffing. I’ve made my case to the board. Barnes, who understands and won’t tolerate science this sloppy, has made the case alongside me. I’ve been reinstated as CEO and have bought back my shares so I can never be usurped again. Halo is finished.” My eyes flick to Tony, who’s listening. “And so are you.”
“You can’t remove me from the board!”
“I already have. You’ll find your company account broken. Your vehicles repossessed. I even think a lot of your wardrobe was purchased on company expense accounts.”
“But Halo’s flaw isn’t a deal breaker! It’s … it’s just an adjustment. We can recalibrate Halo to account for … to include results of … ”
“Let it go, Tom. Humans are too complex for any algorithm. Lesser animals are all chemistry and no cortex, but human beings can use those big brains of ours to move past chemical mandates. We can choose. We can overcome our biological destinies. We can reshuffle the hand that nature dealt us, if we find the right person to assist a change.”
“But … it’s just chemicals! If we find a lab to … ”
I cut Welty off one final time.
“You’ll never find love,” I say, looking at Bridget, “through a lens.”
I hang up the phone.
Bridget leans into me, and I wrap my arm around her.
And our lives, together, go on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Six Months Later
I like Abigail. And I like Gavin. So far, I like all of Bridget’s friends. I met many of them back when we were in Inferno, when things were darkest. But despite my anger at what Welty tried to do, those people were shining moments in the gloom. Thinking about it now gives me hope. If Trevor hadn’t pointed me toward my redemption, things would have been okay. I’d have been poor. I’d have been unjustly robbed of all I’d built. But I’d have had Bridget, and she was the decision I made when given my ultimatum. I’d have been happy, once adjusted. Content with her, and good people like these.
Standing here beside my friend Hunter Altman and Trevor, Bridget’s studio has the feel of a casual summit. Because across from us are Bridget and her friends, and we’re all so different, yet so much the same. Two worlds colliding. Two halves becoming whole, the way Bridget and I complete each other.
The song finishes. The speakers go quiet. Bridget started this with the idea to produce audiobooks like the ones she spent years narrating, but once the idea of producing Gavin and Abigail’s album entered her head, she wouldn’t let it go. She knew nothing about the specifics of music versus voice but delved in with a vengeance while my people were moving her into the studio. Bridget’s adaptable. She’ll always become more than she is, and that’s something I love about her. I still see the hard little brat I met all those years ago, now with new layers atop her.
I look at Hunter. The recording sounded damn good to me, but I’m hardly an audiophile. Hunter’s the one in the music business, with a reputation for being dead honest to the point of cruelty. I love Hunter but understand his haters. He’s good to most people, but watch out when he’s an ass. He’s awful to his constantly rotating parade of girlfriends, but Trevor and I know he’d have rescued his stepsister from the ghetto long ago if her pride hadn’t stubbornly prevented it … and if Hunter hadn’t grown a caustic shell to pretend her plight didn’t matter against his riches.
We all look at Hunter. Trevor and I know that the next thing he says might be cutting, and I warned Bridget of the same before she okay’d me to call him. I wasn’t sure she told Abigail and Gavin, but I can see now that she must have. They look like a dog afraid of a beating.
“That was hot as hell,” Hunter says.
And from there, it’s easy. We all clasp hands, slap backs. Spared insults, Bridget asks for feedback on her production and mastering. Abigail asks for feedback on the song’s lyrics. Gavin asks about his guitar skills and his voice. Nobody asks about money, because it feels like a jinx. But there will be plenty.
It seems appropriate, as the studio empties, that the band’s music plays on the overhead speakers, now on a loop. The first time I met Bridget in person — when I wanted to hurt her — this song had just been played from stage in that little club. Every couple has their story. Some start on highs and some on lows, but where they end up is all that really matters. And this is our song, like it or not.
As we’re getting into Bridget’s new car — a Camry; girl just won’t level up to a luxury vehicle no matter how much I make fun of her — she puts her hand on my arm. I look over.
“Thank you, Daniel,” she says softly.
“For what?”
“You know what for.”
“For Hunter?”
“For everything. But yes, also for calling Hunter. You’re too good to me.”
I usually say, Nothing is too good for you. But she’s heard it so many times, she�
�s started using her husky voice to mock my words. So I smile and say, “You’re welcome.”
“I heard from Linda.”
“From your mom?” I’m surprised. They’ve been on radio blackout since the move. I’ve had my people on the case to make sure any communication was totally and completely secure before I’d let them try to speak. But I guess it was completed earlier than I’d thought.
“Yes. She says they’re doing well.”
“Well. That’s good.”
“Thank you,” she says again. “I finally told Brandon all about her, and he said I should tell you — ”
I put a finger to her lips. I know she’s about to thank me again, this time using Brandon as a loophole.
“Stop. Don’t thank me. This is what I do.”
“Yes. Males protect their mates.”
An eyebrow rises. Hers, then mine.
“What?”
“And males want admiration in return.”
“Where are you getting this shit, Bridget Miller?”
She tries to be serious, but I know she’s fucking with me. I can already see her sarcastic lips trembling as she holds in a laugh.
“I want to say something romantic to you, Daniel,” she says, still mock-serious.
“You’re such an asshole,” I say.
But she tells me the romantic thing anyway.
“You increase the number of D2 receptors in my nucleus accumbens.”
I wait for her to break, but she’s keeping a straight face. At least from the nose down. Her eyes are guffawing already.
I’ll force her to break by straightening my own face and playing along.
“That’s not romantic,” I tell her.
“It’s not?”
“At least not conclusively.”
“You’re sure?”
“An increase of D2 receptors might just make it easier for me to pay attention.”
“Yes,” she says. “And I want your attention. In my pants.”
I watch her. Still not laughing, though it’s a near thing. “You’re bluffing.”
“Reach in and see.”
Instead, I reach into her purse. And pull out a dense scientific paper about prairie vole neurochemistry.
“I was studying up,” she says. “I want to understand how to change my brain so I can like someone who’s as big of a fucker as you are.”
I watch her for a long time. Then, finally, she cracks. And I crack. And we shake the Camry with laughter until we’re spent.
I toss the paper into the back seat.
“We don’t need to study this shit,” I say.
“No?”
“We’re already geniuses in the fields of mammalian mating and bonding,” I say, leaning in to kiss her.
She meets my eyes.
“Prove it,” she says.
READ THE STORY OF CASPIAN WHITE … AND HIS DARK OBSESSION
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“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” Caspian says. “I’ll just force you to do as you wish.”
I’ve always been a good girl. Partly by choice, partly because of my mother’s shame and my father’s belt.
Caspian White is strong. Handsome. Powerful. Frightening. The world knows his name, envies his wealth, suspects his kinks, and fears his wrath.
I’ve kept myself pure, and that’s drawn Caspian to me like a predator to prey.
I don’t want to do what he wants me to. I just want to conclude my business with Caspian and go.
But Caspian seems to have been watching me for a while. I’m a target, and he knows me too well.
I’m afraid he’ll force me to do things I’ll regret … and that if he does, my shameful half will enjoy it.
Gagged is a STANDALONE dark erotic romance.
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CHAPTER THIRTY
Stuff You Should Know
On February 3 of 2016, the day after the first book in the Trevor’s Harem series came out, I made a post on my Facebook page that said this:
Turns out I can make arginine vasopressin receptors sexy. Who knew?
In the way that neurotic creative types like me sometimes fret, I actually worried about that post. Not a lot, but definitely a little. By making that post, I was letting my dork hang out (though not in the way you might like to see Daniel’s dork hanging out), and I wondered if anyone would see it and think, “Wait. I’m not going to read Aubrey’s books. I’m not looking for a lecture.”
Ultimately, I think it was ridiculous for me to worry. Bridget and Daniel’s story isn’t about neurology any more than it’s about psychology or evolutionary biology, though it definitely contains all three. Not to put too fine a point on it, Bridget and Daniel’s story is about Bridget and Daniel. It’s about two people who overcome who they are, heal each other, then fall in love and live happily ever after, just like any romance. The rest is setting. A thriller-style romantic suspense might have guns and car chases, and Trevor’s Harem has this.
I’m an unapologetic nerd, so one thing you should know to expect from me and my stories is that I’m going to populate my worlds with things that interest me. Like my friend and fellow author, Julie (J.A.) Huss, I’m a trained scientist. I’ve always been interested in how things work — and, relevant to the Trevor’s Harem series, what makes us tick.
I seldom do formal research for my stories, but I do delve into what piques my interest … and what comes out of that delving in looks a hell of a lot like research. So as I started writing The Burning Offer (book 1), I became very interested in what made Daniel as broken as he was — why he wanted so badly to punish Bridget. I already knew Bridget because I’d written her before in The Boss’s Daughter, but watching them together made me wonder what pushed her buttons too, and why. Of course, that made me curious.
And that’s when the research came out.
During the time it took to write all four of the Trevor’s Harem books, I listened to maybe five or six audiobooks all about the science of who we are as a species, specifically where it comes to mating and relating. One I’ll mention (simply because its title will give you an idea of how this particular nerd spends time) was called The Chemistry Between Us. And one thing I remember thinking, as I expanded my knowledge of why evolution wired male and female brains the way it did, was that although most studies are done on animals, plenty of non-invasive studies have been done on people, too, and the results are similar.
In some ways, we’re just as programmed as rats.
In the story you just finished, someone (I forget who and refuse to look) says that strippers get more tips from men when they’re ovulating. That’s true. Men just find them more attractive at those times.
There’s a section, when we first meet Caspian White in person, where Daniel is thinking about how women tend to mate preferentially with one type of man and settle down with another. I don’t think I mentioned this in the text, but this double intention has resulted in a shitload of cuckolds the world over. Basically, a key strategy is to fuck a guy with great genetics (apparent by masculine traits like a square jaw) and then get a more stable guy to help raise the baby.
Daniel once mentions that after his woman has been with a rival, a man will ejaculate harder and in greater volume. That’s true, too. Men actually buy vitamins to blow bigger loads, but hey, watching their wives with someone else will do the same thing. Sperm wars are real. Even on the cellular level, guys are duking it out to get the girl.
Even the bit about the scientists who fetishized female rats to prefer males wearing little leather jackets? Yep, also true.
But the key difference between we humans and lab animals (and this was what really hit me, and settled in as a key theme) is that while animals are mostly responding to fatalistic chemistry in their brains, humans can use their big, evolved higher minds to change our destinies.
So consider this:
You see the hot guy at work, and he comes on to you. Your brain fires up and makes you ready to go. You’re in the groove, hardwired by evolution to want him in your groove. But then your big human cortex says, “Wait a minute. I love my husband, and this guy will tell everyone I’m a slut.” And so you don’t go with the hot guy, even though your loins are burning to.
That, to me, said “free will.”
That, to me, said that love really could conquer all.
Now, I definitely fudged the science a bit. You have to, if you expect a story like this to work. So no, there’s no special printout in real life that could prove, conclusively, that two people are forever bonded and in love. I’m glad there’s not because that’s what hearts are for. Similarly, although oxytocin does bond people to each other and create trust, it isn’t magic. There have been studies with people taking intranasal doses of an oxytocin spray, and they do become more trusting and open and sympathetic, yes … but the skeeves out there selling oxytocin cologne as rohypnol light (“spray yourself with oxy, and chicks will dig you!”) are still, blessedly, full of shit. And although epigenetics (the ability of our environments to change gene expression) is real, the only way to lengthen the AVPR1A gene’s promoter is through a gene-swapping science called transgenics. Promoters don’t grow like dicks when people are in love, but it’s true that if you swap the genes, you can make a faithful animal promiscuous and vice-versa.
Oh, and do you know what else is totally real? PRAIRIE VOLES. Just look at these adorable motherfuckers:
And they really are naturally monogamous. They’re totally adorable, unlike their whore cousins, montane voles. There are even memes out there showing prairie voles with hearts around them and stuff. Who says science and romance don’t mix?
Burning Ultimatum (Trevor's Harem #4) Page 15