AVEN

The voicemail ended, and Conner Sheer’s voice faded back into nothing.

The silence that now permeated the car suddenly seemed jarring, even though Conner had only been talking for about fifteen seconds.

The screen mounted on the Porsche’s interior flashed a message.

“End of voicemail,” the perky robotic voice said, reading it out loud. I reached out and pushed the button on the touchscreen, the one marked “REPLAY.”

Conner’s voice filled the car again.

“Hey, it’s me. So listen. I know you’re probably worried about me, but I wanted to let you know that I have everything under control.” There was a pause, and then the same background sounds that had been there the first time came wafting through the speakers. I could identify them easier now – birds chirping softly, a stick cracking, the swish of fabric, like maybe Conner was adjusting his jacket.

Wherever he was, he was outside, maybe in the woods.

“I just need a little more time with her. I just…” he trailed off, and then sighed. “Yeah, I just need a little more time. So let me have it, okay? Thanks, bro.”

“End of voicemail.”

This time, I didn’t push the replay button.

This time, I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door.

I walked around the back of the car to where Landon was just finishing filling up his stupid fancy car with stupid fancy gas.

“Get back in the car,” he said when he saw me standing there. “It’s snowing.”

“You lied to me,” I said, and my hands curled into fists by my sides.

“I’m not lying to you,” Landon said easily, pulling the handle of the gas pump out of the car and placing it back into its holder. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, something sleek and black and leather and expensive-looking. “It is, indeed, snowing. And it’s getting worse. Get back in the car.”

“No.” I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest. “I can’t believe I actually fell for all your bullshit.” I laughed, a hollow sound that echoed through the empty-except-for-us parking lot. “I’m usually a lot smarter than that. But for some stupid reason, I believed you.”

Landon turned to look at me, now seeming to take me seriously. His blue eyes filled with what looked like genuine concern, and I told myself it wasn’t real, that nothing about him was real. “What are you talking about?” he asked quietly.

“What I’m talking about is that you knew Conner was with her.” I shook my head, another bitter laugh escaping my lips, even as I could feel the hot tears burning the back of my eyes. “You knew Conner was with her this whole time, and you never said anything. You just let me keep believing you had no idea where they were or what they were doing. Even after last night, even after you knew how much I needed to talk to her, even after I told you she’s all I have.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“He called you,” I said, savoring the quick glimpse of astonishment that passed over Landon’s chiseled features before they carefully arranged themselves back into their usual mask of stoicism. “He called you, and he left a voicemail, and it played through your fancy car’s speakers, because that’s what happens in fancy cars.”

“What did the voicemail say?” His tone of voice matched the expression on his face – detached and unemotional. I hated it. I hated the way he just shut down like that.

It was worse even than what he’d done to me last night, when he’d belted me, or how he’d been this morning, hitting that heavy bag with no gloves. At least then he was showing some kind of emotion.

He pulled a black American Express card out of his wallet and slid it into the cardholder, waiting for it to read the chip.

His calmness infuriated me, and I reached into the reader and pulled out the card before he could stop me, took the card and tossed it into the black metal garbage can that sat between two pumps.

Landon’s eyes blazed. “You are treading on very thin ice, Ms. Courtland.”

“The voicemail said that Conner needed more time with Violet,” I said, ignoring his threat. “That he knew you were worried, but that he just needed a little more time, and couldn’t you just give him that, bro?” I did a pretty horrible impression of Conner on the last word, using the annoying upspeak that had been present in his tone.

Landon didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, his face impassive.

“Who are you calling?” I demanded.

He didn’t answer me. When the person on the other end of the line answered, Landon growled, “Please cancel my American Express.” He hung up without waiting for a response and turned his attention back to me. “You need to calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down!” I started to walk back around the back of car, back toward the passenger side door. I needed to get my purse, to call Emma, to call the police, to call someone. If Landon thought I was just going to continue on with this sick charade, then he was wrong.

“Yes, you are,” he said, and now he was next to me, pushing me up against the back of the car, his hands on the top of it, pinning me in. “You’re going to relax, because I said so.” His eyes were hooded in that way he got when he wanted to punish me.

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m not.”

“Then there will be consequences.” His voice was low, dark, and my belly tightened.

“Like what?” I shot back. “You’ll lie to me again?”

“I did not lie to you.”

“That’s semantics.” He might not have technically lied to me, but he definitely kept something from me. He knew more than he was telling me. “What was Conner talking about, Landon? What did he mean?” I demanded.

His jaw clenched, hardening into a straight, determined line. “I’m sure Violet will tell you when you get to Vermont. It will be better for you to hear it from her.”

My mouth dropped. “What? No fucking way. You’re going to tell me, and you’re going to tell me now. Or that’s it, this is over, and I call the police.”

“Aven.” He pushed into me harder, his body strong against mine, and he said my name like I was a child who didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“This is a very complicated situation,” he growled, pushing his pelvis against mine, his chest flattening my breasts against his body. “A situation that could impact my business, that could impact people’s lives. That could impact Violet’s life, that could have consequences far beyond what you could imagine.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I spit. “You think I give a shit about your business? Sorry if I don’t care about you being able to buy another stupid Porsche.” I pushed him away, and he let me go. I started walking away, back toward the passenger side door, giving the side of his car a kick as I went. Not that it did anything. I imagined myself grabbing a key, trailing it along the side of the paint job, leaving a ragged, white line right down the middle of the pristine black exterior.

I would get my phone and call Emma, I would have her come and get me. Or I would call an Uber. Just something to get me the hell out of here.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Landon growled, following me.

“Away from you.”

“The hell you are.”

I tried the passenger side door. It was locked. I turned around and he was right there again, his strong chest and broad shoulders blocking me from the snow that had started falling even faster now.

“Open the door,” I demanded.

He leaned in close to me. The smell of the leather from his jacket and his woodsy cologne assaulted me, and my body, traitorous as always, immediately responded, my cheeks heating, my pussy flooding with a delicious warmth, and inexplicably, the urge to fall to my knees.

“You obviously don’t know how this works, Ms. Courtland,” he said, his voice low. My heart beat a staccato rhythm against my ribs, and my pulse hummed. “I make the rules. You don’t.”

“Not when it comes to this.” I could feel my eyes filling with tears now, and I blinked them away angrily. Snowflakes hit my lashes, and Landon reached up and pushed them away. “Don’t touch me,” I spit, but he didn’t stop.

“You have no idea what it is you’re dealing with,” he said. And now his voice was softening, and somehow this was worse than when he was being harsh. At least then I had something to dull the pain of the hurt, the worry, something to be angry about.

“Then tell me.” I wiped my hand at the back of my eyes angrily, as if that would push the tears back into my eyes.

He leaned down and kissed my cheeks, my eyes, my forehead. His lips were soft and warm, and the snowflakes fell between us, melting on my skin as he kissed them away.

“I can’t do that.” He pulled back and looked at me, tracing his finger over the curve of my jaw. “You need to hear it from Violet.”

I closed my eyes, feeling my heart beat against his, trying to reconcile the fact that he’d kept something from me with how I was feeling – like I wanted him to gather me in his arms, to hold me, to kiss me, to protect me.

“Aven,” he said, and now his voice was rough with desperation. “Please.”

I opened my eyes. He’d pressed his forehead to mine, and our eyes locked. I tumbled into them, seeing the longing there, how badly he wanted me to believe me. I thought about his need to protect me, and in that moment, even though it went against everything reason told me, I believed he did want to protect me, that he didn’t want to hurt me.

“Can you promise me my sister is safe?” I asked. “Physically. Is she safe?”

He nodded. “I promise you.” He wrapped his hand around mine, warming my fingers. “I’ll take you to her.”

I thought about it.

I had no choice.

I could go home, call the police, but what good would that do? I didn’t know where Violet was, and the police already thought I was crazy.

And by the time the police got here, I could be there myself.

So when Landon pulled back and opened the door, I slid into the passenger seat and put on my seatbelt.

* * *

The car was quiet.

We’d been on the highway for another couple of hours, and the snow had started to become thicker, the individual flakes morphing into a sheet of white. The traffic had started to thin out the further we got from New York – not just because we were driving through towns with less people, but also because of the snow.

We were a couple hours from Vermont when Landon switched lanes and downshifted, then guided the card toward an exit.

I thought we were just stopping for more gas, or that maybe we needed to hook up to another highway, but the GPS begged to differ. That same woman’s voice who’d announced Conner’s voicemail now informed us we were going in the wrong direction.

“Where are we going?” I demanded, sitting up straighter in my seat.

“We’re stopping for the night.”

“What?”

“It’s not safe to be out on the road.”

“It’s not that bad out,” I said, even though it was. “And you promised we were going to Vermont.”

“We are going to Vermont. But it’s my responsibility to get you there safely.”

Right off the exit was a Brentwood Suites, and Landon pulled into the parking lot – he must have seen a sign for it on the highway. It was a tall, sprawling brick building, and each of the rooms had a tiny balcony that jutted out into the parking lot. The front was well-lit, and the lobby looked warm and inviting through the double glass doors.

Landon, however, was staring through the windshield skeptically. He pulled out his phone and began scrolling.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for more suitable accommodations.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this hotel.” I got out of the car before he could stop me. I could have stayed seated, could have fought with him about going to Vermont tonight, but I knew it was useless. He’d made up his mind that we were going to stop for the night, and therefore, we were going to stop for the night.

I also knew he was right. It was too snowy for us to be on the road. And ever since what happened to my parents, I was all too aware of the dangers that nature could bring.

But it wasn’t just nature that took them, a voice whispered in my ear, that ugly horrible voice that always came out whenever I’d forgotten about what happened for even a moment.

I ignored it, pushing my way into the hotel, stomping my feet on the mat as I went, shaking the snow off my boots.

The lobby was brightly lit and warm, a string of white fairy lights draped across the check-in desk.

“Hello,” I said faux-cheerily to the clerk, a man in his mid-twenties with shaggy dark hair and a movie star smile. His nametag read “Caleb.”

“Hello, miss,” he said, flashing me a friendly smile. “Welcome to Brentwood Suites. Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like a room, please.”

“Of course, miss,” Caleb said, typing away on his computer. “And how many nights will you be staying with us?”

“Just one,” I said.

“And are you traveling alone?” His eyes rose from the computer and lingered on my chest, at the place where my black tank top dipped down in the front, for just a second longer than necessary.

“No,” a voice growled from behind me. “She is not traveling alone. She’s with me. And if you continue to ogle her like that, to even look at her for a second longer than necessary, I will jump over this counter and end you.”

“Landon!” I exclaimed.

“Go stand over there,” Landon said.

“I will not.”

“Go over there,” he said. “Now. Or our deal is off.”

I stomped over to the elevators, waiting patiently as he talked to the clerk, who now looked scared. He didn’t look at me, didn’t even look at Landon as he entered his information into the computer, ran Landon’s card, and then handed him two key cards.

“I knew this place was a shithole,” Landon breathed as he pushed the button for the elevator.

“This place is fine,” I said as I stepped into the car behind him. He pushed the button for the fourth floor, and the elevator jumped to life. “You’re acting crazy.”

“You shouldn’t be talking to strange men like that, Aven.” The doors opened, and Landon waited for me to step out of the elevator first, like he was afraid that I was going to take off.

“No, you shouldn’t act like everyone’s a threat. He wasn’t a strange man, he was the freakin’ front desk clerk.”

“You know nothing about him.”

“I know nothing about you, either,” I said. “And yet, here I am.”

We were at our room now, and he opened the door and waited for me to enter. The room was open and airy, with a tiny sitting room, one queen-size bed covered in a bright white comforter, and a TV. Framed prints of red poppies and purple violets hung on the walls.

“Jesus,” Landon murmured.

I rolled my eyes. “And where will you be sleeping?” I asked. “On the floor? Or should I call Caleb and have him bring up a cot?”

He dropped his keys onto the nightstand with a clatter, and something about the sound was ominous. He began to pull off his leather jacket, and some of the adrenaline that had been fueling my boldness began to flow out of my body as I watched the muscles of his biceps flex with his movements.

“I’ve had about enough of your mouth, Ms. Courtland.”

“I’ve had about enough of your secrets, Mr. Sheer,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“We all have secrets, angel,” he said. His mouth curled up into a cruel, knowing smile, as if he knew there was something I was keeping from him.

“Not me,” I lied, my heart pounding against my ribcage.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said, moving toward me.

There was no way he could know. No way he could know about what happened, the one thing I’d never told anyone in my life, ever, the thing I would never tell anyone, ever.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I shook my head. “Where are our bags?”

“I’m assuming this place doesn’t have a bellhop.”

“I’m sure Caleb would be happy to help us with our bags.”

A vein in his temple twitched, and then that same smile crossed his lips. He picked up the key card and slid it down my throat, over my cleavage. My breath hitched at his nearness, and that same urge I’d had back at the gas station – to fall to my knees – flowed through me. “Wait here, princess.”

He returned a few moments later with our bags.

“I’m going to take a shower.” He hadn’t bothered to put his jacket back on when he’d gone outside to get the bags, and now he reached down and pulled off his sweater. His expansive chest came into view, the dips and valleys and ridges of his muscles as impressive and sexy as ever.

He started on his pants next, unbuttoning his belt, and my pulse raced. He undid the buttons on his pants, and my eyes landed on the soft trail of hair that started at his belly button and dipped down.

“Relax, angel,” he said, watching me. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

I turned away before he disappeared into the bathroom, hating him and wanting him at the same time. A second later, the sound of the shower starting echoed through the closed door.

I pulled out my phone and opened my text messages, my finger hovering over Violet’s name.

There were the last three messages I’d sent her, all of them a version of the same thing – I’m worried about you, please call me, I hope you’re okay.

None of them had received a reply.

Before I could decide whether or not to send her another message, my phone rang in my hand, startling me.

Blocked Number flashed across my screen.

Violet.

I answered it.

“Hello?” My voice sounded shaky, and I wiped my palms on my jeans.

“Aven Courtland?” a woman’s voice asked. Her tone was clipped, professional.

“Yes, this is Aven.” My heart sank as I realized it wasn’t Violet. Most likely it was someone about a job, especially after all those resumes I’d just shotgunned during the drive. I tried not to get too excited – I’d had a few of these calls over the past few weeks, most of them from HR assistants or headhunters that had found my resume and wanted to ask me a few questions. They were inevitably disappointed when they realized I had no experience, or when they found out I didn’t have my MBA. Which made no sense, since it was all right there on my resume.

“This is Misty Bryant, from the New York Courier? We met last night in Landon Sheer’s hotel suite?” She said it as if we’d actually met, like we’d talked at a party or something, instead of her trespassing into Landon’s hotel.

My stomach clenched, and I instantly wanted to hang up on her.

But I forced myself to stay on the phone. Hanging up on her gave me that same feeling, the feeling I’d had before when I’d told Emma not to worry about this woman, where it felt as if I were being loyal to Landon. And even though that was my first instinct, my mind told me to rail against it.

“Yes?” I said shortly.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she said. “You seemed a little… flustered last night.”

“I was flustered because you barged into Landon’s hotel suite without asking, confronted him about a story you were writing, and had to be hauled off by security. It was quite jarring.”

“You sound like someone who knows Landon well,” she said, a sarcastic tone to her voice, as if she knew I barely knew Landon at all. “When did you two meet?”

“Landon didn’t do the things you said he did,” I said, sounding more confident than I felt. “And if you –”

Suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

A shiver ran up the back of my neck.

“Hang up the phone, Aven.” His voice was low, commanding.

“Is that him?” Misty asked. “Is he keeping you from talking to me?”

“He’s not keeping me from anything,” I said, angry now. “And if you continue to harass me in this manner, I’m going to have to –”

I never got to finish my sentence, because Landon had my phone now.

He ended the call and set it down carefully on the nightstand.

He hadn’t showered yet.

He was standing there, still in his dark jeans, shirtless, his black belt undone, revealing the dip of his hips, the peaks and ridges of his six-pack right at my eye level. I resisted the urge to lean toward him, to slide my tongue up over his torso. I remembered how his cock had felt in my mouth, hard and thick, how he’d choked me with it.

“Get on your knees, Aven.” He delivered the command and then picked up his own phone, dialed a number and barked instructions to whoever had answered the call. “I thought we were taking care of Misty Bryant,” he growled. “Oh, really? Because she just made an unwanted phone call to Ms. Courtland. Fire Drake immediately and get Ms. Courtland a new phone,” he said. “Now.”

“I don’t want a new phone,” I said once he’d hung up. “Violet has this number.”

“You will be seeing Violet soon,” he said. “You can give her your new number then.”

“But --”

“You are not on your knees, Ms. Courtland.” He moved to the sliding glass door in the corner, which looked out over the courtyard, and began to close the heavy cream curtains that hung on a sliding rack over the glass. “Am I to assume you didn’t hear me?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I heard you.”

“Then get on your knees.”

I got on my knees.

My heart was pounding as I remembered the things he’d told me he was going to do to me in the diner.

Tie me.

Whip me.

Fuck my ass.

Ripples of fear ran through me.

I wondered if he was going to do those things to me now, if he was going to fuck my ass, and then I realized I wouldn’t know until it was happening, that part of his domination of me included keeping me on edge, in anticipation, not knowing what kind of delicious torture he had in store for me.

I watched as he walked to his suitcase that was sitting by the door, picked it up and then set it down on the bed. He began to pull things out of it, one by one, his movements deliberate.

Something black and long that looked like a whip or a prod.

A pair of handcuffs.

Ropes.

The sight of the instruments sent more fear ricocheting through me. But there was something else, too. Desire. Instantly, I craved his lips on me, his hands tangling in my hair, his body firm and heavy, pressing into mine. The ache between my legs, the one that was always there when I was around him, intensified and burned.

Then came the shame.

The humiliation when I realized I craved this, that it turned me on, that the things he did to me were dirty and disgusting and yet I wanted them. God, did I want them. So badly that resistance was futile.

Landon returned to where I was on my knees, tipped my chin so that I was staring up at him.

He looked down at me, his expression hard and stoic, and then his hand was on the back of my neck.

“Do you remember how I like my dick sucked, angel?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pull out my cock.”

I reached into his unbuttoned pants and took his cock in my hand, squeezing it in my fist.

He guided my mouth to him, and then he was fucking my mouth, hard, fast, making me choke so hard that my eyes watered. As before, there was no preamble, no warning. It wasn’t so much a blowjob as it was a gesture of possession, of ownership.

When he pulled back, he reached down and pulled me up gently until I was standing before him. He crossed the room to the wingback chair in the corner, sat down and stared at me. His gaze made my skin prickle with hot goose bumps, blooming on my skin and making me feel as if I were on fire.

He hadn’t even touched me, and my skin felt too tight, like I was going to explode if I didn’t have his hands on me.

“Strip.” His voice was a low growl, deep in his throat, something primal and alpha beating below the surface.

I thought about saying no. I did. But I knew that saying no would make it worse. And so I reached down and began to unbutton my shirt. My hands were trembling. He’d seen me naked before -- Jesus, his mouth had been on my pussy. But now he was just sitting there, watching me, his own beautiful body on full display. I was suddenly self-conscious.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Ms. Courtland.”

“Unbuttoning my shirt.”

“Why?”

“Because you told me to, sir.”

“Good girl.”

When I was done, I dropped the shirt on the floor.

“Now your tank top, Ms. Courtland.”

I grabbed the bottom of it and pulled it off, slow and steady, over the curve of my black push-up bra. The cool air hit my bare skin, and I shivered as Landon licked his bottom lip slowly.

His hands tightened around the arms of the chair he was sitting in, his grip so tight that his knuckles turned white. He reached for the bottle of water that was sitting on the desk, uncapped it and took a long swallow.

He was fighting his instinct to get up and punish me, to ravage me, to fuck me. He was struggling to hold onto his control. It was humbling, thinking that I had that effect on him. Why me? Why, when he could have any woman he wanted?

“Turn around,” he demanded.

I did as I was told, turning to face the wall opposite us.

“Brush your hair forward over your shoulders, so I can see your back.”

I did as I was told, brushing it forward over my shoulders, so that he could have a view of me from behind, unencumbered. He waited a beat before speaking again, causing me to wonder if he was rising up from the chair, if he was going to approach me from behind, if I was suddenly going to feel his hands tightening around my upper arms, his lips on the back of my neck.

“Take off your pants, Aven.”

His voice cut through the silence of the room, and I almost jumped.

I unbuttoned my jeans, and began to pull them down.

“Slowly,” he growled. “Bend over while you do it, so I can see the marks I left on your ass.”

I forced myself to slow down, even though my instinct was to go fast. I bent over, pausing with my pants right below my ass, teasing him by showing off my lacy black thong. I knew he could see the red marks he’d left on my ass cheeks with his belt, knew it was turning him on.

When my pants were finally at my ankles, I straightened back up.

“Arch your back and lean forward,” he commanded.

I did what I was told.

“Now pull your panties to the side and spread your ass.” His voice was dark and deep and it slid over me like the bass line of a song, reverberating deep inside of me.

I pulled my thong to the side and spread my ass cheeks, feeling that same heady mix of humiliation and arousal that he seemed to be able to stir up in me without much effort.

“Tell me what you’re doing, Aven.”

“Spreading my cheeks for you, sir.”

“Why?”

“So you can see my pussy from behind.”

“So I can see your cunt from behind.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Say it.”

“So you can see my cunt from behind.”

“Good girl.”

He made me stay that way, bent over and spread for him, exposing myself to him, for what felt like forever. My clit was swollen and aching, and I felt slick between my legs.

After a while, he finally spoke.

“Come to me.”

I turned around and walked to him.

He stood from his chair and ran his hands up my sides, his touch leaving goose bumps all along my ribcage.

“Aven,” he whispered. “God, Aven, you are so beautiful.” His face had softened, and the look in his eyes was a mixture of awe and affection. When he kissed me, it was soft and gentle, his tongue parting my lips tenderly.

I let this rare moment wash over me, my body tingling as he began to pull the straps of my bra down over my shoulders.

He was slow, deliberate, totally in control, his knuckles skating over my bare skin as he rendered me topless.

He placed the bra on the back of the chair he’d just gotten up from, then reached down and plumped my breasts into his hands, rubbing his thumbs over the nipples, his touch whisper soft, like a feather.

“Go to the desk, Aven,” he said. “And bend over.”

I walked to the desk, and bent over it as he’d instructed. The glass top was cool against my cheek, a stark contrast to the raging heat that permeated the rest of my body.

I watched as Landon went to the bed and picked up the whip he’d taken out of his suitcase. It was black and leather, and my toes curled as I imagined what it would feel like slashing against my skin.

“You will be punished now.”

“Yes, sir.” I gripped the sides of the desk, bracing myself as he pulled my panties down, hooking them over my ankles until I was completely naked.

“You will count the blows out loud.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

“You will tell me exactly how much you like it.” The whip slid over my ass, soft and gentle. “You will tell me how much it turns you on, to be punished for being bad.”

I swallowed.

“Do you understand?” The whip slipped down between my legs, and he ran it over my bare pussy.

“Yes, sir.”

The first blow came. It was different than the belt, different than his hand. It was hard and raw, fast and lightning quick, the pain sharper and more intense.

I gasped, and my pussy clenched. My instinct was to move away from it, and I did, but Landon held my hip, forcing me to stay in place.

“Count.”

“One,” I said. My lips were dry, and I licked my bottom lip.

Another blow, this one harder.

“Two.”

“Tell me how much you like it,” Landon growled, his hand grabbing a fistful of my hair and twisting, pulling so hard it hurt.

“I love it,” I whimpered.

“You have to do better than that, princess.” Another blow, harder, so hard my eyes filled with tears.

“Three.” My mind was spinning, my knees weak, and I tried to get control of my thoughts over the swirling desire and need I felt for him. “I love when you punish me like this. I love when you whip my ass.”

Another whip. I heard it slicing through the air, the whooshing sound of it, and I rose up on my toes as it slapped against my ass.

“Four.” I groaned. My breath was coming heavy now, short pants, making the glass top of the desk beneath my cheek fog up. “It feels so good.” I knew that wasn’t enough, knew he wanted more, dirtier, more explicit. But my cheeks burned. I’d never said words like cunt or pussy or fuck until a couple of days ago.

“I will whip you until you’re able to follow instructions,” he said.

Another whip. Then another.

I counted them out loud.

When I got to seven, my pussy was aching, the anticipation unbearable. I needed him to fuck me.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Ms. Courtland.”

“I need… ” I bit my bottom lip, then summoned my courage. “I want you to whip my pussy.”

“What, angel?” I could tell by the teasing, half-cruel tone in his voice that he’d heard me, that he wanted me to say it again.

“I want you to whip my cunt.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, running the tip of the whip over the outside of my pussy, softly, slowly.

The break my ass was getting made the sharp, sore pain there warm into a pleasure, a pleasure so intense that it was almost too much, too unbearable, because as amazing as it was, there was the promise of more, more of him, more of his lips, his hands, his cock, so much that he still hadn’t given me.

As if he could read my thoughts, his hand reached out and moved over the globes of my ass.

“You should see your ass, Aven,” he said, and now there was rough desperation in his voice. That controlled, buttoned-up tone he’d had before was still there, but something shimmered underneath it -- hunger, desire, need. “It’s all red from my whip. From where I made you mine.”

The tip of the whip was still resting on my pussy, right on the outside of my slit. I wiggled a little bit, desperate for something on me, inside of me, somewhere, something to scratch the unbearable itch of arousal and need.

“Please,” I begged, and I felt all of my inhibitions falling away around me, like a house of cards, taken over by searing want. I didn’t care what I said, how I looked, how embarrassed I was, as long as he would fuck me, make me come, punish me, make me his. “Whip my pussy. Please, sir.”

He ran the flat end of the whip up over my pussy, pressing it firmly against me, then took it away.

“Spread your legs, angel.”

I spread my legs, and he whipped my pussy. The sharp sting of the pain was enough to almost make me come.

“Not yet, baby,” he said, sounding amused. He reached down and pulled my hair, yanking me back to him, so close that I could feel his lips moving against mine. “You come on my fingers, on my tongue, on my cock only. Do you understand?”

“I can’t…” I whispered. “I can’t control it.”

“You don’t need to,” he said. “I will control you.” Then he kissed me, open-mouthed, his tongue tangling with mine. He tasted like mint and danger, the stubble that dusted his cheeks grazing my skin. I kissed him back hungrily, and when he pulled back, he flipped me over, laying me down so that I was on my back on the desk.

My breasts flattened out, pulling to the sides from their weight, and I reached down to push them back together, but he grabbed my hands and held them out to my sides, pinning them to the glass.

“Don’t,” he growled. “I need to see your body.”

He towered over me, tall and broad, and the small strip of light that slipped through the curtains illuminated him from behind, shining over his flawless skin.

I let my eyes linger on his body, taking in its magnificence, its beauty, its elegance and strength.

God, he was beautiful.

The first time we’d had sex he’d been on top of me, but I’d been too nervous and wired with anticipation to really appreciate his body. The second time we’d had sex he was behind me. That was its own pleasure, the loss of control, but now, seeing him poised over me, his chiseled arms, the planes of his chest, the washboard that was his abs…

I moaned and bit my lip.

He pulled off his pants, his cock springing into view, hard and thick and perfect. I longed to feel it, and I reached for it, wrapping my hand around the soft steel. He let me stroke him for a moment, let me feel the drop of precum that had gathered on his tip, before he pulled my hand away and pinned me back down on the desk.

Then he was over me, grabbing my hips, pulling me toward him. He slid inside of me in one push, stretching me around him.

“Landon.”

“Shhh, baby, you’re okay,” he said. “Just relax and take it, remember?”

I nodded, giving my body to him, relaxing, letting him do what he needed.

He intertwined his hands with mine and held me down on the desk, the cool glass underneath me dulling the soreness that permeated the skin of my ass.

He pumped into me, his hips bucking, his eyes locked on mine.

“Say my name.”

“Landon,” I whispered. “Landon. I’m yours.”

“Aven,” he whispered. “God, Aven.” He was looking into my eyes, and he bucked his hips, then hefted my legs up and pushed them back.

I cried out as he plunged even deeper inside of me, the soft delicious pinch of pain that this new angle caused ricocheting through me.

He fucked me, holding my legs back, my tits bouncing, giving it to me hard and deep.

“Look at you taking me,” he said. “Look at the way that tight little pussy is taking me already.”

“You broke me in,” I said, and my dirty words caused him to pump into me faster and harder, his arms bracing himself under my knees, his muscles flexing with each thrust. His raw power was like nothing I’d ever seen before, masculine and primal and sexual.

Looking at him, seeing him over me like that made me want to come.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Landon, I want to come.”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to mine, his lips brushing against my cheeks.

“You want to come on my dick, baby?” he murmured, pulling at the back of my neck, pulling me to him. “I want to come all over you. I want you to watch it.”

I groaned, not ever imagining something like that, but wanting it anyway.

“Come on me,” he growled, and I did, my pussy clenching like a fist around his cock, drawing him into me, deep and hard.

He filled me and I grabbed his biceps, holding him tightly as my orgasm rolled through me, building like a symphony’s crescendo. It bloomed outward from between my legs, taking over my entire body until I could feel its waves of pleasure in my fingers and toes.

My limbs were like spaghetti as Landon pulled out of me.

He looked down and began sliding his cock up and down on my slick pussy, mixing his precum with the arousal my orgasm had left behind.

“Look,” he groaned. “Watch me make you mine.”

I watched in fascination as he came, thick ropes of come shooting out of him and hitting the mound of my pussy, dripping down into my slit, leaving me hot and sticky. Shot after shot of creamy liquid, covering me, claiming me.

It was the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.

I reached up and pulled him toward me, cupping his hand in my face.

“Jesus, Aven,” He murmured my name and placed kisses up and down my cheeks, over my eyes, my lips, my neck. His lips were warm, his body heavy against mine, the weight sending delicious shivers up my spine.

“I could stay like this forever,” I said.

His body stiffened on top of mine.

He pulled back and looked at me, his eyes cold.

And then a second later, he turned away and began to get dressed, his mood completely changed. He was no longer being soft and gentle with me.

It was different than when he was being stern with me sexually, when he wanted to dominate me. When he did that, I could still feel his heart, could still sense his emotions under the surface. He was in control of them, but they were still there, his need to control me, to make me submit.

But this was different. His blue eyes were empty, his body language making it clear that he had completely shut down.

He began to get dressed.

“I didn’t mean –” I started.

“You should get dressed,” he said, not looking at me. “I’m going to shower. And then I’ll call down and get us separate rooms.”

* * *

For a moment, I was hurt.

It was like the cut of a knife, sharp and raw, leaving me unexpectedly wounded, my heart bleeding.

And then, just as quickly as the pain came, it was gone, replaced with hot, searing anger.

I got up from the desk and cleaned myself up with some tissues and the bottle of water that had been left on the nightstand.

Fuck this.

I was done.

It was one thing to have sex that was nothing more than physical, that wasn’t going to end up with hearts and flowers and promises of forever. I had no problem with that kind of sex, had no problem when Emma or the girls in college had done it. And even though I hadn’t done it up until this point, I had no problem with me doing it, either. I’d wanted to fuck Landon, had wanted him more than I’d wanted anyone in my life. And he’d been straight with me – I had no illusions that this would lead to anything.

What I did have a problem with, however, was the way he was treating me now. If two people had entered into a relationship where they were supposed to be having casual sex, that was totally fine. But there was a level of respect that needed to be given. You didn’t have sex with someone and then treat them the way that Landon was treating me.

If he thought I was going to put up with that bullshit, he was wrong.

I threw open my suitcase and rustled through the clothes he’d packed for me.

I pulled out a pair of black leggings and a light blue pullover. The clothes were gorgeous, lightweight but warm, the material like butter against my skin. He probably needed all these expensive clothes so that he could soothe the skin of the women he dominated, I thought bitterly.

Well, I was done.

I would find Violet on my own, I thought as I shoved my feet into a pair of sneakers, even as doubt that I could actually do that pulled at the back of my mind.

And then I froze.

The GPS.

The one in Landon’s car.

Why hadn’t I thought of it before?

It would have the address in it, the one we were driving to in Vermont. If I could get the address off the GPS, I could get there myself. I didn’t care if it was a remote location, if Landon was going to be able to get there, I was sure I could find a way to get there too.

All I had to do was get into his car, check the GPS history, and write down the address.

The sound of the shower running was still coming from the bathroom.

His keys were on the oak table by the door.

Before I could think about whether or not what I was doing was a good idea, I shoved my cell phone into my purse, grabbed Landon’s keys, and headed for the door.

Hold on, Violet, I thought. I’m coming to get you.

* * *

When I got down to the lobby, the front desk was empty. At first, I was annoyed – I’d planned to leave Landon’s keys there with the front desk clerk after I got the Vermont address off his GPS and called an Uber. But a few seconds later, as I moved toward the double doors of the lobby, I was grateful no one was at the desk, because they probably would have tried to stop me.

If I’d thought the weather had been bad before, it was even worse now.

The snow was falling in slanting sheets, making it hard to see anything more than a few feet in front of you.

Luckily, Landon’s car wasn’t parked that far away – about ten spots down on the left, at the end of the line of cars that lined the sidewalk.

I hesitated for a second in front of the double doors, wondering what I was going to do once I got the address. Go back to the city and enlist Emma to help me? Call an Uber to take me right there? I wasn’t sure if there was even an Uber that would be out in this weather, but I’d have to worry about that later, I decided.

First, I needed to get the address.

Then I could decide what to do next.

I took a step forward and the automatic doors opened. The cold air rushed in, as if it were being sucked into a vacuum.

Instantly, my face went numb, and I wished I’d taken a second to put on a hat and gloves, or at least a jacket. But it was too late now.

I stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The ground was icy, the kind of ice that was thick and smooth. There was an overhang that jutted out from the brick building, shielding the sidewalk from the snow, but the wind was so strong that it had blown snowflakes onto the pavement where they’d fallen over the ice.

I felt for the key fob in my pocket.

I started down the sidewalk, and instantly, I began to slip. The traction on the sneakers I was wearing wasn’t great -- I really should have been wearing boots. I reached out and steadied myself on a pole, taking a deep breath.

I took another few steps, finally finding my footing.

Just go slowly, I told myself. Just go slowly and you’ll be fine.

I kept walking, one foot in front of the other, inching slowly toward the car.

I kept my head down, focusing on where I was planting my feet, and making sure not to trip.

But when I got to the end of the sidewalk, almost to Landon’s car, my feet hit a patch of ice, and it didn’t matter how gingerly I’d placed them.

They flew out from under me, and I tried to steady myself, to keep myself from tipping backward and landing hard on my tailbone. I overcompensated, and instead I tipped forward, my ankle twisting painfully underneath me.

I put my hands out to break my fall, but it was too late.

My face hit the icy snow bank that had formed at the end of the sidewalk, my mouth slamming against a hard chunk of snow.

I tasted blood, and I cried out.

Then suddenly, someone’s arms were around me, pulling me up and out of the snow.

Landon.

He leveled me with his gaze, his eyes blazing with disapproval at my disobedience.

It didn’t make sense, but all I felt in that moment was relief.

Relief that he’d come for me.

Relief that he was here.

And so when he lifted me out of the snow, tenderly and gingerly, more tenderly than I’d ever been touched or treated by anyone before, I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face in his neck, and let him carry me back into the hotel.

* * *

“It’s not broken.” Landon ran his hand over the skin on my ankle, his touch gentle as he pressed gently. I was sitting on the bed back in our room, propped up against pillows that he’d laid against the headboard. He was sitting next to me, and he’d pulled my ankle into his lap. “Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Not much.” It was true. Besides the wrenching pain that had slid through me when I’d first fallen, my ankle didn’t hurt.

“It was reckless going out into the snow like that, Aven.”

“As reckless as hitting a heavy bag without gloves?” I looked pointedly down at his knuckles, which were still marred and raw from his morning’s workout.

“Running out into the cold without a jacket or boots, with no idea where you were going was extremely dangerous.”

“I knew exactly where I was going.” Now that the pain had started to subside, and I was back in the warm room, Landon’s rejection blazed against my heart. “I was going to break into your car and find the Vermont address.”

He ignored my confession as if it were inconsequential and/or the dumbest plan he’d ever heard, then took my chin and tipped it up, looking at my lip. “You cut your lip on the snow.”

“Is it still bleeding?”

“No.” He got up from the bed and returned a moment later, holding a washcloth that he’d wet with cold water. He pressed it against my lip, wiping away the dried blood. “It’s just a tiny cut.” His voice was low, the timber reverberating through me, and my stomach tightened at the way his blue eyes had locked onto mine. “You could have hurt yourself even worse.”

I snorted. “I was fine.”

“You weren’t fine,” he said, and now he sounded frustrated. “Jesus, Aven, you need to be more goddamned careful.”

“Oh, now you’re suddenly worried about me being hurt?” I laughed. “That’s pretty funny. When you acted like a total asshole to me a few minutes ago, you didn’t seem like you cared.”

He looked away, angling his body away from me. “If I said something to upset you, I understand. But that is no reason to take off and put yourself in harm’s way. It’s unacceptable.”

“What’s unacceptable is the way you’re treating me,” I said. “What’s unacceptable is fucking someone and then acting like they mean nothing to you, telling them you’re going to get them a separate room!” I shook my head.

“Aven.”

“Landon.”

“Stop.” He was bent over now, his elbows on his knees, his arms at right angles, perpendicular to the floor. I watched as he clenched his fists, my eyes landing on the bruises and cuts that marred his knuckles.

“No, I won’t stop. I’m not some naïve little girl, Landon. Just because I’m a virgin, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I get it. I’m not going to get attached to you. You don’t have to worry about that. But you can still treat me like I’m a human being.”

“I’m warning you,” he growled. He turned to look at me, the strong curve of his jaw clenching, his brow furrowing as a vein in his temple pulsed. But I was beyond caring.

“No, I’m warning you,” I said. “Quit it with your ego. I said I could stay like that forever because it felt good. In the moment. It’s like when you say you could live on ice cream for the rest of your life or something! You don’t really mean it.”

“So you didn’t really mean it.”

“No. I mean, I did … it’s not…” I was confused now, and I tried to focus my thoughts. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to slow my heart rate. “I meant that it felt good, being close to you. But I understand of course, logically, literally, that I couldn’t stay like that forever.”

Silence descended over the room. He started straight ahead, at the wall. Something about his silence was almost worse than if he were telling me to stop. My words hung in the air, the last syllable of the last word I’d said – forever – echoing over and over.

“Say something!” I said finally.

He stood up, slipped his arms under my knees, and picked me up.

“What are you doing?”

But he didn’t answer me.

Instead, he stayed quiet, bringing me into the bathroom and setting me down on the ground.

He reached over and started the taps of the bath, the water running into the basin, hot and steamy. He left and returned with a bottle of bubble bath he must have packed in my suitcase.

He poured some into the water, and then began to strip me out of my cold, wet clothes.

His hands were sure, and even though I wanted to protest as he began to undress me, I didn’t. I stayed quiet, wanting him, wanting him so badly I could feel it like a pulse.

His eyes stayed locked on mine, his chest heaving, as he stripped me naked. The attraction between us twisted and danced, so palpable that it felt as if it were alive.

When he was finished undressing me, he took his own clothes off, then took the hair elastic from around my wrist, twisted my hair up into a high ponytail, picked me back up and brought me to the bath.

He lowered me into the tub and the water instantly soothed my sore muscles and warmed my cold skin.

He got into the tub, sitting behind me, my back to his chest.

“Too hot?” he asked, his breath grazing the skin underneath my ear.

“No.”

We stayed quiet and still for a few moments, as Landon scooped water into his hands and poured it over my bare shoulders.

Steam rose around us, the only sound the trickle of the water as it slid over my skin and back into the tub.

After another long moment, he spoke.

“I’m not close to anyone, Aven.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not close to anyone.” His voice was low, serious.

“What about Conner?”

“My brother is the only one.”

“What about your parents?” My heart was pounding, and I tried to keep my voice neutral, scared that if I pushed him, I would scare him and make him shut down. And I wanted more than anything for him to let me in, in whatever way, even if it was small.

“My mother is dead.”

My stomach clenched at the way he said it. ‘My mother is dead.’ I never referred to my parents that way – I always said they’d passed away, or that I’d lost them.

Dead.

It sounded so final, so …removed.

I realized that was exactly why he said it that way. That he must have spent a long time getting himself to the point where he just could say it with finality, no emotion involved.

“And your father?”

“My father doesn’t believe in relationships.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means my father is into transactions. Money. Things that are wroth something, that bring value his life.”

“Relationships bring love and companionship.”

“My father doesn’t care about those things.”

“He adopted you and Conner. He must have wanted children.”

“What he wanted was something that made him look good. And adopting two children made him look good. Conner and I are transactions, nothing more, nothing less.” His voice was still devoid of emotion. I placed my palms on his calves, feeling the cords of his muscles under the water.

I scooted forward and then swung around so that I was facing him.

He stared at me, his blue eyes serious, his jaw set in that same determined line I’d come to know.

“And you?” I asked.

I moved forward even more, wrapping my legs loosely around his waist.

“What about me?”

“Are those things important to you? Love, companionship?”

His first instinct was to say no, I could tell. His eyebrows raised and the side of his mouth quirked as if he were about to say something sarcastic.

“Landon.” I pressed my palm against his chest, feeling his heart beating steady against my hand. Whatever he’d been through was more than just his father’s rejection – there was something deeper to his pain, something he’d shut off long ago.

He grabbed my wrists, his grip so tight that it hurt.

But I stood my ground, staying still, taking the pain, letting him work it out on me.

Finally, after a long moment, his grip loosened.

“I didn’t think they were.”

“And then?”

“And then I met you.” He let go of my wrists and slid his fingers down my arms, over my elbows, up to my shoulders, his fingers massaging the back of my neck in slow circles.

“I thought you said you could never love me,” I said.

“I can’t.” He shook his head, torture in his tone. “At least, not the way you deserve to be loved.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re perfect. And I’m fucked up.” He leaned down and kissed my cheek, and as he did, I could feel his cock between my legs, bumping against my slit.

“I’m not perfect.” I closed my eyes, letting the realization of the words wash over me, wishing he knew just how true they were.

“You are to me. Perfect. Pure. Untouched.” He kissed up the hollow of my throat, his lips tracing a line that punctuated each word. “You have already set my world spinning.”

“You don’t even know me,” I said, but I knew what he meant. He’d already set my world spinning, too.

He grabbed my hips and slid me toward him, and now the tip of his cock was right against my entrance.

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t know you. Not completely. But I know how I feel.”

“If you feel that way, then why did you shut down like that?”

“I shut down like that because I feel that way.” His hands tightened on my hips, his nails digging into my skin. “Jesus, Aven, you have no fucking idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Tell me.”

He tried to look away, but I touched his face, pulling it back toward me, forcing him to look at me.

“I have this overwhelming need to protect you, to punish you when I feel as if you’ve done something bad, something that could put you in danger or take you away from me.”

The head of his cock was flush against my opening, pushing against my clit, which was aching with need for him. The sight of his broad shoulders, the cords of muscles, the dip of his collarbone, the expanse of his chest would have been enough to turn anyone on. But to feel his hard dick against me while he talked about wanted to punish me was enough to make me feel as if I were on fire.

“So punish me,” I whispered. “I want it. I need it.”

“That’s the thing,” he said. “What I most need to protect you from is myself.”

“Why?” I whispered, cupping his chin in my hands and rubbing my thumbs over his cheekbones. “Why?”

He leaned forward, his forehead pressed against mine. His cock twitched and pulsed under the water.

“Even now,” he said. “Even now, I can’t…” He trailed off in frustration.

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t fuck you without… without wanting to punish you, to belt you, to whip you for leaving me.”

I scooted a tiny bit forward, and his cock breached my opening. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, you can.”

“Aven.” My name was a half moan, half prayer.

“Shhh.” I pressed my finger to his lips. “Shh. Just… just try. Just once.”

I slid further, taking him inside of me, and he grabbed my hips, steadying me as he pulled me onto his lap, his cock sliding slowly, inch by inch until he was buried inside of me.

“Aven,” he murmured against my lips. “God, Aven.” He began to rock me up and down on top of him, still totally in control even though he wasn’t beating me or tying me up.

Instead, he rocked my hips, his lips finding mine, our tongues intertwining, rubbing and stroking as he fucked me.

His hands tangled in my hair, tugging softly, using his strong grip as leverage as he guided me up and down on his cock.

“Landon,” I called his name as I came, as I felt him pulse and spurt inside of me.

And this time, when I collapsed on top of him, sated and spent, he stayed close, rubbing my back, letting me catch my breath before lifting me gently out of the tub.

* * *

We dried off and dressed in the black satin robes Landon had packed for us, the material supple and silky against my raw skin.

We ordered Chinese food, eating egg rolls and lo mein while we watched a silly action movie and talked about what we liked about New York. (Him, the energy and possibility, me, the bookstores and opportunity.)

We fucked again before we fell asleep, soft and slow, his arms holding me tight, his legs entangled with mine as I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

In the morning, we dressed and loaded our things into the car.

As we pulled back onto the highway, paper cups of coffee we’d gotten at a drive-thru warming our hands, anxiety bloomed in my stomach.

According to the GPS, we were two and a half hours away from Landon’s house in Vermont. Two and a half hours away from Violet, two and half hours away from whatever I was going to find there, whatever it was that Landon thought was better I hear from my sister.

“You okay?” Landon asked, glancing over at me. The storm had stopped late the night before, and the wind had gone still. The snow had been pushed and wrangled into sparkling piles that lined the streets, the only sign of the storm that had raged the night before.

Now the traffic was normal, the world resuming its pace as everyone returned to their daily activities.

“I’m fine.”

He reached for my knee, his hand tightening around it protectively. I swallowed and tried not to show how nervous I was.

“What is Conner like?” I asked, knowing I would be meeting him in just a few short hours and wanting to know what I was in for.

“Conner is… charming.”

“Charming? Why does that sound somehow ominous?” I remembered again how I’d asked Landon if Conner was the one who he’d taken the blame for with the stalking, and my anxiety deepened. A surge of adrenaline shot through my veins, and my head felt light.

“What is Violet like?” Landon asked, ignoring the question.

“She’s fun,” I said, staring out the window and trying to settle myself as the landscape rushed by. “But not in the life-of-the-party kind of way. It’s more like she can make a good time out of anything. Like this one Thanksgiving we had at my grandma’s house– Violet and I snuck upstairs and played Uno while everyone else argued about who burned the turkey. And when we were younger, she was always coming up with the best ideas– makeovers, cooking competitions, turning our bedroom into a neighborhood library and lending books to all our friends.” I reached up and traced a melting snowflake that was sliding down the other side of the glass. “She’s not bothered by anything. Not like me. I can make a big deal out of the littlest thing, but Violet…” I shook my head and blinked my eyes, missing my sister so much it hurt. “Violet can make the biggest thing seem like nothing.”

Something about this seemed to set Landon on edge. He took his hand from my knee and sat up straight.

The relaxed, easygoing Landon who’d fed me Chinese food and held me all night was gone, replaced with the version of him that I knew better – the man who was cold and shut down.

The car descended into quiet, and the miles slipped by.

I’d thought that the ride would have felt like it lasted forever, the way it did when you were waiting for the last day of school, or for finals to be over.

But instead, it was the opposite.

The drive raced by, the road becoming less and less inhabited, the scenery becoming more rural, rockier, the snow banks that lined the sidewalks becoming higher and more frequent.

The air around us grew misty with fog, as if the snow had permeated everything, including the air.

Landon pulled the car off the highway and onto a county route, then onto a side street, then onto a private road.

There was a sign at the end of it, hung on a bare branched pine tree, the words RIDGEBURY etched elegantly into a slab of grey wood.

We slid down the long road, which twisted and turned seemingly at random. Landon followed it expertly, not allowing the long branches of the trees that surrounded us on either side to scrape against his car.

Finally, we got to a gate, with a keypad mounted next to it.

Landon pressed his finger to the touchscreen. It lit up green, and the gate opened.

It was another probably half mile or so past the gate before we got to the house.

If you could even call it a house.

It was more like an estate, one of those homes you heard about celebrities having, the kind with indoor tennis courts and saunas and sixteen bedrooms and twenty bathrooms.

The house was majestic, the front of it made of grey stone. Two curved turrets rose into the air, one on each side, the tops swirling with fog. In the background, a mountain glistened majestically.

“Wow,” I breathed. “This is yours?”

“Yes.” Landon slid the car into park.

I looked around at the driveway. There were no cars parked here, no sign of life. The house looked almost abandoned.

I swallowed, suddenly nervous.

What if Violet wasn’t here? Or worse, what if she was, and something had happened to her?

“Aven,” Landon said, reaching out and taking my hand. His touch was a comfort, but something about the tone of his voice led me to believe that whatever he was about to say wasn’t something I was going to like very much.

“Let’s go,” I said, stepping out of the car before he could stop me.

He was behind me in a second, the car making that soft beeping sound, letting me know that he’d locked it.

I climbed the steps, getting to twenty before I reached the long, wraparound porch. When I got to the door, my heart was pounding.

I reached up and took the door knocker, which was heavy and brass, the S for Sheer visibly etched into its face.

Then I thought better of it and rang the doorbell.

It echoed through the house, reverberating through the door.

“It’s my house,” Landon said, pulling a key off its chain and sliding it into the door. Another keypad was mounted next to it, and he put his thumb to it, waiting for it to flash green.

It did.

Landon turned the key and opened the door, calling his brother’s name.

And after a moment, I took a deep breath and followed him…